My body felt a chill as I attempted to wiggle my fingers and toes. They didn’t respond. I groaned as I felt the cold ground beneath me.

I was in trouble.

I knew better than to try and outrun that last shot, but its aim was true, and it struck the center of my back. Now, face down, I wondered if this was the end.

My face was numb, and I’m pretty sure if I could see them, my lips would sport a deep blue. Everything was so cold. I was listless, sprawled out to die on this accursed field. Despair overtook me, the odds were overwhelming. What could a man do against such reckless hate? Was there any hope left?

No.

But I had to try anyway.

I dragged my hands down towards my chest in a feeble attempt to prop my body up, only able to make it to my knees. The soft crunching of footsteps grew louder as my adversary advanced, only to stop right in front of me. Mud splattered his dark brown boots, but the quality was still much better than my own. Typical. Even his equipment far outstripped my own.

As I looked up, the sun loomed behind his head, blurring his facial features to me. I squinted my eyes, trying to decipher the blurry mess.

“Any last words?” he sneered.

I felt the air catch in my chest, as the cold seemed to have seeped into every fiber of my being. The chill made me rasp back my response, “I will win this war.” I allowed myself a small smile. Ever defiant till the end.

The man’s big belly shook in mirth as he let out a raucous laugh. “War? You do not yet know war. You are a child who tasted their first autumn frost and called it winter.”

He bent down and scooped up his weapon, before holding it over my head.

“Goodbye… son.”

He dropped his weapon, a gargantuan snowball, and it sent me crashing back to the ground covered in white powder.

I laid there, defeated.

The silence that followed was pierced by the shrill scream of a woman.

“Boys! It's cocoa time!” mom shouted. “Oh, and don’t you dare bring that mud into my house!”

The Storyteller could see the eyes of the class glaze over, their attention reduced to embers. He decided on a change of pace. “I know history can be boring. Some of you may never be interested in it and that’s alright. But it is so important to know why things are the way that they are now. Do any of you remember how we first settled Altus II?”

One of the kids from the left began to read from his textbook, boredom seeping from every word: “In the Old Era, the human clans of our home planet Earth encountered the first-“

“In your own words please.”

“Uh. The Earthy Stars-“

“Earthen Sons!” interrupted a girl from the back. “The Earthen Sons wanted a fight!”

The Storyteller smiled. “Yes, we’re getting to that part. See, in those days, humans were still fairly new to being afraid. Many of them saw a challenge in every obstacle, a reward to every risk.”

“Well that’s stupid,” chimed a student from the very back row. “It’s amazing they lasted as long as they did.”

“It was admirable, really. Your predecessors accomplished so much so quickly because of it. But I digress. There are logs of some humans from even before The First Parlay who would stockpile supplies and weapons, bracing for - or rather yearning for - various apocalypses that never came. Unfortunately, The Earthen Sons were no different other than in their organization.

When we first established contact with an alien race, we looked to the stars with hope in our eyes, apprehension clouded by relief that in this vast ocean, we weren’t alone. The Sons, meanwhile, grumbled and took to the streets, protesting any attempt at dialogue much less technological exchanges.”

“What a load of steam. Just holding everyone else back.”

“Well that’s not very fair. To them, the unknown was a terrifying place, and rightly so. Any minor move could have been a step toward annihilation. Imagine if, say, the Svortuk found them first. If they tried to continue communicating, we wouldn’t be here to have this conversation today.”

“Were we so lucky,” grumbled a voice from the middle of the shelter.

“I heard that.”

“Sorry, Storyteller. Please continue.”

“Humans soon learned that we were a minuscule part of a larger empire, claimed by entities we had yet to lay eyes upon.”

“The Others!” a student yelled excitedly.

“Yes. Some people pictured them as insects, others imagined spacefaring mollusks, and many simply thought of them as almost human.” He had to pause while they laughed, some mimicking finger antennas on their heads, others pretending to swim through an imaginary ocean with pulsating limbs. He smiled at the thought of how glad he was that these references weren’t lost on the children.

When they settled down, he bagan again. “The Sons saw The Others as a threat to their independence, an affront to their liberty, a faceless guard placing shackles upon humanity’s feet. And when it became clear that the Others merely saw us as an out-of-the-way curiosity back then, too distant to mine for resources but intriguing enough to maintain contact, the Sons took this as an insult. And no one could have guessed what they were planning.

“That awful attack got the attention of The Others instantly. They did not yet understand then that humans thought differently from one another, that differences in opinion existed. They saw the attack as a declaration of war and they acted accordingly. Leviathans - that’s what we call the Others’ living ships, appeared at the periphery of our old solar system. Their response lasted less than two New Era minutes, and with no more effort for the Others than us swatting at an annoying insect. A tiny portion of one of Sol’s own asteroid belts was redirected at Earth and that’s all it took to destabilize Earth’s orbit. Not that anyone would have survived the impact anyway.”

The children merely sat with their eyes downcast, but obviously paying close attention. The Storyteller knew they had little reason to feel attached to the early humans even if they descended from them. Too much of daily life now would be completely unrecognizable to the ancestors anyway. But the halfhearted elimination of over 99% of a sentient species - as well as countless other innocent species sharing the planet - is still sobering to think about.

“The few Wanderer ships soon held the only life known to Earth. That is where our Forefathers established what we know of humanity today. The handful of ships were afraid of being hunted down until the last Earthlife perished. But the Others are straightforward beings. The attack came from Earth, so Earth was removed. The ships were as interesting as space debris. They saw no threat.”

“How did we become friends then.”

“Well, ‘friends’ isn’t really the correct term but it took a very long time to get to where we are now. We understand the Others a little better and their logic behind the attack in the moment became impossible to argue with. Little more than a reflex of scratching an itch. Likewise, they are now at least somewhat comprehending that humans are a spectrum rather than a singular mind. And if it wasn’t for them, the Svortuk would have already eaten at least a portion of our known galaxy.

“See, we thought we knew war, knew fear. But we couldn’t even comprehend back then just how little we mattered.”

I have not seen my father in a decade. His desire for a son eclipsed his marriage. After two divorces, he had ten daughters, and three were extramarital. He abandoned us all the same.

I lived to become the daughter he could be proud of. I studied hard, forwent marriage, and joined the military. I barely survived the last war and wanted to see him again.

I knocked uneasily on his trailer door and heard him stir inside. I straightened up my jacket and tucked any stray hair neatly behind my ear. My heart skipped as he neared the door.

He opened the door so aggressively that the hinges could fall off. “WHAT” he sprouted, looking around wildly before his eyes fell on mine. His initial shock dissipated and was replaced with what I could only describe as disgust.

“Father.” I swallowed. The speech I had prepared left me without effort. I lifted my chin and faked a toothy smile.

“I have returned, I said barely audible, from war.”

He let go of the door and it swung towards me. My elbow caught it and I stepped into the familiar trailer.

He watched me closely in bemusement. He was silent, and we met eyes.

“War.” I said again this time loud enough for him to hear. “I have returned from it.”

He seemingly lost interest in me and turned back to the TV in the background.

Blood rushed to my face, and my nails pinched into my palms.

“WAR DAMMIT,” I shouted stomping my foot. “I COULD HAVE DIED YOU BASTARD.” I was surprised by my outburst and looked brazenly at the cluttered floor.

If I had remained my gaze, I may have noticed his surprise. By the time I looked up I saw contempt.

“War? You do not yet know war. You are a child who has tasted their first autumn frost and called it winter.” He spoke to me like a child, and I felt myself sinking into my uniform.

After all these years, he viewed me as a damsel in distress. The dismissive tone caused a lump in my throat and tears to sting my eyes.

“Fuck the riddles, dad.” I said fighting back tears, “ I am a soldier.” He was unmoved and his eyes trailed back to the TV.

“Take that monkey suit off, Lindsey. You are an embarrassment to this country.”

I was dumbfounded and shook my head in disbelief. My shoulders lost all tension and I couldn’t stop the tears from coming.

“But Dad.” I choked out. His disgust for me grew, and he turned his head to focus more intensively on the TV.

“I have no children,” he said coldly. My heart dropped, and I cried in my uniform as he walked off.

After the Great War with the humans, those of us that survived, hid in the mountains.  I remember my gran saying, "Boyo, them humans can slay us as easy as skinning a yak. Never let their looks deceive you." I didn't doubt her.She knew what she was talking about. Grandpa had fallen in the war, just like her two children.

Her words served me well, and return to haunt me, now at the twilightof my life.

When we were kids, I remember being hungry all the time. It is the human's curse, the saying went. For feeding on their flesh. We suffered, but it wasn't like anyone else in the tribe had a full meal. Mountain goats and yaks were all we had. In the summertime, the Dahl lake unfroze, and the entire tribe went fishing. The taste of raw warm fish blood still lingers on my tongue. Ah, for another sip!

Slowly we built a better life for our race. We learnt to breed animals and fish. We learnt to channel water, preserve dried meat for the winters. And throughout all this, we stayed away from the humans. Ever careful, ever fearful. And we built a world our parents would be proud of. 

Our children did not know our pains. My son Haruk ate a full fish on Solstice Day. I wondered what gran would have thought. When we were kids, that would be our ration for a week.

But then again, we'd been a family of five. When Haruk was two years into marriage, there were 15 of us in the cave. In hindsight, I should have seen it coming. Some of us did. "Noone should parent more than 1 child", I remember Satya saying, to loud jeers. He stayed silent after that.

One by one, my mateys all passed away, as I watched our dreams crumble around us.

Suddenly, there wasn't food for everyone in the tribe. It felt like I was back in the childhood days. Only there was something different in the air this time. In our days, when there was no food, if someone managed to catch a single fish, the blood of that fish would be shared amongst the tribe, every man woman and child. Even if it meant all we got was a drop. Now I saw yaks getting stolen.

One night, at a  council meeting, Jai spoke up. She and her folks had been sneaking away down  into the valley. "There's meat down there,'' she said. Herds of meat. Human. I was scandalized.

"Don't you remember the war?" I said. "It's forbidden to go down there, you're risking the entire tribe." "We'll starve if we don't." She said obstinately. "What’s your plan for the winter?" 

"Share what little we have." I had said, and adjourned the meeting.

I should have done more to dissuade them, should have known that they wouldn't listen, but I'm an old man. I mistook that the terror of humans would hold them back. But they didn't share my terror. Their parents hadn't brought them up with stories of grisly deaths of relatives.

Last week, when I went out for my evening walk, my blood froze. Jai and her folks were carrying a dead human. "It was frightened of us, more than we were of it, " she announced, "and rightly so". " kept yelling - Zombie, Zombie!" Jai laughed.

I looked at the dead creature with fascination. It the same size as us, but with pailfuls of juicy meat lining its skin. It did look harmless.

Was it this very creature, our ancestor, who had wiped out half our race at birth?

That night, there was a feast. For once, everyone shared. The most delicious meat I ever tasted, filled my stomach. Warm blood slaked my thirst. I even shared the liver with Jai. She had saved our tribe.

At the time of the war, we had been newborns, I reasoned with myself.  We didn't know how to build caves, communicate with drums, or breed animals. This time we were better prepared. I conveniently forgot gran's tales of fire raining from the sky. 

Yesterday, Jai left with her folks again. I didn't stop them. The taste of meat had silenced my better judgment. She returned alone.

When I entered the cave, her eyes were red with tears and anger. "They were waiting." Her teeth clenched with anger as she spoke. "With fire." She plucked out a tiny stone from her skull. "Stupid sons of fishes. They'll feel the wrath of the tribe. Boyo, prepare for war." 

I looked at this fierce young woman, her eyes flashing, lips drawn tight. And suddenly, I felt very old. Fire raining from the sky.

"War?" I said. "You do not yet know war. You’re the child who has tasted the first autumn frost and called it winter."

I do not know if we will survive the days to come. Half forgotten stories gran told me, now haunt my dreams. I keep thinking, we had two hundred years to develop, but so did the humans. If they could rain fire then, what can they do now?

That's why I write this, engraving it on the walls of my cave. Dear reader, I don't know who you are, but I hope you're a descendant of the tribe. If you're not, dear stranger, remember that we existed, that we lived, and we loved. Pray to your gods for us.

[holy shit this is a good line]

A Letter from Brigadier General Lorçilau Paltz (Ret.) to Nimian (Nimmy) Paltz, Corporal 2nd Class

Dear Nimmy

I'm sorry to use your parents name for you, Nimmy, Though I hope to make a point, especially if this letter is to be read in the barracks by your Captian, as was the practice in my day.

If there be a Capitan to read this, you would do well to listen too.

Your exploits are the stuff of legend to the farmers back home. They gather around the pub and cheers to you with cries of "give the bastards their due, what ho!". Of note was your recent 'de-hostiling' of Joviçau, which was reported to the press with great fanfare.

The sod-fuckers don't know what de-hostiling means. I do. And so do you.

So when my nephew writes to his old Onkel and talks about such wickedness, I feel compelled to write back, knowing full well that this will be read by you, Capitan, that you might shame my nephew for daring to filch a letter from his loving family in the midst of war.

War? You do not yet know war. You are a child who has tasted their first autumn frost and called it winter.

Yes, I speak to you, Captian Oberin of the 22nd Flechetters, under whom my nephew serves. The farmer may clink their classes to you. They will smile with cow-shit in their teeth as they regal your "de-hostiling" with relish. But I warn you that your unrestrained butchery will put not only your men in danger, but every single citizen you proclaim to defend. For in ravishing the land and the people, you create more enemies than you will ever 'de-hostile' in your lives. They will live their every waking moment to find your families and repay your 'de-hostiling' with interest. And they will, for the tortured and beaten are excellent learners, and they lose all meaning to live but to demonstrate their knowledge to their teachers.

If you have any questions on this, Capitan, you may come and find me at the address enclosed and I will discuss with you, to the limits I have agreed to, how I came to learn this.

A final word, Capitan: there are other terms of which you do not yet know. If I hear of any more "de-hostiling" of cities and innocents in the prosecution of this vicious war, I will use all my rank and resources to provide instruction to you on these terms.

My Regards,

Lorçilau Platz, Brig. General (Ret.)

- Where are you going?
- To the war, dad, I'm going to the war. I was offered to sign a contract at the academy. I know you are not happy. But this is my life and I don't have to repeat your fate. Everything will be different with me.
- You simply do not understand what you are talking about, - the father, resisting with his hands on the armrests of the chair, stood up with effort and went to the window.
Dusk was already beginning on the street. The wind blew the yellowed autumn leaves on the empty street. It looked like someone took a bad photo and messed up the white balance. Everything looked blue and cold, which contrasted sharply with the warm, yellowish light inside the house. The first puddles began to be covered with a thin layer of ice.
- Everything is not as it is described in the films about the war. Even in the bloodiest. There are no heroes there, there are only those who are already dead and the walking dead, - he went into the kitchen without looking at his son and put the kettle on - do you wanna tea?
- Green please... I want to achieve something in life, I want to see the world.
- Well, go to college, finish your education and travel. Do you know what is most terrible about war?
- Dad, I'm sorry for your leg.
- The leg is nothing, - the father waved it off, - over the years I got used to the prosthesis, it even has its advantages - the knee hurts only on one leg, - tapping on the prosthesis on the right leg, he smiled. - The worst thing is that you survive, and a part of you, your dead friends, remains on the battlefield. The emotions you are looking for will not be there. There will be only void. I thought I could fill it with your mothers love, but these wounds can never be fully healed. I woke up every night for three years because of nightmares. Back then we fought for our future. This war is not our business, it is a shame.
- Dad, I've already decided everything, - the son finally sat down at the table and folded his hands, like a schoolar at a desk, - besides, I've already signed up and it's too late to change anything.
- You should have talked to me.
- Dad, I'm already an adult.
- You are 19 years old, - the father said with bitterness in his voice.
- This is no longer the war you know about, the academy prepared us well for...
- War? You do not yet know war. You are a child who has tasted their first autumn frost and called it winter.
They fell silent. For a second it seemed that the house was gravely silent, but then it became clear that the kettle had been whistling all this time, which could not be heard in the midst of the argument.
The father took the teapot off the fire and poured water into the teapot:
- Well, if you have already decided, promise me one thing.
- What?
- You will not be a hero. Heroes die first and are forgotten sooner than you think.
After a short pause, the son said:
- I promise.
It was already dark outside the window. The light from the kitchen illuminated the snowflakes that were slowly swaying in the air. The first snow fell early this year.

"I cannot let you continue to massacre the world, day by day, village by village!" I exclaimed, my voice raw with emotion.

"Then bow, child. Bend your knee and join me once more. We were so good together, we were. We could rule the universe." The woman sneered. My lips trembled, I felt it. The woman was so cold, so callous, so brooding.

"Never!" I bellowed, "Never, even when my body is fertilizer for the soil, will I join you! I have seen what your wars do! They kill generations of families, of towns, of planets!"

"War?" The woman laughed, poison dripping between her teeth. "You do not yet know war, your bones do not even sit comfortably in your skin yet! You are a child who has tasted their first autumn frost and called it winter."

Her voice. My own mother's voice, so void of care. The same woman was the one who cradled me in her arms and sung sweet melodies to me in my night fits. She approached me and I felt her magic working its well, settling between my bones that do not fit and my skin. With the same motherly touch, she held my chin fondly and gazed into my eyes. Surely to a bystander, it looked like I was looking into the future. My mother and I, we share our scars and our hair, our skin and our eyes.

I felt my body work against itself and relax into her touch, only for her to rip her hand away and leave me. I assume she took my silence and relaxation for a white flag.

"Your magic does not work, Haizea, and yet, you expect to defeat me and my army. Bend a knee, it is not difficult. Life would be comfortable once more." Even her blunt tone was replaced with a motherly one, full of warmth and promise. She sat back on her throne and motioned to her guards to leave the room, leaving only me and my mother in the room. Even my army and friends were not in the castle, but out beyond, battling.

"So? What'll it be, Nituna?" She asked, drumming her long, slender fingers on the throne. I truly saw no reason to join her. It would be beneficial for those closest to me, and those who I had accompanied on the way.

However, a voice screamed in me to not do it, to carry out direct orders, to complete the quest I had been on for so long, to end this thousand-year-long war.

Her mockery of my lack of gift only fueled my anger. I broke from her spell and lunged at her, sword raised. She wore no armor, she had no need to. The woman could control an entire town without as much as flexing a pinky finger. The only reason I could break with very little struggle was our shared blood.

I lunged, and was met with a single statement.

"Roll a D20, Hailey."

I could feel the party's nervousness as I picked up my dice, the same one I had been using this entire session. The energy buzzed and I glanced at the DM with a shaky breath. My own mom, also my DM. God, was it a terrible thought.

I rolled, and watched as the dice spun and jumped before sitting still. Hesitantly, the party looked at my dice.

A Nat20.

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