[h2][color=green]The Verdant Loom - Primaris Settlement[/color][/h2] [h3][color=green]Inside the Collective & Primaris's Prime Voice Vaelor's Nest[/color][/h3] The light in the nest dimmed to a low amber as three Prime Voices gathered. Their bodies vibrated with resonance but their tones carried individual edges, like different pitches in the same chord. Prime Voice Lethan pulsed first, anger clear in their pulse. “They came as feeders. Four-limbed. Rigid shells. Fire in their hands.” His glow flickered with restrained anger. “They breached Hatchery Six. Twenty-three juveniles lost. Eight taken.” Prime Voice Sileth, smaller but sharper, answered with a chittering tremor. “They did not feed. They cut. They burned. They shouted noises at the captured ones. They behaved like beasts that think they are more. They injured the Huskborns.” A soft ripple passed through the chamber. The Collective pressed close, listening. Prime Voice Vaelor, oldest among them and one of the first Prime Voices to evolve, spoke last. His light dimmed to a deep blue, the color of wisdom. “We knew the world would move again. Not like this. They did not act from fear or hunger. They acted from want. Killing for the sake of killing. Lower than the beasts that wander in the Loom.” Lethan’s glow sharpened, the bioluminescence on his shell making different colors, erratically. Sign of deep anger. “They touched the young. They took kin. They burned the Loom!” Sileth’s voice hung between the voice. “They are not beasts. They are something else. They have intent without understanding. Purpose without harmony.” Vaelor echoed the final decision through Collective. “Save our kin. Mobilize Huskborn and Sporewardens. Prime Lethan. Lead them. Bring their dead kin with you. Show them our strength. Don't attack. Unless, they do first. Demand our kin. Back. Gather a few. Reclaimers.” The chamber vibrated with agreement, a silent chord of resolve. [h2][color=green]The Verdant Loom - Edge of the Forest[/color][/h2] [h3][color=green]The Pursuit[/color][/h3] At the forest’s edge, the Huskborn gathered with slow, deliberate weight. One by one they stepped into formation, bodies steaming faintly as the heat-resistant bacteria along their hides awakened. Their limbs tensed, bracing for movement beyond the safety of the Loom. Cantors perched above guided fungal growth to reinforce armor plates, singing low notes that made filaments thicken across Huskborn shoulders and chests. A Sporewarden waited atop a broad branch, quivering with contained speed. Its sacs swirled with spores ready to burst if needed. It crouched as Prime Voice Lethan climbed onto its back, gripping the hardened fronds that made up its harness. The Prime Voice cast one last look toward the direction the intruders had fled. The hive-mind pulsed through him with cold purpose. “Follow their heat. Follow their noise. Follow the trail of broken bark.” The Huskborn moved first, shaking the ground in a slow rhythm. Some carried the bodies of the fallen humans. They were part of the Cycle but also the ones that attacked the Loom and destroyed a hatchery. Above them, the Sporewarden sprinted along the canopy, leaping from branch to branch with Lethan holding firm. Spores trailed faintly behind like a green mist. The Mycend Collective were not chasing out of rage. They were retrieving their own. They were answering an intrusion. They were learning the shape of their new neighbors. As the war-band followed the Tacenians, the connection of the taken Mycend became stronger and stronger up until...Prime Lethan was able to connect to them. The Huskborn line marched below, slow and relentless. But the Prime Voice’s attention was elsewhere. He dimmed his outer glow, focused inward, and pushed his awareness through the network. A thin thread of consciousness reached across the miles, brushing the minds of the captured Mycend. For a moment, there was only pain, confusion, and the buzzing noise of unfamiliar throats shouting in harsh rhythms. Then vision. Lethan saw through them. Dragged across dirt paths toward a human settlement, rammed through crude gates into a disorderly sprawl of huts and sagging wooden structures. Smoke, sweat, unwashed bodies. Everywhere, humans moving with the jittering urgency of creatures constantly worried they might be prey. Above the chaos, a stone castle rose on a hill. Elves in armor stood watch from the higher points, detached and silent. Tacenians, their movements sharp and predatory. The captured Mycend saw people living in mud, hunger etched into their faces. A rigid divide was clear. A warrior class that barked orders. A slave caste that kept their eyes down. Squalor, desperation, fear. Then the humans turned to the Mycend. They tried gestures, words, tools shoved into spore-covered hands. Frustration when nothing made sense. A blow. Another. Push, strike, shout, shove. But once the Mycend began doing tasks, the pattern changed. Humans hovered protectively nearby, guiding them like confused livestock. A strange logic. Work equaled safety. Work well and they were fed. Work more and they were guarded. To the Mycend, it was all meaningless noise. To Lethan, it was an insult layered atop injury. He severed the connection and reopened his eyes. His body brightened with a harsh green that tinted the bark around him. “These creatures bruise what they do not understand,” he pulsed aloud. “They capture. They hit. They use. They treat our young as tools. This won't do.” Lethan’s tone settled into something sharp and decisive. “We will teach them what cannot be shouted into our ears.” When the Mycend arrived in view of the settlement, the Huskborn moved at once. No forest. No roots to call upon. Just muscle, weight, and purpose. They ripped thick branches from nearby trees, sharpened them with hard bark, and hit them into the earth with heavy blows. Each impact sent dirt scattering. 60 human corpses were lifted and impaled. Bodies hung at angles meant to be seen from the hilltop castle. Two bodies remained untouched behind the line. Lethan turned to the Reclaimers waiting nearby. Small and pale, their minds alien even to the rest of the Mycend. “You two. Take them,” he ordered. They stepped forward, pressed their hands to the cooling flesh, and let their own bodies collapse as they pushed their consciousness outward. The dead humans jerked, twitched, then slowly rose with unsteady, puppet-like motions. One had a face of sheer terror etched on their face while the other's face kept twitching uncontrollably. Lethan did not bother to hide his contempt. “Walk to their settlement. Demand our kin back. Use their voices.” The two animated human bodies turned toward the village gate and began a staggered march. Lethan remained mounted on the Sporewarden with a thought he ordered the Huskborn to be ready for battle as they waited for the humans and the elves to decide what they wanted their next lesson to be. [hider=Summary] Three Prime Voices meet and decide to follow the invaders. Prime Lethan is incredibly angry when he sees how the humans were treating the prisoners and decides to show the humans/elves what happens when they mess with the Collective. [@Wernher] [/hider] ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ [h2][color=green]Unknown Location - Glimmerdeep lands[/color][/h2] [h3][color=green]A Sporewarden's Journey[/color][/h3] The Sporewarden ran non stop since the order was given. Fungi leaving a trail behind it as it ran. At times, it would adopt a low posture whenever a beast would be sensed. The forest had ended days ago, replaced by rolling grass, soft soil, and strange stone ridges that cut the land like scars. It followed the Prime Voice’s directive to scout outward, though the link grew thinner the farther it traveled. Still present, but faint, like a half-remembered song. Eventually, it stumbled upon something. A village. Houses shaped from stone and wood but most were small. Smoke drifting lazily from chimneys. Tiny figures walked between the buildings barely the height of an adolescent Mycend. The Sporewarden did not know what they were, only the shape. Something it seen before but never something like this. A hatchery, maybe, it thought. It crouched behind a low wall of bramble, its translucent spore-sacs flattening as it stilled its breathing. It listened. It watched. Trying to understand what they were. Their purpose and if they pose a threat to the Collective.