"We were, King Shadowslayer," Aaron commed back, "a bloody, costly war with a foe that desired our planet and our freedom." He turned towards his own bridge-window, admiring his homeworld quietly. "We 'won', technically. Sometimes it doesn't feel that way."
A technician spoke up quickly. "Sir, we have clearance for landing in the Wing City Spaceport."
"Copy that," Vrail nodded, quickly comming back to Neodin, "King Shadowslayer, we are now going to descend into Wing City, the capital of the Terran National Government and one of the largest cities on our planet. I'll send you the coordinates. Just stay on our tail."
He looked back towards the technician. "Take us down."
“Is there ever truly a victor in war? There are those that survive, and those that perish. The similarity between our peoples is that we fight not to assert our dominance, but because we must. We fight so that previous battles were not in vain. We fight for survival – and to honor the spilled blood of our kin.” Replied the Aryite. “I will organize our landing party, Captain.”
The massive crystalline careened into orbit around the planet. Cosmic and arcane energy surged across their surfaces, forming pinpoints of light that pulsated and rippled like waves on a golden sea. From the pinpoints emerged a dozen smaller vessels that were crafted from the same crystalline material. They rivaled the Terran vessels in size, but bore rectangular or diamond-like shapes.
Inside the vessels were primarily crates of cargo – exotic fruits, meats, cheeses, furs, and ornately crafted jewels and other trinkets. However, some of the ships were filled with security personnel. Protecting the line of rectangular Galley transports were flanking rows of diamond Trireme Fortresses. Evenly spaced, the caravan followed behind the Terran vessels.
The formation descended slowly upon the Terran capital, the glittering ships passing quickly through the planet's atmosphere and passing into the city below. An ocean of buildings greeted them swiftly, the Terran populace teeming with life just below.
The Triremes would lead the vessels to a large spaceport some miles away and would direct them to a designated landing dock. Upon landing and exiting their ships, the first Aryite diplomats would be greeted by a series of Terran politicians flanked by marines.
The ships glided through the planet’s atmosphere. Despite the terrible friction, the Khroniktan vessels remained unfazed as if unaffected by the mundane laws of Existence. Their crystalline hulls retained their glowing golden hue as they floated over the city. As the Galleys descended to their designated landing zones, the Triremes remained in aloft like guardian angels over their earthbound cousins. They took defensive positions around the station – passive yet alert.
A single vessel diverged itself from the herd and landed where the flock of politicians had amassed. It landed with the broadside facing the welcoming party. The vessel hovered above the ground instead of landing directly onto the pavement. A moment passed before the side of the ship resonated with swirling light.
From the light emerged several pairs of armored feet. Gallant figures clad in golden plate exited from the light. An aura of mystical holy energy surrounded them. They towered head and shoulders above the Terrans and where two or three times their girth. Sheathed on their backs were large broadswords, shields, maces, and bows. Fur, ranging from a glossy black to a pale yellow, covered them where their bodies were exposed. The fur that adorned their feline-like faces and heads were neatly trimmed, tied back, or formed into dreadlocks. Other manes were gray and thinned. Large banners, bearing their gold and red standard, were gripped in the gauntlets of the two front Aryites.
The armor-clad lion-men marched lockstep to a rigid rhythm of snares, toms, and bass. However, none of the Aryite Chosen wielded any instruments among their arms. It was as if the cadence resonated from the air itself, or an invisible orchestra of spirits had materialized to guide the holy warriors. Two columns of ten marched with five paces between them.
“Shemot!... Imaki!... Shemo’ imak’ shemot!” barked one of the Aryites in sync with the cadence.
“Magtzeer!” he shouted. The columns and marching beat ceased at the order. “Lehuka nazeh makedat!” As one, the two lines pivoted inward and stood rigid with soldierly discipline.
“Ledaha!” The soldiers, in a robotic sync, stretched their gauntleted paw-hands behind their backs and unsheathed their large broadswords. Their blades resonated with runes of courage, righteousness, and virtue. They gripped the runeblades in both hands and placed the tips against the ground.
Another figure emerged from the ship. He was wrapped in long flowing robes that just barely covered the being’s clawed, paw-like bare feet. A long furred tail swayed along the ground. Short golden brown fur covered the being’s body large and muscled body. King Neodin Shadowslayer stood two heads above the other Aryites, and towered at twice the height of the Terrans. Like a shining waterfall, a golden brown mane surrounded a fierce yet noble feline-like face and flowed down his shoulders and back. Strands of silver and gray intertwined with the golden brown. His eyes shone like two stars that illuminated an aura of great wisdom, power, nobility, virtue, and honor. A massive broadsword, jagged and covered in glowing runes, rested in his paw-like hands. He gripped the hilt and held it like a cane with the point facing downward.
As he walked down the aisle between the columns, the Aryite Chosen lowered to their knees and bowed their heads in deep reverence to their King and High Priest.
Following Neodin came another figure. Sheodin Thundermane stood just a hair taller than his brother. Azure and silver robes flowed across a body which was covered in auburn fur that contained traces of silver, gray, and white. A long silver mane flowed across his shoulders and upper back as his eyes, filled with an ancient power and wisdom, looked at the Terran convoy. An aura of ancientness, authority, and incredible power resonated from him, much like the king. Yet his was much more cosmic and arcane in nature. A long furred tail swung behind him. In his paw-like hand he gripped the handle of an enormous mallet in the same fashion as his brother. The neck and handle appeared to be constructed from a strong polished stone. Runes covered the neck that lead to the crystalline head, blue as the deepest sea, which reverberated with a low hum.
"King Shadowslayer," a large, African-looking gentleman stepped forward, offering the Aryite his hand. "I am Parliament Chairman Rubano Malijin. It is my esteemed honor to welcome you to our humble planet." His smile was deep and disarming, his coal black eyes welcoming and inviting. "We have a transport waiting for you. It would be our honor to escort you into the hub of political activity here in Terra: our Government Center."
“Shuyamb.” rumbled the Aryite king. His voice was strong, deep, guttural, intelligent, yet gentle, kind, and diplomatically reserved. He brought a clenched paw-fist to his chest with a dull thud. “Greetings, noble leaders of Terra. I bring signs of kinship, peace, and prosperity from the free peoples of Khroniktus. We come in the name of righteousness, honor, and brotherhood. Among our cargo ships we carry exotic gifts of furs, fruits, meats, cheeses, clothing, jewels, and strong drink. Bring us your weary, so we may feed them. Bring us your sick, maimed, and wounded, and let us heal them. Bring us your homeless, so we may clothe and minister to them. Let us break bread and share knowledge, so both our futures may be brighter in the sight of Leolik."
Rubano indeed appeared quite taken back. Diplomacy certainly didn't work like this anymore.
"You honor us with your gifts, King Shadowslayer," the Parliament Chairman was quick to recover, "and we accept them graciously and humbly." A skilled diplomat, Rubano knew better then decline the charity of a possible ally. "It shall be our pleasure to return your generosity with prudent hospitality. I pray you, come with us to our Government Center. Let us make parley after we have eased your journey's weariness from your shoulders."
Neodin nodded to the man and turned to the other tall Aryite. “Brother.” He clasped his hand over Sheodin’s shoulder. “I ask you to remain here and organize the unloading of the Galleys. Ensure the clerics are supplied with Spells of Tongues, so they may communicate with the Terrans.
“Aye.” Replied the Arch-mage. He then turned and dismissed the procession. “Captain Sandrunner! Go and locate your uncle from the tavern that you spoke of. I will be there shortly.” One of the soldiers gave a quick nod to Sheodin and ran off.
As Neodin and two Chosen followed the Terran diplomats, the dozen other vessels began to unload with a variety of creatures carrying large crates. Among the Aryites were shorter avian beings that squatted a foot shorter than the humans. They were clad in leather and cloth garments and carried long staffs and composite bows. Large bipedal constructs, formed from massive floating crystals that radiated with arcane energy, also aided the Khroniktans in unpacking the caravan. Within minutes, a makeshift marketplace had taken form outside the station.