Post by illirica on Mar 7, 2022 19:47:45 GMT
It was just another day in Hiveholm. The giant beetle lumbered its way through the vast incomprehensible world, carrying within itself all its denizens and all their hopes and dreams. Some had more hope than others, some had more dreams. It wasn't a world of equality, not within Hiveholm at least. Still, even that was better than the great equalizer of the outside world, where there was only death or Corruption. One was a hope - the other a dream, or a nightmare.
It was one that they were all familiar with to some extent, but some were more familiar with it than others. Most of the time, Hiveholm was protection against those tainted by corruption - most of the time, but not always. It had been a bit more than five years since the last breach - some of those who'd been at their Chrystening had grown into their adult lives, others never would.
It was, in short, just another day. Hiveholm moved ever-onward, sending out its worker ants in their protective Shells with their hornet escorts, seeking those deposits of resources that they all needed to stay alive. If they were lucky, they would find something and return, then be able to come back again with the massive combine-Shells to harvest whatever needed harvesting. If they weren't lucky...
Well, they didn't talk about what happened if they weren't lucky, not with outsiders. Sometimes, among themselves, among the ones who didn't need to be told. Often, it was more of a mood than a word, or it was something that slipped out after too many drinks that failed to drown the reality of it. They had their own places, though, and even if they weren't nice places, they were their own. Outsiders weren't welcome. They didn't understand. Either you already knew, or you didn't - it was that simple.
Today, Hiveholm was buzzing with the usual activity. There was a ridge that looked promising, maybe full of mineral deposits, maybe full of something else that might be of use. If nothing else, there was probably stone or chalk, maybe something that could be made into paint or beautiful colors for those who didn't know what it took to bring them back.
In the drop-zone, the Shells were standing by, ant pilots at the ready, preparing themselves to venture into the unknown, Hornets nearby getting ready to escort them and fight against whatever it was they'd encounter out there.
If they were lucky, it would be nothing - but those who knew didn't count on luck.
It was never nothing.
OC: We're going on an adventure, kids! This one's a side story outside the beetle. Do I know what I'm doing? Absolutely not!
It was one that they were all familiar with to some extent, but some were more familiar with it than others. Most of the time, Hiveholm was protection against those tainted by corruption - most of the time, but not always. It had been a bit more than five years since the last breach - some of those who'd been at their Chrystening had grown into their adult lives, others never would.
It was, in short, just another day. Hiveholm moved ever-onward, sending out its worker ants in their protective Shells with their hornet escorts, seeking those deposits of resources that they all needed to stay alive. If they were lucky, they would find something and return, then be able to come back again with the massive combine-Shells to harvest whatever needed harvesting. If they weren't lucky...
Well, they didn't talk about what happened if they weren't lucky, not with outsiders. Sometimes, among themselves, among the ones who didn't need to be told. Often, it was more of a mood than a word, or it was something that slipped out after too many drinks that failed to drown the reality of it. They had their own places, though, and even if they weren't nice places, they were their own. Outsiders weren't welcome. They didn't understand. Either you already knew, or you didn't - it was that simple.
Today, Hiveholm was buzzing with the usual activity. There was a ridge that looked promising, maybe full of mineral deposits, maybe full of something else that might be of use. If nothing else, there was probably stone or chalk, maybe something that could be made into paint or beautiful colors for those who didn't know what it took to bring them back.
In the drop-zone, the Shells were standing by, ant pilots at the ready, preparing themselves to venture into the unknown, Hornets nearby getting ready to escort them and fight against whatever it was they'd encounter out there.
If they were lucky, it would be nothing - but those who knew didn't count on luck.
It was never nothing.
=======
OC: We're going on an adventure, kids! This one's a side story outside the beetle. Do I know what I'm doing? Absolutely not!