Posts: 6,139
Threads: 310
Joined: Aug 2007
Staff roles: Story Dev Economy Dev
[font=Courier New]Another beautiful day was dawning on Planet Gaia. Everything was stunningly beautiful on Gaia, from the showers of rain to the setting sun and the lush and verdant jungles and forests. Each of the creatures that lived there occupied a perfect niche, balancing the fragilely perfect ecosystem. Many of these creatures were now basking in the new day's warmth, the sun edging over the horizon to smile on the land beyond. Gold and crimson godrays danced between the trees and over the land, glittering off the morning dew. Birds, and Gaia's giant singing insects began to stir, lending their dawn chorus to the awakening world.
Then there was a jarring, incongruous, artificial sound. It was a boom, followed by the shriek of descending engines. A fiery comet came plunging down from the heavens. Flocks of birds took flight in panic, and troops of monkey-like mammals screamed at the sky in confusion. As the ship slowed, the flames winked out of existence. A combat variant Clydesdale, blacked out with sensor dampeners dropped further and further down, a fact that would have interested many a casual observer. A ghost ship. Unfortunately, our hypothetical observer did not exist, leaving the pseudo-monkeys to puzzle out the appearance of this new sky-chariot on their own.
Roughly one story up, it levelled out over a small lake, and the bay doors whispered open. There it hung for a moment, as a heated argument took place inside. A short moment later, there was a sharp flash, and a small, hairy man was bundled out the door. He dropped like a stone, arms pin-wheeling. If the ghost-ship's crew heard him scream, 'I can't swim!' on the way down, they made no sign of showing it. The man hit the water with an almighty splash, then sunk like a sack of potatoes. The ship watched for a moment more, then angled up towards whence it had come, and vanished.
A great length of time later, this encounter would be responsible for inspiring the formation of a civilisation and rudimentary religion among a specie of moderately intelligent molluscs that lived on the lake's shore. Their doctrine mostly consisted of waiting for the One God to descend upon them once more, and throwing other molluscs that disagreed with them into lakes. In retrospect, it was quite similar to many human religions. Ironically, the entire lot were wiped out when another ship crashed on them 10 years later. A statement on whether it took them to mollusc Valhalla was not forthcoming.
Posts: 6,139
Threads: 310
Joined: Aug 2007
Staff roles: Story Dev Economy Dev
[font=Courier New]The trees clustered tight around the pool, leaning in over the water. Creepers hung from some of their branches, trailing their tips in the crystal clear water. A small stream trickled over the lip of the rock face the little lake bordered, tumbling down as a miniature waterfall. Save for the stream's disturbance, the water was still now. Flailing at the very bottom of the pool, a small black smudge could just about be seen; the occasional bubble lazily floated up from it to languidly pop on the surface. A short distance above, the pseudo-monkeys leaped from tree to tree around the pond's perimeter.
The shape burst gagging and retching from the pool, having clawed along the bottom to the bank. It wore an extremely sodden BAF jumpsuit, with a face that was almost entirely concealed by a crop of matted hair and a huge bushy beard. Thick black hair even adorned the backs of its hands. It coughed again, bringing up more water, then collapsed on a warm rock it'd scrabbled onto. Here it stayed for several hours, mostly unconscious, until one of the monkeys decided to see what all the fuss was about and hopped onto the colourful newcomer's chest.
The shape voided a small scream and punched it off. The creature took off shrieking, a refrain its fellows soon adopted in sympathy. Groggily, amid the occasional shower of flung faeces, the shape sat up and looked about. 'Bollocks to ye all,' it muttered to itself despondently. Sir Marcus Aquinas and the bloody RSPCA were the bain of his life ' shortly after the snot-faced little weasel had outlawed 'anthomorphs', a team of steroid pumped BIS goons had kicked down the door to his hotbunk on the Derby, and pulled him out. Several hours sat in a cage later, he'd been hit with a stun-baton and tossed out of an airlock into a lake. Not the best of days.
A particularly wet lump of dung splattered off his shoulder as he sat wringing his hands on the shore, darkly contemplating what he would do to the right honourable MP when he got his hands on him. Probably something involving breeding hormones, a colony of rabbits and a pair of handcuffs. However, before he could do that he'd have to find out where he was, and where the closest spaceport was. Resigned to a long walk, he slowly stood, hacking and coughing like an asthmatic in the process. There had to be people somewhere. Slowly, he set off into the undergrowth, leaving the primates to triumphantly heckle his retreat.