We The Natives

[Halinder]

((This story is based off an alien species that already exists in an old game known as Space Station 13. The wiki page regarding the species (with some game mechanics involved) is seen here:http://baystation12.net/wiki/index.php/Dionaea

We couldn't have known they were the conquerors, the same way that we couldn't have known they could not be helped, or befriended. They did not like the way our children burrowed into their metal cases, nor how blood was stolen neatly and quickly -- they called this invasive, whilst we called it feeding. They disliked the way we did not allow them to turn our lights off when they slept -- it bothered their rest, but darkness threatened our survival.

There were many things we could never have known, but we tried, unlike the three ones they called Human who fell from the Grand Void into our body. Their metal churned our young, but more could be made, and the biomass easily seeded once more. It was not our belongings for which we worried, but for theirs, and for their safety. We knew not of how they lived, for they had the flesh of the Woolen yet minds which struggled to make themselves individual. It seems the shock of discovering us, a species unlike they had seen before, drove them mad with worry, with concern and uncertainty, feelings we discovered plagued their existence with hateful actions they would soon bring upon us.

We were The Scintillating Stars, a single Diona among the others. Unlike most of our brethren gestalts, we misjudged our orbit, joining with a planet most unfortunate to thrive upon. The ground scorched us, animals fed from us in clusters, and bolts from the sky charred the newly joined -- but we lived. From what pockets of fertile land there were, we grew on the surface, and soon adults such as I began to branch off once more to expand the community, a rare occasion fit for our rare circumstance. Benevolence drove us further into hiding, for those humans which we helped soon came in far greater numbers from above. For days they tore into our carefully laid home, claiming it as theirs and that we were inferior 'heathens', a concept of theirs we later knew to be racism. Many of the adults, my kindred, died not in a battle against the humans, but calmly nurturing the gestalt in blind attempts to continue its repair.

We were the few who escaped into the arid lands beyond. Confusion swept our minds -- betrayal? Greed? Our kindred slaughtered for little more than pointless hatred from a species too stubborn for sharing, too prideful to give mere aliens even a chance. Were we to take revenge, or were we to grow in silence in a land that would surely kill our kind?

(Yup. I know it's choppy. Sort of tossing ideas around, not sure if I want to write a full story for this or not, and the style for the species is somewhat difficult to get used to.)

[Bruvvy]

That was pretty awesome