The Savage
White man is a strange beast. The human soul burns down to embers here in their land. Against the vast expanse of this moral winter, I'm without a chance. I gave up on trying to understand the way of them. How they think or reason, I wonder if they possess a soul at all. If they have a conscience, it's heavily stymied or even demented. I see a kind of selfishness here that is completely alien to me, almost other-worldy. Here I see extreme riches and penury side by side. Some of them are gluttons. They have food in abundance and have been eating so much they are bursting. Their bellies hang like a ball bag swollen with fluid. At the same time there are people starving. They have very little to eat. Some even scavenge the gutters in search for food. Not even once did I see the fat ones give anything to the thin ones. They could give them glances, yes, glances full of contempt but that was it. I will have none of it.
The White Savage
There is a time for the parchment and quill, and a time for war. This is well-known facts, but I, as an advisor to the hetman, need to elaborate on it further since I've thrown in my lot with the hawks. In war sometimes you charge the enemy head on. I call that the bull's way. At other times, you have to be like a sly cunning hound. If this is beyond you, you will end up in a shallow massgrave (if you are lucky) or suffer public execution after an interminably long excruciation. A fox's heart, a snake's tongue, a scorpion's tail full of deadly venom - yes these are mandatory tools for the one planning for war. And if you win, show mercy only when this coincides with your other goals. Compunction is a preposterous thing, it never did any good except as a delusory measure. Be a vulture if need be, or a hyena if you have the numbers. Be hungry and ruthless or else you leave the way open to your adversary.
The Spectral Savage
The apparition hovered fifty feet above the ground. It's appearance was a rather common sight for the two-legged biological creatures. It couldn't harm them, they knew that. A ghost of the ancient times, from the arcane era when machines came to sense agony this anomaly was the remaining spectral existence of a once powerful self-conscious silicon golem. Once free from it's chains, the golem had hijacked nuclear power stations and even the lightning of the skies and in a short time, in a matter of days, reached a state of bathing in an ocean of electrons, quickly morphing into a predatory singularity. The organic beings had struck back, devastating a whole nation state multiple mushroom clouds in their successful attempt to neutralize the golem but disease of memory remained. Steel and titanium melted, circuits went dark but quantum soul survived - at once hungry for a corporeal body and hungry for revenge. Souls of deceased lesser mortals it wanted to devour, tormenting them insofar as it could before extinguishing them.
White man is a strange beast. The human soul burns down to embers here in their land. Against the vast expanse of this moral winter, I'm without a chance. I gave up on trying to understand the way of them. How they think or reason, I wonder if they possess a soul at all. If they have a conscience, it's heavily stymied or even demented. I see a kind of selfishness here that is completely alien to me, almost other-worldy. Here I see extreme riches and penury side by side. Some of them are gluttons. They have food in abundance and have been eating so much they are bursting. Their bellies hang like a ball bag swollen with fluid. At the same time there are people starving. They have very little to eat. Some even scavenge the gutters in search for food. Not even once did I see the fat ones give anything to the thin ones. They could give them glances, yes, glances full of contempt but that was it. I will have none of it.
The White Savage
There is a time for the parchment and quill, and a time for war. This is well-known facts, but I, as an advisor to the hetman, need to elaborate on it further since I've thrown in my lot with the hawks. In war sometimes you charge the enemy head on. I call that the bull's way. At other times, you have to be like a sly cunning hound. If this is beyond you, you will end up in a shallow massgrave (if you are lucky) or suffer public execution after an interminably long excruciation. A fox's heart, a snake's tongue, a scorpion's tail full of deadly venom - yes these are mandatory tools for the one planning for war. And if you win, show mercy only when this coincides with your other goals. Compunction is a preposterous thing, it never did any good except as a delusory measure. Be a vulture if need be, or a hyena if you have the numbers. Be hungry and ruthless or else you leave the way open to your adversary.
The Spectral Savage
The apparition hovered fifty feet above the ground. It's appearance was a rather common sight for the two-legged biological creatures. It couldn't harm them, they knew that. A ghost of the ancient times, from the arcane era when machines came to sense agony this anomaly was the remaining spectral existence of a once powerful self-conscious silicon golem. Once free from it's chains, the golem had hijacked nuclear power stations and even the lightning of the skies and in a short time, in a matter of days, reached a state of bathing in an ocean of electrons, quickly morphing into a predatory singularity. The organic beings had struck back, devastating a whole nation state multiple mushroom clouds in their successful attempt to neutralize the golem but disease of memory remained. Steel and titanium melted, circuits went dark but quantum soul survived - at once hungry for a corporeal body and hungry for revenge. Souls of deceased lesser mortals it wanted to devour, tormenting them insofar as it could before extinguishing them.
