"Tale of a Farmer Snail"
Sitting in orbit above an enemy planet, a fleet bearing the flag of the Farmer Snail Confederacy orbited the last stronghold of their enemies who were united against them. Commanding this atrocious offensive was Admiral Widdig, a small, green, snail-like being stationed on the dimly lit bridge of his vessel, squishing his face on the reinforced glass, looking down on the beautiful that he was about to set ablaze. Dubbed "The Destroyer" by his people's enemies, Widdig took an outdated, underpowered, and vastly outnumbered fleet, and molded it into the finest navy the galaxy had ever seen, but he felt no pride in such honors and titles. He, like all his fellows within the Confederacy, longed for nothing more than a peaceful life tilling soil and tending crops, yet it seemed that even in a galaxy full of limitless possibilities, the Gaia world of Agrol, their home, would be just another victim of the endless wars that plagued it. It did not have to come to this, the agrarian snails were creators, not destroyers, but here he was, in a Titan-class warship, the largest vessel ever constructed, the most destructive the galaxy had ever witnessed, forced to level an entire world.
The disheartened molluscoid reminisced of simpler times for the galaxy, time when the only vessels sent off deep into foreign territory were transports and other cargo ships, where his people's only goal was to deliver food and other agricultural products to their neighbors in an effort, now wasted, to promote cooperation, peace, and future diplomacy. He remembered the praise his people received when unloading the first containers of food onto worlds suffering famine for one reason or another. He remembered easing the border wars and rising tensions when his people were called on to serve as diplomats and mediators. He remembered when the wider galactic community came together for the first time to establish a senate and council so that the galaxy could steer clear of war and cooperate through trade, strength ties of friendship, and unite the galaxy in a common cause for a better future, but it was not meant to be…
The first acts came through, and in place of disarmament, there was a push to expand military production, a passed law to which the Farmer Snail Confederacy was quick to ignore, believing themselves above the needless bloodshed. Then came the sanctions, which hurt the confederacy every passing day, but they endured, believing that one day their ideas would be heard. Then came the industrialization acts, to which the agrarian civilization boldly opposed in the face of overwhelming support for the bill, yet no matter how loud they made themselves, the Farmer Snails' words were swept aside for the sake of minor profits. They were alone, their voice was no better than shouting into the empty void between stars.
As a helmsman informed Widdig of the fleet's being moved into position within the hour, he nuzzled the glass separating himself from the cold vacuum outside. They were supposed to be better than this, the Confederacy was supposed to be a shining beacon of hope for the galaxy stating that peace was an option, but now they were nothing more than another victim of the endless cycles of war.
Widdig was responsible for millions of deaths, a weight that kept him up every night, a weight that made him question his worth even if his actions were justified, but now, looking down on a planet with millions of mothers, fathers, and young, the saddened molluscoid felt their terrified, burning gazes all staring up at him and his fleet, pleading with him for mercy, but alas, like his people who had been dragged into this war, he had no choice.
The Farmer Snail Confederacy, in spite of its greatest sacrifices to endure the economic, political, and military restrictions placed upon them, had been broken, brought down from the towering pedestal they sought to maintain. Eventually, the punishments put in place by the galactic senate had been too much for the agrarian society to bare, so, with heads hung low, shamed by the community, and even abandoned by their former friends-turned-foes, they were forced to leave the community, forever alone and isolated within their own space.
Widdig wondered if things had gone different, if perhaps their voice, no matter how small, was listened to, if they perhaps could have convinced their former friends and others to support them, then things could be different. However, there was no changing the past as far as he knew.
Even after being exiled from the community, the Farmer Snails sought the brighter side of their exile and began to rebuild and grow, but their neighbors and former friends saw an opportunity when the Confederacy was denounced by the Galactic Council. A coalition had formed to cut up Farmer Snail space, to claim and conquer the dozens of habitats, relic worlds, and of course the Gaia world of Agrol, the crown jewel of the Farmer Snail Confederacy. The small and outdated defense platforms were wiped away, barely able hold off the greedy invaders as the home fleet began its rapid mobilization, the border systems were swiftly conquered one after another without any hope of stopping the coalition that sought to destroy them, but Widdig, commanding a handful of small and outdated corvettes, was given the order to go against his peoples' nature and fight back.
For months, Widdig raided and reclaimed lost outposts, he had distracted the enemy armada just long enough for the Confederacy's main fleet to be built and even then, they were forced on the run for many more months after, but slowly, the mulluscoids chipped away at their enemy before delivering a decisive blow in orbit around Agrol itself.
Millions had died in this needless conflict, maybe millions more for those left uncounted. Whole worlds were left in ruin and nearly depopulated, systems thriving with mining and energy harvesting were now left barren, and now Widdig and his people were looked upon as monsters for merely defying the invaders at their doorstep.
When he was told that his fleet was ready, he hesitated for a brief moment, silently hoping, praying, that someone from Agrol's ruling council would send a message that the war was over, that he and those under his command could finally go home and celebrate, but just as his peoples worries in the galactic senate, they fell upon deaf ears. He had hoped that someone, anyone, around him would tell him to stop, to tell him that this was not their way, but his hope was left unanswered. Unable to afford anymore time, Widdig, dubbed 'The Destroyer' by his enemies, gave the order to proceed. As the first bombs fell, he looked away in shame from the world that started to burn and let out a single tear that trickled to the cold, durasteel floor.
I hope you've enjoyed this small snip at a game I had some time ago!
~Firetoast312