They annoyed Modue. He didn't like them coming to his space and using it, even if it was for one night. To use his rooms for rest and hygiene, it was ridiculous. He moaned and groaned from a window on the base floor. There, he noticed something in the distance. It was the three beings that gave him trouble earlier. He silently cursed at them. They gave off an aura of mischief to him. All they brought were problems and he didn't want that. But he had to accommodate them. Tantie Mennin said so.

This wasn't the past. This wasn't the days when beings, lifeforms, organisms, from all over would come to fill his guest house. And others as well. They were splendid to be in, with their wooden bases and exteriors serving as wonderful attractions in of themselves. They were in multiples of colours, and the wood was aged just right; sometimes cedar, other times mahogany, or even something more exotic like neredonen - which declined more graceful. 

But, of course, the chief attraction was the planet. The myriad of vistas available from a world as wondrous as this was breathtaking. And communities like Flagstaff benefitted greatly. Things were going great. The shops, bars, handicraft stalls, among others, were vibrant. Peace and prosperity reigned as if it would never end. But it did. And when it came, it came swift.

The conflict claimed many. Forced conscription took their best and brightest to be fodder where the next day was uncertain. As someone was taken, their future was a mystery. Many times, this was the last they would ever be seen. Other villages on occasion received gifts for their willful service to the cause - an urn. At least they were kind enough to painstakingly craft them based on how many ashes in relation to the size of the martyr, with the handles likened to a galactic championship trophy and coated in paint sourced from the colours of the world. The greenest grass, the most orange, red or blackest leaves, the most sap filled bark, flower petals such as petunias, lilies, tulips and carnations; this all contributed to the making of pastes they took the time to apply. And to finish, They were capped off with a seal or a magnetic lid to keep it well shut. This was an art. Whole communities wept for the young, promising beings that died to save the planet. They were now nothing more than ashes that could be easily taken by the winds if carelessly exposed. 

For Flagstaff, they were fortunate. They had not received one in eighteen years. It would be a record if death was something to celebrate or to keep track of. But the Defence Force was always recruiting...and the War Troupe also. They were eager to throw more bodies in the front lines to be churned to scraps for control of the planet - the sphere that sustains them, the thing hanging in space that gave them a playground for war; to act out their desires to kill and maim each other to the worst.

This instilled much fright into Modue. One day he may be called. He's still youthful... somewhat. But he was equally concerned for Yoskoe, Ragga, Eoli, Zaae, Brashlo and the rest. And he knew they were feeling the same too. 

And what weighed him down to the core was summed into one question, "Who will protect the village?" The war had allowed for roving bandit gangs to spring up. And without the youth, they would be destroyed. They were well beyond scavengers. These groups had mutated beyond mere survival. To steal and kill were their prerogative. They were not for humble or kind...they were ruthless and barbarous. That was the purpose of their teleporting weapons - to catch them off-guard so they could chase them away to survive another day or murder them if necessary. He could only leave his imagination to wander like an aimless lifeform of what would happen without the youths' swift minds and bodies. He shuddered at just a sliver of it. 

They arrived at the entrance, where they came inside, went to their rooms, and slept. He was grateful they were no longer awake. Modue just wanted them to sleep so that their time to leave came with haste. He went to his room, smiling at the thought.