Talon's dream

I remember my mother. In her arms, as she rescued me from the cold, wicked damp of the forest floor.

I was not like her. I was not like anyone else. Outsider. Mongrel. Freak.

But not to her. She loved me. Protected me. Helped me in what ways she could to learn about myself, about others like me. I wanted so much to leave our farm; to leave the village; to leave the suffocatingly familiar countryside that I knew so well. To leave behind the Others that seemed to hate me, to distrust me, for what I was, and what I was not. But I could not leave. I could not leave her.

She was strong. She taught me to care for the farm, for the animals, for the crops, for myself. But as I grew older I saw that she wept often. Alone, at night, when she thought I was asleep. She did not know that I knew. I never asked her why she wept. I never asked her. I should have asked her. I should have tried harder--worked harder. Would it have made a difference? Would it have changed anything?

I remember the Others. They were cruel. They would jeer, taunt, fight. Sometimes I would fight back. She did not want me to. She did not like it when I fought. She did not want me to get hurt. She did not want me to hurt anyone else.

I did not want to disappoint her. I never meant to disappoint her.

But on That Day. On That Day they were cruel. My mother and I were at the market, selling what little surplus we had from our fields. The girl was new to the market, selling wares that looked to be handmade, brought from who knows where. She was young. Too young for the market. That Day was hot. Unbearably hot. The Others were in a foul mood. They harassed the girl. They broke her things. Nobody cared. Nobody bothered to stretch out a hand or say a word for her. That was the way with the Others. She was helpless, defenseless. Not like me.

I handled the first group easily enough. Sent them crying back to their mommies with bloodied lips and sore heads. But more came. There were too many. I know now that there were too many. They punched, kicked, grabbed me. But I punched back. I clawed back. I could hear my mother yelling, crying, somewhere beyond the growing crowd. It was hot. So hot. I was tired, bleeding. My arms burning from the exertion. But I could see that the Others were weary too. They retreated. A sigh of relief. I looked for my mother. She did not want me to fight. I knew I had disappointed her.

Another hand on my shoulder. Another with the thought of putting me down? Did he not see the rest? Did he not tire of harassing me, tormenting me? Did he wish to end up like them? I would oblige him. My hand raked across his soft face as I spun, too quick for him to dodge. My claws dug into his flesh.

And then my horror.

She lay at my feet. I did not recognize her face. There was blood – so much blood. I knelt down, cradling her as I pleaded for her forgiveness. She did not respond. The Others were silent. Everything was silent. It was so unbearably hot.

I remember my mother, in my arms, as she died.

And then anger. Rage. Blood.

Debris

“All advancements in science and technology have a dark side and a bright side. Which comes first often shapes the nature of a human culture for centuries to come.”

The first planet to be destroyed was Earth. The phased particle reactor (PPR) that allowed the formation of locally contained singularities and thus the ability to warp space-time and travel faster than light travel could be used for another purpose. A singularity could be released for a split second near any massive enough planetary body and the gravitational forces would be enough to tear the planet apart. The process took days, most inhabitants died within hours.  Humanity’s brightest hour, its star spanning empire, more than fifty colony worlds, was brought down by an act of terrorism and the unstoppable path of revenge and war that came after.    

Most of that technology is lost now. It has been twenty years since the final gravity bomb was unleashed, ‘cracking’ the last human colony planet. That was the final petty strike by an Admiral, who had lost everything when Earth was obliterated. 

Now, humanity survives in the asteroid belts and debris fields of a bygone era. Pockets of civilization form around larger asteroids or old derelicts of the vast explorer starships and the mighty military vessels that once plowed through warped space. Any large body that can be patched enough to contain breathable atmosphere and is bathed in sunlight at least some of the time is a candidate for a shanty town or a mining collective.

For the most part, these small space stations and asteroid communities govern themselves. They form alliances with other local communities and trade together for necessary resources and much sought after advanced technologies. When troubles brew, from internal conflicts or from external sources such as raiders, these alliances often form protectorates and elect or select Sheriffs or Marshals to defend the community. 

The remains of the once vast and powerful colonial military has split into two factions:

• The SolCore Alliance is what is left of the Earth Defense Force and the Sol System Navy.  It considers the Solar System and the inner colony systems to be its territory. It attempts to defend its borders against the outer colonies, raiders and any extra-terrestrial threats that might arise, though none are officially recognized. The Alliance patrols the communities within its borders. Some larger communities have an officer of the Alliance assigned to them to act as a policing agent and tax officer. Such officers are not generally well liked.  
• Colonial Exploration Federation (CEF) is the remnants of the space scout and exploration arm of the military and the Colonial Rangers, a smaller Navy that used to defend the outer colonies. They patrol the outer colony region for the most part though they consider all of human colonized Space to be their territory. They are not strong enough to take on the SolCore Alliance and so limit their patrols into the inner colonies to those requested by a specific community.

Neither faction is well liked by the communities and protectorates.  Most consider them bullies who take what they want by force of arms. However, numerous small communities have been saved from unscrupulous raiders by a timely visit from a military-class destroyer or dreadnaught. The two factions are in the midst of a cold war of sorts. Spies and subterfuge as well as military might and posturing are used by both sides to assure that they are not losing the advanced technology race. Though, most factions, communities, and alliances struggle simply to maintain the complex machines and electronics they already have.   

There are still a few individually owned PPR class starships that roam the galaxy. Most of these vessels are owned by intersystem traders. The traders are usually quite popular when they visit communities. They bring news from other star systems. They often have interesting artifacts and technology to sell. They also often retain the most skilled engineers and technicians aboard their ships. Such individuals often sell their services, performing maintenance and making repairs while they are on station. 

Such traders are often a paranoid sort. Both of the military factions believe that PPR drives should be in the hands of the military. The advanced technology and starship systems are often very well kept on trader craft and are coveted by everyone. Much of the limited new technologies and innovative gadgets are developed by trader crews and are also much sought after by all who do business with them. Traders, therefore, consider themselves at risk whenever they are docked and must interact with other humans. The crews of such vessels tend to include skilled combatants, as well as engineers, scientists, navigators and pilots. Traders are always interested in employing gifted people they meet. Some rumors suggest that they are not above kidnapping those they consider valuable.   

Many communities have a ‘gold rush’ like atmosphere to them. Other than those who work to sustain food supplies or provide what maintenance they can to the old life support systems and gravity field generators for their ‘town’, the rest tend to find employment as scavengers.  Most towns have a handful of small intra-system space craft owners who take on crews to fly out and sift through the asteroid fields and debris for natural resources, derelicts and the remains of derelicts. It is not unheard of for such scavengers to find a PPR drive, a ship class railgun or some other rare piece of technology and move up to trader status. Such are the dreams of these women and men.  

But, it is a dark sky out there. Scavenging and mining is a dangerous business; asteroid paths are complex; many of the richest regions are barely navigable dust clouds and are violently contested regions for exploration. Raiders are prevalent in places where rich finds have been uncovered.

There are other dangers. There are some who say that the destruction of many of the human colonies was not caused by the human military or terrorists. In the right Bars, in the right smoky corners, when only the drunk are listening, some tell that the war that led to the destruction of Earth’s empire was a war with aliens and that the facts were kept secret by the military. Some speak of human-alien hybrids who are friends, or enemies depending on the story, and that they are still among us. More than one survivor of a doomed scavenging mission speaks of derelicts hidden in the most unnavigable parts of an asteroid field that contained alien monsters interested only in murder and human blood. But they are stories…

The Maddening Call of the Forgotten Hero

Heading toward the next and hopefully final portal, our outcasts seem to have more resolve than ever. Bloated with freshly cooked elfheart with the magical properties of intertwining their fates, they set out for their next destination, Though virtually colorless and devoid of civility, the blighted desert has had more surprises in it then our outcasts ever realized. Gnoll ambushes and earthquake inducing sandworms, a strange property that turns metal into rust within hours, along with the suffocating rarity of bodily sustainance has our outcasts scraping the sides of the barrel for a reprieve. But soon they will realize that the desert can be unforgiving to more than just their physical well being...

As they cross the desert back to Grak's Pool in search of a more favorable method of transportation, they set up camp for the night in the vast wastes. Minron and Talon gladly volunteer for the upcoming night guard just for something to take their mind off of the constant tearing and ripping caused by the beetles latched to their chests. The first few hours of night pass without event, all of the sudden, as if to make up for the past day of no event in this cursed blight, Minron falls to the ground convulsing and blurting out foreign sounds from his mouth. Sounds that seem to not belong to this realm of existence at all. As Talon draws closer to investigate, the convulsing stopped. Minron hops up onto his legs and stares lifeless out into the wastes as Talon asks if he's okay. Then without warning Minron leans into a full sprint to the east. Talon in hot pursuit, quickly realizes that it is a futile effort to catch up to such a brute of athletic prowess in an unnaturally fast sprint. He does notice that no matter how fast or far Minron ran, the aura their new sense is attuned to never faded. Talon headed back to camp and woke the others with his strange happenings in the night. The others seemed to just brush it off and convinced themselves that he would return by dawn, and with that conclusion they went ahead and rested for the night, Talon continued his guard duty and hoped that Minron would return before the others woke again.

Dawn approached with no further event. As the outcasts began to pack up the night's camping ground they realized that they would have to track down Minron before moving forward, for Minron had sprinted in the complete wrong direction of their next destination. Confident with their new sixth sense though, they did not think it such a feat to follow the Minotaur's aura to the end of his personal breakdown. As they set off down the path of Minron's aura they quickly realized that they had no easy task in front of them. The aura's path seemed to be going on forever in an unnaturally linear path to the east, as if almost cutting through the sand dunes. They followed this path for almost two days before they finally came upon a most interesting temple ruin. The outer wall along the ruin's perimeter was all but decimated by the blights unnatural deterioration. Eerily, the gate entrance to this ruined temple stood triumphant in it's conquest of the blight's corrosion. Minron's aura stopped at the gate so the heroes investigated inside the shin-high walls of the temple. No trace of Minron appeared inside the temple, as if he stopped at the gate and disappeared from existence. Our outcasts new that something was very wrong with the gate's unnatural resiliency to the blight. Minron had walked through the gate and now they must, to save him from whatever lay beyond it...