Sunday, May 8, 2016
From his high vantage, Albin Darkweir looked down upon a moonlit cityscape, the city of Mistvale, his city. Snow had fallen two days before and since then the skies had been clear and the air clean and crisp. Streets, muddy from day time use and frozen over with a shiny crust, formed an intricate and dark maze between moonlight lit snow encrusted rooftops. The inhabitants celebrate the beginning of the storm season at this time of year, the season of mist, the season of darkness and secrets. This was the last night of the three day festival. This was a night of overindulgence before a coming time of belt tightening until the spring. In years past, Albin would have visited many parties on this night. He was getting old.
A small campfire behind his back kept him warm. The loud pops and crackles of the damp wood were an audible random counterpoint to the regular, crash of distant ocean waves from the rocky coastline below. Their violence and regularity suggested another winter storm would arrive before the sun rose. Albin took up a leather wine bag and poured himself a cup, another cup, into an old weathered travel mug.
"You are leaving then." Albin turned at the sound of the young man's voice. He was not surprised, though he should have been. The soldier, a member of the Midion Guard, had quietly made himself a place beside the campfire, warming his hands against the cold.
"I am old, and the city has changed." Albin looked down at his hands, the old cup held within them. His hands were weathered too, scars and wrinkles recording a secret history.
"Not so much, I think." said the soldier.
"It has seen peace for ten years. I disapprove of those who rule but they have allied themselves well with their neighbors. The city prospers. ...and if they knew of me, they would disapprove of me as well." Albin sighed.
"They speak of you, you know..."
"The Council?"
"No, who cares about them. The townsfolk, your people. They tuck their younger children in bed voicing your myth like a protective charm." The young soldier chuckled. "... and then turn to their older children and threaten them with you should they stray from a righteous path."
"Fools..."
"You don't mean that."
Albin sighed again, his face drawn, "no, I don't." He took a long gulp of his wine.
The soldier smiled. His smile was sad and old. It didn't fit on his youthful face.
"You think I should stay."
"I think you should ask your friends before you consider leaving without saying goodbye."
"My friends are dead."
"Not all of them, not yet."
Albin looked behind him, beyond the soldier. From this angle, the Mistvale View Inn looked like an old fort. The moon was setting behind it creating a jagged silhouette. The dark shadow of the inn was illuminated within by squares of light where warm torchlight and the flicker of fireplaces escaped around thick winter curtains. A heaviness on his heart lifted a little at the sight of it. It was home, had been, though he'd never slept there. He turned from the sight, glancing back across the city.
"We had a falling out."
"I know. He doesn't blame you for her death and it was a long time ago."
"All true, but I blame myself. Changes nothing."
"It should mean something." The soldier shuffled around the fire a little, moving closer. "Can I have some of that?"
"I don't know, can you?" Albin looked at the soldier with a peculiar grin, almost a grimace, as he fished around in his bag for another cup. He filled it with wine and set it by the soldier. The soldier took the cup and drank it down in one long gulp. He carefully put the cup back down on the ground.
"Thanks, I think should move on then. Other parties to visit." The soldier stood. "Thank you for sharing your fire."
Albin nodded. He watched the soldier leave the light of his fire and disappear into the shadows of the cold night.
Albin cursed and stood up shaking off icy stiffened limbs. Self doubt was not an emotion he was used too. He put the remains of his wine and his cups back in his bag. He grimaced again as he spilled wine on himself as he cleaned up. He put knives in sheathes, picked up his bag and shoved a compact crossbow in the harness on his back last before kicking dirt and snow onto his campfire. The flames extinguished with a hiss of steam and a billow of dark smoke. He strolled back toward the main trade road distancing himself from a last look at the city of Mistvale.
"Damn," he swore at himself. Albin stopped mid stride. He looked back once and then he turned on the old stone path. He could not see the city from where he stood, but the light of torches, parties, civilization made the mist settling on the city glow with festive light. Closer by, the front doors of the Mistvale View Inn were wide open. Light poured out from within along with sounds of minstrels playing, and raucous laughter and song. The party was in full swing, but even now more partygoers from the city were arriving.
"I hate crowds," Albin muttered to himself as he walked slowly back toward the Inn and nearer to the city. As his decision settled within him, his pace increased. He did not make for the main entrance. He slipped into the courtyard and entered the building through the old side door. Rich Ardanain oak paneling gave even the unheated corridor a warming appearance. It was relatively quiet out here though he could still hear the excited banter from the common room. He turned away from the noise and headed up the stairs.
"I'm not leaving."
"I didn't realize you were still here, it's been five years. You were missed."
"Really...."
"No, not really, your presence was always felt." Gareth, politician, mercenary, trader and thief, in other words, innkeeper and owner of the Mistvale View grinned.
"Where've you been?"
"In the shadows, where I belong. Mistvale doesn't need that anymore. I'm too old. Holy Ebrus, I've said that too many times tonight."
"Have a drink, and tell me why you are here."
Albin took a glass from Gareth, "two reasons: you're owed an apology; and Tyro visited me tonight."
"But Tyro's dead"
"A long time, a long time....," Albin shuddered finally, as if he'd been waiting to take a breath.
"...and that's why I'm not leaving. Damn, it's good to be talking with you again. Now, let's get down to business."
...and in the common room below, the inhabitants of the city of Mistvale celebrated the coming of a new year.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Character Setup. O:ND
Operation RAPIER
As you start to come around on the 'Unwarranted Risk' your near term memory starts to return and you remember the past few days and the past few weeks with more clarity.
5 weeks ago:
You were approached by General Jason Atreides and Admiral Rom Sandecker to perform an operation of upmost secrecy. They needed a military trained team who no longer had official ties to the Confederation military infrastructure. You were asked to do two things:
1. Extract Guyan Tetsuyama from a military outpost in the Pegasus Sector. You were told Guyan was investigating a series of disturbing events that suggested a group within the Confederation with a more totalitarian agenda was planning an extreme and aggressive takeover of confederation space and the confederation government. Guyan's activities had uncovered compelling evidence and then communications with her had been cutoff.
2. Test the newest vessel in the Confed fleet. The 'Unwarranted Risk' has interleaving singularity drives which has the potential to change the way faster than light travel is undertaken. It also has an Epsilon class AI, a brand new class of computer system. More important though, the vessel had been in space dock at a research facility orbiting Agravain Prime and was less likely to have been tampered with by extremists.
You and your team agreed.
4 weeks ago:
Having located Guyan through her cyberlink you pull her off planet just as the extremists close in. To your shock and horror, as you make your escape from the planet's surface, the planet's biosphere is obliterated by some kind of biogenic weapon. Returning to the 'Unwarranted Risk' via a suborbital spacecraft, you find yourselves in a space battle with a fleet of Confederation frigates apparently under the control of the extremists. You are heavily outgunned and in the midst of heavy combat you realize that your AI, 'Tatanya,' is working against you and not with you. Benjamin manages to take the AI off line before it destroys the ship. Nonetheless, as your vessel gets battered you abandon ship via escape pods. Soon after, the fleet leaves.
With nowhere else to go you make your way back to the 'Risk' and discover it is in a really bad way. You have no choice but to initiate an encrypted distress signal and put yourselves into cryogenic stasis.
1.5 weeks ago:
You wake up in a pristine medical facility on the other side of The Gulf. You learn that you are on an asteroid called Ancyra that orbits the planet 'Near Dark.' You are informed that the vessel that rescued you surveyed seven sectors (a big chunk of space) on the Confederation side of the Gulf and discovered that all of the planets had been artificially made incapable of sustaining life. They returned after a close call with an aggressive starship that identified itself as confederation.
You are given access to a comfortable suite of rooms. You have access to the local computer systems for news and entertainment. You are told that you are under quarantine until your medical results check out (obvious concern that you are carrying some sort of plague.)
2 days ago:
You are told that your ship just blew its way out of the hangar in which it was stored after the AI was brought back on line. You meet Commander Jana Layton of the Near Dark local defense force (not Confederation and for those who have been checking the news, there is some tension between the two groups.)
She informs you that a suborbital shuttle left your ship and landed, probably crashed because of atmospheric conditions, after it escaped the hangar. The 'Unwarranted Risk' is now in orbit and it has been decided that it should be left alone for the time being as its singularity drive is heavily damaged and it won't be leaving.
She offers you a job. She tells you that she is forming a special forces and policing group called RAPIER that she wants you to be a part of it. She says you are perfect as you all have military training but you don't have ties to the local confederation military (sounds familiar.)
She offers to fund you and repair your ship once you investigate the causes of its peculiar behavior. You agree. (We can discuss what additional negotiations you may have made with her.)
Minutes ago:
You wake up onboard the 'Risk.' After a few moments of feeling a little disoriented and confused you remember that Layton has put you onto a virtual copy of the ship at a time just before they turned the AI on. The hope is that you can discover something about the goals of the AI, Tatanya.
Welcome to Outlands: Near Dark.
Friday, November 9, 2012
Outlands: Near Dark
"We're all alone out here..."
Introduction
Pegasus had once been a spectacular space port parked on the edge of Confederation space. Scientists and tourists alike had come to the station to look out upon the yawning gulf that separated human explored space from the rest of the galaxy. Smugglers and traders, merchants and thieves had used and abused the facility to turn a tidy profit far from the caring eyes of Confederation government. That had all been before the incident.
Pegasus still looks out across that empty expanse of space, but now from the other side. It's a husk now, most of its former glory stripped, salvaged and reused. The lights still flicker though, powered by an old backup fusion cell refusing to die. Nobody lives there anymore, though scavengers claim the old place is haunted by an old black panther.
The storytellers and rumormongers claim that the space station travelled here through some intervention with an ancient civilization. The engineers claim that the dual singularities that powered the space station were reconfigured to 'interleave' allowing for a highly accurate long distance singularity shot. Of course, those same engineers were never able to repeat the process.
The Near Dark Sector is rich in resources and for a number of years, starships from the Confederation commonly took the risk to navigate the Gulf for the potential of huge profits. Numerous vessels were lost in those years and the number of traders willing to make the challenging crossing dwindled significantly as time went on. The last vessel to make the crossing from the confederation side did so just under five years ago.
Six months ago, the local sector government sent an Outrider mission supported by the Elite Corp across the Gulf to reinitiate contact and gather up to date Confederation news. The vessel, 'Compelled Silence' returned three weeks ago. The government has made no official comment about the outcome of the mission. Limited leaks from internal sources suggest that some kind of disaster has occurred in the sectors closest to the gulf on the other side. Other persisting rumors suggest: the confederation has cut all ties to the Near Dark Sector for some political reason; virulent plague has wiped out numerous colonies near to the gulf on the other side; and the 'Compelled Silence' barely escaped a local inter sector civil war.
Near Dark Prime and The Spike
Near Dark Prime is the only planet in the 'zone of life' of an angry red giant that bombards the system with deadly radiation. 90% cloud cover and an unusually active ionosphere protect the planet's surface from the worst of the radiation. These same atmospheric conditions make surface to orbit communications unreliable and ground to space transport hazardous. Due to the extraordinary abundance of natural resources on the planet, a Hi-Liner consortium expended much of their influence in the early days of the colony in the building of a space elevator known to locals as the Spike.
The Spike rises 47,300km from the planet's surface and transports goods and equipment from orbit to the planet and back continuously. The haulage of products and hardware takes roughly eight days one-way, non-stop, on the elevator. Public transport is significantly faster. The management and balance of the Spike is controlled by an AI named Lucy, an advanced prototype developed by Dr. Turing Isaacs, and named after his deceased daughter.
At the base of the Spike, an urban sprawl has grown out from the industrial complexes and construction yards that feed most of the economy of the planet. Luxury apartments and shiny corporate headquarters tower over street markets, neon lit bars and garbage filled side alleys. All kinds of organized 'trade' has developed in the shadow of the Spike.
Beyond the urban grey is a rural grey. It rains in the equatorial belt where the Spike makes ground-fall almost all the time, but beyond that 200km belt the planet is arid and regularly bombarded by powerful electrical storms. Out in the storm-wracked countryside, corporate prospectors lead teams protected by Mech combat squads, out to resource sites to mine and farm for profit. There is a corporate war going on across the planet that local government seems to be trying hard not to recognize officially.
In orbit, just beyond the radius of natural geo-stationary stability is the Spike's anchor, an asteroid called 'Ancyra'. Ancyra is home to the system's space port and the Sector government. It is a modern facility, clean and spacious, large sections of which rotate to provide comfortable gravity.
The only other significant feature in this system is a dense asteroid belt, once again rich in resources but difficult to navigate. The belt seems to have been formed by the collapse or destruction of another planet that had once been in orbit in the system several thousand years ago.
Recent news: (Arata News Service)
Dr. Turing Isaacs, in a court session today, said he was disappointed by the shortsighted views of the Confederation legal system that could not see the similarities between the Artificial Life Restrictions Act and slavery. He said he would be returning to make further arguments and that his organization, 'The Digital Freedom Frontier' was gaining popular support in the system....
'Compelled Silence' is rumored to have been put in strict quarantine since its return from its trip across the Gulf. If true this would be a new twist in the saga and claims of conspiracy are growing more prominent even amongst internal sources in the government....
The Satoshi Corporation and the private defense firm, Plain Grey, reported that the explosions that were seen at the northern industrial plant were caused by an industrial accident and not a military action as was previously reported. However, undisclosed observers claim to have seen combat mechs in the vicinity around the time of the incident...
Enkidu Takayuri was in the public eye again today. The North Quarter Paramilitary is holding him without charge for questioning in regards to the killing of 6 Black Glass gang members last month. Takayuri's lawyer reported that his client was cooperating with the NQP in every way....
Roughneck mining ship, Old Faithful, reported finding what the crew described as 'unusual artifacts' in a dense portion of the asteroid belt today. The artifacts were handed over to Confed officials for a 'reasonable' recovery fee. The captain of the ship claimed they were exploring a portion of the asteroid belt most recently visited by 'Silent Shout' an Outrider vessel that departed back across the gulf about ten years ago. Confederation officials have made no comments.
Other systems in the Sector (to be fleshed out later)
Taltos
Cameran
Weaver
The Setting goal is to combine elements from:
Alien/Aliens; Firefly; Mad Max / Road Warrior; Bladerunner; The 5th Element; Ghost in the Shell; X-Com; Battlestar Galactica; Mechwarrior/Heavy Gear
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Thieves
Kuohka and Brakus drunken squabbling finally faded into an occasional snore as they drifted into an exhausted and intoxicated sleep. The north wind had settled too, into a gentle breeze that whistled intermittently through the eves of the inn and sent the wrought iron sign outside the front door swinging and creaking a little as it moved.
Daram tried to sleep, but even after a few cups of wine, his overactive mind would not settle into restfulness. In the room across from his, E'llarn listened to his sister move about the building, tidying and preparing for business the next day. The quiet, insistent tap of her walking stick, almost enough to lull him into slumber.
Brin, tired and not a little tipsy made her way through the kitchen and up the stairs in the back of the inn to her room, not a secret passage per se, just not well known. It allowed her to move a little more quickly through her home. Her room was about twice the size of the rented accommodations in the inn. It doubled as her office. She spent most of her time either here or down in the bar. Local pinewood furnishings gave the room a light and airy feel. Two oil lamps produced a glow that gave the room a noticeable warmth.She settled back in a soft leather upholstered chair, another local product. The cows were farmed in the south, outside Cumbra, a few of them were marched up here every few months. The local butchers, inns and craftsmen made the most of them.
The most business like object in her room was a forged iron box, her lock box. It was black and ugly. She opened the heavy hinged door on the box and checked its contents. Her legal papers and the inns earnings were kept in the box, but sitting atop of those was a jewel the size of a walnut. She picked it up and weighed it in her hand as she had every night since the evening four days ago when she had bought it. It would have been worth something just for the artistry of its making, polished faces, a crystal of fine clarity that seemed to trap and hold the light, but a corner had been badly chipped, an ugly flaw. However, there was something special about the jewel, a mystery in its heritage. She set it back in the safe and closed and locked the door. Time to make her final walk around, make sure the perimeter was secure. She smiled to herself as she struggled to her feet. Old habits die hard.
Brin hobbled out into the main corridor on the second floor and made her way as quietly as she could over to the balcony overlooking the pub, self conscious of the tapping made by her walking stick hitting the wooden floor. A single lamp burned down in the common room, turned down low causing it to flicker and the shadows to dance. Glancing around with an experienced eye, all looked as it should. Good, time for bed. The thought barely finished, she stopped, listening. She heard a scratching at the door, the sound of metal on metal.
The sound grew louder as the subtle attempt to pick the large heavy lock on the big door at the front of the inn turned into hurried incompetence when the lock failed to yield easily. Brin heard a door open behind her, her brother. She gestured him to silence. They had fought together, and sometimes talk was not necessary. He went to rouse the others. Daram was sitting in his room, almost as if he was waiting for E'llarn. 'Get the others, don't let them make too much noise,' he hissed below a whisper.
Daram moved quickly up the corridor to the next set of rooms. E'llarn went back to his sister. 'Don't kill them right away, want to know what they want,' she murmurs quietly.
With a nod, he headed down the steps into the common room drawing his bastard sword in his right hand and a short sword in his left. He waited behind the bar for whatever was coming. He wondered at his sister's motives. Who was she expecting?
The lock on the door finally gave way under the inept manipulations of the scoundrels beyond. The door was pushed open slowly and in the dim light of the oil lamp, E'llarn saw Hobs, two of them. Hobs were blunt faced, leathery skinned brutes. E'llarn and his friends had fought hundreds of them in the beast wars. They were the foot soldiers, the shock troops of the beast armies, tough and dangerous, particularly in large numbers.
They snuck into the common room unaware that they were being observed. One of them, the shorter of the two, pulled something from a belt pouch. The strange artifact was a T-shaped piece of wood, inverted, with twine attached to each end. On either end of the T, a rock was attached to the twine, one a common stone, the other a shard of crystal. The Hob dangled this contraption from the third piece of twine. The artifact swung freely, turning, apparently pointing, as the Hob started moving in the direction the crystal was pulling, gesturing to his companion.
Daram roused the drunken duo from their slumber. Kuohka and Brakus didn't so much start arguing as much as they continued the argument they had been having when they had passed out. Any opportunity for a quiet ambush was lost in the squabbling.
The Hobs in the common room hearing the clamor in the corridor above, gave up on stealth and ran for the kitchen. Reinforcements burst in through the front door and other Hobs scrambled in through the second floor back window.
With a burst of speed E'llarn leapt across the bar into the path of the first two transgressors. Even as the surprised Hobs made ready to defend themselves, he cut the first of them down, a sweeping blow with his bastard sword which he pushed through to slice into the second of them with brutish strength. On the landing above, Daram loosed knives toward the first interloper climbing through the window. Brakus and Kuohka, finally realizing that something serious was in fact taking place acted in concert.
Nobody talked much about the source of Brakus' power. What little his companions had learned of it, they had found downright unsettling. Standing in the corridor, still a little unsteady on his feet from the wine, Brakus allowed the slightest gap to open into that place between life and death that fed his magic, and using his mind like a prism he allowed some of that darkness to show through, directing it at the Hobs. Whatever it was that the two Hobs saw was too much for their simple minds. The one climbing over the sill on the second floor, screamed in terror and pushed himself back off the window letting go. He landed in soft snowy powder and turned and ran in screaming terror. Another of the Hobs at the front of the inn had seen too much also. He turned running from the inn, weeping and babbling to himself. His ally, had looked away quickly enough not to feel the full effect, but even he stared down at his own feet dazed.
One Hob had made it through the window and loosed an arrow. Daram grunted as the arrow lodged itself into his leather jacket. He pulled a dagger free from his belt and flung it at the beast archer. The dagger dug deep into the creature's leg. It wailed and made to shoot again. The arrow went awry this time as the Hob lost its balance, it's feet entangled by Kuohka's long bullwhip. Kuohka pulled hard and the Hob toppled to the ground. Kuohka lashed out again. This time the archer's bow his target. As the Hob struggled to keep a hold of his bow, Daram threw another dagger with deadly accuracy killing the entangled creature.
Brin thought for a moment about doing something to help, but as E'llarn quickly felled another Hob with his heavy blade, she decided against it. Her leg was aching and they hardly needed her assistance.
The last Hob standing, having shaken off the aftereffect of Brakus' magic, seemed to realize he was alone only after he engaged with E'llarn with his longsword. He stood his ground for second after second moving his sword manically to fend off E'llarn's deadly blows. E'llarn flinched as the Hob sliced low and drew blood across his upper thigh. The Hob pressed his advantage, what little he had.
Behind E'llarn, Brakus leapt off the balcony to the ground beside the bar. E'llarn stepped back giving Brakus room and stopping the Hob's advance. Then, together they attacked, the Hob lasted but a second as he was pummeled from two directions. The creature's quick sword arm was not enough. As he parried high, blocking the weight of Brakus' morningstar driving down from above, E'llarn lunged forward gutting him first with his bastard sword and then finishing him as he thrust his dagger through the Hob's neck. Blood gushed as the creature slid from E'llarn's blades.
So much for not killing them all.
Daram tried to sleep, but even after a few cups of wine, his overactive mind would not settle into restfulness. In the room across from his, E'llarn listened to his sister move about the building, tidying and preparing for business the next day. The quiet, insistent tap of her walking stick, almost enough to lull him into slumber.
Brin, tired and not a little tipsy made her way through the kitchen and up the stairs in the back of the inn to her room, not a secret passage per se, just not well known. It allowed her to move a little more quickly through her home. Her room was about twice the size of the rented accommodations in the inn. It doubled as her office. She spent most of her time either here or down in the bar. Local pinewood furnishings gave the room a light and airy feel. Two oil lamps produced a glow that gave the room a noticeable warmth.She settled back in a soft leather upholstered chair, another local product. The cows were farmed in the south, outside Cumbra, a few of them were marched up here every few months. The local butchers, inns and craftsmen made the most of them.
The most business like object in her room was a forged iron box, her lock box. It was black and ugly. She opened the heavy hinged door on the box and checked its contents. Her legal papers and the inns earnings were kept in the box, but sitting atop of those was a jewel the size of a walnut. She picked it up and weighed it in her hand as she had every night since the evening four days ago when she had bought it. It would have been worth something just for the artistry of its making, polished faces, a crystal of fine clarity that seemed to trap and hold the light, but a corner had been badly chipped, an ugly flaw. However, there was something special about the jewel, a mystery in its heritage. She set it back in the safe and closed and locked the door. Time to make her final walk around, make sure the perimeter was secure. She smiled to herself as she struggled to her feet. Old habits die hard.
Brin hobbled out into the main corridor on the second floor and made her way as quietly as she could over to the balcony overlooking the pub, self conscious of the tapping made by her walking stick hitting the wooden floor. A single lamp burned down in the common room, turned down low causing it to flicker and the shadows to dance. Glancing around with an experienced eye, all looked as it should. Good, time for bed. The thought barely finished, she stopped, listening. She heard a scratching at the door, the sound of metal on metal.
The sound grew louder as the subtle attempt to pick the large heavy lock on the big door at the front of the inn turned into hurried incompetence when the lock failed to yield easily. Brin heard a door open behind her, her brother. She gestured him to silence. They had fought together, and sometimes talk was not necessary. He went to rouse the others. Daram was sitting in his room, almost as if he was waiting for E'llarn. 'Get the others, don't let them make too much noise,' he hissed below a whisper.
Daram moved quickly up the corridor to the next set of rooms. E'llarn went back to his sister. 'Don't kill them right away, want to know what they want,' she murmurs quietly.
With a nod, he headed down the steps into the common room drawing his bastard sword in his right hand and a short sword in his left. He waited behind the bar for whatever was coming. He wondered at his sister's motives. Who was she expecting?
The lock on the door finally gave way under the inept manipulations of the scoundrels beyond. The door was pushed open slowly and in the dim light of the oil lamp, E'llarn saw Hobs, two of them. Hobs were blunt faced, leathery skinned brutes. E'llarn and his friends had fought hundreds of them in the beast wars. They were the foot soldiers, the shock troops of the beast armies, tough and dangerous, particularly in large numbers.
They snuck into the common room unaware that they were being observed. One of them, the shorter of the two, pulled something from a belt pouch. The strange artifact was a T-shaped piece of wood, inverted, with twine attached to each end. On either end of the T, a rock was attached to the twine, one a common stone, the other a shard of crystal. The Hob dangled this contraption from the third piece of twine. The artifact swung freely, turning, apparently pointing, as the Hob started moving in the direction the crystal was pulling, gesturing to his companion.
Daram roused the drunken duo from their slumber. Kuohka and Brakus didn't so much start arguing as much as they continued the argument they had been having when they had passed out. Any opportunity for a quiet ambush was lost in the squabbling.
The Hobs in the common room hearing the clamor in the corridor above, gave up on stealth and ran for the kitchen. Reinforcements burst in through the front door and other Hobs scrambled in through the second floor back window.
With a burst of speed E'llarn leapt across the bar into the path of the first two transgressors. Even as the surprised Hobs made ready to defend themselves, he cut the first of them down, a sweeping blow with his bastard sword which he pushed through to slice into the second of them with brutish strength. On the landing above, Daram loosed knives toward the first interloper climbing through the window. Brakus and Kuohka, finally realizing that something serious was in fact taking place acted in concert.
Nobody talked much about the source of Brakus' power. What little his companions had learned of it, they had found downright unsettling. Standing in the corridor, still a little unsteady on his feet from the wine, Brakus allowed the slightest gap to open into that place between life and death that fed his magic, and using his mind like a prism he allowed some of that darkness to show through, directing it at the Hobs. Whatever it was that the two Hobs saw was too much for their simple minds. The one climbing over the sill on the second floor, screamed in terror and pushed himself back off the window letting go. He landed in soft snowy powder and turned and ran in screaming terror. Another of the Hobs at the front of the inn had seen too much also. He turned running from the inn, weeping and babbling to himself. His ally, had looked away quickly enough not to feel the full effect, but even he stared down at his own feet dazed.
One Hob had made it through the window and loosed an arrow. Daram grunted as the arrow lodged itself into his leather jacket. He pulled a dagger free from his belt and flung it at the beast archer. The dagger dug deep into the creature's leg. It wailed and made to shoot again. The arrow went awry this time as the Hob lost its balance, it's feet entangled by Kuohka's long bullwhip. Kuohka pulled hard and the Hob toppled to the ground. Kuohka lashed out again. This time the archer's bow his target. As the Hob struggled to keep a hold of his bow, Daram threw another dagger with deadly accuracy killing the entangled creature.
Brin thought for a moment about doing something to help, but as E'llarn quickly felled another Hob with his heavy blade, she decided against it. Her leg was aching and they hardly needed her assistance.
The last Hob standing, having shaken off the aftereffect of Brakus' magic, seemed to realize he was alone only after he engaged with E'llarn with his longsword. He stood his ground for second after second moving his sword manically to fend off E'llarn's deadly blows. E'llarn flinched as the Hob sliced low and drew blood across his upper thigh. The Hob pressed his advantage, what little he had.
Behind E'llarn, Brakus leapt off the balcony to the ground beside the bar. E'llarn stepped back giving Brakus room and stopping the Hob's advance. Then, together they attacked, the Hob lasted but a second as he was pummeled from two directions. The creature's quick sword arm was not enough. As he parried high, blocking the weight of Brakus' morningstar driving down from above, E'llarn lunged forward gutting him first with his bastard sword and then finishing him as he thrust his dagger through the Hob's neck. Blood gushed as the creature slid from E'llarn's blades.
So much for not killing them all.
Friday, January 6, 2012
A Merry Longnight
It had been snowing for two months in the mountain town of Windbrucke. The harvests were long in and stored, but the sages had already predicted a long winter, and there were pessimists who already spoke of running out of food during the cold, dark season ahead. Such negativity cannot stop the celebration of 'Longest' night. Music and song fill the streets. Food and drink flow freely and impromptu speeches are interrupted by jeers and applause in equal measure.
To the North, a stiff breeze has blown snowy drifts up against the high wall. The town is all but isolated from the rest of the country, at least for a month or two more. The howling wind is occasionally drowned out by the distant bray of winter wolves, but even such dark sounds cannot defeat the merriment, not tonight.
It is on this night that Brin, the innkeeper of the Three Hogs Inn; an old place that sits just outside the south gate of town, waits, warming herself by a well stoked fireplace. This is the night that she and her traveling companions of old agreed to meet for a well earned drink and to speak of the adventures that have taken place in the passing year.
The stomping of snow laden feet and the lifting of the heavy latch at the front door signals the arrival of the first of Brin's guests. Brin breathes a sigh of relief, never sure of how much company she will have on Longnight's Eve.
"I didn't say gabbin, I said goblins, I thought I heard goblins, is what I said," one of the new arrivals continues.
"Goblins live in these mountains too you know," the other responded.
"Just sayin, I thought I heard 'em."
"They didn't bother us, we shouldn't bother them, at least not tonight, Brin, a merry Longnight to you. Crack open the Bayberry Wine."
Brin had served in the Senta Regulars with her brother during the second Beast War. They had both lasted long enough to muster out with honors and a reasonably hefty paycheck. Ellan had come out of the fighting more or less unscathed. Brin, however, had not been so lucky. She had taken a gruesome blow to her left leg from a pissed off ogre. She hadn't been expected to live. The healers had done their best for her. They hadn't amputated, though on some cold nights she wished they had. Her leg was a mangled knot of seized joints and cramped muscles. She walked with a cane and didn't like to walk far.
"it's behind the bar. Get it yourself you lazy oaf."
"Lazy! Oaf! I just walked up the side of a mountain to see you, through goblin infested woods apparently," the young dwarf grinned, walking across to the hinged portion of the polished oak bar.
Rather than flipping the bar up, the dwarf ducked underneath and plodded to where Brin was pointing. He grabbed five crystal goblets from a shelf behind him and set them on the polished surface of the bar. He glanced under the bar and grabbed a two-pint bottle and set it beside the glasses. The bottle was made of a dark green glass, corked and dipped in tin. It was wrapped in a mesh of thick twine that was showing signs of age. An old parchment label was shoved between the glass and the mesh. All that was written on it in an elegant hand was, 'Cumbra, Leth, 98 AE, 21 of 47.'
The dwarf unwrapped the metal seal and shoved a cork puller into the bottle top, "We're almost out. Three more bottles after this. We need to be looking for a new vintage."
"I'll look forward to the delivery. Not some cheap plonk though." Brin responded with a smile of her own.
"Are you kidding me? Kuohka the Dwarf spending coin on cheap wine, unheard of, sacrilege, he'd rather die," the dwarf's traveling companion screwed up his face, "he'd rather someone else die anyway."
The dwarf laughed, "true enough, may Ebrus bless my alcohol softened bones, I'll find us something good."
"Where are the others?" his companion asked as he pulled his damp hood and cloak off.
"Probably making sure no one saw your ugly northerner face coming in here."
"After last year, the villagers love me."
"Not sure they'd know you from any other elf. They'd probably figure it out after they strung you up."
The elf deflated a little and shrugged, "I don't like it in town anyway."
The cork popped as it came free from the bottle. A delicate aroma of fresh berries and cinnamon filled the room.
"My brother is always late. You'd best pour without him or we'll be waiting 'til after the last chime for our first drink."
"True enough, and after that trouble in Cumbra a few months back, maybe he's not coming."
Brin's smile sank a little. She and Ellan had bought the inn together, every penny from their retirement and then some. In fact, the 'then some' had come from these two Northlanders and Daram, who had also not arrived yet. No surprise there, if her brother had found trouble, Daram was probably at the heart of it, and if her brother wasn't coming nor was Daram.
Brin and Daram had bought the Three Hogs Inn from a halfling businessman named Gareth. Apparently, he had gotten caught up in some legal entanglements with a few of the more prominent townsfolk and had felt the need to make himself scarce. There had also, apparently been a woman involved, a half-Orc woman, whom he felt he must find before it was all too late. Brin had not felt any need to ask, sure that she would not understand or not like the answer.
The Three Hogs Inn was a robust thatch, stone and wood affair, two stories high for the most part. Its external whitewashed walls were accented by large darkly stained wooden structural beams and a number of small windows on each floor, currently shuttered for the night and for the season. A six foot stone outer wall connected the north and the west walls of the main building surrounding a large courtyard and a handful of small outbuildings including a stable, a well house and one of the three pig smokers for which the inn was named.
Brin ran the place and they did a brisk business, mostly legal, when the weather suited travel and commerce. Tonight there were twelve empty rooms of various sizes and levels of luxury on the second floor. The only inhabitants of the inn were the three friends sat around the fireplace drinking Bayberry wine.
"... and so he asked us to hide the bodies while he made some inquiries and paid some bribes to some fellow he knew in the North Gate precinct of the city guard," Kuokha explained.
"He said he'd meet us here and not to worry," piped the elf.
"But someone had tried to kill him," asked Brin.
"Case of mistaken identity he said."
"Mistaken, is right!" proclaimed a bright voice from the front door, "mistaken for an easy mark."
"Get out of the doorway ya brute, it's bloody cold out here and you're letting all the nice warm air out."
The entrance to the inn was filled with a large man in a long brown leather coat and gloves. His youthful eyes were offset by a sharp black beard with a smattering of silver grey flecks that suggested a face that had weathered a few tough years. Behind him, a smaller man engulfed in thick furs, was trying to elbow his way into the warm room.
Ellan and Daram were welcomed in with warm hand shakes and friendly hugs. As they all settled down to warm themselves by the fire, drinking from freshly refilled goblets of wine, they heard the distant chimes of the bell at the Temple of Ianuar in Windbrucke. Before the last resounding ring went quiet, a distant cheer from the inhabitants of the town could be heard even within the walls of the Inn. The friends clinked their glasses in friendship.
"Just in time brother. Again!"
They talked into the night. Tales garnished with just a flavoring of falsehood to make them more entertaining were shared by all. Brin listened with interest. Her tale might be the most intriguing of all, but it would have to wait until the morning light and a measure of sobriety because it would offer a dangerous opportunity for adventure. After finishing all but one of the remaining bottles of wine the welmet comrades bade their goodnights and went upstairs in search of a place to sleep.
However, something moved out in the deep snow, several creatures moved toward the Inn with intent. They had it on good authority that the innkeeper would be all alone tonight, as she had been for several nights before and they had business with her.
To the North, a stiff breeze has blown snowy drifts up against the high wall. The town is all but isolated from the rest of the country, at least for a month or two more. The howling wind is occasionally drowned out by the distant bray of winter wolves, but even such dark sounds cannot defeat the merriment, not tonight.
It is on this night that Brin, the innkeeper of the Three Hogs Inn; an old place that sits just outside the south gate of town, waits, warming herself by a well stoked fireplace. This is the night that she and her traveling companions of old agreed to meet for a well earned drink and to speak of the adventures that have taken place in the passing year.
The stomping of snow laden feet and the lifting of the heavy latch at the front door signals the arrival of the first of Brin's guests. Brin breathes a sigh of relief, never sure of how much company she will have on Longnight's Eve.
"I didn't say gabbin, I said goblins, I thought I heard goblins, is what I said," one of the new arrivals continues.
"Goblins live in these mountains too you know," the other responded.
"Just sayin, I thought I heard 'em."
"They didn't bother us, we shouldn't bother them, at least not tonight, Brin, a merry Longnight to you. Crack open the Bayberry Wine."
Brin had served in the Senta Regulars with her brother during the second Beast War. They had both lasted long enough to muster out with honors and a reasonably hefty paycheck. Ellan had come out of the fighting more or less unscathed. Brin, however, had not been so lucky. She had taken a gruesome blow to her left leg from a pissed off ogre. She hadn't been expected to live. The healers had done their best for her. They hadn't amputated, though on some cold nights she wished they had. Her leg was a mangled knot of seized joints and cramped muscles. She walked with a cane and didn't like to walk far.
"it's behind the bar. Get it yourself you lazy oaf."
"Lazy! Oaf! I just walked up the side of a mountain to see you, through goblin infested woods apparently," the young dwarf grinned, walking across to the hinged portion of the polished oak bar.
Rather than flipping the bar up, the dwarf ducked underneath and plodded to where Brin was pointing. He grabbed five crystal goblets from a shelf behind him and set them on the polished surface of the bar. He glanced under the bar and grabbed a two-pint bottle and set it beside the glasses. The bottle was made of a dark green glass, corked and dipped in tin. It was wrapped in a mesh of thick twine that was showing signs of age. An old parchment label was shoved between the glass and the mesh. All that was written on it in an elegant hand was, 'Cumbra, Leth, 98 AE, 21 of 47.'
The dwarf unwrapped the metal seal and shoved a cork puller into the bottle top, "We're almost out. Three more bottles after this. We need to be looking for a new vintage."
"I'll look forward to the delivery. Not some cheap plonk though." Brin responded with a smile of her own.
"Are you kidding me? Kuohka the Dwarf spending coin on cheap wine, unheard of, sacrilege, he'd rather die," the dwarf's traveling companion screwed up his face, "he'd rather someone else die anyway."
The dwarf laughed, "true enough, may Ebrus bless my alcohol softened bones, I'll find us something good."
"Where are the others?" his companion asked as he pulled his damp hood and cloak off.
"Probably making sure no one saw your ugly northerner face coming in here."
"After last year, the villagers love me."
"Not sure they'd know you from any other elf. They'd probably figure it out after they strung you up."
The elf deflated a little and shrugged, "I don't like it in town anyway."
The cork popped as it came free from the bottle. A delicate aroma of fresh berries and cinnamon filled the room.
"My brother is always late. You'd best pour without him or we'll be waiting 'til after the last chime for our first drink."
"True enough, and after that trouble in Cumbra a few months back, maybe he's not coming."
Brin's smile sank a little. She and Ellan had bought the inn together, every penny from their retirement and then some. In fact, the 'then some' had come from these two Northlanders and Daram, who had also not arrived yet. No surprise there, if her brother had found trouble, Daram was probably at the heart of it, and if her brother wasn't coming nor was Daram.
Brin and Daram had bought the Three Hogs Inn from a halfling businessman named Gareth. Apparently, he had gotten caught up in some legal entanglements with a few of the more prominent townsfolk and had felt the need to make himself scarce. There had also, apparently been a woman involved, a half-Orc woman, whom he felt he must find before it was all too late. Brin had not felt any need to ask, sure that she would not understand or not like the answer.
The Three Hogs Inn was a robust thatch, stone and wood affair, two stories high for the most part. Its external whitewashed walls were accented by large darkly stained wooden structural beams and a number of small windows on each floor, currently shuttered for the night and for the season. A six foot stone outer wall connected the north and the west walls of the main building surrounding a large courtyard and a handful of small outbuildings including a stable, a well house and one of the three pig smokers for which the inn was named.
Brin ran the place and they did a brisk business, mostly legal, when the weather suited travel and commerce. Tonight there were twelve empty rooms of various sizes and levels of luxury on the second floor. The only inhabitants of the inn were the three friends sat around the fireplace drinking Bayberry wine.
"... and so he asked us to hide the bodies while he made some inquiries and paid some bribes to some fellow he knew in the North Gate precinct of the city guard," Kuokha explained.
"He said he'd meet us here and not to worry," piped the elf.
"But someone had tried to kill him," asked Brin.
"Case of mistaken identity he said."
"Mistaken, is right!" proclaimed a bright voice from the front door, "mistaken for an easy mark."
"Get out of the doorway ya brute, it's bloody cold out here and you're letting all the nice warm air out."
The entrance to the inn was filled with a large man in a long brown leather coat and gloves. His youthful eyes were offset by a sharp black beard with a smattering of silver grey flecks that suggested a face that had weathered a few tough years. Behind him, a smaller man engulfed in thick furs, was trying to elbow his way into the warm room.
Ellan and Daram were welcomed in with warm hand shakes and friendly hugs. As they all settled down to warm themselves by the fire, drinking from freshly refilled goblets of wine, they heard the distant chimes of the bell at the Temple of Ianuar in Windbrucke. Before the last resounding ring went quiet, a distant cheer from the inhabitants of the town could be heard even within the walls of the Inn. The friends clinked their glasses in friendship.
"Just in time brother. Again!"
They talked into the night. Tales garnished with just a flavoring of falsehood to make them more entertaining were shared by all. Brin listened with interest. Her tale might be the most intriguing of all, but it would have to wait until the morning light and a measure of sobriety because it would offer a dangerous opportunity for adventure. After finishing all but one of the remaining bottles of wine the welmet comrades bade their goodnights and went upstairs in search of a place to sleep.
However, something moved out in the deep snow, several creatures moved toward the Inn with intent. They had it on good authority that the innkeeper would be all alone tonight, as she had been for several nights before and they had business with her.
The Gnorras Isles - Pathfinder Setting
All my knowledge of the histories of our land comes from my father. That would certainly surprise many who knew him. He was not a talkative man. He was thoughtful, strong and kind but never talkative.
It was four days after my eleventh birthday; I had been playing on the streets of the citadel as was my wont. This day turned out differently though. I ran with older kids in those days and on that morning, one of our cadre had been missing. He had died in the night. I say that out of hand now, after so many years of seeing and dealing in death, but on that morning horror and fear were my dark companions.
None of my friends truly knew what happened to Stefan, but the tales of children started in the morning and by the time I returned to my home that night I was shaking and crying, terrified of what I had learned that day. To be honest, I do not remember much of the story I had been told. Such was the quiet power of my father that all I remember now is the wisdom he passed onto me that evening.
I did not enter through the store front of my family’s blacksmith. I took the entrance through the side alley that was a quicker route to my room. However, as soon as I stepped across the threshold of my home, I knew I wasn’t going to make it. A deep sob came unbidden from my throat as I took the first step up the stone stairwell towards the second floor and privacy.
“Endimnor, is that you?” My will collapsed in on itself. Before I knew it, I was standing before my father blabbing the dealings of the whole day between long drawn sobs.
“… and dark wizards come unhindered into your home and curse you to death or worse…”
“Sit, son!” I sat. The quiet in the room was displaced only by the crackle of the fireplace. I knew this place; it was solid, stone, warm against the ice of the night, and where my mother and father spent most of their evenings. My mother worked late but I knew she would return soon. The ordinariness of it all began to calm me. I settled back into one of the cushioned chairs that my father habitually brought in here after his working day was done. I looked into his eyes and he nodded. I remember that nod; I spent my life trying to mimic it. Then he began to speak. He spoke in such a way that would brook no interruptions.
“I do not know much about the ins and outs of this world, but I will tell you what my father told me when I was about your age. Your grandfather was a soldier and he visited all of the isles at one time or another. I don’t know how much of what he learned was truth. Ahh, anyway, truth, like beauty, resides in the eye of the beholder.”
“Let’s see. The people of Cull, Senta and Mesh all came from a land hundreds of miles to the south across the Broken Ocean. They had to leave because the land was being swallowed up by a terrible magic that left nothing alive. That magic, which I have heard named “banefire” was created by wizards, magicians or sorcerers whatever you want to call them, to end all wars. That fire burns still they say. Sailors, you know, who travel too far south will tell you that a light with a deep purple hue can be seen on the horizon. I don’t know much about that having never been on a ship.”
“So, then there was the Exodus. The remaining wizards gathered the surviving people, our ancestors and put them on boats and sent them North. The wizards did not come with us. Their dangerous secrets would not taint our chances of survival. They made a pact to hold back the destroying magic to protect our retreat. Legend has it that the ten most powerful spellcasters gave up their mortality to become great statues that stand in the shallows along the coast of the Southlands. Those statues, the Sentinels, would hold back the banefire for eternity. The lesser wizards chose the fiery death of the banefire over immortality.”
“Magic, like the wind, is just a force of nature. However hard we might try it cannot be fully contained. The old wizards knew that. They knew that people would be born with the talent. New wizards, arcanists as they are usually called these days, would appear and might become a danger if left unchecked. They planned for that. They told the people of the Exodus what to do.”
My father took a sip from his drink then, and set his cup back on the table by his right side.
“The first guilds were formed. The Guild of the Arcane Light was to be a school for those with magical talents. They were to seek out those with gifts, train them and direct them in the right ways to use their power. The Arcane Guild would also regulate magic use across the isles and stop those who would use magic without the support and tutelage of the guild. This guild continues even today. They are based in the city of Altus.”
“A second guild was formed. This guild’s purpose was cloaked in secrecy until the hundred and first year after our Exodus. The guild is known as the Path of Shadow, or to most just the Shadow Guild. Yes, I can see by your face that you have heard talk of them and fear them, as you should. In 101AE, after the Cull Freedom Wars, the High Wizard Kazran of the Arcane Guild declared himself Overlord of the Isles. Even as the message was sent to the three kingdoms, arcanists swiftly used their powers to assassinate the king of Mesh, take command of the armies of Cull and Senta, and imprison the Trade Council of Altus. The kingdoms reeled from the attack and with little choice gave up the hard earned rule of their lands to the Wizards.”
“This state of affairs lasted for one week. The story goes that after a week each of the arcanists directly involved in the attack received a note. Many have speculated as to the content of the note, even your grandfather. Most rumors tell that the note said something like, ‘The Goddess gave you your life and gifts, she can take them away.’ Those who received a note each died a day later without explanation. Then, the Guild hall in Altus was attacked. The survivors claimed that the shadows became men and women, and they became violence incarnate. They killed every arcanist over the age of twenty. Those they did not kill, they gathered in the courtyard. One of the Shadows stepped forward and addressed the group, her hand gripping the bloody staff of command that denotes leadership in the Arcane Guild. “The Goddess spares you this night,” she said.
“Who among you will take up the leadership of this Guild now?”
A bold voice responded to her call, but before he could finish he was struck down by four of the Shadows’ arrows.
“Now, who?” she asked. It is said, for long moments there was silence like that of a graveyard.
A small calm voice finally responded, “I will answer your call, Miss.” The others whispered and muttered because the youngest of them had spoken.
“… and why are you worthy child?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” says he, “but my Da says that you should stand up to bullies but you should mind yourself or you’ll end up turning into a bully. So… you are not welcome here and you should leave,” his voice beginning to tremble.
“Come then, take this if you can,” she gestured to the staff.
The boy came to her and took the staff from her hands, and some say that for just a moment you could see the tall powerful man that the boy would become.
“We are watching child,” the woman said.
“You should go and wash that blood off your hands,” he said finally, unperturbed. The woman smiled and nodded, gathered her Shadow warriors about her and turned to leave.
“We will be back boy,” the woman called.
The other young arcanists heard the boy respond, “Not in my lifetime Miss,” quietly, almost to himself.”
My father paused again in his tale.
“Is that true, father?”
“Do you believe it?”
I frowned.
“That boy became High Wizard Robahn the Ruthless and he rules the Arcane Guild today. You could ask him.” My father smiled. “That is what I know of Wizards. They are dangerous but they are not to be feared for their differences. Just as your mother should not be feared because she has the looks of the North.”
“The Shadow Guild is rarely heard from, though there are those that say that they serve those who will pay, kings, queens, merchants, dealing in death.”
I nodded having heard some of the darker stories of the Shadows.
“Why do people fear my mother then?” I asked hopeful that my father would be willing to spin another yarn before sending me off to bed. I think he saw the hope in my eyes, and he nodded once again.
“Alright Endy, one more tale before your mother gets home.” He took a long sip of his drink and winced slightly at its strength. Scorn, I have since learned is a spirit made from rotten potatoes and is much stronger than ale or cider. My father was a habitual drinker.
“When our ancestors left the Southlands they knew where they were going. The Gnorras Isles were known to scholars. Our people had been coming here to try to settle for many years before the Exodus. In fact, most of the cities of the Kingdoms are built on the remains of old settlements. There are many ruins scattered across these Isles from failed attempts to bring civilization here. You know why we always failed?”
“The monsters, in the forests and the mountains.”
“Right,” a grim look fleeted across his face.
“The monsters had always pushed us back before the Exodus. They have tried to do it since, but there is strength in desperation.”
“When we first arrived here, a hundred and thirty three years ago, we were one kingdom. We were ruled by the First Council that later became the Trade Council of Altus. We did not stay that way for very long. After thirty years and much expansion across the North of the Isles, Anteaus Mesh, our king’s great, great grandfather or something like that, broke from the council and formed his own kingdom. The council was not at all happy with this and there was a war, the first of many. Mesh managed to stay free and the council finally gave up. Soon after that, another council member, Exran Cull, did the same thing and the Island kingdom of Cull was formed. More wars and towards the end of that war, the First Council warlord, Dumane Senta, staged a coup and took all of the lands that were left except for the capital city of Altus. Altus became a city state, a little kingdom in its own right, run by the First Council. They renamed themselves the Trade Council of Altus.”
“Over the next few years, there were many skirmishes between the four realms. All they were really doing was steadily weakening each other.”
“It was then that the Ghath Alliance or Northlanders chose to attack. We had not known that we were sharing the island with other people. The Ghathans had been here before we arrived. They considered us invaders. We considered them non-human savages; there are some who still do.”
“In our weakened state, our armies and navies were beaten back. All was almost lost to the humanoid raiders. Luckily, the Traders of Altus called a meeting and made the kings of Senta, Cull and Mesh sign a peace agreement called the First Accord. This document said they would help each other against the invaders. The Ghathans were turned back and for ten years we heard nothing more from them.”
“Then, in 58AE, the Ghath races returned in force. The kingdoms went out to meet them and in a moment of betrayal, the Ghath overran our defenses. The King of Cull, Bael, had turned traitor on us and all seemed lost. Again, the Council of Altus stepped, though no one is entirely certain how. Bael was assassinated and his son took up the throne. Matters were reversed as the navy of Ghath was suddenly surrounded by enemies; again the Northlanders were turned back.”
“The Council of Altus opened trade negotiations with the Ghath Alliance. For many years, trade and piracy went hand in hand around the seas of Gnorras. An uneasy peace lasted for almost twenty five years. In that time, Ghath races moved to the South and people from our lands moved and lived in the North.
“Then came Peblen’s folly and the First Beast wars. Peblen was our king and he decided that Mesh should expand further to the North through the forests. He did not know that he would stir up a nest of beasts that would rain down on Mesh and almost destroy the kingdom. Peblen died in the Beast Wars. The Mesh people are hardy folk though and they held onto their lands each with every last breath. At its weakest, Peblen’s son agreed to marry the daughter of the King of Senta, a beauty it is said, to cement the relationship between the two kingdoms. Senta came to our aid.”
“Towards the end of the Beast Wars, a faction of the Ghath Alliance struck Cull and overran the island. Senta and Mesh were too involved in their own affairs to notice. Culls people took to the hills and went into hiding. Senta and Mesh spent the next few years just trying to figure out how the kingdoms would interact with each other, forming treaties and laws, mostly through underhanded politics and court intrigue. Some might say that the relationship between the kingdoms is still unclear today.”
“The Guerilla Wars lasted for four years on the island of Cull. The rebel Cull struck ever harder at the conquering Ghath. In 94AE, Dane Cull gathered his people and struck back at the Ghath and, breaking their supply lines, drove them from the island.”
“Soon after that the Second Accord was signed. This trade treaty has kept the peace, more or less, up to the present day. The Ghathans are still looked upon with fear and distrust, but they become a more common sight every day, like your mother. We have come to terms with the fact that the Ghathan Alliance has its own internal struggles and intrigue, and we are only seeing one tiny piece of a larger puzzle.”
“The activities of the beasts on the interior of the island are increasing again. Our king is calling for support from the other nations to stave off a second beast war before it starts. Here, in the city, we are safe from danger but for muggers and street thieves.”
“Time for bed now son and do not fear the wizards, no one passes into our home without me knowing and I’ll keep you safe this night.”
His eyes said it all, no more stories, not that night…
I would remember that night for many other reasons as the years went on. I remember believing that my father was indestructible and had all t he answers. I remember believing he could keep me safe from everything. I was wrong.
It was four days after my eleventh birthday; I had been playing on the streets of the citadel as was my wont. This day turned out differently though. I ran with older kids in those days and on that morning, one of our cadre had been missing. He had died in the night. I say that out of hand now, after so many years of seeing and dealing in death, but on that morning horror and fear were my dark companions.
None of my friends truly knew what happened to Stefan, but the tales of children started in the morning and by the time I returned to my home that night I was shaking and crying, terrified of what I had learned that day. To be honest, I do not remember much of the story I had been told. Such was the quiet power of my father that all I remember now is the wisdom he passed onto me that evening.
I did not enter through the store front of my family’s blacksmith. I took the entrance through the side alley that was a quicker route to my room. However, as soon as I stepped across the threshold of my home, I knew I wasn’t going to make it. A deep sob came unbidden from my throat as I took the first step up the stone stairwell towards the second floor and privacy.
“Endimnor, is that you?” My will collapsed in on itself. Before I knew it, I was standing before my father blabbing the dealings of the whole day between long drawn sobs.
“… and dark wizards come unhindered into your home and curse you to death or worse…”
“Sit, son!” I sat. The quiet in the room was displaced only by the crackle of the fireplace. I knew this place; it was solid, stone, warm against the ice of the night, and where my mother and father spent most of their evenings. My mother worked late but I knew she would return soon. The ordinariness of it all began to calm me. I settled back into one of the cushioned chairs that my father habitually brought in here after his working day was done. I looked into his eyes and he nodded. I remember that nod; I spent my life trying to mimic it. Then he began to speak. He spoke in such a way that would brook no interruptions.
“I do not know much about the ins and outs of this world, but I will tell you what my father told me when I was about your age. Your grandfather was a soldier and he visited all of the isles at one time or another. I don’t know how much of what he learned was truth. Ahh, anyway, truth, like beauty, resides in the eye of the beholder.”
“Let’s see. The people of Cull, Senta and Mesh all came from a land hundreds of miles to the south across the Broken Ocean. They had to leave because the land was being swallowed up by a terrible magic that left nothing alive. That magic, which I have heard named “banefire” was created by wizards, magicians or sorcerers whatever you want to call them, to end all wars. That fire burns still they say. Sailors, you know, who travel too far south will tell you that a light with a deep purple hue can be seen on the horizon. I don’t know much about that having never been on a ship.”
“So, then there was the Exodus. The remaining wizards gathered the surviving people, our ancestors and put them on boats and sent them North. The wizards did not come with us. Their dangerous secrets would not taint our chances of survival. They made a pact to hold back the destroying magic to protect our retreat. Legend has it that the ten most powerful spellcasters gave up their mortality to become great statues that stand in the shallows along the coast of the Southlands. Those statues, the Sentinels, would hold back the banefire for eternity. The lesser wizards chose the fiery death of the banefire over immortality.”
“Magic, like the wind, is just a force of nature. However hard we might try it cannot be fully contained. The old wizards knew that. They knew that people would be born with the talent. New wizards, arcanists as they are usually called these days, would appear and might become a danger if left unchecked. They planned for that. They told the people of the Exodus what to do.”
My father took a sip from his drink then, and set his cup back on the table by his right side.
“The first guilds were formed. The Guild of the Arcane Light was to be a school for those with magical talents. They were to seek out those with gifts, train them and direct them in the right ways to use their power. The Arcane Guild would also regulate magic use across the isles and stop those who would use magic without the support and tutelage of the guild. This guild continues even today. They are based in the city of Altus.”
“A second guild was formed. This guild’s purpose was cloaked in secrecy until the hundred and first year after our Exodus. The guild is known as the Path of Shadow, or to most just the Shadow Guild. Yes, I can see by your face that you have heard talk of them and fear them, as you should. In 101AE, after the Cull Freedom Wars, the High Wizard Kazran of the Arcane Guild declared himself Overlord of the Isles. Even as the message was sent to the three kingdoms, arcanists swiftly used their powers to assassinate the king of Mesh, take command of the armies of Cull and Senta, and imprison the Trade Council of Altus. The kingdoms reeled from the attack and with little choice gave up the hard earned rule of their lands to the Wizards.”
“This state of affairs lasted for one week. The story goes that after a week each of the arcanists directly involved in the attack received a note. Many have speculated as to the content of the note, even your grandfather. Most rumors tell that the note said something like, ‘The Goddess gave you your life and gifts, she can take them away.’ Those who received a note each died a day later without explanation. Then, the Guild hall in Altus was attacked. The survivors claimed that the shadows became men and women, and they became violence incarnate. They killed every arcanist over the age of twenty. Those they did not kill, they gathered in the courtyard. One of the Shadows stepped forward and addressed the group, her hand gripping the bloody staff of command that denotes leadership in the Arcane Guild. “The Goddess spares you this night,” she said.
“Who among you will take up the leadership of this Guild now?”
A bold voice responded to her call, but before he could finish he was struck down by four of the Shadows’ arrows.
“Now, who?” she asked. It is said, for long moments there was silence like that of a graveyard.
A small calm voice finally responded, “I will answer your call, Miss.” The others whispered and muttered because the youngest of them had spoken.
“… and why are you worthy child?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” says he, “but my Da says that you should stand up to bullies but you should mind yourself or you’ll end up turning into a bully. So… you are not welcome here and you should leave,” his voice beginning to tremble.
“Come then, take this if you can,” she gestured to the staff.
The boy came to her and took the staff from her hands, and some say that for just a moment you could see the tall powerful man that the boy would become.
“We are watching child,” the woman said.
“You should go and wash that blood off your hands,” he said finally, unperturbed. The woman smiled and nodded, gathered her Shadow warriors about her and turned to leave.
“We will be back boy,” the woman called.
The other young arcanists heard the boy respond, “Not in my lifetime Miss,” quietly, almost to himself.”
My father paused again in his tale.
“Is that true, father?”
“Do you believe it?”
I frowned.
“That boy became High Wizard Robahn the Ruthless and he rules the Arcane Guild today. You could ask him.” My father smiled. “That is what I know of Wizards. They are dangerous but they are not to be feared for their differences. Just as your mother should not be feared because she has the looks of the North.”
“The Shadow Guild is rarely heard from, though there are those that say that they serve those who will pay, kings, queens, merchants, dealing in death.”
I nodded having heard some of the darker stories of the Shadows.
“Why do people fear my mother then?” I asked hopeful that my father would be willing to spin another yarn before sending me off to bed. I think he saw the hope in my eyes, and he nodded once again.
“Alright Endy, one more tale before your mother gets home.” He took a long sip of his drink and winced slightly at its strength. Scorn, I have since learned is a spirit made from rotten potatoes and is much stronger than ale or cider. My father was a habitual drinker.
“When our ancestors left the Southlands they knew where they were going. The Gnorras Isles were known to scholars. Our people had been coming here to try to settle for many years before the Exodus. In fact, most of the cities of the Kingdoms are built on the remains of old settlements. There are many ruins scattered across these Isles from failed attempts to bring civilization here. You know why we always failed?”
“The monsters, in the forests and the mountains.”
“Right,” a grim look fleeted across his face.
“The monsters had always pushed us back before the Exodus. They have tried to do it since, but there is strength in desperation.”
“When we first arrived here, a hundred and thirty three years ago, we were one kingdom. We were ruled by the First Council that later became the Trade Council of Altus. We did not stay that way for very long. After thirty years and much expansion across the North of the Isles, Anteaus Mesh, our king’s great, great grandfather or something like that, broke from the council and formed his own kingdom. The council was not at all happy with this and there was a war, the first of many. Mesh managed to stay free and the council finally gave up. Soon after that, another council member, Exran Cull, did the same thing and the Island kingdom of Cull was formed. More wars and towards the end of that war, the First Council warlord, Dumane Senta, staged a coup and took all of the lands that were left except for the capital city of Altus. Altus became a city state, a little kingdom in its own right, run by the First Council. They renamed themselves the Trade Council of Altus.”
“Over the next few years, there were many skirmishes between the four realms. All they were really doing was steadily weakening each other.”
“It was then that the Ghath Alliance or Northlanders chose to attack. We had not known that we were sharing the island with other people. The Ghathans had been here before we arrived. They considered us invaders. We considered them non-human savages; there are some who still do.”
“In our weakened state, our armies and navies were beaten back. All was almost lost to the humanoid raiders. Luckily, the Traders of Altus called a meeting and made the kings of Senta, Cull and Mesh sign a peace agreement called the First Accord. This document said they would help each other against the invaders. The Ghathans were turned back and for ten years we heard nothing more from them.”
“Then, in 58AE, the Ghath races returned in force. The kingdoms went out to meet them and in a moment of betrayal, the Ghath overran our defenses. The King of Cull, Bael, had turned traitor on us and all seemed lost. Again, the Council of Altus stepped, though no one is entirely certain how. Bael was assassinated and his son took up the throne. Matters were reversed as the navy of Ghath was suddenly surrounded by enemies; again the Northlanders were turned back.”
“The Council of Altus opened trade negotiations with the Ghath Alliance. For many years, trade and piracy went hand in hand around the seas of Gnorras. An uneasy peace lasted for almost twenty five years. In that time, Ghath races moved to the South and people from our lands moved and lived in the North.
“Then came Peblen’s folly and the First Beast wars. Peblen was our king and he decided that Mesh should expand further to the North through the forests. He did not know that he would stir up a nest of beasts that would rain down on Mesh and almost destroy the kingdom. Peblen died in the Beast Wars. The Mesh people are hardy folk though and they held onto their lands each with every last breath. At its weakest, Peblen’s son agreed to marry the daughter of the King of Senta, a beauty it is said, to cement the relationship between the two kingdoms. Senta came to our aid.”
“Towards the end of the Beast Wars, a faction of the Ghath Alliance struck Cull and overran the island. Senta and Mesh were too involved in their own affairs to notice. Culls people took to the hills and went into hiding. Senta and Mesh spent the next few years just trying to figure out how the kingdoms would interact with each other, forming treaties and laws, mostly through underhanded politics and court intrigue. Some might say that the relationship between the kingdoms is still unclear today.”
“The Guerilla Wars lasted for four years on the island of Cull. The rebel Cull struck ever harder at the conquering Ghath. In 94AE, Dane Cull gathered his people and struck back at the Ghath and, breaking their supply lines, drove them from the island.”
“Soon after that the Second Accord was signed. This trade treaty has kept the peace, more or less, up to the present day. The Ghathans are still looked upon with fear and distrust, but they become a more common sight every day, like your mother. We have come to terms with the fact that the Ghathan Alliance has its own internal struggles and intrigue, and we are only seeing one tiny piece of a larger puzzle.”
“The activities of the beasts on the interior of the island are increasing again. Our king is calling for support from the other nations to stave off a second beast war before it starts. Here, in the city, we are safe from danger but for muggers and street thieves.”
“Time for bed now son and do not fear the wizards, no one passes into our home without me knowing and I’ll keep you safe this night.”
His eyes said it all, no more stories, not that night…
I would remember that night for many other reasons as the years went on. I remember believing that my father was indestructible and had all t he answers. I remember believing he could keep me safe from everything. I was wrong.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
The Gates of Tyr
It has been two weeks since the Green Dragon Trading co. were all together in one group. Alot has happened since then.
Cerner, Cammior, Talon and Minron await, not a quarter of a mile from the Gates of Tyr. They have set camp here and have been waiting less than a day. The weather has been warm but not as uncomfortable as they had become used to in the south. They have seen farmers here. The lands around Tyr are irrigated with dew and mountain rain collectors, desperately maintained. Patches of vivid greens, reds and yellows brighten the hillside upon which Tyr rests, signifying stalwart attempts at cultivating vineyards and grain crops. Though they have not yet been within the city walls. the vast towers and an intricate pyramid can be seen from without. The city looks to be extraordinary, and the only thing that belies such a sentiment is the issuing of thick pilums of smoke from several different districts of the city. It would seem that the city struggles with some inner conflict.
As for their missing compatriots, south of Altaruk, they parted ways. Ale's delerium had grown worse and finally the elven avenger, Tyranus (?) offered to take their ailing companion to a place of sanctuary, north and east of Altaruk. Such a place, would not allow strangers, would not allow monsters, but Tyranus believed that they would take in the needy. They would take in Ale and perhaps help him to recover himself.
After another near fatal incident with Ale the rest of the company finally decided to let them go. They agreed that Tyranus would send word of their fallen companion to the north gates of Tyr in two weeks. That had been the last the company had seen of them; Tyranus the Avenger and Ale the fallen Warlord trudging into the wastes heading East.
With heavy hearts, the rest of the company headed North to Altaruk, a once thriving merchant town. Albin had been and gone. He had sown enough seeds of suspicion about the arriving monster company that their was little business to be done there. They did gather enough news to know that Albin continued north, towards Tyr.
They had set off towards Tyr themselves. Their caravan rolled slowly but consistently over the trade road mile after mile. After a day of this, the Shadar Kai decided to go on ahead to pave the way and perhaps find some allies for the Green Dragon traders before their arrival.
Over the passing days, the company learns a little about the slaves that they had purchased:
KrixUx, the Thri-Kreen has been away from his clutch over long and has become acclimatised to the non-shells. He seems fascinated by the members of the group who have formed a symbiosis with the ax'antiya as he calls them, the scarab armors. He seems amazed that they have survived the process. He is subservient and apparently likes to cook and seems to find mouthwatering flavors from scrubs, scavengers and pests that he finds spotted about the hard ground and sand. He is a competent archer and scout.
Ghana, the nubian warrior has taken a little time to warm up to the group. Apparently, this hard muscled woman was recently a gladiator in the arenas. She has many scars to prove it, some that must have been close to fatal. She practices at every opportunity and is willing to spar with anyone. She is accepting of a slave's life within certain bounds, but she clearly craves freedom.
And so the Green Dragon Co. wait one more day in the hopes that Ale will return to them.
Cerner, Cammior, Talon and Minron await, not a quarter of a mile from the Gates of Tyr. They have set camp here and have been waiting less than a day. The weather has been warm but not as uncomfortable as they had become used to in the south. They have seen farmers here. The lands around Tyr are irrigated with dew and mountain rain collectors, desperately maintained. Patches of vivid greens, reds and yellows brighten the hillside upon which Tyr rests, signifying stalwart attempts at cultivating vineyards and grain crops. Though they have not yet been within the city walls. the vast towers and an intricate pyramid can be seen from without. The city looks to be extraordinary, and the only thing that belies such a sentiment is the issuing of thick pilums of smoke from several different districts of the city. It would seem that the city struggles with some inner conflict.
As for their missing compatriots, south of Altaruk, they parted ways. Ale's delerium had grown worse and finally the elven avenger, Tyranus (?) offered to take their ailing companion to a place of sanctuary, north and east of Altaruk. Such a place, would not allow strangers, would not allow monsters, but Tyranus believed that they would take in the needy. They would take in Ale and perhaps help him to recover himself.
After another near fatal incident with Ale the rest of the company finally decided to let them go. They agreed that Tyranus would send word of their fallen companion to the north gates of Tyr in two weeks. That had been the last the company had seen of them; Tyranus the Avenger and Ale the fallen Warlord trudging into the wastes heading East.
With heavy hearts, the rest of the company headed North to Altaruk, a once thriving merchant town. Albin had been and gone. He had sown enough seeds of suspicion about the arriving monster company that their was little business to be done there. They did gather enough news to know that Albin continued north, towards Tyr.
They had set off towards Tyr themselves. Their caravan rolled slowly but consistently over the trade road mile after mile. After a day of this, the Shadar Kai decided to go on ahead to pave the way and perhaps find some allies for the Green Dragon traders before their arrival.
Over the passing days, the company learns a little about the slaves that they had purchased:
KrixUx, the Thri-Kreen has been away from his clutch over long and has become acclimatised to the non-shells. He seems fascinated by the members of the group who have formed a symbiosis with the ax'antiya as he calls them, the scarab armors. He seems amazed that they have survived the process. He is subservient and apparently likes to cook and seems to find mouthwatering flavors from scrubs, scavengers and pests that he finds spotted about the hard ground and sand. He is a competent archer and scout.
Ghana, the nubian warrior has taken a little time to warm up to the group. Apparently, this hard muscled woman was recently a gladiator in the arenas. She has many scars to prove it, some that must have been close to fatal. She practices at every opportunity and is willing to spar with anyone. She is accepting of a slave's life within certain bounds, but she clearly craves freedom.
And so the Green Dragon Co. wait one more day in the hopes that Ale will return to them.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Mistvale Ruminations (from my Facebook page)
Yes, I'm a geek. ...and it would be easy to spend some time and focus on the bustle of a city embracing spring, enjoying peaceful trade after two years of urban conflict and fear filled streets but we should turn our gaze towards the east cliffs that overlook the town. Glance for a moment upon the old grey tower that looks like it is a day away from collapse. An important place that, high seat (both metaphorically and physically) of Angrul the sorcerer, a dark wizard who now rules over the trade council and hence the city as High Lord. The irony is that the people of the city are thankful. Or maybe just a dreamer. ...I said, glance only. Today, we should turn our eyes on that smaller house that looks a little like a miniature fort, nestled next to the old cemetery and the even older church. That my friends, is the Mistvale View tavern, a pub and inn renowned across the continent. As you can see, the season and the mood is being celebrated. A party is in full swing. Colorful awnings decorate the outside of the building. The bar, the courtyards, and a hundred yards either way up the old road are filled with patrons drinking their fill of the finest ales and the most exotic wines available in the Kingdom of Midion. This tavern has been the launching point of many adventures. I suggest you stay a while, introduce yourself to the owner, Gareth, son of Gareth, son of Gareth, the halfling. A barkeep who, some would say, brokered the deal that freed the city and on the same day put it in the hands of Angrul. Or sometimes wish I'd been a writer. To the south of the city, a very old friend to Mistvale stands at the south gate. Albin is wondering what he might find beyond the guards and the old iron portcullis.
Or maybe just a dreamer. ...I said, glance only. Today, we should turn our eyes on that smaller house that looks a little like a miniature fort, nestled next to the old cemetery and the even older church. That my friends, is the Mistvale View tavern, a pub and inn renowned across the continent. As you can see, the season and the mood is being celebrated. A party is in full swing. Colorful awnings decorate the outside of the building. The bar, the courtyards, and a hundred yards either way up the old road are filled with patrons drinking their fill of the finest ales and the most exotic wines available in the Kingdom of Midion. This tavern has been the launching point of many adventures. I suggest you stay a while, introduce yourself to the owner, Gareth, son of Gareth, son of Gareth, the halfling. A barkeep who, some would say, brokered the deal that freed the city and on the same day put it in the hands of Angrul.
Or sometimes wish I'd been a writer. To the south of the city, a very old friend to Mistvale stands at the south gate. Albin is wondering what he might find beyond the guards and the old iron portcullis.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
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.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
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.
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