Hyjacking the Schielhau

Horus' Log

1400. Equinox's contact arrived on board our ship. We were supposed to get a crew to fly this ship back to trove, we got one person. A masked fighter called Adversary for Arrogance. She seems to be able to fly a ship at least. Not sure she'll be much more help than that. Maybe a good guard while we're doing the real business of the hyjacking.

1540. We've laid the trap based on information we got from June Rondo. June is a pilot for the Caged Birds so she knows her stuff. We're going to stop near the Schielhau's flight path, power down, and wait for them to fly by. Then rush them before we appear on their scanners.

1703. Ship in view. Power on. Grappling hooks deployed. Schielhau caught. Some perimeter defences activated. Fissure deployed to space walk the target and clear exterior defences and silence their communications. Widget and Horus to assault the inside of the craft.

1706. Widget has opened the hatch. We are in. Fissure met some resistance outside but has situation under control. Horus taken down one guard and put them to sleep with drugs.

1707. Horus deploys CRISPY, military grade flame thrower on cockpit area. Pilot eliminated. Widget to lock doors to prevent other crew members retaking the helm. Horus to clear the rest of the crew out of the ship.

1708. Widget uses Schielhau's intercom to order an evacuation of the ship. All crew abandon ship except leader, Anise Talkarian.

1710. Fissure completes space walk assignment. Communications of Schielhau severed. They return to Stolen Signet

1711. Horus ambushed by Anise Talkarian. Switches from CRISPY to THOR. Engages in hand to hand combat. Anise equipped with Vibroblade.

1712. Widget discovers Carnation, a former Caged Bird taken prisoner by Ritters of Renegade.

1713. A new ship of the Caged Birds faction enters the encounter. They attempt to claim the Schielhau. We claim we are here first. They should leave.

1715. Horus has hurt Anise severely. Attempting to finish her off. Caged Birds boarding the Schielhau.

1716. Horus' attempts to neutralise Anise fail. Fissure intervenes. Appears to be captured by Anise but applies fine quality drugs to Anise who becomes unconscious. We take her Vibroblade from her and take her hostage.

1718. Attempt to lie to Caged Birds that we did not find Carnation. They agree to let us go but we were identified by Ullyses, an old acquaintance of Horus. Not good news.

1724. Caged Birds leave. Horus pilots Schielhau and Arrogance pilots Stolen Signet back to Trove.

2215. Abandon Anise at chapel to Society of Galactic Camaraderie.

0140. Part ways with Carnation, recorded as friendly contact. Skills include: sniper, rifleman.

Mission Accomplished

A party of four venture forth

"What about the gods?" Hyunti asked.
He was young and full of questions. Vegor had indulged him for a while but was growing tired of it. He looked down at his engraved staff as they walked. The images on the staff were of a teacher walking with his student to the Tree of Time. Not dissimilar to his current situation, though he didn't wish to be seen as Hyunti's or anyone's teacher.
"The gods are just beings like us. Just with more power. We do not owe them anything, just as they do not owe us anything. If people worship it is to gain status, or power, or to feel better in themself," the old woodsman replied.
"You speak like you know much of this," piped in Aegan. His armoured boots crunched the dried leaves on their path with musical precision as he marched. "The gods are mysterious. As are the origins of mortals. Who are you to say what the gods are."
Zethura was silent, though Vegor knew she too would have an opinion, she was not one to share them often. Instead she hid deeper in her cloak as she walked. The strange symbols on her garb seeming to shift slightly as Vegor watched. Wizard robes for sure though he did not know their origin beyond that.
"What do you think of it then Hyunti?" Vegor asked, trying to avoid the role of mentor as much as he could.
"I know enough from listening to you that I know very little of anything. If I'm to learn I need to see more of the world," the young tracker replied.
"Good enough," Aegan said. "Such a journey will only add to all our educations I think."
The four of them had travelled far already. The road west to the valley of four rivers was not travelled by the meek. It was a lawless land. Brigands, wild animals and worse infested the area like plague rats. Already they had called upon Aegan's martial might to slay a mountain wolf and Zethura's magic to deceive and avoid a band of goblin raiders. Vegor was usually at home in the wilds of nature but this was not a place he could feel comfortable.
It was not quite a forest, more a scrubland, but still it was hard to see further than a few dozen paces. There had been a great trade road here once but not it was so overgrown it would be missed if not expressly sought out. Every so often a near intact paving stone would be seen, an artifact to an age when the Valley of Four Rivers was the most prosperous kingdom in the known world. These days nobody from the Eastern Kingdoms even knew if people still lived in the valley. Which made the news they had received a week ago all the more surprising.

A letter had come to the town. Vegor had been out hunting when Hyunti had found him, saying that heroes were being summoned by the Arch Mage. It was like something out of a fairy tale. The Arch Mage of the Valley. But there was the seal, the magical ink, and the messenger, a construct made of clay that broke down into dust hours after their journey had ended.
The letter announced that heroes were required by the Arch Mage and that they would be rewarded with a fortune in gold and magic. Vegor hadn't intended on answering the call, but many in the town talked him into it. He had long served the town of Kirin as a hunter, a woodsman and a healer. He knew how to travel wild roads and where to find food and water in strange lands. He was an obvious choice to go, or so they said.
Aegan was younger the Vegor but still experienced. He had served as a watcher and was well known to be the best swordsman in the county. He was quick to volunteer.
Zethura had been born in the town but in strange circumstances. Her mother was a traveler. A renowned mystic who told farmers their fortunes and would appear every few years. When Zethura was born her mother did not survive and the other travelers would not take her. So Zethura was raised by the town, as were other orphans. But Vegor knew that she was her mother's daughter despite the tragedy. Zethura had left the town years ago and returned hours before the letter arrived. She never spoke, only stood with Aegan after he volunteered himself.
Hyunti was the last. He was a promising boy, nearly a man, and Vegor was not surprised when he volunteered although many in the town objected. The Arch Mage had asked for heroes. Would Hyunti live up to their standards. Hyunti was a hunter and tracker and Vegor had trained him in part but it was the boy's skill with a bow that was most notable. It was that skill, along with his endless enthusiasm that convinced the town to accept him.
And so the party was formed.
Vegor was not certain yet what they would find in the Valley of Four Rivers but he was intent on finding out why he was summoned. As indeed were his companions.

Meeting at The Cobalt Manor

 Witherden Maxilla paced nervously at the door as her master, The Cobalt Liege, spoke to their new guest. Sodie the younger, the self proclaimed scientist, had a new invention he was trying to sell. Witherden had only met the man once, many years ago, promising to deliver exactly what he promised now. She had never expected him to return. She had never wanted him to return.
 The Cobalt Manor stood on the hill overlooking the city of Zaffre, and beyond that the ocean in all it's glory. The Liege's battleship patrolled proudly in the distance. Smaller merchant vessels made their way to the distant ports of Humblemouth and Merchant's Bounty. Tiny fishing ships would brave the rough waters to supply Zaffre's famous markets. But Witherden knew somewhere in the docks was Sodie's vessel as well. It's crew arrogantly boasting their so called victory.
 From this height there was no way to see individual people but still Witherden scanned the paved streets. What did the people of her town think of the scientists? At the docks the fishermen would have heard the news first. The bureaucrats and tradesmen in the city would know by now too. Did they believe in the promised new age of progress. Did the wizards and mystics in their strange shops and impossible towers believe that their ancient magic could be harnessed so easily? And what of the overworked and underpaid miners and labourers in the city. Did they believe this was their way out of the hardship they endured each day. It seemed to good to be true, and if Sodie was involved it must be.
 The door was shut and no sound could be heard through it. That was the magic of the Cobalt Manor. That was why diplomats and leaders from the lands surrounding chose this place to meet. You could always be secret. Yet Witherden still strained her ears to hear, just a whisper would be enough, of what The Cobalt Liege and the Scientist were discussing. But to no avail.

The First Pattern

The First Pattern: Ancient orc society and the move from barbarianism to the study of semiotic magic

By Monder Puck, Philosopher Lieutenant, Department of Reality Reclamation, New Archives of Heiron

Why Orcs? This was a question my associate Davide Lay asked me once when we were both students, new to the New Archives. It was a question that confounded me for some years. Semiotics or pattern magic happens in the world every day. Anyone can mix their tea in a specific way on a specific day and have their teacup explode without ever knowing it was part of the pattern. Orcs have risen to become the leaders in the study and practice of semiotics in Heiron. This is despite ancient orcs being known to be as a warmongering, non-technological and violent society. In this paper I aim to show how orcs have a natural affinity with the pattern and how the ancient orcs already followed the pattern more closely than other societies.

Ancient, pre-Erasure society was not how it is today. "A time of elven sages, orcish hordes, greedy dwarves and urbanised humans"(Steen 1). Pre-Erasure society saw the different races split up into their own separate society. Of all those societies logic would suggest that orcs were the least likely to begin a study of pattern magic. The elves for example lived in harmony with nature and were great students of nature. This combination of empathy towards the natural world and the study of the arcane led to many magical abilities in the elves but pattern magic eluded them for the most part. The ancient society of the group we know as dwarves placed immense importance in ownership and the lacks that a person has. This concept of every item have a correct place also seems to suggest a link to the pattern but dwarves also have little mention in their history of the use of semiotics. The humans, a race that traditionally embodied curiosity and progress would seem a perfect fit for a society to discover semiotics and put them to work but they too failed to discover its power. Instead it was the orcs, a society known not for keeping everything in order but for putting the places they invaded into chaos.

Everyone can feel the pull of the pattern. A thought like loneliness is caused by your body not being near those you are supposed to be near. Feeling lost is your body being physically out of place. Unease in a social situation comes from not behaving in the way the pattern would have you behave. Orcs tend to be less likely to be bound by these feelings. If the pattern needs a fight, or an argument, or a love affair, the laws and moralities of human, elf and dwarf society often get in the way of these things but for Orcs these events happen freely. Orcs are also known to live in large groups as the pattern draws orcs to the place they are needed to be, they are not chained to the land their father owned or the house their ancestors built. Ancient orcs were even better at this than their modern day kin. Though the ancient orcs lived in large roaming hordes there was no evidence they ever used drums or horns to coordinate their movements (Byron 2). They would simply, wake at the correct time and get up and move, as the pattern dictated.

Orcs are not chaotic, they merely appear that way to creatures who do not understand or who fear them. Orcs are in fact highly empathetic to the world around them however they are less inclined to ideas of morality, ownership and law that other races have come to rely upon. Whereas a human or a dwarf will abstain from stealing an item because of some code of ethics they have or societal laws that prevent such behaviour an orc will naturally lean towards what the pattern would have them do (Yurik 3). Such behaviour may make an orc seem selfish or impulsive but to an orc such an action is instinctive and is bound to a different set of laws, that of the pattern.

Pre-Erasure scholars did not understand the orcs in a way that we do today and misinterpreted patterns for chaotic raiding. In the account of Helmas Lightbrand (4), a scout from a human town believed to be in the Eastern plains of Heiron in pre-Erasure times the orcs attacked his town in a very specific and confusing way.

• The Orcs came just as the sun was setting. There must have been nearly a thousand of them. There could be no defense, all people could do was hide. I watched from the northern guardhouse tower as the barbarians laid waste to our town but such was their chaotic nature they would torch one house here or there and leave others untouched. Four of our number were killed, two men and two women. Another four, again two men and two women were taken. One of the eastern houses was dismantled by the beasts and its pieces were arranged on the town square in a circle, perhaps a tribute to their strange gods. Then they left, without stealing, happy to simply remind us that their chaotic whims could strike at any time.

Lightbrand accuses the orcs of being chaotic and cruel but from modern knowledge of the pattern we see evidence here of the orcs, even in the early stages of their society, practicing semiotics. There are many other accounts of similar raids and countless other myths of the "orcish hordes" of that time. Each one a tale not of total destruction or the pillaging of resources but of chaotic activities and strange rituals.

The ancient orcs had found a way of using the pattern to sustain them. This magical effect of being fed eludes modern semioticians but is seen in other forms of magic. The devout of Samothese have been known to be able to operate for weeks on end without any form of sustenance if dedicated to a quest. Some folk from the wilderness claim to be able to survive off the gifts of the spirits of the land alone without taking in any food or drink. In order to sustain a large population without farming, hunting or foraging the orcs had discovered a pattern wherein by raiding a town in a specific way they could all leave with full bellies.

After the events of the Erasure these larges groups of raiding orcs began to disappear from reliable sources. What little we know of the Erasure and its effect on the pattern it is of the belief of this writer that the first pattern, the food pattern, stopped working. Orcs no longer had a reliable source of food and their populations dwindled and their society was forced to adapt. The purpose of the Department of Reality Reclamation is to theorise why the orcs began the New Archives and this paper does not wish to go into depth on that subject now but the fact orcs are so in touch with the pattern from generations following the food pattern gives us an idea as to why semiotics became such a critical part of the archives. 

Orcs have based their society around the use of the pattern since the first recorded histories. Orcs have a close link to the pattern and base their behaviour on what the pattern dictates and therefore when the first pattern they discovered, the food pattern, was taken away from them they took to more intense study of pattern magic and formally started to use and study semiotics. How this led to the founding of the New Archives and what the post-Erasure ancient orcs intended this place to be will continue to be the topic of deepest discussion inside the Department of Reality Reclamation.

This paper is dedicated to Davide Lay-of-the-land, scholar, semiotician and friend. Without his questions I would not have answers, without his love I would not have inspiration.

References
1: "Race, Society and the breakdown of pre-Erasure culture" - Kora Steen 307J
2: "The Horde: Archeological findings at the site of an Eastern Horde's final battle" - Mali Byron 341A
3: "The Green folk: Compassion, ethics and morality in orcish culture and the myth of barbarism" - Jin Yurik 273R
4: "The account of Helmas Lightbrand" - Helmas Lightbrand 73UNQA

Davasi

The Quiet Year: Davasi
It all started with a calamity. The servants of Vladasmoerker were minutes from completing the ritual known as the descent into darkness when the powerful Mage elite of the city of Davasi managed to sever their home from the material plane. The powerful magics uprooted the city of Davasi from the desert that was its home, saving their home world but sending their own city spinning off into the multiverse. Where it landed was a strange place with new plants and trees, new animals but also new opportunities away from the chaos of their old life. The city still mostly stood, the only change being a cobbled road made from the local stone cutting through the middle of the city.
The people of Davasi began to survey their surroundings. To the north was an impossibly tall mountain rising up from mostly flat plains. To the east of that a mysterious lake. To the south there was a small but incredibly dense forest. The townsfolk pooled their resources revealing an abundance of the magical crystals that that Davasi was famous for but also exposing shortages of essential supplies. The herds that provided the town with food were gone. They had little in the way of weapons or building materials. Worst of all the town that had previously relied so heavily on the educated and the magical now found itself in a strange new world where their powers refused to function and their old knowledge had become worthless. In order to survive they would need to rectify these problems.
The began by searching the surrounding areas for food and they succeeded. Two strange types of beast, the Yakkety's and the Velocemoos were discovered but that was not all the search parties found. A race similar to the Dwarfs, only with antler like horns lived on the mountain. These people known as the Dwelk were friendly if distant to the people of Davasi. To the south west a boy called Alim discovered sometching even more strange. A group of giant stone pillars built by an unknown civilisation.
In the following weeks the town leaders found a woman named Aysel among their number who was a skilled farmer. She agreed to begin farming the Yakketys to address the livestock shortage. Also one of the ruling mages, Borik, sent a pair of emissaries to the Dwelk to negotiate the beginning of trade. These diplomats were called Jinan and Beyza. Meanwhile in the town two sisters, both up and coming mages began competing projects to solve the problems of magic and knowledge. Maialen began stockpiling all the crystals in the city to study them and learn to better use their magic. Koravai began excavating the area around the stone pillars to better understand the civilisation that came before them. It was during the excavation that Alim made another discovery. A strange magical device on two wheels, though it appeared broken Koravai's workers took it into the city for further study. Meanwhile Maialen did stockpile many crystals although a group called the crystal thieves also began their own stockpile.
 From Aysel's new farm the city was receiving meat, pelts and leather but it also received another thing. A young man called Kym swore he saw a phoenix in the sky and told the people of Davasi it was a good omen. On top of that Jinan and Beyza returned and announced trade with the Dwelk could begin and the merchant Djin was tasked with building the road the the Dwelk town Celawe in the mountain. A man called Wren came to the town. He was from a race known as the Sylf and had blue skin and a small, light framed body. He was a merchant and brought strange goods from this new world. Morale remained high until Maude, the oldest woman in the town and wife of the high Mage Borik died of suspect circumstances. This causes Borik to fly into a rage. He quickly began mobilising Davasi for war using stone from the many abandoned buildings in the city to build towers on the city wall to improve their defences.
As Spring turned to Summer their were three ruling factions emerging in the city. Those dedicated to Borik and the old ways, those dedicated to Maialen and her stockpiling knowledge and those dedicated to Koravai and her impetuous exploration. Borik continued his military expansion by training a militia of battlemages who later became know as the Sandstorm. Koravai sends people into the forest to bring back wood for building supplies. Maialen sets up a school dedicated to the study of magic and crystals. While this is happening a large force of the Sylf make an encampment on the road to the east of the city. People also investigate the strange lake to the north when the guards in the town noticed it would glow aqua on certain nights.
In late summer, just when things seem just about settled another tragedy struck. The wood that Koravai's people were gathering is burnt, none is salvageable. Jinan and Beyza investigate and find it the work of her sister Maialen. Maialen loses a lot of face as it is also revealed she has been spying on the people of Davasi for weeks to improve her political standing. Things go from bad to worse when Koravai is captured by the Sylf, just days before Borik's militia fully form and begin their protection of the city.
Despite the sudden violence and upheaval in the town some people are entranced by a different thing. The lake to the north is a source of seductive power and the engineer Typhel is tasked with building an aqueduct to redirect it's water to the town. the people who work on it eventually stop coming back to their homes in the city, making a town of their own by the lake. They continue to work and soon the Aqueduct is completed. Meanwhile in the town Alim takes over some of Koravai's duties and finishes the school with help from the crystal thieves. He also discovers underground an ancient city that existed here long before Davasi. Inside that city is a library filled with books written in Davasi's language. The discovery is strange but also helpful as it solved the educational crisis in the town. The conflict with the Sylf continued to worsen as Borik's new militia attempt an attack but find the Sylf are more than prepared for their attack and have magical defences against the battle mages of the Sandstorm. Borik responds by building a military installation in the city, using buildings once held by Koravai, to increase his military power to counter the Sylf.
Yet another new person comes to the town. Cicero, of the catlike Namiir, comes to the town to escape the wild Velocemoos. Cicero's knowledge of the world is vast and he is quickly identified as very useful. When the Sylf merchant Wren disappears Cicero is the only remaining person local to this new world and so he is asked to go to parlay with the Sylf forces. The results are less than satisfactory however and the Sylf remain hostile.
It is a dark night in early autumn when the crystal thieves Isra and Jocasta, sneak into the Sylf camp and start destroying it from the inside. Meanwhile atop the magical two wheeled vehicle he had found Alim rode in and rescued Koravai from under the Sylf's noses. Celebrations are short lived however when the Sylf respond by attacking the Yakkety farm, killing Aysel, the farm's founder.
With one victory already won over the Sylf Borik sends his new improved fighting force against them and destroys their camp. His victory gains him some good will among the community until Jinan and Beyza who had been investigating the disappearance of Wren discover his body in Borik's tower, deceased from the wounds of torture. The troops of the militia fragment, those who continue to be called the Sandstorm turned to the leadership of their honourable captain Stewart while a portion, now known as Borik's Bruisers stayed loyal to Borik. Despite this turmoil there is also rejoicing as the Aqueduct is completed and the magic lake water reaches the city. People who choose to drink it feel magically empowered but people also notice changes in them. Their eyes change colour and they seem to grow a little taller. In the excitement of the new water Maialens spies destroy the tunnel leading to the underground library, again starving Davasi of knowledge of their new world.
The people of laketown report something strange. There are another race of people, eight armed fish men living at the bottom of the lake. Kym, the farmer also reports another omen, this time a bad one, where he thought he saw the phoenix again was a dead Velocemoo. People however seemed unwilling to hear his warnings. Autumn grew colder and to alleviate the food shortage caused by the Sylf attack on the farm the people bought food supplies from the Dwelk. Cicero was also put in charge of expanding the farm into a large ranch. He enlisted Isra and Jocasta as his helpers in this task. Alim and Koravai also got to work building a factory to produce work tools for the population.
As winter approached people became obsessed with a new project. With their new tools in hand they abandoned Cicero's new ranch in favour of another adventure into the forest and this time returned much more successful. With the new wood they started fortifying their homes against the coming winter but not before Cicero decided to leave, warning them that they were far from prepared for what was to come. Kym, this time accompanied by Alim, saw the phoenix once again and this prompted the community to rally, finishing the fortifying much quicker thanks to Alim and his knowledge of the tunnels of the old city. In the tunnels the engineer Typhel discovered another strange truth about this place. The old city that they shared this space with had been brought here from another plane as well.
As the first snow of winter started to fall a strange sight appeared on the aqueduct. The eight legged creatures known as the Bok-Tuoc shuffled their way into the town. As the weather grew cold people started to fall sick but the Bok-Tuoc built a hospital and used their magical healing to help these people. Winter remains harsh as a tornado destroys the trade road to the Dwelk. Borik panics as the Dwelk supplies were a cornerstone of his military power. He responds by declaring war on the Sandstorm and fighting breaks out in the streets. He also attempts to rebuild the road but with the winter weather as it is he is forced to abandon the project. Alim however begins the task of reclaiming the lost library while Maialen plans an elaborate assissination of Borik. As the winter grows darker and darker the Sylf return, torching laketown and threatening the city once again.
Then finally the magical lake freezes over. Citizens wake to find the Bok-Tuoc gone, their hospital vanished as though it was never built. Also the citizens who had drunk from the lake and been magically altered had vanished. Two days of relative quiet passed before they returned. Now horrible beasts of violence and death. They attacked the town relentlessly and with the forces of the Sandstorm stuck in the civil war the town was all but defenceless. Up in his tower Borik was torn limb from limb, a far cry from the delicate assassination planned for him but effective none the less. His broken body, little more than blood and bones lay on the strange cobbled road getting trampled by the chaos in the city. The people of the ranch were slaughtered and the survivors of laketown were too. Yet one group, led by the boy Alim survived. Their reinforced houses protected them and when the monsters breached their walls they fled further into the underground city and lasted the winter. On the first day of Spring they emerged. Their first year was over, they had survived.

The understudy

Kanyon Vermont was an actor. A great actor, he called himself. Tall, handsome, well spoken, he had every tool to be just that. But something never quite clicked for him. A missed line here, a stutter there. audition after audition, "we'll make you the understudy, get some more experience and come back next time". He had been the understudy. He needed experience, but where to get it when none would give him a chance? The night before one particularly prestigious performance the renowned actor Rupen Zantoro was set to play the lead, Kanyon his understudy. But Rupen did not arrive. Minutes to curtain the director nervously gave Kanyon the nod to get dressed in the costume of the lead part. The star of the show. It was only after the performance that the truth became known. In the aftermath when people were raving about a new star born. Rupen Zantoro was dead. Murdered by an unknown assailant. Rumours grew till they were an all but established fact that Kanyon Vermont was the murderer. Though the authorities never charged him the theatre folk hunted the young actor and his promising career appeared over. Yet another group had also become interested in Kanyon. The mysterious assassins, impressed by his cold blooded willingness and methodical precision made Kanyon a offer that launched a new career. Not one of fame, but of infamy. With each life ended he added a new page to the stage show that was his new life. With each new contract a new audience to perform to, an audience that, like his first audience, would be in awe of his skill and then never see him perform again. He took pride in his work, and sometimes even took pleasure. Yet, in the back of his mind, he always wondered. What if. What if he hadn't been the understudy that time. What if he'd been given the chance he had finally taken by force. What life would have awaited Kanyon Vermont as a great actor.

The Scrappers

So I was writing last night, and I decided a needed a new idea. And I've been watching lots of star trek recently so thought I'd try a Sci Fi idea. The only Sci Fi I've ever written was Jack Steel, which is based on Unreal Tournament.

So I came up with an idea which I called "Scrappers". It's a working title (said in Archer's voice). It's set in our universe in the future, probably about 2400ish. Humans have developed interstellar travel and have colonies on planets throughout the Milky Way. Then there is a war which destroys most of Earth leaving these colonies isolated.

Now the cool bit (I think it's a cool bit) is that when the old civilisation was up and running they had these awesome high tech pieces of technology on the planets. Enormous machines that provided these like food replication, environment controls, public transport etc to run cities on hostile worlds. Another technology that was really common was cybernetics.

As the machines were so huge and complicated they needed Cybernetically enhanced mechanics to build, repair and service them. They also were connected together in a way that would maximise the city's efficiency and controlled from orbitting space stations. So when the war came through the orbitting stations were destroyed and everything stopped work. Leaving these previously working class mechanics as the supermen who could repair the old technology. The mechanics came to be called scrappers, because they would take the scrap from some machines and use it to rebuild other machines, and due to their cybernetic implants they knew how everything worked and what they needed to do.

So some scrappers tried to help everyone out, build things the recovering cities needed. Others went into business for themselves, only fixing things for a price and generally looking after their own skin. Others tried to gain positions of power, ruling like post-apocalyptic kings. Most scrappers either keep themselves super well protected with bodyguards and mechs etc, or hide their identity completely as there are cults out there trying to kill all the scrappers and destroy their technology as they believe technology is evil and has led to the downfall of man.

I don't have a main story yet, I'm sure it'd be about one scrapper, trying to be a good guy in a harsh unforgiving world. Let me know what you think.

The Heartcrown: Part 1

Fires burned at the altar of the shrine of Ibrox. Anestis readied her bow and took aim at the charging cultist. The arrow hit true, right in the neck as Coist, the swordsman, sliced through another. Stoney Black, the dwarven shieldbearer battered a path through three more, flanked by Faure, wielding her axe.

Aird watched on as his fellow rangers fought, carefully readying his own attack. Another wave of cultists swarmed through the temple's doors and Aird let fly with a blast of fire, burning two to ash and bone and sending the others screaming in pain. The wizard allowed himself a smirk as he readied his next spell.

Left and right the cultists fell, with no armour and only the most primative weapons they were no match for the five well trained rangers. In equal numbers they fell to arrow, sword, axe and fire. Only Stoney Black refused to take life. His mace staying tucked behind his giant shield. His shield was enough to defend them all, they were the hammer to his anvil.

The tide of battle continued to swing their way. Faure hacked down two who feigned to flee while Anestis picked off a lone flanker. Stoney Black pressed forward but it was Coist, ever the leader, who launched the counter-charge. Three days they had defended that shrine and its artifacts. Now they would break the seige, while the fight was at its fiercest. Outside into the burning landscape they fought. Under a forboding winter moon the five battled the legion of fanatics.

Victory neared. Coist's sword was coated in fresh blood so much it glowed in the moonlight. The cultists turned, about to flee. Anestis could only watch, when fires began to explode from the enemy lines. This time it was not the work of Aird. Coist in his fervour was now isolated as the demon Ibraine emerged from the fires. One blow from the demon's burning blade was all it took for Coist to fall. All Anestis could see was the fleeing fanatics and when they were all out of sight Coist and Ibraine were nowhere to be seen.

The Island

The Ship rolls on

our only landmark the sun

in the distance we see land

it grows larger on the horizon

our first view of the island

Boxes move in the cargo hold

I am a stowaway, finally released

sneaking away into the trees

I have freedom at last

Close my eyes

trying to forget the past that’s been dragging me down

I shouldn’t be escaping

there is too much left to do

what am I waiting for?

answers lie back at the ship

not on the island

Must act

sneak back

spy

so many stories being told of the island

not by her, she gives orders and they move

I follow her

looking for answers

they venture into the jungle

so that is where I must go

She walks with them, with all her secrets

leading them to who knows what

leading them to their doom

she is more than mystery

she is temptation

I want to know want she knows

not stop her

I could surrender to her

let her show me all

but that would not be how it would work

she would not lead except to lead astray

When all is said and done

my duty must be followed

answers are the goal

not her

But how do I fight temptation

when in the end I know she will undo all

Though she cannot see me

I can still feel her stare

she calls to me to turn myself in, I can almost hear her voice

“Where you wish to go, I will take you there.”

The Inquisitor

We’re always suspicious when another party try to share our campfire. Tonight, in the hills less than a week from Sandona was no exception. I am called Bedaris, of the elven lands of Turlai. I travel with a party of adventurers, some acquaintances, some friends. They are the Northman Dyergan, a great warrior, the dwarf Wogan, a warrior priest from Khardova, the thief Urda, a woman from the blacktown of Etrak and my apprentice, Meirlaia, also a Turlai elf.

This group who we encountered were all human, so we were immediately suspicious of them and them of us. They exchanged few words apart from their leader speaking softly with Dyergan, warrior to warrior. Each of them wore an unusual symbol that I could not place. Any group travelling under a symbol are even more likely to be quarrelsome.

“Steer clear of this lot,” Wogan whispered to me. “Marks of Almar on them, church folk can’t be trusted.”

“Armers you think,” I asked. The Armers were a radical sect of the Human religion who not only hated outsiders, despised spellcasters like Meirlaia and myself.

“Can’t be sure, not the symbol they wear, can’t be sure.” Wogan spoke in a deep bass, often repeating phases for effect. Most others found him dull and slow but his advice was always right on target. It was his opinion I always valued the highest.

If an Armer suspected someone of spellcasting they could arrest them in the name of the church immediately. That was the law of this land, although we would be unlikely to surrender without a fight any confrontation with armed warriors would result in casualties we could ill afford. Urda was staying well away from the strangers by herself but Meirlaia was talking idly with one of the strangers.

Meirlaia had been my apprentice for only a few months but she had already proved to be foolhardy and naïve at best. At first I let her speak her words, trust her judgement as I was supposed to but after a small while more of the strangers gathered around her. They all still wore their swords and armour, which should have been unnecessary with camp made. I motioned to Dyergan but he was already moving to get his enormous two handed sword, pretending to sharpen it. Urda, in the shadows, no doubt had knives by the cartload hidden in her clothes, she allowed me to see a glint of steel, though I trusted her to be prepared. Wogan was less subtle, taking up his mace and shield and walking over to the strangers.

“Best get your gear off and relax, men of Farah. We don’t wish to be armed all night.” The men looked up and the dwarf and snarled. Meirlaia looked over shocked and took a step back from the man she was talking, not realising she was already surrounded.

I stepped closer, trying to hide the fact that the pole I was holding was not a walking stick but was in fact a javelin ready to be thrown.

“Come over here Meirlaia, help me get dinner started.”

“Two elves travelling in one group. Not often we see your kind here, pointing eared one. Can I ask what your purpose is in our lands?” The man was not the leader who spoke to Dyergan but another, making no secret to the broad sword at his waist.

“Perhaps in good time friend,” I said through clenched teeth, “first we must get our meal started, and you should put away your weapons.”

Meirlaia tried to walk back over to me but she was stopped by another of the strangers.

“No matter, your apprentice here has told us enough already.”

I looked over to Dyergan and he stepped forward holding his two handed claymore threateningly.

“Let her go and be gone, you have overstayed your welcome,” Dyergan said menacingly.

The man merely laughed and motioned to his lackeys who moved on Dyergan and me.

I thrust hard at the first soldier but he parried my blow. Dyergan had two men to fight and was grimacing with effort, swinging his huge blade.

Wogan moved to rescue Meirlaia but he too was outnumbered. Meirlaia was foolishly trying to cast a spell but the man who had her was throwing her round like a rag doll and she could do nothing. The helpless girl had never learned to truly defend herself, as much as I tried to teach her of the need.

I tried to cast a spell of my own in the chaos but the man I fought would not give me the time. Eventually I released a simple fire spell that distracted him enough to stab him in the leg. Although he was still mobile and I was forced to fight on. But moments later he let out a yelp and collapsed. As did one of the men fighting Dyergan, while our leader felled his other adversary immediately.

I launched my Javelin at one of Wogan’s adversaries, seconds before the Dwarf was cleaved in two and Dyergan finished his other. In the chaos I lost track of Meirlaia and the man. Urda, who’s knives had swung the battle was nowhere to be seen either.

Wogan started his best dwarf sprint towards where he knew they went. I followed to find Meirlaia, soaked to the bone, shivering, but standing still, over the body of the man, who also had a knife in his back. She had no doubt finally got a spell to cast, though a clearly crude and ill-advised one. A ball of ice from that range could have killed her.

I went over to Meirlaia, draping my cloak over her shoulders and whispering encouragement in her ears. Urda, who had already gone through the man’s pockets, threw me a small medallion with a sun and a fist on it, the symbol of the Armers. We should have known. Travelling in the lands of men would only get more dangerous.

Jack Steel: The Walls

Every night they shut down the tournament for an hour.

No Lights, barely air to breath, nothing to do but sit and wait. They did maintenance then, or so we thought.

In the maze everyone felt lost, except Jack. I never knew how he stayed so sure, even when backtracking into dead ends, till he told me.

The walls, they moved them in the night. All of them except the ones too close to shooters. Jack knew the ways so well he knew how the walls would move, which way they swung. Could do all but move them himself.

He took us to the edge of the maze. Waited till dark so he could set to work.

Waiting for dark terrified us all. We never stayed still before then. You couldn't know what would come down a tunnel at you. Every time we hunted, if the prey were still we won. Yet that time we waited. No clock to tell us how long it could be. Even Jack won't speak of the waiting, drove us halfway round the bend.

But the lights slammed off eventually and we went to work. Moving in pitch black, lungs burning for more air, we heard the walls moving. Strained our eyes to find a wall that would open up an exit from the maze. We searched blindly, knew time was against us, till suddenly it all happened and we stood outside the maze.

A man met us. Pale and diseased thing. Said he tried to escape too. But the maze was sealed off here. He could see the way out but couldn't reach it. Nothing to eat but the slime on the walls and the rats on the floor. Nothing to drink but boiled sewer water.

We saw the exit from there. A raising bridge that could move to any position on the mazes edge. We watched as the bridge went down to allow new shooters over a huge cavern and into the maze. It was too far away for us to reach in time, and we could never predict where it'd land next. Each of us stared longingly as it raised back up, closing any chance of escape.

Jack didn't even watch. His eyes just fixated on the ground. The kid looked crushed. The plan didn't work.

Jack Steel: The Tournament

When the Sky Men came back they brought weapons we'd never dreamed of. We had no answers. Lucky they wanted hostages, not corpses. The first attack, we found out, was just a test. They wanted to know how The Hub stood up to a fight.

Jack and our boys stood just fine.

Soon the place was up and running again. Jack worked showing the money through the tunnels beneath the boilers.

Sky Men took to constructing more tunnels, more boilers, more foundries, and all we built was more weapons.

It didn't feel like we were conquered. Sky Men treated us better than the founding leader of The Hub, for a while at least.

But then the new people came. Mercenaries, hard men, the best gun slingers in the galaxy. They all came for the tournament. We were each given a primitive rifle, they were going to hunt us like game birds. But we were armed to raise the stakes, and give us hope.

Some of the locals split up, I stayed with Jack.

We were stalked for days by two commandos from Kralliss, but Jack Steel knew the tunnels too well and led them into a trap. For one so young Jack had the patience of a chess master.

Soon we'd taken more than our fair share of scalps, and Jack was on top of the tournament's leader-board.
We based ourselves near the boilers, so that's where the best shots in the world wanted to come.

Sometimes it felt like we were dancing puppets though. It was time to escape, because we'd never be released, not from there.

Jack Steel: The Hub

Jack Steel was born in The Hub, main colony on the factory world of Clabrius. Jack worked in the boilers, a rough part of town, the power nexus for The Hub. Lived in a dormitory for other lost souls. Didn't school, school was just for the lucky ones.

In the boilers you don't care about the noises above. When the sky opened he didn't even flinch, just kept working. Wasn't till warning told them he took up arms. Fought the Skymen in the boilers, but it wasn't enough, they had to fight back.

Jack was a leader, commanded the resistance. The boilers never fell and they won back the foundry and part of the forge, nearly half the whole Hub.

But they were outmatched. The Skymen came harder. It was a slaughter. Only the most skilled survived. Sure enough one was Jack Steel.

But the Skymen never finished them. Holed up in the boilers we all wondered why. Was it mercy, or something else, that stayed their hand.

We waited, day after day. Boilers ran dry, air would soon be unfit to breathe. Jack went out alone. The Hub was deserted, expect for the dead. Skymen couldn't live without the boilers running.

Now there's water in the boilers and the ventilator works again. We try to rebuild but so much has been lost. We would have lost everything if not for Jack Steel.

The Howling

Howling, unintelligible, the man chasing was insane but he wouldn’t stop. I jumped a fence and still the man followed. He landed flat on the ground with a crunch but rose and chased on unperturbed, all the while howling away.

To my right, down another street, I could hear horses’ hooves pounding away, along with equine screams of terror. The fire that had started this whole thing was still spreading. Perhaps that was the source of the horses’ panic. But not even I was naïve enough to believe that. I looked back to see not one but three men chasing me. It was becoming clear that they were no longer really men.

Ahead a bus had overturned, blocking the entirety of the narrow street. The men were approaching fast, their howls more desperate than ever. A quick look around showed a small supermarket had its door open, even though the lights were off. If I’d had my time again I would never have gone in there. But I had no idea then how dangerous an enclosed space could be.

On the Grey Stone

Looking out
standing on grey stone
searching desperately
scanning fields of green
tiny ants run
silver sticks of death approaching
voice sings out
grey stone comes alive
defend the walls
the red flag of war is upon us

The Gift of Magic

“Can you hear me? Don’t be afraid.”
Chula scrambled away from the thicket. Where had the voice come from? It was deep and stern. Not boisterous like another ogre’s.
“What are you?” Chula asked.
“I am the power to make impossible into reality. I am magic. For you,” the voice said.
Chula was an ogre. Ogres were not magical. Though they appeared to be dim-witted monsters they were much like any other mortal race. But they were never wizards.
“You are not for me,” Chula said. “Ogres don’t use magic.”
Then she fled to her camp. At this time of year when the sun rose early and set late her family led buffalo through the plateaus. When the days turned dark they would retreat to the caves.
Her father was making arrows for the day’s hunt and Chula ran to his arms. She did not speak. Words weren’t needed. Her fear was obvious to him. Ogres usually had nothing to fear. His arms were enough comfort that she could return to her duties.
Plants infested the plateau. Many were poisonous, some were delicious. Chula knew how to spot each one. Today she searched for food. Another day she could be searching for medicines or even weapons.
“You return,” the voice said.
Chula looked around. It was not the same bush. The spirit was following her.
“Go away.”
“No.”
“Ogres are not magical,” Chula said.
“No mortal is magic. My kind are magic,” the voice said. “My kind are afraid of the Ogres. That is why you are never our wizards. But you are different. I overcame my fear to speak to you. I ask that you do the same.”
Magic had fears?
“What do you want?” Chula asked.
“You,” the voice said. “To be my wizard,”
Chula looked around. She couldn’t run away. The spirit would always follow. Her only hope was to reason with it.
“I don’t want power.”
“Yes you do,” the voice said. “Why do you study the plants if not to gain power from them? Why do you follow the animals and learn their instincts if not to gain their power? You have gained so much power already that other mortals could not dream of. Take this final gift from me. Be my wizard.”
The voice was closer now. It pleaded to her. She could almost feel herself becoming a wizard then and there. She could raise mountains and summon storms. She had true power at her fingertips.
But to what end? She had no use for this gift. With that thought the spirit retreated.
“I will wait,” it said.
Chula returned home much later in the day with all the food she could carry but the camp was not its usual buzz of activity. The Ogres were huddled together around something and Chula rushed over to see her father lying on his back with a huge spear in his stomach.
“The hill men attacked us on the hunt,” Cousin Bran said. “Can you help him?”
The spear was in deep. Her father was dying. No amount of medical skill could save him. Chula reached for her knife so she could end his suffering, but she hesitated. The voice was closer than ever.
“I am waiting.”

Return of a cursed one

Lebogan Shah peered through the slit in his door at the streets that were growing darker by the second. Soon the Parson's voices would be heard through the city of Dalasca, declaring the streets safe for the 'cursed ones'. That was what Lebogan Shah was called.
It had been that way for centuries in Dalasca. The blessed walk the streets by day, the cursed by night. Always separated.
"Retreat now blessed ones," the Parsons' song could be heard. "Lest the cursed corrupt your soul. Return now cursed ones, if you've the will to leave your hole."
A foolish chant, but it had been sung each day for centuries. The blessed would return to their homes and the cursed would emerge.
Shah's door opened. Dalasca was dirty and smelled of squalor and poverty but compared to his house the air felt cool and fresh. Other cursed were emerging, snarling at any blessed ones who remained in the streets. The blessed ones, the Altari, would be gone from the streets in minutes. The night belonged to the Krull, the cursed.
The streets and alleys were unlit and no moon graced the sky but Shah could see clearly. He walked amongst the cursed Krull, their skin like coal. A few gave him strange glances but most were used to his ghostly complexion in these streets. The night began like any other, until he saw a face he thought he knew, before it disappeared. Shah moved to follow. To find one who escaped his presence.
He knew the face, if his eyes did not deceive. Veska Ayari, one of the cursed maidens, a daughter of the Kingdom of Krull. Shah had not seen her in years and thought he'd never see her again. The sight of her alone nearly warmed the blood in his veins.
Shah had not always been cursed. As a child he walked by day among the blessed. A child of the Altari Empire. But he was forever curious and took to leaving his house at night, to spy on the cursed ones.
He had seen Veska, a girl with such passion and beauty couldn't exist among the blessed. He spoke with her and won her heart, but they could never be together. He was blessed, she was cursed.
Shah had left the city, not yet a grown man, to find a solution and he though he found it in the far off city of Mazanad. A man with ghostly white skin, cursed as teh Krull were to never see the light of the sun. Shah had asked the man to share his curse and the man bit into his neck, nearly killing him. But when he woke the curse had already begun.
Shah returned to Dalasca but Veska was horrified at him. She screamed he had given up his mortality. That he could no longer feel, no longer love. His curse was a thousand times worse than hers and she ran away, never to be seen or heard of by Shah again.
He ran through the streets. Trying to feel excitement, like those days so many years ago when he tried to feel heart broken, but could only feel emptiness. With thoughts of Veska so close Shah could almost remember how to be passionate. He tried to focus on thoughts of her eyes, her lips, her breasts. But his mind could only rest on her neck.
Shah froze. Something sharp was being held at the back of his heart.
"Lebogan Shah," Veska's voice was unmistakable. "It has been a long time."

The Broken Bottle

Joe lay on his dirty old couch on his back porch. He'd spent the night there, although he couldn't remember falling asleep.
His friends had come for a party to celebrate his escape from his vile marriage. That was the night before. Now there was just the usual devestation of the morning after.
Joe stared blankly at the unpolished deck. Tooheys cans and bundy cans everywhere. And the bottle of Smirnoff, smashed, broken shards all over the place.
It was not broken in clumsy drunkedness. It was in anger. All nights ended in anger for Joe. She was not the problem, he was. No wonder no friends had stayed to help clean up. Joe drove everyone away.
They had been so happy to begin with but the pressure of life had changed Joe. And after that he had changed her. Changed her into the witch she became, before she finally ended it with that piece of paper.
His friends had seen it all. They would support him but they also blamed him. All the jokes in the world didn't change their judging eys. He drove them away when he drove her away. Soon he would have nothing.
If only he could go back. To a time when he was not broken. But just like that bottle he could not go back.

Rain

A single drip and then a patter, so begins the rain
I watch it with an aire of dread out through my window pane
The night is fast approaching and the day will soon refrain
And all the while there's water flowing quickly down the drain

The rain's mystique in my mind is anything but inane
Its origins could only be the work of the arcane
So high and far its world is impossible to attain
Out of reach and understanding no matter how hard we strain

Tonight the rain will surely bring another type of pain
I try to not think thoughts that are easy to entertain
Perhaps there is a way, a sort of injury to feign
Alas I can't avoid it, hockey training in the rain

Between the Shelves

Nebba scurried back to his hiding place as the dusty Dickens was taken. He felt a pang of regret, why choose that copy? The readers usually wanted the new editions with the shiny pages. But Nebba loved the smell of the old ones. There was work to do so Nebba slid down the back of the shelves to find his next vessel.
Books held amazing power, they could transfer a reader into another world for hours to safely return when they put the book down. Creatures like Nebba gave the books power.
Nebba did not like being in the open air, he dashed across the carpet and leaped into a new volume, Huxley this time, weaving through each page like deer through a forest. He delighted in every word, every syllable and every letter. The book was now ready for an eager reader to enjoy.
It broke Nebba's heart to see books taken that he had not prepared. The reader would struggle through lifeless pages and no doubt put the book down. With good fortune they may return and take another but many didn't. Readers lost for Nebba's shortcomings.
If it were possible Nebba would enchant every book, but he was only one and there was not enough time. Leaping out of Huxley and back to the carpet, skipping between the eager readers shoes and into an Eddings.
His life was always under threat. The books were powerful objects and became even more dangerous after he brought the pages to life. He could take join in their words but never their stories. For when one of his kind was drawn into the story they could not escape like the readers could. They would be trapped and become a part of the story.
So many had fallen in this way, becoming characters in narratives, slaves in paper and ink. It was the constant threat to Nebba's kind. So curious to know the world they sent readers to they needed a will of cast iron to resist.
Nebba knew that one day he too would succumb. He too would become a character in an amazing narrative, drawing readers into every scene. But for now he could still take joy in the simple things. Words, letters, suffixes and similes. And the smell of old books.