Crispy Octopus

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

The Lifeblood

---

The world turned, and creation accelerated still. Vast forest's rose from the dirt in imitation of their elder, great evils were spawned in the darkness for the unwary to stumble upon, and beautiful guardians came to roam open plains at the whim of their mother. So much, so quickly, even the discordant mass that was the lifeblood found itself content. Not idle, nor intending to be, be content nonetheless.

It was that feeling which impelled it to focus on the greatest of the continents. Already a land of incredible variety Toraan did not need more species, but such considerations were beyond the Lifeblood. It existed to create, and creation had, momentarily, left it contented. So it swept over Toraan and left new life in its wake.

They began as the very dirt itself, hefted out of the ground and left as great piles. Their skin formed slowly, loam turning to thick flesh and grass to narrow swept back quills. Their heads emerged from their bodies suddenly, and beady eyes set their gaze upon the world for the first time. Soft narrow snouts sniffed the earthen pits from when they had been removed, and these newest of creatures stood up, pushing themselves from the ground with narrow, yet muscular, legs. They looked around and saw that were as numerous as they could be, for Lifeblood had not made them to be solitary.

Rather, they were born from the dirt in vast herds. In the forests, in the plains and everywhere else there was grass to eat and rest on. They were a simple species, no wiser than any other, but they were to live contented lives. Their soft brown and yellow quills would keep them safe from most predators, and their strong legs would propel them away from those unafraid of such natural defenses.

Among all the animals of the world they were large, but not terribly so. They were short enough to rub themselves against the trunks of trees, yet tall enough to cross most streams without difficulty. Their black eyes were small, but on each side of their heads they had long drooping ears and with them they heard all that they did not see.

They were not peerless, but they were great in their way. So as their vast, almost numberless, herds set out across the continent they were content. They would defend themselves when it came to it, but they were not possessed with any great purpose or afflicted with any temper. They would coexist where they could, and move on where they could not.

For even if the others that called Toraan home did not care for them, they cared for each other. They would guard their young as one mass, and they would rely on the warmth of their fellows on the cold nights and the journeys ahead of them. They would never be alone, and that was perhaps the Lifebloods greatest blessing for them. That they would be, always, a community.

A community that had no name, and one that didn’t think enough to desire one. Then again, the world was filling up with those creatures and gods that did name things. Surely they wouldn’t have to wait long for theirs.

Not that they particularly cared.

---

Summary

Porcupine/hedgehog cows/bisons! The lifeblood created them from the dirt itself, so some fields might have a few holes, oops. They’re a fairly docile, well mannered, gang. Floppy ears, strong legs, and a penchant for cuddling together at night.

Might Summary

Created the Herds. 0 Might.

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

The Lifeblood

---

It lived in the darkness, in a place where light dared not go, one safe from the chaos of the world being forged above. It hadn’t been for long, but that didn’t stop it from being. It skittered across the cold rock walls of its home, foraged for fungus that grew only in these depths, and fought with the others that called the darkness home when it came to it. Not that such happened often, but when it did the winner was always promised a meal. Nothing went to waste here.

It had just won one such battle, the first of its brief existence, and it feasted on the flesh of its fallen brother. It took no pleasure in the act, but food was food. There was little enough of it in the darkness. So it bit down, its chitinous jaws digging into the soft flesh of a brother of the darkness, and in that moment something happened.

A presence it had felt once before overcame it, and a thousand thousand voices began to whisper in its ear holes. It was overcome, paralyzed, and helpless against what happened next. Without warning it began to hurt, its body exploding in pain, but with every agony it felt itself change. The voices argued, grew frantic, and the pain intensified. It was tiny, but it grew and grew and soon it barely fit in the cave that it was its home. A dozen thin legs grew heavy and powerful, and its mandibles grew longer, sharper. It was in agony, but a thought drawn from the cacophony of voices began to dominate its mind, a mind which began to think more and more with every second.

It was hungry.

So terribly, unimaginably, hungry. At the realization the creature tried to move, and the whispers grew faster and more emphatic still. Its flesh began to twist and change again. Gnashing, vicious, teeth grew behind the cruel hooks that had replaced its mandibles. Its legs grew awful spikes that captured anything that came close, and its body grew tough. Unimaginably tough. It writhed and where it struck rock the caves walls gave way, when it bit down on an obstacle to its bulk the stone was all but pulverized.

The pain began to fade, and the whispers began to fade with it, but before they were done something intangible fell over the mutated creature of the darkness. It had never noticed such before, but there had been an order to the world in the past, when it was small and helpless and it wasn’t so hungry. There had been mystery, wildness, mana, magic, the unknown. Now they were gone. It felt nothing from the world around it. It was alone, and with that thought, and it could think, it resolved not to be so.

The force that had created it had left it with a knowledge that it alone could spawn its kind in uncounted numbers. It wished for nothing more, but first it had to eat. It knew it had to eat. It needed the strength to do what was to be done, and it was ever so hungry. So, so hungry.

With that in mind it surged forwards in the darkness, and it began to devour.

It wondered when that had become so fun.

Summary

An insect that lives in the deep darkness of the world’s cave system is beset upon by the lifeblood, which mutates and changes it into something horrible. It grows vast, but it is still restricted by its confines. The monster below may, will, grow and grow until there is no space left or it perishes, and it will devour any and all it can to grow and multiply.

Moreover, it is a creature rendered insensitive and resistant to the magic and mystery of the world. Spells may well falter and fail against it, and its tough body will repulse most mundane weapons.

Might Summary

Created The Ones Who Hunger: -1mp Extraordinary Species (Immune to most magic, immortal if allowed to eat and grow, immensely dangerous and deeply antagonistic, native to the caves below Galbar but able to adapt to most environments (Hi Klaar))

2mp remaining (Thanks Zee)

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

The Lifeblood

---

Slow.

Too slow.

Intolerably slow.

For the first time in all time there was movement, creation, action. In the vast expanse of all that had or would ever be it was blisteringly fast, nauseating, but also slow. The Lifeblood was creation, and though its fragments did that, and though it itself did that, it was too slow. Time was here, now, things happened, actions finally mattered. Things had to be. They had to be now.

After untold eons of nothingness, what was had finally been born. It could not grow up fast enough. The Lifebloods fragments could not act fast enough. Thankfully, the Lifeblood could. There had been land, and on that land was life, and so the Lifeblood followed suit. Its power sunk into the depths of the world it encompassed, through the great oceans, through the thick rocks, and into the freshly smoldering heart of a world just born.

It pulled. Ferocious magma shattered the crust above it, pushing aside vast slabs of rock that broke through the waves. Oceans formed by the Lifebloods fragments hissed and screamed as an unimaginable amount of liquid rock forced its way up and up until it exploded from the sea and grew vast islands and mountains.

Through it all the world turned, and the Lifeblood did not relent. The heart of the world spilled its blood into the ocean across thousands of miles, displacing rock and forming more besides. Only when the worlds heart began to whimper, sputter from the abuse, did the Lifeblood relent. It regarded its work, the vast fields of cooling magma, cracking and giving way to enormous canyons as they cooled, the broken peaks of continental slabs cast asunder, and it knew its work to be unfinished. It knew it had to create, it had to create faster.

The Lifeblood swept over that new land as a scouring force, shattering the barest fraction surface of its into dust. It had witnessed one of its fragments spread green, life, creation that created. It created no less, accomplished no less. Rising from the newly minted dirt came thousands of trees, shrubs, grasses. Many withered and died, unable to thrive or even survive the incredible heat that still permeated the land, but more still took hold in the shaded regions and on the cool and humid coasts.

It was a seed that would grow. The Lifeblood cared little for what perished, only for what survived. It surveyed the forest's of the coasts, and it seeded them with other life. Moss and vines climbed the trees, and at their tops came creatures which the Lifeblood had made before. Birds, as varied and countless as the Lifebloods past failures, the stars. Red, blue, green, black, they took on every colour and every shape which could be imagined.

They would not be alone, either. The Lifeblood saw the emptiness of its forest floors and from the dirt itself raised many many thousands of small furry creatures that scurried away from the light of the day, finding dens and burrows as reprieve from the burning sun. They were simple and plentiful, but still too few. The Lifeblood bore witness to the immensity of its creation and the pathetic scale of the animals on it, and it poured power into a number of its little furry creatures. They grew and grew, some only a few feet, some to the treetops themselves.

The creatures took on strange forms, some with sharp teeth and rending claws, others with hoofs and thick muscular bodies. The very largest shed their fur and grew thick armoured plates of bone as protection from their dangerous and hungry cousins, long legs to keep them above the world below, and longer necks still to reach down into the trees and feast on their bounty.

It was incredible, and it was still insufficient. The Lifeblood again regarded its creation, and this time it was drawn to the tremendous valleys and canyons left as the blood it had pulled from the worlds heart had cooled. They were deep and long, enough so that water from the oceans had begun to flow into them. That water was cool, and it rendered the rifts fit for life.

It was enough. The Lifeblood again worked its power. Stout trees with thick roots grew from the walls of the canyons until they were covered, and then those roots struck out until they formed bridges across the great expanses. On those bridges the Lifeblood hung vast sheets of vines that reached down into the salty waters below and filtered them, rendering them fit for more life.

In the blink of an eye fish exploded into the narrow waters, and before long they were so numerous as to choke themselves. Then, as the Lifeblood had done on land, so too it did here. It took a number of fish and gave them long tails, terrifying teeth, and wide eyes. After this the Lifeblood moved to populate the banks, but hesitated. As a last thought it granted its predators simple legs, and gills that could breathe the air for a short time. They would hunt on the banks and the water.

Satisfied, the Lifeblood introduced the same furry animals it had placed in the coastal jungles here. Many, most, perished. The Lifeblood cared only for those that survived. The rest fed its predators, and they learned that flesh was sweet, so sweet that they could never do without. They grew greedy. The lifeblood did not care.

Again it paused, but this time it felt enough had been done. The world was vast, creation led it away from here. It had to make more, do more, a thousand thousand voices within it compelled it so.

Until one whispered for it to wait. It was a stronger voice, growing within the lifeblood, fuelled by something intangible, and it whispered an idea. The Lifeblood did not consider it, for it was its own idea. It merely acted, and at the center of a cooling volcanic island it scattered a new sort of creature. Perhaps one that would thrive where others had not.

They weren’t small, nor large, but they possessed cleverness. Their wide eyes regarded the world, but in the short time they existed they despaired of and railed against their own creation. For below them the ground was hot enough to burn, and all around them was barren dirt and withered plants.

They died quickly. A failure. The voice that had whispered within the lifeblood cried out, but the Lifeblood cared only for that which survived. The voice fell silent and the Lifeblood moved on.

There was always, always, more to do.

---

Summary

The Lifeblood creates a vast string of islands and landmasses and populates them with life. Huge mossy coastal forests form, but life in the interior of the volcanic islands it raises perishes from the heat, with one exception. Seawater flows into the canyons and the lifeblood fills them with fish, and sharks with legs. To eat you on the banks.

It then hears a voice from within and is inspired to create sapients. They die agonizing deaths deep in the interior of an island, and the Lifeblood considers them a failure and moves on.

The ISLANDS:

Might Summary

Created Sapients: -2mp

3mp remaining.

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

Whoops forgot to tag ya'll gms.

@Lord Zee@Not Fishing@Double Capybara

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

Tekret Et Heret

Tekret Et Heret

Conceptual

Domain:

Order

Order is structure. It is what arises when laws are laid down, when anarchy is banished and leaders rise to guide a disparate people towards a common goal. It is the foundation of civilizations, families, and simple lives. For who can live a life where nothing can be relied upon? Order provides consistency in ideals, knowledge, and in the world itself. Every rule written, every house built, field tilled, or agreement made contributes to the advancement of Order. Tekret embraces this and, in furthering order, seeks to ensure that there exist things which can always be relied upon, things which any and all can fall back on in tumultuous times.

Portfolio:

Contracts

A contract is any agreement, verbal or written, made between two entities, whether they be gods, kings, peasants, or rather clever monsters. While one contract, say a promise to pay back a friend for a meal, may be less significant or meaningful than another, like a peace treaty between nations, all fall under Tekret’s power and sway. Every agreement and oath is a prayer to Tekret, who hears them all. Of course, not even Tekret cannot enforce every contract made the world over, nor would they want to. However, Tekret is more than capable of enforcing some. Any contract explicitly made in Tekret’s name alerts the deity, who will more often than not imbue such contracts with a deep magic, such that breaking them would result in serious consequences. Additionally, the more serious the contract in the mind of the participants, made in Tekret’s name or not, the more likely it is to be monitored by the God of Contracts or one of their agents. In general, breaking any grave oath or promise is a foolish endeavour as one can never be sure they have not unwittingly caught the attention of a god. Finally, if one tends to break their word habitually, even over trivial matters, they will find punishment is not far away, for Tekret abhors such abuses and considers them to be nothing less than a personal insult. Those who make a name of breaking their oaths time and time again will eventually develop a black stain on their hands, one that cannot be washed away. This stain will spread for every contract the afflicted breaks, and shrink only if they fastidiously keep to their promises and agreements. If the stain grows large enough to touch the heart of its bearer they will be overcome with a terrible wasting sickness that will only grow worse as the stain continues to spread, and if one perishes to the disease? Tekret will be waiting for their soul.

Realm:

The Archives

To enter Tekret’s realm is no easy feat, perhaps due to what it contains. Thousands of shimmering amber and granite palaces set under a golden sky hold the records of every contract ever made, filed away by who made them of course. The palaces in which these records are ensconced are narrowly packed, with small canals, bridges, and green courtyards separating them. The palaces stretch out in every direction. In fact, if one is paying attention when they look up in the Archives they may notice that the sky itself is but more of these repositories. This is because the Archives are set into a massive hollow sphere, one whose size is ever changing as more mortals are born and more contracts made.

At the center of that hollow sphere is a great light, illuminating the realm, and within that light is the vault. The vault is a deeply significant and magical place, and while it may expand as needed like the rest of Tekret Et Heret’s realm it is reserved only for the most sacred contracts, those made among gods or by Tekret themselves. It is jealously guarded, and all those who approach it without permission are provided no protection from the searing heat of its light. In fact, entry to the vault, or even the Archives themselves, is a task which may only be accomplished by force or… Agreement. The very contracts that govern who may enter the Archive are, indeed, within the Archive itself.

Persona:

What is a person, but for what they believe and strive for? For Tekret, that belief is that things have a natural order, that there is a place and a time for everyone and everything that is or ever will be. Moreover, that order doesn’t imply stagnation, an endless monotony where every outcome is planned and decided, rather Tekret strives to create an order where all have something to rely on even as they venture into an often chaotic and unpredictable world.

Even so, that faith in order has made Tekret slow to embrace new ideas or change their mind. Not cripplingly so, for Tekret is hardly so inflexible as to reject the simple notion of evolution and change, but enough that some of their peers find Tekret less than ideal company. Still, though the other divines may not always have time for Tekret’s peculiarities, the God of Contracts will always have time for them. Tekret cares deeply for the welfare of the other gods, and indeed for all life.

It is no surprise then, that Tekret has adopted an almost paternalistic attitude towards mortals. The structure in life that Tekret seeks to create is not its own end for the god, rather they see it as the best way for mortals to live well and thrive. For this reason Tekret is among the more empathetic of the divines, willing to picture themselves in the shoes of lowly mortals and consider their situations. This is most obvious in how Tekret acts towards those who break their oaths and agreements. Unlike Joab-Balamm Tekret cares less for punishment and more for correction. In all they do Tekret seeks to help, or cajole, those who they have every reason to hate into living what Tekret sees as better lives.

Of course, Tekret is not the god of tolerance or love. There is always a line. All structures must have foundations. When a mortal, or even a god, crosses the line Tekret is unyielding in their response. Compromise is almost always preferable to force, but the God of Contracts is well aware that no rule or oath can survive without power to enforce it, and when that time comes Tekret is unlikely to hesitate.

Forms:

Base Form:

In their base form Tekret is a blank canvas, a featureless white humanoid devoid of any identifying qualities. In this form Tekret can assume basic features, shift to appear masculine or feminine, have long hair or none at all, but no colour will never touch the god of contracts in their most simple appearance. Every agreement starts somewhere, and the God of Contracts manifests in a manner as simple as a blank page.

Domain Form:

What is Order, but a place to call home? A place where one will always be welcome, a foundation upon which a life may be built. In the form of Order Tekret manifests as an open field centered on a still pond. A solitary Crane seems to stand on that water, and any who venture into the field to meet it will feel peace in knowing that they will always be welcome. Should the Crane, suspended on water as it is, ever begin to move the field and pond will move with it, forever keeping the bird at their center.

Avatar:

Kesheret:

There are many things that Tekret Et Heret will never know the joy of experiencing. The role of a God is not to live in the world, but to shape it so that those who do may live better. Order and its progress is a greater purpose than any beings desires, even a God’s. These are easy things to say.

The truth is that Tekret, though loathe to admit it, is a greedy god. This is the genesis of Kesheret, a woman created so that her God may know the world through her, may live through her. Of course, as befits her position, Tekret may occasionally request she perform one task or another, but this is the exception, not the rule. For Kesheret was born to live, to enjoy the world her God set about creating, not to be an agent of that effort.

Ignorant of many things, but always looking to learn, Kesheret is perhaps the greatest mistake the God of Contracts ever made. She is also the mistake Tekret will never regret making.

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

Tekret WIP

Tekret Et Heret

Conceptual

Domain:

Order

Order is structure. It is what arises when laws are laid down, when anarchy is banished and leaders rise to guide a disparate people towards a common goal. It is the foundation of civilizations, families, and simple lives. For who can live a life where nothing can be relied upon? Order provides consistency in ideals, knowledge, and in the world itself. Every rule written, every house built, field tilled, or agreement made contributes to the advancement of Order. Tekret embraces this and, in furthering order, seeks to ensure that there exist things which can always be relied upon, things which one and all can fall back on in tumultuous times.

Portfolio:

Contracts

A contract is any agreement, verbal or written, made between two entities, whether they be gods, kings, peasants, or rather clever monsters. While one contract, say a peace treaty, may be more serious than another, like promising to pay for a friend's lunch, all fall within Tekret’s power and sway. Every agreement and oath is a prayer to Tekret, who hears them all. While Tekret cannot enforce every contract made the world over they are more than capable of enforcing some. Any contract explicitly made in Tekret’s name carries power and will result in serious consequences if broken. Additionally, the more serious the contract in the mind of the participants, made in Tekret’s name or not, the more likely it is to be monitored by the God of Contracts or one of their agents. In general, breaking any grave oath or promise is a foolish endeavour as one can never be sure they have not unwittingly caught the attention of a god. Finally, if one tends to break their word habitually, even over trivial matters, they may well find their luck turning against them, for Tekret abhors such abuses and considers them to be nothing less than a personal insult.

Realm:

The Archives

To enter Tekret’s realm is no easy feat, perhaps due to what it contains. Thousands of shimmering amber and granite palaces set under a golden sky hold the records of every contract ever made, filed away and organized by who made them, of course. The palaces in which these records are ensconced are narrowly packed, with small canals, bridges, and green courtyards separating them. The palaces stretch out in every direction. In fact, if one is paying attention when they look up in the Archives they may notice that the sky itself is but more of these repositories. This is because the Archives are set into a massive hollow sphere, one whose size is ever changing as more mortals are born and more contracts made.

At the center of that hollow sphere is a great light, illuminating the realm, and within that light is the vault. The vault is a deeply significant and magical place, and while it may expand as needed like the rest of Tekret Et Heret’s realm it is reserved only for the most sacred contracts, those made among gods or by Tekret themselves. It is jealously guarded, and all those who approach it without permission are provided no protection from the searing heat of its light. In fact, to enter the vault, or even step food in the Archives, is a task which may only be accomplished by force or… Agreement. The very contracts that govern who may enter the Archive are, indeed, within the Archive itself.

Persona:

WIP

Forms:

Base Form:

WIP

Domain Form:

WIP

Avatar:

WIP

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

Order - Contracts

Calling it.

Eden(Small-scale Space NRP)

The Babylon Bar – High Orbit of Parousia – The Halcyon Continuance

“Fuck.”

“Oh please, it's not that bad.”

“...”

“Ok, sure, some people died-”

“Five thousand people, Arthur. Five thousand people died.”

“Pah,” Arthur shrugged, “Not even in the top ten accidents this year then.”

“That's not the fucking point! Do you seriously not have any idea how bad this is? That fucking ship was supposed to be our ticket to a place at the table, nobility Arthur, a god damn legacy! It was the culmination of five years of work. Five. Fucking. Years.”

Patrick pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed deeply before going on, “How the fuck did this happen, Arthur? How the fuck did a prototype stealth ship run into a fucking space station at speed? This isn't some classical fucking movie, that, this doesn't happen. It just doesn't.”

“Well,” Arthur hesitated and emphasized, “Obviously, there wasn't anything left to pick over. Well, anything bigger than your pinkie finger. Best I've got so far is either pilot error, which seems unlikely given the pilot we hired is going to cost nearly a tenth the godforsaken ship if we pay out his life insurance, or sabotage. I'm inclined to go that way myself, given the ITC Conference, our big chance as you wont stop reminding me, is about to kick off.”

Patrick slumped in his chair and uttered a familiar refrain, “Fuck.”

This time his brother Arthur didn't do more than bite his lip. The truth was, this absolutely was a big fucking disaster. Top ten in terms of fatalities or not, the money that had been sunk into the ironically named Splinter, given that was what it was mostly composed of now, wasn't insignificant. In truth, it was a hell of a lot more than they actually had.

Not that Patrick knew that. One didn't borrow money from the largest criminal enterprises in the cluster, promise them access to your proprietary technology, and then go and tell their brother and business partner about it. Especially when ones brother and business partner would have had a panic attack at the mere thought.

Though, in retrospect, perhaps that might have averted Arthur feeling the beginnings of a panic attack coming on now. Yes, everyone knew it was idiocy to take loans from the Cartels and the Triads and all the other reprobates in the Eden Cluster, but guess what? It was even dumber to go to Adamantium Bank. At least Arthur was probably only going to get killed over this.

Arthur waved at a passing server girl and ordered a very stiff drink. Actually, he ordered three.

Patrick eyed his brother, and decided to order two himself. Aware of his impending peril or not, the red haired businessman was absolutely not going to get through the rest of the day sober.

Still, ignoring the problem wouldn't make it go away, “So, Arthur, is there any good news then? We've lost our largest single asset, the proof our technology even works, the ITC Conference is about to start and we have nothing to present, oh and god knows how many lawyers to hire so the accident claims don't sink us further.”

“We still have time to run away?”

“Excuse me?”

“Look,” Arthur met his brothers eyes, “We're done. Fucked. You said it. We don't have anywhere close to the cash reserve we need to survive this and we have no evidence it was sabotage, so any lawyers we hire are going to have a hell of a time deflecting liability. Do you want to spend the rest of your life on the lower levels of Raygon? Or on a factory world? This is a fucking disaster. There I said it, happy? It's a big, colossal, assfucking mess, but there’s one plus here Patrick, one.”

Patrick looked at his brother incredulously, “And what the fuck is that Arthur.”

“Nobody knows we did it, not yet. Nobody has a goddamn clue that it was our stealth ship that hit that station so hard there are body parts strewn across half the system. We have time to liquidate everything and fuck off. We have time to run away.”

As it happens, every living sapient has a point in their life where they're given a choice. Patrick had thought that was a bit of a platitude, but now he found himself in that position. To his, and his species credit, he did exactly what any other intelligent, self respecting, arguably moral, businessman would.

“Ok.” Patrick stood up, “Fuck. Lets skip on the drinks and drain everything. Thank god almighty that mother is dead.”

Arthur nodded, grabbed one of his drinks anyway, and all but took off to the docks, Patrick close behind him. After all, bravery and morality had their place, and that place was absolutely not above an arid Putt infested shithole like Parousia.

Besides, it was only five thousand people. Not the worst disaster of the year. Not even close! It probably wouldn't even make the news in the core worlds. After all, what were the chances that anyone important was on that station? Minuscule. Arthur and Patrick would hide out for a while, a few years, and then when everything had blown over they could come back. Try to forge their legacy again.

It was all going to work out...

Right?

Eden(Small-scale Space NRP)

Schloss Habingen, Kempf Demesne, Halcyon, Trachis System, Eden Cluster

The Sky Garden

“Pft. No, I don’t think that will be necessary Anthony,” Lord Christoph Kempf waved his hand dismissively before the hologram sitting across from him and went on, “The drones are unpleasant at the best of times, but dangerous? They wouldn’t be concerning themselves with pretexts if they had the strength or, or the will, to be anything more than the annoyance than they already are.”

The digital recreation of Lord Anthony Hawthorn frowned, clearly unconvinced. “I can’t say I agree with that Christoph. A cancer can only be ignored for so long. The CCN is ideologically incompatible with the status quo. They’ll keep doing things like this, expecting nothing, until the day comes when, as you say, they don’t need a pretext anymore. It will be too late then.”

“They haven’t the balls, and they’re well past the point where they could grow a pair.” Lord Kempf chuckled airily before pointing to the other Lord, “But! If it will cure you of this... Anxiety, I’ll agree to your proposal. I can spare a few Men-At-Arms, and lord knows they need the experience.”

Lord Hawthorn hesitated before answering with a sigh, “My thanks, Lord Kempf. The unit I’m forming will certainly be an… Opportunity, for your troops to get real experience in battle.”

“One hopes. There aren’t enough ways to keep my men’s blades sharp. Speaking of, I trust you’re aware of the situation on Duro one? I’m thinking I’ll-” Christoph stalled as a servant, a young Ataraxian woman with long black hair, coughed into her hand behind him.

He looked positively irate at the interruption, but waved her over nonetheless. She leaned down to speak into his ear and after a brief exchange of whispers he refocused on the hologram before him and spoke again, “I’m sorry, Anthony, but something has come up, we’ll have to hammer out the specifics later.”

For his part, Lord Hawthorn only nodded before severing the connection. With a sigh Christoph stood from his chair and took a deep breath, taking in the exotic scents of the rare plants that surrounded him, before turning to his servant with a frown, “So he’s run off again, has he?”

“I’m… I’m afraid it’s not like the other times, my Lord.” The Ataraxian woman faltered, eyes on the floor.

It was, in Christoph’s mind, explanation enough. No servant of his, let alone Amelia, would be that spinelessly deferential unless the news was bad. With a grunt the Lord motioned for Amelia to follow him to the ornate windows that fenced in the lurid garden and sighed heavily when they reached them. His eyes found the Habingen spaceport, a stout building on the edge of the property. “So,” He spoke evenly, “Hans has decided to get serious.”

Amelia gulped before explaining, “He stole one of your racing skiffs last night my Lord. After last time he shouldn’t have had access but, well, he managed to take the ship out of the planets atmosphere. Your men at the port reported that he had a valid security code. No alarms were raised until one of your men at the Gate station inquired as to why a family vessel was taking an unscheduled trip to a frontier planet.”

Christoph cocked a brow and looked at his servant, “Is that all? I admit, this is the first time he’s had the gall to use the Gate, but we can track the ship.”

“Ah,” Amelia pursed her lips before answering, “I’ve also been informed that, well, your investment account is missing some ten million credits.”

“Oh.” Christoph blinked before, rather suddenly, bursting out in raucous laughter, “That takes balls! Oh that boy has something coming, but that’s more than I ever dared take when I tried that nonsense.”

“Lord?” Amelia was taken aback by the laughter, and hazarded a small smile before asking, “Would you, ah, like me to dispatch a retrieval team?”

“No, no!” Christoph answered loudly, “Not until he’s had his fun. If he’s going to dig himself a hole, I’ll damn well let him dig it. Don’t tell Clara a word of this. Lovely as my wife is, she worries enough already. I’ll bring Hans back eventually, but not before the boy learns what it’s really like out there, especially for people with millions of credits on their damn personal implant.”

“Very well, my lord.” Amelia nodded, “I’ll see that we keep an eye on him, then.”

“Do so.” Christoph waved Amelia off before grinning again and staring into the expansive blue sky.

As the only door to the Old Garden hissed shut behind him Lord Christoph Kempf shook his head happily and muttered, “You’re in for it now, Hans."

Eden(Small-scale Space NRP)

The Halcyon Continuance

Government

The Continuance is, at least ostensibly, a representative democracy. Of course, by now that ruse has been all but completely exposed. It is true that at one point in the distant past the Continuance functioned much like the democracies of old earth, but time has seen those traditions and institutions eroded. Centuries ago wealthiest members of society, almost exclusively members of corporate dynasties, were able to leverage their influence and establish a legal system of peerage in the Continuance, and ever since the nations government has seen its power diminish.

Today the Continuance’s Parliament is entirely made up of members of the Peerage, as commoners are forbidden from running for office. As such, the legislative body of the nation acts as little more than a political arena for the elite and a rubber stamp factory when an issue affecting the whole peerage arises. Members of an enfranchised class may vote for any noble in the nation they please, but more often than not the companies those nobles control compel their employees votes, a practice that while deeply and unequivocally undemocratic is entirely legal and even encouraged.

Demographics

61% Human:
Halcyon’s Human population is largely descended from the passengers of the Arc Vasco da Gama. One of many Arcs financed by the European Union and its private partners. They are, as a whole, about what one could expect. Some have been subject to genetic or cybernetic alteration, others are no different from their ancient ancestors, and all are no more or less than what they are. Human.

23% Ataraxin:
Of all the tragedies to play out in the Eden luster, perhaps there is none greater than that of the Ataraxian species. A people who have lost their culture, history, their very being, the Ataraxians exist today as little more than the favoured vassals of their Human masters. Casualties of a migration they could not have predicted.

Of course, it was not always so. Centuries ago, on the world known today as Ataraxia, there were a proud, if young, people. The ancestors of today’s Ataraxian’s, native sons and daughters of a planet whose true name is now long forgotten. They were a unique and alien people in the midst of a prosperous iron age, rapidly spreading out across the surface of their world and beginning the inexorable conquest of nature that all sapient beings embark upon.

They were every bit the captains of their own destiny. They fought, they loved, but they did all this themselves. Not one of them could have expected that to change, but change it did. When the Halcyon Continuance sent a Gate to their world, two centuries before it arrived, they hadn’t even discovered the secrets of Iron. How could they have even begun to suspect that their children's children would live to see all their accomplishments turn to dust?

For that is what happened. As soon as that first connection was made all was lost. Halcyon sent diplomats to every kingdom and tribe on Ataraxia, but they were not sent to secure peace. They were sent to secure surrender. Few complied, but they didn’t need compliance. Merely an excuse. Forty eight hours after the first human stepped onto Ataraxia half a million Ataraxian’s were dead and the rest second class citizens of an alien power.

Though, perhaps that is too generous a description. Humans flooded onto Ataraxia until its native people were a minority on their own planet, and that was only the beginning. Soon it became illegal for Ataraxian’s to own property, illegal for Ataraxian’s to work in administrative positions, and it wasn’t like they had ever been permitted to vote.

For over a century the Ataraxian species suffered under the Human boot, and then came the offer. The Halcyon Continuance had been effectively overthrown by the corporate dynasties it had elevated to nobility, and one of those dynasties had a plan for the Ataraxian species. Ricci Biotechnical developed a genetic treatment that could, if taken for a few generations, alter the Ataraxian people to look, think, and behave more like their Human masters. It was, in effect, genocide in a bottle. Of course, that mattered little when committing to the treatment guaranteed an Ataraxian full rights for their children, so long as they too stayed on it.

The price was high, in the beginning, but soon Ricci Biotechnical was able to sell the treatment for pennies. After all, they had just recently been awarded nearly a quarter of Ataraxia as their fief. They had no reason not to ‘improve’ its populace. At least, no reason its noble board controllers could see.

Centuries later and now every living Ataraxian looks close to Human, acts close to Human, and speaks exactly like a Human would. Interbreeding is still impossible, with many of the changes to Ataraxian physiology being more cosmetic than functional, but by and large the modern Ataraxian is little different than a Human. While the Continuance still forbids Aliens from holding noble titles there are few Ataraxian’s that don’t at least hold the status of a Commoner, a class with all the rights of a citizen and the ability to settle on Halcyon itself.

They are often seen in noble houses as servants or soldiers.

6% Putt:
For centuries Putts, like most aliens, avoided Halcyon as much as was possible. This was partly due the anti-alien atmosphere within the nation, and partly due to the starkly humid nature of most Continuance planets. However, when Halcyon amended its laws, making citizenship and equal rights something that could be bought, wealthy Putts seized the opportunity. If there was money to be made in the opening of an entire Core worlds economy to alien investment and migration then Putts were there to make it. The annexation of Parousia, an arid world, two hundred years ago only made Halcyon more attractive to a species that had already found homes and opportunities there.

4% Dakku:
Over the centuries many Dakku have found their way to Halcyon space.
(Waiting for more Dakku Info)

2% Jakai:
(Waiting for mote Jakai Info)

2% Simmie:
Raygon’s Simmies have found there way to Halcyon in the centuries since their creation some two centuries ago. While the vast majority remain on Raygon, some of the wealthier or more connected examples of the species have found the Continuance to be a most hospitable home. Valued for their dexterity and skill Simmies generally work in the luxury goods industry. Crafting some of the finest bespoke jewelry and clothing Halcyon’s Simmie population is notable for being the few alien communities to find not only a foothold, but genuine acceptance in the nation.

1% Misle:
With every rule, there is an exception. When considering Halcyon’s infamously hostile stance towards aliens it is the Misle that are the exception. Perhaps it is simply due to their appearance, or maybe the myths that surround why they look like they do, but by and large the Misle have been welcomed as equals by the Continuance. There are small communities of these peculiar aliens on near every world in the Halcyon Continuance.

1% Other (Petalosi, Drazuun, Qurok, etc.)
The Continuance plays host to a number of other species. Petalosi can be found in the nation's universities and labs, Qurok’s have been seen acting as mercenaries in the employ of the Nobility, and the list goes on. For all it can unwelcoming to aliens, if an individual has the money or skills Halcyon will make an exception.

Culture and Society

Halcyon is, above all else, a nation of hierarchies. It’s society and culture revolves around who you are, what you have, and how you use it. An individual's class not only governs their rights and the laws that apply to them, but also how they are expected to act in the presence of their equals, superiors, or inferiors. The influence of class on Halcyon is such that wearing the wrong clothes for your social group can be a grievous offence, or worse yet, a legitimate crime. So it goes without saying that to understand Halcyon one must first understand the nations legally enforced social strata.

There are four legally enshrined classes within the Halcyon Continuance, of which only two are afforded the rights of Citizenship. The nobility and the common classes are considered to be citizens of Halcyon and are thereby entitled to a number of legal rights their non-citizen counterparts lack. Notably, only citizens may vote, only citizens may own property, and only citizens are entitled to legal counsel. Those without the distinction of citizen are almost invariably the poorest members of society, especially considering that membership in the common class has been obtainable via purchase for close to two hundred years.

That said, the common class is the highest one that an individual can buy their way into. Halcyon’s peerage is, by and large, fairly similar in membership to what it was when it was first declared centuries ago. That isn’t to say that there aren’t more nobles alive today than there were then, but rather that there are only a handful of new noble families. To ascend to the rank of nobility is a difficult thing and can generally only be accomplished by marriage into an existing family, or massive and unprecedented success and popularity. A new noble family may only be declared by a two thirds majority vote among the heads of all exist noble families, and thus even some of Halcyon’s most successful commoner businessmen lack the distinction.

However, for all the difficulty in attaining it membership in Halcyon’s peerage is beyond rewarding. A noble is largely exempt from all conventional criminal punishment, being given the option to pay nominal fines rather than suffer any real consequence, and that is only the beginning. Halcyon’s nobility exists apart from all but the richest and most influential in the Eden Cluster. One of the honours which has led to the dominance of the noble class is their sole right to conduct international commerce. While corporations may be run and owned by commoners, only the nobility may operate private entities beyond Halcyon’s borders. Thus, even the most successful commoners are forced to rely on their betters forbearance and sponsorship if they wish to access the vast markets of the Eden Cluster.

The privilege of the nobility extends to almost anything one can imagine. Failing to yield your place in line to a member of the nobility is a legitimate crime, failing to pay proper respect to a member of the nobility is a legitimate crime, and that barely even touches upon the extent of a nobles rights. In truth the quagmire of laws surrounding class interaction means that a noble has, at almost all times, the legal right to imprison or even murder anyone of a lower class. Abuse of this has, historically, been met with harsh punishment within the family, but never justice.

In Halcyon the nobility do not merely make the law, they are the law. However, they are still few. The other citizen class, that of the commoners, is far larger. While they don’t possess anything close to the rights of the nobility most commoners live a rather privileged life. Albeit, one that must be bought into at birth or in life. Educated professionals entitled to subsidized education, free healthcare, and legal counsel Halcyon’s commoners are among the richest civilians in the cluster. Part of this stems from their right to own property, which provides nearly every commoner family a source of income in the form of rent from non-citizens.

Indeed, Halcyon’s commoners may be at the whim of the nobility, but few nobles walk the streets in broad daylight exercising their more questionable rights. In truth, it is the common class that represents Halcyon’s greatest collection of tyrants. Landlords almost to a man commoners not only dictate how the non-citizen classes below them live, but they also hold a great deal of power over their lessers in personal life. Members of non-citizen classes must pay respect to the common class in much the same way the common class pays respect to the nobility. For example, it is considered a legal offence for a non-citizen to besmirch or slander a citizen. It is considered a legal offense for a non-citizen to enter an establishment not specifically designated for their use. It is even considered a legal offence for a non-citizen to die in the employ of one of their betters, the punishment being a fine levied on their surviving family.

To lack citizenship in Halcyon is to lose, and to continue losing. Two classes fall into this category, the peons and the dregs. By definition all Humans, Ataraxians, and Misle without commoner status in Halcyon are Peons, able to purchase entry into the common class at birth or in life but by and large far too poor to do so. Having to pay for education, healthcare, legal counsel, and renters by definition Peon’s are almost always in debt from the day they’re born. Few actually live on Halcyon, being largely relegated to living on the Continuance’s industrial and agricultural Periphery worlds.

Of course, for however difficult it is to rise from the status of peon,dregs have it worse. The lowest class in Halcyon dregs are sufficiently ‘inhuman’ aliens that have either been born in Halcyon or have migrated there and failed to buy their way into a higher class. Dregs suffer all the inhumanities peons do, but they lack even basic rights. Notably dregs are barred from educational institutions, subject to exploitation rates for healthcare, and presumed guilty until proven innocent in trial. None wish to end up as a member of this class, and few generally do. However aliens whose parents have been unable, or unwilling, to buy then membership in the common or peon classes end up in this most wretched class.

History

When the European Union Arc Vasco da Gama landed on Halcyon in 63 E.C. it, unlike some of its fellows, encountered nothing more than a world rich in flora and fauna. Not one pair of alien eyes watched the enormous vessel break through the world's atmosphere, nor did any curious native encounter the Arc’s occupants as they swarmed out and built a city around their ship. Humanity was, in the eyes of the Arc’s occupants, as it had always been. Alone.

The beacons left by the Columbia, the first Arc to reach Eden, told the people of Halcyon that it was possible they still had kin among the stars, but none would dare presume that was the case without evidence. To those early settlers Halcyon was, for all intents and purposes, the last bastion of Humanity. Moreover, it was a world untouched by intelligence, as wild and free as Earth was in the millions of years before the evolution of man. It was a second chance.

The Continuance was declared a year after the Vasco da Gama landed as a government with a singular mission. The continued survival and prosperity of the Human species. There would be no wanton exploitation of Halcyon’s environment, no careless delving into poorly understood sciences, for the people of the Continuance knew they were the last, and they could not take risks.

Self sufficient cities were built up around the vast and humid forests of Halcyon, powered by fusion reactors buried deep below. A new human civilization was born, one in harmony with their home. At least, for a time. The Halcyon Continuance, a grand republic founded to preserve the Human race, eventually made the fateful decision to construct a Jump Gate and learn, once and for all, if any others had found their way to the Eden Cluster.

The answer to that changed everything. When the Jump Gate was activated in 167 E.C. and contact was made with the New Eden Federation, the Halcyon Continuance was shaken to its core. Many hoped the other Arcs had made it, but a century of cautious pessimism had left its mark. Few real plans had been made for contact with other Humans, let alone the aliens. Some even questioned the very purpose of the Continuance in a world where Humanity was expanding across the stars with a reckless abandon.

What was once a government dedicated wholeheartedly to the survival of the Human species became, increasingly, a government dedicated to the individuals who seized the opportunity presented by a greater Human civilization. Private interests began to dominate society, and after two centuries the Halcyon Continuance ceased to exist as a republic. In 385 E.C. the richest members of Continuance society amassed the support and influence to enact what was essentially a coup, seizing control of the government and declaring the formation of a formal peerage.

There was unrest, of course, but what could be done? The wealthy had, in truth, ruled the Continuance for decades before they saw the opportunity to make it official. Over the coming centuries the Continuance would grow, annexing a small number of worlds settled by other Arcs and even sending automated gate ships to nearby systems. It was one of those automated ships that discovered the world of Ataraxia in 538 E.C.

Centuries of being an almost entirely Human nation, one with an enduring culture of Human exceptionalism, led the Continuance to ruthlessly dominate the Ataraxian people. They were not the only aliens who suffered at the Continuance’s hands, but they were the only ones who lost their very essence. It was around the time of their discovery that the formal, legal, hierarchy of classes was declared.

However, the Continuance was and is as pragmatic a state as it is prejudiced. In 760 E.C. the Class Mobility act was passed, permitting Humans and Aliens alike to buy their way into a higher social status. The passing of that act set the stage for the gradual migration of some of the galaxies wealthier aliens to Halcyon. After all, few worlds in the Eden Cluster had been so diligently preserved. If one wishes to live on a true jewel, Halcyon awaits.

Of course, luxury and beauty only go so far. No, the larger reason many aliens migrated to a nation that, at best, distrusts them, is because of what that nation may offer. For Halcyon? That's one of the largest economies in the Cluster, and one of the least restrictive legal regimes regarding corporate practice in the Periphery and Frontier.

Today the Halcyon Continuance stands a great power in the Eden Cluster, a promised land where any can be free and live in prosperity. Provided they can pay for it.

Systems and Planets

Economy

Military

Ground Forces

Men-At-Arms

Knights

Valkyries

Infiltrators

Contractors

Liquidators

MPML

Air and Space Forces

Gallant Class Cruiser

Sentinel Class Destroyer

Shriek Class Bomber

Banshee Class Fighter

OD-6

Characters