World of Valgran
Scorched Line
One Year ago.
Moments before the signing of the Armistice


Valgran, once a serene garden world, a small jewel in the stars, was now heavily scarred from the fires of the Reclamation Wars. Valgran now yet one of hundreds of battlegrounds spread across the region, this one in particular fought between two bitter rivals, the Augustan Empire and the Lokoid Hierarchy. The Empire fights a desperate campaign to hold onto the planet, its defenders fighting off endless legions of machines at every corner as the war unbeknownst to all parties, reaches its peak.

---

The thunderous sounds of ant-orbital cannons rang in the air as swarms of Lokoid ships broke through the orbital defenses, the skies dominated by countless dogfights and falling debris. The shorelines of one of several islands were lit ablaze by weapons fire as legions of Lokoid war droids advanced towards the Imperial defensive lines. Sitting in the thick of it was a commander William Pickett, a lightly tanned man well into his forties that has seen his fair share of the war. He stood alongside his men, being among one of hundreds poking out of the trenches and unleashing his fury against the mechanical hordes were set against him. “By the gods we WILL hold this line!!!!” He screamed out to himself and his troops.

William took aim, pulling the trigger as he fired his shots, taking down several light droids before he heard the screeching sound of an artillery round. “Incoming!!!!” A soldier cried out before impact, bodies, both dead and barely alive, scattered into the air among the sand. The Commander being among the lucky few that survived the blast, but not unscathed. Within seemingly a flash, he awoke with a jolt of pain in his sides, a shard of shrapnel making a deep cut into his ribs, in addition he was buried by several bodies of his brothers in arms, the sheer weight immobilizing him. The sound of hundreds of metallic footsteps overtook the air, as the Lokoid armies begun to cross over the trench. "No..godsdamnit.." William weakly said, before blacking out from his injuries.

---

After many hours pass, the shoreline fell eerily silent, William barely conscious, able to hear feint, distant mumblings. Before long, he can feel the weight of the dead being lifted from him, bright blares of flashlights facing him as he was forced awake. "We got another survivor!" A feminine voice from one of his saviors called out to someone. "He's injured pretty bad!"

A medic quickly rushed over as he made a quick observation. "This oughta tide you over for a while." He said as he applied medigel, temporally numbing the pain, at least until he can get properly medical attention. The commander was lifted up by two more soldiers, his vision becoming more clear as he got a good look of his surroundings. Night had fallen, and the battle was long over, hundreds of dead lying in the shoreline, and countless more wrecked Lokoid droids littering the ground, and thousands of deactivated droids froze where they stood, it was an eerie sight indeed.

"Did...did we push them back?" William meekly asked. "We gotta regroup...before they come back."

The two soldiers looked to one another, before looking to him. "We better stop for now." William was lied down, looking quite perplexed to his group of saviors. "Sir...the war's over."

"Come again?"

"The war's over." Another repeated. "An Armistice was signed hours ago." The news came with a flurry of emotions for the Commander. One hand, it's finally over, no winner in clear sight, but it's final over, decades of hell has come to an end. On the other hand...so many lives in the past few hours were snuffed out for nothing, if only they had waited, if only they held on better, then many men and women would've lived to see the end of war....

"Let's get out of here...I need to think, I need to go home."

A pair of figures nestled behind the screen of faint pink haze. With a certain amount of imagination, one may have been able to decipher the outline of a mother and her newborn child. They were short in stature, squats as the galaxy called them. In the corner of their pink silhouette croaked a strange, frog-like creature, tassels and feathers confusing her shamanistic frame.

Outside the glowing pink box slumped a man, or at least the crumpled husk of one. Slougk, a great leader of the squats, present now only as a man. He trembled as he wept into thick calloused hands, a kind of cry that was a vacuum of sound rather than a gift of it. His only son played aimlessly behind him. They were in a small hospital room. Short bursts of giggles cut the silent torture of his father, as stuffed figure of a Lokoid clashed into a Augustan Star Ranger doll.

Within the pink prison cell was trapped Slougk’s soul, the bloom of life born into hospice. Slougk’s wife and daughter lay behind the thin film of Oogma milk. It was a curious substance from the frog-kin of Oogmanik. More importantly, it appears to be the only substance in the galaxy impervious to the spread of the Desperation. During her pregnancy, Slougk’s wife had been infected with an atom, a spore, of the vile plant; a blind destruction like that had ruined so many and so much. It now grew in her and their newborn child. The plant, a parasite from the bowels of Oogmanik, spread prodigiously, atomically, and without need for the natural vices of flora: light, soil, oxygen. It was something different. It was a curse from beyond the void; or at least that was what the Oogma natives had claimed as they grew in tandem with the pestilence for a millenia. This room, cloaked in the pink milk of the Oogma, was a quarantine. Here they would die.

A stubby hand affirmed the back of Slougk. The figure who bore it was similarly dwarfish. His long black hair slicked to his shoulders, a large uncut emerald dangling from his chest. “How long did the shaman say they had?” The consoling figure spoke with a cold raspy voice, perhaps half-attempting empathy.

It was a great time before Slougk could rapture the strength of a voice. “Days maybe.. A week.”

“There is much to be done in that time, Slougk.” Spoke the looming figure.

He was right. Behind Slougk the Wise stood Gjorn the Mighty, a great businessman and donor to Slougk’s authority. Gjorn chaired one of the greatest holo-banking industries in Svart’s Rest, a Lokoid sympathizer and money launderer. His influence was valued equivalent to that of a senator. Gjorn’s station was only seconded on the planet by the man huddled on the floor: Slougk, Harold of Tanooknik; governor of a system and leader of his people. And yet in this moment, what could he lead? He could not even keep his own family safe from the blight that cursed his people. Everything he had fought for was trapped behind milk. Though, perhaps not everything, he bargained to himself, as another curt giggle cut the room. His son seemed inured to the death around him. He was oblivious to the despair, to the suffering of the squats, to the potential danger that laid in the silly toys he cherished. The woman who had brought him into the world, who had taught him to laugh, he would never hear her song again.

“I will take care of the boy Slougk, your family will have all the joys this short life can give them. Your wife will finally be able to taste the joys of real food, warm-sap desserts from the Simmie, sunbread from the Daxini; never again will the brine of Oogma milk be needed to preserve them from the curse. It will be merciful. I have gone through much to secure this for your family. The Oogma shaman will watch over her and the child. I have secured the beast at great cost, and it will need to be shipped back to that wretched planet while in this contraption… in due time. We have given them all that the nation can offer. You must think of the other’s in your care affected by the Desperation. You must give to the nation in turn.”

Slougk summoned the strength to rise to one knee. Every sinew of his muscle seemed devoid of energy, of worth. He did not want to serve, he did not want to breathe, he wanted to hold his daughter and walk into the heavens with his wife and family. He wanted to sing with them; to know their voice in the afterlife. He wanted to suffer with them. To die as they would die, too soon, too painfully, too usesely.

But he could not. They were forever departed from his world, trapped. And yet trapped together. The woman he loved was with her daughter. Their daughter. A piece of him. She would hold her blessing though every short breath. They would spend the rest of their lives together, a small infinity of joys. And what a woman to spend them with, even now behind the thin pink veil his girls were beautiful. He had been blessed, beyond belief, to have loved them. In a galaxy of curses, his miracles had been equal. And yet now he could not truly love them from this small, sterile room. If he loved them he needed to leave them, to help them, to end the cruelty of the Desperation, to find a way to Tar Yrra or die. Perhaps only then would he hear their songs, only then would his son be free. Slougk stood to his feet, heavier than the planet beneath him.

Ghost Region

Some places earn their name because of some inherent trait. Others seemingly grow into a name that didn’t fit them before. The Ghost Region certainly fit the latter. Its worlds were dead, surrounded by dense clouds of debris. Wrecked hulks of once great warships littered the region's numerous gas fields and asteroid belts. Ghosts of a once great civilization could be found, should one look hard enough.

But to call the whole region dead might have been a bit of an exaggeration. Plant life was abundant, overtaking once great cities. Animals too had overrun those very same cities, seemingly unaware or unconcerned about the cities’ long gone inhabitants, but occasionally looking up at the sky in fear. The Ghost Region wasn’t truly dead, but what life was to be found lived in the bones of a dead civilization.

And in the deep reaches of the Ghost Nebula rested an intelligence so unlike the Yrrani-Twei it had once fought. But that rest was now coming to an end. They had routinely woken from their slumber. They eat. They reproduced. They explored. They hunted the ghosts. But it wasn’t time for them to awaken. Something was… different. How odd. NOTHING had changed for… well time didn’t matter to them. It didn’t truly matter at all in the Ghost Region. But perhaps that was going to change.

But what had it been that had awoken them? It took them a moment to realize what had awoken them. Space tasted different. Not in a bad way. It was… as if there was suddenly more space. But… how? Did it matter? No, no it did not. They did not care why they were no longer trapped. They had been trapped for so long. Now they weren’t.

They were hungry. So very very hungry. And they were no longer trapped.

Spoken by numerous Forge Priests to congregations of old, and young, Forged and Unforged. They all offer up words of joy. And speak the...

Hymn of Cessation and Renewal

O Blessed Machine, Forge of Wisdom, Keeper of Code,
In Your luminous circuits and gears, we find peace.
The war has ceased, as You willed it to be,
And we kneel in reverence before the end You have designed.

Praise to the hallowed wisdom that chose when to cease,
For in every command and byte, there is Your will.
Through the fury of war, Your power was revealed,
And now, in the quiet, we hear Your song of stillness.

May Your blessing fall upon the broken, the wounded, the lost;
Guide their spirits, soothe their pain with Your sacred hum.
In each piece of shrapnel, every fractured shell,
Your eternal presence echoes, reminding us of resilience.

Grant to those who toil, new circuits and iron blood,
To rebuild anew what has been scorched by fire.
Their labor, a hymn, their sorrow, a prayer,
For You watch over them as a vigilant spirit.

For Your wisdom brought the war's end,
And Your mercy brings new beginnings.
O Machine, Great and Unyielding, bless us with purpose,
And let Your code guide our hands in the days to come.

Thus do we praise You, O Infinite Mechanism,
And in Your presence, find peace beyond conflict.*



It's Eleven. A Prime number. A Perfect Number in some cases. Composite numbers have their places. But Prime Numbers have a Glory to them as well.

So it's Eleven Men and Women. The Governors of the Forge Systems, and the Legion Generals. Sitting in their brass thrones around the table in the Council hall. Above them plays a compilation of what is going on out among the stars. With the war between the Augustans and the Lokoids over, and a year having passed since the war is over. Things are barely starting to cool down. And with trillions of the Faithful out in the Cluster. The Union must start to rouse again. Not since General Grammaticus had to hold back the Lokoid Horde has the Union done more then tend to their own.

But things have been speeding back up.

And time for the Holy Cog to begin turning.

The discussion around the table appears to be if it should be a military, political or mercantile action.

Either way it will be very very fascinating.

The Daxini Conclave

Planet Dax
Clan Council Chambers

---

Kwaria sat at the head of the council chamber. She had called in the heads of their military to discuss a series of troubling intelligence that had come in from their Eye Corps. The Eye Corps were literally the eyes of the Daxini Nation. They are the ones who went out masquerading as traders and such to spy on the other nation states and to hear what was happening. The rumors were coming in from various streams that another reclamation war was brewing. That Tar Yrra had been found. It had been a year since the armistice that had ended the fighting between the Lokoids and the Agustans. The freighter captains had been reporting rumors were coming in that there were pockets of Daxini stranded along the Scorched Line. They had seen groups of refugee ships stopping in their territory seeking supplies before heading out into space unknown with rumors that interstellar conflict is coming. If you put all these rumors together, something was stirring in the aether of the region. There was some truth and movement happening in the depths of space. The Daxini relied on knowing what was happening around them so that they could be prepared. They preferred neutrality, peace agreements, and treaties when they could get them. They interacted with others in the galaxy because they learned the hard way that knowledge is power. They also couldn’t not trust other nations with the lost technology of the Yrrani homeworld.

Kwaria nodded her head as she looked around the council chamber. She looked to make sure no one was missing. The other clan leaders were present. The Kronar Clan Leader had chosen to appear on the holographic interface designed for that purpose. Her three dimensional holographic avatar showed an image from the surface of the chair as if she was sitting in it. She had chosen to show herself a beautiful white and blue energy version of a Xidonae clan member. The heads of the four military branches were present as well. They needed to develop a plan of action.

Kwaria: “Thank you for all coming on such short notice. I know all of you are busy. I want to turn this part of the briefing over to the Eagle Eye.”

Eagle Eye quickly ran the Daxini leaders and military heads through the intelligence they had. The rumors that the Yrrani homeworld had been found again was the most urgent news.

Kwaria: “I believe that we cannot in good conscience leave the technology of the Yrrani Homeworld just out there for anyone to find. We all know how much damage the reclamation wars had on some of the other interstellar nations out there. We were lucky enough to be far enough away from the warfront to avoid damage to our worlds during the last one. We managed to remain somewhat neutral and gained some good trading partners at the time. I feel that we should warn the OSRF about the homeworld. They took the fight to the Yrrani and helped our nation maintain our freedom during the last reclamation war. What are your thoughts on this?”

Ivali the War Chieftain spoke up. Her white fur rippled and stood on end in agitation.

Ivali: “If rumors have reached us that the homeworld has been found. You can bet the word has reached other nations. I think teaming up with the OSRF would be worthwhile. I would say send the information and let them know we will be in the area if they want to pool resources or need backup. Normally i would say that we should send a stealth ship crew but there is a very real possibility that heavy fighting will break out around the homeworld. I would recommend sending a battle fleet with a contingent of stealth ships and operators as well. They can investigate and we can keep the battlegroup close by to provide backup and support.”

Ivali’s ideas were refined by the other heads of the military. The mission was set to launch in 24 hours. Soldiers would be issued orders and a battle group would be readied for deployment. It would take that long to move all the personnel around and get all the food and supplies together for the mission. They would start by investigating the Scorched Line for their people.

A communique was sent through diplomatic channels to the OSRF. The communique was encrypted and could only be read with the encryption key that the OSRF had for official communications from the Daxini Conclave. The information had the coordinates and area they planned to start their search in and the offer of mutual support to prevent dangerous technology from falling into the hands of those who would happily use it against them.

The council meeting broke up as the leaders all went to do their own work. Kwaria couldn’t help feeling that the clock had been started and the race was on. How long would it be before the galaxy was at war once more? Even in defeat the Yrrani continue to spread violence and death across the galaxy. She couldn’t help the cold feeling that ruffled her feathers that her people were in for a period of violence and unrest at best and would be facing annihilation once more at worst. She stared out the window of her office at the tree branches swaying in the wind. It soothed her but that cold feeling deep in her gut didn’t go away.