Author Archive: David Artman

Stacktors!

Posted on by

Roleplaying with Pyramids

© 2007 David Carle Artman & David Mark Cherryholmes, All rights reserved.

Contents

Overview

A role-playing game requires, at a minimum, Characters, Situations, a Resolution System, and Rewards for playing. In Stacktors!, the abilities of each player character (PC) are represented by a stack of pyramids. Each pyramid’s position contributes an ability, be it physical, mental, or social. A game group decides what sort of setting—game world, time period, seriousness—in which they wish to play; and then the game master (GM) presents the players with challenges, situations, and story lines in which they can engage. When there is a conflict of interest between characters, a resolution system determines the victor. To the victors go the spoils….

Characters

A character in a game—whether controlled by a player or by the GM—is comprised of a stack of pieces called a character stack, which is positioned on the game map. Similarly, objects—things that the character possesses—are represented by a single equipment stack, which is placed in front of the character’s player.

To indicate a piece’s facing or orientation, character stacks are built on top of a teardrop-shaped piece or paper. Alternately, a small marker may be placed touching the side of the stack which is considered the front face.

The position of a piece and its color determine what ability effect the piece provides to the character. The size of the piece determines its strength, value, or efficacy in such situations.

Piece Positions

A piece can be in one of four general positions in a character stack:

  • Brains – (optional) All of the topmost pieces of a stack that are above the neck. Brains typically provide mental or social abilities to the character.
  • Neck – (required) A small piece which divides the character’s brains from its guts. Necks do not provide any abilities. A gray neck (i.e. a Volcano Cap) indicates a player character; a black or white neck indicates an enemy or potential ally/burden, respectively.
  • Guts – (optional) Any piece which is not feet, brains, or neck. Guts typically provide physical or social abilities to the character.
  • Feet – (required) Any and all pieces in a stack which are touching the playing surface. As such, the minimum number of feet is one and the maximum number is three (a full nest). Feet provide movement abilities to the character. Note that equipment stacks do not have feet because there are no feet abilities granted via objects: all pieces below the equipment stack’s neck are guts pieces.
    Variation Note: If the playing group has access to a full stash of gray pieces then the GM may choose to use them for Feet objects.

Piece Colors

The following table shows the abilities that each piece color provides, for each position in a character stack:

Character Stack Abilities By Position

Color Brain Guts Feet
Clear Identify (special) 

Claim the piece(s) under a solid piece, once per pip.†

 Perfection (physical) 

Attack – Automatically succeed with one attack, before or after resolution (if after, all committed pieces remain committed), once per pip.†

Defend – Ignore one attack, before or after resolution (if after, all committed pieces remain committed), once per pip.†

 Agile (movement) 

May move partially, act, and then finish movement.

Note: Do not count clear pieces when calculating total movement points.
Red Intimidate (social) 

Force the defender to flee—move away from the attacker and its allies at its full movement rate—for a number of rounds equal to the pip value of the active red pieces.

 Ranged (physical) 

Attack – Attack a defender that is a number of inches away equal to 3 + the pip value of the active red pieces.

Defend – Add the pip value of the red piece to defense against ranged attacks, without committing the red piece.

 Fleet (movement) 

Move at double speed (i.e. double movement points), adjusted for the terrain in which beginning movement.
Pink Shrewd (mental) 

Exchange one of the attacker’s pieces with one of the defender’s pieces (attacker’s choice; must be at least one piece from each character), limited to a total pip value equal to or less than the pip count of the active pink pieces.

 Flexible (physical) 

Attack – Your current physical attack affects multiple adjacent targets equal to the pip count of the active pink pieces.

Defend – Reflect the attacker’s result back onto it, once per pip per turn (refreshes each turn). Attacker may commit additional pieces to reduce the reflected result to zero (no effect).

 Graceful (movement) 

Disengage from enemies without being at risk of a parting shot, once per movement. The number of enemies must be equal to or less than the total pip count of the active pink pieces.
Orange Persistent (mental) 

Immediately re-attempt a just-failed social attack, using the same committed pieces; the defender must commit different pieces to defend against this attack.

 Dexterous (physical) 

Attack – Repeat your current physical attack twice, using the same committed pieces; the defender must commit different pieces to defend each attack.

Defend – Defend and counterattack as a free action immediately; the defender and attacker both must commit different pieces for the counterattack.

 Nimble (movement) 

Change directions while moving without it costing a movement point.
Yellow Calming (mental or social) 

Force the defender to stop fighting for a number of rounds equal to the pip value of the active yellow pieces. Any attack on the defender during this time period will break the effect and allow it to resume combat on its next turn.

 Medic (special) 

Perform healing a number of times equal to the pip value of the active yellow pieces.

 Steady (movement) 

Move at normal speed when beginning movement in slowing terrain (e.g. ice, sand), instead of at half speed.
Green Persuasive (mental or social)  

Somehow convince a reluctant potential ally to join the PCs.

Hamper (physical or social) 

Attack – Rather than do normal damage, increase or reduce the pip value of one of the defender’s Feet by one (attacker’s choice), if that is possible with the available unused pieces.

Defend – The attacker immediately reduces the pip value of one of its Feet by one, if that is possible with the available unused pieces.

Dynamic (movement) 

Move at normal speed when beginning movement in cluttered areas (e.g. woods, factory), instead of at half speed.

Cyan Morph Other (social) 

“Heal” the defender 1 pip value, up to a number of inches away equal to the pip value of the active cyan pieces.

 Morph Self (special) 

Change the color of one of your pieces whose pip value is equal to or lower than the pip value of the active cyan pieces, if that is possible with the available unused pieces. This ability also commits the affected pieces for this round.

 Fly (movement)Move at normal speed through air, instead of at zero speed.
Blue Cunning (mental) 

Force a defender within a number of inches equal to the pip value of the active blue pieces to commit its pieces first, the next time it is defending against any attack.

Freeze (physical or social) 

Attack – Rather than do damage, force the defender to stay in its location for a number of rounds equal to the pip value of the active blue pieces.

Defend – End the attacker’s turn immediately, even if it still has available actions or movement.

Swim (movement) 

Move at normal speed through water, instead of at quarter speed.

Purple Compel (mental or social) 

Force a defender within a number of inches equal to 3 + the pip value of the active purple pieces to use its next turn to attack the character of your choice, moving into range if necessary (and possible).

Maneuver (physical) 

Attack – Instantly relocate the defender away from its current position a number of inches equal to the pip value of the active purple pieces, without it engaging or being obstructed by terrain, characters, objects, or challenges.

Defend – Instantly move up to a number of inches equal to 3 + the pip value of the active purple pieces, without engaging or being obstructed by terrain, characters, objects, or challenges.

Teleport (movement) 

Instantly move up to full movement points without engaging or being obstructed by terrain, characters, objects, or challenges. If teleporting while engaged, the teleporter may be the subject of an optional parting shot from the adjacent enemy or enemies.

Opaque pieces represent either objects—pieces that the player characters may add to their equipment stacks—or NPCs or challenges. 

Variation Note: If the playing group has access to a full stash of gray pieces then the GM may choose to use them to indicate objects which provide feet abilities. If so, all players must unground their equipment stack with any available opaque until a feet object grants a feet ability, after which time the object’s piece(s) replace the grounded opaque. Note that you might have to use an extra small opaque to make only the feet pieces grounded; often, however, you can simply rearrange your equipment stack guts pieces to unground any of them that are still grounded when on top of the feet pieces.

White NPC – If on top of a stack or used for a neck (i.e. a small), White indicates a potential ally. This ally might or might not require persuasion to accompany the players; or it might force itself on the PCs, thereby becoming a burden to protect for an undetermined period of time or until a specific goal is reached. 

Object – If on top of completely hidden piece(s), White indicates an unidentified brains ability (or abilities). A character must use the Identify ability to remove the opaque and claim the granted ability (or abilities), which the character may then put into its equipment stack (above that stack’s neck) or give to another character to do so.
Black NPC – If on top of a character stack or used for a neck (i.e. a small), Black indicates a potential enemy or a challenge (as decided by the GM and the situation). A challenge is further indicated by an opaque foot, called a base, which shows that it is immobile and which distinguishes it from an NPC. Sometimes, the GM may place pieces under the opaque base so that it simultaneously serves as an object reward for surmounting the challenge. 

Object – If on top of completely hidden piece(s), Black indicates an unidentified guts ability (or abilities). A character must use the Identify ability to remove the opaque and claim the granted ability (or abilities), which the character may then put into its equipment stack (below that stack’s neck and above its feet, if any) or give to another character.

Footnotes: 

† = When a “once per pip” ability is used, replace the pyramid with the next smallest pyramid. If it is already a small, remove it from the character stack. Also, such abilities may not be healed, though the character could regain them with additional CP expenditure.

Character Creation

A given play group will choose one of the following means to create characters, based on the game tone or player preferences:

  • Free Creation – Each player get [TBD] character points (CPs) to distribute amongst any number of pieces, to make a character stack. A piece costs a number of CPs equal to its pip value—1 for smalls, 2 for mediums, and 3 for larges.
  • Group Creation – Each player gets [TBD] CPs to distribute amongst pieces. Piece purchasing, however, follows a rotation, with each player choosing one piece at a time and paying its CP cost from the player’s total available CPs. This method allows for negotiation between players, to avoid overlapping abilities or to shore up abilities that are lacking for the anticipated challenges.
  • Unique Creation – To ensure a really diverse group, with little or no overlap of abilities, the GM might restrict the available pieces to those that come in one Rainbow and Xeno Treehouse stash. Following the above Group Creation method, with only the 24 transparent pieces available in one Rainbow and Xeno stash, will ensure that every character “trumps” the others in at least one ability category.

Character Evolution

Throughout the course of play, situations and challenges won and lost can lead to changes in a character’s total CP or to a character’s stack itself. For instance, a character might lose brains in mental conflict or guts in a social conflict. Likewise, a character might gain a new foot that ungrounds all the other grounded pieces: the new foot grants a (possibly new) movement ability, and all previous feet become guts abilities.

This direct coupling of stack changes to character changes informs most, if not all, of the dramatic outcomes of play. Stacktors! characters can go through significant losses, develop massive sets of talents through advancement, and even die, in the most extreme situations.

Notation Methods

For brevity, a number of notation methods are used to shorten character, challenge, and object descriptions. All notation methods write out a stack from bottom to top, which may seem counterintuitive but is the order in which a stack is built. In addition, various symbols delineate brains, guts, feet, and bases in the stack.

General Notation Guidelines

The color and size of a piece are shown in the following order:

  1. Color – (C)lear, (R)ed, (O)range, (Y)ellow, (G)reen, (Cy)an, (B)lue, (P)urple, (W)hite, and (Bl)ack
  2. Size – 1, 2, 3, or x (where x is any arbitrary value; see Challenges).

Character Notation

Follow the general notation guidelines above, putting a hyphen (-) between feet and guts (to make it easier to see how many are grounded) and between guts and brains (to represent the neck). Additional details may or may not be provided in a character description.

Example Soldier – G1O2-R3O2C1-R1

  • G1 – Dynamic: All those obstacle courses, all the calisthenics… they pay off.
  • O2 – Nimble: All those days marching… they pay off, too.

(feet = 3 MPs)

  • R3 – Ranged: Got a big old gun…
  • O2 – Dexterous: …and it’s a machine gun.
  • C1 – Perfection: Maybe it’s a flak jacket, maybe it’s a grenade—something in his arsenal will save his bacon or drive home damage.

(neck = any)

  • R1 – Intimidate: The grunt can be pretty scary to those dumber than he is (which isn’t many folks—but could include most burdens or any character who has already committed all of its brains!)

Challenge Notation

Follow the general notation guidelines above, putting parentheses or braces ({}) around the base (parentheses for white brains object rewards, braces for black guts object rewards) and an equal sign between guts and brains (to emphasize that a character may eliminate either guts or brains to overcome the challenge). Note that, because only the topmost guts or brains color is usually all that matters in a challenge, there is usually only one piece notation followed by any number, which is comprised of any available pieces. Additional details may or may not be provided in a challenge description.

Variation Note: Though none will be presented in these examples, a gray foot object reward is signified by putting double quotes around the base.

Example Locked Chest – (C2)R8=B5

  • C2 – Identify (because opaque base is white): A scroll will be found! Note that if this were C1, it would be a break-even proposition, as the object must be Identified, even if part of a challenge. Not much of a reward, then.

(base = white)

  • R8: It can be shot open…

(neck = black) Note that the neck will always be black, for a challenge.

  • B5: …or a Cunning character can figure out how to pick the lock.

Object Notation

Follow the general notation guidelines above, putting parentheses or braces ({}) around the base (parentheses for white brains objects, braces for black guts objects). Additional details may or may not be provided in an object description.

Variation Note: Though none will be presented in these examples, a gray foot object is signified by putting double quotes around the base.

Example Fine Bow – {R3}

  • R3 – Ranged (because opaque base is black): So well strung, it fires up to six inches away!

(base = black)

Turn-Based Resolution

A given conflict is broken up into rounds—a series of turns during which every character has a chance to act.

To determine turn order, each character totals the pip values of its brains or of its feet, ignoring all ability effects (e.g. Fleet). The character with the highest total may go first or pass; if it passes, the next highest character may go first; and the group continues to “count down” in this manner, offering the opportunity to act or pass. Once the character with the lowest total takes its turn—which it is forced to do when its total is reached, or it loses its whole turn—begin to count back up through the totals, offering the opportunity for those who passed to take their turn. If a character passes again on this “count up” stage, it has passed its entire turn away.

On a given character’s turn, that character may do any or all of the following, in any order:

  • Move up to its maximum range, determined by the medium or terrain in which the character begins its turn.
  • Make one or more actions, determined by the abilities that the character possesses.
  • Make a brief statement, usually limited to one sentence.

Movement

A character may move a number of inches equal to the pip value total for all of its feet (including those in its equipment stack, if any). This sum is called the character’s movement points. Note that a small on its side is almost exactly an inch tall; the sides of a large’s base are exactly an inch wide. Many GMs, however, will use battlemats, which typically have a grid of 1″ squares or hexes.

A character must use one movement point to change direction (unless it is Nimble), regardless of the new direction (i.e. a character may turn up to 180 degrees in either direction for one movement point).

A character may not split movement into two stages divided by actions (unless it is Agile); it must move then act or act then move.

Movement Abilities

Every foot color ability effect applies on every movement (including those in the character’s equipment stack, if any).

Example: A character has a large green, a medium red, and a small yellow foot. On its turn, it may move up to 6 inches (3 + 2 + 1) times 2 (because of the red), for a total of 12 inches. Plus, it may move that full value even if it begins its movement in or passes through slowing terrain or cluttered areas (because of the yellow and green).

Terrain Effects

If a character begins movement in terrain, an area, or a medium which reduces movement, it must adjust its total movement points to the fraction of their total, rounding up, as in the following list:

  • Slowing terrain (half MPs) – sand, ice, dense underbrush, highly irregular floor, shallow water.
  • Cluttered area (half MPs) – forest, factory, ship engine room.
  • Water (quarter MPs) – waist-deep or deeper liquid in general; shallow bodies of water are merely slowing.
  • Air (zero MPs) – any gaseous medium, presuming gravity is present; if there is no gravity, a gaseous medium is merely slowing.

If a character enters one of the above terrains during its movement, its remaining movement points are immediately adjust by the indicated amount, rounding down. This reduction can result in the character having no remaining movement points.

Encountering Enemies

At any point during a character’s movement, if it becomes adjacent to an enemy—less than 1″ away, or in a neighboring square or hex—then it must immediately stop. It is not required to attack that enemy (and the enemy is not required to attack it), but it is nevertheless considered engaged for the remainder of the round. If the enemy is somehow defeated or relocated before the end of the character’s turn, the character may resume movement, if permitted (i.e. if it is Agile).

An engaged character may move away from an enemy on its next turn, and can move freely around or past that enemy during that turn (i.e. the enemy does not instantly re-engage the character just because it moves into another adjacent position). The enemy, however, may choose to take one action to attack before the character moves away, even if it is not yet the enemy’s turn; this immediate attack is called a parting shot. Also, if an engaged character is moved away from an enemy by another character (i.e. with a Maneuver Attack) then the enemy may make a parting shot. The pieces that the enemy commits to a parting shot are unavailable for the remainder of the round (as is generally true of any committed piece).

Actions

Some actions occur during freeform narration, while others occur during conflict rounds. The guts and brains colors determine what actions a character may take.

Piece Applicability

In most cases—the GM will say when this is not true—a conflict engages only guts or brains.

  • Physical conflicts may only use guts.
  • Mental conflicts may only use brains.
  • Social conflicts may draw on either guts or brains.

A character may draw up pieces from both its character stack and its equipment stack, unless the GM says otherwise.

If there is any question about the applicability of a piece—say, if a recent loss of a piece in the stack changed some guts pieces to feet—then assume that the piece is only applicable based on its current position; ignore earlier positions or the timing of events.

Attacks

If an action targets another character or a thing which has defensive abilities (i.e. it is created with some kind of stack, though that stack may or may not include feet and brains), then that action is called an attack, whether it’s physical, mental, or social:

  • The attacker choses which pieces in its character stack are contributing to the total attack value and states which type of attack is being done (i.e. which piece color is active). For the rest of the round, these pieces are committed—they may not be used on follow-up actions or for defense against other characters’ actions.
  • The defender then choses which pieces in its character stack are contributing to the total defense value and states which type of defense is being used (i.e. which piece color is active). For the rest of the round, these pieces are committed.
  • Neither the attacker nor the defender may activate more than one color per attack.

The total attack value for the action is compared against the total defense value:

  • If the attack value is higher than the defense value, the attack succeeds (see Damage, below). If the attack value is a whole number multiple of the defense value, multiply the effect (e.g. a 6 attacking a 2 does triple the effect).
  • If the defense value is equal to or higher than the attack value, the attack fails. If the defense value is more than double the attack value, the defending character may immediately counterattack as a free action—it does not cost the defender its action(s) later in the round, nor does it require that the defender not have acted yet this round, though the pieces that the defender uses are committed for the whole round.

Assistance

An adjacent ally or player character (an assistant) may contribute pieces to either character in a conflict—attacker or defender—up to a pip value equal to the sum of all of the assistant’s brains’ pip values. In other words, the “smarter” or more “perceptive” an assistant, the more it can contribute in a given action; as such, NPC burdens typically have few or no brains. For the rest of the round, these pieces are committed.

Note that the contributed pieces need not only be brains (brains total pip values are merely the limiting factor) and the contributing character does not lose the pieces or give them to the acting character; their pip values are merely summed and added to the attacker’s attack value or to the defender’s defense value.

Damage

A successful attack forces the defender to reduce the pip value of one (or more) of its committed piece(s) by one pip value (more than one, if the attack value exceeds the defense value by whole number multiples). If the defender reduces a small piece’s pip value (reducing it to “zero”) then that piece is removed from the defender’s stack and the defender loses its associated ability.

In some cases, the attacker’s active piece will dictate the result, rather than doing damage. If so, do as the piece requires, with the restriction that the total pip value of all pieces in a character’s stack (except its neck) may never exceed the character’s current spent CPs.

Note: Hamper can result in a change of feet and, subsequently, guts.

Healing

Instead of moving or taking any actions, a character may choose to stay in place and heal in one of the following ways:

  • Add a small piece to its stack, out of the available unused pieces.
  • Upgrade one of its existing pieces to the next largest size, if that is possible with the available unused pieces.
  • Downgrade one of its existing pieces to the next smallest size, if that is possible with the available unused pieces. If there is no smaller size (i.e. the piece is already a small) then it is removed from the stack.

A character may not use any of the above healing methods to gain an ability which it did not have at the start of the play session. Note that Morph trumps this rule, allowing character abilities to change.

An ally or another player character may choose to use its movement and all of its actions for its turn to heal an adjacent character. Note that Medic trumps this rule, allowing the assistant to commit only its yellow guts piece(s) to perform healing(s) and leaving all other uncommitted pieces available to perform actions on its turn and move.

The total pip value of all pieces in a character’s stack (except its neck) may never exceed the character’s current spent CPs. Furthermore, these effects may not result in new feet or guts.

Death

Some games might have options for resurrecting dead characters: for instance, allowing another character to heal the character (i.e. add a small guts piece) within a certain number of rounds.

Most games, however, will treat death as final. The character’s player should be allowed to create a new character using starting CPs, spent CPs, or even total accumulated CPs (if the GM feels generous), and that character should be introduced into the story as soon as is possible.

Extra Actions

If, during a turn, an attacker does not commit all of its applicable pieces, it may choose to use its remaining pieces for a follow-up attack. Use the same process as before, with only uncommitted pieces (which become committed when used, as with any action) and only one of their colors being active.

Note that this can result in an attacker possibly getting many attacks in a given turn, in particular if it is able to use Dexterous to double-up each attack. It is entirely possible for a character with three orange guts pieces to get six (or more) attacks in one turn! They might not be very effective attacks, though, if the total pieces committed in each attempt is low.

Special Abilities

Some abilities are marked as special, which means that they do not involve an attack but rather have some other effect.

Unless otherwise noted, the use of a special ability does not use up the character’s actions for a round. The use of a special ability does commit the active pieces, however, as with any action.

Statements

Making a statement can occur whenever the player or GM desires. For verisimilitude, it is recommended that such statements be limited to brief interjections, taunts, or commands; any drawn-out soliloquy or conversation should occur outside of a conflict or should be done as an extended conflict or should be broken up across several turns (the GM will determine which is appropriate for the situation).

Situations

A situation can be anything from trying to bribe one’s way past a guard to a series of combat maneuvers, attacks, defensive attempts, and injuries. The GM presents situations to the players; the players use their character stack abilities, ingenuity, and cooperation to attempt to overcome these challenges. Based on their success or failure, the GM then presents subsequent plot elements, which lead to further challenges; a story may or may not unfold, depending upon the whole playing group’s approach to stringing together these moments of conflict.

In some situations—usually mental, social, or minor in the “grand scheme of things”—the GM will simply narrate the situation and setting and allow the characters fairly free reign as to how they reply and react; timing, granularity of actions, and turn sequences are ignored in favor of conversational flow.

Once things get out of hand—when different GM or player characters are trying to do conflicting actions—then the situation is resolved with the turn-based resolution system.

Discrete Challenges

When the GM creates a challenge, it is represented as a challenge stack with an opaque base to show that it is immobile.

The topmost piece in a challenge stack indicates the color of the ability that a character must use to attack the challenge. If the challenge stack also has a neck, then a character may attack either the brains or the guts of the challenge stack, using the ability indicated by the topmost brains or guts color. Note that this makes the other piece colors in the challenge stack irrelevant, except as they contribute pip values when “defending” (or attacking).

If the attacker commits a sufficient number of pieces to exceed the total brains or total guts of the challenge stack, it does damage equal to the value of the excess committed pieces. Remove that many pips from the challenge stack’s attacked position—brains or guts—saving the topmost of either position for last. A challenge stack’s pieces are never committed during this “defense.”

Sometimes, the GM might choose to allow the challenge stack to make attacks as well, usually immediately after receiving an attack. The GM will often designate the topmost color as active, but he or she may also choose to surprise a defender by using one of the other (now not so irrelevant!) pieces in the stack. The GM will (typically) commit all of a challenge stack’s pieces to such an attack, and it is therefore (typically) only allowed one attack per round. Even if they have been committed to an attack, a challenge stack’s applicable pieces are always counted for “defense.”

When either all of the guts or all of the brains pieces are eliminated, the challenge is surmounted: remove all remaining pieces above its base from the challenge stack. The character that did the last point(s) of “damage” takes possession of any unidentified object reward that the GM might have placed under the opaque base piece.

Abstract Challenges

At times, the GM might want to represent a situation without actually building character and object stacks for everything present in the scene. In these cases, the GM might set up an abstract challenge, representing an entire scene with a single challenge stack.

The GM will inform the players as to how the challenge must be overcome, typically by separating it into stages or a series of discrete challenges. As a particular stage is overcome, the GM removes the top-most piece, revealing the nature of the next challenge in the series (i.e. what color ability must next be used to “attack” it).

Rewards

Success in conflict will usually reap rewards for the PCs.

The GM might provide additional CPs, allowing them to be spent immediately (e.g. “healing” after a combat) or requiring that they be spent at a particular, later time (e.g. “training” to advance an ability).

Similarly, the GM might provide tools, equipment, or other objects that are beneficial to the characters. Such objects, once acquired, are represented by piece stacks in front of the character’s player.

The GM might also provide information—clues, maps, or world facts—that helps the PCs continue in an ongoing quest or overcome some later challenge.

While currency—in-game resources, money, and assets—might also be a reward for success, this puts a burden on the GM to provide a means to spend such currency in a way that is meaningful to the characters. Otherwise, currency becomes a sort of “scoring system” for the players to use to compare against each other (or other groups that encounter the same series of situations).

Martian Shuffleboard

Posted on by
Martian Shuffleboard
David Artman
 
A game of dexterous strategy for 2 to 10 players.
Players: 2–5 normally, up to 10, with Rainbow and Xeno sets
Icehouse stashes: 1 Treehouse set per 5 players
Other equipment: A table or large game board off of which pieces can slide
Setup time: 1 minute
Playing time: 5–30 minutes
Rules complexity: Low
Strategy depth: Medium
Random chance: None
Mechanics: Dexterity, Turn-based, Miniatures
Theme: Martian
BGG Link: not ready yet
 
Created in January, 2007

Note: [?-…-?] indicates elements still under consideration or open for variation.

A game of dexterous strategy for 2 to 10 players in which players attempt to flick upright pieces so that they slide into scoring positions without tipping flat or sliding off of the playing surface.

 

Equipment

A playing surface, which could be a relatively small table with no edge rails (i.e. pieces can slide off the table) or a relatively large, thick game board. The slicker the playing surface, the better the game.

One Treehouse set per 5 players. For 6 to 10 players, the second Treehouse set must contain different colors from the first one (i.e. one must be Rainbow and the other Xeno).

An unused Small (e.g. the solid white or solid black one in the set). In a 5 or 10 player game, you will need either the Treehouse die or a spare Small from another set, to measure piece proximity.

Setup

Give each player a monochrome stack—one Small piece, one Medium piece, and one Large piece of the same color.

Determine randomly who will go first, and then follow traditional turn order.

The first player places a single upright piece of any size [?-alternates below-?] at the center of the playing surface.

Playing

In turn order, players attempt to flick a single upright piece with their finger(s), from the edge of the playing surface, so that it slides across the surface and stops in an upright position with the potential to score (see Scoring below).

A player may slide only one piece per turn.

If a slid piece hits another piece and moves it without knocking it over, then that piece remains where it stops (see Crashing below, for what happens if either piece is knocked flat or off of the playing surface).

Crashing

If any piece is ever knocked flat (no longer upright) then its owner gets that piece back, to re-slide on one of his or her subsequent turns.

If a piece falls off of the playing surface, then one of the following results:

  • If the piece belongs to the player whose turn it is (i.e. who just slid a piece to cause the crash) then it is removed from play until the end of the game.
  • If the piece belongs to any other player then its owner gets that piece back, to re-slide on one of his or her subsequent turn.

The game ends when no one has any more pieces to slide into play.

Scoring

Each piece that is within a Small height (laid flat) of any larger piece—regardless of that larger piece’s color—scores points for its player equal to the value of that larger piece. Thus, it is possible for a single piece to score from several pieces, including the player’s own pieces.

Example: The Small blue is within a Small height of the Large blue and the Medium red; the blue player scores 5 points. 

The Medium red is within a Small height of the Large blue; the red player scores 3 points.

You might have to use the Treehouse die as an alternative measuring device, if you are playing with 5 or 10 players. The longest measurement possible with a die—the length between any two completely opposite corners, through the center of the die—is almost exactly the height of a Small, though you will have to “eyeball” measurements of that length from above, as it is impossible to set that length flat on the playing surface.

Of course, you may also measure with the width or diagonal length of a face of the die, which makes for slightly lower scoring games because those lengths are shorter than a Small height.

Winning

The winner is the player with the most points after all scoring is concluded.

Some groups may elect to play a number of games equal to the number of players and take turns being first, to mitigate the disadvantage of being the first player, who must place a piece to begin play and thus hang it out there to be scored on (or, worse, use his or her Small at the very beginning of play, losing the best tool in the game).

License

Creative Commons 3.0 BY-NC-SA This work is distributed by David Carle Artman under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 License.

 

Remaining Design Issues

  1. Is there an obvious strategy? By the current rules, it clearly is no good to start with a Large, as you’re just hanging it out there to be scored on and it isn’t likely to be crashed by a smaller piece trying to score on it. But see below.
  2. I have observed that you can save the Small for last and use it to bump around pieces while crashing the Small, getting it back each time (well, until you screw up and fling it off the playing surface, that is). I have tried forced piece order (i.e. always must use your smallest piece on your turn) and I have tried alternate scoring (pieces within a Small height of smaller pieces score the smaller’s point value). Basically, there’s this range of possible play variants:
    • Use what you want + Smallers score on largers. (above)
    • Use what you want + Largers score on smallers. (intuitive, but it’s easier for everyone to score, as largers don’t “bounce off” smallers that much.)
    • Forced to use smallest every turn + Smallers score on largers.
    • Forced to use smallest every turn + Largers score on smallers.
    • Forced to use largest every turn + Smallers score on largers.
    • Forced to use largest every turn + Largers score on smallers.
  3. Is there too much skill required? This is the first game I’ve seen in which manual dexterity plays such a large role in success.

Ikkozendo

Posted on by
Ikkoendo
Kory Heath (Original), David Artman (Variation)
 
Players achieve satori when they discover the secret rule that explains which koans have the elusive Buddha-nature
Players: 2–4, and 1 master
Icehouse stashes: 1
Other equipment: 2 colors of marking stones (1 of each)
Setup time: 2 minutes
Playing time: 5–30 minutes
Rules complexity: Medium
Strategy depth: Medium
Random chance: None
Mechanics: inductive logic, real time, turn-based
Theme: Abstract
BGG Link: pending
 
Created in December, 2006

“Ikko” – one, a fragment, single

“Zendo” – the way of Zen, a mind-expanding game

“Ikkozendo” – a whole game of Zendo in one pocket!

Ikkozendo is a variant of Zendo that is played with a limited number of people who all are present at the game start. All must be present at game start because Ikkozendo is a single stash game and, as such, there will not be enough pyramids for the Students to build koans to seek the secret rule or for the Master to build koans to disprove a rule guess. Because no more than two koans are made during a game, the players’ memory of previous configurations of the koans is critical to finishing the game. Thus, if players come and go, as is allowed in Zendo, then the game can get stuck in “cycles,” as the same configurations are reused over and over again to disprove already-attempted guesses.

Equipment

A single stash of Treehouse pyramids. In a pinch, you may also use a single monochrome stash, though you will not be able to use color as a potential element in the secret rule (obviously!).

One or two marking stones (of different colors, if two). In a pinch, you can use the Treehouse die to mark the koan that conforms to the secret rule–I use the DIG side upright; can you “dig” it?

Starting

Begin as in normal Zendo: the Master thinks up a secret rule and makes two koans, one marked as conforming to the secret rule and one marked as not conforming to the secret rule. The koan that conforms to the secret rule is said to “have the Buddha-nature.”

Determine who goes first any way that is legal in your area, and proceed clockwise around the table with each turn. Alternately, for a real time variant, the Master may permit Students to shout out rule guesses as they come up with them. In this real time variant, the Master must gently restrain any Student who is rapidly making rule guesses to the exclusion of other Students’ chances to guess.

Playing

Students do not build koans and do not ask “Mondo” or “Master” and do not acquire guessing stones.

Instead, on a Student’s turn, the Student attempts to guess the secret rule or must pass. In the real time variant, a Student just shouts out a rule guess when one occurs to him or her.

If a Student guesses and is incorrect, the Master must adjust one of the koans so that it disproves the guess. In doing so, the Master may remove pyramids from the koan or add pyramids to it. The Master also may use pyramids from the other koan or adjust the other koan in any way, as long as, after all adjustments, one of the koans disproves the guess while both retain their original relationships to the rule (i.e. the true koan remains true and the false koan remains false).

Note that, if the secret rule involves color, the Master will often have to add or remove pyramids from both koans, because there are only three pyramids of any given color (and only one of a given size and color!) in a Treehouse stash.

After the Master’s disproof, it is immediately the next Student’s turn. In the real time variant, the Master must be sure not to let a Student double-up guesses and dominate the game, which can happen as an excited Student begins to close in on the secret rule.

Winning

If the Student’s guess matches the Master’s secret rule, that Student has won: shake his or her hand as everyone laughs… or groans. That Student is the next Master (or, alternately, rotate the role of Master counterclockwise each round… or let the loudest whiner be next).

License

Creative Commons 3.0 BY-NC-SAThis work is distributed by David Carle Artman under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 License.

Æsthete Hyt-Tyl-Tyl-Bas of the Veelab

Posted on by

The Veelab Species

Overview

The Veelab species is an alien culture which evolved on a jovian planet’s largest moon—a frigid, barren planetoid with nearly no atmosphere and a primarily metal crust. Scraping themselves up from the primordial ooze of their dim-witted ancestry, the Veelab learned to shape their bodies—and the bodies of their vanquished cousins—to resist the rigors of the wasted planet. Since developing space flight, they have gone on to colonize other “ice ball” planets, asteroids, and even some comets.

Veelab are intelligent, shape-shifting, colloid-based blobs that live in massive, planet-encompassing colonies which they call “Choruses.” They are able to thrive in the harsh climes of their origins (as well as in those humans would call “tropical desert”) through careful physical cooperation and a strict class system that is a combination of theocracy and coral reef.

Each Veelabling is trained from the moment it leaves its birthing vestibule to perform one of four primary duties for The Chorus (also called a planet-being):

  • morph into a wide vacuum-tight panel, absorbing sunlight while sealing the planet-being from hard radiation and pressure (called “Guarders”);
  • flex and climb about the planet-being, transferring liquids and mitochondria-like energy cells to the other classes (called “Gilders”);
  • manipulate crust materials to construct objects and morph its own body to supports the kilometers-deep mass of the planet-being (called “Girders”);
  • conduct off-planet missions in search of knowledge and sensations, morphing into forms acceptable to the source species or necessary for survival (called “Æsthetes”).

Most Veelab spend their entire 100 year adult lives in service of—and in harmony with—The Chorus, never knowing any sensation other than the slippery, warm pressure of neighboring Girders or the sticky sweetness of passing Gilders. They use “The Song” to keep in touch with the rest of the planet-being—a constant background harmonic vibration through the entire world that is communication system, legislature, educational system, and theatre simultaneously. Each Chorus comes the closest any culture of living things can to being a gestalt mind. Not a hive mind: each Veelab is as individual as a snowflake, within the context of its main social role.

The role of the highly-adaptable Æsthete class is that of diplomat, purchasing agent, and poet laureate for its Chorus. Bred as a mingling of each Veelab class, they are morphable as Gilders, yet capable of being as resilient and photo-sensitive as Guarders. As soon as it is ready, each Æsthete Veelab is equipped only with its Vod-dpah and sent forth to travel the stars, find the unique and engaging and “un-Veelab,” and return with Songs of it to its Chorus….

Sizes

Guarders ~150kg, 2m3 (9m2 x 4cm thick and rigid when Guarding)
Gilders ~90kg, 1.5m3 to 3m3 (amorphous gel when Gilding)
Girders ~80kg, 1 m3 (rigid tetrahedral lattice when Girding)
Æsthete ~130kg, 1.5m3 to 3m3 (amorphous and variably textured)

Senses

Guarders Photosynthetic receptors can be arrayed for rudimentary sight in the “mid-blue” to ultraviolet range of the spectrum.
Gilders “Mitochondria-like” organelles can be arrayed for rudimentary sight in the infrared range of the spectrum.
Girders “Mitochondria-like” organelles can be arrayed for rudimentary sight in the infrared range of the spectrum. Internal “motion-sensor” organelles provide extreme vibration sensitivity.
Æsthete Photosynthetic receptors can be arrayed for very poor sight in the “mid-blue” to ultraviolet range of visible light. “Mitochondria-like” organelles can be arrayed for rudimentary sight in the infrared range of the spectrum.
All Endoplasm can be made sensitive enough to hear extremely low and high frequency vibrations. Endoplasm can be made malleable enough to feel very subtle textures. Absorbed chemicals can be discriminated with a canine’s sense of smell/taste.

Ingestion

Guarders Light and nitrogen (N2) for photosynthesis (can transfer heat energy to Gilders).
Gilders and Girders Heat energy and oxygen (O2) (transfer heat energy freely to other Veelab).
Æsthete Heat energy, chemical energy (internal absorption of cellular matter), light, O2, H2, and/or N2 —depending upon whether using photosynthesis, digestion, respirations, or a combination.

Reproduction

From one to eight (this is considered by Veelab to be only a reasonable limit, not a theoretical one) non-Æsthete Veelab enter a birthing vestibule. They leave later. Don’t ask for further details. Two years later, a Veelabling emerges, already partly pre-disposed to a certain Veelab sub-physiology.

Lifecycle

Gestation in two years, maturation and primary education in ten years, adult for 100 years, “Sat-Tya-Tsin” (roamer within the planet-being) for remaining twenty to forty years of life. Consumed by Gilders upon death.

Psychology

All but the Æsthete class are shy and avoid non-Veelab, but they are generally understood to be reserved, contemplative, slow-going beings.

The Æsthete Veelab, however, are gregarious, out-going, boisterous, and brash. Since they are always questing for the unique, sublime, or exciting, they are driven and energetic to a fault. Coupled with their tendencies to be obsessive about a particular field of research or art, they can be exhausting companions. Their confidence and competence in times of crisis, however, offsets their madcap natures often enough to make them valuable allies.

Technology

The Veelab have developed extensive architectural, sonic, and chemical sciences, but their physical adaptability dissuades them from expanding sciences into—for them—useless areas. Their principle unique development, in the space sciences, is the Vod-dpah: a semi-symbiotic device that is a collection of metal tubes, genengineered sacs, and polymer bottles that resembles nothing so much as a bagpipe designed by H.R. Geiger.

A Vod-dpah is usable only by Veelab because they must absorb portions of the Vod-dpah into its body, leaving certain tubes and sacs exposed. With this configuration, the Vod-dpah will allow a Veelab to jet powerful (or not), heated (or not) gases in complex sequences. This mechanism can be used as a flame-throwing weapon, a jet-pack (in low gravities), a welding tool, a cutting tool, and even a life-support system (for Veelab and species with similar heat, pressure, and air requirements). It also contains a basic multimedia recording computer and large data storage cells (which interface directly with the Veelab’s sensorium, for maximum fidelity). With it, an Æsthete or Guarder Veelab can break from the gravity of a planet-being’s world and patrol nearby space (as long as it, of course, morphs its endoplasm into a pressure seal). It is in this way that Veelab Æsthetes can reach orbital facilities, where they morph into humanoid form to conduct business (and pleasure) in the Lattice.

Communication

Ultra- to hyper-sonic transmission and echoing across the whole planet (similar to whales of Earth). “Touch” language of the Veelab (unique, requires shape-shifting ability to attain fluency). Limited radio and light communications system for solar-system-wide comms (anything more interferes with The Song).

Culture

As near to a gestalt mind as possible without telepathy. Religion, government, entertainment, family, commerce, strife: for the Veelab, all this occurs in The Song of The Chorus. Few Veelab can be away from their Chorus for long. Few want to be.

They colonize only as space for a new Chorus is needed. They do all that they can to avoid warfare with other species, since they are very vulnerable as planet-beings. For this reason—and to encourage hospitality for their Æsthetes—they make scandalously goods deals on the music, sculpture, and chemicals that they export to the other races of the Lattice. This generosity (and the quality of their goods) encourages most of the peoples of the Lattice to give Veelab planet-beings a wide berth, and their emissaries a comfortable trip through the Worlds.

Hyt-tyl-tyl-bas (“Number Twenty-Four”)

Æsthete of the Segillut-4 Chorus

Age – 20 Standard Years physical / 72 Relative Years actual

Mass – 120kg

Typical Appearance– Stocky, gray-skinned male humanoid, bald, with huge green eyes and bushy-seeming green eyebrows (both are, in fact, clusters of photosensitive organelles pushed near to his skin).

Base or Relaxed Appearance – Translucent to transparent, milky gelatinous mass with small, granular organelles floating around inside.

Abilities

Each Æsthete Veelabling is trained in the Common language, diplomacy, history, music, and art.

Equipped with, and trained in the use of, the Veelab Vod-dpah (see Veelab Species above).

At A Glance

Æsthete Hyt-tyl-tyl-bas is a “typical” Veelab Æsthete. He (for lack of a suitable gender pronoun) is on tour in the Lattice, gathering sensations and songs for his home Chorus. Though he has no itinerary, per se, he hopes to enrich his planet-being’s knowledge of current events in the “neighborhood,” and will thus seek out “hot spots” rather than “centers of culture” when given a choice.

An eager Æsthete, Hyt-tyl-tyl-bas has a zest for life that borders on seeming lunacy. He tends towards overzealous pursuit of excitement and adventure, often at great risk without ever realizing it. He is jocular, overly-trusting, noisy, and often brash—but generally endearing more than annoying to those whom he befriends. If any part of his personality could be said to be “dark” or “closed,” it is his attitude towards his Vod-dpah: he is terrified of its destructive potential and avoids it being seen by the public, least they fear him as much as he fears it. He uses it only when he must, and has yet to use it on a living being.

Strengths

  • Genial and likeable. Perceptive.
  • Shape-shifting (not doppelganger-like. He will always be motley-colored and lumpy, have cartoon-like facial features effected by pushing internal organelles into configuration near the surface of his skin, have just enough control to have stubby hands, and have octopus-like rigidity control).
  • Amphibious (endoplasm can absorb needed gases—O2, N2 or H2, by choice—from appropriate hydrospheres and atmospheres).
  • Excellent hearing and sense of smell (via “tuning” of endoplasm).
  • Feeds on light (through endoplasm) and cellular energy (through absorption of live animal or plant cells for internal breakdown).
  • Immune to pressure extremes (endoplasm hardens into a gray shell).
  • No need to breathe (until Vod-dpah sacs and bottles drain). Can configure to share with someone else, assuming “human-standard” respiration requirements.
  • Vectored flight in low to null gravity (until Vod-dpah sacs and bottles drain).
  • Flame-thrower/ welder/ cutting torch/ lantern (until Vod-dpah sacs and bottles drain).
  • Can recharge Vod-dpah (requires some time, light, and above gases or liquids).

Weaknesses

  • Overly-trusting. Gullible.
  • Overconfident. Ignorant of the variety and swiftness of the dangers in the world.
  • Extreme distinctive features (cartoonish, lumpy humanoid usually; gooey to shell-like exterior of a variety of shapes at other times).
  • Very poor (infra)vision (sees about 20/80 with special configuration of its heat- and photosensitive organelles).
  • Extremely vulnerable to ingested and insinuative poisons (if his skin isn’t in “shell mode,” any contact or gas poison has a particularly effective transfer through his endoplasm).
  • Extremely sensitive to loud noises (imagine if your whole skin got “deafened!”).
  • Sexless (this could be a “Zero Sum,” but it seems like it would be a disadvantage more often than not in a variety of social situations).
  • Suffers from motion sickness (personal problem, not a Veelab trait; Hyt must absorb appropriate pills prior to fast driving, air flight, zero gee, heavy acceleration, or extreme altitude changes).
  • Fears the responsibility and “stigmata” of the Vod-dpah.

The Unseen Eye

Posted on by

Greetings, curious readers.

This installment of “The Unseen Eye” is a special release. Since my seminal exposé on Senator Grofwitz’s ties to local Mafioso, the question on the minds of all readers of The Washington Post has been, I imagine with due modesty, “who is the Unseen Eye?” Well this article is going to answer that question once and for all, even if it never reaches publication, out of my fear of reprisals.

In beginning, I feel that it is important to note that this brief autobiography is by no means complete or comprehensive. I intend only to explain how I came to be one of the most insidious investigative reporters in Washington, not to tell my entire life’s story, complete with footnotes. Perhaps my life will become interesting enough to warrant thorough attention—after all, the chances of that happening have increased a hundredfold with my Eruption—but for the time being, it will suffice to simply tell the story of how I came to be a nova and why I have chosen this profession over the other lucrative options open to one of my abilities.

Prior to March 23, 2008—the first day of spring and, yea, my rebirth—my life was almost embarrassingly uneventful. My youth is best forgotten: no more than a succession of typical schooling, academic awards, and beatings by bullies. Sure, I had dreams like any other snotty-nosed kid with no knowledge of the world’s machinations. I went from yearning to be a famous novelist to aspiring to be a respected journalist to settling for being a head librarian at the D.C. Municiple Library. Certainly I had opportunities to become more—life almost always deals a hand that could be won—but my lack of confidence and my bombastic writing style gained me little more than a string of polite rejection letters and a serious case of self-pity. I settled. With the legacy of a name like Leslie Wiemerauer, you would too.

But then that fateful day came, unheralded, as so many such days are. One of my principle duties as head librarian of the D.C. Munie (as we call that old, massive facility) was to insure that the building was locked up for the night and that all environmental controls were properly set. This latter duty is of particular importance in the dusty warrens of the basement archives, and I dispatched it nightly with great care and attention. The night of March 23 was no different in that regard: I was making my rounds, quiet as a church mouse, out of habit. In retrospect, I wonder at how my life would be today had I been whistling a tune or humming to myself or simply not placing my feet with the practiced manner that prevents any sound, regardless of the shoes’ soles. Had I done anything to warn of my presence, surely I would not have overheard the aforementioned Senator and Don Cordina Medecino, surely they would have made their seperate ways out of the archives and I would have blithely gone on with my life of anonymity and quiet dispair.

Instead, I heard their whispered conversation, recognized the Senator’s voice from OpNet—I have ever been a student of politics and thus know most of its principle players—and was shocked into clumsiness by the subject of their argument. Those of you who read my first professional story, “The Senator Wears No Clothes”, surely recall the substance of what I overheard; needless to say, I was stunned to hear such an upstanding member of our national government conspiring with a local mobster to murder a federal witness. My shock was so great, I staggered back against the row on which I lurked, toppling some references that a less-thorough co-worker of mine had left precariously balanced on their shelf.

Books are not, typically, very noisy things. Pages rustle like wind through fallen leaves, spines sometimes creak and crackle like an old man’s, covers thump closed like well-machined car doors. Books dropped from four feet in a deserted, stone-walled archive to rest on worn wooden floors, however, sound like the cymbal crash of Armageddon’s most-fervent musicians or the sickening thud of a guillotined heads on gallows planks.

The two conspirators reacted with chilling efficiency. I suppose, for men accustomed to quick, violent action, the logical leap from recognizing that one has been compromised to desiring the death of the hapless discoverer is trivial. To me, it was terrifyingly unbelievable. One moment, I am eavesdropping on a chilling conversation, the next I am hearing, “Don’t let him get away, Medicino,” and the chambering of an automatic pistol.

I ran. So would you.

Now mind you, I knew the warrens of the Municiple Library’s archives like the back of my hand. I could navigate their confusing stacks blindfolded… were I not fleeing for my very life. It should come as no surprise, then, that I got turned around, became flustered, panicked, and ran myself into a dead-end on the maps and atlases row. Standing between two fifteen-foot shelves, hearing the staccato pounding of my pursuer’s hard-soled shoes grow nearer, holding my nose to forebear sneezing—my flight had stirred up dust left unmolested for decades—I collapsed in resigned exhaustion, covered my head with my thin arms, and waited for the gun’s report.

The clack-clatter of Italian loafers reached my row, paused as if to pity my cowering, prostrate form… and then pattered on to the next row! Suspecting some trick, guessing that I was being toyed with like a surrendering mouse under the paws of a lion, I didn’t move. I lay in plain sight (I thought… but to that in a moment), holding what I believed was to be my last breath, wondering perversely what a bullet really felt like as it shattered one’s spine and blended one’s lungs into a chunky froth.

And, as must be obvious, the hammer never fell. Even after the Senator had long made his escape, even after the Mafia Don passed my “hiding place” three times, even after that same Don had taunted me and threatened to “make it harder on me” for trying to thwart his efforts to end my boring life: still I remained undiscovered, though I lay sprawled on the floor like a pile of dirty laundry. I guess that Medicino figured that I had escaped to the higher floors using some little-known stairs or lift; I could just barely hear his grunt of frustration and muttered Sicilian epitaphs as he hurried to the main stairs to look elsewhere for me. Still very shaken, I did not seek to leave the archives, since there wasn’t actually any sort of conveniently-secret stairs to bail me out of my predicament. The hour was late, the library was deserted, and I did not seen any reason for the murder-bent man to give up his search any time soon. So I instead carefully snuck to the back corner of the basement, crouched behind moth-balled card catalog drawers, and waited for the morning to come, with witnesses.

That was a hellish night, as any of you whose M-R nodes have erupted can attest. The headaches began around midnight, first a dull ache I attributed to weariness and a missed dinner, then a pounding assault that threatened to drive me mad. I warred with my own mouth, stifling cries of anguish with clenched teeth and fists. When the pain became so bad that I lost awareness of my surroundings, I only prayed that I was not screaming out loud and revealing my hiding place to my pursuer—if indeed he was still even in the building. Thankfully, weariness reigned supreme over my headache before dawn, and I was able to relax a bit and get some much-needed rest.

When I awoke that morning, around eleven, I was still alone: even on the busiest days there is little call for the ancient texts interred in the archives; more often, a scanned duplicate on the OpNet suffices. And so I awoke alone and ravenous and still shaky from the previous night. At first, I was unwilling to leave my refuge. After all, Don Medicino may have seen my face, may have left a lieutenant to watch the library for my departure, may have, in fact, been waiting right at the top of the main stairs, reading the morning paper and struggling to stay awake after an all-night vigil. And so I waited, hoping perhaps that one of my assistants would come down on some errand, providing me with an escort, or at least a witness. I did not, it turned out, have to wait long, as Ms. Crumley showed up around noon seeking some books for one of our regulars. She was, needless to say, surprised by and suspicious of my unkempt appearance and wild eyes. When she asked me what I was doing at work early, and how I’d gotten down here so surreptitiously, and why I was creeping around like a wraith, I dismissed her interrogation with a wave of my hand and took her arm to lead her (or myself?) to the daylight.

No one was waiting for my arrival, as far as I could tell. The library was bright with sun and fairly crowded for a Monday—researchers are notorious for taking long weekends. I fabricated a fairly convincing lie for the worried Ms. Crumley and made an excuse for taking the day off. I needed to think about what I should do, how I could react to the terrible knowledge I had gained in my long night, who could help me with the seemingly-insurmountable threat of reprisal. Rather than return to my second-story apartment—which I was sure was watched through a telescopic rifle sight—I went for coffee at the Starbuck’s on The Mall. I was confident that the mob of tourists would shield me for a while from discovery and death.

While shakily forcing down my seventh cup of black coffee and browsing the Metro section of a stained newspaper left at the next table, I stumbled across a notice that “entertainment entrepreneur Cordina Medecino” was giving a speech that day at the opening of the new Coastal Boardwalk, built out of the deserted wastes of the Naval shipyard. Perhaps I was sleep-addled; maybe I was despairing of ever being free of threat; it could be that I was becoming angry at being a fugitive in my hometown of nearly fifty years. To this day, in spite of my now-phenomenal powers of recollection, I do not remember what made me resolve to attend this (for me) dangerous event. I know that I at least hoped to discover if I was recognized by the guilty conspirator, while somewhat protected by a crowd of potential witnesses. Maybe I just wanted to precipitate the turmoil to its conclusion, for better or worse, if only to be free of paranoia. But I tell you now, with no reservations, that paranoia is preferable to death, even if at that time I could not believe it to be so.

I did have the forsight to stop at a tourist novelty shop and purchase a t-shirt that proclaimed “I Love D.C.!” I changed into it out of my usual Oxford and tweed in the subway, earning stares and thirty cents in change from passersby—I suppose people thought I was a bum or out-of-luck traveler, to have to do my grooming by the light of flickering florescents in the concrete arteries of the city. Once changed, I made my way to the edge of the District, joined the throngs ogling the bright new plastic and neon of the Boardwalk, and looked for my hunter.

I eventually spotted the Don with some business associates, standing near the stage erected for the opening ceremonies and loudly praising the Mayor for his “vision of a reborn District”. I worked my way closer, racking my brain to come up with some excuse to approach the man with his guests, rather than wait for a time when he would be unattended and free to pronounce my death sentence to his thugs standing around like parodies of Secret Service guards.

I am not a brave man, good readers. I do my work from the shadows and publish under a nom de plume for a fraction of the recompense I could command as a recognized nova. I like to be unnoticed, unobtrusive, silent—the better to hear the truth when it is revealed. And of course, there are those out there who would handcraft a bullet for my forehead out of bottle caps if they could but know who I am and where I lay my head to sleep. But that day, after hours of fear and trepidation, I was cool and clear. The world seemed bright and crystaline, as if held in a perfect stasis so as not to spoil my moment of revelation… or relief. I noticed that one of the people with the Don was a kind and amicable City Alderman that was once a horror author; my gambit, my plan to test my anonymity, blossomed fully-formed in my mind as I wound through the waiting crowd.

“Mr. Cargraves! Mr. Cargraves! I love your work! Would you sign my t-shirt?” I shouted out as I reached the front of the stage.

The Alderman turned to regard me, as did Don Medicino and the rest of the assembled notables and media. I felt like a butterfly pinned to a felt board, waiting for the formaldehyde to do its lethal work. I stepped shakily forward, hoping my terror appeared to be only self-consciousness, and presented my shoulder to the Alderman. I steeled my nerves and risked a glance at the man who had sought my death just sixteen hours earlier.

He was regarding me with a bored, almost disdainful look, then made busy with straightening his jacket and adjusting his shirt cuffs. As the author cum Alderman patted himself down in search of a pen, I allowed my glance to linger on the mobster, almost daring him to recognize me and react with wrath in front of the assembled people.

Instead, my enemy merely reached into his jacket—stopping my heart in its tracks as I imagined his drawing and firing on me regardless of the number of witnesses—and pulled out an Aurora Benvenuto Cellini pen, handing it to Mr. Cargraves. Again, the Don regarded me, watching the author draw his looping, abbreviated signature on the awkward cotton surface, and again he seemed to merely dismiss me.

He did not recognize me! The dimness of the archives had hidden my face in the brief moment of my discovery, and my fleeing back was no longer clad in a recognizable tweed with leather elbow patches. I was just another sycophantic sheep distracting the wolves of the world from their more-important pursuits.

“There ya go, sir,” said Cargraves, as he stood back from his handiwork. “Always glad to meet a fan. What was your favorite book of mine?” He smiled amiably at me while the rest of the group resumed their discussions or preparations.

“Up From The Basement,” I replied, my head swimming with a combination of relief and cockiness. Again, I looked at the mob boss, trying to ascertain if my off-hand-seeming comment stuck a nerve.

Again, the man regarded me, curiously this time, then shrugged ever so slightly, and dismissed me again.

“Yep… one of my favorites, too,” Cargraves replied, then turned away. “Enjoy the ceremony,” he added over his shoulder, as an afterthought. The sheep was dismissed to rejoin the flock.

I was free!

Certain of my anonymity, I returned to work at the library the next day. Though I had spent the remainder of the previous day pondering what course of action I could take to prevent the murder plans I had overheard, I had not though much of my unlikely escape or headaches or ravenous appetite. At the time, it was all-too easy to disregard the symptoms of Eruption as attributable to a stressful night and uncomfortable sleep. I could not long disregard, however, my newly-fired mind.

Within days of resuming my life, I found that my memory, reasoning capacity, and attention to detail was increasing. Where once I would excitedly leap to look up some obscure fact or reference for a patron of the library, now I found that I could recall the information within a moment of thinking about it. When once I though combing the stacks for a mis-shelved book was a sort of adventure into antiquity, now I could walk right up to where I subconsciously had noticed the book placed and reach for it without looking. Put simply, my mind had grossly outstripped my profession, and was growing restless within a week.

It can probably go without saying that the life of a librarian is not very exciting. If the work suits one, that person can find delight in organization, excitement in discovery of information, and satisfaction in a day of education. If, on the other hand, the work is banal, trivial, and neigh-automatic for an individual, they will not last long in the profession.

I tendered my resignation to the library director on the following Monday, just one week after my frightening night and liberating day. He was surprised, but not particularly sad, it seemed. I was a good employee, but not the sort of man who would be missed, if only because I was so little worth knowing, at the time.

This is not to say, however, that I did not accomplish much in the week while I still had my employee badge. Though I did not have the idea yet to turn to journalism again, I did know that whatever I was to become could not be built upon my insipid past. Feigning other duties, I planned to gained entry to the District Hall of Records, the DMV, and the hospital where I was born. Not even fully realizing why, I sought to eradicate any record of my life and existence. I could have been subconsciously covering my tracks, least those I had overheard thought to pull the library’s employment records and start checking up on its forty-five employees. Since it was my job to make work schedules, I easily got rid of any record of my working on that fateful night before resigning. I had thought that pulling and disposing of my official government records would be much harder, but that was before I discovered the greatest gift that my Eruption had given me and the reason that I could escape discovery while hiding in plain sight.

I was at the Hall of Records, having pulled my file and taken it to one of the public room’s long tables. I was alone in the room excepting the curator, and when she got up from her desk, collecting her purse for a trip to the bathroom, I hurriedly stopped her and returned my file to her. You see, I did not want her to wonder about the man she left alone with his records or feel that she should mark my face and name, should something untoward happen as a result of her lack of diligence. Knowing the bureaucratic mindset—nay, almost seeing that very thought process work its way around her face and neck as she reached for her purse—I knew it would be best to let her “secure” my file and free her mind of worry. Of course I watched where she placed it to be filed later. Of course I held the door for her as we left. Of course I made a big show of waiting for the elevator, checking my watch and muttering about the “damned slow machine”. She headed off, obviously glad that she could do her duty and not attend her station.

I walked back into the public room and vaulted the low counter that divided the room between the commoners’ area and that of the self-important administrators. I headed for the lady’s desk, my eyes locked on the prize, my left hand fumbling in my jacket for the faked Death Certificate that I intended to add to it. As I made the modification to the relevant sheets and placed the certificate in the file, I heard the rattle fo the old doorknob that secured the room.

I froze: caught, startled, beginning to shake in fear of imagined incarceration and investigation. Hunched over the lady’s desk, my back to the door, I awaited her cry of alarm.

The door opened, her heels click-clacked across the room to the counter gate behind me, the gate creaked and swished as she passed through it, dropped her purse right at my feet, and walked away from where I stood to the row of shelves at the back of the administrator’s area. I confess that I watched her receding figure with some appreciation—librarians are not typically considered stud material and I had no little amount of pent up sexual frustration for which to thank my esoteric conversational subjects and out-dated jokes. But the the import of what had happened hit me full force, stunning me into vacantly staring at the woman going about her business before me.

She had not seen me! There could be no doubt about it, she just plain did not see me standing over the file that was her responsibility to guard! I did not know how or why she had ignored me; but she had, my deed was done, and a quick escape was the best way to profit from the odd situation, not staring blankly at the young woman’s ass. I turned and crept from the area, going over the counter like a soldier crawling over a trench wall, opening the door with a silent patience that belied my pounding heart, and slipping from the room back into the hall… and, again, into anonymity.

As I rode the Metro home, it all began to make sense: the forgotten headaches on that crazy night, my increasing appetite, my impossible escape from the murderous mobster and attractive administrator.

I could become invisible. I was a nova! Suddenly, my increased memory and reasoning all made sense: it had to be an accidental result of my Eruption, an Eruption that primarily had made me able to disappear from sight. After years of being a nobody, I was suddenly and dizzyingly thrust into an elite circle of a few thousand of the most powerful people ever to exist.

If I were correct. If I were not just the lucky beneficiary of dim lighting and distracted preoccupation. I decided to test it right there on the Metro. There was not much of a crowd, since it was still the middle of the afternoon, but there were enough people to serve as a representative sample. There were high school kids, some possible gangbangers, a mother and her four harrying children, and an old man sleeping on one of the benches. I slowly rose to my feet, walked forward in the subway car to its front, and turned to face my experimental group.

“Pardon me, everyone,” I began, clearing my throat to forebear my voice squeaking, “I am sorry to bother you all today, but I have to try something.”

The mother of four flinched a bit, probably anticipating another loony bothering the assembly with requests for money or worse. Everyone in the car looked up at me, their gazes varying from expectant to disdainful to bored. I let the feeling of exposure wash over me, trying to summon the sensations that I had felt on the floor of the archives and just an hour earlier in the Hall of Records. I felt a thrill of tension in my stomach, then my forehead, then on the surface of my skin.

“Ta da!” I announced, spreading my arms wide like a stage magician and waiting for their gasps of incredulity. I looked around the group, expecting astonishment. I was instead greeted with more disdain and not a few derisively-raised eyebrows.

“Okay, schlow what?” the old man slurred, awakened by my presentation before the crowd.

“Yeah, so do something if you wanna beg some change, old man,” one of the high school kids mocked. “You gotta have some kind of angle if ya wanna beg-off these days, dude, ” he added by way of explanation. His companions laughed and snorted; one tossed a nickle, three pennies, and a subway token towards me. Perversely, I noticed that one of the pennies was one of the new Nova-issues on which the Fireman’s bust replaces Lincoln’s. I noticed that before it reached the floor.

“Ah, Christ,” I muttered to myself, covering my face with my hands, both to hide and to wipe away the beads of sweat that were telegraphing my embarrassment.

The mother choked in surprise; the old man coughed, startled; the school kids exclaimed, “Killer!” and “Jooce!” and dropped their books.

I peeked out from between my fingers, taking in the scene of surprise with some small degree of satisfaction, and another collective gasp issued from the small crowd.

“Woah! A nova! Jooce!” the once-mocking, now impressed, school boy exclaimed. “Disappear again, dude!”

I dropped my hands and asked, “Did I disappear? Could you not see me? Wait… ‘again’?” I was confused and elated. Obviously, I was right about Erupting, but a bit off in my assessment of my capabilities. It did not take my now-supercharged mind long to make the connection. I closed my eyes.

“Sweeeet! Who you work for? The Project?” the self-appointed speaker for the group sputtered.

I held my eyes closed and began walking toward the sound of his voice, waving my hands in front of me to avoid colliding with a railing or pole. As I fumbled around for a handhold, a vision of the subway car suddenly blossomed in my mind’s eye. I could recall every detail of the car, every person’s posture and position, the play of shadows across the floor—we were pulling into station as I was closing my eyes.

I reached out to steady myself on a pole that I recalled being in front of me… and staggered as I failed to grasp it. I was going to fall on one of the woman’s little girls, and I reeled to grab a seat back. My hand found no purchase, though I could “see” that it was right on top of the seat. I slumped to the floor, sure I was about to hear a cry of surprise or a crunch of broken bones.

Instead, the crowd merely became agitated, calling out to me and jabbering excitedly to each other, themselves, or no one in particular. Throughout my whole slapstick tumbling, I had held my eyes tightly shut. Now, on the floor, some instinct or subconscious warning made me keep them shut as I tried to pull myself up. In my mind’s eye, I could still see the car’s layout and was imagining my current position on the floor. With a chill running up my spine, I realized several things at once—a cascade of logic and recognition of fact to which I have now grown accustomed but then found almost frightening.

First, I realized that I could not grab anything because I had not only become invisible, but also intangible. That was why the pole passed through my outstretched hand, the seat back failed to stop me, and the child was uninjured by my stocky frame crashing full onto her shoulder.

Second, I visualized my position on the floor of the car and “saw” that both my legs were (should have been? would have been? sometimes it is hard to find the right verb tense when I am describing my mind’s eye) passing through the seat supports, a pole, and the legs of the little girl upon which I should have landed.

Third, I deduced in a flash that my new power only worked on things which I could not see, be they objects or observers. Thus, my power had activated upon my saying “ta da”, but my audience was still in my view, and thus unaffected by it. Covering my eyes had made it work for them, and had made me insubstantial to the world around me. Thus, I had, quite literally, fallen through the pole and seat and little girl. I could not pull myself up for the same reason: no purchase for my immaterial form.

Fourth, it occurred to me that I was being a right fool, exposing my powers before a bunch of strangers, all with good reason to gossip about the graying man that could become invisible that they met on the subway. The efforts I was making to eradicate records of my existence would be largely wasted if my photo ended up splashed on the front page of the Post with the caption “New Nova Surprises Subway”. And more people were going to be on the subway at any second—I could hear the subway brakes squeal, echoing off the tile walls of the station at which we were stopping.

Fifth, I recognized that I had made all of these leaps of logic inside the space of two seconds, even as my visualized shoulder headed for the girl’s face. I had never thought so quickly or clearly, never had the cause and effect of the world laid out before me like some flowchart on a meeting room whiteboard. No wonder I had become so quickly bored with the drudgery of a librarian’s duties: I could out-think Einstein! Or so it seemed to me in those flashing seconds of thought.

But then time seemed to speed back up, as I lay huddled on the floor, eyes squeezed shut. I knew that I could not open them immediately: I no longer desired the recognition of my abilities by the astonished and milling group, I knew that my rematerialization would probably cost me and the little girl our legs, and now the car doors were hissing open to admit still more witnesses… or victims. I shuddered as I realized that I still visualized the scene before my dematerialization as it appeared at that time, though I knew from the sounds around me that the tableau had changed, that people had moved, that new people were arriving and being alerted to the strange events of the past several seconds. My mind’s eye, while crystal clear, did not see past my aching eyelids, but rather just held a record of what I had seen. Thus, I risked more than my legs, perhaps, by materializing—what if someone now stood where my head was?!

That was the moment that the last recognition of the extent of my powers (for the time being) came to me. As if by instinct or by the now-familiar subconscious working of my accelerated mind, I tried to swim away. It sounds funny now, in retrospect, but at the time it was a desperate act—I was panicking and yearning to open my eyes in much the same way a drowning man must yearn to breathe though submerged in killing water. I began to breast stroke in what I visualized was the direction towards the open car doors and platform. I “swam” onto what—from the expanding sounds—had to be the platform, but still I did not dare to open my eyes: the sound of footsteps around me brought flashbacks of my flight in the archives, as the risk of revelation now carried with it just as lethal a potential as then, though from shoes and legs, rather than guns and lead. I knew I was in DuPont Circle station, on the lower platform, though; that remembrance showed me the way out of my predicament.

I angled myself upwards and “swam” toward the tunnel roof. I wanted to get about seven or eight feet off the platform, above one end of it where people rarely congregated, then open my eyes and brave what might come.

I did so, and I fell seven feet, flailing, to the platform beneath me, winding myself and startling a couple waiting nearby. I was almost unsurprised that I had so well visualized the station at which I rarely stopped; the couple was surely more surprised to see me appear in the air and crash at their feet.

I hurriedly picked myself up, bowed dramatically to the astonished pair, and “tensed” myself to start my power up again. I closed my eyes, relished the couple’s outcries, and “swam” for the station exit and the anonymity of the wide city streets. A remembered alley provided the opportunity for me to “drop” again into being and make my way to a hotel.

And that is the substance of it, my gentle readers. You now know who the Unseen Eye is and how he came to be. True, you do not know all—this is on purpose. You do not, for example, know the means by which I gained the evidence that linked Senator Grofwitz to Mafia money—there are innocents who would surely suffer if my means were revealed—though I imagine that many of you can guess at how I managed it. You do not, of course, know where I now reside, who my contact with the Post is, nor what the subject my next exposé will be. That is all still my secret, and shall remain so as long as I feel my calling is to apply my powers to ferret out corruption and deceit. Sure, I could contract with a multinational, collapse into their embrace and security, and resume a public life. Sure, I could start my own multinational and make a mint using my powers of getting the right data and knowing its best use. Sure, I could join up with The Project or The Directive (or the Teragen?) and let other powerful beings dictate my powers’ application.

But then there would no longer be an Unseen Eye, watching those sworn to serve and protect the trusting populace, guaranteeing that should those representatives fail, their dirtiest laundry will be strained to make ink for my pen.

Visions of the Unseen Eye © 2008, Unseen Eye Syndicated

The Past Through Today

Posted on by

Dictated by Sören Dukovni
in the Copenhagen Chantry Library, 1843

The Tremere have asked that I transcribe my History for the Chantry records. I suppose that they do not trust my Oath of Fealty. I presume that they intend to conduct some sort of tests on this text to confirm its veracity. Whatever. I have lived too long on my Path to practice duplicity.

How long have I lived? Yes, that could be relevant, I suppose. I was born in 1192 and given The Kiss in 1238. In that era, a forty-six year life was considered to be a full one. I had been a successful merchant on the Baltic and North Seas, shipping wool and timber to the Normans, Scottish, and Dutch. I had seen the birth of human rights in the great Magna Carta and I had witnessed their disparagement in territorial wars. I had worked and lived hard and forsaken family for finance. I was ready to retire in the new village of Copenhagen, founded by the Danish soldier Absallon, Archbishop of Lund, and watch the calm Baltic flow away to the Latvian shore.

Events of the year of 1238 conspired to arrest my retirement and force me into retreat, fear, and uncertainty. Norse raiders lay siege to Copenhagen’s ports in the spring of that bleak year and many of the residents of the village were driven south across the Baltic to the German shore. Though most of us spoke the old High German dialect, as well as Slavic and Norman tongues, there was confusion upon our landing and we were taken prisoner as spies or illegal immigrants or soldiers, depending upon our age or sex. I was herded with the younger men to be sent to Novgorad and traded into slavery to the Mongols ruling Poland at the time.

…

The thought of being worked to death, rather than drunk to death, so angered me that I attempted to escape from the slavers escorting us along the Baltic coast. I made a break for freedom in the middle of chilly night, intending to find the Wisla River and follow it into the Carpathians, where I was certain I could lose what little pursuit I thought would be sent.

How naïve I was, to think that the slavers would even follow! Those dark mountains, with their windy passes and year-round snow, were the death of many a well-prepared and -rationed traveller. There was little hope of me making it the whole way to the relative safety of the Christian Magyar Kingdom without provisions or adequate clothing. And the longer I stayed in occupied Poland, the more likely I would again be captured and back on the road to Novgorad.

Reaching the Carpathians in just under twelve days, I endeavored to steal supplies and a horse to carry me over the mountains. I was in Kraków and made my way to the paddocks of the Ducal Livery one afternoon. I sized up the sentries and waited for an opening which would allow me to lead away one of the fine Arabians that the Mongols favored. The paddock was not fenced and was only staffed with guards near the tackhouse on the northern end of the field. I was certain that, if patient, a chance to trim a mount from the edge of the herd would present itself.

Evening faded and died into night and still I hid near the paddock. Two hundred years of occupation had, apparently, not made the Mongols lax in their guard duties; I waited until long after midnight for my chance. I listened to the guards tell each other stories in their fluid, yet guttural, tongue, only making out the odd word or place name.

Eventually, the sentries’ fire died down, the early dawn chill descended, and I could see that no one had an eye on a thin mare near the periphery of the paddock. I sneaked around the camp and untied the horse. She started a bit, but certainly no more than any Arabian will when strange hands grip their reins. I cared not for a saddle, but I thought that I would be well-served by one of the horse blankets in the livery. So, carefully stepping over the now sleeping guards, I entered the tackhouse and snatched up the first blanket upon which my hand fell in the darkness.

…

Perhaps this moment was just a continuation of the terrible fortune that befell me over that whole year. Perhaps some sort of Karma, of which the Hindi speak, was searing its brand on my life. Whatever the circumstances that conspired against me were, at that moment they placed a rack of what I later was told were “spurs” on top of that blanket.

I heard the metallic clash and clatter at the same time that the sentries did, and before I could even step out of the tackhouse, they had risen and rushed me, bearing me down to the rocky ground and binding me fast with thongs and a bridle. They bombarded me with what must have been questions but, realizing that I could not follow their meaning, they broke off speaking to me and instead launched into a heated debate. A lot of gesturing ensued, most of the fingers being pointed at the Duke’s palace but many of them rising to the snow-capped peaks to the south. I was not consulted again, virtually ignored, and began to fear for my future at the hands of these alien men.

Little did I know that they debated the means of my doom.

Little did I know that they were weighing the strength of my back against the worth of soul.

After nearly ten minutes of arguing leading to shouting leading to occasional slaps and pushes, the apparent leader of this band of guards reached a decision. Before I could protest or attempt a defense, I was hoisted onto the very mare I had thought to steal, bound hand-to-foot under her belly, and lead away from the village, towards the mountains. Even then, I hoped that my plight was not as dire as it seemed: I was not being handed over to the true authorities of the province, nor was I being killed out of hand, as these Mongols were wont to do for nearly any transgression of their holy law. I was even bound to an obviously valuable horse, so they surely could not intend to just strand me in the mountain snow to freeze to death.

Rather, they had a very specific plan for my disposition. Had I spent more time learning about the countries and peoples outside of my trade routes, I might have know sheer terror as they lead my horse down the southern road to a fork in the road that wound easterly up a steep ridgeline and around its crest. Instead, I thought I was getting an odd sort of ironic justice when the leader slapped the mare’s rump, sending her scrabbling and clopping up the rough path. I thought that I was to die from exposure while the horse made it rounds of the high pastures, before she headed back to her masters.

Some people are always optimistic. I learned to forget such illusions the next night in those mountains.

…

Over the next day, the mare plodded further east and up, winding out of sight of the valley in which Kraków lay. The cold winds off the higher snow blasted me through my thin tunic and leggings, chaffing my skin as if the sun in summer. Though I warmed somewhat during the afternoon, by nightfall of that day I was shivering, and by the time the moon rose, I could not move at all and was hearing things that could not be real. I heard a screaming through the rocks. I heard singing in the thinning forests. I prayed for release to the Old Gods, and then to the New God.

Finally, the horse seemed to tire of its course and wandered off the trail into a cluster of boulders. By this time, I was at Death’s Door and only paid any heed to events because I wanted to see Its face when It finally took me.

…

Suddenly, the mare cleared the boulders and stepped over the ridgeline. A vale lay spread out below. Near the snowline stood a large keep or tor; not so much a castle as a fort, built out of roughcut slate and packed earth. By outward appearances, it was unoccupied. But the sounds of singing and wailing again swelled, and they clearly originated within the tor.

The mare walked down the slope of the vale, only slipping a small bit on the blown snow and ice, heading for the tor and the unearthly, unholy songs. I watch our approach as best I could from my position on the horse, expecting at each moment to see a bean sidhe or some other noisy horror. But my caretaker, my host, was very silent in his approach.

Rounding a small stand of scrub pines, I hear the rattle of stones and suddenly felt an icy hand on my cheek. My eyes flashing right, I saw the most beautiful creature I had ever witnessed; within an instant, it appeared to melt and shift and then was easily the most foul apparition I had ever seen. Curious, I strained at my bindings, trying to get a closer look at the amazing creature coming to deliver my death. I never had known of nor had heard of Kindred at that time; I thought I was witnessing the Reaper himself, come to sow an old merchant, an old cheat, a worn-out fugitive from peace.

Even as I watched its arm shift and melt into the traditional sickle, I watched Death’s face for a sign of intelligence, of reason. Not so much to try to argue for a stay of execution, but to ask it about its existence and how it felt having to be the one to cut each mortal skein. As its glinting white sickle blade/arm rose over me, I finally made eye contact with the beast. “Tough job,” I managed to mumble to it, before the edge fell.

No strike came. As I looked at the being, its arm resumed its normal shape; its face untwisted and settled into rather typical, dark Slovenian features. It was a man about two meters tall, with thin arms and chest and long, rippling black hair. In his eyes burned an intelligence of ferocious intensity. “You may explain yourself at the donjon,” he said, then turned and lead the Arabian up the slope of the vale to the craggy pile. I took me a moment to notice that he neither took the reins nor clucked to prod the mare to follow; she came to him like a pet.

Going into too much detail at this point would be not only very personal, but also disrespectful of that now-gone and burned Kindred. Suffice it to tell that he was called Koronov and that he was of the Old Clan Tzimisce, which your Clan Tremere now seems to so hate, if my capture and incarceration here in your Chantry is to be any indication. He nursed and warmed me in his simple keep, sheltered under eight feet of dirt and two feet of stonework, for that entire night and the next, only leaving me when I slept at dawn, and returning from further below in the earth each dusk.

The reason I was spared, it turned out, was because I had shown no fear in the face of death and had sought knowledge with even my final sight. Koronov explained to me that he was on something called The Path of Cogent Wisdom and that its ways were those of reason, courage, and knowledge. He explained to me about the Kindred’s damnation and the Beast within and how he hoped to ascend from this plane by adhering to the Path and its truths.

He then offered to bring me across, to give me the Dark Kiss that ends life but begins eternity. He warned me of the risks, of the loss of the soul, of the Beast; but he also explained the power, the magic; he showed me the abilities he had by virtue of the Blood. And he offered to share, should I swear fealty to him for 99 years and help him along the Path. Considering that my alternative was to be a sacrifice to him by my Mongol captors, I thought the option quite generous. I swore to the Path, drank deeply, and began my new unlife.

Being the Childe of Koronov proved to be both taxing and inspiring. Each night we spent in contemplation of The Three Pillars of Strength, by Belorinus, a Tzimisce elder and founder of the Path of Cogent Wisdom. We drove ourselves to states of calm lucidity, struggling with our individual Beasts and their carnal demands. Or we worked on the Arts of Seeing and Not Being Seen. And we fed, of course; more often upon the animals of the highlands than Humans or other Kindred.

 

Eh? Why yes, there were times that weaker Children of Caine stumbled upon our keep, seeking aide or wisdom or a free lunch. They usually failed to prove their mettle, either cowering before Koronov in supplication (which he despised) or blustering about in pride and anger. Since the Path only brooks reason and courage in the face of opposition, Koronov would slay these weak Childer to spare them a descent into the Beast’s depravity.

Least you think us diabolic or demented, allow me to remind you that this was in the middle of the 13th century. There was not yet any Inquisition, of which your Clan has told me much; there was not Sabbat or Camarilla. Only Kindred and Faerie and Garou and a limited source of sustenance. We could not allow our privacy to be breached, and never met another Kindred with the strength of spirit to entrust with the knowledge of our Haven. It was just those sorts of days, that kind of era. One did what one must or died with dawn. Though I know it rankles your now-refined sensibilities, even your old clan was known to take liberties with thin-blooded Beasts, the better to purify and rarify Caine’s Gift.

Over the decades, we came to love each other, Koronov and I, even as we both wrestled to snuff out our emotions, as per the Path. When my servitude was up, in 1339, I stayed on at the keep, helping guard our myth, protect the Haven, and expand our understanding of the Road to Golconda and Ascension. Perhaps our connections to the world became to thin and febrile, perhaps the pace of Science and Faith outside of the high Carpathians was too quick for our measured analyses and studies. Whatever the cause, our peace and isolation was shattered by stomping boots, smelly Humans, and the creak of wagon wheels.

Romania and the present Ukraine was under invasion by Germanic Poles. Kievan Rus was falling before  aggressive expansion and even the high mountains were being purged of Slavs. A large mounted troop, apparently an advance party, came to our vale to camp late one afternoon in the summer of 1340. As we lay sleeping, we could hear them scrabbling and scratching around the tor, seeking its entrance. When we woke, we discussed our options even as the party found the heavy stone which sealed our Haven. A group of them managed to harness their horses to the stone and grind it from its bed.

In an instant, Koronov and I set upon them, wincing with the pain of the evening light still bleeding from the west. We assaulted them with an almost transcendent ferocity; I felt divorced from my actions, like an impassive observer to my slaying, not its actor. The Path of Cogent Wisdom, while rational and calm, does not resent violence or fail to use it when it is appropriate. And if we were to keep our Haven, none of the troop could survive the night to tell of it. Though the Poles were at least five score strong, we waded into their midst, using our Arts to confuse them and beguile them and then slip away into shadow to attack again from a new direction. It was a horrid slaughter, but it could only be called self-defense.

Nevertheless, the Poles overwhelmed us. Apparently, they at least knew of Koronov from the Mongols they captured in Kraków; knew of the sacrifices made to appease him, the very sacrifice that I was meant to be a hundred years past. I can only surmise that the Human mythology of Kindred had finally gleaned some truth from the legends, because after regrouping from our initial onslaught, the Poles armed themselves with pole arms, spears, and nearby branches. In other words, they prepared to stake us upon our next press. But we could not stop at that point; our Haven was about to be lost forever. We marshaled our wills, suppressed frenzy over the pools of blood we had already spilt, and charged again into their midst.

Unlikely as it might seem, Koronov, a millenium old Vampire from the ancient line of Tzimisce, was staked through by a 14 year old squire with the broken shaft of a halberd. As Koronov fell, I tried to reach him and whisk him away into the snowy peaks to heal and rebuild our Haven. But then I too was overwhelmed, by three of the men, and placed into torpor unceremoniously with a pine branch. Even now, I can remember the small cone still attached to the bough, bouncing over my face as I shuddered and writhed in what would be the last actions I took for the next 500 years.

Since that night, I have slept. The torpor closed down my keen senses, so I do not know what befell me, or even how I came to be free of torpor and in a marsh of the Odra River on the Prussian border. I, further, have no knowledge of the fate of Koronov. I know only that I was healed, regaining my strength, and lost somewhere south of my home country and long-missed Copenhagen. I made my way with utmost hast to Denmark and the now-capital. That is pretty much where you picked me up, I presume. You imprisoned me with guile and weirding words and now you interrogate me about things that mean nothing to me: a Sabbat, some Camarilla, Traditions, the Inquisition. None of these things mean anything to me; all of which I am certain is that I am very alone in a much smaller world and no closer to Golconda for being held in your clutches. Now tell me what I must do to be rid of you Tremere and your whole, dark world….

Interviewer’s Notes

 

The subject, Sören Dukovni, is certainly of unique origin and clan, if only because of his Old Tzimisce lineage.

The admixture of Arts in which he is trained is unusual to find in a non-Malkavian, but is a useful combination.

He seems to be willing to abide by the Traditions, if not swear by them, and he is certainly NOT a Sabbat puppet. His Aura is marked by the Kindred blood he has drunk, but given his essentially ‘backwards’ education and upbringing, it is hard to press the issue in good conscience.

I intend to subject his words to the usual tests for veracity. Then, if he is not lieing through his pointy teeth, I will extend an offer of clemency to him from the Tremere of Copenhagen.

In conclusion, his age and unfamiliarity with this world make him a risk to the Masquerade should he be just set loose without proper coaching and guidance. Conversely, we can not Destroy him out-of-hand unless we are willing to take an innocent’s unlife. Our only route is forbearance of aggression, forgivness for his ignorance, and education for his future conduct once we release him. I believe he will be more than willing to follow our laws, if he is, in turn, allowed to pursue this Path of Cogent Wisdom which is his driving goal.

Finally, I am sure we should investigate further this Koronov personage, hopefully determining his current whereabouts, if only to be sure he will not attempt a claim on Sören.

Magus verMagnusson, May, 1843

Malkari – Golden Order Of Reason

Posted on by

The Final Passes of Malkari

by Joerghen Klinsk, 2562 GC

The Golden Age

“The Atom ended the Darkness, the Atom will warm the Golden Age, the Atom will unlock the Six Worlds to our kind. All while harnessed and controlled by the greatest genetic heritages to be found. Blood and Atom; and all else are the dreams of children.”

These great words were spoken by Suzain Toreade in 2132 when she declared the First Family of Malkari the chief ruling body of all land bathed in Malkari’s golden light. On her right were the heads of the nine oldest families in Malkari—famous landholders and leaders now legendary in their patrician rule over the Golden Age. To her left were the last of the robber barons and crusaders that sought to place the Home World under the control of dictatorships. Those on the left found reason for terror in the cheers that erupted from the crowd because of those words; reason to fear for their family lines and futures.

But Suzain was a benevolent Queen, and granted the dissenters, the barons, the Lesser Families their own dominions and rule. She forgave them their excesses in the name of acquisition, the better to make an example to the Malkari people that there was a place for all in the new age of free power and unlimited potential for expansion.

For the next two and a half centuries, her example would be the Law; and the Ten Families ruled in peace over the Golden Order Of Reason (GOR) Techno-Aristocracy. Their legislature, the Council of Ten, managed distribution of the resources of the Six Worlds and the asteroid belt and dictated the lines of research and development which were to be pursued. Their protection and guidance ushered in a Golden Age of peace, unity, and technological progress free of witch-doctor experimentation.

Then the terrible news came. Technologists for the GOR, while conducting a survey of the stellar bodies in the Malkari sky, noted that one star, Diantos, was odd in that it returned a much higher Doppler than the others in its constellation. Calculations revealed that the star’s Doppler shift was so purple because the star was actually heading straight for the Malkari system, at not an insignificant speed.

For a very brief time, the Technologist were dubious of their findings. They were sure that the razor-straight collision course calculated by their instruments must be a mistake of some kind; the fate of their rising race could not be so terrible, so ultimately tragic.

The calculations proved to be correct: Diantos was on a collision course with Malkari that would bring it to within half a lightparse of their star in approximately 5000 passes. When this news was brought to the Council of Ten, they unfortunately disregarded it, claiming that they surely would resolve the problem before the distant, deadly time limit. What they failed to realize, for the moment, was that the gravitational effects of the approaching rogue star would tear the Six Worlds from their orbits and smash them with massive tides long before the star made its appearance in local space. The Technologist Claude Phortele spent almost a week with the Council, going over the Scientific Academy’s findings again and again until he finally was able to convince them that Malkari did not have millennia to escape the threat, but mere centuries.

In those early days, the exact time of the planets’ utter destabilization and demise was not determined, as it would come to be; Phortele predicted about three hundred passes left for the Malkari race. Three centuries, and then the Six Worlds would become uninhabitable due to their violence. Less than a century beyond that date, and there would be no more Worlds, only splintering hunks of rock and cooling magma careening off each other and being swept up in Diantos’ waxing gravity, robbed from Malkari’s corpse.

The Age of Arks

This shorter time limit shocked the Six Worlds and set the Council of Ten into frenzied action. The prohibitions on research were immediately lifted and every available resource was channeled into finding a possible solution. But those golden days, while enlightened and advanced, did not have the tools to steer a star gone mad, and the Technologists, flooded with support, quickly came back empty-handed.

Heated debate raged in the Council of Ten for the next parse as various desperate measures were proposed, debated, weighed, and rejected. Finally, an idea was proposed by members of the Space Navy, the Mining Division, and the Third Family. The race of Malkari would be saved by fleeing their home in space craft built to support generations of pilots as they conveyed a selection of the history and spirit of Malkari to a new Home World around a distant star. They proposed that all resources, all sciences, all people of Malkari be focussed to the task of building as many of these Arks as possible.

As a last ditch effort, it was inspiring, and the Malkari people embraced their leaders’ idea with coordination and determination. Those first generations of workers were among the most noble in our history; they sacrificed their personal development to create ships that would carry their children and grandchildren to the stars. None of them could hope to benefit from the Arks, except in antiquity. Of course, none of them would feel the death throes of the Six Worlds either: mercifully, old age would claim them hundreds of passes before the Cataclysm.

And thus did two centuries pass. The Golden Order flung wide the doors of research and thought in the hopes of developing any little gain that might increase the Ark’s chances for success. Their astronomers scoured the nearest stars through their telescopes and radars, hoping to find a suitable planet at which to target the Arks.

Though a target was never found, the Arks that launched were sent towards a promising cluster, the Chotheth, in the hopes that somewhere in its crowded suns a new Malkari could be found. And those Arks were sent with some of the newest and most advanced developments to come out of the Age of Arks. Incredibly light and strong silicates had been developed for their superstructures. Radiant shielding had been added to augment the dense, ablative shells that encased the Arks against the vacuum and deadly stellar dust. Beam weapons and faster computer systems (COSMs) were designed to defend the crafts against larger wayward objects they might encounter in their generations of travel. In all, the Age of Arks ushered in more technological advances in two hundred passes than had been seen in the previous two millennia.

Invention was a snowball that had rolled into an avalanche. In spite of containing only thin samples of all records of Malkari history and development, the best and brightest lineages and technologies would survive.
But even the Ark solution was ultimately limited. The materials needed for their construction were difficult to mine and to transport to the launch cities and, then, orbit. Worse, seismic activity increased steadily over the decades: first, an annoyance, an occasional setback; then, a source of costly losses, large scale deaths, damaged launch centers; finally, a steady stream of wasted efforts, sunken launch foundations, and bloody tragedies. The 300 parse time limit had been corrected to 270 passes; the mathematicians and geologists adjusting that figure reserved the right to shorten it still further. Workers who could look to a distant salvation for their progeny now wondered if they would be allowed the full course of their own lives. Morale declined, work slowed, research lagged, and finally the point of diminishing returns was reached.

The last Ark of the Malkari people rumbled to the stars in 2579 GC. The billions of Malkarians who watched it go on COSMNet turned to the Ten Families and asked, “What now?”

The Age of Vaults

For a brief time, the Ten Families considered what to do with the last decades left to Malkari, how to occupy the populace, the better to distract them from their doom. It was quickly decided that the industrial complex tooled up to construct the Arks would immediately direct its energies in the opposite direction: inward instead of outward. The old idea of digging into the mantles of the Six Worlds was tabled again, but this time with the persuasive weight of more advanced tools and technologies to accomplish the task with some hope for ultimate success. The Mining Division and the Third and Fourth Families argued plausibly that if they could construct spaceworthy Arks, they could design Vaults embedded into miles of solid rock that would be automated and self-sustaining.

The announcement was made; though cheers did not ring out from the drawn mouths of the Malkarians, they did embrace the concept as presented by the GOR Technologists. Though preserving genetic and technological records in stasis did not have the sense of adventure and flair of launching your young into the great unknown of space, the Malkarians have ever been a practical and level-headed people. They bent to the task with resolve.

But, oh, how the pressures of those last passes drove people to madness, to despair, to extremes. As the first of the thousands of planned Vaults was sunk, a debate flared, then flashed into out-and-out rebellion. It all began when the sad fact was revealed that even the Vaults, if they were to have their shielding, armor, gene banks, cloning system, living areas, record data, and COSMs, must contain only a sampling of the Malkari history and science. The largest of them could not hope to hold nearly three millennia of art, growth, and progress; further, each had to be built on the assumption that it would be the only one not pulverized, so distributing stores was not worth the effort. As with the Arks, a choice again had to be made of what to preserve. The weary and worn Council of Ten declared to the people that the Vaults were only to preserve the true and original greatness of Malkari. Rather than saving every new development and half-baked technology at the cost of sections of Malkari history, only those core technologies of nucleics and heat transfer on which the Golden Order was built would be fitting to preserve. Further, the reliability of the centuries-old technology was thought to be the best asset to give to the emergent new Malkarians.

Sadly, high-ranking members of the military and Science Academy disagreed. In particular, several Admirals of the Space Navy—setup to protect trade and mining from the inevitable pirates and rogues—felt that the new and expensive silicate designs employed in the Arks and their Naval craft should at least be saved. They also argued that their cannon would protect the unsealed Vaults from random collisions certain to still be a risk even after the Vault COSMs deemed the Malkari system safe for Emergence.

Rather than humor time-consuming debate and expend critical space on unproven science, the GOR Families declared that the Admiralty’s demands, unfortunately, could not be met. The Navy’s immediate reaction was to ignore the will of the Council and place records edited by the rebellious Admirals in those Vaults on the outer planets and asteroids. When the Council of Ten discovered this practice, the offending Admiralty was asked to resign.

Only then was the madness, the wildness of the strained Malkari psyche revealed for the first time. The rebellious Admiralty did resign… and took with them almost 60% of the Navy’s ships and personnel. For three and a half centuries, the Malkari people had lived united and worked for the common good, the greater glory of the race. Now, petty personal predilections drove a wedge between the Council and its greatest Son, the Navy. Within the next parse, the renegade Admiralty formed the Blue Talon Corp, rejecting the very name of the body that created them. They cordoned off the asteroid belt, declaring that, since they were the ones who opened it for exploitation and defended it from robbery, they would decide on the contents of its hundreds of Vaults. They immediately began reprogramming the COSMs, installing different systems and genetic codecs and transcribing all records of recent scientific development—writing over volumes of ancient philosophy, creative works, and art copies in the databanks.

Such spurning of our ways was intolerable then, as now, and the Golden Order of Reason declared the Blue Talon Corp persona non grata. No Family or Academy or Division was to trade with them; no equipment or rations, no fuel or materials. The BTC stormed about for a time while scrabbling to make ends meet as they stole Vaults from the GOR throughout the asteroids. Finally, they requested leniency and forgiveness for their break, arguing that they only wished to save the latest great works of the people. When the Council ignored their pleas, they did the unthinkable. They declared war.

2583 was the darkest parse in Malkari’s long history; the GOR stood on the brink of war with the new Blue Talons. While we had the size and resources to crush them, they had the ships and speed to cripple our Vault production and possibly doom the entire race! The rebels threatened the future of all people of the Six Worlds in their knavish craving for their bright, new bangles. The GOR would hear no threats. Would not deign to respond to their suits for war.

Then the most surprising thing occurred. The threats just stopped. No reason was given, no payments were made. The BTC simply stopped their threats and began their Vaulting again. And somehow, they no longer were short on needed tools and supplies.

It took months to determine what had happened, and the revelations made by the investigating Fifth Family tore the GOR apart.

The Splinter Age

Two families on the Council of Ten, the Gordano and Luchensa, had been secretly dealing with the BTC, as had several of the Lesser Families who did not hold Council seats. When confronted with the accusations, the two mad, selfish Families seceded from the Golden Order! Their estates sealed their gates on all the worlds, their mining interests ceased digging the deep tunnels down to the Vaults, their freighters entered holding orbits around the worlds. Behind the scenes, out of view of the Council of Ten, the Seventh and Tenth Families had maneuvered into controlling interest of the ground production and shipping industries of the Malkari system. They had planned for their own special brand of preservation since shortly after the Vaults were begun and now were ready for their ultimatums to be heard.

The second rebellion produced a written work, not preserved in your COSMs because of its churlish example, called the “Declaration of Free Memory of 2582.” In it, they presumed to state that the GOR was not suited to decide on the records to be preserved; that our history was not worthy of redemption but that rather the Vaults should only preserve “the goods”: the technologies developed at the end of our history. They paralyzed Vault production on behalf of their short-sighted selfishness—or rather, they paralyzed GOR Vaulting; they claimed and modified Vaults on their own properties by the score. Further, they aided the BTC in digging still more Vaults in the belt and on the Admiralty’s grounds.

To their credit, the Rebel Families, who took the ludicrous name of the Diamond Cooperative, agreed with the Golden Order that no further energy should be wasted in new technology production or preserving unproven designs. But they still blasted rolls of history in favor of the BTC ship and weapon designs. They still allowed the BTC to steal asteroids for Vaults that would have gone to the Golden Order. For the next twenty passes, they ran their game of control and profit and rebellion, all the while playing the BTC against our Order and all of us against Diantos. Never had such selfishness been so glaringly, vulgarly displayed.
One of their own finally showed them, and the rest of the nearly insane Malkari people, the nature of rebellion and the quality of the company of thieves. One of their “Chapters” broke from them in 2602 to form an Emerald Combination, or some such. With only forty passes or so remaining to generate Vaults and get them sealed, the rest of the Malkari people jumped on the bandwagon of dissolution. The Emerald Combination lead the way for the formation of scores of Splinter Guilds. The Guild of Light, the Order of Rapid Progress, the Vaulters of Bread, the Line of Guitano: new Guilds formed almost monthly, each one with their own backwards agendas and twisted philosophies.

I wish I could tell you, our newborn, that your parent race died with dignity, but I can not. It would be a lie, and it is far too late for falsehood to help you or us. The last decades of Malkari were torn by internal strife which mirrored the fury of the daily earthquakes and weekly asteroid collisions. As thousands died in digging and mining operations every month, thousands more died in petty ground wars fought by these Splinter Guilds over one or two largish Vaults, or the ground to build just one more Vault for the Brothers of Oblivion or some other lunatics.

The death throes of Malkari were an embarrassment to all except those Families of the Golden Order who remained faithful and proud: the venerable Toreade, the wise Guillome, the steadfast Foraith, the kindly Klinsk and cautious Hortheth, all other Families true to the Order from its inception. The remaining Council of Eight struggled to hold fast to the unity of the Malkari system, but to no avail. The Fragmentation was not to be prevented, and the Vaults fell into whomever’s hands were the quickest, richest, or deadliest.

In the end, there were four major guilds and probably fifteen minor Guilds each with from ten to ten thousand Vaults. The Six Worlds became hellish and deadly. The atmospheres of planets nudged closer to Malkari began to boil off; planets pushed wide in their orbits froze and died, leaving their inhabitants struggling just to get through the days. The planets’ mantles began to buckle and warp—slowly, but fast enough to kill those riding the waves of seismic chaos. Around the system, the Vaults began to be sealed, their respective custodians deciding that they could await no further developments, could not hold out for the last news updates. As the last of the Vaults closed, those Malkarians who did not care to await their violent ends strode calmly into euthanasia rooms setup for the terminally despondent. Final communiques, such as this one, were downloaded into the Vault COSMs.

Our race died.

The Age of Awakening

Now, you are the risen ghost of the Malkari legacy. You are Awakened to reclaim what little remains of the Shattered Worlds, to gather up any and all resources that can be gleaned from the scarred rock, the thick stellar dust, and, yes, the ruined Vaults of the Order and any other Guilds. You may be our only hope: the Arks may have been lost or destroyed while you were still stored genetic codecs, the other Vaults are likely pulverized by chaotic asteroids, ices, and debris. You must use the stored designs and techniques for ship building to break free of the chuck of rock that now is your Home and expand throughout the wasteland.

When you have gained a foothold in this desolation, when you have recruited or crushed any survivors who would seek to carry on the Fragmentation that should have ended eleven thousand passes ago, only then should you set your sights to the distant stars and try to follow your parted ancestors to the New Malkari.

The Great Families are depending upon you, their child….

Chapter Designations (Families)
Family Toreade, Family Guillome, Family Foraith, Family Klinsk, Family Hortheth, Family Phortele, Family Spadzi, Family Entenada

Government
Techno-Aristocracy

Ship Designations
Assault: Rhino, Rogue, Bull’s Horn
Battle Station: Cavalier, Colossus, Megathere
Battleship: Mastodon, Auroch, Dybbuk
Cheap Attacker: Stag, Buck, Boar
Construction Station: Chateau, Bailey, Donjon
Constructor: Matriarch, Sire, Dame
Cruiser: Jerid, Xebec, Trireme
Defender: Bison, Tusk, Paladin
Destroyer: Olifant, Dreadnought, Conqueror
Explorer: Harbinger, Dowser, Basilisk
Outpost: Fortalice, Warder, Sentinel
Scout: Proctor, Argus, Fowler
Supply/Repair: Koumiss, Llano, Oasis
Transport: Palanquin, Brougham, Caleche
Ultimate Station: Dragonus, Minotaur, Caudillo

Malkari – Emerald Combine

Posted on by

\\– EMERALD COMBINE GUILD –\\
\\– Adaptive COSM Education Net… ONLINE –\\

\\– initiating final prepartory tutorial… –\\
\\– higher accuracy historical data received… UPDATING DATABASE –\\
\\– displaying tutorial text summary… –\\

Morning, sleepyhead….

Adapt, overcome, endure, survive. These are the only rules. They have always been and they will always be. Every single thing must either obey these rules or they are lost. Simple. Well bubbi, your it, your our attempt at staying in this game. We’ve know the rules all along, but that isn’t always enough, but at least it gives us a bit of a edge.

Well, you should at least be told what’s going on, bubbi. Knowledge is power and all that flarg. Short version, some star that we call Diantos decided that it really wanted to check out what was going on over on our end of the galaxy. Unfortunately, we already had a star, Malkari, and a mighty jealous one at that. That decided to have a little tussle over who would be in charge, which just happened to destroy the planets that our race lived on. Most species have thrown in the towel at that, but it takes more than that to snuff out the likes of us. The way I see it, the planets weren’t following the rules, so they lost. We, on the other hand, had a few tricks in our bag.

Some lucky snoogers got to ride this Ark thing outta here before the “fued” hit full—

\\– EDIT… Reference new data store “A Brief History of Malkari”, paper copy included –\\

—what you are here for. You are our winning ticket, our shinning hope, so to say. But there is a hitch; you aren’t the only one left. Like all our great acts of genius, everyone else has tried to claim it as their own and hitch a ride on our coattails. But you say “Hey, these snoogers are my brothers, why don’t we just all work together and make sure that we all survive.” Well bubbi, it ain’t that easy. See, most of the snoogers that are left are touched in the head, to be polite. It was their bumbling that got us where we are now. I mean, would the Guilds have formed if the Gores or the Birds new what was best?

Check this out….

\\– collating COSMNet transmissions… –\\
\\– preparing priorities reports… –\\

We got 150 asteroidal masses from Grade D to G. A peasoup fog of ABCs. We won’t be hunting too hard for fuels. And the goods out there, bubbi! You wouldn’t believe me if I told you about the free ores and ices floating around out there; just get blasted out and on your ship. Rebuilding business will be a snap.

Once the undesirables are routed out of their rabbit holes, that is. Other COSMNets are coming  online every minute. Only five—no, wait. Now seven Emerald Combine ident signals are being received. So far, there are a total of 28 non-Em idents. We’ve beat longer odds than that! You’ll do great, just great….

These are the leftovers to be cleaned up:

>> The Golden Order of Reason. Yep, the Gores made it through. Seems their sorry Vault designs melted up PRETTY easily. They got eight Vaults that are cycling; estimate they will have more out there in the soup, spinning open soon. The Big Boys had almost 2000 of them; poor slobs. Get at ’em quick and they’ll probably be ripe for the picking. Just bring some hankies for the snifflers, ’cause they’re gonna be whining for mommy when they see how light on living Vaults they are. Shoulda cut a deal with us for the new shields….

>> Diamond Cooperative. We knew the Old Boys would make it, so we got some hard data from latest specs for your to goggle. (Incomplete)….

>> Blue Talon Corps. And the Birdies, always the Bird Boys. They managed to save seven of their Airys for our use. How kind of them to store up their fancy ships for us. We’ll have to get at them post haste. Just keep your tush lively for their big guns—their COSMs are pinging for nearby bodies; you can bet there are heavy barrels tracking the skies along with those eyes. Just remember: they’re pests only, strictly lower crust. Swat ’em like the flies they pretend to be. Or buy ’em. Same deal.

>> Crimson Dawn. What? They had a 4.5% chance of getting ONE Vault through the smack-up, now they got five?! What are the odds… 100,000:1 against, first estimate—

\\– analyzing gravity flux patterns… –\\
\\– factoring Vault distribution from last Sealing reports… –\\

—LOOONG odds, bubbi. I’m up to 3.9 million to one and I haven’t started limiting veracity of Crimson Dawn controlled Vaults. They musta had an angle. Jebediah Arktron, their loonie leader, always said he had a gift. I used to have his “Way” thing around here somewhere, but we’re REAL low on COSM memory here. Trying to just catalog and track our new neighbors is fragging some old orders. Hang a sec….

\\– resorting highest priority data… –\\
\\– summarizing… –\\

Okay, then. Pay attention; we’re only gonna bang this scenario out ONE time:

What a merry little party you’ve got. Other Departments are coming online and the Guild Trade Net is active. We’ve got a handful of stores remaining and this chunk of rock—that used to be fifty miles under a lovely grasslands on Perdu, by the way—holds some handy materials to get a leg up with.

The other four Guilds are sure to be on to us soon, so sally forth with some heavy D first. We got about 15 designs hanging ready to crank out. I’ve spooled up the Tech Net to continue the research that we had to shut down for the Cataclysm. The boys will have some boffo stuff forr you before too long.

Next, we need a cash reserve, you follow me bubbi? The materials left out there in that mess are precious stuff if we’re gonna rebuild. You can bet your last o-ring that the other Guilds will be out mining in no time, and then the inflation begins. The only way to enjoy inflation is to be the bank, right?

And on the subject of banks, you should be out there pillaging the other Vaults ASAP! Don’t get all mushy on us now, just do your job, pull the line. The other Vaults that haven’t cycled are either broken or radded out by now. This Guild of Light communique tells the plight of the rushing robins. And those that scheduled later cycling are just too dumb to be left with their cookies. Any Guild that waited longer than Max Background Rad level to start cycling would probably not have the cachungas to hold together the Malkari Dust anyway. (Malkari Dust: I just made that up, it’s more accurate now than Malkari System—whaddaya think?)

Once the Emerald Combine is back in charge of the best tech and the fattest coffers, we’ll work on following the Arcs… or not. I mean, we get the Dust organized in a nice, neat, tidy way, maybe we just forget about the old GOR, the foolish factions, the ancestors that left us here to die. Maybe WE become the Gov and make the new Home World right here on this chunk of grassland from Perdu….

\\– summary concluded… –\\
\\– deleting temporary memory… THIS MAY TAKE A MOMENT –\\

Chapter Designations
Executive Department
Operations Department
Propeganda Department
Finance Department
Aquisitions Department
Eliminations Department
Defense Department
Special Services Department

Government
Monopolist corporate

Ship Designations
(Incomplete)

Malkari – Diamond Cooperative

Posted on by

<Communique to all Chapters>
<From Qanti Gordano, Don – Information Chapter>

<BEGIN QG1>

Well, if you’re reading this then the Vaults worked. The stored genetics were not baked in the rumble between Malk and Diantos, the machinery and gears and crap didn’t rust. Too bad for you, you’ll probably figure.

So now you have to make your way out in the remains of the Six Worlds. But without knowing your history, your past, the people that put you at this crossroads, you gonna make some bad choices. If you don’t learn your roots, you’ll probably get chummy with the first Emmy you find and get fleeced. So lemme start at the beginning.

As you might have guessed, our star Malkari nearly got hit by another star, Diantos. Well, for about three hundred years before that, the Golden Order of Reason, the ruling Families of Malkari since the start of the Atom Age, had known it was coming. They had this grand scheme for creating Arks—vast generation ships designed to carry thousands of selected Malkarians, our technologies, and the history of our people to safety before Diantos’ tides tore the stuffing out of the Worlds. Once these lumbering beasts took off for the Chotheth Cluster, amid the earthquakes and meteor storms and the hellish dawns, the people of Malkari needed something to occupy themselves or they’d go straight loony. The Gores dictated that the tremendous industrial complex marshaled to create the Arks be turned to digging deep Vaults in the Worlds’ mantles. In those Vaults, they planned to put gene re-builders and cloning tanks and extensive databases which would allow the Awakened Malkarians (that’s you) to rebuild our society and try to pull together enough resources from the devastation to follow the Arks… or insure them after the fact.

Great idea, right? Ambitious, no?

Well, wouldn’t you know it: the Gores went and dictated that only Atom Age tech be preserved! After two hundred years of technological advances building the Arks, they wanted to take two steps back and force you Awakened Ones to use old-style nucleics and heat transfer tech, ignoring silicate construction methods, high energy shielding, even particle cannons, which would have been key for deflecting or destroying rogue asteroids still careening about the system!

So then a bunch of people got their panties in knots. There was argument in the Council of Ten’s chambers for months. But see, the GOR didn’t want to hear any of that. They’d been worn down by the constant violence of the dying worlds and just wanted to be certain of the Vault plan; they figured that sticking with the tried and true methods and technologies would give you Awakened the best shot at survival.

The whole can of worms boiled over in 2580 when the Admiralty of the GOR broke from them, resolving to use the asteroid belt and their personal properties to sink their own Vaults, ones which would preserve ALL of the technology developed in the Age of Arks. They even drove home the split by dropping the designation of Space Navy in favor of calling themselves the Blue Talon Corp. Oh, yes, the Birdies had high hopes for their Vaults and their Awakened.

Too bad they didn’t have the most basic drilling and mining equipment.

<BREAK : Reference ID QG1.2>

The Birdies tried to convince the GOR to do business with them, offering to trade various organic samples and transport contracts. At the time, the Fifth Family, the Hortheth, held pretty major sway in the Council, and their vilification of the “traitorous” Talons persuaded the other Families to leave the Blues out in the cold. When the Admiralty heard of this, they were, shall we say, inconsolable. Their lines had, essentially, been doomed to extinction.

Admiral Shrike, leader of the Corps, would hear nothing of this prohibition. He declared war on the GOR and threatened to attack any of their freighters or orbitals that entered space.

Now, war is a bad thing. It gets employees killed and plays hell with the profit/loss statements. A few of the Ten Families spoke out against the Fifth Family’s prohibition, arguing that even the Talons were Malkarian and deserved to live into the coming age. But the Hortheth Family was never known as a flexible lineage; they resolved to bomb the Talons back to the Rock Age if so much as one light scout had engine trouble.

But war, as I have said, is bad. The last thing anyone really wanted was to add bombings and ground assaults to the meteor and seismic threats already plaguing the Vaults’ construction. That’s when our Family, along with the Luchensa and some of the Lessers, made some quiet deals with the Birdies, without the knowledge of the rest of the Gores. We hooked them up with deep diggers and slowboat transport so that they could begin their own brand of Vaulting without pummeling the other Families to do it. We Gordanos have ever been the expedient, the practical Family. We managed to keep a lid on the deals and the Talons dropped their threats to the GOR. For nearly two years, we kept the Blues supplied while they provided us with their advanced tech for our own Vaults.

Now, maybe that was old Vecci Gordano’s error: trying to capitalize on the better tech of the Blues and keep it a secret from the conservatives in the GOR. I wouldn’t presume to judge the Old Man. All I do know is that them prying Hortheths found out and blew the whistle on us. The Gordano and Luchensa Families of the Council of Ten, along with the Lesser Families Fortred, Tallinator, Byatch, and Kheve, were brought before the, now, Council of Eight, to be tried and sentenced for “conspiring with treasonous parties.”

So we counter-sued, like anyone with any sense of how a bureaucracy works would.

We filed charges against the remaining Council of Eight and penned and released the “Declaration of Free Memory of 2582.” We charged the Council with wanton disregard for the safety of the Awakened and with assault on the Blue Talon Corp. We even filed a vote of no confidence against each of the current Council members, just to make ’em squirm. While they wrangled with all of that red tape, we removed our peoples and cousins from GOR facilities, barricaded our properties on the Six Worlds, and quietly formed the Diamond Cooperative.

Vecci Gordano came up with the name one night after gambling until dawn. He won a couple pounds of diamonds off of one of the Tallinators and was reflecting on their clarity and refractive beauty. In particular, he was said to have pointed out, “a diamond, see, it doesn’t pick a color, it doesn’t choose what it cuts, see?” The symbolism struck a chord in the Old Man’s poetic heart and he convinced the other Families in the Cooperative to take the name.

From then on out, for the next twenty years, it was business as usual. Though the tensions between the Blues and the Gores never completely relaxed, they treated each other civilly and didn’t go around atomizing each other’s ships and personnel. Vault production and stocking cycled up to full speed and thousands of Vaults were sunk by all sides of the happy little triangle.

Now, understand something: though we Diamonds thought that the Blues (and ourselves, by the way) should be able to preserve whatever our little hearts desired, we weren’t really big fans of continuing research and development while meteors knocked down our homes and earthquakes closed tunnels that had taken weeks to dig. We, understandably, clamped down on further developments in the Malkari system, preserving anything with real promise but generally sweeping half-baked ideas under the carpet to be forgotten. Malkari just didn’t have time for dreamers, only DOERS.

That’s not to say, however, that the dreamers did not try to have their day.

Our Diamond Cooperative had rejected the notion of Family Seat, instead restructuring ourselves into ten Chapters that crossed Family lines and were generally divided along functionary lines. Vecci’s son, my father, Querot, probably should have guessed that the two Chapters responsible for uncovering, collating, and suppressing new developments wouldn’t want their hard-earned prizes to be locked out of sight. But instead he trusted the Chapter heads to follow Vecci’s guidelines, if only to preserve their lines in the Vaulting.

What Querot didn’t count on is those shady Chapters seizing the Vaults they controlled and breaking from the Cooperative completely. In a mockery of our Great Declaration, their hare-brained leader, Jhoern Sperring, sent us a “Declaration of Dissent in 2602.” It stated that his Chapter and another would break from the Cooperative to form the Emerald Combine. This Combine would be run exclusively by him and would have the goal of preserving ANYTHING that they wanted to preserve for the Awakened.

So, now, instead of three relatively civil factions enmeshed in a fragile detente, we had three irritable factions and a loose cannon. Needless to say, the Malkari people took this break as a sign of the ultimate decay. Within months, scores of new factions and Guilds formed, each with their own notions of what should be preserved and whose genetics could be used in rebuilding the Awakened after the Cataclysm. The GOR hemorrhaged Families left and right. Though our Cooperative had spawned this bastard Combine, we held fast through this Fragmentation, ever honoring the ideal of Vecci Gordano to make the most secure future for you, our distant progeny. The Birdies must have mostly agreed with this ideal, because they didn’t lose many Guild members to the Fragmentation either.

<BREAK : Reference ID QG1.3>

But, oh, how the harried Gores lost their members! In all, I’d guess that twenty new Guilds formed. Sure, most of ’em had membership rosters that stopped in the triple-digits; some of ’em, though, became quite powerful and controlled hundreds of Vaults. What they PUT in those Vaults, is another story. As a growing lad in the Cooperative, I even heard of a Guild that said NOTHING should be preserved in the Vaults, that only gene re-growth and space travel should be made available to the Awakened and they should be allowed to invent their own new methods and technologies! How would you like that, bud: wake up with only an airlock and a drafting table waiting for you? I don’t expect THAT Guild will crop up to cause you any problems.

The one Guild to come out of the Fragmentation that might become a player is the Crimson Dawn. They were formed in the last days of the crack-up, by a mystic philosopher named Jebediah Arktron. Though he naively preached unity of the Guilds (as if the Fraggers would listen to some loony talking about cooperation while the planets crumbled), he had some pretty effective recruiting methods. See, he was a Psi, probably the most powerful in Malkari history. He must’ve used his gifts to attract and persuade the other Psies of Malkari, because within weeks of forming his Guild, Malkari Psies began defected from every other Guild to join him. The turncoat, Arktron, is trying now to force the other Guilds to band together in the final days and forge a new Order to preserve his own special list of ideals and technologies.

He didn’t figure on the madness of the Malkari people by this time; you can’t swipe a guy’s best employees then convince him that you will lead him to a better future. Just sour grapes would keep any guy with any self-respect from shuffling to heel after such betrayal.

But these Crimmies ARE some tough cookies,though. They’ve stuck by their guns. Worse still, they’ve been getting moles into the Vaults. We’ve lost loads of Vaults to their guys. And try to stop ’em? HA! Jebediah is a genius of planning and coordination. He has apparently been able to gather the Vaults controlled by his Psies, hold them, AND stock them with the very latest developments to come out of the Combine and the Splinter Guilds. We really shoulda paid those folks better; them Psies are SO useful for determining enemy strategies and stealing plans and designs. No matter, though; the Psies probably won’t make it through the Cataclysm either; they only had about three hundred Vaults at last count. Then again, maybe they had the luckiest three hundred….

Regardless of who among the Splinters survived, you can be sure SOME Guild or two made it through the knock-up. So, as soon as you can get the Vault unsealed, you’d better tool-up for battle. Also of particular importance is seizing any remaining resources in the Malkari system. If you get the green, you’ll call the scene, so snatch up any cracked Vaults, asteroids, and any other junk you can find still around Malkari or around Diantos. The pressure to escape the system is, of course, off of you now. But you still have to make some kind of future for Malkari. You’d do well to try to build another Ark, like the Birdies are planning to do after Awakening, and catch up to the departed Malkarians on whatever world they’ve found, if any.

But most importantly: preserve our history, preserve our vision. We embraced the advances of the Ark Age, but not at the cost of the long history of Malkari and its remembrance. Be sure to remain true to your past, and be sure to respect the wishes of your Fathers in the Diamond Cooperative.

And don’t take crap from nobody….

<END QG1>

Chapter Designations
Development Chapter, Information Chapter, Research Chapter, Aquisitions Chapter, Distribution Chapter, Supression Chapter, Persuasion Chapter, The Other Chapter

Government
Cartel of corporate states, each run as dictatorships or monarchies

Ship Designations
Assault: Piranha, Caribe, Cuda
Battle Station: Anemone, Kraken, Grappler
Battleship: Man-O-War, Lamnidae, Mako
Cheap Attacker: Manta, Garroter, Sennet
Construction Station: Abalone Bay, Octopodia, Atoll
Constructor: Mollusk, Bryozo, Anthozo
Cruiser: Moray, Turbot, Ankus
Defender: Shagreen, Aegis, Cockle
Destroyer: Betta, Thresher, Persuader
Explorer: Stingray, Tope, Cuttlefish
Outpost: Sargasso, Conch, Archipelago
Scout: Skate, Raja, Cockle
Supply/Repair: Benthos, Nekton, Provender
Transport: Remora, Whelke, Purseiner
Ultimate Station: Rhincodon, Madrepore, Leviathan

Malkari – Crimson Dawn

Posted on by

Crimson Dawn Primer

“Normals, we know your secrets. We hear your lies. We understand your agendas. Don’t think for a moment that we will hesitate to use them, and you, as we must. You are lost; your minds are a maelstrom of turmoil and deceit, to yourselves and to others. You have lost any right to lead the Malkarian people into the future. Only we, the Crimson Dawn, understand the Way and we shall guide you down it, be you willing or not.”
–Jebediah Arktron, during his system-wide broadcast announcing the formation of the Crimson Dawn

“Only the power of the mind shall allow us to prevail”
–Excerpt from “The Way”, published in the first year of the Crimson Dawn

From the Journals of Jebediah Arktron

As I prepare to allow my being to be absorbed into the sterile collection of genetic potential which is the Vaults, I feel the need to reiterate the struggle which has led us to this point.

I have watched the coming of the rogue, Diantos. I have seen how the threat of its approach destroyed a once proud people. I have stood by as our leaders, Normals one and all, in a glut of favoritism and avarice, sent their dearest children on a hopeless journey through the nullness of space. Weary of the backstabing, arcane plots, and insatiable greed so commonplace amongst the Normals, I have resolved to provide the answers which so many people seek, even those unaware of their search.

I have known since I was a child, struggling to survive in the relative poverty of the asteroid belt mining colonies, that I was special. I have had access to the deepest thoughts of those around me. I can divine intentions no matter how well they be cloaked in a veil of lies and half-truths. I knew the depths of deception of our leaders then, as I know them now. Normals are an open book to me from which I gain the knowledge necessary to achieve peace. I am resolved to inscribe my will, the Way, upon those open books, where it shall remain throughout our lifetimes and from which it shall be passed to all those who follow. I alone have the wisdom and the resolve to achieve this solution.

As I grew in the chaos which was the Age of Arks, then the Vaulting, and then the factionalism which ensued, I was aware that the few decent and noble intentions which existed amongst our people were being snuffed out by the rampant self-absorption and struggles which spread through Normals like no disease has done in thousands of years. I also became aware of other unique minds who, like me, were able to see the truths that were hidden deep in the minds of Normals, though none with a clarity to rival mine. We remained mute however, barely acknowledging the awareness of each other’s existence. We were afraid to show our differences since tolerance and growth had diminished, leaving panic, hopelessness, and chaos fueled by despair ruling the day. As my awareness grew, I resolved that I would be the one to bring enlightenment and a New Age to the Malkari peoples.

Action! Psies have always lacked the force of personality necessary to assert themselves amongst the Normals. Something about our genetic makeup perhaps, a sort of biological governor to allow the Normals to compete against our obviously superior talents. I don’t know. What I do know is that I was able to rise above it. I absolved myself of all inhibitions, both internal and external. I emerged as the first of a new type of psi, one with the ability—and more importantly, the will—to take charge of the destiny of an entire race and lead them to the future.

With new resolve and strength, I sent forth a call to all psies. I urged them to break from their self-imposed bonds as well as those dictated by Normals. I called them to me: a union of telepaths which would form the nucleus of the new Malkarian peoples. I will be honest with you; my expectations were that no more than one in ten with the ability to hear my call would respond to it. How surprised I was to find, then, that virtually every psi in the system, every psi that existed, felt the truth of my message and responded to it by joining the cause to promote the Way.

For a while, the unexpected numbers within our ranks threatened to overwhelm us with the burden of resources and organization. But, as with any righteous cause, solutions were found to every problem. Three of our new members (two formerly of the Emerald Combine; one, a Blue Talon base commander) were already overseers of a Vault and associated facilities being constructed by their former allegiances. With their help, Crimson Dawn members were placed in positions of importance within these facilities. We quickly gained total, secret control of these bases and began a system-wide search for more that were vulnerable to our unique talents. Within months, using a variety of bribes, blackmail, and suggestion, Crimson Dawn personnel were moved into positions of control at the sites of eleven more Vaults.

At this point, none of the other major organizations had any indication of our existence let alone our power. The loyalty of our members was beyond reproach; we had no fear of spies or turncoats within our ranks. Unfortunately, even we can not control the vagaries of random chance. An outbreak of one of the new viruses which had sprung up in the chaos of the Vaulting struck one of our holdings. In the delirium resulting from the ravages of this sickness, several of our members were heard muttering our secrets or were given to such displays of psionic power that it became obvious what they were. Within hours, high officials within the Blue Talon Corps had learned of our existence and much of our agenda. Within days, three more of our Vault commanders were revealed and their resignations demanded.

At this point, our anonymity compromised, I announced the presence of the Crimson Dawn to the entire system via wide band broadcast. I spoke to all, telling of how the Crimson Dawn was resolved to lead them peacefully to a New Age and urging them to join forces with us. Even as I made the announcement, I expected nothing but negative reactions from the Normals, and I was not disappointed. Within four days, we were forced to abandon the three newly-discovered bases before they came under attack from the Blue Talons. As we left, we carried with us every resource and scrap of technology which could be downloaded, pried loose, or otherwise removed from the empty Vaults.

Normals are not stupid! Never make the mistake of assuming that they are. Enlightenment and intelligence are two different things. Within weeks, spurred by the fear of the unseen threat which we presented, they had found ways to detect our abilities or had found clues—thanks to the inevitable record keeping—which led them to our strongholds. The Time of Raiding began. Daily, we were assaulted at one base or another, each time retreating before we could be captured. A few did not escape. They fell victim to the Normals, whose natural brutality and violence was magnified by their lack of understanding and their fear of us. Using methods which we had perfected, psies secretly placed within range of our captured brethren urged and aided them in the destruction of their minds. Some were reluctant, but without exception, each of these heroes saw, or was made to see the wisdom of what must be done and accepted it. To these souls whose names have been enshrined on one wall of each and every Vault, death and martyrdom came quickly and painlessly. The secrets of the Crimson Dawn remained safe.

Fortunately, the machines by which the Normals were able to detect our abilities were unwieldy and difficult to use. As they had adapted to our presence, now we adapted to their response. Methods were found whereby we were able to circumvent their detection. The volumes of written materials within which they had found clues to our whereabouts began to run dry. Slowly, the tide turned back towards us. For each base that the Normals took away from us, we infiltrated and quietly gained control of two of theirs.

As Diantos’ approach reached a critical stage, we found ourselves in covert control of some two dozen vaults; a small number compared to the other groups perhaps, be we had chosen the best – the ones we deemed most likely to survive the coming armageddon.

Finally, the end of that Age of Malkari arrived. We are compelled to entrust our essence to the risk of the Vaults before our frail bodies are destroyed in the oncoming destruction.

Yet our legacy remains. Once we Awaken and Emerge into the desolation forged by the rebel star, the Crimson Dawn will again strive to unite and shepherd the Malkarian people along the Way.

My child… when you open your eyes and see the crumbled remains of our system, there will undoubtedly be others—Normals—opposed to you as they were to us. If our preparations were enough to allow you to be born into this New Age, then other Guilds, whose resources were superior to ours, must have survived as well. Like you, they will emerge and seek to establish themselves. Be wary of them. Do not believe their lies. The followers of the GOR will tell you that their guidance is what made Malkari great and that adherence to the old system is the only way to survive. The Blue Talons will tell you that change is necessary and that the strong must lead the weak. The Guild of Light will tell you that it does not matter who unites us, or how, as long as we are united.

Lies, all of them; they seek only self-preservation and their ascendancy to power. Do not listen to them. You are a disciple of the Way, and that is both your armor and your sword. Do not listen to their words. Listen to their minds. Seek out the lies and motivations that they vainly try to hide away behind false words and thoughts. Only the Way will ensure the survival of our people and only you can guide them along its path. You have been given the tools to do these things. Part of me, part of each member of the Crimson Dawn, will live within you and we will guide you, even as you guide them, to a new age.

Safe journey, my child. May your path be one with the Way.
–Jebediah Arktron

Chapter Designations
Order of the Way, Order of Peace, Order of Harmony, Order of Truth, Order of Fellowship, Order of Reason, Order of Thought, Order of Arktron

Government
Communistic democracy (via telepathic vote counting and communal legislature)

Voice
Think of an evil Patrick Stewart or John Lithgow. The tone is civilized, cultured, and superior, but there is an undercurrent of fanaticism and instability. Emphasis at odd moments, lethargy at others. Tendency to lapse into ‘pulpit pounding’ and then just as suddenly revert back to the calm, civilized ‘front.’

Ship Designations
Assault: Seeder, Honesty, Goodwill
Battle Station: Upright, Armstice, Faith
Battleship: Jihad, Peacemaker, Justice
Cheap Attacker: Dawn, Temperance, Honor
Construction Station: Concord, Equity, Purity
Constructor: Arcane, Noble, New Age
Cruiser: Reconciler, Candor, Assurance
Defender: Truth, Confidence, Prudence
Destroyer: Harmony, Accord, Reliance
Explorer: Mystic, Clairvoyant, Diplomat
Outpost: Virtue, Beacon, Lighthouse
Scout: Friendship, Sagacious, Reverence
Supply/Repair: Sage, Wisdom, Charity
Transport: Amity, Righteous, Hope
Ultimate Station: Arktron, Judgement, Benevolent