Illinath

The soft, purple glow of Asterope didn't exactly paint a pretty picture. Broken domes, shattered viewing rooms, and depressurization alarms long silent - after all, air was needed for their klaxons to vocalize themselves. It had been fast - as per Confederate protocol, the strike teams had hit from above and both sides, punching into the stronghold in under their target times, bullets punching through furniture, glass, and bodies alike. Their target had been the rogue admiral Callan Singh, the ghost behind the Dawn Rebellion three years prior in the fall of 3260 - but he'd been absent. His militia was presumed to be still out there in the Pl

Gunfire rang out across the frozen valley, resounding off of the nearby snow-covered peaks and drifting off into the distance. A battle, no rare sight in these times, but still unwelcome nonetheless. “Captain Miller!” One of the men, a sergeant, shouted, reloading his rifle and peering into the raging storm. “Command says the weather’s just going to get worse! They’re sending a Vanguard to hurry it up!” The captain in question, a long-time veteran of the Eridanus Void conflicts, grunted in reply. He ran a small diagnostic check on his HAZOP suit, and, assured the system was fine, activated the helmetR

"How far to the target?" "At current burn, I'd give it two, three hours tops," came the crisp, softly accented response. On the plotting table's projector, the figure of a Victorian English soldier fizzled into being. "That is, if the target doesn't flee, like he did over Thuris." "He won't. We've got him cornered this time." The Captain muttered, thrusting the smouldering cigarette into the ashtray. "A few frigates from Admiral Richard's 13th are on their way, but we're to be the scout vanguard for this one." The heavy frigate Constantinople, along with the scout ship Farsight in tow, had been rerouted from patrolling some of the mining o

"Exiting gate in t-minus 30. Hold onto your hats, boys and girls, this one's gonna be rough." The intercom crowed, the crowded freighter packed to the brim with refugees from their various worlds, fleeing the threats that now filled former Confederacy space. The deep, seismic thrum of the translight engines began to ebb, the shaking of the ship increasing steadily as the timer clicked closer to zero. Somewhere in the crowd, a baby's cries were hushed by a worried mother, not used to the translight gates or the turbulence they contained. The vibrating reached it's apex, and, almost as suddenly as it began, stopped. "Ladies and gentlemen," The

"And...mark." The bridge lurched, stars fading in from the purple void that was subspace as the ACNV Ti'maak began to power up her systems for the second time that day. "Report?" The Alissid captain, Rik Faalan, asked, turning to the Ensign standing at the console nearest to the raised captain's chair. "Exit within a reasonable distance of Antarres, sir." The alien, a young whelp newly promoted to his rank, nodded. "Quite a good jump, if I say so myself." The bridge lights switched on, and the alien crew members set to work, bringing the ship back to pre-jump parameters. "Tinvai. Run a quick scan of the surrounding..." The Alissid trailed

Post-war bureaucracy was always the same, no matter the time. The Bureau of Colonial Affairs, having recently surrendered it's governmental and military control it had received to fight off the Kal'Haruum threat, was downsizing under pressure from the recently reinstated Terran Federal Government, commonly known as the TFG. Not that the TFG was disbanding the BCA, far from it, in fact. The TFG had wasted no time in turning the former EAF into a cratered waste, using the might of the returning BCA fleets on their way home from the Kal'Haruum campaign to crush the comparitively weaker EAF fleets around the Sol System. Kinetic bombardments resul

The small, alleyside café was quiet, save for the sound of rain falling outside. A wet, dreary night in the city of New Lisbon, as usual. A man sat at one of the tables, sipping slowly on a dark, frothy cup of coffee as he scrolled through the day's headlines. An insurrectionist bombing here, the colonies demanding independence there, the occasional politician's quote about a 'better future for humanity.' Always the dreamers, damn them. Too busy fixing the future to fix the present. The man looks up as the slight chime of the door swinging open echoed through the quiet room, a figure dressed in what could be best described as a trench

Dawn's first flickers were shining through the dusty, dirty square of aged glass, illuminating the small lab barely more than the candle flickering at the desk. It lay cluttered, filled with numerous books, inkwells, the occasional half-finished study. The walls, dusty though the were, were filled with many paintings and drawings, most quite old and valuable. With a loud protest of wood and hinge, the wooden door swung open, a man in a vibrant maroon cloak glancing around at the state of the room. He was a rather tall fellow, his face partially covered by a crimson shawl wrapped across his nose and mouth, his piercing brown eyes scanning the

With a cough, the man cleared the ash from his helmet's filters, flicking the mounted light on top in an attempt at getting it working. It flickered for a moment, finally sending a beam of brilliance out into the swirling darkness before him. "Ashstorms..." He muttered, checking the seals on the suit before continuing onwards. What he was doing out so far beyond the Bastion walls was a mystery to most other than a few of the Elder Council, and of course, himself. He was to find a beacon, the indicator of more lost technology of the same age as the Magnus itself. With a grunt, the man brought up the passive scanner again, checking it again

Life in Bastion was never easy. The land itself was choked, the ash that had once fallen so engrained in the earth that plants chose to wither instead of taking root. Many of the settlers - Outcasts, rogues, and people who had nowhere else to go - lived in these small settlements even before the Fall. After, it was all many had left. The dingy, neon-lit streets of the fortress-towns were often the only sign of life around, especially after the gates closed to the outside following the Outsider Incidents. Not that they were prevalent those days, but still were discussed in whispered tones and angry council meetings. At the top of this stran