Prologue – Founder’s Campaign 2024

Battle Map 0

Prologue

The bridge of the Stellen dreadnought hummed with tension as Admiral Vos glared at the flickering hologram of Regent Aen’eas. Swirling clouds of static distorted the regent’s imperious features, his eyes narrowed to crimson slits of disdain. “The Stellen Alliance continue to defy the will of the Emperor,” Aen’eas sneered, his voice a rasping growl. “These terms are unacceptable. You will grant us access to the abyssal gate as per our original agreement!” Vos remained impassive, his scarred face locked in a grim mask. Around him, his senior officers shifted uneasily, their knuckles whitening as they gripped their stations. “I am not here to negotiate your contract” Vos rebuffed. “We do not accept Imperial credits. Valerian crystal is the price of access. Now, settle your debts or we will settle them for you.” Aen’eas barked a harsh laugh that echoed through the bridge like shrapnel. “You trade lords bluster, but your rhetoric rings hollow. If you raise your hand against us, the wrath of the Emperor shall reduce your ships to scrap.” Sparks danced across Vos’s clenched jaw as the hologram wavered. Even through the distortion, Aen’eas’s sneer was a naked challenge. With a curt nod, Vos accepted the gauntlet. “So be it. Consider Valenor under administration effective immediately.” The admiral’s words hung in the tense silence like a ricocheting gunshot. Aen’eas’s eyes blazed, but before he could respond, Vos made a slashing gesture. The hologram winked out, leaving only a faint echo of the regent’s outraged roar. “Communications terminated,” Vos’s second-in-command announced. “Our control stations are in position and awaiting your command Admiral.” Vos turned to his staff, his gaze sweeping their steely expressions. “Commence the invasion. All sectors, all targets. The time you have trained for has finally come.” On the bridge, a wave of adrenaline swept across the crew like a peel of thunder belting a clouded sky. Then, a flurry of motion as officers relayed the order, their fingers dancing across control surfaces. Crimson lights pulsed as the dreadnought’s armaments cycled up, joining a constellation of threats blazing to life across the Stellen armada.

Far below on the ruin-strewn surface of Valenor, Thala Kern, a student resident of the Aoric Versarium knelt beside an ancient pedestal, brushing away centuries of dust and grit. Her calloused fingers traced the indecipherable runes etched into its weathered stone as she pondered the ruins of the Karrow Temple District. A glint of verdant light caught her eye. Painstakingly she exhumed a crystalline object – an intricately carved key made of perichite. Thala’s breath caught in her throat as she beheld the long-forgotten relic. “Heirophant Tyrk!” she called out, her reverent whisper cutting through the stillness. Tyrk hurried to examine the artifact, his brow furrowing as he peered at the archaic engravings. “The legends were true. The Keep… it exists!” he spoke in a hushed tone, cradling the key in his withered hands. Suddenly, the awe in his eyes vanished and filled with shock as tremors rocked the ruins, dust billowing up from the crevices. Thala glanced upwards, her eyes widening at the sight of Stellen dropships piercing Valenor’s troposphere, descending like armored locusts against the emerald sky. Tyrk gripped Thala’s arm tightly. “It’s the Alliance! Phales spoke of war but I hadn’t dreamed it would be so soon! They cannot learn of what we have discovered here. These catacombs lead to the shimmering isles. We can take a transport there back to the Versarium.”

The subterranean catacombs shook violently as muffled explosions erupted above ground, raining down plumes of dust and debris. Tyrk clutched the perichite key tightly as he and Thala pressed on through the winding necropolis. Ducking through a low archway, they emerged into an ancient sepulcher adorned with rows of sarcophagi and towering statues of armored warlords. At the far end of the chamber stood a spiral stone staircase leading upwards. “This path should take us to the surface near the western cliffside,” Tyrk said, hurrying forward. “From there, we can take a transport back to the Versarium undetected.” They ascended the twisting steps, debris and dust raining down from above, until at last they reached a sealed stone hatch. Tyrk grunted with effort, straining to turn the release wheel and push open the heavy door. A musty gust of airmet them as they climbed out onto the ravaged cliffside. Scanning the horizon, Thala could see a dark, dome shaped object hovering directly above the Great Temple Ruins. “This way,” Tyrk whispered, breaking into a loping run along the cliffside. Ducking into a narrow canyon, they snaked through a labyrinth of winding passageways, skirting the main excavation sites which had descended into pure chaos. Lay workers and Alt’yri servants darted in every direction, some fleeing the violence while others rushing to defend the dig sites against the Stellen onslaught. At last, they reached an outlying hangar bay where a small supply transport was prepping for launch. Thala flashed her ident-chip, and the pilot ushered them aboard, eager to avoid the skirmish. The transport’s engines roared to life, lifted and re-aligned itself; its nose pointing towards the river mouth. In an instant it took off, like a stone skipping across the water. As Thala turned her gaze to the vanishing ruins, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow at the devastation left behind. What would the invasion mean for Valenor? For the Empire? “Phales will know what to do.” Tyrk answered her, as though reading her thoughts. “But he’s in revelation. We cannot disturb him without risking his sanity” Thala replied, revealing a hint of helplessness. “So be it. Better to have a mad seer than a dead one.”

After some time, a young woman’s voice spoke over the transport’s intercom, informing Tyrk and Thala of their arrival and that they would shortly be disembarking. Descending into the Versarium hangar bay, motors from beneath the ship’s hull whirred as the ships landing gear extended. Anxiously, the transport’s passengers waited at the rear exit before hastily evacuating the ship as it’s engines powered down. Finally alone and out of earshot the ship’s pilot activated a small device and placed it in her ear. “Uncle, it’s Kumiko,” she spoke in hushed tones. “I have an update on the situation at the Karrow Temple District.“ There was a brief crackle of static before Karric’s gruff voice responded. “Report.” Kumiko glanced over her shoulder nervously before continuing. “The ruins were attacked by Stellen forces…it was pure chaos. I was able to evacuate Heirophant Tyrk and his student aboard my transport.” “Tyrk…” Karric growled the name like a curse. “So the old fossil still lives. And what of their cargo?” “They recovered some kind of artifact, an old key,” Kumiko explained. “They believe it can unlock an ancient keep?” There was a long pause before Karric responded, his voice taking on a hungry tone. “Which means they’ll need to awaken Phales to decipher it.” Kumiko felt a lump form in her throat as the gravity of the situation became clear. “He’ll be vulnerable, defenseless in that state. You want me to…” “Don’t do anything yet. Just be ready for our arrival,” Karric cut her off brusquely. “This Stellen invasion has given us a small opportunity. It will take everything we have to seize it.” Kumiko swallowed hard and gave a somber nod, even though her uncle couldn’t see it over the comlink. “Understood. I’ll make preparations for your arrival.” “Good girl,” Karric growled in approval. The comlink went dead, and Kumiko was left clutching it tightly. Did she hear that correctly? Was Karric really coming here? The Chrysalet district was so far from the Basilisk. There he was all-powerful, all knowing, one of the most feared warlords on Valenor. But here he would be exposed… “How could he risk so much?” Kumiko thought to herself.

Karric turned to his protégé Juno, a young hot-headed warrior standing nearby. Juno could sense a palpable intensity about the warlord. Karric’s red Oni mask and oppressive size had always made him an intimidating figure, but it was his voice that commanded respect. “Ready a strike team,” Karric instructed. “We’re going to the chrysalet to capture Phales.” Juno’s eyes went wide. “The Heirophant Phales? But why? His powers are said to be immense.” “Which is precisely why we must seize him. With an oracle of Phales’ caliber under our control, we can glimpse pathways to power and dominance throughout Hyperion.” Juno felt a thrilling chill run down his spine at the bold ambition behind such a plan. To control powers of future-sight would be to wield ultimate influence. But he knew that any news of Karric’s departure from the Basilisk would inevitably reach the other warlords and risk their own incursion. “The other cartels will see this as a power grab,” Juno warned, shaking his head. “They’ll seek to take control of the Basilisk the moment you leave.” Juno sensed a cruel smile spread across Karric’s face. “Then let them fight like starving dogs over scraps. True power awaits us at the Chrysalet – the kind that can make us untouchable.” Juno considered this for a moment before giving a slow nod. The invasion itself reset the board, which meant sooner or later war would break out amongst the cartels as well. But if Karric possessed a seer, even a mad one, then the game was already over. Juno felt the undercurrent of something left unspoken, a secret motive Karric wasn’t sharing. But he knew better than to pry. Karric’s machinations often had layers upon layers that only fully revealed themselves in time. “It’s operation Fallen Sun then?” Juno quizzed. Karric returned a solemn nod. “I’ll organise the factions and have munitions sent over from the wastes.” Juno assured him before urgently turning away.

As Karric’s men emerged from Juno’s private parlour, Greyson kept his head down, methodically wiping down glasses behind the dimly-lit bar. To the casual observer, he was just another hired hand tending to the endless stream of thugs, mercenaries and gangsters that frequented one of Karric’s many clubs. But Greyson was no grunt – he was a deep cover operative for the Stellen Alliance, tasked with infiltrating the Mori clan’s operations some three years earlier. His piercing gaze missed nothing as it surveyed the club’s patrons through the concealment of his lank hair. A group of Juno’s most trusted foot soldiers huddled in a corner booth, speaking in hushed tones over the thumping bassline of the music. Greyson strained his enhanced hearing to make out their conversation. “…mobilizing a raid on the Versarium itself! Can you believe that mad dog’s ambition?” “Shhhh! You want Juno to gut you? He’s tasked us with securing transport and munitions to the Kaledan Wastes by morning.” “For what? Another gang War over camphor slurry?” “No you idiot, this is much bigger than that – it’s operation fallen sun…” Greyson felt his breath catch in his throat as the pieces fell into place. The operative’s mind raced as he processed this new intelligence. For years, he’d been trying to uncover intel on Fallen Sun that Stellen command was so fervently obsessed with. Was it a weapon? information? Greyson knew his window of opportunity was rapidly closing. With Karric marshalling his forces, it was only a matter of time before the warlord’s disappearance from the Basilisk raised suspicions. He needed to extract himself and get word back to his handlers – and quickly.

Slipping out a rear exit, Greyson pulled his weathered cloak tighter around himself and struck out in the direction of the Kaledan Wastes. He knew Karric’s men trafficked weapons from an old Camphor refinery. If he could arrive there before morning, perhaps he could smuggle himself on board one of the convoys headed to the Chrysalet and finally shed some light on what Fallen Sun was. His boots crunched across the dusty grey terrain as he hiked, using his knowledge of the region to navigate the camphor-polluted swamps and steel yards. Just as the red planet Preya began to crest the horizon, Greyson detected a flicker of movement up ahead. “You’re a long way from anywhere, stranger,” a raspy female voice called out. “These wastes ain’t kind to travelers.” Greyson’s hand instinctively dropped to his saber Chiltis that hung from hip as a lithe figure emerged from the shadows – a young woman with short black hair and swathed in tattered robes and scarves holding a strangely modified repulsor rifle and aiming it directly at Greyson. Her eyes were hard obsidian chips that seemed to bore straight through him. Thinking quickly, Greyson tried to pass himself off as one of Karric’s men. “Juno has ordered a shipment of munitions to be ready by morning,” he grunted, gesturing vaguely back toward the distant glow of Kaledan prefecture. “Warlord’s orders on account of him being away.” The woman’s lip curled in a sneering smile of disbelief. “Is that so? Funny, I was under the impression Karric’s men were mobilizing for something…bigger.” Greyson felt his heart skip a beat as the realization washed over him. This deadly vagabond was no mere scavenger – but who was she aligned with? Too covert for Imperial or Aoric forces. Another Cartel perhaps? “Who are you?” he asked carefully, keeping his hand hovering near his weapon. “What do you know about Karric’s plans?” “Let’s just say I’m a woman with an acute interest in disrupting the oppressive regimes that strangle the life out of this planet,” she purred, her tone carrying a melodic lilt of danger. “And you, my friend, are about to become much more…cooperative in sharing what you know.” With a concussive burst, the woman fired at Greyson knocking him to the ground. As Greyson slowly lost consciousness the woman hovered above Greyson’s face grinning fiercely. “My name is Vacious Zexx. And you’re going to tell me everything you know about this Operation Fallen Sun…”