Tyr's Hand

[Vocenae]

It is the later half of the 70th millenia, and while humanity has existed in its various empires throughout the universe, there is little left of it now.

 

Worlds have burned, ships have tumbled helplessly into the bowels of supergiant planets, men and women forced into war after war against each other, and against violent non-human creatures. The home system has been lost in the great gulf between the stars, and the dried husks of dead planets float silently in orbit around raging suns.

 

But that is a story for another time, and another place.

 

 

---

 

Tyr's Hand.

 

A bleak, desolate world covered in sky scraping mountains, endless deserts of ash and snow, seas that lash violently at their beaches, a world where life flourishes, yet is extinguised within the blink of an eye. Long ago this was a planet of the Concordant, the successor of an old empire whose name is now lost in the annals of time, and seeded with the virus of humanity. Cities that are now dust rose from the rugged soil, the men and women went about their pointless lives, not realizing they were nothing more than cattle stock for whatever war or black project that the Concordant might be involved in.

 

Then the Cataclysm came.

 

The fiercest war in all of recorded and unrecorded history spread across the universe, as man destroyed each other from within, and were assaulted by xenogens from the depths of space. Trillions died, governments ripped themselves apart by the seams, and then, after nearly 40,000 years of war, everything went quiet.

 

Tyr's Hand fell into a even deeper isolation than before, and without aid from their now dead government, the people regressed to using primitive tools to survive. The Long Night descended upon the planet, but life went on. Technology slowly began to surface again, and those that controlled it, ruled over all the could. The pattern of human nature was beginning again on this desolate world, as armies clashed, blood flowed, and tyrants fell.

 

Yet, in the most lonesome wastes, small bands of warriors rallied together under one banner, and sought to free their breathren from the pointless wars, the mindless bloodshed, to rise and become one people, united once again.

 

 

---

 

Cromdant'e Hold, The Southern Fringe

 

"And that is why we have come. We seek only shelter and food until the blizzard passes" She said, pulling her ragged cloak tighter around her body. The thin material did little to keep her warm, she wore it only to hide her left arm, which was slowly beginning to grow stiff as the condesation on the metal began to freeze.

 

But the man before her was unmoved by her speech, and wished only for this pathetic urchin and her band of WasteTrash to leave.

 

"If I allow you, dear madam, to stay in my fine Hold..." He waved his arm across the dank, freezing throne room, "What would my subjects think? That we take in every vagabond band of rubbish that happens upon our home? what of the World's Edge dynasty to the East? What will they think, and more importantly react, to letting a armed force, however small it may be, to stay within their borders?"

 

He pointed a lean finger towards one of the slit windows that lined the walls.

 

"You belong outside, with the rest of the mangy dogs you call people. Now leave, before I am forced to honor my pledge to the dynasty, and slay you where you stand."

 

The woman glared at the man, the so called 'king' of Cromdant'e, and the surrounding wastes. No more than a pawn of larger, souless powers, terrified into submission by machines and their masters. Her people would not survive the storm outside, even with the portable fusion generator, and the time ravaged geo-tents. They must get inside before nightfall, and if it ment taking this man's life and alerting the World's Edge dynasty to their presence, survival was paramount.

 

She sighed deeply, pulling the cloak off of her lean form, revealing the glistening cybernetic arm, and the automatic revolver held in it. She brought the weapon level with the man's skull, and before he realized who she was, sent a round into his thin body.

 

Outside, in the courtyard, her troops hunkered together while the women and children were at least spared by the wind and snow in the tiny geo-tents. Over the roaring wind, and the pained whimpers of the children as the cold wrapped it's arms around them, they heard the gunshot, and readied the rifles.

[Vocenae]

Three years have passed since Cromdant'e Hold was taken, and the world of Tyr's Hand has continued on as always, the people unfortunate enough to live on its surface unaware of the Skirmish War raking at the underbelly of the southern empires.

 

The Lady continues to lead her people across the Southern Fringe, through the great snowstorms and unending frost wastes, all in the search for permanent shelter. She leads the slowly growing number of men, women and children because she believes that they can change their stars, she believes that Tyr's Hand could become so much more than what it is now. A world of peace and promise.

 

But none of this can come to pass unless they find a place to call home. After three years of suffering, fighting, and traveling, supplies were finally becoming scarce. Her people were falling ill and dying, and even her indomitable spirit and body seemed to be wearing down.

 

And the weather and wars kept bearing down on them.

[Vocenae]

They made camp at the base of a large bluff, using the exposed rock to help shield the feeble tents from the roaring winds that were sweeping the wastes. The families huddled together in their tents, but some were left to find their own shelter from the cold.

 

She was one of those people.

 

She never used her tent, letting her people use it whenever there was no place left for them to stay. She could survive better than they could, given her...alterations. But those alterations were slowly failing, she could feel it. The joints were not moving as fluid as they used to, and the response time was steadily declining. Soon she feared she wouldn't be able to use the arm at all.

 

The clouds overhead were black, and thunder roared in the distance as the epicenter of the storm slammed its way through the wastes. There was a flash of light above her, and the storm truly began. But there was no rain, no snow, no sleet, just lightning, thunder, and the cold wind tearing at each other. She hunkered down close to the bluff face and pulled her cloak tighter around herself, praying that everyone had found shelter, and that those fortunate to have tents would open them to others.

 

And the storm roared on.

 

 

---

 

She was alone. The ash was blinding as it whipped through the air on the razor wind. She fought against the wind, forcing herself forward even though every muscle in her body screamed at her and refused to move peacefully.

 

Everything was gone. Everything.

 

The mountains had been pounded to rubble, the cities turned to the very ash she struggled through. The remains of her people lay fossilized below her feet, nothing but brittle bones and lost souls.

 

Above her, through the oppressive clouds that shrouded this world, stars cried unending death to the planet. She struggled as the wind pushed against her, and finally, she fell.

 

The ash flew into the air from where she had fallen. Her muscles make her a thousand promises of pain to come, but she didn't care, it was over.

 

Let it end...

 

Let it end...

 

The world stopped. Ash froze in the still air, and the great rolling clouds began to disappear. The ash that covered the ground began to peel away, stripping down to the bedrock. Blue light flooded her vision, and her body ceased to hurt. She looked up.

 

There was a man standing in front of her, holding a long cane. His face was shadowed, but then a set of shining white teeth appeared. Behind him the sky shifted and glowed in endless blue light. She rose, and slowly edged towards the man until she was face to face with him.

 

He embraced her, and her world vanished into nothingness.

[Vocenae]

"Well? Did it work?"

 

"I can't say. It's a very old prototype, not meant for this kind of input."

 

"I see. Keep transmitting, but decrease intensity, I don't want it shutting down before we make our move."

 

"Yes sir."