Wednesday, April 29, 2020

The Grand Prix Alliance


Long ago in the Bastard Age the Obelisk Dreamers saw fit to reward their servitors for excellence. For each gift there was a test. The impossible spear was given to the best fighter and the staff of control was given to the most obedient. Most gifts and trials were lost in the Bastard war or the chaos that followed. Only one is still known, the Galactic Prix. It is a gift given to the fastest.

The qualifying races happen all across the galaxy. They are announced by strange lights in the sky. These apparitions are known as the Omens of Speed and they are projected into our reality by something outside it. This being is known as the Patron. Little about them is certain but there is much speculation and myth making. The Omens mark out the race courses and it seems clear there is some guiding intelligence. Omens appear in interesting areas like twisting ruins, giant storms and sometimes active battlefronts. The Omens indicate starting positions; once they're all filled, the race begins. The Omens change into glowing hoops that indicate waypoints, and they're arranged in such a way to test the skill of the pilots. The winner is given a psychic tattoo or brand called a crown that appears as brilliant pattern on their aura. Crowns fade over the course of years. When there are 13 sapients with at least 3 crowns each in the entire galaxy, they are given visions of where the finale will be held. The winner disappears across the finish line, having been transported to a the Trophy Realm. Sometimes they return, wielding strange powers and impossible insights. Often, they are never heard from again. Regardless, the myth of the trophy realm and the gift of speed continues to drive sapients to seek the Omens of Speed.

Even so, there have been vast spans of Galactic history where the Galactic Prix was unclaimed. Omens of speed appear across the galaxy at irregular intervals, and they only last a few weeks before they vanish. Even if a racer finds one, they only activate if there are 13 racers. Then the winner of the crown most find and win two more races to be eligible. Even then, they need 12 other sapients to complete the same feat. For millennium seekers of the prize wandered the galaxy hoping to get lucky and find the omen before they disappeared in desperate, lonely quests.

This is what lead to the creation of the Grand Prix Alliance. The Alliance is three major polities together with hundreds of small race teams that work together to find Omens of Speed. The Alliance is technically one of the most widespread polities in the galaxy; Omens can appear anywhere so they have to search everywhere. The reality is they spend so much time zooming from one race to the next that they are only a tangential power throughout the Galaxy. Still, Omens can appear anywhere, which means the Alliance can suddenly become a huge part of local affairs. Most polities aren't thrilled to see a bunch of speed junkies show up and swarm over their planet. For their part, the Alliance needs to race and they don't care how many toes they trample on. They'll try diplomacy, but afterwards they will carry it on by other means.

Pertanguans are grub like sapients with internal skeletons and soft bodies. Most Pertanguans get cybernetic exoskeletons that allow them to curl into armored balls. The dominant cultural force in their society is the cult of Velocity. Motion is the highest virtue and stillness is sin and death. The Grand Prix must be won, not for the reward, but because it is a sacred quest. Pertangauns have a higher than average incidence of psychic power. The Cult is considered one of the strongest schools of telekinetic technique in the Galaxy. They are served by several companies of mercenary paladins. These military orders are loyal to the cult but take on side contracts to keep in fighting shape. They specialize in dogfighting in both atmosphere and in vacuum. 

The Scaltor are marine arthropod sapients. They are sessile, bonding to underwater surfaces for their entire lives. Those with telekinetic powers can propel themselves through the water if they are bonded to something free floating. They are split between a motionless peasant class and a free moving knight class. They are ruled by the Monarch Groth, who returned from the trophy realm hundreds of years ago. Rank in the knight class is determined by racing; to the fastest go the spoils. Winning a crown is a great honor, and the greatest honor is winning the Galactic Prix itself. There is a small minority of anti-monarchist knights. Known as the fool knights, they also race in order to gain clout for their cause.

The Axtr are avian sapients. They are a psychically empowered race; most of them are either precognitive or telepathic or both. They are a strict theocracy based around ancestor worship. They recognize three hierarchical levels of ancestor. First are the dispersed. These are Axtr who's consciousnesses were not persevered after death. The Axtr believe that their minds have joined with the cosmic background radiation. Above them are the crystal mummies, those Axtr who have had their minds transferred to special crystal vessels. The priesthood uses them as libraries and psionic focuses. The most honored "dead" are those that have made it to the trophy realm (this is point of contention within the alliance, as the other races don't view the trophy realm as an afterlife). They form the ruling class of the Axtr from beyond reality, making their wishes known through visions. Sometimes an Axtr will return from the trophy realm. These are the most sacred beings in Axtr mythos, living martyrs.

The Alliance races together sponsor a fleet of carrier ships, each with dozens of berths for racing craft. There is a saying in the alliance, The Pertanguan push, The Scaltor fly and the Axtr guide. At the heart of each carrier there is a power plant where Pertanguan use telekinesis to generate incredible energy. Traditionally the pilot of a carrier will be a Scaltor knight and Axtr oracles scan the galaxy for Omens of Speed. While not at an Omen or in route to one the race teams hold endless sub qualifiers. Each Omen race has 13 racers but a typical carrier will have twice that number of teams. They compete to secure their place when the time comes.

The Atomic Mantras

If you have a basic understanding of nuclear physics and atomic level telekinesis, creating a fusion reaction with your mind is easy enough. Surviving the process requires a bit more theory and either protective shielding or distance.  It is a generally recognized truth that individuals capable of creating nuclear explosions with their minds are existential threats so telekinetics are vigorously discouraged from studying particle physics. Still, Psychically moderated fusion reactors are a great source of energy so the Cult of Speed has found a workaround. Students are taught the Atomic Mantras, a route series of frequency shifts. When combined with specially designed reactor  shell the result is a nuclear reaction. The initiate does not understand the wider picture and they are not capable of replicating the effect without the reactor. The church keeps the mantras secret, but they aren't as careful as they could be. If a third party had both the reactor and the mantra, they could replicate it.

Crystal mummies

This technique is used by the Axtr to preserve their conciseness beyond death. The key is a specially forged crystal spike made out of salvaged computronium. The spike is inserted into a still living brain, then metabolic function is slowly decreased until death is achieved. If the procedure is successful the dying mind is shunted into an artifical dreamscape. There the captured ego lives in a solipsistic paradise. Priests know as death speakers manage collections of dead minds. Technically after the procedure only the crystal spike contains the mind but by Axtr tradition the body is persevered as well. When space is an issue, like on a spacecraft, only the skull is kept. Crystal mummies are used in religious rites where the laity is given a chance to visit with the deceased. They can also be used as psychic focuses for any psychic discipline they knew in life.

The Party line is that crystal mummies are not immortal, that they still hear the call of death and after thousands of years in dreams they all choose dreamless sleep eventually. This is half true; most crystal mummies succumb to quietude and self terminate. However, there are those that do not. Their egos are too strong for their thanatotic urge to overcome and without an anchor to the physical world their dream bodies begin to mutate. These deathless ones are a continued threat to the crystal mummy collections. If left to grow too long they can learn how to breach other dream realms to devour the inhabitants. The secret order of the True End searches tirelessly for mummies beginning this dark transformation. Those so pruned are listed as having chosen final death. Within the order there is a rumor of a second, darker deception. They whisper of mortal turncoats who willing serve the Deathless Ones. The truth of these matters is open to speculation.

Thursday, April 16, 2020

Darlarskin the creep forge


Darlarskin is a world in the Undersphere, a break-off cluster of planets below the galactic plane. Like all worlds in the Undersphere it is ruled by the godlings known as the Underminsters and their servants, the Reborn. Darlarskin is a heavy industrial world, buried under a thick blanket of multi-level factories. The atmosphere is a toxic miasma of exhaust. Base line organic life struggles to survive here; only the twisted imaginary life forms known as creeps thrive. Creeps reflect the emotional character of their environment so here they are stunted imp-like creatures  with grotesque biomechanical features. Their instincts drive them to ceaselessly toil without intellect. They are the ones that built the factories  and you can see the limit of their reason in the strange and futile architecture. Most of the work that is done on Darlarskin is pointless and absurd, an endless ouroboros of manufacturing and recycling. Only in the domains of the Reborn nobles do human and Reborn overseers bend the creep thralls into useful labors. Each noble aims to corner a particular market niche, such as infantry weapons or amour.
 Baron Valderash is the most famous sword smith in the Undersphere (though an honest assessment would give the credit to his team of human thralls). He is an ancient vampire, all gaunt with lipless fangs and lidless eyes. His barony is in the upper reaches of Darlarskin, a realm of crooked towers and gothic metal catwalks. Reborn corsairs come here to commission cruel weapons. Valderash and his thralls know the secret of creep smithing, the art of binding creeps into metal. These prison swords weep strange venom and are willful in their owners' hands.
 By Reborn custom a sword can only be given a name after it has taken the life of a worthy opponent. Also by custom duels can only take place with the consent of the local lord. Nobles picking up custom weapons are often wish for a chance to name their weapons. Valderash maintains a stable of aspiring duelists eager to win a noble title by defeating the previous title holder. Which duelists challenges which noble is entirely at the whims of Valderash. The hopeless neonates are thrown in front of valuable customers while he holds the skilled back for nobles he would prefer to see dead. When they aren't training or indulging in the horrible vices of the Reborn, the duelists serve as the Baron's leg breakers.
In the darkness of the lower manufactories is the realm of Baroness Gruvalda the creep smith. She is a luneman. Her human form is overweight and she usually wears a lab coat with a gore and oil stained leather apron. Her bestial tells are her predatory gaze and her massive prehensile tongue. Her beast form is a jowely hellhound. Gruvalda is the foremost creep smith on Darlarskin. She surgically alters the lowly creep thralls  into combat ready forms, often by combining parts from multiple creeps. Her creeps aren't the most deadly, resilient or terrifying but they are cheep. Currently she is trying to challenge her reputation by making a single masterpiece creep. Creatively she is at a dead end and is just stapling more creeps together. She will pay handsomely for better building stock, or even some better ideas.
The ruler of Darlarskin is Underminister Trevfarl. It appears as a verdigrised metal skeleton forty feet tall. Leathery hoses give it veins and viscera. On it's head is a blank rusted mask. It sleeps on a throne of pipes in the heart of a busy factory. When roused two baneful yellow lamps shine out of the mask like eyes and the hoses engorge with steam. Small ruptures bleed steam and slick red oil before knitting back together. Before it attacks it roars like a steam whistle then fixes its gaze on a target, causing their blood to boil. Like all underminister it communicates its wishes through dreams.