Lore Codex

Lore Codex Entry 1. House Lycanis

There is no higher virtue to House Lycanis than loyalty. Loyalty to the Emperor first, to Lycanis second, and to the Empire third… Or so it was meant to be. Somewhere along the way, the proud leaders of this family chose loyalty to their own first, second, and last. Much as some might think Lycanis’ actions were driven by an ideology that was to see the Empire radically transformed, none dare to voice such heresy—especially not after the rebellion’s brutal purge.

No House worked as one quite the way Lycanis did. Whether in combat or across negotiation tables, the chosen of this House struck with singular intent, maneuvering their foes with pack tactics developed to perfection. For purposes of communication, Lycanis developed both an intuitive sign language for use during combat and a secret code based on everyday language that allowed House diplomats to communicate sensitive information to one another in plain view.

But Lycanis’ strength in the bond between its people is also its weakness. A vengeful House, it leaves no slight against one of its own unpunished—even when the politically sensible choice would dictate a different course. Other factions within the Empire found the nobles of this House too hot-blooded—the murder of high-ranking member Julius Lycanis proved as much. For all that weakness, House Lycanis had a history of successful diplomats, even having chaired one of three Imperial positions on the Universal Council for an extended period of time. Lycanis saw any opportunity to serve the Empire as a chance to further the House standing and interests.

Perhaps it was inevitable that this opportunism would see Lycanis make moves against the Emperor. Perhaps the House allowed Gloria Morell’s dulcet tones to silence the voices of reason. Whatever the case—there will be a steep price to pay.

Lore Codex Entry 2. House Lycanis Part II

Loyalty to the Pack

Marcia gazed at the approaching starships through the viewport of The Clavalum. The battered flagship vessel of Lycanis, the Wolf-Hound, was escorted by a pair of dreadnoughts. They couldn’t be more different than one another and still of Imperial make: the austere, functional design of the Neputus vessel was contrasted by Neru-Gal’s craft. The very sight of it awakened some primal fear in Marcia.

Was this to be their home’s destiny? One ship to provide the veil of legitimacy; the other to do Solas Craine’s dirty work? Marcia brushed two fingers against the sole ring resting on her hand. The compartment within held a small capsule. Taking it would provide a quick, painless exit from her current bind. An insurance policy against a far more unpleasant alternative, cooked together by a Gorgona contact ages ago. Marcia was sorely tempted to take it.

They had been so close. Gloria’s plan had worked to perfection, at first. The break-away Houses’ united front had blindsided the loyalists, their astonishment allowing Lycanis and its allies to carry one devastating coup after another. It had all seemed to click in those final hours that led up to Solas’ terrible reversal. Now? They had lost. Gloria had lost, Marcia had lost, and all Lycanis would pay for it.

A shuttle each broke away from the dreadnoughts. The ring on Marcia’s finger grew heavier by the second as she watched them close the distance.

“Ma’am?” One of the pilots said. Some distant kind of cousin, no doubt, he had the look about him, the bone structure that announced his bloodline better than anything else could. “If we engage The Clavalum’s Drive now, we might be able to get away before the shuttles board.”

Marcia shook her head. “Where would I go? No Imperial House, no matter how friendly, will risk Craine’s wrath.”

“Perhaps the Federation, or the Union—”

She gave a bitter laugh. “Perhaps. And be treated as a curio, all of us dragged across their newsrooms and made mouthpieces in their propaganda machine? Or worse, conform to the Union’s demented views? Is a little living worth such compromise? I ask, how many of you—”

The intercomms display came alive without warning, cutting her off. The aged face of High Lord Marcus Lycanis, now bloodied and bruised, looked upon Marcia. Behind him, she could see a few familiar faces—Aki, a few of her other brothers-in-law.

“Father,” Marcia forced out. Not hers, but Julius’s, though that had never made a difference in the old man’s eyes. Their shared grief over these last two months had reinforced an already powerful bond, made both rely on the other like never before. To see him beaten to a pulp lit a rage inside her, made impotent by the knowledge that she could do nothing to remedy the injustice of it.

“Marcia. I have news.” He glanced to the side—was that shame, or was he reading something? She did not know. “After Gloria’s broadcast, he contacted me. Forgiveness for our allies, mercy for Lycanis rather than eradication. That’s what the Imperator offered. I—I took the deal.”

This was not all he had to say to her. She knew it by his eyes, by the trembling in his voice. “Solas Craine’s mercy always has a sting,” she told him at last. “What else did that man demand?”

“Forgive me, my blossom,” Marcus said. “The Imperator, may he outlive the stars—” the words were a curse from his lips, “—demanded that, for his mercy, I sacrifice what I hold most dear.” His eyes filled with tears. “It’s your life I had to trade, to spare us all.”

Marcia’s breathing slowed as she turned her gaze back to the viewport. She rolled the ring on her finger, again and again. Julius’ last gift to her, that. What would he have done? Marcia pulled the ring from her finger, let it fall down with a clank.

“My life for Lycanis,” she said to no one.

Lore Codex Entry 3. Federation Corporation PMG Security

Federation Corporation PMG Security, Entry 1

PMG Security is among the faction’s biggest military contractors, a corporation with the capacity to deploy massive Federation fleets at nearly any point across the faction’s territory within days or even hours of a hostile act of violence. Static, automatized defenses carrying the PMG logo are arrayed across the faction’s borders, equipped with scanning tech aimed at monitoring for breaches, courtesy of espionage industry leader OTK Comms. This corporation has attempted to provide candidate-pilots for VasTech’s powerful experimental weaponry but has been stonewalled by VasTech. The move has turned the relationship between the two corporations bitterly adversarial.

While PMG Security holds some of the biggest-name contractors any entity in the Federation could have, that isn’t to say they don’t offer smaller security packages for the deep of pocket. These are tailored to the client’s needs, often following exacting specifications. Suppressing riots, protecting officials, and cleaning up corporate experiments gone terribly wrong are all commonplace assignments to cells within this military outfit. When it comes to corporate espionage, PMG Security prefers to outsource, attempting to either bribe personnel members at their competitors or else hire Nexus Divers to raid their mainframes. Like with military expenditure, PMG does not cut corners when it comes to intelligence—they have been market leaders in the field of security for a long time and intend to remain such.

Lore Codex Entry 4. Federation Corporation: PMG Security

Federation Corporation: PMG Security, ENTRY II

Head of Military Operations File: While decision-making across PMG Security’s business interests is the purview of CEO Glenn Prestt, arguably the most important figure at the corporation is Jasna Farrah, the Head of Military Operations. Lovingly nicknamed “The Marshall” by her troops, Madame Farrah is one of the Federation’s bona fide war heroes, a veteran of dozens of conflicts celebrated for her leadership and cool-headed decision-making in the midst of battle. She is the architect of PMG Security’s award-winning training regimen, one of the most effective—if incredibly demanding—methods of unlocking the full potential of fresh recruits. No sacrifice demands too high a price for the Marshall, not when it counts for the defense of the Federation’s borders, for the prosperity of its citizens.

To those who lay eyes on Jasna Farrah at present, it might be difficult to imagine how the compact (if sturdy) frame of the fifty-two year-old could once handle heavy-grade military armor with legendary proficiency. As much has been immortalized in dozens of media types based on Farrah’s heroics—yet even those fictionalized accounts pale in comparison to the real deal, though the Marshall will never say as much. Her reticence about the early years of her military career is as well-known as the openness of those who served shoulder to shoulder with her. Nor have those early years of putting riots down across the Federation’s sectors gone by without taking their toll—the Marshall’s disposition is far from sunny at the best of days and her relationship with the Federation’s most expensive alcohols is…complicated, to say the least.

Lore Codex Entry 5. Serpent’s Tooth

An assassin’s blade, turned away from its original target and in the service of a cause, is a potent tool. The Union tribe known as the Serpent’s Tooth began life in this way, when a group of Imperial assassins from the Glycon and Gorgona houses switched allegiances. Sent to wound the leadership of the Union in the early days of Solas Craine’s reign, these spies had their worldviews altered in the line of duty. Persuaded to turn their weapons against their former masters, they shared their skills with those best suited to perform them. Some operatives of the Federation would later be swayed into joining the tribe, sharpening the Serpent’s Tooth to a still deadlier edge.

The days of recruiting spies from the other sides are all but gone, now. Clandestine operatives are only sent into enemy territory if their ideological beliefs are reinforced to the point of fanaticism. Beyond the razor-thin veil of civility the three factions are each forced into, the Serpent’s Tooth has waged a hidden war across the galaxy, a war of knives and secrets in the dark. The Tooth is no worse prepared than its counterparts. Few in the Union know the ideologies of the Empire and Federation as a Serpent’s Tooth does. Few are as capable of arguing against them—the arguments all the stronger for those in the Serpent’s Tooth have held onto a semblance of their forefathers’ Imperial and Federation accents.

There is little in-fighting between tribes members—discipline is key to the task performed by the Tooth. An internal hierarchy places those with the greatest amount of experience in leadership roles. By its nature, the tribe’s activities are layered in secrecy. Both the Union at large and the Vox understand this; yet some mistrust them. As many are in awe of this small, dedicated tribe, whose purpose has been defined by serving and protecting a society they can never be entirely a part of.

Lore Codex Entry 6. Bitter Taste

After a tragic collapse during a routine mining operation, members of Tribe Sunless come together for a wake to honor their lost brethren. But not all is as it seems in the silent Sunless-ran bar on the frontier world of Xylen-4…

Not much, thinks Rem, can compare to this.

She raises her glass to the Sunless workers lounging all over the dimly lit bar, takes another swig of the liquor before half of them have raised theirs in return. It burns just right. Some of it almost goes the wrong way and Rem struggles not to choke. A quiet chuckle on her right tells her Gwyn’s seen the struggle. She won’t hear the end of it for a while, but he’ll remain silent, for now. For a while longer, too. Not even he’d make light at a wake, rowdy as he is.

It’s been hard going, this last rotation at the mining gig. She’s proud to be Sunless, so she is, but there’s something to be said about artificial light for weeks on end. None of it good, ‘course, but that’s the way of it. Rem scoffs. Not like she’s seen the sun much since making planetfall. She should get out of town tomorrow. Its cramped alleyways remind her of the mines a little too much. After what happened—no, she isn’t ready to go back there just yet.

Space would be best, but not with Barb in the state she’s in. Her engine’s busted worse than anything Rem’s seen. Plenty of work she can do in the meanwhile. Not as foreman, sure, and that’d mean maybe the spares for Barb take a little longer to find their way to this old dump of a planet. Priority lists the way they are, seems only fair. No one can ever charge Rem with being pushy. Not her. When Gwyn told her to take a shift with him, hadn’t she shrugged and listened to him?

And ain’t she just flush with gratitude? To have survived where the better part of her family, the people she’s grown up with, seen grown up, all rest beneath the cracked stone. This life…

The silence is broken when a man bursts in. He is tall, lithe, his face non-descript—but fast, faster than just about anyone Rem has seen. The explosion of movement is so unlike the lethargy in the air, no one but Gwyn so much as has the time to react. He shifts in place, begins to say something—but not before the newcomer pulls out a gun, aims it at her friend’s head, pulls the trigger.

The crack of the gun as it discharges, its clatter as it hits the ground, yanks the rest of them out of suspension. Not Rem. She remains dead-still, her eyes glued to the corpse that used to be Gwyn. Rem takes the body in as the few survivors in what was a mining crew of two hundred pull the stranger to the ground. He doesn’t struggle but speaks in a calm, collected tone of voice after their cries of outrage begin to quiet down. She hears the surprised exclamations as he presents the amulet he’s been holding into his other hand, a serpent’s tooth, its meaning known to all. The words of explanation of the man who has killed her friend slowly register as her eyes, unblinking, gaze into nothing.

The stranger’s explanation comes to a close. It hangs there, a snake whose poisonous sting is felt by everyone, and by Rem most of all. She looks away from Gwy—whatever his name was.

“It wasn’t an accident?” she asks at last. “You’re sure?”

The man gives a brisk nod. “Wouldn’t do what I did if we weren’t sure.”

Rem gives a slow nod. Her glass is still in one hand, she realizes—and empties its contents in one last swallow. This time, she has no trouble stomaching its bitter taste.