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Contact Us:
General
Family Album
Holiday Diaries
Andy
Amateur Radio
Archery
Computing
Professional Details
Role Playing
Art Narrative (MGH)
Ken
Tom
Trudi
The words and artwork on this page have been prepared and created by Mark Hirst. Full information and additional examples of his work can be found on his website.
The origins of the narrative were inspired by a few of the early pictures and reminisences of our role playing college days. Now tempered by more recent science fiction offerings the orignal worlds of Marks Traveller™ creation see life some 20 or so years since we adventured there in this continuing storyline. The cycle is now complete as the storyline serves as an inspiration for the artwork which originally spawned the story.
After eighteen years cleaning the streets, you'd think I'd be hardened to the worst that humanity can offer.
I'd seen them all, the drug dealers, rapists, and murderers. People in the gutter, some dealt a losing hand, others reveling in the darkness.
Some get cocky. A grinning idiot with his smart ass lawyer, whining about his rights and his phone call. I have to sit there listening to some sob story about his lousy upbringing with the image of the bloodied pensioner or slashed office worker imprinted on my mind.
"You can't touch me", he tells me with that knowing smile. He'll be walking the streets real soon 'cos some comfortable liberal worries about criminals' rights, that they need a second chance, and a third, and a fourth...
The bomb attack in the Shallows brought in a hard case, a big shot from the Brotherhood. The Lazloi were unscathed of course, each one surrounded by a bubble of light, but the onlookers and hippies who came to see them lay bloodied and dying around them.
He gave us the silent treatment, daring us to touch him, waiting for the human rights lawyer to spring him free. Give us a few more days we said, but we got the orders, big shots have big friends. Charge him, or let him go.
The paperwork was almost done when the Lazloi telepath came. She spoke only once in their strange, musical accent. "What remains of it is yours."
Sound triggers a primeval instinct in all of us, to aid the crying baby, to run from the growl of wolves. I heard those pitiful screams and did nothing, listening to the sound of a man being reduced to an animal, and then to nothing.
Nobody remembers the Lazloi leaving, so it was a few hours before we returned to the room. All that was left was a living shell, lying in its own waste, unmarked and unmoving...
-- Elliot Shannon, Detective, Shallows District police.
Just as suddenly as they appeared, the three Lazloi merchant cruisers left Candor this afternoon.
The ships ignored all starport protocols and flew low over the city, The Screaming Fist deliberately buzzing the towers of the Sansica Corporation. The ships leave behind them much regret, human suffering and a relieved Imperial government.
It's over fifty standard years since a Lazloi ship was seen in this sector, yet even those that remember the last visit could not have foreseen the tumultuous events that have unfolded these last few weeks.
In the first few days, an influx of alien and human pilgrims threatened to overwhelm the city. Some were there to see the living legends that their grandparents had spoken of, others to find spiritual or physical wellbeing. The greatest concern came in what appeared to be a spat between the white haired race and the shadowy doomsday sect known as the Brotherhood of Ankh.
We can only speculate as to why they decided to leave. Perhaps, they simply found what they were looking for. Whatever their reasons, they brought much good with them. It is reported that the Lazloi have healed hundreds of sick children, particularly those with genetic disorders.
The last signal we are likely to receive from them will be a veritable supernova of static and interference that always precedes their hyperjumps, a way of ensuing that nobody can guess their heading or where their home world might be.
It is unlikely that any of us will see them again in our lifetime. It is that profound sense of loss, the passing of something wonderful, which is darkening the public mood.
Suicide rates and street crime have risen already...
-- Jai Houdri, Correspondent for the Candor Intersolar News Service.
Never seen a Lazloi before, never knew they existed.
We were fast running out of food an' water. Wondered if we'd survive the week.
The glow on the horizon grew brighter every day; you could see it in daylight. 'Casionally, the radio would come to life, strange growls and wails, human sounds, but not human words.
Pulses of light shot into the sky and we knew that we were in trouble. The only food an' water was back there on the ship. Somehow we'd have to go back towards the light an' hope we were lucky.
Few hours out, Chan saw it on the horizon, driftin' in the wind. I saw it through the 'scope. Looked impossible, somethin' made of blue glass, but shiny like metal; some kinda ship, just hanging there.
Couple hours later we reached it, water gone, wonderin' if we were in bigger trouble.
We shouted, waved our arms, tried to get closer, but somethin' blocked our way, invisible, buzzin', cracklin' when we touched it.
Then she came.
Stood behind the barrier, glowin' in a ball of light, white hair, white eyelashes.
"I'm Cleopatra, daughter of somethin', daughter of somethin' else", least that's what it sounded like. Spoke galanglic real weird, like she was singin'.
"Been enough death here." she said, "Goddess forgive me, but I will protect you."
She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen...
-- Elise Mackie on meeting Kleneptra ny Hybritta ny Karaenia, the Lazloi Pathfinder.
History records the lonely moon of Hycaron II as an Amber Zone, a world where caution should be exercised. We know of course that such a classification is inaccurate.
The exact nature of what we've observed and how it spread to this world is still being investigated. What we know so far is at best, rumour and speculation. Suffice to say, events have proceeded rapidly.
An unseen force overwhelmed the mercenary transport sent to Hycaron II by the Imperial authorities. Observations by interdiction forces show the grounded ship enveloped in light with strange and disturbing radio transmissions broadcast on all spectrums. None of its crewmembers can be accounted for save a few stragglers outside the target area. A small scout team momentarily made contact but they ceased transmissions just before the explosion. It is assumed that they perished.
Why the ship's fusion reactors were run to overload is not clear, but the subsequent thermonuclear detonation sent pulses of light into space where they enveloped one of the cordon ships in close orbit. This ship, itself enveloped in light, broke orbit, pursued by its sister ships.
We believe this ship was the one that jumped into system and then crashed landed near the capital the day before yesterday. Power fluctuations are reported in all regions around the crash site and several power stations can no longer be contacted.
News has spread rapidly of nearby towns being enveloped in strange light displays. Radio stations in the areas affected have ceased normal programming and have also begun transmitting sounds and signals of unknown origin.
Panic has set in and troops have fired over the heads of the rioters trying to break into the main starport. Imperial Marines are on standby but their forces have already been sorely depleted by their early and apparently futile attempts to confront the phenomena.
As night falls, a strange aurora borealis sweeps back and forth across the horizon, it's shifting light mesmerising the population and tearing apart social order.
Did I not predict that this day would come? Did I not say that the cleansing fire would take a form we could not comprehend? Was it not I who planned the intrusions that have awakened this ancient terror long chronicled throughout history?
Scholars of the evolution of life are well aware of the mass extinctions that took place across many millions of years.
On Terra where humanity began, there have been six identified extinctions, each one culling great swaths of life forms. The species that remained flourished in the new world that emerged. It was mammals that survived the felling of dinosaurs and so it was that mankind finally emerged.
The seventh great extinction was of course of human making. It's aftermath, a series of names that only exist in databanks, Elephant, Whale, and Tiger.
My brothers and sisters, look to the horizon and rejoice. In spite of their power, the Lazloi failed to stop us. Rhand is gone, lost in her madness. Forget our recent setbacks and redouble your efforts. Help spread the fire to other worlds.
It is time for the eighth and final extinction...
-- Communiqué from the Inner Circle of the Brotherhood of Ankh
Commander, I am sure that from the information you have received, you can be in no doubt of the perilous situation that we are asking you to investigate.
Scientific results from a reconnaissance of Hycaron II carried out some fifty years ago show a virtually dead world. Most of its continents showed no life of any kind, at least nothing that could be classified as more than a microbe. What land creatures remained were restricted to a large isolated island, an area recently investigated by another science survey and subsequently by a mercenary ship sent to find them.
Whatever agency or force that scoured Hycaron II of life, has destroyed all who went there. Through accident or intent, we believe that this force is now on Illaria, and threatens tens of millions of Imperial citizens. You are aware of the news brought from that world by traders and passenger ships, and that the planet is now classified as a Red Zone.
I can report that this steady trickle of news has now stopped and we have heard nothing for months.
Some adventurers foolhardy enough to go to Illaria report no activity or transmissions from the surface. Those that land do not return.
You and your team must go to Illaria and investigate what we are facing. Although your team will be primarily military in nature, you will need a strong scientific team to accompany you.
I am pleased to inform you that we have sourced science and logistical support from our friends at the Sansica Corporation. They have agreed to provide science personnel and equipment for the mission.
Your force will consist of four ships, the Nike Aegis, Nike Ajax, Nike Atlas, and the Nike Athena. Since your force must be highly mobile and able to defend itself, we will be provisioning the Nike Atlas with anti-grav APCs. We feel certain that with those assets, you will be able to deal with any situation that arises.
Commander Rhynhald, I thank you for accepting this assignment and look forward to appraising your team profile in due course...
-- Conrad D'Armigan, Office of Strategic Information, Candor.
This evil was made possible by nothing but the sanction we gave it.
Foolish was the counsel of non-intervention; to see the growing evil and do nothing, to see its crimes and do nothing, to see the lesser humans falling into the abyss and to do nothing.
I have gathered a meeting of certain Clan Mothers, those who recognise what needs to be done. I brought you here young clan sister because I know you are of a similar mind.
The waiting is at an end. We will confront this enemy once and for all. Too long, we have hidden in fear, uncertain of our future, and uncertain of our choices.
While Karaenia prefers to sing of lost glories with the songbirds, buffeted by the growing storm, you shall take flight into the wind and enter that storm. The harbingers of battle will prove to be an irresistible force.
Alisandra, take The Screaming Fist under my authority, take the weapons I have given you and expunge this cancer. I offer you this for the loss of your blood sister Kleneptra, a loss that will be avenged a thousand fold.
I regret that your sisters on The Silver Wheel and The Queen of Shadows are not with you, but they will see the honour of our purpose in time.
Be warned, there are those that will oppose you.
The Imperium is massing four engines of war in its mistaken belief that it can contain this situation. Do not hesitate, do not waver; if they oppose you, destroy them. Throw them aside and do not look back.
Remember the human collaborators, they are an even greater danger.
Finally, I cannot ignore your bloodline, but I know your heart is true. Some of your sisters will not understand, but they will in time.
Be brave Alisandra. This is our hour, when the stars will tremble beneath our feet once more. May the Dark Sister guard and protect you...
-- The Clan Mother Zylyra, to Alisandra ny Hybritta ny Karaenia, of the Lazloi merchant explorer, The Screaming Fist.
When they talk about the stench of death, you think of it as something putrid and sickening.
The smell of death on Illaria is something different.
It took the best part of a day to make the transit from the Nike Atlas to the surface. The commander took no chances when he set us adrift in our re-entry suits and parachuted payloads. We coasted in our armour for hours, listening to the silence of space and wondering what would greet us on the rapidly advancing surface.
You can recognise a rotten fruit by its colour. The lush and bright surface is pock marked with shades of brown and when it has gone far, marred by the slow colonisation of green and white spreading throughout its structure.
Where we expected fields and forests, there was grey. Where we expected oceans and lakes, a hazy murk. Even the clouds took on a dark and ominous hue. All this we could see from space as we hurtled into re-entry.
We landed at night in driving rain and storms, scattered by strong winds and lighting. Little wonder that the Sansica science team disappeared from our sensors, frakking civilians.
As dawn broke, a desolate scene out of a nightmare greeted us. The roads and surrounding terrain was coated with a grey sludge. There was not a tree, bird, animal, insect or blade of grass as far as the eye could see.
Mile upon mile we travelled, gathering up the members of our recon team. In that time, we saw no living thing of any kind.
The sun came out and soon baked the sludge into a hard shell that then broke up into dust. It pervaded everything clogging up engine vents and our suits with its dry, burning smell.
Our medic ran the dust through an analyser. It used to be organic matter, he said, the residue of degraded organic matter; grass, trees, bugs, worms, crops, cows, cotton, leather and humans.
It was what remained of every living thing, man, woman and child for miles around, broken down, reduced and destroyed. The remains of a whole civilisation had invaded our lungs and engines and now covered every inch of our bodies.
We've established a base in a spaceport freight yard and are investigating the outskirts of the nearby town. Obstructions and crashed vehicles have forced us to explore on foot. In homes and offices, we find the faint outlines of bodies and their clothes arranged around them. Our comms link is jammed by strange sounds, like the wailing and jabbering of lost souls. When we try and answer, the sound stops for a while, before resuming again.
One of my team is feeling ill, don't know if it's the smell or something else. Night's falling soon and that damn howling on the radio never frakking stops...
-- Mission log of Lieutenant Ara Mercator, Recon Group
-- Mission Clock: 16 hours, 23 minutes, 47 seconds
Aside from us, only the dead walk the streets of Illaria.
We find ourselves moving into the maintenance district of the main starport. Like the roads and trails that lead to the city, it is eerily silent. Gantries and cranes sit motionless, cargos and engine parts swinging slowly from the steadily rusting chains.
Before us lie many square miles of concrete, steel and refractory, pitted and scarred by decades of starships ferrying cargos and passengers, the essence of interstellar commerce.
For a moment, you can imagine the shouts of engineers and stevedores as they swarm around the ships, the great clouds of steam buffeted by the landing and takeoff of ships from every part of the subsector.
Each and every one of them is gone.
We are here to locate the source of an energy anomaly that the Nike Athena uncovered during its over watch of our mission. Its search for the Sansica Corporation science team has been fruitless. Instead it has found an enigma, but perhaps the first evidence that life still exists.
Communication is useless of course, the shrieks and jabbering continues to flood our radio channels; so we must explore the area for what we assume is a ship the old fashioned way.
Although we have night vision, we opted to stop at dusk and created an encampment in the shadow of one the vast fuel purification towers. It seemed superfluous to post guards in this place, until one of the motion trackers picked up the first dyybuk.
At first there was excitement, a survivor perhaps who could tell us what had happened. Our heat sensors told us otherwise. This thing looked like a human, and indeed its torn and bloodied body was once a person, but it had no body heat, no eyes or hands. It shambled towards us, stumbling over barrels and coiled cable, an occasional shriek coming from its head.
It never reached us.
Its blind path sent it careering into one of the many cooling lagoons where it disappeared without trace. The second appeared an hour later, a child perhaps since it clutched a doll in its left hand, its right arm largely missing.
It stood at the edge of the light cast by our headlights, its eyeless face turned towards us, the dark pit of its mouth open wide. Nobody moved for an hour as this thing that once was a child screamed at us.
Only as the sun began to rise again did it move away, stumbling slowly into the maze of warehouses and workshops we had explored hours earlier.
Now we know what the interference is on the radio. The dead are talking to us...
-- Mission log of Lieutenant Ara Mercator, Recon Group
-- Mission Clock: 25 hours, 17 minutes, 12 seconds
