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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.
One of our males died last night. The reason as always, was natural causes.
In spite of all our efforts, he passed away peacefully as we completed our repairs and made ready to depart from Illaria. While Kariyana observes the rites of remembrance, I must help to dispel any taint that could jeopardise our mission.
I am torn between ridding the world of the hive minds and completing the task that the Clan Mothers have given me. It was ill-fortune and overwhelming odds that stranded us here for so long, but I can be confident that the might of the Lazloi will be long remembered by the Imperial Navy.
On the planet below, we have watched the plight of the human soldiers with occasional interest. Our scouts found one of their primitive vehicles abandoned near the starport today. We are unable to determine if it has broken down or simply exhausted of energy. There were no signs of fighting, and we saw no bodies. For the moment at least, our imminent departure is the priority, so the matter must remain a mystery.
The death of our kindred can only be a portent of what is to come. Our race continues its slow death, paralysed by the timidity of Clan Mother Kyraenia and her Songbirds, fearful that these creatures are a proxy of the Creators, or worse still, the lieutenants of those that destroyed them.
It has fallen to us, the Gathering of Ravens, to seek out this enemy and destroy them by any means. If the disease cannot be cured or cut out, then we must isolate it, and we have the means to do it.
While we face a great darkness ahead of us, down in the hold of our ship lies the greatest darkness of all, handed down to us by our Creators. It is a daemon waiting to be unleashed. It is a reminder of our ancient power, an ancient anomaly held by the Clan Mothers should our need be desperate.
It is made of neither blue nor white, for those are the colours of our handiwork. This thing is made of black, the progeny of the Creators and our earliest mothers, a craft and a power we have long since lost.
It is an evil that should never have been made, and it is my destiny to use it.
-- Alisandra ny Hybritta ny Karaenia hept Zilaerion, commander of the Lazloi merchant cruiser, "The Screaming Fist"
The Envoy came unbidden and unwelcome to us.
A strange ship approached the borders of our worlds, broadcasting in our language and demanding our attention. The dialect was old and arcane, a metre and style we thought long forgotten in our history.
We approached in force but before we could engage, the ship launched a small lifeboat and abandoned it. We waited many hours before allowing the simulacra to board it.
It has been scanned minutely but we have found no transmitter, location device or weapon. Our telepaths have attempted to read it, but they tell me it is not entirely alive. Perhaps it is like our simulacra, an artificial being made for its own purpose.
Its message was simple, that we should step aside and allow the darkness to fall. I am sorry to say that our response was not unanimous.
Over the long years we have become tired and afraid. Our men folk come and go with increasing rapidity and there are fewer children in the nurseries. It would be easy to accede to its demands. There is great uncertainty now of the threat we thought we were facing. Is this thing a creature of the great Enemy, or just another evil that thrives in the absence of light?
One thing is certain, the mere presence of this envoy sows division and conflict amongst us, Clan sister against Clan sister, Blood sister against Blood sister. My actions already have brought us much bitterness.
That is in the past. As leader of the Gathering of Ravens, I cannot countenance any parley with the enemy, for it leads to compromise and fatal distraction. We were created to resist evil, not to serve it.
Standing by the shores of the great sea, refusing now to talk to us, the envoy is a sign that we are nearing the abyss. We must assume that our long cherished isolation is betrayed, and that the darkness is drawing around us.
It is as though the stars are holding their breath, waiting for the first sounds of battle.
-- The Clan Mother Zylyra, leader of the Gathering of Ravens
One thing I have learned about humans over the years is their willingness to kill and torment their own kind.
When humans are so inclined and predisposed to violence, they form bands and gangs to prey on the weak and innocent. Where the law is weak or unwilling to take action, these gangs flourish and act with impunity.
No more so than on the edge of civilised space, where the regular forces of the marines and navy are seldom seen. The Candor sub-sector is one such frontier, joined to the main body of the Imperium by a thin tendril of stars, a slender route across two star systems. It is also a place of growing uncertainty and fear.
The waves of refugees from Illaria and the silence that followed, with the apparent routing of four Imperial cruisers by a single Lazloi merchant fuel the growing sense of foreboding.
Like flies attracted to dying flesh, it was inevitable that the band of cutthroats and renegades I have attached to would be drawn across that narrow road to take the easy pickings of desperate families and lone travellers. Temporary communities and townships where nobody knows or cares about each other are full of small valuables and a rich hunting ground for slavers and kidnappers.
Soon our large stock of cryogenic low berths will be full and our captain will make haste to the flesh markets of Acaphone VII and Seven Sisters. Those unfortunates that survive the trip will fetch a good price and live a wretched future.
While we await some supplies and fuel, the captain lets the crew play with the less valuable meats on offer. He seldom keeps anything for himself and few of them last long.
That is another thing I have noticed about humans. The abused and tormented when given the chance, are just as cruel and barbaric as those that own them.
The captain's squeeze took great pleasure in the plight of the Treem we robbed today, laughing at their tears and pleads for mercy. Once a victim and a slave, she is no better than the other misfits that inhabit our stinking craft.
You wonder why I hang around with these dregs, these abusers, torturers and killers?
They are my kind of people.
-- Aenrra Fourrg, Vargr, aboard the pirate ship "Lovely Lola".
I have tried to make my alliances those of mutual self interest, motivated by achievement and the noble goal of profit.
That philosophy served me well over the years, growing the value of the company and earning the respect and fear of others.
Yet there is one alliance made years ago that is not balanced nor equitable. It is a bond that has driven me into a darkness I can never escape. It was made not in the light of logic, thought or rationality, but out of a love that has been turned to hate.
In that searing cauldron of betrayal, in that moment where I lusted for revenge, I was vulnerable and weak. It was then that my associates chose to act.
I was arrogant in my power and believed they were my equals. The demands they made seemed small, and rewards I accrued large and substantial. I would buy an asset or company, hire a particular person, or speak to a certain politician. Each thing in its own way was of no significance, yet in retrospect, part of a larger plan.
It was only after some twenty years that I learned my error, thinking that I could refuse them or walk away from our agreement.
They assigned me a guardian under the pretext of greater cooperation, a shadowy figure that kept to itself, preferring the dark places below my home at the Sansica Corporation. At first it was content to occupy a single room, but later it demanded more space, and the lower levels became a place of horror. Its demands became more bizarre and grotesque, first animals and then humans, both as food and as sacrifice.
I suspect it to be telepathic, for when news arrived that a Lazloi speedster had been disabled on the surface of Hycaron II, it insisted that we go there immediately. I also sensed its thrill when it became clear, the nature of the prize we had found. It no doubt sensed my shock when I saw a face I had not seen for fifty years, the young sister of a Lazloi I had once loved, and who I had grown to hate.
The years have made my mission of revenge, dull and blunted. Even so, my thoughts of harm were nothing compared to the gloating anticipation of my guardian. Kleneptra whirled around to confront us, a shadow of fear crossing her face. Her stance was of defiance, outlined by the snarling glow of her personal shield. She moved with inhuman grace as lines of force formed blades and knives from her arms and fingers.
My soldiers backed away in fear, their shots glancing harmlessly off her shields. The guardian had no such concern, stepping forward purposely to meet her. To outward appearances, it could only be a fight to the death, but I could sense that the guardian had other plans.
-- Karl Wolmark, CEO of the Sansica Corporation.
Don't believe all that crap they put out on the tree-dee channels about war heroes and heroines, killing the bad guys and going home to their family. I've seen and heard enough of that stuff already.
You know what somebody's insides smells like? You know what to do when your buddy's screaming her lungs out, 'cos she's just realised both her frakking legs have been blown off. You ever been lying in a pool of mud and frakking blood, guts and brains in your face and down your throat?
That hero crap makes me frakking sick. Those frakking armchair generals make me sick too.
I think they call the Battle for Riley's Bluff a minor reversal, a tactical error. I call it a frakking screw up. We were pinned down, no frakking support, low on ammo, hundreds of men and women going through the grinder.
Contrary to what they say, there ain't many women in the infantry, not unless we're talking powered armour. Like it or not we're not as strong, but we're everywhere else, so we do the dying and killing just like the boys, and we did plenty of dying that day.
Don't ask me much about what happened, 'cept I was screaming frakking crazy afterwards. Kinda funny, 'cos apart from this scar on my arm, I was fine. What can I say, I couldn't frakking hold it together.
Mustered out and went home, but I was pretty tough to be around. I wasn't Daddies soldier girl. Jobs didn't work out either, couldn't pay the rent. Drifted into Star Town, odd jobs mostly, hired gun. Think they liked having that 'crazy bitch' around.
Kept making the wrong decisions I guess, maybe I was too crazy, even for them. I was out on the street then, no money, just a gun and a few bullets. You know I kept a special bullet for myself. Could've worked the street, had a pretty face I guess, but I had too much pride for that.
I was starving then, looking through bins, getting weaker. That's when they jumped me, probably just kids, took my gun and pushed me into the road.
There I was, lying in the gutter, rain on my face. I just wanted to die; I wanted it all to end. I looked down that tunnel and there was no frakking light there.
So this face came out of nowhere and a hand pulled me on to my feet. She had these blue eyes that cut through it all; looking at me, knowing and understanding everything. Told me she was going to a bad place, a really bad place, and needed someone that had already been there.
I guess I was mesmerised, I thought the whole universe turned around her. She clothed me and fed me, gave me back my gun; gave me back my mind.
One day, sitting in a diner, she put a bullet down on the table, not any bullet, my special bullet. I dunno how she got it. She looked at me with those eyes and told me to make a choice. I chambered the round and took the gun outside, fired it into the ground.
See this picture, this is the first picture Siandyha took of me; I think we were already in love, we just didn't realise it yet. It was my first day on the Thunderbolt and I felt so nervous, thought I would frak it all up.
So don't you go looking at me like I'm some kinda victim, I went to hell and came back on my own. Siandyha just showed me the way.
And yes, I love her; I would die for her.
-- Tara Alessia, Security Officer of the Thunderbolt.
The outsiders think of us as a single race, unified and with single purpose. Perhaps it was so in the time of the Creators, but after their fall and our own ascendance, we have always been riven by loyalties of clan, family and politics.
For each of our goddesses, the founding mothers of the Lazloi race, there is a clan to whom we ultimately owe our allegiance. Twelve goddesses means there are twelve such clans, each with a Clan Mother, the oldest and wisest of our people. They form the ruling council that makes the decisions that control our worlds.
Since our loyalties lie with a clan mother, it is only natural that clan sisters work together, forming companies, crews and friendships.
You would think that an external threat would unify us, but instead it has reinforced the struggle between two great factions in the ruling council. The first are the non-interventionists who seek to distance us from the outside. They turn inward and mourn the glories of the past, accepting our decline with resignation. They are known as the Aeryloi, the Songbirds, and are led by the Clan Mother Kyraenia.
The new and growing faction looks outwards, unwilling to hide amongst the dark nebulae that separate us from the rest of the galaxy. They are restless and seek to confront the universe once more. They are driven by our great achievements and see our power as a tool to be wielded. They are known as the Rafnloi, the Ravens. The Clan Mother Zylyra leads them.
There is one more grouping amongst the Lazloi, but this group transcends boundaries of clan, family or politics. It is the Elkyndloi na Mor, 'the girl children alone', those Lazloi born in the last thirty two standard years, born after the last successful birth of a male child. Since then, no male child has survived to term.
My sisters and I, mere infants by the standards of our race, are the oldest of the Elkyndloi na Mor.
In earlier times, my friend Sylenia, daughter of Kleneptra hept Zilaerion might have spurned me, for Aeryloi and Rafnloi rarely mix. Now we live in strange and uncertain times, and the old traditions are breaking down.
We look upwards in awe as the first of our great warships moves into the sky, the first time that they have done so for many years. News has reached us that one of our ships has been attacked by the Imperium, an affront that the Aeryloi would have raged at, a crime that has ignited the white hot fury of the Rafnloi.
Meanwhile, our scientists have detected a strange disturbance in a distant rift known by some as the Tiesian Gap, the first sign that the enemy is on the move.
We are the last of our kind. In a few years, there will be no male Lazloi and our race will be finished. I see these fearsome engines of war filling the sky and wonder if this is merely our dying gasp, or the prelude to our finest hour, a chance of salvation.
-- Arborella ny Klarena ny Petra hept Yyglarien
Jaimila was the first to notice the faint breeze.
The gravimetric sensors had been showing some strange readings for hours. Sometimes they would tell me that the shaft below us was only a mile deep. Moments later, it would pitch downwards into infinity.
The Captain had other worries on her mind. Cecila Siccorra had been bugging her about the increasing number of malfunctions on the ship. We were weeks away from any kind of starport or repair facility, so any concerns I had were low on her list of priorities.
It was only when the whisper became a gale and the first cracks appeared in the megastructure that we realised our danger.
It was as though we were running into a hurricane when we staggered into the airlock and the relative calm of the Thundebolt. On the bridge, the Captain and Siccorra looked dumbfounded at the banks of red lights filling the control boards.
Looking out of the windows, we could see the megastructure opening up like a flower, sending mile high sections into the boiling sky. Every sensor at my disposal was off the scale, recording wild fluctuations of electrical, magnetic and gravitic force.
Some two hours later, the whole ship shuddered as a pillar of light shot into the sky. Across the boards, red lights turned to green as the Thundebolt awoke from its unconsciousness. For a moment, there was complete silence.
The Captain slumped unsteadily against Alessia and had to be helped to a chair. For a moment, I thought she would pass out. "They're coming", she murmured, before closing her eyes.
Moments later, a grotesque form many miles across began to emerge from the pit. It rose slowly into the air, surrounded by filaments of fire and plasma. Swarms of smaller forms swirled around it, tending and protecting it.
The behemoth jacked itself higher into the sky, a vast craft supported on glowing jets of fire. Behind me, the Captain had started babbling again, but this time she was fearful telling unheard voices to stop.
It took Alessia's shouts to break our frozen indecision. Siccorra jumped across into the Captain's chair and under her flying fingers, the Thundebolt sprung to life. The fusion drives were ignited at low altitude sending us high into the sky.
The comms speakers crackled into life and a strange guttural sound filled the bridge. Behind us, a pack of smaller craft detached from the swarm and moved into pursuit. Thundebolt is a very fast ship by commercial standards, but it was not going to outrun these craft in time to jump at a hundred planetary diameters. In spite of that, Alessia gave the order to power up the jump drive.
In a large void previously occupied by our fusion power plant, a truck sized construction of white and blue metal began emitting torrents of power, feeding the fusion drives and the voracious demands of the jump drive. It had saved us on many occasions by freeing us from the demands of gas giant refueling. I hoped that it would save us now.
The Captain had come here in search of something and that something had found us. Looking down into the maw that had opened below us, I could see stars and nebulae, a door through the planet into another place.
-- Cyana Bristo, former scientist with the Imperial Scout Service
If I was being honest with myself, I hoped that Kleneptra would prevail that day.
How different events would have been in the months that followed, how different my life would have been.
I watched her delicate dance, fascinated by the shards of force that in an instant became knives and blades. I marvelled at the soft glow that sparked and growled under the bullets of my guards, believing that even against the Guardian, she would be invulnerable.
It was a distraction of course; the Guardian had melted away as is his want, only to return as reanimated flesh, the near naked corpse of a soldier. He stumbled slightly as though adjusting new shoes or clothing, moving until the new body became comfortable.
As the last of soldiers scurried back to my side, I knew that the Guardian was ready.
The conversation between the Guardian and Kleneptra was brief, an interchange between implacable foes, one for which there was no room for compromise.
I felt sick in my stomach when the Guardian's first blow hit its mark, surprised as much as Kleneptra at the ease of which her shield had fallen. I expected Kleneptra to get up but I saw a great weariness cross her face, a fatigue that I had seen earlier. I had thought this to be a fight between equals.
It was then that I witnessed the first crime I had sensed in the Guardian's mind, a perverted crime made worse by its casual brutality and senselessness, a continuation of the attack by other means.
On the ridge to our left, a woman shrieked obscenities towards us, understandable given the nature of what unfolded before her. It was the last survivor of the reconnaissance team, the woman that Kleneptra had been defending.
I had thought to send my soldiers to detain our distant witness, but the Guardian had other orders. This was the other crime I had felt coursing through the Guardian's mind. Despite my protestations, he ordered that Kleneptra be slung from metalwork near the old mercenary encampment, a sharp edged and rusting structure that radiated the heat of the unforgiving sun.
I had seen the aftermath of such crimes in the catacombs beneath the Sansica offices on Candor, but never seen them enacted before me. Over all the years that I have served my associates, my conscious mind had somehow managed to ignore these monstrous acts. I had rationalised them in some way as acts of madness or expediency. Likewise, my ears had filtered out the shrieks of pain and terror.
Not so today.
Now I can only see my associates for what they are, a culture that encapsulates all that is evil, that worships cruelty for its own sake, a race that feeds on the light.
While Kleneptra's naked body shimmered in the baking heat, Mackie was brought before us. She knelt in front of the crucified form and cried. It took all of my will not to betray my own thoughts; if the Lazloi were so easily defeated, there was nothing to stand in the way.
It was a relief and a surprise when the Guardian announced his departure. He would not be accompanying us back to Candor after all; he had business with his own kind. We would take the Lazloi speedster and this prisoner back with us, leaving this crime behind us as a warning to any that opposed us.
I felt both sick and strangely elated. Never has the Guardian left my side in all these years, perhaps this would be a chance for me redeem myself before the end.
-- Karl Wolmark, CEO of the Sansica Corporation.
