Difference between revisions of "Gjallarhorn"
(Created page with "File:JeffBrown_HISTORYSPLASH_s.png") |
|||
| Line 1: | Line 1: | ||
[[File:JeffBrown_HISTORYSPLASH_s.png]] | [[File:JeffBrown_HISTORYSPLASH_s.png]] | ||
| + | |||
| + | |||
| + | == Gjallarhorn == | ||
| + | |||
| + | The lone moon of Bifrost was never a lush paradise, even at its best. The gigantic, ancient machines the settlers brought with them did much to make the moon habitable, but records say it was still expected to be multiple generations before their work would be considered complete. And then the Scream came. The atmosphere machines, along with almost all other forms of technology on Gjallarhorn, slowly decayed and ceased existing for practical purposes. Within a century a unified, prosperous world of deep bore miners, refineries, and farmers had been reduced to a scattering of warring Princedoms--barely surviving as their sword-wielding armsmen clashed over the rapidly diminishing fertile valleys and accessible surface mineral deposits. The people of the planet devolved into classes: The citizen-serfs, huddling in windswept cold valleys where shallow seas once flowed, and their "protectors", self-proclaimed nobility living in the ruins of ancient outposts in the thinning air of the highlands. | ||
| + | |||
| + | Life on Gjallarhorn was hard and unforgiving, and it forged its people into a dour and serious-minded lot. They knew there were other humans on the planet below them, but it mattered so little in the grand scheme of things that these other people may as well of been mythical creatures: being living in a lush world of dark forests and glistening seas, while the people of Gjallarhorn spilled blood over drops of water. This attitude did not serve them well when contact was re-established, once Bifrost regained the trust of the Angels and advanced their spacefaring to the point they could land on the dusty rock orbiting their home. | ||
| + | |||
| + | The nobles who met the first visitors from the sky were not amused by the perception of having their absolute authority challenged by god-like spacemen. As such, they decided to make an example of these "intruders." To ensure that the serfs witnessing these travelers knew they were mortals, whose lives were owned by the nobility on whose soil they stood, just like any other, the unarmed, peaceful crew of the lander were immediately attacked by the armsmen of the Prince. Over half died within seconds, while the few survivors were taken hostage and imprisoned. Thus began two years of steadily more tense negotiations, held via captured communicator between the increasingly unhinged Prince and an increasingly frustrated government of Bifrost. Things finally reached a head, when in a fit of pique, the Prince broadcasted the sounds of his men torturing and executing his "guests." Deciding that the only merciful thing to do at that point was to spare the remaining crew their horrible fate, the furious mission commander orbiting above Gjallarhorn gave clearance to enact the final contingency. The screams of the dying were instantly silenced moments later, the ancient familial edifice under which they were being tortured vanishing in a flash of light and the thundering roar of the impact of a building-sized chunk of rock nudged out of orbit by one of Bifrost's ships. With no more hostages to protect, things moved quickly. Swords and strong arms provided little threat to fully automatic weapons supported by orbiting ships. The nobility rapidly realized the gravity of their situation and yielded, leading to the last few decades of awkward peace. | ||
Revision as of 17:04, 3 May 2020
Gjallarhorn
The lone moon of Bifrost was never a lush paradise, even at its best. The gigantic, ancient machines the settlers brought with them did much to make the moon habitable, but records say it was still expected to be multiple generations before their work would be considered complete. And then the Scream came. The atmosphere machines, along with almost all other forms of technology on Gjallarhorn, slowly decayed and ceased existing for practical purposes. Within a century a unified, prosperous world of deep bore miners, refineries, and farmers had been reduced to a scattering of warring Princedoms--barely surviving as their sword-wielding armsmen clashed over the rapidly diminishing fertile valleys and accessible surface mineral deposits. The people of the planet devolved into classes: The citizen-serfs, huddling in windswept cold valleys where shallow seas once flowed, and their "protectors", self-proclaimed nobility living in the ruins of ancient outposts in the thinning air of the highlands.
Life on Gjallarhorn was hard and unforgiving, and it forged its people into a dour and serious-minded lot. They knew there were other humans on the planet below them, but it mattered so little in the grand scheme of things that these other people may as well of been mythical creatures: being living in a lush world of dark forests and glistening seas, while the people of Gjallarhorn spilled blood over drops of water. This attitude did not serve them well when contact was re-established, once Bifrost regained the trust of the Angels and advanced their spacefaring to the point they could land on the dusty rock orbiting their home.
The nobles who met the first visitors from the sky were not amused by the perception of having their absolute authority challenged by god-like spacemen. As such, they decided to make an example of these "intruders." To ensure that the serfs witnessing these travelers knew they were mortals, whose lives were owned by the nobility on whose soil they stood, just like any other, the unarmed, peaceful crew of the lander were immediately attacked by the armsmen of the Prince. Over half died within seconds, while the few survivors were taken hostage and imprisoned. Thus began two years of steadily more tense negotiations, held via captured communicator between the increasingly unhinged Prince and an increasingly frustrated government of Bifrost. Things finally reached a head, when in a fit of pique, the Prince broadcasted the sounds of his men torturing and executing his "guests." Deciding that the only merciful thing to do at that point was to spare the remaining crew their horrible fate, the furious mission commander orbiting above Gjallarhorn gave clearance to enact the final contingency. The screams of the dying were instantly silenced moments later, the ancient familial edifice under which they were being tortured vanishing in a flash of light and the thundering roar of the impact of a building-sized chunk of rock nudged out of orbit by one of Bifrost's ships. With no more hostages to protect, things moved quickly. Swords and strong arms provided little threat to fully automatic weapons supported by orbiting ships. The nobility rapidly realized the gravity of their situation and yielded, leading to the last few decades of awkward peace.
