Constable Betham

As Dabid moves to help Mon'Fargret to his seat, sirens can already be heard approaching from outside. It isn't long before a stern-looking Hergoth peace officer is eying Granite Spear warily through the clear door.

"'Scuse me, there," says Wirg, and he walks around the Shurian and opens the door. "They're gone, Constable!" he cries to the peace officer, who comes into the cafe flanked by a couple more, their eyes fixed on Granite Spear. "You're too late!"

"What happened, Wirg?" asks the Constable levelly. "There was a shooting?"

Wirg points. "One of 'em blasted the floor, damn it all! Nasty gun, though! Looks like the kid got pretty burned!"

"Geishana acolytes are on the way," retorts the Constable, approaching the scene. Then he sees the gang and stops short. There are a couple of seconds of hard-stared frost between the officers and the youths before the Constable says, "Blues! By the Entity! You're a bit far from your neighborhood, aren't you? This is Ekr'im, not Gastra!"

"Flaming collaborator!" spits one of the boys.

"Collaborator?" echoes the constable, taking another step closer. "Who's a collaborator?"

"We can smell the shit on your breath," hisses the leader, "from kissing Yangae asses!"

The Constable makes a Hergoth gesture of annoyance. "Boys, get it through your heads one of these days! The Occupation is over! It ended before you were born! This is an Ergothei world! The Foldorian residents on this planet are Ergothei citizens just like you! You're the ones making things..."

"Not Foldorians!" counters the leader. "I got no twist with Foldorians! It's Yangae poison!"

The Constable sighs. "Yangae and Foldorians are the same r..."

"They're NOT the same!" The gang leader tries to squirm out from under Adulie and Zeton. "Blood maybe, but not soul! Look at him!" He gestures toward Mon'Fargret. "He's a Foldorian! I can respect that as long as he respects our game! The guy who did this," he gestures at the smoking hole in the floor, "is a Yangae! He's got the poison!"

"Look," retorts the Constable. "It's bad enough you guys are trying to throw Gastra all to chaos. You don't need to be coming here and..."

"We KNOW the poison is here!" The leader struggles to his feet, fire in his eyes. "We were sent, and we found it! The poison is in this polluted Yangae soul!"

"Who sent you?" counters the Constable levelly. The boys go silent, looking at the floor, but the Constable smirks. "I don't suppose you'd care to explain who 'The Cleaner' is, would you?"

Some of the boys swear under their breath, and the leader says, "It doesn't matter, does it? We know the poison is here. We know because he does! You can hide behind your shiny, gold badge and your flaming 'peace and harmony' kĕl'wak, but we know it's here. We're gonna find it, too!"

"Unless someone aims a little bit higher?" counters the Constable, gesturing at the hole. "I don't think I need to tell you. By the looks of it it was a Foldorian pulse-baffler, probably a Fakliss KV 3 or 4. It's a very expensive gun, and it's a nasty piece of hardware. He fired only one pulse, and he aimed at that spot just to mess you up. If he'd actually shot you I'd be putting your head and feet in different bags. This was a message, boys. I suggest you read it."

"Flame you!" spits one of the boys.

"Yeah, we're not ducking the path for anything!" says another self-importantly.

"Get it through your lobes, watch," snarls the leader. "We're gonna find the poison, and we're gonna clean it up! If we don't, we're gonna all be kissing pretty Yangae asses again just like you!"

The "acolytes" (Hergoth paramedics) come walking in. The gang leader greets them with a huff but offers no further complaint or resistance.

The Constable (known well by most of you as Constable Betham) says loudly, "Alright, I'm going to need statements from everyone here, so remain on the premises! Just make yourselves comfortable! If any of you are in need of medical attention, the acolytes will help you in turn!" Then he sighs and heads over to the other side of the cafe. "Mon'Fargret," he says semi-pleasantly in Yangae. "How surprised I am to see you here! I got your call, but Wirg called me just a little bit quicker. What happened here?"

Unexpected Company

Betchmat the Fasion makes his way to the front counter. Wirg goes over and meets him there.

"That'll be it for today?" asks the Bolgan in his husky tenor.

"Obviously," snaps Betchmat, holding up his credit chit.

"Right, then," replies Wirg, and he accepts the chit.

"You know, my friends, I think it's time I said goodbye for the afternoon, too!" cries Weather Nose, raising his somewhat bulky form from his barstool and stretching as conspicuously as possible. "Look outside, my friends! The clouds are coming in! I'd like to get a bit of sun before it starts getting all wet again!" He stomps his way toward the front counter a bit unsteadily, calling hearty farewells to everyone he sees.

His transaction finished, Betchmat grabs his chit and hustles out as fast as his stunted legs can carry him.

"Well, how about that?" guffaws Weather Nose. "He didn't even let me say goodbye! Fasions!" His pink paunch, protruding from his traditional Bo-San vest, is still jiggling with mirth as he hands his chit to Wirg, who says nothing. Then the door jingles again. Anticipating another merry soul on which to bestow his ale-fed cheer, Weather Nose turns around...and stops short.

"Oh..." is all he says.

"Is there a problem?" asks a youthful-sounding, masculine voice in Her-Galad. The question has a clear edge. It is meant as a challenge.

Weather Nose grimaces and replies pointedly in Yangae, "If there is, I'm not the one responsible!" He puts his hands behind him but assumes a martial stance.

The newcomers, apparently not interested in the massive Alkan, dismiss him with a sneer as they file past. There are five of them, all young Hergoth males. Their dress and attitude show them to be rather less than Mul'ein's best. There is defiance in their eyes as well as a certain telltale glassiness; most likely they indulged in a bit too much tar'go tea before coming. Swaggering into the cafe, they glance around at its occupants with apparent surprise. Then they share a glance and, most likely, some silent conversation. A decision is made, and they move the two empty tables in the center of the room together and seat themselves. Then they start throwing baleful stares at the loyalists, Mon'Fargret, the other three Foldorians, and Dabid.

Adulie approaches them with a stack of menus.

"We receive you with grace and humility," she says in her melodic High Speech. "Would you prefer Her-Galad menus?"

The gang look at her as if they've seen a manifestation of Gôth his/herself.

"You have Her-Galad menus?" asks one of them.

"Absolutely!" replies Adulie musically. "How would you start your repast, with 'eager water' or 'common herb tea'?"

"Common herb tea," replies the same boy, whose mannerisms suggest he may be the leader of the group. As Adulie moves away they erupt into a chorus of low mutterings among themselves.

Soon Adulie returns with the tea. With a polite, ritualistic uttering, she begins placing the cups in front of them. But then all at once the leader of the gang grabs her arm and growls, "Why in the Flames are you talkin' priestly?"

Adulie gasps but keeps her cool. "That's the way of speech in the place where I grew up, sir!"

"What, you raised in a temple?"

"No, sir. I was raised on Yurinova!"

There are some hisses of surprise and annoyance among the gang members. Then the leader spits, "You, a Herinov? Not Hergoth, not a dark-Sarkon or a gold-skin, but still...a Herinov?" He huffs. "Then what are you doing here taking work away from the real Hergoth, anyway?" He releases her and snatches up his tea cup irritably.

Clearly stung, Adulie turns and hurries back into the kitchen.

The leader of the gang sips his tea and then eyes it thoughtfully. All at once he bangs the cup down on the table, jumps up, and whirls to face the three Foldorians sitting behind him. The other members of the gang follow suit.

"What's the matter, Yangs," he snarls in Yangae, "don't you like us?"

The three Foldorians pause, look at each other, and immediately gather themselves up to leave.

"Good, then," adds the gang leader in Yangae. Then he switches to Her-Galad and says, "Go on! Clear out o' here! Go on back to your stinking ci-vi-li-za-tion! We don't need you here!" He punctuates his last sentence with a spit in their direction as they leave. Then he turns to the loyalist couple and eyes them thoughtfully.

To the loyalist man he says in Yangae, "I can't read you. Not at all. Odd. I don't like it." Then he eyes the woman and says, "You're afraid!"

Her eyes widen in horror and she drops her fork. The utensil clatters noisily to the floor.

"You're afraid!" says the gang leader again. Then his mouth widens into a grin. "Very good! Be afraid, then! Be very afraid!"

Then his eyes move again and level on Mon'Fargret. "You're different," he says. Switching to Her-Galad, he says, "You don't like what I am, but you don't seem to mind who I am. You understand me, don't you, Foldorian? Can we be friends now?"

Pub Talk...Oh, How Profound!

Pt. I: The Little Hooded Guy
[I will assume that Zeton makes his remark to Mon'Fargret and returns to the other table as Nekshi is speaking to the "little hooded guy".]

At first the little creature draws back in either discomfort or annoyance when Nekshi turns toward it, but it seems to relax in response to the question.

It's reply, however, is singularly odd.

Nekshi, Zeton, Widjgleeby, and even Granite Spear could swear that all they hear with their ears (or skin) is a weird croaking sound. However, in their minds they all "hear" perhaps slightly different versions of the following:

ml'a h'uwan-x'êfumâ

Granite Spear's translator/com beeps. A text translation has been provided...as well as identification of the language!

(I assume Widjgleeby's translator is switched off since all the conversation so far has been in languages she speaks fluently.)

As the creature looks up, its face becomes a little more visible. It looks rather like a large frog. (Of course, Zeton is the only one of your characters with any idea what a "frog" is.)

The creature regards the party blankly with its luminous, unblinking eyes, and then it starts to fiddle with something under its cloak.

Part II: Welcome to Bar Tawk



Mon'Fargret stands up but doesn't have to go very far because Uskua is already returning with part of the party's order. Basically, she has a small, individualized pot of tar'go tea for Zeton, a Farbett-sized mug of what smells like Foldorian tea for Widjgleeby, and two smaller cups of the same brew for Mon'Fargret and Dabid. She also has what looks like a Hergoth-style appetizer plate (raw veggies and nuts) and a dish containing what she says is a sample of the local unba fungus for Widjgleeby to try, compliments of Wirg.

Striking up a conversation with Uskua proves to be very easy. Her manners need a lot of work (which doesn't seem surprising considering her rather wild appearance and demeanor), but she seems eager to talk and almost surprised by the attention. Wirg himself throws a word or two into the conversation as well, apparently flattered by Mon'Fargret's curiosity about his wares. Adulie, however, continues to go about her tasks pensively, doing her best to keep her back to the holovid.

The loyalist couple and Weather Nose are very enthusiastically wrapped up in the Talent Round-Up showing on the holovid, loudly commenting to each other about each performance and the judges' responses. The other people in the club seem to be watching the show as well with varying levels of interest.

"How did I come to be here?" says Uskua in reply to the question which Mon'Fargret eventually drops. The corners of her mouth draw back. "I'd call it either the will of the Entity or just good luck." She has an interesting, hissing chuckle. The she becomes more serious, even grave. "No, really, I was lucky. Most Ilfroi don't have it so well, you know. I can tell you this, though: we're a lot better off now than when my parents were little. No offense." She throws a quick look at the loyalists, tosses her nose at Mon'Fargret, and then struts back to the kitchen.

"This is all so ridiculous," blurts out the one Fasion in the cafe irritably. He gestures with a stunted hand toward the holovid. "It's so obviously fixed!"

"Oh, it is not!" retorts the loyalist girl. "Watch! They've been giving good marks to Foldorians, Hergoth, Besteengs, Bol..."

"I have been watching!" the Fasion shoots back angrily. "I've seen the marks! But I've also been keeping track of statistics."

Weather Nose and the loyalists wave off the Fasion and turn back to the holovid.

A Zanthi sitting near the Fasion asks him a question in Fasion Dialect. The Fasion's reply is quite animated, though those members of the party who hear it can't understand a word of it.

Lunch at Wirg's

Wirg's Cafe & Bar is near Danstul' Park in Ekr'in District. A little off the beaten track and well within ex-pat country, it tends to attract a small, regular clientèle rather than the crowds that come to visit the nearby "Artists' Square" plaza. Patron and customers alike prefer it that way. It is not a fancy place by any means, though its signs written in the Yangae language do stand out among the sea of Her-Galad and Brekka (and possibly serve as an unwitting deterrent to the Hergoth crowds at the Square, who probably mistake it for a loyalist hangout). The massive and heavy main entrance, designed with Farbetts in mind, also catches the eye. Wirg has always done his best to cater to the ex-pat community in Ekr'in, providing both furnishings and wares that offer at least a substantial percentage of his varied clientèle a much-valued taste of home.

Nekshi likes it because it serves genuine, Zorlan-style kifra. Not many places get it right.

The crowd at Wirg's is its typically colorful montage when Nekshi, Granite Spear, and Zeton meet Widjgleeby there for lunch. The largest ethnic group to be found there at the moment is Foldorians, which seems ironic since Wirg himself is a Bolgan who fled slavery in the Empire years ago. However, the very nature of Ekr'in District, particularly in the vicinity of Danstul' Park, would seem to be a buffer against any traditional bigotry.

One of the Foldorians there is immediately recognized by Nekshi as Mon'Fargret, a local artist she has met before who is surprisingly of the Manager caste (but doesn't seem to like to discuss it). He is there with his business/artistic partner, an Annuitis named Dabid. Some quick greetings and introductions are exchanged, and it turns out Mon'Fargret and Zeton know each other indirectly but have never really met. Soon the party are sitting at adjoining tables and talking.

Zeton has been here before but isn't really a regular. Still, some of the faces there are definitely familiar. And that tall, blond-haired waitress...he remembers her well because he'd found her so intriguing last time he was there. She was clearly of one of the many post-Sarkon races, but which one? He starts discussing it quietly with Nekshi. Sarkon? No, her face isn't round enough. She's too fair complected to be either Dranazar or Ehrlathagi. Besteeng? No, too graceful and elegant. Nokfarri? No, too feminine. Zentrifiues? Maybe, but...she doesn't seem like the type. Obledaic? Possibly, but... Hmm. Definitely intriguing.

The other waitress, a blue-skinned, tiger-striped humanoid with an almost bestial demeanor (an Ilfroi, who are an Ergothei protectorate, and Nekshi recalls her name is Uskua) slinks up to the table and takes the party's order. Zeton is almost disappointed, but he doesn't show it much.

Just as Uskua starts to double-check the party's orders she is interrupted by a bit of commotion over at the counter.

"Enough already!" growls Weather Nose, a rather loud Alkan who is well known in these parts, in heavily-accented Yangae. He bangs down his mug of ale and adds, "Why are we watching this sand, anyway? Isn't there anything else on?"

"Not really," grunts Wirg in his husky tenor, swaggering toward the holovid. "The cables're still down."

"Still?!?" Weather Nose makes a sort of growl and bangs his palms on the counter. "What is wrong with this place?"

Uskua sighs. "Here we go again," she says quietly, giving the party an annoyed look.

"There's a war on, 'member?" retorts Wirg. "N' we're out'n the middle o' nowhere, right? When everythin's down, everythin's down. That's it. All we can do's wait for 'em to clear the channels again, right? Till then all we got's the local news...n' the Temple channel."

There are some snickers. Weather Nose splutters, "No, thank you. I get enough...how you say...spirit stuff...to make me want to hurl my spirit anytime I try to go anywhere or do anything on this damned rock. Damned Hergs..."

The place goes noticeably silent for a few heartbeats. More than one pair of eyes shifts toward Zeton just to make sure.

"Now, now," calls an unfamiliar, rowdy-looking Foldorian woman sweetly from where she is sitting with her similarly-dressed boyfriend. "You can't really blame the Hergoth. They are what they are. And only because Emperor Ty'Klemmo allowed them to be."

There are at least three other Foldorians in the cafe including Mon'Fargret, and all of them are clearly surprised at such open disrespect. Even disturbed. Dabid lets a low whistle escape his lips.

"Oh, no! Did I offend?" asks the girl, glancing around as her boyfriend snickers. "I keep forgetting! Forgive me!" Glancing at Mon'Fargret, she adds with a curt bow, "Especially you, my lord! I meant no disrespect to His Imperial Eminence, may His wisdom guide us all!" Turning back to her boyfriend, she shares a chortle with him.

After a tense pause, Weather Nose raps his knuckles on the counter and says, "Whatever. I don't really care whose wisdom guides who around here. All I know is that I don't want to spend my time watching...watching...little grade schoolers dancing, or...or that touchy-feely spirit baska!"

There are a few scattered chuckles or murmurs of assent.

"Wait," says the rowdy-looking Foldorian girl. "Wait! What about the Free Channel?"

The Free Channel! That new, local channel set up by Yangae loyalists! Much if not most of the population of Ekr'in District if not of Mul'ein does their best to avoid it. After all, it's nothing but Yangae propaganda and...

"The Talent Round-Up!" the girl goes on. "I think it's on now! Why don't you put it on?"

"I thought that was on at night," spits Weather Nose.

"The edited repeat is on at night," corrects the girl. "The unedited original plays live during the day!"

"What's the Talent Round-Up?" asks Widjgleeby.

"A sign the end is near," sighs Dabid, leaning on his elbow.

Mon'Fargret glares at his friend and then explains. It's a new program recently started by the Free Channel. It's essentially an open talent contest. Anyone can enter. It is currently in the first round, which is the weeding-out phase. Two panel judges plus one unseen judge (rumored to be a Noble) watch the performances, and only those accepted by all three are allowed to pass on to the next round. Eventually there will be a championship, and the winner will be given a chance to become a pro. Also, some of the losers are given a Second Chance pass, which allows them to perform at one of the most high-brow night clubs in Mul'ein.

The show is already a smash hit among the Yangae, and it also seems to be catching on more and more among the Hergoth. It is certainly getting a lot of attention in the local news media.

"A sign the end is near," repeats Dabid.

"Right, then," grunts Wirg, gesturing toward the holovid. "Talent Round-Up it is, then!"

Uskue grunts and starts to reconfirm the party's orders again. Then she stops. Looking toward the tall, blond waitress, she cries in Her-Galad, "Hey, Adulie, didn't your sister get a Second Chance pass on that thing?"

Adulie doesn't meet her gaze. "Yes, she did," she replies in very melodic, refined-sounding Her-Galad.

Almost everyone in the party can see that something is troubling the woman.

Almost everyone.

"Hey, will you get on with the order?" growls Widjgleeby.

Where It All Begins...

Mul'ein (still known as Morva among the more stubborn Yangae loyalists) is the political and economic capital of Yanda Province. As a city it is modest by any standard, with a registered population of a little under 300,000. However, even that number is twice what it was only a decade ago, the result of rapid growth brought on by recent industrial development. For the most part it is still a quiet and picturesque little city whose architecture is an interesting mix of Hergoth and Yangae styles. The Bal'tem River flows from West to East right through the middle of the city center, both banks adorned with scenic, garden-lined brick walkways that have earned it the nickname "The Wishing Walk" ("Nr'ävåboeth" in Her-Galad, "sa'Pru ta'Varska" in Yangae). The surrounding downtown district has an air of quiet elegance despite its modest size, its cafes and shopping plazas offering perhaps the only semblance of luxury to be found within a radius of many kilometers. Travel a few hundred meters in any direction, however, and the scenery quickly changes; the legacy of the Yangae occupation remains in the form of residential and commercial districts sharply demarcated by class and/or ethnic group.

The districts of Mul'ein:

• The hilly area north of the city center is Düa (Daua) District. The offices of the municipal authorities are located here, as is Yanda University and the Mul'ein College of the Arts. It is populated mainly by Hergoth and Hertressk of middle or upper-middle class with a small percentage being of the upper crust. Most dwellings are individual houses or condominiums. The whole area carries an atmosphere of peaceful affluence and is generally quite safe.
  
• The area south of the city center is Gastra District, which was destroyed during the invasion and rebuilt in Yangae style. Its streets form an almost perfect grid. Local architecture is a hodge-podge of crumbling prefabricated structures and newer constructions of a variety of styles. Most of the dwellings are apartment blocks or relatively cheap housing projects peopled by the working and lower middle classes. The population is perhaps the most ethnically balanced in Mul'ein. A sort of uneasy peace exists between the Hergoth, Hertressk, and Yangae that live in this area, mostly in demarcated neighborhoods, but tempers have been known to boil over on occasion.
  
• The southeastern district between the city center and the town of Bal'tem is Grissin, an old Yangae neighborhood. This is loyalist country. Blocks are strictly separated by caste, and the classes do not intermix. Gang violence has been known to occur in this area, mainly between castes if not individual blocks, but outsiders are also advised to be cautious. It is also recommended that traditional Yangae customs and mores be observed to the letter in Grissin, for the locals have little tolerance for "uncivilized" behavior.
  
• Further southeast, sandwiched between Grissin and the towns of Bal'tem and Auani, is Sa'Barj ("The Hill"). Like neighboring Grissin, this is also Yangae loyalist country, but the three massive, gaudy palaces there are testament to the fact that it is the abode of the Nobles. The locals tend to be sealed up in their private worlds and don't pay much attention to what goes on outside. They also encourage a degree of sightseeing in their area in hopes of winning sympathy. However, being the wrong person in the wrong place at the wrong time on Sa'Barj can bring swift capital punishment.
  
• Gül'a (Gauha) District is located to the northeast, bordering Düa Ward. It is mainly a residential area, consisting of mostly old homes and apartments. The population is mostly Hergoth and Hertressk of from low to middle class who work in the neighboring districts or in the scattered local commercial zones. There is also a famous tunnel complex in the area built ages ago to house Farbetts. Gül'a can be a bit rough looking but is generally good natured.
• Danteir District is the northernmost reach of the city, and its topography is a bit more rugged. Long a broken mix of scattered farms and empty wilderness, it is now Mul'ein's main industrial district. Almost all of the factory complexes there were built during the last two decades. Food processing is the main industry, but materials technology is also significant. There are scattered residential areas consisting of an uneasy mix of bleak corporate dorm blocks and isolated housing subdivisions for low- to mid-level career professionals. Hergoth, Yangae, and migrant workers from various parts of the galaxy live and work together as best they can here. The atmosphere tends to be optimistic but tense, and a degree of caution is advised.
• Ekr'in District lies to the west and northwest of the city center. It is generally of the same class level as Gastra. However, as it was spared from destruction by its hillier topography, it is an old and crumbling urban center with a maze of twisting, narrow streets. Its population is also far more mixed and cosmopolitan, and it is known for being more than a little eccentric. Struggling artists and street performers are most likely to be found here, particularly in Danstul' Park. Ekr'in has perhaps the most notorious night-life districts in Mul'ein, not to mention some very off-color entertainment. The various races and cultures that live in this area tend to be much more tolerant of each other (and of weirdness in general) than in Gastra, but the inevitable accumulation of drifters and the down-and-out means that the crime rate is higher than the city average.
• Thal'wein District is a narrow tract sandwiched between the southwest edge of the city center, the Bal'tem River, Gastra, and Erweina. During most of the Yangae Occupation this was a notoriously squalid Hergoth ghetto. Since the Reconstruction various government agencies have gone to great lengths to improve the area, including the establishment of the Mul'ein Vocational Training Center, Thal'wein General Hospital, well-financed schools, and higher-quality state-subsidized housing. Indeed, the area is far more beautiful and optimistic than it used to be, but the poorest Hergoth families are still mostly found there, and most Yangae with any pride wouldn't be caught dead within its borders.
• Erweina (R'wêna) District is a roundish mountain, much of which is considered sacred ground by the local Hergoth. Since antiquity, it has been the location of the local branch Temple of Kai-Tempuera (Kî-Tempur'a) and various associated facilities. The Yangae naturally treated the area with utmost contempt during the Occupation, using it as a target range, a garbage dump, and a prison (often at the same time). It has since been restored and now has a ranking High Priestess for the first time in two centuries. Not surprisingly, the local population is overwhelmingly Hergoth, a large percentage of which have some direct connection with the Temple. Visitors are not only welcome but encouraged, though obvious Yangae loyalists are liable to be viewed with suspicion (if any would even dare go onto the "Witch's Mountain").
• Mastr'ean is the westernmost reach of the city. It is by far the largest district in terms of land area. Until recently it was a strictly rural area, consisting of wide tracts of farmland interspersed with small village hubs. Recently, however, the band of territory along the border with Ekr'in and the river has become a commercial boomtown. The road that has run through that area since antiquity was widened into a main boulevard about a decade ago, and since then the land in its vicinity has seen an explosion of commercial and residential development, with heated competition between Ergothei, local Hergoth, and Foldorian developers. While economically good for the city, the "strip" is still greeted with ambivalence at best by the mainly Hergoth and Farbett farmworkers who have lived in and worked the area for ages. They are old families, rather grizzled, with very conservative mores but who have long since grown accustomed to working under Yangae authority and have yet to readjust to true Hergoth culture.

Mul'ein is bordered by the coastal towns of Bal'tem to the east, Auani to the south-southeast, and Troya to the north-northeast, the farm towns of Yanda and Bir'ueth to the southwest and west, respectively, and the mountainous town of Tel'atha to the north-northwest. The nearest significant seaport is in Bal'tem with additional small seacraft harbors in Auani and Troya. The nearest aerospace port is Yanda, located in the city in the northeastern corner of Mastr'ean District bordering Danteir District, but it is a relatively small facility. The nearest major aerospace port is in the city of Tal'in, about 120km away but quickly accessible by vacrail tube or shuttle flight.

Prologue

In the standardized star charts used by the Confederation the planet is listed as "Lyranell"...

...though its proper name in the original Her-Galad is L'r'änel', which translates as either "longingly" or "with longing". When the Yangae Empire invaded and conquered the system a little over two centuries ago, they found the capital planet's name annoyingly hard to pronounce. They therefore did what they tried to do with everything; namely, they Yangized it, producing the more tongue-friendly "Lyranell". The Yangae Empire is now extinct, having been replaced with the (debatably) more benign Foldorian Empire decades ago, and the system is back under Ergothei control. "Lyranell", however, is still the familiar name.

By all standards, Lyranell is a backwater world at best, significant only in that it is one of those rare gems among worlds that have breathable atmospheres and conditions hospitable to life. The Ergotheia terraformed it over a millennium ago, turning its barren wastelands into highly productive farmland. Its fields became a valuable source of the fruits, nuts, legumes, and grains that form the principal staples of the Hergoth diet. It was neither the largest such agricultural project nor the most productive, but it still helped supply an entire stellar province. Unfortunately, both its location near the Yangae border and its lack of advanced infrastructure meant that it was the first system to fall when Emperor Kal'Yangae decided to absorb the Ergotheia into his bloating realm.

The Hergoth farmers and Farbett laborers that lived on Lyranell at the time could do nothing. By the time they were even aware their system had been invaded, what few real cities there had been there had already vanished under mushroom clouds. Soon they were told to return to work, but under new directives with Yangae guns pointed at them. The simple folk figured there was little point in trying to resist, so they did as they were told, unaware that their system was being used as the primary command center and staging ground for the rape of their entire civilization. Weakened after many centuries of decadence and overconfidence, the Ergothei Nation and the Farbett Republic, a proud alliance thousands of years old, soon succumbed to the Yangae tide. For over two hundred years afterward the Yangae brutalized the Hergoth and Farbett people, consuming their resources, plundering their treasures, all but enslaving their people, and trying to refashion a rich and ancient culture in their own image, all as part of the misguided Yangae ethic of trying to "civilize" the galaxy.

As it turned out, Lyranell had another unexpected role to play in the scheme of things. Centuries of interstellar conquest and brutal oppression had stretched Emperor Kal'Yangae's forces dangerously thin. Now plagued with several rebel uprisings within his core territories as well as pressure on his outer borders, he was forced to cut his occupation forces to a bare minimum. In the case of the occupied Ergothei nation his command and control network was reduced to a single base, conveniently the original one created during the invasion. In other words, Lyranell was once again the source of the foreign fist that gripped the Ergothei throat. The Yangae had tried to keep that fact a secret, well aware of the dangers it represented, but they had failed. Once the news had reached the resistance, the choice was obvious. A quick, decisive strike could be made against the command center, knocking it out and scattering the occupation forces. A rag-tag fleet of old, pre-occupation Ergothei warships was assembled and, under the command of Ganneth, last of the Heroes, approached Lyranell...with the aim of bombing it into a burnt-out cinder.

But it didn't happen as planned.

For the Yangae had, through their machinations, seen to it that Ganneth's scandalous lover, herself a Yangae, had been brought to Lyranell. Ganneth knew this, and in the end his heart overwhelmed his resolve. Unable to give the order to attack the planet, he set out instead in his own ship to try to rescue his love. He knew he was doomed before he got there, so he chose instead to plunge his ship into the Yangae base. The resulting explosion destroyed almost an entire continent and set off a chain of geological events that devastated much of the planet. The base was obliterated, the Yangae occupation was disrupted, and the Ergothei quickly rose against their oppressors.

In less than a month not only were they free, but the Yangae Empire itself was gone. The Emperor had been assassinated and replaced. And the newly-created Foldorian Empire, as its first act, gave the Ergothei Nation and the Farbett Republic their freedom again.

Several decades have passed since then. War is in the air again, but it is against a different enemy. Now the Yangae/Foldorians are allies of the Ergotheia. However, they are still not quite friends. The relationship is a very complicated one, and the situation on Lyranell shows this all too well. Most of the population is ethnic Hergoth, but it is divided between the "old" L'r'änel' descendents and the "new" Ergotheia that have come to reassert the newly-sovereign rule of distant Gotheia. The second largest group is the Foldorians, who are also divided into the old Yangae loyalists, the new Foldorian progressives, and the so-called "Hertressk", who are ethnic Foldorian but have accepted Hergoth culture and Ergothei rule. Then of course there are also the Farbetts, who are loyal to the Hergoth but would rather not be bothered. With the exception of the shattered continent known as Ganneth's Grave (or, among the Yangae loyalists, as "the Fool's Target"), most of Lyranell has been recovered. The scars have been soothed, the cities repaired, the farms put back in production, but things are not as quiet and peaceful as they seem.

The current War is far, far away. This tiny, insignificant, green world has far bigger enemies to fight, most of them within its own heart and soul.