A common theme about humanity is that we do stuff. We create, we sow; we destroy and we harvest. And then we mythologize all that creating and sowing and destroying and harvesting in song, word and paint. That’s really all you need to know about us as a people. We love our stories, legends, and mythologies. We will proudly prefer an entertaining story full of falsehoods over a boring one full of truth, and we will die on hills for the stories that mean something to us. So whatever you read in the pages following this text, take it with care, because I might be lying to hold your attention.

Opening paragraph of “The Ultimative History of the Sector”, the popular, semi-satirical retelling of the history of the Stianderlijf sector.

It’s been a while since I’ve last seen her, and I thought I’d never hear of her again. Yet a few days ago, I received a collection of letters, and… aside from stirring up a lot of forgotten feelings, they reveal stories that I had no idea of. One of these stories begins just a couple of months after the invasion of Tharamant…
 
A stranger gave her a choice: Follow him and liberate a whole city from occupation or stay at her hidden, makeshift survivor camp that was constantly running out of food, water and room to sleep. But it was not only necessity calling for her. Glory gleamed from the tower at the far end of her road.
Accompanied by her friends and the stranger, she set out for Tharamant’s core, at which they believed to find an arms factory full of survivors, forced to construct weapons that would eventually used in the destruction of the whole continent
 
I can still see her bright eyes and feel the aura of her strong, pure mind when I read her words. She used to believe in our linear progression towards enlightened times, even when my studies suggested otherwise. That was, until I brought the rot into her mind. Working with me, she adapted some of my absolute worst traits, and the temptations of glory burned deep into her soul. Yet at the time, neither of us knew what was eating her from inside. When she set out to liberate Tharamant from overwhelming forces she still didn’t know. Blinded by the light of historic heroism, she already saw her name appearing in the history books of the coming age.
 
When they sneaked into the huge, towering factory, expecting to be greeted with open arms, she soon realized that the stranger had lied to her: The men and women working at the factory were well-fed and cared for, their families safely housed.
Having already lost one of her group prior to entering the factory, the realization that nobody wanted her false heroics drove Vherendie to the end of her patience, leading to a fight with unforeseen consequences.
 
Three of her friends had died while following her quest, and it was only with luck that the surviving few managed to escape the tower. It wasn’t enough that had she chased a hollow dream; her friends had placed their lives into her hands, and in turn she had betrayed that trust for personal gain.
 
The future looked grey, and the images and sounds of their final seconds would go on to haunt her over the years. It was this day that she decided which road she wanted to travel on. In spite of her mistakes, people were still looking up to her. They saw that she could find ways and opportunities, that she could provide hope and optimism even if she herself, deep inside, felt broken and incomplete.
 
Some of her days would see failure, but many of her days would make things better than they were before, for a lot of people.
 
This has been the personal log of Vedian Bordakane, late summer of Year 1411. May those who hear these words go in peace.

Transcripts of the audio logs of Vedian Bordakane

What was left was not just a desert, but a battlefield that must have seemed eternal. For decades, people – real human beings were born into a world that suffered from cycles of destruction and restoration, glimmers of hope and crushing disappointment, and pointless murder. Lives were almost impossible to fill with meaning, as meaning was impossible to find under the reign of ignorant, artless warlords.

To make life in these primitive times even worse, abominable biomachines, terrible creations of the people who brought the Moontear down, roamed the hellscape of Europe. Left to their programming after the impact of the Moontear, the surviving bioconstructs preyed not only on what was left of the European ecosystem and the forces of the warlords, but especially on the few tribes of deserters that attempted to lead a hidden, peaceful life far away from the soul-devouring war machine.
just
It is a miracle, then, that this age came to an end without bringing the extinction of terrestrial humankind. From its ashes rose a continental community of druids dedicated to the restoration of life on the former battlefield.

From the Open Worlds Archive, “Age of Penance”

unknown class of large marine bioconstruct. size unclear, but teeth lodged inside one of our aerobuli crafts suggest length of approximately 50 metres if estimates are correct. historical evidence and excavated remains suggest even larger bioconstructs, such as the svl.bst-landcarrier, but sea-based. no evidence of flying megaconstructs. further inestigation into the shared heritage of sophisticated terran biotechnology from the end of the 23rd century and our own required. potential for incorporating knowledge into our own crafts and tools.

/lifeforms/bio-constructs/marine/leviathan.erf

Two years. Two years since I found the coordinates buried deep within the Archive. And it’s marvellous. This world’s star tries to hide behind a thick layer of clouds, and storms race from the seas over to the open grass fields, carrying pockets of dust with them. It’s cold out here. Nevertheless, we got out as soon as we landed and took our first breath of fresh air. The grass feels soft underneath my boots, and if I weren’t so scared about potential infections on this unknown world, I’d probably try to walk over it barefoot.

I can barely imagine how this place must have looked thousands of years ago. There was a time when they built towers of steel and glass. There was a time when they muddied the waters and poisoned the air by burning fossil fuels. There was a time when they where hypnotized by a global data communications network that nearly made them forget that they were human. Luckily, they turned it around and sent our ancestors to the stars, seven thousand years ago.
Seven thousand years. And I, a former trash kid from a garbage arm pit of the sector, am one of the lucky few to dig up its past.

Lucky we are, indeed. I breath the air, I feel the wind, and I can’t wait to uncover the secrets and mysteries that await us. Someone brought wine. Some sing. Even our captain joined us. She doesn’t care for history and/or humanity’s past at all, but I believe I can see a faint smirk on her face as she looks over the cheering scientists…
Some white birds fly over from the coast as I look into the sky. I have never seen birds like these before. 

Taken from Mel’s Diary

“[…] the old saying, that if you put a frog into a bowl of hot water, he jumps out. Reasonable… But if you put him into a bowl of cold water resting on a heating plate, turn up the temperature slowly… he will not realize the water’s getting hotter until it begins to boil and he eventually dies… It’s probably bullshit, since frogs can’t be as stupid as we’ve been.”

[unintelligible]

“[…] had the opportunity to change the world, and we did nothing…”

[barely comprehensible, question about leaders of the movement]

“No one saw (…) saw the need to organize. They were all like: ‘Let’s change something somehow somewhere somewhat.’ In the end, they were all fighting for themselves instead for each other…”

[time jumps ahead – interrogation fragment from a later interrogation]

“[…] wasn’t particularly violent […] It wasn’t particularly outrageous. At last, it wasn’t… particularly noteworthy.”

[unintelligible, distorted]

“We were part of what we thought was a movement [mumbling noises] Said [NAME REDACTED]. But that movement led to nowhere.”

[silence]

“I still wish I could have done more besides planting bombs and leading riots, but I had a family to care for […] The money AAP offered me seemed to be alright, so I joined them and stopped supporting the movement.”

[barely comprehensible noise, something about “so it was about the money?”]

“You know the most ironic part? This, at its core, was a revolution against the power of money… But we needed money in order to organize the revolution. The few of us who realized that soon changed sides.”

[end of audio file]

Our ancestors believed in fairy tales. They believed in wide-eyed star people and alien temples lost to their ancient architects. They believed in a galactic community that would lift them into heavenly utopia. But the further they reached into the sea of stars, the more obious it became that they had to create their own company to bear the infinite silence of the cosmos.
Creation, however, had other plans. Primarily, to be left in peace. To live without intrusion of its creator. But humans are cursed with terrible curiosity and disregard for forms of being it regards as lesser than themselves…
Introduction to Byranor, the critically acclaimed interactive adventure novel retelling the tragic biolab incident on Byranor Aquaris.

Introduction to Byranor, the critically acclaimed interactive adventure novel retelling the failed attempt to colonize Byranor Aquaris.

Tharamants letzter Tag

Eine Studentin vor einer Entscheidung, ein Historiker im Rampenlicht, ein Koch mit geheimen Kräften und eine Journalistin mit großen Zielen: Vier Menschen erleben den Beginn einer Katastrophe, die ihre Leben für immer verändern soll.

Tharamants Fall, Teil 1 von 3

Disclaimer: The historical accuracy of Tharamant’s Last Day is heavily disputed.

Being often described as the turning point of a whole civilization, the sudden and terrifyingly precise invasion of Alâon’s most economically advanced city still fascinates historians, artists and the general public up to this day. It is easy to see why: The Fall of Tharamant tells the old story of humankind’s struggle to maintain eternity. It seems to confirm the notion that whenever a new society steps into the light, it is already determined to vanish someday. It seems to say that not even the mightiest and stablest of places last forever. It seems to say that even if a city like Tharamant survives hundreds and thousands of years within an ever-changing environment, the day of destruction will inevitably come.
 
The historical event of Tharamant’s Fall has been adapted to nearly every medium of art, including such famed novelizations like its oldest, liberally fictionalized interpretation in Tharamant’s Last Day by none other than Vedian Bordakane himself, who to his own last day insisted that he wrote down nothing but the truth. The short novella, written during Bordakane’s own escape from Tharamant, follows the paths of four characters through the first day of Tharamant’s destruction. Despite poor style, sensationalism, jittery jumps in perspective and poor narration, the novella managed to capture a wide audience after its quick publication in Gadagor. It’s sequels, which covered day two and three of the destruction of Tharamant, were written an published within a couple of months, prompting critics of Bordakane to suggest that he was cashing in on the catastrophe.

Still, other than in its sequel called Echoes from the Sun, which focused on the huge exodus of the Alâonians, there are some nuggets of truth in Bordakane’s trilogy of novellas. Bordakane actually bothered interviewing other survivors, even a couple of Scaruba deserters, to inform his writing. However, it is fair to assume that he combined multiple accounts into single characters. In addition, it is likely that his unfavorable depiction of his lover, Vherendie, who separates herself from him at the beginning of Tharamant’s Last Day, was written out of spite, because he was known to be a petty man. Vherendie Sela, of course, became a historical figure in the following years with a pivotal role in the coming exodus, and the overwhelming evidence exhonorates her from any of Bordakane’s claims.
 
For a more accurate look on the Fall of Tharamant as well as the following war, historians generally recommend to read Witnesses of Tharamant. It was written by journalist Divhar Mhorben. Although not even being born yet when the city was invaded, his book aims to tell the real stories behind the destruction of Tharamant. The accompanying audio series, featuring full-length interviews with some of the last survivors of the attack, has been digitalized from the soundbooks popular among the exodites, and is available in the Open Worlds Archive.

Taken from the Open Worlds Encyclopedia

Die hungrige Königin

Als sie ins Auge fremder Mächte gerät, verglüht die reiche Hafenstadt Tharamant in einem Feuersturm. Die Überlebenden verstecken sich in den ausgebrannten Kellern, doch die Welt unter der Stadt kann nicht jeden von ihnen schützen.

Tharamants Fall, Teil 2 von 3

Disclaimer: The historical accuracy of The Hungry Queen is heavily disputed.

claw worm, hive leech, swarm worm, locust worm

omnivorous lifeform native to earth. evolutionary heritage unclear, possibly ancient bio-construct. highly variable in size. pale, snake- or wormlike body. long, skeletal forearms. sharp, four-fingered claws. ring of teeth in mouth parts, visually similar to leeches. results of obduction shows remnants of hind legs not visible outside of the body. social hierarchy similar to social insects (hive-like structures w. different roles such as queen for reproduction, workers and soldiers).

historical texts and folk tales suggest once higher population than today. stories of swarms swallowing the land probably exaggeration. still, high rate of reproduction. further research required.

/lifeforms/vertebrates/unknown class/bigworm.erf

tharamants wächter

Es ist vorbei. Tharamant ist eine Ruine. Für die Überlebenden gibt es einen Weg, der Stadt zu entkommen, doch der Weg zum Bahnhof ist weit, und manch einer hat Pläne, die der Flucht im Wege stehen…

Tharamants Fall, Teil 3 von 3

Disclaimer: The historical accuracy of Guardians of Tharamant is heavily disputed.

Vedian,
I write to you because you are refusing to see me. To say that I am disappointed would be an understatement. I’m furious. I think it is pathetic how you hide behind your influence. I hope that calling you a coward will at least get your attention.

When me and my people helped the last survivors of Tharamant arrive in Gadagor, I wondered why I was greeted with hostility. Under different circumstances I wouldn’t care about it that much, but these are hard times. At least for some of us. Do you even know what we had to go through to get here?

Anyway. After finding out that you turned the horror of the invasion into not just a single, but a three-part series of poorly written books and sold them, I had my suspicions. After reading them, I had my answer. How could you?

I am asking, but I don’t know if I really want an answer. You hurt me. What you wrote about me hurt me. Even without taking our personal history into account, am I just a character for you, a plaything that you could put your words into and make things do she would never agree to do? And for what? For fame, or for money? Both will be worthless soon. The Moontear is reaching for all of Alâon, not just for Tharamant.

I figure that it is pointless arguing with you. But if I don’t say anything, nothing will change.

I wasn’t quitting university. I was quitting YOU.
We didn’t get captured because I was out of breath. We got captured because you were carrying a heavy bag full of YOUR precious notebooks and the strap got caught on a fence.
I didn’t fall into depression after our escape and dreamt of a weird smoke kraken in a basement, you just like surreal imagery and probably didn’t know what to do with your characters for that part of your story.
I never held a rifle once in my life.
And, finally, my parents didn’t take the easy way out, how dare you to suggest that!

Also, we both know what happened at the train station and what you, not I did. A lot of the survivors know as well and I wonder why nobody is speaking the truth.

Rot in the ground, for all I care. I hope that no green will sprout out of that spot for a hundred years.

Vherendie

Letter from Vherendie Sela to Vedian Bordakane. It is told that although the letter was private, somebody managed to copy it. Next morning, copies of the letter were found posted all over Gadagor. Their identity and motives remain mysterious to this day.