In the frozen wastes of a distant RimWorld, Dr. Stew Geneforge found himself exiled for pushing the boundaries of genetic science too far. Once celebrated for his brilliance, his ethical transgressions led to his banishment to this desolate planet teeming with superhumans and alien races.

Survival became Stew's only goal. He resorted to cannibalism, fashioning parkas from the flesh of fallen raiders and slowly constructing a meager shelter. His fortunes changed when he acquired the brain devourer ability from a dying visitor, exponentially increasing his productivity at the cost of an insatiable hunger.

Driven by desperation and ambition, Stew embarked on a perilous 15-day journey to a distant tundra. There, he established a precarious colony that attracted a motley crew of misfits and outcasts. Among them was Tiny Leaf, a delicate Phytokin who thawed Stew's frozen heart. Their love flourished amidst the chaos of failed experiments and broken colonists.

The arrival of Adamant, a nigh-invulnerable superhero, presented Stew with an irresistible opportunity. Over years, he studied and manipulated Adamant, gradually incorporating the hero's extraordinary genes into his own body. Stew's obsession with genetic perfection grew, even as he developed a crippling fear of fire to balance his newfound powers.

The colony became a crucible of the bizarre and supernatural. Even undead vampires, drawn by rumors of Stew's experiments, found themselves unable to survive the harsh conditions, falling into deathlike slumbers.

Tragedy struck when a devastating plague swept through the colony. The illness spread rapidly, overwhelming Stew's rudimentary medical facilities. As the only one with substantial medical knowledge, Stew worked tirelessly to treat the sick, pushing his enhanced body to its limits. His time manipulation abilities allowed him to work at superhuman speeds, but even this wasn't enough to stem the tide of disease.

Exhausted and stretched thin, Stew was caught off guard when a fire erupted in the barracks. The blaze spread quickly. Stew's crippling fear of fire, a side effect of his genetic modifications, paralyzed him with terror. By the time he overcame his fear, the fire had cut off access to the wing where Tiny Leaf was quarantined with other plague victims. Desperate, Stew tried to use his time manipulation to reach Tiny Leaf, but in his panicked state, he couldn't control his powers effectively. He arrived too late, finding Tiny Leaf succumbed to a combination of smoke inhalation and the ravages of the plague. The loss shattered Stew's already fragile psyche.

Grief-stricken, Stew abandoned his plans to find a better home and instead dove into the forbidden arts of necromancy. His obsession with resurrecting Tiny Leaf consumed him. Stew's time-bending meditations to gain necromantic knowledge became increasingly intense and dangerous. Each session aged him rapidly, and he often fell into deep comas lasting days or even weeks.

These prolonged absences plunged the colony into chaos. Without Stew's leadership and scientific expertise, the remaining colonists struggled to maintain order and productivity. Food shortages became common, and the harsh environment took its toll on both body and mind.

During one particularly long coma, lasting nearly a month, the colony nearly collapsed. Colonists fought over dwindling resources, and some resorted to cannibalism to survive. The extreme cold claimed several lives, and others simply wandered off into the tundra, never to return. As Stew's sanity crumbled, so did the colony. He found his once promising settlement in ruins. The few survivors were shells of their former selves, broken by the hardships they had endured. It was this sight that finally snapped something in Stew's mind. He rampaged through the compound, killing the weak and helpless, believing he was purging the colony of its flaws.

When Stew finally released Adamant from his years-long captivity, the hero attacked. Their battle was apocalyptic, two superhuman titans clashing amidst the ruins of Stew's ambitions. Stew emerged victorious but gravely wounded. As he tended his injuries, a band of raiders descended upon the colony. In a last, heroic stand, the battered Stew fought off fifteen attackers single-handedly. Mortally wounded, he crawled to Tiny Leaf's preserved body, collapsing beside his lost love.

In his final moments, a figure in a black coat materialized from the shadows. The figure's face was hidden, but its voice resonated with ancient power. "Dr. Stew Geneforge," it intoned, "your journey in this world has been... unique. But it need not end here."

I started a new save last week, tribal and modified peaceful, and out of morbid curiosity decided to see what the fuss was about with the forbidden mod. I wasn’t that curious so I have a good portion of the mod inactive, but this decision has left me with a problem. I have too many god damn babies and a couple pawns that are useless for little more than feeding their baby and uh, improving morale.

Thanks to this I went into my second winter very unprepared. We only had a couple days of food, and hunting was sparse on the map. To make matters worse, a bout of muscle parasites decided it was time to cripple my town. Oh, and remember the too many babies? I also had three pawns who were expecting. So we were about to have WAY too many babies.

But I managed for the first couple days of winter. Hunting and foraging whatever we could to eke out a survival. Then a wave of malaria hit, which feels unrealistic because I think if that as a hot weather thing but I’m not a scientist and could very well be talking out my ass. So now I’ve got a good portion of my 15 or so colonists out of commission or close to it.

The food was gone fast, and because of the dueling diseases the medicine was dwindling too. Both of my doctors had parasites, and the less skilled one had malaria as well.

I’ll admit I’m normally a save scummer and abuser of dev mode, but this time I said fuck it. If they die, they die.

I almost immediately made a misstep when I killed my only male llama, thus ending that breeding operation. I also had to fight over his corpse with my hungry pigs to my frustration. I was more careful in slaughtering one of them to be sure they’d multiply eventually. I didn’t want to have to kill them all unless I had to and I hadn’t reached that level of desperation yet.

Yet. That came shortly thereafter.

I mentioned earlier the basically useless pawns. If you haven’t sullied yourself with the forbidden mod before, they’re called Nymphs. Basically all of their skills are disabled, so they’re pretty useless. One of mine can also do construction and the other can craft, so they’re not completely useless but almost.

As the food is out and several pawns were starving, I decided it was time to start culling the pigs. But before I could, another Nymph turned up. Great, another mouth to feed, right? Nah, this one was completely useless. No redeeming qualities and honestly my pawns are quite good at keeping their morale up between each other, they didn’t need an interloper.

It was almost tragically poetic. I imagine my desperate pawns exchanged a glance as she approached, having no idea of what she was walking into. Her time in the colony was remarkably brief even as food, as she only made seven meals.

But it bought a little more time, just enough really. A bulk trader turned up and I could only imagine my pawns falling to their knees and sobbing with relief. What they lacked in food, my pawns made up for in trade goods. I was able to buy about 500 meat and 30 something eggs. And a yak to help feed the babies! One of the three babies had been born healthy, so that was good for morale but not for survival.

But that malaria hadn’t gone anywhere and we were getting to the point where everyone was in bad bad shape. And another pawn went into labor, locking up one of my medics as the other tried to tend the sick as best as she could. By some utter miracle, the baby was born healthy, and despite a couple close calls, everyone survived the malaria.

Another visitor turned up who I could buy a little more food and medicine from, so that was good. A flock(?) of beavers came through so we were able to hunt and my planters are finally able to get out and do some foraging. There’s a few days left but we might just survive the winter.

In the harsh world of Rimworld, survival isn't just about fending off raids or braving the elements—sometimes, it's about the unexpected companions you make along the way. Since the day I landed on this unforgiving planet, I had always dreamed of having a tortoise as a pet. There was something about their slow, steady demeanor that brought comfort amid the chaos of colonization. And finally, I found her—Turtee.

Turtee was a mischievous little tortoise, wandering about our outpost with an endearing sense of curiosity, although she had a habit of making the floors dirty and nibbling on our food stores. But no one minded—she was part of the colony, our unofficial mascot.

One day, a group of traders from a nearby colony visited, carrying with them goods and tales from distant lands. But amid their bartering and laughter, an attack broke out near the edge of our camp. I ran to investigate and saw it—a majestic wolf, its powerful frame now beaten and bloodied by a trader's club. The wolf, though wild and dangerous, stirred something in me. I thought, What if I save it? What if I could tame this magnificent creature?

Without hesitation, I grabbed the wolf, hauling its broken body to our medical bay. My colonists gave me confused looks, but I ignored them. I tended to the beast, cleaning its wounds and stabilizing its broken limbs. Slowly, the wolf stirred, its eyes flashing with a primal energy despite its injuries. Three out of its four legs were shattered, but the wolf’s spirit was unbroken.

Days passed, and the wolf's recovery was slow. I had nursed him back to health—almost. But in my excitement, I forgot one crucial detail: You need to tame a wild animal after you save it. It wasn't a pet yet, just a creature bound by instincts, still untamed by human hands.

It was then that Turtee, the ever-curious tortoise, waddled into the medical bay. She eyed the wolf cautiously, her tiny legs bringing her closer to the hulking creature. I watched from the corner, amused by the scene—until the wolf's eyes locked onto Turtee. A deep, menacing growl echoed through the room.

The wolf lunged.

Turtee, bless her heart, stood her ground. A fight broke out in an instant, fur and shell clashing in a blur of motion. I froze—what was I to do? Do I kill the wolf I worked so hard to save? Or do I sacrifice Turtee, my loyal little friend?

The panic paralyzed me, and I could only watch as the struggle unfolded. The wolf snapped its jaws at Turtee, trying to overpower her. But Turtee, slow as she was, had the advantage of her hard shell. Blow after blow, the wolf tired. And then, with a final, defiant move, Turtee struck.

The wolf collapsed, defeated. I rushed over, but it was too late. The mighty beast had drawn its last breath.

In the end, Turtee emerged victorious—a warrior in the shell of a tortoise. I felt a strange mixture of relief and sorrow as I looked at the fallen wolf. In true Rimworld fashion, we made the most of the situation. The wolf was butchered, and that night, we dined on wolf stew.

And as the sun set on our outpost, Turtee rested, a quiet hero, while we celebrated her unexpected triumph. In Rimworld, you never know what the day will bring, but one thing was for certain: Turtee had earned her place as a legend in our colony.

They finally had their chance. The empire had sent several nobles to a walled compound on the ground for an art exhibition. The plan had been simple, arrive by land, sneak in through one of the open gates, and gain entry to the art hall. But as they approached they saw the gate they had intended to slip through closing, and the reinforced security door behind that sealing as well. What they didn't see was the crackle of a zeushammer wielded by an invisible noble.

It had been Mie's turn to sit out of the noble event, as one of the three most powerful psycaster warriors among the Order. With speed and fury enhanced by her incredibly psionically sensitive talents she skipped to one foe, crushing their chest even through their armour. The deserters had all of a moment to process this as two more fell with only the crackle of electricity and the pop of something skipping around them. Then there was a burst of heat as an explosion ignited them. Another fell, this one wearing an explosive belt that detonated as the dead man switch triggered. Again the sound of skipping was heard, each pop met by a death, then in quick succession three more explosive belts detonated.

Finally they saw the face of their assailant, lying dead, her almost inhumanly beautiful form shredded by shrapnel, the plasteel armour she wore beneath a stunning thrumbofur cloak filled with holes stained red. Thinking they were safe, the deserters changed plans, moving now to a wall section covering a grove of gauranlen trees. This would provide quick and easy access to the art gallery. One decided to try cracking a hole in the gate, and heard an eerie sound from behind them. When they turned their eyes went wide. The corpse was gone. They tried to focus on their task, but the sound of tired footsteps kept plaguing them. All until their head was crushed under a heavy blow.

Mie gasped, she could feel something was wrong with her heart, though she knew her anomalous power should have healed any potentially lethal wounds, it wouldn't have cured scarring that may have resulted from those injuries. She sluggishly made her way up to where the rest of the assassins had gone.

The deserters were almost through the plasteel outer wall when they spotted another figure, a bright blue blade humming to life in their hand and charging towards them in full cataphract armour. They prepared to open fire when she leapt with inhuman might and landed next to three of the armed ex-soldiers. In moments all three were lying on the floor, amid scattered severed limbs. She focused on those who were shooting at her, taking two rounds from a charge shotgun before making them her next target. The breacher finally broke through the outer wall, the inner granite wall crumbling shortly after. The remaining deserters rushed into the wall, hoping it would provide cover, but as the new warrior saw this, she merely leapt again into the breach, cutting down first the breacher himself, and then the two survivors who had thought the covered wall would provide saftey.

Mie rounded the corner only to see the apprentice warden Belle cutting down the last of the intruders. The woman sighed and called an all clear, the gates opening as people poured in to start repairing the wall. Mie hobbled her way to a hospital bed, requesting someone to fix her heart with a better replacement. She was granted it before the exhibition was even over. Lady arrived shortly after, providing her fellow guardian a good scar cleansing regeneration coma, before congratulating her daughter Belle on her part in ensuring the Order's saftey.

This is chapter 1 of a new series of short stories I have begun to write. This is an extract of 'Book 2' and it's all published in full on Ao3, but this makes a nice, concise story in itself.

If any are interested at a later date, I'll link the locations of the stories directly, but for now, enjoy....

She had been a slave since she was born....

All her life she had been passed from owner to owner, wearing a collar since the age of three and only removing it when they were changing it for larger versions as her body grew, and now she was cradling her own young daughter to her back in a rudimentary sling, doing her best to keep her fed from her meagre milk supplies and whatever she could manage to eat, sharing it with the baby as it was nearly a year old and beginning to eat normal food as well. It hurt to breastfeed by now as the teeth had begun to pierce the child’s gum, but she bore the pain and did whatever she could to keep the child fed, since that was supposed to be the task of a mother. She knew that, and she had no one else to rely on.

She was only nineteen and the father was her last owner. A rough, lecherous man in his thirties that had treated her like s**t anyway, but he seemed to take great pleasure in selling her at seventeen to the latest caravan, in exchange for a new, younger girl that caught his eye, but he still roughly impregnated her before offering her and the silver in the exchange. It hadn’t been her first f**k, that had happened when she was fourteen, but it was the worst she’d experienced.

It was only when she was in the caravan, did she start the telltale bouts of sickness. She was nearly eighteen, a slave and pregnant to a man she’d never expect to see again, but she kept going, hiding the growing bump in her clothes as the caravan wandered on from colony to colony. There were a few interested bidders for her, but when they realised the truth, they always refused, and she was forced to birth her daughter on the road. At least the caravan master had allowed her to ride in the wagon for the last few months, making her the chef in exchange for her transport. There was no point offering her, no one would want a heavily pregnant slave, not even brothels had enough demand for a whore in her situation.... Instead, she become a comfort to the caravan master and guards, and they’d passed her around between themselves, even the female guards had used her, and she’d allowed it, because the alternative was far worse!

She’d named the child, Hope, more as a stab at her own situation, since she believed she was always destined to be a slave, but at least her daughter deserved a shred of hope for a better life....

She was still the caravan cook and comfort f**k, but at least she was living, and her baby, although struggling, was still alive. Just now she walked most of the day, only getting to ride in the wagon when they were preparing to stop and she got to making meals, or when one of the guards needed her.... At least the other guards took charge of Hope and treated her well while she was being used, even offering some of their own meal rations to the child in exchange for her efforts.

“.... Anney, keep moving, you’re falling behind again!”

One of the guards had noted her flagging and was offering some vocal encouragement from the saddle of their horse, and she took the hint, picking up her pace to catch the wagon just in front, being pulled by two Muffalo and driven by the master while the guards circled it on horseback. So long as they kept pace, they were allowed to drink from the water barrel and tap hanging at the back and she took the chance to grab a few handfuls of refreshment, before turning her mind back to the long march.

Hope had been sleeping for a while and now awoke. Anney could hear her yawn in her ear, before cooing happily, while the new slave they had just picked up winked and grinned at her, giving her silent encouragement to keep going....

She nodded back at him, knowing they were to stay silent as they walked, but she smiled in thanks. He seemed to be a tribal, with simple, handmade clothing and young handsome features on his frame. He was obviously a strong, hard worker as he had no trouble keeping pace, and she was left wondering why he was with their caravan? He was clearly worth good coin to anyone willing to buy, even the guard women had been eyeing his physique up with interest, but none of them had pushed their luck yet since the master seemed intent of keeping moving....

Every now and again, the tribal would slow and lift his head, seeming to offer a prayer to whatever god he worshipped, but rather than a vocal noise, he seemed to click and grunt in a low, rumbling tone. It didn’t seem to emit much noise, but it gave the impression it travelled great distances across the cool, wild rolling grasslands they were traversing, towards the line of mountains on the western horizon....

The guards were clearly watching the featureless land, constantly scanning the horizon for the sight of anything moving, and when something was spotted, they always sent a few to scout ahead, before returning to announce it was nothing but grazing animals, feeding on the grasses before the weather turned cooler. It appeared to be Autumn and they wanted to reach the next settlement a week further on, before breaking for the winter and allowing the snows to keep them safe in isolation, before moving on come the spring....

Anney had never seen snow before, her homes had always been further south, in warmer, more arid regions. This was her first experience of these grasslands and the dawns of the last few mornings had broken with frost clinging to the tips of the grasses that surrounded them, but the weather had stayed clear and dry, meaning it carried a chill with it. The caravan had supplied everyone with warmer clothing to cope, but hers was the usual quality expected of the slaves, meaning while it did enough to stop her freezing, it wasn’t enough to take the chill from her completely, although they had given Hope a thicker blanket to keep her warmer and happier. Anney shared it with her come the night, placing it in their shared bedroll as an extra layer of insulation which helped the pair of them sleep restfully.

Hope began to kick her legs on Anney’s back, suggesting she wanted to get down and have some freedom, while moaning uneasily....

She soothed her quietly, “not now Sweet. We’ll stop soon, then you can play....”

A guard snapped, “no talking,” at her!

She nodded and kept going, but they all knew when she was calming Hope, the warning was purely symbolic. It was easier to let her soothe the child, rather than have her screaming and making too much noise on her mothers’ back. Especially in the current landscape, where noise travelled more than they seemingly wanted it to.

They marched for another hour or so, and the sun was starting to dip in the sky as they descended the side of a shallow valley, reaching a place where the track forded a broad river. The caravan master broke from the path and ordered Anney to start cooking in the wagon, while they followed the bank a short distance to camp for the night....

She was climbing into the back of the wagon, and preparing to offer Hope a little of her milk, when she heard, one of the guards ask, “how much longer?”

“It’s another five days to Grendel’s Halt, then we can take it easy,” the owner snapped back.

“That damn Tribal is making me f**king nervous!”

“We gotta take him from here, he needs to be as far away as possible from this place. It’s the only way to ensure his loyalty!”

Anney put Hope to her breast and felt her daughter begin to accept her drink, while the Guard sighed, “the sooner we get rid of that f**ker, the better!”

“There’s places in the tundra further north where he’ll fetch good money.”

“Maybe we can finally get rid of Anney too? I’ll be putting a collar on the kid before long and seeing if we can at least get rid of the whining runt!”

The owner laughed back in a harsh tone, while Anney looked down at Hope and silently vowed to her that she was never going to be without her mother.... The only way she’d be alone was if her own body no longer drew breath!

Hope suckled for a few more moments, before her actions slackened and she settled down. Anney placed her next to her, propped up by the cloth of the wagon cover. Hope giggled and watched her mother begin to prepare all the vegetables for the evening meal, while the wagon kept softly shuffling to the rhythm of the ground as it reached a suitable campsite and stopped after another fifteen minutes or so....

There was silence for a moment, allowing Anney to keep chopping up potatoes, then a single gunshot broke the still quiet, followed by the caravan master blurting, “why the f**k did you do that?”

One of the Guards replied, “we took down a wild Muffalo in a single shot! We gotta eat more than the s**t vegetables we got left!”

The owner snapped back, “but you should have gone some distance off to hunt, you just gave them the biggest hint as to where we f**king are!” He puffed and decided, “give Anney a hand dress it and get the thing ready to cook, we might as well eat it now, but we gotta be moving by daybreak, it’s too risky to stay any longer. And keep that Tribal f**ker quiet!”

The Guard gave him a reply in the affirmative, before she heard the sound of the horse moving off, leaving her to her work as the others set to establishing the camp for the night. The other slaves were tasked with erecting the tents and building the fire, while the Guards kept them motivated and chatted among themselves at the periphery of their campsite. They’d sleep under cover, while the slaves slept under the stars, huddled around the campfire.

The Guards brought her sizable chucks of Muffalo meat and let Anney roast them over the fire while the vegetables built a hearty stew, feeding them all and filling all the hungry bellies. Even her and the other slaves got to eat well, for the first time in a few days and as the light faded, the Guards began to turn in, leaving a few on patrol to watch the perimeter. The slaves knew running wasn’t an option as there was nothing out there in this environment they could use to survive, so fleeing was pointless. Their only hope was the caravan, no matter their conditions.

Anney settled down with her belly filled and played with Hope for a while, but as the temperatures dropped, they retreated to the warmth of their shared bedroll, Hope cuddling up to her mother and falling asleep in her arms….

The Tribal was setting up the bedroll next to her and he paused to make one last prayer, his distinctive clicks and rumbles being emitted before he climbed into the warmth and lay down. He turned on his side and smiled at Anney in a way she didn’t find unsettling, before he heard something. Only he could detect it as he gazed west, upstream along the riverbank they were camped against, but when he returned to laying down, he whispered to her, “prayer answered. Tomorrow, be ready….”

“For what,” she whispered back?

He settled down and she barely heard the soft, hushed reply. “Must do as I do, trust, only way to survive when time comes, promise that you and child safe.”

She gave him a very odd look, then settled down and closed her eyes, before the Guards saw them talking. She slept uneasily until first light, when they were awoken by a very shaky looking Caravan Master who was clearly not willing to hang around today. He was even rousing the Guards and ordering, “get up, break camp, work together! We gotta move, now!”

The Guards were clearly not happy they were being forced to work as well, expecting the slaves to do it all, but the owner was jittery, and when he started to threaten to not pay them if they defied him, they got the message and pitched in, getting their tents packed as quickly as their grumbling allowed, disturbing the thin veil of frost that had settled in the early morning chill of this desolate land.

Anney always had the task of stowing the cooking gear and filling the water barrel they would all drink from during the day. She didn’t mind the task at all as there were usually a few dregs of stock and nutrition in the bottom of the pans and bowls, this morning was no exception and she offered a few, vital mouthfuls to Hope and took a few herself, before she set to work and moved off a little to refill the barrel from the clear, cold water, and wash her gear clean.

She had the pans ready to pack away and was watching the water flow into the barrel when something moved in the corner of her eye. She looked up but nothing was there, only the movement of the grass in the light morning breeze. It made her feel uneasy, like she was being observed, and even when she replaced the filled barrel she looked again at the same spot by the riverbank, convinced it was quietly watching her every move….

The caravan was ready to move in short order and they set off back along the riverbank towards the path they were following, before fording the river at the marked point. Then the path kept heading north, through more featureless grassland. They were making good time, the owner seemingly intent on making rapid progress and wanting to put some distance between them and their campsite. Even Hope seemed to sense the unease in his attitude and stayed quiet on Anney’s back. At one point she indicated to her mother that something was in the grassland off to their right. Anney saw nothing as she walked on, but it was making her increasingly nervous, like she also detected there was something out there, waiting for them to make a single mistake.

After a few hours, the path began to descend into the next shallow valley and a second, marked ford crossing. The Tribal walking next to her seemed to fall quiet, while he’d prayed as usual a few times as they’d walked this morning, now she thought he looked tense and uneasy himself, and when she thought about his warning last night it made her even more unsettled. But he saw her burdened face and brightened just slightly, softly winking at her to silently remind her of what to do….

They reached the riverbank, and this crossing was still shallow, but much shorter than the one next to their campsite. A few Guards crossed over the sluggish gurgle of the water to establish a safe point on the far bank, but as soon as they got clear of the flow, Anney heard it! It sounded like the low rumbling that the Tribal had made, but it was louder, more distinct and the noise froze her heart instantly!

The caravan master ordered the Guards to hold their place, seemingly fully aware of what was coming for them, and all the Guards looked outwards into the grassland, rather than seeing the slaves they were guarding. The Tribal spotted this and whispered to them all, “do as I do, now!” The five of them looked between themselves in a degree of disbelief as he lay down on his side, folded up into a foetal position and with his eyes clamped shut.

They didn’t understand and he opened his eyes, knowing they hadn’t copied him, making him plead in his whispering tone, “do it now, only hope, trust me! Warriors of my Queen coming!”

That was enough for Anney, and she got down onto the ground to join him. Since she was the slave that had been with the caravan the longest, she was seen as a veteran by them, and all but one of the others matched her. The last slave took their chance and hurried off into the nearby grass to lay low themself, their own plan obviously to sneak away if they got a chance….

The Tribal looked at Anney and smiled at her, “give me child, please….”

Anney whispered back, “not a chance!”

“I promise safe, know how to keep calm when Warriors come. Please, trust me, offer life in protection of her!”

Anney considered his proposal for all of two seconds, before reaching for Hope and passing the Tribal her child. She didn’t even know why she did it, but there was something in his tones that she believed! He took the child and Anney noted she was giggling, like this was some sort of fun game, and the Tribal instantly began to sing a calming soft song into her ears. It had the required effect and Hope settled, allowing the Tribal to place his hand across her eyes and closing his own while he kept singing.

Anney chanced a peek, spotting that a few of the Guards had turned back now and had noted what the slaves were doing, but she kept hearing the soft, soothing song of the Tribal for her daughter which made her not care about them. Instead, she lay still and closed her eyes, convinced it would be for the last time….

She heard it again a few seconds later, a clattering and skittering, growing louder on the breeze, a sound she had never heard before and was instantly terrified of. It sounded like an otherworldly army was about to crush them and the Guards began to fire wildly somewhere off to the left of the caravan. Anney heard the horses on the right flank move to firing position, before they joined the defence, and for a while it seemed to have the required effect, but then she heard one of the guards scream in pain and a barked warning from another, “tribals on the far bank, it’s an ambush!”

There was obvious confusion and panic as the Caravan Master ordered them to keep firing, before she heard him roar in agony as well, whatever was attacking had injured him, and the Guards seemed unable to provide any effective counter as the skittering kept closing on them, the noise becoming deafening in Anney’s ears as it began to drown out the soft hymn the Tribal was still singing to keep Hope calm….

Suddenly the skittering was surrounding them, and Anney felt her terror become absolute! All around she could hear the screams of the Guards as they were being assaulted by this haunting foe and their inability to halt the onslaught. Horses whinnied in fear themselves and she heard a few bolting off across the river as bodies seemed to be thrown to the floor right by her side. Then she could hear a clicking and rumbling right by her ear. Something was inspecting her, and her breathing stopped out of the fear that one move could leave her like the Guards. The Tribal was still singing to Hope and the creature hissed at them, before seeming to turn away and howl a roar of victory that was matched by a host of others. She even heard human roars of victory in the cacophony, before the skittering noise faded as quickly as it began, disappearing back into the long grass it had spawned from….

There was silence for a moment, before she heard new sounds coming towards them. Footsteps, human footsteps…. They stopped by her head, and she heard, “it over Warrior-Greyspear, glorious Queen answered your prayers.”

The Tribal stopped singing and appeared to sit up, “it over, rise and see what our Glorious Queen done to those who traded in our flesh!” Anney didn’t know what to do, so she heard the Tribal add to her, “rise mother. I have daughter safe, I return child to your care.”

That was enough to reassure her, and she opened her eyes as she returned to her knees, discovering her legs were still trembling as she tried to rise to her feet. The tribal was holding Hope like she was his own and she was laughing as he bobbed her in his arms, still sat on the floor next to her. She smiled at the sight and whispered, “thank you,” to him.

Hope turned her head to smile at her mother, while he replied, “no need for quiet voice anymore, days as slave over, for both of you, for all of us.”

The other three that had stayed with them began to sit up themselves, so Anney was given a chance to see what had happened to their caravan, and it was like a scene from hell! The Guards had numbered around a dozen, and she could count at least half of them that were now laid lifeless on the floor, their remains looking like they had been butchered by their foe! The limbs were cleaved through and separated from their torsos, and a few had their clothing torn away, their torsos split open from navel to neck, letting their innards spill from the gaping wounds. She felt sick and kept Hope’s view limited to her neck as she absorbed the scenes of carnage!

Ten or so Tribals were now picking up the survivors, and Anney counted five of them, all disarmed and sporting cuts, gashes or arrow injuries. She could even see the caravan master, who had been captured alive after a few arrows had disabled him. He was being dragged down from the driving seat of the wagon, and a few more tribals were calming the animals and rounding them up on horseback. The wagon appeared undamaged and only a few of the Guard’s horses had been slain in the chaos, meaning there were plenty to pass around among them.

Greyspear took the reins of one of the Guard’s horses, the woman that it previously belonged to had her throat slashed and her foot trapped in the stirrup, meaning the corpse was being dragged along while he calmed it. He freed the foot, drew the revolver from the holster and made sure it was fully loaded, before he grabbed some rounds from the belt and passed them to Anney. “Yours now, to defend you and child.”

Anney nodded back in complete disbelief, but she managed to utter, thanks,” in reply as she checked the weapon over. She’d only been trusted with weapons like this in desperate times before, but she knew enough about how to use it as she stashed it in the folds of Hope’s sling across her chest.

He climbed into the saddle and gave that low rumble, followed by a few clicks, the tribals matched him, before another rode up alongside him, mounted on one of their own horses. The saddle and tack looked more simplistic, but had a degree of ornate decoration, while it also had plating that matched the clothing of the tribals themselves. The newcomer threw Greyspear a sizable bow and quiver, and he slung them across his back in seconds before addressing the slaves before him. “Find weapons and strip dead, anything usable we take! Need to move soon, Warriors of Queen will return for feast of victory, must be away before that! Any can ride, take horse, rest in wagon, Mother driving that while I stay at her side as guide and escort!”

It was only now the newcomer added in a more normal accent, “you’re safe and not going to be hurt.” He raised his left arm and showed that he had a distinctive tattoo of a skull behind a long spear upon his wrist. “My name is Balson, and as a Warrior of The Black Chitin, I give you my word as a Warrior-Husband of a Dronewife!”

The others got the message and began to quickly strip the bodies of anything they could, while the former guards and caravan master were lashed in pairs and bound to some of the spare horses, trapped into the saddles and the bridles tied to the tack of the tribals, meaning they would move as quickly as they would.

In less than an hour they were ready to move, and Anney climbed into the seat of the wagon, taking the reins of the two Muffalo pulling it. There were still a few people loading the last items aboard the wagon and while one slave could ride themselves, the others were aboard with her. She took the brief opportunity to offer a little milk to Hope, before sitting her next to her and using a few free scraps of rope to secure her in place within the folds of her warm blanket.

Greyspear came alongside the wagon, matching his position to Hope to help watch her, before he told Anney, “we ready to go! Must be now, can hear Warriors needing to feast and return home. Snows come soon, must be safe before they reach us.”

Anney nodded back, trusting every word he told her. “How far is it to your home?”

Greyspear pointed to one of the snow-capped mountains on the horizon, “that home, we live out winter in warmth and safety of tunnels. Still work to do over cold season, but by Spring anyone looking for you think you dead. This limits of region we claim, journey still several days, and it colder come each morning. Must be there before heavy snows freeze us.”

Anney nodded in understanding and heard a few yells at the rear of the wagon, followed by the tribals mounting their horses and getting ready to ride themselves. “Looks like we’re ready to go, let’s not hang around.”

Greyspear nodded in agreement and with a few clicks to his fellow warriors they set out, following the riverbed west, towards the imposing mountain before them....

They had been waiting all quadrum for the alarms, the prisoner the Lost Ones had taken on meant to be rescued by yttakin pirates. With only hours before the shuttle was scheduled to pick up the prisoner the raid had arrived, one hundred and thirty yttakin armed to the teeth. Everyone was getting into position, the artillery line right behind the main bunker loaded and ready. Then the reinforcements arrived. And that. Is when everything went wrong.

The first artillery volley went wide, and the yttakin responded with a volley of hand mortar fire. The very first shell to land struck the ammunition depot, setting off the fifty shells stored within. The entire back wall of the bunker was reduced to rubble, the gunners inside looking back as the explosion tore through all of the artillery pieces, downing everyone manning them and the shrapnel tearing into Green's body. The very mountain they had made their home rumbled with the destruction, sending Lemon, an old dryadkin who couldn't fight to save herself, into a heart attack. Despite White's best efforts, she died in that room. Ayano, the premier field medic for the colony, got to work as the shock wore off of what had just happened. Lady and the pair of warcaskets, Lime and Ambrus, moved out to try and salvage the situation as Sonny set up a skipbarrier to keep everyone safe.

Lady used several psycasts to prepare herself before bolting into the fray with a fresh persona bifurcator. She tore through the yttakin until her shield failed, only able to take so many shots before she collapsed. This only left Lime and Ambrus, with Green using her royal connections to call down reinforcements. Ambrus and Lime marched through a field of frag grenades, dynamite, and missile pods all raining down on them, their armour keeping them going far beyond anything anyone should be able to endure.

Ambrus took shelter under one of the drop shields the yttakin had deployed, volley after volley of rockets slamming into the energy barrier as she waited for the explosives to run dry. All while Lime marched through with a giant crustbreaker hammer, sending pirates flying with every swing. And as they routed part of the wave, the ones waiting for their moment charged in. Lime and Ambrus, having thought they would get a reprieve, were suddenly assaulted once again, a barrage of bullets and explosives leaving them completely pinned down, with flashbangs going off and completely disorienting Lime as Ambrus slowly marched forward under the hail of hot lead and steel.

The rest of the colony was helpless but to watch, as for an hour Lime and Ambrus were bombarded, until the yttakin had broken or exhausted most of their supplies. Just as things were beginning to let up, Ambrus' head was taken off by a frag, the breached warcasket falling into a pile of explosives before being utterly obliterated as they kept being thrown, unaware the occupant was no longer alive. When the dust finally settled, there was only shards of metal left inside of the crater.

As Lime got her bearings and saw the exhausted yttakin fleeing, she charged one she recognised as throwing the damnable flash grenades that had left her helpless. But the victory had claimed another life back at the bunker, a young woman, and one of the many children of Irgo, had died from a combination of blood loss, and a brain injury from the shrapnel. After the rest of the wounded had been tended, the survivors captured, and the dead put into the freezer for resurrection, was there time to mourn.

First was Missy, Irgo's daughter, and a strong, hardworking woman in her own right, was put into a warcasket so that she may continue to protect the colony, armed with a massive railgun capable of punching through entire crowds. Lemon was not brought back, and instead was allowed to rest alongside the trees she once tended. And Ambrus was mourned, a funeral held in her honor as there hadn't been enough of the body to recover.

The Lost Ones had learned a valuable lesson from this battle, and reinforced the artillery compound with shield generators, as well as storing the shells underneath the mountain, away from the bunker. Life would go on, and after having time to settle herself, Irgo sought to brighten the world with kindness, not wishing to see more cruelty around herself and her family.

The shuttle was landing from orbit, the bestower and entourage talking about the latest rising star. They were a strange one, a waster of all things, rocketing through the royal ranks. She had a surprisingly silver tongue for one so unsightly to look at. As they landed they made their way through the colony. It was a strange mix of peoples from all kinds of different walks and xenotypes. One was even a genie who had transformed themselves into a sanguophage. It was strange to see such a delicate creature walking around with a battleaxe slung over their back.

When they reached the throne room, they were at first confused. Sitting upon the impressive marble dias wasn't the well spoken waster, dressed as a lady and keeping a zeushammer close at hand. Instead they were met by a fierce looking woman, older than the previous noblewoman, but with a far more serious look to her. The bestower asked what was going on, fearful they may have been betrayed. The woman, introducing herself as Green, stated that the previous noble, Lingxin Meng, had died fighting a mechanoid cluster, and she had been chosen as her successor.

The announcement was delivered with little subtlety, a prompt telling of events with no room for questions. The bestower asked if they could see the body, pay their respects. Green's lips twisted into a smirk, and gestured behind them. As the man turned, alongside his protectors, they saw her, or more it. Standing behind them was a figure encased in hulking armour, the only thing visible were a pair of eyes and some dark grey skin. She greeted them, the soft words and fanciful language leaving little doubt as to the occupant.

Such entombment was a topic of much debate among the Empire, and as some of the guards started to question the legality of the situation, Lingxin stood firm and expressed her willingness to be an eternal defender for the colony. With the situation settled the bestower began the ceremony, Green observing the ritual closely, as if watching for the slightest misstep. When the ceremony was over Green dismissed the bestower. And as they boarded the shuttle to return to one of the homeships, the whispers were of a single topic.

This woman was not a politician. They were a general, leading from the front. And anyone sent would need to be careful in the future with her.

15th of Jugust, 5501

“If child can handle, why can’t you?” That was Dorna, telling me to suck it up and get to work. That child was Damaso, who had towed a gigantic insect carcass back and was beaming at me, waiting to be praised. And here I am, staring at that giant critter on the butcher’s table, praying I didn’t just see its legs twitch. How did Damaso even haul this in? It’s way larger than those Dorna dragged in last time!

Still, Dorna had put me in charge of making this batch of kibble and I didn’t want to risk provoking her ire, so I had little choice but to get to it. Won’t get into the gritty details; suffice to say, it wasn’t pleasant. I can almost still feel the goo and squick on my hands and arms…

Also, wasn’t just imagining it. An insect had slashed Gusenga’s face in that fight, and he’s been flaunting his battehl scahs ever since. If it weren’t for that war mask he would’ve lost an eye! Sigh… why are men like this?

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2nd of Septober, 5501

Winter’s over and Dorna’s out in her fields. She’s been pretty distressed lately so this will be good relief for her, I think. At least, it’ll keep her from breathing down my neck.

Yuko asked me about the time we found her. I told her Gusenga found her and carried her back on his shoulder like she’s a limp ferret. She flushed red and stormed off to find him after hearing that—welp, that’s another two problems off my back.

Quiet days are the best.

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4th of Septober, 5501

A large trading caravan from the Confederacy of G’za arrived today, and—surprise! My father was with them.

Awkward.

Look, I’m supposed to be exiled here, Pa—well, foster Pa. He adopted me as a child and I don’t have anything against him. He’s also the only one who says my name properly; everybody else just calls me ‘Seara’ and I’ve given up on correcting them. Seems he’d moved to another village after the incident, but he refuses to explain why. Typical.

Can’t forget when he mistook Damaso as my baby and his face contorted from pure shock to half-understanding: “HOOHH?! Ohh, hum, wow~ Boys grow so fast these days!” Sure, Pa, no need to act composed. Brought Lánga out to say hi afterwards, and he was glad to see his grandson born healthy. I tried to ask him what happened to Abaniga, but he kept changing the topic. Always avoiding the hard questions, eh. Well, guess I did pick that up from you, Pa.

The merchant wasn’t averse to bartering with us even though we’re exiles. The other villages don’t seem too bothered by it. Decided to sell the bug jelly we gathered from the burrows. The stuff’s delicious, but, well… thinking about how it comes from the same place as those bugs makes me lose my appetite for it. (Yuko was pretty miffed at me over it though) In exchange we got some clothes, a bunch of silver, as well as a cow. Now the ranch is starting to look the part! It’s only lacking for a sheepdog—and no, a wolf doesn’t count.

The G’zan caravan left shortly before the sun set. Wonder how much Lánga will have grown when Pa comes by again.

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10th of Jugust, 5501

Dorna and I have been visiting our prisoner daily, and today we finally convince Yuko just how twisted the Purples are. We sat around to comfort her through all that my-life-was-a-lie stuff; afterwards, we posed the question: “Will you join us?”

She agreed immediately.

It’ll be nice having a girl close my age. Tends to say whatever’s on her mind, but I think we’ll get along fine?

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14th of Jugust, 5501

Been unconscious for a couple of days. Where do I start…?

So, Yuko’s just joined us and is pretty good with an ikwa while Cansin’s leaving in a bit, so Gusenga suggested we clear out the insect burrow in the eastern caves. It’s a hazard for travelers, like how the Doruban caravan encountered the burrow in the northern tunnel a while back, so he said we should take care of it while there’s more of us.

While I’m still debating internally if it’s a good idea, we’re already treading ice across the lake. As Gusenga led us through the caves he suddenly gasped—next thing I knew, giant bugs were upon us. Dorna, Cansin and I shot arrows from the back, while Gusenga threw pila at the front beside Yuko. However, the bugs quickly overwhelmed Yuko and then got to me. We eventually managed to kill the bugs, but not before they made a bloody mess of Yuko, Gusenga and me. Haven’t any idea how I dragged myself back to my bedroll, tattered and cut up as I was. Hope the wounds don’t scar.

My memories after are hazy… I vaguely remember calling for Dorna or Damaso to carry my baby Lánga to me as I needed to breastfeed him. Otherwise, I only recall waking up to poultices all over my body, seeing Yuko asleep in a state similar to mine, and then being faintly shocked to find that Gusenga’s already healthy and about—that oaf’s just built different. Though, is it just me or does his mug look uglier?

Everything else, I heard from Damaso.

Gusenga trekked back from the cave like I did, while Dorna carried the unconscious Yuko—there’s still a trail of our blood stretching over the snow. Cansin went to check the remains of the burrow alone afterwards; quite a foolhardy choice? He did find a few human corpses scattered about, even one that was still warm. Guess it really was waylaying unsuspecting travelers. He then dipped for warmer lands shortly afterwards in the evening… doubt I’ll miss him, though.

Dorna’s in a terrible mood these past few days. Can’t blame her; her brother suggested this reckless expedition, yet she has to handle the aftermath all by her lonesome.

Damaso said he was good and helped tidy the place up. I don’t dare imagine how much worse it was if this is ‘cleaned up’—bloodstains on the ground, walls kind of scuffed, cracks on our stove, our tables and stools… apparently Dorna threw a fit and went around kicking the place up. If she’s getting physical she really must’ve lost her marbles. I’d better not shirk work for a while, don’t want her taking her stress out on me.

Oh, Dorna’s calling for me! Gotta go. Think I heard something about visitors from the Ogeros Concord? Maybe they have goods to trade.

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2nd of Jugust, 5501

A brown wolf snuck in, wolfed down some elkmeat Dorna was roasting, then curled up at her feet. Guess he’s staying with us now…? Gusenga and Damaso are really excited about the wolf, but I swear it’s just here for free food and shelter.

I’m tucking Lánga in more tightly from now on.

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4th of Jugust, 5501

It’s still raining fog and everyone’s in a terrible mood. Damaso told me Dorna’s tearing into the potatoes again so I went to find and talk her out of it. All I got from our conversation, though, is that she’s ashamed of her body and felt an urgent need to hide it from the world.

…Woman’s ten cycles older than I am, rocking a thinner figure than I do, and she’s ashamed of it? I am so writing her out of my will, she can eat those tubers and get fat for all I care.

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5th of Jugust, 5501

Someone came to our doorstep seeking refuge for a week or so. Dorna happened to overhear his story, so we couldn’t turn him away; guess we’ll have another warm body helping out around here for a while.

Also, managed to convince Gusenga to have the wolf stay outside in the pen with the other animals. I’m not about to risk my darling baby for some mangy cur’s comfort.

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6th of Jugust, 5501

That refugee we took in gives me bad vibes. Cansin—that’s his name—has been asking all sorts of weird questions:

“How do you think people should be served?”

“When showering do you start with the ears or the toes?”

“Why did the cook ask for an extra pair of hands?”

Well, when it’s showering I start with my shoulders because I GOT A CHIP with all this accursed rain! And if he doesn’t shut up I’m going to have a chip with him too!

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7th of Jugust, 5501

Today, Damaso asked a very… pointed question: “What did the trees ever do to Dorna?” Well, two questions: “Why does Dorna keep killing trees?” He asked me as I was breastfeeding Lánga, quite the inconvenient moment… wait, there isn’t a convenient time for such questions, is there?

I still vividly remember the crackling and warmth of the logfire beside us while he looked toward me expectantly for an answer. “Well, how about you ask Dorna herself, dear? She’s the person chopping the trees,” and off he went.

Sorry Dorna, I’m not really in the mood for an existential crisis just about then.

Anyway, rain’s finally stopped! The blizzard seems so cozy in comparison to that dreary, foggy rain. Seems like a good time for a celebration! Gusenga cobbled up a couple of drums, and we had ourselves a drum party this night. Drummer Sarah’s on set, laying down the beat!

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6th of Aprimay, 5501

Woke up to a refreshingly warm(-er) morning. The cold wave’s over, so of course the next thing I see is Dorna slaving away in her fields. Bet she can’t wait for the corn to ripen.

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10th of Aprimay, 5501

Dorna broke. The first snow came today, and now she’s in our stores munching on raw taters. Winter’s creeping fast on her crops and she just kind of lost it. Did she just forget about the seasons in her eagerness…?

A transport pod crashed nearby, during the wee hours when its muffled thump disturbed my sleep. Gusenga checked it out in the morning, and returned with an unconscious, dark-skinned lass in his arms. She donned a purple beret, the uniform of a notorious outfit; locked her in the back to be safe. It’s weird—the room where I gave birth to Lánga is now a prison. Normally I’d leave anything herbs to Dorna, but seeing as she’s still on a potato crusade I’ve no choice but to treat the girl’s injuries myself. Right as I thought it’ll be a quiet day…

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12th of Aprimay, 5501

Our prisoner went ballistic today when she woke up. Damaso was headed to the cell to refuel a torch when she just about tore down the door, scaring the living daylights out of him. I spotted the kid running for Gusenga, and next I know the prisoner’s out cold in her bedroll again… I really wanted to have a chat with her. Thanks for nothing, you oaf.

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13th of Aprimay, 5501

This time, our prisoner wakes up without much incident—Yuko Maschal, seventeen. As we suspected, she’s from The Purple Gang, well-known for their woman-hating and -napping. She’s rather reluctant to speak; I don’t blame her, but we have our work cut out for us if we’re rescuing her from the clutches of that vile bunch.

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14th of Aprimay, 5501

An enemy tribesman came to scout our lil’ alcove, and Gusenga happened. The end.

More importantly, Lánga took his first baby steps! My little boy sure is growing up fast; it won’t be long now ‘til he’s out there slinging spears like a real fighter… …I hate how that oaf’s face was the first to appear when I imagined that.

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1st of Jugust, 5501

An Empire Knight petitioned us—he wants to test his shipside weapons, which will cause the weather here to go crazy for a while. Well, the weather’s already batshit, so I told his courier they could Go right ahead!

…And now I’m already regretting it. Thought nothing could be worse than blizzards, but guess what? Heavy rain with fog. How mightily depressing. The ambrosia which Dorna foraged a couple days ago is looking plenty good right now.

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The following account is from the personal Journal of Jet, founding member of the Third River settlement:

We weren't even gone 2 days. A quick raid south to clear a mech cluster that set up a unblocked and that was it. We came back to a town that was tense and angry, and our moral guide in jail. He had beaten William bloody and killed Harding... he was only 4 hrs old.

We all liked Harding. He'll We went out to grab the kid - he was only 3 when he stole a radio to contact us - from the clutches of pirates. He helped feed the animals or clean when he wanted to help, and I and my fiance Cherry would give him what schooling we could in the evenings.

Martin, our guide, died of infection before the trial could begin. A quick town meeting has him grudgingly buried in pauper's grave a ways out of town. More mercy than he deserved..

Not even gone 2 days and we lost 2 people.... maybe we should have stayed away..

2nd of Aprimay, 5501

A kid in a lime-green shadecone darted in this morning, fleeing from a couple of vicious snowhares (what’s with the rabbits in these parts?). Needless to say, I tended to the poor child while the oaf– I mean, Gusenga and Dorna took care of those wererabbits. The boy’s four, name’s Chai Damaso; he got lost while foraging for berries, was chased by those hares, and ended up here. Touché.

When I asked him where’s his village at, he shook his head and clutched my hand; adorable little thing. The siblings didn’t have any qualms with it so we kept him.

Anyway, remember the cotton? Turns out it wasn’t for bedding.

Dorna had Gusenga build a wooden frame and shape the cotton into an effigy—which looked uncannily like her, I should add. Noticed it when I went out for the first time in a while. “Fer da Pyre’s Due,” Gusenga told me. Not sure if the name’s meant to be poetic, ironic, or worryingly morbid. Didn’t ask more as the biting cold reminded me why I’m cooped up in the first place.

Evening came, and Dorna invited me as she was about to begin the ritual; tried to excuse myself by mentioning the cold, so she simply had Gusenga lug the effigy indoors. Darn.

It went about just how I’d expected: Opening words about how pain leads to absolution, a short observance of silence, Gusenga tossing a torch at the effigy, and us watching it burn. Damaso’s eyes were flitting wildly between Dorna and the effigy… probably wondering what he’s gotten himself into. The effigy eventually burned down, accompanied by an awkward silence; Dorna coughed and abruptly declared the end of the ritual. I caught a blush on her face, and it didn’t seem to be from the heat—guess she’s still our kindly Dorna deep inside.

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3rd of Aprimay, 5501

Damaso’s glued to my hip the entire day, seems he’s taken a shine to me; spending all that time mingling with the village kids hadn’t been in vain. He doesn’t seem too fond of Gusenga and Dorna though—something about them hurting innocent animals for meat…? But he seems fine eating from the same pot as us for some reason. I just don’t get that kid.

A traveler from The Xabadi People, Damaso’s old tribe, came by; he seemed relieved to see Damaso, guess they were worried about him after all. However, when I asked if he’s bringing him back, he shook his head. “The child’s happy here, the trees want this.” (remembered it word-for-word as I was pretty weirded out) Well, works for us! Damaso’s chipper here, and I was thinking he can be Lánga’s big brother and keep him company. Wouldn’t want my baby to grow up lonely.

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4th of Aprimay, 5501

Merchants from Doruba Covenant came through the northern tunnel; Dorna spoke with them, then headed there, and came back with huge insect carcasses in tow. Ugh, revolting… didn’t know they had bugs that big. Seems the Dorubans came across an insect burrow in there—now I get why Gusenga told me to stay away from the caves… he didn’t mean bugs, but BUGs.

Worryingly, I then saw Dorna sling the carcasses onto the butcher’s table. She reassured me it’s not for us… But thinking of our meat coming from that table now strewn with insect entrails– oh gods, I can physically feel my dinner churning.

Not going to sleep well tonight…

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14th of Decembary, 5500

Tonight, Dorna called for a serious talk, so we huddled around the logfire after I put Lánga in his crib.

Then, she confessed: she was the one behind that fire. Gusenga didn’t look too shaken—his face said I guessed it as he looked down. But I couldn’t believe it. Dorna continued, said that she was fire keeper that night and wanted to leave a bit to tend to a patient. But when she left, she happened to feed too much firewood to the pyre, and that was that.

…

Dorna began crying, saying she felt so bad for me. Didn’t know how to tell her my circumstances aren’t her fault—if it weren’t for the fire the elders would’ve found something else to pin onto me regardless, After all, I had gone and bore a child with someone who’s already engaged. To another village’s princess. In a political engagement. Stupid Abaniga.

Anyway, I wanted to console Dorna when she said she needed to announce something. I get a real bad feeling—and I'm already right once. Before I could say anything, there and then she proclaimed herself a Guiltseer, guiding us “Children of Shame” on our path to absolution… something along those lines? Lots of it went over my head and I wasn’t going to probe deeper, no way.

She continued to ramble about some stuff on the connection between pain and virtue; I excused myself, citing my need for postpartum rest, while Gusenga stayed with her to calm her down (probably? I certainly hope so). What a night… now I know I wasn’t just imagining what she said that day I gave birth to Lánga.

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15th of Decembary, 5500

I know I’m relieved to see Dorna in good spirits after what had transpired last night. Turns out, she’s bringing in the first batch of harvests from her fields today—potatoes and cotton. Quite a bountiful harvest, too! Seems the soil around here is really fertile.

Aside from petitioning me for help each time she returned with more potatoes, she mentioned in passing how Gusenga hunted a wild lynx that was hunting him. I just about passed it as the first time Dorna cracked a joke when his hulking figure ambled in through the door, and he slumped a limp lynx from his shoulder onto the butcher’s table. Chek dis ouht, his eyebrows seemed to say, as his gaze lingered for a moment before he turned to leave.

Annoying oaf.

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1st of Aprimay, 5501

A frigid cold swept in today and Dorna’s crops were decimated; she managed to salvage some haygrass, but the corn was killed off. She looks devastated… Gusenga sure wasn’t kidding when he said she loves corn. It appears that even her newfound, uh, convictions can’t win against her love for corn.

On a slightly separate note, that oaf’s been telling me all sorts of tidbits about Dorna. Bet he thinks he’s being clever. Maybe, I should tell her all about the stupid hijinks he’s getting up to.

*update*: It didn’t work, now she thinks I’m interested in him, argh. Talk about backfiring.

"Stop raiding the Black Hound Clan"
Whenever we heard this we laughed it off. One day, their massive wealth would be ours. The irony.

​

Several nights ago we were woken up by the sentries. We gathered in the central square to see what was going on. A Sentry ran towards us, yelling about danger, to hide the treasure and to take up arms.
He had run as fast as he could, and he was only just fast enough to get to us. He didn't have time to tell us who was attacking, but that question was answered when a knight shot around the corner and decapitated him.
The image is so clear in my head. The knight wasn't particularly large, but still radiated danger. I swear we could hear her slow heartbeat over the gurgling of the tumbling corpse and through the warplate she wore. Light red helmet, blue shield, blue armor, red drops of blood covering it.
She was on the move again before we could do more than blink. The sword she held was an extension of her. Valentins arm was removed, then his leg. We were moving to attack the knight now, but it was already too late for him. Still, it was at least ten to one. We could take her. Then the other two arrived.

A broad man in the same armor but with a burnished bronze helmet, also wielding a sword. A woman wearing a dark red helmet, swinging a massive frost axe like it weighed nothing. She immediately started putting it to use, ending lives in broad swathes around her. The man sprinted behind a storage building, the screaming that followed proof that our own fighters were arriving.

We were screaming, but the knights fought with quiet fury. One would pass by one of our fighters, but when they turned to attack them from the rear another knight would step up behind them, killing them with ruthless efficiency. It didn't take long for us to realize we were hopelessly outmatched. I heard the horn that sounded the retreat, and I ran. Never have I ever ran so fast. I was running in front of all of the fleeing rabble, and I made the mistake to look back. The first knight was following us, picking us off one by one. The fear made me run even faster, but still she was coming closer, killing every member of my clan with contemptuous ease. There were three of us left, then two. I ran, knowing the end was coming.
I kept running.
I ran, but looked back. The knight stood next to the corpse of Georyl, looking at me. She could have gotten me. Instead, she chose to let me live, to let me flee. She knew. I knew.

Two others were allowed to escape. Each of us told the same story. They ran, everyone but them got killed. And just before they were killed, the knights stopped. One of the survivors ran past the knights' horses, which were already laden with bags of silver and gold. We weren't even their first targets.

I think we were meant to be a warming. A warning we should have listened to.
Don't raid the Black Hound Clan.

4th of Decembary, 5500

How’s Dorna even working on the fields in this heat…

Gusenga found a little cave that can shield us from the heat, so we’re staying the nights there. But it’s still so hooooot…

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6th of Decembary, 5500

Hah~ I miss these cool nights… lazing on the cold stone…

…Okay, actually we need some bedrolls here, people. The hard rocks aren’t doing it for me and junior.

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8th of Decembary, 5500

Traders from Doruba Covenant came by, their tribe used to be our neighbors… wait, guess they still are. They said they’re just passing by—as if, who’d pass by this place? The siblings were surprised, but they were headed out so I handled the bartering. I exchanged some of our wood for a couple adult parkas plus a kid’s parka for my baby. It makes me think they actually went out of their way for us, such kind folk.

Also got a hen, haven’t had eggs for weeks.

Anyway, those traders asked a good question: What’s the name of your settlement? So I popped this question to the siblings, and after a bit of back and forth we decided: we’re The Irobar Tribe, and this place is White Irza. (Don’t ask me, ask Dorna)

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10th of Decembary, 5500

My old nan’s definitely lying when she said giving birth’s just like taking a big fat dump.

Felt the contractions yesterday, then shouted for Dorna before everything became hazy. And painy. Pain-ey? Hmm, why do I have the impression that Dorna spouted something strange like “Pain is a blessing from the spirits” while holding my hand?… Maybe I’m just exhausted.

It’s already night when I finally pushed my baby out. My sweet baby boy, Lánga Blackdragon… Grow up to be an upstanding man, exactly not like your own dad. Also, that Gusenga’s a real slavedriver—I only just woke up today after giving birth and he’s already asking me to help hunt muffalos! Don’t become an insensitive oaf like Gusenga too, Lánga my dear.

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11th of Decembary, 5500

Some Knight from The Erebar Empire asked us to save him from… a snowhare. Seems it even killed his guards, how’s that happen? So we sheltered him, stewed that rabbit, and sent him on his way.

Well, the Empire was very pleased—soon after, they shuttled a whole cohort to our lil’ alcove, began some ceremony, and then asked which of us saved their Knight. Both Gusenga and Dorna immediately spun towards me (not forgiving you two for that!), and now I’m somehow a Yeoman of the Empire.

…Should’ve asked if my baby boy Lánga could be the Yeoman in my stead.

8th of Septober, 5500

Cast from the tribe this morning. This sucks. All I got was that there’s a fire last night that burned down the temple. The elders got spooked that the spirits might come for them next, so they rounded up some scapegoats and banished us to appease their spirits. Silly people… I’ll bet it was a stray lightning bolt or the fire keeper fed the pyre too much wood.

And look, I can get behind me getting kicked (though I’m innocent this time) but I don’t get why the siblings were dragged into this. Gusenga may have ticked someone off as he can get rather hot-headed… But his sister? I can’t imagine sweet Dorna offending anyone. Well, as it is, they were exiled, and so am I, even while I’m saddled with a baby; these folks sure don’t hold back when it comes to their spirits.

Right… Talking about my baby, where was that Abaniga when all that went down? Don’t think I even caught a glimpse of him the whole day. Useless bum. Are you not even a bit worried for me and your baby?

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14th of Septober, 5500

Why am I stuck with these two sticks-in-the-mud? I try to crack a joke and they simply stare at me lifelessly. Mumble-mumble lost our home, grumble-grumble woe be us. I can’t take all this weepiness!

When are we going to reach someplace to settle down?! Then I could at least pretend to watch the fire or something. Abaniga! It’s all your damn fault!

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2nd of Decembary, 5500

We finally decide on a place. It’s real out-of-the-way, too… Can’t those two spare a thought for a poor, pregnant lady? I haven’t the foggiest how I made it through in one piece. My back hurts.

For some accursed reason unbeknownst to me, settling deep in the eastern mountains is a good idea? Maybe it’s their twisted idea of penance, but why drag me into it…? At least the place’s rather nice. A river winds through this mountain, and some of it’s pooled in a pretty little clearing. I thought to set ourselves up in one of the caves, but Gusenga stopped me—something about bugs? Maybe I heard him wrongly, I can’t imagine that oaf being scared of some wee bugs.

Anyway, new home, new life! What do they say again in those stories… ‘Land ahoy’?

We’re setting up in an alcove between the ridges. Cozy lil’ spot. Can’t wait for my own napping corner.

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3rd of Decembary, 5500

Pila are so much fun! I still can’t believe I nailed that ibex right through its heart on my first throw! And that look on Gusenga’s face as he looked at the motionless ibex… hilarious! “Yuu shud leeve it to dah warriohs,” pfft! He’s never going to live that one down.

It started to really warm up past noon. Dorna says a heat wave’s coming. Whatever, nothing’s stopping this woman—pregnancy or heat waves or whatnot.

Let me tell you a tale, a tale of hardship, of courage, of defeat, of a time of great change.

It started when our noble tribe got raided by the Koothuuthu People again, the swine. And by the Empire of Jagada, the rats. This would not be much of a problem for our Knights, especially now that young Grunt has started on the Warriors Path. Were it not for the fact that we just decided decided to send four out of five Knights to assist Eawaberium in battle. We didn't know how much of a fight it would be, so we thought overwhelming force was warranted. Torhilda, one of our most capable fighters, stayed behind in case we were attacked while they were out.

This happened not once, but twice in a row, less than two hours apart. When the Jagada dogs arrived Torhilda sat in meditation as they rushed to her, thinking her a meek creature. But she was like the avatar of an angry god sent down to smite the weak. Her great hammer broke shields, armor and bones with equal ease. None could stand before her, and when overwhelmed she would move like a gazelle, jumping high, zipping between enemies. I stood back and threw ice spikes where I could get a clear shot, along side White Antelope, but we were there as backup. This was what the Knights are renowned for, the reason children across the continent are told the Knights will come for you if you misbehave.
Half an hour later she strode out of the smoke, her plasteel warplate scraped, battered and covered in blood, her kinetic shield only just recharging. Most of the blood was that of that Jagada filth, but not all of it. She walked to the hospital, muttering about doomsday launchers, which explained the massive explosions despite Lady not being there. All in all Torhilda was a bit banged up but wasn't expected to take more than three days to heal up.

Sadly the Koothuuthu swine decided to pounce on our temporary lack of strength. Torhilda sprinted to the closest gate and held it by herself until we could catch up. When we finally stood next to her she was already bleeding profusely, and her plate was pierced and sparking. Still Quietmaker swung, each clap of thunder signaled a life snuffed out, or at the least a limb destroyed. We fought together for a while, and we were there when she finally was struck low, a cowardly blow by one of the Koothuthu filth. It slipped past Quietmaker, impacting in the middle of the warplate and sending a single shard of ceramite into her heart. When she crumpled to the ground a cheer went up in the army against us

We were two now, but even toghether Hiaelmger and I were no Torhilda. With Quietmaker no longer being swung by brave and mighty Torhilda the cowardly dogs pressed forward. When Squig arrived we were on the verge of being overwhelmed. She had come unarmed, not a problem since there were plenty of weapons on the ground, their previous owners crushed and broken by our Knight and her Blessed Weapon. She went to pick up an axe, when her hand was pulled towards Quietmaker, the spirit inside it sensing her desire to smite the evil, to protect her people, to avenge the fallen. Never before have we seen this, a Blessed Weapon choosing to wield another after choosing their champion. While we stood dumbstruck Squig jumped into action. The angry shout of Quietmaker once again boomed, shaking us awake. Several minutes passed, where it was nothing but sweat, blood, smoke and the sounds of battle.

Then, finally, the enemy broke. As they fled, we returned to our keep, carrying with us the lifeless body of Torhilda. We still had hope, as Hiaelmger knew the rites of life. Even if she was returned to us, we were all worried. Quietmaker had chosen Squig, and nobody knew how Torhilda would take the loss of her beloved Weapon.

me and Richard have positioned inside on if the cabins we manage to push a bed near the door and flipped it to use as cover we can hear the mechanoids moving outside in their mechanical bodies destroying our furniture and finishing off our fellow colonists, I warned Philip to not open that ancient danger" do you think they know we're here" Richard whispered to me "no but they might come in here so be ready" I answered back with my bolt action aimed at the door and Richards shotgun we waited in eerie silence listening to the noises outside of the door we could hear the other survivors in the other rooms shouting and screaming as mechanoids opened the doors and began to kill them Richard asked me in a hurried tone "do we help them?" I crouched their in silence asking myself what to do Richard stared at me visually scared I quietly replied "no" he slowly turned his head back to the door we listened for what felt like an eternity to the mechanoids moving outside but eventually the noises stopped we have to move now and check if there are any survivors I will continue these notes tomorrow -voxie

I play on peaceful, so my games are largely colony management and I like that. Of course there's drama here and there, the game makes sure I have blights and plagues and wild animal attacks and colonists ripping each other's arms off in social fights. But there have been a couple moments in my latest game that really connected me to my colony more than previous ones.

I started with the rich explorer. Dude in his mid 20s, good mix of skills. I liked the vibe of young directionless guy looking for something to do with his life. He lands on the planet with his cat Fausto. First day I spend turning a ruin into my starting base. Second day I get my farm started. Third day a wanderer joins, a lady around the age of my starting colonist. Naturally they are lovers by the end of the day.

Main colonist, Jerry, has a low impact ideology so he's pretty chill. But his new lady friend, Maddie, had an ideology that was not so chill. She wanted to raid, which is a no for Jerry and I both, she won't eat meat which is annoying early game but I got the farm started so that helps, and I've still got survival meals and there's berry bushes around. Also she's a no ding ding before the ring type, so we don't have to worry about a pregnancy just yet.

Things keep going great, we've got this nice little house set up for them. They get engaged pretty quickly after that, and I wonder who will be there to attend the wedding when they finally get married. It turns out the answer is a small feral child named Aurelius or Ari for short. They quickly tame him and look at that! Cute little family.

Jerry and Maddie get married and she's preggo like day one or two. So that slows her down a bit but I haven't been overly ambitious in my planning so everything is still going well. Unfortunately the first pregnancy ended in a miscarriage after an attack from a mad animal. She was quickly prego again and eventually had a daughter named Charlie. After the cute little family of four celebrated their first holiday together, another wanderer joined, and wouldn't you know it, it was another little kid. Poor Jerry, he wanted adventure and instead he's suddenly taking care of three kids. Also Maddie quickly got preggers again, oops.

Fast forward a few years. The colony has grown exponentially. Jerry and Maddie now have four daughters. He's also now royalty and the leader of the colony. Maddie is a plants and building wizard. Ari is a teenager and frequently accompanies Jerry on caravans because he's a hussar and good at shooting stuff.

Another colonist has just lost her husband after he was hit by crossfire from another hunter. I wasn't too bummed about him because he was a pyro. I had two embryos from the couple, and decided to toss one in the growth vat to get that baby started. Mom is a highmate so it's only a matter of time before she pairs up with someone else, and she did the next day. The first colonist I've ever encountered with a luciferium addiction. So that's been fun.

Everything is great until that baby is two months old and dies in a Malaria outbreak. So that's a real one two punch for mom. Shortly thereafter another pawn, Usbasme or something like that, has a stillbirth. I put one of her embryos in the growth vat. Then she got pregnant again quickly thereafter, which I did not anticipate. Sorry artificial almost twins.

Fast forward again. The artificial almost twins are here and healthy. Dad, Skleros, is off with a caravan as a guard, mom is still at the base mostly attached to the kids. Another pawn, a dirtmole named Katsumi, has a mental break because he's mad about being outside. Relatable, but inconvenient. And he's big mad, he heads towards the water treatment to try to destroy it. Also inconvenient. Usbasme happened to be the nearest pawn, so I grabbed her to try to calm him down. HE SHOT HER. Which I'd never had a pawn do to another pawn before in a mental break. I've had prisoners go on murderous rampages, but not other colonists.

Jerry arrested him, and the water treatment was fine, but at what cost? We promptly had the funeral despite Skleros being gone because I knew I'd forget otherwise. MOTHERFUCKING KATSUMI BUSTS OUT OF JAIL DURING THE FUNERAL. Frustrating because I wanted him to be my first public execution, but he was behaving in a way that suggested he wouldn't last that long. Sure enough, he's gunned down by 14 year old Ari. He lived, and I could have rescued him and had a proper execution. But it didn't feel worth the resources to me, so I let the child soldier finish him off.

At that point I was infuriated. Usbasme and Katsumi were both useful pawns, and I lost them because Katsumi had a poorly timed bitch fit. Even though it was in no way part of the ideology of the colony, I wanted his corpse to send a message. I built a gibbet and stuck it behind Usbasme's grave and let Katsumi rot there for two quadrums before burning what was left of him in the same burn pit we burn fecal sludge in.

Fast forward again a bit. I've accepted a forced weather quest that involves rainy thunderstorms. Which was dumb. Everyone is grumpy because they're wet all the time, and they're constantly having to fight fires. Then lightning struck in my animal pen. Where I had boomalopes. Also some loose chemfuel someone had just milked from one. And the lightning struck the chemfuel. It went kaboom, the boomalopes and a number of other animals were in the radius. Then the boomalopes each went kaboom. I probably lost 20-30 animals in all from the blast and a couple to infections after the fact. A few colonists were injured so most of my focus was on healing them not the animals.

Just another day on the rim. And we're only halfway through the forced weather.

"Revive Marjet."

Well... I did. Not roleplay-wise though, having instead resetted the game after playing for a while because I decided to add even more mods into the game while also removing others, prompting me no choice but to redo. However, I was way too attached to the characters I found that I decided to remake them using Character Editor. Adding and removing some traits, changing their skills a bit and making their thematically fitting backstories.

Despite this reset and somewhat recreating My, Marjet, Nevauchi and Sotori "Diego" Sahagami (Whose nickname I kept cause it sounded way more catchy and cause I used a pre-existing pawn to edit him on. I also didn't include Seren because the race he's from breaks the rest of the modded race's addons), all the events that happened in my previous save still occurred here, like some sorta canon event.

Here is the list of events in chronological order :

So there is nothing unusual about my second modded start, other than having way more experience and knowledge of the game, mostly vanilla-related such as making a proper refrigerated storage, utilizing My's Mechanitor status to actually make more useful mechanoids instead of despairing over the fact that only Marjet and Nevauchi are the only two colonists who are capable of replenishing my resource of steel, wood and organics, while My and Nevauchi being the only builders that could help me expand, slowly.

Although, after a while I'm starting to see a pattern. It could be because I'm playing on Cassandra Classic again, and maybe even because of my poor judgement.

1. Space Battle took place near my settlement again. This time though, I knew what to do. I rallied all of my colonists and have them brave through the falling debris, explosive and motherfucking forest fire to save the survivors. Some of them are even of similar race to the survivors from my previous save, like Nevauchi and Diego's Kurin race.
2. Nevauchi and Diego ended up being lovers again and despite that, My is still on his pointless quest to get his green-haired fox waifu.
3. Even though being a repeat, it is still my most incredibly heartbreaking event. Marjet's death.

Even though caused by something different, it still happened nonetheless at nearly the same timeframe, which is after the last two events had happened. This time it is caused after I had defeated a Kijin raid party and while they were leaving, I had Marjet went ahead to fulfill her bloodlust by killing the ones that are alive and retreating.

A few minutes later after leaving Marjet to her antics, I found her dead, with her head cut-off by one of them, who happens to be WAY WAY HIGHER in melee skill than her, hence why my poor judgement caused her death. However... the whole sequence of events piqued my interest, which lead me to incorporate it into the whole story and create a universal transcendent torture chamber for My motivational and mysterious plot to revolve my gameplay around instead of having my goal to simply be "SURVIVE".

Unfortunately, I resetted the game again in order to add and remove more mods into my playthrough. I also needed to remove a mod that caused some of my colonists to be equipped with prosthetics- THAT'S WAY MORE POWERFUL THAN EVEN THE V.O.I.D. ITSELF.

But, just as I had expected. Two of the three events from my previous playthrough happened again in my current one. Hell, I even removed My's Xenophile trait so that he won't be stacking rebuffs from Nevauchi despite her being a married woman, didn't stop the man.

Now, I need someone to hand over this sense of deja vu with instead of feeling as if I've ended up being in some sort of creepypasta post. And who else could be better suited to be cursed to this tragic groundhog day situation other than Myla 'My' Harris, the man who's been fighting in the front lines with Marjet and happen to be the first to had witnessed every single one of her deaths, believe it or not.

HERE WE GO AGAIN

​

Thus the story so far... Again, in the Rimworld and having brought his standard supplies and his mechanoids. This time, before sending himself off to this new planet, My had recruited Marjet, Nevauchi and Diego prior to this departure in order to save himself the time and the others from the risk of injuries. Using the prophetic dreams and visions he experienced back in his homeworld, he did his and research, finding the three and encouraged their preparations for their inevitable crashlanding, forcing them whether they like it or not to join forces with My.

The first and second still happened. However (thanks to Combat Extended), My prioritized the defenses of the colony over any other of the leisurely research that the colonists so desperately need. Turrets and mechanoids make up the bulk of his army. And by mechanoids, he means the agrihands and cleansweepers whose main job is still to increase the QoL of the colonists.

He still made one or two militors though, but that's about it regarding his colony's autonomous non-living defenses. Although, the turrets that he and Nevauchi had erected all around the place are more than enough to protect their home, and more importantly the people living within.

Or so he and I had thought.

Despite having managed to cover the whole settlement with turrets, the magnitude of the raids have been terrifyingly increase every time it happens. Which is normal for the game, yet frustrating and increasingly overwhelming. Something I've started to find out. We're pretty fortunate though as the raids had only been from those of the medieval and tribal faction. Well, unless I end up doing the same mistake again...

​

[Next, Part 3 : The Long Raid]
(Poster/Author's Note : I didn't feel like including pictures or etc. this time, but I wanted to keep this little series of mine going :P. Though, considering how high-action the next part is going to be, I intend to either animate or make a skit from it. Look forward to it!)

 Everyone called her Shy, a fitting name for the young, skinny blue- eyed, pig- tailed lass from somewhere.  
 I remember saying hi to her a few times here or there, but I’m a little shy myself, around girls anyways.  It felt awkward, like two shys don’t make a right. Maybe I shouldn’t have called her Stacey ( her given name ), but dag-nabbit she called me Earl when everyone knows I’m called Tater, cuz I have an accent, or maybe I’m fried, round and crunchy, who knows?
 It felt like our group was well formed, trained, prepared and outfitted for colonizing some faraway rimworld. 
 We were ready and as the cryosleep casket hissed it’s closing statement I thought maybe Shy would warm up to the thoughts of being with a guy like me.
 I awoke to screams of unthinkable agony, shrieking metal being forced apart by unimaginable power. I saw the stars going crazy for one lovely moment and before the darkness consumed me once again I hoped Shy was okay.
 The next time I woke Avocado was tending to my head whilst she prayed for her God to heal me over and over. 
  “Hi” I said forcing my eyes open “are you an angel?”
 “ I’m your angel right now, and you’re going to be mine soon cuz I heard tell you’re a table builder, so get better and build me a table so I don’t have to eat off the dam ground again like a dog.”  Her smile was small, but it was there. “ From the way you was talking in your sleep though , you’re angels right over there” Avocado slowly directed my attention to the patient in the bed next to me. Shy, bandaged head to toe. “ and she’s gonna be just fine Tater” I smiled back at her big, then fell asleep like a spaceship falls to the ground; fast.
 The headaches were real bad, I lost my left eye, my right arm was a twisted black and blue burnt nightmare appendage. The asthma that I had as a child was back after breathing in so much of the toxic fallout but I was alive. 2 months, 1 week and 3 days after falling from the heavens like Lucifer.  I took my first steps into the light of a rimworld sun. 
 The dream team of over 500 persons that had been assembled at great cost was down to 5 of us. Shy, Avocado, Cline, Krystal, and myself.  5, Band of the Hand. 
 Avocado was cooking over a campfire nearby, Cline was out attempting to hunt, Krystal was in a small garden off to the side of the makeshift camp, hunched over planting something and Shy was  meditating next to a large ship metal stele that had all the names of our dead inscribed upon a plaque in tiny letters. 
 I wanted to reach out to Shy right then but something told me not to, instead I started looking around for what I needed to make a decent table, we’re still civilized folk aren’t we?
 Our first meal all together was a veritable party if you were to compare it to the events of the last 2 months, most of which I was blissfully ignorant. Catching up was hard. 
 Pigmen had arrived within a week of the crash, drawn to our flaming wreckage from their nearby lair. They had slaughtered a dozen of us until they left with a great big pile of our tightly bundled corpses on a large makeshift travois. Oinking and grunting loudly as they took off over the mountains to the north. 
 A group of ten or so of us had headed out about a month ago in search of others. Cline found a mass of bodies mauled by what he described as a very large cat, partially eaten. 
 Cline had also discovered a giant cave entrance that smelled like nothing he’d ever smelled, and he used to work at a landfill. 
 A space ship had landed not that far from us and was currently emitting some dull psychic energy that apparently only affected the girls.  
 Avocado’s best friend Chambi had wandered off late one night never to return. 
 Benji set fire to some of our supplies before setting himself ablaze, screaming some lunacy about New Gods. 
 Shy, Cline, and Avocado cremated the remains  of those that had perished inside the burnt out block of the final fission reactor drives and made it into a memorial.
 So much death and destruction heightened our survival instinct to such a fine point that we all seemed to have evolved, none more so than Shy. 
 Shy was elected our leader, our pontiff of tribulations. She took to wearing a crimson hued burka of some sort that covered her entirely, made out of an odd fungus that looked like moldy red vine licorice strands woven together. You could just barely make out her sapphire eyes behind the veil, but she spoke like thunder. Her voice was commanding yet reassuring. Demanding in a way that was absolute, without a doubt, right true and good, kind of how your thumb bosses around your fingers.
 Under the guidance of Shy we made a fist and the first colony of the Western Argonian Prelacy was formed, on this, the eighth day of Septober 5500. New Hyperion we called it.

The Fertile Pass

Escaping from the nightly destruction of their tribe, pregnant Hakuja and her lover Berro stumbled upon the mountain pass together with their tribesmen Ivexa, Lion and Banbalmi.

Huddling under one of the many mountain overhangs they decided this would be where they would rebuild. Water, fertile land and mountains for shelter, it wasn’t going to get any better.

They created a small shelter, working together to survive, they cut down trees, built walls, dug some of the exposed ore out of the mountainside. They wanted to return to their old life: farming.

Fields were cleared and sown, but they did not grow quick enough to replace the dwindling berries found around the colony, they would have to turn to hunting…

Berro had the most experience but still was no marksman, an occasional rabbit or guinea pig was caught and butchered to sustain the hunger. Eventually malnutrition set in, just before the rice fields were almost ready for harvest. Food was scarce, and then the first raid hit…

​

None of the tribesmen were fighters, that had proven painfully obvious on the night they had to escape their old tribe. So again they ran, hiding further away in the mountainous terrain until the raiders left. Sadly, malnutrition and wounds sustained had caused Hakuja to miscarry. The first death in the colony, and not the last…

Returning to their small shelter, they took up the farming life again. With success this time! Fields were expanded, Banbalmi put her intelligence to work: electricity and cooling technology was researched, a freezer and kitchen constructed to preserve and prepare this abundance, no one would ever go hungry again!

The escaped raiders must have spread the word about this new, budding colony. New attacks came, The first pirates were defeated with carefully placed traps. More and bigger raids came, but the colony was prepared, they had realized they would have to turn to violence to defend their piece of the Rimworld. A weapons trader was a welcome sight, produce and herbal medicine were traded for revolvers and pistols.

A pirate named Slaggutz was the sole survivor of his raiding party, captured by the mountain farmers he remained unwaveringly loyal to his Filth Partners faction… so he became the first slave, he had to pay for his aggression and attacks, they all did! And so the first steps down the slippery slope were taken: first violence, now slavery. What would be next?

​

Noticing how much easier their lives became with slave labor at their disposal, more and more slaves were “recruited”, The slave barracks grew at the same rate as the farm fields and the food stockpiles. When there was no more room for additional slaves, they were used as cannon fodder to defend against the raids. The lightly wounded were tended to, the badly wounded were left to bleed out, there were more where they came from.

After Ivexa and Lion fell to a large mechanoid cluster attack and seeing the attacks grow even bigger, better equipped, more aggressive,… The Fertile Pass colony, as they had named themselves, needed more and stronger defenses. This meant more wealth was needed to purchase bigger and better guns, turrets, explosives,… the 3 remaining farmers, Hakuja, Berro and Banbalmi turned to a different kind of farming… organ farming. Surely these attackers didn’t need their eyes, lungs or hearts anymore… the next step was taken with frightening ease.

Holding steady at their farm, the group of farmers grew , excited and amazed with what their new wealth could buy them. They expanded into the hospitality sector. A beautiful hotel was constructed to offer weary travelers a clean and cozy room and a homegrown, homecooked meal. All for the low, low price of every piece of silver in their pockets.

​

There were rumors… about certain illegal substances being grown on fields hidden between the mountains, slaves occasionally disappearing, organs being for sale, bodies being burned in the middle of the night… but despite that the colony grew and prospered.

After one especially harsh winter with multiple cold snaps destroying even the hardiest plants, a distant volcano erupted, a volcanic winter extending the cold and dark for what seemed an eternity. Fields remained barren, stockpiles dwindled. The lavish meals were rationed to simple meals, an emergency stockpile of that dreaded pemmican was made to feed the slaves. But it was not enough, the colony was reliant on their fields... No one would ever go hungry again!

No fields… no need for slaves… right? The oldest, less useful slaves were the first to go, taken into the mountain fortress to be butchered, have their organs harvested and their body, their human meat, turned into food for the other slaves. The slave masters attempted to keep the human food out of their diets, but even after the volcanic winter ended, the fields and plants needed time to grow and the group of slavers had grown so large, grown so strong due to gene therapy and bionics bought with their immense wealth. They rivaled demi-gods… but they still required sustenance. If they did not wish to starve, they were forced to take the final step… Cannibalism…

​

Leaving their last shred of humanity behind, they devoured all but a few of the slaves, until the storage was again filled with rice, potatoes and the like. New slaves were captured and put to work. the fields flourished again, Even the hotel got an upgrade to extort even more money from the traveler in need of shelter. There were even some special VIP rooms in the opulent mountain fortress.

There are still rumors… about vast fields of smokeleaf and psychoid tended by slaves. Rumors of never seeing the same slave twice during subsequent visits. Rumors of small groups of travelers going missing after staying a night. Rumors of bloodcurdling screams from the heart of the mountain fortress in the middle of the night.

​

But as the sign outside the hotel reads:

“Everyone welcome at Fertile Pass!

The most succulent meat on the Rim,

Nobody has to go hungry!”

Hello everyone.

I recently picked up Rimworld for the first time, and while this story may not have any organ harvesting or war crimes in it, it's the tale of my first ever colony and I wanted to share it.

Three brave people; Hess, Booker and Kiyoshi landed on a foreign world. Dazed, they stumbled out of their pods and viewed the vista around them, Booker's Yorkshire terrier; Bruce, yapping at their heels.

Remembering the survival "Rule of Three" (3 minutes bleeding, 3 hours without shelter, 3 days without water, 3 weeks without food) they set to work building a rudimentary hut and scoping out the area.

A day after landing, Bruce is killed by a lynx.

The hut is expanded, Hess builds a chess board, table and chairs, a kitchen is installed. Crops are raised. Cotton, corn, rice and potatoes, with a small patch of strawberries. Despite being a neurotic misogynist, Kiyoshi tends to his crops with great care, and the meals he serves while simple, are delicious. The blades of the wind turbine swoosh lazily through the air.

The crops catch blight. Kiyoshi is not fast enough to save the harvest. The mood of the colony plummets as food stores dwindle. Booker spends her time harvesting berries, but she is not good at it, she's a doctor, not a farmer! Kiyoshi begins the arduous process of re-sowing his crops.

A fault in a power conduit burns down most of the hut.

Raiders arrive during the re-building efforts. Hess is an excellent shot with her bolt-action rifle and kills a raider, but she is quickly taken down by another club-wielding maniac.

Kiyoshi is trigger-happy with his revolver. He shoots many bullets, only a few hit. He is killed by gunfire.

Booker, incapable of violence, attempts to recover Hess and tend to her wounds. She is shot in the face by a raider.

A mysterious stranger in black arrives.

He is shot in the face by a raider.

So ends the Tale of South Bend.

​

​

This was when I started playing Rimworld, basically a beginner's experience that I wish I've recorded myself playing instead of writing, but I needed somewhere to outlet before my inspiration burnt out :

After having played the Vanilla(with DLC) Rimworld due to wanting to play the game as it is instead of filling it to the brim with mods. That'll be a story for another time, but at any rate-

After that, I started filling up the game with modded stuff. Mainly Race mods. Then I chose the Mechanitor Scenario, Strive to Survive, Cassandra Classic. Little did I know, I've chosen a pretty bad choice of pawn for a Mechanitor start and I am still inexperienced in Rimworld.

​

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Enter, Myla 'My' Harris. My has bare minimum construction skill so he has to rely on his slow-ass constructor for higher-leveled facilities to be built, bare minimum cooking so cue the food poisoning meme, no skills in planting despite having a passion for it, no skill in shooting so he'd be dead without his mechs and no skill in mining to restock his resource of steel and components. On the bright side, he is very Big Brained with very high intellectual, good Crafting, medical and mediocre social(thankfully?).

I didn't realise the above fact until I spent an hour watching this man punch trees, taking 15 minutes to break down one tree while his mechs could do it faster and end up having to use a nearby ruins as a template for my lab and temporary barrack.

With that in mind, I dedicated 'My'self(HAH) with trying to find another pawn before winter comes. Thanks to Cassandra Classic, I got that chance. But I didn't expect it to be such a romance drama story while it lasted.

A quest to accept refugees came. I've seen this before in my previous and also first playthrough, so I prayed- for some of them to stay or at least to help with building My's colony while they're here.

Only one refugee came.

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However, it was still very appreciated! Because the pawn is the polar opposite of My.I forgot the refugee's name but here I'll call her Abigail Norris.

Abigail Norris, a sexy(I didn't know this is due to BBType Body Support, I swear) female cowboy with high shooting, social, mining and planting. During the 12 days of her staying in the colony, she had managed to solve My's food source problem by hunting down many of the animals nearby, lack of minerals and dispatched raiders in one shot. Unfortunately, she is bound to leave so I will need someone else to be My's helper.

While I was lamenting over my desperation in thinking of how I'm going to get another pawn to join the colony, My fell in love with Norris. It was shocking and I didn't even realise how cute the two looked like while they're sleeping in the barracks/lab, skygazing(Romance in the Rim), dining and hunting together.

Eventually, My proposed to Norris. Yet end up rejected and broke up. Ending up being just friends instead.

I don't know if it was because the refugee quest won't be finished if she joined or it's just chance. But I could feel My's heartbreak through the screen and I myself was brought back to the reality of the situation. Finding another pawn to join the colony to help My survive. This is while on constant anxiety due to My's -30(something) mood debuff caused by the heartbreak and being on mental break risk all the time.

With Norris having left, My heartbroken and on the edge of insanity. All that's left is the freezer full of animals that she had hunted down to ensure he would survive... And one prisoner she had helped to recruit before she left.

Enter Joshua Marjet, a ragged Waster girl, with bloodthirsty trait and highly aggressive due to her genes, but with great mining and insanely high melee skill, the best pawn I could’ve asked for.

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All my worries had completely ceased ever since, despite My being on a break risk all the time, no mental breaks had managed to happen at all. All the Steel and Components stored within mountains that had tempted me for My’s lack of mining skills are finally put into my stockpile, and while My was injured during a hunt, I didn’t realize that Marjet also has passion in- and equally high- medical skill as My. So if either of the two got hurt, I wouldn’t have to make them self-tend or end up getting killed by a disease because of the reduced tending effectiveness.

With that, I was able to get into the storytelling aspect of the game.

I remember having noticed that Marjet is sad, because she has the uncovered groin/chest and ratty apparel mood debuff. So My had decided to make her a dress. It was a perfect noon as well when it finished, so I watched as Marjet spent her recreation time innocently walking around with her new pretty dress in a meadow green field, conveniently full of flowers(most likely due to a biome mod I can't remember).

​

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Almost feel like I think My had found peace living in the Rimworld with having Marjet as some sort of adopted sister after his heartbreak.

Aside from the occasional raids and quest to help some Empire or Corporation(Mort's Corporation mod) person from a small manhunting animal, everything felt very peaceful. Although I didn't feel too motivated to pursue or create any goal until this one fateful night.

An event called a Space Battle happened. In the distance yet in eyesight of the ruins where My and Marjet lived, explosives and spaceship chunks are falling down from the sky, alongside transport pods containing already dead corpses. Flames are spreading and threatening to eat up the forest, but I didn't think that'd actually happen in the end. As a first timer, I didn't know what to do either when this happens but as I put myself in the shoes of My, I figured that he'd say "I think it's best if I just wait it out. I can't do anything about this… Can I?"

So I waited. As explosives continued to rain down and more survivors began to pile up across the fields on the other side of the plains, I simply focused on My and Marjet as they tried to sleep throughout the whole commotion.

…But as it ended, I began looking around the place and found a green-haired foxgirl that is still alive beside the river and a dead one is drifting down the stream while she's crying. Almost as if I'm watching her being taunted by the game itself as she is dying from her injuries from the crashlanding. It's heart-wrenching.

In the middle of the night and rain, I had My woke up and ran over to her as quickly as possible. This is even during before I installed the Out Of Combat Move Speed mod. He stood beside her for a few minutes, while I was figuring out how or what to do to save her. Eventually, she was rescued and I started to notice that there are actually more survivors rather than corpses in those transport pods!

So I had My going out to rescue more of the people and Marjet tending to the wounds of those that he brought back. I managed to bring back a purple-ish skinned fat man and another foxgirl of the same race as the previous one, called Kurins.

More I managed to rescue, while others I failed to as well. I even realized that maybe I could have saved the ones before that weren't dead initially in their drop pods.

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But those I managed to save had recovered. Likewise, some stayed and some left. Those who did are -my favorites and not just because they're Kurins/foxgirls- Gina Nevauchi, Sotori Sahagami, and another pawn whose name I forgot. But I called them Seren, based on their race.

It was comedic, and interesting. What I didn't know was that the Kurins are basically somewhat racist, or at least so I had set their ideoligeon on based on what I read about their race. Sotori was of a different ideoligeon but Nevauchi was part of that Kurin ideology, so having been saved by My makes her both distrusting yet still grateful when she joined the colony. It was even funnier because My was wrecking himself by getting rebuffed from trying to romance Nevauchi over and over. Up to x5 mood debuff from it. Though, it's kind of my fault because Myla has a Xenophile trait, so he's instantly attracted to alien races. It's even worse since every Kurins always have the Kurinlike trait, which gives them the +1.0 on beauty.

I didn't have much problem with Sotori's Abrasive trait and neither did Nevauchi apparently, because the two ended up dating a few minutes after they've joined the colony! I didn't even realize that Sotori wasn't a foxgirl, but a foxboy! That still hasn't managed to stop My from trying his hardest to stack up his L Rizz with Nevauchi.

It was overall wholesome, I really liked reading his current Recluse mood buff too. "It would have been better if I was alone, but this is nice too." He really likes his new friends, despite being an ambitious Mechanitor who wants to achieve greatness by himself in the Rimworld, without being held back by anyone else.

I also noticed that Marjet is a Waster so I had to research Drug Production, fast, before she began to die from her Psychite Dependency. For the past few in-game days, My spent his time in the lab researching for it, making me think that he is some sort of a friendly-ish edgelord(?).

Although, that is still not enough of a motivation for me to inspire some sort of a goal for me… And this isn't the fateful night I was talking about either.

A few nights after My became friends with the survivors, I sent Marjet to go mining the last few remaining blocks of steel in late night, clearing up the space near the base…

And then, the rocky roofs above her collapsed on her head, killing her via breaking her neck.

My came outside to see the body. I feel just as broken as he is, but finally, I know what I want to do. Revive Marjet.

https://preview.redd.it/mmxvpdr0lodb1.png?width=722&format=png&auto=webp&s=63757dc89b79787c15e3edcde45f83e5417737ed

[Next up, Part 2 : Marjet Keeps Dying)

Hesitating, the cook dropped several slabs of meat onto the empty freezer floor. Closing the door, she turned to the stressed faces of Teed’s inhabitants filling the workshop. The heater clicked in the corner, its metal grills expanding, as high as it could go.

No one talked. No one wanted to ask — to confirm — what kind of meat it was; racoon or human? In the snow outside, two sets of foot prints led away from Fortress Teed. One set belonged to the Praetor’s caravan which trudged through the snow and out of sight days earlier.

The other set was more recent — fresh footprints that went to the beach, to the site of a raid that took place there earlier that winter. That set of prints returned, back through the snow to the fortress, dragging something big. Something frozen. Something human.

“Shorty will be back in two days — we can last that long,” assured Danziel the Priest. Shorty was a Praetor of the Empire, the Bhodi Sheepdog of their faith, and young chieftain of their settlement. Shorty was also the priest’s daughter. He had many reasons to support her.

“Go back to pruning your tree,” whispered Freddi under his breath as the group separated — back to that orange Gauranlen Tree across that river. “That’s what having a woman leader gets you,” whispered Freddi to the person beside him as he watched the priest head out into a freezing Aprimay day.

BB, the 74-year old intellectual, a woman, stared at Freddi for a moment then went back to her research bench. Always the misogynist, Freddi. She knew better than to argue.

“He’s jealous, you know,” she said to Freddi after the workshop was emptied. “Of her.”

“Of her?” asked Freddi, leaning on the bench. “Of Shorty, his own daughter?”

BB nodded. His own daughter. “But who could have predicted all this?” she stressed. “A toxic summer with the harvest near totally ruined followed by a volcanic winter. It’s unprecedented. What would you have done, Freddi? Really. Shorty has done her best for the nine of us. And still — and still, despite it all, we have best hotel rooms and dining on the eastern seaboard.”

“She took it all!” shouted Freddi. “The silver, the jade, all our valuables, everything we worked so hard for these past couple years, she took to give away—“

“—to trade,” corrected BB.

“—to give away, and to those Imperials,” he spat. What was worse; Empire of the Sun or women! Perhaps, smiled BB, it was having only two meals to share between seven people.

“It’s our very last hope of survival, Freddi,” said BB, shuffling across to a tool cabinet, her back hunched. Freddi grabbed a shovel to clear the walkway outside. “That may be,” he started but trailed off, whispering as he opened the door to a minus 11 degree day, “...But there’s no way that all nine of us live to see summer.”

Freddi stood at the river and looked toward the wooden shack built into the hillside in the distance. Smoke came from its chimney. Waves rippled on a nearby beach.

Inside were three survivors of some far off accident, some catastrophe in the upper atmosphere — its rubble still periodically raining down on them.

Where Freddi stood — one day that place would be a cotton field, one of many fields surrounded by extensive walls, water mills, an Imperial landing pad.

Trade caravans would come and go. Dozens — hundreds of visitors would come to stay and leave grateful gifts.

There, a group of mysterious strangers would arrive one day to meet under a red flame in their dining room only for a raid to arrive, evade their defences, shoot their secretive guests in the head then leave without a word.

And there, an invasion of mech clusters would land to the south-east and lay waste to the settlement, bombarding it for days on end, blowing apart its many rooms, then shooting down its residents. The Great Invasion.

Teed, as they called it, would be brought to the edge of total destruction.

But Freddi would survive. Freddi would live to mourn his dead children, and after the madness subsided Freddi would live to fertilize a whole new generation of Teedies.

Years later — many years from now as he stood as the river — they would call him Freddi, Father of Teed.

Teed — now greatest city of the Bassalo Forest. Then but a lonely shack as he crossed the river one cool evening.