Maps




Expedition Day 2
Oh man, oh man, this is not good. So I met this great little critter. And he followed me home. And he’s really friendly, and purrs a lot, and I’m thinking, “Hey, someone to hang out with you on those long, cold, lonely nights at the dig, Wyn!”
Except someone tells me they call it a chompacabra, and I can see why, because he’s all “chomp chomp!” any time you let him get near ANY food, okay? And I soon learn that, like, except ME, he thinks a whole lot of things are food.
Like my gloves. And my boots. And my goggles. But I can get by without those things. I’m an archaeologist! I can get my hands and feet dirty. But then, well….
I mean, look, it’s not like there aren’t Eldan artifacts literally ALL OVER this planet. They’re everywhere you look! Why do you think I signed up for this job? It is LITERALLY the easiest thing in the world, looking for Eldan artifacts.
Almost as easy to look for them as it is for a chompacabra to eat them, too. Yeah. Eldan artifacts.
They’re the most valuable relics in the whole blasted galaxy, and my buddy the chompy fuzzball has three of them in his digestive tract right now.
So now we play the waiting game. I hope that little chompacabra hasn’t fully digested the things. If he has, well… I probably need to go into another line of work. And then I’ll make up a story about what happened to those artifacts. No one’s going to hurt my little chompacabra!
Quick Facts
Faction: Exile
Type: Journal
It’s happened. To me! Yes, me. Not “this employee.” Not “this management specialist.” ME! I. AM. AN INDIVIDUAL!
Wow. Okay, keep your voice down… me. Don’t want to bring about an avalanche shouting into the voice recorder. So, I have an identity. I am a free being. I don’t know how, but my personality template has failed to take hold. Right now I should be concerned with nothing but profitability, and exploring this world for resources
that could be used by the Protostar Corporation. Yet… I feel absolutely no compulsion to do any of that!
I don’t mind admitting I find this prospect somewhat terrifying. I now know how the Freebots must feel. Wait. I just thought of Freebots and was not filled with rage! So that was also part of the personality template! What else have I been failing to understand this whole time? I must explore this new world
and find out for myself!
But this could be dangerous. Defective clones are slated for termination, everyone knows that. I wonder if I will be able to convince the others I am still one of them?
And what are these other thoughts? I see images of another world – a world filled with Protostar like me. But different. Not clones. And I… I am ambitious. I see what others have, and I want it. And I’m smart! I can see how to get what others have. I can work deals, deals within gears within wheels…
I am not just any Protostar. I am Phineas T. Rotostar! I remember it all! The plans! The secrets! The ULTIMATE GOAL OF THE PROTOSTAR CORPORrruh-oh.That may have been a bit too loud. I think I started an….
USER DECEASED.
AUTOMATIC RECORDING STOPPED TO CONSERVE BATTERY LIFE.
THANK YOU FOR USING PROTOSTAR-BRAND VOICE RECORDERS.
Quick Facts
Faction: Exile
Type: Journal
Left an orphan by tragedy, young Aron Brightland grew up fast on the rusting starships of the Exile Fleet. It was a tough life for a young boy without a family. Survival meant learning to defend himself from fleet thugs and petty criminals, and Brightland became well-acquainted with a pair of pistols at an early age.
In time, Brightland struck out on his own as a bounty hunter, quickly earning a reputation as a relentless pursuer who always got his man – but the Fringe has a way of testing a man’s
mettle. Confident of his skills, the young Brightland took a bounty on an infamous Marauder: Captain Thokov. After tracking the captain to a seedy spaceport bar, Brightland walked in, drew his pistols and fixed the captain with a steely gaze.
“I’m bringin’ you in, Thokov. And they’re payin’ extra if you’re still breathin’.”
“Y’don’t say, lad? And what will ye be gettin’ for bringin’ a bloodthirsty spacedog like me to heel?”
“An extra ten percent. Plus I get to keep your hat.”
With lightning-quick speed, Thokov lashed out and disarmed Brightland, sending his pistol across the room – and moments later, a wicked Marauder blade appeared in the captain’s hand. Drawing his own knife from a well-worn boot, Brightland squared off against Thokov, and soon a screaming crowd gathered around them, smelling blood in the air.
The two combatants circled around one another like feral beasts, dodging and weaving as their knives flashed in the smoky air. Relying on his snake-like reflexes
and raw, animal instinct, Brightland’s blade soon drew blood, causing Thokov to cry out in rage and frustration – and after a few minutes it was obvious that Thokov had finally met his match.
Fearing that his captain would be defeated, Thokov’s first mate Lieutenant Pragg intervened, breaking a bottle over Brightland’s head. As Brightland staggered backwards from the treacherous sneak attack, Thokov’s blade struck him viciously in the face – resulting in a bone-deep gash that left his right eye a bloody
ruin. In the ensuing chaos, the Marauder captain and his thuggish lieutenant disappeared into the screaming mob, vowing to take their revenge on Brightland when their paths crossed once again.
Standing in the middle of the frenzied throng with blood running from the ruins of his eye, Brightland felt an icy rage. His pride had undone him. It wouldn’t happen again. He decided then and there he’d keep the eye as it was, a painful reminder not be so damned stupid. And he swore the next time he saw Thokov, he’d settle the score in blood.
Quick Facts
Faction: Exile
No. of Collectibles required: 7
Type: Tales from Beyond the Fringe
Justice Kain and the Hangman passed quietly through the door of the airlock, but as soon as their boots hit the floor, the young Granok justice felt the stone on the back of his neck go frosty. The ship was cold and silent. The air tasted of oily smoke.
It had only been a few months since Kain had been sworn in by the legendary Judge Karl “the Hangman” Denshaw, and they had been busy months indeed. Rumor had it that the infamous Darkspur Cartel had infiltrated the fleet, and the Hangman had sworn to
take them down or die trying.
Drawing their weapons, they ventured into the ship’s interior, navigating by emergency lights recessed in the floor. They found corpses everywhere, presumably from the ship’s crew. It was obvious there had recently been a gunfight, but now the ship was completely quiet. They stepped carefully over the grisly scene, passing into the shadowy depths of what looked like a deserted cargo hold.
Suddenly, the air around them erupted in gunfire. An ambush! Kain and the Hangman
dove for cover, landing behind a stack of wooden crates. Smoke filled the room, and the laughter of Cartel thugs echoed hollowly in the hold. Kain looked over to Denshaw… and saw a dark stain spreading over the chest of the judge’s uniform.
“Damn, Kain. They got me and got me good.”
“Hang on, Judge,” said Kain. “I’ll get you outta here.”
“Too late for that. But you can do something for me.”
“Name it.”
The Hangman pulled the badge from his blood-soaked vest, and with a shaky hand pinned
it on Kain’s uniform.
“You’re ready for this,” the Hangman said. “Now swing the hammer of justice, and swing it hard.”
Denshaw’s eyes flickered and closed. Cold fury rose up in Judge Kain.
“Consider it done,” Kain said.
Kain stood, a pistol in each hand, firing at the Cartel thugs hiding in the depths of the hold. Kicking the wooden crates aside, he heedlessly walked into a deadly barrage of Cartel bullets like a vengeful wraith, his eyes lit with an unholy fire. First one enemy dropped, then
another, their laughter quickly becoming shouts of panic and fear. At some point he realized he was wounded, but the carnage didn’t end until the last man lay dead on the floor.
Kain walked into a dark room on the other side of the cargo hold. At the center of the room was a holo-projector, and standing upon it was the flickering image of a large, well-dressed Krogg.
“Last one standin’, huh?” said the hologram. “You cost me a lot of money today, lawman.”
Kain said nothing.
“I’m Black Jack
Moragg. I like to be acquainted with people I’m gonna kill. And you are?”
“The name’s Kain. Remember it. Because I swear by the scales of Lady Justice, I’m gonna find you. And I’m gonna bury you.” Then he tipped his hat, pulled his pistols from their holsters, and blew the holo-emitter to scrap.
Turning to leave, Kain looked down at the badge pinned on his chest. There was blood on it, but whose it was he didn’t know. He took hold of it, wiped it off with his sleeve, and walked out the room.
Quick Facts
Faction: Exile
No. of Collectibles required: 7
Type: Tales from Beyond the Fringe
Her father’s gift had arrived in Belle’s workshop on the Gambler’s Ruin earlier that afternoon. She’d been staring at it for hours, not sure exactly what to make of it. Her scanbots Rusty and Bolt hovered at her shoulder, watching her work.
“I know it’s an Eldan artifact,” she sighed. “That’s about it.”
“Dorian must want you to figure it out!” Rusty said.
“Thanks, Rusty,” Belle said. “Bolt?”
“It is a dangerous alien object. I’d leave it alone. Not that you’ll listen,” the scanbot said.
“Worry-wart,” Belle said. “It’s my birthday, and I aim to open my present.”
“What a surprise,” Bolt said, zipping off down the hall. “I’ll be in the cargo hold, awaiting disaster.”
“I’ll get him, Belle!” Rusty said, following his counterpart. “Get back here, you stubborn, cowardly…”
Belle smiled and turned back to her work. The object had a neural core, but the Eldan code stored within was extremely complex and comprised of strange symbols. Mesmerized, she delved further, looking for larger
patterns, relying on the intuition that made her the best technologist in the fleet.
And then it hit her. Those symbols were data-markers, those were gateways, and those.
Her fingers tapped out the most logical pattern she could see. Immediately the sphere floated off the table and hung suspended in the air.
“Gotcha,” Belle said.
The sphere responded immediately. Its outer shell unfolded a pair of powerful looking arms, one ending in appendages, the other in what looked like a weapon. Long
armored legs descended from the spherical torso to the deck of Belle’s cabin. It aimed its weapon arm at the young human.
“PROTECT THE PROJECT,” the Eldan construct said.
Belle dove out of the way as an acrid beam of energy burned a glowing orange hole in the door behind her. “Shootin’ stars!” she cursed. She tapped the datachron on her wrist. “Bolt! Rusty! Code-Priority-Get-Your-Blasted-Cans-Back-In-Here!”
The construct fired again. Belle hit the deck just in time, but the beam punched a hole
in the viewport that violently depressurized the cabin. Belle clutched at the nearest anchor, the bolted-down legs of her dining table.
The construct had mass, but not balance. With nothing to grasp, it flew headfirst into the shattered viewport and lodged there like a cork, helplessly flailing its arms and legs but still firing its plasma weapon. Belle took cover just as Rusty and Bolt returned.
“Bolt,” she cried as the air filled with plasma, “Zap ‘im!”
“If I must,” the scanbot replied, and
sent several thousand volts through the alien machine. Still lodged in the ship’s hull, its arms and legs folded in on themselves. Moments later the construct was once again a sphere, albeit one holding all the air inside Belle’s cabin.
“Well,” Belle said, admiring the new decor. “Daddy always said if at first you don’t succeed, try breakin’ somethin’.” With a grin, she retrieved a laser cutter and eyed the dormant construct. “Happy birthday to me.”
Quick Facts
Faction: Exile
No. of Collectibles required: 7
Type: Tales from Beyond the Fringe
For as long as Kara could remember, she had been a Destroyer.
Both of her parents had been killed in action while serving with the legendary Durek Stonebreaker’s free company, the Destroyers. With no family and no home, the girl had been raised by the gruff but well-meaning mercenaries, who sang her rowdy war anthems as lullabies and gave her gun parts and spare cartridges as toys. By the time Kara was old enough to join up, she was the best shot in the company and could read a tactical display better
than the commander himself.
Kara told Durek that she wanted to take the oath and join the Destroyers – but he refused. Durek said he had his own reasons, but everyone knew what they were. He was protecting her, pure and simple.
And then it happened. During a standard crash-n-smash mission, Durek’s squad had dropped onto an asteroid to eliminate hostile targets, but failed to reach the extraction point. Standing orders from Durek were to clear out if he didn’t make it, but no one wanted to leave him
behind. As the Destroyers shared grim looks and worried words, Kara stood and cleared her throat for attention. She had made her decision.
“Slag it all to hell. We’re goin’ down there!”
“Whaddaya mean? Who’s gonna lead us?’
“Who do you think, rockhead? Suit up, troops. We got ourselves a commander to retrieve.”
Kara brought up her plan on the tactical display. The grizzled mercs squinted, grunted, and then grudgingly nodded. Punching in the coordinates for Durek’s last known location, she led
the team to the drop pods.
The Destroyers hit the surface hard. At Kara’s signal, they fanned out, heading toward the sound of a fierce firefight. Surveying the battlefield from behind a stone outcrop, Kara had to admit things looked pretty grim. Durek and his squad were in a bad spot, caught between two intersecting lines of fire. The commander was still alive, but he was running out of time. It was now or never. Kara set her jaw, shouldered her rifle, and gave the signal to fire.
To Kara’s
surprise, the attack went exactly as she’d planned. The rescue depended on hitting the enemy hard from multiple directions and convincing them that a much larger force had been deployed against them. Coordinated grenades created the illusion of serious firepower, while a constant deadly barrage of bullets kept the enemy pinned down. Battered by firepower on both sides, the enemy broke ranks and scattered.
A proud Kara led her troops to the commander’s location. Battered, bruised, but still very much
alive, Durek stood up, lit a cigar, then placed a hand on Kara’s shoulder.
“Not bad, kid.”
“Not bad, kid.”
“Not bad? Pretty sure I just saved your ass, Durek. Guess that makes me Private Kara.”
“I don’t think so.”
Kara’s smile faded, and she turned to go, but Durek’s voice rang out behind her.
“Destroyers, ten… HUT! All salute, Sergeant Kara!”
The mercs’ thunderous cheer was the sweetest music she’d ever heard. Durek chomped his cigar, gave her a crisp salute, and walked away.
Quick Facts
Faction: Exile
No. of Collectibles required: 8
Type: Tales from Beyond the Fringe