come here and I will explain why I need you
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In the depths of the warp, two princes of daemon-kind uplifted and ennobled from human stock, one of the grandfather of plague's teeming brood and the other a prized son of the lord of excess, competed against one another to claim two prizes. A spirit descended from Isha and Kurnous' stock, and the branded head of the wandering dragon, the mist lurker, the truthseeker, Lieren. They flew to confront you, from the citadel they both claimed and held, each racing to beat the other to be the first to cross their blades with you and be the first to draw blood.

But as the corpse flower knight and swan knight both left their shared keep, you knew the departed souls of your friends and companions, the brave souls of heroes of Long-Jia and mankind, slipped through the defenses and walls of their fortress of pitted, rusted iron and mirror polished silver. And as you flew at your two enemies, upon a nimbus of the white wind of the empyrean Hysh, holding within one of your hands the paradox of emotion and rationality forged into a spear and in the other a joyful tear turned to a jade mercy, contained within the protocol taught to you by the long hidden wisdom of the old ones, you considered the most efficient means to distract these anomalously brotherly wicked spirits of two of the six competing discordant courts.

The progeny of Na Gou, lurched up a stairway formed of crawling slime molds and withering rotten spines, donning a heavy armor over their body of bones entangled into creeping vines and roots. The scion of Se Nie, however, flew upon deceptively pristine and fair wings. The Swan knight would reach you first. And that was a obstacle in your plan. They both needed to be near so they both may be caught in a mist of true and honest mercy and innocent joy. Both of which were deadly poison to the black natured spirits of chaos. But that complication was easily resolved.

"Fly, oh cloud of purity" You whisper and urge to the nimbus of light you stand astride upon "Fly and bring me to the shadows who bring gloom and corruption to all they touch"

Upon your command, the white wind beneath your feet sword, shooting through the ever changing skies of the empyrean realm like a bolt of lightning. The swan knight's wing spread and they turned, adjusting their trajectory as you shot past them but out of reach

"See, oh swan of the lakes of debauchery! The panther child seeks their doom by my hand and hammer!" The corpse bloom knight chortles and warbles as you fly closer to them, then with a sudden change of the position of your feet within the nebula of pure light, curved your path over their head and out of reach of their swinging hammer and the groping molds that sprung from its cracks like weeds in a garden
Cont

Autumn wind blows through ugly rags, a rough scraping sound can be heard behind a barefooted figure, it's nighttime. An old man carries a rusty sealed shut iron maiden, his heavy breathing betrays the weight of his load, metallic bottom plows deep into the dirt road that the old man is traversing.

Far behind him is a booger-faced child, just as filthy as the old man, with bare legs and feet covered in lesions, only the small torso is protected by a simple linen cloth. It's head misses hair and eyebrows and the child occasionally blinks rapidly his huge green eyes.

The old man approaches a tavern on the road and sees a single soul outside, a bard tuning his lute. He is tall and handsome, his clothing shines in the dark, his long fingers run easily across the wooden neck of the lute. The bard has been observing the two wretched nightly stragglers. Soon he decides to...

>play a single annoying note over and over again, *brimmm* *brimmm* *brimmm*

>bow down to the old man

>enter the tavern and finally perform the song that required the tuning

Humans are gone, the rats remain.

You were once but a small mischief of rats living in the dark corners of humanity's mighty architecture, scrounging around for food and a place to sleep among trash. Then one day, the humans were gone, as if vanished from the earth. What remained was the rat, a grand spark of light gave them the gifts of sentience, intelligence and the ability to walk on two legs relatively well.

It was time for the rat revolution, time to take over the remnants of humanity and become the new rulers of the earth. One step at a time, of course, a mere man-house could be a mighty kingdom for the rat-kin.

Your mischief lived in...
>A rural house. Surrounded by wilderness, your ratkin will face gigantic animals in their attempts to survive, but there will be few other ratkin to challenge your dominion over your Kingdom.
>An apartment building. Many rats dwell among the grand apartment buildings of mankind, their newfound sentience will soon lead to confrontation over the resources that men left behind.
>A house with a backyard in a residential area. While these rats' position will initially be ideal, their grand homes will be greatly coveted by other ambitious mischiefs!

Welcome to The Rat Civ™! This civ isn't about crunching numbers, it's about vibes, rule of cool, and rats! The idea here is to make rat history together, and make it something to remember.

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Ten years ago King Aiden Perenolde betrayed the Alliance and sided with the Horde of Orgrim Doomhammer. Nine years ago Prince Alric Perenolde, the second heir of Alterac was sent into exile for his own protection. This exile turned permanent and Captain Normand Garside, your guardian for the past nine years made sure that you were safe and learned the useful skills that would help you in the future.

Now you are ready to carry the responsibility and unite the scattered Alteraci people and reclaim the lands that were once the Kingdom of Alterac.

For Eligius the past several days have been rather dreary days. Since revealing to others that he is in fact a warlock, he has been forced to be more on his toes than before. And when they got into Strahnbrad, Pai decided that their cover story would that of a married couple, and of course later that night she tried to get close to Eligius. That didn’t work to Pai’s disappointment as Eligius was revealed to have the fear of being touched. Now the unlikely duo have enlisted themselves to help the Syndicate in Strahnbrad as things there are going to get more busy.

For Malevus the campaign has been full of work. To bury and bless the dead according to the rites and rituals of the Church. To console those who are dying or have lost their friends. To heal and patch up those who will survive their wounds. The work she did wasn’t easy and she knew that more work would be ahead of her. At least she managed to acquire an assistant that lifted a bit of work from her shoulders.

For Alric the campaign has been full of fighting and marching through the ancient forest. Battling both the gnolls and the influence of Fel, Alric metaphorically knee deep in dead gnolls and blood carved a path of Total Gnoll Death through Durnholde. He fought against a gnoll mage and its warband in the north, he brought the Alteracis against gnolls in the clearing and burned them all alive. Hundreds of gnolls dead for very few of his own at the end of the day.

And now he is ready to finish the job.

Welcome to Alterac Resurgent Quest!

…

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<span class="mu-i">“The Krieger Corp is the life for me,
A gun, a bed and a grave for free.
That’s my lot in the Black Company.”</span>

It took the Earth 10 long years to die. Like every planet afflicted by the pervasive sentient plague that swept the galaxy at the turn of the 23rd century, aptly named The Rot, Earth’s demise was slow and agonising at first then violent and sudden by the end. The seas boiled and the air turned to ash in the wake of the continent-shattering orbital bombardments that cleansed her and a hundred other worlds.

20 years later, the dust of the Purification Wars has settled and the surviving xenos empires have finished carving up the remaining colonies of those less fortunate races between them, including those few left from Earth’s initial phase of expansion. Just rewards for the victorious alien’s part in saving the galaxy. The surviving human population, once many billions, now numbers in the mere millions. An entire race of refugees, vagrants and backwater outcasts begging, stealing and labouring as second-class citizens, servants or slaves under uncaring alien masters.

A lifetime of backbreaking work for stale recycled oxygen units and a handful of credits is the best fate most humans can hope for. Little wonder then that the violent but lucrative life of a mercenary holds such appeal. As the novelty of peace wears off and the rival alien nations rattle their sabres once more, human mercenaries are in high demand for their crude effectiveness and affordable prices.

And of all the human mercenary firms, there are none so infamous and so highly sought after as the services of the Black Company…

=============================================

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2230AD Annal Entries: https://pastebin.com/zBic3fPQ [Updated!]
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The Last Human Colonies: https://pastebin.com/VA3nHbTm
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The Dominion War is over. The Treaty of Bajor has been signed and the Federation Alliance emerged victorious. But war is never without consequences. The Klingon Empire and Cardassian Union, despite their victorious status, have been bloodied beyond measure. It will take decades before they are willing to re-assert themselves to the extent they did pre-war. The United Federation of Planets and the Romulan Star Empire stand victorious and unchallenged in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants, but whilst nominally allies, their pact has been built upon a mutual enemy, it is prone to break any day now. The Dominion has returned to the Gamma Quadrant, and an unsteady peace has settled over the galaxy.

But the Bajoran Wormhole remains open, and for as long as there are Strange New Worlds, there are those willing to document them. Accords signed between the victorious powers have seen Federation and Romulan expeditions passing through the wormhole to the Gamma Quadrant. Whilst not peacekeepers, the vessels sent are undoubtedly more militaristic than their more traditional exploratory counterparts. The Defiant class has not been shuttered, but repurposed. It is through the Bajoran Wormhole, into the Gamma Quadrant, upon the very doorstep of the defeated but not broken Dominion, that the USS Stalwart sails. Its continuing mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no man has gone before.

Peace is uneasy between the Alpha Quadrant powers, but their uneasy alliance holds for now. The Klingons and Cardassians may not have the power to exert themselves, but they have negotiated limited access to Romulan and Federation ships. Each exploratory vessel in the Gamma Quadrant must have at least one allied attache. These vessels are often staffed with skeleton crews, lest the Dominion grow weary. Never before has Starfleet’s journey of discovery been so fraught with hostility. But you do not fear.

This is your journey.

Your name is <span class="mu-s">Hoik Broadback</span>, a young Vetucker man in the Hegemony. While your exact age by solar cycles is difficult to determine, due to being born on a far away planet from your homeworld with an elipitcal orbit; you are categorized by your Jaxtian-Standard Biological Aging rate to be <span class="mu-i">Eighteen Years</span> old.

As with all Hegemonic citizens, your time is evenly split between training, work, social time, and play. You have a pretty busy schedule with a scarce few hours a day for leisure, but that's okay. It's expected for guys your age, plus you volunteered to help clean the workshop today. You put some of your things into a locker as you hear a musical voice call out from behind.

<span class="mu-b">”Hi Hoik~!”</span>

You feel flushed as you turn and see the owner of that voice, one <span class="mu-s">Ophia Ulantri</span>, a Jaxtian girl who's been in a lot of your classes. And she works in the facility too, just in a different department. You try to lean back against the locker, but can't figure out where to put your hands.

To wit; it cannot be gainsaid that the Many Mysteries are well-without the purview of Flegmat, or any other author herein this Canon; truly, it is that they would write of Mysterious Medicine and Healing Arts with the same authority as a Counter-Clerk would of chirurgery! However, here Flegmat wrestles – gainfully, mind – with the long-historied role that those who Delved had on the mundane study of Humorous Nature. His accounting of the rise into good-grace of the Fourfold Theory is well-fleshed, though not novel to anyone passably read. The account of the subsequent fall from good-grace and the too-incremental acceptance of its successor, the Comprehensive Theory - elsewhere named as the Singular or the Singular Comprehensive Theory - is novel, controversial, and in the eyes of some, perhaps even dangerous. As its inclusion was not a decision gently made nor borne, so it may be said that it being rendered here at all is testament to the strength of Flegmat's argumentation, and the butcher's bill that the slow adoption of Singular Theory has needlessly wrought.

- A preface from a Stricken printing of <span class="mu-i">The Canon of Medicine</span>, a collection of writings on medical history by a number of authors. The Fourfold Theory held that for man there is an internal alchemical balance of phlegm, blood and bile - both yellow and black - and that when balance between these four is lost, illness and malady are inevitable. The Comprehensive Theory holds that there is but one 'family' of Humors, not four - hence Singular - and that it is the presence of these Humors, not the balance of them, that are responsible for illnesses. Medical interventions that ascribe to the Comprehensive Theory of Humors are more successful than those that ascribe to the Fourfold Theory, though as the Comprehensive Theory was developed by Witches as opposed to Physicians, its adoption in the fields of Mundane medicine has been slow, partially on account of the inclement association, but primarily as any benefits from implementing the theory in practice were misattributed to Mysterious Medicine, and were assumed to be beyond mundane practitioners.

<span class="mu-i">In Scrimshaw Mount, all graves are shallow. Even on the Promontory, where Nature, through the permutations of the Pattern had placed soil on the otherwise nude basalt of the Mount, the bone white stone was never more than a few feet down, commonly less than one. As such, getting graves to the standard depth of eight feet was simply not practical for those interned in the Mount's public burying grounds. But those that lived their lives and died their deaths on the Mount didn't take overmuch umbrage at their shallow graves. For both the practical and pious among them understood full well that under the panopticonical Gaze of the Patternmaker Above … all things are shallow.</span>