Stonegear Chronicles
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: The Milixum Sub-Sector Anomaly
Millennia ago, the Stonegear Enclave distanced themselves from their ancient clan world in an ever increasing desire for resources. What was originally intended as short term commercial ventures soon saw them pushing deeper into the unknown under the leadership of High Oremaster Basrig Slate. Driven by greed and unending financial success, the Council of Cores never questioned the leadership of the High Oremaster. For a time, profits skyrocketed and their coffers were full to bursting as they traded raw Silmarum ore for ships, men and supplies.
In its raw state, Silmarum ore is akin to a massive capacitor, able to quickly store and release energy. Over the centuries, Autotech Scriveners have devised many clever power housings and electo-transfer systems to take advantage of this unique property. When refined however, it becomes something immensely more valuable. The process begins with raw ore undergoing an unfathomably complex and time consuming crystallization process. Following this, an ancient mechano-thaumaturgical procedure is used to reshape the ore into exact geometrically sound structures.
Once refined, Silmarum possesses the ability to not only store and release energy, but also generate it though an endo-particulate reaction. The overall process however, has a success rate of under 1% and is extremely hazardous. Once completed and depending on the crystal size, density and color, it can independently power anything from small handheld firearms, to massive city sized war machines for generations. For this reason, it is one of the most sought after minerals in the galaxy.
Based on the results of an experimental aeromagnetic survey, Slate led his armored mining fleet towards an isolated gravitic anomaly deep in the Milixum sub-sector in search of this rare material. There, advanced scanning arrays and prospecting probes discovered an asteroid belt rich beyond all belief. Using semi-intelligent RMCV’s equipped with fluxgate magnetometers the miners explored deep within nearby asteroids. They found Silmarum ore in such density that an ethereal glow permeated nearby space due to its inherent stored energy.
Year after year they filled their Hematite Class Ore Haulers with this precious resource. Reports from the Astromantic Agglomerate regarding the rapid anomaly destabilization fell on deaf ears. Meanwhile profit forecasts were celebrated fleet wide with drinking, feasting and unbridled merriment. It was only after the asteroid belt was mined dry that Slate gave the order to make ready to leave. Ladened with energy rich ore, the mining fleet wasted precious time securing cargo holds and storing mining equipment. Six hours before scheduled transit, the anomaly catastrophically collapsed.
Klaxons rang out on mining ships as early warning sensors detected monumental gravity waves. Crews raced to bolster weakened shields and patch systems years past their intended service life. With a seismic roar that could be felt in their very bones, the anomaly exploded in brilliant white light. Smaller ships instantaneously succumbed to the immense pressure and heat as the gravitic anomaly ruptured. Titanic force waves crashed over vacuum hardened hulls and destroyed sensitive communications arrays, long range scanners and engine clusters. Only the fleet’s flagship, the mighty Baruk Drugir, and a few tethered support vessels sheltered behind its ancient aeonic shields, survived the initial event.
It took two weeks for the destruction to finally end. The aftermath was recorded as a simple black “X” by the Enclave Chroniclers. Once proud mining ships and massive sub-space ore processing plants were reduced to floating wreckage drifting amongst the stars. Great rents and gashes lined the Baruk Drugir’s hull as precious oxygen and power fluids leaked out at alarming rates. With its slower cryo-reactor engines only partially functional and the ship’s hyperwarp array in critical failure, the ship could no longer journey home.
In its raw state, Autotech Scriveners have long known that Silmarum ore becomes inert upon exposure to superheated vacuum conditions. For this reason, it is carefully shielded before refinement. However, in his haste for profits, the High Oremaster decreed all ore was to be shipped unshielded to decrease loading times and increase productivity. Based on inventory logs, nearly the entire stock of Slimarum was lost following the anomaly rupture.
With his ore, fleet and commercial future lost, the High Oremaster called an emergency meeting of the Council of Cores to decide a path forward. After hours of flying spittle, ostentatious curses and more than one bloody fist fight, it was decided that exploratory teams would scour the surrounding region for repair materials while onboard technicians assessed the full extent of the damage.
This new chapter in Slate’s career was starting from bedrock but he was determined to make the best of it. As the old saying goes “Profit finds the one who turns over the most rocks”. With a ragtag fleet of remaining ships and an entirely unexplored sub-sector ahead of him, he turned to face the void from the Baruk Drugir’s command bridge and bellowed his first order.
Chapter 2: Making Repairs
Klaxons rang and vents hissed deep within the Baruk Drugir’s shielded reactor room. Warning runes flashed an angry red and pressure gauges ruptured as safety relief valves spat scalding hot liquid on nearby mechanics. Frantic repair teams raced back and forth lugging heavy tool chests and crates full of repair materials all the while taking great swigs of Fire Whiskey from chilled flasks. Standing in the middle of it all, was High Oremaster Basrig Slate.
“Divert all available energy from secondary systems and reroute full power to the void coolers.” bellowed Slate. “And for the great book, get a Scrivener repair team to seal off this fluid leak before we’re all sucked out the bloody void!”
Peering around with bloodshot eyes, Slate looked nothing like he had 3 months prior. His once pristine armor shone a dull gray with its Silmarum power crystals barely visible under thickened layers of engine oil, rock dust and blood. His greatcloak was torn and patched, even his once mighty beard was matted and singed from neglect.
With a grimace, Slate stuffed a thick calloused finger in his ear and turned to find the source of the incessant alarm. “If I have to tell you one more bloody time to shut that klaxon off I’ll have your damn beard you tool nipper” yelled Slate to a young repair technician nearby. In his haste to obey, the technician sprinted toward a nearby control panel and accidentally crashed into a low hanging thermal control valve. The screaming klaxons cut off at once and the room went silent as a contented hum thrummed through the deck plating.
“Ha, I knew you had it in you laddie” laughed slate as he slapped the stunned technician’s back. “Now get to the tool room and find me a bi-direction check valve for the maintenance crew.”
Data scrolled on a nearby screen indicating the void coolers were only operating at 60% efficiency, but still managing to cool reactor core three to an acceptable level. Control valves could be heard hissing as actuators modulated the flow of cooling fluid to critical systems. With an audible grunt and another swig of fire whiskey, Slate thumped down from a pile of gears and stomped off towards an Autotech Scrivener who was neck deep in a pile of cabling and muttering obscenities under his breath.
“How’s it look down there?” Slate asked. “Any chance we’ll be able to move faster than a drunk void snail in the near future?”
“No.” Replied the heavily tool ladened figure without turning his back. “And with you standing there my thermal readings are off by ten degrees which could compromise the splicing procedure. In turn, this would lead to the void cooler catastrophically failing followed by a runaway thermal reaction that’ll…”
“Enough!” shouted Slate, “Just get the accursed thing working so we can get a move on, I want to be planetside in less than four hours.” Under his breath Slate grumbled, “Damn wirebeard” and kicked a loose nut into the messy pile of wires in front of him.
With a start, the Scrivener quickly stood up as half fused wires, broken cable ties and debris cascaded around him. A thick face shield protected goggled eyes and a writhing mass of semi-intelligent tendrils formed a thick mechanical beard that twisted and turned in fluid patterns.
“If you wish to kill us”, said the figure holding up two sparking wires. “Simply connect these together and you’ll short out the environmental system. If instead you wish to regain motive power I’d suggest you leave the repair work to me”. With a huff he turned around muttering about lack of respect and loudly began to strip wires with an automated tool.
Slate was about to reply when his comm-receiver chimed indicating a priority 2 message had arrived. With a glance he quickly scanned the messages’ contents and, with a toothy grin, stomped off towards the loading platforms.
As he wound his way through the various habitation decks, processing facilities and storage areas, Slate took in the sight of his once mighty flagship. Hasty repair work was evident around every corner. Spliced wires stuck out at odd angles and entire wall plates had been replaced with thick metal mesh and vacuum sealant. Soot covered most surfaces, evidence of massive fires that swept through many decks during the anomaly collapse. Even basic corridor lighting was mostly ancient lanterns scavenged from the hold to augment the failing synth-lights flickering in the stale recycled air.
Reaching the loading docks, Slate moved towards a group of Stonegear Warriors who were piling equipment onto battered looking Hematite Class Ore Haulers. Cargo crates full of ropes, pulleys and mining tools were hauled up and locked into place on the vehicles exterior. Mission critical items such as extra ammunition, heavy weapons and provisions were stored inside its armored shell. Great gouts of steam belched from cooling vents and Silmarum power crystals glowed brightly as the vehicle’s engine rumbled with power. Stepping around toothed metal wheels, Slate headed for the Foreman who was giving orders to nearby warriors and directing the loading operation.
Stomping his boots as a form of salut, Foreman Filgrum Brimgold greeted the High Oremaster and turned his attention away from his men.
“Status report” said Slate without preamble.
“Ore Hauler one, two and six are fully loaded and Granite squad is ready for planetary landing.” Filgrum responded.
Moving to stand in the way of a leaking hydraulic hose that was dribbling viscous fluid onto the floor, he continued “The techs have looked over the vehicles and while there are a few slight issues, nothing should be overly detrimental to the mission.
Slate chuckled and slapped a thick hand on the Ore Haulers side. “These beasts’ll take more than a few dents to bring ‘em down, that’s for sure. Plus, I’ve decided to come with you so as not to miss out on all the fun”
Bringing his flask to his lips, Slate looked out beyond the hanger doors and stared out at the dull gray planet behind him. With a belch that speckled his beard with droplets of fire whisky he said “Let’s see what we can make of it” and trudged up the nearest boarding ramp.