The cafeteria didn't really have anything good today. "Haven't seen this place yet, good, I'm starving!" Said a young, white haired woman on the street from her car outside the bar, she smiled excitedly, she was indeed quite hungry after a long shift in the lab. Finding one of the legendary Artifacts would be nice, but Jack was the real treasure here. And Covath, finally, felt a purpose in life. But now, Covath had learned from overhearing the man, it seemed Jack was in the ruins northwest of here. Jack had become an Archaenaut years ago, leaving to search the ruins of Erebus. Jack was the name of his brother, his long lost brother. By happenstance, Covath had overheard his conversation, and during it, he mentioned a man called 'Jack'. But, of course, Covath had recently recieved a trip from someone who had also been searching the ruins. Searching the ruins of Erebus could lead to. In truth, his job had had a dual purpose. "Tell these loud people that I have a job for them." After a second he added, "And tell them it pays well." He leaned forward, beckoned the bartender over. Craig, wasn't he the man who posted those lists of jobs around Bastion? Do you have listings ready for people to peruse?"Ĭovath was sitting at the bar, quite irritated at all the loud entrances people were deciding to make. Riga sauntered into the place and let the CARMOR speak for her, taking a thunderous seat at the bar. She'd made the approach a hundred times before, it was easy at this point. Doing so, she retained the velocity of a cruising car, and came to a precise skidding stop in front of the Cob Web, kicking up gravel and dust as she did so. In a mess of folding plates and shrinking machinery, Riga's CARMOR transformed into a chestplate, gauntlets, and boots. She enjoyed the wind in her hair for the fifteen minutes it took her to reach her destination, but snapped out of the driving mood just as quickly with a single flick of a switch on the dashboard, labeled with a silhouette of her car's alternate form. The car stereo was playing a mixtape she'd grabbed from some indie artist off the street, hip-hop with traditional instruments behind it inspired by the horse-folk of the Pierced Vale. The collar set off her pointed chin, and she always thought headbands and other accessories set off her ears and hair in a way that looked busy in a way she liked. She was, today, rocking a mint green gi with light, flowing sleeves, accessorized with a pink belt and headband. Riga Belgard's glass eye glinted in the sun as she drove through Bastion with the top down. It wasn't the best place to get a drink, but it was the best place to get information of the outside world, from rumors of Artifacts to the political world of the Masters. One potential reason was to help those who stumbled into Bastion.Īnother reason was possibly for the local tavern The Cob Web. Archaenauts all over the Bastion often came to Greystone at some point. It was closest to the southern border, the most used exit of Bastion territory and to the wild lands beyond, which was made up of an unfriendly jungle. It wasn't the capital of Bastion, but it might as well have been the heart. We focus on the small providence of Greystone. The people of Bastion could live peacefully, at least for now, while knowing that the borders of Bastion were guarded around the clock, but there wasn't anything more uplifting in Bastion then hearing the news of Archaenauts. It was possibly the largest settlement on Erebus that wasn't victim to Master's control. Those who live under the Masters are little more than slaves and all those who dare to oppose them are met with swift ends. But the one thing that they have in common is that they're all warlords and tyrants, all making their own territories and drawing their own lines in the sand. They vary in shape and size, and many of them work to fight against each other. Replaced with the Master's-at least, that's what common folk call them. When the Master left, his perfect kingdom fell. Then came the dark period that all life on Erebus knows of. Like all that he ever worked for and worked on had vanished. Turn the page, they speak of the Demiurge's death, with no explanation of how or why. One minute, texts speak greatly of the Demiurge and his wonders. So suddenly that nobody knows just how it happened. And through the Demiurge's will, there was law, order, and peace. What once had no life was crawling with life though every crevice and crack. What was just molten rock became land, what once was a vacuum became an atmosphere. All that IS known is that at some point, when he came, he breathed life to this lifeless planet. Who they are-or were-is unknown to even the most dedicated of scholars. A long time ago-before you, or me, or any of us, there was the Demiurge and his collective.
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