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Throughout infinite ages of time a group of four; unknown yet powerful. From their homeworld they fled after it's collapse, and they travelled the void of space, searching. For what is unknown. But they were broken in a quest to find the source of a mysterious, unknowable energy.
The quatrain is broken. Agraba lies dead in the fields of Yura, and Moojaba, Xorboig and Gandavien have fled to the far reaches of the galaxy. The homeworld is lost - it's leaders now lie in the unforgiving wastes of the abyssal hell. Nobody survived. We shall never forget those that gave their lives for the defence of the homeworld. Their immortal souls will flee to the heavens and mourn the loss of the homeworld. It's memory will fade away, none will remember and the labourers of the enslaved systems will forget the good times, the green fields and the peace that once supported them. The quatrain is broken.
The quatrain is broken. Agraba perished in the war to save the homeworld. He vowed to defend it with his life after the invasion. His body is taken from that world by the survivors, who have left the known galaxy to fly throughout the endless void of space, seeking his return to the mortal world. They will never cease their march of death to rescue his soul from the doom that it faces. The quatrain is broken.
The quatrain will return. Doom has come upon them. From all sides it will approach the quatrain, slaying them and their allies; unforgiving and cold. None can survive, but none will perish. They will be reunited in time. The time will come when the quatrain will gather, and peace will return to this age of death and evil. There can be no denying of the eventual return of the saviours to their broken homeworld. The quatrain will return.
None know of the true nature of the quatrain. Steeped in the mystery of ages, it cannot be revealed. Some may guess their identity, but they remain unnamed in the lores and histories of the countless stars and planets they have come to. All think of them as mere legend - a story told to lift the hopes of the oppressed masses. But they will come, one day, to their destiny. Only one text speaks of Gandavien, but this vague article gives little idea of the quatrain.
The quatrain is broken.
"We cannot explain the pulses. That is why we are here and you are not, for the energy that we could harness from this mighty star is more than you can possibly comprehend." the minister shifted from foot to foot, his tail swinging behind him. The pale grey of his skin glowed incandescently, portraying the slender features of his face. With gun in hand, he pushed the man through the narrow airlock. "It would be best for you to tell me what you are doing here, or you will meet a fate worse, than a fate worse than death!"
Gandavien looked up at the expressionless face of the minister. His dark, solemn eyes showing little emotion.
"I am here to find the truth. Why have you prevented us from discovering what these magnetic waves are?" he shouted. The light danced off his face, the passionate, yet grim eyes that flickered around the room, searching it for any hope of escape.
"Your organization is more than disreputable. The guise of a friendly service designed to study the stars and planets of this galaxy is clearly a false one. We can see through your flimsy disguise!" said the minister, as his eyes narrowed. "We had to protect it from you - for we feared the power you would gain from this energy! You would destroy the galaxy - nay - the universe!"
"NO!" shouted Gandavien, grasping the minister’s scaly leg, and pushing him backwards. He released his gun, and it went skidding across the floor. Gandavien leapt out of the airlock, and smashed himself into the minister, sending him crashing down the metal staircase. It was then that he ran, away from the frantic shouts from the minister, away into the descending darkness of the building.
The expedition into the magnetic pulses would end that day. Gandavien escaped into the abyss of space, with his cohorts of Moojaba and Xorboig. Nobody would see them again, while this 'mysterious organization' - the governing body of Arestophenes, would rebuild their vast corporate empire. Banks and businesses spanning hundreds and thousands of light years, countless planets and an even greater number of stars. And impossible domain, built from funds generated through the exploitation of magnetic energy, harnessed in a way too great to comprehend. For in the darkness of space, the great slave fleets of Arestophenes would farm the stars for their infinite resources and employ the mercenaries to defeat their rivals in ways that were too dark to speak of.
Orbiting the star MHH332, bathing it's dim light was a ship. A small rigid metal structure, sleek yet hulking. It's left side a burnt red, after countless attacks and fires, while it's right was a shining gold, as if it was brand new. On both sides, in large white letters was written it's name - Dio, a name steeped in legend in the dead planets of old - the planets that no longer grace the skies. Within the ship, the darkness permeated every corner. It was swathed completely in shadow, save for the occasional blink or flash of a light.
Three unidentifiable figures sat in silence and complete stillness. Suddenly, a word broke the eerie atmosphere. It collapsed the fragile wall of blackness.
"Soule." A word, in their language, which carried a deeper meaning than any word in any tongue. For their people, that was the name of this star. It was a point in space that their race deeply admired and studied. Their planet's legends spoke of it as a God. From here, they knew their path was clear to them. Across deep space they would travel. Crossing the core if they must.
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