You know. This damn island's always been a pain in the ass.
The story goes that back at the dawn of time, or at least a hell of a long time ago, this rock was home to mystics. Shamans and medicine men and warriors in tune with the Earth, that sort of crap. Guess if you live in the biggest pile of barren waste this side of the Sahara, you have a lot of time to grow your brain. Or maybe the scarcity of freaking everything just made them used to working harder.
Either way, their secrets died with them when the outside world came knocking.
Story of the ages, really - bunch of sun-baked peasants squatting in the sand watch a bigass ship from a much richer place roll up. They either do what they say or they get stomped on until they comply. Next thing you know this place is a prison colony. Then they revolt. Then they get conquered by someone else. Time and again shit's just not gone the way of the people living here - because who the hell wants to live here, and who can keep up a fight against invaders and the goddamned sun at the same time?
Did I mention I hate it here? Misfortune of one's birth and all.
So yeah. Fighting, conquering, chaos, and being left to rot. That's always been our life. The aborigines couldn't stop it. The Shura couldn't stop it. Lord knows the Directory didn't give half a crap about this place - all they wanted was ore and obedience. Shit falls from the sky on our heads and as long as it doesn't break someone's pricy toy, no one outside this island gives a rat's ass. All those wars in space? Other dimensions? The end of the world? We might as well be our own planet for how far away that is.
Maybe somewhere a little further away. Or with a thicker atmosphere or something. Maybe more water and actual trees. Wouldn't that be nice.
What this godforsaken rock lacks in shade, order, or good taste though, it makes up for in metal. And misfit animals I guess, but mainly metal. Metal is freaking everywhere here - in the ground, on the airwaves, stacked up to make something you could charitably call a roof over your head. And of course robots - holy shit, we got those out the ass. Guess that's what happens when you gotta march soldiers by the throng to take down a couple of really stubborn martial arts maniacs.
G-e-s-p-e-n-s-t. That's what you got for shelter if you got nothing else. Hollow out a head, stick an arm out of the ground, maybe if you're lucky you'll get a working torso for some air-con. Hell, friend of a friend said he saw a farm using an old rifle as a silo and a magazine as an outhouse. Pretty sure that was bullshit though - only things to farm out here in the interior are sunlight and moisture. The hell would you need a silo for that?
Anyway, on account of the ore, and all the shit that's gone down over it, the only real work in these parts is mining, forging, smelting, and machining. Or being a mechanic, in my case. If you aren't doing one of those, you're probably in the mob or contracting to them. There's always something in need of fixing for one of those groups, you just gotta be careful they don't all come to pick up their shit on the same day.
Maybe invest in some reinforced walls, just in case.
The story goes that back at the dawn of time, or at least a hell of a long time ago, this rock was home to mystics. Shamans and medicine men and warriors in tune with the Earth, that sort of crap. Guess if you live in the biggest pile of barren waste this side of the Sahara, you have a lot of time to grow your brain. Or maybe the scarcity of freaking everything just made them used to working harder.
Either way, their secrets died with them when the outside world came knocking.
Story of the ages, really - bunch of sun-baked peasants squatting in the sand watch a bigass ship from a much richer place roll up. They either do what they say or they get stomped on until they comply. Next thing you know this place is a prison colony. Then they revolt. Then they get conquered by someone else. Time and again shit's just not gone the way of the people living here - because who the hell wants to live here, and who can keep up a fight against invaders and the goddamned sun at the same time?
Did I mention I hate it here? Misfortune of one's birth and all.
So yeah. Fighting, conquering, chaos, and being left to rot. That's always been our life. The aborigines couldn't stop it. The Shura couldn't stop it. Lord knows the Directory didn't give half a crap about this place - all they wanted was ore and obedience. Shit falls from the sky on our heads and as long as it doesn't break someone's pricy toy, no one outside this island gives a rat's ass. All those wars in space? Other dimensions? The end of the world? We might as well be our own planet for how far away that is.
Maybe somewhere a little further away. Or with a thicker atmosphere or something. Maybe more water and actual trees. Wouldn't that be nice.
What this godforsaken rock lacks in shade, order, or good taste though, it makes up for in metal. And misfit animals I guess, but mainly metal. Metal is freaking everywhere here - in the ground, on the airwaves, stacked up to make something you could charitably call a roof over your head. And of course robots - holy shit, we got those out the ass. Guess that's what happens when you gotta march soldiers by the throng to take down a couple of really stubborn martial arts maniacs.
G-e-s-p-e-n-s-t. That's what you got for shelter if you got nothing else. Hollow out a head, stick an arm out of the ground, maybe if you're lucky you'll get a working torso for some air-con. Hell, friend of a friend said he saw a farm using an old rifle as a silo and a magazine as an outhouse. Pretty sure that was bullshit though - only things to farm out here in the interior are sunlight and moisture. The hell would you need a silo for that?
Anyway, on account of the ore, and all the shit that's gone down over it, the only real work in these parts is mining, forging, smelting, and machining. Or being a mechanic, in my case. If you aren't doing one of those, you're probably in the mob or contracting to them. There's always something in need of fixing for one of those groups, you just gotta be careful they don't all come to pick up their shit on the same day.
Maybe invest in some reinforced walls, just in case.