Post Apocalyptic Prison Planet Sci-FiSection:
Extreme (for maximum freedom)System:
Either Die Toten (a system hack of my own creation) or freeform with some guided character creation.The Idea:
Donnar is the 4th planet from a bloated red sun with unlivable northern and southern hemispheres. The north a blasted seething wasteland scoured by 100 mile an hour winds and the south a craggy, mountainous realm of extremes. Only the Jord is habitable. A 500 mile wide strip around the equator where waste and mountain meet. Mountains provide a windbreak from the howling winds and the filtered sunlight allows plants to grow.
A century ago this was a mining colony but whatever riches the world held have long since been stolen and the colony abandoned. Homes left to the mercy of the elements. Facilities cleaned out and left to rot. A dust haunted scrapyard in an otherwise uninhabited system. For half a century it sat empty till the regime found itself in need of a place for it's dissidents.
That is when the name Donnar re-emerged.
The regime decided like the English of old to make a prison colony. Donnar was it. A life sentence of exile on a planet of murderers, terrorists, rogue psykers, and xenos. Dropped from orbit to find their own way. While above a warship watches for any signs of a space faring vehicle - ready with an arsenal no force below could hope to withstand.
Now gangs rule the land. Some play at territory and warfare like the neighborhoods of old Earth. Others build cities and try to forge some kind of civilization. Some even hope to make a change for the better. Others just look out for themselves.
And some just want to watch the world bleed.
Welcome to the Hammer, inmate.The Players:
You are the newest inmates. Convicted and sentenced to a lifetime on Donnar. Political prisoners, terrorists, murderers, psykers, xenos, arsonists... you committed the crime and now this is the price you pay. This is not a game for the wrongly convicted. You might not be evil but you are a criminal.Setting & Plot:
The images in my head are of crudely built vehicles and jury rigged weapons. Homemade chemistry supplying drugs. Black market genetic engineering. Brutal entertainment. Kind of like Mad Max meets the Sci-Fi age with a Roman's love of bloodsport. And, of course, every form of vice known to man.
The plot is survival. Very character driven but - and this is important - it is not about escaping the planet. That is not happening. This is a story about survival on a planet where vice is god. Not about escaping to face your captors or to clear your name.Content:
Potentially any allowable by Elliquiy rules. As always respecting each other and my O/O's.Writing Sample:
3 Months Ago
Bratva High Court
"Bram Ingolf Kressler Salien, firstborn son of Greve Aksel Salien, stand and be recognized," Dommer Christer said from his seat atop the judgement dais.
The prisoner was silent. Head down. Motionless save for the shallow rise and fall of his chest. His clothes were little more than a slate gray jumpsuit - the uniform of the condemned - and steel locking gauntlets. What skin showed was pale in the way a man can be only after a lifetime of living beneath a metal sky.
Slowly, deliberately Bram looked up. A wolf's mane of shaggy coal hair framed an almost colorless face. Eyes dark. The bags beneath them darker still. Thin lips pressed into a grim line. Everything about his face was sharp - like his bones were knives and his skin the sheathe.
"Stand and be recognized," Christer repeated voice hard.
Bram et Salien rose to his feet but his eyes were fixed on the official above him. Pointedly ignoring the advocate by his side, the jury to his right, and the crowd behind him. Ignoring the father behind him. Ignoring his mother's empty seat.
"Read off the accused's charges," the Dommer commanded.
A slim man wearing the black and silvered livery of the Duchal Guard stepped forward and said, "Neural trafficking, 35 counts. Trafficking in contraband, 43 counts. Aiding fugitives, 27 counts. Mind crimes, 12 counts. Conspiracy to commit murder, 3 counts. Murder by commission, 2 counts. Unregistered vitakinetic abilities, 1 count."
"Foreman - what is the jury's deicision?"
The foreman - dressed as all the jurors in black head to toe - to a deep breath and pronounced, "Guilty on all charges."
Pale lips twitched. A deep, hard breath escaped him. It could be seen on his face and in the line of his shoulders. He knew what was coming. It was the only ending the trial could have.
"Bram Ingolf Kressler Salien, Grevesson, a jury of your peers have found you guilty," Dommer Christer proclaimed. "And there is only one punishment for such a list of atrocities and moral outrages. Only one answer to the utterly selfish uses of the gifts you possess. You are hereby sentenced to a lifetime of imprisonment on Donnar. May you see the error of your ways before your end finds you."
Bram saw Donnar for the first time. The infamous prison was the sole planet in the system capable of supporting life. 2 and a half times Sol in size and locked in a nebulous orbit between two orange stars - Risnir and Njostr. The only habitable zone on it was a belt 500 miles wide around the equator. A planet without day or night. Only twilight and dawn. Storm wracked and blasted by sand and wind.
The mining company that had originally discovered Donnar called the belt Megingjord.
From the port screen the rest of the Jarngreipr Fleet could be seen. A dozen battleships representing a hundred systems. Each watching over the prison planet. Each with enough firepower to raise a continent to the ground. Over the planet itself hung a satellite - the orbital weapons platform called Mjolnir.
My new home. Is this what you wanted for me, father? Or would you have preferred my death? the psyker thought staring out into the dark.
"Move along, inmate," the soldier snapped shoving Bram forward.
Bram cast a dark look his way but reluctantly moved forward. There was no reason to fight here and now. Home was half a billion klicks away. His allies were imprisoned or dead. His family had cast him aside. And he was surrounded by 5000 soldiers who were - at best - neutral towards him.
In the years to come he would never remember the walk to the dropship. A hundred memories were running through his mind. His and others. Some freely given and others stolen. Anything to distract him from the truth. Donnar was to be his tomb.
His skin tingled. Mouth dry. Hands shaking in their confines. He swallowed hard. Part of him ached to be somewhere else. Just fall away into the sea of memories inside him. For once Bram fought the urge. He needed this memory.
Pulling himself together he looked around the dropship. To see who would share his punishment. To see who's life ended with his today. His fellow prisoners. Die Toten the soldiers called them.