Trail of the Forsaken

Chapter One: Warrior

                                                                  .   .   .

There was a story we were all told as children; There once was a selfless, courageous and wise woman who aided soldiers of her village in building their large schooner ships. Despite the hundreds of men that were sent out to sea none ever returned. Thinking it was the fault of her ships, the woman stowed herself aboard in desire to repair any damages the ships may sustain. She hoped with all her heart that this time the soldiers would get to come home. The ships sailed across the ocean for days, no breakages, until one day they hit a reef. Thinking the less of it, the soldiers tried to push themselves off the reef to turn back, suddenly a large creature arises from the sea. Its tentacles starts to grab at the men throwing them 20 ft into the air. The woman froze in fear watching the husbands, sons, and workers of her village being killed in cold blood. The creatures jaws thrash and clash against the side of the ship. The woman, in a moment of adrenaline but mostly anguish, raises a segment of broken railing over her head and brings it down stabbing it into the animals eye. She's doing this for the families. She slashes the tongue of the beast. Shes doing this for the soldiers who were lost. The monster falls back in a mighty screech and the soldiers cheer. From that day forward the Warriors were born and the woman was a symbol of our survival. 

                                                                 .   .   .

1430 CTE - Nearing the end of the Common Trade Era

Baoba land. The only habitable land, on the only planet of this measly one star system. If not for its demanding Baobo'an species, it would be a desolate inhabitable wasteland as well. The beautiful bronze sands offset the overall distasteful disaster which they call their city. A stick and stone mess piled into the walls of a canyon, the only place they found that lays off the unrelenting heat of the desert. Below, at the lowest point, a small stream bubbles through, undisturbed, and the four-legged mosqaloo roam. Small huts are scattered and wooden scaffold bridges lead up to buildings carved into the terracotta ravine. At the top, out on the dunes shards of metal can be seen arranged into cages holding various malnourished and imprisoned species. It is only assumed that these people are here to pay for horrendous crimes, since out here five days spent in the desert is a death sentence. Whether you'd die from the fieriness of the 15 hour daylight or die from the unwarranted sinking sands. If you're lucky, with 4 days walking you might reach the border and save your suffering with a quick death from the radioactive sun scorched northern hemisphere.

A male Baobo'an can be seen dressed in a full traditional garment. In its basics this is comprised of a shaggy mosqaloo coat and mosqaloo skull helmet worn over the face. He crouches at his knees lethargically tending to the empty cells, patting at the dusty ground and welding new pieces of metal to one another. Sweat pours down the soft skin of his forearms as he falls back onto the ground in a heap. A prisoner in the next cell over reaches out his arm grasping at the mans coat and hurling terrible noises his way. They roll their head to look at the prisoner, a feeling of utter disgust emitting from him. He stares as the two watch guards on top of the ridge exchanging conversation, oh how he longed to have the respect of a higher rank one day. Even if it was just for that sense of freedom, that feeling of rebellion and power. He might even be able to get off this derelict rock. His hand inches its way up to his helmet. He is sweating, a little air will do him good, no one is even looking right?

Wrong, the guards look over at the right time and catch him right before he undresses. They start shouting at him, barking and honking in a language he barely understands. 

"your way with words is..." he gestures "...entirely confusing to me" The man sneered. He appears delirious and drunk on the torridity of the landscape. The language that the Baobo'an's speak is ancient and one that would take decades to learn in it's entirety and years to even get down the basics.