Watching the World Burn: The RP Factbook.
What follows is all the pertinent information relating to the roleplaying that takes place on the surface of Hyperion Prime. It's still a work in progress, so go easy on me.
Descriptive excerpt from “The Galaxy’s Fifteen Most Dangerous Planets: A guide to places that you really don’t want to visit.”
Number 3: Hyperion Prime
Type: Former Corporate Capitol World
Climate: Arid
Population: 50 Million (Approximate)
Weather: Usually sunny
Atmosphere: Habitable (Oxygen/Nitrogen)
Government: None
Capitol: None
Industry: Private Military Corporations, Salvage, Arms Sales, Kidnapping
Moons: Hyperion Secondus, Hyperion Tercius
There are few examples in the known universe of total, functional, anarchy. Functionality has a rather broad interpretation in this case, but society continues to struggle onward in spite of itself. There are no better examples than the backwater planet of Hyperion Prime.
Hyperion Prime was habitable by usual standards, with the standard oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere favored by carbon-based life, and covered in most part by peculiar fresh-water seas. Indeed, under any other circumstances the world would have been a prime colony for any space-faring civilization. Unfortunately, that very aim was to resign this once-pristine garden world to a fate most would consider far worse than death.
Terraforming was in its infancy in those days, and while Hyperion Prime didn’t need much in the way of extra work, it did lack a few essentials for developing life of its own. For one, the initial atmosphere was a bit too thin for most galactic life-forms not born and bred for high-altitude existences, and in order to make Hyperion the crown jewel in galactic conglomerate HyperCorp’s already-impressive crown it would need to be able to sustain populations of just about any known sentient specie.
Vast atmospheric generators were constructed, and shortly thereafter construction of the new corporate headquarters began. HyperCorp’s CEO and board of directors also began construction of their own private estates and residences. Residence blocks for the literally millions of employees followed soon after, along with corporate security bases and training centers. In a span of years, Hyperion Prime, as the planet was now known, became the corporate stronghold for the light year-spanning business juggernaut, who also built several mining stations on the planet’s two moons, as well as helium-3 processing centers around the three gas giants that made up the rest of the system.
Research centers for developing cutting-edge weaponry and other valuable commodities, like agricultural chemicals were established to continue the corporate march towards ultimate greatness, and provide a new generation of products to market to the galactic masses. The discovery of metallic wealth on Hyperion Prime prompted a ‘gold rush’ of sorts, along with the importation of cheap, manual labor.
The first Argonian indentured workers to arrive on Hyperion Prime were to set the standard for future immigrants. They were of hardy ‘tribal’ stock, a large sub-sector of Argonian culture that shunned the modern settled lifestyle a great many of their fellows had chosen. Argonian anatomy being comprised as it is of dense muscle, the tribals were ideally suited to the harsh conditions of the mines. Being a fierce warrior culture, many tribals were also inducted into the corporate security ranks. This arrangement continued for many years, the tribal Argonians not finding the brutal conditions of the corporate mines much different from the harsh lifestyles they usually led in the sweltering jungles of their home world. That all changed when a small group finally tired of the lowering wages and increasingly harsh discipline at the hands of the corporate guards. By now, there were well over twenty million Argonian tribals staffing various mining and security positions, and once the small group convinced the tribal leaders of their exploitation every single tribal turned as one against their corporate masters. Just as the hunting knife is the ancestral weapon of an Argonian warrior, so the utility knives became just as deadly in their trained hands. Tribal security officers opened the armories to their primitive brethren, and a war began in earnest.
Outnumbered, the Argonians fought tooth and claw for every inch of ground they gained, finally reaching the nearest atmospheric processing centers that sustained the thicker air that had made Hyperion Prime flourish. Convinced that control of the processing centers would give them leverage, they held their ground for months against wave after wave of HyperCorp security forces, mercenaries, and the occasional planetary military Special Forces unit roped into the conflict by virtue of being wholly dependent on HyperCorp’s weapons and munitions. Finally, with their options exhausted, HyperCorp launched a new offensive involving the very atmospheric centers their enemies controlled. Slowly, the climate began to shift from a lush green one to one of an arid, dusty wasteland. Argonians, natives of swamps and marshes, were thought to be incapable of surviving in such a dry climate. After several months of inactivity, scouts were deployed to the planet’s surface. They were never heard from again. Unfortunately, HyperCorp had underestimated one of the most adaptable and tenacious species the galaxy had to offer. The same robust construction that had allowed them to shrug off the worst the mines had to offer and endure the unrelenting struggle of their hellish jungle homeworld had also allowed them to adapt and survive in the dry, cracked wastes that now blanketed most of Hyperion.
This was the last straw for HyperCorp. Already over-budget and facing termination, the CEO decided to cut his losses and abandoned Hyperion Prime after code-locking the atmospheric processors and cratering the space-ports, corporate offices, and hangars with orbital strikes. With HyperCorp gone, the Argonians were left to their own devices.
Now, centuries later, the planet spins in a shadow of its former glory. Rusted, broken remains of corporate offices thickly blanket most of the dusty landscape, where the inhabitants squabble over the meager resources and kill each other for sport in most cases. The one upside to Hyperion Prime’s peculiar climate is that the seas still remain comprised of fresh water, keeping the otherwise arid planet supplied with potable water. As such, the vast majority of the small scavenger settlements tend to cluster along the coastlines. Swimming is discouraged, however. Aquatic creatures, many predatory carnivores, lurk in the murky depths, and many grow to incredible sizes. These creatures seem to have developed in response to the increased Argonian presence in the waterways and water bodies that cover 60% of the planet’s surface.
Home to numerous small mercenary bands, feral Argonian tribes, scavengers and treasure hunters of every specie, motivation, and description; the planet is an academic model for the result of a totally lawless planet. With no fewer than one thousand individual governments and ‘nations’ known, Hyperion Prime has long been black-listed as a tourist location for anyone other than the usual suspects. The mercs, slavers, thieves, murderers, deserters, drop-outs, addicts, and general undesirables the galaxy generates in the normal course of things usually drift through Hyperion Prime at one point or another in their lives. Fewer ever seem to leave for one reason or another, however. A common, if unfortunate, side effect of such aforementioned occupations tends to be an early grave, in this case a shallow, dusty one on the barren surface of Hyperion Prime.
While the perfect location to disappear, outside of the few ‘civilized’ zones where warlords and merc groups maintain order through force of arms there is only suffering, death, and madness. Tribes of Argonians roam the wastes in search of supplies, and some have long since resorted to cannibalism, viewing their fellow sentient beings as little more than two-legged food sources. All tribes seem to be perpetually locked in civil war over territory and the limited resources those parcels of land contain. Their numbers are such that any attempt to retake the planet by force has failed miserably, but many experts have suggested that several mercenary groups might have been involved as well, unwilling to forfeit their secure hiding spot without a serious fight. Rumors persist of great wealth to be had on the planet in the form of corporate secrets, long hidden and untouched; as well as funds locked within hidden vaults. While the most accessible weapons caches have long since been pillaged, and arms’ dealing is a major industry on Hyperion Prime, there are still hundreds whose locations have not been discovered yet that the merchants of death would be willing to pay dearly for.
Indeed, the tribals don’t seem to be aware of the existence of such caches, and the merc groups are only able to access the ones they can fight their way into, as more than a few have religious significance to one local tribe or another and as such remain off-limits to any who would loot their contents. Explorers have noted that the bodies of those who have tried tend to be displayed along the borders of tribal lands, standing as gristly scarecrows against future interlopers.
Visitors are encouraged not to visit in the first place, but if business needs to be conducted on the surface of Hyperion Prime one is encouraged to employ heavily armed personal security personnel if possible. Numerous mercenary groups have offices on the planet and have made quite a profitable business out of organizing protection details for wealthy explorers and treasure-hunters. If one cannot employ professional security teams for whatever reason, one is highly encouraged to go about armed, since every other individual on the surface will undoubtedly be armed with something. Armaments ranging from antique slug-throwing firearms all the way up to the most modern energy beam and magnetic accelerator armaments (legal or otherwise) are available for purchase from numerous arms dealers and weaponry merchants. Carrying and otherwise being familiar with the use of firearms is a mandatory skill for any who would visit this desolate, backwater world.
Despite its dangers, Hyperion Prime remains a perfect place for one to disappear.
Factions of Note: These groups are fairly permanent fixtures on Hyperion Prime’s dusty, barren landscape; and they generally have a controlling stake in some of the settled territory or maintain a serious presence in the badlands. We’ve divided them up into smaller sections for ease of perusal.
Merc Groups:
Various private security and risk management firms that form the backbone of Hyperion’s most legitimate industry. These are but a few of the larger firms, there are countless smaller outfits across the planet.
The Sons of Sithis:
The Sons are a primarily-Argonian group specializing in general hired muscle for everything from planetary assaults to simple personal security details for forays out into the badlands. Notable for their crimson-colored hard-shell body armor and their preference for multiple weapons, it’s advised to steer clear of any of their members unless you’re looking to hire them. The largest legitimate firm on the planet by a decent margin, they command a degree of respect from other such groups and are generally given a wide berth. Fortunately for those who employ them for security, even a few of the Badlander Tribes leave them alone. Named after the Argonian Death-God and led by a former Argonian National Army Special Forces Colonel, their services aren’t usually cheap, but they’re the best this barren rock has to offer if you’re looking to staff a galactic conflict with professional, blood-thirsty veterans. The Sons are the only mercenary outfit on Hyperion Prime to own and operate a cruiser-class vessel they use as a mobile base of operations on extra-planetary outings. The 'Shadow of Intent' is a sizeable vessel, retrofitted with a belly-mounted drop-pod rack and a staggering array of powerful weaponry. Currently, she's the biggest deterrent to planetary invasion Hyperion Prime has.
The Death-Wraiths:
Despite their odd choice of names, the Wraiths are comprised entirely of Dark Argonian personnel, a black-scaled sub-sector of the Argonian specie that is usually shunned by the population at large and as such develops a pre-disposition for violence at a young age. While few in number and ill-suited for the kinds of assaults the Sons of Sithis have made their calling card, there are no finer assassins and small-unit hit-squads in the sector. In posession of high-end HyperCorp single-man starfighters, the organization is one of few capable of undertaking extra-planetary operations.
The Pale Horde:
As the name implies, there are quite a few of these guys roaming the planet’s surface. While more of a gang than an actual mercenary outfit, the Horde undertakes whatever paying work is offered, although they rarely leave the planet and stick mainly to raiding smaller settlements along the coast. Comprised of every specie currently inhabiting Hyperion Prime, their diversity and numbers are about all they have going for them. They lack the equipment and expertise of the Sons of Sithis, and don’t have the skill or cunning of the Death-Wraiths. Still, if the solution to your problem is throwing numbers at it, these guys are the ones you want. Numerous settlement mayors have bounties on the heads of a few of the Horde's members, or even the group as a whole. Aspiring hunters who are cunning enough to pick a few of them off may nab a decent living off hauling in corpses bearing the group's white-skull identifier.
Badlander Tribes:The following groups are some of the actual tribes of Argonians that make up the largest portion of the population of Hyperion Prime, and should be avoided at all costs.
The Broken-Feet Tribe:
Taking their name from their nomadic nature, the Broken-Feet don’t have clearly-defined territory, and as such are always in a state of permanent flux as they drift from resource to resource. As one might expect, this brings them into conflict with other tribes as well as settlers, and the Broken-Feet have acquired a nasty reputation as ruthless raiders and combatants. Broken-Feet warriors typically wear tanned leathers from the local wildlife, and disdain any sort of footwear. They fight primarily with clubs, spears, and of course knives from ambush.
The Red-Tooth Tribe:
A powerful, half-feral clan of cannibals, the Red-Tooth will eat just about anything, including their own kind. The edges of their camps are ringed with the bleached bones of victims. Semi-nomadic by nature, they usually prowl around the edges of settlements and main trade routes in search of victims, whom they usually hunt down with machetes and improvised cleavers before they consume them raw. They can be distinguished by their lack of personal hygiene, and are almost always caked with dry blood and dust.
The Long-Eye Tribe:
One of the few clans to embrace firearms, the Long-Eye are a settled people, occupying a basin near a small inland sea far from the coasts of the main continent and near several of the more treasure-filled scavenging areas. Named for their ability to kill from long range, they are also one of the few tribes to trade with the rest of the planet, usually swapping leathers and artifacts for distilled spirits. Fiercely territorial, corpses of interlopers are displayed on the edges of their lands. The fact that they have firearms and don’t trade for them suggests their settlement sits on some sort of large weapons cache.
The Sky-Singer Tribe:
Another settled tribe, the Sky-Singer occupy one of Hyperion’s largest research centers, situated high on top of Mt. Eggleston, one of the tallest mountains on the planet, far from the coasts. The name is apparently derived from the early-warning system they have rigged up using the facility’s PA system, which they seem to use to keep the lesser, more superstitious tribes of the region at bay.
People of Note:
Persons of note are described here. Be they arms dealers, local leaders, mercenary captains, heroes, villians, or something in between, they’re described here.
Edikian Hekker:
Known to the local populace as ‘Crazy Eddie’, and the youngest of the three Hekker brothers, Crazy Eddie runs a weaponry sales establishment in the town of 'Desperation', the largest settlement on Hyperion’s surface. If it’s hardware one seeks, Crazy Eddie can provide it, for a price. His brothers, Clive and Tammik, run a small pest control business, treasure hunter guide, bounty hunting outfit, and wasteland delivery service out of the shed behind Eddie's shop. 'Pest Control' has a rather liberal interpretation on Hyperion Prime, including anything from rats and oversized wastelander spiders to encroaching tribals and noisy neighbors. The Hekker Express Delivery Company is the closest thing Hyperion Prime has to a standardized mail service, and always looking for dependable couriers.
Colonel Keyton Kerrich:
Formerly of the Argonian National Army, Colonel Kerrich was one of the founding fathers of the Argonian Army’s Special Forces. Little is known about why the Colonel left the National Army, but currently he heads the mercenary organization the ‘Sons of Sithis’ and is rumored to have a large standing bounty on his head, should one be willing to kill the colonel, evade death at the hands of his loyal mercenary band, and return to tell the tale to the big-wigs at the Argonian Intelligence Service. The Colonel is rarely seen in the 'corporate' office in 'Desperation', usually out leading his troops himself either in the wastes on training exercises against hostile tribals, or on whatever contract the firm currently holds at that time.
Vosh Kettich:
Kettich’s former occupation was that of the ‘Shadowscale’, a member of an old Argonian death-cult dedicated to the worship of the death-god Sithis through killing targets designated by the Argonian Elder Council. After the dissolution of the cult during the Argonian Modernization, Kettich drifted for many years before finally winding up in the Argonian colony worlds, running from Argonian Republic agents back on Earth. Currently, Kettich runs the Death-Wraith mercenary group, a position he's held since the group's inception. It is unclear if Kettich still has, or ever had, a bounty of any sort on his head.
Anderson Silva:
'Black Andy' Silva is the reigning warlord/mayor over 'Desperation', Hyperion's largest settled civilized area. Well-connected and respected by even the Sons of Sithis, Silva runs the town with as close to a fair hand as possible under the circumstances, but still clings to his old habit of executions to keep the peace. This heavy-handed approach to handling crime earned him his nickname, and while crime is still a huge issue (Silva, in addition to his men, rarely bother inteferring with anything less than murder), violent crime has taken a shallow dive lately. Born on one of Earth's colonies, Silva is of human descent and immigrated to Hyperion Prime after a series of mercenary jobs ran him afoul of numerous law enforcement agencies. Despite the high price on his head, no lawman has yet chanced the dangers of Hyperion Prime (and Silva's small army of murderers, thugs, and malcontents) to collect it. Still, he's the best hope for stability on this lawless world, despite his harsh methods.
Settlements:
These cities, for lack of a better term, are the largest concentrations of sentient beings on the planet's surface.
Desperation:
The largest city on Hyperion's surface. Home to the largest collections of merchants, services, and food supplies, many mercenary firms have corporate offices in this hamlet, as do most treasure hunting guides, wasteland safari guides, and general survival experts for those non-natives who seek to venture outside of the city's walls. Desperation is also the sole remaining spaceport for Hyperion Prime. All goods, legal or otherwise, have to pass though its secure borders at some point, be they outgoing or incoming. Desperation is also the home to the largest weaponry dealership on the planet's surface, run by Edikian Hekker.
Dead End:
A smaller, but still well-known settlement along the northern coast, Dead End takes its ominous name for the high mortality rate among those who choose to settle there. Close to an atmospheric processor, the settlement is often beset by giant wasteland arachnids on good days, or by bloodthirsty tribals on the bad days. Still, those few long-time residents cling to their desolate little town with great tenacity. Dead End's largest export is salvage, mostly medical supplies recovered from the massive storehouses that survived the orbital bombardments due to their proximity to the life-giving atmospheric processor.
Purgatory:
A relatively peaceful settlement, Purgatory lies at the opposite end of a major trade route that ends with Desperation, and has spawned a few smaller pit-stop towns along its length. Purgatory is the last stop before the open wastelands and the riches and mysteries that lie within it, hence its name. It's become a popular base-camp of sorts for the more adventurous types that make their livings scouring the wastes for items of value. Numerous guide services also have offices here, as do most of the larger merc firms. The Hekker brothers maintain a small outpost in Purgatory as well, selling rugged, reliable arms and offering guided trips into the wastes for off-world scavengers.
Natural Hazards:
It's not just the people that make Hyperion Prime a terrible, and often fatal, place to visit. Numerous natural hazards make life all the more difficult for those who try to etch out a meager existence on its barren surface.
Wasteland Arachnids:
Due to its reliance on atmospheric processors to thicken the atmosphere, and their relative derelection, Hyperion's atmosphere is rather thick and oxygen-rich, even for a garden world. As such, a few species of spider and scorpion grow to unnaturally large sizes. Larger sizes of predator means that the prey must in turn be larger as well, and the giant creatures have taken to attempting to ambush small trader caravans, tribal hunting parties, and smaller merc groups for sustenance. Largely nocturnal and preferring the underground grotto-like areas beneath the atmospheric processors (where the air is thickest), most species can easily be avoided. One must be cautious, however, of the Hyperion Wandering Dustback, a nomadic spider averaging two-hundred pounds in weight, six feet in length, with a thick carapace not easily penetrated with anything less than a heavy firearm and inject a potent neuro-toxin through substantially-sized fangs. These creatures don't have a set habitat, but most have been observed to be highly territorial, and prefer the cooler underground areas as much as their cousins. This is believed to be the source of their nomadic nature, once hatched they must leave and seek out their own lairs, or face death at the hands of their parent.
Scavengers are cautioned when entering underground ruins, where these cunning predators tend to lurk. Their thick webs are a tell-tale sign of their presence. Due to their dangerous nature, Wandering Dustback hunting has become something of an underground big-game safari business, and guides who deliver a kill usually stand to make a decent profit.
Aquatic Predators:
The vast fresh-water seas of Hyperion Prime are home to all manner of animal life, which is unfortunately carnivorous for the most part. Giant mammals and fish alike stalk the seas in search of prey, and visitors are advised to avoid spending too much time in the open waters. Still, there are rumors of hidden HyperCorp research stations beneath the waves that would hold untouched technology ripe for salvage, were one able to reach such stations and return with their haul safely.
Automated Defenses:
A large portion of HyperCorp's business was devoted to defense projects for planetary governments, and as such their own facilities had heavy layers of automated security. Turrets, automated smart munitions, energy barriers, drone systems, and laser grids are but a few of the 'natural' hazards a scavenger must contend with. Since the most heavily-defended facilities usually have the best salvage, potential scavengers are advised to be familiar with high-tech security systems, or at least employ a specialist in that field if they seek to live to enjoy the fruits of their labor.
