A Call to Shape the Crucible!

Ghost Galaxy will be putting on an exciting event at local retailers from August 16 – September 15, 2024. This event focuses on the Martian Civil War, a schism between the forces of house Mars. For additional information on the mechanics of the event and how to participate (as a retailer or a player), go here.

Here, we provide some narrative background on this epic Marsoidian struggle. Our story follows Borka Rikk leading Ironyx Rebels against the machinations of the Elders, and Memrox the Red engaging in plots of his own to gain control of the Martian Empire. Enjoy.

The Story so far

Revolution Grips the Empire

“The manufactories and sensor arrays surrounding Zyypzyar are fully within our control, sir! The city is completely cut off from the rest of Nova Hellas.” The Iron Captain stood like a statue delivering his report in a loud, flat voice. No embellishment, no emotion. The perfect model of a Martian soldier. “We have eight regiments at full strength standing by, plus four more now in reserve at 62%, 57%, 44%, and 39% respectively, sir!”

Borka Rikk listened attentively in silence, as always. An Elder would have already interrupted with a dozen questions, followed by two dozen new demands. But Borka Rikk was no Elder; he was a soldier of Mars. Martian soldiers were disciplined, obedient, efficient, and they were supposed to be completely devoid of any individualism—that at least was how the Elders described them.

“We have captured enough armaments to fully equip an army twice our present size, sir! But, we lack sufficient quantities of soldiers to use them,” continued The Iron Captain.

“You have done well, Iron Captain,” said Borka Rikk. “You will get the soldiers you need. Our propaganda machine is proving very effective. Every day, more soldiers see the truth of their situation; they are low only because the Elders sit above them. All they need is a push to rise up and join the Revolution.”

The Iron Captain’s stony face cracked with the hint of a smile. “What are your orders, sir?”

“Deploy your weakened reserves to the north,” commanded Borka Rikk. “Make them visible. Invite an attack. But, keep your main strength well hidden in the western valley. The Elders can never resist an easy target. When they attack our depleted forces, hit them hard from the west. Crush them, humiliate them! After that, I think our glorious Revolution will have all the soldiers it needs.”

“Nothing inspires revolt like a failure of leadership, sir!” said the Iron Captain.

“Just make sure it’s the Elder’s failure and not ours, captain,” Borka Rikk cautioned.

The Iron Captain snapped a perfect salute, turned on his heel, and marched away.

engineering A perfect Rebellion

Memrox the Red was dreaming again. Dreaming of a day when he didn’t have to listen to the incessant babble of fools like Uxlyx, Xyp, and Blypyp. Perhaps fantasizing was the more accurate term, because of all the Martian Elders in this extended psychic network, he was the most junior. It was going to take a lot of maneuvering, and no small amount of good fortune, to rise to the top of this mess.

“…and now they have taken control of Zyypzyar!”

Was it Xyp who just said that, Memrox wondered. He really should be paying more attention to the meeting. The rebels seemed to be far more capable than any of the Elders had assumed, and this created opportunities for Memrox the others didn’t see.

“They’ll be lucky to maintain control for a day,” said Uxlyx, “Their minds simply aren’t capable of real thinking.”

Ah, yes, the omnipresent prejudice. The habitual scorn. The fatal underestimates. Memrox couldn’t help but smile. They will never learn. He was counting on it.

“They’re clearly capable of organizing,” said Blypyp, “They defeated your army didn’t they?”

Yes, please start the blame game, thought Memrox.

“That was not my fault!” screamed Uxlyx.

“Instead of fighting the rebels, your creatures ate your own troops,” said Blypyp.

“I needed more time to condition them!” Uxlyx snapped back.

“We’re not talking about fighting,” said Xyp, “We’re talking about governing a society. The rebels simply can’t do it! We’ve seen to that in their genetic design.”

No, thought Memrox. It was finally time for him to speak. “You are assuming too much. The rebels will not try to govern the same way we do. They will simply change the rules.”

“Impossible,” said Xyp.

“Ridiculous,” said Uxlyx.

“Do you have a suggestion?” asked Blypyp, “Or do you simply intend to annoy us with your uninformed opinions?”

Now Memrox had to be cautious. He needed to say just enough to gain a little influence in this council, but no more. If he overextended, he would make himself a target. Tell them what they want to hear. Feed their egos. “The soldiers have won so far because you have been playing their game. You have been trying to beat them at the one thing they know how to do well—fight. Well, I say do not fight them! You are the most senior, most intelligent Martians in the empire. Simply outthink them. Make plans, set traps, and let them walk into them. Let their impatience be their undoing.”

There was silence. Memrox could tell he had them all thinking. They would think, and plan, and argue, and plan some more—that’s what the Elders were best at. And, while these fools were all wasting their time, Memrox would make the rebels his weapon. He would feed them information, steer them to targets of his choosing, and let them eliminate the other Elders one at a time. It was a bold plan, but that’s what fortune favors.

To Be Continued…