Galaxy 2: Vorkhel Cluster

Nekros was once the prosperous capital of the empire of Vorkhel. Its white marble cities housed millions of souls and endless libraries. Then a war that no one remembers emptied the planet in a single night. For a thousand years, Nekros has turned in silence, its cities intact and its streets deserted. The archaeologists who landed there first heard footsteps in the corridors. Then the skeletons of the former inhabitants rose, still clad in their armour. They defend their city as if they had never stopped being alive. Nekros is the gateway to the Cluster: there is no going further without crossing it. Command wants to know what woke the dead, and what commands them.

Your footsteps echo on the marble. Behind a column, bones rattle.

Ossia is a planet without an atmosphere, where the cold of the void touches the ground directly. The empire of Vorkhel buried its soldiers there, in catacombs dug straight into the rock. Millions of tombs, lined up like an army at rest, wait beneath the surface. The cold has preserved the bodies and the weapons in perfect condition. Since Nekros awoke, the catacombs of Ossia have opened one by one. The dark archers who patrol them shoot without ever missing, without ever tiring. The few explorers who came back from Ossia no longer speak; they shiver. Deep in the catacombs lies the hall of the generals, still sealed. What sleeps there could explain the fall of Vorkhel, or bring it about a second time.

Your suit creaks in the frost. An arrow has just lodged itself in the rock.

Tombe-9 takes its name from a catalogue: the ninth necropolis of the Cluster. But for the shamans who officiate there, it is the Cradle of the Return. They have set up their altars in the craters, hidden from prying eyes. Every night, their chants draw new dead from the dust. They are the ones who woke Nekros, the ones who opened Ossia. They don't serve the skeletons: they make them, the way a factory makes blades. Every shaman struck down is one less army rising tomorrow. But they are never alone, and their creations defend them to the last bone. Silencing Tombe-9 means cutting off reinforcements for the whole Cluster.

A chant rises from the crater. The dust trembles under your feet.

Malefica is not a planet but a giant asteroid, carved like a temple. The empire of Vorkhel practised rites there that its own books refuse to describe. A violet aura bathes its corridors, and instruments go haywire as they approach. Pilots report voices in their helmets, even with the radio switched off. An orc from the Nebula, lured by the legends, settled there with his gang. He thought he would find treasure; he found skeletons that obey him. Malefica made him a king, and the king stopped wanting to leave. The asteroid is slowly drifting towards Gardia, and its aura grows with every orbit. Command fears it may be a heart, and that Malefica may wake up.

Your instruments go dark. In the violet gloom, someone calls you by name.

Gardia is the orbital fortress that once guarded the sanctuary of Vorkhel. Its black metal walls have seen the empire's greatest fleets pass by. When the empire fell, Gardia stayed standing, empty, its cannons aimed at nothing. Two orcs, blood brothers, scaled its walls and took possession of the fortress. They proclaimed themselves guardians of the sanctuary, without knowing what they guarded. Dark archers joined them, drawn by the promise of relics. Since then, no ship approaches the sanctuary without facing a rain of arrows. Beyond Gardia lies the road to Os-Prime, and to the Lich. The fortress will have to be taken gate by gate, wall by wall.

The metal gates creak open. Two axes are waiting for you.

Os-Prime is the sanctuary of the empire of Vorkhel, the most sacred place in the Cluster. It is here that the emperors rested, on a throne carved from their own bones. Legend says the last emperor refused to die, and signed a pact with the void. The throne of bone became his bed, and the whole planet his kingdom of the dead. His shamans flock there from all over the Cluster to serve his endless will. An icy laugh crosses the comms of every ship that comes near. The throne's guard is the densest, the oldest and the most loyal in the Cluster. Getting past Os-Prime means coming close enough to the Lich to hear its voice. Command knows that beyond this point, there will be no retreat.

The laugh echoes in your helmet. It knows your name, and it was waiting for you.

Lichea appears on no ancient map: it was born from the death of Vorkhel. Where the last emperor signed his pact, matter clumped together into a planet. Every stone of Lichea is a memory of the empire, every crater a lost battle. The Lich reigns there, master of the crypts and of all the dead of the Cluster. It revived Nekros, opened Ossia, blessed Tombe-9 and crowned Malefica. Its only goal is to rebuild the empire, with subjects who will never die again. Its powers chill the soul, and its skeletons rise again as long as it breathes. No living being has ever set foot on Lichea. You will be the first. Destroying the Lich means finally giving rest to an entire empire.

The cold bites to the bone. On its throne, a crown turns towards you.