A polished flake of porous stone, stained a deep, rusted brown, this once-hallowed knife contains traces of the eldest of magics.
The second of three star fighters launched by the Oraki immediately after the war with the Word of Creation, the Wasp is a short-flight, non atmospheric fighter designed for heavy firepower and survivability.
The first of the space superiority vehicles to be launched by the newly independant Oraki after the war with the Word of Creation, the Spinner is an inexpensive vehicle, designed for high mobility and simple maintaince. Meanwhile, a single idea drives the entirety of it's armarment; that the only difference between a rocket and a particle beam is the opening.
The Baleful Eyes hang in the space lanes near the Sanctuary of the Oraki, standing ever-watchful vigil in the name of their safety. The first to sense, the first to see, they are a lynchpin of the world's defense.
Gather your hatred about you, and master it, my brothers. It is the strength behind your shield, the speed of your blade. Do not abandon it, for without it, you are empty indeed.
The Unyielding Rage
A tiny ampoule of steel and old, clotted blood, hung from a black iron chain, the Amulet of Dark Valor holds the drive of the furies.
The faded, yet oddly pristine robes of an ancient healer, this cloth radiates a palpable sense of comfort, of wholeness.
From time to time, one of the All can be divided from the One and All mind. This is a traumatic event, and it is rare that the severed member of the All survives, let alone becomes a solitary One. But from time to time, it can occur. Seeking succor from the desperate silence in its mind, the One Beneath The Waves has sunken himself beneath the oceans of Shamash II, and there it lies, seeking fruitlessly to soothe its injuries.
Those cast out of eternal life by the Great God Juffo find themselves lost forever in the Non. Here, away from both His Holy Warmth and the cold, harsh vengance of His Adversary, Zeln, there is truly nothing.
The failed prototype of the artificial race, the Oraki, it was Kain's misfortune to be found, and resurrected by those who bore a special hatred for his kind. Twisted now in mind and body, this monstrous man machine haunts both its kin and its former captors.
The sixth iteration of Micro-Arms founding invention, the MWP-6 is a compact anti-personnel weapon, designed for use in ship and station side environments, where failing to breach the hull is even more important than the destruction of the target.
It is taken for granted that medical technologies will advance apace in the future, permitting rapid healing and perhaps even shaping of the human body. This submission is to provide possible flavors for that medicine to come in.
Silent and invisible, the only herald of the arrival of Kayrun the Disintegrator is the screams of his victims.
The Eldest of the Oraki, and for long their leader, Lifthrasir-1 has helped his children survive the throes of their birth, and has at last stepped aside, so that his waning years do not bring harm to his people.
A primitive flame thrower, the Lance of Hades brings the power of flame to the Phalanx formation.
Existing at once in the mortal plane and upon the plane of Fire, the Grand Pyre of the Phoenix is the ultimate testament to the power of the Lord Zevarith.
A key tool of the Necromancers of Light, the Soulbinder eases the difficulty of resurrection.
Pelta'na'astal'i'ke'kisher - The Spear that Sundered the Stars
The spear of the Goddess Renga, who gave the gift of the Hunt to the Kel'Regar.
Even as humans can be, the Kel'Regar, too, can be touched by madness, and it can drive them to push to ends incomprehensible by the sane. The work of one such, Kararemi'ar'Salm'Torat, the Menangerie of Mad Creation, is a twisted, living structure, tormented by years of loneliness and incomprehensible need.
A wanderer of sorts, Brelan is one of the few Kel’Regar men who have chosen to mix freely with the greater galactic society, having found his calling at last behing the bar.
AutoMedon – A mechanical poet of renown not for his vast catalog of poetry, but for his complete lack of anything written or spoken, having had no output in his programmed profession. His creator is unknown or at least unaccredited, and there are those in great number in the artistic world who wonder and marvel at his inability to produce poetry, crediting that flaw to his creator who is unknown or at least un-credited. There is also a small faction of scholars who believe that when he finally, finally speaks, it will be the most beautiful or sorrowful verse ever spoke or will ever be spoken. Whether his creator is among either group or dead is unknown. AutoMedon sits alone under a tin roofed enclosure, upon a stone chair, with his gaze off in the distant as if thinking.
“It’s strange to look at this mechanical man and think what thoughts are working through its’ workings or even if the damn thing is” – Aralis of Qurim, poet and pottery salesman