Rigel Grimms's Story

Lately, the city of Noble had been undergoing a series of renovations. While the familiar landmarks remained unchanged, the city's law enforcement underwent a visible transformation. The once-familiar uniforms of the officers were replaced with sleek black coats, adorned with a new emblem. Enter the Schwarzesloch Legion—a group that had emerged onto the scene just a few years ago. In an intriguing arrangement, they positioned themselves as benefactors, offering aid to the city in exchange for the establishment of their operational facilities.

It wasn't a hostile takeover, really, rather, it seemed like a mutually beneficial pact. The city had its needs met, and in return, the Legion pledged to maintain stability within the community. Residents, in their vulnerability against anomalous beings with unfathomable powers, found little room to argue. The Legion projected an air of friendliness, or so it seemed—for the most part.



Today, banners and posters adorned the streets of Noble, strategically placed to lure anyone into embracing the cause of the Legion. "Become brothers (and sisters) towards a new shining future," the enticing message declared. With control over the police force, the local government, and various facilities, the Legion had woven itself seamlessly into the fabric of the city. Despite their pervasive influence, they seemed to keep their promise—allowing people to lead relatively peaceful lives, provided they adhered to the laws set forth.

Today marked a significant occasion as Rigel Grimms, the revered founder of Schwarzesloch and their "Shining Star," prepared to deliver a pivotal speech. In front of City Hall, a stage had been meticulously arranged, adorned with tapestries and banners depicting a hand grasping the void—the emblem of the Legion. A procession of uniformed officers lined the path to the stage, ensuring both security and a clear passage for their leader.

Amidst the anticipation, a figure shrouded in uniform emerged, unmistakably Rigel Grimms, whose presence alone set him apart from the rest. Two officers flanked him, discreetly armed with disruptor pistols beneath their coats. With a calculated yet theatrical flourish, Rigel navigated through the line of saluting officers, steadily advancing toward the stage. As if scripted, the three last rows of officers knelt down, presenting their open hands in ascending heights—a display that Rigel effortlessly utilized as steps, ascending to the stage's platform before turning to address the awaiting crowd. A podium and mic there ready for him.

"Wow, seems we've got a larger gathering today than usual, no pressure, I suppose," Rigel quipped, adjusting his collar, a gesture met with chuckles from his men. His masked voice cut through the air, the sound muffled yet still distinct. "I trust everyone is faring well? While my care extends to my brothers and sisters, let's not forget the invaluable contribution each of you makes to our community. Bridges are built on the foundation of a united people, after all."

A pause followed before Rigel addressed the swirling rumors with an air of reassurance. "Now, I've heard whispers in the wind, rumors sprouting like weeds. Some among you may wonder about our true intentions, question whether we harbor less than noble motives. I assure you, these are baseless hearsay. Have we not brought stability? Provided comfort? Your neighbors aren't mysteriously disappearing, are they? No loved ones erased from your memories? Unlike others, we do not endorse such underhanded silencing of dissenters. Power is a responsibility, and we've wielded it for the benefit of all. We've kept our promises, and a few rumors won't lead us astray."

The atmosphere shifted as Rigel's gaze swept across the crowd, his tone turning more serious as he lowered his head. "Out there, however, they would exploit powers like ours for their pathetic wars—countless lives wasted needlessly for petty causes of pride, power, and prejudice! Corporations profit off us in parts and whole. Organizations seek to regulate us under a feeble semblance of justice! Let us govern ourselves, be our own property, live a day free of monitoring every move we make! We are a people too, gifted by greatness, yes, but we need only know how to wield it responsibly! We here are a proof of concept to the entire universe! We could have conquered stars, yet we settle with this fine city, with wonderful people like you, that the universe has wrongfully turned its back on. We can make this dreary place a paradise. Let us spread our cause across the galaxy! Let us be a change in the right direction. We are the shining future!"

Applause erupted from the officers, a show of support for Rigel's impassioned speech. Among the citizens, a sense of uncertainty lingered for some, their curiosity piqued by the perpetual mystery behind Rigel's masked visage. Nonetheless, the majority joined in, cheering and applauding, swept up by the fervor of the moment.

Four weeks ago, the final Colonial Expedition Forces ship landed in the seas of Regis, the Divine Duty.

Inside were 55 men which served as support crew, cooking, repairing, managing and cleaning. Eighty more served as the crewmen of the ship, the pilots and function-workers. The rest were jokingly referred to as "dead weight," although every officer and crew-member knew they did the real heavy lifting, the menial labor and grunt work that made up the majority of the ship. They made up the largest denomination, 140 infantry-trained grunts, proud to bear the name of dead weight, because they were just glad they weren't back home, fighting their countrymen.

That brought everyone to today. Four weeks floating in deep ocean, a function more than half of the grunts and support had no idea the ship could serve. One day, among the aimless drifting, some poor schmuck on cleaning duty glanced up at the right time and spotted a light above the blue horizon, swore up and down he did, and it climbed the ladder enough that they got their eyes on real, bona-fide rock.

That one was a dud, not a speck of green or meat on it, as far as the eye could see. That light was just a reflection of the ship's own high-beams off of a pillar of obsidian. But it helped them find the next one, then a chain, and that brought them to this eventful day.

Five landing teams, each in their own PT boats, twelve men a team. 60 whole men, minus the boat operators, who were trained in forward-observation and "diplomatic outreach, the open hand of the Colonial Union," and some other junk that was thrown haphazardly into the recruitment papers they had glanced over as cadets.

Enough about bringing them to this day, though, what brought them to now was a bit more interesting.

A small gaggle of grunts stand around the edge of a crowd, having entered the city unceremoniously this morning. It seemed, as it were, if you weren't rushing in with your guns aimed down some poor citizen's peepers then usually you were considered OK.
That didn't say much for whatever cops were running the place. Black-coated fellows, all of 'em carrying some sort of blaster. The crowd of Exped' grunts didn't mind it, they'd seen mostly quiet anarchy on any deployment they'd been on, so seeing some sort of order was nice, for once. Now, the main issue was finding who the hell was in charge.
Reading the posters, gazing at the banners, it was easy to tell there was somebody, but every verbal foray towards some local was met with suspicion, probably due to the uniformed appearance and accented common.

"Damn, Sarge, this has got to be the guy," pipes in a lanky, glasses-laden Corporal. "Well, uh, what makes ye say that, Twig?" "I mean, look at him speak! It's like that, that, uh... Oh, that flick they dug up on the analog. 'The Great Dictator,' or somethin'."
A third soldier pipes in, one by the colloquial name of 'Stone,' for his solid, stocky appearance. "I guess he does talk like one, but he could be a, er, an 'acter'. The guys in the flick were all 'acter'-s or somethin, right? Whose to say he ain't one?"
"I dunno if I like this, fellas," speaks up Thom, the veteran of the group. "You guys remember when they aired the cabinet's execution? The guy behind the counter or whatever did basically the same talking thing this guy's doing. The oration deal."

They all pause to stare a moment longer before the Sergeant speaks up. "I suppose we've done enough gandering, let's head back to TC and report to the Lieutenant."

With that, they back out of the now-cheering crowd and begin the dreary slog back, meandering outside of the city walls and out to their field base for the night.

In the midst of the jubilant crowd, a Schwarzesloch officer discreetly approached the stage, giving it a casual pat to capture Rigel's attention without causing a scene. Rigel turned his head and waved a hand to the crowd before he briskly approached the edge of the stage, reciprocating the officer's salute with his own.

"Report," he muttered, hands casually clasped behind his back.

"Sir, we've spotted unfamiliar faces—appeared to be a scouting party," the officer reported.

Rigel's tone turns to something of dismissive amusement with a light chuckle, "And why's that a problem, exactly?" he questioned.

"Sir?" the officer replied, clearly a bit bewildered wavering slightly in his posture as his hand falters.

"Don't pretend there's cause for worry; guilty of something, are we?" Rigel's tone grew a tad harsher as he lowered himself to the officer's eye level.

"Well, no, sir, we—" the officer started, his voice shaky until Rigel playfully interrupted with a pat on the head.

"Relax. If they swing by again, weeeell, we'll extend a proper welcome—welcomes, handshakes, toss in a few drinks on the house and exchange pleasantries as usual, eh?" Rigel chuckled, pointing a finger playfully. "Ay, ayy? Whether they accept or not, grab a drink yourself, you deserve it. You're dismissed."

"S-sir? Yes, sir!" the officer responded enthusiastically before heading off. Rigel returned to the mic with unbroken confidence in his step, leaning over the mic and holding his arm up to get the crowd's attention.

"Well, this is unexpected. Just got word that we might be graced by some rather interesting guests! Let's give them the finest Noble welcome, shall we?"