Editing Marooned's Journal

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The Journal is for Marooned's biography, and to keep a record of her story, her dealings, relationships and anything else relevant to the campaign and her character.

=Backstory=
The netsphere is silent. Stars shine brightly. The dead-art of stellar drift crushes doubt, and leaves space for darker thoughts: this is Autochthonia no longer. In reckless haste, and against agents of tyranny, the liberation of alchemical exaltations was a mission of paramount importance. But something went wrong. Technology from the time before punched through reality itself, and has left a lone traveller so very far from home.

A ‘rogue’ alchemical, if such a thing can exist. One more concerned with the plight of the people; with the planets underfoot that crumble to ruin – emaciated shells, long since starved for scraps, that devour themselves in desperation. Autochton’s plan is a failure. There never were the resources. He did not bring enough. Or if there ever was, it was squandered by mortal folly. So, it seems, that even Gods can err. And when they sleep away the aeons, they remain oblivious to their failure. Thus, the need – the pressing need! – for action. For heroes to stand against the status quo who use calcified tradition as a substitute for wisdom, and erstwhile reverence as a fig leaf for sin.

But where now, rebel? The cause is a galaxy away, and all maps are dust. The people of Autochthonia still suffer, and still decline – inching ever closer to devastation. But here the people suffer too – from the ravages of war and time, from ignorance, and cruelty. With their help, perhaps, a homeward path might be found. But first they will need help. They will need this lost hero with her space-mirrored hull and engines of inscrutable fire. With her technology and her resolve. And perhaps, when all have been helped, and help is received in turn she will cease to be…

=Physical Description=

==Exterior==
Bones of quicksilver and plates of gold. She is like neither bird, nor dragon, nor fish – no inspiration was taken from nature in her design. And there is no trace of the baroque grandeur that, winding its way from Solar past to fallen present, infects the empire. She just is. A silent presence that moves in unheard way – a mirror-sheened spindle that reflects the uncaring cosmos; stars and all the colours of the void playing from featureless stem to featureless stern: all seamless function, and beautiful because of it.

==Interior==
Water plays in channels at the feet. It winds gently throughout corridor and conduit – splashing, as water does, into pool and pond as corridor gives way to room and low ceilings sweep upwards. In this ship’s deepest guts, and on her skin exposed to space, you will find metal aplenty. But within her passageways and cabins, that metal is only seen in streaks: within, wood, instead, is the material of choice; smooth and hard, bursting into branch and bow, leaf and tree whenever it can. 

Here, technology is felt, not seen – called forth, not present. And in its place, antiquated architecture and traditional design present their timeless facades. Perhaps you will hear songbirds above you? Hidden by the sun-lights or cloaked by the moonshade shadows. Perhaps you with glimpse the ‘passengers’ as they scurry, hither and yon, to do their maintenance. Or perhaps you will see Maroon with tea in-hand: enjoying, as she does, the ship gardens – of her own design, and of herself.