Children of Zerion / ZERION

Brief History ]

Zerion was a small scuttle-cluster of passing asteroids occasionally casting itself from orbit to orbit, and maintaining a small, but tight-knit community of smugglers, mercenaries, gun-runners, and other dregs of society. Being all but frozen over, and wielding a natural emission of ethanol, the flying rocks were anything but habitable- yet, the first colonizers somehow survived long enough to place the first cornerstones of the pirate cove. As more was put onto the rock, more traffic was seen passing through, which only drew more attention. Sooner than later, a grassroots mafia-like entity emerged, evolved, and encompassed the buckshot of spacerock, taking it under it’s wing and binding it with the most skeletonized version of branding imaginable.

The gang would come to be known as ‘The Children’- the majority of which were born there, and fell into the arms of the militia as a way of life. In time, food, drink, and the bare essentials of law were cycled and maintained through the asteroid’s brief timeline by the makeshift enforcers. As the days ticked on and the settlement’s lifespan grew, so did the assets of The Children. Deckers enlisted their crypto-skllls, proper soldiers of fortune enlisted to train future slingers, and many-a-businessman made a shady deal to lend a hand to the colony. For some time, the road Zerion had found itself upon looked promising. It had passive income, it had comers-and-goers, it had some malformed being of sustenance, and it had potential.

Who knows? If it hadn’t been dusted by it’s flight through an unfortunately placed asteroid field, it might’ve been the talk of the town.

Now, the remnants of those that ran and maintained the criminal safe-haven remain scattered across the great dark. Few of them claim to have any allegiance left to the once-home, while even fewer still bare the tattered banner. Many splintered off into a series of vile raider-squadrons, pirate bands, and slavers, coping with the loss of stability in any way they could. Those that maintained connections frequently, and often very quickly, turned on eachother, slitting one-another’s neck for the thought of accession through the new ladder of violence that bred itself. Though, among the slaughter, the ones that once kept the colony from disarray bound together once more- those that were left, anyway. Weaved together once more, a faint simmer of hope began to brew. Hope to claim land anew, and rebirth the grotesquely beautiful scrap-heap sanctuary for those deemed ‘unsavory’ by the general populace.

Prior to that hair-brained dream comes a mountain of work. Thousands of scavenged ships, rivers of blood, seas of sweat, and millions upon millions of shell-casings lay in await before even the chance of another home will arise. But, when that golden opportunity reveals itself- They’ll be right there, waiting to take it.