Nansarnek Star System

Nansarnek Star System

Major Holdings – General Information

History

The Chronicle of Nansarnek

By Bertwin Gisking Bearspear

Nansarnek, aye… a hard, weathered jewel on the edge of the Dungar Star Sector. To most, she is but a backwater, a waystation to strip from the stars the rich veins of starmetal that lie hidden in the bones of her system. Yet even a backwater world may be soaked in blood enough to rival a throne-world, and Nansarnek’s soil remembers much.

From the days of the Thirteen Fleets she was marked. It was the Galan of the Twelfth Fleet, stern folk, wanderers hardened by exile, who first cast their lots upon her surface. They planted their holds as others reached for richer pastures, and for long centuries the world languished in the shadows of greater powers. Even the Feyan Conquest passed over her without much care.

A single temple of stone and fire was raised in 27,478 AA.

But the Sector has never known peace, and the names of Nansarnek’s lords have ever been written in the ink of war. I have walked those halls myself, and in the banners that yet hang tattered there, I see the tale.

In the year 30,076 AA, the storm broke with the Battle of Comhdhun. King Astrid the Wide Ruler of Gewiss, bold and iron-willed, gathered her fleets and smote a sudden Skane thrust upon the system. I have heard many say she arrived only in the very hour of need, just as the wolves’ fangs closed upon the Starhold of Comhdun. Some call it providence, others whisper it was no accident that Astrid’s fleet lingered so near. Rumor has its own sails, after all.

The years that followed turned Dungar into a forge of ruin. By 30,156 AA, Viggo of Isca had risen as a rallying point against Ragnar the Raven Blade of Freis. Ragnar, son of Rothgar the Fearless, carried with him the savage pride of the Skane, and many lords bent the knee to him in fear or ambition. Alfhildr of Scir, once counted among the stout-hearted, betrayed Osgar the Great of Gewiss, carrying near half her fleets into Ragnar’s shadow. Yet not all bowed. Sigebehrt of Nansarnek, whom I knew in his youth, a sharp-tongued man, but unyielding, stood beside Viggo, as did Ermingard the Loyal of Scir, who would rather die than forswear kinship and oath.

The storm reached its height at the old and hollow world of Itcis. I remember that place well, abandoned holds, silent temples, the ghosts of the Galan wandering its dust. It was there in the year 30,156 AA that Ragnar brought near two thousand Skane star-fleets, and there Viggo, Sigebehrt, and their allies, outnumbered, outmaneuvered, held their ground. The Battle of Itcis is spoken of still. Ragnar fell, slain in single combat by Viggo himself when their flagships clashed. Alkmund of Morigena perished too, his body broken in the void. Yet Uarraig of Kynancear also met his doom that day, and though victory was claimed, it was bitter.

The plunder of that triumph was great. The Banner of Rothgar the Fearless was seized, a relic sacred to the Skane, soaked in their father’s legend. To strip such a treasure from their grasp was a wound deeper than death, and in the long memory of their people, it has never healed.

The years tumbled on. At Leohtmona, over the pale moon of Scir, Osgar the Great shattered the fleets of Oughtred Umbra Netherspell and Alfhildr, who was captured by Ermingard herself, sister against sister, blood against blood. I was there, I saw the void burned red with so many shattered fleets it seemed the stars themselves wept. In the end, Osgar and Oughtred made peace, though neither trusted the other. Few truces in Mann’s long history have lasted long, but King Oughtred Umbra Netherspell never brought blood and steel against King Osgar again, though he did not prevent those who did from using his worlds.

But Nansarnek’s own trials were yet to come. In 30,394 AA, Harwyn Forkbeard of Skold descended upon the system with fire and sword, aided by Sigfast, Egil the Iron Rune, and many Dungars in their rebellion. They sacked the system, burning holdsteads and reducing the great Feyan Temple to ash. Three years later they came again, leaving yet more ruin. For a time, folk whispered that Nansarnek would be abandoned, lost to ash and silence. Yet in 30,400 AA, King Oswald the Ill-Advised, reckless though he was, ordered a royal Mint and Hoard to be raised upon the world. Thus, by coin as much as by sword, the world was tethered anew to the Star Commonwealth of Drala.

Still, peace was a stranger. Reavers, be they Skane, Dralan, or the Tewteh and Combrogi kin, struck the system whenever weakness showed. Many of her holdsteads stand today only because of Rothrealta, the ancient Starhold raised by the Galan to guard their star-gate. House Regol Gateborn has kept it these many ages, lords whose very blood seems bound to the old network of gates. Folk say they know the surviving veins of the Galan passages better than any living man, and I half believe it. Perhaps I more than half believe it, for once, long ago, I passed with them through hidden ways where no map of the Commonwealth yet reached.

So Nansarnek endures. She is no throne-world, no star-queen, but a scarred veteran of the Sector, ever plundered, ever scarred, yet never erased. And if her soil tastes of blood, it is the blood of those who would not bend, even when all the stars pressed against them.