Ashe's Odyssey

[Rell]

Throughout the history of man, we have weaved upon ourselves tales of errant knights battling fierce beasts; of tearful tragedies incurred upon poor souls by wrathful gods; of the anointed child, destined to bring about a great change. One may consider such stories as "cliché," common, yet effective in moral.

The protagonist of this story, however, is no legend. His tale is not the kind you will pass through generations. Soon, his name may even be swept away within your mind. Perhaps he wouldn't have cared either way. Thus, reader, the boy's name is Ashe. Odd name? Short, lacking in any flair. His surname is lost to time, or perhaps, it was never to be. That is where our story begins.

The people he knew to be his parents were mere a couple of Bretonian miners, scouting uncharted systems in the Barrier in the utilitarian comfort of an E718-12 Spatial. It was in one of these systems where they found a rocky, crater-infested moon, with a single surface beacon broadcasting out towards an empty silver sky. Upon investigating, they found the beacon to be a station, a very ancient one. It was abandoned, besides one single life form. Choosing to investigate, they found their port airlock opening into a dark, dust-covered space. The room was circular, like the inside of a silo, and there were vats, containing a turquoise liquid, lining the walls. A single one was occupied, carrying a baby.

That is his beginning, no fateful birth, no great forthcoming destiny, just a mere occurence that saved his small, fragile self. The couple, finding no other place to bring him, lovingly took him as their own, naming him based off of the flake-like, ash blonde hair that soon set in over his head, always having a tendency to reach around towards the back of his head. His facial features were subtle, and his eyes were a faint blue, though his mother often argued that it was actually hazel. His skin was of pale complexion, and his physique often bore the look of being somewhat malnourished, though he himself insisted he was never on an empty stomach. He grew up within the space of the ship both his parents flew in. Most of the time, his "family" was far from any civilized planet, and they only moored at a station on occasion. The limits of the boy's world were the strutted brown titanium walls that blocked away the vacuum of space. Yet, it was all he could ever wish for. He'd never concieved of anything beyond.

As he grew, so did his interest in the stars beyond those walls. He desired to be an explorer, to be the first one out to bask in the light of distant suns. His parents were pleased at the direction their child was growing, so they did their best to nourish his calling. His father was once a student in astronomy, though he had ended up flunking that course in college. He pointed out the chilled windows of the viewport, telling the boy the type and estimated temperature of every outstanding star he could find. He taught his son how to read starcharts, discerning constellations with the naked eye, and even how to use the navigational system of the ship.

However, Ashe was no fool. He could tell from a very young age that he was not related to those he addressed as mother and father. Yet, it was near his 14th birthday that he asked his mother about the issue. Neither of his elders objected to telling the truth in full. To both of them, he appeared to take the truth pretty well, not acting out in any shape or form. The day passed seemingly like any other.

But the boy's curiosity, about his birthplace, about why he was where he was, began to consume him. It had started to swallow his will to explore, fusing with it to create a warped obsession with uncovering his origins, and he was ready to trek across every system in Sirius to do so. He never told his parents what he truly wanted to do, worried that they would not accept this new design in his life.

Eventually, it was time for Ashe to stake out on his own. His parents were old, and ready to retire from their occupations in the stars. He was 17, and he knew every inch of the Spatial. At that point, the vessel was old, rusty, and past its prime. The old hunk hadn't hit its surplus cruise speed of 350 in a long time, and the floorplates creaked as one walked across towards a torn leather pilot's chair. Yet, it would still remain faithful towards its course after all those years. His parents would leave it to him, and he would do what was necessary from there. Of course, he could visit them back in Freeport 10 any time soon. They expected him to head to New London and earn a contract to explore new, uncharted worlds for Bretonia. He, however, had plans of his own. He set his jumproute to Liberty, where he would get some of the biggest guns he could find, and perhaps a crew. And so begins the odyssey of our pilot, blissfully ignorant, yet hopelessly curious.