Heart of the Protectorate
Long before it was the placid heart of the galaxy-spanning Protectorate, Promacon was a world steeped in magic, technology and heroism rarely seen amongst the worlds of men. Like reality itself, the planet was a complex and stratified system of worlds existing almost wholly unaware of what was happening just above, or below, their own societies.
The topmost empire consisted of massive, skyborne citadels that orbited the world below. In the uppermost reaches of the atmosphere with their belly's cunningly painted, only a scant handful of surface dwellers even suspected their existence.
A strange combination of feudal agriculturalism and a quasi post apocalyptic despotic empire, the surface world was caught in the midst of events far greater than itself and whose impact would one day be felt across the galaxy. Ruled by the iron fist of the Harmex family and their private army, the peasants were kept in line by simply denying them access to technology. Many of the surface dwellers knew of the subterranean realms beneath their feet, but it was common knowledge that only terror and death awaited in the world below.
Inhabiting the twilit, honeycombed realm were beings known as the Brobes. Perhaps sharing a common ancestor with the surface dwellers, the Brobes were perfectly suited to the twisting passages and yawning cataracts of their subterranean world. Their large eyes captured what little light existed and, with help of the curved cane each one carried, they tumbled and danced across the chasms as easily as a surfacer might walk down a road. Indeed, locomotion upon a level surface was challenging for these creatures, but rarely mattered. They did not venture to the surface, nor to the deepest caverns where the ground was more solid. Little did the upper realms realize that the only thing that stood between their total destruction were these simple, diminutive people. The Great Hive waited in the unhallowed darkness, spewing forth an army of chitinous warriors whose invasions were handily thwarted by the twisting passages of the brobe territory and and their elemental priests. Eventually, however, every fortress under unending siege ultimately falls.
This world and all its intricate layers would end in blood, fire, and glorious rebirth. That is, however, a tale for another day.
This content © Michael B. Terry.