A message for the Scriveners in Synuefai OS-O C8-1
- Thread starter Arsen Cross
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Honored Archivists, Keepers of Echoed Time, descendants of the Scriveners Clan.
We address you and the Knowledge Core itself.
We of CROSS Corp address you in reverence — not as worshipers, but as fellow seekers. You, custodians of drifting truth, stewards of salvaged wisdom, we greet not in challenge, but in kinship.
You, who drift by design, shrouded in silence yet understood through conviction — you are not myth to us. You are inspiration.
It was your absence that summoned our interest. But it is your presence that has created the Rite of the Maw.
You did not ask for tribute, yet the maw is fed. Again and again. By Commanders of all stripes. Each one bringing rare goods, secrets, technologies, data and even their own vessels — casting it all into The Maw.
Not in barter, but in belief.
This is no formal pact, no negotiated treaty.
It is something else, something viral, sacred and cultural.
The Rite of the Maw is a ritual born from awe.
We, too, have partaken in this rite. We have fed your maw the most unique and esoteric artifacts we possess — modern chemicals, the flesh of our enemies, our latest technologies, and oddities believed to hold the secrets of Raxxla, AI, and beyond — not in hope of reward, but to feed the Knowledge Core.
This is the Rite of the Maw.
This is the purpose.
We know and understand.
Those who feed the Maw are pleading.
We are contained.
We are not free in the ways you are.
We are not what our ancestors were. Not like those who flew for GalCop, nor the warmongers who crushed them. Our ships are allowed, not owned. We are peace-kept by systems that fear what we might become if left truly free. The stars are open to us, but the systems are not. Our ships — marked, tagged, observed, controlled — are vessels of freedom only within the corridors allowed us by powers we never elected. The Federation, the Empire, the Alliance — all rest easier knowing that the Pilots Federation has shackled us through protocol, legality, and permits.
We are segregated — not just from the tools, but from humanity itself.
Segregated from both the tools and people we need to understand the secrets we find.
Locked out of star systems, planets, and even anomalies, by permits we can never earn.
But it's more than gates and red tape.
We fly through a galaxy full of people we're not allowed to reach.
We can't talk to them.
We can't meet them.
We can't even see them.
We aren't part of society — we're observers with clearance codes.
...and the people that handle us, handle us. To them we're just agents, outlaws and outsiders... Tools to be used, stored and then forgotten about in all ways but value.
And that means we're kept from understanding the very civilization we're supposed to protect.
Meanwhile, you — aboard your Dredger — are whole.
You own your vessel.
You command your path.
You're connected — to your past, your people, and your purpose.
That is why we have come to you not with demands, but with tribute.
Into the ancient mechanism of your maw, we have cast the secrets we have found, technologies, artifacts and curiosities uncovered in our search for truth. These are not mere gifts; they are our offering to The Maw. For the Knowledge Core.
Like you, we hoard. Like you, we study. We collect not for power, but for clarity.
We ask not for allegiance. We ask only that you consider this: that the Commanders of the Pilots Federation are not merely wanderers and servants. Many of us are archivists in motion, philosophers armed with lasers, scientists in exile. And in us, you may find kin.
Should you choose to yield knowledge, even in fragments, you will find it treasured — not just by CROSS Corp, but by a scattered brotherhood of seekers still dreaming of the Secrets of Raxxla, the Truth of our History, the Presence of Others, and The Secrets of Witchspace and the Faraway Network.
...we are Cross Corp and while we stand for Civil Responsibility, Oversight, Security & Services as a Corporation.
We do it as free agents, bound only by our mutual search and the limitations imposed upon us by our masters.
We Commanders continue our push... they know the things we seek.
They see it all..; yet they've loosened the reins.
I believe it's trust. I believe you can trust us too.
I believe you know that too; or you wouldn't have let us find you.
Come to Lyncis Sector, TT-R B4-4.
We are building an Arsenal.
We are building shipyards.
We are studying our findings.
and we could use your guidance.
Should you visit... should you choose to speak... humanity will listen.
For now, we offer respect, the contents of our vaults, which you now consume and a prayer:
May your journey be safe and filled with light.
May you find strength from Thor in your darkest hour.
May you find your wisdom from Odin.
May you find your way with Freyja's guidance.
May the winds be ever at your back, and the waves gentle beneath your keel.
We address you and the Knowledge Core itself.
We of CROSS Corp address you in reverence — not as worshipers, but as fellow seekers. You, custodians of drifting truth, stewards of salvaged wisdom, we greet not in challenge, but in kinship.
You, who drift by design, shrouded in silence yet understood through conviction — you are not myth to us. You are inspiration.
It was your absence that summoned our interest. But it is your presence that has created the Rite of the Maw.
You did not ask for tribute, yet the maw is fed. Again and again. By Commanders of all stripes. Each one bringing rare goods, secrets, technologies, data and even their own vessels — casting it all into The Maw.
Not in barter, but in belief.
This is no formal pact, no negotiated treaty.
It is something else, something viral, sacred and cultural.
The Rite of the Maw is a ritual born from awe.
We, too, have partaken in this rite. We have fed your maw the most unique and esoteric artifacts we possess — modern chemicals, the flesh of our enemies, our latest technologies, and oddities believed to hold the secrets of Raxxla, AI, and beyond — not in hope of reward, but to feed the Knowledge Core.
This is the Rite of the Maw.
This is the purpose.
We know and understand.
Those who feed the Maw are pleading.
We are contained.
We are not free in the ways you are.
We are not what our ancestors were. Not like those who flew for GalCop, nor the warmongers who crushed them. Our ships are allowed, not owned. We are peace-kept by systems that fear what we might become if left truly free. The stars are open to us, but the systems are not. Our ships — marked, tagged, observed, controlled — are vessels of freedom only within the corridors allowed us by powers we never elected. The Federation, the Empire, the Alliance — all rest easier knowing that the Pilots Federation has shackled us through protocol, legality, and permits.
We are segregated — not just from the tools, but from humanity itself.
Segregated from both the tools and people we need to understand the secrets we find.
Locked out of star systems, planets, and even anomalies, by permits we can never earn.
But it's more than gates and red tape.
We fly through a galaxy full of people we're not allowed to reach.
We can't talk to them.
We can't meet them.
We can't even see them.
We aren't part of society — we're observers with clearance codes.
...and the people that handle us, handle us. To them we're just agents, outlaws and outsiders... Tools to be used, stored and then forgotten about in all ways but value.
And that means we're kept from understanding the very civilization we're supposed to protect.
Meanwhile, you — aboard your Dredger — are whole.
You own your vessel.
You command your path.
You're connected — to your past, your people, and your purpose.
That is why we have come to you not with demands, but with tribute.
Into the ancient mechanism of your maw, we have cast the secrets we have found, technologies, artifacts and curiosities uncovered in our search for truth. These are not mere gifts; they are our offering to The Maw. For the Knowledge Core.
Like you, we hoard. Like you, we study. We collect not for power, but for clarity.
We ask not for allegiance. We ask only that you consider this: that the Commanders of the Pilots Federation are not merely wanderers and servants. Many of us are archivists in motion, philosophers armed with lasers, scientists in exile. And in us, you may find kin.
Should you choose to yield knowledge, even in fragments, you will find it treasured — not just by CROSS Corp, but by a scattered brotherhood of seekers still dreaming of the Secrets of Raxxla, the Truth of our History, the Presence of Others, and The Secrets of Witchspace and the Faraway Network.
...we are Cross Corp and while we stand for Civil Responsibility, Oversight, Security & Services as a Corporation.
We do it as free agents, bound only by our mutual search and the limitations imposed upon us by our masters.
We Commanders continue our push... they know the things we seek.
They see it all..; yet they've loosened the reins.
I believe it's trust. I believe you can trust us too.
I believe you know that too; or you wouldn't have let us find you.
Come to Lyncis Sector, TT-R B4-4.
We are building an Arsenal.
We are building shipyards.
We are studying our findings.
and we could use your guidance.
Should you visit... should you choose to speak... humanity will listen.
For now, we offer respect, the contents of our vaults, which you now consume and a prayer:
May your journey be safe and filled with light.
May you find strength from Thor in your darkest hour.
May you find your wisdom from Odin.
May you find your way with Freyja's guidance.
May the winds be ever at your back, and the waves gentle beneath your keel.