Parture Corp.
Mysterious. Their designs unfathomable. Agents of the Parture Corporation are like a mist that leaves only silence in its wake, as even the bodies are taken.
Structure
Led by a shogun, a sort of hive mind, chosen via a process completely unknown to outside forces. Whispered tales suggest a prophecy exists, and the time and manner of the rise and fall of all four successive leaders of the faction was already predetermined.
As far as the rest of the world knows, one shogun disappears and a new one rises without further notice, and all the assets of the corporation suddenly respond to the new individual. Or perhaps the focus of the corporation itself shifts, and this is what drives it to select a different voice to guide it toward the new goal.
Public Agenda
Unknown. Detractors in the Albor Corporation insist the Parture intend to kill or enslave all that lives, and the Parture themselves have not bothered disproving these claims. Perhaps they enjoy the fear it generates in the hearts of enemies and allies alike.
Assets
The city of The Throat and surrounding areas, various branches of the Reiter military and naval forces, and the dreaded Death Inquisition.
The corporation is said to have enough weapons, munitions, vehicles and automatons stockpiled to take over all of the known world. The true extent of The Throat is ignored, as its tunnels and chambers reach deep underground, far beyond where any living being has ventured.
History
A long time ago, in a place where the rivers met and became one, existed a small village called The Mouth. Its inhabitants threw themselves into the yet-poisoned waters to salvage scrap and corpses that floated downriver from other villages (particularly from Scales, as the people there used to dispose of their dead by throwing them into the Great River). The corpses, along with fish and fruit, they consumed. The scrap, they used to build tools and structures. Unfortunately, the blight in the water found its way inside their bodies, and slowly but inexorably killed them. It began by taking the softer parts, such as the nose, the ears, the lips, the eyes and the genitals. Then, one by one, every limb turned black and dry, and fell off. It burned inside and out. Unable to feed their family the diver ended their own life, and the strongest heir became tasked with providing sustenance. Keenly aware of the inevitability of death, the people of the village developed an enormous respect for it. They built altars and shrines, and worshipped it as a deity. The greatest honor a diver could attain was to die while retrieving something useful from the waters. And despite it all, the village prospered. It was then that the raiders found them. Vicious bands of nomadic bandits and killers had set up encampments in the area and harassed the village daily, eager to lay their hands on the treasures provided by the confluence of the rivers. At first, the village feared them. The defending warriors, armed with harpoons and simple bows, were no match for the raiders, which mounted strange metallic beasts and rained fire over them. But after a while, a very important detail became evident: The raiders merely played at war. They would never admit it, but if they completely destroyed the village they would be left with no one to raid. They also valued their own lives more than any treasure they could hope to plunder. Thus, they employed puny little skirmishes and retreated as soon as there was any sort of risk. This was not the case for the village. Their way of life was on the line, so the name of the game for them was total warfare. And it showed. Raiders returning to battlefields from which they fled the day before would find their fallen butchered and nailed to the trees. No mercy was shown. One day, a group of them charged into the village to find it mostly undefended. They thought nothing of it, and did the only thing they knew to do: Set fire to some buildings, kill some people, steal some things. And they returned to their camp with their packs full, eager to share the spoils with their loved ones there. And they discovered where the village warriors were. The camp was decimated. The returning raiders were welcomed by the gruesome sight of the charred remains of their families and friends. Not a living soul was left. While the raiders grieved the dead and wondered what sort of monster would do such a thing, the villagers fell on them and captured everyone. "Why did you do this?" Asked the leader of the raiders, holding what was left of his wife in his hands. "Why didn't you?" Asked back one of the warriors. "You could have done this to us at any time. But you didn't. We did. That is why you lost." Other camps fell in similar fashion, until word had spread enough that raider tribes surrendered on their own rather than risking the same fate, knowing that all who did not resist were left alive as slaves. With no fear of either mortality nor the unknown, the death worshippers expanded far beyond the horizon, subjugating many peoples. And with each fallen town, new slaves were sent to The Mouth. These prisoners, chained by the fear of losing their lives that their masters did not possess, were forced to perform the perilous job that the village divers used to do. In time, the slaves came to crave death instead of fearing it, as they considered it the only thing that could free them from their torment. But the village masters knew of this, and would not let death free anyone. Only their warriors were deserving of the eternal rest and glory that came with the final breath. Slaves were instead brought back through complex surgery and medicines. When a limb fell off, it was replaced with a prosthetic. If the lungs failed, the chest was opened and artificial replacements were installed. All developed with the specific purpose of keeping them working for all eternity. And work they did. For the masters were very busy fighting their wars of conquest, so more and more tasks were delegated to the growing number of undead slaves. The slaves gathered resources from nature. The slaves forged the weapons. The slaves raised new buildings, symbols of power, turning the village into an imposing fortress-city. The slaves dug an enormous pit in the bay where the rivers met, transforming the Mouth into a Throat. The slaves ensambled, in the industrial foundries at the bottom of that pit, enormous war machines for the masters. And, subtly, the slaves put their little touch on things. Buildings and items came to be decorated with a skull-and-sandglass motiff, representative of the prisoners of different origins whose only common element was death, or the lack thereof. The slaves developed music, spiritual songs about how death was supposed to free them, and how it one day would. Banners and flags, tailored by the slaves, took on black and teal colors, the same as their skin after they were brought back to "life". The masters, oblivious to this, allowed the slaves these creative liberties as long as the work was done. And so, in the end, the city reflected the slaves more than it did the masters. And while the former worked, the latter did nothing but kill, conquer, and die. Until eventually, all the masters died off. And only slaves were left in The Throat. Dead, but not dead. Free. And with the power to change things. Legend has it the last master, a warlord commanding her troops in the front, fatally wounded and awaiting the end, took notice of what had happened. She realized her city was no longer hers, and it hadnt been for a long time. She realized her people would die with her, and it would be replaced with those she believed subjugated. And so she cursed the slaves. Her last breath was an agonizing cry, not because of the grievous shrapnel hole in her chest, but for her wounded pride. For her desire to rip and tear the new masters of the city, to eat their hearts, and her inability to do so. And like an injured animal, the last master fell, alone in the woods or at the feet of some unconquered stronghold. And the new masters laughed. And their laughter echoed through all corners of the earth. A monotone, ambitious, and cruel sound. Because these new masters would not commit the same mistakes as their predecessors. These new masters would dominate for ever, and ever.The village of The Mouth was founded by survivors from the nearby shipwreck of the Il Corvo, a transoceanic cruiser. Aboard the ship was a group of religious refugees escaping a plague from the other side of the sea, and along the coast they had picked up other peoples. Upon arriving, the pilgrims found themselves divided over their views on their faith. Some, originally of a lower socioeconomic class, were more spiritual, concerned with the inmortality of their souls and whatever beings awaited them on the other side. Others, former aristocrats, were much more concerned with the pragmatic aspects of life on the earthly plane, and refused to discuss any notion of an afterlife or resurrection. They decided to part ways, and while the first ones stayed and built the village, the second group would go northwest and eventually become part of the Albor Corporation. Eventually, the new Death Cult replaced the ancient religion, as it was a better fit for their current situation. But it kept some aspects. Resurrection was no longer a concept, but rather the afterlife was experienced through your descendants. Villagers died gladly knowing their deaths helped the village and their families. As a side effect, the weaker divers died first, usually having had less children than the stronger ones, which accelerated natural selection. The village was indeed getting stronger. Some time after they fought back the Lupin and Hippidion raiders (predecessors of the Ardent) and began expanding their own empire (coming into contact with other factions such as the Albor and Stender and ocasionally taking prisoners from them as well), the Digital Conclave would be founded. The very last leader of the original Parture, Tory Necul, would attend the First Conclave herself and include her people in the alliance. Miraculously, after her death, the new leader of the liberated slaves, Kelsey Mallory, agreed to continue working together.
Technological Level
Besides vestigiation and advanced bioengineering, the Parture are constantly improving powerful weaponry, from handheld laser rifles to enormous railguns to be used as siege equipment.
Despite being located deep in Conclave territory, it is the faction with the most coastline and conducts most of its trade by ships, leaving it vulnerable to an attack by sea. This led the Parture to develop powerful, hard-hitting vessels that are feared across the Great River.
Trade & Transport
The faction is dedicated to the production of weapons and ammunition, the surplus of which it exports to the Ardent and Stender, as well as to the State Guard, via cargo ships or Conqueror freight trains.
Through ships it also receives the bodies of the deceased from those factions and the rebels they kill, which the Parture eagerly turn into vestiges.
Type
Corporation, Manufacturing
Capital
Leader
Government System
Hive-mind
Power Structure
Dependent territory
Economic System
Post-scarcity economy
Parent Organization
Subsidiary Organizations
Location
Related Ranks & Titles
Controlled Territories
Neighboring Nations
Manufactured Items
Related Items
Notable Members
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