Some calamity had brought the westward-bound sleeper ship down while sparing the smaller ships which escorted it. The Fortune’s journey ended in the ocean, killing the sleepers who had so desperately clung to life in order to be a part of The Great Fleet. Likewise, few of the crewmen who had made it to this blasted land could endure the pummeling their ships took in landing. Perhaps three or four dozen survivors crawled from the wreckage of the fleet and irked out a nomadic existence in the slightly more hospitable plains southeast of the graveyard, never attempting to cross through to the north. Thus, they never knew of the burgeoning civilization of Origin, barely three hundred miles to the north, which could have offered them so much peace.

A unique culture sprang forth as the nomads, who came to call themselves The Lucky, survived on a land which did not welcome them. I stand amongst their most sacred graves in order to understand this culture.