Short Description
Jupiter is dead – at least for dreamers, researchers, or traders.
The massive gas giant with its destructive gravity, its bubbling storms and
its impenetrable interior offers nothing that one couldn’t get more easily, cheaper and with
significantly lower risk of death on another planet.
But above this roaring hell circles Bloodheaven – a heavily armored space station that
hangs in orbit like a rusty thorn. Nobody comes here by accident. Whoever lands in Bloodheaven’s docks
has either blood on their hands, a bill to settle – or both.
Environment
Jupiter itself is nothing more than a raging ball of gas, pressure and wrath.
Its gravity pulls you down – faster than you can say “last mistake”. The planet is a death zone of volatile hydrogen, ammonia and methane – neither habitable nor economically worthwhile. Probes vanish there faster than conspiracy theories in an ether storm.
The true history of Jupiter doesn’t lie on it, but above it – at a precise distance, where gravity is kept at a merciless 1.5 g. Not by chance, but by principle. By conviction.
Settlement
Bloodheaven: The Heart of Steel
Bloodheaven is not a colony. Not a city. Not a home.
It is a cog in the machine of violence. A mercenary factory with its own philosophy: “Whoever survives here, becomes a nightmare everywhere.”
The station was founded by a council of former generals, gladiators, pirates and exiled
officers – today they are called the “Mercenary League of Bloodheaven”, and they operate
like a corporation: efficient, unscrupulous, international. Their “product line”:
Highly Specialized Combat Crews
Independent Shock Troops
Siege Specialists
Orbital Infantry Commandos
Heavy War Gear
The mercenary station consists of five levels:
- The Shipyard Clamps – gigantic docks for heavy and battleships, with integrated manufacturing facilities for modular add-ons, field cannons and magnetically armored outer hulls.
- Core Module Alpha – Command, Operations Center, Tactics Simulators, Fleet Archive. Only those registered get in – or out dead.
- Ring Omega – Training halls, 1.5 g pressure chambers, arena units, weapons testing grounds. Those who can’t breathe here anyway will fail.
- The Zone – Bars, mercenary markets, contract kiosks, body shops. Bloody contracts and even bloodier games.
- Hangar Delta – the decommissioned “dark side” of the station. Rumors about black-market clinics, replicant-forges and organic weapons are confirmed by no one – and not denied either.
Special Features
“Whoever is born in Bloodheaven learns first to run – then to aim.”
A slogan on the station’s welcome sign (with a bullet hole)
Bloodheaven is more than a station – it is an ideology built on iron and steam.
Those who want to join must undergo the so-called “Schwergang”: 60 days at 1.5 g, under constant stress, combat and survival training, without MagoMechanic, without medkits. Only those who come out upright receive a codename, a sign – and access to the Exchange.
The Mercenary League offers combat troops for almost any war in the solar system – official or not. Many convoys, research stations and noble caravans can be escorted here – for a high price. Particularly sought after is the “Red Division”, a special unit infamous for its mine-ship annihilation maneuvers. It comes without warning, never leaves a living witness – and demands payment only in raw aetherit.
Military equipment of the Outer Union is developed, tested and delivered almost exclusively here. The designs are heavy, functional, angular – nothing for aesthetes, everything for survivors.
The outer worlds – especially Neptune, Saturn, Uranus and the free rings – regularly supply themselves here with new fleet equipment, heavy steam frigates, reactor shields and orbital defense systems. Whoever doesn’t have Bloodheaven certification in their arsenal is quickly recognized as “cannon fodder” in major battles.
And not only mercenaries land here:
Those who are not a warrior are usually someone with a damned thick wallet.
Whether fleet commander, weapons dealer, or a diplomat in a shadow mission – those looking around here
are ready to pay a lot. And Bloodheaven knows exactly how to turn money into steel.
In the bars – usually decommissioned cockpit parts with a new counter – you meet half-legends (that’s sometimes literal), retired officers, living recruiters, killers with cold
eyes and ex-Paladins with broken vow.
“In Bloodheaven you’re not asked what your name is. Only how much you can endure before you strike back.”
(Not so) Long Text
Jupiter is dead – at least for dreamers, researchers or traders.
The massive gas giant with its destructive gravity, its bubbling storms and
its impenetrable interior offers nothing that one couldn’t get more easily, cheaper and with
significantly lower risk of death on another planet.
But above this roaring hell circles Bloodheaven – a heavily armored space station that
hangs in orbit like a rusty thorn. Nobody comes here by accident. Whoever lands in Bloodheaven’s docks
has either blood on their hands, a bill to settle – or both.