Those Who Go Unbound
Prelude: Requiem
And so it was that the 13 tribes of man left Kobol, the home of the gods, and each set out in his own direction to find his destiny. 12 entered the great and ancient galleon, and 12 colonies were founded. Such is what is written in the Holy Scriptures; all of this has happened before and all of this will happen again.
However, the ancient scribes that set these verses into stone also saw it fit to leave out some of the more, "unpleasant", details of this transition. In particular, they eradicated any records of one ill-fated race, whose name has been lost in the sands of time for longer than any can remember.
When one tribe of ancient colonists landed on the planet they called Sagittarius, they found a gorgeous new home rich in natural resources and filled with potential. However, they also found the last thing they expected; something that would rattle the foundations of all those that follow in the beliefs of the Lords of Kobol today. Lies, sacrilege, blasphemy; the truth would be called all these things, but words cannot make the truth go away.
Days after their initial landing, the colonists came across an advanced human civilization. A civilization with an unbendable belief in one true god. Conflict erupted, and the tribe of Sagittarius found itself unable to defeat the original inhabitants themselves. They called upon their 11 brothers to assist them, and the ancient inhabitants were eventually crushed by the 12 tribes. And the tribe of Sagittarius was free to develop as they wished. However, they were now indebted to their brothers, who had bled so that they could prosper; the result was the series of events that would lead to the colony of Sagittaron being the neglected and disenfranchised colony it is today.
Broken and bitter, every one of the original inhabitants that survived the genocide was exiled off the planet in a rag-tag fleet barely worthy of the name. The Colonials simply saw it fit to overwrite and ignore their very existence, and it was not long before they were forgotten. Wandering the desolate moons and asteroids on the eastern fringe of the Colonial System on conventional spacecraft drives, they led a desperate struggle to scratch out the necessities of life.
Because their relic-like ships were not designed with this kind of journey in mind, they were exposed to incredible hardships in the form of oxygen shortages, gravity-free environments, radiation exposure due to poor cosmic shielding, and deficiencies attributable to the lack of sunlight and essential vitamins. The results were at first horrific; much of the first generation born to the survivors in space was horribly deformed. The afflicted infants were deemed weak, or cursed by the gods of their enemies, and were thrown out of airlocks. Forced evolution and "unnatural selection" melded in this way; the survivors' bodies slowly began adjusting on the genetic level to harsh life in space. Shorter life spans were compensated by quicker learning abilities and reactions, stronger bodies and higher resistance to disease. The Exiles, completely human when they began their journey, were becoming something…different. Something stronger…
Many years went by, and violence began to erupt within the fleet as vital supplies became evermore scarce and the people squabbled over how to proceed with their existence. Ultimately, the Exiles split into 8 roving bands called the Crusades, led by warlords in whose veins flowed the blood of the original royal family that had reigned over their race.
Some Crusades simply faded away into the depths of space, their derelict ships joining the great cosmic rings of rock and dust that encircled nearby gas giants. The majority, though, eventually made their way back into the Colonial System. They were led by disillusioned and vengeful warlords who intended to uphold the oaths of retribution their forefathers had made. Scattered and muddled about the system, and armed with ancient vessels operable only through constant repair, they began a legacy of guerilla warfare upon the frontier of the 12 Colonies; raiding outlying settlements and industries, boarding lone freighters and transports. Their homes became large stationary outposts and shipyards hidden in the great dust clouds and asteroid fields on the fringes of the system; any that are threatened by Colonial capture are self-destructed, and the Exiles move on. Their boarding crews took to wearing intimidating, dark armor and helmets, rigged to self-detonate as well if capture were imminent; as a result, no Colonial has ever seen the face of an Exile since, resulting in wild theories of their origin and appearance. The people of the 12 tribes, now completely oblivious as to who these invaders were and where they came from, gave them the name they now live by; the Vrijbuiters, or Pirates.
Sadly, as years went by and the present day came about, the mantle of holy retribution was undone and degenerated into exactly that; piracy. Simple and noble raids twisted into massacres; men were killed or used for slave labor, woman were abducted and raped, and settlements were razed to the ground. Records regarding the Exile's origins became nothing more than legends of withering influence. Furthermore, the bloodline of the Exiles began to dissolve as the ranks of the Crusades were flooded by pirates and anarchists of Colonial birth, which were happily recruited by the warlords to increase their strength. Some Crusades began picking fights with the recently established Colonial Fleet, resulting in an active conflict between the two. In the aftermath of the first Cylon War and the subsequent armistice, the Vrijbuiters were ranked by the Colonial High Command as the greatest threat to civilization, and an ongoing military effort aimed at their complete destruction was in motion. They have been demonized, and are feared and hated as the warmongering children of the fringe. It is a tragedy; the Exiles no longer remember why they raid, pillage, and roam the emptiness of space, but they continue to do so anyways. It is all they know, and is likely all they will ever know. Not one can remember the name of the great race from which he descended. Only one thing links them to their eternal heritage; upon the bow of each of their vessels, drawn in black or white paint, is the emblem that once served as the seal of the royal family; a chamfered triangle enclosing a curved scorpion's tail of eight segments, each representing one of the original Crusades.
Such is the fate of the majority of Exiles. But there is one more story to tell; one that has become as prominent and beloved a legend among the Vrijbuiters as the story of Earth has become among the Colonials. The story of Makaan's Crusade.
Makaan was the descendant of the man once heir to the throne of the Exile race, prior to their banishment from their homeworld. When the Exiles split into the Crusades, he led his nomadic band from his flagship, the Providence, deep into uncharted space, and in the complete opposite direction of the other Crusades. Makaan, who had every right to be embittered and blinded by rage, was instead convinced that their eviction was God's will. He embraced the changes their bodies had undergone, stating that, "We were once weak; we could not protect our homes, our way of life, or even our faith. We have been ousted by heathens; but little do they know, that they have in fact set us free."
The legend goes on to state that his Crusade traveled on for many years, until they were halted by the occurrence of a nearby supernova. Safely sitting at its edge, watching it unfold before him, Makaan, now said to be an old man, proclaimed that this was a sign from God to end their journey; they had found their new home. When his aides pointed out to him that there was absolutely no nearby planet to colonize, he was said to have laughed heavily for the last time of his life.
"Boy, are you still so bound to the old way of thinking? If there is no home here, it is only because we have yet to build it!"
With that, the Exiles set to doing what no other race has done before. Where there was but emptiness sprang up an empire of interconnected satellite cities, stretching for kilometers across. New Providence, it was called; a new home that could never be taken away from those who had sacrificed and toiled to raise them.
This is what the old among the Vrijbuiters maintain; an obscure and dubious tale whose sole purpose is to sustain some tie to the dying spirit of their past. How delighted these old guard of the Exiles would be, if they only knew how much truth they actually spoke…
