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It had been thirty moons since the Great Catastrophe, the day the machine people descended upon the Red Fox tribe and laid waste to their numbers.  Only five had survived the massacre, fleeing far to the south.  There they had settled in a region rich in game, and there they prospered.  Over time their numbers grew as people flocked to the fledgeling village, fuelled by a desire to serve the Red Foxes.  The locals knew full well the threat of the machine people, even if most had never set eyes upon them, and to survive their attacks was surely an indication that the Red Foxes were favoured by the gods.  Naturally, there were also skirmishes – partly because the rival tribes coveted the lands of the Red Foxes, but also because the chiefs were sick and tired of seeing their numbers dwindle as more and more people emigrated to the Red Foxes.

By and large though, life remained good, and the dark days were almost forgotten, until the day a scout returned from an expedition to the west.  He told tales of strange people who had settled the valley within the Great Ring Range and the chief of the Red Foxes, an ancient, leather-brown streak of flesh named Corey, Fourth of His Name, was so disturbed by the news that he felt compelled to call the council for an emergency meeting.  As they gathered in the longhouse, and seated themselves on the floor around the hearth, many of the elders wore a look of irritation as Corey relayed the news to them.

'This is all fascinating,' said Gary, a cold-eyed warrior, 'but these lands are home to many.  Why worry about these people?'
'Take a look at this,' said Corey.  He impatiently gestured to a retainer, who brought him a strange garment.  It was a coat, blue-grey in colour, with strange writing at the left breast.  The elders were horrified by what they saw.
'The scout managed to steal this from their encampment.  You will no doubt be familiar with the material it is made from.'
The elders nodded and muttered their agreements, as they thought back to the day a strange metal coffin fell from the sky.  Upon opening it, they had discovered a man inside, wearing clothes made of synthread, that strange otherworldly material, incredinbly resilient and yet silk-smooth to the touch, compared to the furs and rough leathers worn by the tribesfolk.  The chief had immediately ordered the man killed.

Corey continued.  'You remember the coffin that brought the strange man to our village, how it glowed with strange fireless lights.  There is only one tribe capable of making such a thing.'
A warrior named Gary piped up.  'The sky-runners.  The ones who build with metal and sparks.'
'Indeed,' said Corey, 'the very same ones who created the machine people.' 

There was a long silence, punctuated by the occasional mutter of disbelief.
'What is to be done about them?' asked Brad, master of the hunt.  'What can we do?'
'Clearly, they are here to finish what they started.  The day the machine people came was a terrible day for us all, they fought with weapons of fire and lights and we could not match them.  But the scout did not see any sign of them.  The sky-runners are dangerous, but they are also at their most vulnerable without their metal servants, and we must take this opportunity to strike before they can make themselves secure.  All of them must die.'
Gary stood up.  'My chief, let me lead the war party.  We will slaughter them all.'
'Sit down Gary,' said Corey.  'Their numbers are small, but we don't know what they're capable of, and I'd rather not lose all my best men in battle.'
'Then what is to be done?' asked Barry the shaman.
'We use subtlety.  We will deploy a single warrior, skilled in shadowwalking, to travel to their encampment and cut them down while they sleep in their beds at night.'  Corey singled out a slim, long-haired youth, his wiry, muscular frame glinting in the firelight. 

'Steve,' said Corey.  'You are among our finest warriors.'  He gestured to another retainer, who handed him a stone club, runes carved into its surface.  'I hereby choose you to carry out this task.  It will not be easy, but to aid you, I grant you Chulum-Bah, our sacred war club.  Its magic will protect you from the weapons of the sky-runners.'

Steve bowed as he took the weapon from Corey.  'Thank you, my chief.  I am honoured to be given this great task.  I will not fail you.'
'You must not,' said Corey.  'We cannot rest easy until each and every one of the sky-runners lies dead.  The gods demand it.'

Glad that you're back!

Thanks.  Glad to be back.

Her arrival was foretold by a falling star

In the course of his travels, Amos had encountered people from a variety of different backgrounds.  As a killer for hire, many of his contracts had arisen from grudge-bearers with an aversion to cultural differences.  He had murdered Mormontologists without comment, throttled Turbo-Sikhs with their own turbans, liberally spread the blood of staunch conservatives, left Neo-Marxists bleeding a deep socialist red, and ended those guilty of being dirty foreigners.  Amos' mercenary impartiality had rendered him indifferent to the factional struggles that plagued the galaxy, but that was not to say he dismissed the memories.  He saw some sense in the teachings of Marx, he could quote numerous Bible passages word for word, and while his only motivation was money, he at least understood, even empathised, with his employers' need to fight for the cause.

They prophecy about the falling star was one such memory that had lingered like a persistent fly.  He had first heard it while researching a target who resided somewhere on a sparsely-populated planet in the Epsilon Gruis system.  The bounty had been placed on a prominent warlord of the Jinko Bani tribe, who had upset a rival chieftain by deflowering the youngest daughter.  Although the tribe was primitive, the disgruntled chief had successfully appealed to Amos' base instinct by offering him as much gold as eight muffalos could carry.  The precious metal was hugely abundant on the planet and considered almost worthless as a result, but the cunning chief was fully aware of outworlder desire to possess the precious metal, and so was easily able to acquire the services of the master assassin.

The Jinko Bani worshipped a pantheon of gods so numerous that even the local shamans had difficulty remembering all their names.  As with most religions, theirs was rife with scripture and prophecy.  It didn't take long for Amos to track his quarry down, and he was able to corner him in his private quarters while his bodyguard changed shifts.  As the warlord looked down the barrel of Amos' Schwarzkopf 128 he didn't plead for his life.  He didn't try to bargain with him, nor did he even pray to any of the countless gods at his disposal.  Instead, he gazed sadly into Amos' eyes and in the universal tongue he muttered 'her arrival was foretold by a falling star.'

Amos stilled his trigger finger. 'What?'  He glanced behind him, suspecting a ruse.
'The falling star is an omen from Kalima, the Goddess of despair and violent death.'
'I thought that was Kalinga?' replied Amos, who had not been lax in his research.
The warlord shrugged.  Perhaps.  It's difficult to keep track sometimes.  But either way, a soothsayer once told me that the next time I beheld a falling star, I would die at the hands of a woman.  Three moons ago, I beheld such a spectacle in the sky, and her words rang in my ears.  Her arrival was foretold by a falling star.
'Now here you are, though she did get one thing wrong.'
'What was that?' asked Amos.
'Well, she told me I would die at the hands of a woman of course.  She never was terribly good at her job.'
'Not quite,' said Amos.  'The chief who sent me to kill you was a woman.'
'Oh damn,' said the general.  'Queen Orphilesimia, it has to be.  I knew I should have stayed away from her daughter.  I'm such a sucker for pretty girls.'

Amos ensured those were his last words.

Her arrival was foretold by a falling star.

The words came back to Amos whenever he recalled the day his dearly beloved came to the rimworld.  It started when the flawless azure of the morning sky was slashed by a fiery projectile, as it plummeted through the air before crashing into the ground near the encampment.  This was nothing new to the castaways, ever since the Maelstrom had been destroyed, pieces of the shredded ship periodically dropped out of the sky as they fell out of orbit.  Amos and Engie holstered their weapons and set off towards the crash site, in the hope of uncovering food, supplies, or at the very least metal salvage.  What they found was an escape capsule, fully intact and operational, though it took the pair several minutes to prise the thing open with the butts of their rifles.  When the capsule finally yielded and the occupant inside was revealed, Amos, normally so cold and composed, allowed a look of disbelief to cross his thin face.

'Julia!' he uttered.
'Who?' asked Engie.
'Julia!'
'Julia?'
'Julia!'

How the hell did she get here?

Randy Random I presume?

Serving as fourth engineer aboard the Maelstrom, Engie had often heard tales of strange and distant worlds.  It was the glamour of adventure that had drawn her to a career in the Interstellar Merchant Fleet, but the reality of life onboard ship had not lived up to her expectations.  Given the astronomical distances starships like the Maelstrom travelled, most of her time had been spent in cryosleep, though even when awake, life as a fourth engineer was one of routine and repetition, whether changing lightbulbs, monitoring the septic tanks or even watering the plants - the Merchant Fleet had a habit of cutting back on labour wherever they could.  Any rare moments of free time weren't much better - socialising was not her forte and so she mostly consigned herself to her bare, gunmetal grey cabin with a good book. 

Engie had often dreamed of visiting strange new worlds and the travellers' tales she heard only whetted her appetite.  She heard stories of desert planets with gigantic sandworms hundreds of metres in length.  She learned of beautiful paradise worlds with rainbow skies and rocks brightly-coloured as jewels.  She was fascinated by old legends that told of lost cities of solid gold in the midst of uncharted jungles and desolate moons harbouring underground alien cities, though she had the sense to understand this was a result of some over-zealous marketing by galactic travel agencies.   

In truth, on the rare occasions she was granted shore leave, the only jungles she ever saw were concrete - great urban sprawls of glass skyscrapers that gleamed in the sun with tree-lined boulevards and highways stretching to the horizon pulsating with vehicles of every colour.  While she had been impressed the first few times, the novelty of visiting new cities that looked exactly the same as the old ones quickly wore off.

Yet now here she was, living the life she had always dreamed of, deep in the heart of an exotic jungle.  Despite this, her life remained one of routine.  She cooked, she cleaned, she chopped firewood, she helped tend the crops.  On rare occasions she joined Amos on his hunting trips, but the break in monotony was ruined by the fact she had to spend time with him.  He spoke little, and seemed to resent any attempt to make conversation so Engie learned to hold her tongue whenever he was around.

Nevertheless she persisted - however unfun he was to be around, it was infinitely preferable to being within visual range of her nudist father, and since every day was hot, Flais had the perfect excuse to shed his clothes at a moment's notice.  Not that she felt she was missing out - despite being a somewhat jolly chap, he had a tendency to communicate with her through mumbles and grunts.  She didn't mind too much - it was simply just another of his many quirks, though if he wasn't her father, she might have thought he didn't like her very much.

The days passed quickly, one blending into the next, until the seasons saw fit to shift one morning when the three castaways were rudely awakened by the sound of torrential rain hammering the roof of their cabin.  They waited indoors until the weather subsided, but it only continued to rain, and rain, and rain, and rain, and rain.  The water collected in shallow pools and reduced the dirt tracks to mud.  Overhead, thunder shook the skies and lightning blazed.  Engie took some consolation that the cabin remained bone dry - not a drop of water breached the roof.  She had built it well, and for that she was privately pleased with herself. She didn't hold her breath for any gratitude though.

There was little to do but wait out the storm all day.  They sat silently, eyeing each other.  The tension was unbearable.  Engie desperately wanted to speak, she yearned for conversation, any human voice, but shyness kept her silent.  The rain continued to pound the cabin.

To Engie's surprise, it was Amos who finally spoke.  He confessed what the others had known all along, that he hated this planet and wished to be a million miles away.  Flais nodded,  Engie followed.  It was nice to be in agreement about something, she thought.  Amos continued to speak.  He talked of his previous life, living on a glitterworld, those hyperdeveloped planets where only the very rich could afford to live.  He told them how he had funded his luxurious lifestyle through the hunting of rare animals.  He spoke of hurgs and harbots, long-haired jolops and the elusive red-eyed boomrabbit.  From the elephant-like gargantuum to the tiny Arcturan death hamster, he had hunted them all.  Engie asked him if he had ever hunted a thrumbo.  Amos nodded.  'Many,' he growled.
Flais' brow wrinkled.  'What's a thrumbo?' he asked.
'Strange animals,' said Amos.  'Big and furry, with a long neck, like a giraffe.  Pelts are worth a fortune, horns even more so.  Dangerous though.  You don't want to mess around with one of these guys.'

Amos continued.  He spoke of the wife he had left behind.  It was the only thing that had kept him going through the long trip aboard the Maelstrom, and he admitted he missed her terribly.  Engie almost thought she heard his voice crack.  He reflected that it had only now dawned on him that he would probably never see her again.

So it was a big surprise to everyone when she turned up the following morning.

Wow! you sir are a good story teller ^^
would definitely continue on reading this ^^
Great job sir ^^

Thank you very much!

Flais yearned for human contact, and quite frankly the pair he was forced to share this planet with weren't doing much to satisfy this.  Amos was cold and distant to the point whether Flais wondered if he really was human, and Engie.  Dear sweet Engie.  Flais loved her, as a father ought to love his daughter, but in all honesty he didn't want to be around her.  He hated himself for feeling that way, he knew it was wrong, but in his heart he knew it was the truth.  She had done all the things to make him proud, she had made a success of her life, at least professionally.  She had never married, although given she seldom got beyond the first date this was perhaps understandable.  The worst thing was, she clearly still looked up to him as much as she had as a child, even though she was a big-shot engineer and he a bum who had blundered from one job to the next.  She would greet him every morning with a cheery 'good morning daddy,' and he would merely grunt in return, though he always felt bad about it afterwards.  Perhaps she was a painful reminder of the wife he had lost all those years ago, bringing back so many happy memories of sunny afternoons spent at the naturist reserve, just the two of them frolicking like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden.  Not that Engie looked much like her mother, mind you.  For one thing, Flais had found her mother quite attractive.

But whatever the reason, Flais disliked his daughter.  Maybe it made him a bad person.

As if the gods of the universe had heard his silent plea, Flais was surprised one day by the arrival of an entourage of traders.  Their animal-skin clothing and the bows, clubs, swords and spears carried by the guardsmen told of a primitive culture, but Flais was so delighted just to see more human beings he broke out a pair of shorts for the occasion.  His elation was short-lived however, when it transpired he couldn't understand a word of their strange, guttural language, and any attempt by Flais, Amos or Engie to communicate in their own language met with blank faces.  A complex improvisation of hand gestures and grunts was enough to secure useful supplies, dried meats, cheese, fruits and herbs.  The traders in turn were more than pleased to get their hands on the numerous animal pelts cluttering up the storage shed.  It was an awkward meeting, and there was some silent relief when the traders departed, but before they disappeared, one of the guardsmen, a wrinkly, leather-brown creature, turned to them with concerned eyes and pointed north.

'Stay away,' he said.  'Bad, no go.'

  No one was quite sure what the man had meant.  Was it a threat, or a warning? 

Good setup, although holy hell those are some difficult starting characters. :-p  Nice work.

It's made all the more difficult by the fact I actually suck at Rimworld.  There'll be no guarantee of a happy ending, that's for sure.

epic story name ! lookin' forward to the next episode !

Thank you, I'll try my best.

Several weeks had passed since the occupants of the starship Maelstrom awoke from stasis to the piercing sound of the evacuation alarm.  A day later, the remaining three survivors had found themselves stranded on an alien world as the burned remains of the vessel crashed down around them.  They were stranded thousands of light years from home on the very fringes of the galaxy on a world untouched by civilisation, a so-called rimworld.  There was no hope of rescue.

The first survivor, Amos, was a wiry, dark-haired man who seldom talked, especially when it came to questions about himself.  This was understandable, given his vocation as a professional hitman.  While he wouldn't likely be fulfilling any more contracts given his current predicament, he was more preoccupied with other matters, namely the quality of his new companions, or lack of.  Flais and Engie were father and daughter, and though they appeared to have little in common, Amos found them equally obnoxious.  Flais was short, fat and bald, which wasn't normally a problem for Amos.  However, when he discovered Flais was also an avowed nudist with more body hair than a mountain gorilla, these traits took on a whole new significance.  An irritatingly cheerful personality and a loud, slightly nasal, voice only helped seal the deal. 

Engie had been an engineer aboard the Maelstrom, hence the unimaginative nickname Flais insisted on giving her.  She was not a nudist and for that Amos was eternally grateful.  The girl had a face that left him genuinely surprised she had never been involved in any kind of serious accident, and left him wondering whether Flais had ever gotten overly familiar with a close relative.  When Amos looked at Engie's face, ideally when he wasn't eating, he saw a sculpture, a sculpture of a bulldog moulded in plasticine by a three-year-old child in a darkened room. She was, at least, a lot more tolerable to be around than her father.  She had a sharp brain, though she was modest about it and preferred to keep herself to herself, which suited Amos just fine.  But oh my lord, that face.

It was an understatement to say Flais and Engie weren't Amos' preferred choice of who he'd like to be stranded on a desert island with.  But here they were, and  here he was, living together deep in an uncharted jungle.  Engie did not stay idle, overseeing construction of the shack they now called home, built from the wood of foul-smelling alien trees and scrap metal salvaged from the remains of the Maelstrom.  Their beds were the modified husks of the escape pods that had first brought them crashing onto this god-forsaken world.  A second shack was built to hold all the most important equipment, the packaged emergency rations, flares, survival knives, first aid kits and other bits of equipment that no one was qualified enough to use.  A weapon locker, salvaged from the ship, held a modest selection of firearms and ammunition, perfect for hunting and, as Amos put it, keeping away any 'undesirables'.

'What undesirables are you talking about?' Flais had asked, almost mockingly.
Amos had merely sniffed.  'I've got a bad feeling about this place.'

Among the many jobs Flais had failed to hold down, he had worked several seasonal jobs picking crops on farms across the inner galaxy.  His experience was put to good use and his efforts bore a scattering of modest plots growing rice, potatoes, squash and corn, although Flais' chronic aversion to clothing meant he usually worked alone.  'Not in this damn heat!' was his only excuse, though he was persuaded by one morbidly embarrassed daughter to at least consider a g-string.

It was already obvious from the beginning that this strange new world was teeming with wildlife judging by the various hoots and squawks that stopped anyone getting a good night's sleep.  Amos, armed with his trusty Schwarzkopf 128 semi-automatic, supplemented the crops with game meat, taking down parrots, toucans, squirrels, lizards, monkeys, goats, crocodiles and even the occasional elephant.  It helped perpetuate the lie that an illustrious career as a professional hunter was the reason behind his deadly aim. 

It also told another story, that humans had almost certainly been here before.  Almost all the animals they had encountered were native to Earth, and it was clear some kind of colonisation effort had taken place in the past.  It gave the castaways newfound hope that they might not be alone on this world after all.

As for Amos, the way he saw things, Flais and Engie were proving useful, regardless of how much they bothered him.  There would be no need for them to meet with any...unfortunate accidents, at least for now.

How about a Dwarf Fortress-style shopping list feature, i.e. merchants will ask you what you want them to bring next time they arrive?  This would lessen reliance on luck for the traders to bring what you want/need.

Fishing, with a new fishing skill.  A colonist will go and stand by a water source for a period of time, with the chance of catching a fish determined by his or her skill.

I get the feeling that someone else has probably suggested something similar, but I might as well share my suggestions nonetheless.

Given that there is little in the way of interaction with other factions beyond the occasional visit, why not make these encounters a little more interesting?  Namely the ability to entice visitors away from their own colony (rather than just imprisoning them until they agree to join).  This could be determined by a number of factors: your relations with the target's faction, how attractive your colony is, your colonists' social skills, and so on.

In addition, maybe there could be the ability to use the comms system to radio other factions for help in the even t of a raid.  The likelihood of whether or not they accept could be determined by how good your relationship is. 

Finally, how about the addition of side-quests that would allow you to improve relations.  These could take the form of delivering a set quantity of resources within a time-limit or lending your own people to help them fend of raiders (with the possibility that some of them might not come back).  If relations get high enough, factions could provide you with gifts of resources from time-to-time to help you out.

Like I said, I'm aware some of these suggestions may already have been made.  But I just thought I'd offer my two cents.
Best regards.