The Portable Miniature Signpost Kit 9000 (PMSK9K) is compact and lightweight. This device makes it easy to erect signposts that quickly solidify into hardened and permanent beacons on a path of knowledge. Be warned, however, that before the alchemical solution on the surface dries it is susceptible to SPIDERSAUGH.

The shields of the guardian are made of repurposed metal, layered and smithed into a design to deflect the damaging energy of explosions out and away from a trained bearer. There have been some distressing reports of impurities in the metal causing shields to fail; the Central Authority is currently investigating. High-performing Guardians can have issued to them special shields constructed from re-tooled doorway control panels. These special shields can be used to fuse doorways permanently closed.

SPIDERSAUGH have limited AIs that control the flexible limbs of their chassis, designed to find and trigger explosives detected by an attached chemical sniffer. To combat an unknown remainder of landmines from the old war, Central Authority has authorized the Guardian Barracks to issue these bomb triggering tools to the volunteer corps. Some few skilled tinkerers have been able to expand the capacity of the chemical sniffer module.

Traps are currently in a legal morass. While perfectly legal for de/construction purposes, the Guardian Barracks alleges that the Giver Institute knowingly sells these along with proximity detection electronics to companies and individuals who use it to defend squatter's rights on websites without proper perimeter warnings. Central Authority cannot currently rule on this issue without fracturing their leadership and sparking open conflict, so the extra-legal activities both with and against traps continues to be officially ignored.

Unfolding single-use Barrels can be stored using the same space as a textbook, but unfold to protect tools or slugs from exposure or danger until it is unsealed and ready to dispense the resourses. Givers have made it a tradition to scratch messages onto the bottom of the barrel.

Doorways are the strangest tool commonly used by residents of Nova Initia. Through a subtle misuse of hypertext tagging woven into a machine that runs current through a square or circular circuit, a Guide can shred a bit of website into a link to some distant locus. The constant current through the machine has a buffing effect, making the device very shiny.

The Fall

"Let me tell you of the before times..." The old ladies voice carried, Still strong even now in the winter of her life. "We have spoken of futures and of present. Let me now tell you of Beginnings." Some in the crowd drew closer, wanting to hear what she had to say. Others started to pull away or talk amongst themselves. These the old lady looked out on. Her finger pointed to one who was walking away. "Those who would use the tools they now have, would do well to listen to me. The hubris of the past created the world we now inhabit. If we are to rebuild, we should first learn how it was detroyed." Those who had been departing turned and sat back down. Perhaps they should listen after all. A little caution had served them well up until now.

"Before the crash the net was a glorious place. All servers connected in a giant web of information. The Users were wise in the paths that lead through the webway. There were many tools and many people. All communicated without fear. Secure in the knowledge that what they had created was certain and true and would last forever. They lifted themselves to the status of Gods, fingers stretching in every direction. Touching on everything and everyone."

The old lady paused to take a breath, and a young voice spoke up from the crowd. "Where are they now? What happened to the Gods?"

The old storyteller smiled. "They are still with us, for we are they. Descended down the many generations. Left here and punished for the crime of pride. For our ancestors, great in skill but small in vision, failed to notice the inevitable results of their actions. In those times there was a great rift of opinion in the ranks of the Users. Those who sought freedom through choice, and those who sought freedom through rules. The battles were epic, carrying across the net with a passion none could match today. Eventually the Users settled on attacking on a single field of battle... The great Google was chosen, though the choice was not conscious. Laziness and hubris on the part of the Users left them with little option. They filled Google with explosive devices, and they flooded it with people determined to disarm them. The wise tried to lead the foolish away from there with paths and portals but the foolish were determined enough to ignore them."

She paused, taking a sip of the water beside her. The crowd that had once seemed uninterested now paid rapt attention. She ignored their pleas for her to continue as she refreshed herself and readied herself for the continuance of the oldest tale she knew.

"The weight of the tools alone would never have harmed the server. The old creators knew what they were doing, and their powers were strong. The constant change would never have damaged it either. But the pressures of the tools weight, of the constant change, of the battle raging upon it's surface finally collapsed the great Google, sucking the surrounding pages, linked in by a mulitude of paths and portals deep into the depths of emptiness left in it's passing. In minutes the entire world of the Users was ended. The millions fighting on Google were sucked down into the depths, leaving behind only the remnants of Users who had stayed away."

She paused again, Looking out into the masses.

"You are they. Descended from them and left behind to fight against the craziness they created and could not contain. Through you their work continues, and through you we rebuild our history. But we must remember the lesson of the fall. We must remember that we, like they, are not immortal."

She finished her tale, turned and walked out of the circle of people, back to her quiet hut and her rest. Slowly the people dispersed back to their business, only now they were aware. Laziness would not find them. Pride would not bring them down. Her work was complete.

The Nameless One

It is said that the stranger stumbled into one of the first camps where the survivors gathered after the fall. These camps were where our fore-bearers grouped together for protection after all they knew had been ripped away. Few knew the reasons why their world had been taken, fewer still had any idea what to do now that they had been reduced to scrounging in the wreckage of their world for food and materials.

The gathering places popped up near the ruins. These provided raw materials for tools, shelter and the packaged food that saw the survivors through the years that followed the disaster. At first the camps were disorganized. But over time a structure was established where the basic needs were taken care of. However, there was no purpose other than mere survival.

One morning a being stiffly approached the gate of one of the camps, covered head to toe in scraps of cloth, bound so tightly and pinned to firmly that nothing of him could actually be seen. He spoke to the guard in an odd manner; every statement preceded by the type of phrase and a descriptor.

When asked his name he refused to give it, saying it was "from an age passed and no longer relevant". When pressed he would say only that he believed he was the last of his line, and that his brother, who had gone missing before the disaster, could possibly have survived. After much back and forth it was decided to admit him into the camp and he was taken before its leader.

For the next few days the nameless one and the leader of the camp spent hours locked away in a room. The leader would have food brought in, yet the nameless one never ate. When the rest of the camp would sleep it was rumored the nameless one would walk about seemingly cataloging items: buildings, tools, food, books, almost anything! He always seemed to be doing something, never resting.

A week passed with the leader meeting during the day, sleeping at night, and not interacting much with the rest of the camp. Finally he emerged one afternoon looking weak and shaken, but when he spoke we knew he was more resolved than ever to guide the camp and teach it's inhabitants. He called the camp together and told them that the nameless one had told him what had led to their plight. He had also given them the tools and ideas needed to grow safer, stronger and more secure.

The nameless one had told him that he had been seeking out groups of survivors and passing this knowledge on. The leader went on to say that he had been told there were other communities of survivors scattered all over the world, and that the nameless one was on a mission to reach as many of them as possible. Over time, using the information he had been given, he hoped they could get back in contact with each other.

The community asked to see the nameless one, but the leader said he had gone. When asked where, he answered "The nameless one asked me to excuse him a moment, and went into another room. I overheard the nameless one make a statement as he closed the door behind him, something about 'Seers and their dirty tools'. As the door closed there was a bright flash of light. When I opened the door, the nameless one was gone."

Of Tools

"These are your Sacred tools. With them you shape our world. With them you guide the lost, guard the weak and gift to the poor. Through these tools you become more than a User; you cease being merely a surfer on the waves of the Web and become a creator and carver of paths. It is with these that you shape all that is, and only through understanding do you avoid the pitfalls of the past."

The stern looking man looked out over the new recruits. Many appeared younger than reasonable, but in this day and age looks were deceiving. Of course, the gray at his temples spoke volumes about his opinions. When he began on the path they were about to take he was much younger than they... His tutors looking down upon him with the same look he now turned on them. A look half of disdain, and half of pride. "Most of you have seen the tools, some of you may have even used them. All of you have heard the tales of the before times. All of you have heard them differently. The truth is we have no idea what happened. Bear that in mind when the 'experts' start telling you all the secrets of the ages." The emphasis he put on 'experts' caused those in the small group to react either in giggles at his blatant disregard, or in shock that he'd suggest such things about the people whom they always trusted.

"Training normally occurs on a one on one basis, each of you being apprenticed to a member of whichever class adopts you. These days there just aren't enough of each class to go round, therefore I am going to give you a basic overview. Then you can go forth and make your own way in the world. As you all know, Each class tends towards two seperate tools. Both tools in each class are of equal value, niether lends itself more to the class than the other. The only difference is philosophical. For example, those we call Guides have Signposts and Doorways. The signpost is a structured walk, each sign points to the next leading one on a pleasant walk through many differing environs. The Doorway on the other hand is a much less structured trip through the internet. Doorways can be chained, but chains can be taken out of sync, in any order. A step through a Doorway can lead one on a disjointed and insane adventure, or a sedate wandering. Both options perform the same action, it is merely the intent that differs. Again, If one looks to the Guardians one sees the same viewpoint. A Spider prevents a trap from being set, the self sacrificing spiders of our Guardians jump upon the traps in a blaze of glory, disabling them and dismantling them at the cost of there own being. The Shield works after the effect, helping to prevent the trap from harming the innocent who wander into it's path."

He looked out over his collection of students, seeing the aknowledgement in their eyes. One student sat with a quizzical look upon his face, and slowly he raised his hand. A small nod in his direction encouraged him to speak.

"You've spoken of two of the classes, but what of the third? The second one you spoke of are clearly antagonistic to the third group, or at least half of them... why do we encourage those Givers who set the traps? Would it not be wiser to stop them altogether?"

With that, a murmur of agreement ran throughout the class. He let it continue for a second before raising his hands in a hushing gesture.

"I understand your concern.", He began, "but I think you misunderstand the services of the Giver. Again, they are not opposed to us, or our ways. There are still sites out there that are of great danger. Sites we would wander onto without warning and suffer fates worse than a loss of SG. The trap laying Giver is not antagonistic at all, but rather serves to warn us of these sites in the only way they can. Again, it is a philosophical difference, there are those who reward your good behavior by laying you Barrels on sites that can be trusted. Then there are those who punish you for straying into areas that are not safe. Of course, occasionally, unsafe sites become safe. Thus we have sheilds to allow us to visit them. Often people disagree on what is safe, and what is not. Thus we have spiders to prevent mislabeling. Then of course, there are those of us who are merely mischevious in and of ourselves. It is they who feel the wrath of the spider, or of the trap in places they should be niether spidering or trapping. Do not think that all people hold noble goals. Many people misuse the tools they have, creating twisted pathways, broken doorways and traps designed merely to harm. But it is not the tools that are at fault. Merely those who use them..."

Story

The horn of the Guide told the troop that the next doorway was almost aligned. This doorway had taken quite a bit of time, but, Guides provide, the supplies in this wreckage had lasted long enough. Jess threw one of her traps overhead, and watched the spider pack bound out of the rubble after it. She quickly pried loose the largest metal bar from the tangled mess, and jaunted towards the deep bass sound. It wasn't all she could have salvaged given more time, but ignoring the call on the horn is fundamentally related to leaping off a cliff. The ghosts of this rubble will soon keep their own counsel undisturbed again.

A Guide was blowing the downturned horn while Omar watched with his acoustic goggle filter on. He watched the noise energy peel off of the ground and bounce into the sky, and worried. This site was smaller than most, and the survivors had to spread out further each day the construction took. If the ground curvature prevents the sound from reaching someone, Omar fretted, they could not wait. Already the doorway was wired to some juice and was powering up, so they could leave as soon as possible.

Jess got to camp just after the doorway crackled and spat sparks as it swirled into life, the shining path to another lifeless crag like this one let her and her people survive a few more days. She scrambled onto a table and looked out at the horizon. There were a few more trudging towards her, while more than half of everybody was already in camp. Without words, they made a gray line of dusty shoulders and bowed heads, and walked between the uneven threshold, into the hissing neon light.

"What the hell?" A packet sniffer had detected a strange garble of nonsense data travelling from one port of a server supposedly shut down to another port on itself. The data had gone all the way out past the router, only to come back again. That made no sense. The sound of typing, already a constant low clatter, intensified.

Ruins of a large database retreating before Jess as she regained her equilibrium from the jump. The gravity and air pressure were different. At the sight affronting her, the great mess of stone and iron that was standing or fallen all around her, she smiled, and whooped loudly. What a treasure trove! She was set for life, there must be enough food here to eat forever!

Omar quietly gasped, instead. This must be the origin, the homepage from which he had been rocketed away on a fragment of land when the world ended. He had forgotten how so much ground all in one place looked. Desperate scrounging might finally give way to farming on such an unending surface like this. His thoughts formed into roads and houses and buildings.

His daydreams were broken when he turned back to the flickering exit of the last doorway. With the last person through, it flared and sputtered out with a puff of dark smoke. He followed the smoke rising, leading his gaze to an unbroken roof. A functional building! He ran to the other guides, full of questions.

Marshal

Marshal Singer tapped his pen on the desk several times, looking at the .doc he had partially filled out. Sighing, he pulled his feet off of the window sill, leaned over and dismissed another minor tagging offense by an underage jaunter. The higher-ups of Nova may love the newcomers to bits, enough to change the town name in their honor, but Singer had to deal with the downsides they either didn't notice or were ignoring. He was gently pressured from above to be lenient, but it got around among the farmers that rag-clad people had a get-out-of-jail free card they did not.

Most of everyone was willing to accept the need to deal with their unruly kids as a trade-off for industry, mostly since they weren't filling out the paperwork. With the Sudo Hall rebuilt as the Central Authority with gears and who knows what to make it lit in the nighttime, everyone wants a piece of technology. Singer had no love for farms, and had become a lawman to avoid the mindless grind, but something worried him about the zeal with which the large buildings were spreading out from the town center.

A loud tone, almost musical, belted through the window and Singer frowned and looked outside sharply, expecting some new contraption. He saw a bright light changing form in the air, before touching down on the ground and molding itself into a person. It grew dimmer until it was a woman, neatly dressed, looking confused. Approaching her slowly, Singer wondered if all bizarre gadgets are configured to inconvenience him personally.

"I'm Marshal Singer. Do you need any help?" He asked.

Looking at him, she appeared to only glance at the badge before looking him in the eye and spoke levelly, "Yes, where do I register?"

"Register what? You're not on the books as a citizen yet?" Why would one of the newcomers have avoided signing on for so long?

She smiled, "This is my first time online here, I couldn't have signed up yet."

Singer frowned. "Connection had been closed ever since the Endtimes. No tools in or out have worked..." He trailed off. He hadn't thought about people from the outside since the newcomers explained they came from a doorway chain from a far flung site, and didn't log in.

"It took some doing to get through," She didn't seem inclined to explain herself.

Singer decided this was best handled by making it someone elses problem. "The Central Authority sort out your permissions, down the road, last on the left," He pointed as he spoke, then watched her bound off purposefully. He reacted to new people and amazing events like he reacted to most everything: he sighed and expected trouble.

Spiders

The boy looked around the corner slowly, carefully. A few weeks ago, he would have never dared to go that far into the cave, would have run away already from the threatening shadows, the creepy ticking noises, the strange smells.

He chuckled silently. That was a few weeks ago but now he knew that the old man wasn't as creepy as people said, and he actually had grown quite fond of him as well as his pets, actually. Oh well, it was the first time in a while they didn't get him when...

His thoughts where interrupted by a faint clicking of steel on stone and an almost undetectable whirring. He spun around quickly, his muttered "Oh sh.." being completed by a wheezed "Ooof!" when three gleaming insect-like creatures pounced at him from three directions the same time.

The boy broke out into laughter, a laughter that was reflected by the ruby-like eyes of the small robots in front of him. A few weeks ago, he nearly peed his pants when he first saw them, terrified to a catatonic state when looking into those eyes, but now, as he knew them better...

"Okay, okay, okay, you won" he went on, still laughing. "But you have to admit I got better, no? Last week I didn't even get this far before you got me. And next week, I'll be in before you notice me." A clicking, rattling noise, like needles in a washing drum, that he had learned to recognize as laughter, and a certain sparkle of amusement in the ruby eyes told him that, no, they didn't think so at all. "HAH!" he snarled and stomped away, deeper into the cave.

A few minutes later, an old man greeted him with a broad grin in his face. "Looks like me little buggers got ye again, huh?" he chuckled, stroking his white beard. "HAH!" said the boy and threw him onto an old, ragged couch. "They were cheating! Three against one!"

The old man burst into laughter, a laughter that rolled through the cave like thunder. The boy looked at his counterpart. An old man, in ragged clothes, lots of pockets, and lots of tools mounted on this worn robe, ringing like bells when his body shook with laughter. Green stains in his white beard from abuse of too many URLs devoted to knowledge; a couple of scars from when he surfed the darker sites of the webs, these were things he never talked about. A set of glasses with a broken lens, a couple of extra lenses mounted on the goggles that were pushed back on his head. Dirty fingers, covered with black and blue grease, all in all, not too much of a trustworthy-looking figure, one you would usually get away from when you see him on the street. His "mad prophet" aura didn't help much help, either.

Finally, the boy gave in and joined the laughter then he handed over a small package. "Yeah, I know. We never said it had to be one on one, I know. So here's your cake, again." "HAH! The cake is NO lie!" chuckled the old man and started munching on the chocolate cake, cackling. The boy didn't understand that, but he shrugged it off. That old man was, well, old, and a bit strange, but then again, he was quite nice if you wanted to learn. And he wanted to learn. The old man was said to be one of the first to come up with those spiders, and his spiders were far more intelligent than those created in the official institutes. "Official, my ass." mumbled the boy. They didn't let him join because he seemed "inappropriate".

He watched at the old man again, his smile growing thinner, his face getting more serious. "What will I learn today, you old fart?" The old man cackled gleefully. "Ye nasty little bairn, ye... " He began and grinned, but the look in his eyes was more serious now. He straightened himself, looked, and sounded more formal when he went on. "Today, my young and respectless disciple, you'll learn how to create the set of gears that give them their unique ability to move into all directions without having to turn." He stood up. "Come over here, I.ve got a broken one here that needs to be fixed anymore."

In the warm glow of old amber and green screens, they hunkered over a workbench, while with a faint whirring several spider-shaped robots gathered on the walls and ceiling around them, looking on both with a life-like thoughtfulness in their ruby eyes. With a patience only a robot can show, waiting, waiting for the boy to be the man, the man to bring them to the next level. But then again, a lot of sluggers had to be burned for that. "Patience..." they thought as one. "Patience..."

Doorways

Darth stiffled a yawn. Another early morning in Cabal school, but at least it was better than being in the fields, mining data like all people in his village did. Besides, it was "languages of the webs", with Miss Ryoko. She was nice, she knew how to make that boring stuff interesting and - heh - she had cookies. And good ones, too...

His daydreams about cookies - chocolate chip, with data sprinkles - were unpleasantly interrupted when he heard the sharp rap of leather boots on the marble floor.

An old, white-maned figure goose stepped into the room, his bony frame clad in a spotless lab coat. Not a single one of his pomaded hairs moving while he marched into the room.

"Guten Morgen, class!" he yelled, clicking his heels.

"Stackenblocken???" mumbled Darth, his eyes widening in sheer terror. What the hell...?

"Eet eez Professor von Stackenblocken to hju, Mr. Darth. And even if hju don't rezpekt me, hju can at leeze rezpekt se Cabal's law, which orders hju to show me at leeze a bit of rezpekt and adress mee mit mai propr neym, verstanden?" Was the sharp reply. Darth opened his mouth to retort, but snapped it shut when he met the old man's gaze.

"Ai am sorry to hef to thell hju dat Miss Ryoko eez sikh tudej. I weel replace her for tudej," - a quick smile flickered over thin lips when the class let out a collective groan - "so pliehz open hjur buks on doorway dynamics on page hwon hundred and fifty."

Drat. Another boring day about theory.

"As hju should well know, eet vuz Professor Tesla to come up wiz a ferst useabl theeorie about doorway principles, and wee will hef a look at thouse principles now. On page ..." Darth slowly dozed off to the monotone rambling of his teacher.

Later that night, Darth snuck out of the dormitory and crept through the unlit hallways of the school. He went down to the cellars, where he had found a room, hidden and unused. Well, he would use it. He had some experiments in mind. Old Stackenblocken, that crazy kraut. Why did the senior students treat him with so much respect? All talk, but no action, and he never said anything one could really use. Mr. Zousel, for example, even had them set and spring miniature traps for training, and all bruises aside, it was fun. But Stackenblocken...

His heart raced. "Tonight's the night." he thought. "Tonight I'll finish my first doorway.". He had found some old junk, and was able to build a rather crude, but functional doorway. All that's left was to set up an energy source, which he had built in one of the practical lessons in the labs recently. With nervously trembling fingers, he connected the small battery to the doorway mechanism. The doorway began to hum, quietly at first, then louder and louder. With a bright flash, a sparkling vortex appeared, violet bolts of pure energy crackling on it. He laughed triumphantly. YES! He had DONE IT!

With a stupid grin in his face, he checked the coordinates, then took a step to enter the doorway. His first trip...

"Vud ix-actly eez eet hju sink hju'r doing ther, Mr. Darth?" Darth spun around, stumbling backwards when he saw Stackenblocken. The professor grabbed him by the collar, to keep him from falling into his doorway.

"Uhm... setting up my first doorway." He added, "Sir." after an insulting pause.

"A doorway? Hju call dis a doorway?" The old man pulled Darth towards him, then grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at the vortex. "Hju cee thouse rippls? Hju cee them?" the old man screamed, lifting his hand as if to slap Darth. Instead, he thrust his own hand into the vortex, grimacing in pain, then pulled it out again to hold it in front of Darth's face. The boy gagged at the blistered, partly burned skin of his hand.

"DIS, Dummkopf, eez de reason wee make hju learn all dat stuff first before hju will build hjur own." With a last glare, he let go of Darth and pushed him on floor. Darth watched in awe while the professor quickly disassembled the main parts of the doorway with this one still uninjured hand.

"Tomorrow afternoon, Mr. Darth. Und de day after. Und de next sree months, too. Hju will be my guest und i'll make hju remember oll de theories, und be it with a whip in my hand." he said, his voice now flat and emotionless.

Darth looked at the blistered hand, and swallowed hard. "Yes, Professor von Stackenblocken, Sir."

"Gut. Don't worry, dat heelz quick. Nao, leaf. Hju are dismissed," said the old man, turning his back on Darth.

The boy left in deep thought, heading towards his dormitory, into a restless night. Nightmares about his skin being burned by lightnings haunted him for hours, his own whimpering waking him up again and again and again...

Guides

The guides have been busy over the past few years. Finally they worked out the method for making Doorways reasonably stable and functional. The matter the limited charges has been pushed as far as it could be and most of them lasted for 50 uses now. Most of the time anyway. Some of the Guardians had been doing something to a few Doorways that they didn't like the destination of to make them wear out sooner. The guild was looking fro a way to fix that but hadn't really looked too hard.

Melvin poked around with Doorways for a while but really thought that failed to meet the real purpose of Guides, to educate and share information. Really, how can you do much with tools that only go to one place and wear out quickly? He complained about this to other guides and they replied that they could link their doorways and that was good enough. 'Piffle!' he thought you still had the problem with the charges wearing out.

The stories passed down through the guild told of a more stable way to link the sites together and he was bound and determined to find it. Melvin started to spend more and more times in the guild archives search for clues. He found stories of paths through the web that could be followed forward and backward. There were vague references to riddles being used to ensure that the sites knowledge was fully absorbed. The more he read the more he was certain that Doorways could be superseded with a more reliable tool. Doorways would be kids toys compared to what he had in mind.

He snuck a few Doorway mechanisms out of the guild over the course of a couple of weeks. Taking them home one at a time we would take them apart in his room. He started go by the guild less and less to argue the weaknesses of Doorways and eventually stopped altogether. He was only seen leaving his house to go to the scrap heap to gather various bits and pieces of broken devices. The dealers there asked him what he was building and all he would say was 'I will build paths that will last forever. People will travel my paths like roads.'

Months went by, fall turned to winter and then to spring. Melvin was only seen scurrying out of his house late at night with a satchel over his shoulder. He slipped out the gates in the late evening and always came back to disappear into his house before morning.

One day in early spring he showed up at the guild again. He set his satchel down, sitting down next to it, and watched the trainees putting up Doorways and going through them one after the other. A flash of light and then they would walk out of a door at the other end of the guildhall. Finally he stood up and reached into his bag. He pulled out a few boards, a bundle of electronics and a hammer and nails.

He walked to the center of the room and set the boards down. Using the hammer and nails he quickly assembled a signpost. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a pen and wrote something on the sign then stood it up. The electronics we attached to the back of the sign and a wire run down the back and he tacked it into the ground with a nail. Out of his other pocket he pulled a keypad and punched a few keys.

The signpost shimmered and seemed to come to life. Looking around he said to all the Guides who were staring at him 'Your Doorways are weak, this is how you do it.' Then he walked up to the sign, touched it and was gone.