Publisher: Original Frontiers

The alert arrives stripped of ornamentation, its urgency embedded not in volume but in persistence. A signal without origin. Without clearance. Without decay. It repeats across channels that should no longer speak to one another—archaic frequencies braided with modern encryption and something older still, a cadence that feels intentional. Your rapid response unit is deployed before the question of permission can surface. The moon emerges from the void like a thought given mass—adrift, unanchored, scarred by fractures that catch starlight in wrong angles. It does not orbit. It waits. Scans return contradictions: mass readings fluctuate, interior density suggests vast hollow spaces, and power signatures bloom and vanish like reflexive nerves. The emergency signal originates beneath the surface, deep enough that no natural formation should house it. As you approach, systems falter in subtle ways. Internal clocks desync by fractions of a second. Audio feeds carry faint reverberations that do not match engine output. One of you swears the signal has begun to change—slightly adjusting its rhythm, as though acknowledging your arrival. Landing protocols complete without incident, yet the silence afterward is oppressive. The surface is cold, metallic in places, stone in others, and etched throughout with sigils that appear eroded by time yet actively resisting it. Structures emerge only when directly observed, their outlines unstable at the edges, as if undecided on their final form. Inside, the moon reveals itself as layered memory rather than architecture. Corridors loop back on themselves unless traversed with intent. Chambers hum softly, resonating with emotion, not sound. Walls bear inscriptions in no single language, but meaning bleeds through regardless—warnings, oaths, laments. The signal grows louder the deeper you go. It becomes clear this emergency was not caused by failure, nor accident, nor invasion. It was released. Something was sealed here long ago, not to imprison it—but to give it time. Time to change. Time to learn. Time to decide whether it should ever be answered. You have arrived at the end of that patience.

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In this Solo Adventure you assume the role of an adventurer in the shadow-stained expanse of the Known Galaxy. You will require the Haven Fallen Core Rulebook (CRB) and any associated Expansions you wish to use. The world responds to you—your interpretations, your fears, your ambitions—and you will act as both Character and Storyteller. The Actions you take should depend on who and what you meet, what horrors cross your path, and how you choose to engage with them.  Record the outcomes. Evolve the world. Allow rumours, consequences, and scars to reappear later. As you progress, you will become your own Storyteller, shaping a living cosmos that remembers what you do. The outcome of Actions in Haven Fallen is determined by: