Classification: Frontier Law Enforcement Body
Headquarters: Ironhouse Command, Wayfarer Crown
Reputation: Overworked, undermanned, occasionally heroic, frequently outgunned
The Marshal Authority is the closest thing the Fractured Reach has to a unified law enforcement agency. Originally founded by the Colonial Enclave to maintain order during the Age of Expansion, the Authority has since become an underfunded relic patched together by duty, grit, and improvisation.
They operate across settlements, moons, stations, and outposts—wherever someone puts up a Marshal badge and declares jurisdiction. Whether anyone listens is another matter.
In a sector defined by outlaws, syndicates, and corporate shadow wars, the Marshal Authority fights a losing battle… but fights anyway.
The Marshal Authority’s official duties include:
Maintaining peace in frontier settlements
Arresting wanted criminals and processing bounties
Mediating disputes between factions, settlers, and freecrews
Protecting infrastructure (spaceports, relays, skyspines)
Investigating anomalies related to the Fracture
Supporting local governments (when those exist)
In practice, the Authority’s main function has become:
“Show up, try to fix things, hope you don’t get shot.”
Ironhouse, on Wayfarer Crown, serves as the HQ. It’s more bunker than command center—underpowered, understaffed, and filled with aging equipment.
Each Marshal is effectively their own justice system. They:
Travel independently
Make rulings based on circumstance
Carry both authority and accountability
Rely heavily on reputation and personal relationships
A badge in the Reach is a shield, bargaining chip, and target all at once.
Temporary or permanent assistants appointed by a Marshal.
Many are former criminals, reformed drifters, or local volunteers.
Veteran Marshals trained for anomaly investigation and frontier survival.
Seen as legends, ghosts, or lunatics depending on who you ask.
The Marshal Authority embodies the following ideals—on paper:
Justice for the vulnerable
Stability for the unstable
Honor in an honorless place
Neutrality between factions
In reality:
Marshals improvise as much as they enforce
Bribes and “favor trading” keep peace more often than gunfire
Local politics shape enforcement
Many Marshals have their own moral codes
The Authority’s motto—unofficial but true—is:
“Do the job. Do it clean if you can.”
Modular badge with biometric lock
Frontier revolvers or coil pistols
Durable duster coats (vacuum-rated for station work)
Portable evidence scanners
Old-model patrol drones (“buzzards”)
Grav-boots for station maneuvering
Tangle cuffs, flashbolts, and riot-stunners
Technology is practical, sturdy, and several years out of date.
There are fewer than 500 Marshals for the entire Reach.
Budgets shrink yearly. Many Marshals repair their own gear.
Corporate militias and syndicates have better weapons.
Local factions treat Marshals as negotiators, tools, or obstacles.
Spatial anomalies create cases no one is trained to handle.
Settlers needing protection
Miners and freetraders
Pilots who rely on honest docking procedures
Low-tier smugglers
Syndicate foot soldiers
Anyone with unpaid bounties
Corporate executives
Farborn diplomats
High-profile criminals with enough friends
The Marshal Authority is not loved, but it is needed.
Frenemies. Marshals rely on them for information and rescues, but also hunt them when jobs go sideways.
Tense. Corporations treat Marshals as expendable security consultants.
Deadly. Marshals disrupt their profit streams; syndicates retaliate accordingly.
Weird mutual respect. Marshals don’t understand them but trust their insights into anomalies.
Marshal Veyra Cassian, called The Last Honest Blade, known for disarming criminals with negotiation—and sometimes a wrench.
Rook Halden, disappeared in the Undercrust while pursuing a smuggler; sightings persist.
Sector Ranger Ivo Rehn, rumored to walk across vacuum pockets bare-faced and live.
Players will hear their names whispered in bars, stations, docking pits, and deserts.
Marshals can be:
Allies
Antagonists
Quest givers
Obstacles
Complicated moral mirrors
Whether the PCs step into Ironhouse begging for protection or find themselves hunted across the dunes by a badge who won’t back down, the Marshal Authority adds tension, consequence, and grit.
Affiliation: Marshal Authority
Posting: Ironhouse Command, Wayfarer Crown
Reputation: Unshakably fair, dangerously persuasive, unexpectedly violent when needed
Veyra Cassian stands tall with a posture shaped by decades of carrying the weight of the Reach’s broken justice system. She’s in her mid-40s, with copper-brown skin weathered by vacuum suits, desert suns, and years of half-slept nights. Her dark hair is shaved close on the sides but tied back in a short topknot—a practical style she’s kept since her cadet years.
Her eyes are striking: one a natural hazel, the other a synthetic replacement glowing faintly blue from constant data-feed overlays. The cybernetic iris flickers when she’s accessing case files or reading someone’s micro-expressions.
Her coat is unmistakable: a long Marshal duster patched so often it’s practically a quilt of survival stories. The coat’s left sleeve is reinforced with a hidden bracer designed to block blades and redirect pistol fire during close-quarters scuffles.
She carries a service revolver at her hip, but most people know her for the battered wrench holstered at her back—the “second chance persuader,” as crews joke, since it’s often the last thing a criminal sees before rethinking their life choices.
Veyra is calm, centered, and possessed of a razor-sharp moral compass. She believes in justice—not law for law’s sake, but justice shaped by compassion, proportionality, and human nature. She listens before she speaks, and when she speaks, people listen.
She negotiates like a veteran ship mechanic: she tightens the right bolts, loosens the wrong ones, and if something’s out of alignment, she adjusts it—gently or with force, depending on how stubborn the problem is.
She treats every individual as redeemable until proven otherwise. Some say this makes her soft. Most say it makes her dangerous.
When pushed too far, however, her calm gives way to controlled fury. Veyra doesn’t shout. She doesn’t boast. She simply acts with precision—disarming someone with a wrist twist, sweeping legs with fluid efficiency, or bringing that wrench down with the inevitability of gravity.
Veyra was born on the mining moon Hardspar, where life expectancy was short and tempers shorter. Her parents were smelter foremen crushed in an industrial accident covered up by a corporate envoy. Veyra, barely a teenager, tried to expose the truth. That’s when the Marshal Authority noticed her.
A real Marshal—a man named Tomen Varr—took her under his wing. He taught her two things:
“A badge is only as good as the hand that carries it.”
“Truth is a blade. Don’t draw it unless you’re ready to cut.”
Veyra became his deputy, then his partner… and eventually his replacement after he fell during a raid on a corporate blacksite. She never took his badge number off her belt.
Over the years, she became known sector-wide for stopping firefights with words, for talking down men with trembling hands and broken futures. But when talk failed, she fought hard. Hard enough that criminals started saying:
“If Veyra shows up, surrender. Saves your bones.”
Her title—The Last Honest Blade—came after she single-handedly held a syndicate armor bay to protect civilians during the Credence Riots. No camera caught the fight, but the aftermath spoke loudly: dozens of unconscious gang soldiers, Veyra standing in the center, coat torn, wrench bloody.
Veyra reads body language like a scientist reads star charts.
She spots fear, guilt, pride, desperation—and uses each to diffuse tension.
Her style is half martial discipline, half mining-yard brute practicality.
Expect joint locks, improvised weapons, and perfectly timed takedowns.
Years on the frontier honed her instincts. She can spot ambushes, sniff out lies, and map an escape route without ever appearing distracted.
Growing up on Hardspar taught her how to fix anything—or weaponize it.
She’s been known to disable an entire hover caravan with a single wrench toss.
Veyra is both beloved and feared within the Authority. She follows protocol when it makes sense, ignores it when it hinders justice, and openly challenges corrupt officers. More than one Marshal has reconsidered a bribe after she stared them down.
She is the moral backbone that keeps Ironhouse from collapsing inward.
Some in the Authority want her promoted.
Some want her retired.
Some want her gone.
Veyra simply shrugs and keeps working.