They are a reclusive race only to be seen when the sun sets on Aesir. It is said that they came from the southern hemisphere in swarms. They are the aerial gypsies. They are the Night People. They are the Nos.

Unlike the Aerie, the Nos retained the gift of wings, the ability to fly unaided. This made the Aerie resentful and jealous. The culture turned this insecurity into a false sense of racial pride. “Only savages fly with wings,” was the consensus of the day. The Aesiran Command made this prejudice a cornerstone of public policy. As a result, Aesiran society treated the Nos as their racial and cultural inferiors, using the Nos for menial labor, forcing them onto reservations and indentured servitude, denying them the skies and the right to fly.

His parents were killed during the Riots of Secession. Relatives who lived in Noctili Provence, which was close to the city and to work, took in him and his sister, Tyla. The young Mollus was an angry child, often getting into trouble with the Aesiran constables. When he became of age, Mollus was recruited by the Macrotus, a radical faction of the Nos Nation movement, and quickly became one their most devoted, almost fanatical and charismatic soldiers. His sister, however, did not celebrate this achievement.

Mollus was very protective of his little sister. Tyla was his treasure and the only bright light that saved Mollus from the darkness in his soul. Tyla was beautiful, intelligent and kind; traits that even the most discriminatory of Aerie could not deny. She found work in the city and was growing accustomed to city ways.

“They are too arrogant, too unreasonable, too violent,” Tyla would tell her brother. “But, we must conquer their hearts with understanding and compassion, not hate.”

Nos females had been found on the edge of the reservation. They were raped, mutilated with their wings cut and blunted. The Nos Nation condemned Aesiran Command for their casual handling of the matter. For the Macrotus however, words would not be enough. It was said that these violations were the work of a high-ranking Aesiran Noble’s son with a penchant for pretty Nos girls. They vowed to mete out their own brand of justice. Mollus was only too ready to be the Macrotus’ instrument.

He waited patiently that night, on the ledge of the high-rise Aesiran apartments, for his target. He tuned his natural echolocation; concentrating on the moment as the young Aerie entered the darkened, curtain drawn room with his companion, a Nos female. He was disgusted at the sounds of laughter and the stirrings of passion coming from the young couple.

“Enough.”

Mollus swooped towards the window, crashing through the glass, ready to put an end to this madness… He was not prepared for what he saw.

Tyla was wrapped in the arms of this man, this murderer, this Aerie.

“No, Mollus!” Tyla shouted. “It’s not him! It’s not him! He loves me! We are in love! Please, Mollus, please listen to me!”

His world turned a deep violet hue as the darkness engulfed him completely. He heard nothing. He saw nothing. He felt… nothing. He swam in the darkness for what seemed like and eternity. Only a tone, small at first, steadily growing louder eventually becoming a piercing wail, brought him out of his womb of fury.

The Aerie was dead, his body pierced with wounds from a Nos blade, his blood mixing with the Aesiran nectar spilled from the broken glass table in the now destroyed bedroom. The Aerie put up a fight, a good fight, but his death was an ugly one. Tyla was holding her lover’s body in her arms, keening for her lost mate. Mollus looked down at the blood on his hands.

“It wasn’t him… He was the constable assigned to the case… They caught the killer earlier tonight… He was Nos… He was Macrotus!”

Mollus’ mind swooned, overwhelmed by the level of betrayal he felt. Betrayed by his sister, the Macrotus, the Nos, Mollus barely had time to register the Constabulary’s arrival. It was too much for him to bear as he narrowly escaped capture their weapons fire diving out of the broken window and soaring into the night sky.

“He does not speak unless it is necessary. He is swift justice on leathern wings. He is a hero for some and a villain to others. He is Nos Olu’Mollus.”

Labeled a terrorist and murderer, Mollus has a price on his head throughout the galaxy. The Nos have their symbol political and social rights… And, through Chavin, the Master Teachers gained a new warrior in their ranks.

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Outworld: Return of the Master Teachers and all related characters © 2013 Jiba Molei Anderson & Griot Enterprises