To all space explorers, rogue traders and Federation colonisation and expeditionary force officers!
Thirty new alien species have been discovered. You are well-advised to inform yourselves, as to engage these entities correctly, without risk of harm to yourself or to the interests of Terra.
Ten of the described species are human in origin, yet modified to such a degree that they no longer need to be considered human.
Another ten are civilisation-building aliens competing with Terra for available space.
The final ten entries are remarkable life forms that display sapience, without using it to create civilisations. Caution is advised.
You shall carry your sibling, be his support and guide.
He shall be your shelter, guardian, aegis firm.
United you stand, divided you fall.
Meles, the eyes in midnight bands
the plagues would see him dead
yet Meles, his brood unchained
they ate the plagues instead
The blast of charged particles tore into one of the entrenched tanks, then from the 'Mech's other barrel-arm into its mate emerging from behind a corner.
Commander Ratzelle had to admit - letting the rookie ride in the Warhammer was not such a bad choice after all; indeed was he a crack shot.
"Ha! There it goes, blown into pieces! We'll never see their sorry asses again!"
"I wouldn't be so sure about that, greenhorn" the lance leader replied. "Get ready for clean-up! We have to root them out by nightfall!"
Some sovereigns prefer a different sort of tax from their subjects - whether freely given, or taken by force.
High above the lands of the living, where frost and howling of the wind reign, the morbid monument to a faith long dead calls the deceased on a last pilgrimage.
Once one of their number, the eternal outcast wishes to take from the Elves what they hold dearest - their dreams, their past, their future.
Beau yet alien, the soldier-concubines of Aerazad, the Returned King, are a glowing reminder that a new order reigns in Eversea.
“Swiftly, repent! The Saintmaker is coming!”
For your pleasure and entertainment, here we present, thirty fiendlings seasoned with a whiff of brimstone, teasingly clad in shadow, accompanied by tunes played on pipes of angel-bone; likewise do we tell of the gifts they might bestow upon one in their favor.
So get them before Hell freezes over!
From beyond through veils sublime
Pass ghostly, o umbral shine
Illuminate in shadow, fade colors, so fallow
Dark dreaming does bidding thine
In the Time of Dying Stars, countless children warped by the black rain were slain after birth as monsters and hellspawn. A special one lived, to her dismay.
Fiery doom in two handy barrels. Unsurpassed destructive power. Comes with a five shot warranty.
What is a forest’s firm support, yet walks ‘round on its own accord?
What’s possessed of a titan’s might, stands before you, yet out of sight?
What soundly spanks with gnarled root a behind that is not good?
A spell for a penny
The hallmark of a new Alliance; a safe place for the men of words to meet.
A sleek design that fits a considerable punch into a slim package, the Scorpio is a Hovertank hated by both sides of a conflict, for different reasons.
Lithe she was, an elfin maiden, and her blades were like lunes shine
yet her heart was for me barren, she longed for darkness, was not mine
- Alinastro of Skystone
Steel is the herald of dawn. Steel is the slayer of tyrants. Steel is the bringer of liberty. Steel shall prevail.
Idea from the Aeneid. Could make an intriguing encounter when searching for firewood..."Quite near there happened to be a mound of earth, at the highest part of which were growing thickets of cornel and a dense cluster of spiky myrtle-stems. I went up there and tried to wrench the green growth from the ground to provide a leafy covering for our altar. There I was confronted by a horrible and astounding miracle. For from the first bush which I tried to break off...blood oozed in dark drops, fouling the earth with its spots...A piteous moan came from the base of the mound and I heard a human voice answering me: 'Why, Aeneas, must you rend a poor sufferer? I am buried here...for I am Polydorus. Here death overpowered me in a crop of piercing iron-pointed spears. And so a crop resembling javelins has grown over me...'"