intercepted transmissions: Story 1
There are eyes everywhere, though never exactly where you would assume them to be. By all accounts bischeon is a dead planet, no actual sentient species was meant to live here, it is fit for beasts and beasts alone. not out of any deration for the planet itself, but because the beasts here tend to it. I've looked over the original records of the pioneers that touched down on this planet, it was said in the grub log recreations that they thought that this planet would be empty. if anything they were going to just leave a few platoons of soldiers, a large low blood work force and a small cabal of high bloods to enjoy their new paradise planet while they pretend to contribute to the empirical pursuits of the home planet.
Pardon my frankness but I envy their casual ambitions, I envy their casual effortless displays of power and cruelty, that is what a troll should be. A monster of means. instead I am a coward and "Saint" of resourcefulness.
Please pardon my delayed introductions. You are not to be given my name as it has been scrubbed. you may not see my face as it has been censored.
For the Survival of all of us.
I offer you nothing more then ill welcomes to what I must call our home planet, where millions of trolls, call our place of birth. Born under the watchful eyes of the armed jade hiveguard, raised under the protection of mounted turrets till pupation where we are left to Well trained lusi.
ah, I should address something, Should I? you know us as the Conquerors, the Invaders, the swarming killers of blade and zealotry, the laughing shades, the haunted cavalry.
what wonderful titles, you will hear plenty of desperate sycophants attempt to assuage your fears, that the years of isolation from our queen and true calling has made us a part of the enlightened galaxy, one ready to join as a rouge faction. one ready to open atmosphere to the masses in a wild bid of friendship.
please be assured that you will be able to ask them anything, you could demand they drop and grovel before you and they shall comply, you may ask for bloods and they shall provide you rivers, you could ask for heads and gain a throne of them.
They are desperate, they are weak with need for a hand from the heaven to reach down and pull them from the quagmire of this planetary mausoleum. they have discarded honor and self worth for a potential life playing as your jesters if you will it.
I extend this welcome to you as we celebrate a planet gone sane, stark sane, raveing sane, forced to sanity with the looming understanding that they are doomed and that they must offer the scraps of themselves to you, our finders, our "saviours".
oh how I wish I could triumphantly shout that there are pockets of resistance, that there are some trolls that cling to the ideals of the absolutes jesting of death, but I fear now.
Thus all this nameless, faceless creature can do, is invite you to feast on this lovely corpse.