+ inload: Alien Wars inspiration I +

+ Fancy writing for the Alien Wars? +

+ A little colour text today, to (hopefully) provide a little inspiration for your #alienwars projects. The Twin Imperium of five thousand years is a broad palette, and I'm looking forward to shining some light on it with you all. +

+ I'm enjoying exploring a few different alleyways of the big picture, and will be posting up more short pieces of colour text like this to fire your model-making neurons, but I'd love to share your ideas, too.

+ If you'd like to contribute and have your Alien Wars writing posted up here, let me know in the comments (or on the Facebook page [+noosphericinloadlink embedded+] +

+ [inload datastate request] +

+ Submissions should be no more than 1000 words, clearly themed around the Nova Terra Interregnum, and ideally in *.Docx format. Submissions accompanied by model pictures will be prioritised. +

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+ Studies at an Alien University +

Sedimented, ancient dust cascaded from the book as Herm turned the cover back, releasing the aroma of the Haahon along with the creaking and cracking of some form of leather. The scent was stale, of course, but not unpleasant. They hadn't died to protect this. The fleecy, phytotic aliens had fallen back in good order, their study-space packed with double-blind alleys. Even the Pragsimal Rifles – elite, urban-trained soldiers – had to take their time squirrelling out the Haahon from the airy, coral-coloured buildings; clearing room after room. The crackle of small arms fire still echoed through the xenos university; but distantly. Herm's armsmen stood watch; but not at full alert.

The word 'book' sold it short. It was most definitely a tome. Thick and solid, it had a pleasing heft to it. The cover, like the book – like the architecture of the study – was triangular. Screened by a dome of some glassy, semi-transparent substance, daylight fell through to the study generously, easing any sense of danger. Even with the broken panes above, the scattered rubble and the distant smoke visible across the bay, this was an oddly comforting place, thought the Inquisitrix. She shrugged, privately. Xeno-holds usually felt subtly wrong. Even amongst species similar in broad proportions to humanity, surfaces were often at unexpected heights; objects at strange eye-levels.

Not so here. The Haahon were peculiar in this way: they venerated humanity. Emulated it; despite their biology being so grossly different. Some brief contact during the Great Scouring – a mere smear of cultural crossover – seemed to have led the ancient Haahon into a cargo cult of sorts. The Inquisitrix pictured them. Strand-dwelling groups; lurking near mist-haunted sea-shores, quivering as the humans emerged from their glittering craft.

It had made an impression. Five thousand years later, the Haahon stood at the brink of interplanetary travel. They had built a paradise of airy coral-coloured buildings, and colonised their two moons. And all this, the Inquisitrix thought, inspired only by material lost or discarded during some long-forgotten Rogue Trader's brief landings.

She allowed herself a satisfied smirk, as she leafed through the pages of the tome. They were illegible to her; though Maron was capable of deciphering it. The thought banished her satisfaction. How much have we lost, she pondered, that we are forced to steal our knowledge back from children-species?

She drew a hand slowly over her bestubbled head, a habit she had when gathering her thoughts. She would kill a dozen – a hundred – such species to restake humanity's claim on the stars. Terra may have stagnated and turned inward, but the Ur-Council was ascendant. Nova Terra had ambition. They had ideas – and best of all, they had worlds pledged to their cause of rediscovery and rebirth. Twenty thousand worlds. Herm's eyes glittered. Twenty thousand worlds today; and more tomorrow. This is the future of the Imperium; united under the Emperor, with a clear view of the past and the future.

Herm's eyes hardened as she swept the book up and turned to leave. Her scribe, Maron, bowed; as did Vonreuter and Cleme, her Pragsimal armsmen.

'Back to the ship. We have what we came for.'

'Another piece of the puzzle, zir-mam?' queried Maron.

She nodded.

'Just so. We will piece our heritage back together; if it takes another five thousand years. We have let things slip. Too much has been lost already under the suzerainty of small-minded Terran scribes. The Ordos already see the way the wind is blowing,' she said, darkly.

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