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It's 2023, and if it's not THE FUTURE yet, when will it be? Meet the Family of Tomorrow, the Rocketsons! From Solar Studios, c/o Hydra Miniatures. Hard-working family man and sprocket engineer Rod Rocketson, at his office (he's there three days a week, a real go-getter) His vivacious daughter Rita with a futuristic device that both acts as a camera and radio at once, His genius son Elwood, on his way home from school, and his lovely wife Renata, seen here organizing the house with the help of a robot servant. (Bombshell's HLpR modified lightly with a GW Ork wrench clamp) (The table/chairs, washing machine, and Screen-O-Tron are from Bombshell's Galley/Rest area set. Rod's desk is from Crooked Dice. ) Together, they are a nuclear family for the atomic age! Wishing you all the best in this futuristic year!

Running a Ferratonic Furnace is dangerous work. It exposes you to all sorts of radiation and heavy metals. Who knows what those combinations can do to the human worker?! Well, the Company sure does. And they sure don't like paying pensions any more than they like losing a worker on shift. There are ways to save on replacement workers and expenditures already invested. A lot of workers don't bother reading the fine print on the medical section of their contracts. Hard radiation will kill a body and liquefy flesh, but that's no excuse to call in sick, not for the Company at least. Notably, the contract does NOT specify that it expires on the signatories' death. The Company can never touch your soul, but legally they can repossess (possess?) your body if the debt isn't paid off. We should note at this point that the Company-issued radiation-proof suits are, at this point, as much to keep radiation in as out. Inspectors and supervisors want no part of this! Of course, nothing lasts forever, especially not in these conditions. When a post-mortem worker degrades past the point of functionality the Company plan allows them rest in a nice, VERY thoroughly lead-lined urn. This one is getting close. Remember, cadets: Always read the fine print, and don't take a job on Xipetotec unless there's absolutely nothing better! *** These sculpts from Wunkay are delightful and I need to order more. I think that spliced with the Haunt (02837) they would make a spectacular NASAghast or ghostronaut. Will have to get another set and experiment. Enjoy! Extra pics:

The Protectorate demands mineral resources! We've seen the work their employees do in the asteroid belt before. Welcome to Xipetotec, in the Huitzilopochtli system. It sucks here! A Mole Person could get along here, but humans who get sent here must have gotten in the Protectorate's bad books. Hey, look, it's those two guys again! Survival on such an awful sphere is hard, so the Company pumps its workers full of Brute Juice. ("Brute Juice: You Know It's Healthy 'Cause It Glows!") Crosswire (50018) is a prime example of what Brute Juice does to a body--he's a burly specimen. But Oleg here makes him look positively puny. Oleg is an Ogryn Heavy Trooper from CP's alien line. The mask, armor, and Brute Juice tubes make him fit in perfectly with the other Space Roughnecks. The girder-sized object he totes had a flat end, so I tacked a GW greeble on it to make some sort of futuristic space welder or gauss-field gizmo. Also gave him a GW Ork knife, which would be a machete in a smaller figure's hands. Anyway, for impressionable readers I should mention that Brute Juice is habit-forming, and the Company will deduct it from your paycheck, and no it is not cheap. Anyhow, these shock-troops of labor will work like hell until they have got the mining and smelting processes automated. Once the machinery is set up, it's a few days off-planet R&R and then on to the next site. The pension for this kind of labor is very generous indeed--it's not like most of the workers will collect. But perhaps that's spoilers for another post! The Ore Orb is a 'moon ball' bouncy toy with a touch of paint. The apparatus in the last picture is a partly-finished GW Ferratonic Furnace; more of that to come. Remember, cadets! Brute Juice--Not Even Once!

...He of the All-Seeing Eye, the Subjugator, the Deathless, a LIVING GOD! Submit your puny planet and LIVE! Resist, and be ANNIHILATED! You all know the type. There's at least one in every universe. Big fans of telling people to GROVEL AND ABASE THEMSELVES OR BE DESTROYED! Unfortunately for the universe, Marduk has the juice and the psychic powers (and the fanatical armies of laser-bearing spacemen) to back it up. KNEEL, DOGS! PROSTRATE YOURSELVES BEFORE THE POWER OF THE OMNISCIENT, THE GLORIOUS ONE!! The Imperials are extremely durable, and a combination of effective immortality and wormhole access has allowed Marduk to bootstrap and tinker with their evolution over the aeons. The average Imperial is strong as an ape, tough as a Krodox, almost as smart as a Martian, and gifted with psionic powers (and also lasers, can't forget the lasers and jackboots). They are also disastrously committed and/or brainwashed into the Imperial project. Marduk with his favored consort and General Zarek: With his daughters, each as ambitious and evil as they are beautiful: With his Hierophant, Vizier, and Chief Psi-Magus: And with a few among the rabble who have distinguished themselves in battle and won glory. There are planets across this spiral arm that bear evidence of crystal cities and advanced civilization, all abandoned now, with the sigil of the EYE cracked into their crusts, and a series of glyphs that have been translated as "CONSCRIPTION." It is not clear to those outside the inner circle what Marduk needs armies the population of worlds for, but it's probably not anything good. Keep watching the skies, cadets!

Also featuring another sci-fi mechanic from CP, this one painted up in the grey jumpsuit and yellow boots of my Moon Communists. He's the one with the sledgehammer. I love this old retro tech! Easy-to-assemble MDF from Crooked Dice, and a bargain at that. (We've already seen Janey of Crooked Dice's Paranormal Exterminators and Bombshell's Helen Salinger before)

One thing about SPACE: it's a bad place to have a breakdown. Spaceships are expensive and complicated; they are your entire world and means of survival out in the black. Lucky for you, the Zap Bros are here! Danny, Joe, and Grexlar founded an interplanetary franchise of mobile repair stations. Danny is an Earth-human businessman, formerly ran a shipyard parts supply store. First-rate at logistics. Joe is an uplifted gorilla, a mechanical genius. If it can be taken apart and put back together, Joe is the ape for the job. If it can't, that just takes him a bit longer. Grexlar is a Martian engineer and physicist, a master diagnostician. Mass-drive, fusion, fission, gravitronics, hyperdrive manifold, warp modulator--no matter what should make the ship go, he can figure out why it won't. After going into business in the Asteroid Belt and making a pile (credits, friends, and favors) the three started expanding the business into a chain. You could populate a small moon with the beings who owe their life to a Zap Bros Rescue & Tow. In fact, the O'Neill cylinder "Long Day's Journey Into Night" did just that. More angles of the three: The Zap Bros have very high standards for whom they hire, but pay excellent wages and have no species restrictions. Robots welcome! *** Specifics: Danny is a mechanic from CP's Sci-fi Civilians line. Joe is Crooked Dice's Starport Fueler modified with Green Stuff. Grexlar is Reaper's Alien Tracker--I can't find the SKU for the metal guy but he's part of the Bones 49001, Alien Overlords set. The desk is also Crooked Dice, and the big-screen monitor is from Bombshell's galley and rec area set. The simpler robot is also Bombshell, MaCbot. The repair specialist bot is a Warmachines Convergence fella bought secondhand. The asteroid ship is a bunch of kitbashed junk, mostly Christmas ornaments and several GW greebles. Stay safe out there, cadets!

The Protectorate used to have a stranglehold on the nutrient paste supply, and most of it was unflavored, for logistical reasons that have been discussed. This changed after contact with alien species; the Krodox Incursion could have gone very differently. Many lives were spared by the Solar agreement to provide quality protein with wide-ranging taste profiles and accurate ingredient labels. (For example, before the Krodox Flavor Accords, the "meat"-flavored nutrient paste was labeled as 100% vat-grown clonebeef but often contained up to 30% space-rat and 10% Void Slug. The label is correct now.) As is the nature of causality, one thing led to another and now there is a chain of nutrient paste automats across the Belt and orbiting most of the outer planets. The Kettle Belly Nutrient Paste concern is the result of a consortium of human, Krodox, and Mole Person chefs creating a menu of nontoxic cross-species hits, crowd-pleasers from multiple worlds. Tiny quantities of Venerian spices go a long way and (after a few setbacks) everything should be almost guaranteed non-allergenic to most organic species. (Sadly, this means the popular Peanut Butter And Banana with Toasted Carbohydrates was discontinued and is now illegal contraband. Tubes command a high price. The same is true for Rotting Leviathan Carcass IV, outlawed in the Solar system for...different reasons.) [Side note: the engine on this asteroid was build from a base made of squirt gun parts.] No matter your taste, there's something for you at Kettle Belly's! Might be Crunchy Bamboo, or Bloodworms in Ammoniac Sauce, or Lobster Mayonnaise, or Red Beans and Rice, or Rotting Leviathan Carcass II, or Venerian Zazzberry, or the ever-popular Butter Plankton Algae Surprise, or the fusion-cuisine Bloodworms in Curry Sauce! There are also vending machines for flavored beverages and delicacies. Always hit-or-miss if your favorite flavor is in, though. Some days it's Hot and Sour Soy Product with Mushrooms, and some days you're left with Rotting Leviathan Carcass III. No one's sure why that hasn't been discontinued yet. It's no Rotting Leviathan Carcass IV, that's for sure. The automat is a repurposed Walther's Dairy Queen, with some Reaper Cav Large Storage Tanks (72614) and other greebles added. Featuring Bombshell's vending machine from the Counterblast crew area set, Reaper's soda machines (49035), Reaper's Argamite Explorer (50346), Space Mouseling 04134b, Gray Alien 50255a, and assorted other space weirdos.

I've been working on cobbling this together for a while using a Frisbee-style disc, some styrofoam and airdry clay, bits, bobs, and greebles, and most importantly the fueling station bits from Bombshell's Counterblast line. When you're out in the black, you can let Newton's first law of motion and a sliderule do a lot of the work for you. But not all! You want to have options, emergency maneuvering capabilities. You need some of that good old delta-V, and you don't want to be beholden to the tyranny of the rocket equation! And where there's a need you can count on good old Earth ingenuity (largely supported by Martian and other xenotech engineering) to fill it. The Asteroid Belt is scattered with local Gas Giant Fuel stations. These are, surprisingly, not the work of the Protectorate, but rather an enterprise run at a loss by an eccentric Earth family with fortunes in ramscoop vessels. Some say it's run out of humanitarian (or humanoiditarian) concern, others out of religious reasons. However it is, it charges IOUs rather than credits-in-hand. The stations are force-field protected and fissionable material is kept inert via proprietary nullifier technology. This shouldn't actually exist, either legally or in terms of physics, and its origin is the cause of much speculation among people who like to speculate on these things. There is also an information kiosk hooked up to the Hypernet. Most of the standard fuel types are available at the pump. Oxygen is not only a fuel component but a lifesaver if the ship's atmospheric scrubbers are struggling. Ammonia is, of course, free of charge. The station scans your ship and records your withdrawal, sending an automated bill to the main computer. It's a lot better to be in debt than dead in space (at least, if the debt is to Gas Giant Fuels, LLC--even in the optimistic spacefuture, your mileage may vary with other debts.) And serving time sweeping vapor with a ramscoop isn't a bad way to spend a few months; Jupiter has plenty of the stuff, as long as you can cope with the dreams. Guest-starring a Zombiesmith Yog and Reaper's ALF-24 bot (50138) If you need fuel for your organic body, you'll need a different asteroid--but that's coming up soon.

Sometimes wires break, or the cat decides to play with dangling items, or frail electronics fry. That's not ideal, but it's not the end of the headphones' life. Pull the little rubber earpieces off of defunct earbuds and see what can be done with the shape! I used some earring parts to turn these into spacefuture zap guns of the ludicrous Earthworm Jim kind. Or consider jet boosters or suchlike! Lots of things involve chambers and tubes.

Meet the Krodox! We've seen a couple of these hunchbacked space reptilians before. Superficially crocodilian, they are a remarkable case of evolutionary convergence. It appears they are remote descendants of Earth's labyrinthodont amphibians; while it can't be proven, the time period makes it likely the Second Martian Empire spread Carboniferous Earth life onto other planets during their colonial expansion. It's not easy to imagine how ambush predators evolved to fill a primate-like niche in the muggy mangrove swamps of their homeworld, and even harder to deduce how the knuckle-dragging scaly brutes developed intelligence and a society, let alone advanced technology. But here we are! Khurasan's 15-mm Garn make excellent juveniles and young adults. These are little fellows! I added some hunchbacks to their necks with Green Stuff. Living as they do on a metals-poor, mud-rich world interlaced with deltas and fjords, the Krodox have developed ceramics and hydraulics to a remarkable degree. Their psychology is hard for humans and uplifted apes to understand; patience followed by sudden action is a survival instinct for them in the way curiosity is for us. (Krodox are sought-after astrogation lookouts for this reason; they simply don't get bored with waiting the way we do.) Meditative contemplation and furious application during times of opportunity is how they developed hydraulic computers to the level of Wisdom Engines while we were still swinging in trees--and also why they were relying on those same Wisdom Engines while we developed spaceflight. Their society is a semi-feudal gigantocracy: Krodox respect Bigness as superior access to meat and therefore as right to rule. But dissatisfied subjects will overthrow a greedy ruler if the ruler lets their constituents go hungry. The election process is somewhere between democracy and a pro wrestling championship, and the recall process (as with many criminal convictions) involves ritual cannibalism. It's not a perfect system by a long shot, but natural and political selection means their supply chain logistics are second to none. Speaking of Krodox jurisprudence, grievous bodily harm and mayhem are seen as regrettable misdemeanors, but denying someone food or access to running water is a Very Serious Crime Indeed. Being found guilty of mislabeling or adulterating foodstuffs, though, is the worst possible transgression, a Crime Against Krodoxianity. While there is no Krodox Emperor or Pope (no one is huge enough to command THAT much respect), all the clans and tribes acknowledge the authority of the Truth Tasters. The society is somewhere between the EPA, the FDA, the FBI, the UN, and the Inquisition. Being armor-plated half-ton monsters with jaws like bear traps, the Krodox might be expected to be ferocious fighters--and this is true on the individual level. They make fantastic mercenaries and shock troopers. Their instinctive deference to hugeness and hunger/risk/reward calculus means they never did get the hang of organized warfare, though. Hostilities can only persist if two generals are of similar bulk and can feed their troops; and if the odds of death seem greater than the odds of a full belly, a Krodox will desert. It is...difficult to beat a Krodox into submission without impairing their usefulness as a soldier. This disorganization and stubbornness is why the Krodox world has been conquered by stellar empire after empire, and abandoned again and again as local prelates, satraps, and bureaucrats wind up getting devoured, sometimes ritually and sometimes just on impulse. Oddly enough, they get along just fine with the frail, pencil-necked intellectual Martians, sharing a great reverence for and obsession with canals. The flowing river is the core concept of Krodox philosophy, religion, medicine, and economics, and no one knows canals and aqueducts like the architects of Mars. (They also enjoy the steaming estuaries and giant beasts of Venus, and maintain a small colony/resort near the south pole, where the temperatures and invasive mold spores are manageable.) They don't think much of Earth culture, with the exception of opera, as bellowing while brandishing weapons resonates deeply in their culture. The current Earth Ambassador to the Krodox (after the regrettable devourment of several human Diplomatic Corps members) is a 600-pound uplifted gorilla. He has secured several trade deals and is a beloved celebrity.

All Martians have psionic powers to some extent, for telepathic communication at the very least. A few possess talents far beyond the Martian norm. Undisciplined use of these powers could cause disruptions to the usually orderly Martian society, but a species learns a thing or two over the course of a million years. A rigorous program of focus, meditation, and training out in the Crystal Wastes will hone those wild talents to a suite of keen, well-directed tools. This fellow, from CP Miniatures (Sci-fi, Non-Commissioned, Alien Sensei) is one such psionic anchorite, learning proper and responsible use of telekinesis, remote viewing, illusion, and mental manipulation. Please do not call them a "space wizard" even though it seems quite accurate by Earth standards; the Martian academicians insist it is very different altogether from space wizardry and very disrespectful to confuse the two. The nuances of the distinction are lost on Earthlings, but then so very few of us have psionic talent in the first place. Here's the Anchorite with a few other Martians, including 50197, whose paintjob got a touch-up. Keep watching the skies, cadets!

The Frost Salamander from Nolzur's has a wonderful chunky head and heavy-jawed face, and that won me over. It also has six legs, so not your average Earthly amphibian. Good thing there's always room for planetary monsters! And it's a great canvas for patterns; salamanders are often brightly spotted or striped. Let's make him a denizen of the steaming swamps of Retro-Venus! More angles: Bombshell makes some amazing sci-fi ladies and this is one such! I took some liberties with my interpretation as a Venerian Amazon--the sculpt indicates that Wanda here is wearing leggings or tight pants rather than the singlet I painted, but her headgear, belt, and boots fit very nicely with Hydra's Valkeeri sculpts. More angles: Let's put the two together! Why does a huge predator need vivid warning coloration? Well, on Retro-Venus, there's always another, bigger predator. I *do* love putting bright colors on weird beasties. Hope you enjoy!

The Andromedan Dominion controls many cubic parsecs of the local Outer Spiral Arm, decadent hegemons given to backstabbing intrigues, convoluted politics and railgun diplomacy. Controlling the fractious populations of several suns means there's always a need for footsoldiers! 40927 here is a junior cadet, ready for her first off-world assignment. Yes, she's effectively a child soldier; that's the sort of thing you get from decadent hegemonies! It's a good way of cleaning up lines of succession, if nothing else. Notice the ceremonial hairpiece and digitigrade stance of the ruling caste. The plasma jezzail is as much a cultural signifier as a weapon (and it is for sure an effective weapon). It's time to hunt some political dissidents! Success will be rewarded with plumes of glory and silken garments of rank. Failure will be discreetly covered up by the clan matriarch. More pics: B This (Bombshell's Jamad) is the sort of rank our Huntress could aspire to: a statuesque Battle-Chief (or Cultural Magistrate, depending on how you translate the subtilities of the language). Robed with ceremonial silks and armed with jezzail, pistol, and glaive, she has broad authority over a planetary sector and considerable influence within her clan. The menfolk also have some value in Andromedan culture; an armored Dragoon (Bombshell Exile) wields heavy weaponry developed by a vassal species. Illyrian work, by the looks of it. The heavy armor indicates he has seen several successful skirmishes, and is a valuable fighter to protect. worth the investment. He He is also authorized to grow whiskers--a sign of clan rank! More pics: If they all play their cards right, they might even get an audience with Her Sovereignty Messalina XVI Herself!

Retrofuture Mars is a cold world, a dry, harsh world--but not quite a dead world, yet. Survival is tough, and most of the remaining fauna is gaunt and quick. The Martian Ravener has an ecological niche approaching that of our Earth coyote or tiger. Here, one stalks a pelgrane. It must be stealthy, for the pelgrane is easily startled and can fly. A pounce, and a clean kill! The ravener will first drain the corpse of precious liquids before consuming it, bones and all. This meal will last it for Earth-months to come. The Ravener is not a tool-user, but it is cunning, and has been known to mimic the calls of other species, and even Martian words, to lure prey closer. Humans were surprised to find that such a predator in a resource-scarce world would need--and could afford--horns! The Martians could have told them, but the Weinbaum expedition found out on their own. Weinbaum's Cloaker! (the Martian name cannot be properly pronounced without the telepathic emphasis). A flying apex predator that haunts sandstorms and windswept canyons. Ingenious countershading means it appears like the dark, starry sky from below, and a cratered field from above. Martian children, sporelings, and buds are taught from early age to watch for sourceless shadows. Humans and their Space Ape pals are learning the same lesson! **** The Ravener is a Hound of Tindalos, 50289 with the head removed and swapped out for a GW demon skull and Ork mandible from their Skullz box, glued onto a neck made out of sprue. That body is lean and athirst all right, perfect for Mars!

I've been having fun lately painting base discs up as planets and moons. Hard to have too many of those for space pulp backdrops. Also! here's Princess Auriate, from Bombshell's Babes line. The elaborate headdress and boots, plus the saber, make her a perfect fit with her imperial sisters Azeemah and Khoshta. Turnaround, but not in great focus, sorry. Here are the sisters together: An Imperial Princess lives a life of extreme luxury, but not one of ease. She must be prepared to prove her superiority over any subordinate humanoid (trivial) or savage beast (depends on the beast). This is a challenge: a poisonous Desert Worm. It's also venomous! Noblesse oblige! Couple of bonus shots:

(I've had these finished for a while and THOUGHT I'd posted them already, but the search engine can't find them.) In the ancient days when the Solar System was young, the Martian Empire spread far and wide through the local outer spiral arm before the Veiled Catastrophe ended their hegemony. They built miracles and left behind marvels. Sometimes they left behind colonies. A few of these, such as the ancestors of the Andromedan Dominion, flourished. Others saw the colonists die off, to be replaced aeons later by evolved descendants of flora and fauna brought along during the terraforming (Martiaforming?) process. Still others suffered resource collapse, and the colonists relapsed into centuries of barbarism. Witness one such case. Here are representatives of the Skull-Fang tribe, wielders of the sacred xolchu knife-axe (similar to our huckable Earth mambele knives): And here their great rivals, the spear-wielding Moonspike tribe. Skirmishes between the two are a way of life since time immemorial. Only the greatest warriors go without a shield, preferring instead to dual-wield their own weapons and those taken from the enemy. Even in their reduced state, though, they have not lost the Martian intellect. Between clashes their bards create great sagas and carvings of incredibly advanced mathematics. Their shamans have deduced nuclear and relativistic physics from first principles. There simply isn't enough smeltable metal left to put their designs to use. Three local years after the disastrous First Contact with outward-expanding Earth forces, a temporary alliance of the tribes managed to build a working hyperdrive out of scrap metal bits and a stolen ray gun. Since then, their ballooning fleet of pirated ships has been kept in check only by internal struggles. Kinetic projectiles on gravity-slingshot orbits are their specialty, and the shock of having your ship depressurized by a knife thrown from several light-seconds away is one few spacers are prepared to deal with.

They do NOT come in peace. They choose violence, as is the wasp's way. Wasps with jetpacks and guns. Nightmarish. Truly remarkable sculpts from Khurasan (whose customer service is deserving of praise!) in their 15mm sci-fi line. The basic trooper is big for a 15mm humanoid, and about on par with a small 25mm scale human. The drones are about the size of a 32mm humanoid and the Hive Queen is a towering colossus. The troops are all one-piece casts, which is remarkable given their spindly limbs. I enjoyed grading the colors from citron up in the airbrush. Here are some flying troops, on flight stands from another set of space minis: Ground troops: More infantry, this time standing up: Note that one of them, and one of the fliers, has a telescope! The beefy Drones, each dual-wielding and equipped with artillery. Notice that these do not have stingers, unlike the others--a nice touch of verisimilitude there. And the formidable Hive Queen, a colossal tyrant. (Unlike most of the others, she comes in many pieces.) She is here to turn the enemy into incubating chambers for grubs, post-mortem if the enemy is lucky. Who is the enemy? She's not picky, Space wasps. Not even once.

More 15-mm goodness, this time 15mm in size. These are just little guys! I couldn't resist the singular eye and writhing tentacles. I haven't decided yet what role they should play, but they are very alien aliens. More angles of the three: I feel like they have some kinship with the three-eyed ASSIMILATOR from Antediluvian, though, and wanted a color scheme to suggest it. They are probably, like my other cycloptic aliens, remote phylogenetic relatives of the Illyrians. Just weird little guys!

Irresistible fellows, these. Shaggy, bulky bodies like a ROBOT MONSTER or a moa; long, bendy necks; beaks somewhere in the hornbill-flamingo-shoebill-Skeksis-vulture range. From CP miniatures. They came in 3 packs: Soldiers (4 riflebirds plus a squad leader), Diplomats (3), and Auxiliaries (3 riflebirds with hats). The skin color scheme was based on blue, red, and yellow boobies; the beaks were inspired by a number of large birds. I added some headgear for fun and in homage to the dandelion-headed Looney Tunes "Instant Martians." I get the idea they are of a highly organized bureaucratic culture with expansionist tendencies, unlike the tribal Venerian Amazons (Hydra Valkeeri). The Hydra Imperials, below, are also from an expansionist imperial culture, but the Terror Birds are less centralized and more impersonal in their cruelty. They get around. Seen here with Hydra's Slishans, who have little culture and almost no technology but DO know from mineral resources. And seen here engaged in diplomatic negotiations with the highly-cultured Andromedans/Neirans. Both species have a great appreciation for the arts and for manipulation. You wouldn't call either culture "decadent," because of the railguns, but 'Baroque' might be appropriate. Notice that the Bombshell Neirans are towering statuesque specimens. Vavoom to a point that makes the Venerians look puny. Trade talks with a chieftain of the Mole People from Sirius B. and theological disputation with an Exalted Proselyte of the Yoggs. The Brain Squids are an esoteric lot and require a delicate touch.] A disputed claim of precious nuclear resources on the border of the Robot Hegemony. The Robots are prohibited by First Law to harm humans, but your beaky bois here do NOT qualify. A Martian delegation, bearing the wisdom of aeons of progress and aeons of rust. A culture this antique requires more than one specialist. The Krodox are one of the few spacefaring species to outmass a Terror Bird, They are willing to trade ceramic goods for new and exotic meats, and respect bigness in a fellow-sentient. Humans are not known for their bigness, but are slippery customers. Tricksters and clever dodgers. Lastly, a diplomatic summit with representatives from most sentient, spacefaring species. As always, C&C welcome! What do you think their alien avian civilization is like?

I've had Garzuhl, the Mantis Man Ranger, painted up since 2015 or so, and just knew she was going to be the core of an insectile faction at some point. Then Nolzur's put out some Thri-Keen, and Reaper's Umber Hulk Burrowing Behemoth came out, and things fell into place. From the sweltering hive-cities of Mercury Terminus to the windswept ice-plains of Ganymede, the Kithkthix (for that is as close to their name as we can pronounce without pheromone glands) dig in and build their mounds anywhere they can get a foothold. Their societies are termite-like, with castes for every position. Intensive artificial selection is used to form new castes as necessary--a barbaric practice to humans, but the communal Kithkthix identify as a collective rather than as individuals. The only pronoun in their language more specific than smaller than We[caste] is Queen. Here are a few representatives of the hunter/gatherer caste (Nolzur Thri-Keen and a grab-bag D&D Thri-Keen), on the search for organic matter that can be used to grow the spores of the fungus that is their sole sustenance. and a more mature member of the caste (03850, Garzuhl) with her domesticated seeker trilobites. A member of the Warrior Caste, ready to rip and rend any threats to the colony: And a member of the Excavator caste, earthmovers par excellence. This specimen appears to have sustained an injury--but what could cut through that zinc/iridium-reinforced carapace? Group shot: BONUS: The Manna-mold contains all the amino acids, lipids, and vitamins needed for human survival, plus digestible carbohydrates. Nevertheless, it is not recommended for human consumption, especially not the ROYAL SOMA strain, as there can be adverse metabolic consequences: (...annnnnnd THERE's the last of the Pinnacle mutants.)

Been doing some butchery, some Frankensteining lately. Particularly for my sci-fi setting. And has it produced results! First, the ingredients. A while ago, I ordered a Reaper Burrowing Behemoth (44058) and it was a fantastic sculpt. But I got two left feet, to match my own. Customer service quickly replaced it, because Reaper is THE BEST--but now I had some leftover insectile CLAWS! Then, Nolzur's came out with an Ankheg. Segmented, metameric abdomen, mantid-like foreclaws, two pairs of limbs, shield-like, many-eyed spiky head. And also with a set of hideous ...Quori? Never heard of, maybe a Pathfinder thing apparently an Eberron aberration. One of them is a grotesque tailed many-limbed squirmer with big ol' pincers. And with an Alhoon with many spell-effect tentacles. Now, I have a few factions of spacemonsters. One is insectile, and I gave a Burrowing Horror a third set of ankheg limbs to bring us to six total... ...while giving the burly Horror claws to an Umber Hulk: Now everyone has six limbs and I can rest easy! BUT WAIT THERE'S MORE Another faction is the horrid Crawlers. These I have posted before, and are mostly Bathalians. Shield-like heads, mouth tentacles, squirmy bodies, appendages made to mutilate and maul. The Tsucora Quori are warty and rugose and squirmy and pincered, but lack the characteristic head and tentacles. But a Chronoscope Hound of Tindalos (50289) has just the right kind of head on a lean and easily repurposed body! A little green stuff to fill in the Quori's unmistakable eyes and nostrils, and a little work with some wire cutters, and behold! Oh yeah, that's a Bathalian! I also snipped some tentacles from the Nolzur's Alhoon to give our Craboid Black Cat Alien (see link to Crawlers, above) the mouth-tendrils it deserves. Wait, but what of the mutilated Ankheg? Oh, it fits in with the Crawlers just fine now. Happy crafting, folks!

A barren, frozen planet. A pristine icefield, burnished and cleared by constant katabatic gales. Graven in elegant Old High Martian glyphs a meter deep in the never-thawing ice, a mathematical proof of such beauty and elegance as to make a genius weep...and a series of universal planetary coordinates. No advanced species could forbear to investigate further! These are the work of the Neh-Thalggu, more commonly known as the Braincrabs. Know them. Fear them. Do not trust them. Rugose and four-limbed, the first instar is little more than a brain-shaped crustacean beast. (Little Nolzur's Intellect Devourers, came with the Alhoon or Illithilich.) They are shed when the parent has a surfeit of brains and wishes to jettison lesser ones to make room for greater. Most perish, being less clever than their prey. But if one can bring down a sentient creature through luck and stealth and devour its central ganglion or brain...it begins to grow, absorbing the knowledge and cunning of its prey, much as some sea slugs repurpose the stinging cells of their prey and make them their own. After absorbing a few brains, the instar grows into a juvenile. This involves generating more frontal eyes and a pair of brutal skull-cracking pincers. Recently-added brains are sequestered into thin-shelled bubbles, an adaptation to make sure other, stronger Braincrabs do not kill them when marauding. The juveniles are very dangerous, acting as psionic predators with the strength of a tiger and the intelligence of three or four sentient creatures, all brought to bear on the problem of obtaining more brains. Depending on its previous history, it is very likely to outwit the average sentient being. A Braincrab that has assimilated more than eight brains again metamorphoses, this time into a mountainous, many-limbed hulk, a spiny rugose colossus with a first-class think tank worth of neural tissue working for it. Psionic power abounds, and the elder Braincrab can create immersive illusions at-will or psychically dominate lesser wills. The really unpleasant bit is the way it will out-argue you and succeed. It can make an excellent claim to being a Utility Monster, better at experiencing both reality and pleasure in the cosmos than us single-brained chumps. And what gives it the most pleasure, on the level you and I could never experience? (for so it claims, and has data to back it up--is the data faked? if so, it's too good for us to be able to tell!)? Why, devouring and assimilating more sentient brains! Do you have inconvenient brains in your society? Antisocial or sociopathic ones? It can redirect those energies! Oh, it's a persuasive monstrosity! The Martians fear and detest them, of course, having as they do great juicy brains practically dripping psionic energy. But hunting something that is hunting you, while your strongest weapon is their favorite prey--it's not easy! A Martian High Intelligencer can outwit all but the eldest Braincrabs, but the gamble is a perilous one indeed. You do NOT want a braincrab with the powers of a High Intelligencer. That's how you get a planet converted to a brain farm, which in turn leads to Great Old Ones. Not even once! Oddly, the best defense against the Braincrab is a hive of the insectoid Mandibulate Commonweal. One has the intelligence of a beast, two of a slightly smarter beast, five of an average human...and a whole hive can rival a supercomputer. Their individual brains are not worth a Braincrab's attention, and yet the hivemind can outmaneuver it intellectually as easily as the workers can swarm and savage it physically. The Commonweal will not gain knowledge from the reclaimed brains, though. Only nourishment. Below, how to make a juvenile Braincrab.

FROM SPACE IT CAME! Its motives--INSCRUTABLE! Its desires--UNKNOWN! This is why the Galacteer Academy requires three semesters of Xenodiplomacy, cadet! This spacefella was an excellent excuse to experiment with colorshift paints. Betty (50150) and Rizzo investigate. Further scans are necessary! Good news! It seems to be benevolent, desiring only TO SERVE MAN. Whew! What a relief! That could have gone so much worse. Another crisis averted, thanks to the Galacteers!

Look at this dude. What a sculpt. I choose to believe he's convinced he's 'undercover,' 'perfectly disguised as a human.' This is Broose Axe from Zombiesmith. There is just a lot of personality and backstory implicit in that surly face and sloppy casual wear. The Andromedan's deep-cover specialist, perhaps? Or perhaps just a slacker enjoying some Terran culture. Either way, I'm going to say there's some sneaking involved. And that in the Juvenalian Jeeves and Wooster tradition, that his valet/baggage handler (Zombiesmith's Vaelant Goos) is the brains behind any particular operation. Leave Broose on his own and it's just going to be a disaster. Medical science isn't even sure how an Andromedan can even GET that kind of disease! Guest appearances by a Hydra Valkeeri Leader and Galacteer Cadet Skippy, along with a couple other fellas, one an Ape Medic a friend was kind enough to give me.

Matthew Beauchamp recently sculpted an excellent line of Dragon Men for his Retroverse. I had to get them--and they are massive and burly, about 45mm or so! Great scaly brutes, But the heads were a little less reptilian and more orcish than I would like, having committed to the Antediluvian aesthetic of Buckland Rogers. Don't worry, I'll find a use for that head somewhere. So I took a couple of hours with Green Stuff and a dental tool and made a new hunchbacked crocodilian/mosasaur head, scarred and with a toothy muzzle. This is a prominent NPC in my spacefuture games, Atrox the weapons merchant. He is about nine foot tall, cheerfully violent and moderately amoral. Won't sell biological weapons or anything with long-half-life decay products, but otherwise it's fair game if you have the credits. Pretty scarred about the face and neck, because he's a professional and insists on testing each type of weapon before selling. Also from ritual Laser-Glaive duels. I have decided his species mostly practices gigantocracy: whoever is biggest gets to rule. Not a perfect system, but very good at supply logistics and famine avoidance. "Perhapf sir would care to infpect our line of Deathshead blafters? Only the finest quality!" "Flamerf, zapperf, plafma-bolterf, we got it. Throw in a laser free with every third purchase." "We think thif one is from the future. I call it an Ontological Disruptor. Dunno HOW it works, but push thif button and the target vanishes from the physical univerfe for 6.3 secondf. The savvy tacticianf can immediately fee the poffibilitief." "Or perhapf sir would like a more ELEGANT weapon, from a leff civilized age?" "Clubf, maces, nooses, axes single or double, goads, prods, glaivef, fpears, throwable mambelef--oh, the Vault?" "I see that sir is a discerning customer! Only the moft DEVAFTATING beam weaponf and mortarf to be found thif side of New Xibalba!" "But don't juft take MY word for it! Liften to the teftimonialf of our satisfied customerf!"