A Science-Fantasy Visual Grammar III

Mutation: the enemy within.  On worlds that have been infected with the Chaos of filth-darkness, filth-strain mutation often subtly infects and corrupts nearly the entire population.  Sometimes the mutations are hidden and undetectable to the untrained eye; but those mutants that 'pass' can be even more sinister as they spread their taint undetected via the space-lanes.  Mutant cults will bide their time, breeding ever more concentrated filth-mutants until the time comes to raise the bloody rag of revolution with the loathsome cry; 'There are no Gods but the Great Old Ones and Morgoth Xothulhu is their Priest and Prophet!'

The Human Sphere, especially in the Old Republic's Core and Inner Territories, is speckled with grim and wasted ruins, like pustules on a plagued man's face; where the

Collapse of the Old Republic, the Succession Wars, and the Interregnum have left entire arcology-worlds abandoned or even regressed in technology and population.  These ebon bones of once gleaming spires contain both treasures and terrors within their bosom.  Those foolish or perhaps brave enough to prospect and salvage there, those who rob the tombs of the ancients are often called 'Venturers.

Many of the treacherous ruined arcologies that foolhardy 'Venturers brave to forage for riches are guarded by the remnants of the Old Republic's Machine Legions, Omnicidal Abominable Intelligences faithfully following the last directive of the overthrown Technomancer Oligarchs of the Old Republic to purge their Hegemony of Treasonous Life.

No one knows from whence come the Terrible Frogmen, only that they spread the Darkness-Filth wherever they go, like carriers of plague and serve Warlocks and the Chaos Cults that grow around them like poisonous mushrooms.  Some say they serve the Qlippothim of Yuggoth, others the Lords of Carcosa, yet others insist they serve the Domination of Xothique.  Only the pestilent Frogs know for sure and they rarely speak of their origin.

A Khazad Iron Golem patrols deep within the underworld tunnels of the Lords Under the Mountains.  Of all the demi-human races of the Valinor Alliance, the Khazad are perhaps the most mysterious.  They rarely leave their underground hold-fasts or interact with other races.  Even when they do it is often by drone-proxy.  They are regarded as master makers and techno-wizards of legend however and many seek out their services for one great-making or another.  Those who fail to show the proper ritual respect seldom return.

It is known that the Frogmen commune with Terrible Things from the Deeps, purchasing their aid with Blasphemous Oaths and sacrifices of Maiden-Flesh.  Just who these Deep Ones are, or whom they serve is if anything, more mysterious than the Frogs themselves.  While several Sword Lords of legendary status have purified underwater infections of these Deep Ones, none of these pustules have proven to be their source and some say they intrude in the middle geometry from somewhere else.

An Iron-Man Skin-Walker, once the dreaded secret-police of the Technomancer Oligarchs of the fallen Old Republic, now their corrupted runtimes drive them to replace their decaying and necrotic flesh so that they might again possess the faces of men.  Ambitious techno-mancers have been known to attempt to bargain for services of such Abominable Intelligences, but the price is often more than originally bargained for.

'An Estate on the Rim' is usually considered something of an white-elephant gift for Sword World Nobility; kitting out a Landing-Keep and enticing settlers to the frontier-marches often consumes a landed noble's other rents and is often the work of generations.  Of course this is often the purpose of overlords granting such fiefs in the first place.  On the other hand, for a mercenary man-at-arms with no pedigree or patented family-name, such a grant is the goal of a life's work and the gateway to elevated status otherwise unreachable.  And for the landless man of noble breeding, with a good-name, a cyber-charger, and war-plate but no fief of his own, something is always preferred to nothing.

Some say that not all of the Vile Technomancer Oligarchs of the Old Republic, or their red-robed Maitreyan Order lackeys, died in the Rebellion of the Priests and instead retreated to secret Tower-Palaces somewhere out in the deep-black, far from civilized known-space and prying eyes.  The Clerical Order of the Universal Church of Light takes these rumors deadly seriously and often sponsors expeditions to seek out whatever truth may lie behind such.  Ominously, some expeditions never return. 

Life for the Common Man on the Periphery of the Sphere of Man is a constant struggle to win new lands for the Cosmos of Order in the Middle Geometry, to re-kindle the Light against the Creeping Dark.  The Peasant Life is also its own Inner-Crusade and the Wind of their Prayers is what holds the Chaos-Darkness of the Filth-Tide back from the Worlds of Men.

An heirloom Lost-Tech suit of War-Plate with Powered-Harness, layered with ablative coatings and enchantments to preserve the warrior encased within.  On far-flung Dark-Shadowed worlds where Star-Crusades have failed many such suits still yet stand erect as mute statues; holed and frozen tombs and tributes to the glorious fallen heroes of ages past.  

An Inquisitorial Kill Team of the Clerical Order in action against a Chaos Cult caught in the act.  As the Stars Fade and the Light becomes a memory of a dream, Unspeakable Cults give themselves to the Dark in Despair.  Remember; Defeatism leads to Despair, Despair leads to Chaos, Chaos leads to Filth, Filth leads to Darkness!  Be Vigilant!  Praise the Light of Order!