Epoch Star

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Stories and Legends

Birth of Life
Unearthed Darkness
Advent of Mandrala
Dawn of Destruction
Ignus Invasion
Eye of the Maelstrom
Rising Star
The Fallen
A Bitter End

Rising Star



In an attempt to unravel the web of lies that had been told and retold to His people for centuries, the Prophet traveled to the lifeline of the Union itself: Legionite III, the industrious factory-world that manufactured all of the Union’s starships  Having never been to Legionite III during his two thousand year span of life, Mandrala had only heard stories about the huge, sentient whale-like creatures that inhabited the planet’s marshy surface. Perhaps it was that, after being rejected by his own people, He sought to purify Himself from the sins of the Mandralor, and bestow his faith upon those whom were more deserving. But, though no one truly knows what his motives were for traveling to the clandestine world of the mysterious Legionite race, it is incontrovertible in light of the unfolding events that the Prophet was utterly shocked by what He discovered there….


Arriving in orbit above the allegedly “swamp-like” planet of Legionite III, what He saw was little more than a sludge-covered ball of rock, whose waters ran black with discarded factorial by-products, and whose atmosphere possessed both the appearance and consistency of toxic smoke. It seemed to the Prophet, in that moment of disbelief, that the world itself could be nothing but completely uninhabitable to even the most rustic and resilient forms of life; but the unmistakable presence of biology and industry proved this notion false.

Toiling about on the hideous world below were, indeed, the enormous whale-like creatures that He had previously heard described—or, at least, what was left of them. To the distant eye, it would appear that the Legionites’ disgustingly unwashed and unkempt bodies were nothing more than large mountains of dirt, shuffling about with a slowness of drudgery that, in itself, spoke for the horrors of its own existence. But as the Prophet’s vessel descended to the filthy planet, Mandrala caught his first sight of the suffering Legionite people, whose enormous bulk and strength had caused them the unforgiving burden of perpetual slavery.

Where there had once been millions of their species roaming the verdant bogs of their pristine world now remained but a few hundred haggard, underfed and dejected specimens of their kind. Some standing as high and wide as a Union warship, their enormous bodies, it occurred to Mandrala, must have once seemed as imposing as the natural features of the landscape itself—but were now defeated out by the ubiquitous presence of coughing factories, and unnaturally putrid grime.


Day and night, He observed them, as they lumbered about, incessantly hauling gigantic portions of unfinished Union starships across the oily landscape with backbreaking effort, and piecing together the various, tedious mechanics in mind-numbing monotony. Being, by nature, passive creatures whose uncanny size and strength combined with the lethally capability of being able to perform simple procedures, the average life of a Legionite was as miserable as it was short.

As Mandrala watched them, scores of their kind fell dead from either fatigue or unfortunate accident—having the catastrophically massive hulls of the laboriously-constructed spaceships come crashing down to squash them like insects, while their few heartless task-masters beat them much and fed them little in an attempt to maximize their productive efficiency. And this was the thing that disturbed Mandrala the most out of the entire hellish scene: the utter lack of disregard that the obviously well-fed and much more luxuriously cared-for masters felt for their fellow Legionites.

“How can it be so—“  He asked Himself. “That one would soil his own house and disparage his own brother for a mere profit and position of power? Is there not joy enough to be had for all, happiness to be spread throughout rather than locked away and unappreciated in the darkness of a rich man’s coffers? What could possibly be responsible for the depths of this evil?”

But the answer came quickly to Him, in that heated moment, for—lurking in the shadowy facade of this now-hollow and degenerate vestige of civilization was the overwhelming stench of Union administration—it was then that Mandrala realized that the Legionites were being manipulated, much like His own people. And so, enraged at this epiphany, the Prophet disregarded any previous allegiance that he had once sworn to the Union, arming himself with his four-paired flamesabres, as he took his first fateful step upon the shattered remnants of that planet’s hideous landscape.


It need not be overstressed the sheer potency of influence expressed by the Prophet. His enormous physical stature, honed by nearly two millennia of armed combat practices, the unmistakable air of power expressed in every motion, in every word—seething with authority and charisma enough to send a dishonest being recoiling in the aftermath of his sins, to hope for redemption of his inner-self—still echo the intensity of His Greatness through the voice of history itself.

What is known to have happened, on that glorious day, is that the Great Mandrala simply made known his presence, delivered his message, and laid waste to all those who did not comply. The Legionite people, inspired by the sheer power of his commanding words, rose up against the heavy hand of their ruthless overseers. And within hours of its instigation, the Great Legionite Rebellion had sent the entire planet reeling in a wide spread conflagration of revolt.


Very little can compare to the fearful awe inspired into those who ever bear witness to a Legionite war. Each Legionite in the uprising was several hundred multiples more massive than any other living creature that owed allegiance to the Union, mounted upon six powerful legs whose sheer weight dented a crater-like footprint into the earth with every hulking step. Each of their two enormous hands possessed three fingers the size of a full-grown Mandralor, and strength enough to crush boulders with such ease that it was often done unintentionally. Their skin, varying in its particular brilliance and color between individuals, was like leather to the touch, but stainless steel to the skin: deflective of even the heaviest projectiles and nearly impossible to penetrate or cut. Their muscles were gigantic and incredibly powerful, honed from a lifetime of demanding physical labor—and so it is said that watching a pair of these behemoth-sized juggernauts in combat is like observing the collision of two meteoric heavenly bodies.

Earth and stone shattered beneath their enormous weight, as the rebels accumulated in great masses. They stormed upon the buildings and factories that had tainted their planet with pollution, raising them to the ground with nothing but their bare hands. They demanded emancipation from their masters, but were answered with cold-hearted resolve.

Those cruel members of their kind who had gained much power and wealth by the enslavement of their own race did not willingly relinquish their positions of authority.

Possessing weapons that they had acquired from the wealth of their industries, they slaughtered dozens of their own revolting slaves during the uprising; but even this was not enough—for the rebels, despondent and unprepared as they may have been, quickly rallied behind the banner of Mandrala’s leadership

Great, heaping mounds of seared Legionite flesh were burned to the ground as the behemoths lunged upon their masters en-masse. Mandrala, armed with his legendary weapons, retaliated by unleashing a fury of fire and bone upon the derelict slavers. Crying with hell-borne fury and lead by the Great Prophet himself, they smashed into their enemies’ front lines, swarming upon them and sending the earth quaking beneath the sheer weight of their cataclysmic stampede, as the heavens boomed with thunder at every impact. They vanquished their wicked slavers, tearing them from their weapons and brutally beating them to death with nothing but their own enormous hands. And so it is said that, within the mere span of a few short days, the Legionites had forever freed themselves the yoke of Union slavery.


“Join me!” the Prophet told them, the fires of the violent revolution still smoldering, as his eyes blazed through the sprawling throngs of Legionite onlookers. “And we shall set right the wrongs that have been done upon your kind! I have guided you unto freedom—but that is not enough! With your help, we will exterminate the Wicked Servants of Chaos, and restore Order to the Universe!”

“YYOOUU AARREE UUSS!” the crowds shouted in return, booming with fervent enthusiasm and unbridled devotion. They spoke with one voice, as is characteristic of the Legionite species. Whenever a member of their kind is to communicate, all of them do. Their loud, sonorous bellows blast loudly throughout the air to be heard for miles upon miles around, blending into one another—until, finally, becoming the harmonious melody of a unified mentality: a single thought. “UUSS FFOORR YYOOUU!”

And with that, the Prophet smiled, for He understood exactly as the Ignus were to be vanquished. His prayers had been answered, and through the good deeds of His work. The Enlar had been wrong in the slavery of the Legionites, just as they had been wrong to deceive the Mandralor. But even in those blissful moments of his triumph, He had reason enough to understand and prepare for the failings of His long-term plans…


On that day, that very the last Legionite-constructed spaceship was ever fabricated. In a worldwide effort, sparked by rebellion, and fueled with the hysteria of violence and gratitude, the voluminous hull was hastily assembled, and the necessary components fitted from the gutted portions of those unfinished projects that still littered the landscape. It was to be the grandest, largest and most powerful vessel ever created.

On that day, the few remaining Legionite people were granted their freedom. They could now rebuild their society in a fashion without the tyranny of slave-masters, and they danced in celebration, and sang with joy.

On that day, upon the completion of their efforts, the cancerous fires of industrial life forever ceased its burning upon the Legionite homeworld. And from its ashes rose a star of unbridled greatness—a massive transport vessel, large enough to contain no more than exactly one dozen Legionite warriors, to fulfill their destiny ordained by and in the presence of the Great Mandrala Himself.


Perhaps it was the simplicity of His observation that caused the powerful eye of the Enlar to pass it over without proper inspections, or the sheer cowardice of their will that kept them from doing anything about it. For Mandrala, simply plotting the trajectories of all recorded in-bound Ignus transports, quickly saw the Ignus’ place of origin: where they had sparked the fires of disaster upon the universe. And thus, the den of serpents uncovered, the Prophet prepared himself for the most renowned act of selfless courage that the universe has ever known….



“The key to being wise, is listening and learning from other people’s experiences. But you must live your own life, and learn your own experiences for them to have any meaning.”


–the old Mandralor lore.



Epoch Star  - Space Adventure  / Space RPG / Space Game - Free to download and play

©2004 Battleline Games