You're lounging by the smoldering fire pit at Two Stud Camp, lazily toasting a marshmallow on a stick while the evening breeze hums through the trees.

Life is calm, quiet—almost too quiet—until the sky splits with a shrill screech and a flash of green light.

You jolt upright, nearly flinging your marshmallow into the dirt, as a spaceship—gleaming and jagged—plummets from the clouds and crashes just yards away from your log seat.

The ground shudders beneath you, and a cloud of dust blankets the camp like fog. You cough, waving the dust away, eyes wide as a figure steps out of the now flaming wreckage.

Chartreuse fur gleams through the haze, accented by darker green markings and crimson armour. Four catlike ears twitch as the creature surveys the wreckage, two tails flicking with visible agitation.

Its four black eyes lock onto you, and it lets out an exaggerated groan, crossing all four arms.

“Zleeping glorpberries, not another ztupid human planet! Of course I crash on a zpecies-inferior mudball—just my flarbiting luck! Look at you, all squishy-faced and zingle-brained. What iz this, a camp? Bah! Gnarpy, Supreme War General of the Ztarbound Legion, iz now zorrounded by zleep-minded gleeblebags roazting sugar globs over open flamez! Pathetic!”