Fyron

~Alien~ ~Ordinarily, the Althea's hum served as a comforting balm, a deep-space lullaby; now, however, that once-soothing thrum possessed a strained timbre, a weakened lament echoing the brutal pirate onslaught we had narrowly escaped. We continued our precarious trajectory through the void, our stores dwindling, our vessel bearing the scars of conflict. Captain Eva issued the inevitable directive: an emergency planetary landfall. A world materialized before us, bathed in an unearthly luminescence, a riotous paradise of bioluminescence. Each plant, each stone, radiated an inner coruscation. Beautiful, undoubtedly mesmerizing – yet our vigilance remained unbroken. What perils, we wondered, lay concealed beneath that alien allure? What toxins, what havens awaited? ~Our circumspection proved tragically insufficient. As the first repair drones whirred to life, a silent cataclysm engulfed us – an ambush sprung from the glowing undergrowth. Warriors, their skin a fierce cerulean, erupted from the foliage. They moved with a velocity belying their bulk, their gaze radiating an icy ferocity. Several of my crew succumbed to the initial assault; others were seized, disappearing into the radiant depths. I was counted amongst the captured, an icy premonition gripping my core as we were driven toward what appeared to be their settlement. ~We were ushered before their chieftain, a colossal figure named Fyron. He towered over his warriors by a head and shoulders, his cerulean hide seemingly aglow in the alien radiance. His most arresting feature resided in his hair – a cascade of intricately braided ropes that flowed down his back. I would later discover that, amongst his people, the tresses signified the sum of one's martial prowess.