BY bluefalcon_admin 
July 12th, 2017
Grenn Centurions are designed and bred as commanders
I’m writing this down because to this day, I can’t believe it happened. Like in any Unicity, a large part of our population is Grenn. They live among us, because like most cities, we revolted, or our corporations got out of line, or any of the other various reasons the Coalition can find to send in their armies of bugs. And then they have to integrate and live among us. And it’s never easy. I lived in a nice city block. It had a few office buildings but mostly housing for families. And every day, as I watered my plants, this gigantic Grenn Centurion would walk by in their dress shirt, wearing their tie, little suitcase by their side. And every day that big white bug would greet me kindly.
“Good day ma’am,” they’d say, and I’d nod, not knowing what to think of them. I know they led armies into battle, commanded battalions to murder tens or hundreds of people. They’re a Centurion, it’s what they do. I tried not to hold it against this one. And I suppose I don’t anymore now. Not after all of this.
I’ve lived in that neighborhood for close to 28 years now. It wasn’t much, but it was mine. Ours. We had a little community, with our barber shop, our grocery store. Kids played on the sidewalks and we tried not to judge. We surely didn’t judge the Centurion. Tried not to. I knew they worked in one of the administrative offices down the road, which explained the suitcase and the tie. And I thought nothing of it. Just another one of us going to work. But we all heard it, that day. My little headset blinked, it beeped. A warning broadcast. I saved it so you can read it.
BY bluefalcon_admin June 28th, 2017
We forgot that the game had to be fun!
You know that moment when you put loads of work and effort into something, and after a while you think “Well, this sucks”? That happened! But before we get into that, let’s start at the beginning.
BY bluefalcon_admin June 14th, 2017
Its volatile payload makes the Funditor a dangerous creature to be around
Two Leggies. There’s always two Leggies by my side. Today, we’re training. I have target practice. We’re out in the fields and there are a few towers they want me to hit. Easy. I ate well today, so I should pack some punch.“4-GS-10, haul one!” one of the Leggies yells. I like how they yell. I face the tower, put my hands down and raise my legs up. The weight on my back is always snug, I like feeling the heat pass through me. I take my time, calculate the angle, staring straight ahead to the tower, and let loose. I feel the surge rush over me and a second or three later, I watch the tower go down in flames as some fluids leak onto my armor.
“Haul TWO!”
I adjust my position, my other legs strafing me a bit. Makes me feel like a turret. I look at the tower, let out a small burp, then I push. The other Leggie snickers.
“Nice one, Ten,” they say as the second tower goes down.
“Thanks, Seven.”
Seven’s always nice to me. But they worry too much.
“Alright buddy, one more. You’ve got this,” they say.
“HAUL THREE!” Eight yells. Last push. Out it goes. I watch the ball fly through the sky and land dead center in the tower, engulfing it in flames.
“Still got it,” I say. I shake my butt a little, can’t drip on the mess hall.
“Nice man!”
“I’ll report in,” says Eight, “and then we can get some lunch.”
BY bluefalcon_admin May 31st, 2017
We are Grenn. We do not get to choose. But we do get to change.
The hole in the wall bar was tucked into a narrow alley, only a flickering neon sign betrayed its existence to passerbys. The inside was dimly lit, the air musky and thick with the smell of booze and sick. The Huarangi bartender was scrubbing murky, yellow Shil’Q puke from the bar. It had left a bite in the bar, the acidity having eaten away at it. The bartender cursed, so Jack chuckled to himself. He didn’t need the job, but not being active was worse. It would leave him alone with himself.
“Who’s a good boy?” he asked his Curate. It wagged its sack and curled up in a corner of the bar floor.
“When are you going to stop bringing that thing to work, Jack?” the bartender asked.
“When he dies, Loreng,” Jack replied bluntly.
Loreng made an apologetic gesture, “Alright man. Sorry. You’re the last person I want to start a fight with.”
“I know.”
Blue Falcon is a start-up company in Groningen, the Netherlands, working on the development of a Science Fiction Pen & Paper Role-Playing game. Founded in 2015, it comprises seven members who are all passionate about the products and the universe in which they take place.
