Relics Uncovered

 

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While setting up the new shop, we’ve uncovered a few treasures! Get a set of some of Pat’s early Babes inspiration, but hurry–supplies are limited!

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New Sidekicks coming to Kickstarter

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Even though the upcoming Kickstarter campaign will feature all new resin Babes, we just couldn’t resist throwing in a few Sidekicks too. Here’s a sneak peek at the first of several.

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Babes IV on Kickstarter in May!

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Bombshell is going back to Kickstarter on May 7th! Our brand new production facility is up and running and this will give us a huge boost to expand our molding and casting equipment for the new shop. All new Babes and Sidekicks will be cast in-house in high quality pressure cast resin, the same we use for our KritterKins line. Be on the lookout in the coming weeks for pics of the new sculpts, the new shop, and updates on all aspects of production.

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Forward March!

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All this month get a FREE Tammy with orders of $30 or more and also get FREE Kalessa mini with your order of $50 or more. ($19.98 value!)

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February Offers – FREE Stuff!

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Mako’s Run – Chapter 4

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By Vicky Morgan-Keith

Mrrowl’s feet moved with practiced ease from a basic guard stance to the earliest attack form he had learned as a cub. Surefooted, he stalked across the cold deck plates of the Mako’s main cargo hold while his forepaws struck and blocked blows with an imaginary foe. He found the rudimentary exercise an excellent way to loosen muscles, warm the body, and focus the mind before practicing more advanced combat forms. Plus it was a way to honor his father’s training, one of the few pleasant memories he had.

He was grateful Captain Paz had given him permission to move about the ship, although he was sure any entry into the more vital areas of the ship were being closely monitored. Not that he cared. Whether they believed him or not, he had no intention of harming the Mako or her crew.

He had rested as instructed at first, sustaining himself on Quickfix rations rather than making trips to the galley for food. But after a few days, the confines of his cabin made him restless, leaving him with too much time to dwell on matters of the past. Matters he’d rather forget, but couldn’t. He’d ventured down to the cargo hold for exercise in an effort to maintain his combat edge as well as to occupy his thoughts.

His breath puffed with exertion and sweat tipped his fur as he repeated the form over and over, building muscle memory until the moves took hardly any thought to complete. And as if unwilling to leave him in peace, the memories rushed into his forebrain, demanding attention. The hard, cold muzzle of the gamma-gun digging into his side. Spar’s cruel laughter, colder still than the weapon threatening Mrrowl’s life. The push of a button. The brief, brilliant flare of an exploding light freighter. Mrrowl’s roar of grief and frustrated rage, deafening to his laid-flat ears….

“Anna maweh, ro’at.”

Mrrowl whirled about with a start. Nearby on a stack of crates crouched the little Shrinaar female, a wooden spear held loosely across her knees. She eyed him curiously.

Mrrowl backed his ears. Why hadn’t he seen her come in? Or heard her? Or scented her? He’d been distracted certainly, but still. All false modesty aside, he was a warrior of some prowess, after all. He should have noticed her intrusion, yet he’d been caught cub-napping. How long had she been waiting there? Mrrowl felt his ears grow hot with embarrassment and hoped the heat of his exercising covered it.

The formal greeting she’d spoken was old and outdated as was the title she’d given him. Ro’at. Hunter. A title adult Shrinaar achieved in more primitive times when the tribes had been various family groups banded together to provide for their members as a whole. And although she spoke a dialect of their language strange to him, she was perfectly understandable.

Unsure how to respond to her, Mrrowl pricked his ears forward and simply nodded.

She cocked her head to one side, then jumped lightly down and approached him. A pace or two away, she stopped. Resting her spear on its end, she drew herself up proudly. He still towered over her, but it seemed to disconcert her not at all. Brushing her free paw against her cheek, she extended it toward him, claws sheathed, palm out.

“I am Shre’ka, sa’uk ro’at of the Ravanti,” she told him. She dipped her spear, then waited expectantly.

Mrrowl flicked his ears. “I am…urr…Mrrowl.”

Her lovely blue-green eyes bored into his, and he felt heat flash through his body for an altogether different reason. “And your tribe?” She asked.

His ears dropped. F’laar, he longed to say. But Mrrowl had lost his family long ago. A slave most of his life, he’d been little more than a thug since a strange twist of fate had freed him from the Neiran only to eventually land him in servitude to Spar. I deserve no tribe, he thought sadly. Managing to keep his voice steady, he replied, “I have no tribe, little huntress.”

She frowned. “No tribe?”

He shook his head. “Not anymore.”

Her frowned deepened, then abruptly vanished. “No,” she said with assurance. “That is not so. You are Mrrowl, ro’at of the Mako’s Run now.” She smiled at him, obviously pleased with her proclamation.

Mrrowl found himself smiling in spite of himself. “Perhaps,” he conceded, not having the heart to argue with her. “But I don’t think the captain has made her final decision about that just yet.”

Shre’ka appeared undaunted. “Do not worry,” she said, waving a dismissive paw for his concern. “All will be well, Mrrowl, ro’at of the Mako’s Run.” She grinned at him, then made a gesture of apology. “Forgive me, hunter, I have interrupted your training. Please continue. May I respectfully request to remain and watch? I would like to learn more about the warrior’s path.”

Mrrowl said nothing as he walked over to pick up his axe from where he’d left it near the hull. He hefted the weapon and regarded her thoughtfully.  He pointed to her spear. Its shaft was bound with several strips of leather and woven strands of  beads. A spearpoint fashioned from some type of azure crystal was bound securely to its tip. “You know how to use that?” he asked.

“Not as well as I would like,” she admitted.

Mrrowl took up a basic ready stance with his weapon. “Then, no, you may not remain and watch,” he mock growled at her, much like his father had to him as a cub. He rapped the end of his axe on the decking beside him. “Take up a stance like mine, my fellow ro’at, and let’s begin.”

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Mako’s Run – Chapter 3

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By Vicky Morgan-Keith

Wiping grime off his hands with a utility rag, Sparg scrutinized his work a final time before replacing a panel over the locking mechanism of the damaged hatch. He’d removed his coat while working and picked it up after tossing the soiled cloth in his tool bin. The air had become a bit chilly and he shrugged the duster back on, welcoming its warmth. Captain Paz had powered down as many systems as possible during repairs to conserve their fuel. She hadn’t said anything, but Sparg knew she was concerned about the delay in getting the Mako’s Run back underway.

The Illyrian pilot was just grateful he’d been able to get the hatch repaired and the access tube connecting them to the pirate vessel to release from the Mako. They’d salvaged what they could first–spare parts, foodstuffs, medical supplies, fuel cells and the like. Mrrowl had even showed Captain Paz several crates of quality bot parts well worth taking. Perhaps that was why she’d offered the big Shrinaar an option to take the pirate ship, his freedom, and leave. He’d surprised Sparg by declining the offer, although Mrrowl had insisted on retrieving a small arsenal of weapons before they finally cut loose from The Last Chance, setting it adrift. Sparg wasn’t sure why Mrrowl had decided to throw in his lot with them. He didn’t think the Shrinaar meant them harm, but he intended to keep his eye on him–at least for a while.

He entered the cockpit which had been restored to relatively normal operations. He found the captain busily studying star charts while making calculations on her techpad. She looked up.

“Entry hatch is secure,” Sparg told her. “Locking mechanism is operational again, but it’s just a patch job and should be replaced as soon as possible. Pressure’s holding and outer door seals check out, but it probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to give it a more thorough going over when we put into port somewhere.” He eyed the charts before her. “Speaking of which, you got a plan for where we’re headed, Captain?”

Paz tapped the chart thoughtfully. “I’d considered continuing on our scheduled route, but I don’t think that’s wise after the attack. I’d rather go somewhere closer and check our damage first, but I’d also like to make some profit during the stop if possible. Sure wish we had the facilities to take that jump drive shutdown gear, that’d bring us enough to keep us running for a good while.” She sighed. “We’ll have to make do with selling those bots Mrrowl pointed out to us. I don’t see a lot of options, though. Any ideas?”

Sparg looked the maps over, shaking his eyestalk. “Not much out here, that’s for sure.” He tapped a point on the chart with a stubby finger. “This our current position?”

Paz nodded.

“There’s an ultonium mining outpost on this planetoid near the trailing edge of The Scattered Sands–or there was. We could maybe sell the bots there,” he suggested.

“How do you know that?” The Alanti asked.

“Fresh out of school, I was an engineer for the Illyrian Ship Works,” he replied. “They have a huge database of ultonium mining operations and suppliers located all over GCW space.”

“Well, you’re right about the bots; the miners could probably use them, but there wouldn’t really be any facilities for us to make repairs,” Paz pointed out.

“Hmmm…,” Sparg mused, pointing to a different location on the map, not too much further than the mining outpost. “I’d discounted this at first, but it occurs to me we have Mrrowl for security now. Maybe we should go here.”

“Aron 5?” Paz asked. “Why? What’s there?”

“Fringe settlement,” he replied. “Not frequented by the authorities much, which is nice for those trying to keep a low profile. They’ve got a small trading outpost. Even have rocket bike races sometimes. We should be able to find a buyer for the bots as well as check our repairs.”

“You’ve been there before?”

Sparg nodded. “It’s been a while,…but it was part of my old circuit, back when I was racing.”

Paz glanced at the planet’s data file, then looked back to her first mate. “You think it’s safe?”

“Not really, no,” he conceded. “But with Mrrowl and his intimidation factor..,” the Illyrian shrugged. “…we should be safe enough.”

Paz waved him to the pilot’s seat. “All right, I’ll set coordinates. Let’s go!”

“Aye, Captain…just one other thing….”

“What?” Paz asked, annoyed. If the ship was ready to move, she was anxious to get underway. They’d lingered here far too long.

“Shre’ka,” Sparg said simply. “What’d those pirates want with her?”

Paz grimaced, then shrugged. “Slavers, I guess. You heard Mrrowl. How in the Freezing Fathoms should I know?!”

Sparg snorted, giving her a dubious look. “Come on! Looking for Shre’ka in particular?”

Paz sighed. “Yeah, I know,” she muttered. “It’s got me concerned, too.”

“Wish Mrrowl said more. Think he’s holding anything back?”

Paz shook her head, uncertain. “I’m not sure. I don’t think so…The information he did give us checked out, but I’m not ready to trust him completely. Maybe we can find out more at this fringe settlement of yours.” She gestured impatiently to the pilot’s seat again. “If you would kindly get us under way?”

But Sparg didn’t budge. Her irritation increased.

“Yeah…” he drawled, “…so why did you think the pirates were after you?”

Paz’s face darkened ominously. “That’s two things,” she grated. She pointed emphatically to the pilot seat. “Now shut up and fly!”

Sparg gave her an impudent grin as he practically leapt into the chair. “Aye, Captain!”

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