The Guardians of the Galaxy is an impressive collection of oddballs and misfits, but what of those aliens and otherworldly beings who are too odd for the oddballs? Here’s a list of the folks that wanted to guard the galaxy, but who didn’t have the same capability as foul-mouthed raccoon and a walking tree.
Merg has Trouble Talking. Not that he has difficulty speaking, just that his species have a near-telepathic ability to discern what will cause the most discord and hurt feelings, and find themselves unable to keep that knowledge to themselves (the phrase “Can’t you take a joke?” is oft-said on Merg’s homeworld). Merg has taken to wearing a mask that muffles his voice, but as a result, he has developed very expressive—and often abusive—eyes. Merg is a great pilot, but you wouldn’t want to fly with him.
Not so much a person as a representation of the galaxy’s collective sense of flibertigibbitness, Glitters is a very dedicated team-player…for at least five seconds. Immensely powerful and incredibly distractable, Glitters might protect a planet from stray asteroids by tunring the asteroids into goose-down, but they also might turn the planet into goose-down, or its inhabitants into goose-down, or reconsider why goose-down to begin with, or give goose-down the ability to talk, in order to ask it, like, why, you know?
Howitzae loves guns. Big guns. She loves them so much, she can’t bear to fire them. Instead, she knits them tasteful gun-cozies and sings them lullabies at night.
A wheeler-dealer from the Quizentine Nebula, Clunko’s got a somewhat reasonable facsimile of whatever it is you need. With an approximate knowledge of many things, and half-remembered contacts from all over the galaxy, Clunko can provide you an off-brand, repainted knock-off of whatever you’re looking for. Need an Infinity Gem? A Cosmic Cube? An Ultimate Nullifier? Clunko can’t get you those. How about a Perputity Zicornia, a Space Sphere, or a Penultimate Back Massager?
A former education-bot, Bizzeltron traded in a life of equations and planet capitals for a life of crime. Capable of calculating the exact amount pressure his plastic hands would need to crush any sentient being’s windpipe in an instant, Bizzeltron has become the galaxy’s most effective and sought-after assassin. His thirst for knowledge replaced with a thirst for blood, Bizzeltron knows no loyalty, only death. Well, death and scones. Bizzeltron loves to bake.