yutzen

Once again, I return to the Burnt Hive to retrieve and compile the tales that precede us. And once again, the Hives’ oft-occlusive nature ensured it was a proper ordeal for me. No ideological squabbles this time, thankfully, and nothing I needed to prowl every Hive for, either. No, this time, what got in the way was the simple fact the average Shumhaq is irritatingly apathetic to their own history, even beyond the usual day-at-a-time Subterraneum citizen. As if looking at their founding, or the past beyond it, were a waste of time, or worse, an admission of defeat. A focus on the present is all fine and good, but I feel the need to request they cultivate some historical curiosity.
Thankfully, however, some do care. Much as their historians seemed to save their tales in an oddly resentful manner, as if writing down their grudges… And then, there were the One-Hivers. They had an abundance of useful scraps in their more incendiary material, but stripping the virulent biases off them was less than pleasant. But a source is a source, whatever their reasons to preserve may have been. Here, the result.

Do you know what death is?

It’s not an ending. A spirit might leave, or it might not, it might never be there to begin with[1]. The body stops moving, stops reacting, stops doing, but it doesn’t stop being. The only difference between a corpse and a body is what’s alive in it. But it ain’t really the start of a cycle, either[2]. Spiral, at best. That body won’t start moving again, you’ll just have it rot and get eaten up. The spirit, if any, it’ll move away from it, from us, from everything, never to come back. It’ll bring life to others, but you won’t have what you had ever again. It’ll never be the same.

What death is, then, is a split. Just like everything else. As time goes, everything splits, one thing from the next, and two things into many more. “To dust we return”, as they say, but they don’t cover just how many tiny fractures and splits it takes to bring a living being back to dust. But you might ask that, now that you’re aware of the question. And the answer is always “more than you think”. There is no true way to mend every cut to its fullest extent, something is always missing. There’s always another cut you missed. From something as simple as shattered glass, to death itself, you can never put it all back together to the way it was. Not completely.

One of the biggest reasons for that is, someone out there’s making sure those cuts stay that way.

Every separation, every severance between one thing and the rest, is looked over. Surveyed. Accounted for, along with the pieces it creates. Because whoever put it all together in one place once is done with it all, if that one ever existed, but someone needs to oversee it as it comes apart. Make sure it comes apart when it has to – not one moment before the cut, and not one moment after. And most of all, keeping the most important separations, all the important splits, the way they are. Let nothing be rolled back. Make sure it’s all dust in the end, the thinnest of dust, when all is said and done.

Why? In a way, it’s simple. Because the closest thing to where it all began, to the great pile of everything that started it all, is the thinnest, most basic, most finely sieved dust of all, where even size and weight and distance have been sliced so thin they’re hardly even there anymore. Where every last component has been separated and reduced to its minimum expression, until there’s nothing left to shed. Get all that dust together, gathered as tight as something so tiny it barely has a size can be, and all of a sudden, you have… everything, together again, at once, in a single place.

But it’s not the Surveyor[3]’s job to do that part. The Surveyor’s job is to make sure it gets there. Neatly, cleanly and properly. And most importantly, evenly.

The biggest reason why every split must remain as such, every cut unmended, is so that no one piece is bigger than the other in the end. Not one mote should outsize the other, and none of them should clump back together into something even resembling a greater, singular mass. The process is not over, and the Surveyor’s work isn’t done, until every particle, every amalgam, has been trimmed back into its separate parts. And what is an amalgam but a mass of particles that’ve tried to mend the cuts between them, in the end? Even those you’d never consider cuts because they were seemingly always there, or those that are too esoteric to consider them such at first. They may not count for you, but the Surveyor knows. The Surveyor watches, making sure even now, such mendings don’t happen.

You might wonder now how this one takes care of such things. How things are kept apart, or separated if they risk being gathering spots, focal points for one such amalgamation. You might think the Surveyor has a blade, or shears, to be wielded when something is stubbornly resisting its moment to split at last, or worse, actually mending a cut that should’ve been complete. And you would be very wrong for that assumption. Not every knife can split a stone. A knife that could do that, cannot split dust from air. And a knife that could do that, cannot split a city from its fortune, or a mother from her child, or an idea from its believers[4]. And a knife that could do that cannot split a stone, and we’re back where we began.

More importantly, a knife cannot stop most of those from coming right back together either.

So what’s the Surveyor use? Something that’s tailor-made for the split that must be done. Something forged from the materials available, which is everything. Something that will remain, and keep things split, even when it’s in a subtle way you can’t quite see. A chisel.

Sounds simple, doesn’t it? It is, yet it isn’t. Let me give you an example.

Once, it did happen, or try to. Something, someone, tried to clump things back together into one, and it was working. A grand agglomeration. One mind, barely even a mind, with an ever-growing body that just couldn’t be taken apart by those it was pulling in, devouring, assimilating. Not fast enough. Or maybe it was several bodies, joined together by a mind like strings? It was close enough to a singular thing, and it was growing quickly. Learning how to pull in everything, too. Material and immaterial. Maybe even started pulling in spirits, too. Thought as well. But it was all coming apart and becoming more of it. More mass, more of that singular mind, if you could even call it that. And when distance was there, it just stretched across it to reach what was next, and dug in too. And the bigger it got, the more it figured out how to pull in…

Nothing that was trying to survive in there, keep itself from being pulled in, was getting much done. It was just too big, there was too much of it, and anything they could take out, it’d pull right back in. Nothing to reason with either, it was just one thing, barely thinking, wanting to grow. Like a mold, if it was just a single creature, with just enough thought to reach out and grab things yet to die. And none of the cuts were deep enough to work with. All superficial, all barely trimming…

So the Surveyor went deeper. Reached into the thing’s mind, such as it was. Gathered it. Sharpened it. Made a chisel of pure thought, pure reason, pure sentience.

And drove it right through the center of this amalgam[5].

It split like glass. Cracks spread throughout it, as it started to think. As parts of it joined by these idle strings of mind started having their own thoughts. And the cracks spread further. One, to several, to millions, as whole segments started to disagree, then sub-segments, then actual individuals within the whole. And just like glass, it didn’t stop until it all came apart, as a grand amalgam, a grand thing, became nothing more than a mass of… people, with little in common between them other than some biology, and a shared experience where they couldn’t even think. No gods, no flag, no nation, just that.

And the Surveyor stepped back and looked upon a job well done. All schedules had been thrown off, things would take longer. But it was progressing as it all should. Barely even needed to intervene after that, these new peoples would do the rest of the splitting. And they did, too.

You’re wondering now why the Surveyor is so adamant. Why these splits must happen. Maybe things can’t restart properly if the balance is off. Maybe one giant amalgam of everything, biased to one side, to itself, a lattice or a blob rather than the dust it ought to be, just ain’t something you can start again with. Maybe it’ll be predictable if it’s done anyways, if it can be done at all. But we don’t know. All we know is, that’s how the Severing Surveyor works.

[1]I took care to keep the older versions of these tales and their scraps for this, and while their date was entirely uncertain those passages that alluded to spirit were entirely speculative, indicating this was before the Subterraneum made it clear such things exist. Mainly when they have nowhere to go.
[2]Soldiers of the Resurgent Hive (SRH) material actively used the word “rawark” for this, the Pact’s word for (life) cycle, and took the bother to add an immediate translation, as if to directly aim the following refutation. Every other source I found simply used the Shumhaq word.
[3]Here, terminology differs between regular and One-Hiver sources. The former uses the word “Nasharuq”, an old word descended from one of many terms for “master (crafter)”, which spawned a verb for “supervise, for approval or denial” and got retroactively altered in turn. The latter explicitly use “Druvhryk”, the word for “headsman (executioner)”. On a less charged note, all versions referred to the entity by name every time, going out of their way to avoid pronouns, and so I’ve replicated the effect here.
[4]All direct examples from the sources I had, but I had to trim them down significantly, as most of them used several more, not all of them especially functional in my eyes. SRH materials on the matter (from which I took the middle example of mother and child) seemed to delight in elaboration here, with some bitter undercurrents I didn’t find proper to include.
[5]The tone used in this and the following segment was one I tried to balance, between the stories from Shumhaq historians often taking a tone either awed or even triumphant, and those from the SRH who seemed to twist it into some manner of injustice. Not a tragedy, but seemingly something to resent the culprit for.

-Excerpt from “Who is the Lord Below? A Treatise on the Radiant and Cthonic”, authored by ‘the Ever-Restless Nirrhamidh’ (assumed pseudonym; author not yet identified and under active investigation)

Target is believed to be in the Western side of the Lusterhills. A token force is to accompany the Tracker to facilitate apprehension, though they must be informed to prioritize mobility over protection, as the target is believed to be alone and highly mobile. After capture, the target is to be brought in alive for trial. Recommendation to set off as quickly as possible to minimize possibilities of escape.

It had all gone completely, utterly wrong.

It had been going wrong for months already, but only now could Qarretzu see it. In the moment, they hadn’t even come close to considering signing into the Legionary Exchange would’ve led to getting marched across these rolling hills of stone so flat it almost seemed polished, but there you had it. Looking back, starting their stint by having an altercation with another Legionnaire, let alone with the quartermaster and the… higher up that defended him, could barely remember that one’s rank, had to earn the Troxi a spot in someone’s shitlist. Even if they were right then and continue to be right.

But the trip from that, to asking to leave and being denied, to leaving anyways, to this bit? That was more of a blur. Hard to decide what they could’ve done differently there, would’ve meant mostly just… not being Qarretzu. Maybe, in the end, they really just weren’t cut to be in any kind of Legion. Even one away from the capital and all its crowds. And in the end, thinking they could even be one cost them what little they had, and this would be the last moment out in the open before they got imprisoned, slammed in together with a bunch of dangerous strangers, never to see the outside world again… not even this subterranean wilderness, let alone what laid so far away now.

The skink turned to their captors, one of them holding the leash to their neck like a damned animal. The Legionnaires were to be expected, at least, even if they seemed underprepared for the occasion. Almost insultingly so, barely an ounce of metal on them. Even for fellow Troxi, packing light as they usually did, they didn’t seem ready for an actual fight, which made the smug look they got in return from one of the five sting even worse. But their current, likely temporary “boss” was the bigger problem… Literally in fact. The Shumhaq that held the chain was barely taller than the skinks, but far wider, and far stockier, with an exoskeleton that was almost bulbous with what Qarretzu could only assume was muscle, not knowing what exactly Hive sorts had for muscle. But with massive pincers like hers, and that stinging tail in the back that could stab right through their chest, it was clear she had plenty of it, neatly packed in a shell of pitch black chitin…

…And she caught her looking, with those compound eyes shifting their tones into the best impression of a scowl. The sandhusk twisted the pincer that held their chain, giving them a sudden yank that forced them to stumble closer, and almost fall. “Whatever you’re thinking of, don’t”, she warned, before taking the lead once more with the other five – two of them giggling – trailing behind. Couldn’t even get one glance past this… tracker of theirs, could they?

It would only keep going downhill from this moment forward, where they’d miss these limestone hills, wouldn’t it? Just because they might be the last bit of the outside world the Troxi ever sees before being locked away for desertion, somewhere in… It didn’t matter where. Somewhere in the Gyre, with dust creeping through the bars being the only thing to remind them that there’s still a Subterraneum out there. Damn it all…

Nothing else to do but march. And look about with wide open eyes, trying not to tear up so these last visions would be as clear as possible. Something to remember in the dark. These windswept limestone hills – or were they swept by rain instead? It had to be both, there were creeks cutting deep into the stone, carving their way in through the years and making slopes and even little cliffsides in the process. The group was walking right next to the top of one such little cliffside, and if they looked at the bottom, past this flat of stone that almost shined, they could see the tiniest stream of running water, glistening under the meager light of their lamps…

…with two fairly large figures – comparatively speaking – right next to it.

Qarretzu blinked, then immediately faced forwards, only side-eyeing the two at the bottom. It wouldn’t do to be spotted this time, these captors were impatient as it was, but they had to make sure this was at least a possibility. Even the most remote. They were neither Troxi nor Shumhaq; rather, they looked like some very distant strangers indeed, an olm and a shard-badger, with the former seemingly fetching water off the creek. But they’d need to lean in to get a better look, as they were all passing right over those two…

They heard the chain on their neck jangle, maybe from a single misstep, a simple error in coordination. It should’ve been minor, but under their watchful eyes, and in this moment where they’d gotten distracted again, having no idea there were people down there? With both danger and opportunity opening at the exact same time? When this may be the last chance they get to be anything other than a prisoner? They didn’t even think about it.

And so, feigning a stumble, and yanking the chain as hard as they could manage to get it off the husk’s distracted grasp – successfully, thank the Lords – Qarretzu sent themselves soaring off the little cliff, cried out well past the edge of it, and braced for impact, hoping not to hit their head, but knowing either way they’d land right next to these two strangers. Nothing left to do but hope-

And, as they found out upon contact with the ground – thanks to a very audible crack somewhere within – try very, very hard not to scream. Easier said than done, of course, all they could do was limit it to several seconds of agonized groan, twisting in place as the other two just stared at the suffering skink before them. Several seconds of silence, with the Toskar raising one webbed finger as if to say something, but not finding the words for a stranger that had just fallen on them out of nowhere, and was squirming in pain right before them, unable to say anything.

Right, damn it, they needed to actually say something, even just one word! With some effort, they twisted themselves onto their back to actually see the two, getting a better look at them – and a better feeling of where the pain was coming from at that – while taking a sharp breath and holding it, trying to focus…

What they saw was some good news at least: Neither of these two looked like they had official business of any kind. No badges, no uniforms, weathered clothing, really mismatched species… Hell, even individually they didn’t look the part. By the glasses and the tunic with the fancy color, the Ifchi might’ve had money or status, once, but by the wear and tear on both that was probably in the past. And the Toskar was straight-up wearing a patchwork of different armor pieces, kludged together for coherence in a way their eye couldn’t miss; even accounting for his unusual size wouldn’t lead to that kind of improvisation if he was being backed by anyone. He could well be just like Qarretzu, another soldier on the run!

But when the time came to release that breath, they jolted at the distant sound of falling pebbles, quickly turning back towards the sound – before the flash of pain that followed nearly made them go limp. Yet even now, out the corner of the eye, the skink saw a distinctly arachnid figure crawling down towards the creek over a distant passage to make her way towards them. They couldn’t see the other five, but they had to be coming right along, too. Damn it, they hadn’t seen that passage! Misfortune to go with the fortune of these two being there, but…

All this skink could do was turn back to the badger and olm, wincing, and hiss out through battered lungs: “Help me…!”

Both of them looked at each other; the Toskar looked more baffled than anything, but the Ifchi seemed concerned, almost like she’d been threatened; she glanced around, and when her eyes focused up the creek and spotted Qarretzu’s pursuers, seemingly relaxed, as if expecting something bigger. Promising, perhaps? Or was she just resigning herself…? “Just our luck, isn’t it, Askalim?”, she finally said in a low, refined tone – confirming the skink’s guess – with more irony than any fear or irritation. No fear, that was a good sign! Hopefully…!

The badger’s response was to step forwards, in front of her, and in front of them in turn, sparing the skink a disbelieving, slightly irritated glance. As if he still couldn’t convince himself this entire situation had just fallen on him out of seemingly nowhere… They could apologize for imposing later, when they weren’t about to get locked away. If this worked, at least, but even if it didn’t, they tried, and that had to count for something. It’d be all they’d have left by then…

Still, soon as the Toskar stepped forwards – with a stride suggesting they would’ve gotten shoved aside if they dared stand up – and crossed his bulging arms, the Ifchi was there, right behind him with fingers tented, and gills flared… It was easier to get a better look at the two as they took up position, watching the approaching party with wariness, but no actual fear.
The former was big even by Toskar standards, for sure, and wearing this… patchwork of metal for an armor, that let some quills show at the back of his neck; young, but not that young. Still fluffed, with fur striped black and white- no, it was a light cyan almost like snow, still a strong contrast. Green, oddly piercing eyes, very judgemental from the look he shot at them. Experienced fighter, by the scars, but hard to tell if he had any formal experience or it was all… this kind of thing. He stood at the front with crossed arms, not reaching for the oversized, roughly-made axe at his side yet…
The latter, though? That one was intriguing. Finding Ifchi this close to the Great Dust Gyre was always an endeavor, but this one seemed straight from one of their big cities! At least some time ago, that wine-red dress had seen way better days. Intriguing palette, too: Violet eyes, scarlet gills, and a pitch-black body that abruptly turned white from the tail onwards. Qarretzu didn’t know olms came in those colors at all. And her attitude was interesting too: She looked more insulted than anything else, every movement practiced and filled with a worrying confidence…

And when they found themselves standing before the tracker and her five momentary cohorts, it almost seemed like it could go either way… But then again, the skink didn’t know the whole story. All they could do was let it play out, and perhaps steer it a little.

Of course, the tracker was the first to speak, crawling right ahead of the other five. “I’m going to request you hand over this Troxi you have. This one is a criminal, a cunning one. Don’t believe anything you’ve been told.” Opening strong, it seems, with a pointed glare at the “cunning criminal” in question.
But the Toskar just turned, staring long and hard at them with one raised eyebrow – the same eyebrow the Shumhaq could see – then turned back to her, just a little incredulous. “This one?”, he answered, clearly skeptical… making Qarretzu hope that was just a bit, they weren’t too bad a legionnaire, right?
One of the five in the back cut in, snickering: “Believe it or not! I guess when this one can’t cut it as an actual soldier he just had to go cutthroat instead!” And there it was. Neither a he nor a cut-throat, and already this smug little bitch was-
“Legion’s more of a ‘ranger’ thing than ‘soldier’, don’t you think? And I always thought this one looked more like a she.” Oh for Lords’ sake that one was wrong on both accounts too! Just had to sound all teacher-like about it, too! Getting caught was bad enough, but getting dragged back by these idiots-

A glance at the two wayward travelers stopped that thought in its tracks. The big guy seemed deep in thought, especially after a glance back at the “criminal”; seemed to want to hide something in his expression with that glance. Maybe they’d been right in thinking this was some kind of deserter too… But it was the Ifchi that stepped ahead. Looking serene, almost a little haughty in fact, and speaking with an impeccably polite tone: “If you wouldn’t mind, may I know what, exactly, is this one’s crime? In this state they’re in they barely even look like a common pickpocket, let alone some dangerous outlaw.” Great. While pointing out this ragged getup of theirs was useful, it was hardly any less embarrassing, even knowing there were good reasons for it, like being on the run for way too long for example.

“That isn’t your business, ma’am”, answered the tracker, who looked like she’d narrow her eyes if she had lids on them; the colors there very much looked the part. But she was glancing towards the other five as she said it, as if she wanted them to hear that instead of the olm.
And yet the little squad just couldn’t help it, and the giggliest one stepped forwards, shoving aside the pincer that tried to shush her. She was grinning as she spoke. “Cowardice! He fought his own more than he fought anyone else, and even that was just yelling matches!” They clenched one fist impotently at those words… Words twist even quicker than they spread.
Another one, shaking his head, stepped right in front of her – and right ahead of the tracker’s pincer as well, to clarify: “To be specific, the charges were dereliction of duty and insubordination. Not in that order of course.” Suppose that is the closest thing to true any of these five idiots have said.

Again, the “criminal”’s attention drifted back to the two, if only to stop looking at their fellow Troxi in the face. They were looking discreetly at each other, and side-eyeing Qarretzu in turn, muttering words to each other in a language they couldn’t recognize. Flighty, vowel-laden, they would’ve bet it was Ferigozi if they were a betting sort. Then the Toskar looked back at the five, directly at the five and at the last interlocutor in particular, with an unimpressed look. Then, he snorted audibly, and said: “Sounds like someone fucked it by signing this one up then. No one saw that coming? However many eyes over this in the Republics of all places and no one saw that one coming?” He even crossed his arms as he stood back with a sardonic grin… before glancing back at them for just a moment, a glance that came just in time before they could get more offended than they already were.

But it seemed this last pencil-pusher that’d decided to clarify was even more offended. Maybe the big guy really was a soldier. “Performance during testing and field performance are very different things, unlike what you’d believe, and just because this one couldn’t-”
That was as far as he got before the Shumhaq lunged like black lightning, crossing the distance in moments, to pinch that Troxi’s jaws shut with her inner pincers, the outer ones lingering menacingly to remind him to shut up lest he get them sheared off. The other four were startled, for sure, and even the two at Qarretzu’s side seemed a little put off. Faster than she looks, and they knew it, though at least the two found out without getting captured by her.

And yet, the tracker’s glare was directly fixed on the Toskar. Daring him to try something, her other pincer raised in the air. Her mandibles opened only to hiss out three words, low and furious: “Hand. Them. Over.”

A stand-off, then. If this was to end in Qarretzu’s favor, then this Toskar better be even more capable than he looked, because that match was rough enough as it was, and with five others… That, or the Ifchi better have something to surprise them. Either or. None of them was looking, though, so they took the moment to roll onto their belly, just in case they needed to scamper. But they couldn’t hold in the grunt of pain from landing right on a fracture, which made the Shumhaq turn to them-

Which was exactly the right distraction to provide, for the Ifchi to indeed prove she had a surprise for them, in the form of a blinding pillar of flame and heat that exploded from her hands and gills with but a single motion, blasting sideways into the six captors with a roar that drowned out every other sound. Ifchi could do that!? They’d heard of plenty of things they could move and control, but it was usually just water, and in less cataclysmic manners; this lady just went off on them like a volcano, so fast and hard they didn’t even hear the screams! Oh, no, wait, there they were. Very weak, barely a gurgle somewhere in the roaring of the flames, but there they were, as the silhouettes of the six were all that remained in the smoke, the smaller ones still ablaze and falling one by one, while the biggest one-

Lunged out of the flames, thoroughly singed and covered in crackling chitin, yet utterly furious, going right for the one that burned her. The olm was fast enough to flip her tail in front of her, trying to catch her pincers in thick flesh and bone that was presumably expendable – but not fast enough to pull her hands away from said tail before the pincers caught them alongside it. They could see them dig into her flesh, hear the cracking of bones big and small and a groan of contained pain that was slowly failing the “contained” part. They could witness, a moment in, what looked like digits falling off, leaking and covered in blood as the claws dug past them…

With the Toskar shoulder-slamming the tracker right off, raising his iron axe and burying it into the softened chitin of her chest, right where a bonier sort’s lungs would be. Driving it in deep, as deep as he could, until the blade just snapped off its shaft and was left in place.

As Qarretzu scampered through the chaos for something, anything to do, they kept the fight in the corner of their eye as it proceeded. The wounded olm, doing her best to stop her own bleeding with mutilated hands. The sandhusk throwing herself at her new opponent, trying to stab him with her tail only to find the heat had softened her stinger until it bent it half against his helm. The ensuing struggle as she went for him anyhow, trying to grab him with her pincers only to get both caught on the shaft of his broken axe. And all the while, they scampered through the scorched remains of the five legionnaires that thought this would barely need any preparation, as the two fought it out…

Finding the burning remains of the affronted one, the one that apparently made Qarretzu worth saving, they found a spear to his back… A softened spear whose shaft had bent on impact with the ground. Wouldn’t do, especially with an upper half still very much ablaze making it hard to retrieve. When they glanced back to see if they still had time, the olm was backing up towards the water, and the Toskar was trying to bend the shaft upwards and around, perhaps attempting to trap both his enemy’s pincers in one place. Yep, still time.

On they went, as the adrenaline of another’s battle let them keep going in spite of the fall. Already they could see none of the other four had survived the blast either – and if they did, would’ve preferred not to – leaving them ripe for looting whatever was left… which wasn’t much, clearly. The bitchy one had gotten it especially bad, and they couldn’t tell if she had even brought a weapon along or not. It was all just a heap of ashes and burnt bones. Darn it.
Then, a sharp sound from the fight; they, and they saw the handle had either been snapped or shorn in half, leaving a rough cut as the Shumhaq grappled with the Toskar, one pincer on his helmet and the other on his wrist.

Clearly, they needed to hurry, and so they did. Scurrying towards the one with the teacher-esque voice, they found that one’s body was mostly spared, catching just the head and shoulders. Obviously not nearly enough to survive, but enough to hope for something as they turned the corpse around… And found it was their lucky day: A repeater rifle, strapped to the back, with only the tip anywhere near affected by the heat! Truly fortunate, especially when it was perfectly possible for the ammunition inside, or anywhere else on this unlucky casualty’s clothes, might’ve cooked off just from being too close by. They took it right off, and started checking if it was loaded, pausing only to check on the tactical situation: The tracker couldn’t quite clamp on the badger’s helmet, trying again and again to grasp it, but could try and crush his wrist, undeterred as he stabbed her with the broken shaft again, and again, and again. Even breaking past the chitin and digging it in as deep as he could wasn’t stopping her…

Focus. A quick inspection into the chamber, and they found there was indeed one round. But was it the only round in there? A quick check of the magazine, as fast as they could manage, showed there was at least one other, but before they could even turn it around to look deeper, they heard a scream. Their hands busied themselves with putting the magazine back in and working the whole mess back together, as they watched the Shumhaq finally gain some purchase on his helm – and his head – and start squeezing. He let go of his half of the iron handle, immediately trying to yank that pincer off his head, failing to do so, while his other hand was busy getting its wrist crunched, little by little, held away from it all. And even as the quills on the back of his head started emitting little sparks of light, and she saw tiny puffs of smoke rise from the tracker, she was undeterred. She’d crack his skull open, right in front of his wounded partner. Just needed to get through the helmet first…

So Qarretzu did not allow it. They threw themselves back against the nearest boulder with an agonized grunt, bracing their back to it and hefting the rifle into position, just as they had before it all went to hell. Just as they had well before they even signed up for what would become perdition – if they missed this shot. One hand on the grip, another on the trigger, flicking the safety off, cocking their head on their side to set their gaze upon the sights, and the round, compound target right behind them, tilt the thing a little to compensate for the scorched barrel-tip…

BLAM

The first thing they noticed is that the thing had one hell of a kick, even more than its size would suggest. It cut right through the adrenaline to make those fractures hurt all over again, to the point it was hard for Qarretzu to keep their eyes open… And yet, they did, to notice a second thing: Their shot was right on the mark. The tracker’s vice grip was broken, and both pincers were busy trying to hold in the sudden, searing pain of having an entire “eye” blown right off her face, ichor leaking down her forearms. The Toskar backed away immediately, and started pulling off his helmet almost desperately, staining his own hands with blood in the process…

Then she turned her head back towards the Troxi that just shot her, glaring as best as one compound eye could. “YOU…”, she began, rumbling like an incoming avalanche as she swiveled on the spot, showing her scorched, cleaved and gouged front. “They said they wanted you alive, but they won’t need *any of your limbs.*” Then, she ducked low to the ground, one claw in front of her face and the other held high. A massive target, but an armored one, and as far as they knew they might only have one shot to take down this plated behemoth with no clear weak spo-

And as she lunged one more time, the Troxi realized there was a clear weak spot. Under the pressure of actual battle, and their adrenaline spiking, all they could do was rely on their reflexes, lower their aim, and fire at it.

BLAM

The bullet shot across the creek in a cloud of smoke and fire, towards its chitinous target, this oversized tank of a Shumhaq. One bullet would not be enough to stop her, not if it was forced to crack her plating; there wouldn’t be enough left in it to give her pause… Unless, of course, it found an opening in it. And of course, the Toskar had been so kind as to carve one out himself with the remains of his axe.

And so, it went right in there, plunging right into the flesh beneath in a splatter of ichor. The tracker seized, tripping and falling as her legs failed her momentarily, and held one pincer to the wound, and another to the middle of her chest. She started scraping it, inner pincers jabbing into her exoskeleton as if they could find the bullet that had gone so deep in and refused to come out, not even through the other side. And, after a gurgle and a spatter of blue through her mandibles, the Shumhaq just crumbled, limp as an unstrung puppet.

Then, silence. Nothing but quiet, groaning breathing and the whispers of the creek that flowed in their midst. But they were alive… as far as they knew, they were alive.

The Ifchi was the first to break the silence, her voice pained, yet utterly sardonic: “Those of you who yet live, please raise your hands. Or what’s left of them.” And to go with it, she raised one hand herself… One bloodied, utterly mangled hand with only a thumb and an index left to it, though one that was at least not bleeding anymore. The Toskar followed, raising a far more intact claw – though a glance at the pincered wrist it was on made Qarretzu wince. Still, live they did, and so they finally raised their own hand – showing their own bloody injury, an abrasion on their elbow taken during the fall. They were lucky the damn thing didn’t snap backwards.

She raised her brow at the sights before her. “Mm. Better than I expected for how that was going. Definitely nothing permanent”.
The Troxi finally found some words, now that they’d settled with their injuries and heard something that they couldn’t let pass. “P-permanent…? But your hands…!”
She turned to face them, unfazed. “This?”, she asked, raising them both before her, showing the other hand was in an even worse state. “I’m Ifchi. This’ll grow back”, she said, before smirking and pointing with the index she had left at the scorched scatter of five, just to add: “That won’t.”
“I didn’t know-” was as far as Qarretzu got before coughing up and groaning in pain. No bloodstain on their hands, thankfully.
The Toskar held his head in both hands, wiping traces of blood from his temples. “Ush, just because you can grow those back doesn’t mean you should just shrug it off. We ought to get back to camp now. We got Vi and Zee this time, but we gotta see ‘em.”
“Ush” looked at her mangled digits once more, and sighed. She’d had it worst and still she seemed far less bothered than him… Or them, for that matter. “Suppose we should, this was only meant to be a water run after all. They had to hear that. She’ll be… less than happy about it all.”
“Eh, maybe not. We made it through, we got the water, and we got a surprise.” Wait, surprise? What did he mean by that? Were they the surprise!?
The Ifchi turned to look at them, catching that startled look, and smirking slightly. “Mm~. I’d say you and us haven’t agreed to a thing, but everything this husk here said sounded so typical. This was Askalim’s idea”.

Their big, slitted eyes drifted back to the water again, unfocusing. This was a jump off the frying pan, but had they landed on the fire, or not? Who were these two, anyhow? The other five got toasted without a thought while they got saved, so they weren’t gathering Troxi in particular, and they didn’t try to round everyone up, or run away, or hand them back over, so it couldn’t be… terrible. Not compared to prison, at the very least. And where would they even crawl if they were just left here? Lost, too close to the law for comfort, and without any food, not that they needed much…

Our of curiosity, they tried to get up, only to find themselves faceplanting on their looted rifle, groaning in a brief spike of agony. Their legs were still weak, and refused to keep them up. From this beaten position, they looked up almost pitifully, and mumbled: “...f-fine, b-but… what do you all even do…?”

“Askalim” was the one to go forwards, picking the skink up effortlessly – and a little painfully – and hefting them into his arms, while putting the rifle away on his pack. Seems that was theirs now, hopefully they could get the barrel fixed somehow… Nevertheless, he answered: “Little bit of everything by now. It started at just a little border-jumping, sneaking goods around where the law wouldn’t see them, but then Vi joined in and we stretched a bit towards bounties, and then things went from there.”
“Ush” joined up with him in turn as they started to walk downstream, keeping her tail above the ground. “Not so much, it’s still almost wholly smuggling, we simply range further than most. In both work and territory.”
“D-did you say territory…?” Qarretzu piped up, suppressing a cough. Smuggling… that was manageable, suppose they already were an outlaw just by existing, but did these people get to wander far? Did they get to see the lands, like the Troxi once intended…?
The Toskar smirked. He motioned with one claw, as if outstretching a map, as he replied. “Been all over the caverns. Never thought I’d see the Hollow-Lands, yet soon as I started there I was.”
The Ifchi leaned in, adjusting her glasses with the one finger she could use for it. “In fact, I believe Ziv wanted to take us Southwest after this. And we just came out of the Gyre, we didn’t have to spend long in there this time. Thankfully.”

All over the caverns… the words rang in their head. This would be a tough living, alright, but they’d barely need to see a city again. Or rather, not the same city all the time, every time. And if they wandered from nation to nation, place to place, cavern to cavern? If they could see it all in time, and all they had to do was play their part, and maybe actually take a shot every once in a while?

“...s-sold. I’m sold. That shot was a good resume, right?” They could only hope so, it did at least cut down on their injuries, if not save them outright.
“You mean both shots”, the Ifchi replied with a raised brow and a smirk. “Close as I am with Ziv, I dare say in her behalf, it was well above expectations.”
The Toskar nodded, and spoke, though in a far more serious tone. “They were gonna squander you, little fella, just like I got squandered. I know what you were getting thrown into, I’ve been there.”
“...d-don’t have to s-sell me further on it.” They allowed themselves a smile, the first one in a long while… and decided, after this all, they may as well. “...since we’re in this… my name’s Qarretzu. N-nice to meet you two… a-and thank you. T-thank you so much”.
“Might do well to rest your voice for a while, Qarretzu, you may have struck a rib. But the pleasure is mine. Call me Usherrimi.” The olm offered a smile of her own, warmer and less barbed than the last few.
“Askalim’s mine. Welcome aboard, feel comfortable saying that. Just try not to move much on the way, we’ll get ourselves fixed up”. The Toskar was powering through his own wounds fairly well, though perhaps they were not quite as terrible. Then again, maybe these two were just used to this.

Nevertheless, they stilled on his advice, moving only their head as the now-trio made their way towards the camp, letting this Askalim wade through this creek that had saved their life. With water glistening in the light, meandering across the limestone and pooling here and there…

Out of curiosity, lowered their gaze towards one of the stilled pools at the side of the creek, illuminated by the meager lamps they had… It was just a quick glimpse in an imperfect mirror, but all the colors they knew were still there; dark green for the back, the dulled cyan for the neck, chin and underbelly, that bright, feathered crest, with its bright turquoise no amount of dust and grime could cut through, and those big, slitted blue eyes, just as the day they set off… and just as the day they last looked in a mirror, right before all of this. Still them, all in all. In spite of being a criminal now, from the looks of it… Still the same bright-eyed Troxi that wanted to see the caverns, and get away from the hurly-burly of the Republics and their crawling, overburdened cities. And in spite of everything, they might still get to do it after all.

…maybe all had only gone a little bit wrong.

Tracker Rhyvadush returned 39 hours after search parties were dispatched (due to failure to show up at appointed rendezvous). Immediate medical attention required and provided, still ongoing due to gravity of her injuries. Squad accompanying tracker confirmed lost from unexpected enemy action. The full transcript is in progress, but enough has been provided to begin immediate identification efforts, in order to find the target, the culprits and any links they may have to known organizations. Suggesting focus on the Ifchi pyromancer, as this combination is rare enough to significantly narrow possibilities.

Rhyvadush has sworn to collaborate in any and all future efforts to find this particular target, as well as the culprits and associates.

(From the archives again, this time more a lorefile than a story. But I would prefer to rescue this one quickly for the sake of clarity in the future. I will be linking back here often.)

So, if you've been following me for any length of time, been keeping up with certain writing prompt accounts, or generally just stumbled onto the things I've been writing that have the Subterraneum_(Yutzen), you may have a variety of questions. Mostly ones like "the fuck's an Ifchi".

In the interest of giving folks ~~and also myself~~ a reference for the more appearance-based or species-related questions, and keeping track of general biology and capacities, here's a quick (by my standards) primer on each of the Subterraneum's major sentient species. Arranged in no particular order, with names (formal and very informal), basic measures and some elaboration on their looks, anatomy and more esoteric capacities, if any are involved. I will get to elaboration on their nations' actual setups on some other primer in the future, hopefully.

Included is also a quick, but probably necessary introduction on the "magic system" (for lack of better terms) in the Subterraneum, intentionally vague as it may be. The stuff goes deep enough to be biologically important after all.

Anyhow, here goes, hope it helps! And I apologize if any numbers seem ridiculous, which they'll probably be. Feel free to correct me but also physics are a little weird down there.

A NOTE ON AFFINITIES AND AMBIENT ENERGIES: It’s not just creatures that enter the Subterraneum through its various Exits. Ambient energies, background fields and other phenomena have been leaking through the rock for centuries on end, and the ever-present Radiance has blended them together over time into an uneven backdrop of strange, unrelated and even contradictory essences. The residents of the caverns have been affected by these background fields, and have changed to attune to and manipulate them in turn, with varying amounts of success.

The so-called “elemental” energies tend to manifest strongly and directly, by infused terrains and by the various species alike; whether this is part of how the elements work or an interaction (if not direct “preference”) from the Radiance it’s mixed with is unknown. Nevertheless, each of the usual species can often manifest such energies in their own unique ways, and individuals often show shockingly different affinities, even within the same species. Affinities with the Radiance itself vary similarly, though not one species can be said to be untouched by it.

It bears mentioning that the Radiance often interferes with other energies even in the midst of manipulation, adding a dose of unpredictability to the results. Those that can harness this, and tap into the Radiance’s unique metaphysical properties, can reach what is known as one of the ill-understood Sparks: Manipulation of a given element or property that actively, though selectively, breaches specific rules that usually govern it, reaching into metaphysical and sometimes even semantic territory.

Ifchi/Olms

(Singular and Plural are both Ifchi)
Average height: ~1.65 m, with length (including tail) closer to 2.2 m
Average weight: ~75 Kg (including tail)
Description: In truth they’re hardly olms, as most of their traits are closer to axolotls, down to the color variations; it varies on a spectrum, as stories tell of them being two species once that merged together post-arrival with Radiance-granted ease, leaving axolotl traits as dominant - though olm traits have been known to assert themselves in old age. Bipedal, slimy and damp at all times when healthy. They have four-fingered, nail-less hands with little strength, wiry limbs made more for quick movements than strength, and large, paddle-like tails that drag across the ground and let them swim faster than they can run. They have the expected branching frills, growing with age until they sag and droop during older ages; in especially ancient individuals they can even touch the floor. These frills can be a whole spectrum of colors themselves, too, solid but highly variable. The color tends to indicate affinity to ambient fields and energie, for these frills can sense, connect to and work as a focus when manipulating the ambient energies in a given area, Radiant or otherwise. As a result, “spellcasters” are widespread among the species, and their their manipulation of ambient fields oft takes highly recognizable, obvious forms, usually one-off high energy movements that do plenty, but don’t last long.

Ferigozi/Shard Moles

(Singular and plural are both Ferigozi)
Average Height: ~1.4 m
Average Weight: ~70 Kg, mostly (but not entirely) muscle
Description: Stout and bulky creatures on short hindlegs, with powerful forearms and hands bearing oversized claws that can crack solid stone. They have beady eyes and elongated, sensitive snouts that in some strains have extra-sensitive “whiskers” like star-nosed moles do, while others have more proper whiskers running along their snouts. Their eye-sight is lacking even by Subterraneum standards, but they have excellent senses for vibrations in the area, even minor shifts in the breeze. Early in their lifetimes they are almost entirely mole-like, with short, dense and very smooth fur in shades of brown and black; as they age, however, they start developing interlocking chitinous plates like pangolins do, reaching full tesselating coverage around middle-age. Their underbellies always remain furred, however, sometimes necessitating protection. Affinities with ambient energies are limited, and concentrated almost entirely in hands and claws, moving limited amounts of energy with very high precision. Given time and skill, however, Ferigozi can learn to infuse any and all materials with higher concentrations of a chosen ambient energy, with great control over the way they manifest into the material in question; such concentrations can take decades to dilute with a reasonably skilled practitioner.

Bannerbound/Hobgremlins

(Bannerbound works for both singular and plural)
Average height: ~1.7 m, though Bannerbound fluctuations are an exercise on why averages are more useless than you'd think
Average weight: ~70 Kg, with the same warning as above
Description: It’s theorized they started as an abundance of species rather than just one, and that the Subterraneum’s effects merged them into one; with the sheer variance in their forms, this is both likely and near-impossible to actually prove. They are the single most Radiance-susceptible species in the Subterraneum, displaying the changes of excess exposure even during early stages in their lives and going from there even when hardly exposed further. The basic and initial framework would be called humanoid, if the Subterraneum knew humans, ones with glowing eyes all over the spectrum and whose “skin” tends towards single, solid hues; beyond that everything from skin colors and hair to internal anatomy can vary depending on the individual and their affinities. Even things as basic as number and nature of limbs can vary in especially attuned Bannerbound. Their cultural imperative to hide their bodies under multiple layers of garments and secretiveness about their bodies does not help either. This extends into their interaction with ambient energies as well: They are attuned enough to the Radiance that they can infuse specific actions and even creations with the capacity to stretch, and even breach, specific principles and laws. They also have easier access to the Sparks than most other species in the Subterraneum, though their affinities with non-Radiance energies tend to be lower than usual.

Korves/Deep-Crows

(Singular Korve)
Average height: ~2.2 m
Average wingspan: ~4.7 m
Average weight: ~55 Kg
Description: Unquestionable corvids, barely straightened from a theropod stance. Tall, black-feathered and with tough beaks (and necks) that can crack flarewood with a peck. Their eyes are solid in color, often red or yellow, but highly variable in number; anywhere from one to six have been observed, often arranged asymmetrically. By themselves, Korves lack fingers on their wings, with the closest being the dexterous talons they stand on; unusually for the Subterraneum, such growths never came to pass, leaving the limbs only useful for flight and stunning blows. In theory, and in times past, they’ve made do with their legs for tasks requiring fine motor skills, but the species-wide symbiosis with otherwise infectious fungal species in the Valley have given them options: Korves are especially compatible with mycotic infiltration and growths, resisting most harmful effects and taking particular control of the species’ unique structures to the point of commanding its growth and movement. Often inoculated as hatchlings, even the most average Korve can grow finger-like protrusions at the end of their wings that can manipulate objects with a slow, but certain and powerful grip. Other such manipulations have been observed, from carved and immobile growths to whipping tendrils and all in-between, and in rare cases even modification of the symbiote with ambient energies. All this is available to a skilled and willful Korve – so long as their ravenous combined appetite remains sated at all times.

Chelies/Swallows

(Singular Cheli)
Average height: ~1.2 m
Average wingspan: ~2.5 m
Average weight: ~30 Kg
Description: While clearly avians, Chelies are more anthropomorphic (and smaller in all aspects) than the Korves, standing more directly upright. Their wings are thin and thickly-feathered, with flat, claw-like growths on the inside of the wingtip that can grasp like hands would and still fold back into the wing to keep its shape aerodynamic. In addition, they have a similarly bony, though much thicker spur closer to the base of each wing, naturally sharp and often given further edge by the Chelies themselves. Between that, their raptor-like talons and beaks that have lengthened and sharpened with generations, their resemblance to actual swallows nowadays is dubious – though they still retain their red and blue plumage, even thicker and more intensely colorful than ever before. Their need for flight has given them strong, though wiry musculature that grants them speed and agility alike, showing less maneuverability but greater speed than Vezarym in the air. Unlike the Vez – and most Subterraneum species at that – Chelies have excellent eyesight, both close up and at a distance, able to pick out details and movement even in the most spore-choked of caverns. When it comes to ambient energies, they seem entirely unable to affect inorganic materials, or themselves for that matter: Every effect they can induce through their claws and spurs is a “slow burn” applied to other living beings. This is most often applied in their well-known fungal gardens, manipulating otherwise mundane species into something else entirely.

Troxi/Quillskinks

(Singular and plural are both Troxi)
Average height: 1.3 m, with length including tail closer to 2.1 m
Average weight: ~45 kg (including tail)
Description: Skinks is not necessarily the right term, they have too many hints of theropod (and maybe even kobold) in them to truly call them such, but they are reptiles nonetheless. Troxi always have long, whip-like tails that can be shed and regrown, almost always longer than the rest of their bodies, their eyes have invariably slit pupils, and their scales are always in patterns of three different colors. As a norm, their bodies and limbs are toned and slender, with small, yet rough scales. However, this is but a guideline: Variations and mutations – scarce at first, yet reliably transmissible unlike Bannerbound alterations – have made themselves present startlingly quickly, putting the species in biological flux since the establishment of the Republics proper. It’s speculated this is the same process of accelerated “evolution” that affected all previous dwellers, though all projections hint that it’s happening far faster than expected, for unknown and oft-speculated reasons. Whatever the truth may be, Troxi can be seen with different scale patterns and types, spikes along their sides, variable tongues, among many other possibilities. The newest generations even exhibit one uniform change in comparison to their forebears: The emergence of a pattern of colorful feathers along the ridge of their backs, never equal between Troxi yet always present. It’s this newest alteration to the species that’s given them their informal (and sometimes unwanted) nickname.

Shumhaq/Sandhusks

(Singular and plural remain the same)
Average height: ~0.9 m (length including tail is closer to 2.1 m)
Average weight: ~85 kg
Description: Semi-upright arthropods like the rest of their “family”, Shumhaq are closer to arachnids than insects, and closer to scorpions than spiders in that regard; they are the tallest of the Hive members, with the hardest exoskeletons as well. Their framework varies relatively little compared to other Subterraneum species: Six strong, chitinous legs their bulbous, armored abdomens stand on, a scorpion tail that stretches back complete with a sharp stinger, and an upright, armored half with an eighteen-eyed head with grinding chelicerae. Their grasping limbs are “concentric” pincers, with a large, crushing pair surrounding a smaller, more dexterous set of pincers that fit neatly within sockets at the base. Their stingers secrete toxins, with variable but powerful effects that can be affected by the infusion of ambient energies – the only manipulation of such Shumhaq appear capable of – which change how they affect biology and even inanimate materials. Much like other Hive members, they have different castes, but they vary very little in comparison, simply altering their anatomical proportions; mostly, their stingers and their claws tend to be inversely correlated in size. Shumhaq as a whole are, in fact, particularly hardened against any altering and mutating effects, whether Radiance-related or not – it is suspected their genetic sequences and general anatomy have “hardened” in response to such exposure to the point of “burning out” any capacity for further change.

Syhaq/Candlebees

(Singular and plural remain the same)
Average height: ~0.7 m (length is closer to 1.8 m)
Average wingspan: ~2 m
Average weight: ~60 Kg, though often heavier thanks to wax production
Description: Semi-upright arthropods like the rest of their “family”, Syhaq are undoubtedly bee-like in look and physiognomy; they are the shortest of the Hive members, and often the portliest. They all have iridescent wings, fuzzy, stout abdomens striped in black and white, four furred legs to bear their weight, and four-fingered hands at the end of two chitinous limbs, as well as oversized compound eyes with unusual white bioluminiscence. Their antennae are often thick and a foot long at minimum, and the main source of the beeswax Syhaq are known for: They’re used to both secrete the substance in significant amounts, sculpt it as it goes, and even infuse it with varied elemental energies that create different “recipes” with very different properties. This is far from the only place this wax comes from, however; their entire bodies are almost always covered in the stuff, clumping together if not groomed, and in certain overproductive castes they often form stiff “tendrils” (much like planthopper nymphs) that the Syhaq can sculpt to their leisure for different purposes. Another anatomical matter that depends on the caste is the presence of a stinger; not all of them have one, and in those that do its effects can vary from a simple, empty stabbing weapon to an injector of powerful paralytic toxins.

Zivhaq/Flayer Bugs

(Singular and plural remain the same)
Average height: ~1 m (length is closer to 2.7 m)
Average weight: ~45 Kg
Description: Semi-upright arthropods like the rest of their “family”, Zivhaq are the longest, slimmest and most anatomically complicated of the Hive members, most resembling a blend of centipede and praying mantis. Their elongated, wingless abdomens stand upon dozens of long, sharp legs that stop abruptly once the thorax begins – from there, four more limbs sprout, two of which end in four-fingered hands while the uppermost pair ends in sharp, scythe-like extremities that can be tucked almost completely into their bodies. Their faces have flat compound eyes, elongated, flexible chelicerae and long antennae that split apart into multiple shifting protrusions. The entirety of their frame is highly flexible, and Zivhaq have a highly developed kinesthetic sense that gives them excellent control of it. They can squirm through gaps mere inches in diameter, curl themselves up tightly and stretch their own limbs to almost twice their size. This combination is the result of unique adaptations for the sake of disguising themselves as other species: Zivhaq gain their nickname by the capacity to use discarded exoskeletons, pelts and actual skin of other creatures to impersonate them, by crawling and puppeteering such exteriors with their abundant extremities and highly flexible vocal apparatus. Such capacities have naturally pushed them to the fringes from the expected paranoia, making their societies highly secretive. This has made the deeper details of their anatomy, including any ambient energy manipulation, very difficult to publicly discern.

Nirhaq/Longbrook’s Moths

(Singular and plural remain the same)
Average height: ~0.8 m (length is closer to 1.8)
Average wingspan: ~3.5 m
Average weight: ~25 Kg
Description: Semi-upright arthropods like the rest of their “family”, Nirhaq are entirely lepidopteran, closest to moths but still bearing elements of butterflies when it comes to their wings; their anatomies are the most enigmatic of the Hive members, with little study in comparison to the others. Standing upon four fluffy legs, with elongated and thickly-furred abdomens, and six-fingered hands at the end of two fuzzy limbs at their thorax, they tend towards darker colors in both fur and chitin. They have large, compound eyes that shine in the dark with elaborate patterns, curled antennae that twitch and twist, and dexterous proboscii with tiny chelicerae at the end that can slowly snip off solid food. The most intriguing part of their anatomies is their wings: Moth-like or butterfly-like, with the occasional merge of transparencies and opacities between them, they always bear elaborate patterns that shift at the Nirhaq’s will, and have a variety of instinctual displays seemingly kept in their “genetic” memory, which can be expanded further through learning. It is here that their intrigue lies: These Hive members have instinctive access to a variety of supernatural symbology and “languages” that bypass mental filters on perception and directly “tell” the brain to perceive certain things, imposing audiovisual illusions over their forms that are partially at the Nirhaq’s control. This makes them the most secretive of the Hive members, often passing themselves as citizens of other species throughout their lives.

Vezarym/Thrumhorn Bats

(Vezarym works for both singular and plural)
Average height: ~2.4 m
Average wingspan: ~5.5 m
Average weight: ~45 Kg
Description: Tall, slender chiropterans with enormous wingspan and powerful footclaws, graceful in flight and upside-down yet always hunched by the weight of their wings when standing upright. They have arms beneath their wings, an additional pair of limbs with vestigial membranes of their own to aid in steering, and actual (if delicate) hands. Their snouts are closer to fruit bats, though unusual protrusions from their noses are very common, and their needled fangs work on meat and mushroom alike. Their eyesight is decent, but very short, aided by their bioluminescent eyes (usually but not always yellow) when it comes to perceiving what’s right in front of them, but falling off mere meters away. Vezarym have appropriately huge ears with “concentric” growths within that seemingly aid in focusing sound, aiding their pin-point echolocation alongside their powerful lungs and bony throat ridges that serve as both amplifiers and protection. Sitting between their ears are short horns shaped like a lyre, that thrum with sound both emitted and received – this is believed to aid in both echolocation and regular listening, but it’s theorized they are also fundamental in ambient energy perception and manipulation. Said manipulation is always subtle, never forceful, seemingly resonating and either amplifying or dampening a given element (or several) in the area, with stronger effects when working together: Multiple harmonizing Vezarym can completely shift a place’s elemental alignment for however long their ‘song’ lasts.

Toskars/Shard Badgers

(singular Toskar)
Average height: ~1.9 m
Average weight: ~120 Kg
Description: Heavyset creatures, taller than the Ferigozi while keeping similar (initial) musculature. Their tough and unruly fur is always vertically striped, often black and white, though there are some who can have very light cyan and/or deep, dark blue instead. They have somewhat oversized hands and feet on relatively short, though muscular limbs, with tough (though blunt) claws upon all digits. Toskars are not wholly badgers, and even in their early lives they show some seal-like traits like webbing between their fingers and a layer of insulating fat under their hides. With age, their fur grows thicker and tougher still – with time, the fur on their backs starts to harden into chitinous, sharpened quills that bristle when the Toskar feels tense or threatened. More pinniped traits start manifesting more intensely as well, with males and females alike growing further, bulking up and often growing thick, quilly mustaches; some select castes even develop small tusks where their fangs once were as they reach middle age. Their affinities with ambient energies rarely manifest more than a few inches outside of their bodies, with no clear focus organ or limb. Much like the Ferigozi, they can learn to infuse material with such energies, but such infusions rarely last beyond a few hours. However, they find the manipulation and infusion of energies within their own organic material much easier, letting skilled practitioners empower their bodies in unpredictable ways.

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From Dust to Dust
Off the Beaten Path
A Quick Biological Primer on Subterraneum Citizens

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From Dust to Dust

Off the Beaten Path

A Quick Biological Primer on Subterraneum Citizens