#arhulian

As a dam with the floodgates open, Zel'Vultet could feel the faint burning in their veins as their soul's luminescence scalded their vessel from within. It hurt. Although there was no physical need to breathe in the Iegumbra, they breathed in and out to give their vessel a rhythm to synchronize to. This point of light, as big as a marble, contained enough energy to break even the mightiest of steel-ships in half should it be manifested as raw destructive energy. In this state, it was naught but a harmless wisp.

The vessel takes the form of a large spherical or ovoid core enshrined is a cage of semi-metallic material that looks like a cross between grown wood and sculpted bone. The ship moves with no apparent propulsion. Most Arhulian ship's have a dominant direction of travel, though they can generate secondary thrust in any direction. This particular specimen is a few hundred meters long for the exterior structure, and the core of the vessel is a few dozen meters in diameter. These ships can travel in space via several methods from direct spacial translation (normal movement), Faster than light directional travel, translocation to a known point of space/beacon, and can shift between real space, and umbral space - a shadowy dimension that's a reflection of real space, but can almost never interact with directly.

The core is the central habitation part of vessel with itself containing a pocket dimension. Inside this pocket dimension is an area of habitation directly suited for Arhulians - often resembling a portion of their home world. Exact dimensional translations are not known, but the pocket dimensions can be anywhere from ten, to well over a hundred times what it's real space dimensions would suggest. The core acts as a physical anchor between the the pocket dimension and real space. While the superstructure largely serves as a focus for the vessel's real space capabilities such as propulsion or energy projection. The ability to directly manifest and channel energy can be a deadly surprise to other space faring civilizations who assume the vessel is defenseless from it's wiry and streamlined appearance.

The core is extremely dense and resilient to to physical damage. Unlike a lot of attempts to create pocket spaces with magic or technological means, the pocket of umbral space the core houses is self stable - should the core be destroyed - the interior space is unharmed and the vessel simply loses it's ability to shift in between dimensions or move. Being stranded until a new anchor is produced is a comparatively minor problem to have versus your mass detonating like antimatter because physics no longer exist and you spontaneously decompose with unimaginable violence.

The ship's superstructure looking like sculpted wood or carved bone is no coincidence. 'Arhdrargyrum' is the "living metal" that make up Arhulian bones, and physical tree-like structures. A Vessel that has it's Anchor destroyed can grow a new anchor in real space given enough time. Meanwhile powerful Arhulian psions can individually shift in and out of real space to bridge the gap.

Lore Nugget: My Arhulian is basking in the perpetual twilight of their home world. Their "sun" has a dark purple-black photosphere, thus most of their worlds light comes from their sun's corona, moon, and starlight.

The venerable Arhulian in the focus of the piece radiates psionic energy to the point they manifest a corona of their own (A halo to the layman). As well as portions of their fur are beginning to turn white in a process known as "star bleaching".

It would have been simple to terminate their sentry and slay each soldier in their sleep. But optimal was not on this Arhulians mind. They had watched it all from the distance, They had a vow to observe theriantropes quietly from a distance to avoid undue panic and fear. A vow they now regret adhering to so strictly. Although Vorandrus had no formal connection to the hamlet in the tundra, the remnants of the hamlet and its inhabitants, filled the Arhulian with a maternal rage. What was this decimation for? If there was no language barrier, the truth would have done nothing to extinguish the Arhulian's anger, perhaps even inflaming it all the more. The villagers had been reporting of "monsters" yet these soldiers took such offense to the contradiction of their state sponsored truth, these people were put to death to silence their dangerous ideas. After all, if monsters were real, a missing hamlet would be perfectly ordinary.

Three. Those would be the allotted witnesses. The other twenty-seven would be slain, and they would be made sure to see their end coming for them. The assault had started slow and conspicuous at first, to ensure this collection of soldiers could bring their full might to bear - so they may be confronted at their zenith, and struck down for an ever louder statement. Rifle bolts clicked into place. The Arhulian could sense the spatial position of the bones in their arms as each shot was readied. For a fifteen foot long beast, the Arhulian were a damned hard shot as they dashed, leapt into the air, and even bounced in between the trees. A lavender halo shimmered behind their head. Vorandrus' veins tingled, - stung even - as power coursed though their body. Unlike magic, this power came from within. The soul. This power fed into the vessel to overcome the physical limits of the body and pushed it beyond. The comparatively few shots that would find their mark would be hollow victories, for Vorandrus had no vital organs to hit, each punctured vein pinched itself shut, the flesh itself defiant to damage as solid wood.

The Arhulian forelegs had been morphed into scythes that slice flesh and bone with cold indifference. Every slash would render its quarry cleaved in twain, and every thrust impaled as deep as the Arhulian could reach. The strikes were as precise as they were devastating - each felled soldier had their brain or heart destroyed with each attack, sometimes both. Their deaths having swiftness equal to their ferocity was the only mercy afforded to them.

The soldier's morale shattered completely once they were composed enough to recognise that half of their number was already dispatched in brutal fashion. They began to retreat on their snow mobiles, but those that were not quick enough found their means of egress tipped over or impaled through the engine with a mighty lance of tungsten. Others found the Arhulian's tail or a thrown object hurdling towards them at a deadly velocity. Eight managed to speed away on their snow machines.

There will be three, and only three that remain.

Vorandrus was fast and agile, unnaturally so even, but these noisy contraptions had the Arhulian beat in a straight line on deep snow while lacking the burden of stamina. Even with channeling psionic energy - power of the will and soul - into their vessel to draw upon impossible reserves of vigor, they still could only run down one target at a time. Wounding their pride somewhat, Vorandrus picked up the rifle of a dispatched soldier. The weapon seemed almost toy like in the Arhulians' large, three fingered hands. This particular rifle had been reloaded just before the skull of it's wielder had been pulped by a blunt strike. From how they counted shots in between reloads, this bolt action rifle had five shots with the assumption that it matched the others. The Arhulian operated the mechanism, and aimed. They hoped that this range and the steadiness of their large frame would compensate for any defects in the weapon. Fortunately the men had begun accelerating away in a straight line with little angular velocity. The first shot missed. Just a bit to the left of the windpane of the four seat vehicle. That was a close enough visual cue to compensate. The second shot found its mark in the back of the skull of the driver. Seven.

Without a second breath, the Arhulian turned to the other vehicle while the first one veered off its trajectory. The third shot missed. The Arhulian cursed in their mind as their hand was operating the mechanism, the brass flying through the air seemingly in slow motion. An Arhulians nervous system normally signaled and received information about ten times faster than that of a therianthrope, and hyperexertion pushed it even further beyond that. Unlike the Arhulian 'guns' that accelerated an inert projectile across a series of rails or coils, these weapons operated with comparatively unpredictable combustion. The fourth shot wounded the driver and their recoil of pain spelled doom for their transport and they collided with a tree. Before the tree even finished rattling and creaking, Vorandrus moved position and advanced to regain line of sight of the first vehicle. It had come to a stop, and it's three living passengers were just finished heaving the deceased driver. One shot left. They aimed for the center of mass of the group. Two of them were wounded. Lunging at full speed, the snow machine's cast iron engine casing was smashed open. No escape.

The two with wounds already were fully extinguished. Five. Vorandrus circled back to the crashed snowmachine as its occupants scrambled, leaving their wounded compatriot to die alone, as their mouth shouted shrill venomous sounds that could only be curses. The Arhulian's six eyes locked with his fearful two. Vorandrus could not admit to pity... but, this one has endured enough. The three dashing on foot shall only have one of their kin spared as a reward befitting their bravery. Three.

Although officially not acknowledged by the military, this incident has been declared the Massacre of West Pass. The accounts of the three men were written off as a vivid hallucination brought about by trauma, yet those in the field - those who saw the aftermath - knew deep down there was no state provided answer that could explain the situation with any satisfaction. Animal attack? The damage inflicted is consistent of an edged weapon. And what animal could take on thirty men with rifles? 'Self defense' from hostile locals? The idea that a hamlet with only hunting equipment to their name at best could inflict devastating nintey percent losses on trained soldiers would be a hideous emberassment. Militant hostiles? Nevermind the impossiblity of damage inflicted, there was nary a single casualty of the enemy or even a damned boot print at the site of the incident.

Ever since, That Day, there's very little that could ever get through Alex's stone tough exterior. What cracks there were happened to be more temporary affairs. But that changed when she met Niadris, the "Arhulian". Never before has she met a 'monster' that could think, let alone talk. The Arhulian seemed earnest in their desire to help, but one thing Alex couldn't shake was the very asset that made them invaluable help. Niadris' "aura sense" was an extraordinary ability that allowed them to sense other living beings. The sense was omnidirectional, worked through solid materials, and had a purported range of hundreds of meters. Initially, it was likened to one's sense of hearing, as it too had all those qualities. Then Niadris dispelled any illusions about their sense - for better and worse. They knew when they were asleep, where they were looking, whether or not their armed from body language. Up close, Niadris could even see a person down to their nerves and veins. Hell, the only reason they probably can't lip read is that they are less socially experienced than Theo. Niadris forced Alex to confront a question she'd never even considered; what if a 'monster' was intelligent? The sole equalizer against hulking supernatural oddities was their simple minded desire for consumption made them predictable. No matter the strength gap, predictable can be strategized around. Not with them. They can think. They know what guns are. Although they never expressed any desire for hostility, Niadris pretty much has given away that they could have killed them all in their sleep. Even recognizing Alex herself as the most combat capable one of the group - the first to be taken out. Alex tried not to think too hard about it. That near-omniscience would be an indispensable asset on fighting the shadow, and even keeping tabs on those two mages... but still. As a soldier, hunter, and even beast slayer, she was intimately aware of the kind of damage a being with such a "toolkit" could wreak. They could pick off an entire platoon if they played their cards right... and not even leave witnesses. A kind of havoc that she would have no immediate counter for - if she's being honest with herself. Not at least without hundred pounds of dynamite, the spite, and the abandon to strike a match once they got close enough in a small room. Weighing in at two tons and with the curiosity of a child, there was no getting rid of them. She might as well accept the help make sure they don't fall for any bullshit from those two along the way.

I've been hitting a slump with my writing, so I think my AU story is Niadris meeting the Amaranthine crew is on hiatus, at least in writing terms. But I still want to depict micro scenes of the major story beats I have plotted out in my head. And to think, in Arhulian terms, Niadris is but a young adult. Alex can only pray fully realized Arhulians are just as polite as Niadris, should they ever meet one.