Save me GOOGLE-JEEBUS

having a LOT of problems with the blogger app on ipad lately - once ad sense went in, the whole thing kaputted on ipad.  It showed the blog as having no posts, despite repeated updates, logging out and signing back in.

A week of troubleshooting later, it came down to reinstalling the app.  Which seemed to work great.

Except now, it is not showing posts SINCE being reinstalled - drafts and posts from after reinstall are missing from the ipad app.

This is substantially impairing my writing speed - I go somewhere with the intent to write, bringing the bare minimum (because a laptop is heavy, requires anoutlet because firefox and windows use up ALLLLLL the cpus, and free wifi is a unicorn).

This is substantially the problem here; draft posts are missing.  has anyone else run into this problem before? Fortunately, everything is fine via laptop and android tablet (although the android version of the app could be better, particularly in the area of text editing [such as underlining])

This post is intended to be a bit of a troubleshooter, to see what happens when i post from this app, despite deficient listings.

Presenting the Xylanth

Dlain ran.  In his thirty-some years of life, he could not recall ever exerting himself so hard.  It was an odd thought to have cross his oxygen-starved mind.  Is this my life flashing before me?  It was getting harder to see, harder to avoid the thick roots that meandered across the forest floor, harder to pick a path around the large trees that seemed to unaccountably spring up in front of him.  It was getting harder to hear too; between the sound of his labored breathing and the staccato pulse of his heat beat, Dlain was barely aware of Nelston, somewhere in the murky fringe of his periphery, madly scrambling for his life as well.

Dlain's entire being burned with agony; his muscles ached and threatened to tear apart under the strain to run faster and faster.  For the past fifteen years, he'd worked in the ore mines; dangerous, back-breaking labor day in and day out.  He was young, strong, and fit, due to a combination of xylanthan chemicals and rigorous labor.  His lungs had never burned for air as they did now.  For fifteen years he'd been a proper, obedient, dirt-shoveling, Darmok-fearing slave to the meat-fucking plants.  Then he'd met Nelston.  And now he was running for his life.

Dlain twisted, pushed out with his arm at the last moment to avoid colliding with a tree, nearly fell anyway, and scrambled to keep running.  How long had he been running now?  Had they gotten away? Just how fast could those plants move anyway? He didn't dare stop to look.  The future didn't lay behind him.  He had to keep running after it.

All his life, he'd played by the rules.  He knew his place in the universe and kept his head down; born a slave, he'd live a slave's life, and then he'd die a slave.  His spirit would find rest in Darmok's wide arms; his mortal remains would continue to be a slave, a puppet for some newly sprouted Xylanth.  This was the circle of life as all on Sylv knew it.

Then he'd met Nelston.  An immigrant from Skrom, he'd moved across the border to settle in Farling's fiefdom.  Under Xylanthan rule, the three human kingdoms, their various nobility, and assorted landowners were all irrelevant.  All belonged to the plants, and the humans kept what they had by the graces of the Xylanth.  But there was no mistake that all were subject equally to The Green Law; nobles and lords were slaves too, just better dressed than most.

But the humans did hold onto one thing, one thing even the Puppeteers could not take away except in death: their hatred for one another.  The undying hatred the three kingdoms held for one another had not fallen to the Xylanthan forces and lived on, nurtured by distrust and differences.  It was a hatred that ran deep and and took root like an ancient oak.

So Nelston, a stranger from another land, had not even received what little welcome there remained to give.  He was treated poorly, when he wasn't totally ignored, and would probably have continued to be an outcast had he not met Dlain.  Ever practical, Dlain had decided to give the foreigner a fair shake - and they'd become fast friends.  Not long after, Dlain discovered Nelston was in the business of bootlegging liqour, a contraband substance that had led to his quick exit from his previous home; that, and a misunderstanding concerning the local prefect's daughter.

Nelston was considerably more welcome in town soon after.  It was foul, it was flavorless, and it was illegal under The Green Law, but nothing took the edge off a life of slavery in the mines like hard liquor.  That it constituted a minor rebellion was an additional bonus.  Alcohol was forbidden due to the deleterious effect it had on the condition of a body.  As was nearly always the case under The Green Law the punishment was death.  However, it was usually possible to bribe quisling enforcers to look the other way; love of alcohol and corruption hadn't been forgotten under Xylanthan rule either.

Deep in their cups, Nelston had spun a tale of an island far to the south-east, an island nation of humans untouched by the Xylanthan dominion.  An island where humans still lived free.  Everyone knew of it; no one believed it.  The island did exist, as did the human nation - records of its existence, as well as maps, remained in libraries and archives.  Their ancestors had known of the islanders, but thought it a waste of time to conquer.  But no one truly believed  that the islanders remained, or retained their sovereignty.

It had led to talk of poaching.  Capturing wildlife or seed before the Xylanth did whatever it was that made them healthier and addictive.  To cultivate and grow food so that one day, the children of man might reclaim their sovereign right to personhood - this was the unspoken dream of every human in the three kingdoms.  Poaching  was a capital crime, punishable by summary death and implantation.

And now he ran for his life, Nelston somewhere alongside him, chased by a Xylanthan ranger.  Their attempt at poaching had met with little success all morning; it had been impossible to find game or fruit bearing plants.  They'd finally spotted a rock hopper when Dlain had caught a curious scent in the air: sickly sweet with a hint of fiery spice.

Xylanthan pherotongue.  He'd never learned enough to understand it, didn't have a head for scents, but it'd struck him that something was angry.  In the end, it didn't really matter: they'd been found out, trespassing deep in a forbidden forest, attempting to poach.

They ran.

No amount of talking or bribing would save them; only the fleetness of foot and wit could now.

And without warning, Dlain heard Nelston cry out, and the sound of rough impacts.  The fool had tripped.  That will slow down pursuit, Dlain thought as he kept running.  A moment later though, he was skidding to a stop and scrabbling back towards Nelston, prone on the ground, arm outstretched, calling for help.

"Up fool, up!" Dlain could barely get the words out.  "It'll be on us any mo-"

There was nothing behind them.  No sound of chase, no mysteriously moving foliage.  Only the sound silence marred by heavy breathing.

"Balls of the blood god, I thought I was done for!" Nelston wheezed.  "Do you think we lost it?"

Dlain shook his head, unable to speak.  At long last he looked around - in their mad dash, they'd gone even deeper into the forest, and he had no idea where they were.  More fool me for listening to you and stopping to save you! he cursed in his mind.  But he couldn't smell that distinctive scent of rotten flesh that heralded the presence of a Xylanth.  "We should get out of here," he managed at last.

"Trees thin out a bit over that way," pointed Nelston.  "Might be the edge of the forest.  Could make a run for the nearest town, hide out. What do you think?"

I think it sounds familiar, thought Dlain.  Still, it was their best, only, option at the moment.  He nodded, stood up and helped Nelston to his feet. Their was a vague sense of disquiet in the back of his mind as they walked, trying to regain their strength.  He brushed it off as paranoia; the whole day had been terrible enough to spoil any good luck they now found.

And then they saw the Xylanth in front of them, no more than 20 meters away, at the edge of the wood.  Dlain whirled around as Nelston took another shocked step forwarded.  There were more behind them.  He couldn't tell if their original pursuer was among them; they all looked alike to him.  He cursed his lax guard, even as he sniffed the air.  How did I miss them? How did I miss this overwhelming stench?  All at once, the stench of death and rot hit him, and with it understanding.

He'd been too exhausted.  Starved for air, his body reacted naturally for more air once he had relaxed.  Damnit! I've been breathing through my mouth this whole time! No wonder I couldn't smell anything! He took another breath, nearly retched.  The scent was too overpowering to be caused by a handful of Xylanth.  Had they stumbled upon a vineyard? Were these Xylanth protecting a creche of seedlings, rows of newly implanted growing and feeding on scarecrow-like corpses?

It was too much to process, too overwhelming.  It didn't really matter anyway, as his fate, their fates, calmly strode forward.  A pulse of rapidly shifting scents seemed to swirl about them.  They are discussing something.  Is there still hope? He'd never bothered to learn the Xylanth pherotongue.  Few did.  But many could speak, after fashion, the body - signing language the Xylanth also used, particularly with humans.  Dlain was not such a one.  He resolved to learn as much pherotongue as the local administrator would teach him, and vine language, if he survived.  He took a step back towards Nelston.  Survival was all that mattered now.

"I'm sorry Nelston," he whispered.  "But this is all your fault."  In a single motion, Dlain shook free the knife he'd had on his wrist and stabbed Nelston in the chest.  The knife was heavy, but blunt from use.  Nearly everyone carried one to cut dried meat, fruits and bread, cloth and twine.  He hadn't been sure it would cut Nelston's throat.

The motion had turned Nelston to face Dlain, shock and confusion playing across his face as blood seeped from the wound and his mouth; Dlain had missed the heart and punctured a lung.  It was not the quick death he'd hoped to deal. He stabbed again, aiming at the side of the neck.  "Just die damn you!" he shouted, all the fear and fury he'd felt bursting out at once.  He grabbed Nelston by the shoulder, turned him to face the Xylanth, and kicked him to the ground.  Blood quickly began to pool beneath the twitching body, coloring the ground.  Dlain dropped his knife, dropped to one knee, bowing parallel to the ground with arms outstretched in either direction.  It was the only body sign, the only vine language, he knew.

Submission.

The Xylanth had stopped moving, had watched the curious human drama play out before them, and now seemed to be debating its meaning.  "Please!" Dlain begged.  "It was his idea! He's the one you want! I am loyal, I have seen nothing, done nothing! Please take him and let me go!"  He knew the plants understood the human tongue.  He continued to kneel in submission; he didn't dare look up.

The silence seemed to drag on interminably.  Still, he couldn't risk looking up, risk communicating defiance.  He knew it wouldn't matter anyway; he couldn't read their movements, and there would be nothing else to see.

At long last he heard the lone xylanth in front of him pick up Nelston's corpse, heard it dragging it towards the clearing.  He dropped his head and arms in relief; or rather, would have.  It was then he felt the vines wrapped around his tense being, keeping him in submission.  With a strength he could no believe plants could, he felt himself hauled upright and carried forward.  Fear washed over like a frozen wave, sapping him of energy and resolve.  He couldn't cry, couldn't shout in protest.

He soon found himself beside an empty scarecrow, a metal frame that would support his corpse while a seedling grew, tunneling through his remains and wrapping itself around his bones.  A quisling stood beside it, though he couldn't see Nelston anywhere.  The quisling, one of the humans who worked with the Xylanth, seemed to understand and explained helpfully, "You ruined his body, so they can't use it for a new crop.  Still useful though - makes a great fertilizer for the new thing they are growing."

The quisling glanced at him askance to see if he was listening.  "It's actually quite exciting you know! For what it's worth, you and your friend will be working together.  In a way, as it were."  They were strapping Dlain into the scarecrow; he found he had no energy to resist, was glad that he would be dead soon, before the seed was implanted.  "They're growing some kind of giant vine, bigger than we've seen, one that will reach beyond the sky into the heavens!  Well, they call it 'space'.  That's what the fertilizer is for, some gigantic tree and vine."  The quisling continued amiably, oblivious to Dlan being bent over backward to expose his face and throat to the sky.  "They wanted me to tell you.  You'll be among the first Xylanth to head up there! Imagine that," he said with awe.  "Isn't that exciting?"

Dlain found his view of the sky eclipsed by a dark figure - the xylanth was preparing to implant him! Wait! I'm not dead yet! he tried to shout, found that he couldn't even though his mouth was held open.  He tried to struggle to show that he was alive and found that he couldn't move a muscle. Suddenly he understood - the scarecrow.  A small blade was part of its design and severed the spinal column, ensuring the corpse was dead.

Dlain was dead; he just hadn't died yet.

As the xylanth bent over him, his sense of vision blurred.  He could feel its vine tendrils burrowing deeper and deeper into his throat, felt the seedling latch onto the end of his trachea and begin to send tiny tendrils through his veins and arteries.  The pain was unbearable.  A small, distant part of his mind wondered if his spinal cord had not been fully severed, or if certain nerves still communicated with the portion leading to his brain.

Mostly his mind screamed in pain.

He could feel the tendrils pushing out from behind his eyes, trying to push them free of their sockets.

Death couldn't come quickly enough.

Lord of the Things

Greetings!

Yes I know; stories do not begin in this way, but letters often do.  As it turns out, this week's posting(s) will be late for a variety of reasons (explanations but not excuses).  I've outlined Presenting: The Naucine, and begun Introducing: The Ra'u - the latter of which feels quite important to me as they are the planned major player in my story - and then immediately shivved with writer's block.  As well, I do a lot of my writing in cafes, and the last had a large group of giggling teens constantly falling over their tables.

I have no idea what they had in mind when they decided to go, as a gaggle (which, like a murder of crows, is the correct group-counter for an unspecified otherwise-herd of teens), to a cafe.

I may also have been playing the shit out of Hearthstone.  But, as it did with Naucine physiology, video game playing often serves for me as a source of inspiration and problem solving.  Though really, this was just lollygagging.

I thought, however, that I would write briefly (which is to say, a lot) on the subject of education and, if I happen to reach it, language.  I've been busy on the teaching side of things.

This past week I assigned to a student William Golding's, Lord of the Flies. (wow, I remember proper citation format.... I think.)  I felt rather guilty about this because I had read this book when I was in middle/high school.

But I should clarify - my student is of middle school age and is unschooled (blog).  Personally, I thought the book would be right up his alley - it is, after all, a dark, violent, even at times crazy, story about a bunch of british boarding school kids who get stranded on an island and immediately proceed to go bonkers.  I had to read it again since it'd been so many years, but I finished the book in 3 or 4 nights - it's not terribly long.  When I think about it, that book should be a great read for any male adolescent.  Was Survivor NOT a national phenomenon in the US?

But as I recall, few enjoyed it in school.  Most any book you care to name that was read in school will generally be associated with vague, negative thoughts.  Mostly forgotten, walled off negative memories that largely center around the words "bullshit" and "pain in the ass", a reading assignment over the course of weeks (!), capped off with a graded writing assignment and/or test.

I think any educational system that engenders in its children a strong dislike, for years and years, of reading and, in particular, classics of literature, needs to be strongly reevaluated.  Reading and writing, indeed language itself, is the very cornerstone of civilization... and thus education itself.

The educational system in general, when it comes to literature, has spawned an entire industry (and that is no small thing mind you) of crib-books/horn books - short(er) books that highlight the key plot points, characters, allegory and metaphors, subtext of a work.  The entire purpose, despite weak disclaimers to the contrary, is to prepare a student for discussion without having read the necessary text.

What's more, isn't it the TEACHER'S job to point those things out? To lead a discussion on those topics, rather than have students regurgitate memorized factoids like a parrot?  Where is the comprehension that marks true education?  We seek only the "right" answer - the means became an end unto itself.

The right answer, the right answer... we are conditioned to always seek the right answer.  This stifles innovation, creativity, learning.  We should learn to value the right answer, how to recognize it, but we should not ignore (or worse, penalize) the journey to reach it.  Insert cliche story about Edison and the light bulb.

There is a hypothesis that the current educational system is a relic of the Industrial Revolution:

-The next generation of workers are being trained at a young age to accept spending hours at a time (literally) in a small room, doing what they are told, with the same people.

-They all do the same work, all on the same thing - such as a work sheet, a work book, a diorama (what is this supposed to teach me?), a paper mache puppet (again, what is the true, educational content of this project?), a tooth pick structure, a Jell-O model of a cell, a dissection (you would think this is an educational activity, I assure you it is not... both as a student and later as an assistant), running around a field (this is... education? No, it is exercise, calling it "physical education" does not impart any educational value to it whatsoever), learning the rules to badminton.

-Future workers are taught to accept localized authority, to respond to the sound of a bell signalling a shift in location and/or task, to listen to announcements made over a PA loudspeaker system.

-Future workers get up early in the morning, eat lunch (of a sort), and go home late in the afternoon.  Why?  Do the hours truly matter so much? Need they occur at approximately the same time as rush hour? Wouldn't it make more sense to stagger the school rush and work commute, for safety if not traffic?

-Future workers get the whole of summer off - a relic of needing hands in the field for harvest (an example of the backseat education takes and concessions it must make to the influence of the economic machine)

-Future workers are penalized for failing to show up, on time, without authorization.  There must be a proper accounting, in alphabetical order, or who is present at the start of each shift.  Seating arrangements are often assigned in this manner (in their perfect rows and columns).  Is taking attendance important?  It's true you have to be physically present to learn in a classroom, but this seems a matter of discipline and responsibility.  In any event, how this relates to the grading one's "performance" makes no sense in an educational context - if you didn't learn because you weren't there, you'll already be penalized appropriately on the test.

-Regular performance evaluations.  Which, frequently, don't test comprehension, but instead ask for regurgitation of memorized information.  The teacher does not evaluate a student's comprehension (in most cases), but simply 'quality assures' by checking answers against a 'key'.  If a student's comprehension or interpretation exceeds a teacher's (as can, and indeed we should hope ought happen frequently) it is wrong.  We teach and seek conformity, not individuality.  This is the primary problem of emphasizing the right answer over learning.  There is also something to be said for conditioning people to be afraid to make mistakes.

-Conformity over individuality is also the key feature of the social aspects of our educational system.

We never bother to question or seek to understand how a student interprets information such that they come to the 'wrong answer.'  We seek only conformity to the right answer above all.  Where is the 'teaching' then?  But of course, this is incompatible with the large scale classroom system.  It is also inconsistent with the complete of oversight into the quality of educators.  We expect educators to match answers, not to teach; we expect them to stop gunmen, not to understand evolution.

Our priorities are completely wrong - they are fully subservient to (in some cases, archaic) economic systems.  The gun industry.  The Political machine.  Capitalism.  Marketing.  Sports and entertainment.  Copyright and intellectual property.  DRM and quick-buck technologists (everyone trying to pawn off shitty tablets onto schools... remember the iMac?).

Imparting comprehension, what we call education, has always been a 1 on 1 or 1 on small number matter.  In any skills-based group learning, the instructor MUST take time to check on everyone (such as in martial arts, to check posture, form, and mechanics, or painting for much the same).  Sauces and baked goods must be tasted.  Technique must be watched, evaluated, the source of mistakes pinpointed and corrected.

Case in point, do grades matter for your occupation? In the overwhelming majority of cases, no they do not.  When have we ever examined the grades of a candidate for political office?  We care more about the birth certificate of the president, the job in the US, than we do about his grades.  We check for grades in going to higher education, and we check for GPA (not grades) for some first-time-employments.  But that's about it.

Do we prepare students for higher education?  No, not really.  That's why there are scores of books on vocabulary ALONE for entrance exams.  And an entire test prep industry.  And even that is not education - what student, who has ever memorized vocabulary for a test, has ever remembered or even used those words thereafter?

A different student of mine expressed a desire to learn "English conversation skills."  I almost laughed, because I'll be frank here: there is no such thing as "English" conversation skills.  There are only "conversation skills."  The term "English conversation skills" is a defense mechanism, a lie like many others we tell oureselves so that we don't feel bad about making mistakes.  Mistakes which our school system teaches us to fear and avoid above all else.  Absolutely anything you can say on the subject of making conversation in one language applies to every single other language past, present, and future.

The grammatical differences between chinese and english, as pertains to conversation, conveyed in layman terms, are:

1.  It is possible to make a grammatically correct and complete sentence in chinese without a subject (true, even requisite, in most asian languages)

2.  It is possible to make a grammatically correct and complete sentence in chinese without a verb of any kind

3.  It is possible to make a grammatically correct and complete sentence in chinese without both a subject and a verb.

And that is it.  Because of these differences, it is common for native chinese speakers to answer questions without designating a subject (I, me, you, they, etc.) or using a verb (frequently using instead either infinitives [to + verb] or gerunds/participles [verb-ing]) - what, in english, we call a sentence fragment.  Conversely, ABCs such as myself tend to be more verbose, emphasizing particles (a, an, the - also missing in chinese) and subjects (specificially I and You) more than is actually needed.

As an aside, if you think about it, when speaking... I is obvious, it's the speaker.  And You [is] obvious as well, that's the listener.  Or, more politely, you would address the person specifically by name or title.  Going about all the time saying I and You is, if you think about it (outside the native language context), a bit bombastic and rude.  In japanese, the acceptable term for 'you' is お前 (o-mae), which even carries the honoriffic o-prefix, which literally means 'in front (of me)'.  A more roundabout way to say it would be 目の前に (me no mae ni), meaning "that which is before my eyes."

'You' indeed... *ahem*

So the whole of what might be termed "english" conversation skills can actually be covered in about 30 seconds.  The remainder is a question of vocabulary and usage - but if you naturally speak in such a way where you attempt to provide more information (where you are going, how you feel, your opinions, in short - conversing) and pre-emptively answer logical questions (Did you eat yet? Yes.  When? an hour ago.  Did you eat a lot? No.  So are you hungry now? No.  What did you eat? A dead pigeon.  Do you need to go to the hospital? Yes.  Is someone taking you? No.  Do you want me to take you? Yes.) then that is usage... there is no teaching that.  That is a matter of personal habit.  You need to practice speaking and giving out relevant information.  There is no teaching of that, because it is a matter of how your brain is wired.  And as you naturally speak and attempt to convey information, you will become frustrated that your vocabulary is lacking - you will seek out more terms, relevant ones, and use them, and thus increase your vocabulary.

Memorized teaches you shit.  There, I said it.  It teaches you to recognize information taken out of context.  You don't learn words; you learn to regurgitate a contextless definition (which does not demonstrate comprehension) upon visually recognizing the word.  That's why everyone "forgets" things they "studied" (aka memorized) for a test - the brain was conditioned to respond in a given manner (spit out the definition) when it sees the trigger (the word).

You haven't learned anything.  You haven't learned how to use it, how to adapt it or make it your own.  You've learned "when A happens, do B.  Repeat."

You've learned how to be a part of an assembly line.

For all this, I don't know what the proper solution is.  Apprenticeships, tutoring, small scale teaching... these things would cripple the economic system that we have.  But I know what we have isn't the right answer.  Even mice learn not to shock themselves - that's not the path to the right answer.  As I said to my student's father in my interview, "I'm not sure homeschooling is the right answer, but I admire you for acknowledging what the wrong answer is and casting about for a solution."

Actually, I might have paraphrased that a bit.  Whatever, I was the one that said it.  I can change it.  Shut up. 

The next book I have assigned is George Orwell's, Animal Farm: A Fairy Tale.  It's another book I read in high school.  It's also rather enjoyable for it's sheer ridiculousness and clear political message.  Although these days, you might question which government is being satirized.

Stories to come later this week!
 

Introducing: The Soven

The Soven

Forced Evolutionary Crisis | Aquatic-terrestrial omnivorous owl-frogs | wtf

unaffiliated | hostile xenophobes

The Tragic (Devolved)

The Soven are defined by their deep, unabiding hatred for all alien life.  It has united the entire species, defined their cultural identity, and drives all technological progress they have made.  "Soven" in the native tongue translates roughly as "unquenchable vitriol."  The Soven do not tolerate any other alien civilization, whether Nihil, Milieu, or unaffiliated.  They hate all, equally, with the full measure of their being.  In all the galaxy, the depth and sheer ferocity of their hatred is unrivaled.

Curiously, opinions of the Soven range from pity and sympathy to perfect ambivalence; no one especially hates the Soven.  Their history is at once both short and filled with tragedy; the Soven are relatively recently evolved and become members of the galactic community.  Their history traces back to a species called the Verd.

The Soven homeworld, Veril, was once a typical main-sequence planet, well suited to the development of life.  Lush forests, wide plains, mountains and lowlands, rivers, lakes, and oceans, Veril was similar to Earth, or any other homeworld where CHO-mains have evolved.  Eventually, the Verd emerged as the dominant, civilizing species on Veril.  A squat, flightless, mammal-avian species, the Verd resembled a pouchless, owl-penguin-kangaroo hybrid.  Beakless carnivores, they were well suited to hunting and evading across most of Veril's biomes.

Unfortunately, Veril is located within Nihil space.  To the Ra'u who discovered and studied the Verd, they were simply another of countless main-sequence species.  Evolved from aquatic life to spread across land, congregate into groups, develop separation and specialization of tasks, the Verd were like any number of other pedantic, pedestrian, and entirely predictable species to civilize and reach out toward the stars.

One more, or fewer, mattered infinitesimally little.

It was boring, yet presented an opportunity to answer intriguing questions.  Why did evolution proceed from water to land? Would it be possible to drive evolution from land to water? Would it be possible for a post-civilization species, one that had largely stopped evolving, to undergo drastic evolution again?

Such results could be of far greater interest and importance.

The Ra'u experiment team in charge sent icy comets on collision trajectories with Veril.  Verd technology had not yet progressed to a point of being able to detect, let alone defend against, such collisions.  The results were devastating.  The regular increase of large volumes of ice meant an overall increase in planetary surface water.  Long term atmospheric blotting lead to altered weather patterns and large scale die-offs of plant life and disrupted ecologies.  86% of the planetary surface came to be covered in water.  In the aftermath, the Verd were no more, and the Soven emerged.

The Soven resemble a neckless cross between an owl and a frog.  Their stumpy heads are dominated by large, expressive eyes, and is capable of turning nearly 180 degrees.  They have powerful legs and slightly webbed feet, suitable for jumping and swimming.  Their slightly over-long arms end in 3 primary digits and 2 opposable thumbs.  their body is covered in a short, coarse fur that is oiled, much like a penguin.  They have tufted ears sensitive to pressure changes; fine hearing, and instinctively orient and navigate themselves by reference to magnetic fields.  They have a short broad beak suitable for omnivorous diet and shellfish.  The beak is sharp, but not keratinous; it is a protusion of exposed skull, making cold temperatures (such as is now found through much of Veril), foraging, and even eating (to an extent) painful.

Early Soven civilization is built on the ruins of Verd society, and focused on escaping the hellish life of their planet.  Upon ascent to the galactic stage, the Soven discovered the circumstances of their development.  They also learned that the Milieu had discovered the Ra'u plans regarding Veril, but rather than intervene, had becomed mired in inaction due to risk-benefit assessment studies, political maneuvaring, and policy and jurisdiction debates.  The Soven hate all because no one came to their aid - those who did not take part had sat idle when they could have stopped the planetary calamity.  They do not trust any alien species - they are all complicit, or would be, or mean to do some other harm.  Since ascending to space, the Soven have spent their time and resources on developing weapons and technology to wipe out all other species; they consider this the only way their species will be safe again.

They have thus far been spectacularly unsuccessful, which has only fueled their hatred and paranoia.  Most other species avoid Soven space, a rather small sphere of influence itself, either on principle so as not to aggravate the unfortunates, or else because attacks by Soven spacecraft, while not especially threatening, are annoying and inconvenient.  The Ra'u are completely ambivalent to the existence of the Soven, and are content to leave them alone despite constituting a (minor) threat within Nihil space.

There are some who contend that the Soven crisis constituted an experiment, on a wider scale, to see what the Milieu would do when their values were threatened.  Rather than wipe out the Soven, which the Ra'u could manage easily, the continued existence of the Soven serves as a subtle insult to the Milieu, a statement of the Milieu's true nature.

Introducing: The Grek

The Grek

Metallo-Organic Life | Peaceful Herbivores

Nihil Cooperative

"Titanium Titans" (Statues)

To understand the Grek, one must see their world Gol.  To begin with, the planetary orbit is created and bounded by the movements and interactions of three suns; Gol itself orbits a fixed point of empty space.  It is thought that material condensed into orbital gas giants more quickly than could accrete into a central sun, with the result being the central mass being largely divide among three proto-stars and a single mineral rich planet in the center.

As a planetary body surrounded by a trinary star system, Gol has never known night.  Photosynthesis, in one form or another, is the dominant form of energy production, especially with a surplus of ready minerals to serve as biological electron carriers.  Most of the water present on Gol is found in the thick and super-saturated atmosphere.  There are no bodies of water on the surface; subterranean aquifers exist, but are not suitable to supporting aquatic life.

A side effect of the mineral-rich soil (levels toxic to most life forms anywhere else) has been the absorption and incorporation of heavy metals into growing tissue: flower petals like thin aluminum, tree trunks with the tensile strength of titanium girders.  Life which did not evolve to overcome such defenses quickly died out - herbivorous life had to develop the ability to process such tissue for nutrients, as well as stronger teeth, bones, and muscles needed to ingest it.  Carnivorous life had to develop similarly to overcome the armor plating of their prey.  And thus the cycle of the evolutionary arms-race spun in turn.

All life on Gol utilizes some form of photosynthesis to a varying degree for energy, even predators.  The Grek are photosynthetic (thermosynthetic, as it were, utilizing IR radiation) herbivores.  They are peaceful and curious, seeking first and foremost to find life similar to themselves on other worlds.  Although they don't generally approve of the Ra'u and their habit of experimenting on worlds and other species without regard for their well being or consequences, neither are they comfortable denouncing such actions.  This is because the Gol trinary, and by extension Gol and all life on the planet including the Grek, are the result of a Ra'u experiment in system formation and evolution.  The Ra'u are directly responsible for the existence of the Grek, and they are grateful, whatever the original intentions of the Ra'u.  Although the Milieu has extended an invitation to the Grek, the Grek has declined and declared unanimously for the Nihil Cooperative.  Such is their loyalty.  They remain on peaceful, if not necessarily always friendly, terms with the Milieu races.

The Grek are a bipedal, bilaterally symmetrical, 6 limbed race.  Their overall form is a large, metal skinned CHO-main; however, they have two, smaller, raptor-like arms on their chest - possibly to help ancestral Grek climb to reach softer leaves and sunlight.  They see in the visible light spectra, as well as electromagnetic and ultra-violet spectra.  They are hairless, noseless, and have a single, large, featureless white eye (but still manage to have depth perception).  The two genders are nearly indistinguishable visually - gender differences appear to be EM or UV spectra related phenomena.

Although renowned ship builders, they are not often found off-world - the peculiarities of their system make interstellar travel difficult, and physiologically they are unaccustomed to gravity higher than 0.6g.  They require large, bulky exo-suits to support their higher mass.  Still, curiosity and adventurous yearnings do lead Grek to travel the stars in search of the unknown.

Grek names are incomprehensible EM frequency sequences.  They have taken to adopting CHO-main names or words that they find pleasing by some unknown criteria, in order to better interact with other species.

Introducing: The Naucine

The Naucine

Aquatic Nautilus (Terrestrial Precursor) | Monoclonal, Epigenetic

Ascendent Milieu

"The Golden ratio" (sea weeds)

The Naucine are a primarily aquatic species, resembling a nautilus mounted on a four legged trunk - they have two clusters of three strong, prehensile tentacles extending laterally from the upper spiral shell.  In each cluster, one tentacle ends in an armored claw, reminiscent of a lobster.  The other two end in a trifurcated manipulator.  The central trunk extends downwards from the spiral groove, slightly off center, and bears a single eye in each of the orthogonal directions; a short, tough leg extends from the lower end of the trunk in each of the diagonal directions.  The mouth lies at the bottom of the trunk, protected by a masticating beak.  Fossil records are sparse - naucine internal structure is a combination of chitin and cartilege, generally leaving only hardened shells after death, if anything.

As with most forms of life, ancestral naucine began life as a purely aquatic life form - they most likely lacked legs and moved by a combination of expelling gas or water and flagellation of their tentacles.  Their evolution as a species was progressing, slowly, towards a terrestrial species when it terminated at the hybrid stage permanently.  Thus, naucine have short legs suitable for balance, strength, and slow movement but not more dextrous activity due to a lack of joints or segmentation.  They are capable of breathing in water as well as atmosphere.

The cessation of Naucine evolution is due to their most unique trait: The Naucine genome is both highly regulated and highly conserved - it is highly resistant to change and capable of self repair and error checking.  Modern naucine are immune to viruses, bacteria, toxins, and generally any sort of inernalized environmental hazard.  They heal quickly and are possibly age-immortal.  In fact, the DNA-equvalent triple helix compound is so resistant to change, naucine are essentially monoclonal - every individual's DNA is identical, differing only in epigenetic modification governing expression, rate, and post transcription processing.  It is estimated that there are no more than five different sequences in the entire naucine gene pool, all single point substitutions, and no more than two of which are not a redundant change in coding.

Evolution in this species occurred very slowly and always under highly selective pressure (if it occurred at all; there is some scholarly debate, due to a general lack of evidence and the enormous span of time involved).  The discovery of tools and metal working effectively supplanted any further possible evolution as individuals began to form the rudiments of a civilization around specialization and protection from predators.

Naucine are highly intelligent; ancestral naucine used readily available ore veins and underwater thermal vents to shape metal tools and armor against predators - Metal rods, spears, blades, and what appear to be shields and bowl-like armor or helmets.  On land, without the anti-gravity bouyancy of water, the Naucine were forced to refine their forging technicques, developing alloys, thinner and lighter products, and more complex, moving parts.  By working together, naucine society bloomed with communal creches, protected sanctuaries, and readily accessible resources.  Working together, they were able to build lasting sanctuaries and survive both on land and in water.

Modern naucine are skilled craftsmen and artisans.  In art and all else the Naucine strive for creativity, innovation, efficiency, and perfection.  It is the story of their species and like unto a religion for them.  They are avid intellectuals, be it science, philosophy, or art, and capable warriors and strategists when the need arises.  In the Milieu, the Naucine are among the more liberal species, and enjoy exploring and observing new species.  They strong proponents of non-interference and prefer to be contacted than to make first contact.  They have colonized several systems surrounding their homeworld.  Naucine craft are typically ringed, geometric structures, multiply butressed internally, making them quite resilient.  They are generally filled with a thick, neutral gas suitable to naucine physiology and movement.  The hull is partially biological and secretes are harden chitin substance to quickly seal breaches.

Naucine names generally follow mathematical equations that describe geometric structures or graph curves that they consider beautiful or elegant.