I was just thinking about this the other day. For a long time I've imagined various scenarios in my head involving Sagan 4.... for a long time, it felt aesthetically almost like a distillation of the aesthetic of "nature" in this world, in a sense. Now that I'm older I can see the problems it is in fact riddled with are more major and joyless than I thought at first they were. Unfortunately, due to my own uneducation and laziness I could not write a Sagan 4 fanfic. However I'm glad nonetheless this topic exists!
So a big chunk of what I have done since I was part of Sagan 4 in the late 00’s was writing fiction. Some fan fiction, some for more original settings and characters. So after Disgustedorite tracked me down, I wanted to write something for Sagan 4. Personally I don’t think I can regularly create new species, and my art is not great enough for dioramas, but I can certainly write stories.
I was inspired to write this story when I learned of the Seashrogs. Look you know me, I like a good Shrew, and the Shrogs are a so much better version of what I tried to do back in the day. SoI wrote a story about a family group of Seashrogs. I actually wrote this roughly four months back, but now that we have this topic I can share it. Enjoy.
The Storm
Sagan 4 - BigL Tropical Coast - Mid Bonoian Period - Alpha timeline
The wind was beginning to build as darkened clouds rolled above the light blue sea. Clumps of driftwood slammed against the building waves, the growing violence rattling the Cone Puffgrass latching the wood together. Some of the older plants ripped from the force of the waves, the driftwood knocking free.
As a chunk of a raft tore loose, a clawed three-fingered hand grabbed the chunk of debris. The chunk of driftwood was raised up to the graying snout of a Seashrog, poking just above the water. His six eyes looked over the wood, narrowing his focus on occasion as one of his claw rubbed against the wood, watching for cracks.
Satisfied, the Seashrog swam away with a kick of all his limbs, returning to him and his mate’s nest. The large wood structure was a semi-sphere, the bent logs bending upward to a flat deck. Each log had been cut by this Seashrog and his mate, their tails sawing it down, before packing other plants around it to form a hollow boat of sorts.
For the sake of clarity, we shall refer to this Seashrog as “Skipper.”
Atop of the nest another Seashrog stared at the water, where clusters of small purple balls floating, seemingly stick together. Suddenly she thrust a spear at one such clump of Marbleflora. She heaved, and with strain dragged a flailing Shardscale onto the deck. The gilltail was skewered on the spear, and with her claws she scrapped it off the tool and onto the deck. It lay in a pile besides another of its species, it’s flopping gradually growing slower. Finally it was as still as the other Shardscale, laying flat along with a few clusters of Marbleflora.
Rarely did a Seashrog need to leave the nest to hunt, they could fish with their spears from the deck. But this Seashrog could not leave the nest even if she wanted to. Her gaunt was uneven, her left hind leg almost dragged behind her and a jagged scar hung to the limb, a lingering reminder of a clash with a Pirate Waxface from less than a year ago.
We will refer to her as ‘Dizzy.’
The Seashrog were an unusually smart species of ‘Shrew,’ but had little capability for social behavior. They would tolerate a group of two mates and their current joeys, but any more were stressful. Likewise they lacked a language, so their ability to pass on knowledge was limited. The concept of medicine had also yet to emerge.
Still, Skipper had possessed enough intelligence to realize the spear tip in his mate’s thigh had needed to be removed. With some help from Reek he had pried it loose, the father and daughter had licked the injury, and the saltwater of the ocean had helped ward off the worst of infection. But the damage was done, the bones had regrown out out of place, the nerves were still slow to respond too. In short, her leg had never fully healed.
Pirate Waxface were tool using, but rarely made spears. The spear that had embedded in her thigh had been stolen from Dizzy herself, when she had dropped she tried to run.
Dizzy continued gathering up their food supplies, before barking as she spotted her older of two joeys poking her head onto the deck. “Reek Euhree,” she called out sharply. The call was no true sentence, just a rough warning for the youth to stop. The joey pouted, knocking around the spear clutched in her jaws against the deck with each tilt of her head. While Seashrogs had hands, they were not so dexterous to walk easier while holding things, let alone while climbing out of the nest.
The joey was nearly three years old and huffed, barking out a muffled grumble. She tried to climb up onto the deck, before being pushed back by her mother’s paw.
“Euhree!” Dizzy barked, and the younger joey in her pouch squeaked at the sound. The older joey relented with a huff and descended back in, before Dizzy used her flat sharp tail to shove the food into the nest. It was best to lay them on the deck in the heat of the sun, but with the waves growing worse and the sun engulfed by clouds, they would not properly dry regardless.
As the gilltail and plants thumped against the wooden burrow’s floor, Reek prodded them away with her tail, still clutching her spear in her mouth. The obsidian wood of the spear had lasted a long time, but grooves had been dug down its shafts by her claws. As she swept away their freshly caught supplies, her father returned to the nest.
Taking a cue from Dizzy, we will refer to the older joey as ‘Reek.’ The younger we will reference as ‘Tiger,’ for the stripes on the latter’s back.
Skipper climbed aboard the deck, before descending into the center hole. He flinched as he landed, reaching backwards to feel his back. He recoiled, letting out a squeak. Almost instantly he puffed out his chest, and barked out, thumping his tail to make noise.
Reek watched him as his stomps almost mimicked a thunderclap. Her eyes followed him then as he huffed and walked away, carrying the driftwood in his mouth towards a mound of driftwood and logs. He did not take long, almost spitting it out, before returning to the entrance to their wooden floating burrow.
The old male poked his head back to look at the sky. His snout wrinkled in disgust and he raked his claws against the deck. The weather was getting worse, he did not like the storm. It had come without warning, they had little time to prepare. He did not like that.
Dizzy called out in a muffled whimper , and Skipper turned to his mate, hanging over the entrance with a spear in her mouth and plants in her hands. He huffed, before offering his hand. Using him as a support she tried to climb down into the nest. Skipper groaned from the pressure, his back aching. Finally she thumped to the floor of the nest, and Skipper fell hard against a support beam, it created from the blow. He lay there briefly, panting.
Reek was meant to be preparing the nest for the storm, that log should have been reinforced, any Stowaway Harmbless knocked aside before they could chew the paste that secured the beam. But instead she had been sharpening her spear, and practicing thrusting.
The elderly Seashrog meanwhile shook her fur off, before moving towards a pile of debris. She spat out the spear and dropped the few plants she had held in her claws, neither bunches of plants were fully dried in the sun, but if the storm hit, they would be drenched, and they might need the food. The Seashrogs had some ability to know how to plan.
Dizzy picked up the spear and started to go, only to pause. She bent over and stroke a small shelled creature. The Shailnitor did not respond, busy chewing on a Shardscale carcass that had started to decay, it’s jaws munching up the corpse. As he chewed Dizzy patted him on his unusually short snout, even as Tiger reached towards the Shailnitor. The small creature was unrelated to the Seashrogs, but its stout face recalled a joey, and endeared them to the bigger shrews.
Purple worm-like animals squirmed around the room, munching on any spore that had started to spout in the interior of the nest. However a few of these Cleaner Borvermid were motionless, busy sleeping and ignoring the plantlife scattered around.
Skipper walked on his four legs to Dizzy, calling out “akakak,” and pointing at her mouth. She grumbled but dropped the spear, and he clutched it in his hand. He began to make his way to the entrance, swaying with each step from the waves and the difficult of walking while holding a spear. But he would not be caught unawares again.
“Eeboor,” Dizzy interrupted him, and he huffed as he turned around. “Euhree,” she said firmly. He growled and turned away, continuing to the entrance. She sighed, her muscles releasing their tension. She walked away, it was hopeless.
Slowly he began to climb up the deck, his claws digging into the hut as he dragged himself up. Suddenly a wave struck the nest and he slipped, smacking to the ground. .
The nest shook from the blow and Reek ran to him, nuzzling him as he groaned. He had landed on his back again. He could hardly focus on his daughter, only met with sharp pain.
Finally he managed to spit out a growl, barking “Euhree!” She winced and backed away, while he clenched up. This time he clamped his jaws around the spear, huffed in frustration, and climbed up using all four of his limbs.
He landed on ready to watch the storm. He would not let another Pirate Waxface raid his home. He was strong.
Seashrogs had litters of two to four joeys; Reek had been a triplet, Tiger a quadruplet. When that sauceback raided them … Skipper killed her in the end, but she certainly left her mark on the family.
Reek continued to pout as her father walked past, clutching her spear in her hands. She tapped it with her claw, trying to mimic what she thought was an aggressive display of her father. She may have been too young to help back then, but she would not let her family get hurt again.
She was almost three years old, by this time she could leave the nest if she wanted to. But she had no desire to leave yet. And the reasons all dated back to a year ago.
Her people’s social capacity was limited, but they were not solitary. She remembered her siblings, she remembered being pinned under their corpses, unable to do anything as Skipper fought her. She let out a low rumbling moan, thinking of their stink. It never seemed to leave her pelt.
“Euhree,” she told herself. That was the past, now she was older, stronger, smarter. She could protect her family. Like her father had. She was a protector.
Nearby, Dizzy laid down as the clouds plumed into a black hue. As the mother rested she curled around her pouch, securing the young joey. She closed her eyes, even as a few purple worms inched towards her.
Skipper barked down to Reek, and she huffed, before putting the spear in her mouth and making her way towards her mother. Her father instead stood on top of the deck, clutching his spear. The waves were growing dark and gray, growing taller and less predictable.
The sky had a plumage of clouds, each booming as thunder smashed down from their bellies. The rain began to fall as poisonous spit, smacking into Skipper. He huffed in response, even as he put down his spear to close the lid of the nest.
He drew back his spear, brandishing it briefly at the sky. A growl thundered out of him, his people had no specific call, pounding the spear on the deck. In the lightning flashes his back was illuminating, showing a jagged scar going down his back, splintering his osteoderms. The result of a lightning strike.
He had lived long enough to know he could do nothing against lightning, that at best it would knock the spear from his hand, burn the deck of his nest, or kill him. He almost died a decade ago when he was struck, but Dizzy had taken care of him. He survived, though in recent years his scar would ache.
He had lived a long life, he and Dizzy had sired many joeys over the last two decades, they had lost few to predators or disease, most had lived long enough for him and Dizzy to drive out.
With the pair’s age and their injuries, Tiger was likely their last joey. And ever since that raid he rarely left his pouch. Skipper barked in ownership, he would not let a Pirate kill his mate. Nor his final joeys.
Reek stood by her mother, clutching her spear. As the nest rocked Dizzy shuddered. The worms had latched onto her back, burrowing in her fur. Blood leeched from her into the False Cleaner Borvermid, feeding the mimicking parasites.
Reek did not notice the parasites, not that many Seashrogs did at that age. Instead she was looking up at the distant lid to the nest. Skipper was there, ready to drive off any raiders. She should be out there. She was hardly a joey anymore, she should be a great defender of her family too, skewering predators with ease.
The boat bucked suddenly as a powerful wave struck it. There was a creak, and Reek looked up to see a log of Coccobarrage knocked out of place from the blow. The paste of salvia and berries that had held it together were weakened from Skipper slamming into it and his rake.
She paused, looking at her spear, before the log creaked again. Huffing she laid down the spear and scrambled towards a pile of supplies, even as the deck shifted.
Skipper did not notice the deck creaking, distracted by the storm and his vigil. He continued to strike the butt of his spear to the ground, a nervous habit he had picked up when he was younger and had been too weak to bark.
Below Reek carried a few Fuzzzpalm berries in her mouth, her hands busy balancing herself in the rocking waves. She reached the sturdy support beam, it was a late addition to the nest, but still before her time.
She began to chew on the berry in her mouth, grinding it and mixing it with her salvia. She recoiled, it was quicker that mashing them, but the stickiness gummed up her mouth.
She reeled back and spat on the beam, almost drooling the paste, before massaging the goop into the wood. She packed it in before using the flat of her tail to shove the log back into place. That should keep it a bit more stable. She could grab her spear again.
But she heard barking from the deck. Skipper was declaring his strength, she should be there with him. Then she heard a whimper from Dizzy.
If the deck was unstable, he might stumble, and suffer. She … she should be with him, but for now, she should reinforce the deck. She laid the extra berries down, she would need them soon,
She walked towards Dizzy and picked up her spear, before carrying it over and laying it down by the center of the nest. This was the first spear she ever made, it was lined with her fidgeting claw marks. She wanted it with her.
She then turned and walked with some speed to one of the mounds of plants stacked in the corner of the nest. She looked among the maintenance supplies, skipping over the driftwood and Mainland Fuzzpalm wood. The latter would bend under pressure, it would be of little support. Grabbing a Coccobarrage log she dragged it away, to use to better support the roof. It was heavy, and she was nowhere near her parents’ size. But she still pulled it along.
Skipper swayed and stumbled on the deck. He should not be out here. He should hunker down in the storm, helping Reek keep it stable. But he was not going to loose his joeys or his mate.
Thud. Something had knocked into the boat. Skipper thrust at the sound, his spear stabbing the air. He barked out a high pitched growl, thrusting his spear as waves rocked the boat.
He rose to his hind legs, thumping his tail against the deck and brandishing his spear. As his tail thundered a wave hit the nest, knocking him down. He smacked onto the deck, before another thud sounded. He spun around on three legs, thrusting his spear in his fourth.
The motion knocked him off balance, three legs was not as steady as four. His people frequently could walk on four legs, but in a storm, the waves slamming into his nest, the clouds limiting his sight? He was struggling to stay upright..
Then he heard a ripping sound, and he lunged at the sound.
He stumbled as another wave hit the nest, knocking him flat and sending his spear tumbling from his hands. He scrambled upright and ran after it, his heartbeat pounding. He was strong, he was strong, he was not too old, he could protect his nest. He could protect Dizzy and Reek and Tiger. He would not lose anyone else.
Reek meanwhile pushed the new support beam into place, propping it up with her tail. Then with her hands she mashed the remaining berries, before spitting on her palms. As her hands squeezed the berries, below her the Shailnitors stumbled on the ground and squealed, knocked about by the waves. She whimpered at their distress, before she began to plaster the paste in place, it would not have time to dry, but it was just a precaution.
Skipper dived to the edge, just as the spear plummeted into the drink. His six eyes searched around, before he began to scramble towards the—
Thud. Skipper spun around to finally see the source of the pounding illuminated by the lighting. Another nest was thumping against his home. Another Seashrog? Invading his territory? A threat, trying to take advantage. He approached and began to bark aggressively, thumping his tail. In his anger he didn’t even notice the lack of responding cries, not the strange damage to the rival nest. Like part of it had ripped apart and eaten.
Reek faintly heard the barks against the storm, though she could not make out the intent. She hurried to get her spear, she would help her father.
Skipper was still barking when he suddenly heard the faint sound of wood ripping. His eyes widened and he searched around he … he was strong, he could protect his—
Something hard and wooden slammed into back, and his scar exploded in pain. He fall flat, struggling to gasp out as two grey feet stepped in front of him. A furry brown sauceback stood over him, clutching a log of Coccobarrage in its tusks. It’s long flexible neck reeled back the log it had stolen from the nest, the tip snapped to a jagged edge after it struck Skipper’s back.
“Areeereeeeer,” he managed to groan, but he could tell it was too quiet. With the thunder and waves, and the wind knocked out of him, he wheeze of a warning was too faint. No one would know the danger.
Skipper let out a wheeze as the log impaled through the gap in his back’s osteoderms. He could not tell if he was bleeding, blood was washed out by the rain, the smell of ozone suffocated any smell of his iron-based blood. He laid there, looking up through unfocused at the Pirate Waxface.
The bipedal beast was three meters long, though much of that was the neck and tail. The average Seashrog was not exactly small, but at only two meters long, they were dwarfed by this breed of sauceback. The Pirate would invade their nests, eat the Seashrogs, and commandeering their homes and food, before moving to raid the next nest.
As the sauceback began to rip free another log, there was a faint creak. The sauceback did not notice over the rumbling sky, before walking to impale the Seashrog. He lifted up the weapon, only for a spear to slam into him.
The Pirate Waxface grunted at the sharp pain, then turned as Reek thrust again at him, pushing him back. The Seashrog barked as her spear drove him away from her and Skipper.
Lightning crashed as the torrent of rain and waves rocked the humble nest. Reek stabbed in the darkness, keeping him at bay.
She could not easily walk with the spear though, she was a quadruped. She could briefly stand on her hind legs, sure. But true bipedalism? That was not in her biology. Though they were roughly as smart, they were not the same as the ancient Lemupus.
If she wanted to move towards the sauceback with her spear, she would need to either carry it in her mouth, or try to move on three legs while holding the spear in her fourth, and that was unstable.
The Pirate Waxface paced around the deck, probing her reach. Reek barked in frustration, even as a large grey wave struck the nest. She stumbled, her claws digging against the deck.
Spotting the distraction the sauceback thrust out his spear, only for the boat to shift, the support beam Reek had placed was partly dislodged from the wave. He stumbled on his two legs, the spear flinging out of his grip.
Neither Seashrog nor Pirate Waxface were smart enough to think of throwing spears, the fallen weapon went unnoticed. Instead Reek spotted he was unarmed, and stabbed forward.
The sauceback winded as blood burst from his furry hide, before he stepped back out of her reach. He stretched his neck down, clamping his tusks around a chunk of the deck. He began to tug on a log, trying to pry it loose. But the waves staggered it, and his tusks struggled against the soaking wet tree.
Reek watched him struggle, if she ran up … but she would likely drop her spear. She liked that spear, it was her favorite spear.
Then she heard a moan. She glanced over to see a lump in the darkness, with something long and thing sticking straight out of it vertically. Was … was that Skipper? He was breathing faintly, th-that spear, she remembered her mother’s wound. And if this thing could fell him…
She heard a rip as the Pirate Waxface wrenched free a log. She should have reacted faster. But if she had ran she would have dropped it and lost it and been disarmed.
The sauceback thrust at her, scratching a gash in her face. Reek whimpered flailing her spear. He back up slightly, and she clutched her face. She breathed heavy, calming down.
He stabbed again and she ducked, before stabbing back. Her spear did not reach him, but his could strike her. His spear was longer. She … she would have to move.
Carefully Reek began to walk slowly on three legs, moving slowly as she kept her spear leveled at him. Then a wave struck, and she stumbled and smacked into the deck. He reeled back to stab at her, but she thrust up at him, scraping his neck.
He roared and slammed down as she lumbered away, his blunt spear striking against her flank. She yelped in pain, but it did not burst her skin, clinking off her osteoderms.
As the two of them eyed each other she swallowed. She … she could not risk tripedal movement in this storm. Letting out an unease whimper, she grabbed her spear in her mouth, and scrambled away as the sauceback charged. The spear thumped against his leg, and there was a crack. Reek flinched at the sound, even as the predator stumbled, his leg throbbing.
Reek turned around, before grabbing her spear in her hand. She thrust it, stabbing the sauceback’s thigh and forcing it to drop the spear. But as the seafaring shrew drew blood there was a second crack, sharp like a chunk of crystal crashing to Sagan 4. And before her six eyes her spear shattered in an explosion of wood.
The Seashrog wailed in distress as splinters of her spear hit the deck. This … this was not meant to be like this. Then she heard a thud. The sauceback was limping, his tail knocking against the nest. And there in the lightning flash, was the spear it dropped.
She scrambled over and grabbed it, before stabbing at the Pirate Waxface. It came to a dull point, it had once been a spear, but after being used as an emergency patch-job, it had dulled against the waves. It still ended in something of a point, but it would struggle to be one without the force of the predator’s strength. At best it knocked him off balance.
Reek thrust again and again, but she could tell it was only making him dizzy, and that was mostly the power of the waves.
As rain continued to fall, she heard another groan from her father. She had to do something, this beast could kill her and her whole family. Just like one of its kind had k-killed her siblings. It … it was all on her.
Or was it. She put the spear in her mouth and ran past the Pirate Waxface, running behind her father. As she stood their, brandishing the spear, she began to rub the butt of the spear back and forth against his tail, even as he winced at the touch. The jagged blade of a tail ground against the wood, ripping up wood shavings, even as she readied the opposite end to prod away the beast.
The Pirate Waxface stalked at her, and she paused to thrust her spear at it. The sauceback backed away, before she resumed carving a new spear point. She saw out of the corners of all six of her eyes, keeping track of the beast as she carved the spear.
Reek was not a social creature outside of her family, her species had only a limited language. The concept of lying was a bit beyond her. But the grinding sound vaguely coincidentally recalled a growl, and she kept thrusting to keep the sauceback back. To him, she was threatening him, and he was cautious.
He walked away to another side of the deck, and began to uproot another log. The deck shifted slightly in the storm, destabilized by the damage. It creaked and wheezed, though was mostly stable. As he struggled against the weather to grip the weapon, Reek sharpened the new spear point against her own tail, making it come to a point. Then, gripping it in her teeth, she ran forward.
The spear thumped against his leg, striking close to the stab wound. The Pirate Waxface staggered, even as she grabbed the spear. She thrust forward with the newly sharpened point. It was a crude job, but at this range, it dug in deep.
The sauceback stumbled, ripping most of the spear out of its flank and tossing it off the boat. He bellowed, before he walked away, heading towards the nest it had commandeered long ago. This was not worth the trouble. Reek watched him go, before rushing to her father.
She started to nuzzle him, but he let loose a faint growl. She flinched at his barks … he was growling at her? His eyes struggled to stay open, his head could not even lift upright. He was barely consciously. All he saw was a rival Seashrog.
And all she saw was her father driving her away. She … she supposed she was an adult, she d-drove off the beast. She … she was ready. But she didn’t feel like it. And she did not want to go.
She barked away, only to slip on the deck. Picking herself up, she found the broken tip of her old spear. It was useless now as a weapon to keep beasts at bay. She would not be able to fish with it either. But it was still her spear and … here on the deck, in the cold, her father hostile, she … she needed it. She would find a use for it.
Reek put it in her mouth, before climbing into the nest. As she walked past she heard a moan. She looked as Dizzy swayed, still alive, but breathing heavily. She was packing some paste into the support beams, with Tiger helping mash berries, still in her pouch. They were getting a bit too big to be in there.
Reek walked up to her mother, whimpering, and Dizzy did not seem irritated or hostile. It was … confusing. Was she not too old to leave? Had she not overstayed her welcome! Should she not go yet?
The daughter did not understand, so she focused on what she did understand. Her mother seemed a little weaker than usual, she could not protect the family or keep the nest together easily. And the nest had been ripped up quite a bit by the Pirate.
Reek called out “Euhree,” but with no aggression. Her mother nodded and stepped away, and Reel walked over to stack of logs. She grasped an Obsidibend log, dragging it away. It was not ideal, too bendable to be ideal for the deck, but she needed to do some repairs, and replacing spears was difficult, she would not want to waste one mending the deck. She would jury-rig something to keep the deck solid, plaster it over with paste, then get a spear from the rack to protect her family.
Her father … she was not socially aware enough to fully understand. She understood her father would die. She understood that him dying was bad, and it certainly stressed her. As did his rejection of her. She would miss him too, she was socially cognitive enough for that. But mourning was … not something that she was capable of, at least by the standards of a social beast like a Terran human. So she got to work reinforcing the nest, fidgeting with the chunk of her spear periodically from the stress.
Above her, Skipper’s breathing grew fainter and fainter, his eyes closed. He would be dead soon, and then Dizzy would be in an awkward position. Reek could theoretically live on her own now, though she was still roughly half the length of her parents, juveniles left the nest around age three. But alone and disabled, Dizzy would struggle to hunt, maintain the nest, and raise a joey. She would not have to leave the nest often, since she could hunt and forage from the deck using a spear, but climbing in and out of the nest was exhausting. As was fixing the nest. Tiger was almost old enough to help maintain the nest, but they were still too young to do everything she would need.
She could potentially get a new mate, but at her age it was unlikely, and she did not have the most time either way. Thirty was about the extent of her lifespan, Seashrogs could live to forty, but that was fir the luckiest of them. Her injuries and life had taken its toll.
Ultimately Dizzy’s future depended on if Reek remained by her side much longer. It was not impossible, in their species occasionally two females might mate, staying together to watch out for nests inhabited by male bachelors or a mated pair of males. They would call to the male/s, attracting them to their nest where they would breed, before going their separate ways with the two females raising any joeys born of the encounter together.
It was not the most likely outcome, and regardless of what followed no situation left for Reek, Dizzy, and Tiger was as ideal as if Skipper survived. But life on Sagan 4 was rarely simple or comfortable. And while the intelligence and improvisation of the Seashrogs gave them an edge over some life, three races that far surpassed the sapience of Seashrogs had rose up in different parts of their planet’s history, and each had died out. Their intellect did not guarantee them a legacy, just as it had not for the ancient Lemupus.
The storm was diminishing now. The sauceback was drifting away on his commandeered nest, ripping up more of it to nibble on the decaying debris. It was not as good a meal as a Seashrog, but he was wounded and tired, he would have to rest off his wound. And far away, Reek and Dizzy were trying to pull free the log impaling Reek’s late father, to slot it back into the deck. Life continued on.
I was inspired to write this story when I learned of the Seashrogs. Look you know me, I like a good Shrew, and the Shrogs are a so much better version of what I tried to do back in the day. SoI wrote a story about a family group of Seashrogs. I actually wrote this roughly four months back, but now that we have this topic I can share it. Enjoy.
The Storm
Sagan 4 - BigL Tropical Coast - Mid Bonoian Period - Alpha timeline
The wind was beginning to build as darkened clouds rolled above the light blue sea. Clumps of driftwood slammed against the building waves, the growing violence rattling the Cone Puffgrass latching the wood together. Some of the older plants ripped from the force of the waves, the driftwood knocking free.
As a chunk of a raft tore loose, a clawed three-fingered hand grabbed the chunk of debris. The chunk of driftwood was raised up to the graying snout of a Seashrog, poking just above the water. His six eyes looked over the wood, narrowing his focus on occasion as one of his claw rubbed against the wood, watching for cracks.
Satisfied, the Seashrog swam away with a kick of all his limbs, returning to him and his mate’s nest. The large wood structure was a semi-sphere, the bent logs bending upward to a flat deck. Each log had been cut by this Seashrog and his mate, their tails sawing it down, before packing other plants around it to form a hollow boat of sorts.
For the sake of clarity, we shall refer to this Seashrog as “Skipper.”
Atop of the nest another Seashrog stared at the water, where clusters of small purple balls floating, seemingly stick together. Suddenly she thrust a spear at one such clump of Marbleflora. She heaved, and with strain dragged a flailing Shardscale onto the deck. The gilltail was skewered on the spear, and with her claws she scrapped it off the tool and onto the deck. It lay in a pile besides another of its species, it’s flopping gradually growing slower. Finally it was as still as the other Shardscale, laying flat along with a few clusters of Marbleflora.
Rarely did a Seashrog need to leave the nest to hunt, they could fish with their spears from the deck. But this Seashrog could not leave the nest even if she wanted to. Her gaunt was uneven, her left hind leg almost dragged behind her and a jagged scar hung to the limb, a lingering reminder of a clash with a Pirate Waxface from less than a year ago.
We will refer to her as ‘Dizzy.’
The Seashrog were an unusually smart species of ‘Shrew,’ but had little capability for social behavior. They would tolerate a group of two mates and their current joeys, but any more were stressful. Likewise they lacked a language, so their ability to pass on knowledge was limited. The concept of medicine had also yet to emerge.
Still, Skipper had possessed enough intelligence to realize the spear tip in his mate’s thigh had needed to be removed. With some help from Reek he had pried it loose, the father and daughter had licked the injury, and the saltwater of the ocean had helped ward off the worst of infection. But the damage was done, the bones had regrown out out of place, the nerves were still slow to respond too. In short, her leg had never fully healed.
Pirate Waxface were tool using, but rarely made spears. The spear that had embedded in her thigh had been stolen from Dizzy herself, when she had dropped she tried to run.
Dizzy continued gathering up their food supplies, before barking as she spotted her older of two joeys poking her head onto the deck. “Reek Euhree,” she called out sharply. The call was no true sentence, just a rough warning for the youth to stop. The joey pouted, knocking around the spear clutched in her jaws against the deck with each tilt of her head. While Seashrogs had hands, they were not so dexterous to walk easier while holding things, let alone while climbing out of the nest.
The joey was nearly three years old and huffed, barking out a muffled grumble. She tried to climb up onto the deck, before being pushed back by her mother’s paw.
“Euhree!” Dizzy barked, and the younger joey in her pouch squeaked at the sound. The older joey relented with a huff and descended back in, before Dizzy used her flat sharp tail to shove the food into the nest. It was best to lay them on the deck in the heat of the sun, but with the waves growing worse and the sun engulfed by clouds, they would not properly dry regardless.
As the gilltail and plants thumped against the wooden burrow’s floor, Reek prodded them away with her tail, still clutching her spear in her mouth. The obsidian wood of the spear had lasted a long time, but grooves had been dug down its shafts by her claws. As she swept away their freshly caught supplies, her father returned to the nest.
Taking a cue from Dizzy, we will refer to the older joey as ‘Reek.’ The younger we will reference as ‘Tiger,’ for the stripes on the latter’s back.
Skipper climbed aboard the deck, before descending into the center hole. He flinched as he landed, reaching backwards to feel his back. He recoiled, letting out a squeak. Almost instantly he puffed out his chest, and barked out, thumping his tail to make noise.
Reek watched him as his stomps almost mimicked a thunderclap. Her eyes followed him then as he huffed and walked away, carrying the driftwood in his mouth towards a mound of driftwood and logs. He did not take long, almost spitting it out, before returning to the entrance to their wooden floating burrow.
The old male poked his head back to look at the sky. His snout wrinkled in disgust and he raked his claws against the deck. The weather was getting worse, he did not like the storm. It had come without warning, they had little time to prepare. He did not like that.
Dizzy called out in a muffled whimper , and Skipper turned to his mate, hanging over the entrance with a spear in her mouth and plants in her hands. He huffed, before offering his hand. Using him as a support she tried to climb down into the nest. Skipper groaned from the pressure, his back aching. Finally she thumped to the floor of the nest, and Skipper fell hard against a support beam, it created from the blow. He lay there briefly, panting.
Reek was meant to be preparing the nest for the storm, that log should have been reinforced, any Stowaway Harmbless knocked aside before they could chew the paste that secured the beam. But instead she had been sharpening her spear, and practicing thrusting.
The elderly Seashrog meanwhile shook her fur off, before moving towards a pile of debris. She spat out the spear and dropped the few plants she had held in her claws, neither bunches of plants were fully dried in the sun, but if the storm hit, they would be drenched, and they might need the food. The Seashrogs had some ability to know how to plan.
Dizzy picked up the spear and started to go, only to pause. She bent over and stroke a small shelled creature. The Shailnitor did not respond, busy chewing on a Shardscale carcass that had started to decay, it’s jaws munching up the corpse. As he chewed Dizzy patted him on his unusually short snout, even as Tiger reached towards the Shailnitor. The small creature was unrelated to the Seashrogs, but its stout face recalled a joey, and endeared them to the bigger shrews.
Purple worm-like animals squirmed around the room, munching on any spore that had started to spout in the interior of the nest. However a few of these Cleaner Borvermid were motionless, busy sleeping and ignoring the plantlife scattered around.
Skipper walked on his four legs to Dizzy, calling out “akakak,” and pointing at her mouth. She grumbled but dropped the spear, and he clutched it in his hand. He began to make his way to the entrance, swaying with each step from the waves and the difficult of walking while holding a spear. But he would not be caught unawares again.
“Eeboor,” Dizzy interrupted him, and he huffed as he turned around. “Euhree,” she said firmly. He growled and turned away, continuing to the entrance. She sighed, her muscles releasing their tension. She walked away, it was hopeless.
Slowly he began to climb up the deck, his claws digging into the hut as he dragged himself up. Suddenly a wave struck the nest and he slipped, smacking to the ground. .
The nest shook from the blow and Reek ran to him, nuzzling him as he groaned. He had landed on his back again. He could hardly focus on his daughter, only met with sharp pain.
Finally he managed to spit out a growl, barking “Euhree!” She winced and backed away, while he clenched up. This time he clamped his jaws around the spear, huffed in frustration, and climbed up using all four of his limbs.
He landed on ready to watch the storm. He would not let another Pirate Waxface raid his home. He was strong.
Seashrogs had litters of two to four joeys; Reek had been a triplet, Tiger a quadruplet. When that sauceback raided them … Skipper killed her in the end, but she certainly left her mark on the family.
Reek continued to pout as her father walked past, clutching her spear in her hands. She tapped it with her claw, trying to mimic what she thought was an aggressive display of her father. She may have been too young to help back then, but she would not let her family get hurt again.
She was almost three years old, by this time she could leave the nest if she wanted to. But she had no desire to leave yet. And the reasons all dated back to a year ago.
Her people’s social capacity was limited, but they were not solitary. She remembered her siblings, she remembered being pinned under their corpses, unable to do anything as Skipper fought her. She let out a low rumbling moan, thinking of their stink. It never seemed to leave her pelt.
“Euhree,” she told herself. That was the past, now she was older, stronger, smarter. She could protect her family. Like her father had. She was a protector.
Nearby, Dizzy laid down as the clouds plumed into a black hue. As the mother rested she curled around her pouch, securing the young joey. She closed her eyes, even as a few purple worms inched towards her.
Skipper barked down to Reek, and she huffed, before putting the spear in her mouth and making her way towards her mother. Her father instead stood on top of the deck, clutching his spear. The waves were growing dark and gray, growing taller and less predictable.
The sky had a plumage of clouds, each booming as thunder smashed down from their bellies. The rain began to fall as poisonous spit, smacking into Skipper. He huffed in response, even as he put down his spear to close the lid of the nest.
He drew back his spear, brandishing it briefly at the sky. A growl thundered out of him, his people had no specific call, pounding the spear on the deck. In the lightning flashes his back was illuminating, showing a jagged scar going down his back, splintering his osteoderms. The result of a lightning strike.
He had lived long enough to know he could do nothing against lightning, that at best it would knock the spear from his hand, burn the deck of his nest, or kill him. He almost died a decade ago when he was struck, but Dizzy had taken care of him. He survived, though in recent years his scar would ache.
He had lived a long life, he and Dizzy had sired many joeys over the last two decades, they had lost few to predators or disease, most had lived long enough for him and Dizzy to drive out.
With the pair’s age and their injuries, Tiger was likely their last joey. And ever since that raid he rarely left his pouch. Skipper barked in ownership, he would not let a Pirate kill his mate. Nor his final joeys.
Reek stood by her mother, clutching her spear. As the nest rocked Dizzy shuddered. The worms had latched onto her back, burrowing in her fur. Blood leeched from her into the False Cleaner Borvermid, feeding the mimicking parasites.
Reek did not notice the parasites, not that many Seashrogs did at that age. Instead she was looking up at the distant lid to the nest. Skipper was there, ready to drive off any raiders. She should be out there. She was hardly a joey anymore, she should be a great defender of her family too, skewering predators with ease.
The boat bucked suddenly as a powerful wave struck it. There was a creak, and Reek looked up to see a log of Coccobarrage knocked out of place from the blow. The paste of salvia and berries that had held it together were weakened from Skipper slamming into it and his rake.
She paused, looking at her spear, before the log creaked again. Huffing she laid down the spear and scrambled towards a pile of supplies, even as the deck shifted.
Skipper did not notice the deck creaking, distracted by the storm and his vigil. He continued to strike the butt of his spear to the ground, a nervous habit he had picked up when he was younger and had been too weak to bark.
Below Reek carried a few Fuzzzpalm berries in her mouth, her hands busy balancing herself in the rocking waves. She reached the sturdy support beam, it was a late addition to the nest, but still before her time.
She began to chew on the berry in her mouth, grinding it and mixing it with her salvia. She recoiled, it was quicker that mashing them, but the stickiness gummed up her mouth.
She reeled back and spat on the beam, almost drooling the paste, before massaging the goop into the wood. She packed it in before using the flat of her tail to shove the log back into place. That should keep it a bit more stable. She could grab her spear again.
But she heard barking from the deck. Skipper was declaring his strength, she should be there with him. Then she heard a whimper from Dizzy.
If the deck was unstable, he might stumble, and suffer. She … she should be with him, but for now, she should reinforce the deck. She laid the extra berries down, she would need them soon,
She walked towards Dizzy and picked up her spear, before carrying it over and laying it down by the center of the nest. This was the first spear she ever made, it was lined with her fidgeting claw marks. She wanted it with her.
She then turned and walked with some speed to one of the mounds of plants stacked in the corner of the nest. She looked among the maintenance supplies, skipping over the driftwood and Mainland Fuzzpalm wood. The latter would bend under pressure, it would be of little support. Grabbing a Coccobarrage log she dragged it away, to use to better support the roof. It was heavy, and she was nowhere near her parents’ size. But she still pulled it along.
Skipper swayed and stumbled on the deck. He should not be out here. He should hunker down in the storm, helping Reek keep it stable. But he was not going to loose his joeys or his mate.
Thud. Something had knocked into the boat. Skipper thrust at the sound, his spear stabbing the air. He barked out a high pitched growl, thrusting his spear as waves rocked the boat.
He rose to his hind legs, thumping his tail against the deck and brandishing his spear. As his tail thundered a wave hit the nest, knocking him down. He smacked onto the deck, before another thud sounded. He spun around on three legs, thrusting his spear in his fourth.
The motion knocked him off balance, three legs was not as steady as four. His people frequently could walk on four legs, but in a storm, the waves slamming into his nest, the clouds limiting his sight? He was struggling to stay upright..
Then he heard a ripping sound, and he lunged at the sound.
He stumbled as another wave hit the nest, knocking him flat and sending his spear tumbling from his hands. He scrambled upright and ran after it, his heartbeat pounding. He was strong, he was strong, he was not too old, he could protect his nest. He could protect Dizzy and Reek and Tiger. He would not lose anyone else.
Reek meanwhile pushed the new support beam into place, propping it up with her tail. Then with her hands she mashed the remaining berries, before spitting on her palms. As her hands squeezed the berries, below her the Shailnitors stumbled on the ground and squealed, knocked about by the waves. She whimpered at their distress, before she began to plaster the paste in place, it would not have time to dry, but it was just a precaution.
Skipper dived to the edge, just as the spear plummeted into the drink. His six eyes searched around, before he began to scramble towards the—
Thud. Skipper spun around to finally see the source of the pounding illuminated by the lighting. Another nest was thumping against his home. Another Seashrog? Invading his territory? A threat, trying to take advantage. He approached and began to bark aggressively, thumping his tail. In his anger he didn’t even notice the lack of responding cries, not the strange damage to the rival nest. Like part of it had ripped apart and eaten.
Reek faintly heard the barks against the storm, though she could not make out the intent. She hurried to get her spear, she would help her father.
Skipper was still barking when he suddenly heard the faint sound of wood ripping. His eyes widened and he searched around he … he was strong, he could protect his—
Something hard and wooden slammed into back, and his scar exploded in pain. He fall flat, struggling to gasp out as two grey feet stepped in front of him. A furry brown sauceback stood over him, clutching a log of Coccobarrage in its tusks. It’s long flexible neck reeled back the log it had stolen from the nest, the tip snapped to a jagged edge after it struck Skipper’s back.
“Areeereeeeer,” he managed to groan, but he could tell it was too quiet. With the thunder and waves, and the wind knocked out of him, he wheeze of a warning was too faint. No one would know the danger.
Skipper let out a wheeze as the log impaled through the gap in his back’s osteoderms. He could not tell if he was bleeding, blood was washed out by the rain, the smell of ozone suffocated any smell of his iron-based blood. He laid there, looking up through unfocused at the Pirate Waxface.
The bipedal beast was three meters long, though much of that was the neck and tail. The average Seashrog was not exactly small, but at only two meters long, they were dwarfed by this breed of sauceback. The Pirate would invade their nests, eat the Seashrogs, and commandeering their homes and food, before moving to raid the next nest.
As the sauceback began to rip free another log, there was a faint creak. The sauceback did not notice over the rumbling sky, before walking to impale the Seashrog. He lifted up the weapon, only for a spear to slam into him.
The Pirate Waxface grunted at the sharp pain, then turned as Reek thrust again at him, pushing him back. The Seashrog barked as her spear drove him away from her and Skipper.
Lightning crashed as the torrent of rain and waves rocked the humble nest. Reek stabbed in the darkness, keeping him at bay.
She could not easily walk with the spear though, she was a quadruped. She could briefly stand on her hind legs, sure. But true bipedalism? That was not in her biology. Though they were roughly as smart, they were not the same as the ancient Lemupus.
If she wanted to move towards the sauceback with her spear, she would need to either carry it in her mouth, or try to move on three legs while holding the spear in her fourth, and that was unstable.
The Pirate Waxface paced around the deck, probing her reach. Reek barked in frustration, even as a large grey wave struck the nest. She stumbled, her claws digging against the deck.
Spotting the distraction the sauceback thrust out his spear, only for the boat to shift, the support beam Reek had placed was partly dislodged from the wave. He stumbled on his two legs, the spear flinging out of his grip.
Neither Seashrog nor Pirate Waxface were smart enough to think of throwing spears, the fallen weapon went unnoticed. Instead Reek spotted he was unarmed, and stabbed forward.
The sauceback winded as blood burst from his furry hide, before he stepped back out of her reach. He stretched his neck down, clamping his tusks around a chunk of the deck. He began to tug on a log, trying to pry it loose. But the waves staggered it, and his tusks struggled against the soaking wet tree.
Reek watched him struggle, if she ran up … but she would likely drop her spear. She liked that spear, it was her favorite spear.
Then she heard a moan. She glanced over to see a lump in the darkness, with something long and thing sticking straight out of it vertically. Was … was that Skipper? He was breathing faintly, th-that spear, she remembered her mother’s wound. And if this thing could fell him…
She heard a rip as the Pirate Waxface wrenched free a log. She should have reacted faster. But if she had ran she would have dropped it and lost it and been disarmed.
The sauceback thrust at her, scratching a gash in her face. Reek whimpered flailing her spear. He back up slightly, and she clutched her face. She breathed heavy, calming down.
He stabbed again and she ducked, before stabbing back. Her spear did not reach him, but his could strike her. His spear was longer. She … she would have to move.
Carefully Reek began to walk slowly on three legs, moving slowly as she kept her spear leveled at him. Then a wave struck, and she stumbled and smacked into the deck. He reeled back to stab at her, but she thrust up at him, scraping his neck.
He roared and slammed down as she lumbered away, his blunt spear striking against her flank. She yelped in pain, but it did not burst her skin, clinking off her osteoderms.
As the two of them eyed each other she swallowed. She … she could not risk tripedal movement in this storm. Letting out an unease whimper, she grabbed her spear in her mouth, and scrambled away as the sauceback charged. The spear thumped against his leg, and there was a crack. Reek flinched at the sound, even as the predator stumbled, his leg throbbing.
Reek turned around, before grabbing her spear in her hand. She thrust it, stabbing the sauceback’s thigh and forcing it to drop the spear. But as the seafaring shrew drew blood there was a second crack, sharp like a chunk of crystal crashing to Sagan 4. And before her six eyes her spear shattered in an explosion of wood.
The Seashrog wailed in distress as splinters of her spear hit the deck. This … this was not meant to be like this. Then she heard a thud. The sauceback was limping, his tail knocking against the nest. And there in the lightning flash, was the spear it dropped.
She scrambled over and grabbed it, before stabbing at the Pirate Waxface. It came to a dull point, it had once been a spear, but after being used as an emergency patch-job, it had dulled against the waves. It still ended in something of a point, but it would struggle to be one without the force of the predator’s strength. At best it knocked him off balance.
Reek thrust again and again, but she could tell it was only making him dizzy, and that was mostly the power of the waves.
As rain continued to fall, she heard another groan from her father. She had to do something, this beast could kill her and her whole family. Just like one of its kind had k-killed her siblings. It … it was all on her.
Or was it. She put the spear in her mouth and ran past the Pirate Waxface, running behind her father. As she stood their, brandishing the spear, she began to rub the butt of the spear back and forth against his tail, even as he winced at the touch. The jagged blade of a tail ground against the wood, ripping up wood shavings, even as she readied the opposite end to prod away the beast.
The Pirate Waxface stalked at her, and she paused to thrust her spear at it. The sauceback backed away, before she resumed carving a new spear point. She saw out of the corners of all six of her eyes, keeping track of the beast as she carved the spear.
Reek was not a social creature outside of her family, her species had only a limited language. The concept of lying was a bit beyond her. But the grinding sound vaguely coincidentally recalled a growl, and she kept thrusting to keep the sauceback back. To him, she was threatening him, and he was cautious.
He walked away to another side of the deck, and began to uproot another log. The deck shifted slightly in the storm, destabilized by the damage. It creaked and wheezed, though was mostly stable. As he struggled against the weather to grip the weapon, Reek sharpened the new spear point against her own tail, making it come to a point. Then, gripping it in her teeth, she ran forward.
The spear thumped against his leg, striking close to the stab wound. The Pirate Waxface staggered, even as she grabbed the spear. She thrust forward with the newly sharpened point. It was a crude job, but at this range, it dug in deep.
The sauceback stumbled, ripping most of the spear out of its flank and tossing it off the boat. He bellowed, before he walked away, heading towards the nest it had commandeered long ago. This was not worth the trouble. Reek watched him go, before rushing to her father.
She started to nuzzle him, but he let loose a faint growl. She flinched at his barks … he was growling at her? His eyes struggled to stay open, his head could not even lift upright. He was barely consciously. All he saw was a rival Seashrog.
And all she saw was her father driving her away. She … she supposed she was an adult, she d-drove off the beast. She … she was ready. But she didn’t feel like it. And she did not want to go.
She barked away, only to slip on the deck. Picking herself up, she found the broken tip of her old spear. It was useless now as a weapon to keep beasts at bay. She would not be able to fish with it either. But it was still her spear and … here on the deck, in the cold, her father hostile, she … she needed it. She would find a use for it.
Reek put it in her mouth, before climbing into the nest. As she walked past she heard a moan. She looked as Dizzy swayed, still alive, but breathing heavily. She was packing some paste into the support beams, with Tiger helping mash berries, still in her pouch. They were getting a bit too big to be in there.
Reek walked up to her mother, whimpering, and Dizzy did not seem irritated or hostile. It was … confusing. Was she not too old to leave? Had she not overstayed her welcome! Should she not go yet?
The daughter did not understand, so she focused on what she did understand. Her mother seemed a little weaker than usual, she could not protect the family or keep the nest together easily. And the nest had been ripped up quite a bit by the Pirate.
Reek called out “Euhree,” but with no aggression. Her mother nodded and stepped away, and Reel walked over to stack of logs. She grasped an Obsidibend log, dragging it away. It was not ideal, too bendable to be ideal for the deck, but she needed to do some repairs, and replacing spears was difficult, she would not want to waste one mending the deck. She would jury-rig something to keep the deck solid, plaster it over with paste, then get a spear from the rack to protect her family.
Her father … she was not socially aware enough to fully understand. She understood her father would die. She understood that him dying was bad, and it certainly stressed her. As did his rejection of her. She would miss him too, she was socially cognitive enough for that. But mourning was … not something that she was capable of, at least by the standards of a social beast like a Terran human. So she got to work reinforcing the nest, fidgeting with the chunk of her spear periodically from the stress.
Above her, Skipper’s breathing grew fainter and fainter, his eyes closed. He would be dead soon, and then Dizzy would be in an awkward position. Reek could theoretically live on her own now, though she was still roughly half the length of her parents, juveniles left the nest around age three. But alone and disabled, Dizzy would struggle to hunt, maintain the nest, and raise a joey. She would not have to leave the nest often, since she could hunt and forage from the deck using a spear, but climbing in and out of the nest was exhausting. As was fixing the nest. Tiger was almost old enough to help maintain the nest, but they were still too young to do everything she would need.
She could potentially get a new mate, but at her age it was unlikely, and she did not have the most time either way. Thirty was about the extent of her lifespan, Seashrogs could live to forty, but that was fir the luckiest of them. Her injuries and life had taken its toll.
Ultimately Dizzy’s future depended on if Reek remained by her side much longer. It was not impossible, in their species occasionally two females might mate, staying together to watch out for nests inhabited by male bachelors or a mated pair of males. They would call to the male/s, attracting them to their nest where they would breed, before going their separate ways with the two females raising any joeys born of the encounter together.
It was not the most likely outcome, and regardless of what followed no situation left for Reek, Dizzy, and Tiger was as ideal as if Skipper survived. But life on Sagan 4 was rarely simple or comfortable. And while the intelligence and improvisation of the Seashrogs gave them an edge over some life, three races that far surpassed the sapience of Seashrogs had rose up in different parts of their planet’s history, and each had died out. Their intellect did not guarantee them a legacy, just as it had not for the ancient Lemupus.
The storm was diminishing now. The sauceback was drifting away on his commandeered nest, ripping up more of it to nibble on the decaying debris. It was not as good a meal as a Seashrog, but he was wounded and tired, he would have to rest off his wound. And far away, Reek and Dizzy were trying to pull free the log impaling Reek’s late father, to slot it back into the deck. Life continued on.
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