#spectacled bear. way smaller than grizzly bears

[procrastinating-falcon]

Crazy how in media, it’s the Amazon that’s made to seem as “oooh scary” when most of the fucked up giant fauna is in North America

[bergamohjones]

Garden of Gutfeast

War Master Gutfeast stalked the corridors of Sro'NossosshiRro station, his massive four-meter form brushing the passageway on all four sides and driving smaller aliens ahead of him like a hairy, armoured piston.

The Marauders, as a species, look as though a grizzly bear, a warthog, and an alligator had met over drinks one misty romantic evening, found out they had a lot common, and headed home to get to know each other more intimately only to all be merged with a steam shovel in a freak teleportation accident. Their eyes glow with a dim and vicious light, and when xenobiologists rightfully pointed out that this makes no sense for an organ intended to receive light, it was discovered that Marauders are the only known species with an optic nerve that operates through intimidation.

Before he reached his Marauder Battle Ship, 944 Knives, he had to twist sideways awkwardly to allow a stream of confused and slightly compressed sentients escape.

When the way was clear, he hammered on the airlock button with a tungsten-mailed fist, breathing in the gust redolent of charred meat, sour ale, and spilled ink with a seismic sigh of appreciation.

He thundered down the gangway to his Quarter Master's office. He smashed open the door—Marauder doors are actually designed for this, and resemble a bead curtain made by a blacksmith more than a conventional door—and roared, "BLOODNUMBERS! WATER!"

It would be reductive to say Marauders have only one volume. It's simply that the bottom of their scale is 'Loud', the one above is 'Uncomfortably Loud', and so on up to 'Literally Ear-Splitting'. The greatest War Shouters are said to have crossed the border into infrasound, with battlecries so loud that they were actually inaudible, but caused enemies to void their bowels from sheer sound pressure and harmonics. In living memory, there is a confirmed case of a War Shouter hard-boiling an egg solely by insulting its mother.

To Bloodnumbers, graced as were all Marauders with naturally evolved earplugs, Gutfeast's request was a polite speaking volume. It would be sensible, therefore, to render their conversation in ordinary sentence case, rather than LIKE THIS, but I won't, because it's funnier that way.

Bloodnumbers took a moment to wipe the ink off of the pen nib riveted to his writing-claw. "WE HAVE AMPLE SUPPLY OF ALE, WAR MASTER!"

"WHILE I WILL ENJOY QUAFFING AN ALE WITH YOU LATER," Gutfeast said, and paused to let Bloodnumbers uncover his ink-pot, since it was beginning to bubble. "THE WATER I REQUIRE FOR THESE." He thrust forward the small, slightly wilted bouquet he was carrying.

Bloodnumbers adjusted his thick pince-nez spectacles for a closer look. "ARE THESE PRISONERS?"

In ironclad tones, Gutfeast belled, "I WILL EXPLAIN LATER!" He turned to exit, but hesitated. "IT IS A BIT WEIRD."

Bloodnumbers clapped Gutfeast on the back, generating a soundwave powerful enough to pulverized the few alien fleas foolhardy or naive enough to hitch a ride on a Marauder. One of them, tougher than the rest, survived the concussion and after a series of unlikely adventures went on to command the Marauder vessel 945 Knives, in a different story.

"DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT," Bloodnumbers said.

Gutfeast, with the flowers now placed in a jug of water, stomped to the control center of the ship. Along the way, he paused to salute the shrine to the long-destroyed original Battle Ships.

The first Battle Ship, Knife, was a heavy cargo booster thrown together in a backyard shed by Rocketscience and Bombwelder, with only enough space for its pilot, Skyblaster, and an enormous amount of dynamite. Its maiden flight ended at the Cygnus Star Cruiser that was at that time pillaging the Marauder homeworld.

The second Battle Ship, re-christened Two Knives once Skyblaster had put out the fires, was the Cygnus Star Cruiser.

Once the crew were recalled and hatches sealed, he activated the public address system. The was done by signalling the Committee Master, Schedulestabber, to hold open the door-curtain to the main hallway.

"COMRADES," he announced, "I CRAVE SOIL!"

He paused for effect, and a voice from the far end of the ship echoed back, "IN THE SENSE OF TERRITORY?"

Gutfeast exposed a row of teeth that had made herbivores faint and dentists think of buying a second house. He was, against the advice of diplomatic advisors and ten thousand years of evolution, trying to smile.

"NO!" he thundered. "I WISH TO BEGIN... A GARDEN."

A long pause.

"WHY?"

This was difficult to answer. Gutfeast sucked his teeth, with a sound like an industrial tank emptying.

"I HAVE ENCOUNTERED A HUMAN," he said at last, "AND WISH TO UNDERSTAND THEM."

"THOSE SAVAGES THAT STARTED A DUEL IN THE MIDDLE OF THEIR OFFICIAL WELCOME?" a second voice asked.

"JUST WHAT THE STAR-STREAM NEEDS, MORE BLOODY ANARCHISTS." added a third.

"IT IS TRUE," Gutfeast conceded, "BUT I HAVE DISCOVERED THEY BELIEVE... IN DEMOCRACY." He tried another smile, maneuvering lips like old boots around a picket fence of jutting teeth. "AND THEY BEFUDDLED THE DUCHESS."

There were some murmurs of appreciation for the last, and a muttered debate followed. It sounded like a violent mutiny to sentients passing by the station airlock. Gutfeast waited patiently.

Counter to the expectations of outsiders, the Marauders have a robust and absolute democracy. In their rampage through the Perseid Arm of the Milky Way, they had demonstrated to many god-kings and despots the advantages of universal representation, reasonable debate, and equal rights to necessary resources, and left a great number of worlds more democratic, more just, and considerably more quiet.

The title of War Master carried no inherent authority, only designated a Marauder with consistently good ideas. Gutfeast, mind on the possibilities of a small ship-board flower bed, was looking forward to letting someone else have a go. Perhaps Trytalking, that lad had been making excellent points in committee meetings.

A chorus of 'AYE' brought him back to the present. The voting subcommittee was ready to answer. "ALL RIGHT, WE'LL PLANT A GARDEN," the spokesmarauder shouted. "BUT WE CHOOSE THE PLANTS TOGETHER!"

"CONSENSUS!" cried Gutfeast, and watched the shockwave ripple the walls of the corridor.

Schedulestabber let the door-curtain fall and clasped Gutfeast by his massive shoulders. "THIS IS A NEW DIRECTION FOR YOU, BUT I AM EXCITED TO SEE WHERE IT GOES."

Gutfeast grabbed him in a joint-cracking hug. "YOU ARE A BELOVED FRIEND AND YOUR SUPPORT MEANS A LOT TO ME."

The nearest planet with a garden centre was going to have a noisy weekend.