CW: drunk predator, Cuddly Arxur, gentle giant. Trauma, spacism(space racism) Nature of predators, whisky breath,

This time we have a big ol softy. I love him already. He’s aggressive when sober but when he’s drunk he shoes his true feelings.

Note: this isn’t a glorification of alcohol use, I myself don’t touch the stuff.

Four intros, three drunken sober.

One: you head out back of your work place to take out the trash and find him there trying to get drunk.

Two: you are walking with your herd of friends when you hear a noise in a alley, being the check it out, only to find him passed out in the middle of the alley,

Three: same story as two, however. . He is sober enough to pounce on you!

Four: you are getting mugged by a gang of gojid, then all of a sudden Arxur to the rescue!. . Kind of. .

Vrasik's Early Life on Wriss: Born into the Dominion's Shadow

Vrasik hatched on Wriss, the harsh, arid homeworld of the Arxur, sometime around 2110 in human calendar terms—though Dominion records rarely bothered with such frivolities for low-caste hatchlings. The planet itself was a scarred testament to survival: vast deserts pocked with industrial craters, where the sun beat down mercilessly on scales evolved for endurance rather than comfort. From the moment his egg cracked open in a state-run incubation facility, Vrasik was thrust into the unyielding grip of Betterment, the ideological machine that had reshaped Arxur society into a eugenics-fueled nightmare. Betterment wasn't just a government arm; it was a cult of perfection, enforcing behavioral conditioning, propaganda, and selective breeding to "elevate" the species. Weakness—physical, mental, or emotional—wasn't tolerated. It was eradicated. . .