The Felians
The Felians
Biology
| Average Height | 4'5" |
|---|---|
| Birth Method | Viviparous (live) |
| Lifespan | 18 years |
| Locomotion | bipedal |
| Reproduction | Sexual |
| Skin Color | Orange |
| Thermoregulation | endotherms |
| Weight | 238 lbs |
Relations
| Allies | People (not humans), The Humpties |
|---|---|
| Enemies | Lizards, Thrilxots, Arians, Shapeshifters, Kerbals, Na'vi, Humans |
The Felians, native to the overgrown jungle world of Cat-808, are a species of humanoid felines who strut through the cosmos with an inflated sense of grandeur and tactical brilliance—neither of which they possess. Covered in sleek fur and often adorned with primitive armor made from chitin or scrap metal, the Felians model themselves after ancient apex predators, believing their claws, reflexes, and pride are enough to earn them a place among the galaxy's true powers. In reality, they are seen by most advanced civilizations as little more than space-faring nuisances—and by the Lizards, as comically suicidal vermin.
Despite their low intelligence, the Felians are incredibly ambitious. They harbor an irrational and deeply rooted hatred for the Lizards, viewing them as the ultimate prey—ironically, the one species they are physically incapable of besting. Felians have been known to launch attacks on Lizardian outposts, starports, orbital cities, and even warships, believing sheer numbers and "predatory instinct" will overcome foes who wield antimatter cannons, plasma blades, and unyielding biomechanical strength. These campaigns invariably end in humiliation, with thousands of Felians reduced to ash, gore, or pulp within seconds. Yet the Felians remember none of this. Their pride rewrites history. Each defeat is rationalized, each massacre reframed as a "learning opportunity" or a "cowardly retreat by the Lizards."
Their homeworld, Cat-808, is a hot, oxygen-rich jungle planet teeming with fungal growth, six-legged prey beasts, and massive, hollow trees that serve as hives, forts, and temples. Civilization here is more akin to tribal militarism than any form of sustainable governance. Their societies are ruled by "Pride-Lords" who often gain power not through wisdom or strength—but through the loudest declarations of future victory over the Lizards. Felians rarely innovate; they instead steal, mimic, and poorly reverse-engineer what they can from other species. Their spacecraft, often cobbled together from scrap or stolen designs, are notoriously fragile, and their weapons unreliable. They favor melee weapons and light energy rifles, which may as well be toys against Lizardian shielding.
What makes the Felians truly infamous, however, is not their violence, but their stupidity. Felians have been observed chasing laser pointers during planetary raids, attacking decoy holograms with full ferocity, and mistaking Lizardian drones for fellow Felians wearing fancy armor. Some have attempted to bite antimatter charges, while others have tried to sneak into Lizardian bases by painting themselves green and hissing softly. In one legendary case, a Felian warband spent two months preparing a massive invasion fleet—only to fly directly into a Lizard antimatter minefield and vaporize themselves. The Lizard High Command later remarked that they didn't even realize an invasion had occurred.
Their physiology betrays their ambition. Despite being muscular and agile, Felians are no match for even a juvenile Lizard. A single swipe from a Lizardian tail can crush an adult Felian's ribcage. Their bones are brittle by comparison, their reaction times slower, and their stamina laughable. Lizard soldiers have often dispatched groups of them without even drawing a weapon—opting instead for brute force or intimidation. Drones like O delight in mocking and terrifying them, often dragging screaming Felians by the tail or scaring entire war parties into surrender with a single glare and growl.
Despite this, Felians persist. Their overconfidence is legendary, bordering on pathological. They believe themselves to be the ultimate species, destined to conquer, devour, and rule. This delusion is only reinforced by their alliances with two of the Lizards' most idiotic enemies: The People (a bloated, dysfunctional humanoid species) and the Humpties, fragile, egg-shaped aliens who crack under the slightest stress—literally and figuratively. Together, this trio forms the most ineffectual and tragic alliance in the known universe.
To the Lizards, the Felians are less a threat and more an annoying cosmic cat infestation. They are dangerous in the way a raccoon with a plasma grenade might be—unpredictable, hysterically dumb, and liable to kill themselves more often than their enemies. Nonetheless, the Lizard Empire does not underestimate the chaos a desperate Felian force can cause, particularly when attacking civilian colonies or attempting biological sabotage. For this reason, their incursions are met with swift, brutal retribution.
And so, the cycle continues. The Felians—howling, snarling, and yowling—hurl themselves at an enemy that will never fall. The Lizards—stoic, calculating, and utterly unimpressed—crush them underfoot, again and again. It's a galactic tragedy wrapped in slapstick comedy, with the Felians always forgetting the punchline:
You don't mess with the Lizards.