The short answer would be that the nettles are a carbon based lifeform, not unlike ourselves, native to a large icy moon in a faraway solar system. They have language, emotional intelligence, capacity to problem solve, and the many other perks that come with being sapient. None of that is particularly unique among fictospace natives, of course. To talk and feel and even to love are expected of any "civilized" species. In fact, the only especially striking thing about them is the fact that they're barely half as tall as a penny. On average 0.3 inches tall, to be exact.

Beyond this, there's not much that makes the nettles particularly dazzling or terrifying. They don't have freakish psionic abilities, they can’t shapeshift at will, and they can’t shoot lasers from their fingers. So what, then, makes their meek and violent little lives compelling? The long answer is a little more complicated.

Just naming where the nettles are from is easier said than done. Human and nettle languages are so vastly incompatible that there's no widely accepted nor entirely accurate translation for the moon the nettles are native to. Transliterations range from Chm to Qjimm'yh and as a result, it's usually just translated as "home".

Orbiting an immense gas giant, it's marginally larger than the Earth's own moon, and its harsh chemical waters give it a pink tinge. Its surface is predictably barren, and the depths of its oceans are inhospitably teaming with monsters and bacterial colonies. Only in the dry, watertight caverns under the moon's crust does intelligent life thrive. Heated by geothermal activity, this subterranean maze is surprisingly lush, and filled with a bestiary's worth of unusual life.

Their world is shaped by claustrophobic corridors, oppressive humidity, and incredible heat—a far cry from the open, breezy skys Homo sapiens evolved under. Make no mistake though, they love it this way, and most nettles consider the surface of Earth to be a frigid, agoraphobic nightmare.

Despite the general distaste galactic civilization has for the nettles, it is the condition of their very homeworld that protects them from being wiped out or subjugated by hostile forces. That is to say, nobody cares enough to bother with the fuss of diving into a vast ocean to try and conquer a confounding network of tiny caves...

Like earthlings, the nettles are entirely carbon based life forms. Beyond this, though, the similarities become hazy. Their bodys are soft, smooth, and toyetic, feeling more like the pliable rubber that pencil erasers are made from than living tissue. They possess neither skeleton nor exoskeleton, their shape instead defined by firm but flexible cartilaginous structures—the idea of a “broken bone” is completely foreign to them. In fact, nettles are astonishingly unkillable, to an almost cartoonish degree, resisting most forms of crushing, squeezing, and blunt force trauma, to say nothing of their complete immunity to death by falling.

Unlike humans, nettles don't exactly have "skin" and "flesh". It might be better described as "flesh layer one" and "flesh layer two", with a ghostly white exterior and pitch black innards. While their rubber-like bodies are extremely resistant to heat and moisture, they are utterly vulnerable to UV radiation. Mere minutes of exposure to direct sunlight causes soreness, while anything longer than an hour results in dehydration, stiffness in the joints, and painful malignant blisters.

While at first appearing to have "hair", these long ribbons grow in sheets, not as individual fibers. It's only slightly distinguishable from their flesh by their more elastic and glossy properties. It comes in a spectrum of hues, and the same pigment that colors a nettle's hair typically also manifests as markings on the ribs, thighs, cheeks, and ears. Their thin, lymph-like blood is similarly technicolor, no two individuals having quite the same hue of blood, though this color has no real bearing on their physiology, determined by a random assortment of humors that are as inconsequential as human blood types.

As can be expected from a cave dwelling species, a nettle's visual senses are... unimpressive, and although they superficially appear to have a nose and ears, they're completely functionless. Respiration and chemosense is handled entirely through the pores on the sides of their neck, and they're not exactly famous for having an incredibly keen sense of smell, either. They are, however, highly attuned to three dimensional space, to the point that they can easily "see" behind them and even through thin walls. For the most part, they're completely impossible to sneak up on, unless the offender is something as intangible as say, a ghost, or an aggressive gust of wind.

Nettle childhood is, uh, complicated. Complicated and rough, but especially rough. Perhaps unsurprisingly, they start as eggs—small, perfectly round, and tinged by the color of their blood. The miracle of birth is generally treated as somewhat embarrassing and indecent, and expecting parents seek out isolated spaces far away from population centers to "take care of it". Clutches of two to five eggs are then abandoned to hatch and subsequently fend for themselves.

Despite their circumstances, these hatchlings are actually anything but helpless. Within hours they can squirm at a respectable pace, and naturally bunch up together to form roving packs. These packs coordinate to hunt and kill whatever they can overwhelm with their collective strength, and when food is especially scarce, they'll even turn on adults of their own kind. Very few creatures will willingly attack a nettle hatchling, for fear of inciting the wrath of dozens more tiny, hungry mouths.

At a certain stage, as their bodies and minds begin to develop, nettles gain a sense of identity beyond a mere constituent of a mindlessly hungry mob. They break away to live more solitary lives, sometimes in sibling-like pairs or trios, as they begin their journey to find personhood. By hovering at the edge of civilization, they start to pick up concepts such as language and problem solving, though most juveniles only speak to repeat their own name again and again, and use their intelligence simply to cause various problems on purpose...

After a variable amount of time, all nettles that survive this far are "adopted" by an adult. Except under certain circumstances, there is no formal adoption process. Some adults are imprinted on by lone children that have long admired them from afar, while others simply find them rummaging in their garbage like raccoons. In this way, nettles have no concept of blood relation or "nuclear family". While they may have "siblings" or "parents", these titles are self determined and have no genetic component, except again under certain circumstances.

Reproduction

To be continued...