SexulPenut's Sci-Fi Setting Shebangalang

In busy thoroughfares of tall, glass spires connected by an interwoven web of walkways walks a bevy of people in all shapes and colors. Some are dark skinned with pointed ears, some are more metal than skin, and others are far closer to full on animals that snarl and bite as you near before flashing a playful smile. Yet, all of them are human. Their clothes are just as varied from sleek, tight jumpsuits to t-shirts, skirts, and fishnet stockings, almost forming a swirl of decades of fashion all at once. Alongside them walk robots of all shapes and sizes that perform all sorts of jobs and sleek cars that fly through the air. Far below them, along the much grimier streets, stalk the dirty homeless among piles of collecting trash in a seedy underbelly few venture into. Venture down there, however, and you find a pit of the most depraved and debauched the society has to offer. That is the capital planet generally referred to as Antarius Prime, the seat of humanity as some call it. While they still hold host to plenty of alien creatures, it is one of the few planets with a population density that is 97% human.   On a far more distant star, fields of the finest greenery are interwoven by alien spires. Everything is strangely twisted, giving the vegetation a swirled look most of the time, with plants growing in stalks, and the architecture reflects that wholly. Each spire is a mass of white, metal tendrils that all swirl together to create thick walls with only a few gaps that seem to serve as windows. Yet, as high as it rises above the trees to stab at the sky, the structure stretches even farther underground into a network of tunnels coated with the same material, like deep roots to a tree. In the top half of the structure that sits above ground, a sea of tall, thin blue aliens, with a few dottings of red and green, type away on holographic keyboards with each of their four arms to add to their scientific studies. Vats of clones fill some rooms, racks of sleek, minimalistic rifles and blades fill others, but most of their rooms seem to host whatever experiments seem to interest them most. In the middle of the structure, the sea turns red as the halls become more full of the human sized aliens that work on the infrastructure that keeps the spire going, and going down to the roots turns it into a short, squat green sea. Those shorter bodies easily crawl through the vast tunnel networks to mine and craft the resources needed to build and maintain. While the mixing of the three groups hasn't been taboo in millennia, the contrast remains as a stark reminder of the ancient caste system. Depsite the differences in size and shape, the aliens share the same delicate, some might say regal, features, long pointed ears, four arms, and a melodic language that sounds close to a haunting song to any who are not fluent in it. For they are all denizens of Xy'lnthal, the homeworld of the Syn'dalar.