by Rob (Meade)
Scaws of Transcore Hive
On the moon of Rhysia, a ruined forgeworld moon with grim secrets below it’s crust… mutants, known as scaws to the indigenous human population, stalk the ruins of the hives and the ash waste. Centuries of breeding in isolation, amongst the industrial waste has led to horrendous abominations. They have adopted a tribal society with the most hideous and powerful mutants as leaders, and survive by hunting the human survivors of the planet as well as lifeforms such as birds which migrate to the surface of the moon to roost.
Dkorg is blessed by large beard of spikes… and tentacle arms. The spike beard makes it difficult to talk, and is constantly growing… so he is more the ‘strong, silent’ type.
Mobbat is the tribe’s heavy support. He is fearsome with his heavy stubber, and his eyestalk gives him an excellent vantage point. He is a mediocre hunter, and most of the time is more useful when the tribe is battling rival tribes or armed invaders from the ash waste. He is also one of the only ones that has begun to grow fat, which is not an easy thing to do!
They don’t trust Chukkr with much… the last time he handled a weapon things went very badly! Chukkr believes he has magical powers. He also knows a great deal of stories about the world outside the Hive. But he is quick on his feet, and very good with his tentacle arm. Its, useful for grappling prey and throwing various objects, and climbing.
Calb’s Dream: Part 4
…The Ritual would not be his first kill. He had shot a scaw once before, on a hunting expedition to the ash wastes of Cranus Marr. That first kill would be the one he would never forget. It seemed at first like a moving rock, the skin was grey-green and flaked, the color of the ash. It had been covered in hideous matted hair, with deformed limb growing from it’s side. Not a dangerous one, but fast! Calb’s first shot had missed. He still wondered why the thing had stopped to look back at him. It’s head wouldn’t turn completely so it had to move it’s whole chest. He had taken that moment to take his second shot. A clean kill, they had told him. But it was said that the monsters in Transcore were twice the size and often sported hideous spikes, limbs and tentacles. Killing one would not be easy, but it was never meant to be.
The path was not easy leading into the hive. The moonscape was a tangled corpse field of scrap, mixed with dust, rubble and looming rock formations. The scrap field was ancient, the accumulated industrial waste of millenia mixed with the effluent of the hive city and broken engines of war. He knew that in the distant past war had come to Rhysia, but like many his age he knew nothing of what war really was like aside from stories he had heard. He knew fighting, though. No one on this world was sheltered. But once in awhile he came across vast tracked hulks that must have been engines of destruction… or heavy industry, now little more than a rusting corpse. He mused what those great engines must have been like when they were living. He had never been to see it, but it was said that beyond the great canyons of Moonsgape was the crashsite of a void-faring ship, like the type his ancestors had traveled to this moon aboard. Now it stretched out like a mountain range, or so they said… gutted, only the great keel remaining like the ribcage of some antediluvian monster…