Post by Dragus on Mar 5, 2024 7:24:01 GMT -8
Trees creaked, cracked, and groaned before crashing to the jungle floor as thick armed gamorrean boars cleared a path from Fort Dragmire towards a mountain range in the near distance. These burly brutes had flesh the colour of forest leaves and porcine heads with crowns of thick horns that jutted from their bare scalps. Large yellow tusks protruded out from the folds of their jowls, some cracked and others banded in metal, surrounded by swarms of gnats drawn to the slobber drizzling from their snout like noses. They swung crude axes of stone attached to hafts of iron hard Pzobian oak, wielded by powerful muscular arms, delivering thundering blows to the trunks of gnarled trees in their paths. They used vibro-picks and fat corded ropes to tear stumps from the damp earth, stacking the felled lumber off to the side as they forged a road through the wilderness. It was hard work, but the gamorrean lumberjacks were relentless in their efforts, gripping wooden handles with sweaty palms so tightly they splintered in their sausage fingered hands. The largest boar among their number was Ghazghkull, who also happened to be their leader. He was tall for a gamorrean, reaching seven feet in height, which didn't include the exaggerated growth of his horns that speared from his sunbaked scalp out to sixteen inches in length. His upper torso was broad, wide across the shoulders, and as thick with muscle as a hutt was with fat. Rancor hide breeches covered his lower half, secured at the waist by a leather belt with a Sith iron buckle shaped like a singular round eye.
Each swing of his double bladed war-axe felled a tree, causing the chains hanging from his waist to shake and rattle as the thorny night-brother skulls threaded along their linked lengths clattered together. They'd come across a few of the raiding parties as they got further away from the outpost. None had lasted long. The zabrak had proven themselves fierce warriors, made even more ferocious for being enhanced by the insipid magics of the Dathomiri Witches, coming at the gamorrean lumberjacks in vicious attacks. Against the war boars of Clan Morlock, however, they had met their match in battle. Ghazghkull planted the head of his axe in a stump as he took a moment to brush away the wood splinters caught in the empty eye sockets of one of his trophies. Unlike the other warriors in his charge who wielded blades of stone with wood handles, the war chief's axe had been created from a single piece of Sith iron in the hell-forge beneath the Black Temple of Pzob, claw crafted by the greatest master of the alchemical arts the galaxy had ever known. Its long haft was wound tightly in long strips of tanned man-hide expertly flayed from screaming hannite flagellants seeking absolution from their sins through pain and suffering, providing a tight leather grip for the war boar to wrap his ham sized hands around. Hieroglyphic runes of ancient Pzobian blackscript on the face of its twin blades glowed red and hissed with arcane power whenever the weapon was wielded in battle, feeding off the war-chief's fury and stoking his savage bloodlust.
Flicking the last few particles of sawdust away, Ghazghkull pried Bone-Choppa free from the stump with strong tug that cracked the rooted wood in half. Snorting, he led the swine song of his clan boars are they cut their way through another kilometer of jungle, until the dirt beneath their feet gave way to vine covered stone set in the damp earth. A large clearing lay directly in their path, halfway between Fort Dragmire and the mountain they were trying to reach, though it was far from a vacant stretch of wilderness. Where the tree line stopped, massive stone pyramids rose above the jungle canopy, covered in a thick layer of moss and strangled in vines that seemed to want to drag the ancient structures into the sinking ground. With a grunt, the war chief ordered his boars to spread out, scouting the strange ruins that stood in their way. They found vine wrapped statues of unrecognizable alien figures, tall and intimidating with flat brows and strong chins. The chief blew a breath of humid steam at the face of one stone statue as he squared off with it, unimpressed with what he saw. Planting his feet, he hefted back his axe and swung the heavy blade, striking the statues head from its stone body. It toppled over into the mud, face up, staring accusingly at the gamorrean. Bending down, he plucked the polished rock from the muck and tried to secure it to his belt, then gave up after a moment when he couldn't figure out how, leaving it instead where he had found it.
Whatever these ruins were, they stood in the way of the road the Sith Eternal outpost wanted to build between the fort and mountain, which they planned to mine for spirit ichor once the blood fracking wells had run dry. Lacking the means to tear them down on their own, Ghazghkull retrieved his radio and got on the horn to Fort Dragmire, squealing into the mic as he explained their findings to command. Better to let the smaller pink skin commander at the outpost decide what to do about the ruins. After making his report, the chief moved his boars past the clearing and continued on into the jungle, once more deforesting their way towards the jagged peaks hiding the horizon.
Each swing of his double bladed war-axe felled a tree, causing the chains hanging from his waist to shake and rattle as the thorny night-brother skulls threaded along their linked lengths clattered together. They'd come across a few of the raiding parties as they got further away from the outpost. None had lasted long. The zabrak had proven themselves fierce warriors, made even more ferocious for being enhanced by the insipid magics of the Dathomiri Witches, coming at the gamorrean lumberjacks in vicious attacks. Against the war boars of Clan Morlock, however, they had met their match in battle. Ghazghkull planted the head of his axe in a stump as he took a moment to brush away the wood splinters caught in the empty eye sockets of one of his trophies. Unlike the other warriors in his charge who wielded blades of stone with wood handles, the war chief's axe had been created from a single piece of Sith iron in the hell-forge beneath the Black Temple of Pzob, claw crafted by the greatest master of the alchemical arts the galaxy had ever known. Its long haft was wound tightly in long strips of tanned man-hide expertly flayed from screaming hannite flagellants seeking absolution from their sins through pain and suffering, providing a tight leather grip for the war boar to wrap his ham sized hands around. Hieroglyphic runes of ancient Pzobian blackscript on the face of its twin blades glowed red and hissed with arcane power whenever the weapon was wielded in battle, feeding off the war-chief's fury and stoking his savage bloodlust.
Flicking the last few particles of sawdust away, Ghazghkull pried Bone-Choppa free from the stump with strong tug that cracked the rooted wood in half. Snorting, he led the swine song of his clan boars are they cut their way through another kilometer of jungle, until the dirt beneath their feet gave way to vine covered stone set in the damp earth. A large clearing lay directly in their path, halfway between Fort Dragmire and the mountain they were trying to reach, though it was far from a vacant stretch of wilderness. Where the tree line stopped, massive stone pyramids rose above the jungle canopy, covered in a thick layer of moss and strangled in vines that seemed to want to drag the ancient structures into the sinking ground. With a grunt, the war chief ordered his boars to spread out, scouting the strange ruins that stood in their way. They found vine wrapped statues of unrecognizable alien figures, tall and intimidating with flat brows and strong chins. The chief blew a breath of humid steam at the face of one stone statue as he squared off with it, unimpressed with what he saw. Planting his feet, he hefted back his axe and swung the heavy blade, striking the statues head from its stone body. It toppled over into the mud, face up, staring accusingly at the gamorrean. Bending down, he plucked the polished rock from the muck and tried to secure it to his belt, then gave up after a moment when he couldn't figure out how, leaving it instead where he had found it.
Whatever these ruins were, they stood in the way of the road the Sith Eternal outpost wanted to build between the fort and mountain, which they planned to mine for spirit ichor once the blood fracking wells had run dry. Lacking the means to tear them down on their own, Ghazghkull retrieved his radio and got on the horn to Fort Dragmire, squealing into the mic as he explained their findings to command. Better to let the smaller pink skin commander at the outpost decide what to do about the ruins. After making his report, the chief moved his boars past the clearing and continued on into the jungle, once more deforesting their way towards the jagged peaks hiding the horizon.