The Yammerlings

The Yammerlings-

Far above the HiveClan in the thick fungus jungles that cover that part of the world, ForageWorker F198 and her team are about to be ambushed. The ten-man Forage Team has spent the last week in the Fungle harvesting the spore crops that will help sustain their beloved HiveClan. Covered in hard wearing leather and brass armor with thick masks concealing their faces they lead their Ant Wagons along winding paths cut long ago through the undergrowth. Their hearing and peripheral vision severely limited by their breathing masks, they don’t notice their pursuers until it’s too late.

Jumping out from behind the giant mushrooms that surround the team a pack of yowling savages descends with tooth and claw and hard wooden clubs. Hairy brutes, squat and short-ish, thickly muscled and almost naked, roaring battle cries at the top of their lungs. Thugs with huge mouths, blunt peg like teeth and thick barrel bodies wafting the stench of grease and rotting meat everywhere they go…



Primitive mammalian creatures that inhabit the deepest parts of the Fungle and will eat anything that moves and most things that don’t. They have no actual language, spoken or otherwise…just a sort of proto-communication derived from body language and grunts and an alpha male hierarchy based on the strength and volume of a males voice and his skills as a hunter. A very physical species, they are incredibly strong and will think nothing at all of bashing their fellows over the head with rocks, tree branches or each other to get their point across, say hello, or ask to mate. In all things they are loud excepting only when stalking prey. Then and only then does the incessant yammering, grunting, hooting, hollering, whistling and yelling that makes up the auditory aura of a Yammerlings Pack ever cease.

Amid the cacophony of combat, the Forage Team does their level best to beat off the Yammerling assault, but lacking the weapons, formal training, and mindset of the Drones the Workers are doomed from the start. Within minutes they are stripped of their gear, their goods and their lives. Their carcasses strung on poles and carried off into the Fungle by the noisy brutes to be fed to the Pack and their wagons left smashed on the path, a message to the HiveClan…Stay out of the Fungle!

(This world is savage, best tread carefully as we explore it.)


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