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Fiction The Beginning

Discussion in 'Fluff and Stories' started by Fhanados, May 17, 2013.

  1. Fhanados
    Terradon

    Fhanados Well-Known Member

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    Wow I really let this slide. Page 3, a new low!

    The latest installment (for anyone still watching) is here! This took a while to get started but once I started typing it just vomited itself onto the page. Not particularly well proof-read so as always please point out anything you feel is off whether it's spelling, phrasing, grammar or even if something just doesn't feel right.

    In the Face of Danger
    Zpakatax had started his crusade against the greenskins early. He had little choice. The dreaded Orc migration had started early and hordes of the foul creatures had began their long march North towards the Border Princes and the lands of mankind beyond. Although the great horde was destined for Bretonnia and the Empire the sheer size of it had spread throughout the Border Princes and the territory claimed for Munditlazan. Reports of skirmishes between Skink scouts and Cold One rider patrols were constantly coming in, each more violent and requiring more attention than the last. Zpakatax had had enough.

    Biqitehetec and a number of his other Skink attendants had been sent to the various Dwarf holds and human settlements nearby. Most had already accepted the offer of alliance with Munditlazan – the Dwarves through greed and hatred, the humans through desperation and fear – but they would not yet be ready to fight. Zpakatax did not care. He had given the order to assemble the forces of Munditlazan and in less than an hour the great courtyard had a mighty host at the ready. The great avenue leading to the main gate was lined with Saurus and Skink warriors and warbeasts herded beyond the walls of the city. Within two hours of the call for war the entire Lizardmen army had mobilised and the city was empty – a small barrios of Skink administrators and workers left behind under the protection of the Temple Guard. Every other Saurus had joined the host and most of the city’s Skink population had taken up arms.


    Now the Lizardmen waded through a sea of greenskins. The host’s march south towards Barak Varr had been rudely interrupted by the barbaric horde as the steam of green monstrosities flooded the Border Princes. Zpakatax hated Orcs. Almost as much as he hated the Great Enemy. Greenskins had no place in the Old One’s plan and had to be exterminated. They just didn’t have the decency to accept their place in the universe and die.

    Another ragged wave of savages surged forwards, smothering the Host in repugnant bodies. To a human or Dwarf the Orcs and Goblins reeked of unwashed flesh with a hint of something akin to decaying plant matter. To the finely tuned predatory senses of a Saurus warrior the scent was more distinct. Zpakatax could differentiate between Grot and Goblin, Orc and Black Orc. By smell alone he had learnt which would be easy kills and which were dangerous rivals. He could which were important to holding the Horde together, and which would die unnoticed by their peers and he used this to great effect.


    Spurring his Carnosaur forward Darkscale descended on an Orc who was carrying a banner, quickly dispatching him with a swing of his halberd. A few seconds of surveying the field around him while his Carnosaur mauled and clawed the panicky greenskins within reach and their next target had been spotted. Slightly bigger than the other Orcs, but not quite the size of a warboss. The great predator lunged again through the sea of green.

    To its credit the green brute stood its ground and bellowed a challenge to the approaching general, but the challenge was met not by Zpakatax himself. His enormous mount, aggravated by the bellowing and violent brandishing of weapons in its direction closed the gap between them in a few bounding lopes then smashed the insignificant creature into the ground with its hind legs. All the greenskin’s bravado had the opposite effect to what was intended – seeing their big, boisterous leader so easily disposed of caused a flood of panic and fear through the Orc and Goblin ranks. Many turned to flee, only to be cut down or trampled by their fellows who were still eager to join the fray. Others who lost their neve became easy prey for the cold disciplined ranks of the Saurus warriors.

    Suppressing his urge to leap to the ground and join the battle on foot, Zpakatax shook his head clear of his growing bloodlust and surveyed the battlefield again. It was… an undesirable situation. Terradons whirled overhead dropping stones and battlefield debris on the approaching horde before flying away to restock their deadly load. There were simply far too many greenskins to risk the valuable creatures in a direct engagement. Likewise Ripperdactyls had been sent away from the frontline, their frenzied aggression had resulted in unacceptable losses from unfavourable charges. Much of the Skink contingent on foot had also been relegated to flanking manoeuvres at the edge of the conflict – the sheer number of Orcs and press of bodies had made their skirmishing fighting style nearly impossible to take advantage of and the casualties were unsustainable in combat against the horde.

    There was a brief lull in the Orc reinforcements. Although the amassed army reached almost to the horizon the Lizardmen had inflicted enough casualties to buy some small reprieve. They could not afford to give up this opportunity.

    “Move South, swiftly,” Zpakatax roared in Low Saurian battle tongue.

    His tone and inflection conveyed more to the order than the words alone ever could and the Host reformed ranks, changed facing and marched at double pace towards their destination. Barak Varr was still a good weeks long march away and they could expect no aid from the Third or Fourth races for days at the least, if they had any aid at all. Scouts reported that Barak Varr was already under siege, but the Dwarven artillery had easily repelled the initial assault. Once the horde amassed though, the situation could quickly change.

    The Host from Munditlazan made good progress and used the harsh terrain to their advantage. It wasn’t long before they found the jagged coastal cliffs to their side, and the ever approaching barbaric swarm to their other flank. They couldn’t retreat now, only press on. Saurus cavalry carved a path through the relatively unprepared Orc and Goblin camps, but the march took its toll. It had been over a week since they left their city and the prolonged battle early on had inflicted terrible casualties. Now, a full quarter of their fighting strength had been depleted and without the bulk of their Skink fighters and aireal support from Ripperdactly and Terradon riders the Host was vulnerable.

    From atop his Carnosaur the General spied an approaching warband of Orks and Goblins. At first he thought it would just be another disorganised group of wayward brutes who had either been pushed to the side by stronger groups, or simply wandered away from the main horde out of boredom. But something was wrong about them. They were disorganised, even by Greenskin standards. There were no banner bearers or musicians as one would normally expect, and they were running directly towards the Lizardmen host even though none aside from the most keen-eyed Goblin would even be able to see them from this distance. And Zpakatax smelt something… something different about them.

    He looked back at his assembled warriors and instinctively ran through numerous calculations and scenarios in his mind. Potential ambushes were contrived then discarded in equal measure. The terrain was mentally scoured and optimal vantage points identified. In seconds he had created several battle plans and weighed the potential losses of them all. The Saurus psyche was not meant for such things as philosophy and science, but they were no mere beasts. War was his reason for being and in a few scant minutes he had devised strategy that would have taken a day of planning for less astute warmbloods. Defence was impossible, he had decided. We march into the teeth of our foe.

    Facing his Host again he bellowed a series of commands in Saurian battle tongue once more. At the few, concise words the entire host reassembled its configuration. Saurus cavalry and Stegadons took point, with Skink skirmishers and cohorts arrayed behind. Saurus formed rank behind their smaller kin, with Temple Guard protecting the few Skink Priests and Shamans that remained with the Host. Scattered throughout at regular intervals support elements of Kroxigor and various warbeasts were at the ready.

    Minutes passed. The rolling rumble of the approaching enemy grew louder and louder. Grunts, curses and roars became discernible over the din of thousands of heavy footsteps on the dusty earth. They were almost here. Not long now…

    A bellowing roar of “CHARGE!” carried over the arid wasteland, heard even above the rising thunder of the green tide.

    As one the Lizardman Host advanced. The Cold One mounts and Stegadons outpaced the rest of the force in a crashing charge. Saurus riders struck out with lances, spearing Orks as their mounts clawed at Goblins, both rider and mount alike lunging at foes with savage jaws lined with razor edged teeth. The mass charge of Stegadons trampled dozens into the dust, impaling hapless victims on massive horns and flinging aside others with the toss of their armoured heads. From atop the howdah Skinks released a hail of javelins and launched clusters of darts into the stinking crowd of green from their giant blowpipes.

    The first ranks began to lose momentum and frenzied Orcs advanced to fill the gaps left by the dead. This was expected. Swarms of Skinks ducked and weaved through the larger beasts that had been first to find the enemy and unleashed their own brand of death. Javelins and blowdarts tipped with virulent toxins found their marks and many of their victims succumbed quickly to the venom. Larger Orcs were not outright killed, but grew lethargic and were cut down by the reforming groups of Saurus Cold One riders.

    Stegadons and Cold Ones made a careful retreat from the immediate combat, giving way for masses of Skinks to form ranks and continue their ranged assault. A large group of Skinks had adopted the use of short bows, outranging their javelin throwing and bolt spitting brethren. It was causing havoc amongst the Greenskin force but it did not halt their advance and soon the Skinks found themselves engaged in hand to hand combat with a physically superior foe. Crudely forged Orc weapons made short work of the diminutive Skinks whenever they made contact, and the skittish nature of the small creatures soon got the best of them.

    The Skink frontline collapsed entirely into a swift fallback away from the fighting, but this was anticipated. By the time the Skinks had fled the disciplined ranks of Saurus had caught up and formed a bulwark against the advancing horde. The warriors marched stoically into the face of danger, lashing out with every weapon at their disposal. Blade, shield, tail, claw, fang. All were tools of death in the possession of a Saurus.

    Zpakatax was itching to join the fray. His bloodlust boiled and threatened to cast his carefully laid plans to the wind. The Orcs were physically imposing, with strength and resilience matching the warriors of the First. Strategy was the Host’s advantage, and to discard it would doom the expedition entirely. Still, to feel the crunch of the Aberration’s bones in his jaws, to taste the foul tang of their alien blood… No. He could not give in!

    The Stegadon and Cold Ones had reformed and prepared for a second charge and the Skinks had begun to rally around the great beasts. All was going as planned and their losses were still within an acceptable margin but he knew they could not keep this up indefinitely. A common trait of the wretched Greenskins was that they seemed to be without number. An army with infinite lives to sacrifice was a difficult one to break, but they MUST be broken or else the Host will be slaughtered to a man. The usual way to break an Orc horde was to kill the leaders…. But where were they?

    Shaking off his rising bloodlust again Zpakatax carefully examined the approaching horde. Where were they? Where were the Shamans, Witch Doctors, and hulking Warbosses? There were no pennants or standards to be seen, and in a race so self-aggrandising as Orcs it made no sense to see none of the personal banners of glory seeking warlords. The realisation struck him like a thunderbolt – they weren’t facing an advancing warband, they were just in the path of a retreating one. The Greenskins weren’t frenzied, they were panicked. They had no leaders for their war-loving chiefs were already dead. The scent he smelled earlier, it was fear. He recognised it now, but he had never smelt the like of it before. Never this much.

    Quickly he began to re-evaluate the situation. The plan revisited, revised and renewed again and again. Potential methods of disengagement were contrived then discarded in equal measure. The terrain was mentally scoured and optimal paths of retreat identified. In seconds he had created several plans and weighed the potential losses of them all. In a few scant minutes he had devised strategy that would have taken a day of planning for less astute warmbloods. But it would ultimately fail. There was to be no victory here.

    For the first time in centuries he was uncertain of what to do. To continue with his planned assault would see hundreds, perhaps thousands or tens of thousands more Greenskins crushed but in the end the Host would perish. If they tried to retreat to the North or South the Orcs and Goblins would overrun them. They could fall back towards the ocean but only the aquatic Skinks would be saved from their ultimate doom, and for how long? At what cost?

    The second charge of the Stegadons and Cold Ones had already begun, and the Saurus and Skinks had reformed to repeat the earlier manoeuvre and push further into the Orc lines. It was too late to turn back now. Zpakatax looked to the sky and offered a prayer of protection to Quetzl, a prayer of sacrifice and bloodshed to Sotek, and a final prayer of forgiveness to Chotec.

    “By the flames of the Sun, Chotec lend us your burning wrath this one last time. Let the scar of our failure burn fresh throughout history. Let us scorch the fury of The First into the minds of the Aberration from now until the End Times,” he turned his head to stare directly into the sun for the final words of his prayer: “Mighty Chotec, burn them all!”

    At first he thought it a trick of the light – his vision seared by the sun. Blotches, black shapes floating through the burning white sky. His eyes adjusted and the sky was cloudless blue once more, but the black stains remained. If anything there were more of them, bigger than before. Had the Old Ones answered his prayers?

    It didn’t matter at this point. The strategy was set, their fate was sealed. There was no more reason for him to sit on the sidelines any longer. His bloodlust quickly rose until all he saw was red. He couldn’t recollect his descent down the hill towards the Host. He didn’t recall his steed outpacing the entire army. He didn’t even remember when he joined the battle proper, for his first memory was the frenzied slaughter of combat. Goblins died in droves, stomped, clawed, ripped, bitten, smashed into oblivion. The Orcs themselves barely offered more resistance, being cut down by his Obsidinite blade, torn apart by his mount or otherwise dispatched by the feral onslaught of General Darkscale.

    The Horde kept coming and the Host dwindled. Wounded Lizardmen limped away or were hauled to the back lines for some brief reprieve. Several Stegadons lay motionless, islands of flesh in a sea of green bodies. The ground was scorched in places where Salamanders had been killed, their flammable venom combusting within them upon their deaths. Cold One riders had been swamped by Orcs and dragged from their steeds to be killed by the knives and bludgeons of swarming goblins while the Orcs hacked at the predatory beasts with great metal cleavers and two handed axes. Zpakatax had seen one of his Spawnkin - a fellow Saurus hero and great veteran of many wars, fall into the raging horde. The Carnosaur mount, deprived of the commanding influence of its rider had rampaged uncontrolled until it was finally brought down by dozens of Goblin spearmen stabbing at its flanks.

    Seeing his brethren fall had a sobering effect and the world suddenly shifted back into focus. The red haze lifted, and he realised he stood alone in a clearing in the horde that he had wrought with blade and claw. The Greenskins had been giving him a wide berth, but had surrounded him nonetheless. There were too many of them, and he was too far from aid. This was the end.

    He leapt to the ground and readied his blade. If he was to die, he would die fighting alongside his faithful Carnosaur as it’s equal, not atop it as its master. He leveled his gaze and stared into the piggy eyes of the Orc directly in front of him. This beast would be the first to die. Zpakatax crouched, ready to pounce. Every ounce of his cold, calculated rage focused on this Orc, prepared to crush the life out of it with his bare claws if necessary.

    Then it burst into flames.


    Keen readers (well, anyone who's read the rest of my rambling narrative!) will notice this has a lot of similarities to Szeratops' combat heavy big battle. This is pretty deliberate. I wanted to show the differences between how the two major players in this Crusade operate. Whereas Szeratops (spoilers if you haven't read the rest!) was very defensive and aimed to fend off his aggressors and outlast them, Zpakatax was the opposite and aimed to crush the attacker before they got the upper hand. Well, you read this (hopefully) and know how that turned out!

    The End Times draws closer and closer with each installment. What will happen to our scaly friends? Who knows! Actually, I really don't know and I'm open to ideas in a BRAND NEW THREAD!

    I hope someone out there is still enjoying this!

    [edit 1 - linked ideas thread]
    [edit 2 - Replaced "Anathema" with "Aberration" to maintain consistency with earlier pieces. Fixed some typos.]
     
    Last edited: May 4, 2017
  2. Bowser
    Slann

    Bowser Third Spawning

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    Seems his prayers were answered! Great battle scene here, really fun to read. My favourite line
     
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  3. Paradoxical Pacifism
    Skink Chief

    Paradoxical Pacifism Well-Known Member

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    I truly hope this gets finished someday - it's such an amazing tale that made me want to join the forums :happy:
     
    Last edited: Apr 3, 2019
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  4. Paul1748
    Saurus

    Paul1748 Well-Known Member

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    Truly amazing! One of the best stories on this forums.
     
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  5. Fhanados
    Terradon

    Fhanados Well-Known Member

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    So it's been a while since I last posted, but fear not! For I am still here. All the pesky "real life" stuff of the past few years has left me with precious little time to delve as deeply into my hobbies as I'd like, and one of those hobbies is writing. I'm really touched that people are still reading my work, and the comments by @Paul1748 and @Paradoxical Pacifism really warms the soul to see that my stuff is still worth replying to, even though it's been so long since my last installment!

    This project is not dead my fellow Lustrians. A recent foray into the world of Dungeons and Dragons got my writers mojo flowing again and I finally put some more pen to paper (or actually just done a bunch of typing...) for the next chapter of our epic journey! This one's a bit more slow paced than others, but I promise that it will lead to good things!

    Recovery

    Szeratops woke to the sound of clawed feet marching on stone. At least he thought he had woken, he could see nothing. The noise echoed painfully, the harsh scraping of claw on rock shuddered through him and the solid thud of footfalls reverberated in his skull. His gasping breaths drew in cold, dry air that seemed abrasive to his lungs. He tried, more than once, to take stock of his wounds but it was as though the pain moved across his entire being. A bone ached, now raw skin burned, then a joint cracked painfully, and now the sharp pain of a stab wound elsewhere. A cobweb of agony shooting through his flesh accompanied every movement he made, no matter how small. He had failed and this was his punishment.

    It seemed to go on forever. He was sure that he had died and now endured eternal torment. The First Ones had no real myths of the afterlife, their entire existence was dedicated to the Old One’s work. What could possibly await them beyond that once their duty had ended? Still, this felt like death.

    Time and coherent thought slipped away amongst the pain. He barely knew who or what he was, let alone how long he had been in this state. He did not know when his thoughts began to coalesce, when shapes began to form in his vision, when colour returned to his sight or when the very idea of speech came back to his tattered mind. It seemed to him that the only thing he knew was pain, then he was sitting on a stone in a cavern. An earthenware bowl of some kind of meaty liquid in his claws and the pungent scent of a myriad of herbs and medicines filled his senses. Senses that were coming back to him.

    “Your improvement is a testament to your species’ engineering” came a grumbling voice. “The Old Ones would be pleased with their creation.”

    Szeratops couldn’t see the speaker clearly – his vision was still recovering. Whoever, whatever it was spoke High Saurian well but with a curious accent. Earthy and ancient. It reminded him of how the Slann spoke. Almost.

    “Now that you’ve come to your senses I shall accelerate your recovery, provided you swear to do no harm in this place.”

    Szeratops tried to string together a sentence but his thoughts drifted each time. Instead he settled for a single word in Low Saurian battle-tongue. “Peace”.

    “Hmmph. Sufficient I suppose,” grumbled the speaker.

    The room filled with a soft green light and a sound akin to the roaring oceans. The pain seemed to drain away like a liquid flowing out from the soles of his claws, gradually restoring his vitality. The Eternity Warden closed his eyes and let the sensation wash over him. When he opened his eyes once more his vision was clear, his senses sharp and his body warm. He was alive.

    “The winds of Life have always been kind to your breed, even though you choose to ignore them. Not that it’s your fault I suppose, you are a species MADE, not a species BORN.”

    Szeratops snapped his head around, his hunter’s eyes piercing the dark. Now he could see the speaker, but what he saw raised more questions than it answered.

    “You’re a Zoat,” he said. “Your kind is not supposed to exist. The coming of the Anathema…”

    “Took a great toll on my people, yes,” the creature spoke as it stepped into the light. It had a plodding quadrupedal frame covered in round bony scales, much like a small Bastilodon or Stegadon, but it’s upper torso was humanoid and muscular. Its head was broad and reptilian, similar to a Kroxigor but far less angular. In one meaty claw it held a crystal sphere glowing green with some internal power, and in the other a great maul made from the limb of some ancient tree topped with a crudely fashioned head of stone.

    “In this age of ending there are fewer Zoats than there are Slann. Since the collapse of the portal we have diminished, but in recent years even moreso. Wizards have used the storms of magic to bind many of my kin to their will as beasts of war. It is a role we are no longer adequate to fulfil and many have died.”

    Chaos. Death. War. Memories flooded back and Szeratops.

    “The gate… Hexoatl… I must warn them!”

    “They already know Eternity Warden. There are events underway that the Old Ones themselves could not prevent, let alone you and the First,” the Zoat sounded mournful. He spoke as though Hexoatl was already lost.

    “Then they will be prepared. The forces of Mazdamundi will fight off the Blood God’s threat,” Szeratops spoke with confidence. He would not allow the melancholy Zoat to shake his conviction in their cause.

    The Zoat looked at him sadly and Szeratops returned his sorrowful gaze with a defiant stare. There was a long pause before

    “Come with me. I think you will understand if you can see it.”

    “See what?”, snarled the Saurus.

    “Your history. Your future. Your destiny. All are one and the same, just walk with me and listen.”

    They stepped out of the small cavern and walked for some time through a dark tunnel. There was very little light, neither of the reptilian beings needed it, but there was warmth. They were both silent, the plodding thud of the Zoat’s padded footsteps and the scratching of the Saurus’s claws echoing off the smooth stone the only sound.

    “You know of the Old Ones and their settlement on this world, yes?” asked the Zoat.

    “Of course. It is the very foundation of our existence, our purpose for being is to continue what the Old Ones started. To set things right. To fulfil the Great Plan.” Szeratops spoke with conviction.

    “And the plan is?” the Zoat raised his brow ridge, giving his face an oddly human aspect. One of smugness and curiosity.

    “Only the Slann know. My kind exist solely to execute their orders.”

    “I see. So you know the Old Ones came here from beyond the stars, and that in those times our world was cold and dark. A realm inhabited by monsters and dragons, and old civilisations long since lost.”

    Szeratops grew aggravated. The fate of Hexoatl was still in question and this creature insisted on repeating common knowledge? “Yes, yes,” he said impatiently. “Then they moved the world, warmed the planet, slew all opposition and established the Geomantic Web and the Polar Gates. They made this world a bastion in their war against the Anathema and we must restore it and continue what they began.”

    “A somewhat simple interpretation of history,” grumbled the Zoat. “One that glosses over a number of details that you may find useful.”

    “Such as what?” snapped the Saurus.

    The Zoat looked down at the petulant warrior. They rounded a corner and the corridor became lighter. Faint beams of golden light shone from behind a curtain of animal skin. “See for yourself,” he spoke, drawing back the cured hide and revealing the cavern beyond.
     
  6. Paul1748
    Saurus

    Paul1748 Well-Known Member

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    Glad to see Szeratops is still alive, love him. Keep up the good work! ;)
     
    Last edited: Jun 7, 2019
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  7. Paradoxical Pacifism
    Skink Chief

    Paradoxical Pacifism Well-Known Member

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    Nice to see stories in long hiatus finally get a update. Ideas never die :p

    I hope to see more from you in the future. :)
     
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