Spoiler: Story One: "A Journey Beyond" A Journey Beyond Freedom. Endless freedom, captured in blue. Blue above and blue below. The sky had been cloudless and friendly for two days straight now. It certainly eased the journey - both in travel speed by day and in navigating at night. Chayhui'huic stretched his aching back for a moment. Three days in the saddle was taking a toll on the Skink. The last stop on the Isles of Doom had been a welcome one, although short and necessary. The weather on the first part of the journey had been worse, a lot of rain and strong gusts of wind. Near the end of the second day they had reached the coastline of the isles in the middle of the World Pond. Low on food for him and his trusted Terradon, Tetdi-ek'hui. Although the Islands themselves - black and charred - didn't provide them with anything but a place to set their feet upon, the waters around it swirled with all sorts of life. Plenty to feed a hungry ninety five pound Terradon and its scrawny Skink rider. A guttural growl of Tetdi-ek'hui brought his thoughts back to the here and now. “I know, my friend, but we can’t afford to eat our complete ration.” The Terradon shook his head in a reaction, forcing Chayhui'huic to grab the knob of his saddle in front of him, preventing him from falling off. “Alright, alright, one more will not make that much of a difference.” He reached for his luggage and threw the fish he grabbed in front of the bird’s head, which in his turn gobbled it up in a matter of seconds. “Take it easy, we will not reach our next stop before late afternoon. We are out of food until then.” The giant bird let out a shriek seemingly understanding the skink’s message. Chayhui'huic patted her on her neck: “Good girl. We will make it, I know we will.” Sitting back in the saddle he reached to the bags hanging at the front, checking if all was still in place. Something he automatically did a couple of times a day. What good will it do if we reach our destination without the plaques? No good at all! His thoughts were unwillingly transported to the Temple city Zlatlan in the Southlands, not more than a week ago. It was the summer solstice, a day of great importance and joy within the Lizardmen society. A lot of preparations had been made for the plethora of celebrations, feasts and ritual sacrifices that would fill this day from start to end. All of Zlatlan was filled with a cacophony of roars and rhythmic drumming, celebratory strength challenges had made up the vast part of the day. The moment of sacrificing to Chotec was bound to begin soon, multiple fire pits had been lit and the smell of burning wood, fabric and foodrests filled the air. Many a Skink, Saurus and Kroxigor gathered around the main street leading to the highest Temple Ziggurat. Several Skink priests adorned with feathered cloaks and crowns walked down the street. Behind them a couple of Skink handlers dragged a cage filled with angry rodents along, captured in the last month and remained captives especially for today. Drums sounded all around mimicking the steps of the procession. The group stopped at the first plateau behind the sacrificial stone slabs. The drums silenced. One of the priests, this year's chosen one to awaken Slann Lord Kaxqakoathua, ascended further up the ziggurat to the top of the stairs. Standing in front of the door to the meditation chamber he turned to the crowd below and a unified roar arose from the gathered Lizards. He took a dagger from his belt, held it aloft and drumming commenced. The priest raised his other hand to the blade and slit it across the palm. He turned to the door and reached with his blooded hand to a stone beside it. The stone absorbed the blood and for a moment nothing seemed to happen. Suddenly a loud low rumble arose from the floor while the door lifted up high, opening up the meditation chamber for the first time since last summer solstice, a year before. Everybody heard the rumbling and it became quiet in the streets for just a moment. The next sound was a cry that pierced the sky. A short shrill cry brought Chayhui'huic back to the present. He laid a hand on the neck of Tetdi-ek'hui and searched the waters in front of them. “I see it as well, our temporary resting place.” A dot of greenish-brown grew large as they approached it, at first it looked like an island, but waters around islands transitions from deep blue to the shallower lighter tones, there was no lighter blue here. No beaches either. Tetdi-ek'hui started a slow descent to the vegetation covered spot in the vast blue waters below them. From the overgrown substance below a multitude of bonelike curved pillars protruded up high. After a flyby the waterline Tetdi-ek'hui gulped up a few fish from the water and perched upon a pillar closest to the water’s edge. Chayhui'huic dismounted and sat down next to the Terradon “Take your rest for as long as we can endure.” From atop the pillar the ‘island’ was clearly visible and smellable. The bonelike pillars were actually the carcass of a long ago deceased monstrous sea creature, now a floating pile of bones and rotting flesh. The stench was nearly unbearable, but the delight of a place to rest won it from the nasal discomfort. This place of decay made Chayhui'huic wonder if the Skink priest would have smelled the same that day, when everything changed. He remembered how the Skink priest had opened the door to the meditation chamber, had seen the inside of the chamber and bellowed a cry of disbelief. At the feet of the ziggurat the gathered Lizards, having heard the cry, grew impatient. Suddenly the Priest appeared at the top of the stairs, his face troubled with what he discovered inside. He proclaimed the pollution of the sacred chamber by a Nurgle infestation. And before he had spoken all of his words another sound of rumble filled the sky. Somewhere during the last year of meditation infected insects had entered the chambers and infected Lord Kaxqakoathua and his Guards, unable to call for aid in time. The chamber had become a sealed festering wound in the heart of the city, with the bodies of the Slann and Temple Guards as fertilizers. The rumble turned to heavy buzzing while a swarm of giant Nurgle insects ripped through the priest and made its way down upon the crowd. Chayhui'huic saw the entire scenario unfold from atop the city walls. He had been tasked with overseeing the city during what would have been a festive day, keeping watch together with his trusted Terradon. They were the first to see the insects burst forth from the ziggurat and instinctively dove from the wall to aid those in need of aerial protection. After a first pass over, taking down three insects, Chayhui'huic steered his winged mount back to pass over again. Just before they committed fully to it a Skink priest commanded him to stop: “Halt your foolish attempts!” The Priest stood at the gate of the minor ziggurat used as a library. At his feet lay multiple bags visibly fully filled with plaques. “There is no stopping the waves of insects. Each one you kill will be replaced by the next. Even killing thousands will not make a difference.” There was no sarcasm, nor pessimism in his voice, just a realization of fate, “Take these. Bring them to our tribes across the Great Pond! With Lord Kaxqakoathua fallen the Southlands are lost.” For a split second Chayhui'huic considered fighting the swarm anyway, but his trained mind overtook the primal urge. He loaded the bags onto Tetdi-ek'hui, looked at the city streets behind him one last time and took off. Chayhui'huic shook his head to clear his mind again. no need to ponder over things gone by. Focus on what is ahead. He stood up, checked the bags hanging from the saddle one more time and mounted his trusted Terradon. “Come on buddy, ready for our last stretch?” Tetdi-ek'hui shook his head as well and stretched his wings. Then they set off in an easterly direction. Spoiler: Story Two: "On a Rail" On a Rail Ghyran was a lush, verdant realm, brimming with life. But there was a place where the Sylvaneth did not tread. The wilds here seemed scarred by something ancient, something the caretakers of Ghyran’s jungles found abhorrent. To the inhabitants of the peninsula, however, the dangers of the land felt more natural, less directed. This peninsula was home instead to a number of cities and keeps, lived in by humans and Aelves and Duardin. And Seraphon. Settlements had grown over generations, rising from frontier outposts to thriving fiefdoms. The name of Sigmar echoed in city squares, where shrines to the God-King stood amidst the bustling throngs of merchants and artisans. Cultures interwove, alliances were struck, and rivalries simmered under a shared sky. These fiefdoms, the entire peninsula, was connected in a network built by the Duardin who called this land their home. Rails placed down, and great iron engines belching steam trekked along those rails. Distances could be cleared at speeds greater than anything other than the airships of the Kharadon. Trade between the cities flowed freely, while smaller settlements could grow and thrive with supplies provided from their host cities. But the trains were more than just tools of trade. They were the peninsula’s lifeline in times of peril. The engines carried troops as swiftly as they did cargo, their arrival often the difference between salvation and ruin. Beast-hordes from the jungles, chaos warbands seeking blood—all had tested the peninsula’s resolve. Time and again, the iron engines proved their worth, uniting the fiefdoms under one banner when the need arose. ===== The carriage vibrated, rumbling as it was pulled forward on the journey. From a small village several leagues from the city of Ekralir, the train would travel north to the spine of mountains that formed the land border between the Peninsula and the rest of the continental landmass of Ghyran. Most who had boarded the train were merchants, who would later switch trains and move east to the city-state of Siezon, to trade with the oldest occupants of the Peninsula. The rest of the train’s occupants would continue within this train, for they were moving to the northernmost settlements. Theirs was a more important duty than mere trade. ===== Five months ago, a Sigmarite priest was killed. It was a brutal murder. Not all of his remains were found. He was survived by his daughter, who witnessed the event. Trembling, she spoke of monsters—horrors cloaked in ragged flesh and reeking of decay. The Peninsula was being invaded by a Flesh-Eater Court. This marked the beginning of the skirmishes that would later become a defensive war against the court that had chosen to cross the spine in a crusade against the inhabitants of the Peninsula. Once she had recovered, Almalexia had sworn vengeance against the Flesh-Eater Court, had taken up her father’s hammer. Many had questioned her father’s faith, found it unusual for an Aelf to be so devout in worship of Sigmar as to become an ordained priest of the God-King. But she knew that her father had been true to his faith. Had believed in Sigmar’s divinity and held that faith even as he was mutilated and butchered. Her father had always seemed so sure. So unshakable in his faith. Almalexia clutched the warhammer’s haft tighter, her knuckles pale against the polished wood. Could she ever be as strong? Or would she falter? Almalexia whispered a prayer to Sigmar, praying for success in the coming days, for her and the Ekralirite army she was now stationed with. That they would go to battle and strike down the rampaging blight. Today, Almelexia was a passenger on the train, escorted by Ekralirite swordsmen. She was going to fight. To avenge her father. ===== “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Saurus sleeping,” whispered a man, his tone equal parts curiosity and caution. The subject of his hushed remark lay sprawled across the carriage bench: a pale, off-white Saurus, cloaked in a heavy garment that served as a makeshift blanket. Its snout twitched slightly at the sound, but it didn’t stir beyond that. “You’ve never been to their temple-city. When else are you likely to see one asleep?” The answer, also hushed, came from an older woman, the type that looked like she was born to gossip. “It’s not one of the local ones," added another voice, this time a younger woman, her tone sharper. “Wrong colour.” Her husband sighed, already weary of the conversation. “Is that a thing?” His wife chuckled. “Remember dear, I’ve fought alongside them. You pick up a few things after spending a couple of years sharing a battlefield.” It was hardly the first time she had used her time as a soldier as a source of knowledge. The other woman “tsk”ed in disapproval. “Honestly, women should leave the fighting to the men.” “No, Mother,” the younger woman, Elissia, replied, her patience wearing thin. “Anyone who can lift a blade or fire a handgun should fight. The forces of Chaos don’t care what’s between our legs. Why should we?” There was a scandalised gasp. “Elissia!” Livi’s husband chuckled softly under his breath, though he quickly stopped when he noticed the sleeping Saurus shifting again. He quickly tried to put the conversation away from anything that might raise voices. “So where do you think it came from?” His wife gave the sleeping lizard a considering look before shaking her head. “I couldn’t say. I’ve never seen any constellations that have white scales.” Her mother “tsk”ed again. “White means it might be a Coalesced from Hysh.” She stared at the Saurus unashamedly. “There were also tales of sacred spawnings that resulted in white colouring.” “So, what would bring a Hyshan Saurus here?” Elissia pondered aloud. “Maybe came to ask for aid from the local Seraphon?” Her husband suggested. “We’re going the wrong way in that case.” Elissia’s mother snorted. The carriage rattled over the tracks, the sudden jolt enough to rouse the Saurus. It blinked slowly, blue eyes scanning its surroundings before pulling the cloak tighter around its shoulders. Elissia and her family were travelling to the city-state of Siezon, visiting family, before Elissia was going to re-enlist, though she had yet to share that news with her mother. ===== “Professor?” A short man dressed in a fine suit—one that had been custom tailored—hummed, tilting his head to indicate that he was listening, even as his attention failed to drift away from the book in his hand, the fountain pen in his gloved hand carefully scribbling notes onto the pages. “We just passed the river.” The Professor hummed again, but this time paused in his writing, carefully lifting the pen away from the page and capping it. Ten seconds later, he gently blew upon the ink he had laid upon the paper, and only after deeming it sufficiently dried did he close the book. He adjusted his top hat, a subtle gesture that allowed him to glance around the train compartment without drawing attention. A furred muzzle, hidden beneath the shadow of his brim, twitched with barely contained excitement—a fleeting hint of his true nature. No one paid him any mind. The fine suit, tailored to perfection, and the cultured air he carried like a shield ensured that common folk saw only a gentleman of status. It was a guise he had perfected long ago. Let the riff-raff bow their heads and avert their eyes; such ignorance was his ally. A subtle smile tugged at his lips as he tucked the leather-bound book into his coat, its inked notes safely dried. “Very well,” the Professor spoke, voice low. The train rolled on, the rhythmic clatter of its wheels harmonising with the muted hum of idle chatter. Merchants bartered tales of trade; a noblewoman chided her child for wandering too far. Skritch sat apart, observing. To learn was to understand, and to understand was to dominate. His kind’s failings—short-sighted scheming, endless infighting—were a disease, and he would be the cure. For that, he had to learn. To study the humans, the Aelves, the Duardin. Even the Seraphon. To uncover what drove them to strength while his own kind gnawed on the bones of their own ambition. Only then could he rise above them, a beacon of intellect in a sea of rabid hunger. Skritch’s eyes briefly wandered to the golden haired Aelf in the Sigmarite robes. Difficult to gauge the age of an Aelf, Skritch had more experience with humans. But she was young. Likely too young to be an ordained battle-priest, but she was very clearly a devout believer. Even carried a warhammer adorned with the markings of Sigmar. Maybe she had ambitions to be a member of Sigmar’s clergy. The Aelf radiated a simmering rage barely contained beneath her polished exterior. It wasn’t just faith that drove her—no, this was something more primal. Skritch’s whiskers twitched as his mind raced. Fury was a tool, and tools could be sharpened or broken, depending on the need. He continued to watch her as she walked down the length of the carriage, accompanied by swordsmen dressed in the colours of the city called Ekralir, until they reached the door leading to the next carriage, after which they vanished. His whiskers twitched again as a curious gaze lingered too long on his gloves—a child. Skritch’s paw tightened on his cane, the silvered handle gleaming in the dim light. With a deliberate rap against the floorboards, he sent the boy scampering back to his mother’s side. Yes, no one would look twice again. He smiled. This was his path. He would show them all—Skaven and foe alike—that Skritch von Silkfur was better. Professor Skritch von Silkfur had boarded the train not for the travel, but for the opportunity to observe. To learn. But he also had a goal. And now the time had come for him to move. ===== Kroztal fought down the urge to yawn. A look out the window of the carriage showed that the sky had darkened. She had been asleep for going on four hours, yet she still felt exhausted. At the edge of her hearing, she caught the murmured voices of the human family. A warrior, her mate, and—judging by the older woman’s scent—her mother, all speaking in hushed tones. About her. She was used to it. Saurus rarely traveled alone, let alone without a Skink to act as their voice. Fought down the brief sense of loss, the momentary memory of her partner, the Skink who had for the longest time been her constant companion, her voice when dealing with the warmbloods of the Realms. Knew she shouldn’t feel that loss, not really. She was a Seraphon, more, she was a Saurus. She was supposed to be stoic, an emotional blank unless it was righteous fury levelled at any of the enemies of the Great Plan. But the Skink Priest Anet’kla had been her one constant for decades, ever since she had volunteered to follow him on his quest to record and create a compendium on every Coalesced temple-city and constellation within the Realms, an archive to better keep track of their allies and how and where to find them. Anet’kla had died before that goal could be finished, and so Kroztal had sworn on his grave that she would finish that ambition in her stead. And for the two years following, she had travelled, visited strange lands, tracked down every tale of Seraphon who were Coalesced, and met her distant kin. Not all were friendly. Some saw her presence as a threat, an outsider dredging up memories better left buried. But others… others welcomed her as kin. Even among their diverging cultures, there was an unspoken bond that reminded her of home. Those were the stories she recorded, the alliances she forged, all for the day when she would return to Hysh with Anet’kla’s legacy complete. The Seraphon of the Peninsula had been one such success. Strange, yes—blending their temple-city with the human settlements around it—but no less kin. Their partnership with the warmbloods had left its mark, both on their architecture and their ways, yet they had welcomed her without question. The train shook, jolting her back to the present. The clatter of wheels on iron rails filled the silence between the family’s whispers. Kroztal adjusted the cloak around her shoulders, hiding her pale scales from prying eyes. Her gaze returned to the window. Northward lay the next temple-city, the next piece of Anet’kla’s dream. Kroztal had travelled the Realms for a singular reason, even when all logic said that she should have long ago returned home. ===== The train roared through the dark, a ribbon of iron threading the heart of the Peninsula. Inside, its passengers sat in silence or whispered quietly, each caught in their own thoughts, their own journeys. Almalexia clutched her hammer, her prayer still lingering in the air. Kroztal stared out the window, her claws tapping softly on the wood. Skritch smiled to himself, his schemes already unfurling like smoke. Beyond the windows, the wilderness stretched on, vast and unknowable. Somewhere out there, danger lurked, but for now, the train pressed on, its iron wheels carrying them toward whatever awaited in the north. Spoiler: Story Three: "Longer Than Expected" LONGER THAN EXPECTED The battle around the pyramid was intensifying, the enemy slowly but surely closing in. During weeks of ferocious combat the outer walls had collapsed, and the inner walls after them. The battle had become a gigantic, chaotic melee in the city since then; the resistance had concentrated around the main pyramid, the orderly cohorts of temple guards piling up hairy corpses, the giant dinosaurs in the rear hurling searing beams that carved furrows into the mass of the attackers, felling the towering abominations of the ratmen; the spells cast by the Slann opened chasms. But it was only a matter of time before those positions also became untenable… then the cohorts would slowly fall apart, and the defenders would retreat further, making the pyramid a fortress. Then it would be time for Skarnikk Bloodblade. The master assassin had infiltrated the lizardmen’s lines, through tunnels painstakingly dug over months, and now he was moving silently and invisibly through the ventilation tunnels, ascending one level at a time, waiting for the Slann to retreat toward the halls above. Toward his blade. And that moment was approaching. Through the stone, Skarnikk could feel the vibrations of hundreds of clawed feet walking the corridors, a clear sign that the forces of the lizard-things had begun their retreat into the pyramid. Skarnikk should have been in position by now, but he was annoyingly behind schedule. It wasn’t exactly his fault, though… he was a professional, and in the face of the unexpected, one must always be cautious. The first unexpected event had come when, in the corridors, in addition to the stone, he had encountered sections with walls shaped from a strange metal, cold and extremely resistant, so much so that it could not even be scraped by his enhanced blade. The second unexpected event had been when a strange buzzing had begun to spread throughout the entire structure, slowly but steadily increasing…it was a bizarre sensation, which made the fur on his back stand on end; it reminded him a lot of the sensation he felt standing nearby the war machines of the Skryre Clan, when they were activated, charging up with energy. Nevertheless, he continued to move… until something even more bizarre happened. The hum increased further, the entire structure began to shake as if there was an earthquake, and then a slow but powerful downward push crushed his body against the floor. No one was effectively crushing him, no air current from above… there was nothing, and yet, for a few interminable seconds he could not move, even struggling to breathe. Only when the pressure eased did Skarnikk regain control of his body and mind. “Calm-calm down. You are not afraid. Release not odor-scent. Fear not real. You real. Blade real. Fear fake. Now continue-move on. Find-kill.” Skarnikk continued to move through the now metal-lined ventilation corridors, but at this point he was not sure where he was. This pyramid was so different from the minor temples he had explored in the past. The informations on the mission were inadequate. Someone would pay in blood. Then, something hit the pyramid. A crash of something massive on the outside, like when the rocks of the catapults collide with the masonry, but this time much larger and more powerful. Immediately after that, with a hissing noise, a door of the strange metal closed the corridor behind him. Out of nowhere, he heard a croaking voice. The automatic translator provided to him for the mission allowed him to understand the words, but their meaning remained obscure. “Attention, all crew. In the upper atmosphere we suffered a collision with a fragment of the chaos moon. External casing of the third section badly damaged. It has been isolated the access to the following autonomous areas of the third section: Weapons storage X7, Hydroponics Y12, Ancient Records A2. Vessel not compromised, course unchanged. Begin stage one of stasis procedures.” Skarnikk moved along the corridor, avoiding a grated opening and continuing forward, until his path was blocked by a second metal door. Any attempts to open it proved futile, so the assassin returned to the opening he had previously ignored. The grate proved easy to open; the opening overlooked a dark room that smelled of leaves and water. Silently, Skarnikk lowered himself along the wall, hiding near a bush (“Why plant-bush in pyramid? Stupid lizard-things”). Then, slowly, a soft light began to illuminate the room, becoming brighter and warmer. The room was a huge one, and it looked like a forest for all intents and purposes, albeit a very bizarre one. There was no real ground, the plants were all growing in sorts of tubs, neat and aligned, some surrounded by soil, others immersed in muddy water. Skarnikk was completely alone, and he began to explore the place. There were many fruit trees, by groups and alone, in delimited but very large grounds, and there were several very young plants that would take years to grow. And flowers, many flowers. There were even some insects, buzzing around. “fruits-plants-food, flowers-poison…. silly-crazy lizard-things. Maybe fear of Clan Pestilence? A small hidden-secured jungle?”. The mystery could wait, the important thing was to find a way out… except that, after a couple of hours of searching, it was clear that there were none, because there was indeed a door, but it was hopelessly closed, and even the alchemical tools enhanced by warpstone shards were of no use. After some time, the croaking voice returned… again, understanding the words was of no help. “The course is stable. The subfleet includes 24 ships… we mourn the loss of the To'Lomek city-temple. With the completion of the stasis procedures, primary energy will be maintained in the hydroponic lounges and automatic systems only. May Chotec guide our journey to the next Sun-Home”. It was pointless to try to extrapolate some meaning from those nonsense. Only one thing was sure. Sooner or later, within a few hours or a couple of days at most, someone would open that door. The lizard-things, to take food to sustain the siege. Or to find shelter when the stormvermin will break into the pyramid. Or directly the troops of the warlord Kretch Skullweaver. And when that happened, Skarnikk would be ready. It was just a matter of waiting a little.
Eh... given that "What happens" is no more an available choice, i think i will give my vote to the (still excellent) story that was my second pick.
My vote remains unchanged. Let's see what the extra two votes (minimum) do for these three this round... unless some peeps who didn't vote before now come out of the woodwork. Prediction: We get another tie, and are required to go to a final round of votes between the last two entries. Much amusement shall be had.
it's a possibility. For example, I don't think @NIGHTBRINGER gave his vote, maybe he will do it now, even with no CD involved.
We should have lied and said "cor blimey, all the entries have CD involvement". And if called out, we could have replied "we meant in spirit".
I'm still mulling it over. I'll try to make a decision. Initially, voted for Story Five and my second favorite was Story Four. I believe @Scolenex is willing to take bribes.
I tried randomly shoving a tablet with the webpage to people in the street with demands that they vote. Results were... mixed. With bemused stares at the good end of the spectrum, and needing to pretend I'm a GTA protagonist because of reports of "a deranged lizardman harassing people" resulting in the rozzer showing up being on the bad end of the spectrum. On the upside, I do now have a collection of cars that I should probably never try to actually drive again.