Contest Lustria-Online Short Story Contest April-May 2015 Contest Poll

Ok guys! It is time to read the entries in the April-May 2015 Lustria-Online Short Story contest! Bragging rights go to the winner!

The entries will be listed in the order they were turned in:
Here they are:

Spoiler: Completely Anonymous Sequel

Completely Anonymous Sequel


Two saurus warriors, a skink priest and a kroxigor squelched through the mud and worse that carpeted the main street of the rain drenched town.

"We shall find the One Theme there," declared Skink Priest W’yss’ans W’il’dfo’rm as he pointed past a row of horses and more exotic mounts.

"Will the bearded degenerate with the carrot tell us what it is?" asked Robert the saurus warrior.

"No, you idiot! Inside the tavern!"

Behind Peter Jackson was the outside of dim and dingy generic tavern which had a sign shaped like a tottering horse. The Pickled Pony.

"In we go then!" said Moe, the other saurus warrior, and he shook off his two handed weapon. It was a Great Umbrella made in the forges of misty Albion.

"Stop! We can't go in there like this," declared Robert.

"Why not?"

"What if they have a dress code. We don't have dresses. Or pants."

"Just put on your fake mustaches." advised W’yss’ans W’il’dfo’rm. "When we get inside we will need to be on the lookout in all directions, like...like..."

The kroxigor, Hen’ry Mc’Coy tried to help. "Like those googly-eyed kind of lizards?"

"Exactly! Like geckoes. Come on!"

They pushed through the swinging doors and found themselves on the inside of a dim and dingy generic tavern. They went to an empty table.

"Robert and I will get some drinks," said Moe.

"Yes. Cider." said Robert.

"No. Beer."

"Cider!"

"Beer!"

As the sauri moved towards the bar a fair number of patrons paused in their generic drinking and nodded or shook their heads as they listened to their heated exchange. The generic tavern owner obliviously bumped past the remaining lizardmen's table and the skink priest tugged at his apron.

"Excuse, generic barkeep. We are looking for a wizard, Gandalf the Grey. Is he here?"

"Gandalf? Elderly fellow? Wears a hat? Dreadful puns? He is over there."

The barkeep pointed towards the far corner of the room and started to move away.

"Wait," Hen’ry Mc’Coy put his hand on the man's arm. "That fellow's done nothing but stare at us since we've arrived. Who is he?"

The tall stranger in question was sitting in a darkened booth. He appeared to be setting fire to his nose with a wooden pipe.

"What his right name is, I never heard," whispered the generic barkeep, "but round here he's known as 'Emperor Karl Franz, Protector of the Empire, Defier of the Dark, Elector Count of Reikland and Prince of Altdorf'."

"Why is he known as that?"

"Because he leaves Deathclaw, the Imperial Griffon, parked outside."

W’yss’ans W’il’dfo’rm grunted. "Hmm, I'll keep an eye on the tall stranger. Hen’ry Mc’Coy, you go find the wizard and cling to him like...umm...like..."

"Like one of those lizards which are good at climbing?" asked the generic barkeep.

"Exactly! Like a gecko. And hurry, I don't think our welcome will last much longer." He nodded towards the bar where Robert and Moe were still arguing. A sizeable mob of generic brawlers and ne'er-do-wells had gathered around the saurus warriors. The ne'er-do-wells appeared to be siding with Robert. Moe commanded the support of most of the brawlers. Both factions were quietly arming themselves with generic bar furnishings.

"Oh my stars and garters!" exclaimed Hen’ry Mc’Coy and he hurried across the room. As he got closer to the wizard's table, he could hear the old man telling a story to a small group of followers.

"...stars wheeled overhead, and every day was as long as the life age of the earth. But it was not the end. I felt light in me again. I was sent back and, well, the rest is Istari!"

As the audience burst into laughter the kroxigor made to sit down at the wizard's table.

"You shall not park!" the wizard blocked the seat with his staff and his companions dissolved into fits of giggles. "Only kidding! Please sit down, mustachioed gentleman. Did you like that one? 'You shall not park'? I've got a million of them! Listen to this one. Ahem. It was a long and dangerous journey to get here tonight. I'm just Galad-riel made it safely! Huh? Huh? Galadriel! Someone once asked me who writes all my lines. I just said 'I'm Saru-man. I don't reveal my sorcerors'!"

Hen’ry Mc’Coy grimaced. "I don't know what you are Tolkien about," he grumbled. "I am just here to find Gandalf the Grey."

The wizard's eyes suddenly lost focus as if he was trying to remember something. "Gandalf? Oh yes. That's what they used to call me. Gandalf the Grey. That was my name." His eyes focused again and he said in a resolute voice, "I am Gandalf the White, and I come back to you now, at the turn of the tide."

"Oh. Sorry. Wrong wizard. Excuse me." As Hen’ry Mc’Coy turned sheepishly away, the argument which Robert and Moe had started at the bar reached a critical juncture.

"Umbrellas!" yelled Moe's generic brawlers.

"Rain coats!" shouted Robert's generic ne'er-do-wells in reply and the entire taproom erupted into a fully fledged generic tavern brawl.

Generic barstools, broken bottles and wild haymakers were thrown with gay abandon. W’yss’ans W’il’dfo’rm was forced to flee his table when it was smashed into kindling by the flying body of a generic hairy cutthroat. As he cowered near the back of the room a pair of gloved hands seized him and dragged him roughly up some stairs.

"You draw far too much attention to yourself, Mr W’il’dfo’rm." The tall stranger shoved the priest into a generic tavern hotel room and closed the door.

"What do you want?" demanded W’yss’ans W’il’dfo’rm.

"More caution from you. That is no trinket you carry."

"I carry nothing!" W’yss’ans W’il’dfo’rm protested, "I don't even have pockets. I don't even have pants!"

"Indeed. I can travel anonymously if I wish, but to wear the Eggshell of Invulnerability on your head, that is a rare gift."

"Oh. Yes. The Eggshell of Invulnerability. Why does it matter to you, Emperor Karl Franz?"

"Mahrlect! I am trying to be incognito! Like... like ..."

"Like one of those lizards which is good at hiding?"

"Exactly! Like a gecko! How did you penetrate my disguise?"

"You are wearing monogrammed gloves, Your Imperial Majesty.

"Dammit, I must - Hush now! There is someone at the door!"

Even over the tumult below, two angry voices could be heard through the heavy door.

"Generic tavern barstools!" yelled one.

"Generic tavern candlesticks!" shouted the other in reply.

The tall stranger turned the latch and two saurus warriors tumbled inside. Each had an improvised weapon. Moe was brandishing a dead parrot. Robert had the Holy Grail.

"Let him go or I'll have you longshanks - Oh, Hello Emperor Karl Franz."

"Mahrlect! How did you know?"

"We passed your banner carrier, Kurt Helborg, on the stairs. He bore a large flag which had your picture and the words, 'I am Emperor Karl Franz, Protector of the Empire, Defier of the Dark, Elector Count of Reikland and Prince of Altdorf. Rally to Me'."

"Dammit! I should have -"

Up the dark stairwell came a terrifying cry which started low and built in volume and pitch to a terrifying intensity.

"Oh no! They have found us!" the tall stranger wailed.

"Oo oo oo EEEEEK!" The sound repeated and suddenly the room was filled with fierce monkeys who wielded dangerous looking typewriters. The terrifying simians ignored the three lizardmen and surrounded the tall stranger.

"Give it up, Emperor Karl Franz. You don't fool us with your childish masquerade," their leader said.

"Mahrlect! How did you know it was me?"

"Your mother puts labels on your underwear."

"Dammit! How do you know that?"

The monkey grinned smugly. "We at G'amesw'orkshop know everything!"

"Prove it!" W’yss’ans W’il’dfo’rm boldly pushed forward with a challenge. "If you know everything, then tell me: do second and third rank to hit rolls generate additional predatory fighter attacks?"

"Ha! A simple question. The answer is - wait! You aren't lizardmen wearing fake mustaches are you?"

The skink priest realised that the whole quest was suddenly balanced on a knife edge. Everything depended on the cleverness of his answer.

"Umm. Why do you ask?"

"Because we are pursuing some lizardmen who happen to be masters of disguise. They can change their appearance like...like..."

"Like the kind of lizards that can change their color?"

"Exactly! Like geckoes. The fugitives possess an artifact of unauthorized and overpowered amazing awesomeness."

"Oh no," W’yss’ans W’il’dfo’rm replied. "No. That is definitely not us. And we don't evenhave the Eggshell of Invulnerability."

"That is just as well for you, mustachioed gentlemen." The monkey turned back towards the tall stranger and poked him in the chest. "And as for you, Emperor Karl Franz, if we find out that you have been harboring those vile criminals we shall arrange a fatal accident for you during the End Times. Possibly a succession of fatal accidents. You have been warned."

The chief monkey stomped out of the room. One of the hench-apes lingered until his leader called him away. "Come along, J'eremy V'etock! Stop pointing at the mustachioed gentleman's eggshell-like bald head."

After the monkeys had left, another person mounted the stairs. It was the kroxigor, Hen’ry Mc’Coy.

W’yss’ans W’il’dfo’rm was relieved to see him. "Thank goodness you are back! Did you find the wizard?"

"I founda wizard, but he was the wrong one. This one had a hobbit of making dreadful puns. It was shire bloody mordor listening to him."

"Mahrlect! The wizard was meant to provide us with the One Theme. Without it, our quest will be disqualified!"

Hen’ry Mc’Coy shrugged, "Do you think it really matters? I mean, an unspecified pink glowy thing might be enough to get us over the line. Hello, Emperor Karl Franz."

"Mahrlect! Not again! How did you -"

"You left the Ghal Maraz, Warhammer of Sigmar in your booth downstairs." Hen’ry Mc’Coy held the magical weapon up and swung it around experimentally. "I like it."

"Look, big fellow, you can keep it, if you swap me your fake mustache."

"Stupid fat emperor!" snarled the kroxigor in reply. "You shall never have the preciousss!"

"Oh, screw this. I'm going back to Altdorf." The emperor also stomped out of the room.

Robert sighed. "So here we are, with no One Theme and no closer to completing any quests at all." He dumped the Holy Grail into the chamber pot. "Our story twists and turns like...like..."

"Like the tails of the kind of lizards which have curly prehensile tails?" suggested W’yss’ans W’il’dfo’rm.

"Exactly! Like geckoes."

"Just wait a minute, guys!" Moe exclaimed. "What if the Old Ones are actually guiding our quest in some mysterious but convenient way? We have all been talking about one thing - maybe that one thing is actually the One Theme!"

"What is this one thing that we all been talking about?" asked Robert sceptically.

"The kind of lizards that have googly eyes, are good at climbing and hiding, have curly tails and can change colors!"

"You mean geckoes?"

"Not geckoes, you idiot. Can't you see? Surely the Old Ones are suggesting...anole lizards!"

"No. They must be suggesting geckoes."

"Anole lizards!"

"Geckoes!"

"Anole lizards!"

"Geckoes!"

"The One Theme must be anole lizards! Now, don't make me any angrier or I will take this parrot - and voom!"

" "VOOM"?!? Mate, that bird wouldn't "voom" if you put four million volts through it! The One Theme must be geckoes!"

etcetara

etcetara

etcetara.

Spoiler: Final Entry

Final Entry

I fear tonight may be my last. I feel them watching me.

Worn, my muscles tremble under a thick skin of blood and dried earth. I can walk no more; my wounds fester, and I care not for even staying the flies from their feast. I write this as my legacy, to document my last vestige of reason in the hope to warn any who may trespass on this infernal place. By Sigmar’s will, let this land be left to the fogs of history. Too much has been lost in the pursuit of a fool’s dream.

Cities built with bricks of gold, inlaid with gems as countless as the stars, and inhabited by untamed tribes of warrior women. Rejected by the Nuln College of Engineers and shunned by my peers, such stories were irresistible for the destitute. The Inquisition had seized and expropriated the family wealth, and in a desperate attempt to re-build our lives I had walked the breadth of The Empire to hone what skill I had in engineering. Yet another foolish dream, the College had already been given word of my brother’s apostasy. To even consider an applicant so intimately associated with a defector to the Ruinous Powers would invite heresy. Penniless and crushed, I had spent months living in squalor until I stumbled upon a sailor who sold me tales of exotic treasures across the Great Ocean. The trip would last three years, unpaid of course, but how could one compare material wealth to glory eternal in the annals of adventurers? Three weeks later, upon the promise of a cut of spoils and the remaking of my family’s legacy, we set sail from Port Marienburg.

A fool indeed. The slums of Nuln are a paradise I now long for.

I hear them, they are in the trees.

Over the course of three years we had planned to reap gold from the hills and sail back to the Old World as conquerors. We survived less than a month. This night will finally mark the end of this accursed expedition.

We were doomed from the first step, dragging the landing boats onto the shore. What should have been the exciting first steps on a new land were swiftly darkened when the boatswain was snatched into the air and born into the canopy. We didn’t see what had taken him nor did we hear its approach, but his screams continued to echo for some time after from a distant point hidden in the trees. Though shaken, the months of hard sailing and the promise of wealth had galvanised our will, so we pressed forth into the dark jungle. Six men were lost in that journey, swallowed by a green hell and ravaged by its shadowy and hungry denizens. “Onward”, our brave Captain had bellowed waving his map, “onward to glory and gold!” Glory and gold, such promises soon dulled as we trekked onwards through the suffocating humidity. The sixth man lost was our Captain: so brave and noble – he was ingested whole by a great reptile that had lunged from the swamps. Ironic it seemed, for barely had we left the swamps when we stumbled onto a clearing dominated by a column of gold which cleaved the canopy. For a brief moment our fears were assuaged: the gold was real, and we had found the first hoard. Surely, soon, the other stories of gem-lined streets and proud female warriors would be validated? Those brief glimmerings of hope were ruined by a terrible sound.

I hear it now. It surrounds me.

The chirping of birds, singing back and forth. My heart pounds and veins shudder at their voices. To stand below that golden monument, to think that I had a moment to bask in the birdsong. Nothing in this land is innocent, not even the honeyed chirpings of the birds. Their owners soon revealed their deceit.

The chirping stopped, and for a moment the forest was silent. Then came a continuous sharp whistling. Men fell about me clutching their necks, feathered darts protruding from between their fingers. Petrified by fear, I watched my comrades carpet the base of the pillar. Shadows skittered through the brush. I tried to see our attackers, but each time I caught sight something changed: either the shadow or the colour, I could not tell. One slipped out from the trees. I could not tell what saw, its body moved with the hues of the jungle, its effect was obvious: the steaming bubbling of blood from my comrade’s throat. I turned and ran, fear overpowering fatigue. In panic, I foolishly glanced a look at my pursuer. A shadowy aspect of changing colour, I could discern few tangible details: a tail curled in a tight spiral, a pair of slitted eyes, moving independent of each other. What horrors! What sinister intelligence has bred in this hell!? I tripped and the tips of blades caressed my flesh. Lucky, perhaps, that my awkward stumble had denied a killing blow. I ran harder, legs and back burning and wet from my wounds. Why they had not chased me then I do not know. I imagine that delivering my companions to Death’s clutches proved a more pressing distraction than a single escapee.

By Sigmar, I hope their deaths were quick.

I ran. I ran until my legs were numb and breath was short. I ran blindly, not for the promise of salvation, for this cruel and dark land owes nothing to Men. I ran for the promise of the quick death offered by the creatures that hunted this jungle. Their jaws promised the certainty of death, a promise that I could not hope for at those malevolent and alien hands.

That promise remains unfulfilled. The forest appeared to acknowledge that I was now quarry of another. It was the pain flaring from my wounds that had eventually toppled me, now I can do nothing but await my fate. With the last of my energy I write this entry. Part of me hopes it will act as some warning to a sorry soul starting their own expedition, but such a hope is a fool’s one at best. This shall be my epitaph, lost and far from the civilised realms of The Empire.

My brother, we parted on terms that I’m certain no-one else could surpass in its enmity. I remember you told me of the folly of man: it wasn’t the Imperial dream of wealth and power, that was merely a symptom of the foundation of false hope upon which The Empire was built. A false hope that we could tame the world and stubbornly ignore truth, that the world was change, the world was chaos, and our legacy would not survive. It was futile and arrogant to act on any other principle. I had reproached you, called you a pretentious coward, a misanthropic heretic, an idiot whose values were unwanted within our Empire.

My brother, maybe you were right. This land pumps with the blood of the wild where monsters compete to tear each other apart, where only the strongest and shrewd survive; an environment in turmoil where fire and water and forest re-shapes the earth to their whim. It is little wonder companies pick on the hopeless and ruined for these journeys, those to which extravagant rumours offered redemption. I hope you found your salvation in the North. I hope the Dark Gods offer you something more than what I could.

Surely Sigmar has abandoned me here?

This is the final entry of Theodor Krastner of Ostermark, citizen of The Empire of Man. A fool.

The chirping has stopped.

The forest is silent.

Spoiler: Business Raptor in the Realm of Chaos

Business Raptor in the Realm of Chaos
Business Raptor was working hard
When he heard a noise out in his yard
It was most annoying; he had to see!
and there he found a buzzing busy bee.

Try as he might he just couldn't swat it
As his arms were too short by quite a bit.
Worse than that, although he tried his best,
He kept failing his initiative test!

So Business Raptor thought long and hard:
"Who could get rid of the bee in my yard?"
He had a ponder and then he had a think
"What about Oxyotl, the Chameleon Skink?"

Oxyotl, yes! He must get his attention,
But wasn't he lost in the Chaos Dimension?
Yet the bee was still buzzing against all the odds,
He'd rather try his chances with the Dark Gods!

"Well, this will be an adventure" he said with a chortle
And so he found his way to a Chaos Portal.
It had been a long journey, searching far and wide,
And upon going in he found Daemons inside!

He eyed up the Daemons, and after a think,
Asked "have you seen Oxyotl, the Chameleon Skink?"
But the Daemons grew angry, more than they should
And started shouting about skulls and blood.

"How rude, I won't get anything here,
I just hope Oxyotl is not far but near!"
So he left the Daemons to try and see
If he could find an answer to that buzzing bee.

After walking quite far, by quite some measure,
Business Raptor found some Daemons of Pleasure.
"They must live here, judging by their complexion,
I wonder if they can point me in the right direction?"

So he eyed up the Daemons, and after a think
Asked "do you know Oxyotl, the Chameleon Skink?"
Answering in silence, they busied tending to their flesh,
"...or perhaps your Lord knows: the Dark God Slannesh?"

They jumped up, no longer lazy,
Indeed, they sounded rather crazy:
"It's double 'a' not double 'n'!"
"Leave at once; get out of our den!"



"Oh dear, oh dear" Business Raptor said,
He backed out quickly: their noise hurt his head.
So he left the Daemons, he had to be free
Of the annoying sound of that damn buzzing bee.

Soon Business Raptor began to feel sad,
He was rather lost and this place was mad:
the people were weird and the sky was orange.
Suddenly he tripped over a daemonic sporange.

Spinning over, he hit the ground with a BOOM!
Having landed beside the offending mushroom.
Lying on his back he stared into the sky
And, losing all hope, he began to cry.

"Don't cry little lizard" said a clever voice,
"If it's hope that you need I'm the right choice"
Looking up, he saw a fiery Lord of Change.
"Do you want help? Any wish is within my range."


He eyed up the Daemon, and after a think,
Asked "do you know Oxyotl, the Chameleon Skink?"
The Daemon laughed and flapped its great wings
And said something that made the lizard's heart sing:

"Dear Business Raptor, do not worry
You already saw him on your journey!
Trace back your steps and have a see
If you can find the Chameleon and kill the bee."

Spoiler: The Betrayer

The Betrayer

There was no problem with Huanek's camouflage. He had taken on the exact texture and hue of the barren lava field as soon as he had emerged from the caverns beneath the volcano. The problem was that his shadow betrayed him every time he tried to move.

Complete immobility with his body pressed flat was an effective strategy for survival, but it had the disadvantage that it carried the chameleon skink no closer to the relative safety of the jungle. For five hours he had remained motionless on top of a small basalt outcrop while his hunters scoured the immediate vicinity. He was still alive but his situation had deteriorated rather than improved. At noon his shadow had only been as long as he was. If he stood in the slanting afternoon sunlight his betrayer would stretch itself into a twenty yard finger of accusation.

The chameleon rotated his eyes as if they were on gimbals. He could just make out Hexoatl, piercing the forest roof many miles away. The low orb of the sun was seemingly stalled above the City of the Sun's glimmering spire. Only three hundred yards away was the edge of the volcano's vast caldera and the beginning of the jungle, but the nearest of the vengeful black orc bodyguards was closer still. Huanek was faced with a deadly dilemma. If he attempted a last dash under the gaze of Chotec, his hunters would cut him down within seconds. If he stayed still, the main force of the greenskin war host would overtake him long before nightfall. Hemightnot be discovered, but he would salvage nothing from his blighted mission. His failure would be absolute.

His eyes gyrated and scanned the lava field again. What he needed right now was a shadow. Just about any shadow other than the one which had dogged him since his spawning. His first preference would have been a cool shadow under a mossy boulder. Such a deep dark would temporarily consume his betrayer. He would be almost as happy with the mottled patchy shade of the noonday jungle, which Chotecalways populated with so many shadows that his betrayer could not be made out among the throng. His brief inspection revealed that the lava field offered no shadows other than spiky ones occupied by orcs.

At least the hunters were far enough away that Huanek could risk a tiny movement. He peeled his belly away from the rock so that a thin stream of air could cool his burnt skin. When he had thrown himself down here to smother his betrayer, he found that the black rock was hot enough to fry a fabridon egg. The hunters were so close at that time that he had just held his breath and endured the torment. Having superficial skin burns was preferable to being thrown into a fiery volcanic vent as a sacrifice.

While his belly was lifted Huanek did a quick inventory. Naturally his betrayer still lurked beneath him, but he had also been lying on his blow pipe and the last of his darts to conceal them. They were intact, but two poisoned darts and a hollow stick would be inadequate for him to fight his way free or to stop an army.

He lifted his eyes to the Sun Temple's spire again and wished that the Old Ones were not so aloof. He had maintained a posture of obeisance towards the Sun Temple for at least the last five hours, but yet they continued to withhold their mercy.

For the entire previous night the full moon had given his betrayer boldness and definition, and Morrslieb had filled its void with a malicious green glow. The glare of the subsequent day's sun had not been softened by as much as a wisp of cloud. Since his mission had started going wrong the only blessing he had received from the heavens was delivered by a passing bird. The gift was deposited to his exposed back, giving artistic verisimilitude to his performance as a surface irregularity on a lava outcrop. The blessing had given him a little solace. It made him thankful that stegadons don't fly.

Huanek didn’t blame the Old Ones for abandoning him. He felt that he deserved their scorn for the lapse of judgment that had robbed the Sun Host of time to prepare the forward defenses.

His mission had been to observe the volcanic caverns and tunnelsof the Firegeezer Tribe and return and report if anything untoward happened. He should have slunk back to Hexoatl as soon as the greenskins had stopped squabbling among themselves and started gathering a critical mass of smaller tribes. Instead he had risked a shot which he had believed would end the coming Waaagh! before it began.

Huanek had assumed that after he had delivered Sotek's Blessing into the black hide of the largest and fiercest orc chieftain that there would be an internal squabble followed by the dissipation of the tribes. Instead it was as if he had beaten a fire hornets' nest with a stick.

It turned out that the true nucleus of the swarm was the fume befuddled shaman who gibbered and raved on his perch on the shoulder of a massive idol of the greenskins’ volcano god. The dead chieftain must surely have been a moderating influence, because after his demise the shaman’s rantings became more strident and they began to convey a vaguely coherent message about the imminent destruction of Hexoatl. Somehow he contrived to produce thick yellow smoke from the idol's eyes and fire balls from its mouth. The whole green skinned assemblage similarly erupted with the fire of volcanic religious fervour.

Even after that, Huanek had believed he could salvage the situation by ghosting away and raising the alarm in. After all, there is nothing inherently wrong with beating hornets' nests as long as one has a clear path of escape. It was only after he had crept out of the smoky caverns that he discovered that his betrayer and the moons were conspiring to change his misjudgement into a fatal error.

From the volcano’s foot at midnight to the verge of the jungle near dusk, Huanek’s flight was oft interrupted by the commendably tenacious orcs who had failed to protect their chieftain. He had needed to go to ground so often that he had only just kept ahead of the Firegeezer shaman’s war host. All the time, he could hear the raving shaman who commanded from the shoulder of his smoking god. The volcano idol followed the advance by virtue of crude wheels and the pushing power of a bevy of stone trolls.

The first ranks of the Waaagh! were now parting around his little outcrop like flowing water, so close that he could smell their warpaint. The chameleon clamped his belly down on his betrayer again. There would be no early warning for Hexoatl.

Whether warned or not, the Sun Host would turn back the green tide in the jungle or at the city wall. Perhaps Lord Mazdamundi would leave his contemplations and sear the orcs to ash. The greenskins would inevitably be routed, but there would be significant loss of life and disruption to the Great Work. It all seemed pointless to Huanek, especially considering that he could have dispelled the Waaagh! with just one more well aimed dart.

The volcano idol was grinding past the outcrop now. Its cloying smoke trailed over the chameleon and he stifled a cough and blinked at the salty secretions which suddenly flooded his eyes. When his vision cleared he saw that the idol had stopped at the forest edge.

The shaman had chosen this vantage, overlooking Hexoatl, to perform some elaborate supplication which involved more gibbering and more fireballs. The pall of yellow smoke from the idol thickened, obscuring Huanek’s view of the city and the sun.

Huanek lifted his belly again and peered underneath. His betrayer was gone, swallowed by the sulphurous smog.

The chameleon moved to a low crouch but no alarm was raised. He did not need to look down at his claws as he retrieved his blow pipe and inserted both darts. His eyes were too busy, darting back and forth, and measuring distances, angles and approaches.

To get into dart range of the shaman, the chameleon would need to pass near the idle stone trolls and a company of goblins. However, with his betrayer gone, he could move freely and swiftly. Sotek's fangs would do the rest.

Huanek was not the only one who could be betrayed by his own shadow.

Spoiler: The Southern Heat

The Southern Heat

Damn, it was hot. It was getting dark. Roderick looked uneasy. He was fiddling with something in his hands. A luck charm from his mother most likely. I knew he wasn’t comfortable in these lands. It was understandable however. My first expedition found me more nervous than anytime I could remember. The creatures here are something you only hear about back in Kislev. We are trained though. We know what they look like. We know how they fight. We know their weaknesses and their strengths. We know their abundance of gold. And we know to avoid them if at all possible. But that’s why my small detachment was sent inland ahead of the main force; to find them before they find us.

“The Chaos Moon in rising. We should have plenty of light for the watch.” I said softly, hoping to ease Roderick’s mind. No fire tonight. We can’t afford to be discovered this close to the ruins.

Roderick turned to me, meeting my eyes with his. In a quiet bewildered voice he said, “There are only five of us. I’ve heard that they have monsters as tall as three men. We’re… we’re doomed if they catch us.”

That sent an unnerving shiver up my spine. I’ve seen a detachment of Ogres in battle before. They were monsters in their own right. But the brutes here... they’re animals. They don’t understand words. They don’t speak. They bellow and roar. It’s terrifying. Stomping and biting with their toothy grins, only using their weapons when they realize there is something heavy chained to their hands. The memories of them are unpleasant, to say the least.

“Roderick, we’ll be fine. We have an army at our backs! Not to mention the finest Ungol archers that we’ve ever assembled. Those creatures won’t make it 10 paces out of the tree line.” Sometimes being a captain means lying to keep morale up. Being this far from home, this far South, makes it difficult at times. I decided to change the topic.

Using my rank to get things going, I asserted to the men beside me. “Asger, you’re up. You and Gunnar have the first watch. Let’s start the rotation. Torbjorn is next. Let’s get some rest.”

Asger responded, “Aye sir. Gunnar, get your bow.” Gunnar was as good of a shot as any. I’ve seen him fire 3 arrows into a target at 100 paces, the last arrow leaving his bow before the first arrow found its mark.

I laid down for my brief rest. 2 hours before it’s my turn to wait at the ready. I rolled to my side, seeing Torbjorn was already out. Roderick was still sitting upright, fiddling with his trinket. “Roderick, get some shut-eye.” He turned his head towards me one last time and nodded. He seemed fine on the ship. Heck, he was fine the first few nights in this blistering hot land. Ever since we found this ruin he’s been tense. I rolled my back to him and closed my eyes for the night.

----------------------------------------------------

Someone was shaking me… I sprung upright, my hand on my dagger instinctively. I had the blade pressed to his side before I realized who it was. Torbjorn looked amused. “Let sleeping dogs lie, hey cap’n?” He knew I couldn’t hurt him. The man was a giant. Chuckling he spoke again, “I couldn’t wake the greenhorn.” pointing half-heartedly at Roderick.

I shook my head. It was throbbing. Sleeping on this soil isn’t my idea of comfortable. Not that the sleep in this sweltering jungle is pleasant, but it should be Roderick’s turn. I reached over to Roderick and placed a hand on his shoulder… Something was wrong. He felt cold. I looked at Torbjorn, “Did he seem sick to you today?” Pulling a piece of jerky from his mouth, Torbjorn shrugged, “He seemed sick ever since we left the fjord.” He turned his back to us and returned to his watch. I looked to Gunnar. He was crawling into his sack already. He shrugged as well, then rolled his back to us. I placed a hand on Roderick’s neck. He had a pulse, but his skin was so cold. He wouldn’t make it through the night. I began looking for some water to try to wake him.

I was hunched over his body when I saw it. Roderick’s talisman. It’s wasn’t from Kislev. It was made of pure gold with emeralds peppering its exterior. It was shaped like a snake. I froze. I knew immediately what was going on. We weren’t alone.

I slowly lifted my head and looked into the tree line. The moonlight lit the trees elegantly, but there was nothing there. Keeping my gaze locked and looking for movement, I said quietly, “Torbjorn, wake the others. We need to be prepared.”

A moment passed. Torbjorn didn’t respond. “Tor…” I turned my head towards his position. He was slumped over. This wasn’t good.

I slowly reached for my dagger. As soon as I placed my hand on the hilt, I felt something cold and damp grasp my wrist. I was paralyzed from fear.

“Nnooohh…” a raspy voice slowly said in my ear. Its breath was wretched. I felt a sharp point pressing against my side. I was in no position to argue. I eased my grip on my dagger.

The creature kept its position. “Sssotek…” it whispered. I didn’t understand. I wasn’t prepared for a conversation. I had no way of communicating. I responded, “So Talk?” This seemed pleasing to the beast, as it eased its grip on my wrist.

Suddenly there were four more figures in front of me! I did not see them approach; they just appeared as if they were some sort of apparitions! I was horribly underprepared for this! They were small, maybe a good foot or more shorter than myself. They were definitely of the draconian race, but they were uglier than others I had encountered before. Their eyes… they didn’t seem normal. They bulged out of their heads and were covered in skin. It was repulsive! And to think one was touching my wrist! Why was I not dead?

One of the figures approached my position. It walked so quietly, no wonder we didn’t notice their approach. And its legs moved like nothing I have ever seen. Slowly but quickly, as if jerking into place almost. It crouched down to my level, Roderick between it and myself. This one’s breath was no better than the others. “Ssssssotek…” it said, the beginning of the phrase sounding that of a snake hissing at its prey.

I looked downward towards Roderick’s talisman, then back at the creature. It seemed to grin slightly, as if it knew what I was thinking. I slowly reached my free hand down to Roderick, prying the talisman from his seemingly lifeless grip. The creature had one eye fixed on me and the other on my hand. How terrible it must be to have such an existence. I raised my hand slowly, with my palm open. With its eyes fixed in the same position, it gently reached out and took the golden trinket from me. With the item returned to its possession, it snapped both eyes back to me. I saw it grin and flick its tongue, before it stepped back towards its companions. As it did I felt the weapon at my side pierce my skin momentarily, then I was released.

I pulled my dagger out once my hand was free, determined to free the creature that apprehended me from its earthly bonds. I turned quickly with my blade ready to plunge, but it was gone! I turned back to my front only to see a glimpse of movement, then nothing. As if the creatures had become invisible! I was infuriated!

I stood to my feet and looked at my men. They were none wiser. I turned to Torbjorn to check on him when I felt it. My vision became cloudy, my head was dizzy. Then I collapsed.

----------------------------------------------------

It was hot. Someone was shaking me. I involuntarily gasped for air as I reached for my dagger, but my muscles felt like they were on fire! It was as if I had drank an entire barrel of mead by myself. I could hear Asger yelling desperately, “Captain! Captain! You’re alive!”

He pulled me upright and threw water in my face. I needed it badly. It helped stave off the heat momentarily, if nothing else. I regained my vision slowly.

“A…Asger.” I said. “We need to… need to report back to the main force. It’s not safe.” I could see the camp had already been cleaned up. There looked to have been heavy foot traffic since last I remembered.

“The forward troops are already here, sir. It’s too late to report back.” Asger said bluntly. “Roderick is dead. Tor and Gunnar can’t be woken. We must have stumbled into something that got the best of us. I couldn’t find it in me to leave you here to be eaten by some wild beast. I’m sorry sir.”

I looked at Asger. “It was no accident, my friend. They know. Prepare for war.” He looked back at me intensely. “Go tell the Commander, Asger.” I ordered. He got up and ran in the direction of the foot traffic. I plopped back onto the dirt, staring into the cloudless sky. Damn, it’s hot.

Spoiler: Chameleons in the City of Mists

Chameleons in the City of Mists


“We honor Tzunki whose waters cleanse and nourish the world….”

Kaleroc repressed a bored sigh while he watched the Skink Priest pour a small quantity of blessed water into the artificial canal linking to Xlanhuapec’s tributary to the Amaxon. Symbolic of lesser waters feeding greater waters much like how the community of the First works together…but Kaleroc didn’t care. To him, Tzunki’s honorifics signified that the ceremony honoring the Old Ones was slightly over halfway done. Kaleroc wanted to scream that water will continue to act like water with or without the blessing of some dead god.

"We live through water and the Old Ones!” chanted the crowd

Kaleroc maintained his outward expression of solemn reverence as more Skink Priests gave symbolic offerings to various Old Ones and the assembled crowd replied with rote archaic Saurian chants. As boring as this was, Kaleroc could not let his mind wander. If he was even slightly late for his part in the ceremony, the Skink priests would get suspicious.Kalerocloathed these ceremonies, butTlaztopoziwas a loyal High Skink in service to the City of Mists. Kaleroc had been pretending to be Tlaztopozi for over a year.

Finally his turn came up.

“Blessings be to the ever vigilant Potec! Potec who wards off the darkness as surely as the sun warms the earth!”

Kaleroc/Tlaxtopozi poured his package of ceremonial herbs into the bonfire.

“Praise be to Potec!” chanted the crowd.

Even the crowd seemed slightly bored. After praising the most important Old Ones for almost two hours, praising the Old Ones was becoming old even for the true believers. Despite this, Kaleroc couldn’t let his boredom show. The lesser priests put in charge of leading the worship of the minor Old Ones generally showed enthusiasm during the few moments they took center stage. As the city’s premiere priest of Potec, he had to act like a good little Skink who was proud of what he was doing.

Kaleroc, or rather Tlaztopozi, lit a torch with the ceremonial fire and energetically waved the torch about the perimeter of the assembled Skink priests ceremonially warding off hidden evils. This was the always the hardest part—performing the warding ritual without smirking. If the ritual truly kept evil away, Kaleroc wouldn’t be here.

“Let Potec’s benevolent warding protect us another season!”

“Praise be to Potec,” chanted the crowd.

After Potec’s ceremony was done, Kaleroc sat through the praises to remaining Old Ones. He was pleased when it was over. He blinked a gnat out of his eye, confident that the glamor remained making him appear as a normal Skink. He had made it through another ceremony without blowing his cover.

Kaleroc reluctantly admitted that Xlanhuapec was wisely selected. Only the four largest Temple Cities had what his People needed and Xlanhuapec was deemed the most vulnerable. Hexoatl was clearly not an option. Hexoatl had a fully awake second generation Slann a general siege mentality. Tlaxtlan was nearly as dangerous. The Slann were not as powerful or alert as in Hexoatl, but the highly active population of Skink priests could have easily caught wind of hidden ones in their midst through routine divinations. Tetto’eko could probably see through their disguises without trying.

Kaleroc suggested infiltrating Itza, believing it would be easiest to blend into the largest population, but the elders disagreed strenuously. Itza’s Slann may not be fully awake, but they were many. The odds of one of them accidentally piercing one of the People’s disguises was high.

Xlanhuapec was ideal. Its Slann were few in number and were largely focused on maintaining the magical mists the city was known for. The city’s lesser population was so focused on misdirecting and fooling outsiders that they took their own security for granted. The culture of misdirection permeated daily life, so a “Skink” could be withdrawn and aloof from his brethren without attracting attention. It never occurred to Xlanhuapec that someone could be obscuringthem.

Still, the risk was great. If the First Children of the Dead Ones knew that their eldest foes were still in Lustria, they would crush them utterly. If the End Times were not so close, the People would never have attempted such a feat at all.

Kaleroc saw some of his lesser brethren amongst the city’s rank and file Skink, but he made no sign of recognition. Kaleroc could afford no slipups since he maintained the glamour disguising all of his fellow infiltrators. He did not like the plan, but he had no choice in the matter. It was rare enough for one of the People to be able to manipulate two separate winds of magic at once, but it was even rarer for one of them to be the Wind of Azyr. This, combined with his affinity over Shadow magic, meant there was no one else who could impersonate a Skink priest.

While the First were largely blind to motives of the warm blooded raiders, Kaleroc knew the warm blooded races used gold as currency and a status symbol. Still, Kaleroc suspected more was in play. There were easier ways to get gold than to sail across the World Pond, cross a deadly jungle, then fight a self-righteous army of isolationist warriors on their home turf. Even sacred objects made of low value materials such as stone tended to get grabbed by looters far too often. It was almost as if the First’s sacred objects had an intangible allure that attracted thieves.

Thieves sought golden plaques for the precious metal or as a tool to enhance spell casting, but they remained ignorant of what was written on them. Kaleroc was not like other thieves. He had no interest in the plaques themselves. He only sought their words.

Most of the information from the sacred plaques was written down on scrolls. The papyrus only lasted a few years, so scribes constantly transcribed them over and over again. Because the scribes worked so often on these transcriptions, the writings were available to any Skink who could read and write almost by default. Kaleroc figured he and the rest of the People had accounted for the near entirety of these writings.

Some plaques held information that was kept away from the general populace, but still kept on papyrus copies, generally plaques with vague or open interpretations. Priests were encouraged to read and debate these writings, but the general populace was not allowed to read them. These were not particularly difficult to obtain either. Kaleroc was impersonating a junior priest and the most common chore assigned to junior priests was transcribing sacred writings. Kaleroc estimated he had read three quarters of these semi-restricted texts.

He did his best to commit their writings to memory, in case his own elders wanted to debate their meanings, but Kaleroc doubted it would help. If the First couldn’t derive clear meaning from these writings over millennia, he doubted the People could do any better over a few short years. His true goal was the forbidden plaques, the ones only consulted on direct orders from the Slann. Kaleroc wanted to find out what the Slann would not tell their own servants.

All the while he had been impersonating a Skink priest, he had been studying the layout of the sacred temples and their guard details. He manipulated the Winds of Azyr to narrow down where his objective lay. He was hoping if he bode his time long enough, Xlanhuapec would give him the opening he needed. Unfortunately his fellow infiltrators were not cooperating.

They were all clearly tired of hiding amongst their hated enemies. The People had many common enemies with the First. The hidden warriors were able to vent some aggression as part of Xlanhuapec’s armies fighting the various warm-blooded usurpers, but these battles were few and far between. They lacked Kaleroc’s patience and restraint.

“Great One?”
“Saurian please, lest we tip off a casual observer…again.”
“Apologies, Great One...uh High One”

Kaleroc glared at his underling. Despite the fact his underling was nearly as large as Kroxigor (and disguised as such), but the great beast flinched under his diminutive master’s glare.

“What did you want?”
“We need you to help dispose of another pair of bodies.”
“Of course you do. Who was it this time?”
“Ralchochi and Itkarloq.”
“Those are Skink Chiefs.”

The hulking warrior looked confused as to what the issue was.

“Youdorealize two dead chiefs will be harder to quietly sweep into the swamp than two dozen ordinary Skinks.”
“You swept at least three dozen—”
“Not all at once! I can buy us a little time, but I’m going to have to accelerate our plans. Stop grinning! If we survive I will tell the elders your impatience nearly killed us all”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kaleroc already divined the temple most likely to hold the needed plaque. Still, he could only attack one temple with any chance of making an escape afterward.What if it’s not here? No, I have to be right. Focus on the immediate problems.

He had six “Kroxigor” and twenty “Skinks.” He was able to get them into the entrance to the temple on the pretense of blessing a new Sotek statue. The First really gravitated towards Sotek. The only one of their gods who mostly ignored them as opposed to completely abandoned them. Yet the First continued to worship the Old Ones in the vain hope they would return some day. Staying true to gods who had forsaken them, Kaleroc shuddered when he realized just how much The People had in common with the First.

Getting in the first chamber was easy. The next chamber of the temple Kaleroc could enter freely as a priest, but he could not take a pack of Kroxigor in tow. After that even a priest could not enter further without permission. He’d have to force his way in. Once inside and the entrance was shut tight, his warriors retrieved the weapons hidden amongst the recesses of the statue.

He approached the Skink attendant and the four Temple Guard behind him.

“We need to proceed to the next chamber.”
“With a fully armed cohort? Why would I let you all in?”
“You wouldn’t.”
“You need to leave right n—”

Kaleroc muttered an incantation forcing magical silence. Then he exhaled a dark mist which sapped the speed and coordination of his foes. He calmly pointed at the Temple Guard and the six “Kroxigor” advanced towards the weakened warriors. Even the Temple Guard hesitated in confusion for a split second when the enemy seemed to be friendly Kroxigor. They fell quickly to the superior numbers of mighty attackers. Meanwhile the Skink attendant was opening and closing his mouth, mutely attempting to shout for help against Kaleroc’s silencing cantrip before the faux Skinks surged forward and filled him with more sharp objects than a Razordon.

Kaleroc dismissed his silencing spell. He heard no cries of alarm. They remained undetected. He looked over his minions. He separated out the four largest of the Shearls, then directed them to put on the Temple Guard’s helmets and pick up their halberds. Their real forms were slightly bigger than the Skinks they impersonated, but they lacked the build of Sauri. Using the stolen gear as a focal point, Kaleroc was able to modify their disguise to make them look like Temple Guard, at least temporarily. Then he directed the others to haul the corpses out of sight.

Cloaked in shadows, Kaleroc scouted ahead, only encountering two unarmed, easily dispatched, Skink attendants. He reached the entrance to the next chamber, guarded by sixteen Temple Guard. He backtracked and carefully guided his minions toward them, then he cast another silencing cantrip, though he doubted it would hold long for a battle this size. Once again he summoned a miasma over his foes. Then he braced himself for the impending inner chill as he followed up his miasma by summoning a localized rain of ice. Though moving at a fraction of their speed from the sapping miasma and the restraining ice, the Temple Guard were resolute defenders bringing down two “Kroxigors” and three “Skinks” before falling in battle.

Kaleroc set his remaining minions to guard positions and proceeded into the next chamber. He should have hated everything he saw, but he couldn’t help himself, Kaleroc was impressed and awed by what he saw. The almost circular room was made up of at least twenty equal wall segments, each with a plaque embedded in the wall. A small shaft of sunlight poured in from the ceiling and reflected across numerous golden plaques illuminating the room. The plaques brimmed with latent power. The room itself seemed to warm his blood.

Kaleroc cursed himself for time wasted gawking. His cover would not last for much longer, and the First outnumbered his pitiful force a thousand to one. For all he knew he only had minutes before the defenders of Xlanhuapec came down on him like a comet. His minions were expendable but the mission would fail if Kaleroc couldn’t report what he learned. His escape plan was based entirely on magic. He was doomed if a single Slann was roused by his incursion.

continental alignment, not important…

He skimmed over two more plaques then couldn’t help reading through a plaque on the mighty Coatl in its entirety. He heard fighting outside. Kaleroc cursed himself for wasting time yet again.

He heard battle cries from warrior caste Skinks. Then he heard thunder, followed by silence. Kaleroc had stolen a staff that duplicates the effects of the spell Sky’s Bite and did not require a wizard to use. He told his minions to only use in an emergency. The immediate threat was gone but they alerted half the city that something was amiss in the temple. Kaleroc looked at his dark scaly hands, realizing his disguise was worn away by the ambient magic of the room. Ifhisdisguise was gone, so would his minions. Once the First realized who they were up against, their fury would double.

Kaleroc couldn’t waste time reading irrelevant plaques, but the dialect was so vague and dense that he couldn’t skip any plaque outright, or he might miss something essential. What are the Slann planning to do when the End Times arrive? How can the People defeat them and prove their worthiness to the Four great gods? Kaleroc must prove the People never should have been abandoned in favor of the usurping men. Then he saw a heading.

“The Old Ones Plan for the End of Days”…what I’m looking forcannotbe this obvious.

Thunder rocked the temple again and the sounds of Saurus battle cries could now be heard, but Kaleroc continued to devour the words on the plaque. His eye gleamed. Despite the sound of his enemies nearing, he gave himself time to read the plaque over a second time just to be sure of its contents.

The Fimir Balefiend threw back his head and laughed.

Spoiler: Around the Fire

AROUND THE FIRE



The night was falling fast over the lush jungles of lustria. Beneath the canopy of the trees were it almost pitch black. But deeper in the forest was a flickering light of fire to be seen. The sorce of the light was a brazier on a platform hung high in a great jungle tree. At first glance could nobody be seen. Only the field dressed body’s of large herbivores hung in the branches. But at a closer examination of the tree cold one spot movement on the hammock and on the platform around the brazier it was actually a group of chameleon skinks that had gartered around the fire to share the story of today’s hunting. The Stalker of the younger group of skinks is called Chi-inzi. Now is he staring in to the twisting flames of the brazier. Thinking about the greatness of Chotec ho not only lit the sun on the sky’s during the day but also let the fires be tamed during the night in its beautiful ever changing form. The old chameleon skink Opochtli clears his throat and Chi-inzi lost his thought chain. The old skink changes to a brighter colour. Then he begins to tell one of his story’s. The old chameleon skink known lots of story’s and loved to share em. If Chi-inzi believed Opochtlis fantastic feats was another question but he and all the other wet chameleon skinks enjoyed the story’s. They dreamed about experience the same wonderful adventures in the service of the old ones. This time he tells about how he lost his last spawn kin.


It had been fifteen sun years ago they had been hunting tapirs just like they did today after there third catch had they been heading back to their camp when suddenly a rouge cold one had attack em. Opochtli's spawn kin had got attacked first and the cold one had ripped out his guts before he had time to react but he had gotten his dagger up and managed to slash out the cold ones right eye which made it furious so it forgot all ideas of stealing the dead tapir but instead had it started to chase after Opochtli. He had tried to doge the attack but it had managed to wound his left arm. At the cold ones next rush did he roll to its right side were it cold not see him. The cold one spun round but Opochtli had already begun to run for the closest tree. He had only managed to get a few seconds but it was enough to grab the lowest branch he cold not climb higher because his wounded arm. Then was the cold one on him jumping to after him, and He had let him self fall in the air had he drawn his dagger. He had landed on the cold ones back and stabbed the dagger into the cold ones neck. The creature had roared in agony and pain. And then tried to throw Opochtli off. His hand were blood soaked and the dagger handle slippery but he did hold on. After a couple minutes did the cold one sack down on the ground breathing heavy. Opochtli had drawn out the dagger and stood over the cold ones head. He looked in to its scared eye. Opochtli had raised his hand and then had he pucht the dagger in to the eye. He continued to push it down all the way to the handle. And the cold one breathed out one last time before it had gone still.


After the cold one was dead had Opochtli returned to his dead spawn kin and taken it away to a temple of Itzl were he had buried him. Chi-inzi looked in to the twisting flames and tried to imagine the feeling of being alone without his spawn kin that he always had around him. They had been together all five of them since they had left the spawning pools two sun years ago. Then he remembered the end of the story and he known that whatever happened the old ones would always be whit them dead or alive they were newer alone. Chi-inzi feel comfort in that, deep in the dark jungles of Lustria

Spoiler: Stranded

Stranded

It all began so well. I had taken hire on a ship bound for a land far west, hoping for adventure and most of all, hoping for gold. I had heard rumours going about that in the west lay a land where one could get rich. They said there were gold everywhere. Back then, I wondered why so few people ever left to salvage all that gold. Well, now I know.


The start of the voyage went well, with no real troubles. The weather was great and we encountered no pirates on the way. In addition I quickly made some friends, who like me, dreamed of all the treasures we would return with, “set us up for life” we thought, “return as kings”. I wish I had thought more about why people did not venture to these longitudes.


It began with a terrifying roar; we should have turned tail right there and then. Suddenly I heard a sizzling sound, and men shouting in pain. I wish I hadn’t looked. It was disgusting, some sort of acid;melting the men and spilling their guts out on the deck.


A moment later I heard the boat creak as a giant reptile climbed aboard the ship. I pissed my pants, and I am sure I was not the only one, but it matters little. It all happened so fast. The beast came crashing forward, breaking the mast like it was a toothpick and eating the captain in a single mouthful. I’m not sure how it did that, cause I swear it did not have any eyes. Even so, it had no problem slaughtering the crew.



Those of us lucky or wise enough not to stand and fight it, jumped overboard. It was our only hope, but the shark filled waters quickly decimated the rest of us. The last I saw was my friend taken under by what must have been a great black, and then everything went blank. I must have been hit by the creature’s—no the daemon’s tail or something and passed out.


Somehow I did not get eaten, nor did I drown. Although maybe now, I wish I had. I am all alone, Sigmar knows where, and I am wet and hungry, but most of all, I am terrified. What if that creature returns, or what if other creatures like it shows up, I would surely be an easy meal.


This reminds me, Sigmar, I am hungry. Too bad all the food is not worth anything now, inside the hold of the ship, somewhere under the waves.


I better move on, there is no point in mourning the dead now. It will do me no good, but then again the only way forward is into the jungle, which I am not too fond of going into to say the least. “Argh! to Archaon with that, It´s my only chance of survival.”


The jungle was so dense I could barely even see my own legs when walking through the undergrowth. Given how hot and humid it is around here, I surely must have been lucky not to step on any poisonous creatures which likely live in this jungle.


It’s getting dark, and I am tired. I better find a place to sleep for the night, somewhere safe, or as safe as possible in this horrible place.


So I climbed. Thank Sigmar I was such a wild kid in my youth, always up for a challenge, that made this a lot easier. Even so I almost fell, the humid air made the branches slippery.


Finally I made it, but I was still hungry and wet. It’s seemingly impossible to get dry around here, but at least I was safe for the night. Maybe tomorrow I might find the natives of this land, and hopefully get help from them to make my way home, hopefully with a bit of gold too. Came to think of it, where is all the gold people back home talked about? I haven’t seen even the slightest glimmer yet.


…………………………………


What a foul smell from that warmblood, Tohawe thought as he studied him. Tohawe sat on a branch, concealed in the pitch black of night, imitating the skin of a Panther, his favourite camouflage.


He had been tailing this trespasser since he entered the jungle. Tohawe was certain he had not been spotted. After all he was skilled at moving silently without being seen, as is common among his kind. Tohawe was like a Cat on cotton, it just came to him naturally.


Tohawe was amazed the warmblood was not dead yet given the way he trampled through the jungle, while all along cursing and swearing.


A couple of days ago, Tohawe had been sent out to retrieve a newly found artefact, revealed now that the taint of Chaos had been weakened in Lustria. On his way he had detected the warmblood, and began following him, as he was suspiciously on way to the very same hidden sanctum, where Tohawe was headed. A coincidence? Maybe, but Tohawe would not take any chances on this occasion, due to the importance of his mission.


As the big shiny thing in the sky rose, the warmblood began to stir. He looked groggy and exhausted, not at all well rested from a night’s sleep. Tohawe watched the human as he climbed down. He almost fell several times, every time just barely holding on.


He was still heading in the direction of the sanctum.


…………………………………


Sigmar! My head hurts! My feet hurt, my back burns from sleeping in that tree, in fact my whole body is aching as if I was an old man in his nineties who had just been beaten.


I fear that I might die here; there is no trace of any natives, and none of their gold. Those old fools back home, they lied to me! If they we here now, oh I would give them what they deser—


”KREEEN!”


Huh! What was that? Is anybody there?


WOOUMPF! Wha! That was close! Where did that tree come from? Oh God! GROWWL! And I thought that monster from the boat was terrifying. This! This is a whole other category


RRROOAR!!!


…………………………………


Pfff what a moron, now he has an angry Carnosaur on his heels. Now he is paying for being so loud.


STOMP!


He knows how to run that’s for sure, but how long will he be able to keep that up?


STOMP!


Tohawe followed the hunt, amused by the warmblood's inefficiency.


STOMP!


Soon though the warmblood was at the front of the sanctum, heading in the direction of the entrance


…………………………………


Come on, just a little longer, you can do it! If I can just reach that cave, I might just be safe. It’s my only chance.


STOMP!


Huh! I made it, barely, but I made it.


RRROOAR!!!


It will probably be a while before I am able to get out of here. Maybe there is gold in here, or even better, means to end this horrible nightmare, anything, something.


I can barely see my hand in front of me due to the darkness in here. I got to watch my step, maybe there are traps in the floor.


…………………………………


Tohawe was disappointed, he had been hoping for the Carnosaur to hunt him down, but that warmblood just had to find the sanctum. Now it was up to Tohawe, to either send him running, or kill him if necessary.


He easily got past the Carnosaur and began rapidly moving deeper into the temple.


…………………………………


I came here for treasure, and it seems fate might be with me for once; after all I escaped the horrible monstrosity and now find myself in a sanctum of some kind, and in front of me a bright orb. It must be worth something, and maybe, just maybe is it able to get me out of here. If everything else goes wrong, maybe I can use it as ransom if I find the natives to force them to help me get out of here. On the other hand, what if it’s a trap?


Curse me, I might as well, it’s likely my best hope—no my only hope of survival.


I reached out for the orb. I almost had it, while suddenly a pain erupted in my back. Everything began to darken. I fought the cold grasp of death, but to no avail.

…………………………………


A clean kill, but boring too.Given what the warmblood survived to this point, I expected more of a challenge. Now to the reason I came here.


I retrieved the orb from its pedestal, and made my way out. When I emerged from the sanctum, I was met by a large creature, but it was not the Carnosaur, no this was a Troglodon, a large example of its kind. Atop the beast, an oracle was situated, gesturing to me.


I handed over the orb, to its new rightful owner,my mission accomplished, I climbed the Troglodon by direction from the Oracle, and we disappeared into the jungle.

Spoiler: Rogue Skink

Rogue Skink

A lone terradon sailed smoothly in a long arc around the largest of the FangGrove trees. It stood slightly apart from its brethren on the South edge of a reed choked lake. But like all FangGroves it was entangled by its massive roots with others of its kind. Formations of Giant Lilypads splattered the lake leaving only small patches of dark blue open water. The reeds and the twenty foot diameter pads warred for control of the the waters below the great Fanggrove.
The terradon swept upward on its arc avoiding the outstrecthed branches between the lone tree and its nearest brethren on the South verge of the lake. There were perhaps a few clean flight paths through the branches but it was safer and swifter to pass above.
The soaring lizard completed this circuit twice more and on the third pass an arrow darted from somewhere above its shoulders, hissed through the lacy, twisting outer branches and thunked into one of the arching roots just above the current lake level.
The terradon was not alone, it had a rider; all but unseen.
Nor was the tree empty.
'The stink of treachery emanated from this tree and it was time to root it out and hunt it down', thought Tzlatoc. He nudged his terradon lower, mentally resolving, 'this time we will pass through the branches and see what we will see'. His body color shifted again, more closely matching the vivid green and dappled red markings of his flying beast. His eyes swiveled half in, half out, of their sockets as they scanned the gloam around the massive roots of the great tree and Tzlatoc thought back to the place this hunt had begun three days ago...


...There had been nine of them, none quite alike. They had stood around the flagstoned edge of a greenish, murky pool that almost glowed. The pool was situated behind and half under a pyramid temple. Each Chameleon displayed different variations of green, grey, and moss brown. They had stood there nervously as twenty Temple Guard filed in and surrounded the pool. These were followed by a retinue of priests and then by the dread Slann himself. He floated right out over the surface of the pool, pausing near the edge. At a nod, from the Slann two of the Skinks had touched their staves to the water, calming it instead of causing ripples, then the water did glow and within the glow they beheld their assigned quarry and a silent voice seeming to originate in the back of their skulls explained its sins. The last thing they saw within the pool was the the missing plaque that they must recover or die trying...


Rounding the tree again Tzlatoc urged the terradon lower; they would try to pass under the branches that were trying to bridge the gap to the lone tree. They were thinner near the water. Leaning forward and holding his bow sideways he set a second arrow next the first already notched on the string. He trusted his flying mount to pick the best flight path. Just as he passed into the dappled shade he saw movement, drew and fired on it.

He heard, rather than saw the arrows hit the tree, Tzlatoc instead followed the dark figure that scurried, clumsily, for cover behind a different set of roots. At a nudge the Terradon wheeled, reversing direction. Tzlatoc whipped out two more arrows and fitted them to string and drew again as they re-entered the tangle of outreaching branches this time moving the opposite direction. The quarry was struggling to climb higher into the tree as Tzlatoc fired again. This time he heard two different sounds — he had hit tree bark and scales.

What a strange quarry this was.

...Their quarry had taken the causway toward Tzaktoqlan. He had garbed and geared himself variously as a Priest, a Temple Guard, and even a laborer. But he was none of these things. He was a common but, ancient Saurus. The last of his spawning. He was almost entirely bluish black except for hints of green under his chin and a few flecks of color at the tip of his tail. None could say whether he had spawned the color of shadow or whether he had darkened with age.

But, he had evidently gone mad.

For he now fancied himself a Priest (and a Skink!) and had appropriated a plaque to bear with him.

In his madness he proved elusive and cunning. At Tzaktoqlan, a city too small yet to boast a completed temple, he had left more than one trail and the hunting party of nine had split into threes to follow each lead.

Tzlatoc, along with Oaxltza and Huantec had pursued the lead that lead into the lake country. Oaxltza and Huanec had tracked, mostly by scent, and on the ground while Tzlatoc scouted from the air. This proved effective in a landscape dotted with ponds and little lakes. They had found the quarry's trail and had laid an ambush on the second day...


The Darksaurus thought he could climb and so he tried. Tzlatoc circled the tree and prepared another arrow from his dwindling quiver. He fired into the tree once again and continued to do so on each pass. Ever circling, keeping the Saurus moving. Oaxltza and Huantec were not here to help. They had died in the ambush.

...It had gone well enough, at first. They had gotten ahead of the Darksaurus because they could swim and the Darksaurus only thought he could. Tzlatoc had tracked the quarry from the air while with his guidance Oaxltza and Huantec had positioned themselves in the quarry's path. Then all three had darted him with blowpipe darts, several times, from three directions including from the air. He'd fallen. Oaxltza and Huantec had closed in to reclaim the plaque only to discover the Darksaurus had feigned death and that they were no match. Whatever the Darksaurus thought he was; he was still a Saurus and apparently all but immune to dart poison...


Tzlatoc was now down to his last arrow. It was time for a new tactic. He directed his Terradon into the upper branches of the FangGrove trusting its instincts to find a suitable perch. He would meet the Darksaurus in the branches and they would see which 'Skink' climbed better.

He waited for the branch to sag and settle before dismounting. He slipped further down the branch and then chirped a command at the Terradon. It launched itself and began to circle lazily. Hopefully, it would be a distraction. The branch sprang upward as the Terradon's weight departed but this did not bother Tzlatoc, he slid lower into the tree, checking to see if he was well blended, pausing to listen for the Darksaurus. He fitted the last arrow to the bow and waited. He could hear laboured breathing.

Moving very quietly, springing lightly from branch to branch, Tzlatoc again circled the tree. This time moving upon branches too thin to easily support a heavy Saurus, well above the level where the thorny bark-spikes that gave the FangGrove its name grew large and solid. They did exist up high in the tree where Tzlatoc was but they were short and still flexible here. Down at root level they were huge, spiny things that kept great four legged, tree-munching Saurosaurs at bay.

Patiently, patiently, Tzlatoc stalked the quarry until, at last, he had the shot he wanted. Point blank, from behind, and a good view to the shoulder blades. He did not miss. And, then the cursed Darksaurus turned on him! and charged outward right at Tzlatoc, scrabbling along the branch he had fired from. Tzlatoc threw his now useless bow, to distract the Darksaurus and leaped the opposite direction to an adjacent branch. A pause there, to unsling the blowpipe, leap again, fit darts into the pipe, leap again, the Darksaurus was still coming, Fire! leap again, load, Fire! and leap a few inches further away from the trunk each time. Tzlatoc could see his last arrow, and also the remains of the one that had hit earlier (above a knee). He maveled that the Darksaurus could climb as well as it could but it was slow — and it was no Skink. Tzlatoc, was down to two darts left when the branches holding the Saurus gave.

And he fell. Slain by a tree rather than a Skink hunter.

But, this hunt was not done.

The Darksaurus grasped desperately at each branch he passed on his way down, he carromed off several — almost the great spikes had him, but curse the luck, into the murky lake water he rolled. Tzlatoc followed, agiley springing from one branch to the next lower — almost in a controlled fall himself. He paused to hang his blowpipe by its strap on one of the larger spikes. As he did so, he noticed his Terradon landing carefully on one of the roots not far away a few feet above the waterline. Tzlatoc, pulled out his hook-edged longknife and plunged in after the quarry. The lake would claim the Darksaurus if nothing else did. Skinks swim; Saurus drown.

Once under, Tzlatoc knew immediately which direction to seek. He could feel the struggling Darksaurus disturbing the normally placid waters. Two kicks in the right direction and there before him the ancient, doomed Darksaurus thrashed. Half of him was gone, for he had picked the wrong FangGrove tree. This one's roots were the palace of a greater lake serpent and it was well on the way to swallowing the Saurus whole. The legs were gone, the tail was going, and in one or two more gulps he would dissappear, plaque and all.

Tzlatoc knew he would get one chance. First, spot the plaque. It had to be in the pouch held by the thong at the neck. Wait for the Saurus to use both arms to fend off the snake and then strike at the thong, snatch the pouch, and lunge for the surface...

...Wearily, Tzlatoc climbed the FangGrove trunk. The serpent had lunged at him after the Darksaurus had been engulfed. The great snake had missed but it had dislodged his blowpipe. The scaly horror was monstrous, easily three feet in diameter, long enough to coil half way round the base of the tree. So, Tzlatoc kept climbing, and blending, shifting colors to match as he went. His Terradon had shot skyward the moment the great snake burst from the water. Amazingly, Tzlatoc spotted his bow hanging in some branches. After he retrieved it, he made his way to a higher branch and poked his head out of the canopy. He sounded a long screech and ended the call with a double-chirp. He stood there just hoping. His call was not answered, but to his delight his Terradon soared into view without ever making the answering cry. There was something in its jaws.

It was a blowpipe.

They flew in a circle around the FangGrove tree once again. Tzlatoc did not trust himself to open the pouch in-flight or over the lake. Marking the tree's location carefully, he looked for a safer place to land. He spotted a dead Spineburl not far away and there he took stock. His arrow quiver and the last two darts were long gone. His remaining possesions were his hooked knife (which had helped him rapidly claw his way out of the water one-handed) a bow with no arrows, a dart-less blowpipe and a heavy pouch. Sitting safe and still on the dead topknot of the Spineburl, atop his Terradon, Tzlatoc gently opened the pouch.

There was a gleam of gold within.

EDIT
Completely Anonymous Sequel: Spawning of BoB
Final Entry: Slanputin
Business Raptor in the Realm of Chaos: Slanputin
The Betrayer: Spawning of Bob
The Southern Heat: Qupakoco
Chameleons in the City of Mists: Scalenex
Around the Fire: Essmir
Stranded: Assassin_NR_1
Rogue Skink: Pendrake

 

There you go! Enjoy and comment as you would like....

 

So many excellent pieces, it's going to be hard to pick just one to vote for.

 

Last time, ten entries was judged to be enough entries to warrant voting twice. I figure nine is enough entries to justify two votes each. No one cast a ballot yet, so I did not need to enable vote changing.

 

There's only one Oxyotl right? After finding one I poured over the other pictures and found nothing. On a related note, I am trying to judge whether or not to vote for Business Raptor based on the writing alone, not the excellent pictures.

 

Scalenex's Two Cents

I try to say something nice about every piece (not remotely hard for this batch), and I try to say something I think could have been improvement. In at least two thirds of these entries, I had to really dig to find things to criticize. Don’t be discouraged by me using the word “flaw” or “problem.” These are truly minor nitpicks. On my original draft of these critiques, I used the following phrase six times, “This is a very strong piece so I find trouble finding fault with this,” so just blanket it for every piece. I am also pleased that all nine entries had a very clear tie to the theme, yet these pieces represent many directions with the one-word prompt.


Completely Anonymous Sequel: I like the dancing around the word “chameleons.” I like the skillful use of the Karl Franz’s identity as a repeating gag.

I do not like that my story for the last contest was stolen and parodied in a ham-fisted mean spirited manner. I have no idea wrote this. My characters Robert, Moe, W’yss’ans W’il’dfo’rm, and Hen’ry Mc’Coy were used in ways that I believe completely go against the original intent of their creation (Hen’ry’s lost all his erudite parlance). I do not deserve this kind of mockery. Besides that, I wish it could have ended on a solid punchline (like my original “Completely Anonymous Entry”) instead of simple a spewing of the word “etcetera.”


Final Entry: I really like the evocative imagery. I got a good sense of the character’s diverse motivations. I liked how his greed never went away completely even as his concerns moved from gaining treasure to merely surviving. I especially like how the jungle felt like alive. The jungle felt like a supporting character in its own right,

If this piece has a tiny flaw, it is that I would have liked a better tie-in or segue creating a literary tie between the narrators family heresy issues and his jungle survival issues. I don’t know how to pull that kind of Shakespearean twist but to make this piece perfect rather than merely excellent, the jungle survival and the family heresy issues should be thematic mirrors of each other.


Business Raptor in the Realm of Chaos: Wow, just wow. Telling a story through a poem is difficult. The tie-in to the theme without being overwhelmed by the theme is well done. The illustrations are excellent. It even made a reference to my pet peeve of misspelling “Slaanesh” or “Slann.” Bravo to that!

The flaw in this piece is that it lacks a clear rhythm. The lines all end with a rhyming word but ideally poetry has a consistent rhythm. The poem needed a rhythm structure. Some stanzas had okay rhythm, but other stanzas one part of a rhyming couplet had noticeably more syllables than the other part of the couplet. I struggled with this myself in my high school writing class, but if you read the poem out loud the issues I mentioned become clear. Note, I’m not any better at this. In order for me to write poem with decent rhythm, I have to take an excellent poem, and then change the subject matter and words, but keep the rhythm and syllable count, like Weird Al does with music.


The Betrayer: This piece did a masterful job personifying the viewpoint of a Chameleon Skink Stalker. I liked the mix of the familiar with the alien, but alien aspect was well described so it could be understood, yet it was succinctly described enough that it didn’t bog down the story with explanation. The physical and psychological discomforts he felt were well described making the protagonist easy to empathize with. In liked that the Chameleon Skink kept chiding himself for his past risk taking actions while still rationalizing his next risk taking action. On a technical note, the word choices lead to superb phrasing. The metaphor for a shadow being a betrayer is ingenious and I like how the story was framed with both the first and last line involving someone being betrayed by their shadow.

My only real issue with this piece is that the ending is not very conclusive. There was a lot of tension built up with his suffering discomforts and browbeating himself for poor judgment. The ending was too vague. In the ending, the readers are not sure if the protagonists 1) stop the Waaagh!, 2) warn the city of the Waaagh! or 3) utterly fail in his duties. Any of those endings would be fine, but the ambiguity is really annoying. Especially since he spent most of the story chiding himself for foolish risk taking and then ended the story by taking another foolish risk. He needs to either be proven right or proven wrong.


The Southern Heat: A mirror of the preceding entry. “The Betrayer” had a great insider’s view of Chameleon Skinks. This had a great outsider’s view of Chameleon Skinks. The protagonist’s impressions of the Chameleon Skink attackers/tormentors was very well crafted. Even though I know all the “behind the scenes” stuff about Lizardmen, this did a good job portraying horror and paranoia the human felt.

Like its mirror piece, one tiny flaw in this piece was that the ending was not very conclusive and like it’s mirror it mostly made up for this tiny flaw with a brilliant tie-in between the beginning and the ending. Though I can make an educated guess the protagonists dies of poison. What bothers me slightly more is a lack of exposition. I’m not sure why this group of Kislevites is in Lustria or why they have five people detached so far from the front of their army. Especially if one is their captain. This was a comparatively short piece, so a bit more exposition would not have bogged down the story.


Chameleons in the City of Mists: I really like that this piece showed an informed outsiders view as opposed to the usual ignorant outsider’s view of Lizardmen culture. I like the clever use of metaphorical chameleons as opposed to literal chameleons.

My problem with this piece is it seemed overly exposition heavy. So much effort was done to explain how and why the Fimir were in Xlanhuapec that it overwhelmed the story. Generally a short story should have roughly equal weight to the introduction, conflict, and resolution. This seemed to be at least two thirds an introduction by volume. I’m not sure the “it’s a Fimir!” reveal at the end is exciting enough to make up for the bottom heavy story.


Around the Fire: I like that this piece made a full story out of something fairly simple: a hunting expedition. No looters, no approaching army, no End Times infiltrators. Chameleon Skinks go on a simple mission for sustenance. Through this simple story the writer invoked comradery, pride, sorrow, and spirituality amongst the Chameleon Skinks in a short and sweet piece. The Chameleon Skink protagonist felt very human. The story was well-framed with a connected beginning and ending.

My problem with this piece is it needed polishing. The typos made it somewhat hard to read and pulled me out of what was otherwise an excellent narrative.


Stranded: I like the strong development of the human protagonist. His mix of motivations, the way he never completely gave up on treasure even when fighting for his life. I like the juxtapositions. The mix of sorrow for his lost comrades blended with “better them than me.” I like the alternating viewpoints between the Human and Chameleon Skink. I like the Chameleon Skink’s outsider view on a Human. This is something we could use more of. Lots of L-O writers work on making the alien (especially Lizardmen) seem familiar, but relatively few work on making the familiar seem alien (Humans through the eyes of Lizardmen).

Looked at alone, the Chameleon Skink was well developed, but it almost didn’t seem so. One minor flaw in this for me is that the Human was so well-developed, it made the Chameleon Skink seem poorly developed by comparison. With an alternating viewpoint story like this, you usually want to give both/all protagonists roughly equal “camera time” and roughly equally weighted inner monologues. Also, another tiny flaw is I’m not sure the Troglodon and Oracle needed to be involved. If the artifact was important enough to warrant a response from such a rare Lizardmen it makes me wonder why a single Chameleon Skink would be the advance party.


Rogue Skink: I like the convincing portrayal of a mad Saurus. Lizardmen are often viewed as too lockstep or robotic and this was a well-executed subversion of expectations and a thematic tie-in with chameleons (though there was a Chameleon Skink too). I liked the evocative imagery. I liked that the Slann was portrayed as remote and terrifying, even to those on his own side. The story was well paced and had a clearly developed introduction, conflict, and resolution. The mix of long and short paragraphs was well executed to provide explanation where needed and emphasis where needed.

While the typos were not severe, this could have used a little bit more polishing. Sometimes it was confusing what was happening, and I had to backtrack in the piece to figure out what was going on. Every time I was forced to do that I was pulled out of the narrative. The paragraph spacing was also a bit odd. Sometimes there were no spaces, sometimes one space, sometimes two spaces between different paragraphs. A very minor flaw, but it bugged me nonetheless.

 

Great stories everyone! Very tough choices in here.

 

Methinks enabling two votes might not have been a good idea. We have a three-way tie. We need to break it! Get to voting you lot (except for Scolenex, he doesn't get to vote for the nasty things he said).

 

The tie is broken but don't stop voting people!