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Fiction Ten Little Treasure Hunters
- Thread starter Warden
- Start date
Slann
Warden
Tenth Spawning
- Messages
- 6,636
- Likes Received
- 18,870
- Trophy Points
- 113
Chapter 5: Pitfalls
Chaos erupted the moment the ninja hit the mud.
Taking advantage of the distraction, the Amazon sprang up from behind Geraldo, having covertly worked free of her bonds while she had been praying in the ruins. Snatching the knife from his boot in a clean and precise motion, the warrior woman slid the blade across his Adam’s apple, slitting his throat before he had time to react or even cry out. The Estalian crumpled to the floor in a bloody heap as she rounded on Shen Wu, her other holder, knocking him off his feet with her chains. Before any of the band comprehended what she had done, the Amazon took off into the surrounding jungle.
The rest of the group immediately drew weapons. Konrad grabbed the Estalian’s crossbow and fired off a bolt into the trees, missing the escaping Amazon. Sir Gaunt sprinted down the jungle path to follow her retreat, broadsword drawn, roaring in fury as he did so.
Up to this point Mathus hadn’t moved, but with the cry of the Questing Knight he quickly shouted for the rest to leave the fallen Estalian and ninja behind, directing them to retreat to the boats.
“I hope Notomori bought us enough time to escape before the welcoming party arrives!” shouted Skuddi as he hefted his bag of treasure onto his back and tore off down the jungle path after Sir Gaunt, Oliver and the pygmy right behind him.
No sooner had the dwarf uttered this, Oliver heard the sound of creatures howling in the distance, unlike any jungle fauna he had heard, either back at the colony or during his brief exposure to the Lustrian wilderness.
“Cold-ones!” exclaimed the Reiklander. He had caught up to Oliver and the rest, having dropped the Estalian’s crossbow in favor of dragging Shen Wu to his feat. The two of them took the pack horses reigns from Oliver to speed up their retreat. “They cannot be far Mathus!”
“They will be here soon,” Mathus agreed calmly. He had slowed his pace to a trot then a halt, causing the rest of the band to crunch up behind him on the narrow jungle path. “But the attackers that took out the ninja are already here, surrounding us.”
“It is impossible!” bellowed the Questing Knight up ahead, slashing around wildly at the foliage around him. In his pursuit he had quickly lost the Amazon, and was now taking out his frustrations on the local plant life. “Nothing could move so quickly through these thickets!”
“Be silent!” retorted the wizard, his one-eye shut in concentration. Oliver felt the hairs on his neck stand up again as the wizard uttered a few terrifying words of power.
Suddenly the surrounding jungle them went dark. All around them great gaping pits appeared in the earth, completely black, seemingly made of shadow. Oliver felt all the color drain from his face as grasping skeletal specters rose out of the cracks in the ground and flew out into the jungle in all directions away from the wizard and the rest of the companions. One by one, the shades made contact with unseen attackers. Shrieks of pain accompanied the ghostly howling of the ethereal attackers.
“Keep moving peasant!” shouted the wizard, snapping Oliver out of his pale revere.
With a start Oliver realized that the rest of the band had already taken off through the darkened jungle. In the distance he heard the Reiklander call out “This way to the boats!” and immediately sprinted in that direction. He also could hear the sound of Sir Gaunt hacking his way through the undergrowth.
As he ran he could now see their hidden assailants in the trees. They were small, roughly his height, completely green with heads like small crawling reptiles and long curly tails. The Lizardmen that had been spotted by the shades were shrieking in pain as the ghostly apparitions dragged them through the ethereal cracks in the ground. Olive could see the remains of some of the chameleons ripped apart within the trees, their ghastly predators spreading out to hunt for more Lizardmen lurking in the bushes. Oliver did his best to dodge the shades as he ran, but they completely ignored him as they had the rest of the companions.
Distracted by the horrifying magical scene around him, he didn’t notice the body in the path in front of him until he was already stumbling to the ground. As he faltered, the golden plaque fell out of his tunic and landed in the mud in front of him.
Looking back to see what he tripped on, he saw the beautiful body of the Amazon lying face down in the much, her sensual form pin-cushioned with blow darts from their hidden assailants.
“What is that?” demanded a voice.
Oliver saw Mathus appear above him, materializing as if through thin air out of the dark fog. The wizard was looking at the plaque, with an almost angry look on his face as he surveyed the treasure and the boy who found it.
“Fool.” He finally said after a deliberate, calculating pause, then turning away from him. “I pity your fate, you have disturbed something you never have touched.”
With another surge of power Oliver beheld the wizard conjure up a horse that seemed to be made of darkness and shadow itself. Leaping onto its back, the wizard dug in his heels, and the shadow-steed leap into the air and was immediately lost in the dark jungle canopy above.
Stunned, Oliver forced himself to get back up. The shades in the surrounding jungles were disappearing along with the dark pits in the earth; meanwhile the howls of the cold-ones in the distance were only growing louder. Pausing only for a moment, he reached down and grabbed the plaque, and after tucking it back into his tunic, the beleaguered squire took off in the direction of what he prayed was the river front.
When Oliver reached the canoes he saw that only three others had made it to the riverside before him: Sir Gaunt, Konrad, and Shen Wu. The three had just finished loading the frightened horses onto the boats, no doubt thanks to Sir Gaunt’s Bretonnian horsemanship expertise. Shen Wu lowered his bow as Oliver approached the water’s edge.
“Where is the wizard?” he challenged, all the while preparing to fire more arrows into the tree line.
“He escaped!” Oliver explained, out of breath, as he climbed onto the boat beside his master. He described the magical horse the wizard had escaped upon, but made no mention of the wizard’s foreboding declaration about the golden plaque.
Turning back to Reiklander, Shen Wu demanded they depart at once.
“We cannot leave them!” appealed Sir Gaunt, but meekly as he sat hunched in the canoe, winded and sweaty in his chainmail due to the exertion of running through the jungle in the intense humid weather. He had lost his helmet during the escape, and Oliver saw his sword glistened with lizard-blood; his master had obviously succeeded in combating at least one of their camouflaged opponents during the scuffle.
Two darts flew past Oliver’s ear, one pinging off the Questing Knight’s shoulder armor before it harmlessly rolled off into the water. A piercing shriek followed as the perpetrator was attacked by a lingering shade, and was dragged down into the cracks in the earth. The Cathayan launched two more arrows in the direction of the screams.
“We cannot stay here,” stated the Reiklander solemnly, and directed them to push off from the shore. “They have fallen too far behind; if they survive they will make their own way back and join us in Nabar.”
The Questing Knight did not object this time, nor did Oliver as he struggled to paddle them away from the riverbank. Shen Wu approved, grinning slightly despite his scowl.
“If not, more gold for us.”
************
“Confounded jungle labyrinth!” Skuddi cursed as he floundered through the swamp.
Having quickly become separated from the rest of the group, the dwarf spent no time getting as far away from the hedge-wizard’s shades as possible. Naturally distrustful of magic, the dwarf hoisted his sack of treasure onto shoulders and sprinted as fast as his stocky legs could carry him, in what he thought was the direction of the river’s edge. Up until now he had been following Squato through the thick jungle undergrowth, hindered by the dense trees, and trying to avoid the pools of stagnant swamp water that were only increasing in regularity.
But Skuddi had lost the stunted pygmy, who for despite his small stature, the pygmy was much more used to weaving through a jungle landscape than the dwarf. Skuddi now found himself completely lost, not knowing which direction the river was, and surrounded by a jungle swamp completely unrecognizable to him. The only sounds in the distance were distressed canopy dwellers, howling monkeys, and the unmistakable roars of the cold-one packs getting closer.
Incensed at his unlucky turn of fortune, the dwarf pulled the treasure-sack higher onto his shoulders and continued trudging straight forward through the muck in the opposite direction of the hunting cries, while angrily glancing about himself for any signs of the slippery pygmy. In his inexorable march through the jungle swamp he failed to notice the cunningly disguised lizard-trap set in front of him until he was already off his feet.
Flying through the air, the startled dwarf found himself landing with a deafening splash into a concealed tar pit.
Shouting another vile scream of dwarf-curses at his lizard-pursuers (“beardless frog-spawn!”), and the jungle at large (“poisoned elf-paradise wasteland!”), and at the missing pygmy (“stunted hammer-dropping goblin-traitor!”), the dwarf took stock of his situation. He was submerged waist-deep in the black mire, unable to move. After a moment of panic he spotted his treasure sack behind him sinking into the pit, and quickly squirmed over to grab it, but only sinking lower as he did so.
A rustling in the undergrowth made him whir around in the slime. Holding his treasure in one hand and his muddy axe in the other, he turned to see Squato watching from the edge of the pit.
The dwarf wasted no time demanding the midget throw him a branch, something to grab onto, or to take down one of the jungle vines from the trees and rescue him. The pygmy made no move to comply, only staring and grinning at the dwarf, and gesturing for Skuddi to throw him his treasure-bag first.
Refusing at first with another round of colorful dwarf-inspired insults (“brown-bellied, elf-skinned toad-worshipper!”), the dwarf only complied after sinking several more inches into the tar. By now Skuddi was sunk almost to his shoulders. Tossing his loot and then his weapon to the pygmy, the dwarf watched as Squato cut a vine down from a branch with his great axe and mockingly threw it far outside of the dwarf’s reach.
“Oathbreaker!!” Skuddi shouted at the retreating pygmy’s back.
Completely inconsolable, the dwarf refused to be still, thrashing about wildly in the pit, which only served to cause him to sink lower into the black, until finally all that remained was a bit of his beard poking out of the tar.
************
The history of pygmies in Lustria is a sad one. Unlike the Halflings of the Moot in the Old World, who are (normally) left alone in peace, the pygmies that inhabit the New World are used to a life of hardship and war. Spread in numerous scattered tribes across the continent, they regularly contend with voracious jungle beasts trying to eat them, roving orc and goblin bands, Amazon hunting parties, and more recently the denizens of the Old World who are only too happy to exploit them.
Some pygmies tried to open relations with the Lizardmen for protection, struggling to learn their complicated, alien language. They were normally ignored and met with uncomprehending, cold-blooded indifference. Other times they were just sacrificed to the Old Ones, or eaten. In some rare cases in isolated temples, the Lizardmen used the pygmies to bolster their ranks with hordes of (tiny) pygmy mercenaries to use as cannon fodder, or for more mysterious or hidden tasks in the service of the Great Plan.
Squato knew only too well that the dwarf’s old profession had sold many of his tribal relations into slavery on distant continents, and took particular pleasure in watching him sink to his struggling, suffocating death. Pilfering through the dwarf’s possessions, he selected a few choice items for himself. Still in earshot of the dwarf’s repeated oathbreaker screams, the pygmy adorned himself with several gold bracelets, beads, and other items of wealth, even a small gold circlet crown that fit jauntily on his head. Happy with his selection, he traded his wooden spear for the hefty dwarf ax, and sauntered off into the jungle. Grinning to himself with his entire array of sharp teeth and believing himself entirely free of the rest of the humans and the lizard pursuers, the pygmy was very pleased…
…though he was not nearly as pleased as the cold one who ambushed him a few moments later. He was barely a mouthful for the brutish, crocodilian beast as it wolfed him down, treasure bracelets and all. Its rider, a dark skinned saurus, had red streaks of warpaint across his flesh to match the deep red of his scales, and bore a feathered snake-jaguar headdress atop his horned head-crest. The saurus motioned silently to the cavalry troop he was leading to continue their loping gait through the jungle, turning to investigate the source of the dwarf scent.
************
Chaos erupted the moment the ninja hit the mud.
Taking advantage of the distraction, the Amazon sprang up from behind Geraldo, having covertly worked free of her bonds while she had been praying in the ruins. Snatching the knife from his boot in a clean and precise motion, the warrior woman slid the blade across his Adam’s apple, slitting his throat before he had time to react or even cry out. The Estalian crumpled to the floor in a bloody heap as she rounded on Shen Wu, her other holder, knocking him off his feet with her chains. Before any of the band comprehended what she had done, the Amazon took off into the surrounding jungle.
The rest of the group immediately drew weapons. Konrad grabbed the Estalian’s crossbow and fired off a bolt into the trees, missing the escaping Amazon. Sir Gaunt sprinted down the jungle path to follow her retreat, broadsword drawn, roaring in fury as he did so.
Up to this point Mathus hadn’t moved, but with the cry of the Questing Knight he quickly shouted for the rest to leave the fallen Estalian and ninja behind, directing them to retreat to the boats.
“I hope Notomori bought us enough time to escape before the welcoming party arrives!” shouted Skuddi as he hefted his bag of treasure onto his back and tore off down the jungle path after Sir Gaunt, Oliver and the pygmy right behind him.
No sooner had the dwarf uttered this, Oliver heard the sound of creatures howling in the distance, unlike any jungle fauna he had heard, either back at the colony or during his brief exposure to the Lustrian wilderness.
“Cold-ones!” exclaimed the Reiklander. He had caught up to Oliver and the rest, having dropped the Estalian’s crossbow in favor of dragging Shen Wu to his feat. The two of them took the pack horses reigns from Oliver to speed up their retreat. “They cannot be far Mathus!”
“They will be here soon,” Mathus agreed calmly. He had slowed his pace to a trot then a halt, causing the rest of the band to crunch up behind him on the narrow jungle path. “But the attackers that took out the ninja are already here, surrounding us.”
“It is impossible!” bellowed the Questing Knight up ahead, slashing around wildly at the foliage around him. In his pursuit he had quickly lost the Amazon, and was now taking out his frustrations on the local plant life. “Nothing could move so quickly through these thickets!”
“Be silent!” retorted the wizard, his one-eye shut in concentration. Oliver felt the hairs on his neck stand up again as the wizard uttered a few terrifying words of power.
Suddenly the surrounding jungle them went dark. All around them great gaping pits appeared in the earth, completely black, seemingly made of shadow. Oliver felt all the color drain from his face as grasping skeletal specters rose out of the cracks in the ground and flew out into the jungle in all directions away from the wizard and the rest of the companions. One by one, the shades made contact with unseen attackers. Shrieks of pain accompanied the ghostly howling of the ethereal attackers.
“Keep moving peasant!” shouted the wizard, snapping Oliver out of his pale revere.
With a start Oliver realized that the rest of the band had already taken off through the darkened jungle. In the distance he heard the Reiklander call out “This way to the boats!” and immediately sprinted in that direction. He also could hear the sound of Sir Gaunt hacking his way through the undergrowth.
As he ran he could now see their hidden assailants in the trees. They were small, roughly his height, completely green with heads like small crawling reptiles and long curly tails. The Lizardmen that had been spotted by the shades were shrieking in pain as the ghostly apparitions dragged them through the ethereal cracks in the ground. Olive could see the remains of some of the chameleons ripped apart within the trees, their ghastly predators spreading out to hunt for more Lizardmen lurking in the bushes. Oliver did his best to dodge the shades as he ran, but they completely ignored him as they had the rest of the companions.
Distracted by the horrifying magical scene around him, he didn’t notice the body in the path in front of him until he was already stumbling to the ground. As he faltered, the golden plaque fell out of his tunic and landed in the mud in front of him.
Looking back to see what he tripped on, he saw the beautiful body of the Amazon lying face down in the much, her sensual form pin-cushioned with blow darts from their hidden assailants.
“What is that?” demanded a voice.
Oliver saw Mathus appear above him, materializing as if through thin air out of the dark fog. The wizard was looking at the plaque, with an almost angry look on his face as he surveyed the treasure and the boy who found it.
“Fool.” He finally said after a deliberate, calculating pause, then turning away from him. “I pity your fate, you have disturbed something you never have touched.”
With another surge of power Oliver beheld the wizard conjure up a horse that seemed to be made of darkness and shadow itself. Leaping onto its back, the wizard dug in his heels, and the shadow-steed leap into the air and was immediately lost in the dark jungle canopy above.
Stunned, Oliver forced himself to get back up. The shades in the surrounding jungles were disappearing along with the dark pits in the earth; meanwhile the howls of the cold-ones in the distance were only growing louder. Pausing only for a moment, he reached down and grabbed the plaque, and after tucking it back into his tunic, the beleaguered squire took off in the direction of what he prayed was the river front.
When Oliver reached the canoes he saw that only three others had made it to the riverside before him: Sir Gaunt, Konrad, and Shen Wu. The three had just finished loading the frightened horses onto the boats, no doubt thanks to Sir Gaunt’s Bretonnian horsemanship expertise. Shen Wu lowered his bow as Oliver approached the water’s edge.
“Where is the wizard?” he challenged, all the while preparing to fire more arrows into the tree line.
“He escaped!” Oliver explained, out of breath, as he climbed onto the boat beside his master. He described the magical horse the wizard had escaped upon, but made no mention of the wizard’s foreboding declaration about the golden plaque.
Turning back to Reiklander, Shen Wu demanded they depart at once.
“We cannot leave them!” appealed Sir Gaunt, but meekly as he sat hunched in the canoe, winded and sweaty in his chainmail due to the exertion of running through the jungle in the intense humid weather. He had lost his helmet during the escape, and Oliver saw his sword glistened with lizard-blood; his master had obviously succeeded in combating at least one of their camouflaged opponents during the scuffle.
Two darts flew past Oliver’s ear, one pinging off the Questing Knight’s shoulder armor before it harmlessly rolled off into the water. A piercing shriek followed as the perpetrator was attacked by a lingering shade, and was dragged down into the cracks in the earth. The Cathayan launched two more arrows in the direction of the screams.
“We cannot stay here,” stated the Reiklander solemnly, and directed them to push off from the shore. “They have fallen too far behind; if they survive they will make their own way back and join us in Nabar.”
The Questing Knight did not object this time, nor did Oliver as he struggled to paddle them away from the riverbank. Shen Wu approved, grinning slightly despite his scowl.
“If not, more gold for us.”
************
“Confounded jungle labyrinth!” Skuddi cursed as he floundered through the swamp.
Having quickly become separated from the rest of the group, the dwarf spent no time getting as far away from the hedge-wizard’s shades as possible. Naturally distrustful of magic, the dwarf hoisted his sack of treasure onto shoulders and sprinted as fast as his stocky legs could carry him, in what he thought was the direction of the river’s edge. Up until now he had been following Squato through the thick jungle undergrowth, hindered by the dense trees, and trying to avoid the pools of stagnant swamp water that were only increasing in regularity.
But Skuddi had lost the stunted pygmy, who for despite his small stature, the pygmy was much more used to weaving through a jungle landscape than the dwarf. Skuddi now found himself completely lost, not knowing which direction the river was, and surrounded by a jungle swamp completely unrecognizable to him. The only sounds in the distance were distressed canopy dwellers, howling monkeys, and the unmistakable roars of the cold-one packs getting closer.
Incensed at his unlucky turn of fortune, the dwarf pulled the treasure-sack higher onto his shoulders and continued trudging straight forward through the muck in the opposite direction of the hunting cries, while angrily glancing about himself for any signs of the slippery pygmy. In his inexorable march through the jungle swamp he failed to notice the cunningly disguised lizard-trap set in front of him until he was already off his feet.
Flying through the air, the startled dwarf found himself landing with a deafening splash into a concealed tar pit.
Shouting another vile scream of dwarf-curses at his lizard-pursuers (“beardless frog-spawn!”), and the jungle at large (“poisoned elf-paradise wasteland!”), and at the missing pygmy (“stunted hammer-dropping goblin-traitor!”), the dwarf took stock of his situation. He was submerged waist-deep in the black mire, unable to move. After a moment of panic he spotted his treasure sack behind him sinking into the pit, and quickly squirmed over to grab it, but only sinking lower as he did so.
A rustling in the undergrowth made him whir around in the slime. Holding his treasure in one hand and his muddy axe in the other, he turned to see Squato watching from the edge of the pit.
The dwarf wasted no time demanding the midget throw him a branch, something to grab onto, or to take down one of the jungle vines from the trees and rescue him. The pygmy made no move to comply, only staring and grinning at the dwarf, and gesturing for Skuddi to throw him his treasure-bag first.
Refusing at first with another round of colorful dwarf-inspired insults (“brown-bellied, elf-skinned toad-worshipper!”), the dwarf only complied after sinking several more inches into the tar. By now Skuddi was sunk almost to his shoulders. Tossing his loot and then his weapon to the pygmy, the dwarf watched as Squato cut a vine down from a branch with his great axe and mockingly threw it far outside of the dwarf’s reach.
“Oathbreaker!!” Skuddi shouted at the retreating pygmy’s back.
Completely inconsolable, the dwarf refused to be still, thrashing about wildly in the pit, which only served to cause him to sink lower into the black, until finally all that remained was a bit of his beard poking out of the tar.
************
The history of pygmies in Lustria is a sad one. Unlike the Halflings of the Moot in the Old World, who are (normally) left alone in peace, the pygmies that inhabit the New World are used to a life of hardship and war. Spread in numerous scattered tribes across the continent, they regularly contend with voracious jungle beasts trying to eat them, roving orc and goblin bands, Amazon hunting parties, and more recently the denizens of the Old World who are only too happy to exploit them.
Some pygmies tried to open relations with the Lizardmen for protection, struggling to learn their complicated, alien language. They were normally ignored and met with uncomprehending, cold-blooded indifference. Other times they were just sacrificed to the Old Ones, or eaten. In some rare cases in isolated temples, the Lizardmen used the pygmies to bolster their ranks with hordes of (tiny) pygmy mercenaries to use as cannon fodder, or for more mysterious or hidden tasks in the service of the Great Plan.
Squato knew only too well that the dwarf’s old profession had sold many of his tribal relations into slavery on distant continents, and took particular pleasure in watching him sink to his struggling, suffocating death. Pilfering through the dwarf’s possessions, he selected a few choice items for himself. Still in earshot of the dwarf’s repeated oathbreaker screams, the pygmy adorned himself with several gold bracelets, beads, and other items of wealth, even a small gold circlet crown that fit jauntily on his head. Happy with his selection, he traded his wooden spear for the hefty dwarf ax, and sauntered off into the jungle. Grinning to himself with his entire array of sharp teeth and believing himself entirely free of the rest of the humans and the lizard pursuers, the pygmy was very pleased…
…though he was not nearly as pleased as the cold one who ambushed him a few moments later. He was barely a mouthful for the brutish, crocodilian beast as it wolfed him down, treasure bracelets and all. Its rider, a dark skinned saurus, had red streaks of warpaint across his flesh to match the deep red of his scales, and bore a feathered snake-jaguar headdress atop his horned head-crest. The saurus motioned silently to the cavalry troop he was leading to continue their loping gait through the jungle, turning to investigate the source of the dwarf scent.
************
Slann
Warden
Tenth Spawning
- Messages
- 6,636
- Likes Received
- 18,870
- Trophy Points
- 113
Chapter 5 continued...
Mathus’ ethereal steed landed on a rocky outcropping several miles away from the ruins. As the shadow creature faded away behind him, he looked out over the jungle river-plain and could just barely see the tips of the Kopan temples jutting out from under the canopy. They resembled miniature mountains in the distance, and from here their peace belied the commotion that Mathus knew was still occurring. This was not the first time he had abandoned a group of would-be treasure hunters to cover his escape. He grinned despite himself, his personal goals had already been met by this expedition.
With much effort and creaking of his knees, he sat down on the boulder, and emptied his treasure-bag onto his lap to study his newest acquisitions. Several were small green beads that glowed as he touched them, easily mistaken for jade to the untrained eye, but thanks to his abilities he could sense the raw magical potential leaking out from them. He pocketed the beads and moved onto the other items.
A knife with a power signature, probably with a hex or other bound spell meant to enhance the user.
A necklace, golden but set with shimmering stones, undoubtedly a device that afforded the wearer great protection.
And finally, an orb made of green crystal, which aside from his notes on the hieroglyphic texts of the ruins was probably the most valuable find of his entire treasure haul.
He only regretted being unable to take the golden plaque the peasant-squire had discovered amongst the ruins. Without a doubt the plaque held a great many secrets that not even the Lizardmen understood, but Mathus also knew how dangerous they were. Not because of their magical powers or inherent abilities, but because the Lizardmen would stop at nothing to recover them, moving mountains and crossing oceans to see them returned.
A reptilian creature howled in the distance. Mathus looked up, startled, and scanned the jungle canopy below the outcropping with his one good eye. That was a cold-one, the mounts of the Lizardmen hunting parties. Somehow they had caught his scent.
Quickly stowing his possessions, he pushed himself up from the boulder with his wizard staff and straightened up, preparing to conjure another shadow-steed to escape. This time he would have to fly far enough away to discourage any hope of pursuit.
Mathus spoke the words of power and another midnight-grey horse materialized in front of him. However as he moved to mount the steed, it was whisked away by the wind as silently as it had appeared.
Shocked, Mathus cast the spell again, with the same effect. The magic steed appeared and then disappeared without a sound. This time he was prepared; as the shadow horse disappeared he could feel the faint, tell-tale trace of an enemy wizard’s influence dispelling his incantations.
They have a magic user with them.
Cursing under his breath, the old man whipped his staff around and forced himself up to higher ground as the sun dipped below the jungle horizon and the howling of the cold-ones grew louder.
************
In a matter of minutes Mathus heard the sounds of the hunting party crashing through the undergrowth. He had made his way up to the top of the hill and took up a defensive posture. Holding his staff in his left hand and outstretching his other arm in front of him, he prepared to meet them with everything he had.
The saurus cavalry burst from the tree line with a roar, plunging forward as they brandished their spears and charged the wizard. Without flinching, Mathus called up a host of shades around him, which threw themselves at the oncoming Lizardmen. The first two shades caught the lead saurus with their ethereal claws and dragged him under the earth, leaving his cold-one mount dumbstruck with the sudden loss of its rider. The rest of the saurus immediately slowed their pace, brandishing their weapons as the shades bore down upon them. But instead of attacking the saurus, the shades shrieked in unison and dissolved as quickly as the shadow steed had.
Mathus saw the ranks of the saurus cold-ones part as three more riders rode up between the gap in the ranks. They rode on smaller cold-ones sub-species, Mathus recognized them as “horned-ones” for their large nasal horns. Two of the skinks were body guards judging by their spears, guarding the third highly decorated skink between them.
The center skink was dressed in a black robe inlaid with turquoise stones, matching the blue-and-black tattoos and face paint that covered its body. The skink wore an elaborate serpentine-jade head-crest atop its head, and carried a staff topped with a shrunken head. Projecting his senses, Mathus could tell this was the magic user that had dispelled his magic.
Mathus attempted to summon his shades again to make a desperate final assault, but the skink priest raised a three-fingered hand and the shades dissolved into mist before his eyes even before they had fully formed. Then, to the sound of his skink and saurus retainers chittering and cheering in their lizard speech, the priest pointed its clawed hands directly at the defenseless wizard. Bright lightning cascaded out of his fingertips, setting Mathus’ robes and skin aflame.
************
Zul-K’an knelt down and prostrated himself before the slumbering slann mage-priest. Had he dared to glance up, the skink priest would be able to witness the magical energy arching around the reflecting pools surrounding the slann. The toad-mage was oblivious to the mosquitoes and flies flickering through the light rays coming through the carefully aligned holes in the temple ceiling. Under the unflinching gaze of the hulking temple guards and the Eternity Warden at his side, the skink priest began chanting the ritual rite of supplication:
Jatz’om Kuh’uac Haltum-Belikan K’inich Ahu’a To-Ti’wakan’ek Tzlan-tzin!
“Honorable and Holy Slann, Visions of War, Rockstone Water, Road to the East, Brilliant Sun Lord of Reeds and Stars! Holy Slann of the Ancient Fourth Spawning of the Old Ones! He who crafted the World Pond and separated the great jungles with his power. Master of the True Pure Magic, Wielder of the Holy Light of Aqshy, Evocator of the Invigorating Winds of Ghyran, Mover of the Stars, Manifest Clairvoyant of Azyr, Unyielding Shield of Mutal. Keeper of the Great Tzol-kin, Supreme Lord of the Great Calendar and Treasurer of all its mysteries…”
As he continued chanting, he slowly felt the entranced slann’s attention shift focus and slowly begin to penetrate his mind. Even in his current raptured state, the gentle probes from a barely-awake slann mage-priest could only be described as a waterfall of thoughts, images, knowledge, and unyielding purpose completely devoid of feeling. Zul-K’an felt the overwhelming cold logic of a mind so beyond his own as to be completely alien in outlook.
After several verses of the rite he could feel the slann going through his memories.
He saw clearly the most recent report of Canul the chameleon, only a short time ago given in his temple-chambers. In his mind’s eye he watched the skink chief report the death of several of the warmblood intruders, but despite their demise and retreat the sacred plaque was unfound.
His vision shifted, and now he was on the ground at Kopan, seeing through the eyes of a lowly chameleon scout. He saw the black-hooded warmblood struck down by the dart of his blowpipe. He observed as the daughter of Rigg broke free of her bonds, commit murder, and in her haste run headlong into an ambush.
He gazed through the eyes of a saurus rider, witnessed the greedy Delver and the greedier Little Eater defeated by Yaxum Balum and his fast-moving cavalry troop in the swamp-ground outside the ruins.
He observed the warmblood mage become enveloped in a pillar of flame caused by the lightning bolts of the bluestone-robed Muluc of the Grand Temple of Tzunki.
Finally he saw the surviving warmbloods, including the spawnling in possession of the golden plaque. From the tributaries’ edge he gazed out from the eyes of the scar veteran Yaxum Balum himself, knowing that with the head start the warmbloods had already achieved, even the swiftest outriders would never catch them before they were swept far downstream, and the jungle canopy would provide them too much cover to be intercepted by the roving terradon patrols.
As suddenly as it had begun the mind probe was over. Still comatose, Jatzom Kuh croaked a command in the ancient and inscrutable language of the slann. Immediately the seven skink scribes in the far gallery of the chamber rushed into action, scurrying to copy down exactly what the mage-priest had uttered to preserve it in the vaunted temple’s glyphic records.
Zul-K’an needed no translation of the words to understand his master’s purpose. It was ingrained in his mind during the millisecond of contact the mage-priest had imprinted in his brain.
Recover the plaque at all costs.
Mathus’ ethereal steed landed on a rocky outcropping several miles away from the ruins. As the shadow creature faded away behind him, he looked out over the jungle river-plain and could just barely see the tips of the Kopan temples jutting out from under the canopy. They resembled miniature mountains in the distance, and from here their peace belied the commotion that Mathus knew was still occurring. This was not the first time he had abandoned a group of would-be treasure hunters to cover his escape. He grinned despite himself, his personal goals had already been met by this expedition.
With much effort and creaking of his knees, he sat down on the boulder, and emptied his treasure-bag onto his lap to study his newest acquisitions. Several were small green beads that glowed as he touched them, easily mistaken for jade to the untrained eye, but thanks to his abilities he could sense the raw magical potential leaking out from them. He pocketed the beads and moved onto the other items.
A knife with a power signature, probably with a hex or other bound spell meant to enhance the user.
A necklace, golden but set with shimmering stones, undoubtedly a device that afforded the wearer great protection.
And finally, an orb made of green crystal, which aside from his notes on the hieroglyphic texts of the ruins was probably the most valuable find of his entire treasure haul.
He only regretted being unable to take the golden plaque the peasant-squire had discovered amongst the ruins. Without a doubt the plaque held a great many secrets that not even the Lizardmen understood, but Mathus also knew how dangerous they were. Not because of their magical powers or inherent abilities, but because the Lizardmen would stop at nothing to recover them, moving mountains and crossing oceans to see them returned.
A reptilian creature howled in the distance. Mathus looked up, startled, and scanned the jungle canopy below the outcropping with his one good eye. That was a cold-one, the mounts of the Lizardmen hunting parties. Somehow they had caught his scent.
Quickly stowing his possessions, he pushed himself up from the boulder with his wizard staff and straightened up, preparing to conjure another shadow-steed to escape. This time he would have to fly far enough away to discourage any hope of pursuit.
Mathus spoke the words of power and another midnight-grey horse materialized in front of him. However as he moved to mount the steed, it was whisked away by the wind as silently as it had appeared.
Shocked, Mathus cast the spell again, with the same effect. The magic steed appeared and then disappeared without a sound. This time he was prepared; as the shadow horse disappeared he could feel the faint, tell-tale trace of an enemy wizard’s influence dispelling his incantations.
They have a magic user with them.
Cursing under his breath, the old man whipped his staff around and forced himself up to higher ground as the sun dipped below the jungle horizon and the howling of the cold-ones grew louder.
************
In a matter of minutes Mathus heard the sounds of the hunting party crashing through the undergrowth. He had made his way up to the top of the hill and took up a defensive posture. Holding his staff in his left hand and outstretching his other arm in front of him, he prepared to meet them with everything he had.
The saurus cavalry burst from the tree line with a roar, plunging forward as they brandished their spears and charged the wizard. Without flinching, Mathus called up a host of shades around him, which threw themselves at the oncoming Lizardmen. The first two shades caught the lead saurus with their ethereal claws and dragged him under the earth, leaving his cold-one mount dumbstruck with the sudden loss of its rider. The rest of the saurus immediately slowed their pace, brandishing their weapons as the shades bore down upon them. But instead of attacking the saurus, the shades shrieked in unison and dissolved as quickly as the shadow steed had.
Mathus saw the ranks of the saurus cold-ones part as three more riders rode up between the gap in the ranks. They rode on smaller cold-ones sub-species, Mathus recognized them as “horned-ones” for their large nasal horns. Two of the skinks were body guards judging by their spears, guarding the third highly decorated skink between them.
The center skink was dressed in a black robe inlaid with turquoise stones, matching the blue-and-black tattoos and face paint that covered its body. The skink wore an elaborate serpentine-jade head-crest atop its head, and carried a staff topped with a shrunken head. Projecting his senses, Mathus could tell this was the magic user that had dispelled his magic.
Mathus attempted to summon his shades again to make a desperate final assault, but the skink priest raised a three-fingered hand and the shades dissolved into mist before his eyes even before they had fully formed. Then, to the sound of his skink and saurus retainers chittering and cheering in their lizard speech, the priest pointed its clawed hands directly at the defenseless wizard. Bright lightning cascaded out of his fingertips, setting Mathus’ robes and skin aflame.
************
Zul-K’an knelt down and prostrated himself before the slumbering slann mage-priest. Had he dared to glance up, the skink priest would be able to witness the magical energy arching around the reflecting pools surrounding the slann. The toad-mage was oblivious to the mosquitoes and flies flickering through the light rays coming through the carefully aligned holes in the temple ceiling. Under the unflinching gaze of the hulking temple guards and the Eternity Warden at his side, the skink priest began chanting the ritual rite of supplication:
Jatz’om Kuh’uac Haltum-Belikan K’inich Ahu’a To-Ti’wakan’ek Tzlan-tzin!
“Honorable and Holy Slann, Visions of War, Rockstone Water, Road to the East, Brilliant Sun Lord of Reeds and Stars! Holy Slann of the Ancient Fourth Spawning of the Old Ones! He who crafted the World Pond and separated the great jungles with his power. Master of the True Pure Magic, Wielder of the Holy Light of Aqshy, Evocator of the Invigorating Winds of Ghyran, Mover of the Stars, Manifest Clairvoyant of Azyr, Unyielding Shield of Mutal. Keeper of the Great Tzol-kin, Supreme Lord of the Great Calendar and Treasurer of all its mysteries…”
As he continued chanting, he slowly felt the entranced slann’s attention shift focus and slowly begin to penetrate his mind. Even in his current raptured state, the gentle probes from a barely-awake slann mage-priest could only be described as a waterfall of thoughts, images, knowledge, and unyielding purpose completely devoid of feeling. Zul-K’an felt the overwhelming cold logic of a mind so beyond his own as to be completely alien in outlook.
After several verses of the rite he could feel the slann going through his memories.
He saw clearly the most recent report of Canul the chameleon, only a short time ago given in his temple-chambers. In his mind’s eye he watched the skink chief report the death of several of the warmblood intruders, but despite their demise and retreat the sacred plaque was unfound.
His vision shifted, and now he was on the ground at Kopan, seeing through the eyes of a lowly chameleon scout. He saw the black-hooded warmblood struck down by the dart of his blowpipe. He observed as the daughter of Rigg broke free of her bonds, commit murder, and in her haste run headlong into an ambush.
He gazed through the eyes of a saurus rider, witnessed the greedy Delver and the greedier Little Eater defeated by Yaxum Balum and his fast-moving cavalry troop in the swamp-ground outside the ruins.
He observed the warmblood mage become enveloped in a pillar of flame caused by the lightning bolts of the bluestone-robed Muluc of the Grand Temple of Tzunki.
Finally he saw the surviving warmbloods, including the spawnling in possession of the golden plaque. From the tributaries’ edge he gazed out from the eyes of the scar veteran Yaxum Balum himself, knowing that with the head start the warmbloods had already achieved, even the swiftest outriders would never catch them before they were swept far downstream, and the jungle canopy would provide them too much cover to be intercepted by the roving terradon patrols.
As suddenly as it had begun the mind probe was over. Still comatose, Jatzom Kuh croaked a command in the ancient and inscrutable language of the slann. Immediately the seven skink scribes in the far gallery of the chamber rushed into action, scurrying to copy down exactly what the mage-priest had uttered to preserve it in the vaunted temple’s glyphic records.
Zul-K’an needed no translation of the words to understand his master’s purpose. It was ingrained in his mind during the millisecond of contact the mage-priest had imprinted in his brain.
Recover the plaque at all costs.
Last edited:
Slann
Warden
Tenth Spawning
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Thanks bowser! Took a while but chapter 5 was challenging to put together.
Only a few more characters to meet their demise... One of the biggest issues I have been having is trying to get all the characters involved, give them characterization/details and stuff. Lots of fun getting the writing practice in!
Only a few more characters to meet their demise... One of the biggest issues I have been having is trying to get all the characters involved, give them characterization/details and stuff. Lots of fun getting the writing practice in!
Kroxigor
thedarkfourth
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I think I can guess.....
What a superb opening (or "hook" as bob would say) to a story.
This is proving to be one of my favourite multichapter stories on this site. Really quality writing, and I love that it's a very traditional approach to the lizardmen society and especially the crazy alien power of the slann. I (and others) write so much parody or "alternative" takes that I sometimes forget why I fell in love with this stuff in the first place. You should enter more short story contests!
I would like to see more difficult decisions for oliver...and for zul-kan.
Slann
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Thanks for the compliments, its good to know that hook worked! ! I really have to thank the other great writers on the site for keeping me going, there is so much great material. The indexes help a lot (especially @Scalenex 's lore and @n810 's language wiki). One more chapter to go, plus potential spoiler epilogue for follow-on works!
I always want to enter the short story contests, but if I use any of my characters from my fluff I fear I would give away my secret identity
Slann
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Chapter 6: Comet of Cassandora
Bretonnian tradition forbids the hiring of mercenaries, sell-swords, or other such dogs-of-war. While this might be the iron custom in the Old World, across the ocean the Bretonnians of the New World are more inclined to ignore this tradition. This is normally attributed to the vast distance from fellow Bretonnian reinforcements, and a ready supply of New World mercenaries.
The city of Nabar is a prime example of this break with tradition. The Jerugan colony is a busy hive of mercenaries and merchants, sailors and smugglers foreigners and fortune seekers. The city originally was founded by far-flung Arabyian traders, and later colonized by Estalians. The colony grew up around a set of ancient, abandoned ruins opening into a crocodile-infested lagoon harbor. The early Old Worlder conquerors were not interested in city planning or order; the result was a haphazard city layout originally constructed with the skeletons of the original colonizing ships repurposed for buildings, supplemented by the stonework from the ruins. The great noble manors and the Fortress Keep of the city, formerly used by the Count of Nabar, was itself constructed atop some of the great ruined platforms and temples.
The city of Nabar fell into Bretonnian hands during the heyday of the Second New World Crusade, conquered by the valiant King Johan, count of Castol and Third King of Jeruga. In those days the city of Nabar was the lifeblood of the Jerugan Kingdom, the primary port-of-entry into the New World for incoming crusaders and devotees of the Lady to carry on her holy work. Unfortunately in the present-day reign of King Baldwin IV, the noble rulers of Nabar are far more interested in profit than virtue, in the business of merchants and traders instead of honest chivalry. The Count and heraldic families of Nabar are more inclined to hire sell-sword regiments instead of marshalling the knights of the realm; accepting bribes and cutbacks from the rampant illicit “underground” trade of rum, slaves, artifacts, and mineral wealth to grow their private fortune. Crime and thievery was rampant through the city streets, so much so that hiring bodyguards was a necessity for any nobleman or man of fortune to even enter the city gates. Meanwhile the town peasantry begged starved outside the doors of nobility; the nobles themselves growing fat on the exotic foods afforded to them by the exorbitant black market prices. It is little wonder they met their demise so easily at the hands of the rampaging Lizardmen…
---excerpt from writings of Bathasar the Weird, court astrologer of King Baldwin IV of Jeruga
************
Slowly and deliberately, Oliver drew the golden plaque from his tunic and presented it to the bruised and disheveled Konrad in front of him. The plaque shined brilliantly in his hand under the twinkling starlight of the night sky.
In the brief moment that followed, Oliver reflected on the events that lead him to the decision of revealing his secret treasure to the Reiklander.
Oliver, Konrad, Shen Wu, and Sir Rupert Gaunt escaped the ruins and lost no time moving swiftly downriver. Normally travelling through such difficult terrain would have been impossible; thankfully Konrad had secured the wizard’s map before they had left the ruins. That, and the strong down-river current expedited their escape out of the danger area. They had made rapid time; rarely stopping for more than a few hours, and never lighting fires to give away their position.
Oliver was relieved when he finally beheld the shanty-town on the outskirts of the Bretonnian colony only a few days later.
The return of Sir Gaunt the Questing Knight was heralded by a hero’s welcome upon their return (that is, if a mob of curious and excited peasants counts as a hero’s welcome). Once again the charade of a questing knight procession served them well; the band easily passed through the border patrols and toll booths. Throngs of curious peasants swarmed the route they travelled. They were even hosted in the baronial mansions of Sir Elmer of Moorswick and Sir Todd Frogsden for two consecutive evenings on their way to their final destination: down the river road to the lagoon-city of Nabar. There they would be able to sell their treasure without suspicion.
Since their arrival in Nabar, the survivors had been enjoying the delights of the city through the Two Moon Tavern. Sir Gaunt particularly enjoyed the company of the tavern wine and women, while boasting of the glorious reunion he would receive returning to his father’s manor in triumph. In the meantime, Konrad buried himself in the business of selling the loot on behalf of the group. He assured them that all their efforts would be well rewarded when he returned from the market.
It therefore came as a shock when Oliver returned to the tavern that evening, and discovered he and his master had been double-crossed.
Konrad stood in the center of the tavern room, surrounded by the treasure heaped onto the bar. Surrounding him were the bodies of the dead bodyguards he had hired upon their arrival into the city to protect them. The bodyguards had just been dispatched by the Cathayan thugs standing over them, swords drawn. Two additional Cathayans held the drunk Sir Gaunt fast between them. Shen Wu was at their head, bow drawn and pointed directly at Konrad’s chest.
As Oliver entered he was immediately snatched by an immensely fat Cathayan covered in green tattoos. The rest of Shen Wu’s co-conspirators were equally bedecked in fearsome dragon tattoos, and each was armed to the teeth with knives, swords, and pistols.
The bow-wielding Cathayan and two of his cronies were bagging the treasure on the bar; the tavern keeper and other patrons having fled previously when weapons were first drawn. Konrad, cradling a broken arm, was verbally haranguing Shen Wu for his treachery when Oliver walked in the tavern doors.
“You can’t be serious Shen, cutting me out like this. My buyers in the black market are prepared to pay us more than triple the value of our haul. I have everything set!”
“Quiet, Hoffenheim,” ordered Shen, gesturing for one of his men to silence the Reiklander with a swift sword hilt to the stomach. Konrad refused to be silent, after straightening back up he continued to implore the Cathayan to reconsider.
“This is how you treat me, after all we have been through these past few ventures?”
Shen responded only with a cruel snort of derision as he rounded on the Reiklander.
“I have truly hated working with your uncivilized countrymen, you ‘Old Worlders’,” he spouted contemptuously, spitting at Konrad’s feet as he continued. “Thankfully you are all as predictable as you are stupid. This will more than suffice for the suffering I have endured in this part of the world.”
Moving back to his new companions Shen Wu ordered them out.
“Ti Kxi, Zhu: get the bags. We depart now.”
Shen Wu’s compatriots gathered the treasure bags and carried them out the back tavern door. With a final order, one of his flunkies punched Sir Gaunt in the gut so hard he doubled over and landed on the floor. The two holding Konrad picked him up and threw him over the bar, his body smashing into the cabinets.
“Don’t be too mad Konrad. You are just angry you didn’t move on me and the rest of us first.”
The Cathayan closed the tavern door behind him and was gone.
Getting up and cursing loudly, Konrad rushed out into the back alley to follow them. Sir Gaunt was still on the floor gasping. After pausing only a moment to satisfy his master’s request for another tankard “to dull his throbbing headache,” Oliver decided to follow the Reiklander out the back of the tavern.
Out in the muddy street he found Konrad howling Reikspiel curses at the retreating backs of the fugitive Cathayans, who were now disappearing off in the direction of the docks. It as well past dusk, and no one else was in the street. They were too far away to be caught, and in a city such as this Oliver and Konrad would sooner be robbed a second time than given assistance by any of the locals. This fact was obvious to Konrad. When the silhouettes of the Orientals finally disappeared, his shoulders slumped as all the fight slipped out of his body. Dejectedly standing in the center of the street, he turned defeated to Oliver.
“I am ruined little squire. The black-market buyer will come; and when I have nothing to offer him, I will be killed. No Questing Knight is going to be able to help me this time.”
Taking one last look in the direction of the docks, he added, “You might as well head back to your master.”
Oliver felt sorry for the Reiklander. Despite the terror and hardship of the last few days, Oliver had truly enjoyed his company. Oliver had relished the company of Konrad and the other treasure hunters, simply because he didn’t feel quite as insignificant, or downtrodden, or downright worthless as a normal Bretonnian peasant. He felt more like a person, as a human being, than he had ever felt in his life before; working with the non-Bretonnians had opened his eyes to a whole new way of living his life. His mind scrambled for any way to repay the kindness this non-Bretonian had shown him.
Suddenly he remembered that all the treasure was not lost after all.
Slowly and deliberately, Oliver drew the golden plaque from his tunic and presented it to the bruised and disheveled Konrad in front of him.
“What is that you have there, boy?”
The plaque shined brilliantly in his hand under the twinkling starlight of the night sky.
In the brief moment that followed, Oliver reflected on the events that lead him to the decision of revealing his secret treasure to the Reiklander. Oliver held it at arm’s length, the golden radiance casting shadows on Konrad’s face as he looked at the gold in wonder.
Suddenly Konrad’s face grew brighter, outlined by the shining light now emanating from the plaque. Oliver looked down shocked, at first thinking that the gold was giving off its own light, causing the entire cobblestone street to glow as though daytime had come early. Looking up, he and the Reiklander beheld a great meteor spiraling down from the night sky. The comet plummeted directly towards the center of the city, disappearing over the rooftops of the buildings before impacting with a earthshaking thunderclap.
************
Zul-K’an was perched on his palanquin overlooking the city of Nabar below him. His forces were spread about him, high on the Hills of Og on the south-eastern corner of the city. Though he could not see the rest of the force, he knew they were currently spreading out and positioning themselves to strike the walled gates as soon as a signal was given.
To his right, the indominitable Yaxum Balum sat atop his cold-one mount. The scar-veteran had posted watch outside the city gates, unseen by the warmblood guards for several days as the rest of the Mutal task-force had slowly arrived. The saurus was ready to spring into action with his cavalry troop and lead the charge at a moment’s notice, but waited with the patience characteristic of his kind for a command to be issued.
The scar-veteran’s calm was the polar opposite of the agitated priest to the left of Zul-K’an palanquin. Bedecked in rattles, feathers, and serpentine imagery, Otowik refused to be still. The zealous leader of the Cult of Sotek did not like to travel outside of the confines of Mutal very often, rarely venturing forth with his throngs of followers except to round up more captives to sacrifice to his bloodthirsty god.
But such an invasion into the realms of the intruders of Lustria had not been attempted before, at least not in this part of the continent. Indeed, no expedition had been authorized against the “untamed ones” in living memory. Not since the destruction of a malignant infestation of warmbloods near the great city of Hexoatl to the far north had any of the Holy Slann authorized such an enterprise.
The Cult had been overjoyed when Zul-K’an, Speaker for the Slann, had announced the intentions the Holy Lord Jatzom Kuh. The forces of the Cult had clogged the hidden sakbe roads through the jungles en route to the destination. Upon arrival it had taken Zul-K’an’s express order to prevent the fanatics from rushing headlong into the city’s fortifications.
Most of the city watch had already been eliminated by the chameleon scouts. They and a few small cadres of skinks were now moving through the streets, quietly ensuring no alarm would be raised as they hunted for any signs of the plaque. The town was well past its nightly curfew, but thanks to the expertise of the chameleons no alarm had yet been raised, and the token resistance put up by any denizens who happened across the hunting cadres were quickly put down. The city garrison’s had not yet been notified of the intruder’s presence, nor of the army concealed in the treeline outside the walls.
Despite the silent effectiveness of Zul-K’an’s forces, the Cult was clamoring for action.
“The faithful grow restless on the doorstep of the warmbloods. It is written. Their presence here is blasphemy.”
Like every invective Otowik had launched against him in the past few hours of waiting, Zul-K’an remained silent. He had publically rebuked Otowik upon his initial arrival, when the priest had swaggered onto the hilltop, proclaiming his intention to immediately commence hostilities without paying lip service to the temple hierarchy.
Shamed by the admonition, the wide-eyed priest then attempted to goad Yaxum Balum into coming over to his side, but this too proved fruitless. The saurus followed the will of the Slann, as currently dictated by the words of the Speaker for the Slann. The silent scar-veteran was not about to unleash the ancient exterminators of the Old Ones onto an unsuspecting warmblood infestation by an invocation of passion.
For all his blustering, Otowik accepted he had no choice but to wait and grumble along with the rest of his followers. He had taken up his position next to Zul-K’an’s command palanquin, eagerly listening to the reports constantly being relayed to the High Priest by his scouts.
High in the sky, Zul-K’an observed green Morrslieb reappear from behind the clouds. The stars were very bright between the two moons; a dangerous sign.
His mind wandered, swiftly analyzing the portents of the astrological signs in the sky. He slowly realized he couldn’t understand the chameleon before him, one of Canul’s lieutenants, relaying a message concerning the progress of the hunter cadres in the city. The chameleon’s voice sounded perfectly clear, but lethargic and far away, as were the harsh questions demanded by Otowik upon the scout’s conclusion. Zul-K’an tried to focus on the exchange but found himself disembodied, his conscious far from the conversation at hand. He could hear the sluggish words of the skink, the alert breathing of the saurus at his side, even the slobbering snort of the saurus’ cold one as it ponderously clawed at the ground at its feet. With a start he recognized the presence of his master as the time around him froze.
Unable to think or breathe, Zul-K’an allowed the Holy Slann to look out from his eyes.
He immediately was in the warmblood city, amongst the hunting cadres skirting through the streets undetected. No warmblood yet encountered fit the description of the intruders of Kopan. But the city was vast, and it was only the dedicated assassinations of the chameleon scouts that had prevented the skinks from being discovered so far. Any minute now they would be discovered and the cover would be blown.
His mind reeled as he found himself high above the city looking down. In a fraction of a heartbeat the entire city of Nabar was laid out below him. That was not always its name, for he remembered when he had helped build the City of the Submerged Crocodile millennia ago after the World Pond had receded into its new basin. The Temple of Masks shown brilliantly along the lagoon, as did the temples of Chotec, Tzunki, and the other shrines of the Old Ones.
Now the city was different.
The temples were gone. Like rodents the Fourth Race had bulldozed the monuments. They had used the temples to build a shoddy wall around their hovels. Their palaces hovered on the remains of ancient temples.
Had he been human, he would have felt anger.
He now looked into the rivers of the future. No course could ever be certain, but many lead to ruin. This city harbored degenerates. They were outcasts of the homeland of the Fourth Race; leaders who thrived on pomp, circumstance, and corruption. He knew the purpose of the plaque and what it contained. They were too small to understand. In their ignorance they would harbor it for its physical value, they would melt it down and smelt worthless ingots or coins to fuel their lustful and fleeting desires.
They were too small to understand. The danger existed that the plaque would not only be lost, but that it would be destroyed. This must not happen.
Zul-K’an’s mind reeled as he felt power like he had never before experienced flow through his body. Jatzom Kuh had made his decision.
Zul-K’an raised his three-fingered hand to the conjunction of the stars between the moons. Focusing on a dark space between two stars, he felt himself utter the words of command. Clenching his hand, the magic of Azyr flowed through his veins and scales to shine.
A new star appeared high above the horizon. It grew, slowly at first, then faster and brighter until even the chameleon and the arguing Otowik halted their discussion.
The entire sky seemed to catch fire as the giant comet grew closer. Arching his hand downward, he released the comet upon the heart of the city with a deafening explosion.
The vision concluded, Zul-K’an felt the presence of the Slann dissipate.
The saurus advanced, along with the Cult forces shrieking and whooping gloriously at their heels, charging down the mountainside towards the city walls.
************
Bretonnian tradition forbids the hiring of mercenaries, sell-swords, or other such dogs-of-war. While this might be the iron custom in the Old World, across the ocean the Bretonnians of the New World are more inclined to ignore this tradition. This is normally attributed to the vast distance from fellow Bretonnian reinforcements, and a ready supply of New World mercenaries.
The city of Nabar is a prime example of this break with tradition. The Jerugan colony is a busy hive of mercenaries and merchants, sailors and smugglers foreigners and fortune seekers. The city originally was founded by far-flung Arabyian traders, and later colonized by Estalians. The colony grew up around a set of ancient, abandoned ruins opening into a crocodile-infested lagoon harbor. The early Old Worlder conquerors were not interested in city planning or order; the result was a haphazard city layout originally constructed with the skeletons of the original colonizing ships repurposed for buildings, supplemented by the stonework from the ruins. The great noble manors and the Fortress Keep of the city, formerly used by the Count of Nabar, was itself constructed atop some of the great ruined platforms and temples.
The city of Nabar fell into Bretonnian hands during the heyday of the Second New World Crusade, conquered by the valiant King Johan, count of Castol and Third King of Jeruga. In those days the city of Nabar was the lifeblood of the Jerugan Kingdom, the primary port-of-entry into the New World for incoming crusaders and devotees of the Lady to carry on her holy work. Unfortunately in the present-day reign of King Baldwin IV, the noble rulers of Nabar are far more interested in profit than virtue, in the business of merchants and traders instead of honest chivalry. The Count and heraldic families of Nabar are more inclined to hire sell-sword regiments instead of marshalling the knights of the realm; accepting bribes and cutbacks from the rampant illicit “underground” trade of rum, slaves, artifacts, and mineral wealth to grow their private fortune. Crime and thievery was rampant through the city streets, so much so that hiring bodyguards was a necessity for any nobleman or man of fortune to even enter the city gates. Meanwhile the town peasantry begged starved outside the doors of nobility; the nobles themselves growing fat on the exotic foods afforded to them by the exorbitant black market prices. It is little wonder they met their demise so easily at the hands of the rampaging Lizardmen…
---excerpt from writings of Bathasar the Weird, court astrologer of King Baldwin IV of Jeruga
************
Slowly and deliberately, Oliver drew the golden plaque from his tunic and presented it to the bruised and disheveled Konrad in front of him. The plaque shined brilliantly in his hand under the twinkling starlight of the night sky.
In the brief moment that followed, Oliver reflected on the events that lead him to the decision of revealing his secret treasure to the Reiklander.
Oliver, Konrad, Shen Wu, and Sir Rupert Gaunt escaped the ruins and lost no time moving swiftly downriver. Normally travelling through such difficult terrain would have been impossible; thankfully Konrad had secured the wizard’s map before they had left the ruins. That, and the strong down-river current expedited their escape out of the danger area. They had made rapid time; rarely stopping for more than a few hours, and never lighting fires to give away their position.
Oliver was relieved when he finally beheld the shanty-town on the outskirts of the Bretonnian colony only a few days later.
The return of Sir Gaunt the Questing Knight was heralded by a hero’s welcome upon their return (that is, if a mob of curious and excited peasants counts as a hero’s welcome). Once again the charade of a questing knight procession served them well; the band easily passed through the border patrols and toll booths. Throngs of curious peasants swarmed the route they travelled. They were even hosted in the baronial mansions of Sir Elmer of Moorswick and Sir Todd Frogsden for two consecutive evenings on their way to their final destination: down the river road to the lagoon-city of Nabar. There they would be able to sell their treasure without suspicion.
Since their arrival in Nabar, the survivors had been enjoying the delights of the city through the Two Moon Tavern. Sir Gaunt particularly enjoyed the company of the tavern wine and women, while boasting of the glorious reunion he would receive returning to his father’s manor in triumph. In the meantime, Konrad buried himself in the business of selling the loot on behalf of the group. He assured them that all their efforts would be well rewarded when he returned from the market.
It therefore came as a shock when Oliver returned to the tavern that evening, and discovered he and his master had been double-crossed.
Konrad stood in the center of the tavern room, surrounded by the treasure heaped onto the bar. Surrounding him were the bodies of the dead bodyguards he had hired upon their arrival into the city to protect them. The bodyguards had just been dispatched by the Cathayan thugs standing over them, swords drawn. Two additional Cathayans held the drunk Sir Gaunt fast between them. Shen Wu was at their head, bow drawn and pointed directly at Konrad’s chest.
As Oliver entered he was immediately snatched by an immensely fat Cathayan covered in green tattoos. The rest of Shen Wu’s co-conspirators were equally bedecked in fearsome dragon tattoos, and each was armed to the teeth with knives, swords, and pistols.
The bow-wielding Cathayan and two of his cronies were bagging the treasure on the bar; the tavern keeper and other patrons having fled previously when weapons were first drawn. Konrad, cradling a broken arm, was verbally haranguing Shen Wu for his treachery when Oliver walked in the tavern doors.
“You can’t be serious Shen, cutting me out like this. My buyers in the black market are prepared to pay us more than triple the value of our haul. I have everything set!”
“Quiet, Hoffenheim,” ordered Shen, gesturing for one of his men to silence the Reiklander with a swift sword hilt to the stomach. Konrad refused to be silent, after straightening back up he continued to implore the Cathayan to reconsider.
“This is how you treat me, after all we have been through these past few ventures?”
Shen responded only with a cruel snort of derision as he rounded on the Reiklander.
“I have truly hated working with your uncivilized countrymen, you ‘Old Worlders’,” he spouted contemptuously, spitting at Konrad’s feet as he continued. “Thankfully you are all as predictable as you are stupid. This will more than suffice for the suffering I have endured in this part of the world.”
Moving back to his new companions Shen Wu ordered them out.
“Ti Kxi, Zhu: get the bags. We depart now.”
Shen Wu’s compatriots gathered the treasure bags and carried them out the back tavern door. With a final order, one of his flunkies punched Sir Gaunt in the gut so hard he doubled over and landed on the floor. The two holding Konrad picked him up and threw him over the bar, his body smashing into the cabinets.
“Don’t be too mad Konrad. You are just angry you didn’t move on me and the rest of us first.”
The Cathayan closed the tavern door behind him and was gone.
Getting up and cursing loudly, Konrad rushed out into the back alley to follow them. Sir Gaunt was still on the floor gasping. After pausing only a moment to satisfy his master’s request for another tankard “to dull his throbbing headache,” Oliver decided to follow the Reiklander out the back of the tavern.
Out in the muddy street he found Konrad howling Reikspiel curses at the retreating backs of the fugitive Cathayans, who were now disappearing off in the direction of the docks. It as well past dusk, and no one else was in the street. They were too far away to be caught, and in a city such as this Oliver and Konrad would sooner be robbed a second time than given assistance by any of the locals. This fact was obvious to Konrad. When the silhouettes of the Orientals finally disappeared, his shoulders slumped as all the fight slipped out of his body. Dejectedly standing in the center of the street, he turned defeated to Oliver.
“I am ruined little squire. The black-market buyer will come; and when I have nothing to offer him, I will be killed. No Questing Knight is going to be able to help me this time.”
Taking one last look in the direction of the docks, he added, “You might as well head back to your master.”
Oliver felt sorry for the Reiklander. Despite the terror and hardship of the last few days, Oliver had truly enjoyed his company. Oliver had relished the company of Konrad and the other treasure hunters, simply because he didn’t feel quite as insignificant, or downtrodden, or downright worthless as a normal Bretonnian peasant. He felt more like a person, as a human being, than he had ever felt in his life before; working with the non-Bretonnians had opened his eyes to a whole new way of living his life. His mind scrambled for any way to repay the kindness this non-Bretonian had shown him.
Suddenly he remembered that all the treasure was not lost after all.
Slowly and deliberately, Oliver drew the golden plaque from his tunic and presented it to the bruised and disheveled Konrad in front of him.
“What is that you have there, boy?”
The plaque shined brilliantly in his hand under the twinkling starlight of the night sky.
In the brief moment that followed, Oliver reflected on the events that lead him to the decision of revealing his secret treasure to the Reiklander. Oliver held it at arm’s length, the golden radiance casting shadows on Konrad’s face as he looked at the gold in wonder.
Suddenly Konrad’s face grew brighter, outlined by the shining light now emanating from the plaque. Oliver looked down shocked, at first thinking that the gold was giving off its own light, causing the entire cobblestone street to glow as though daytime had come early. Looking up, he and the Reiklander beheld a great meteor spiraling down from the night sky. The comet plummeted directly towards the center of the city, disappearing over the rooftops of the buildings before impacting with a earthshaking thunderclap.
************
Zul-K’an was perched on his palanquin overlooking the city of Nabar below him. His forces were spread about him, high on the Hills of Og on the south-eastern corner of the city. Though he could not see the rest of the force, he knew they were currently spreading out and positioning themselves to strike the walled gates as soon as a signal was given.
To his right, the indominitable Yaxum Balum sat atop his cold-one mount. The scar-veteran had posted watch outside the city gates, unseen by the warmblood guards for several days as the rest of the Mutal task-force had slowly arrived. The saurus was ready to spring into action with his cavalry troop and lead the charge at a moment’s notice, but waited with the patience characteristic of his kind for a command to be issued.
The scar-veteran’s calm was the polar opposite of the agitated priest to the left of Zul-K’an palanquin. Bedecked in rattles, feathers, and serpentine imagery, Otowik refused to be still. The zealous leader of the Cult of Sotek did not like to travel outside of the confines of Mutal very often, rarely venturing forth with his throngs of followers except to round up more captives to sacrifice to his bloodthirsty god.
But such an invasion into the realms of the intruders of Lustria had not been attempted before, at least not in this part of the continent. Indeed, no expedition had been authorized against the “untamed ones” in living memory. Not since the destruction of a malignant infestation of warmbloods near the great city of Hexoatl to the far north had any of the Holy Slann authorized such an enterprise.
The Cult had been overjoyed when Zul-K’an, Speaker for the Slann, had announced the intentions the Holy Lord Jatzom Kuh. The forces of the Cult had clogged the hidden sakbe roads through the jungles en route to the destination. Upon arrival it had taken Zul-K’an’s express order to prevent the fanatics from rushing headlong into the city’s fortifications.
Most of the city watch had already been eliminated by the chameleon scouts. They and a few small cadres of skinks were now moving through the streets, quietly ensuring no alarm would be raised as they hunted for any signs of the plaque. The town was well past its nightly curfew, but thanks to the expertise of the chameleons no alarm had yet been raised, and the token resistance put up by any denizens who happened across the hunting cadres were quickly put down. The city garrison’s had not yet been notified of the intruder’s presence, nor of the army concealed in the treeline outside the walls.
Despite the silent effectiveness of Zul-K’an’s forces, the Cult was clamoring for action.
“The faithful grow restless on the doorstep of the warmbloods. It is written. Their presence here is blasphemy.”
Like every invective Otowik had launched against him in the past few hours of waiting, Zul-K’an remained silent. He had publically rebuked Otowik upon his initial arrival, when the priest had swaggered onto the hilltop, proclaiming his intention to immediately commence hostilities without paying lip service to the temple hierarchy.
Shamed by the admonition, the wide-eyed priest then attempted to goad Yaxum Balum into coming over to his side, but this too proved fruitless. The saurus followed the will of the Slann, as currently dictated by the words of the Speaker for the Slann. The silent scar-veteran was not about to unleash the ancient exterminators of the Old Ones onto an unsuspecting warmblood infestation by an invocation of passion.
For all his blustering, Otowik accepted he had no choice but to wait and grumble along with the rest of his followers. He had taken up his position next to Zul-K’an’s command palanquin, eagerly listening to the reports constantly being relayed to the High Priest by his scouts.
High in the sky, Zul-K’an observed green Morrslieb reappear from behind the clouds. The stars were very bright between the two moons; a dangerous sign.
His mind wandered, swiftly analyzing the portents of the astrological signs in the sky. He slowly realized he couldn’t understand the chameleon before him, one of Canul’s lieutenants, relaying a message concerning the progress of the hunter cadres in the city. The chameleon’s voice sounded perfectly clear, but lethargic and far away, as were the harsh questions demanded by Otowik upon the scout’s conclusion. Zul-K’an tried to focus on the exchange but found himself disembodied, his conscious far from the conversation at hand. He could hear the sluggish words of the skink, the alert breathing of the saurus at his side, even the slobbering snort of the saurus’ cold one as it ponderously clawed at the ground at its feet. With a start he recognized the presence of his master as the time around him froze.
Unable to think or breathe, Zul-K’an allowed the Holy Slann to look out from his eyes.
He immediately was in the warmblood city, amongst the hunting cadres skirting through the streets undetected. No warmblood yet encountered fit the description of the intruders of Kopan. But the city was vast, and it was only the dedicated assassinations of the chameleon scouts that had prevented the skinks from being discovered so far. Any minute now they would be discovered and the cover would be blown.
His mind reeled as he found himself high above the city looking down. In a fraction of a heartbeat the entire city of Nabar was laid out below him. That was not always its name, for he remembered when he had helped build the City of the Submerged Crocodile millennia ago after the World Pond had receded into its new basin. The Temple of Masks shown brilliantly along the lagoon, as did the temples of Chotec, Tzunki, and the other shrines of the Old Ones.
Now the city was different.
The temples were gone. Like rodents the Fourth Race had bulldozed the monuments. They had used the temples to build a shoddy wall around their hovels. Their palaces hovered on the remains of ancient temples.
Had he been human, he would have felt anger.
He now looked into the rivers of the future. No course could ever be certain, but many lead to ruin. This city harbored degenerates. They were outcasts of the homeland of the Fourth Race; leaders who thrived on pomp, circumstance, and corruption. He knew the purpose of the plaque and what it contained. They were too small to understand. In their ignorance they would harbor it for its physical value, they would melt it down and smelt worthless ingots or coins to fuel their lustful and fleeting desires.
They were too small to understand. The danger existed that the plaque would not only be lost, but that it would be destroyed. This must not happen.
Zul-K’an’s mind reeled as he felt power like he had never before experienced flow through his body. Jatzom Kuh had made his decision.
Zul-K’an raised his three-fingered hand to the conjunction of the stars between the moons. Focusing on a dark space between two stars, he felt himself utter the words of command. Clenching his hand, the magic of Azyr flowed through his veins and scales to shine.
A new star appeared high above the horizon. It grew, slowly at first, then faster and brighter until even the chameleon and the arguing Otowik halted their discussion.
The entire sky seemed to catch fire as the giant comet grew closer. Arching his hand downward, he released the comet upon the heart of the city with a deafening explosion.
The vision concluded, Zul-K’an felt the presence of the Slann dissipate.
The saurus advanced, along with the Cult forces shrieking and whooping gloriously at their heels, charging down the mountainside towards the city walls.
************
Slann
Warden
Tenth Spawning
- Messages
- 6,636
- Likes Received
- 18,870
- Trophy Points
- 113
Chapter 6 continued...
When he finally came to his senses, Oliver wasn’t sure how long he had lain stunned in the center of the street. Getting to his feet, he brushed off the fragments of the green-and-black Two Moon sign that used to hang above the tavern door.
Destruction was all around him.
Almost half of the buildings in the street had been demolished. Some, like the tavern, were completely knocked over in a shamble of stone and wooden beams. Others were completely uprooted and overturned. Fires were spreading throughout the city, coming from the direction the comet had landed. Shouts of terrified citizens and the city watch were evident in the night’s air, as were several new sounds.
Due to his recent exposure to the horrors of the jungle, Oliver immediately recognized them as Lizardmen hunting cries.
Springing into action, he dashed back under the broken doorway of the tavern; the doorway being the only portion of the original tavern still standing. After a quick search his fear was confirmed: his master Sir Rupert of House Gaunt was dead. His head was missing; probably crushed to a pulp by the falling masonry as the building had come crashing down. Not even his helmet or sword were evident, both buried under piles of rubble. It was in this state of panicked, unbelieving shock that Oliver heard Konrad’s voice through the haze.
“In all my years stealing from these Sigmar-forsaken coasts, I have never seen anything like this.”
Turning around, Oliver crept back out into the street. The Reiklander was bleeding profusely from his scalp, but aside from that and a new layer of dirt he seemed otherwise unharmed. He was standing on the cobblestones, holding the plaque in his unbroken hand.
He looked up as Oliver came out from behind the doorway.
“We have stolen treasure, gold, weapons, artifacts, but this… this is different.” He pointed to the glyphs etched with beautiful and organic precision in the gold.
“These symbols… the detail… I can only guess at what they mean…”
As he paused again, Oliver urged the Reiklander to get moving out of the street. Shapes of panicked city dwellers were evident in the shadows now, running screaming through the streets away from the impact site. Howls of cold-ones were growing louder. They were not safe here in the ruins of the tavern.
The Reiklander refused to be moved. He looked up at Oliver with new understanding in his eyes as smoke and sparkling embers began to rain down from the skies above the ruined city:
“I think this is what the Lizardmen are looking for.”
A familiar face stepped out of the shadows. It was a man both Oliver and Konrad had watched die, far up river in the heart of the ruins of Kopan, when an Amazon had split open his throat with a knife in her attempt to escape.
“You are correct Konrad,” said Geraldo as he moved into the light of the fires now consuming the remains of the Two Moon Tavern.
In the firelight it was plain to see his skin had grown pale, as though he had died and been reanimated by unholy magic. A black strip of a dagger wound and dried blood was evident around his neck, and his eyes glowed with blue malice.
“You are correct Konrad. The plaque is exactly what the Lizardmen are looking for. Now hand it over to me and I consider sparing both your souls.”
When he finally came to his senses, Oliver wasn’t sure how long he had lain stunned in the center of the street. Getting to his feet, he brushed off the fragments of the green-and-black Two Moon sign that used to hang above the tavern door.
Destruction was all around him.
Almost half of the buildings in the street had been demolished. Some, like the tavern, were completely knocked over in a shamble of stone and wooden beams. Others were completely uprooted and overturned. Fires were spreading throughout the city, coming from the direction the comet had landed. Shouts of terrified citizens and the city watch were evident in the night’s air, as were several new sounds.
Due to his recent exposure to the horrors of the jungle, Oliver immediately recognized them as Lizardmen hunting cries.
Springing into action, he dashed back under the broken doorway of the tavern; the doorway being the only portion of the original tavern still standing. After a quick search his fear was confirmed: his master Sir Rupert of House Gaunt was dead. His head was missing; probably crushed to a pulp by the falling masonry as the building had come crashing down. Not even his helmet or sword were evident, both buried under piles of rubble. It was in this state of panicked, unbelieving shock that Oliver heard Konrad’s voice through the haze.
“In all my years stealing from these Sigmar-forsaken coasts, I have never seen anything like this.”
Turning around, Oliver crept back out into the street. The Reiklander was bleeding profusely from his scalp, but aside from that and a new layer of dirt he seemed otherwise unharmed. He was standing on the cobblestones, holding the plaque in his unbroken hand.
He looked up as Oliver came out from behind the doorway.
“We have stolen treasure, gold, weapons, artifacts, but this… this is different.” He pointed to the glyphs etched with beautiful and organic precision in the gold.
“These symbols… the detail… I can only guess at what they mean…”
As he paused again, Oliver urged the Reiklander to get moving out of the street. Shapes of panicked city dwellers were evident in the shadows now, running screaming through the streets away from the impact site. Howls of cold-ones were growing louder. They were not safe here in the ruins of the tavern.
The Reiklander refused to be moved. He looked up at Oliver with new understanding in his eyes as smoke and sparkling embers began to rain down from the skies above the ruined city:
“I think this is what the Lizardmen are looking for.”
A familiar face stepped out of the shadows. It was a man both Oliver and Konrad had watched die, far up river in the heart of the ruins of Kopan, when an Amazon had split open his throat with a knife in her attempt to escape.
“You are correct Konrad,” said Geraldo as he moved into the light of the fires now consuming the remains of the Two Moon Tavern.
In the firelight it was plain to see his skin had grown pale, as though he had died and been reanimated by unholy magic. A black strip of a dagger wound and dried blood was evident around his neck, and his eyes glowed with blue malice.
“You are correct Konrad. The plaque is exactly what the Lizardmen are looking for. Now hand it over to me and I consider sparing both your souls.”
Slann
Warden
Tenth Spawning
- Messages
- 6,636
- Likes Received
- 18,870
- Trophy Points
- 113
Chapter 7: Salamanders
Most of the elation that Shen Wu had felt as he and the crew of his Cathayan junk pushed away from the Nabar docks was quickly replaced by panic when the comet had impacted upon the city center. The tremors caused by the explosion rocked the entire coastline. Buildings collapsed, along with most of the docks; and caused massive waves to emanate out into the lagoon. The sailors desperately held the square-sailed ship steady in the unexpected turbulence; in fact several other ships in the harbor immediately capsized. Only the quick thinking of his ship’s captain, Lou Zhing, kept the junk upright.
Thrilled but shaken, the Cathayan treasure hunter steadied himself at the side of the ship, peering out across the retreating harbor to survey the wreckage. A massive crater was now evident in the center of the once-proud colonial city. Fires were spreading out from the epicenter, consuming many buildings. Screams and cries were evident from all corners of the city as citizens were woken from their beds by the apocalyptic destruction.
From his vantage point Shen Wu could also now see the Lizardmen attackers. He saw hunting parties skittering through the city, followed by massive beasts bellowing and crushing the token resistance of the city watch. Horses screamed away from the cold-ones in terror as they swept through the city streets. Far atop the hills on the other side of the city, he could just pick out more lizardmen reinforcements, their colorfully feathered and golden banners twinkling in the city’s light.
Very happy to be rid of the so called “New World.” It may have been his home for years, but he was happy to be heading back to his own kind. His crew of Cathayan merchant-pirates had sailed along the far Lustrian coast nearly a decade in search of trade, plunder, and riches; but life this far from the fields and mountains of home were difficult. The kingdoms of the East were home to massive cities and warehouses full of trade goods, while here the New World was stricken with poverty and strife. It was a struggle to make an “honest” living smuggling in these waters, despite the many petty kingdoms and princes vying for supremacy over every scrap of jungle-choked coastlines.
This would be Shen’s final venture in the Lustria. In one swift stroke he had gained enough gold and treasure to justify the decade wasted in these forsaken jungle lands. With enough money to finance the voyage home, he had set his plans in motion many months previous, making contact with his crew, gaining the trust of the Reiklander and his treasure-hunting outfit, even conducting a few raids with the Old Worlders and scrounging meager profits to gain their trust. With this final mission, he and his crew were now prepared to escape out to the open sea, and to home.
Lou Zhing interrupted his triumphant musings.
“Crocodiles! Dozens of them!”
Shen tore his attention away from the scene of the city tearing itself apart.
“Sir they are heading directly for all the fleeing ships!”
Quickly looking over the side of the junk, Shen Wu peered off in the direction his frantic captain was pointing. Numerous reptilian creatures were swiftly swimming through the dark lagoon waters towards them. It was only as they got within bow range that Shen realized they were definitely not just ordinary crocodiles. While definitely reptilian, they also had large sails on their backs, and were all bright orange…
************
The attack on the warmblood city was well underway. It had only taken a single charge from the stegadon Yax Witz and his experienced skink handlers to break the eastern gates to the city wide open. Behind the stegadon charged the ranks of Yaxum Balam’s cold-one riders, who immediately spreading out through the narrow city streets in search of the treasure hunters. The irascible Otowik was barely able to contain his own excitement; the high priest of Sotek was immediately swept up in the frenzy of his followers, who were hot on the heels of the saurus cavalry riders. The cult immediately settled into the task of tearing through the city block-by-block, and engaging in building-by-building, indiscriminate slaughter of every warmblood they encountered. Loudest of all were the Oldblood himself and his carnosaur mount as together they exterminated their way through the fleeing ranks of terrified men-at-arms and hapless city-dwellers.
The river fleets had meanwhile blasted through the southern River Gate: the water-borne cohorts of Tzunki had by now reached the epi-center of the newly-formed crater and were fanning out in search of the interlopers. At there head was Chac-Xook, the Rain Shark, atop his blind but deadly troglodon mount. Zul-K’an hoped that the keen senses of the beast would quickly lead them to the plaque before the warmbloods were able to mount a coordinated defense.
Up to this point resistence had been token at best. The timing of the attack had been perfect, and the impact of the magical comet had thrown any defense the warmbloods could have hoped to mount completely off balance. A few knights near the main fortress had been able to rally the men-at-arms of the city watch, but far more had holed themselves up in their manor houses, or else were in the midst of fleeing the city on horseback. Little did they realize that just outside every wall of the cities’ gates were cohorts of Canul’s chameleon skinks, waiting to intercept any escapee in the event they attempted to flee with the golden plaque.
Shortly after the initial onslaught had begun, Canul materialized besides his palanquin bearing news.
“All forces are searching the city. We believe the plaque is being held near the docks. However there are many warmbloods fleeing by way of the lagoon.”
Zul-K’an looked in the direction the chameleon chief was pointing. True as reported, a multitude of vessels of differing origins were now attempting to flee the city and out to the open waters.
This time, the priest spent little time deliberating on his next course of action. The Slann had made his mission of recovering the sacred plaque at all costs abundantly clear, and Zul-K’an did not intend to get another telepathic reminder of the omnipotent and unflinching resolve of his master.
“Send the salamander cohorts into the lagoon to burn the escaping ships. After the ships sink, send our divers to search the wrecks. If the plaque is with any of those ships it will be found.”
The chameleon skink bowed his head and disappeared.
A few minutes later Zul-K’an saw his orders carried out. A square-sailed ship on the edge of the escaping fleet erupted in flames. Soon the entire fleet was caught in the conflagration. The priest watched the resultant bonfire with satisfaction.
A resounding roar of a carnosaur welled up from the center of the city. Turning his attention away from the lagoon, Zul-K’an knew that meant the plaque had been found.
And that the Oldblood had made the kill.
Most of the elation that Shen Wu had felt as he and the crew of his Cathayan junk pushed away from the Nabar docks was quickly replaced by panic when the comet had impacted upon the city center. The tremors caused by the explosion rocked the entire coastline. Buildings collapsed, along with most of the docks; and caused massive waves to emanate out into the lagoon. The sailors desperately held the square-sailed ship steady in the unexpected turbulence; in fact several other ships in the harbor immediately capsized. Only the quick thinking of his ship’s captain, Lou Zhing, kept the junk upright.
Thrilled but shaken, the Cathayan treasure hunter steadied himself at the side of the ship, peering out across the retreating harbor to survey the wreckage. A massive crater was now evident in the center of the once-proud colonial city. Fires were spreading out from the epicenter, consuming many buildings. Screams and cries were evident from all corners of the city as citizens were woken from their beds by the apocalyptic destruction.
From his vantage point Shen Wu could also now see the Lizardmen attackers. He saw hunting parties skittering through the city, followed by massive beasts bellowing and crushing the token resistance of the city watch. Horses screamed away from the cold-ones in terror as they swept through the city streets. Far atop the hills on the other side of the city, he could just pick out more lizardmen reinforcements, their colorfully feathered and golden banners twinkling in the city’s light.
Very happy to be rid of the so called “New World.” It may have been his home for years, but he was happy to be heading back to his own kind. His crew of Cathayan merchant-pirates had sailed along the far Lustrian coast nearly a decade in search of trade, plunder, and riches; but life this far from the fields and mountains of home were difficult. The kingdoms of the East were home to massive cities and warehouses full of trade goods, while here the New World was stricken with poverty and strife. It was a struggle to make an “honest” living smuggling in these waters, despite the many petty kingdoms and princes vying for supremacy over every scrap of jungle-choked coastlines.
This would be Shen’s final venture in the Lustria. In one swift stroke he had gained enough gold and treasure to justify the decade wasted in these forsaken jungle lands. With enough money to finance the voyage home, he had set his plans in motion many months previous, making contact with his crew, gaining the trust of the Reiklander and his treasure-hunting outfit, even conducting a few raids with the Old Worlders and scrounging meager profits to gain their trust. With this final mission, he and his crew were now prepared to escape out to the open sea, and to home.
Lou Zhing interrupted his triumphant musings.
“Crocodiles! Dozens of them!”
Shen tore his attention away from the scene of the city tearing itself apart.
“Sir they are heading directly for all the fleeing ships!”
Quickly looking over the side of the junk, Shen Wu peered off in the direction his frantic captain was pointing. Numerous reptilian creatures were swiftly swimming through the dark lagoon waters towards them. It was only as they got within bow range that Shen realized they were definitely not just ordinary crocodiles. While definitely reptilian, they also had large sails on their backs, and were all bright orange…
************
The attack on the warmblood city was well underway. It had only taken a single charge from the stegadon Yax Witz and his experienced skink handlers to break the eastern gates to the city wide open. Behind the stegadon charged the ranks of Yaxum Balam’s cold-one riders, who immediately spreading out through the narrow city streets in search of the treasure hunters. The irascible Otowik was barely able to contain his own excitement; the high priest of Sotek was immediately swept up in the frenzy of his followers, who were hot on the heels of the saurus cavalry riders. The cult immediately settled into the task of tearing through the city block-by-block, and engaging in building-by-building, indiscriminate slaughter of every warmblood they encountered. Loudest of all were the Oldblood himself and his carnosaur mount as together they exterminated their way through the fleeing ranks of terrified men-at-arms and hapless city-dwellers.
The river fleets had meanwhile blasted through the southern River Gate: the water-borne cohorts of Tzunki had by now reached the epi-center of the newly-formed crater and were fanning out in search of the interlopers. At there head was Chac-Xook, the Rain Shark, atop his blind but deadly troglodon mount. Zul-K’an hoped that the keen senses of the beast would quickly lead them to the plaque before the warmbloods were able to mount a coordinated defense.
Up to this point resistence had been token at best. The timing of the attack had been perfect, and the impact of the magical comet had thrown any defense the warmbloods could have hoped to mount completely off balance. A few knights near the main fortress had been able to rally the men-at-arms of the city watch, but far more had holed themselves up in their manor houses, or else were in the midst of fleeing the city on horseback. Little did they realize that just outside every wall of the cities’ gates were cohorts of Canul’s chameleon skinks, waiting to intercept any escapee in the event they attempted to flee with the golden plaque.
Shortly after the initial onslaught had begun, Canul materialized besides his palanquin bearing news.
“All forces are searching the city. We believe the plaque is being held near the docks. However there are many warmbloods fleeing by way of the lagoon.”
Zul-K’an looked in the direction the chameleon chief was pointing. True as reported, a multitude of vessels of differing origins were now attempting to flee the city and out to the open waters.
This time, the priest spent little time deliberating on his next course of action. The Slann had made his mission of recovering the sacred plaque at all costs abundantly clear, and Zul-K’an did not intend to get another telepathic reminder of the omnipotent and unflinching resolve of his master.
“Send the salamander cohorts into the lagoon to burn the escaping ships. After the ships sink, send our divers to search the wrecks. If the plaque is with any of those ships it will be found.”
The chameleon skink bowed his head and disappeared.
A few minutes later Zul-K’an saw his orders carried out. A square-sailed ship on the edge of the escaping fleet erupted in flames. Soon the entire fleet was caught in the conflagration. The priest watched the resultant bonfire with satisfaction.
A resounding roar of a carnosaur welled up from the center of the city. Turning his attention away from the lagoon, Zul-K’an knew that meant the plaque had been found.
And that the Oldblood had made the kill.
Slann
Bowser
Third Spawning
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Ah! Got to love it when a plan comes together! My favourite parts are just the Lizardmen names/titles. Like "Chac-Xook, the Rain Shark, atop his blind but deadly troglodon mount" is just an incredible thing to read.
Slann
Warden
Tenth Spawning
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second part of Chapter 7 was longer than anticipated... therefore moving on to the FINAL CHAPTER!
Chapter 8: The Lost Expedition
The Estalians had long had a presence in the New World. Since the days of the financing Marco Columbo’s famous discovery of Lustria, many expeditions and conquisatores had set out in search of their fortunes. Some were successful, such as the conquests of Hiralgo de Cortez, conqueror of many tribal natives of this New World and founder of the Estalian colony of San Marcino. Others were not so lucky.
One of the unlucky ones set out near the Scorpion Coast, heading inland from the abandoned Lizardmen ruins of what would become the city of Jeruga closer to the present day.
The Estalians wandered through the jungle for weeks; swarmed by mosquitoes around their heads and howling monkeys in the trees. There objective was simple: they were in search of one of the Seven Cities of Gold, an old Estalian legend of the New World. In those days, the Lizardmen were unknown to the warm-blooded races of the world (except the elves of course); the exploring Estalians were not prepared for the reception they received.
Eventually the expedition stumbled upon an ancient ruin, which they labeled “Kopan” on their expedition map. They immediately set about looting the city, which happened to have a great quantity of gold and other riches, exactly what their up-until-this-point-fruitless expedition had been looking for. Convinced they would all return back to Estalia as rich men, they let their guard down in a treacherous jungle. They were ambushed by previously unknown assailants, who appeared in the form of men but scaled and clawed in the manner of lizards and newts.
Outnumbered and dying in droves, the Estalians and their tribal allies cried out to their gods for help. The Estalians prayed to the Bellona Myrmidia, the war-goddess of their peninsula home; but received no assistance as their brethren were cut down in their armor by unseen opponents. Their jungle-native scouts invoked the names of their Old Gods, the Original Ones, but they too were silent, having long been out of range to any of their followers. The natives too were slaughtered, until only a single Estalian remaining alive. Trapped, alone, surrounded, and bleeding to death, the survivor cried out for someone, anyone, to answer his prayers.
And to his eternal gratitude, and blissful damnation, his prayers were answered.
************
The muddy figure climbed out of the murky water into the smoldering ruins of the city, whose steeds were scarred by the open-wound crater of the meteor. He could sense the hunting parties of the scaled-ones swiftly darting through the streets in search of their prize. But the scaled-ones had not found it yet. He smiled, because they were blind, but he could sense its location as if it was a lantern hung in a window to light his path. He quickly moved down the blighted streets towards his target.
His visions had increased since his second death and new life at the hands of his god. Already he could see his master’s plans unfolding around him. He could sense the anarchy that was about to come; news of wealthy Nabar’s troubles would quickly spread up and down these treacherous waters. Pirates and raiding parties would soon be looting the breadth of the coastline, ripping through the treasure houses and canals for all the riches they can find. The Bretonnians would seek to restore honor and order, while the questing knights would seek only glory. Mercenaries and fortune seekers would be called in by the thousands, while the sounds of the carnage would undoubtedly trigger the attentions of roving barbarians or savages, or worse things attracted to the mayhem of a good fight.
Hearing the chaos around him, Geraldo smiled. He knew his master would be pleased.
Turning a final corner, he stepped out of the shadows and moved into the light of the fires now consuming the remains of the Two Moon Tavern. His former treasure-hunting companions stood in the ashes in the street.
“You are correct Konrad–” he said, moving towards the crippled Reiklander and the squire-boy Oliver who was standing in front of him, hand outstretched, holding the shining golden plaque in his hands.
“–the plaque is exactly what the Lizardmen are looking for.”
In the firelight, Oliver and Konrad could see that Geraldo’s skin had grown pale, as though he had died and been reanimated by unholy magic. True, he did look quite dead, having been rotting in the jungle for almost a day before his master had breathed his soul back into his mortal remains. It would be another few days before the color of death left his features, same as the last time he had died centuries ago in the Kopan palacio. Also true, the jagged black scar across his neck, a parting gift of the Amazon, would never truly disappear from his flesh, but it was a small price to pay. Later he could always cover it with a scarf or something, but for now he enjoyed the fear it produced in his former companions.
“Now,” the Estalian commanded, coming to a halt, “…hand it over to me, and I will consider sparing both your souls.”
The boy shrank back, clutching the plaque to his chest due to the dumfounded terror.
“Geraldo?” sputtered the peasant in horror as he backed away, “How– we saw you die! I watched you die!”
The Reiklander was equally shocked, but was faster to regain his composure, despite his injuries. Taking stock of the flesh-and-blood apparition before him, he quickly demanded an explanation.
“And here I was thinking that it was Shen Wu or that faithless wizard who sold us out. Clearly I did not know my friends as well as I imagined. What have you done Geraldo?!”
The Estalian only smiled, making the scars on his neck twist hideously in the flickering light.
“Nothing I haven’t been planning for centuries my poor friend. It has been ordained long before you came to these lands, and long before your young friend was born. That plaque is worth more than you could possibly realize, and I have spent a great deal of effort trying to obtain it.”
“So you used us?” The Reiklander slowly backed away from Geraldo, and moved to position between him and Oliver, “…joining us at Swamp Town, play-acting through all our adventures in Di Ranza and Port Reaver, all a ruse?”
Geraldo obviously enjoyed the Reiklander’s confusion. “I have no need for money Konrad, despite what you thought of me I have only ever needed the favor of my Master. It was my intention to bring you here and conduct this very specific expedition from the start. I had only to gain yours and the others trust. Besides… how else do you think the wizard came across an ancient Estalian map of these coastlines, complete with directions to a lost Lizardmen temple filled with riches? I was the one who ‘discovered’ the map and gave it to him.”
“You set us up!” Konrad shouted, but made no move. Oliver then saw the knife clutched in the Reiklander’s hand behind his back, waiting for a moment to strike amidst Geraldo’s ranting. Shouts of men-at-arms and the roars of lizard war-parties continued to ring loudly all about them, growing louder and louder as the fires continued to consume the wounded city.
“Of course,” snorted the Estalian in derision. “…how else could such a rag-tag group of murdering misfits have made it this far? My Master has set these events into motion far more carefully than you could begin to comprehend. All that mattered was that simple plaque your friend is carrying; for the lizards will stop at nothing to have it returned. It is that important and holy to them.
“Even now the events are set in motion- the lizards are more than willing to start a war to reclaim their most sacred artifacts. Meanwhile, the self-righteous Bretonnians, always itching to prove themselves in the eyes of their Lady, will undoubtedly start a crusade to defend their territory as the heathen mutants begin pouring into their borders. The delicate balance of the natural Order will be overturned, and Chaos will come to this New World as it plunges into war. Our agents have set the events in motion perfectly, all that is left to do is ignite the final spark.
“All I will have to do is get that plaque, and that little knife behind your back will not stop me.”
Konrad lunged.
He leaped forward, knife outstretched, aiming to plunge it deep into the cursed Estalian’s heart. But the Reiklander never made it half the distance.
Snapping into action, Geraldo opened his mouth wider than was humanly possible. His tongue was black, studded with barbs, and ending with a long, deadly hook. It lashed out from his jaws, like a frog snatching a fly, and struck the Reiklander in his gut, piercing through his stomach and out his back. The knife clattered to the ground, unused.
Oliver shrieked in surprise as the hook retracted back through the Reiklanders body as he slumped to the floor. Geraldo still grinned maniacally, wiping a dribble of blood moving down his chin.
“Konrad Hoffenheim: pirate, mercenary, and failed treasure hunter. You had some lofty dreams of wealth. So sad you will never see them come to fruition as I will see mine. If only you could see the world as I have been allowed to see it.”
Geraldo turned away from the body on the ground, and now focused his attention on the peasant boy with his back against the ruined wall.
“Now hand me the plaque little peasant, or suffer the same fate.”
Oliver didn’t think.
He took off down the street in the opposite direction.
As he did, Oliver heard the Estalian laugh, then the horrifying sound of a mutant-tongue lash out from his jaws. It struck the wall instead, showering him in stones and rubble as he tried to escape. Rushing blindly now, Oliver heard the Estalian lash out again, and this time felt a shearing pain as the barbs made contact with his left hand. With a cry of pain, Olive fell to the ground, the golden plaque landing at his feet.
Grabbing his arm, Oliver’s stomach went to his throat as he realized his hand was missing. Where his hand used to be was only a stump of flesh sticking out of his ripped and bloody tunic, cauterized black and smoking like it had been sheared off by an unholy fire.
“Too slow boy.”
Oliver rolled over, cradling his now useless arm against his chest. He looked up to see the Estalian leering above him, marching closer to obtain his prize. Oliver felt the world closing in as the alleyway shadows loomed higher with every step of the Estalians’ triumphant approach.
“It’s a pity you had to end up this way. Your future looks like it would have been very promising after today. You might have had a great impact in this world, had you not fallen in with the wrong group of treasure hunters. Farewell to your short and miserable existenc–”
A great resounding roar cut Geraldo off. The skeletal remains of the tavern exploded in fire and stone, as a colossal creature burst forth. The monster was far larger than a horse or any living creature Oliver had ever seen, covered in blood-drenched scales from head to tail and equipped with deadly claws on its hands and feet. On its back rode a solitary Lizardman, bedecked in golden armor and a skull war-helm, with massive totem-banners affixed to his saddleback.
This time it was Geraldo who was too slow. Whirring about, the Estalian had enough time to look upwards as a massive mouth, filled with razor sharp teeth, envelope his body and close with a single crunching mouthful of gore. Without so much as a pause the dinosaur proceeded to effortlessly gulped down his morsel, and then refocus its predator’s senses on the one-handed peasant at his feet. Only a pair of muddy boots remained on the ground where the Estalian had stood only a heartbeat ago.
Oliver was petrified. Once again he found himself with his back up against a wall, but this time at the feet one of the most deadly killing-machines of the New World. He was unable to move.
The rider roared something loudly that Oliver couldn’t understand, almost in a parody of human speech. It then pointed his lethal and almost ten-feet-long war-halberd directly at Oliver.
But the titanic creature made no move to eat him.
Oliver then realized the only reason the dinosaur’s rider had not given the order was the golden plaque, which Oliver now clutched to his chest with his good arm. He realized he must have grabbed it without thinking as the Estalian had attacked him. He now held the plaque closely to him as the dinosaur and rider leered down at him.
The rider roared something again, and this time the dinosaur echoed a response, a low, rumbling growl of a monster about to be unleashed upon a new target.
Had a well-bred Bretonnian knight been present, Oliver might have been able to summon up the courage to stand and fight to the bitter end against a creature so terrifying. But there were no noble Bretonnian knights present. His master Sir Gaunt was, after all; dead and buried under a mountain of tavern and masonry rubble. All of Oliver’s other recent companions were also dead; either in the jungle, at the bottom of a lagoon, or digesting in the stomach of a dinosaur. As a solitary, unarmed peasant, Oliver took the only option he had left once again.
He bolted.
But this time, before he did so, he threw the plaque, with all the effort he could muster, directly at the Lizardman rider of the monster in front of him. He didn’t glance back over his shoulder as he took off down the ruined street to see if he had been successful; therefore Oliver never witnessed the Oldblood catch the plaque in his clawed hand. And he was only encouraged to run faster when he heard the carnosaur’s thunderous roar of victory that echoed across the fiery night air.
************ THE END ************
My apologies for taking so long to finish. Authors note to follow later, along with a (currently very roughly-sketched) Epilogue to tie up some loose ends. Thanks for the support, this project was a lot of fun!
Chapter 8: The Lost Expedition
The Estalians had long had a presence in the New World. Since the days of the financing Marco Columbo’s famous discovery of Lustria, many expeditions and conquisatores had set out in search of their fortunes. Some were successful, such as the conquests of Hiralgo de Cortez, conqueror of many tribal natives of this New World and founder of the Estalian colony of San Marcino. Others were not so lucky.
One of the unlucky ones set out near the Scorpion Coast, heading inland from the abandoned Lizardmen ruins of what would become the city of Jeruga closer to the present day.
The Estalians wandered through the jungle for weeks; swarmed by mosquitoes around their heads and howling monkeys in the trees. There objective was simple: they were in search of one of the Seven Cities of Gold, an old Estalian legend of the New World. In those days, the Lizardmen were unknown to the warm-blooded races of the world (except the elves of course); the exploring Estalians were not prepared for the reception they received.
Eventually the expedition stumbled upon an ancient ruin, which they labeled “Kopan” on their expedition map. They immediately set about looting the city, which happened to have a great quantity of gold and other riches, exactly what their up-until-this-point-fruitless expedition had been looking for. Convinced they would all return back to Estalia as rich men, they let their guard down in a treacherous jungle. They were ambushed by previously unknown assailants, who appeared in the form of men but scaled and clawed in the manner of lizards and newts.
Outnumbered and dying in droves, the Estalians and their tribal allies cried out to their gods for help. The Estalians prayed to the Bellona Myrmidia, the war-goddess of their peninsula home; but received no assistance as their brethren were cut down in their armor by unseen opponents. Their jungle-native scouts invoked the names of their Old Gods, the Original Ones, but they too were silent, having long been out of range to any of their followers. The natives too were slaughtered, until only a single Estalian remaining alive. Trapped, alone, surrounded, and bleeding to death, the survivor cried out for someone, anyone, to answer his prayers.
And to his eternal gratitude, and blissful damnation, his prayers were answered.
************
The muddy figure climbed out of the murky water into the smoldering ruins of the city, whose steeds were scarred by the open-wound crater of the meteor. He could sense the hunting parties of the scaled-ones swiftly darting through the streets in search of their prize. But the scaled-ones had not found it yet. He smiled, because they were blind, but he could sense its location as if it was a lantern hung in a window to light his path. He quickly moved down the blighted streets towards his target.
His visions had increased since his second death and new life at the hands of his god. Already he could see his master’s plans unfolding around him. He could sense the anarchy that was about to come; news of wealthy Nabar’s troubles would quickly spread up and down these treacherous waters. Pirates and raiding parties would soon be looting the breadth of the coastline, ripping through the treasure houses and canals for all the riches they can find. The Bretonnians would seek to restore honor and order, while the questing knights would seek only glory. Mercenaries and fortune seekers would be called in by the thousands, while the sounds of the carnage would undoubtedly trigger the attentions of roving barbarians or savages, or worse things attracted to the mayhem of a good fight.
Hearing the chaos around him, Geraldo smiled. He knew his master would be pleased.
Turning a final corner, he stepped out of the shadows and moved into the light of the fires now consuming the remains of the Two Moon Tavern. His former treasure-hunting companions stood in the ashes in the street.
“You are correct Konrad–” he said, moving towards the crippled Reiklander and the squire-boy Oliver who was standing in front of him, hand outstretched, holding the shining golden plaque in his hands.
“–the plaque is exactly what the Lizardmen are looking for.”
In the firelight, Oliver and Konrad could see that Geraldo’s skin had grown pale, as though he had died and been reanimated by unholy magic. True, he did look quite dead, having been rotting in the jungle for almost a day before his master had breathed his soul back into his mortal remains. It would be another few days before the color of death left his features, same as the last time he had died centuries ago in the Kopan palacio. Also true, the jagged black scar across his neck, a parting gift of the Amazon, would never truly disappear from his flesh, but it was a small price to pay. Later he could always cover it with a scarf or something, but for now he enjoyed the fear it produced in his former companions.
“Now,” the Estalian commanded, coming to a halt, “…hand it over to me, and I will consider sparing both your souls.”
The boy shrank back, clutching the plaque to his chest due to the dumfounded terror.
“Geraldo?” sputtered the peasant in horror as he backed away, “How– we saw you die! I watched you die!”
The Reiklander was equally shocked, but was faster to regain his composure, despite his injuries. Taking stock of the flesh-and-blood apparition before him, he quickly demanded an explanation.
“And here I was thinking that it was Shen Wu or that faithless wizard who sold us out. Clearly I did not know my friends as well as I imagined. What have you done Geraldo?!”
The Estalian only smiled, making the scars on his neck twist hideously in the flickering light.
“Nothing I haven’t been planning for centuries my poor friend. It has been ordained long before you came to these lands, and long before your young friend was born. That plaque is worth more than you could possibly realize, and I have spent a great deal of effort trying to obtain it.”
“So you used us?” The Reiklander slowly backed away from Geraldo, and moved to position between him and Oliver, “…joining us at Swamp Town, play-acting through all our adventures in Di Ranza and Port Reaver, all a ruse?”
Geraldo obviously enjoyed the Reiklander’s confusion. “I have no need for money Konrad, despite what you thought of me I have only ever needed the favor of my Master. It was my intention to bring you here and conduct this very specific expedition from the start. I had only to gain yours and the others trust. Besides… how else do you think the wizard came across an ancient Estalian map of these coastlines, complete with directions to a lost Lizardmen temple filled with riches? I was the one who ‘discovered’ the map and gave it to him.”
“You set us up!” Konrad shouted, but made no move. Oliver then saw the knife clutched in the Reiklander’s hand behind his back, waiting for a moment to strike amidst Geraldo’s ranting. Shouts of men-at-arms and the roars of lizard war-parties continued to ring loudly all about them, growing louder and louder as the fires continued to consume the wounded city.
“Of course,” snorted the Estalian in derision. “…how else could such a rag-tag group of murdering misfits have made it this far? My Master has set these events into motion far more carefully than you could begin to comprehend. All that mattered was that simple plaque your friend is carrying; for the lizards will stop at nothing to have it returned. It is that important and holy to them.
“Even now the events are set in motion- the lizards are more than willing to start a war to reclaim their most sacred artifacts. Meanwhile, the self-righteous Bretonnians, always itching to prove themselves in the eyes of their Lady, will undoubtedly start a crusade to defend their territory as the heathen mutants begin pouring into their borders. The delicate balance of the natural Order will be overturned, and Chaos will come to this New World as it plunges into war. Our agents have set the events in motion perfectly, all that is left to do is ignite the final spark.
“All I will have to do is get that plaque, and that little knife behind your back will not stop me.”
Konrad lunged.
He leaped forward, knife outstretched, aiming to plunge it deep into the cursed Estalian’s heart. But the Reiklander never made it half the distance.
Snapping into action, Geraldo opened his mouth wider than was humanly possible. His tongue was black, studded with barbs, and ending with a long, deadly hook. It lashed out from his jaws, like a frog snatching a fly, and struck the Reiklander in his gut, piercing through his stomach and out his back. The knife clattered to the ground, unused.
Oliver shrieked in surprise as the hook retracted back through the Reiklanders body as he slumped to the floor. Geraldo still grinned maniacally, wiping a dribble of blood moving down his chin.
“Konrad Hoffenheim: pirate, mercenary, and failed treasure hunter. You had some lofty dreams of wealth. So sad you will never see them come to fruition as I will see mine. If only you could see the world as I have been allowed to see it.”
Geraldo turned away from the body on the ground, and now focused his attention on the peasant boy with his back against the ruined wall.
“Now hand me the plaque little peasant, or suffer the same fate.”
Oliver didn’t think.
He took off down the street in the opposite direction.
As he did, Oliver heard the Estalian laugh, then the horrifying sound of a mutant-tongue lash out from his jaws. It struck the wall instead, showering him in stones and rubble as he tried to escape. Rushing blindly now, Oliver heard the Estalian lash out again, and this time felt a shearing pain as the barbs made contact with his left hand. With a cry of pain, Olive fell to the ground, the golden plaque landing at his feet.
Grabbing his arm, Oliver’s stomach went to his throat as he realized his hand was missing. Where his hand used to be was only a stump of flesh sticking out of his ripped and bloody tunic, cauterized black and smoking like it had been sheared off by an unholy fire.
“Too slow boy.”
Oliver rolled over, cradling his now useless arm against his chest. He looked up to see the Estalian leering above him, marching closer to obtain his prize. Oliver felt the world closing in as the alleyway shadows loomed higher with every step of the Estalians’ triumphant approach.
“It’s a pity you had to end up this way. Your future looks like it would have been very promising after today. You might have had a great impact in this world, had you not fallen in with the wrong group of treasure hunters. Farewell to your short and miserable existenc–”
A great resounding roar cut Geraldo off. The skeletal remains of the tavern exploded in fire and stone, as a colossal creature burst forth. The monster was far larger than a horse or any living creature Oliver had ever seen, covered in blood-drenched scales from head to tail and equipped with deadly claws on its hands and feet. On its back rode a solitary Lizardman, bedecked in golden armor and a skull war-helm, with massive totem-banners affixed to his saddleback.
This time it was Geraldo who was too slow. Whirring about, the Estalian had enough time to look upwards as a massive mouth, filled with razor sharp teeth, envelope his body and close with a single crunching mouthful of gore. Without so much as a pause the dinosaur proceeded to effortlessly gulped down his morsel, and then refocus its predator’s senses on the one-handed peasant at his feet. Only a pair of muddy boots remained on the ground where the Estalian had stood only a heartbeat ago.
Oliver was petrified. Once again he found himself with his back up against a wall, but this time at the feet one of the most deadly killing-machines of the New World. He was unable to move.
The rider roared something loudly that Oliver couldn’t understand, almost in a parody of human speech. It then pointed his lethal and almost ten-feet-long war-halberd directly at Oliver.
But the titanic creature made no move to eat him.
Oliver then realized the only reason the dinosaur’s rider had not given the order was the golden plaque, which Oliver now clutched to his chest with his good arm. He realized he must have grabbed it without thinking as the Estalian had attacked him. He now held the plaque closely to him as the dinosaur and rider leered down at him.
The rider roared something again, and this time the dinosaur echoed a response, a low, rumbling growl of a monster about to be unleashed upon a new target.
Had a well-bred Bretonnian knight been present, Oliver might have been able to summon up the courage to stand and fight to the bitter end against a creature so terrifying. But there were no noble Bretonnian knights present. His master Sir Gaunt was, after all; dead and buried under a mountain of tavern and masonry rubble. All of Oliver’s other recent companions were also dead; either in the jungle, at the bottom of a lagoon, or digesting in the stomach of a dinosaur. As a solitary, unarmed peasant, Oliver took the only option he had left once again.
He bolted.
But this time, before he did so, he threw the plaque, with all the effort he could muster, directly at the Lizardman rider of the monster in front of him. He didn’t glance back over his shoulder as he took off down the ruined street to see if he had been successful; therefore Oliver never witnessed the Oldblood catch the plaque in his clawed hand. And he was only encouraged to run faster when he heard the carnosaur’s thunderous roar of victory that echoed across the fiery night air.
************ THE END ************
My apologies for taking so long to finish. Authors note to follow later, along with a (currently very roughly-sketched) Epilogue to tie up some loose ends. Thanks for the support, this project was a lot of fun!
Kroxigor
thedarkfourth
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This was a really great opus, a mighty achievement. Thank you Warden!
I think it got better as it went along. What started out as a simple matter of people dying off ended up having unexpected dimensions. I think it might have been even cooler if the lizardmen had failed at the end, as their victory had always seemed inevitable. But even so it was great take on a creative premise, a huge effort!
I think it got better as it went along. What started out as a simple matter of people dying off ended up having unexpected dimensions. I think it might have been even cooler if the lizardmen had failed at the end, as their victory had always seemed inevitable. But even so it was great take on a creative premise, a huge effort!
Scar-Veteran
tom ndege
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Great story! I somehow feel sorry for Konrad... Getting betrayed two (or three) times shortly before dying an honorable but cruel death... Nice move of the Oldblood to let the boy escape... Leaves me a little hope for a sequel story... Especially after the things the Estalian said to the body about having an impact on the world... 
Slann
Warden
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Great story! I somehow feel sorry for Konrad... Getting betrayed two (or three) times shortly before dying an honorable but cruel death... Nice move of the Oldblood to let the boy escape... Leaves me a little hope for a sequel story... Especially after the things the Estalian said to the body about having an impact on the world...
Thanks for the compliments!
Still working my epilogue, this has given me some ideas... still working on it. I would love to do a sequel to flesh out more lore of my temple city.
Slann
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Time for some author's notes.
Be warned, SPOILERS FOLLOW, so go read the story first.
Sources/Inspiration:
Over 20,000 words and 50 pages later, I am very pleased with my final product. Like I said it is a great deal of fun, and thanks for all the compliments!
My initial inspiration for this story was the tiny line of fluff I inserted into my temple-city’s lore (the intro paragraph on the first page of this thread). Made me think it would make a really good story, just didn’t expect it to be this long. It was a great chance for me to practice writing, and I have to say this forum was a good place to try it! Lots of great writing tips on dialogue, structure, and other ideas.
The title of the work is inspired by the mystery novel by Agatha Christie, titled And Then There Were None, inspired by the nursery rhyme Ten Little Indians. Most of my experience with the book is from the movie adaptation (1945 film). In the novel/movie a group of people who all have secret crimes are lured to an island together, and suddenly start being killed off. One by one they wind up dead by mysterious circumstances (and then there were nine, and then there were eight, and so on). At the end only one or two remain, and the survivors discover who was behind the killing. There are several differences between the novel/movie, mostly in the movie that the killer winds up being one of the original ten from the group, who actually wasn’t dead. I highly recommend the movie if you don't want to sit down and read the book.
When I started writing this thing back in June my plan wasn’t to have the “bad guy” be within the original treasure-hunter group, that happened waaaay later after I already wrote Geraldo’s first death. I was originally thinking the wizard Mathus would be the chaos corrupted one, or maybe the grumpy Cathayan, but it didn’t fit right either.
When I finally came up with Geraldo being an explorer back-from-the-dead and bent on revenge, , the details just clicked into place. I figured in a magical universe, it would be a fairly believable plot twist to have him show up. I hope the last chapter did my ideas justice, because it was a lot of fun to write!
I am glad I was able to expand upon my little piece of the Lustrian Lore universe by contributing this work to the saga of my temple-city and the Lizardmen in general. Once again, thanks for the support!
Also here are two links that came in handy:
Dwarf insult generator (for hilarious combinations of dwarfish insults)- http://enneadgames.com/generators/insult-generator/
Mayan Hieroglyphic Dictionary (useful to find and make up your own mayan sounding words!)- http://research.famsi.org/mdp/mdp_index.php
Be warned, SPOILERS FOLLOW, so go read the story first.
Sources/Inspiration:
Over 20,000 words and 50 pages later, I am very pleased with my final product. Like I said it is a great deal of fun, and thanks for all the compliments!
My initial inspiration for this story was the tiny line of fluff I inserted into my temple-city’s lore (the intro paragraph on the first page of this thread). Made me think it would make a really good story, just didn’t expect it to be this long. It was a great chance for me to practice writing, and I have to say this forum was a good place to try it! Lots of great writing tips on dialogue, structure, and other ideas.
The title of the work is inspired by the mystery novel by Agatha Christie, titled And Then There Were None, inspired by the nursery rhyme Ten Little Indians. Most of my experience with the book is from the movie adaptation (1945 film). In the novel/movie a group of people who all have secret crimes are lured to an island together, and suddenly start being killed off. One by one they wind up dead by mysterious circumstances (and then there were nine, and then there were eight, and so on). At the end only one or two remain, and the survivors discover who was behind the killing. There are several differences between the novel/movie, mostly in the movie that the killer winds up being one of the original ten from the group, who actually wasn’t dead. I highly recommend the movie if you don't want to sit down and read the book.
When I started writing this thing back in June my plan wasn’t to have the “bad guy” be within the original treasure-hunter group, that happened waaaay later after I already wrote Geraldo’s first death. I was originally thinking the wizard Mathus would be the chaos corrupted one, or maybe the grumpy Cathayan, but it didn’t fit right either.
When I finally came up with Geraldo being an explorer back-from-the-dead and bent on revenge, , the details just clicked into place. I figured in a magical universe, it would be a fairly believable plot twist to have him show up. I hope the last chapter did my ideas justice, because it was a lot of fun to write!
I am glad I was able to expand upon my little piece of the Lustrian Lore universe by contributing this work to the saga of my temple-city and the Lizardmen in general. Once again, thanks for the support!
Also here are two links that came in handy:
Dwarf insult generator (for hilarious combinations of dwarfish insults)- http://enneadgames.com/generators/insult-generator/
Mayan Hieroglyphic Dictionary (useful to find and make up your own mayan sounding words!)- http://research.famsi.org/mdp/mdp_index.php
Slann
Warden
Tenth Spawning
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As stated before, Additional SPOILERS may follow:
List of Characters!
Here is a quick list of all the named characters that had a role in the story, mostly listed in the order they appeared. I used this list to help me keep my characters organized. Probably the biggest criticism I have of my own work was not making most of the characters more “three-dimensional,” but I will take this one as practice and work harder next time!
The Ten Little Treasure Hunters (order of death in parenthesis)
Oliver Golding- a Bretonnian peasant boy, who is the servant of the Questing Knight Sir Rupert Gaunt; serves as his squire.
Crime: technically innocent, though implicated in his lord’s crime and tossed out into the streets with his master.
Sir Rupert Of House Gaunt (7)- down on his luck Bretonnian Knight, sworn to the Grail Quest but enslaved to his tankard.
Crime: got drunk, killed the son of a minor noble.
Killed in Nabar (while drunk) when a tavern collapsed on him.
Konrad Hoffenheim (9)- treasure hunter from the Empire province of Reikland, originally a mercenary in Tilea and later in the Lustrian colony of Swamp Town. Along with Mathus, leads the rest into the jungle towards the ruins.
Crimes: mercenary for hire, has killed for money on many occasions.
Killed in Nabar by an old ally.
Geraldo de Ahumada (2 and 10)- Estalian mercenary partnered with Konrad Hoffenheim.
Crime: accomplished duelist, has killed many people. Also worships questionable deities…
Killed by the Amazon during the escape from the shrine.
Shen Wu (8)- Cathayan warrior lost in the new world, seeking his fortune.
Crime: killed brother in order to gain his father’s title.
Presumed dead when his escaping ship burst aflame due to some not-crocodiles.
Skuddi Garlsson (4)- Norse Dwarf working on a slaver ship off the coast of Araby, lured to the new world by tales of gold.
Crime: slave trader along the coasts of Lustria and the Southlands
Drowns in quicksand, also potentially eaten by cold-ones.
Mathus the Ugly (6)- Hedge Wizard of Lustria, brains of the operation, experienced at robbing tombs of the Lizardmen.
Crime: old and ruthless, experienced thief and tomb robber. Also has many magical opponents and rivals.
Presumed dead when ambushed by cold ones during escape from the ruins of Kopan.
Squato (5)- Cannibal Pygmy captured, willing to help find route to the shrine despite his superstitions with promise of fortune.
Crime: is a cannibal
Killed by cold one riders after sabotaging the dwarf and stealing his treasure.
Notomori (2)- Nipponese Ninja, ally of Shen Wu, who is also trying to get back to the east.
Crime: is an assassin
Killed by chameleon skinks when cover is blown at the ruins of Kopan.
Akula the Amazon (3)- captured as a “guide” for the treasure hunters, is a hostage to prevent the Lizardmen from initially attacking when entering the ancient ruins.
Crime- murdered many intruders into the jungle in cold blood, even settlers
Killed during her escape by an unseen assailant (chameleon skink)
Other Characters: Human
Aldred von Ehrhard- Imperial merchant, proprietor of the Drunken Frog tavern. Was originally supposed to be a member of the “Twelve Treasure Hunters” but didn’t have enough a role, so I made him the bartender.
Sir Guy of House Gaunt- Father of Sir Rupert Gaunt, land owner and knight of the Kingdom of Jeruga, disowned his son due to his drunken excesses.
Ti Kxi and Zhu- Cathayan goons in the employ of Shen Wu
Lou Zhing- Cathayan ship captain in the employ of Shen Wu
Other Characters: Lizardmen
Zul-K’an- High Skink Priest of Mutal
Canul- chameleon skink chief, servant of Zul-K’an
Jatzom Kuh (full name is much longer)- Slann Mage Priest of Mutal
Yaxum Balum- saurus scar-veteran commanding the fast-moving cold-one cavalry squads
Muluc- bluestone-robed skink priest of the Grand Temple of Chac-Tzunki. Dispels Mathus’ magic and kills him in a magical duel.
Otowik- fanatical skink priest and leader of the Cult of Sotek, obsessed with the destruction of the warmblood despoilers of the New World
Chac-Xook- the Rain Shark, skink chief on troglodon, leader of the water-borne cohorts of Tzunki
Yax Witz- stegadon who broke down the front gate of Nabar with his head (not technically a character because he is a giant dinosaur, but still awesome)
Sijak K’ak- the Oldblood, ancient saurus war-leader on carnosaur
List of Characters!
Here is a quick list of all the named characters that had a role in the story, mostly listed in the order they appeared. I used this list to help me keep my characters organized. Probably the biggest criticism I have of my own work was not making most of the characters more “three-dimensional,” but I will take this one as practice and work harder next time!
The Ten Little Treasure Hunters (order of death in parenthesis)
Oliver Golding- a Bretonnian peasant boy, who is the servant of the Questing Knight Sir Rupert Gaunt; serves as his squire.
Crime: technically innocent, though implicated in his lord’s crime and tossed out into the streets with his master.
Sir Rupert Of House Gaunt (7)- down on his luck Bretonnian Knight, sworn to the Grail Quest but enslaved to his tankard.
Crime: got drunk, killed the son of a minor noble.
Killed in Nabar (while drunk) when a tavern collapsed on him.
Konrad Hoffenheim (9)- treasure hunter from the Empire province of Reikland, originally a mercenary in Tilea and later in the Lustrian colony of Swamp Town. Along with Mathus, leads the rest into the jungle towards the ruins.
Crimes: mercenary for hire, has killed for money on many occasions.
Killed in Nabar by an old ally.
Geraldo de Ahumada (2 and 10)- Estalian mercenary partnered with Konrad Hoffenheim.
Crime: accomplished duelist, has killed many people. Also worships questionable deities…
Killed by the Amazon during the escape from the shrine.
Shen Wu (8)- Cathayan warrior lost in the new world, seeking his fortune.
Crime: killed brother in order to gain his father’s title.
Presumed dead when his escaping ship burst aflame due to some not-crocodiles.
Skuddi Garlsson (4)- Norse Dwarf working on a slaver ship off the coast of Araby, lured to the new world by tales of gold.
Crime: slave trader along the coasts of Lustria and the Southlands
Drowns in quicksand, also potentially eaten by cold-ones.
Mathus the Ugly (6)- Hedge Wizard of Lustria, brains of the operation, experienced at robbing tombs of the Lizardmen.
Crime: old and ruthless, experienced thief and tomb robber. Also has many magical opponents and rivals.
Presumed dead when ambushed by cold ones during escape from the ruins of Kopan.
Squato (5)- Cannibal Pygmy captured, willing to help find route to the shrine despite his superstitions with promise of fortune.
Crime: is a cannibal
Killed by cold one riders after sabotaging the dwarf and stealing his treasure.
Notomori (2)- Nipponese Ninja, ally of Shen Wu, who is also trying to get back to the east.
Crime: is an assassin
Killed by chameleon skinks when cover is blown at the ruins of Kopan.
Akula the Amazon (3)- captured as a “guide” for the treasure hunters, is a hostage to prevent the Lizardmen from initially attacking when entering the ancient ruins.
Crime- murdered many intruders into the jungle in cold blood, even settlers
Killed during her escape by an unseen assailant (chameleon skink)
Other Characters: Human
Aldred von Ehrhard- Imperial merchant, proprietor of the Drunken Frog tavern. Was originally supposed to be a member of the “Twelve Treasure Hunters” but didn’t have enough a role, so I made him the bartender.
Sir Guy of House Gaunt- Father of Sir Rupert Gaunt, land owner and knight of the Kingdom of Jeruga, disowned his son due to his drunken excesses.
Ti Kxi and Zhu- Cathayan goons in the employ of Shen Wu
Lou Zhing- Cathayan ship captain in the employ of Shen Wu
Other Characters: Lizardmen
Zul-K’an- High Skink Priest of Mutal
Canul- chameleon skink chief, servant of Zul-K’an
Jatzom Kuh (full name is much longer)- Slann Mage Priest of Mutal
Yaxum Balum- saurus scar-veteran commanding the fast-moving cold-one cavalry squads
Muluc- bluestone-robed skink priest of the Grand Temple of Chac-Tzunki. Dispels Mathus’ magic and kills him in a magical duel.
Otowik- fanatical skink priest and leader of the Cult of Sotek, obsessed with the destruction of the warmblood despoilers of the New World
Chac-Xook- the Rain Shark, skink chief on troglodon, leader of the water-borne cohorts of Tzunki
Yax Witz- stegadon who broke down the front gate of Nabar with his head (not technically a character because he is a giant dinosaur, but still awesome)
Sijak K’ak- the Oldblood, ancient saurus war-leader on carnosaur
Kroxigor
thedarkfourth
Well-Known Member
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There was a really excellent "And Then There Were None" adaptation on the BBC last christmas, with charles dance and some other quite famous british actors.