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spawning of Bob
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oooh! A plan!
I should try that out.
I should try that out.
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Fiction The Beginning
- Thread starter Fhanados
- Start date
Cold One
Rednax
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This is some really great work, you've got me hanging on every word, I love zpakatax'is name, but wouldn't mazdamundi watch over him a bit moar? WHAT ARE THE DARK ELVES SCARED OF 
Can't wait for the next installment...
Peace out!
Can't wait for the next installment...Peace out!
Terradon
Fhanados
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Thanks for the comments Rednax! It's always nice to know people read my slabs of text.
The stories have kind of gotten away from me as I go on and the End Times and Age of Sigmar have just absolutely WRECKED my original plan. I went through multiple redrafts of my storyline as the End Times went on (some even being quite clever I thought) but ultimately Archaeon ruined my plan so I had to scratch most of it. The most recent Zpakatax piece is actually entirely unfamiliar and unplanned territory - I have no freaking idea what I'm going to do with him and that's actually kind of exciting!
Anyway the next piece is about 50% done. Hopefully I'll have it up today or tomorrow.
The stories have kind of gotten away from me as I go on and the End Times and Age of Sigmar have just absolutely WRECKED my original plan. I went through multiple redrafts of my storyline as the End Times went on (some even being quite clever I thought) but ultimately Archaeon ruined my plan so I had to scratch most of it. The most recent Zpakatax piece is actually entirely unfamiliar and unplanned territory - I have no freaking idea what I'm going to do with him and that's actually kind of exciting!
Anyway the next piece is about 50% done. Hopefully I'll have it up today or tomorrow.
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spawning of Bob
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Hooray! More coming!
Son and Daughter of Bob and I had been speculating about where Zpakatax is going with the dwarfs. It is actually exciting that it is still wide open.
If you think it will help, there is such a thing as the SoB Brainstorming Service. If you PM me with some nubs of ideas I can riff on randomly. Usually 80% of what comes out is silly, 15 percent is random and the rest seems OK but isn't fit your story arc. Typically, almost none of it gets used, but it is there to get your own ideas kickstarting.
@Scalenex can confirm whether it has been helpful to him or not. (I usually write about half of it just to annoy him. Candy from a baby)
Son and Daughter of Bob and I had been speculating about where Zpakatax is going with the dwarfs. It is actually exciting that it is still wide open.
If you think it will help, there is such a thing as the SoB Brainstorming Service. If you PM me with some nubs of ideas I can riff on randomly. Usually 80% of what comes out is silly, 15 percent is random and the rest seems OK but isn't fit your story arc. Typically, almost none of it gets used, but it is there to get your own ideas kickstarting.
@Scalenex can confirm whether it has been helpful to him or not. (I usually write about half of it just to annoy him. Candy from a baby)
Carnasaur
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Do you read all the fluff on here to your spawnlings, Bob?
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spawning of Bob
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My spawnlings can read for themselves.
I had a discussion the other day with Son of Bob, about whether Lord Xhaltan had just travelled into space (where he met the Tyrannid Hive Intelligence according to one theory) or if he had travelled outside reality instead.
Short story comp month is much anticipated in my Temple City. Wife of Bob wishes we would talk about just about anything else.
I had a discussion the other day with Son of Bob, about whether Lord Xhaltan had just travelled into space (where he met the Tyrannid Hive Intelligence according to one theory) or if he had travelled outside reality instead.
Short story comp month is much anticipated in my Temple City. Wife of Bob wishes we would talk about just about anything else.
Terradon
Fhanados
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I hope your spawnlings are ready for the next installment! It's not Zpakatax and you don't find out about the Elves yet, but I hope you think it's a good read nonetheless!
Paradise Found
Biqicuatectzin darted through the lush tropical undergrowth of the volcanic rainforest. He was surprised at how at home he felt in the jungle; leaping over roots, ducking under branches, brushing aside ferns and leaves. For a moment he simply enjoyed the feeling of the humid air on his skin and the thrill of the unknown. It made him remember that this is what his kind was born from, some creature of the jungle, and deep down that was part of what he truly was. He was more than a Priest, more than a diplomat, more than an aide. He was… horribly lost.
Despite his natural abilities he was indeed a product of his station. He was a Skink of the city, and had spent most of his life within the confines of Hexoatl’s walls. Now he was well out of his depth. A terrifying screech from above triggered his natural response to danger – panic and run.
After a few short moments of sprinting he stopped. He was just getting deeper and deeper into this unfamiliar jungle and the undergrowth grew darker with each footstep he took. He closed his eyes and desperately tried shut out all of the scholarly advice his mind tried to offer him. He placed all his belongings in a small bundle wrapped in the sturdy tropical leaves and lashed it together with lengths leather scroll straps – forming a tight pack. He slung it over his back where it would not get in his way and proceeded to climb the nearest tree.
Dying sunlight assailed his eyes the second he burst through the canopy of broad flat leaves. It was late, close to sunset. If this land had any of the same dangers as Lustria then night time was a very dangerous place to roam the jungle. He had to find somewhere to head to, and fast.
To the Northeast lay the volcano and the island’s temples, but from this height Biqi could see that the terrain grew rough. It would be a difficult trek during the day, but at night it would be downright dangerous.
To the West was the beach and their army’s encampment, but it he had come much further than he had thought and would scarcely make it back in time if it were a downhill sprint in an open field. No, he could not risk it.
South was nothing more than wilderness as far as his Skink eyes could see. Not to mention it was heading away from any remotely safe destinations.
He turned back to the volcano and sighed longingly. How had Temple Guard outpaced him? Was he really so helpless and frail?
Before he could mentally berate himself any more something caught his attention in the North, some kind of golden glimmer. He snapped his attention to where he saw it but there was no sign. He swore it was there, even if he could not see it now.
Staring intently at that spot he noticed what appeared to be a part in the forest canopy, perhaps a clearing of some kind? It wasn’t far, maybe only a few hours if he kept up his pace. He began scuttling back down the tree and convinced himself of his course of action before he even reached the ground. He would go North.
As daylight dwindled the jungle took on a new form. The vibrant greens and rainbow of daytime coulours gave way to a tarnished yet brilliant gold that reminded him of Hexoatl. Fond memories of home occupied his consciousness while his instinct guided him along his obstacle laden path. It was short lived though; twilight set in and cast an eery gloom across the land. The undergrowth quickly became a place of darkness, where danger lurked in pitch black shadows and the vegetation took on a frighteningly hungry facade.
I know the sounds of the night, he thought to himself. I know how to tell if danger is near. I am safe. I must keep going. I am almost there…
Gradually the darkness became all encompassing. The sun was gone and the pinprick spots of light that were the stars flashed between the hungering canopy only briefly before the heavens were devoured by the blackness again.
Despite the dangers of the dark Biqi picked up the pace, moving more swiftly and recklessly than before. Blood pounded in his ears drowning out the screech and rustle of the rainforest until all he could hear were his increasingly ragged breaths.
I must be close, I have to be!
A sharp crushing pain shot through his body as his foot struck something solid in the dark. Unable to stop, propelled by momentum he instinctively tucked into a ball and cursed loudly in the heartbeat before he hit the ground. He was assaulted by the undergrowth and his world spun wildly. Just as it felt like this spinning world of pain would consume him he stuck solid ground. It brought more pain, but most importantly it brought peace – freedom from the spiralling nightmare. Finally, totally exhausted he uncurled himself to sprawl upon the flat stone and drifted off to a pain wracked sleep.
Too soon Biqi found himself rudely awakened by his pounding head. Thud, thud, thud. The noise was unbearable, like something was drumming on his brain. Only the sound was coming from outside his skull. Awareness of his surrounds crept back into his tormented mind. There was drumming, not too distant.
Overhead not a single star could be seen – the sky completely blocked by clouds, but a dim yellow light still flickered through the leaves.
Even though every sense ached and each bit of information his brain processed worsened his terrific headache he had to piece together the puzzle. He closed his eyes and sniffed the air. Ash. No, smoke. There were no clouds, it was smoke. The yellow light was fire. Fire meant civilisation! Or Salamanders. Or volcanoes. Or Dragons. Or…
Before he could talk himself out of it, he focussed his efforts on dragging himself towards the firelight. His leg was unusable and his strength was quickly failing again. He was so close. The drums were so loud now. He could hear voices. Lizardmen voices!
Reinvigorated he managed to prop himself up and increase his pace to a staggered crawl. He reached out to brush aside the foliage that blocked his path and his strength failed him yet again. His senses were assaulted by the barrage of light and sound that he somehow was oblivious to before. His eyes quickly adjusted to the change in light and the noise tapered off to a hushed silence.
Biqi used this time to take in what he saw. He had stumbled into a clearing, paved in sandstone blocks. In the centre there was a large mosaic made of coloured stone depicting a vibrant red serpent encircling the sun – definitely Lizardmen in design, but as distinct from Lustrian style as the Southlands. Fire pits of varying sizes dotted the stone clearing in a familiar pattern that in his daze he could not quite identify. Surrounding the fire pits were Skinks of bright yellows, oranges and reds.
It wasn’t long before he got to see one of the Skinks up close. The nearest group had abandoned their fire pit to attend to the newcomer. There was a mix of annoyance and concern in their manner. One member of the group, slightly larger than the others, helped Biqi to his feet and handed him a gnarled black stick to use as a crutch.
Standing now as he was, Biqicuatectzin had a better view of the clearing. There was some sort of celebration or ritual going on, and his arrival had interrupted it. With a hundred pairs of eyes on him he suddenly felt very aware of his intrusion.
“I am sorry,” he muttered, still too weary to raise his voice. “I do not mean to break your ritual.”
“Do not be foolish friend,” the big Skink spoke High Saurian fluently and flawlessly, but there was a hint of an accent that he was alien to him. “You come to us from Lustria – we are of one people. You come from Hexoatl – we are of one God.”
“Of one God? There are many Old Ones.”
“Yes friend, you speak true. But only one is the source of life and divine power that infuses us with strength to enact our tasks.”
“Chotec. You are a priest of Chotec?”
“Are you not, High Priest of Hexoatl?”
“How do you know me?” Biqicuatectzin snapped.
“It would be poor form if the ruler of the Spitting Serpent Isle did not know his guests when they came. I am Choloq, chief pyromancer of the Spitting Serpent Isle and I implore you to join our festivities.”
Somewhat dumbfounded Biqi nodded slowly and shuffled forwards to join them.
******
The night had passed quickly, and along with it went most of Biqi’s pain. His leg still grieved him, but his own magic and the unique powers employed by Choloq and his kin had aided his healing.
Most of them were sleeping by the smouldering embers of the fire pits. It amazed Biqi how similar they were to the denizens of Hexoatl, but how different they were too. Their manner of speech, their adornments, their body paint and their rituals. All similar yet different.
Choloq had explained that last night’s celebration was to mark the shortest night of the cycle, a sacred night for the Serpent Isles because of their religious devotion to Chotec and thus their spiritual connection with the sun. Part of the celebration was imparting knowledge of sacred fire to one another.
Although legends abound about the fire-wielding servants of Chotec that inhabit the Fuming Serpent and Spitting Serpent isles surprisingly little was actually known about them and their talent. Each Isle has its specialty, the Fuming Serpent priests manipulating fire to the benefit of their allies and the Spitting Serpent priests smite their foes with righteous flames and Biqi had had his first taste of both.
Drawing upon the wind of Aqshy felt wrong to him, it was so raw and unrefined. He had spent almost three decades mastering the heavens magic of Azyr, which was such a precise and calculated practice. In contrast fire magic was impulsive and wild, like it had a mind of its own. Yet its warmth was comforting.
He had learned but a few spawnling level cantrips but somehow it made him feel more confident. It also didn’t hurt that practicing this new art helped him keep his mind off his leg, which was most definitely broken.
Despite his misadventure Biqicuatectzin was feeling positive. Aki-Pterixx and the Temple Guard procession had made it safely to the temple city shortly before sundown and Biqi was going to be escorted back by a cohort of Skink warriors once they awoke. Because Choloq had led the celebrations Biqi had not missed any negotiations, in fact he had head started the Lustrians dialogue with Choloq at the celebration - which was definitely something to be pleased about.
Content with his lot in life for now, Biqicuatectzin’s mind drifted to his one spawnkin. What was Biqitehetec up to these days?
Paradise Found
Biqicuatectzin darted through the lush tropical undergrowth of the volcanic rainforest. He was surprised at how at home he felt in the jungle; leaping over roots, ducking under branches, brushing aside ferns and leaves. For a moment he simply enjoyed the feeling of the humid air on his skin and the thrill of the unknown. It made him remember that this is what his kind was born from, some creature of the jungle, and deep down that was part of what he truly was. He was more than a Priest, more than a diplomat, more than an aide. He was… horribly lost.
Despite his natural abilities he was indeed a product of his station. He was a Skink of the city, and had spent most of his life within the confines of Hexoatl’s walls. Now he was well out of his depth. A terrifying screech from above triggered his natural response to danger – panic and run.
After a few short moments of sprinting he stopped. He was just getting deeper and deeper into this unfamiliar jungle and the undergrowth grew darker with each footstep he took. He closed his eyes and desperately tried shut out all of the scholarly advice his mind tried to offer him. He placed all his belongings in a small bundle wrapped in the sturdy tropical leaves and lashed it together with lengths leather scroll straps – forming a tight pack. He slung it over his back where it would not get in his way and proceeded to climb the nearest tree.
Dying sunlight assailed his eyes the second he burst through the canopy of broad flat leaves. It was late, close to sunset. If this land had any of the same dangers as Lustria then night time was a very dangerous place to roam the jungle. He had to find somewhere to head to, and fast.
To the Northeast lay the volcano and the island’s temples, but from this height Biqi could see that the terrain grew rough. It would be a difficult trek during the day, but at night it would be downright dangerous.
To the West was the beach and their army’s encampment, but it he had come much further than he had thought and would scarcely make it back in time if it were a downhill sprint in an open field. No, he could not risk it.
South was nothing more than wilderness as far as his Skink eyes could see. Not to mention it was heading away from any remotely safe destinations.
He turned back to the volcano and sighed longingly. How had Temple Guard outpaced him? Was he really so helpless and frail?
Before he could mentally berate himself any more something caught his attention in the North, some kind of golden glimmer. He snapped his attention to where he saw it but there was no sign. He swore it was there, even if he could not see it now.
Staring intently at that spot he noticed what appeared to be a part in the forest canopy, perhaps a clearing of some kind? It wasn’t far, maybe only a few hours if he kept up his pace. He began scuttling back down the tree and convinced himself of his course of action before he even reached the ground. He would go North.
As daylight dwindled the jungle took on a new form. The vibrant greens and rainbow of daytime coulours gave way to a tarnished yet brilliant gold that reminded him of Hexoatl. Fond memories of home occupied his consciousness while his instinct guided him along his obstacle laden path. It was short lived though; twilight set in and cast an eery gloom across the land. The undergrowth quickly became a place of darkness, where danger lurked in pitch black shadows and the vegetation took on a frighteningly hungry facade.
I know the sounds of the night, he thought to himself. I know how to tell if danger is near. I am safe. I must keep going. I am almost there…
Gradually the darkness became all encompassing. The sun was gone and the pinprick spots of light that were the stars flashed between the hungering canopy only briefly before the heavens were devoured by the blackness again.
Despite the dangers of the dark Biqi picked up the pace, moving more swiftly and recklessly than before. Blood pounded in his ears drowning out the screech and rustle of the rainforest until all he could hear were his increasingly ragged breaths.
I must be close, I have to be!
A sharp crushing pain shot through his body as his foot struck something solid in the dark. Unable to stop, propelled by momentum he instinctively tucked into a ball and cursed loudly in the heartbeat before he hit the ground. He was assaulted by the undergrowth and his world spun wildly. Just as it felt like this spinning world of pain would consume him he stuck solid ground. It brought more pain, but most importantly it brought peace – freedom from the spiralling nightmare. Finally, totally exhausted he uncurled himself to sprawl upon the flat stone and drifted off to a pain wracked sleep.
Too soon Biqi found himself rudely awakened by his pounding head. Thud, thud, thud. The noise was unbearable, like something was drumming on his brain. Only the sound was coming from outside his skull. Awareness of his surrounds crept back into his tormented mind. There was drumming, not too distant.
Overhead not a single star could be seen – the sky completely blocked by clouds, but a dim yellow light still flickered through the leaves.
Even though every sense ached and each bit of information his brain processed worsened his terrific headache he had to piece together the puzzle. He closed his eyes and sniffed the air. Ash. No, smoke. There were no clouds, it was smoke. The yellow light was fire. Fire meant civilisation! Or Salamanders. Or volcanoes. Or Dragons. Or…
Before he could talk himself out of it, he focussed his efforts on dragging himself towards the firelight. His leg was unusable and his strength was quickly failing again. He was so close. The drums were so loud now. He could hear voices. Lizardmen voices!
Reinvigorated he managed to prop himself up and increase his pace to a staggered crawl. He reached out to brush aside the foliage that blocked his path and his strength failed him yet again. His senses were assaulted by the barrage of light and sound that he somehow was oblivious to before. His eyes quickly adjusted to the change in light and the noise tapered off to a hushed silence.
Biqi used this time to take in what he saw. He had stumbled into a clearing, paved in sandstone blocks. In the centre there was a large mosaic made of coloured stone depicting a vibrant red serpent encircling the sun – definitely Lizardmen in design, but as distinct from Lustrian style as the Southlands. Fire pits of varying sizes dotted the stone clearing in a familiar pattern that in his daze he could not quite identify. Surrounding the fire pits were Skinks of bright yellows, oranges and reds.
It wasn’t long before he got to see one of the Skinks up close. The nearest group had abandoned their fire pit to attend to the newcomer. There was a mix of annoyance and concern in their manner. One member of the group, slightly larger than the others, helped Biqi to his feet and handed him a gnarled black stick to use as a crutch.
Standing now as he was, Biqicuatectzin had a better view of the clearing. There was some sort of celebration or ritual going on, and his arrival had interrupted it. With a hundred pairs of eyes on him he suddenly felt very aware of his intrusion.
“I am sorry,” he muttered, still too weary to raise his voice. “I do not mean to break your ritual.”
“Do not be foolish friend,” the big Skink spoke High Saurian fluently and flawlessly, but there was a hint of an accent that he was alien to him. “You come to us from Lustria – we are of one people. You come from Hexoatl – we are of one God.”
“Of one God? There are many Old Ones.”
“Yes friend, you speak true. But only one is the source of life and divine power that infuses us with strength to enact our tasks.”
“Chotec. You are a priest of Chotec?”
“Are you not, High Priest of Hexoatl?”
“How do you know me?” Biqicuatectzin snapped.
“It would be poor form if the ruler of the Spitting Serpent Isle did not know his guests when they came. I am Choloq, chief pyromancer of the Spitting Serpent Isle and I implore you to join our festivities.”
Somewhat dumbfounded Biqi nodded slowly and shuffled forwards to join them.
******
The night had passed quickly, and along with it went most of Biqi’s pain. His leg still grieved him, but his own magic and the unique powers employed by Choloq and his kin had aided his healing.
Most of them were sleeping by the smouldering embers of the fire pits. It amazed Biqi how similar they were to the denizens of Hexoatl, but how different they were too. Their manner of speech, their adornments, their body paint and their rituals. All similar yet different.
Choloq had explained that last night’s celebration was to mark the shortest night of the cycle, a sacred night for the Serpent Isles because of their religious devotion to Chotec and thus their spiritual connection with the sun. Part of the celebration was imparting knowledge of sacred fire to one another.
Although legends abound about the fire-wielding servants of Chotec that inhabit the Fuming Serpent and Spitting Serpent isles surprisingly little was actually known about them and their talent. Each Isle has its specialty, the Fuming Serpent priests manipulating fire to the benefit of their allies and the Spitting Serpent priests smite their foes with righteous flames and Biqi had had his first taste of both.
Drawing upon the wind of Aqshy felt wrong to him, it was so raw and unrefined. He had spent almost three decades mastering the heavens magic of Azyr, which was such a precise and calculated practice. In contrast fire magic was impulsive and wild, like it had a mind of its own. Yet its warmth was comforting.
He had learned but a few spawnling level cantrips but somehow it made him feel more confident. It also didn’t hurt that practicing this new art helped him keep his mind off his leg, which was most definitely broken.
Despite his misadventure Biqicuatectzin was feeling positive. Aki-Pterixx and the Temple Guard procession had made it safely to the temple city shortly before sundown and Biqi was going to be escorted back by a cohort of Skink warriors once they awoke. Because Choloq had led the celebrations Biqi had not missed any negotiations, in fact he had head started the Lustrians dialogue with Choloq at the celebration - which was definitely something to be pleased about.
Content with his lot in life for now, Biqicuatectzin’s mind drifted to his one spawnkin. What was Biqitehetec up to these days?
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spawning of Bob
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Very good.
When will the next one be ready? I've had to wait 22 minutes already!
When will the next one be ready? I've had to wait 22 minutes already!
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spawning of Bob
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MOAR?
Terradon
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Hahaha calm your farm guys - more is on the way. Was hoping to finish it off on Friday but I got a major case of "work makes me hate life and my brain wont work-itis". About 50% done the next installment, which reveals the secret of the Elven Exodus!
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spawning of Bob
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Yay! MOAR!
Terradon
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Hahaha thanks for all the interest guys. Sadly due to recent changes in my work condition (aka "shit just got real hectic up in here") I haven't had time to work on this for a while now. I still have a plan, and it's still stewing in my brain juices so it WILL happen, and hopefully soon. I just won't have regular updates for a while.
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spawning of Bob
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I can wait. It hurts but i can wait - it will be worth it.
Terradon
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Okay it's been a long time since I worked on this - much longer than what I thought so I'll understand if nobody is paying attention to this anymore. Apologies to @spawning of Bob and @Scalenex in particular, you guys have been with me since... well The Beginning. I'm still re-jiggering my story to fast track it to the Age of Sigmar, which means there will probably be a few stories cut short in the end. So I present to you Fhanados' first step into the End Times... Red Death.
Red Death
The mountainside was a bloodbath. The ragged mobs of Elves had formed a frenzied horde of desperate fear driven murderers. As Szeratops’ forces began to block off routes to the Highway the Elves began to turn on one another in their struggle to reach a safer passage. This only deepened the Eternity Warden’s sense of unease – even though the Wayward were known for their self destructive tendencies it rarely showed on the field of battle so blatantly. There was none of the usual finesse associated with the Dark Elves, it was all savagery. A ferocious fight merely to escape and survive.
Even with the reinforcements marching down the Highway the Lizardmen were being overrun. If the Elves were not so concerned with fleeing they would easily be able to overcome the isolated pockets of Lustrian resistance but fortune shone on Szeratops and he used the situation to his full advantage. Groups of Skink hunters and scouts had made their way forward and now peppered the approaching horde with poisoned darts and javelins. By no means did it turn the tide, but the Elves had no interest in pursuing the diminutive attackers and rarely retaliated save for the occasional volley of crossbow bolts.
The Lizardmen regiments approaching from the highway were making slow but steady progress. Casualties were high on both sides, but it seemed like Szeratops’ position would soon be reinforced.
As another wave of Elves surged towards the Glyph Gate Terradon riders swooped overhead, dropping slabs of excavated stone on the attackers. The stony rain of death from above did little to deter the Elves and once more Szeratops was forced back into the fray and faced the panicked ferocity of the Druchii.
His mace smashed helms and crumpled armour. Razor edged Elven blades slid across his hide carving a criss cross of wounds. Obsidinite spears dug into Elf flesh and the cruel barbed tips of the Druchii’s own spearheads reaped a bloody toll on the defending warriors. Only the intervention of nearby Skinks and a hail of javelins tossed from Terradon riders wheeling overhead saved them.
The next wave would be his last. Hexoatl had to be warned. He bellowed a command to the flying Skinks above – his roar loud enough to be heard over the crazed din of battle. The Sky-Leader spiralled down and perched his mount on a bladelike protrusion of black stone jutting out of the cliff face, then dismounted nimbly to land on the ground near the beleaguered Saurus.
“Sky-Leader listen carefully,” Szeratops spoke sternly. “There is no time for error. I name you Herald of my host and bid you return to Hexoatl with the following message; The Wayward Second Children come forth from the North. They flee catastrophe. Prepare to defend against the entirety of Naggaroth.”
“Yes General,” responded the Skink. “And what of reinforcements? What of your host?”
“Tell Lord Mazdamundi that we are lost. That all of The First assembled here served their part in the Great Plan…” he paused briefly and felt a great shame overcome him. He could barely speak it aloud, his voice a harsh and pained whisper that was heard only by the newly appointed Herald. “All served their part except me. Tell our Lord I have failed in his task.”
The Skink’s crest drooped solemnly and he looked away. He felt the Eternity Warden’s shame as though it were his own. He nodded sadly and scurried up the cliff face to his mount. Szeratops looked up and sighed. Clouds were moving in. He would have liked to have felt Chotec’s warmth on him as he died, but it seemed the heavens would deny him this.
No… something wasn’t right. It wasn’t a cloud; it was a swarm of flying creatures, more than he had ever seen in his long lifetime.
“Herald. Do my eyes deceive me or is that the largest flock of Harpies ever to accompany a Wayward host?”
The Skink looked up and squinted at the encroaching blackness. Suddenly his eyes widened in fear and he hastened his effort to mount up again.
“No lord General. Those are not Harpies, they are Furies. The Anathema comes!”
Before he could issue the command the Herald had took flight and soared southwards with the remainder of the Terradons in tow. The message had to be delivered, it was imperative.
Knowing that the Great Enemy was behind this exodus of Elves filled Szeratops with a peculiar fury. It was a rage that every Saurus warrior knew, one that only surfaced when facing the forces Chaos. The Dark Gods were the antithesis of the Old Ones, and as long as Chaos had a foothold on this world the Lizardmen could not rest.
Ignoring his injuries, the pain seemingly gone he strode back to his host. Every step seethed with barely contained primal aggression. Raising his mace above his head with a single hand he roared a command in Low Saurian, a single bellowed syllable for which there was no translation or written word. It was a command ingrained in all Saurus from the day they were spawned. It was a command that filled them with fear and fury. A command that overrode every other instinct or order, second only to the direct spoken word of a Slann.
Chaos had come, and it must be destroyed.
The Saurus warriors shifted their stance, more tense and aggressive. They no longer focussed their efforts on the Dark Elves, striking only when the Drucchi came within reach. Quickly the Wayward Elves realised this and avoided the Saurus rather than confront them. The conflict between the two sides still raged on, Lizardmen soldiers marching from the Highway cutting down all in their path as they made their way to the Glyphgate but their efforts were focussed on steeling themselves against the approaching Furies and what Daemonic hosts they heralded. They did not have to wait long.
In what seemed like an instant later the scavenger Daemons descended, taking up Dark Elves in their talons and ripping them apart with tooth and claw. The Lizardmen fired with all they had, casting javelins and poisoned darts into the air. Priests tapped into the winds of magic and a great storm manifested, the howling winds tearing apart unholy wings with shards of ice, divine lightning burning brilliant arcs through the sky. The air was so thick with foul creatures it was impossible to miss, and the Saurus moved forward to finish off any that were grounded by the attack.
The Great Enemy was without end and the cowardly carrion beasts had their resolve bolstered by the sheer number of their swarming flock. As the last of the Elves fled or were torn asunder the Lustrian host was assailed. Hundreds upon hundreds swooped down to attack, smashing headlong into the Saurus shield wall. No longer segregated, the battle line held and reaped a terrible toll on the Daemonic creatures.
Less and less Furies swooped down to attack Hexoatl’s warriors. Much of the great swarm passed over them heading south into Lustria in search of easier prey, but many still took up positions circling above like carrion birds as the surviving Saurus hacked and slashed the few lingering Daemons. Szeratops took the moment of respite to bark quick orders and the Lizardmen force reformed in a more solid defensive formation at the entrance to the excavation site. The sheer quarried cliff face to either side provided an artificial pass, a perfect position to defend against a numerically superior foe. By his count there were less than a thousand Saurus left, and even fewer Skinks. He had no doubt in his mind that they would die here, but by Chotec they would die with claws stained in Daemon blood.
For a brief moment there was an eerie silence. The crisp cool air of the mountains grew hot and dry and the sky was the blood red of sunset despite it barely being past midday. There was no sun and no clouds, only a dim pulsating red glow that permeated everything. The jagged black mountains, already a sinister and unforgiving environ had transformed into a blasted hellscape strewn with Elven and Lizardmen dead and the disintegrating corpses of foul Chaos beasts. It suited perfectly what was yet to come.
It began as an odd scratching noise – distant talons scrabbling against the black stone. Louder and louder, closer and closer. The taint of Chaos hung so thick in the air it warped reality. Blood oozed and trickled from sheer rock and a wet red mist blanketed the ground staining the assembled warriors crimson up to their knees. Corpses seemed to writhe in agony and the blood of the fallen flickered with orange flames that whispered curses to the Gods in the black tongue of Chaos. The Red Death had come.
Red Death
The mountainside was a bloodbath. The ragged mobs of Elves had formed a frenzied horde of desperate fear driven murderers. As Szeratops’ forces began to block off routes to the Highway the Elves began to turn on one another in their struggle to reach a safer passage. This only deepened the Eternity Warden’s sense of unease – even though the Wayward were known for their self destructive tendencies it rarely showed on the field of battle so blatantly. There was none of the usual finesse associated with the Dark Elves, it was all savagery. A ferocious fight merely to escape and survive.
Even with the reinforcements marching down the Highway the Lizardmen were being overrun. If the Elves were not so concerned with fleeing they would easily be able to overcome the isolated pockets of Lustrian resistance but fortune shone on Szeratops and he used the situation to his full advantage. Groups of Skink hunters and scouts had made their way forward and now peppered the approaching horde with poisoned darts and javelins. By no means did it turn the tide, but the Elves had no interest in pursuing the diminutive attackers and rarely retaliated save for the occasional volley of crossbow bolts.
The Lizardmen regiments approaching from the highway were making slow but steady progress. Casualties were high on both sides, but it seemed like Szeratops’ position would soon be reinforced.
As another wave of Elves surged towards the Glyph Gate Terradon riders swooped overhead, dropping slabs of excavated stone on the attackers. The stony rain of death from above did little to deter the Elves and once more Szeratops was forced back into the fray and faced the panicked ferocity of the Druchii.
His mace smashed helms and crumpled armour. Razor edged Elven blades slid across his hide carving a criss cross of wounds. Obsidinite spears dug into Elf flesh and the cruel barbed tips of the Druchii’s own spearheads reaped a bloody toll on the defending warriors. Only the intervention of nearby Skinks and a hail of javelins tossed from Terradon riders wheeling overhead saved them.
The next wave would be his last. Hexoatl had to be warned. He bellowed a command to the flying Skinks above – his roar loud enough to be heard over the crazed din of battle. The Sky-Leader spiralled down and perched his mount on a bladelike protrusion of black stone jutting out of the cliff face, then dismounted nimbly to land on the ground near the beleaguered Saurus.
“Sky-Leader listen carefully,” Szeratops spoke sternly. “There is no time for error. I name you Herald of my host and bid you return to Hexoatl with the following message; The Wayward Second Children come forth from the North. They flee catastrophe. Prepare to defend against the entirety of Naggaroth.”
“Yes General,” responded the Skink. “And what of reinforcements? What of your host?”
“Tell Lord Mazdamundi that we are lost. That all of The First assembled here served their part in the Great Plan…” he paused briefly and felt a great shame overcome him. He could barely speak it aloud, his voice a harsh and pained whisper that was heard only by the newly appointed Herald. “All served their part except me. Tell our Lord I have failed in his task.”
The Skink’s crest drooped solemnly and he looked away. He felt the Eternity Warden’s shame as though it were his own. He nodded sadly and scurried up the cliff face to his mount. Szeratops looked up and sighed. Clouds were moving in. He would have liked to have felt Chotec’s warmth on him as he died, but it seemed the heavens would deny him this.
No… something wasn’t right. It wasn’t a cloud; it was a swarm of flying creatures, more than he had ever seen in his long lifetime.
“Herald. Do my eyes deceive me or is that the largest flock of Harpies ever to accompany a Wayward host?”
The Skink looked up and squinted at the encroaching blackness. Suddenly his eyes widened in fear and he hastened his effort to mount up again.
“No lord General. Those are not Harpies, they are Furies. The Anathema comes!”
Before he could issue the command the Herald had took flight and soared southwards with the remainder of the Terradons in tow. The message had to be delivered, it was imperative.
Knowing that the Great Enemy was behind this exodus of Elves filled Szeratops with a peculiar fury. It was a rage that every Saurus warrior knew, one that only surfaced when facing the forces Chaos. The Dark Gods were the antithesis of the Old Ones, and as long as Chaos had a foothold on this world the Lizardmen could not rest.
Ignoring his injuries, the pain seemingly gone he strode back to his host. Every step seethed with barely contained primal aggression. Raising his mace above his head with a single hand he roared a command in Low Saurian, a single bellowed syllable for which there was no translation or written word. It was a command ingrained in all Saurus from the day they were spawned. It was a command that filled them with fear and fury. A command that overrode every other instinct or order, second only to the direct spoken word of a Slann.
Chaos had come, and it must be destroyed.
The Saurus warriors shifted their stance, more tense and aggressive. They no longer focussed their efforts on the Dark Elves, striking only when the Drucchi came within reach. Quickly the Wayward Elves realised this and avoided the Saurus rather than confront them. The conflict between the two sides still raged on, Lizardmen soldiers marching from the Highway cutting down all in their path as they made their way to the Glyphgate but their efforts were focussed on steeling themselves against the approaching Furies and what Daemonic hosts they heralded. They did not have to wait long.
In what seemed like an instant later the scavenger Daemons descended, taking up Dark Elves in their talons and ripping them apart with tooth and claw. The Lizardmen fired with all they had, casting javelins and poisoned darts into the air. Priests tapped into the winds of magic and a great storm manifested, the howling winds tearing apart unholy wings with shards of ice, divine lightning burning brilliant arcs through the sky. The air was so thick with foul creatures it was impossible to miss, and the Saurus moved forward to finish off any that were grounded by the attack.
The Great Enemy was without end and the cowardly carrion beasts had their resolve bolstered by the sheer number of their swarming flock. As the last of the Elves fled or were torn asunder the Lustrian host was assailed. Hundreds upon hundreds swooped down to attack, smashing headlong into the Saurus shield wall. No longer segregated, the battle line held and reaped a terrible toll on the Daemonic creatures.
Less and less Furies swooped down to attack Hexoatl’s warriors. Much of the great swarm passed over them heading south into Lustria in search of easier prey, but many still took up positions circling above like carrion birds as the surviving Saurus hacked and slashed the few lingering Daemons. Szeratops took the moment of respite to bark quick orders and the Lizardmen force reformed in a more solid defensive formation at the entrance to the excavation site. The sheer quarried cliff face to either side provided an artificial pass, a perfect position to defend against a numerically superior foe. By his count there were less than a thousand Saurus left, and even fewer Skinks. He had no doubt in his mind that they would die here, but by Chotec they would die with claws stained in Daemon blood.
For a brief moment there was an eerie silence. The crisp cool air of the mountains grew hot and dry and the sky was the blood red of sunset despite it barely being past midday. There was no sun and no clouds, only a dim pulsating red glow that permeated everything. The jagged black mountains, already a sinister and unforgiving environ had transformed into a blasted hellscape strewn with Elven and Lizardmen dead and the disintegrating corpses of foul Chaos beasts. It suited perfectly what was yet to come.
It began as an odd scratching noise – distant talons scrabbling against the black stone. Louder and louder, closer and closer. The taint of Chaos hung so thick in the air it warped reality. Blood oozed and trickled from sheer rock and a wet red mist blanketed the ground staining the assembled warriors crimson up to their knees. Corpses seemed to writhe in agony and the blood of the fallen flickered with orange flames that whispered curses to the Gods in the black tongue of Chaos. The Red Death had come.
Scar-Veteran
spawning of Bob
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Speechless.
Except... mOAR?
Except... mOAR?
Terradon
Fhanados
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You'll be glad to know more is on it's way - possibly early next week. I've read the Seraphon battletome and while it wasn't all I was hoping for it does leave things open enough for my plan to work, so that's got my mojo flowing!