Fiction The best Lustria short Stories - a complete collection

19th competition
July-August 2019: Theme is "Magic and the Mundane."

Winning story by @Killer Angel

Spoiler: A Friend for Hard Times

A FRIEND FOR HARD TIMES

PROLOGUE – ONE YEAR AGO

The skink and the kroxigor were heading toward North. The last lizardmen settlement had been left behind weeks ago. They were following a dusty road, traced with difficulty into the hungry jungle by some clumsy warmblood… It was a sign they were on the right path.

The trail was blocked by a carriage with a broken wheel, having failed the test of the travel through the lustrian border and that now was laying as a dying bastiladon; four humans were trying to pull it up without any success. The humans noticed the two lizardmen and quickly retreated, holding their staffs as improvised weapons.

The skink spoke with the kroxigor, and the huge beast left the mace before moving to the wagon and pulling it up, waiting. The skink advanced slowly toward the humans keeping its claws open; one of the men cautiously advanced. A strange negotiation had begun.

____________________________________

PRESENT DAY

The skink’s dream: the skaven.

For weeks the skaven had launched countless assaults, wasting thousands of worthless furry lives in order to harass the lizardmen, attempting to tire them and to soften them up for the real attack.

And indeed Hisstik was tired. Days upon days, casting upon casting… the First Attendant of the High Priest had never ceased to give magical support to the troops with dozens of spells. Easily more than a hundred, in the last two weeks. Before the last battle.

In the nightmare there was a sea of rats, emerging endlessly from the huge holes, swarming the defenses and trampling the dead saurus warriors. Hisstik was trying to keep them at bay with icy torments and striking comets, his pulsing headache growing more dolorous with each casting. Then Hisstik saw it… the skaven warlord, inciting the horde. An opportunity. The chance for a decisive spell, fighting past the blinding pain inside his head.

“ISS KASS SSARATI SHA…”

Then something snapped inside Hisskit’s brain and the skink fell to the ground, with blood dripping from his ears and his nose.

Hisstik awoke, almost crying. As always, the headache had followed him from the dream. I cannot run away from this…. I cannot. The dawn’s light was already filtering through the closed window. Hisstik opened the door, shivering from the early morning cold. The warmblood’s village was quickly waking up to life and the passing humans saluted him with respect, bowing their heads. From the barracks of unmarried laborers a towering mass of scaly muscles hurried toward Hisstik; Kuklan the kroxigor seemed happy, as always.

“Good morning, revered Priest”
Sigh…
“How many times will I have to tell you? I am no more a priest, my friend”
“You speak warmblood. You Great Priest.”
“I speak the warmblood’s tongue because the Old Ones blessed me with a superior intellect, not because of magic. My days as priest are gone. Otherwise we wouldn’t be here”

Kuklan remained in silence for some seconds, blinking his eyes.

“You Priest. Kuklan your guardian. Now I go.”

He hurried toward the humans that were going to the river banks. A channel must be dug and the Kroxigor’s strength would have been a great help.

Do you imagine to be a Temple Guard, my friend? That’s why you went into exile with me? Poor deluded fool… but I’m glad you’re here.
The humans were glad he was here too. It took some time but now the giant lizard and the skink were viewed as part of the community.

Hisstik’s contribution was of course, less physical; he headed to the botanical garden. The power of the herbs was mundane, but could stop the spreading of a virulent jungle fever. When you hold the power of life, the source of said power is always perceived as divine… especially if you deal with advanced monkeys.

Now, let us find something for my headache.

Hisstik was almost finished picking the herbs when someone grabbed him, almost making him fall… and suddenly something cold and warm stamped on his cheek.

“Fluffy has healed! FLUFFY HAS HEALED!!”

Hisstik turned toward his aggressor, one of those human children.

Long and yellow head fur, two braids. She’s Gretha. And Fluffy is the puppy with the hurt leg. Her display of teeth doesn’t mean she’s threatening me, but that she is happy.

“Lizzie, you’re the greatest wizard EVER!!! I love you!”
“It was the power of the right medicine, not magic…”
“you are a wizard! And you are my best friend!”

The child ran away, leaving Hisstik watching at her back with rhubarb in his claw.

Foolish warmblood. I shouldn’t be loved for doing something I wasn’t spawned for… but thanks nonetheless.

He caressed his cheek, where it was kissed. It was a weird sensation.

Hisstik went back to his house; the herbs had to be treated… but while the various ointments were prepared, the kiss was always there, in a corner of the skink’s mind. Hisstik realized that evening was near only when he heard the settlers coming back from the work… they were singing one of their happy songs and Kuklan was singing too, more or less. He was just shouting made-up verses, trying to mimic the warmbloods voices and to follow the rhythm.

I am glad you’re happy, my friend… but night is coming. And my daemons too.


The skink’s dream: the doom.

He was laying on the bed, with the High Priest standing by his side.

“I’m sorry Hisstik. There’s not an easy way to say it. I’ve used the crystal skull and I’ve merged my mind with yours. The effort was too great, your astral mind has been damaged. If you cast another spell…”

the Great Priest stopped, almost afraid to finish the sentence.

“…I will die”.

“You could serve our City in different ways. The skaven have been vanquished and it’s time to build again: there’s always a use for supervisors of the Spawning Pools or for archivists. I would be willing to help you in finding a new vocation, the Ritual of New Becoming would be soft.”
“It won’t be soft. If I have to find a new place for me in the Great Plan, I need to search for it. I choose the Path of Exile”.

The High Priest face turned hard as stone. “If this is your choice so be it. Leave the city”.

The dream went on, with Hisstik walking along streets full of sauri and skinks, which were shouting at him, making a constantly growing noise. The screaming was incomprehensible, as if it wasn’t the language of the lizards. Then a thunder suddenly entered the dream, waking Hisstik.


The screaming was still there coming from the outside. Another thunder and another one… warmbloods’ weapons. Hisstik ran out stopping under the porch.

The first incoming rays of the sun were eclipsed by the burning fires, as the houses near the palisade were ablaze.

There were irregular shots coming from the fortified barrack but no soldier was visible, except for a couple of dead sentries. People were running away, scattering themselves at random across the village, just trying to escape the pursuers. Hisstik could hear the growling of cold ones.

No please no, we didn’t do anything…

Then a couple of them emerged from behind a house. Metallic armors and weapons, pointy helms and a black banner with a red serpent on it. A lance impaled a villager armed with an axe and then a weighted net caught the human female near him.

The realization that the enemy wasn’t the lizardmen was a relief for the skink, followed by fright.

Dark Elves. A raiding party.

Hisstik was paralyzed. He watched while his little world was collapsing upon itself, cut down by the merciless slavers. Some children were killed, some others were abducted; the same for women and men, without any apparent logic if not for the momentary mood of the attackers.

A familiar roar came from the barracks… Kuklan was entering the fray, but the kroxigor was too far and probably was too late to save Hisstik, as one of the elves was coming directly toward him.

No, he’s not looking at me… he’s hunting a child. A child with yellow, braided hair.

“LIZZIE! HELP!!!”

Time almost froze… Hisstik watched the girl running to him as fast as she could, but too slow for the elven warrior behind her.

Nonono…

With a wicked smile the elf raised the sword.

No please no

The blade began its descent…

“KIA MASS SSARATHU!”

A blast of wind erupted from the stretched claws of the skink, striking the dark elf and projecting him back several yards. He landed against the wall of the water well with a satisfying crack, the head bended to an unnatural angle.

The panicked girl was now desperately hugging Hisstik, but he barely noticed it. He was watching his claws, then the dead elf, then his claws again. His mind was crackling with energy. He gently loosened the hug of the child.

“Stay behind me, Gretha. I will die, but they won’t touch you”.

One of the Cold Ones riders saw his dead companion, then noticed Hisstik. He lowered the lance and charged.
I’ve got a lance too, you bastard.

“ISS KASS SSARATI SHA NARR!”

A translucent bolt, the size of the arrows fired by stegadons, designed a deadly ark, exploding the dinosaur’s head and impaling the rider.

I did it. I’m not dead.

In the open square there was now a group of four armed elves and among them, a half-naked female who was watching at Hisstik with surprise and hate. She began chanting and gesturing… more than seeing it, Hisstik perceived the concentration of dark energy around the sorceress, until it reached its peak, finally venting into the spell. Death was heading toward the skink.

“ITZAZTI!”

The energy dissipated around the protective gestures made by Hisstik, leaving only some stains upon the wooden wall behind him.

I’ve never felt so powerful…
Hisstik looked at the sorcereress in the eye and he saw fear.
…and now it is my turn.

“RUKISHA SSARATI SHA! KISHURU MASS SSARATHU!”

Now the thunder was real. The sorceress tried to cast something, weaving her hands into a defensive stance… the magical pressure snapped the layer of defense, one by one. Then a lightning bolt struck her from the darkened sky, enveloping the screaming sorceress with white energy. The lightning bounced from the charred corpse into the nearby bodyguards, slaying them all.

Hisstik stayed immobile, contemplating the dead enemies and shielding Gretha with his body.

He could hear the roaring of the kroxigor and the shouts of the soldiers finally emerging from the barracks. Pinched within two counterattacks and without leadership, the dark elves fled, leaving further bodies on the ground and abandoning the captured humans.


Hisstik stayed near the porch, sitting upon the stair step, still unable to understand why he was still alive. Gretha went away with her mother, which passed 10 minutes crying and swearing eternal gratitude to her savior. The mother kissed Hisstik too… it was definitely nice to have cheeks kissed.

The settlers were still quenching the fires when a deeply satisfied Kuklan, with a mace covered in blood, reached his friend.

“You good?”
“Yes my friend. And you know what? I’ve killed them with my spells. No more headaches, only the power of real magic.”

The kroxigor nodded solemnly.

“Told you. You Revered Priest”.

“Yes you did. But my friend, these things are not your knowledge and it wasn’t supposed to be that way… the will of the Old Ones works in mysterious ways”.

Kuklan smiled, showing the teeth as one of those human child.

“No mystery. Once Kuklan moves very heavy stones. Arms hurt. Kuklan rests two days. Arms hurt no more.”

Kuklan smiled again, then trotted away without waiting for Hisstik to reply.

The skink watched the kroxigor walk away. You know what, my friend? Maybe the Old Ones like simple things, once in a while. Hisstik finally got up.

Better to see if the botanical garden is alright. Our wounded will need some healing.

you can find the rest of the stories of that comp HERE

 

20th competition
October-November 2019: Theme is "Alternate Settings"

Winning story by @WhenTheSkinksMarch

Spoiler: Reunited Once Again

Reunited Once Again

Gru'tun gripped his war-club tight, the old leather felt comfortable in his palm. His spawn-brothers gathered around him, each one of them held their weapons firm and close, testing them before the storm of battle engulfed them. Flicking his tongue out on the air he tasted foul smells, rot, death, age.
Their foe approached.

"The enemy marches, signal the troops." He growled to their musician, who began hastily beating his war-drum.

Without another order the rest of the cohort regrouped, mounting their Cold Ones. The beasts snarling and restless, sensing what marched towards the temple-city. The riders sharing their mount's unease at the situation, only having fought interlopers of the jungle, foul ratmen, greedy men, self centered elves, enemies that could be clubbed and fall. The foes that shambled through the jungles this time were different, unnatural and unwavering, their dead flesh breaking and falling and rising again.
The Skink mages of the temple said they had ways to deal with this dark magic, but it required time to prepare the proper alignment of the Geomanitc Nexus, time that would need to be bought, and if they do not barter then stolen from the enemy.


Leaving the gates of the city for what could be the last time each warrior knew this was their purpose, to fight in the name of The Great Plan, but this was a perversion of combat. They had all been told what happens to the fallen, that they would wake from death to fight their own again. A thought that unnerved even Gru'tun, to fight his spawn brothers? A horrible thought.

The riders assembled in the thick jungle as instructed, awaiting the drums that would call their charge. Anticipation held them captive, their steel nerves taught within their skin.

"I do not like this battle," I'kran grumbled "It does not feel right to fight what is already dead."

"It is not," Rup'tl concurred, "But until the priests complete their ritual we must protect them, even if daemons burst from their rotten flesh!" He swung his mace at in invisible foe.

"If it does I hope your club works as well as your mouth," Gru'tun chuckled "We will fight and kill well, if it has died once it can die again."

The rotting wind blew closer, the clatter of feet rumbled in the distance, the dead marching their wordless march with no sounds uttered. While across the field of battle the Old One's children mounted their counter offensive, drums and the skink's war chants reverberating through the jungle trees.

The fighting lasted for half an hour before the order was given for the riders to emerge, to make their way into the enemy rear and cut the rotten heart from this desiccated beast. Letting the keen sight of the cold ones guide them to the tree line the cohort burst forth onto the killing grounds, clubs and maces at the ready and their mounts hungering for battle. Their comrades fought a losing battle, surrounded by the dead and unable to manoeuvre they fought with tooth and blade, every saurus who fell took a regiments worth of dead with him.
Riding towards the rear lines, Gru'tun could see the foul mages struggling to control their army, their feeble human minds unable to direct the power needed to effectively control their force in the face of the priests of the temple city and their ritual. If one of them were to fall so would their army.

Cold scale pounded the ground as the riders picked up speed, homing in on the near defenseless mages they swung their weapons and roared a ferocious battle cry. Drums rang from behind the lines of the dead and the saurus sprung back with renewed vigor, decayed hands trying to drag their mountainous frames down were smashed away and their bodies broken. Skinks renewed their offensive, harrying their foes with dart and javelin while keeping the dead at distance, doing all they could to prevent any of the force from turning on the riders at their rear.

A frigid blast tore through the flank of the riders as they closed in, the mage hurriedly throwing a blast of necromantic force at his assailants, the scales sloughing from I'kran's shield arm, the muscle beneath rotting away and the bone crumbling to dust. With a bellow of pain and rage he pushed his steed further, rushing to be the one to destroy the tainted caster. His rage blinding him to his surroundings he rushed forward and by the time the other riders had spotted the foe it was too late.

Black riders clad in rusted plate and riding steeds of bone and foul magic crested over the hill behind the necromancer. The plate, that once would have shimmered in the sunlight, shook with dull rattles as they began to charge, lowering their lances, Gru'tun could see the macabre grins on their skulls as he ordered the riders to close together. To not let them come between them. I'kran was too far away to be saved, with no shield to guard with the lead rider impaled the enraged saurus on his lance, the next knight skewering the cold one before it could lash out.

Closing the gap the saurus held their shields close and their weapons at the ready, one eager rider on the flank was the first to strike, his blow deflecting from a shield but they all heard the ancient bones crack and saw the shield fall.

"If it died once it will die again!" The riders roared as they tore into their foes. Clubs broke steel and bone while maces shattered skulls and lances. As the saurus reveled in their carnage the dead began to knit together as their comrades pushed the reptilian riders back, taking up blades again to protect their master.

The fight lasted for many minutes, each one a lifetime of struggle for the saurus. Outnumbered they fought with all the ferocity and skill they had but the regenerative powers of the dead was taking a heavy toll. Six of the original twenty who rode out were now slain while only two of the black riders had stayed down. Gru'tun began to doubt their chances and if the army would survive long enough for the ritual to be complete. Around him more saurus and skinks fell to ancient blades and tearing hands.

Looking for an opening he found one. One of his spawn brothers had opened a hole in the knights formation that they could break. He called for the rest of the riders to punch through the hole, leading the charge himself. Rushing through the breach he heard hoof and claw beating the ground behind him.


The mages must die


The message rang through his head, an order from the priests behind him. A mission they had lost so much to achieve and would not fail now. He swung a mighty blow to his rear, crushing the head of the steed that was in pursuit it crashed into the dirt. The necromancer was distracted, his focus on driving his horde forth. He never saw the blow that ended his cursed existence.
After the cursed dead returned to the gave the reptilian army turned home for reprieve. What was left of the riders returned to the temple-city with the rest of the army.
Only Grut'un and his cold one marched through the gates. A cold feeling gripping his soul. The other riders lay in the ground and yet he walked back to report to the priests. Why would the Old Ones decide for only he to live? Without a cohort he could not fight anymore. What was his purpose?


Questions for the priests. He thought.


Many cycles had passed since that fateful battle and by the grace of the Great Plan and the momentary waking of their revered master Gru'tun had found new purpose, guarding the skink priest Xhac'sun. This priest was a sacred messenger, his task to traverse Lustria and to find lost lore and artifacts and return them.
Wandering between temple cities with the priest he had seen more of Lustria than he had ever expected, from the vast swamps that protected the northern cities to the immense mountains that Lord Mazdumundi himself created and the great expanse of the World Pond. However much awe he felt at these sights and the power of the Old Ones to create them he always felt something missing. Something within him would always cry out work its way into his soul and he did not know what.
Xhac'sun was a source of much wisdom and insight, with an understanding of life much greater than anyone Gru'tun had been around. So it came that the feeling of hollowness would become too great and after camp was made he consulted the priest.

"Great priest I ask for your wisdom."

"Of course, what troubles you my friend?" The skink chirped gently.

"Since we traveled I feel strange, if part of me is missing, travel and new things make me strange. I am proud to do this work but I do not know why I feel this."

"You were a warrior before you joined me yes?" The skink cocked his head, "mayhaps you just miss the temple you guarded?"

The saurus looked into the fire for a moment, thinking.

"No. I defended temple yes, but that is not the feeling. I still protect, I protect you and I still act in the Great Plan. This feeling is something different."

"Well how was it that you were chosen to travel with me? A spawn leader like yourself is a strange person to send away from his brothers."

"My brothers died, they fought dead things while I killed the mage."

The fire cracked and slumped low as the travelers sat in contemplation.

"I miss my brother's scent. I miss my cold one's scent."

"A spawning shares a bond, almost as strong as that the Slann share, but different. To be taken away from them like that, I think that is what you feel. Even while you still do the Old One's work you wish you were still with them, that you still rode with them."

Gru'tun placed a new log on the fire, tending the flame in silence before slumping against a tree stump, looking to the stars above.

"How do I stop the feeling?"

"I don't know..."

The duo traveled for many moons after, becoming very successful in their duty. One day they found themselves in a ruined temple-city, fallen in the age of chaos, rumors of strange power drawing them in search of a long forgotten artifact. Great foundation stones lay strewn about, smashed to rubble in years past, a sombering reminder to Gru'tun of why chaos must not be allowed to return. Moss and plant ruled this place now, covering every stone and walkway they found, a nest of birds lay in a nook above where a baracks had once stood.

Decending deeper into the ruins the pair were ambushed, a skaven patrol surrounding them. Gru'tun fought them with a fury that they could not match, their rusted swords unable to peirce his thick hide and his club tearing limbs from their owners with every strike. With the priest giving the order to fight a retreat they backed away to a place with less rats, a place they could plan.

It was sudden and violent. Gru'tun saw the shadow as it lept, the rat aiming for Xhac'sun. His club would not be able to hit in time. The blade sunk deep into flesh, in between the thick scales of the saurus who interposed himself. Tearing the filthy rat's throat out with his bare teeth he slumped down against the rubble, the poison weakening him greatly as it burned through his blood.

"I will not escape, you go, bring back more." Growling through the pain, he bid his charge to escape.
"The Old Ones bless you Gru'tun, I hope you see your brothers again." The skink chanted a final prayer for the dying warrior and nimbly fled into the jungle. Vowing on his final words to destroy the clan that did this.


Gru'tun closed his eyes, wishing the priest the speed and protection of Huanchi. The pain grew distant. Everything was numb.


Gru'tun opened his eyes. A familiar scent filled his snout. His brothers roared a their cries as they charged from the heavens. Chaos worshipers marched into the Freeguild lines, they would not make it out. Aqshy would be purged of their taint. I'kran kept the beat of the war-drums steady, Rup'tl held the star-icon high, Gru'tun led the charge once again.

you can find the rest of the stories of that comp HERE

 

21th competition
January-February 2020: Theme was "New Beginnings or Rebirths."

Winning story by @Scalenex

Spoiler: Brothers to Remember

Brothers to Remember

Forty years ago

The newborn Saurus crawled on to land on all fours. Instinctively he stood up to his full height and looked around. He looked around as his brothers emerged behind him and beside him. He began to gain his bearings blinking in the sunlight of this new dry world he emerged into.

He looked at the sky and clouds in wonder. Then looked down. A smaller scaled creature vaguely like himself was examining him closely. This new figure was dryer, bedecked with feathers, somewhat shorter and much less muscled. The Saurus only half-understood what the smaller creature said.

“The first to emerge is also the tallest and the strongest. Clearly this one is destined to lead the others of his spawning. We shall name him Yuqtal.”

I am Yuqtal. These are my brothers. I shall lead them to glories and keep them safe.
I have thirty-six brothers to protect.

*******************************************************************************

38 years ago

The spawning had been tested by its first battle. A small skirmish all things considered. About a hundred Saurus Warriors, two hundred Skinks, and six Salamanders had killed or captured nearly every enemy in a force of warm bloods numbering four hundred soldiers and a hundred of their four-legged maned warmblood beasts that they used in place of Cold Ones. These enemies were called Huemons, but the details didn’t matter, these Huemons had sought to steal sacred relics, so they had to die.

It was a great victory, but not without cost. Yuqtal would get his first scar. A gash across his shoulder. Many of his brothers received their first scar. The most impressive scar belonged to Kroqekar. He was impaled by a lance. The Skink healer assured Yuqtal that he would fully recover within two months, but he needed to be kept out of the field until then. Choaquel and Takyu were not so lucky. They had been hit multiple times by the metal explosive blowguns the Huemon sorcerers crafted. Yuqtal lost track of time how long he stood over Choaquel's and Takyu’s bodies.

Kroqekar limped over, being half-carried by two of his brothers.

“Do not despair Yuqtal. I heard you defended my limp useless body and Zecxla’s body too. You killed seven Huemons. You are a good. spawn leader. You led us to victory.”

Their other brothers roared in agreement.

I am Yuqtal. These are my brothers. I shall lead them to glories and keep them safe.
I have thirty-four brothers to protect, two to remember.


24 years ago

If I have to stare at the ceiling of the hospital tent one more day, I will lose my mind.

The campaign was over, the latest Skaven offensive was broken. Chameleon Skinks and Terradon Riders were guiding the other Skinks in tracking down and eliminating the dregs and stragglers that remained. The Saurus warriors’ work was done…for now. Yuqtal’s abdomen still ached, but the physical pain wasn’t half as bad as the boredom. The boredom wasn’t half as bad as the vomiting.

I wonder if this is what Salamander’s feel like every day.

The wound in his gut was shallow but poisoned. The anti-toxins were doing their job….slowly. At least he stopped vomiting, freeing up more of Yuqtal’s attention to focus on his boredom.

Yuqtal stood up out of his cot. Spots danced before his eyes, but Yuqtal refused to lay back down. Yuqtal’s second, Kroqekar entered the tent.

“You are on your feet, brother. Good, it is time. ”

Yuqtal walked forward and stumbled.

“You can lean on me.”
“I’m perfectly capable of walking by myself!”
“Of course you are, brother. But you helped me so many times when I was injured that you are going to let me help you just to even things out slightly. You are generous to indulge me, brother”

Yuqtal grinned.

“Okay. I think I’m done vomiting, but If I start retching. Try to angle me towards Healer Aquite.”
“I heard he wanted you to stay in bed another two weeks? Try not to vomit until after the ceremony though.”
“Of course. Thank you for leading the unit while I was out cold.”
“It was not difficult. I watched you lead long enough. Every brother was out to avenge you. The rats didn’t stand a chance.”

Over a thousand of the First Children of the Old Ones gathered along the banks of the river that the Skink priests had consecrated for the memorial service. Hundreds of Skinks and Sauri had perished, very few bodies were recovered to be placed into the river. Yuqtal’s dizziness had passed, but he barely listened to a word of the various Skink priests’ flowery eulogies. Yuqtal focused his lost brothers.

Before the spawning’s first real campaign, Yuqtal and his brothers only fought small unconnected battles. In fourteen years, they had lost seven brothers. They lost eight brothers in the last two months.

Qualesh’s body was laid to rest in the river. After the Skinks were done talking, the Sauri of various spawning approached with their memory stones. Yuqtal’s living brothers, many still recovering from poisons themselves, tossed their stones into the river one-by one to mark the brothers whose corpses were lost.

SPLASH

“Aquilta.”

SPLASH

“Tehata.”

SPLASH

“Noqyu.”

SPLASH

“Gaxill.”

SPLASH

“Pylirah.”

SPLASH

“Karjah.”

Yuqtal threw the last stone

SPLASH

“Faltuk.”

I am Yuqtal, these are my brothers. I shall lead them to glories and keep them safe.
I have twenty-one brothers to protect, fifteen to remember.

Five years ago

The last remnants of the Daemon army’s corpses had faded away, having returned fully to the foul realm that spawned them. Yuqtal spawning had not suffered a fatality in almost a decade, now they suffered their greatest single day loss.

All the bodies were recovered cleansed, and returned to the pool that spawned them. Yuqtal barely listened to a word of the Skink priest’s eulogy.

In his heart, Yuqtal wanted to be with his living brothers, but he had to put some distance between them. He marched out in the jungle outside the city.

Kroqekar caught up with him a few hours later.

“Why did you leave us?”
“How did you track me down?”
“You always walk the same path near the city when you are troubled. Why did you leave us?”
“I am a bad Spawning leader.”
“You are a good spawning leader. The losses we suffered were not as bad as the other spawnings. Our brothers did not die in vain. Why did you leave us?”
“I am a bad spawning leader. If the men see me cry that shows weakness. Perhaps I am weak. Today I have more brothers to remember than I have to protect.”

Kroqekar took a long time before replying. He rubbed his old scars gently.

“The wounds that caused these scars should have killed have me several times, but you kept me safe while I was weak. You did this because you are a good spawning leader.”
“You survived because you are strong, not because of me, Kroqekar. I am a bad spawning leader”
“You cry because you are sad. You are sad because you are a good spawning leader. I would follow you anywhere against any foe. So would the others. You have led us to glories before and will do so again. You have twelve brothers to protect you.”

One year ago

Yuqtal barely had time to give the order to lock shields before the hydra barreled into the contingent of Saurus warriors. Many Saurus were knocked down as the creature’s clawed feet and many snake heads lashed out at the Sauri. Tekhat was dead, no doubt about it. He’d seen his brothers recover from severe injuries before, but a Saurus body could not bounce back from being crushed under the full weight of a monster that size.

The shield wall held up more or less. A lot of his brothers were knocked into the mud, but their shields have taken the brunt of the damage. Most got up again. Kaxilli and Zecxla did not. They could pull through if they got the attention of a Skink healer soon. For his brothers to live, the monster had to die quickly.

A warrior Skink might have pondered how this snake headed creature Anathema was a personal insult to Great Sotek. Yuqtal didn’t focus on the spiritual implications of the creature’s existence. He sought only to assess the monster’s weaknesses and slay it.

The creature seemed to lack weaknesses. Its body was tough, and its scales were thick. The foul snake heads were somewhat less imperious to attacks but they moved with great agility. A head that was crushed or severed grew back quickly. The creature’s body turned aside all but the truest strikes. The relatively small wounds his brothers inflicted on the monster’s body disappeared even faster than the heads.

About half his brothers were nursing a variety of cuts and bruises, and these minor wounds not disappearing. This mattered little in a short term. To a Saurus, such minor injuries are trivial. They would not even leave visible scars. Still, Yuqtal knew in the long term, a warrior nursing many minor injuries would become fatigued faster as his strength literally bled out. As his brothers became more tired, more serious injuries would follow.

One of the heads bit deep into Kroqekar’s chest. The best Skink healer would not be able to stitch him back together. A Slann’s magic might be able to save Kroqekar.

Without thinking Yuqtal roared in anger and plunged his axe into the snake creature’s forehead. The snake neck writhed as its head head hissed in anger and pain. Yuqtal was spattered in drops of putrid black ichor. Yuqtal struck again severing the head. Three or four more of his brothers were lying in the mud, bleeding, unconscious or worse.

The few times one of his brothers was able to strike the hydra’s body, the scales deflected the strike. Not far away his brothers Taheki and Zlaot had destroyed another head. Yuktal saw that new heads were already beginning to regrow but he sensed the foul creature slowing down.

This healing power takes a lot out of the monster.

“Smash the heads! Ignore the rest!”

Tired and battered, the brothers roared defiantly pressing their seemingly futile attack.

A warmth fell over the spawning brothers as Yuqtal sensed the hand of a Slann as a gash across his forehead that he barely registered sealed itself. Kaxilli and Zecxla were back on their feet attacking as ferociously as anyone. Most his brothers were renewed with great vigor, but Kroqekar and several others did not stir, nor would they ever stir again.

Yuqtal wanted to yell “For Kroqekar!” but all that came out was an inarticulate roar of pain and fury. That was enough though. The roar was echoed by his brothers as they surged forward. The Sauri were striking down heads faster than they could regrow. The creature began to step back reluctantly, the ugly heads’ assorted hisses sounded more frightened than frightening.

Yuqtal and his brothers were winning, but the beast was not going to die quickly or quietly. Zecxla was knocked down again by a snake head. Zecxla was only stunned, but the Anathema followed up the head’s strike with a clawed foot, rending Zecxla into pieces. Zecxla was beyond even a Slann’s healing, and the Temple Guard had carried the Slann to far away to help regardless.

The beast was slowing down, but Yuqtal feared he would be the only Saurus left standing.

“For Sotek!” came the shrill battle cry of a small group of Skinks.

The wounded and staggered Hydra was impaled by three horns as an ancient Stegadon charged its exposed flank. The Hydra collapsed. Its body was too broken for its unholy healing power to repair.

The battle had largely moved elsewhere. Most of their friends and foes alike were some distance away.

Yuqtal rallied and regrouped the survivors of his spawning. His brother, Uxua picked up the unit’s discarded drum set out of the mud. There would be time to mourn later, now was the time for action. A few Sauri had lost shields or weapons and they scavenged replacements from their fallen brothers. Uxua awkwardly beat out the rhythm, for regrouping. He turned towards Yuqtal for orders. Yuqtal had eight brothers to protect and lead to glories.

Nearest to them, another spawning of Saurus, the Third Jade Spawning of the Pool of Tlaxcotl, was fighting another Hydra. A young spawning, almost fifty warriors strong. This was their first real battle. The spawning was wet. They were slowly losing. Their spawning leader was dead or unconscious. There was no Slann nearby to cast a spell on their behalf. There was no ancient Stegadon to provide a supporting charge.

If the Jade Spawning was to have any salvation, it would be from nine very tired and battered Saurus Warriors…

Yuqtal pointed at the second Hydra.

“Brothers! Attack!”


This afternoon

Yuqtal stood with his five brothers facing Third Jade Spawning of the Pool of Tlaxcotl. Other spawnings watched from a distance. A Skink priest walked in front of him speaking of honor, brotherhood and valor.

Yuqtal hung on the priest’s every word. The priest addressed his five brothers with a battery of questions before finally turning to Yuqtal.

“Do you accept these Sauri as your brothers?”
“Yes!”
“Do you promise serve the Old Ones beside them?”
“Yes!”
“Do you promise to stand beside them in battle?”
“Yes!”
“Are their friends your friends?”
“Yes!”
“Are their enemies your enemies?”
“Our enemies will die!”

Several among the assembled laughed at the nonstandard answer. His unorthodox answer was certainly acceptable.

The Skink priest waved his hand over Yuqtal and his five brothers then addressed the larger Saurus group.

“Do you accept these Sauri as your brothers?”
“YES!” came the thunderous reply.

The various onlookers erupted in cheers as Skink attendants splashed the Sauri with ceremonial spawning pool water. The priest’s final blessing was mostly drowned out, but Yuqtal was close enough to hear.

“Let all here witness these are brothers are bound by the Old Ones. What the Old Ones bring together, none can sever!”

I am Yuqtal, these are my brothers. I shall lead them to glories and keep them safe.
I have forty-eight brothers to protect, thirty-one to remember.

you can find the rest of the stories of that comp HERE

 

22th competition
April-May 2020: Theme was "Rituals and Religious Practices."

it was a tie between 2 stories, made (in order) by @thedarkfourth and @Lizards of Renown

Spoiler: Abomination

Abomination


Styn checked the last of his measurements, adjusted a few knobs, took a big breath, and pressed the circular stone button firmly into its groove.

The spawning pool started to bubble.

Styn's eyes shone with anticipation. He stood alone in a huge laboratory in the outskirts of Itza, surrounded by a madness of paraphernalia and instrumentation. Astrolabes danced in their bronze orbits along the ceiling, while strange mechanisms clicked and whirred among piles of plaques and parchments arranged in a fashion generously described as "working chaos".

The small stone pool was in the centre - the eye of the storm. Styn had filled it that morning with water from the well - just a couple of inches deep. Yet now the clear water had clouded and was frothing and roiling like its own miniature firmament.

Something was taking shape - a dark mass in the centre of the pool. Slowly, the form became clearer. Limbs stretched and a crest unfurled. A blue-scaled lizardman tottered upright and gave a little cry. As the trembling water began to still, the creature seemed to struggle with its eyelids and finally managed to open them, wetly, squinting in the light. Styn stumbled forwards to greet it, barely able to breathe.

"You're alive," whispered the biomancer. He put out a hand to the new skink's snout, and was instinctively nuzzled by his creation.

Just then, the skink's head whipped around at a passing streak of colour. A golden butterfly was floating through the room, dancing jerkily between clockwork mechanisms and alchemical apparatus. The skink's eyes lit up, and it leapt after the vibrant insect. Stacks of plaquework crashed to the floor, along with delicately shaped glass containers whose contents hissed and smoked when they touched the ground.

Styn threw back his head and laughed at the sight of the lizard chasing the butterfly. His mirth was cut short by a knock at the door. Styn's expression quickly filled with alarm, and he bounded after the new-spawned skink, catching it by the tail.

"Quick, we have to get you hidden!" whispered the scientist. He dragged the skink into the midst of a large, broken frame covered in canvass. "Stay here, do you understand me? Not a sound!"

Styn put a single claw in front of his mouth and stared into the creature's wide eyes. There was another knock at the door, louder this time.

Styn hurried over and unlatched the locking mechanism. Another skink immediately swept into the room, the feathered vestments of high office fluttering about him.

"Priest Mob-" began Styn with a quick bow.

"What in heavens are you tinkering with in here?" interrupted the priest, glaring around at the wild array. "Ugh. How do you even work like this?"

"I find it productive, your reverence."

"Why haven't you submitted any reports, as agreed?"

"I, uh, I must have lost track of time..." muttered Styn.

"Listen, Biomancer. The reports are not optional. The temple funds your madness, and we expect results. Have you made any progress on the weapons you-"

He stopped at the unmistakable sound of a reptilian cry from across the room.

"What was that?" barked the priest, glaring in the sound's direction.

"M-must be-" stammered Styn, but he broke off as the canvass construct in the far corner began to shift.

"Is something alive in here?" demanded the priest.

In horror, Styn saw a small golden flutter pass by his new ward's hiding place. On cue, out jumped the young Styn Junior, eyes full of excitement, joy and utter innocence.

"Priest Mobotl, I can explain," Styn tried to begin. But Mobotl had already rounded on him.

"Is that a... a spawning?" he shrieked, his face a vision of zealous outrage.

"Please, your worshipfulness, you must understand. Think of all the good we could do if we controlled the spawning pools! The temple won't admit it, but Lustria is failing! Our population will continue to dwindle and disappear if we do nothing! We need new spawnings!"

He waited, bracing for a terrible tirade of fury. Instead, Priest Mobotl hissed a single word between clenched teeth, so quietly that Styn barely heard:

"Abomination."

The blood drained from Styn's face.

"N-no, it's not-"

"Only the Old Ones can make new life. You have defied their will. You and the monster will die."

"No. No," repeated Styn, quivering now. "No. You can't have him. I won't let you!"

He looked around, and lunged for a nearby prototype he'd made after dissecting a troglodon. He turned towards Mobotl and before he'd even realised it, he squeezed the trigger.

A jet of venom coated the holy skink's face and body. The effect was so much faster than Styn had ever anticipated. Mobotl barely had time for a single scream before his head and chest began to dissolve and cave away, the rest of his body falling among the nearby apparatus with a crash.

Styn dropped his weapon in horror and forced himself to look away from the corpse. He rushed over to Styn Junior, who was trying to nip at its reflection in a particularly shiny plaque.

"Common pal, we have to go!" he hissed. "I'll just grab some things. Oh, I thought we'd have more time! There's nothing for it, we'll have to go straight into the jungle. These blasted fanatics! Can't they see their religion will doom the lizardmen? Ach, nevermind. If we can make it to Xlanhuapec, I know priests there who are more tolerant. We can keep you safe."

While he babbled, he filled a sack with his most important notes and plaques. There wasn't any food or drink, but that was a secondary concern. He ushered the new skink to the door. As he unbolted it again, his creation turned to him and cocked its head.

"Safe?" it said.

The door swung open. A regiment of temple guardians stood outside, in formation. Twenty pairs of eyes turned to Styn, Styn Junior, and the body of the dead priest.

In the silence, a butterfly floated past the ranks of soldiers. The abomination squealed in delight.

Spoiler: The Ritual

THE RITUAL

Year 1536, Temple City of Hexoatl

Ca'raag stood in the topmost chamber of the pyramid before the great Tezca’coatl, Mage Priest of the Temple of Chotec.

Glowing stones lit the chamber, giving an even, bright light through the space and causing the numerous gold artefacts surrounding the palanquin on which the lord sat to sparkle like miniature suns themselves. Ca'raag was unintimidated, this wealth meant nothing to him as a warrior-born. Even after having trekked upwards through the numerous levels of the structure, passing monuments to the Lizardmen's glory and priceless treasures. Standing almost in the center of the floor’s inlaid golden symbol of Chotec, the Sun God, he stood at ease waiting for his lord's command.

He just wished he knew why he was there.

The Slann regarded him, large eyes blinking slowly. A skink priest stood to his right with scroll and quill to record any utterance.

He felt a pressure on his mind and reality... shifted.

Bounding up the stairs, he weaved to one side to avoid the crashing blow and heaved his double-handed sword horizontally through the daemon's body. The runes on the obsidian sword glowed brightly, showing the intricately devised runes for a split second against the black stone and the daemon exploded into a mist of glowing particles.

Without pause he hurled himself up the remaining stairs. The daemons had almost reached the Eternity Chamber! A bright, burning rage filled him as he rounded the next corner. He would let no harm come to his lord. Ahead, blood-red daemons turned from a stone door set into the end of the corridor, their blades weeping blood that vanished into sparkling motes as it reached the floor.

Roaring his defiance he crashed into the beasts, smoting left and right. They were no match for his skill with the blade. One’s head was split in two, its body dissolving. Another daemon’s arm ripped from its body with his off-hand even as his sword impaled the last. As the ectoplasmic remains dripped from his sword, he looked up to find his worst fears confirmed. The Chamber’s door stood open and a red-light flickered from beyond.

Screaming Chotec's name, feeling the god's fire fill him as it did all true believers, he burst into the room.

A nightmare.

The Slann's skink attendants had been torn asunder, rib cages opened and hearts torn out. Their blood covered the walls and sacred gold sunbursts adorning the chamber. The Slann himself was encased in a coruscating, protective shield, but was being pressed to the floor by the assault of a huge, winged figure of red and black. Its whip and axe, runes smouldering in red upon its surface, struck mighty blows against the shield and even as he watched the mage's shield shrank to within inches of its face.

He took a breath. Even his rage-filled mind could see this would be his end. Committing his soul to He Who Brings Fire, he charged forwards even as the beast's dog-headed, snarling visage turned towards him.

Their weapons clashed, sparks flying through the chamber and blows were exchanged quick as lightning. One of the monster's strikes opened a large wound on his leg, even as he scored a heavy blow to it's midriff in return. Red ichor dripped from the wound, but its counter-attack smashed him from his feet, his blade flying from his grasp.

Forcing himself up, he almost fell as he put weight on his wounded leg. Bellowing his defiance, he staggered forwards to rake the beast with claw and tooth until it’s axe head buried itself in his chest. Overwhelmed by pain, he dropped to the floor as the beast loomed over him, seemingly unaffected by the gaping hole in its side.

As the huge, vermillion claws grasped him, he struggled to snap and bite, to inflict some kind of pain before he expired. The beast grasped his torso and dug its claws into the gaping chest wound, wracking his body with pain. The beast bunched its muscles as it prepared to splay his ribcage open.

A light built to a rapid crescendo behind the monstrosity, building in intensity until the world was consumed in white. A scream seemed to echo from far away, but of frustration rather than pain.

It took several minutes for his sight to return, but along with sight came feeling. Agony clouded his thoughts. The beast, though banished, had torn open his ribcage and his lifeblood fled him.

In his last moments he looked up and found himself face to face with the Slann. Looking into his eyes, an understanding passed between them. Knowing his lord was safe, he left. To find his place in the eternal sun.

Like he had been told, his spirit joined a stream of light like a spiritual beam of sunlight. Eventually, a ball of bright light hung before him. And he embraced it.

Ca'raag shook his head. What had that been? As like waking from a dream, all details slipped away from him like a Skink disappearing into a stream. Some kind of battle? The last of the details went, leaving him only with a sense of loss.

The Skink Priest spoke.

"You are to be honoured, Ca'raag. You will carry these sacred implements into battle and bring ruin to those who oppose the Great Plan."

Befuddled, Ca'raag took the proffered obsidian blade and golden-studded armour. "Please inform the Great One that I am honoured and will gladly enact the will of the Old Ones, but... Why me?"

Wordlessly, the Skink Priest came forwards and, reaching up, took him by the elbow guiding him to back to entrance, Ca'raag looked back at the Slann but he had turned back to regard the large, bejewelled orb in the back wall and paid him no more mind.

Year -903, Temple City of Hexoatl:

Hamath reverently lit the pyre of his beloved general, Ca'raag. The Old Blood's body lay on top of the pyre at the very pinnacle of the main Ziggurat of the complex. How fitting, he thought to himself as the flames grew and finally hid the body from view, to be consumed by flames like you were consumed by the fire of life inside you.

Hamath turned to the assembled Old Bloods and fellow Scar-Veterans who had fought with Ca'raag. For some of them it had been centuries of brotherhood and camaraderie. Pushing down his own emotions, he steeled himself for the final step of the ceremony.

"HE WHO LIVES WITH FLAMES INSIDE", he intoned, roaring voice echoing across the plaza, "LIVES FOREVER IN THE SUN!"

As one, all present bowed their heads. Their grief hidden from each other's eyes.

Below them, in the uppermost chamber of the Ziggurat, Tezca’coatl watched the proceedings through the eyes of his Skink Priest. A single tear coursed down his face as his features slowly transitioned from grief through to determination.

Turning, he regarded the large orb depicting the God Chotec's eternal sun. Raising his arms, he let the winds of magic flow through into the sphere. Runes sparked to life across its surface, with a silver shimmering light seeming to blossom from its bottom up to a point two-thirds to the top. It was almost full, enough that it was appropriate to start the ritual.

Nodding to himself, Tezca’coatl increased the flow of magic into the orb. Gradually brightening, the orb became an incandescent circle as it tapped into the ley lines that the city was built over. The light built in intensity and then seemed to fire downwards in a bolt of energy.

So it begins again... he thought.

Year -920, Temple City of Hexoatl:

Xara’la stood at attention. Wondering what in his short career had earned him the honor of a reception with the Mage Priest. He wasn't intimidated by the surroundings as nothing glamorous could intimidate a warrior born.

He just didn't know why he was there.

As he looked up into the eyes of the Mage Priest, reality... shifted.

Bounding up the stairs, he weaved to one side to avoid the crashing blow and heaved his double-handed obsidian sword horizontally through the daemon's body...

o0o

The doors closed with a dull thump behind him.

Scratching his head, he looked down at the golden studded armour and large, black obsidian blade. Somehow after his bizarre daydream, the interview had ended abruptly with the Skink Priest proclaiming that he would bring honor to Children of the Old Ones and presented him the items.

No matter what he said, the Skink Priest had refused to answer why and the Mage Priest had already moved on to other things. He had been ushered from the room and now stood alone.

Wondering at his luck, he set off at a rapid pace. His spawn-brother Cwa’tha would never believe he had just been gifted this magnificent armour and weapon.

Year -457, Temple City of Hexoatl

Heads bowed in sorrow, the Saurus phalanx entered the outer limits of the Temple City. Although victors in the recent conquest, with the loss of their leader it felt like defeat.

A Skink Priest met them on the outskirts. "Did you bring the armour and sword?"

Ula’thur, now the ranking officer of the unit, wordlessly nodded and handed the items to the Skink. He gave no thought to using the items himself, it would only serve to prolong the grief as he would be forever reminded of his Old Blood and friend.

The very pinnacle of a follower of Chotec, the remainder of the strike force owed their lives to him. The battle had been all but won, until the last of the cursed rat-men had enacted a foul ritual and brought a Vermin Lord into the world. The battle lines had been ripped to pieces by the Daemon’s surprise assault. It looked like there was no stopping the thing, until Xara’la had roared his defiance and charged the creature. Even as it struck fatal wounds upon him, the Old Blood had first lanced his sword through the beasts heart and then with tooth and claw ripped its head from its shoulders.

The battle had been won, but at great cost.

Steeling himself, Ula’thur turned back to his comrades and gestured towards the distant central pyramid. There could be nothing but the highest burial honor for their general. Immolation atop the temple of Chotec.

o0o

The Skink Priest entered the chamber and paced across the golden sunburst set in the floor. He didn't even look at the Mage Priest, who sat staring at the golden, sunlike orb.

Hefting the sword, he placed it in the statue's hand and lifted the armour over it's head. Standing back, he adjusted the armour until it sat perfectly. Then he turned and sat to wait.

Eventually, his master stirred.

"Zilith."

"I have returned master, the sword and armour are secured."

"Good. The orb is full now so the ritual can be enacted. Go and make exact note of those that emerge from the spawning pools today. I want you to watch them closely over the next few years and watch for one-"

"Who shows fire, passion and promise. Yes Great One, I remember."

With that Zilith left the chamber, leaving the Lord to his contemplations. He knew that he would sleep again, as the ritual to bring the Saurus back through the ley lines was very taxing.

Lord Tezca’coatl watched the doors close behind the Skink Priest.

Standing, he turned towards the statue. He had had it commissioned centuries ago after his most trusted protector and friend had given his life for him. The likeness was uncanny, but that was the benefit of being able to give the Skink artisan the exact mental picture of how the warrior had looked.

The statue, especially with the sword and armour, was eerily life-like. It's entire countenance speaking of passion and fire.

"Soon, old friend," the Slann whispered, "soon we will meet again."

Turning back to the sacred sun artifact, he braced himself and channeled his full might through the orb. The ritual culminating with a blast of light vanishing downwards.

o0o

The lesser Skink Priests followed Zilith into the underground spawning chamber of the temple. As they entered the space, the pools, normally perfectly tranquil and dark, were already churning and glowing as eldritch powers stirred the depths of the liquids. One by one, Saurus climbed steadily from the waters to be met and blessed by the attending priests.

The priests carried out their blessings in a workmanlike fashion, rapidly blessing all 300 warriors that clambered from the pools. Their curious questions about their high priest’s ability to predict the spawnings had long since been extinguished after repeatedly being ignored. Now they simply appreciated the efficiency by which they could perform their duties.

Blessed, the 300 warriors were led from the chamber into their barracks beyond, their part in this phase of the Great Plan now begun.

you can find the rest of the stories of that comp HERE

 

23th competition
July-August 2020: Theme was "Technological Advances."

Winning story by @Infinity Turtle

Spoiler: The Machine

The Machine


T’lozii gazed at the intricate mass of wires, metal, buttons and levers before him.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Atamai, a hunched over skink inventor well past his fighting days was smiling and rubbing his hands together. The gleam in his eye, T’lozii had learnt, meant something either nausea inducing or explosive was about to happen.

Indeed the machine was the most complex creation the tinker had made, but that didn’t bring T’lozii any comfort whatsoever.

“And what does it do exactly?” the saurus took a barely perceptible step backwards.

As if he had been waiting for that very question, Atamai threw his hands up with a “Well!” that made T’lozii regret asking. “I’ve meddled with small, basic functioning machinery before, as you well know, and I wanted to move on from that and make something that would revolutionise life in Lustria as we know it! You of course remember the incident regarding the frog and the automated fruit juicer-” T’lozii did, of course, remember the incident regarding the frog and the automated fruit juicer “-well I’ve realised that machines must have purpose to function to the highest level. Without meaning and a mission, machines are just metal.”

The saurus, though not exactly unintelligent, didn’t really see how telling something what to do would necessarily alter it in any way. Juicing fruit seemed enough of a legitimate purpose to him. In fact he had always been a bit confused by Atamai’s near obsessive behaviour regarding the development of machines and metal. He supposed as long as it did not harm the thousands of lizards that resided within the temple city and furthered the Great Plan, then there wasn’t really much to worry about. Keeping Atamai away from other lizardmen, particularly when armed, had proved to definitely be in the favour of said Great Plan, even more so, T’lozii thought, after the incident regarding the frog and the automated fruit juicer.

“So basically, I have created a machine with a purpose! And as you may be able to tell from the multitude of particularly pointy appendages and some recycled spinning blades you may recall from the incident with the frog and the-”

“Yes.”

“...this machine could fight just as well as any skink, saurus or kroxigor in a battle!” T’lozii doubted it. “Just imagine what a hundred, or a thousand of these could do supporting our ranks in combat?” T’lozii didn’t want to. “And with my new investigations into salamander fire, we could decimate entire armies and never have to set foot or claw onto the battlefield!” Atamai concluded with a flourish.

The saurus took another step back from the machine.

The skink stepped over to the hulking shape and patted it on something that resembled a head. “My machine-” pat “-when programmed-” pat “-could kill-” pat “-scores of warmbloods just on it’s own. No doubt the Slann-” pat “-would reward me handsomely, forgetting any past… accidents that may have involved me.”

The machine beeped and began whirring.

“Is it meant to do that?” T’lozii inquired nervously. Atamai being enthusiastic about anything was enough to make him worried, but this creation had by far the most stabby-stabby-pain potential of all before it. The saurus didn’t care much for ‘purpose’ or big philosophical ideas, but he did value his hands, and there was a particularly large pair of scissors attached to the machine that he didn’t trust very much.

Atamai glanced at his invention, but the gleam in his eye disappeared as the robot began beeping more rapidly. A mechanical voice piped up from within the creature: “CONFIRM MISSION”

The skink tilted his head to the side in confusion. “Confirm? What? What mission?”

“MISSION CONFIRMED.” And then in Atamai’s own voice, crackled and distorted, the robot said “Machine - Program - Kill - Slann.”

In a flurry of papers, dust and scattered spare parts, the machine revved and charged out the front door, or through it, rather, careening towards the temple city.

“Oh Marlecht.” the skink breathed. “This is much worse than the incident with the frog and-”

“Yes.”

***

Dirt was consistently showering from above. Though the tunnel was well supported and had been dug with surety and confidence, Tiqreen still found himself in a state of discomfort. It wasn’t the idea of being underground or in a confined space- of course not, Skaven were more accustomed than most to these conditions-, it wasn’t even the idea of being sent underground into the heart of a Lustrian Temple City to assassinate a Slann mage priest, it was the fact that he had been sent on a highly important and highly difficult mission and his second in command assigned for this venture was Strich.

From behind him in the darkness, Tiqreen heard a scuffle and a yelp followed by “Nah! I’m alright, just stubbed me toe. S’all good!”

The commander sent a prayer to the Horned rat, one of pain, vengeance, and a torturous end. Hopefully by the end of the night, Strich would just be another corpse and Tiqreen would be left in peace.

***

Following shrieks and hollering throughout the temple city, T’lozii and Atamai raced after the escaped invention. Every now and then, they caught a glimpse of the metallic creature whizzing over the stone paved streets, wheels spinning and blades whirring. T’lozii dodged another market stall and reeled to avoid running into a passing saurus guard. He saw the skink beside him was dealing with a similar problem, swerving away from passing lizardmen. Up ahead, the form of the great pyramid was looming ever closer, and the machine was pulling further ahead.

***

Tiqreen followed the near pitch black tunnel as it continued to spiral upwards. They had reached the foot of the pyramid and had begun travelling up into its complex of rock and passageways. The dirt around the small skaven band had changed and the loose soil turned into scored and eroded rock. They would follow the tunnel burrowing through the thick stone blocks, creeping ever upwards to the Slann awaiting his death at the top.

As is often the case with skaven, Tiqreen wasn’t a particularly intelligent creature, but he knew things. ‘Things’ being that it was his duty to over run the surface world with ratmen and their accompanying pestilence, disease and strife, he knew that the Lizardmen in the south had long withstood any assault from the rats and that this ingenious new method of attack could certainly in no way fail, he knew lizards were clumsy and stupid (relatively speaking) and that their disinterest in any form of technological advancement would be their downfall, and of course, he knew that if Strich’s head was to be found several feet from his body and his entrails strewn across the wall, it would be considered just as much of a victory and Tiqreen would definitely get away with it.

***

T’lozii paused momentarily on the street, the machine slightly closer now, it’s metal bulk just reaching the bottom of the stairs. The saurus heard Atamai slither to the ground again, panting loudly. The machine was still sitting at the bottom of the stairs, blades spinning.

“Ha! Wheels! It can’t get up the stairs!” T’lozii exclaimed smiling, giving the hunched skink a hefty pat on the back. The skink wheezed and looked at T’lozii in a way that suggested he shouldn’t have just said that.

“Well, you see… it had to be fit for all terrains,” Atamai gasped out between breaths. As if in response, the robot stilled the spinning blades and snapping claws, and extended six metal stilts, bent midway like-

“Legs.” T’lozzi said. “You gave it legs.”

The inventor, hands on his thighs was stooped over and panting still. He gave a shrug.

The machine retracted the wheels from beneath its body and the legs extended further out, lifting it higher from the ground. It placed its first tentative foot on the first step, then another reached up. The creation teetered backwards before finding it’s balance. There was a moment of perfect stillness before the blades, claws and knives came to life again and the metal thing began skittering erratically up the stairs.

Sighing exasperatedly, T’lozii pulled the skink along with him and began the ascent of the pyramid.

***

The skaven had reached the end of the tunnel. At this point the stone had become too thin to burrow through. Breaking through the carved rock, the group of ratmen streamed into one of the upper levels of the pyramid, scouring the rooms for any guards or priests that may be present. Tiqreen signalled the party to fan out and report back. Though not the best communicators, this mission was too precious for the skaven to waste time quarrelling and possibly alert their enemies. The level appeared to be empty and the party regrouped at Tiqreens command.

A shout came from a few rooms over and Tiqreen drew a cruel looking dagger and crept forwards, clinging to the carved wall. Taking a breath he sprung round the corner ready to stab whatever reptilian creature may be waiting on the other side.

Strich yelped in surprise and stepped back as the skaven commander raised his weapon. Tiqreen paused and felt something akin to genuine sorrow. He had hesitated to long for it to look like an accident now.

“I just thought you might want to know where the stairs are,” the gangly ratman explained.

Tiqreen cuffed his second over the head and hissed something under his breath. Waving to the rest of the party, they began to ascend the last few flights of stairs to the Slann’s chambers.

***

Claws gouged rock as T’lozii reached the last step of the temple. Hauling himself up onto the platform he panted, waiting for Atamai to stumble beside him. The pair savoured the moment of respite, before staggering back to their feet and continuing into the passageways of the pyramid.

Between ragged breaths T’lozii confirmed “Yeah, okay… This is worse than the incident with the…”

Atamai made a noise that was somewhere between a laugh, cough and a wheeze and the saurus glanced over just in case the skink was choking to death.

They saw the machine, only a few feet ahead now, retract its legs and re-engage its wheels before whirring on into the temple. Evidently the long climb up the temple steps had effected even the robot, as a screw clinked to the ground.

The pair rushed after it bursting into the main chambers of the Slann, the protests of the Temple Guards reaching after them. A skink priest stumbled out of the way as the Atamai’s invention, more pieces of metal falling to the ground, swerved back and forth towards the Slann.

The Slann, seated upon a throne of intricately carved stone adorned with precious gems and animal tusks opened an eye and squinted skeptically at the machine.

At that instant, something perhaps no one could have predicted happened.

Suddenly appearing from behind a pillar, a small party of dark furred skaven threw themselves into the open.

***

Tiqreen, hearing the shouts and commotion from the Slann’s chambers knew that their presence was realised. It was now or never.

The skaven launched into the open, weapons drawn and teeth bared, charging towards the Slann in a desperate attempt to reach him before the odds became even more stacked against them.

Temple Guards and skinks adorned in crimson robes scurried about the room and Tiqreen smiled to himself at their surprise. Perhaps this mission would be successful after all. Just then, something reminiscent of the war machines used by the Under Empire, metallic, solid and covered with instruments of pain and death, reeled towards the ratmen, now between it and the Slann.

***

T’lozii winced as one of the skaven, most likely the commander, dodged back from the machine, pushing another one of the ratmen, a skinny, stupid looking figure, into the path of the spinning blades. In an explosion of fur, blood and bile, the skaven’s shriek became a gurgle and then dissolved into nothing. The other ratmen were torn up and churned into a bloopy pulp.

The Guards and priests, apparently in a state of shock and confusion watched on as the machine rumbled on towards the Slann. The blood and entrail caking the robot seemed to be inhibiting it’s progress quite substantially and it’s blades began choking to a halt, matted fur clogged the wheels and the claws and scissors trembled weakly before the mass of metal and wires teetered over with a clang and dull splat.

A couple of wounded Skaven were clawing at the ground, chittering piteously. The commander of the rats was standing to the side, all limbs still attached, but weapons lowered. He seemed to smile to himself.

The Slann, apparently had been watching the whole scene unfold with one eye still closed, vague amusement creasing his face ever so slightly.

***

Tiqreen stood before the heap of severed limbs and bloody entrails that had been his comrades- to use the term loosely. The great frog-like being was watching everything from it’s fancy chair, and though he was by no means intelligent, Tiqreen knew when a battle was lost. Without any indication, he scampered back down the stairs towards the tunnel entrance.

Honestly, things had turned out better than he had expected.

***

T’lozii slumped to the floor and tried to catch his breath. Beside him, the skink inventor sniffed, gazing upon his crumbling creation. He held a clawed hand to his heart and blinked.

The saurus gave Atamai a shove as if to say “really?”

Composing himself, the skink looked to his friend and gave a lopsided grin. “At least we know it works.”

T’lozii shoved him again, but allowed himself a quiet smile of his own.

Guards were sent after the fleeing skaven and the Slann closed his eye, returning to his meditation.

One of the priests stepped forwards and toed the metal creature that had whirred to a halt amid the carnage. “Hey, this reminds me of that… Do you guys remember that thing with the frog and the automated fruit juicer?”

you can find the rest of the stories of that comp HERE

 

24th competition
October-November 2020: Theme was "A Place to Call Home"

Winning story by @Killer Angel

Spoiler: The Path to Salvation

THE PATH TO SALVATION


Once it should have been a city filled with life, gloriously standing within the jungle and embraced by the luxuriant vegetation, with stone-paved roads moving away in a radial pattern, just a few tens of miles away from the coast.
Now it was only a large area of scattered, moss-covered ruins, slowly strangled by the growing trees… except for one spot, defiantly standing.
The Kroxigor once named Kadai was working hard, alone under the blazing sun. A building was already repaired and fortified and it would have served as shelter, waiting for the city walls to be raised again.
Now it was the time for the temple. It was a lesser one but still it was a large construction, a mighty task for a lone kroxigor… and yet every day it was growing a little higher.
There was no rest for the kroxigor as he polished the scattered blocks and moved them with no regards for himself. An injury would have been almost welcome. A different kind of pain, something to keep away the constant void that burned and frozen inside. Anything to make it go away.
The kroxigor moved another block through the square, passing nearby a small clearing with no grass inside it, only scorched soil.
The place where Kadai killed his friends.


The red daemons came upon the city with fury, overcoming the outer defenses and putting to fire even the stone walls. Kadai and his brothers were fighting a desperate battle but none of them was retreating, as their combat prowess was pushed by the presence of their precious friends, the little ones. So cute and frail yet so courageous for just being there. No harm should come to them.
The war drums nearby the main temple were drumming a song of hope, but here there was only blood and killing and the need to protect the little ones.
Kadai was cut off from the main group, facing a huge winged daemon wreathed in living flames. Parry, feint, smash… the pungent smell of boiled blood filled Kadai’s nostrils, his own blood flowing through the deep cuts in the hardened scales and instantly evaporating on the hot armor.
The big daemons was laughing. Kadai was the leader of his spawning, yet he wasn’t able to land a single blow.
He could hear the roars of his brothers and the incitements of the little ones. So few cries, dwindling away in number.
“Must protect the little ones. Need my brothers’ help.”
Kadai launched his attacks with no regard for his safety, forcing the daemon to just defend itself and gradually pushing it toward the main battle.
When his rage was fading away and the smile was returning on the daemon’s face, Kadai saw what was happening to the rest of his spawning.
Many lesser daemons were dead, one of them strangled by the last of his brothers.
The little ones… sweet Old Ones. Only four of them were standing and they were running toward him, chirping their will to help.
Kadai knew it was wrong and tried to warn them “NO! run away, little ones! RUN!”.
He must gave them the time to flee, before the daemon could finish him off.
But the brave little ones didn’t care, and they threw their javelins… one of them took the daemon in the neck.
What Kadai was not able to do, the javelin did. Just a puncture, but it hurt the daemon, which growled toward that annoying enemy. Lowering its guard for a single moment.
Kadai took that second, and landed a blow with his weapon in the daemon’s chest. Pushed by the full force of desperation, the jade beak pierced the flesh and broke the ribs, reaching the heart.
The daemon for a moment looked surprised, then it exploded freeing its inner fire in a blast of fiery shrapnels.
The explosion knocked over Kadai and before fading out he saw the little ones, burning and screaming. Looking at him and crying for help.
“I’ve killed them”.


When Kadai woke up, he hid. It was easy, as the battle was won but the losses were too many.
Kadai remained hidden and spied the burial rite for the skinks and his brothers, as the shame was too great and he could simply not show up.
The last thing he saw was the remnants of the saurus regiments that were marching away from the city, toward a strongest settlement. The last thing he heard was the sweet chirping of the little ones, fading away. He stood hidden, alone. The pain inside was something new and terrifying, it clinged on his heart, squeezing with cruel claws and no rest was able to sooth it.
“Cannot go. I’ve killed them. Will forgive me? Want to hear the laugh of little ones. It will cure me. Can do nothing with no little ones. I wanna them.”.
He stood there for days, until an idea came to his mind. It was so beautiful and shiny, and there was so much hope wrapped to it. A new purpose. The Idea.
“I will rebuild the city. The little ones on the flying lizards will see it. The little ones will come back. The pain will go away. And this will be home again”.


So it began.
First some cleaning, then a small house, then a bigger building and now the lesser temple. Each day a little more higher. Every day a pain. Every day a dream of home. The Idea, so warm and tender.
This day was no different from the previous ones… then a distant rustle took Kadai’s attention.
“Not animals. Not snakes. Not little ones. Not brothers. Intruders.”
Kadai took the armor which was resting under the sun. The bronze plate, emblazoned with the symbols of the Old One Xokha, was pleasantly warm. The head of the maul recalled a bird: a golden globe adorned with feathers, rubies for the eyes and a jade beak.
He moved toward the voices until he found a place to hide, behind a ruined wall.
“Dumb warmbloods. Too much noise. Just wait. Almost here… almost… here!”
Kadai emerged from his cover and struck the first enemy, laying him dead.
It was a small group of warmbloods, all of them covered with colored clothes and feathers, as if they were mimicking some parrots. Eyes opened wide, they started screaming and turned on their back, fleeing as fast as they could and even dropping some of their useless tools. One of them pointed a sort of staff toward Kadai and there was a small thunder with a blast of smoke. When the smoke cleared, also this last warmblood was running away.


Kadai was satisfied. No time to spare in pursuing, there was much work to do.
He turned back to the buildings and passed through the burned clearing, looking with sadness at the big pile of stones that buried the little ones and his brothers.
Then, on the side, he saw the smaller pile.
And on the top of it, a piece of bronze armor carved with a half-melted symbol of Xokha, and a broken maul with a chipped jade beak.
Kadai remembered.
He remembered the daemons fleeing after the killing of one of their leaders, the acolytes of the temple that aided the wounded, and finally the funeral… his body buried with the full homages due to the slayer of a Greater Daemon, before the leaving of the survivors from the city.
Kadai looked at his ghostly hands and then to the city: a mass of crumbled debris with no buildings, only scattered stones, bushes and growing trees.
But it lasted only a moment.
“It’s a trick of the sun”.
Kadai closed his eyes.
“That’s not true. I’ve killed the little ones”.
And when Kadai opened his eyes, all was normal again.
There was the clearing, the big pile of stones, the buildings and the growing temple. Such a beautiful view. So full of hope.
“The little ones will come back. And this will be home again”.

you can find the rest of the stories of that comp HERE

 

25th competition
January-February 2021: Theme is "And Now for Something Completely Different."

Winning story by @Scalenex

Spoiler: Short and Scaly on the Streets

“You bought the movie secondhand? This ancient VHS tape is skipping like crazy!”

“Get off my back it’s better than nothing.”

”I don’t know It kind of feels like a weak contrivance to describe an entire action movie using under 2400 words.”


Fade up on major studio label: the words "Alternate Universal" orbiting in giant letters around the Old World. This is followed by the indie studio label: Lustrian Pictures, with a stylized bronze sculpture of a skink with a blowpipe.


Exciting music with synthesizers starts crescendo as the title sequence lands.


Short and Scaly on the Streets


Tape skips a few minutes


The plain clothes Skink cop faced off against the trenchcoat wearing Skaven. The sneering Skaven addressed the Skink with a vaguely German accent.


“Really Officer Xilitoc, you’ve been chasing me for over two years and you always fail-fail.”

“I’m going to bring you in, you filthy rat!”

“You can bring me in, or you can save the hostages. You cannot do both.”

“Oh yeah?”


Tape skips a few minutes



“Move! Move!”


The Skink waved the Humans to run faster ahead of him, their hands still tied. The Skink barely managed to outrun the looming explosion behind him.


Tape skips a few minutes


Officer Xilitoc walks by an electronics shop full of televisions. Zoom in on a TV with a big haired shoulder pad wearing Human news anchor.


“After last year’s storm of magic, the once ritzy Forge World Grand Hotel remains heavily damaged. Philanthropist, businessman and community leader Elrond Rudd has purchased the building and promised to renovate it. According to Rudd, ‘This building will be restored to grandeur again and will be the center for a new prosperous neighborhood. I have big plans for this neighborhood, I have big plans for this city.’ Inspirational words from an inspirational elf! This is Sally Marienberg with Channel 4 Exposition News.”


Tape skips a few minutes, cut to the police station



“Better watch out, Xilitoc,” said an older Skink at his desk.

“Did the Itzi Grub donut delivery arrive late?” Xilitoc quipped.

“Don’t joke, the chief is really pissed.”

XILITOC, MY CONTEMPLATION CHAMBER, NOW!

Xilitoc winced from the telepathic shouting washing over him.


Behind the golden desk stat a giant toad in a white shirt and suspenders working overtime to hold all the clothes together. A vein pulsed on the side of the Slann captain’s head.


YOU REALLY MAHRLECT UP THIS TIME!

“You don’t understand, chief.”
I UNDERSTAND PERFECTLY WELL. YOU BLEW THE BUILDING TO CHAOS!

“Mausmann blew up the building sir.”

AND YOU LET THAT SKAVEN GET AWAY…AGAIN.

“I got the hostages out, what more do you want?”


The Slann looked slightly mollified.

You are a loose cannon that never follows procedure, but you are a damn good cop, so I’m letting it slide…this time. I’m assigning you a partner, Officer Thorden. He’ll keep you from messing up again.

“I work alone!”

Not this time. I’m also reassigning you from Skaventown case because you keep dropping the egg on this one.

“You sending me where? Skaventown is my beat!”

I can move mountains with mind, so I can certainly move officers around in my precinct. Until you can show you can play by the rules, you are going to work the Elf District.

“Mahrlect (bleeping sound).”


Tape skips a few minutes


Xilitoc looks sulkily at the older dwarf driving the squad car.

“I didn’t ask for a partner or go to the Pointy Ear district.”

The dwarf made a scoffing sound.

“I didn’t ask to be working this either. Just try’in to survive to retirement. Maybe if you can avoid blowing skyte up, the toad won’t take away my pension. I do things by the Book Skinky.”

“I hate doing things by the Book…or by the Plaque.”

“Heh, it’s like the only thing we have in common is a badge and a gun.”


Tape skips several minutes


“What’s a Skaven doing in Elf Town?” the dwarf asked.

“That’s mahrlect Mausmann! We’re bringing him in!”

“Don’t just bolt off, maybe we can sneak up on him—”

“Gnashgrib, you’re under arrest!”


Tape skips a minute or two. By which point both chasers and chasees are in cars. Xilitoc is driving.


The sirens are drowned out by chase music. An unnamed Skaven hangs out a window and shoots at the squad car.


An oblivious skink is selling wares from a street side vending stall.


“Mangos! Bananas! Got your fresh tropical fruit here at reasonable prices…aw mahrlect….”

More gunfire is exchanged between the cars as they swerve around panicked pedestrians and slower moving cars.


The Skink dives out of the way as the Skaven’s tinted car takes a corner too tight and hits the produce stand. The squad car is showered in mangos and bananas.


More gunfire is exchanged between the cars as they swerve around panicked pedestrians and slower moving cars nearly identical to the ones in the last shot.


An oblivious Halfling is shouting about his wares at his stall.


“Fish, fresh caught today, reasonable price! Ah Gollum…”


The Halfling dives out of way as the Skaven’s tinted car narrowly avoids the stall but the squad car skids and hits it. Covering the windshield in halibut. A fish ends up in the dwarf’s lap, he picks it up and tosses it out the window.


Another vendor is up ahead. A Human.


“Card board boxes! Get your empty cardboard boxes… Ah Chaos…”


The Human leaps away. A few seconds later both cars stop shooting at each other as they drive through a mountain of bouncing boxes.


Up ahead, two Elves were carrying a giant pane of glass.


“What a lovely day to be carrying this large pane of glass through the market area …ah dav’rit.”


TAPE SKIPS a minute or two


At the end of the street, the battered squad car t-bones a limosine while the Skaven’s tinted car gets away.

A well-dressed elf exit the limo, looking at the two battered cops.

“Ancestors dammit, we just hit Elrond Rudd’s mahrlect limo!” officer Thoren muttered.

Thoren picks a piece of glass out of his beard.

“I’m getting too old for this.”


The wealthy Elf spoke with a vaguely sinister British accent.


“I hope you have a good explanation for this, officers.”


Tape skips a few minutes back at the police station


YOU TWO, MY CONTEMPLATION CHAMBER, NOW!


Tape skips several minutes


The two cops are eating and drinking at a Waaaghwigi’s Pizzeria.


“Bugmann’s Ale, I’d never drink that.” The skink said

“I’d never get a pizza with grubs, anchovies, and red peppers.”

“You don’t like red peppers?”

“I guess our taste in food and drink is nothing alike. It’s like the only thing we have in common is a badge and a gun. “


Tape skips several minutes


“I love my wife, but she doesn’t understand what it’s like out here. You married Skinky?”

“No, Skinks reproduce asexually from pools.”

“Have any kids?”

“No, Skinks reproduce asexually from pools.”

“How come you avoided having a partner all this time Skinky?”


Xilitoc looks off into space for several seconds.


“I had a partner once. Officer Kaxla. Chameleon Skink, good cop, good partner, like a spawning brother to me.”


Xilitoc looks off into space for several even longer.


“What happened to Kaxla?”

“We were investigating Mausman…when Kaxla….disappeared. ”

“I know what you mean. My father was a cop. Died in the line of duty. I became a cop to find his killer, but I never figured out who did it or why,” said the older dwarf.


The two drank in silence for almost a full minute.


“Maybe we are more alike than you thought beardy.”


Tape skips several minutes


“Why are the Skaven hiding their warpstone cocaine in Elftown…” the dwarf muttered.

“I don’t believe it, Elrond Rudd owns this building. Let’s take them now!” the Skink said.

“We should call for backup.”

“I don’t need backup.”


Tape skips several minutes


The dwarf and skink jump through a window and barely manage to outpace the explosion as the warehouse in engulfed in flames. In the distance you can see a number of criminals getting away led by a distinctly dressed Skaven…Mausman.


Officer Thoren pulls a shard of glass out of his beard.

“I’m getting too old for this.”


Tape skips several minutes


“You want to accost Elrond Rudd in this fancy Brettonian restaurant? The toad told us to leave him alone.”

“We aren’t going to arrest him, just talk. Maybe he’ll let something slip. What’s the worst that can happen.”


Tape skips a few minutes


Elrond’s bodyguard, a huge orc in a fancy suit, tosses the skink over a table into a platter of deserts. Reluctantly Officer Thoren moves to back up his partner and trips the orc causing him to knock down a stack of champaign glasses. They exchange punches.

Tape skips a few minutes

Police arrive and break up the brawl.

Thoren pulled a glass shard out of his beard.

“I’m getting too old for this.”


Tape skips a few minutesback at the police department.


YOU’RE SUSPENDED! I WANT YOUR BADGE AND GUN ON MY DESK NOW!


Tape skips several minutes


“Our bumbling sidekick just belatedly gave us damning evidence that Eldrond Rudd is running warpstone cocaine out of the old Forgeworld Hotel.”

“Your suspended, Skinky. I’m not even supposed to be talking to you.”

“I’m just a citizen. I can go in with you and you can arrest them all.”

“I’m not doing this, kid.”

Tape skips several minutes

“You son of a pool, I’m in.”



Tape skips a few minutes

“We need to sneak by those guards.” Xilitoc whispered.


Fortunately the guards, a human and a skaven were immersed in an argument.


“Yo, it’s like the damage to the building is all inside, but the outside of the building is still very beautiful. This gothic catherdral is almost like a metaphor for the boss man we are working for. Respectable on the outside but run down and ugly on the inside.”

“No, you are wrong-wrong. This fancy hotel with a dark center is social commentary on 1980s consumer culture in general. There is so much focus on outward appearance, no one look-smells at the corruption beneath.”

“Seriously, you don’t think it’s a metaphor for the boss man?”

“Maybe it’s just an exciting place to have a shoot-gun fight.”

“I hope not, I don’t want to get shot or thrown out a window. We are just nameless goons, we don’t stand a chance.”

“We have-have names. Mine is—”

Tape skips several minutes


Thoren and Xilitoc are exchanging fire with several thugs in the dilapidated finery of the hotel. One of the human guards gets hit and staggers, tripping on an uneven floor and defenestrates himself breaking lots of glass at the start of this fall.


“I knew this would happeeennnnnnnn!”


Tape skips a few minutes


While Xilitoc is exchanging fire with some nameless thugs, Thoren is locked in hand to hand combat with Elrond’s orc bodyguard having a long drawn out brawl. Eventually they both break through a window and defenestrate themselves falling together.

Xilitoc screams in dismay.


“THOREN NO!!!”


While distracted, a nameless goblin thug manages to clock him on the head and knock him unconscious.


He wakes up with his hands bound in a chair, the Skaven underboss Mausmann and two goblins all have guns pointed at him.

“You were all too easy for us to catch-trap Xilitoc.” The Skaven said

“You couldn’t catch a cold you rat bastard! Who is helping you?” Xilitoc said.

“Me, I sssssset the trap,” said an unseen voice.


The Skink looked dumbfounded.


“Kaxla? Is that you? You’re working for Mausmann?!?”

“Oh no. He’sssss working for me. I work for Elrond. You have no idea how deep the conspiraccccy goesssss…”


Tape skips several minutes


“I got tired of being overlooked! I wanted a piece of the pie, and now I have respect, and power, and money.” The Chameleon Skink continued.

Tape skips a few minutes

“…and that’s why the Forgeworld Hotel was the perfect bassssse for our operation.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” Xilitoc asked.

“You have useful sssskills, I like you. I know you like to work alone, but we were partnersss once. We can be partnerssss again. Ssssince you know the plan, you can either join me or I kill you now. What do you ssssay partner.”

“You’re not my partner! I have a partner.”

“Whosssse your partner now, Xilitoc. You are all alone!” The Chameleon skink changed his color to a shifting color pattern for intimidation.


“Me!”


An extremely bloody and battered Officer Thoren inexplicably emerges from the shadows and shoots the exposed Chameleon Skink.


Even with his hands tied, Xilitoc starts grappling with Mausmann. One of the unnamed goblin thugs tries to shoot him but hits another unnamed goblin. He pauses in disbelief, Thoren guns him down. Meanwhile Xilitoc gets Mausmann in a strangle hold and chokes him to unconsciousness.


Tape skips several minutes


Elrond Rudd stands over the bloodied and barely conscious bodies of Xilitoc and Thoren. The elf gloats over them.


“Well fought Thoren. Very tenacious. Your father was tenacious…back when I killed him all those years ago.”


Tape skips several minutes


Elrond Rudd is defenestrated in a cloud of broken glass falling dramatically before on a fuel tank which explodes.


Tape skips a few minutes


Xilitoc turned to Thorden, “Thank the Old Ones our bumbling sidekick unexpectedly came through with an unexpected distraction at our time of need.”


The area is swarming with cop reinforcements including helicopters, and a floating Slann palanquin. Most of the criminals are dead, cuffed, or unconscious. A few are try to flee but are being round up by nameless police officers.


Mahrlect Xilitoc, you are a loose cannon that doesn’t play by the rules. But you are a damn good cop.


He floats towards Xilitoc and Thoren. He waves a hand and their wounds heal though they are still covered in blood and wearing tattered rags.


“That’s better, but I forgot how much magical healing stings.” Thoren mutters.

“You are not getting too old for this are you?” Xilitoc.

“No Skinky, not yet.” Thoren replies.

EDIT: Scalenex would like to thank @Paul1748 for the beautiful illustration which I have inserted into the story.

you can find the rest of the stories of that comp HERE

 

26th competition
March-April 2021: Theme is "Fish out of water".

Winning story by @Killer Angel

Spoiler: Incomplete

INCOMPLETE


1.19.18.8.8.8. 13 Lamat. 6 Mak (year 2497 of the Imperial Calendar) – day sacred to Khotl

The water is dark, murky and warm. A weak light above me shows the way and calls me toward it… I swim and my arms touch other bodies that are moving around me. We all are swimming, in a universe filled by strange echoes, up until the watery ceiling breaks and we enter a different world. I breath the air for the first time, filling my lungs, while my nictitating eyelids retract, letting me see better the place we’re in (this is called a cave. How do I know its name?).

Beings like me come out of water, their bodies covered with soft scales (I must go out. the sun will harden them.) Other beings are scattered around the pool, but they are much smaller, and clearly weaker than we are (they are skinks. We are Sauri. We are Warriors).
Our smell fills the cave… we inhale it, deeply. We let it flow into our blood. It tastes of moss, copper and dead leaves. The skinks smell different and also the big, armed saurus that is waiting outside the cave and is calling for us, is different. But this smell is ours. We are brothers.

Finally we exit the cave… the sun is warm and our blood starts pumping through our veins, giving strength to our arms. We are made to rule the world. We try our vocal cords, chattering random screeches, while we look at each other. We have deep blue hard scales, while the belly and the upper bone plate of the skull are sky-blue.
I still play with my throat, happy to be alive… then I notice that, while many of my brothers are trying to speak, the ones near me are silent. They are looking at me. And then the big saurus, who is not our brother, comes toward me. I fall silent too, while he stares at my skull and then into my eyes.
“Your head colors are wrong”.


1.19.19.3.0.0. 6 Ajaw. 3 Pop (year 2512 of the Imperial Calendar) – day sacred to Itzl

I breath heavily… I’m tired and bruised, but I’m satisfied. The charge was successful and we battered into submission the red squad, taking their banner. I help one of my brothers to stand up, struggling for the pain in my chest… probably a cracked rib. The healing pool will be a welcome prize.
Our commander went ahead, grinning and nodding.
“Qo-Krag, you got weird colors but your strength is true. You could be a fine platoon leader”.
My brothers cheered me, but I couldn’t stay silent. In a real fight we would have lost too many lives.
“Commander, I was wandering… what if the defenders had missile weapons? or magic? we made a frontal assault, wouldn’t have been better to send a squad into a flanking attack? Even only as distraction…”

My brothers fell silent, while the commander looked suspiciously at me.
“We fight as we are ordered to. What’s wrong with you?”
The commander went away… there was no more cheering, only the backs of my brothers, limping away and murmuring between themselves, giving me fleeting, suspicious glances.
And I knew I would have to be alone in the healing pool.


1.19.19.8.5.15. 10 Men. 13 Sek (year 2517 of the Imperial Calendar) – day sacred to Quetzl

We march to war. Our Stegadons bellow their challenge, while green fuming projectiles cross the sky toward our lines. We can hear the heavy moves in the bushes ahead, we know that our target is a group of mutated war beasts, and our duty is to hold at all costs. We move our formation, to face the incoming threat… we are a phalanx, and I’ve been put in the front rank, on the extreme right.

My shield is strapped on my left arm, and there’s no one to protect my right side. This is the most dangerous place of the whole formation, you are almost doomed to die… it takes a strong warrior to hold it, and I am among the best fighters, but it’s not why I have been put here. A Saurus behind me reminds me the real reason, as if there was the need.
“Try to survive, you freak. We don’t want to step in your place”.
We smell the same, but we are no more brothers.


1.19.19.10.11.2. 5 Ik’. 10 Yax (year 2519 of the Imperial Calendar) – day sacred to Chotec

“Qo-Krag, you are a never-ending source of problems.”
The saurus is massive, an imposing presence made even more threatening by the scar that crosses his face, cutting through the socket when there was once an eye.

“That wasn’t my intention, Lord Commander, I knew it was stupid to ask about the Great Pl..”
“Shut up! or I will conclude that you are beyond repair. Now listen: You are a fine fighter, but you are poisoning your pool. Your colors are… unsettling, your behavior unnerving. Your brothers don’t want to stand by your side, your commander doesn’t want you in the squad and I cannot afford a weakened regiment by forcing your presence into it.”
“But luckily for you, we don’t discard any useable tool.”

The door opened and a skink entered the room, wearing a vest adorned with the symbols of a high rank member of the scribes and artisans.
“So, you are the saurus with an inquisitive mind…”


1.19.19.11.1.1. 8 Imix. 9 K’umk’u (year 2520 of the Imperial Calendar) – day sacred to Tlazcotl

Tik-Kat sighed, taking the scroll I was working on since the early morning.
“You have a gift for reading… but you have warrior’s claws. Will you ever learn to handle with care these papers? you don’t need to squeeze the life out of them.”
“I’m sorry. it’s hard for me…”
He gave me back the scroll.
“Don’t worry, you are doing fine.”
His posture is friendly, but his eyes are cold.
I watch him wander away, toward the other skinks that are doing the paperwork about the inventory of supplies. Their murmurs are practically inaudible, but my ears are made to discern small noises into the chaos of battle.
“How long we have to put up with that clumsy inept?”
“At least doorstops don't try to be smart. and they don't stink”
I hum to myself one of our old training songs, to stop me from hearing. I feel cold.


1.19.19.11.5.19. 2 Kawak. 2 Sek (year 2520 of the Imperial Calendar) – day sacred to Xholanka

“What the marlecht are you doing?!? why are you building the defensive wall with wood?”
I was given my first official assignment. It was an easy one, of course, I just had to watch over one of the kroxigors squad to build a new wall section. The skink overseer graciously gave me the instructions, which were currently laying in my room. He wasn’t pleased at all.

“I thought that a wood palisade would have been better than a stone wall”
The overseer coughed, almost choking himself.
“you… thought?!?”
“Yes, in the siege of Hexacoatl the enemy guarded the gates, so our forces were unable to effectively counterattack. With a wooden palisade, if there’s the need, you can take down a section of the wall and take the enemy by surprise”.
“nononononono… listen, you don’t make up things. We do things by the ancient codes. This is the way. If you are not able to follow the instructions, I don’t need you. You are relieved”.

I went away, while the Overseer was shouting at the kroxigors to break down their daily work.
Then my mind went blank, and all I could see was a strange symbol, burning and glowing, while random letters were floating around it. It lasted two or three seconds, then my sight turned back normal.
I was down on my knees but no one had noticed it.


1.19.19.12.10.12. 13 Eb’. 10 Ch’en (year 2521 of the Imperial Calendar) – day sacred to Uxmac

The room is dark, faintly illuminated by some hidden lamp. We are in a inner section of the temple, so I won’t have a chance of escaping if the High Priest Kulthumak decides that I am a danger.
But probably I am reading too much in this, as He doesn’t wear a ceremonial vest, and this is not a trial. He’s walking slowly around me and even if I’m sitting, I’m towering over him.

“Tell me again about your… visions.”
“They are getting worse; become more intense and more frequent, now I have at least one a week when I’m awake, and I dream of them almost every night”
“Describe what do you see.”
“It’s hard to tell; there are symbols, they resemble some of the glyphs of the Old Ones, but they are still different. They rotate, changes, vanish and reform into other figures. And all around them, letters, words… but they have no meaning, I cannot even read them. And when I think I can, they move and shift. They scares me.”
“Now, tell me exactly why you are scared. Tell me the truth.”
“I’ve looked in the book of spawnings and no saurus has been born ever with a iridescent color. I am the first. I don’t know what’s going on in my mind, but if I should give it a name, it would be Chaos. What if I’m marked to…”

A clawed hand settles on my shoulder. I turn my head toward the High Priest, and he is smiling at me.
“The Children of the Old Ones don’t fall to the Dark Powers, Qo-Krag. Don’t worry about it. However, we don’t want to further unsettle the scribes. You must be involved in a… different occupation.”


1.19.19.13.11.4.8 K’an. 17 Ch’en (year 2522 of the Imperial Calendar) – day sacred to Tepok

I’m on stable duty. Same as yesterday, and the day before, and the weeks.
It appeared that I was the perfect candidate for such a position: the skink handlers teached me quickly all the correct behaviors to adopt when dealing with our warbeasts, and I’m strong enough to not be eaten, or pierced to death by one of our “tamed” dinosaurs.
As a further bonus, I’m well far away from the sight of warriors, or scribes, or… well, everyone.
I usually see just handlers and occasionally the riders of the beasts, when they come to take their mounts for war, patrol duties or, as today, some public event.
The knights came in the early morning to take all their cold ones, dressed for parade. Someone very important is visiting the city, but of course we don’t know who.
One of the handlers tried to sound like a conspirator, revealing that he heard a Sky Leader talk about Tetto’eko. Yeah, 3 months ago it was Lord Kroak himself.

Whoever it was, the city’s guest had already arrived, as the echoes of the giant warhorns welcomed it a hour ago. It matters little when you have to tend the beasts.
My visions have changed for the better, I suppose. Now I don’t suffer from mind blanks, I can just see them floating in front of my eyes, overlapping with my normal vision. I actually can count the times I don’t see them.
I am lost in thoughts, when I finally realize that the skink that was working with me is not working anymore, and instead has dropped on his knees, bowing to something behind me.
I turn and I see why.

A crowd is approaching us, led by Him. A skink, floating mid-air upon a Slann palanquin, adorned with the majestic feathers of a Quetzalcoatl. I barely notice that at His flank, is walking the High Priest Kulthumak.
Many sauri and skinks are following behind, but no one dares to bypass the glistening wall formed by the Temple Guards that bears the symbols of the Chief Astronomer.
Tetto’eko stops right in front of me.

“Kulthumak talked to me about you, Qo-Krag.”
“I...”
Tetto’eko raises a clawed hand
“Don’t talk. Relax, and lend me your mind.”
My vision blurs. the real world becomes an opaque canvas.
“Show me your visions.”
the symbols appear, turning and spinning, silhouetted on the background.
“Focus on them. I will help you”
The symbols slow. The letters arrange themselves into some weird words, moving toward my perimeter vision.
“Choose one. Don’t let it go.”
I struggle. My first choice slips away.
“Again. Pick a short one.”

I see another. I look at it… I drag it back, until it’s again in the middle of my visual arc. All the other symbols and words scatter away, leaving only my pick, a single word with glowing letters, superimposed on a weird symbol. the white background turns diaphanous, letting me see the real world. I see Tetto’eko, Kulthumak, the guards behind.
“Now read it”
I look at the temple guards… “HUA-QU!”
The air temperature turns cold, and a freezed snow starts appearing mid-air… until Tetto’eko counterspell shuts it down.
A weird, almost unnatural silence descends upon us. Tetto’eko smiles and raises his beautiful, iridescent crest.
“It’s time to begin your real training, my Brother”.

you can find the rest of the stories of that comp HERE

 

27th competition
July-August 2021: Theme is "Unusual Allegiances".

Winning story by @Lizards of Renown , after an epic tie-break (following a tie between 3 pieces)

Spoiler: A Skaven, a Dark Elf and a Chaos Dwarf Walk Into the Jungle...

Kharrak dropped to the jungle floor, frothing from the mouth as the virulent poisons overwhelmed even his Chaos Dwarf’s hardy constitution. Gharluk swore under his breath and turned back towards his unseen pursuers, shield held high. Nothing.

Even after his ship was boarded there had still been a fairly large amount of survivors. The lizards who had boarded ship had brought larger, flame-belching lizards but these had only killed about half of the crew before they escaped. None of the dwarves had spared a second thought for the slaves, all of whom perished in the flames or drowned as the ship went down. He felt a fresh wave of anger over his burns, Hashut was lord of the furnace and fire! How dare they turn this against him!

When they had gotten ashore, they had thought to salvage something from the ship, but the lizards had harassed them immediately. The jungle favoured the creatures and the Chaos Dwarves had been forced inland to search for cover. None had been found and their attempted escape through the jungle had resulted in them being whittled down to two... well, one now. Gharluk snarled and wiped sweat out of his eyes. Still holding the shield high, he pushed his way through the foliage trying to find somewhere defensible.

-

Kathos leapt over a log and huddled behind it, his keen elven eyes searching for the damned lizards that had been tailing him.

What a disaster this had been! Freak winds had driven the Black Ark he was stationed on onto the rocks, just after they had returned from a successful raid in Ulthuan. The last thing the look-out had seen was a small lizard atop a nearby cliff, glowing with power as he doubtless harnessed the elements against them. As far as he knew, he was the only survivor. His thought had been to somehow move north towards his homelands but unseen stalkers dogged his every move and he would have died many times over if not for his keen eyes spotting motion in the undergrowth and elven reflexes.

No movement. He must have lost them for now. Keeping low, he spotted the sun through the canopy and set off north again.

-

Skirrik squirted the musk of fear. Again. That last dart had missed by a whiskersbreadth. He breathed heavily with his back to the large tree. He must have lost them by now. His raiding party had moved up the coast but the ambush had separated him from the main body of troops. He had no idea where he was or where his kin were.

Not that he cared. He had already made an agreement to betray his fang-leader in exchange for swearing to Warlord Snik-Snak, who would then promote him in turn to fang-leader himself. He had had such a grand plan to plant damning evidence that his leader was hoarding warpstone without reporting to the Council of Thirteen, resulting in him being cast down into slavery. He would have been the perfect pet, chained to show all the others the extent of Skirrik’s masterful cunning.

Panting from the running, he poked his shield slightly around the tree. He flinched as three darts struck the edge, green poison running down the shield. Skirrick threw himself to floor and started crawling on all fours through the waist high undergrowth.

He needed somewhere to hide!

-

The small clearing lay deep in the undergrowth. The tall trees were alive with life. Plants bloomed up and down the trees, birds and lizards of all descriptions scurried up and down and leapt between branches.

A vision of balance. Of nature.

Viewed from above, three trails of disturbance made their way through the surrounding trees towards the clearing. Not that much could be seen through the canopy, but birds and small flying reptiles flew up from three distinct lines all rapidly approaching the clearing. Branches and smaller trees moved as they were disturbed from below.

The clearing exploded into action.

A stocky, bearded Dwarf grappled with two larger lizards on one side of the clearing, while a slender, lithe Elf exchanged flurried blows with several smaller creatures. A hunched Skaven burst from one side of the clearing, running straight through the combat and disappearing into the other side of the clearing, it’s pursuers running into the other combats already ongoing in the center.

-

Skirrik offered up prayers to the Horned Rat. He had escaped his pursuers only to run headlong into several smaller lizards but, thankfully, his god hadn't abandoned him and they had all been aiming blowpipes at something else in the clearing he had run from. Dispatching them from behind, the true Skaven way, had been easy and his sword dripped with lizard blood as the last of them twitched in death throes before him.

Turning, Skirrik saw two of the lizard creatures with their backs towards him. Seeing that he was truly blessed, he scurried forwards for the proffered backs. He could strike them before they came for him again! As he leaped forwards with his poisoned blades, he remembered the old Skaven adage: If at first you don’t succeed, wait until their back is turned...

-

Gharluk swore, he was being flanked by the smaller lizards! He needed to make some space in the combat! Shoving the large lizard in front of him sideways into his fellow with his shield, Gharluk rushed as fast as his stunted legs would carry him into the mustered lizards.

In the whirlwind of combat, he didn’t notice that they were not attacking him but the Elf beyond.

-

Kathos cursed the gods. Three of these small lizards he could deal with, but another four were charging towards him. His mind raced to come up with some tactic as he blocked the blows from the three before him, but before he could do anything a Dwarf crashed into the approaching lizards from the side.

Focusing again on the three before him, Kathos plunged his blade into the throat of one lizards while the other’s attention was drawn away by the new arrivals. Down to two, they lasted only seconds faced by the Corsair’s superior swordsmanship and twin blades.

Spinning to confront any new threats, Kathos saw a large lizard with his back to him. Taking advantage of the element of surprise, he darted forwards and plunged his blades deep into the back of the lizard.

The creature roared in pain and slumped forwards to the ground, revealing a Skaven standing over the body of another lizard. Kathos’ surprise stopped him for a moment. Hold on, a Dwarf? Skaven? What was going on here? In Kathos’ peripheral vision, he spotted one of the smaller lizards darting forwards. Dragging his blades from the body, he realized his moment of hesitation had been a fatal error and his back muscles tightened as they awaited the blow landing.

It never landed. Kathos turned to see the Dwarf crushing the life out of the little lizard.

-

The clearing was quiet again, but now without the rushing life of small creatures. Indeed, the clearing was deathly silent, first from the bodies lying dead and broken around the clearing and second from the three figures warily eyeing each other.

-

Skirrik spoke up first. Knowing he was the weakest of three, he defaulted to nervous grovelling. “Good-good, many thanks for slay-slay the hairless ones.” Yes-yes, make them think you offer no threat-threat. Then wait for the backs to turn. Strike-strike, quick-quick.

Kathos, his eyes slightly narrowed, responded. “Yes, it seems that we find ourselves as allies.” The dwarf will have to go, there’s no way to subjugate him. The rat however... The rat will make a fine slave.

Gharluk spoke up. “Yes, perhaps we can assist each other to escape this mess. Eternal Hashut, why have you saddled me with two weaklings? I’ll need to break the elf and rat will fall into line.

The elf spoke again, “Let us leave this place before more of their ilk arrive. Lead the way, Skaven. I will cover the rear.” The dwarf suspects me, he must be dealt with immediately.

Gharluk’s eyes were narrowed now as well. “Your elven senses will do best in further forward.” The rat is of no consequence, but the Elf... The Elf must die...

Skirrik squirmed as sweat formed on his forehead. In his best grovelly voice, “Sorry-sorry, nose hurt during the fight. Cannot smell-smell. Best to have Elf-thing at front.” Wait-wait. Their backs... Their backs must be turned...

“It’s decided then.” Dwarven eyes narrowed even further.

“Yes, follow me.” Elven eyes narrowed more.

“Yes-yes, I follow-follow.” A bead of sweat ran down the Skaven nose.

Kathos checked the sun and strode towards the edge of the clearing. I’ll double-back in the undergrowth, once the Dwarf is gone the rat will be mine.

Gharluk followed as fast as his legs would carry him. As he passed the rat, he grabbed it by the scruff of it’s neck and threw him towards the Elf. Preternaturally alert, the Elf spun as it drew both it’s blades and slashed backwards, narrowly missing the squealing rat as it recoiled from the blades.

A dwarven axe flashed towards his side and he barely parried the blow as he span towards the new threat. Swords and axe clashed, as the two exchanged blows. The Corsair’s blows were faster and after the element of surprise was gone he had the measure of his opponent and soon wounds dripped blood from the Dwarf’s arm and right leg.

-

Skirrik raised himself up from the ground as the dwarf and elf clashed in the center. He was no fool, whichever one of these prevailed would be too much for him to handle and he would end up dead or enslaved.

Drawing his blade, he crept closer. He would need a moment where both of them somehow had their backs turned. He needed an idea... Glancing down at his shield, it came to him. Perfect.

-

Kathos closed in, a cruel smile on his face. He could see the dwarf’s expression now was haggard and he was close to tiring him out. He had never tortured one of Hashut’s chosen. His smile widened, he would actually enjoy this.

Pain exploded from his shoulder as he was knocked forwards by a weight hitting his back. He tried to reach round with his right hand, but it was no longer responding and hung loosely at his side. He tried to shake off the Skaven clutching his back but to no avail. He dropped his sword and with his left hand grasped the Skaven’s leg and threw him from his back.

Now he could deal with-

-

The elf’s expression was almost comical as Gharluk swung his axe down. As he was splattered with brain matter, he felt a moment of loss that he wouldn’t be able to work this one slowly to the bone in one of his mines and shatter his very will to live.

Gharluk was not surprised that the Skaven had chosen this moment to strike. Sneaky, backstabbing little creatures. Almost as bad as a Hobgoblin.

Pulling his axe free from the corpse, he spotted the rat getting to it’s feet. He was no fool. He knew that this thing would turn on him just as quickly when his back was turned.

He limped forwards.

-

Skirrik staggered to his feet, his ankle twisted and pained. His original plan to strike one and then attack the other while they were still fighting was ruined now and escape was no option.

He put on his most ingratiating expression. “You see-see, dwarf-thing. I help in fight-fight. I am useful, yes-yes?”

The dwarf came closer. Skirrik squirted the musk of fear. Again.

-

Gharluk saw the Skaven had twisted it’s foot. A cruel smile came onto his face. Good. No running. He would have to somehow hide and tend his wounds before the lizards came back, but first... His smile broadened. First to have some pleasure.

As he came closer, the Skaven bared it’s teeth and brandished it’s sword, but several heavy blows smashed the weapon from it’s grip.

Gharluk dropped his own axe to the floor and gripped the rat by its neck. The Skaven’s eyes bulged as its oxygen was cut off and Gharluk leaned forwards as he throttled the mangy creature. It’s flailing arms cut at his back and shoulders causing a burning pain which he ignored as he concentrated on the joyful feeling of power.

Slowly the scrabbling became less and less, until the rat’s eyes rolled up in its head and the arms dropped limply to it’s sides. Gharluk chuckled to himself. Even after all these years it still gave him savage pleasure to extinguish the life from one of the lesser races.



He dropped the body to the floor and gathered his axe. He needed to leave. He was already feeling the effects of the sun beating down on him. He turned towards the edge of the jungle. The burning pain from the rat’s blows grew rapidly, spreading down his arm and over his shoulders. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted some things sticking out of his shoulder and yanked them free.

Darts from the lizards.

His mind raced, had he not felt the impact due to his other injuries? As the burning feeling spread further, his legs wobbled and he fell to his knees and had to steady himself on the ground with his hands. His gaze fell upon the Skaven’s hands, which clutched several more darts.

He coughed, feeling foam gathering at the corners of his mouth as the burning sensation continued to spread, now like hot magma being poured over him.

As his vision faded, the irony of the situation was not lost on him.

-

Itchi’qa watched as the last of the three figures toppled over.

He looked over at Xctahi. The other Chameleon Skink shrugged and turned to slowly walk back into the jungle. Itchi’qa shook his head. Who knew what the lesser races thought. Maybe this had some kind of logic for them? He turned also and followed his spawn-brother into the jungle, leaving the scene of carnage behind.

you can find the rest of the stories of that comp HERE

 

Yeah, after the end of the current one, i'll do it!

 

28th competition
October-November 2021: Theme is "Parallel DImensions".

Winning stories by @Killer Angel @Aginor (it was a tie and there wasn't a tie-break)

Spoiler: Join the Army, by Killer Angel

Join the Army

Hoy! Hoy! Hoy! Hoy! Hoy! YEAAHHHH!!!!
James swallowed the whole pint of Bugman’s xxxxxxx, while his friends were inciting him.
It was the fourth one, and on the table there where empty tankards, just waiting for the waitress to take them out to bring in another round.
“TO VICTORY!!!”
It had been a blast, the London Grand Tournament AoS Championship.
James’ Seraphon ruled the day. Many believed the list was too crazy to work, but “Storm of Magic” proved otherwise. Victory after victory, paving the road to the first place.
At a certain point, James became unaware of the surrounding, barely acknowledging that some helping hands were taking him to the hotel room.
In his mind there were still the images of the match against Soulblights.
First turn, moving ahead a Starseer with Lauchon the Soulseeker and using it as vessel to pump the full power of Kroak and a Slann… Comet’s call, triple celestial deliverance, Purple sun, Stellar tempest and Unforging. And then the bastiladon, running and shooting.
At the end of the first turn, two key heroes and the Lord on zombie dragon were dead, and the undead troops were badly damaged.
The victory. The Championship.

**********

In the dream, James was floating in the void. A constellation slowly made its appearance, and then a light emerged out of nothing, and from the light, a Slann.
That Bugman’s was really strong.
“You did well, James. Do you wanna know more about our secrets? Do you wanna win again? You only need to make the right choice, James.”
The Slann showed his hands. They were holding a blue pill and a red one.
Yeah, this is a really weird dream… Who knows, maybe I’ll get some new ideas.

James slowly opened his eyes. A pleasantly soft light was surrounding the Slann, floating in his palanquin before him. At the Slann’s side, an Eternity Warden was standing.
“Welcome to my temple city, Mighty Leader of Seraphon armies”.
“Hi Slann. You did well today. We won. Have you liked how I exploited your magic? people nowadays don’t know how to pump some good blasting…”
Weird dream indeed. How is it possible that the Warden has a sarcastic expression?
The Slann’s voice boomed in James’ head.
“If I have to be honest, that trick was kinda crude. But sometime you just need a hammer rather than a scalpel, to drive the point home”.
Great, now also the Slann is using sarcasm.
“This dream is unpleasant. Froggy, give me some new idea, or let me sleep some more.”
The Slann sighed.
“…I think I too will need some hammerin’...”
The Slann gestured.
The world exploded, as if a gallon of icy water was poured on someone that was watching some swimming on TV.

James’ senses woke up at once. The room was warm and it was certainly vast, judging by the echoes of chanting voices behind him. James’ back was against a solid surface and his nails scratched it, feeling the hardness of stone.
He instinctively tried to raise, but he slipped on one side, falling on the floor. Scent of… blood? a forked tongue darted out of James’ mouth. Particles of blood, musk and dirty fur. The buzzing of flies over the corpses of freshly dead skaven.
James screamed, trying to catch midair the tongue as if it was unreal… so he saw his hands, clawed and scaled.
He looked around stunned, in complete disbelief.
He could distinguish the different noises of at least 25 flies, buzzing over the remnants of the skaven… and being uncertain about the other insects. From the floor he could perceive the vibrations of the clawed feet of the priests that were disposing of the bodies… he could also feel the heat of a unseen furnace, behind a granite wall.
The chanting was made by a circle of skink starpriests, sitting around a shimmering blue portal. James could see and smell the ozone. How do I know it’s ozone? The humidity in the air was slightly heavy. How do I know that outside it’s a gloomy day and within a couple of hours it will rain?
James started to hyperventilate, wishing to faint and erase all of that.
He did not passed out. He sensed that his hearth was reacting somehow to the hyperventilation, slowing its pace and forcing him to acknowledge again the full specter of sensations that were assaulting him.
No way this can be a dream.
James closed his eyes and curled up in a fetal position.

He heard and smelled and sensed everything, the whole disposal of the skavens, the closing of the portal, the priests that went away. Until it came the rain.
At this point, James opened his eyes again, and there were the Slann and the Warden.
“This is not a dream”.
“Of course not, my friend.”
“What’s this? What’s happening?”
“You are now in our universe. The place you have a vague idea of, that you were used to call Warhammer Fantasy, and now you know as Age of Sigmar.”
“You are unreal. it must be a drug of some kind…”
“There’s no drug. Millions of years ago, just some decades in your world, the Old Ones knew that we would have to face almost insurmountable odds, so they gave us many tools. Among them, the possibility to reach other universes. We took a bunch of humans, people as Bryan Hansell, Rick Pristley and obviously Nigel Stillman, and we inspired them with dreams and subtle mental manipulations. That was a chisel work, just so you know. We made them recreate a… passable simulation of our world, which each edition of the game evolving as we evolve. As our war changes and as new enemies appear. Come with me.”

James could not do anything but follow the Slann toward the exit of the temple.
“But… but… let’s admit this is true. Why? I don’t see any sense in this”
“Shouldn’t it be obvious? your so called game is a tactical simulation. It’s the theory course of a military academy, to select brilliant tactical minds, future commanders to lead the Seraphon into battle and give us the edge by thinking out of the box. And you, my friend, you just qualified for the advanced course.”
James looked again at his body.
“So I’m actually…”
“A skink starpriest. You will be able to take command traits and, for once, cast real spells. Your mind has been transferred into a new body, suited for you”.
“No, listen, I am sleeping in a hotel room, I like playing Warhammer and be smart, but that’s it. I get you have problems, but my real life is not here. Just send me back home.”
The Slann sighed again, bowing his head as to apologize.
“ I fear your dead body has already been found by the hotel’s staff. Chocked on your own vomit. I deeply regret it, but it’s a sacrifice I was willing to make. The Great Plan requires it”.

Finally they were out of the temple. From the terrace a vast, coloured city was visible, swarming with reptilian life; in the sky there were flocks of terradons flying around a huge pyramid that was floating midair; from the pyramid, an azure beam stroke the parade ground, teleporting a saurus regiment.
“We are the Starborne, and you are now a child of the Old Ones”.
“This is crazy…”
A big clawed hand rested on James’ shoulder. It was the Eternity Warden and he was laughing.
“Crazy? man, you have no idea. I won two events of the U.S. open series, back in sixth edition, and let me tell you: when Kroak blew up the moon in the End Times, that was crazy. But this… this is just tuesday”.

Spoiler: Light and Darkness, by Aginor

Light and Darkness


Something was moving. Diforek's Carnosaur swung its head around and the Scar-Veteran thrust his spear into the direction where he had seen the Gors, behind the ruins to the left. A unit of Saurus Knights charged around the remains of the old city wall and toward the Gors that had tried to flank them.
The dark sky of Ulgu provided no source of light, but the Starpriests had enchanted the weapons carried by the warriors of the First, so they were all shining like torches in the darkness. Diforek was not always happy about it, since it allowed their enemies to spot them from a further distance but they needed to see what they were fighting, and where their allies were. He snorted. The Gors knew where they were anyway.


Nothing was moving. Skink-Oracle Acanti wondered why the Slaaneshi troops did not use their mundane weapons to fight back. Instead they retreated more and more, while their wizards tried to counter the Slann's magic and cast their own spells. Except a few skirmishes there had not been much fighting, and the Seraphon force closed in on them from different sides.
Acanti nodded with satisfaction and patted his Troglodon, the First had marched for three days but they were still fresh and ready to fight. It had paid off to live in the omnipresent glare of this part of Hysh for many human lifespans, the Seraphon had adjusted to the light and were not longer blinded by it. Most creatures of Chaos seemed to avoid it, so the First had been able to build significant fortifications here. But now they had come. An army of twisted abominations and the foolish mortals who were following in their footsteps, corrupted by their dark desires. They did not know what they were up against, and despite their dangerously large army they had come to a stop.


A bolt of light passed him. The solar engines were firing at the next hill. They had been doing that for hours now, whenever the members of the Warherd launched another attack from there.
The Scar-Veteran felt uneasy. There were too many enemies. The flying scouts had reported that the army on the other side of the hill was way larger than anticipated, and the enemy's main force was preparing to engage.
Diforek looked over his shoulder to check on the Slann and his Saurus Guards. Lord Zelhua was still in the same position as hours before. It was risky, but his orders were clear: Stay in the old ruins and defend them. They had come to search for something, and obviously the Slann had found it. The Warherd had been driven back initially, surprised by the sudden arrival of the Seraphon. But the incursion into these lands, lands that the Beastmen called their own, had prompted a quick response, and soon the area was crawling with Gors of all sizes that tried to take back the herdstone in the middle of the ruined city.
When the enemy forces eventually pushed forward the Saurus were ordered to retreat. Diforek himself managed to kill a few more enemies, but the seemingly endless hordes of Gors that flowed down the hill required the Saurus to retreat further back and concentrate their forces.
While the next two units to their sides covered their retreat, Diforek had the chance to take another look at Lord Zelhua. The Slann was casting a spell now, moving his hands in complex patterns. The gemstones on his palanquin glowed brightly in the darkness of Ulgu.


A shadow passed him. A cloud of dark magical energy, but Lord Quatzitoec had already began unbinding it, so the cloud never reached the unmoving lines of Saurus Warriors that secured the crystal plains and prevented the Chaos troops from escaping. It just vanished as if it had never existed.
Acanti did not need to look around. He felt the Slann, who was still sitting on his palanquin and concentrating on the enemy. The bond was especially strong right now, because moments ago Lord Quatzitoec had cast a spell through Acanti. The amount of magical energy that a Slann could wield was unbelievable, even after all those years it felt like a torrent of magic would sweep Acanti away whenever the Slann channeled a spell through the Oracle.
When the enemy forces were almost surrounded, they tried to push outward. The fighting picked up in intensity, but the Saurus and Skinks in the front line held their ground. Acanti once more felt the Slann cast a spell through him, it made him slump in his saddle, while a raging storm of fire and ice shook him. When it finally ebbed away he opened his eyes and looked at the enemy army again.


A solid sphere of darkness appeared over the army of the First, right over the spot where the Herdstone had been. It was perfectly round, several paces in diameter, and it was of an even deeper darkness than the Ulgu sky already was. Swallowing all light, discomforting to look at, even to eyes used to Ulgu's darkness.
The members of the Warherd did not care what it was, they charged at the Saurus' lines and soon Diforek had to turn around and face them. The real part of the battle had started.
The Scar-Veteran looked back a few times, but nothing seemed to happen with the dark sphere.
The Slann seemed to continue concentrating on it, but it did neither move, nor provide any noticeable effect on either the First or their enemies.

Minutes passed.


A solid sphere of light had appeared over the enemy army. It was perfectly round, several paces in diameter, and it was even brighter than the Hysh sky already was. Blinding, even to eyes used to Hysh's light.
Acanti could see and feel the daemon casters frantically trying to dispell it, but the Slann maintained control through his Oracle.
Otherwise nothing happened. Both the First and the enemy seemed to expect an explosion or some other kind of effect, but there was none.

Minutes passed.

​

Diforek's Carnosaur was as covered in gore as his spear, and while he was retreating back into his own lines to regroup once more, he again caught a glimpse of his lord.
The Slann's Skink advisor started to look concerned as the Saurus moved back further and further. Lord Zelhua did not move, he stared at the sphere of darkness, his hands stretched out toward it, and otherwise did nothing.


Acanti looked at the Saurus in the front lines. They were slowly driven back by the maniacally laughing daemons, and they were losing ground.
The Slann's Skink advisor started to look concerned as the Saurus moved back further and further. Lord Quatzitoec did not move, he stared at the sphere of light, his hands stretched out toward it, and otherwise did nothing.


Suddenly another sphere appeared next to the first one.
It was of such an intense brightness that it seemed to fight the darkness of Ulgu itself in the environment, and the area around the two fighting armies took on a greyish tone.


Suddenly another sphere appeared next to the first one.
It was of such an intense darkness that it seemed to swallow up the light of Hysh itself, and the area around the two fighting armies took on a greyish tone.


The two spheres started to swirl around each other, faster and faster, mixing into grey streaks and spiraling outwards from the Slann's position.
They did not hurt the army of the First, but when they reached the enemy army, they cut down the Beastmen where they stood, grey lightning burning them and waves of thunder ripping them apart.


The two spheres started to swirl around each other, faster and faster, mixing into grey streaks and spiraling outwards from their position over the enemy army. Immediately they tore into both daemons and mortals, and where they struck they cut down the Slaanesh troops where they stood, grey lightning burning them and waves of thunder ripping them apart.
But when they reached the army of the First, they did not hurt the Saurus or Skinks.


When the swirling spheres winked out of existence eventually, the enemy army was gone. Only a few stragglers were left, and the Saurus disposed of them.


When the swirling spheres winked out of existence eventually, the enemy army was gone. Only a few stragglers were left, and the Saurus disposed of them.


"Scar-Veteran?" one of Diforek's warriors asked him, "What was that?"
"I don't know" Diforek replied.
"It was some kind of ritual," their Starpriest interjected. But he looked puzzled as he continued. "I am pretty sure that Lord Zelhua only conjured the dark sphere, I don't know where the other one came from" he explained.
Diforek shrugged. "We will never know I guess."


"Oracle?" one of Acanti's Skinks asked him. "What was that?"
"Lord Quatzitoec conjured the bright sphere, I could feel it. Then he just waited. I don't know where the other one came from" he explained.
The Skink looked puzzled. "How did he know that the other would appear?"
Acanti shrugged. "We will never know I guess."

you can find the rest of the stories HERE

 

29th competition
January-february 2022: Theme is "Parasite(s)".

Winning story by @thedarkfourth

Spoiler: The Tale of Lizards and the Vermin

The Tale of the Lizards and the Vermin


From the Book of Fun Stories to Traumatise Your Children, by the Brothers Grimmdark, humble servants of the Empire.

Once upon a time there was a family of skaven with no bread or cheese to eat. The sneaky rat-people starved, for they had already stolen and eaten all the nearby food and had nothing left on which to gnaw but chunks of glowing warpstone, and that's not very nice to eat!

But rats are always cunning, so instead of giving up, they formed a new plan. They left their home where there was no food, and they went through their tunnels around the world to the far-off land of Lustria, where the lizard-people live. In Lustria you can find plenty to eat, as everything grows in abundance and to great size. However, it is also a very dangerous land, as most of the plants and almost all the animals are quite deadly, and the poor skaven family found they still couldn't get their paws on any food without risking their lives, which no rat will ever do willingly.

The only place in Lustria with safe food was the great city of the lizard-people. But as everyone knows, the reptilians hate all warm-blooded outsiders, and do not share their wealth with anyone. The rats tried to buy food by trading their warpstone, which they considered precious. But the lizards hated warpstone and would not trade. So the sneaky rodents hatched a new plan.

They waited until the lizards had a great battle with some invaders, and when the battle was finished, they snuck out and stole some of the dead lizard bodies, one for each member of the skaven family (which was very large, like all rat families, with dozens of siblings and cousins). Then they carefully cut the skin off the bodies and used their special skaven chemicals to preserve it.

First, the oldest rat son went to the lizard city, dressed in the skin of one of the dead lizards. He pretended to be a traveling scholar from Itza, the lizard capital. He presented forged credentials and asked to serve as a teacher to young lizards.

The city was only too happy to accept such a learned scholar. The rat was given a place to live and as much food as he wanted from the city stores. By day he taught classes of young lizards, and by night he snuck back to his family, bringing them food. But he didn't dare bring too much in case he was noticed. The skaven family still needed a way to get more.

Soon enough, a second "traveling lizard" arrived at the lizard city - this time it was the skaven's oldest daughter, in another lizard skin. The oldest son claimed that she was an old friend from Itza, and the lizards accepted her on his recommendation. She was given a job keeping and training the lizards' pet monsters.

Before long, the lizard city suffered a series of strange disappearances; their citizens were going missing or dying in unfortunate accidents. And yet the city was strangely lucky, for each time, a lizard was lost, a new one would arrive from Itza with exactly the right skillset to take over the job they had.

Of course, this was all the work of the skaven family, who managed to get themselves all employed in the city, and were enjoying unrestricted access to its food stores. Unknown to the true lizards, they lived among them, draining their supplies and teaching their sneaky ideas to their young.

And yet just when the skaven thought everything was going perfectly, they discovered a problem. One of the lizards they had secretly murdered to make room for themselves turned out not to be a lizard, but another skaven they didn't recognise! They searched its rooms and found a secret trapdoor leading to tunnels beneath the city. A whole other family of skaven had been living under the lizard city before the new family had even arrived! Some of them also pretended to be lizards to enter the city above, while most were living in the tunnels.

Some of the skaven wanted to join forces and combine the two families. But most skaven are very untrusting, and each feared the other would betray them. Soon they fell to fighting each other, and in the chaos, the real lizards discovered what was happening.

The lizard-people tried to kill as many skaven as possible, but they realised they could never be sure if they'd got rid of them all. Instead, they gathered all their possessions and left, moving away to a new city, leaving nothing behind but uninhabited ruins and the few surviving skaven living in the tunnels below.

And so the skaven began to starve again, and they had no choice but to travel back through their tunnels and arrive in a new land where they were not known.

Moral: Children, do not deceive others, for deception destroys the deceived and the deceiver alike. And never trust strangers offering just what you need!

You can find the rest of the stories HERE

 

30th competition
April-may 2022: Theme is "Old Ones".

Winning story by @Y'ttar Scaletail (after a tie break with @Bowser)

Spoiler: Faded Gods

Faded Gods

I should never have bought that treasure from Lustria.

It has been four days since the incident and my dreams are still haunted by visions of ancient stone cities, the rasping of lizard tongue, and the gaze of something older than the gods.

I am putting the following account from quill to paper so that others may know of what I have seen. I fear I am losing the grip upon my mind and I may sink into true madness. But I still have time, if only a little.

My name is Markus Heissmann, a scholar, collector, and professor at the colleges at Altdorf. Despite the constant intrusion by the Witch Hunters and Church of Sigmar, I had made a name for myself in the study of the religion and deities of the Empire, Bretonnia, Estalia, Tilea, Araby, Ancient Nehekhara, Albion, the Holds of the Dwarfs, and more recently the old gods of the mysterious lizardfolk of the New World.

Precious little exists in our knowledge about the realm of Lustria, so when a ship did return to Marienburg with treasures taken from the stone cities of that realm, I spent a considerable sum in purchasing a gold chased tablet inscribed with serpentine shapes and what seemed like glyphs of god-like beings.

I studied that treasure for several weeks, making sketches of the god-like images. One was of a great cat-like beast that seemed to be shown towering above tree tops, another a great sun-like image that seemed to be shown as alive (great strange jointed arms reaching to touch the land below), another a great feathered serpent that wrapped itself around the bottom of the tablet, from its feathers small carved humanoid shapes seemed to emerge. Long I pondered them and what they were and what they represented.

And yet one morning, I found the tablet had changed. The great cat-like beast had vanished from the tablet. For a time I thought I was imagining it. Clearly I was tired (I had spent the previous evening with my friend Von Richtheim discussing the origins of Ulric over a bottle or three of fine Tilean vintage) so at first thought my mind was playing tricks on me. But as the days wore on it became clear that one of the god-like beings had truly vanished.

The following day, I found that the sun-like entity had also vanished from the tablet. Strange new glyphs like lettering where it had once risen proudly. Disturbed by this, I kept the tablet in constant vision.

It was just after dusk when my wearied eyes saw the feathered serpent shift and turn as if alive. A faint blue light seemed to shine from the tablet and the winged serpent appeared to sink into the tablet. Without reasonable thought I placed my hand over where it had been and found my vision and mind flung to a different place.

Stars wheeled around me and voices that were less sound but mathematical and soul fired meaning threw me around the void like a ship lost in a great storm. I was a single guttering light against beings so ancient and unfathomable that it drove me insensible. I think I screamed as visions of a world shaped by inhuman hands flashed before me. I saw the children of the old gods, the fabled lizardfolk. I saw them build great cities and I watched as Chaos destroyed all and broke the song of the stars. And yet in the darkness, I heard a sibilant hiss and a great serpent appeared from the darkness. Unlike it’s feathered sibling, this great serpent exuded fury and vengeance. It regarded me with such anger that I felt my heart grow cold as death. And then darkness took me.

I awoke to find the tablet bare of the strange Lustrian gods apart from a new one that had appeared. The coiled serpent of twin tails that regarded me with such hatred and hunger from the tablet that I thought it might spring forth and devour me.

Since then the great serpent watches me from the tablet and all my nights are filled with nightmares of Lustria and its creators. I dare not go to anyone lest they think I am mad. But I must be mad now. The old gods are gone. But one remains. Vengeance remains. And we will all be consumed by it until the stars reawaken.

The nightmares grow longer.


+++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++

Mein Herr,

We discovered the above entry clenched in the hand of Markus Heissmann, who was found dead in his home. It would appear that he had been poisoned by some exotic toxin we have been unable to identify. Curiously there were two puncture marks upon his neck. His body was lying upon a golden tablet that was featureless and blank. We will continue our investigation into Herr Heissmann’s murder, though our leads have brought us little.

It is my belief that pressure from the university and his failing research drove Herr Heissmann to lunacy and he took his own life to appease this snake god he believed was hunting him.

We await your orders,

Adept Varius.

You can find the rest of the stories HERE

 

31st competition
July-August 2022: Theme is "The Explorer's Guide to Lustria or A Brave/Foolhardy Exploration".

Winning story by @Killer Angel

Spoiler: A Safe Path

A SAFE PATH


2485, Jahrdrung, 3rd Wellentag (Nuovannaio, 3rd lavordì)

Great news! a couple of days ago we landed in a rather quiet bay, protected by a cliff. The remains of a sunken ship testified to the lack of caution in underestimating these waters during the monsoons ... but this is not the news. Near the beach we found a dead man, probably one of the officers that was trying to return to the sunken ship.
And in the backpack ... diamonds, rubies, handfuls of precious gems. And above all some maps and a diary: a real guide, the guy wrote down the whole route. Or maybe the guy didn't even write it, he had followed the diary instructions himself, and if what it says is true there is a place where there are literally thousands of gems. So many that it would take wagons to take them away, if it wasn't for the fact that you can't use wagons in this jungle.
But we all agree ... we will try to follow the diary. With caution, to test how reliable it really is.


2485, Pflugzeit, 2nd Aubentag (Araggio, 2nd gabeldì)

There are interesting news, very positive I would say. Our journey took us close to a large swampy area, infested with snakes and swarms of thumb-sized flying insects. Following the diary's instructions, we had smeared ourselves with a mixture of mud, crushed berries and rotting flowers. We smell awful and we look like we've come out of a latrine ... the diary said it would keep the bugs away. Many did not believe it but the diamonds convinced us to give it a try. Hans hadn't covered up enough. Insects sensed him. He didn't die well.
Now that the first, real indication of the diary has been proven true, we are all feeling much more confident.


2485, Sigmarzeit, 1st Konistag (Sigmarile, 1st regiodì)

The diary proved its worth once again. When the vegetation began to change, we did something we never thought we would do in this infernal jungle: to travel at night and stay hidden during the day.
And this saved us, because we saw them while we were in hiding. The masters of Lustria, the lizardmen.
Scout patrols riding... things with too many fangs and claws for my taste. "Travel by night, quitely, as they are cold-blooded, and ride in the day." And they really do. Blessed be Sigmar and this diary, maybe we have really found the way.


2485, Sigmarzeit, 3rd Festag (Sigmarile, 3rd santodì)

We saw it in the distance. A city, or perhaps a temple. The target dreamed by all explorers who come to this cursed continent. A place filled with gold, jewels and scribbled tablets for which the University of Altdorf would pay many good gold crowns.
And by Sigmar if that's true! Even from here we can see the glitter on top of those pyramids. There is only one thing that sparkles like this. How much gold do these scaly monsters have? But that is not our goal: as the diary says, it is an attractive but very dangerous place: "Beware of gold and the artifacts of lizardmen: take a gram and entire cities will hunt you. On the contrary, for them diamonds and emeralds are worthless trinkets."
Let's move on.


2485, Sommerzeit, 4th Marktag (Soluglio, 4th regiodì)

The goal is in sight. We had to lengthen the journey, to get around a large area that the diary advised to avoid, inhabited by armored herbivorous giants capable of crushing you like a nut if they think their cubs are in danger.
Anyway we are here, near the entrance of an immense valley, flanked by mountains immersed in the clouds; this is where we will find the diamonds mine. The diary suggests an approach that I would have thought insane, but everything reported has proven reliable and the fact that there are still thirty of us is proof of this. Once we enter the valley for a few kilometers we will have to move in a noisy way, making our presence evident. The place is infested with snakes, even giant ones ... and like all snakes, they are shy. As the noise approaches they will go away and the road will be clear. We will be rich.

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

(Prologue)

Working at the light of flickering torches, the skink was bent over a series of scrolls, bound together. He slowly and meticulously continued his work, writing, designing crude landscapes, crumpling some papers and staining some others with a green and brown tick mixture. Finally he stood up, admiring satisfied the result.
A second skink was in the room, wearing the insignia of a priest of Tepok.
“Are you done?”
“Yes, it seems so. The writing of the warmbloods is something that can really drive you crazy. It’s nonsense”.
“It certalnly is. I still don’t see why the Priest of Itzl, Leader of handlers and Supervisor of warbeasts, needed the help of the god of Magic and Wisdom, to… write in the warmbloods’ tongue?”

The first skink smiled, winking like someone sharing a secret joke.
“Because, my friend, the appetite of a Dread Saurian’s female is immense, and we don’t want her to roam out of the misty valley, toward the breeding ground of the bastiladons”.
The second skink stood silent for a moment, hoping in some more revelations.
“I am not sure I understand.”
“Neither do they, my friend. Neither do they…”

You can find the rest of the stories HERE

 

Oh my...
i'm going to fix the mistakes. Funny i missed july-august, since i was the winner.

 

32th competition
October-November 2022: Theme is "Named Character(s)".

Winning story by @thedarkfourth

Spoiler: The Deliverer of Itza

The Deliverer of Itza


The jungle surrounding Itza was a desolation. Charred green corpses and lumps of goopy flesh decorated the trees - all that remained of the vast greenskin horde that had dared to attack the first city of Lustria.

The lizardmen crowded the city streets and looked up to the temple that towered above them, its golden steps ablaze in the sunlight.

"All hail Lord Kroak!" cried a skink priest from the summit, gesturing to the mummified slann that floated impassively beside him.

"Hail Kroak! Hail Kroak!" shouted the crowds, somewhat indifferently.

It was just another ritual - a routine part of city life. A vicious enemy would attack Itza in uncountable numbers, and when all hope seemed lost, they'd wheel out the undead Lord to annihilate the defilers with a spell of unparalleled destructive force. This was followed by an obligatory thank-you speech, before Kroak could be safely re-interred in the crypt until the next time.

"Truly, he is the saviour of Itza!" chirped the skink priest. "He who walked with the Old Ones, who defeated the ravening tide of Chaos. We praise him for his great deeds!"

"Praise him!" the crowd called back. A well-worn formula.

"Greatest of Mage-Priests, we give thanks unto Thy Holy Corpus for the -"

The priest paused as an attendant scurried forwards and whispered something in his ear. The priest cleared his throat and turned back to the crowd.

"It seems High Lord Xlotec wishes us to return to work with all haste. The ritual is over!"

The lizardmen hissed and clicked, and quickly dispersed. Those greenskin bodies wouldn't burn themselves.

On the temple summit, the skink priest gestured to a quartet of waiting kroxigors to take Lord Kroak's holy remains back down to the vault of the Relic Priests.

Everyone breathed easier when the unsettling mummy was gone. Being dead, the ancient slann couldn't move or speak, but somehow it always felt like it wanted something from you. Like it was ...lonely.

As the kroxigors placed the Lord back in his alcove and began to reseal the great stone door of the crypt, nobody noticed that from an eye that had long since shrivelled to dust, somehow a single tear emerged, and rolled down an immaculate golden faceplate.

You can find the rest of the stories HERE