Contest January-February 2023 Short Story Contest (voting closed)

The theme for our 33rd seasonal short story contest, provided by @thedarkfourth, was "Dinosaurs"

Please read all five stories carefully before voting. You may vote for only ONE story.

The order of the stories was determined completely randomly. The order has no bearing on which pieces were submitted in what order.

If someone wants me to fix a typo or formatting error that slipped through the cracks. Please let me know by private message AND please post the entire story with all changes made. It's lot easier for me to copy and paste a new story rather than for me to dig through the text to find the two or three errant sentences.

Happy reading everyone! Let the commentary, critiques and gushing praise begin.

Spoiler: Story One: "The Dinosaur"

The Dinosaur


The Knight Errant Roland was eager to prove himself, but he was aware of the danger.

He had already found the corpses of two other knights… better equipped than himself and more experienced, judging from their insignia, but even their ability had proved to be no match for a horde of ghouls in Mousillon (the former) and the arrows of wood elves near Artois (the latter).

Unsurprisingly, large numbers of the knights of Aquitaine were heading East… someone had kidnapped (through the use of dark magic) the beautiful Lady Charlotte, Duke Armand’s daughter. The Lady’s Prophetesses, led by their holy power, had been able to point the research toward a specific place: Uzkulak, in the Dark Lands.

Many knights had chosen the most direct route, heading toward the land of the Chaos Dwarfs by passing through the friendly realms of the Empire and Kislev… but not Roland. He was convinced that it would have been more worthy to take a riskier route, through the Sea of Chaos and the River Ruin. Legends are forged by courage.

So he sailed with a ship from l’Anguille, braving the dangerous, northern sea.

And dangerous it was, indeed: twice the ship was attacked… firstly by a Chimera, that tore many sailors before Roland was able to take it down, then some Norscan pirates, that fled when the knight beheaded their champion.

Roland was saluted as a hero by the crew, but all these extraordinary feats were not completely satisfying, as there was something indefinite that was worrying him… surely the fact that Lady Charlotte was still in danger.

When the ship docked in Erengrad, Roland followed a land route alongside the River Ruin, facing once again many threats… a feral great bear in the frozen plains of Kislev, then (more to the south) a black ork riding an armored war boar.

With each step Roland’s strength was growing… and so his discomfort, always with the feeling that something was out of place.

Finally, when the northern cold was only a distant memory, Roland’s goal was there: the tower of the Chaos Dwarf Sorcerer, where Lady Charlotte was kept captive.

Roland shook off his anxiety and went for the tower: many hobgoblins were slew that day, and finally he bravely faced the horrors of the tower: a bull centaur fell by his sword and lastly even the Dark Sorcerer was killed, despite his foul magic.

The day was Roland’s… and yet, while he was setting free Lady Charlotte, there was still something that he wasn’t able to explain to himself.

Then, the road to home: Kislev, the Empire… it was a long journey, during which Roland was still forced to fight a chaos giant. Inevitably, Lady Charlotte fell in love with this brave, gallant knight, and Roland loved her too, but he wasn’t happy, not completely.

When they returned to the Capital, escorted by a group of Grail Knights, all the kingdom of Aquitaine celebrated them, and the Duke, who knew how to recognize valor, granted Roland the title of Paladin and (reading his daughter's heart) also granted the knight to marry Charlotte.

That day would be long sung by the bards, with bretonnian and elven guests on their magnificent griffins and dragons, and flocks of pegasi flying over the city… the ceremony was stupendous, but all the while, even on what should have been his finest day, Roland was not left with the feeling that something was wrong.

After the wedding dinner, the knight and the princess left the city gates and strolled near the wood of lovers. The knight embraced his beautiful bride and suddenly managed to understand what had been tormenting him for all these months: "But shouldn't there also be a dinosaur in this story?".

“Indeed, sorry for being late, here I am!”, said the Carnosaur, coming out from the wood.

And ate them.

Spoiler: Story Two: "A Day to Be Grateful"

A day to be grateful


Jungle surrounding Tlaxtlan, Lustria
8th of Jahrdrung, 1549 IC/1.17.10.5.15.18. 11 Etz’nab’ 1 Xul

On the east side of the vast and dense jungle, just before the spectral blue that is the great ocean, laid a glistering coast with little to none high vegetation. From the point where the waves crush upon the coastline to the jungle’s edge, roughly three miles land inwards, stretched a sandy plain, now resting in the morning sunlight.

A couple of miles beyond the jungle’s edge, two skinks walked slowly between the trees dragging a large bag mad out of palm leaves behind them. “How much further do you think we need to go, Tak’ek Muntoc?”
“The priest said to drop it off at the beginning of the sand plains, so it will be at least two more miles.”
“I sure hope it will be possible for us to move back in time.” Said Qu’ Tuazl nervously.
Tak’ek Muntoc looked at him and nodded: “The more reason to pull a bit harder.”
They dragged the bag for a mile more in silence, purely focusing on the task at hand. It was Qu’ Tuazl again that broke the silence: “I still don’t completely understand why we are doing this.”
“What is there to understand? This is a tradition that we practice year in year out.”
“I know that much, but are we doing this just because it is a tradition? What is the reason this is a tradition? I mean, not that I am ungrateful for being one of the chosen for this year’s tribute duty, but why are we doing this exactly?”
Tak’ek Muntoc stopped and let go of the bag. “Well okay, sit down and listen!” he replied agitated. After taking a couple of deep and calming breaths he continued: “You are familiar with the history of the arrival of the warmbloods at our doorstep, I presume?” He looked over to his spawning brother and continued without expecting an answer to his rhetorical question. “It all started fifty-seven years ago in this very region. Not long after the warmbloods had set foot on, what they now refer to as, Colombo’s Island. The settlement of Santa Magritta was just formed and consisted only of one dock and three houses.
Although small in numbers, the warmbloods did not keep to the island alone. Soon they travelled along the Scorpion’s Coast to discover new places and resources.

So it came to be that on the sandy plain beside the jungle the activities and voices of the warmbloods filled the air. Houses were built and soil was prepared to start farmlands.

Skink patrols set out more frequently to keep a close eye on the situation and reported back to Tlaxtlan.

The warmbloods, that settled, spawned warmbloods that were adventurous. The later were more curious in nature than the first and even made trips into the jungle.
The observing patrols were pulled further back to avoid confrontation. The Slann did not find the warmbloods worthy of interaction in any way, shape or form.

Loud noises of the breaking of wood and disrupting of earth however alerted them that something was going wrong. The patrols of skinks rushed forward inspect and stand at the ready to protect the jungle from destruction. When they arrived at the jungle’s edge they noticed that the jungle didn’t need protection, but that the jungle provided protection itself. A pair of Therizinosaurs had emerged from their safe cover of vegetation and roamed freely in the village, breaking down houses and killing warmbloods that did not manage to get away in time. Those that did, gathered at the coastline and franticly reached for the boats. They rowed back to Santa Magritta.
In the aftermath of the rampage the Therizinosaurs kept walking around the once village and did not move back to the jungle. The skink patrols now moving in inspected the ruins and found, in what had been the village’s storage, a big crate lined with straw and packed with five Therizinosaur eggs. To restore the order and make the Therizinosaurs feel at ease again the Skinks transported the eggs back to their nests just beyond the treeline. And to this day no more warmbloods come to this side of the jungle.”

Tak’ek Muntoc stopped to notice the bland face of Qu’ Tuazl.
“So that is why we are grateful towards the Therizinosaurs on this day!” he over emphasized with his hands. The blandness of Qu’ Tuazl’s face faded. “We better bring them this year’s tribute then.”

After a last mile they dropped the bag at the jungle’s edge. Unfolding the leaves and revealing the tribute, consisting of a variety of fruits, plants and flowers. Both of the skinks stepped back about twenty feet and waited quietly. They didn’t have to wait long before a pair of Therizinosaurs was attracted by the tribute and started eating. As Qu’ Tuazl and Takék Muntoc turned around to go home a few younger Therizinosaurs joined.

Spoiler: Story Three "This Story Has Chaos Dwarves In It"

This Story Has Chaos Dwarves In It


"Ever since the lizardmen elevated us to sapience with their genetic wizardry, we have dreamed of resurrecting the ancient warm-blooded species that once roamed the Earth... or even ruled it," Dammond proclaimed, somewhat pompously.

Since Dammond was a hundred-foot-tall thunder lizard, he had to speak quite loudly to be heard below.

"Today that dream has become a reality," he continued.

Down by Dammond's mighty hooves, a green-scaled cold one called Dalan rolled his eyes.

"You brought me all the way out here for a joke?" said the raptor. "I have important paleontological research to conduct, I don't have time for fanciful nonsense."

"I assure you, good sir, that this is no joke," the thunder lizard replied. The two dinosaurs moved slowly up a grassy hill on the back of a magical, hovering platform, built large enough even for Dammond's bulk.

Dalan cleared his throat. "You expect me to believe that you have living, breathing -"

He stopped, head swiveling towards a figure walking among the foliage around them. The cold one's mouth dropped open. He stammered stupidly in disbelief. With a shaking claw, he reached up and pulled a pair of spectacles from his eyes as he gazed in wonder at the creature which stood pulling berries from a bush. It stood on two legs, about six feet tall, mammalian but hairless except for its head.

"Th-that's a human!" Dalan breathed, paralyzed by shock. "That's a human being! Look at how it gathers food with its five fingers, just like we theorised! And look - it's using a stone as a crude tool!"

"Indeed, we have settled many academic debates," Dammond replied, smiling at Dalan's trembling enthusiasm. "We've already observed basic metallurgy among elves and dwarves."

Dalan staggered at this. "You mean to tell me you have elves here!? Real elves!?"

"We do!" Dammond grinned, craning his long neck down. With a hoof, he gestured out at the valley below their platform as they crested the hill. It was a green land with a bright shining lake - and it was filled with extinct warmbloods. Whole villages of humans, with little tribes of elves and dwarves moving about. As he gazed at the wondrous scene, Dalan felt as if great music was swelling all around him.

"My dear Doctor Dalan, welcome... to Old World Park."

Hours later, after Dammond had explained the method of extracting ancient DNA from mosquitoes trapped in warpstone, a worried bastiladon assistant hurried forwards.

"Sir, someone's sabotaged the security system! All our fences are down!"

Surrounded by worried faces, Dammond pondered the problem.

"Fortunately, none of the specimens is particularly dangerous. They probably won't try to escape, but if they do, they're too small to be much of a threat. Get a team out to herd any stragglers back into the enclosures. Carry on everyone!"

And with that, the park tour resumed, and everyone had a wonderful day.

Spoiler: Story Four: "Goring Horn"

Goring Horn


Somewhere in the Shifting Sands Region, Great Desert of Araby
32nd of Yhumada Al-Thani, 1066 Jaffari / 32nd of Borgeheim, 2501 IC / 39.18.12.2.11 10 Chuwen 9 Xul


Prince Majid of Medes surveys what remains of the marching column of his army from his seat atop his great steed, rallying his forces to the best of his abilities. The massive elephant, as tall at the shoulder as two ogres standing one atop the other’s shoulders, steps carelessly along the recently abandoned gravel of the road which only a mere year ago had teemed and choked with trade between his father’s capital and the Bretonnian colony of Antioch. The animal’s thundering steps had kept Majid’s forces marching to their beat like a wardrum less than an hour ago. Now, as the mahout seated at the head of the howdah does his best to steer the animal, that has been replaced by short and disorderly charges to and from, crushing and stepping over the death and dying of his own sultanate as they are cut down and fall, bleeding and broken, to the gravel of the trade route or the surrounding rocky hills.

He surveys the chaos, shouting out curses and commands in a futile attempt to rally his remaining forces into a coherent defense or retreat. He can only remember the pride shortly ago felt for what a mighty host he had assembled upon such short notice, for what it had lacked in numbers it had very much boasted in might. Or so he had thought.

There had been the five war elephants, straight-tusked behemoths long ago taken from their native plains southeast of Medes by the pale-skinned hunters of Sudenberg and given to his father as tribute to curry favor. Now only three remain, one lays a massive corpse slumped over a nearby knoll. It’s gray and wrinkly skin painted with rivers of blood and decorated with dozens of massive lances and spears, it's howdah a wrecked mass of crenelated wood and canvas. The other one lost to him, one of the three covered in thin sheets of chained metal for armor, is not dead but might as well be, for the animal is stampeding away in fright as red-scaled reptiles the sizes of bears cling to its body, slowly climbing and dispatching the archers and polearm-wielding warriors who ride the howdah with their gold-studded clubs and blades.

But of course, five elephants do not make an army. Around him hundreds of interconnected fights bleed into each other becoming a brutal battle. None, as far as his eyes can see, are faring well, his once more than than two thousand assorted footmen, spearmen mostly, but also what dervishes his father’s commitment to the faith had drawn to Medes and more than five hundred of the janissaries of El-Kalabad’s standing and professional forces. Little can these men do against the onslaught of hulking crocodilians wielding columns and boulders like great axes and morningstars. Even less against the cold-blooded infantry that makes easy work of them as the lines of horn-frilled Al Saurim close in and snuff them out with an unnerving pace, aided by their colossal crescent shields and spears as long as horses.

His cavalry and archers, both larger in numbers, have fared slightly better and much worse respectively. The riders are mostly tribal desert riders mounted on horses with a few arabyan camel riders led by a few more knights on horseback. They have made use of their dominion of the terrain to avoid being surrounded as the infantry has, but there’s little they can do but relieve the pressure upon their comrades by carrying out consecutive and increasingly costly and bloody charges against readied lines of saurus. He, be it by weakness or compassion, considers attempting to get an order to retreat across to them, sparing the lives of those not already tangled fighting the Al Saurim’s own bipedal mounts, blessedly not numerous enough to tie his forces down… Yet.

Of his thousand or so archers… Little to nothing remains, slaughtered much like the baggage train he doesn’t have the stomach to dare look at. There’s little archers can do when ambushed and surrounded with the speed his had been, rushed by small but ferocious Al Saurim armed with clubs and blades of black glass. Barely a couple or three proper volleys had been exchanged, arrows met by more numerous javelins and darts.

And then, there’s his tribal forces…

There’s the Kaheidi, most common of the tribesmen warriors under covenant with his father as the largest enlightened tribe of Araby, local to the gulf’s northwestern reaches. What they bring to his forces in numbers, they take from him in their boasted loyalty to the Caliph above any contract with the lord of El-Kalabad, as they are the only tribe with right alongside the Sultanates and Emirates to send ambassadors to Caliph Al-Haikk’s court. They are brave irregardless, to a fault. Their horses suffer the least, navigating the terrain and maneuvering around reptilian cohorts, they of all stand the best chance to flee or retreat, to survive.

But they won’t, he won’t even attempt to order them to. Where would they flee to begin with? South, to be pinned against the coast, visible from the road as it is, and put down like dogs unless they are lucky enough to be saved by a fleet which doesn’t know to look for them? Or maybe north, deep into the desert without supplies so the heat, thirst and starvation might do the Al Saurim’s work? East, in the direction the Al Saurim must have come from? Even west would still require a long and maddening pursuit along the road back to an unready El-Kalabad.

And there's also the Ebonians, much lesser in numbers but recognizable by their deeply dark skins and the wearing of the pelts of southlander game, much more commonly employed by El-Kalabad as locals to the south eastern spur of the desert under his family’s dominion. Once raiders of horses and supplies, now their dwindling numbers serve in the Median armies as footmen. Footmen who his kingdom has never considered trustworthy enough to outfit with any armor at all or weapons better than their own spears and small game bolas. As far as he can see, the last of the able bodied men of the Ebonian people shall die today by his side, a fitting end for both.

His regrets are many, his fury at the injustice of his forces’ fate searing. He should have known to expect such a brutal assault even within his father’s own realm. Had the Al Saurim themselves not been responsible for the fall of Antioch to begin with a mere year ago. Had he not set out with the very objective of reclaiming the ruins as a new settlement and port for his father and as a launching point to pacify the unruly Zamezi or even challenge the imperials encrusted upon southern Medes?

A fool, he had been, a fool he is, for not having predicted that the razing of Antioch had been nothing more than a complot by the rot-blooded Ka-Sabari and their cabal with the cold-bloods to draw his father’s armies out, crushing them where the fleets could not reach.

He is a fool, and the blood of his own loyal subjects wets his hands. The bellow he hears in the distance, he feels, is nothing more than the heralding of the punishment the Djinn have deemed his failures have earned him. He orders his mahout to face the foe and his two remaining elephants to close ranks, he forgets what may befall those captured alive, or the fate the camel-men and Kaheidi who do flee will suffer, he can only hope his death will be all the tribute the Djinn will seek.

It is a mightily horned reptilian beast straight from the long-told tales of Ibn Jellaba’s legendary expedition into the Southlands. The bulky creature has a head covered by an armored crest wide and tall enough in its oblong shape to fully obscure much of its upper body and front, out of which project massive horns like a crown. Bony scales and spikes shield the body all the way to a clubbed tail. As it charges forward the three massive horns on its forehead and snout do away with men and horses like one would swat a fly. It riles itself up by goring at the soil, digging grooves into the ground and launching showers of loose rock and dust into the sky. It paws at the ground like a raging bull and, with the command of a warhorn, it charges.

Upon its back there is a massive structure that puts his own howdah to shame, upon this multiple-tiered platform made with the trunks of entire trees and plated with geometrically patterned metal shields a collection of ballistae large enough to harpoon a sea monster and blowpipes the length of pythons, manned by a crew of goblinesque lizardmen at least three times his own, many armed with their own blowpies and pouches filled with javelins which they employ effectively, ending the lives of those lucky or agile enough to avoid being trampled by the feet of the charging monster.

He orders his elephants to charge as well, his hoarse voice leaving his throat despite the pain with a determination that surprises even him. Around them, as all four beasts pick up speed, the melee parts like a fabled sea, the mass of bodies collectively agree that both sides would rather fight to the death under different circumstances. His sipahis, what remains of his decimated mounted guard, are the only ones who are not, flanking the beast and brandishing their long plumed and bannered pikes.

The ballistae affixed upon the animal’s howdah, more fit for a siege than a battle upon the field, fires with the gearing of an unseen mechanism and a resounding twang, the bolt sails through the air towards him. From his left comes an ear splitting sound of pain, cries of horror and terror, and the tell-tale crashing of a corpse. He dares to look, and sees the collapsing form of one of his elephants, the long haft of the bolt sticking out of the nape of the animal's neck, it is dead before its head crashes and the body stops tumbling, the men riding it are not so lucky.

His men meet the assault with fury of their own, volleys of arrows launch from the two still fully operational howdahs of the living tuskers, killing at least a eight of the opposing troops just with the first one, as the blue-scaled bodies tumble down lifeless or pained, he notes with satisfaction the one slumped over the un-reloaded ballistae.

His sipahis, loyal to the end, meet the animal then with their great speed, many are trampled under the bulk of the beaked beast of war, but many also make sure that their pikes find purchase between scales and under sections of armor, stinging and bleeding the monster like hornets.

Finally, the gap closes. War Elephant and Ancient Stegadon meet horn against tusk. The first has an advantage in height and reach, the second in weight and strength. A second elephant crashes onto the stegadon’s flank, making it budge, tusks dig into a less protected underbody.

An armored trunk grabs onto any point of purchase and pulls, damaging the opposing howdah until one of its supports splinters and collapses, what begins as a tilt will soon be a total structural collapse. Tusks covered in spikes affixed to the ivory like rings tangles with stone-like horns through the spiked chains which dangle from them, originally meant to catch cavalry, they gain a new utility now, locking both beasts.

But the cold-blooded animal is not upturned or shaken, it only pushes forward, forward and forward until chains snap and the second elephant's tusks are cracked under the weight of an advancing barrage of stomps and shoves. It forces itself forward and forward until the massive straight-tusked elephant’s front limbs start to leave the ground and its trunk becomes so painfully taut that it has to let go.

The last thing Prince Majid of Medes sees as the tilt becomes so extreme that he begins to lose his footing and fall backwards to his demise, is the sight of the opposing warbeast goring forwards and upwards, digging its horns into his elephant’s belly armor like paper as it roars with the booming fury of a rampaging coldblood.

Spoiler: Story Five: "Lustria Park"

Lustria Park


“This is beyond stupid!”

For a moment, At-Tok looked dejected, his oddly perched conical hat that he had painstaking crafted for himself out of pith seemed to dip in momentary despair. His arm was still held out in grandiose indication towards a large red stylised banner that read ‘Lustria Park’. He quickly regained his composure though with a short tap of his amber headed staff of office.

The other Skink Priests remained unimpressed.

“Look! Why can’t any of you understand? So much was lost from our old world when the powers of Chaos broke it apart. Yes! Many of us escaped upon the Temple Ships and brought samples from lost Lustria, but not enough! This park as I keep telling you, will show the way Lustria was. It will be teeming with recreated life and the way we once lived can exist again rather than just be a memory.”

“At-Tok,” spoke one of the Priests, “your duties laid out by the revered Mage Priest was to take care of the Carnosaur eggs...not this...wait, are those toys and those tunics the warmbloods wear?”

“Merchandise, yes.” At-Tok broke in, “What better way to make sure the Great Plan(s) go without issue than getting the warmbloods to see things through our eyes? Besides, egg production is at an all-time high and the exhibits are nearly filled already. We’ve got variable Bastiladons, Carnosaurs, Razordons, Cold Ones, Slamanders, Stegadons, Terradons, a Dread Saurian (she’s called Kroq Junior), a Huagerdon petting area for younger Skinks, even a host of Raptadons.”

“Wait...” spoke Pal-Tolo, looking very nervous, “Raptadons? You’ve been breeding Raptadons?”

“Not exactly, we’ve used ancient star science to control how many are produced by making every one of our specimens female. Also, whilst the ancient glyph wards hold, there is no danger and we have full control.”

“Life, er finds a way,” another Priest, Gol-Ptoo spoke.

“No!” growled At-Tok, “none of your silly Chaos theory, this temple ship is protected against such things.”

Pal-Tolo’s tail lashed with concern, “Even so, Raptadons are one of the deadliest predators, their vision is not movement based and their claws could rip through a warmblood like a blade through leaves.”

“...So can most things we ride or use in war...and that includes us...” sighed At-Tok.

“What even is the problem, Raptadons are just large turkeys,” another Priest quipped, a claw stuck up a nostril. The other Priests groaned and began to argue amongst themselves.

“Quiet!” At-Tok yelled, slamming his staff down with such force that it splintered in half. He looked at both broken ends in sudden sorrowful regret before turning his gaze at the others. “Just have a look inside, see what I have been doing, and if it goes against all your principles then report me to the Mage Priest.”

The other Priests were quiet for a long time before with a shrug they followed At-Tok inside the hold section.

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

Much later.


“Those were Draconith!”

“So they keep telling me,” muttered At-Tok, “it really breaks the immersion.”

“But the eggs entrusted to our Temple Ship were lost.”

“Well I found them...and honestly I don’t think they were a good choice for Lustria Park.”

The other Skink Priests stared dumbfounded.

“This needs to be reported to the Mage Priest,” Pal-Tolo spoke at last, “That you were able to properly incubate and hatch them is astounding.” He paused for another long moment, “The Mage Priest might even endorse...‘Lustria Park’...”

At-Tok tossed aside his broken staff ends he had carried up until then and clapped his hands together in joy. “Well why didn’t you say so?!”

-------------------------------------------------
Elsewhere in the park an overworked glyph winked out and there came a low rattled growl from a Raptadon.

 

Story One: "The Dinosaur" by @Killer Angel

Story Two: "A Day to be Grateful" by @Imrahil

Story Three" "This Story has Chaos Dwarves in It" by @thedarkfourth

Story Four: "Goring Horn" by @Mr.Crocodile

Story Five: "Lustria Park" by @Y'ttar Scaletail

Congratulations to Killer Angel for winning the tie-breaker!

Thank you and good job to all entrants!

 

Excellent.
Let's begin the reading

 

You are forced to make a decision!

 

I think i know what i am going to vote for...

 

They are all good and pleasant pieces, but there's not a single perfect story. Each one includes merits and minor faults...
I will certainly write some review.

 

Then you are golden and no one can contest your pick.

 

I don't make the rules, I just enforce them...oh wait.