Fiction The Jump In

This is NOT a lizardmen or seraphon story. It is, however, an introduction to the Apisi; a half coyote, half man beastman. They play the main nemesis in my on going story of desert Lizardmen, so their tale is really close to me.

The Jump In

On a plateau in the southern region of Naggaroth, coyotes reign supreme. In an act to sow chaos unto the world, the Dark Gods employ all means to reach the corners of it. As such, these coyotes are granted the gifts of chaotic birth into a Beastman. Most are born after a particularly savage kill; latching on and ripping side to side, killing the target on the spot and concentrating the blood into a small pool. Some have been known to be born after the coyote empties it's bowels in the same area too often. Others, born for having a large pack, with all the adolescent males kicked out.

This coyote today... stalking a lone stag elk. Without engaging, the coyote kept the pressure on the elk, keeping it moving and always under threat. The coyote meant to tire it out. Every once in a while the coyote would disappear from sight and show up somewhere completely different, using smell alone to track its way back to the elk, startling it. This chase has continued for two days and two nights, through sparse forests and rolling plains. The chase seemed to end when the elk decided not to exit the forested area, and stopped short of the clearing. Standing ground, the elk faced the coyote who stopped as well. The trick now was to back away and disappear from sight for a while, only returning when the smell goes faint; the coyote pretty much had it in the bag. All this cunning while approaching the enemy grabbed the attention of a fickle god, and the coyotes spine began twisting. Before the coyote could see out its plan, its limbs and head and body were contorting to fit the image of a champion of the Dark Gods. Sharp yips of pain grew into deeper and harsher howls.

The elk was confused by the display, and backed away, but never turned around. In exhaustion, the newborn Beastman was now coughing at the ground and trying to catch its breath. The stag, feeling it now had an advantage, stomped the ground a couple times before lowering its head. The Beastman cold barely see through the shades of red and low night light, but a growing image of a charging elk prompted two hands to reach forward. The right hand found a hold onto the antler, but the left hand slipped and broke the thumb clean off. The antlers pierced into the shoulder and arm as well. With a howl out of anger, not pain, the Beastman pushed with both palms into the antlers and rolled the attacker off to the side. Still with a firm grasp on the antler, and now a standing advantage, the Beastman torqued the elks neck violently. Hooves that were flailing in the air a moment ago were now limp.

Standing over the lifeless elk, the Beastman stared in silence; only the sound of heavy breathing, until the sun pushed through the trees. Every moment of stillness, in anguish.

And then, the hungry breaths came. The Beastman was in no shape defend this kill. He spotted something that looked remarkably similar to himself. Only a moment later, the Beastman was tackled from behind and subdued on the ground. With eager yips, the rest of the party came out of hiding to either pick at the elk, or kick the new found Beastman. Before long, the elk was nothing but scattered bone, but they continued to trade turns holding and pushing and striking the Beastman. Without any notice, they dropped him to the ground and ran, with yips of excitement.

A shaman kneeled next to the curled, beaten mass, and whispered Ko Ty Ro. The shaman lifted the Beastman up to carry him over the shoulder. The Beastman passed out after a few minutes.

With a fuzzy head, the Beastman woke to a hazy tent. Slowly, the sound of chanting got louder. The words were mostly gibberish, but he picked up on the words Ko Ty Ro again. The Beastman sat up to look at the shaman and the chanting stopped. The shaman picked up a pipe and a burning wick, and took a drag from the pipe. The Beastman stared until the shaman blew smoke into his face. The shaman motioned for the Beastman to do the same, and slowly, he did. Before the smoke reached his lungs fully, the Beastman coughed violently, and curled forward. The shaman laughed and continued chanting.

The Beastman heard the words, "Your name is Kotyro" come from the shaman this time.

Still coughing and struggling for air, Kotyro said, "That's my name?" Puzzled with himself, he looked down his snout.

The shaman said, "You understand." to which Kotyro could only nod while coughing. The shaman continued, "I can't believe you're alive." The shaman turned around the stool he was sitting on and grabbed a cup from the ground and turned back to hand it to Kotyro.

Before he grabbed the cup, Kotyro felt the anger saying, "Then why did you beat me!?"

The shaman recoiled and took back the cup, cocked his head and snarled. It took a moment before the shaman calmed himself down enough to say, "You, must, understand." The shaman held the cup back out with one hand while turning around again. Kotyro caught it with a little spilling on his arm. The shaman was filling another pipe and saying, "It is traditionally the Beastlord that challenges the new-spawns. However, ours was taken from us by an assassins blade many moons ago; few remember HAVING a leader." The shaman paused a moment and leaned back toward the bed, "Do you remember anything before you...?" Kotyro looked blankly and grunted No. The shaman continued, "What about your earliest memory?" and leaned forward to continue what he was doing.

Kotyro let out a resistant sigh, "All I could see was red, but I knew I was being charged. Before I knew it, I was on the ground. I managed to push the beast off of me and then killed it." The shaman turned around with a questioning look, "snapped its neck."

The shaman held out a loaded pipe to Kotyro and said, "You are Sated...which explains the uneaten kill." The shaman laughed, "Tzeentch has made you special in a way. We shall see how, until then, you must find your place in the pack." The shaman stood up, although mostly hunched over because of the size of the tent, "You should be fine now; finish up, and leave my tent before I get back." The shaman pointed at the pipe and cup and moved to push aside the tent flap, "You cannot leave the camp unless with a group." The shaman exited the tent, leaving behind swirls of smoke lit by the ray of light from outside. Kotyro's head started to rush, and pushed his body back onto the mat, and into a deep sleep.

***There we have an introduction into the ways and current struggles of the the Apisi, who will be referenced a lot through out my stories as they are the main aggressor to the citizens of Poneextlan. You can find my next chapters... past the comments; I'll bold the titles or something.***

 

Those nasty gods and their minions seam tailor made to hem us in.

Don't edit it too much. You will spoil my fun.

 

This is brilliant! Still waiting for the road runner to show up though! Seriously though this is amazing.

 

Dang it, gramps! I was saving that for my next snipe.

 

You need to slower.

 

Definitely fixing that two days two days thing hahah, thanks... now, is "sewing terror" not the way that phrase is spelled? If so, I've been getting this one wrong for a while now. Maybe my train of thought was wrong but I always thought that was like weaving terror into the fabric of everyday life.

Please advise how the expression goes.

 

The phrase is sowing like you would with seed.

 

To sowing terror - is to plant the seeds of fear, to reap an abundant harvest of terror when they germinate and grow.

The sewing analogy is good, too, but non standard. I could imagine Crowsfoot "knitting" terror as well.

 

Maybe crocheting terror. A big afghan blanket of terror.

Edit: I don't know who thought it was a good idea to trade my forklift for an office chair but I spent the last half an hour trying to draw an Apisi.
So far unsuccessful but the attempts will continue.

 

Yep, sewing your eyelids shut prevents crying. That's a tip for Mr V.

 

Darn you, spawn of horror!

 

I can't believe your knitting and sewing puns made me laugh. Must have been a long morning.

 

What Statler and Waldorf are for the Muppets show, are @Crowsfoot and @spawning of Bob for Lustria Online...

@Tlac'Natai the Observer : It's good to know the enemy!