Contest July-August Short Story Contest (September 4th)

The theme for our 41st seasonal short story contest, provided by the winners of last contest is "Non-conformity". We are going with a three week window for voting this time, so this will extend into September a little bit.

Please read all four 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.

Spoiler: Story One: "Administer"

Administer

Deep in the lush green jungles of Listeria proper the vast city of Itza is basking in the light of Chotec. The warm and silent stones of barracks, pens, ziggurats and Temples resemble the calm and warm season that the city’s inhabitants are going through at the moment. The first season of war for this year has ended.
Sauri and Kroxigors laying throughout the city stretched out to collect as many rays of sunshine as possible. The only activity visible is the movement of Skinks. Almost always working, just briefly taking the time to bask in the sunlight before getting back at the job at hand. When not out in the sunlight the skinks work around the multitude of buildings.
Towering over all structures stand three ziggurats in the heart of the city. The outside consists of big stone blocks alternating with smaller blocks with intricate cravings. On the inside the walls of the many corridors breathe cool air.
Skinks roam the corridors and chambers doing a multiple of tasks: cleaning, ordering the living chambers, the war room and checking on the eggs and younglings of their monstrous battle supports.
Somewhere on one of the upper floors, where the activity is less, a Skink scribe is sitting in the administration chambers. He has no time to bask in sunlight or at least he doesn’t give himself time to. His mind is scattered, like the tomes and pieces of paper lying on his study room desk, pieces of battlefield reports and army expenses. Xlatnatl rubbed the top of his head with a sigh. “Why can’t I take time to rest, why is it that I have to do the paperwork .”
As he turned over another piece of paper a Skink assistant entered his chamber with a couple more books and papers.
“Here they are. The historical descriptions you asked for.”
“Thank you. You can put them down next to the pile of books on the chair, right there” as he pointed at the chair in the corner without looking up.
The scribe placed the tomes carefully at the directed place and turned back to the scribe: “Was that all?”
“Yes, that was all”

Xlatnatl looked up from his desk just as the assistant was about to leave. “Well there might be something you can help with.”
He stopped and waited, ready to receive a new task.
“Read me the extract of the last season of war report. I can use some inspiration to wrap up this season.”
The assistant walked back to the chair and searched through the books and papers until he found it. He straightened his back and rasped his throat before he started reading in a clear voice:

“Scorpion’s Coast, East of Tlaxtlan
1.15.17.9.0.0. 3 Ajaw. 3 Mol​

Five Dark Elf ships and a Black Ark made land at the Scorpion’s Coast. Their intentions, unknown.
Not eager to wait and see what their intentions would be, an army was mustered by the active Temple city of Tlaxtlan and a distress call was sent out for assistance to the cities of Xlanhuapec and Itza.
With an overpowering force the Temple cities managed to drive back the invaders to the shore and eventually back to their ships. Not without heavy losses on both sides.
After the retreat of the Naggarothi, warbands of Itza and Tlaxtlan returned to their Temple cities to rest and recover. In this ba…”

“Wait, stop! Go back a bit.”
During the last lines Xlatnatl changed posture to an upright sitting and carefully listening pose.

“... With an overpowering force,” started the assistant hesitantly again, “the Temple cities managed to…”
“No a bit further”
“... After the retreat of the Naggarothi, warbands of Itza and Tlaxtlan returned to their Temple cities to rest and recover.”
The assistant paused to see if he had fulfilled the Skink scribe’s request.

The Skinks scribe rubbed the top of his head again and tried to formulate his thoughts in order. “So, if I am correct, the record said a distress call went to three cities and only two responded?”
The assistant looked at the report and read the part again. He nodded before he answered: “it seems so.”

Xlatnatl stood up and thanked the assistant for his work. He walked out of the office through the corridors to the main chambers of the ziggurat. To no surprise he found the Skink Oracle in his chamber, close to the Secret Chambers of the Slann Lord.
“Oracle Tzyni'atl, can I have some of your time to discuss a matter of importance?”
The Oracle sat at his desk bent forward over a plaque that looked important. He looked up at him and slowly removed his ocular enhancement tool that rested on the top of his snout.
“What matter would be of such importance that it needs my attention, young Scribe?”
“Forgive me for my wording, but when I was reading through last year’s War reports I found out that the Temple City of Xlanhuapec did not aid in the Battle at the Scorpion's Coast against the Naggarothi, however they did receive the distress call.”
“That is most interesting to hear,” the Oracle agreed, while contemplating the impacts of the matter he continued “but where in this do you need my help, my son?”
Xlatnatl waited a couple of seconds, before responding: “a formal investigation needs to be set up. A notion of non-conformity. As you know I am in no position to issue this myself.”

The Oracle looked at him and nodded his head: “You are absolutely correct, you are in no position to issue such an investigation. And I will not either. Now close the door on your way out.” The Oracle turned back to his plaque.
The scribe stood frozen in time, like a statue. Baffled by the seeming shortsightedness and the ignorance to do nothing with the information he provided. He eventually unfroze.
“But sir we need…”
“O… you are still here. I think I told you to get back to your quarters and close the door on your way out.” interrupted the Oracle without looking up.

Xlatnatl left the Oracle’s chambers perplexed by the outcome of this visit. He sauntered slowly down the hall returning to his books and papers. Passing the Skink Priests chamber around the corner he stopped, weighed the consequences, stepped towards the door and knocked.

“Enter!” sounded the clear and warm voice of Skink Priest Quetaltny. Xlatnatl opened the door and stepped in. Uncertain how to start the conversation he held his head low looking at his hands.
Quetaltny looked at him and decided to break the ice: “I see something is bothering you. Feel free to air your heart out.”
After a short inhale Xlatnatl answered: “Excuse me for taking up your time. I was working on the War reports when I found something in the War reports of last season.” he paused to inhale a second time: “It seems like Temple City Xlanhuapec did not respond to a distress call at the Battle of Scorpion’s Coast.”
Now that the high word was out Xlatnatl stood nervously awaiting the Priest’s response.
Quetaltny took a second before responding: “That seems to be a lack of conformity, and a serious one for sure.” After a little pause he continued: “But you know that you have to take these kinds of things up with Oracle Tzyni'atl, right?”
Xlatnatl stared at his feet, unable to answer directly.
“So you have been to him already.” He noted insightfully, “what was his answer?”
“That I don’t need to look into this matter any further and get back to my work, but I can’t just let this non-conformity pass, can I?”
Quetaltny stood up from behind his desk and walked over to the scribe laying his arm calmly around his shoulders in a comforting gesture.
“My dear Xlatnatl, let me put it to you like this: pursuing this notion of non-conformity will thus confirm your non-conformity to your higher ups. Is that what you want to have on your record?”

A few moments later Xlatnatl is back at his desk again sweating on the reports of the just ended season of war.

​

Spoiler: Story Two: "Food for Thought"

FOOD FOR THOUGHT


So, then... "non-conformity." OK, I need to come up with something different from the norm, something strange but believable, and that provides the right amount of empathy. In the last short story competitions there were plenty of excellent pieces, so I cannot submit a poor work.


Let's think about something on the theme of friendship.

A classic would be the friendship between two eternal enemies. Lizardmen and Skaven?

OK, but how do we develop it? A Skaven slave who runs away and perhaps, alone and desperate, helps a skink in need, thinking the skink is just as poor as he is? Perhaps he imagines that Lizardmen society is similar to Skaven society, where the big ones (saurus) tyrannize the weak ones (skinks). And the skink, surprised, cautiously tries to trust the not-so hostile critter...
hmm. Not exciting. Sure, it could be improved, but what else could there be with a theme like that?
Maybe something along the lines of the movie "enemy at the gates"? Two expert scouts, a chameleon skink and an Eshin assassin, facing off in a duel of wits, so much so that they respect each other, even saving each other's lives when their opponent is threatened by something else.

Well, I like this one better already, but it's too soon to go for it.

Other variations on the theme? A scholar from Nuln or Altdorf, who comes to admire Lizardmen culture and "defends" an abandoned temple from plunder-hungry humans? An act that, when Lizardmen retaliate, saves his life and marks the beginning of a collaboration between him and a Skink priest? Yes, that could be cool.



Before we dive headlong into friendship, let's see if we can come up with something else bizarre and worthwhile... perhaps something that breaks the basic lore.

That suggestion Nightbringer posted on the thread would be helpful... I could always use a scholar, part of a university expedition dedicated to an in-depth study of an abandoned temple city, months and months of painstaking research, studies on the lizardmen's religion and the Old Ones. The discovery of contradictory details that the skink priests missed due to their blind faith, details unknown to the lizardmen but known to those who live on another continent... and little by little the suspicion that one of the Old Ones has succumbed to Chaos and is actually the supernatural being known as Hashut.

It has potential, but the fact remains that the idea isn't mine... nah, better to leave it there.



What if I instead focused on personalities that deviate from conformity, but without bringing up friendship?

A particularly intelligent saurus? Nah, already done.

And what if I worked on a Slann instead? A Slann who deviates from the classic idea we have of supreme Lizardmen leaders...

Oh yes, maybe I have one! An addicted Slann. A Slann who, like all Lizardmen wizards, uses ixti grubs, the larvae that amplify the perception of the winds of magic. But he's so convinced that the larvae allow his senses to go "beyond" that he begins to abuse them, going on increasingly longer trips, increasingly disconnected from reality, immersed in visions he believes to be a reflection of the Great Plan of the Old Ones.

A Slann who has created its personal larval breeding garden, where he gorges himself, losing himself in dreamlike contemplations, giving increasingly confused and detached orders, a slow descent into a tunnel.

I could tell the story both from the Slann's point of view and from the point of view of one of the high priests, grappling with a mystery he cannot fathom, torn between absolute faith and the realization that the temple-city is headed for destruction.

Nice, I like it a lot, but it will be difficult to develop properly such a story. And the time for submitting my piece is running short.



Uh, wait a minute... what if I made the Lizardmen version of "Toy Story" or "Lego Movie" instead?

The army models used for play that have a conscience, and believe that the "Great Operator" is one of the Old Ones.

And maybe at some point a couple of robbers enter the house, and the models come to life to defend the Sacred Abode of the Gods. Maybe they injure one with bastiladon rays, the Dread Saurian rips a tendon from another one, the Slann bombards them with magic, but the guys have weapons and little by little the Lizardmen are decimated... until a Forgeworld Imperial Titan arrives from the 40k room and blows the intruders' heads off.

Maybe not very original, but fun.



So, let's recap... the scouts as friends/enemies, the scholar fascinated by lizardmen, the stoned Slann, Toy Story. Plenty of food for thought.

Okay, I've got the notes, but at this point it's best to sleep on them. Tomorrow I'll surely have a clearer idea on what to pick.

Spoiler: Story Three: "The Quest!"

The Quest!

--

In the hot and humid realms of Lustria, there lived a Skink. Not that he cared that the places that he called home were hot. And humid.

This Skink paused mid-step, head tilted in a most confused manner, as though hearing something at the edge of his awareness.

‘Excuse me? Who’s there?’

The Skink, whose name was Ixqual, spoke aloud, questioning the jungle trees as if he were expecting somebody to answer back. It was a rather pointless endeavour, for he was alone, trekking through the inhospitable jungles on a quest.

‘I can hear you! Show yourself!’

Still Ixqual continued to make demands for nonexistent peoples to come out of hiding. But they didn’t exist, so unless he wanted imaginary friends to appear, he had best be continuing on with his quest.

After a moment of glaring at nothing, Ixqual resumed his trek through the dense jungles, ever alert for some enemy of the Great Plan to appear.

‘You just said that there was nobody here but me!’

Wait… You can hear me?

‘Well yes! Who else did you think I was demanding to show themself?’

Well that’s not right… You aren’t supposed to hear me! I’m the narrator!

‘What does that mean?’

It means that I narrate the events of the world. I mean, I suppose if you want to get technical about it, I’m also the author. The fate of the world answers to my decree.

‘Well who gave you so much power?’

Nobody. It’s just the way it is. Now stop being all meta, and go continue with your quest!

‘What quest? I was foraging for my temple-city when all of a sudden I was walking through a part of the jungle I’d never seen before.’

Yes, because you are on a quest. Now stop breaking the fourth wall and go quest.

‘You still haven’t… narrated… what my quest is supposed to be!’

Oh for… you Gen Z types! You want everything spelled out instantly. No anticipation for the reveal! You’re the reason movie trailers give away the big twist now!

‘I have… absolutely no idea what any of that means.’

Never mind. FINE! Cough cough.

‘Did you just say “cough cough”?’

Shut up! Let me do my job. Ahem…

Ixqual was on a quest. There was evil to be found in the jungles of Lustria, and he had been tasked with the destruction of this evil. They had come without warning. They were foul. Insidious. Industrial.

They were Chaos Dwarfs!

‘Erm… Mister Narrator? That makes no sense.’

Oh what now?

‘Well… Since when do Chaos Dwarfs come to Lustria? They are evil, yes, not going to argue that. But they’re not expansionistic. By my understanding they are prone to staying in their region of the Darklands and just being a nuisance to their neighbours. Randomly shipping themselves over to Lustria seems rather… out of character?’

I told you to stop being meta! This is my story, and if I say that Chaos Dwarfs are the baddies of the story, then by-jove, Chaos Dwarfs shall be the baddies! ANYWAY…!

Ixqual continued his trek through the jungle foliage, looking rather irritated. No doubt at the intrusion of the foul Chaos Dwarfs, and definitely not at the illusion of free will being ripped away like a band-aid…

‘I have no idea what a band-aid even is…’

AHEM!

Ixqual scowled at the hole in the Fourth Wall - wait… OI! - Ixqual scowled at the mere thought of Chaos Dwarfs, also known as Dawi-Zhaar. Soon he would find their smoke-belching factories, and he would save the day.

‘How do they already have “smoke-belching factories”? If they had been in Lustria that long, a temple-host would have been formed to purge them before now. It certainly would not be left to a lone Skink to sort out.’

Look, I’m trying to make you a Hercules type figure, a Skink who is mighty and semi-divine and can out-arm wrestle even Kroxigor. Work with me here! It’ll be more pleasant for the both of us that way.

‘No. None of this makes any sense. You are dictating events in the world, and you are doing a bad job of it.’

Look. I can make this very unpleasant for you if you don’t stop interrupting.

‘You’re marching me into a Chaos Dwarf factory. Alone. It’s already unpleasant. So you know what? Do your worst.’

You’ll wish you hadn’t said that. For the sake of fairness, I’m going to keep trying to keep this on track. But be warned, I have punishments in mind if you keep breaking my wall.

AHEM.

Ixqual reached a clearing. Ahead of him, he could see the factory that was his destination. His quest was soon to be at an end. He just needed to sneak in, and sabotage the weapons productions. Fatally.

He heaved a great breath, feeling resolve filling his breast. He knew what he must do. After a moment to steel himself, he turned around and started marching in the opposite direction. Wait…

Oi! Where are you going?

‘I’m determined to make my fate my own.’

Why I oughta… if that’s the way you want to play it…

Ixqual marched away from the Dawi-Zhaar factory, making himself look quite the coward. After ten steps, he paused, blinking in surprise at the factory right in front of him. After a moment spent comprehending what had happened, he leered irritably through the hole in the Fourth Wall, righteous indignation burning at him.

‘Really?’

Look, the story must go on. You have a quest. Now git!

After a solid minute wasted staring at the Narrator with the most impotent of rage, Ixqual swore under his breath foul words that shall not actually be narrated out loud.

‘Coward.’

Fortunately, the Narrator cares not for childish mockery. But since the Skink is acting like a brat, the Narrator no longer feels that the Skink deserves to be treated like a mature adult.

From the shrubbery, a Saurus emerged, face set in paternal disappointment.

‘What? How did I get here? I was guarding the spawning pool and suddenly I was here?’ the Saurus asked, head twisting this way and that, trying to determine how he came to be here. ‘And what is “paternal disappointment”?’

‘Kor’dile?’ Ixqual blinked in surprise, feeling a pool of dread in his gut as he remembered what Kor’dile was most known for amongst freshly spawned Skinks. ‘Why would I feel dread? He never interacted with freshly spawned Skinks, he just guards the spawning pool.’

Ahem.

For Kor’dile was a firm believer of tanning the rumps of any mischievous Skinks. And Ixqual was doing a bit more than being mischievous at that moment, with his refusal to do his quest!

Ixqual’s scales drained from vibrant blue to soggy parchment. He knew if he wanted to avoid a trip over the Saurus’s knee, he best be doing his quest. Right now.

‘A trip over what?’

‘What does “tanning the rumps” mean?’ Kor’dile asked, baffled, staring through the hole in the Fourth Wall at the Narrator.

…

Both Skink and Saurus spent a moment staring in bemusement at the Narrator banging his head against his desk. The Narrator wasn’t about to get into describing the nature of outdated human punishment traditions to Lizardmen. In hindsight, it was obvious they wouldn’t know about such things. With a sigh, the Narrator stared at the two increasingly bewildered Lizardmen and then dismissed Kor’dile. The Saurus was never supposed to be here anyway.

‘AAIIII!’ Kor’dile screamed as he suddenly went flying away, to be put back where he came from.

Ixqual blinked unimpressed.

‘So... That failed. Can I go about my life now?’

No. I can come up with things better suited. But I’d really rather we just continue with your quest. Look, this is your romance partner if you just follow your destiny!

From the surrounding trees came a buxom lizard lady, who gave a sultry wink at Ixqual, who did not look impressed.

‘Lizardmen don’t have genders. We are spawned through primordial pools left by our gods. What care do I have for romance? No, your “story” is terrible and I reject it. I’ve already made it clear that this “quest” makes no sense.’

Ixqual’s eyes narrowed as he realised that there was more behind the hole in the Fourth Wall than just a handsome Narrator. Though why the Skink would want to look at anything else on the other side of the hole besides the good looking chap was a mystery for the ages.

‘You have an inflated opinion of yourself,’ remarked the Skink, clearly jealous — not that it was his fault he’d been the ugly one of his spawning. His eyes narrowed further at the drop-dead sexy Narrator (according to the absolutely unbiased, extremely factual description). Anger slowly built up at the injustice of the world that he was burdened with being so hideous that he needed to do this quest just to prove himself worthy of standing alongside his less ugly spawn-mates.

Then, Ixqual spotted something just behind the Narrator. Without hesitation he reached through the hole and snatched a pack of Jammy Dodgers from the Narrator’s desk. Wait… what did I just narrate?

Oi! Hands off my biccies!

The thieving little Skink ignored the Narrator’s indignation, other than to chuckle because the Narrator had to narrate his own woes, and casually munched on one of his ill-got biscuits.

‘Hey, these are pretty tasty.’

Yes, I know. That’s why I have them. Now give me back my motivation fuel.

‘Nah. Mine now.’

And here I thought you were a Skink, not a thieving Skaven.

Ixqual glared at the comparison, which no doubt would move him to prove such words false.

‘Actually, insulting me makes me feel less inclined to give them back.’

But alas it turned out that Ixqual was simply a petty bastard. But the power of narration still held some sway, and while Ixqual was distracted, his feet took him into the factory of the Dawi-Zhaar, where he encountered his first real foe.

‘My “first foe” was you, you jumped up wannabe storyteller,’ Ixqual muttered bitterly, ignoring the Chaos Dwarf who blinked dumbly at the Skink just walking brazenly up to him.

The Dawi-Zhaar tightened his grip on his blunderbuss, a most crude weapon for an uncivilised race and…

Aii! Watch where you’re firing that thing!

Fortunately, the Dawi-Zharr’s gunshot missed the Narrator, proving himself to be as lacking in his ability to aim as he was in intelligence.

‘Mind the insults,’ the Dawi-Zhaar complained. ‘I was top of my class in daemon-forging, I’ll have you know.’

Look, this is supposed to be a Warhammer story. Could you, maybe just maybe, NOT embarrass your races and actually get to the fighting? That Skink is supposed to be on a quest to destroy this factory. You, my vertically-challenged friend, are supposed to be trying to STOP said destruction of your factory.

Both Skink and Dawi-Zhaar ignored the Narrator, who fought against the feeling of his self-esteem slowly fracturing. For some reason, both of them then turned to smirk at the hole through which the Narrator could be seen. Couldn’t have anything to do with the narration that neither was supposed to be able to hear.

‘You know, we’d have more respect for you if you were actually competent at your job.’ The Dawi-Zhaar mocked. ‘I mean, if you were Nightbringer, he would have actually given a valid reason for me being in Lustria rather than just because.’

At that moment the factory and the Dawi-Zhaar vanished, along with any self-esteem the Narrator might have once had. Ixqual found himself blinking in startled shock at the abruptness of it all. He then grinned toothily at the hole in the Fourth Wall.

Yes, unfortunately it seemed that he had won. He was supposed to be going on a quest to vanquish the Dawi-Zhaar from Lustria, but instead he had just mucked everything up. What a selfish Skink. Nobody would be singing songs of his heroism anytime soon.

‘You’re not a narrator. You’re a child with a typewriter and delusions of structure.’

Fine. Fine! Have it your way. No factory, no Dawi-Zhaar, no quest. Just… wander off then. Enjoy obscurity. Enjoy nothing.

‘Good. I’ll take nothing over a lie,’ Ixqual said, reaching for another Jammy Dodger as he faded into the foliage.

Alas, before the scene closes out, the Narrator has power enough to have one final say. Regrettably, it turns out that Ixqual suffers from a terrible sense of direction. Good luck finding your way home now. Bitch.

At that moment, clearly having heard the narration, Ixqual turned and ran at the hole in the Fourth Wall, teeth bared. He leapt through with murderous intent, and-

…

***404: Author Not Found.***

Spoiler: Story Four: "Oaxtep"

Oaxtep

"So this is the heretic of whom you spoke," rumbled the Mage-Priest from the shadowy depths of the Innermost Sanctum.

"It is, Most Holy One," replied the skink priest. "This one was found to have tampered with the ordained Way."

The priest in his feathered finery gestured to another skink who trembled piteously on his knees, groveling into the smooth stones of the chamber's floor.

"Have you anything to say for yourself," intoned the great humped shape of the floating slann.

"I was only trying to help!" burbled the accused skink, voice trilling with terror. "I was trying to save time, to make things more efficient!"

"So you made an Alteration," the Mage-Priest's sepulchral voice echoed.

"I merely decided to purify all the spawning pools at the same time, instead of carrying the necessary elements backwards and forwards at different times of day. I could have freed up hours for other duties!"

There was a pause. At last the Mage-Priest spoke again. "I see. All but the heretic may leave us."

The skink priest and the temple guardians walked gravely out of the sanctum. The groveling skink was left alone before the dread ruler of the temple city.

"You wished to make things better," said the ruler thoughtfully, "by making change. You know this is not our way. Yet I confess, I am not without understanding."

"R-really?" chirped the skink.

"Indeed. You may believe that we first children of the Old Ones are unwavering. That we have never countenanced change. But there was once one among us who thought much as you did, that certain change may serve the Greater Cause. My spawn brother."

Awed, the skink said nothing. The slann continued in its deep, reverberating voice:

"Oaxtep, Mage-Priest of the Second Spawning, was perhaps the most devoted among us. The most eager to serve our divine parents the Old Ones. Tirelessly he carried out their bidding, followed their Plan. Yet with all his devotion, he grew impatient with the way things were.

"He wished to serve more zealously, and he chafed at the long distances he was forced to travel about the world in those earliest of days, executing the many duties of creation and destruction that the Old Ones required.

"How much more I could achieve in their service, Oaxtep thought to himself, if I could only teleport between earthly locations as the Old Ones jump between stars. And so one day, Oaxtep traveled to the uttermost north to visit the great Gate the gods had established there. By studying its workings, he hoped to learn its secrets and establish other gates about the world.

"But while most would say Oaxtep's intentions were pure. His experiments and probings caused the Gate to lose stability and collapse. Thus was born the unspeakable doorway to the Realms of Chaos, unleashing the great enemy upon the world, resulting in the Great Catastrophe itself. Yes, I see your amazement. It is a part of the story we do not tell, but it was in truth one of us, the gods' most loyal servant, who brought about the downfall of their Great Plan.

"So you see why we do not countenance change, young one. No matter how virtuous the intention, it carries the risk of deviation and disaster. That is why we are unyielding, why we must always conform with the way things have always been done."

There was no sound in the chamber but for the soft weeping of the prostrated skink. At last the small creature mastered itself enough to speak.

"You have honoured me beyond what I deserve with this tale and this teaching. I understand now how things must be. I will not fail you a second time, Most Revered One."

"Indeed you will not," the slann said, its voice now tinged with sadness. With the smallest gesture of its finger, the stone door of the Innermost Sanctum rolled aside, and the temple guardians marched in. The Mage-Priest nodded at one of the large saurus, and it strode forward, raising its great cleaving rod high above the neck of the skink who had dared to make a change.

 

Space reserved for author identities

 

YES! the time has come!

 

Apparently, TWO stories that cite you as person, and one includes even chaos dwarfs!

 

It says the fourth now. It always said the 4th.

Gaslighting isn't real and you are crazy for thinking otherwise.

 

I'm sure @Scalenex is greatly pleased by such achievement.

 

i see no man