The theme for our 40th seasonal short story contest, provided by the co-winners of last contest is "Slann" brought to us by @Imrahil . Please read all three 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: "The Gathering" The Gathering It was a longstanding tradition. Oldblood Miz’tik had no recollection of when it began, or why. He was old - ancient, even - but not that ancient. Perhaps the Oldblood before him had known. Or the one before that. All Miz’tik knew of the tradition was that every two centuries, all the Slann Starmasters who were awake and available made a pilgrimage to the Temple-City of Xlanhuapec for a great gathering. It did not matter if any Slann were on the outs with another, if a disagreement over the Great Plan had escalated into violence between their two Temple-Cities. This bicentennial tradition was under a strict oath of truce and non-aggression. Miz’tik often wondered what great discourse and debate must happen within the halls during these momentous occasions. What secrets of the Old Ones must be discussed at great length. the shape of the world itself defined by the words the ancient masters must share every two centuries, the greatest of minds all gathered together in a single place. None shall ever know besides the great Slann Starmasters themselves. Not even their personal retinues of Temple Guard were permitted into these most sacred of gatherings. Only the Slann. Only the most worthy. During these gatherings, Xlanhuapec became the single most protected place in the world. Dozens of armies converged, each charged with the sacred duty of escorting a Slann—and waiting in solemn vigil until their charge was ready to return home. Oh, to get even a moment within those halls, Miz’tik would often think to himself, imagining the mythic displays of wisdom that would be whispered. But as any good Saurus was wont to do, he would dispel those thoughts and return to his duty. And the journey to Xlanhuapec was definitely not the time to be distracted by thoughts of whimsey. A crack had Miz’tik pause, his cohort doing likewise. His fingers circled around his spear, golden eyes locked in the direction that the sound had come from. Dry twigs, he thought to himself ruefully, the bane of sneaks everywhere. When nothing stirred for a good handful of seconds, Miz’tik turned his gaze back, down the length of the travelling formation, carefully assessing whether Lord Rek’tzel’davi was exposed to any potential attack from range. Not that he doubted the ancient Slann’s ability to shield himself, but it only took one moment of ill luck. And considering the Ruinous Powers’ penchant for twisting luck - particularly the fell god that likened itself to a bird. Once satisfied that Lord Rek’tzel’davi was sufficiently shielded by his Temple Guard retinue, Miz’tik motioned toward a nearby cohort of Skink Braves. Once satisfied he had their attention, he silently motioned for them to check the source of the noise. The alpha of the cohort tilted his head, then the braves vanished into the jungle overgrowth. There were a few tense moments while everybody waited. Was there an ambush? If so, was it the foul Skeggi? Skaven? The Beastmen of Chaos? Was it a planned ambush, or a moment of the enemies of the Great Plan seeing an opportunity? One minute. Two minutes. The skink braves re-emerged, looking amused. “Just a feral Cold One,” the alpha reported. “The sound was one of the bones of her latest meal.” Miz’tik let out a breath, calmed himself from the state of tension and coiled muscles. Lord Rek’tzel’davi rumbled, a low ribbiting laugh. “Ah. I forgot about that. I believe the last time we came this way I was informed that this part of the jungle has become Xlanhuapec’s local Cold One breeding grounds.” There was a glint in Rek’tzel’davi’s bulbous eyes that made Miz’tik uncertain; had the ancient master truly forgotten? Or was this another of his subtle jokes, designed to needle those who took duty too seriously? Even if you had not forgotten, we would have still reacted the same to the sound. Paranoid vigilance is not optional when protecting your divine self. Miz’tik didn’t utter the words. It would have been pointless to state the obvious aloud. There were certain constants in the world. The Slann were to be protected above all else. The Slanns’ words were to be treated as divine mandate. The scaled kin were the stewards of the Great Plan of the Old Ones. Those were three irrefutable constants. It didn’t matter that Lord Rek’tzel’davi seemed to enjoy a more relaxed attitude toward those beneath him, openly expressing humour and owning up to shortcomings that weren’t really shortcomings. He could make all the jokes he wanted about becoming forgetful in his old age. But the truth of it was that Lord Rek’tzel’davi was still a font of wisdom and power that needed preserving. With the moment past, the train resumed the trek toward the venerated city. As they moved, Lord Rek’tzel’davi leaned back in his palanquin, letting out sounds of contemplation. No doubt considering ahead of time what his contribution to the gathering of minds was going to entail. Perhaps sorting through his many visions for the most significant. “I hope Lord Zlunk is finally over that tantrum he threw last time,” Lord Rek’tzel’davi muttered aloud, his voice as slow and deep as a river shifting its banks. “Getting so twisted out of shape over a bad hand. As if it did not happen to everyone at least once.” Miz’tik’s step faltered a moment, trying to work out what meaning was behind those words. Had a Slann hurt their hand last time they had gathered? Had all the Slann hurt their hands? Was there some physical component to their bicentennial meeting that posed a risk to their hands? After a moment, the Oldblood discarded the thought. He was probably not meant to understand the nature of the comment. Probably just yet another instance of Lord Rek’tzel’davi being humorous, making out like all the Slann were getting creaky in their old age, as if they suffered the same issues that the warm blooded races did when they aged. He had better things to focus on than Lord Rek’tzel’davi’s unusual humour, their destination neared. The Temple-City of Xlanhuapec loomed ever closer, its stepped pyramids rising above the jungle canopy like the teeth of some titanic, slumbering god. A half hour later, Miz’tik could see columns of other armies encamped beyond the city walls, each bearing the standards of their own Temple-Cities, each having escorted their own Slann to the great gathering. The sight was a reminder that while this gathering brought together more Slann than would ever meet under normal circumstances, it also became the single largest assembly of scaled kin in the world. Even if any enemy of the Great Plan learnt of this event, they would be a fool to think that they could potentially weaken them here and now. When they reached the sacred gates, Lord Rek’tzel’davi’s palanquin drifted ahead, granted immediate passage. The rest of the entourage were not permitted past the gates. Maybe throughout the month some Skinks might be given leave to enter, to make use of the markets for trade, but as was the rule, only Xlanhuapec’s residents were allowed unrestricted access within the city walls. It was their city after all. Miz’tik turned to look at the Skink Priest who was stationed at the gate. The Skink clearly anticipated his question. He pulled up a stone and wax tablet, scanning the inscriptions scratched into the wax surface. “Lord Rek’tzel’davi’s entourage… you are given the space against the wall on the east side of the city.” “Thank you, venerated priest.” Miz’tik bowed his head as was proper. Before he turned to start guiding the army under his command to their assigned camping ground, the Oldblood spared a longing look at the central temple, where the Slann would be spending their month in what must surely be a most glorious and divine commune. Again, he wished for a moment he could get a glance at the meeting of the greatest minds of the world. A chance to see the wisdom and the magnificence that would surely come of so many Slann gathered together. What wisdom will be shared within? he wondered, not for the first time. What visions exchanged, what prophecies refined? Perhaps today, the fate of empires will be decided by a single word from a Slann's tongue. Five seconds of wishful thinking later, he returned to his duty, as any good Saurus would. Within the great chamber of the Xlanhuapec temple, silence reigned. Every Slann to arrive eased themselves from their palanquins, a rare moment of moving under their own power in order to approach a vast stone table carved with star maps and sigils while spectral constellations flickered across the ceiling, projected through ancient means, their origin lost to time. The air shimmered with barely-contained power, the hum of the cosmos itself. Each Starmaster eased themselves onto the heavy cushions laid at the edges and settled in, shifting until comfortable for what promised to be a long gathering. Mazdamundi arrived last, his presence heralded by the creaking groan of his floating throne. With great solemnity, he removed himself from the palanquin, and slowly ambled over to the table, lowering himself onto the thick cushion reserved for him at the table’s edge. All eyes turned to him. With great solemnity, he reached beneath his robes and produced an old, worn case bound in ancient hide. He opened it with care, reverence palpable in the air. “Fellow Slann,” he croaked, voice rich with timeless gravity, “the game today shall be the warmblood pastime of Pochen.” A ripple of croaking approval echoed through the hall as Lord Tlaxtlan’s left eye blinked out of sync with the right. Lord Zlunk of the Southern Jungles shuffled forward, already muttering rules disputes from two hundred years ago. Someone cast Divination to check who cheated last time. Lord Hexu’aquak raised a webbed finger. “We agreed last time not to play warmblood games anymore after Lord Zlunk attempted to mind-control the deck.” “That was never proven,” Zlunk muttered, indignantly. “Again,” Mazdamundi said, calmly sorting the cards with telekinetic precision, “the Great Plan teaches forgiveness. Also, I shuffled the deck this time. Personally.” A moment passed. Then Lord Rek’tzel’davi chuckled, settling deeper into his cushion. “Very well. But this time, no summoning avian familiars to peek at our hands.” “I said I was studying Tzeentchian tactics,” Zlunk grumbled. “Perfectly valid research.” Everybody ignored the grumbling, eyes fixed upon Mazdamundi as he finally dealt the first hand of cards, already looking forward to the latest round of their traditional get-together. And so the greatest minds of the Lizardmen gathered once more—this time, to argue about whether a flush beat a full house. Spoiler: Story Two: "On the Council" On the Council The light of Hysh burned bright and warm on the road exiting Excelsis heading south. A group of skinks has left the city recently making their way past the Amberstone Watch towards the Carcass Donse mountain range. Starpriest Tehzal-tak'tak and his delegation just brought the yearly visit to the Lyceam of Excelsis located in the Noble Quarter of the city. Each year there is a single guest lecture given by the Seraphon of Mekitopsar. This year the lecture was about the knowledge of the World-that-was, it’s history, demise and the lessons there are to learn from it. It had been a perfect lecture, according to Tehzal-tak'tak himself, lots of scholars turned up to see and listen to him. At first, seven years ago, he had trouble pronouncing the words of the common language. Moving his mouth in a way unnatural to the lizards. Over the years it got better and this year he managed to stumble over only a handful of words. The delegation left the road and continued their way to the west. The route from Excelsis to Mekitopsar leads them around the western offshoots of the Carcass Donse. The first miles through the Morruk Hills, rolling hills with a vast forest and dense foliage. It always felt a bit like home to roam through this forest, thick and old trees surrounded by lots of vibrant vegetation. Tehzal-tak'tak led the delegation walking beside the Skink Alpha Oxzalno'huain, discussing the lecture and the response given by the scholars. Suddenly Tehzal-tak'tak stopped in his tracks pointing his snout in the air and slowly moving his head from left to right and back again. Oxzalno'huain quickly scanned the surroundings with his javelin and shield at the ready. The other skinks formed a semicircle with their backs towards their leaders, all on high alert. ‘What do your senses detect, Tehzal?’ chirped Oxzalno’huain without taking his eyes off the vegetation nearby. ‘A magical presence.’ replied the Starpriest. ‘Magical good or bad?’ ‘Hard to say. I am inclined to say neither.’ said Tehzal-tak’tak worryingly. ‘Does its magical scent give you a location?’ inquired the Skinks Alpha. ‘Just up ahead to the right of the path, where the vegetation seems to be at its thickest.’ The last words were spoken silently, and he added: ‘Be careful.’ Oxzalno'huain signalled the patrol to face the front and move towards the pointed out location with their weapons and shields at the ready. Slowly they made a semicircle facing inwards, as to box in the target. When approaching the vegetation Oxzalno'huain felt a sudden relieve of gravity as he was lifted in the air without a warning. Looking around he noticed the whole patrol losing connection with the ground beneath their feet. Only Tehzal-tak'tak was still grounded and quickly muttered an incantation and directed an Magic Arrow of flickering light from his hand at the hidden attacker. A low grunt followed and the floating Skinks were victims of gravity once again, hitting the ground with more body parts than their feet. Tehzal-tak'tak stepped forward: 'Show yourself!’ He ordered the aggressor. No reaction came from the vegetation. He waited a couple of seconds before replying again: ‘Come out and show yourself. No harm will befall you.’ ‘How do I know you're telling the truth?’ rang a voice in his head. It was a low croaking voice. Not a voice he remembered, but it had a recognisable feel to it. ‘I swear by Chotec in the sky that we will not actively harm you.’ replied Tehzal-tak'tak. To the Skinks around him he follows up with: ‘Hold back, stand down. Do not attack and do not threaten the Stranger.’ After a couple of tension filled and long lasting seconds the greenery started shifting and branches snapped. All of them held their breaths in anticipation of what was to appear. To everyone's surprise a Skink sized toad appeared from the vegetation, floating a few inches above the ground. Tehzal-tak'tak audibly gasped for air. This wasn’t just a toad, this had to be a Slann. But how was that possible? No new Slann had been spawned since the Old Ones had left the World-that-was to its fate. Let alone after its destruction. Baffled by this appearance the Starpriest was lost for words. Oxzalno'huain on the contrary was quick to respond: ‘Who are you? How did you get here? And what are you doing here?’ The toad turned effortlessly in midair facing the Skink Alpha but talking to all Skinks present: ‘My name is Xuaxamul. All I know is meditation and something pulled me out of it. And there I was near a small lake in these woods.’ Tehzal-tak'tak overcame his initial shock and set for action. ‘Come with us to the city of Mekitopsar, we are on our way back there at this moment. We will have to travel some distance, our own Slann, Lord A’oxatl, will be very interested to meet you.’ Xuaxamul contemplated the possibility in silence and searched the mind of the Skinks priest for his intentions. Pleased with his findings he accepted the request and joined the delegation on their way to Mekitopsar. Their path took them from the Morruk Hills over the Breakface Mawpath and across the Nautil Peaks. During their travels Xuaxamul and Tehzal-tak'tak had many conversations about Mekitopsar, the city itself, its history, the culture and the Seraphon inhabitants. They talked at length about the Slann, their origins and their conclave of Starmasters. ‘They are very powerful beings, calling upon the heavens for reinforcements or even meteor storms.’ Xauxamul’s interest was caught: ‘Is it possible to learn those powers?’ ‘Not from a Starpriest.’ replied Tehzal-tak’tak chuckling. The only inconvenience during their travels was a small clan of Orruks that tried to smash them when they traversed the Breakface Mawpath. Tehzal-tak'tak had cast a spell of protection around the delegation, but quickly felt a more powerful Arcane Shield on top of his spell. He looked at Xuaxamul and the Slann’s eyes pulsed with a green hue. The Orruks had tried to break through the barrier, but couldn’t and in realizing that had abandoned their attempts. The small delegation arrived at the Northeastern gate of Mekitopsar. At first it was a normal sight; a group of Skinks passing through the gate into the city proper. Most of the surrounding Skinks, Sauri and Kroxigors didn’t give them much attention, but the ones that did stopped what they were doing and gazed at them, turning their heads to see and following them until a wall, building or trees made them disappear from sight. Oxzalno'huain knew it wasn’t for the delegation in particular, but that one member they had picked up on their way home. He felt a bit uncomfortable with the attention that they drew and wasn't sure what to do with it. Luckily for him they quickly arrived at their destination: the main ziggurat. Normally they would return to one of the lesser ziggurats to debrief to one of the higher ranked Starpriests and rarely to one of the Starseers, but never before directly to the main ziggurat Tehzal-tak'tak led the delegation up the first set of stairs, across a platform and to a door. There they were met by a couple of Saurus Guards. ‘What brings you here to contact the Lord Starmaster A’oxatl?’ ‘Please Xenal-kekuil,’ said the Skinkpriest while bowing his head slightly, ‘ I know I do not have the permission to directly contact our Slann Lord, but in this instance this is the only way I see fit.’ With these last words he stepped aside, the other Skinks followed his example to reveal the new Slann to the Guards. Upon seeing Xuaxamul the Guards seemed to react even more stoïc than normal. No training or protocol had them prepare for this situation. Seeing no solution other than the one the Skinkpriest explained they looked at eachother and turned to the doors. With a rumble and the creaking of stone grinding over stone the doors moved open inwards. Xenal-kekuil motioned the delegation inside and led them through the dim lit hallway before them. The other Saurus Guard watched them move along in disbelief before retacking his post beside the door. Xuaxamul noticed the contrast of the inner walls to the outside. The outer doors consisted of plain sand colored stone in line with the ziggurat. The walls on the inside were of a darker stone and harboring a slight glow, obsidian like. Occasionally parts of the walls depicted scenes of lizardmen doing heroic deeds or floating entities with glowing hands making precise gestures. Xenal-kekuil brought them around a few corners through different hallways to a second set of doors. Again two Saurus Guards stood beside the doors. With just a few words and mostly head and hand signals they communicated. During it the two Guards occasionally looked at the Slann in the group and back to Xenal-kekuil. It looked like a wave of enthusiasm rolled over the Guards and they quickly, but carefully, opened the doors to the chamber. Xenal-kekuil gestured to the group to wait a moment as the Guards entered through the doors. A few seconds later he returned: ‘Come further, Lord A’oxatl is ready to see you.’ The chamber was just as low lit as the hallways, but there were no torches on the walls. The only light came from a square hole in the roof of the chamber. Redirected sunlight came through a shaft in the upper ziggurat and bounced off an angled piece of wall into the chamber. Xuaxamul noticed four of those square holes in every quarter of the chamber. In the middle of the back wall there floated a stone seat with on it a bulbous frog like himself, although definitely older. He felt his prying eyes fixated on him. ‘Welcome to Mekitopsar, Slannling!’ sounded a voice in his head. Xuaxamul stared back at the Slann upon his throne and replied: ‘Thank you for your hospitality.’ Without waiting for Xauxamul to finish the Slann Lord continued: ‘It is highly unusual to see a Slannling. This hasn’t happened in even multiple lifetimes of many Seraphon apart from some Slann.’ Xauxamul looked at Lord A’oxatl as it looked like he took a breath. ‘Your arrival has filled me with concern and uncertainty. I have called for the Council of Starmasters to gather and decide what to do. Take a seat!’ At the exact moment Xuaxamul heard the last words a stone plinth in the corner of the room shivered and started floating over to him. He accepted the gift by taking place on it. Until this moment the Skinks and Saurus Guards had been standing silent in the room looking back and forth between the Slann. Nobody dared to speak or move although none of them heard or saw them speaking with each other. Lord A’oxatl turned towards the group and spoke to them: ‘The Council will be in session, please leave the room and close the doors behind you.’ They, albeit with regret, did as they were told. As the doors closed Lord A’oxatl stretched his hand out above Xuaxamul as they both closed their eyes and transported their minds to Azyr, the Realm of Heavens. In one of the golden halls of Sigmar nine thrones stand firm in a circle. On each of them a ghostly image of a Slann has taken place. ‘We are gathered here to address the matter of the Slannling Xauxamul.’ Opened Starmaster Garqimatzli the Council: ‘A’oxatl, tell us more!’ ‘Let the Slannling speak for itself, he is here with us.’ Garqimatzli gestured Xauxamul to the middle of the circle. Once in the center of the attention he spun around slowly to look at all of the present Slann. ‘My name is Xauxamul, I originate from the pool on the Morruk Hills. I have been there for some time contemplating on my existence and the going ons in the surrounding area. I discovered the ignorant humans and the fearless Orruks whose stubbornness and recklessness seems to further stain the lands…’ Starmaster Xruzi’o-Ila interrupted agitated: ‘Slannling! You are to remember, you are on this Council, but we will not grant you the rank of Starmaster.’ ‘I will stop you right there!’ Sounded the voice of Garqimatzli so loud that the room itself rang for a couple of seconds afterwards. ‘We are to follow the Great Plan.’ he continued on a softer note, ‘No matter what happens around us. We will have to determine what your role is in furthering the completion of the Great Plan.’ Spoiler: Story Three: "The Very Sleepy Mage-Priest" The Very Sleepy Mage-Priest Recommended for ages 2 - 5 The Mage-Priest lived in a very old temple in a very hot jungle. It was so old and so hot that the whole thing was crumbling and covered in creeping plants. The Mage-Priest's lizards told him that the temple was crumbling and needed to be fixed. But although he was very powerful, the Mage-Priest did not want to fix the temple. "It's too much work! I am so old and sleepy, and I have so much to think about. Leave me alone! The temple will be fine." The Mage-Priest spent almost all his time sleeping. He was very fat and he never left his floating chair. Even though he was in charge of a whole city, he never did any work. Whenever anyone asked him what to do, he always told them to follow the Plan. When they asked what the Plan was, he told them it was too complicated. "Leave me alone!" he said. "I have to do some more thinking." Then he fell asleep for another century or two. The lizards in the city often begged him to wake up. They chanted and sang and cast spells. But he just kept sleeping. Sometimes lots of enemies would come to destroy the city. The Mage-Priest could have defeated them with his magic, but he was always asleep. So the lizards had to fight. Lots of lizards died. More enemies came to the city. Each time they got closer and closer before the lizards stopped them. But the Mage-Priest didn't notice. His sleep was too important. At last, one day, the Mage-Priest woke up. "I have it!" he cried. "My thinking is finished! I finally understand what we are intended to do." But all of his lizards were dead. The only ones who heard him were rats and daemons. Just when the Mage-Priest wasn't sleepy any more, they made him go to sleep again, forever. The End. Author's note: I am looking for an illustrator to turn this story into a book, hopefully with thick board pages. Please contact me if interested.
I forgot to leave a space reserved for author IDs, so when the voting is done, I must commandeer your "yes".