Slann
Scalenex
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We got four excellent stories. You only get one vote, so please read all the pieces carefully before voting.
Per usual, the order of the pieces was determined randomly.
If you spotted one or more typos or formatting error in one of these pieces, please send me a private message with the ENTIRE correct story and not just the error portion. It's a lot easier for me to copy and paste a corrected version than to search out the specific error and manually correct it, in fact, I often create exciting new errors when I try that.
This is the first Short Story Contest Poll I've set up since Red Devil updated the forum software. I believe Scalenex's vast intellect will guide him through this. However, there is a small but non-zero chance that the new interface will cause Scalenex to make a mistake (the poll button is in a different place!
).
Huatl was being rebuilt at the Slann council’s orders but their primary focus was on restoring the temples and city infrastructure, so the outer defenses were still in a mostly ruined state. They had to rely on scaly bodies to be the temple city’s proverbial walls.
Ikitek the Saurus Oldblood readied his hastily assembled Saurus warriors as the Skink scouts reported a mass of Skaven marching on their position.
According to the scouts, the Skaven outnumbered their garrison by two-to-one, maybe three-to-one, which actually isn’t a lot by Skaven standards.
Suspecting a trick, Ikitek had the Skinks watch them closely as they approached but no trick was forthcoming. The Skaven marched in a straight line towards them favoring speed above all other concerns. They took no action to prevent the Skinks sniping at them with blowpipes as they approached, trusting their mass of furry bodies could sustain these minor losses.
The Skaven were neither the strongest or the best equipped rats Ikitek had ever seen. The Saurus Warriors defeated them quite easily and were able to capture many alive to be sacrificed to Sotek later.
The Skinks and Sauri of Huatl were ecstatic at their great victory, but Ikitek was concerned. The ratmen must be witnessing a small piece of a much grander plan.
One Month Earlier
Threk Silverfang was the chieftain of a (relatively) small clan of Skaven that was an off shoot of Skyre and had powerful war machines. Thuch Aschenripper was the chieftain of a similarly sized clan that was an off shoot of Clan Moulder and had many powerful beasts. The two were concluding a meeting.
Threk bruxed his teeth and clapped his paws and grinned “It is agreed!”
“Yes-Yes” Thuch said, “We will pin the Lizard-things down with some armed slaves and some clan rats in need of discipline to distract and tie down the Lizard things. Then hit-hit them with our strongest machines and beasts!”
“Yes-Yes! We will destroy the scaly-ones best soldiers and then loot-destroy the lizards stone city sharing the plunder for each of us evenly! It’s a perfect plan” Threk said.
The two Skaven shook hands and departed with their respective entourages.
Once somewhat distant, Threk’s second lieutenant Crot Mournsnout asked.
“Do we trust Thuch to stick to the plan? What if he betray-stabs us?”
Threk snorted. “I trust Thuch to be a fool. We will let him run-attack first and take most of the enemy kill-slays then move-swoop in after he and the Lizard-things are weakened. Then we take-grab all the loot!”
“Brilliant sir!” exclaimed Second lieutenant. “I’m absolutely certain Thuch won’t see this coming.”
Shortly after the battle
Thuch Aschenripper and Threk Silverfang yelled at each other from twenty feet away as both side’s entourage waved weapons about threateningly.
“You held your best-best troops back! What are you trying to pull-pull?”
“You held your best-best troops back! What are you trying to pull-pull?”
“Okay, this time we won’t hold back.”
A few weeks later
As a precaution, Ikitek brought more soldiers to the outskirts in case of a second Skaven attack and a second Skaven attack came. Once again, the numbers and quality of the enemy rats were underwhelming.
The Lizardmen had reinforced their position with Terradons, Razordons, and Salamanders and thus defeated them even more easily.
Six days later, a third attack came. This time the weak front-line Skaven troops had reserves of much larger and stronger warriors. Mighty warriors and various mutated war beasts.
But the Lizardmen have reinforced their position again seemed to spook the Skaven. The more elite Skaven forces withdrew quickly using their slaves as soak troops to screen their retreat.
Back at Thuch Aschenripper’s Lair
“Why did they run-flee? We were supposed to kill-slay the Lizards!”
Inkrel the messenger winced.
“Lord, Threk never sent his good-good warriors, only slaves. The rats you sent didn’t want to fight the Lizard-things alone and lose valuable monsters so we gave up slaves.”
“Gave-gave up slaves! Slave’s are not-not free. A dozen armed slaves costs a warpstone token. Or it did-did! With all the losses prices have gone up-up. One warpstone token only buys eleven now! This is all-all Threk’s fault!”
Thuch snorted and fumed.
“And yours!”
He drew his sword and impaled the messenger.
"Get a new-new messenger and set up another meeting with Threk!"
Four weeks and several Skaven meetings later
Ikitek’s reinforced position noticed that the expendable front-line troops were screening clanking war machines and armored rats carrying strange weapons. Like the last attack, after the Lizardmen quickly decimated the front line soak troops, the more elite Skaven assessed the great strength of the assembled Saurus and Skinks and opted to withdraw.
Back at Threk’s Lair
Cren the messenger rat stood in awkward fearful silence.
Threk Silverfang glared at him, “Why so quiet..is the news bad-bad”
Cren shrinked away and tried to look small.
then softened his expression.
“I’m not going to kill-slay the messenger for bringing me bad word-news. As leader I need-need to learn of bad-things quickly so I can act-act appropriately. If I punish rats who give me bad news I am asking to be lied to. With all the losses minions are expensive, we can’t waste-waste rats on nothing. One warpstone token only buy-buys NINE slaves now!”
Cren the messenger wasn’t sure he believed this but he spoke.
“Sir, Aschenripper’s strong-strong troops never showed, only slave soldiers.”
Threk Silverfang roared in anger and huffed. Then calmed himself.
“Don’t worry, I’m not mad-mad at you. I don’t kill-slay minions needlessly You were a good-good messenger.”
He pulled a warpstone token out of his pocket and tossed it at Cren, then motioned for him to leave.
“Now I want dinner!”
His assistant came and brought him a plate of fried fish.
“I meant chicken not-not fish!”
He stabbed his servant through the chest with a sword, then shrugged and ate the fish.
“Not bad flavor, good-good breading...” he trailed off thoughtfully eating the fish contentedly.
“I have new-new plan. Arrange another meeting with Thuch Ashenripper.”
Two months later
Lord Thuch Ashenripper and Lord Threk Silverfang were all buddy-buddy as they parleyed with Lord Chueten Greatbrow.
“So after screening our armies with slaves, the THREE of us will work together to destroy the Lizard-things then spread the loot between us.” Thuch said.
“If we promise to work together, will win-win easily. It’s a perfect plan” Threk said.
When Lord Ptolui emerged from his trance, he already knew what he would find.
In the Hall of Eternal Knowledge, the air was filled with the scent of pulverized itxi grubs, released by the slow-burning lamps. The temple guards stood motionless at the entrance, and within the room the skink acolytes moved swiftly and silently, carrying out the tasks necessary to satisfy the needs of an awakened Slann. The skink priest Chilipanchi bowed deeply.
“My Lord Ptolui, Lord of the City of the Solstice, Voice of the Old Ones, Blade of True Thought, Prophet…”
“Do you mean to tell me that the walls of Tequa, City of Tides, are under siege by the undead?”
Chilipanchi was surprised for a moment by the abrupt interruption, debating whether to continue with the list of Slann’s honorific titles. He opted for the other option.
“Yes, my Lord. We have received word from their Priests. The forces of Death are gathering, and…”
“I know. Lord Temui sent a plea for help to the Council before his mind was occupied with maintaining the network of defensive spells. We are the only temple-city capable of providing relief.”
“How should we proceed, my Lord?”
“The Great Plan requires the City of Tides to be helped. But the Great Plan does not allow for impulsive action. We are not Stegadon’s offspring. I must meditate on the Terrace of the Stars.”
The Terrace of the Stars sat at the top of the Temple, far from the lights of the lower city and positioned so that nothing could distract or obstruct the observation of the heavens. From the translucent dome that covered the Terrace, Lord Ptolui gazed out into space, concentrating on the Sacred Invocations of Tepok the Inscrutable, the Giver of Wisdom, until the stars faded and the river of time enveloped his mind…
Ancient Lustria was plunged into night. The Great Sea roared on the horizon, as a storm was approaching. The tide was pushing the waters of the Amazon River inland, which flowed upstream, upstream, upstream... until they reached the western mountains. But among the mountains stood a strange mechanical apparatus, into which the waters poured, turning blood red and flowing through the apparatus, where a series of gears rotated, moving two metal rods, one short and one long, on a round, numbered dial.
“I know what that apparatus is” - Ptolui thought – “it's a water clock. It's an invention of warm-blooded humans, which they use to measure time. Undead, humans, blood, time... vampire wizards are at work, this is no simple attack. They are implementing a complex plan, one that requires time. A threat that must be uncovered…”
The vision slipped away, through the fingers of Ptolui's mind, and the Slann returned to reality.
Chilipanchi wasn't at Ptolui's side, but one of the high skink priests was. The stars in the sky had changed, weeks had passed and the Hunter Constellation was now dominating the hemisphere.
The skink priest bowed.
"My Lord Ptolui, the troops are ready. The skink scouts, three cohorts of Saurus warriors, the salamanders and handlers of the eastern swamps, the terradons of the lower and upper aviaries. The Stegadons and Kroxigors are also alerted and ready to move if necessary. What are your orders, Voice of the Old Ones?"
"Let them wait. This attack conceals a greater threat. With Tepok's help, it will be revealed to me."
Once again, Lord Ptolui plunged into the river of time...
In the vision, Ptolui was flying. Below, in the center of an immense desert, hordes of slow-moving, carnivorous caterpillars massed against a barrier of fire. They sacrificed themselves to the flames, burning in their thousands… their ichor tried to smother the flames, occasionally making them falter, but they still shone brightly.
But that wasn't the heart of the vision.
High in the sky, in place of the moon, an immense hourglass floated. The sand flowed, slow and inexorable. But the sand was… black?
Ptolui understood. It wasn't ordinary sand… it was grave-sand. The very essence of Shyish, the Realm of Death, turned to dust through black magic.
“They are not mere vampire wizards” - Ptolui thought – “our adversary is Nagash. This cannot be a simple attack… his plan moves with that sand, but we don't see it yet”.
Ptolui wanted to know more, but the vision slipped away…
The Slann returned to his body, his gaze still fixed on the sky. The Hunter Constellation was almost gone, the Warrior Constellation already covered half the sky.
While he was still thinking about the vision, the voice of a skink priest brought him back to reality.
“My Lord Ptolui…”
“Tell me, priest: I am certain you are in contact with the defenders of Tequa, and I am certain you yourself have used divination spells. Are the undead rearguards in defensive placement?”
“It appears they have placed sentries, but nothing more, my Lord. The Oldbloods believe we could surprise them and…”
“No. It is a trap. Tell the priests of Tequa to hold, we will arrive soon… but we will arrive on our terms, not the Necromancer’s.”
Lord Ptolui focused again… he had no time to explain the implications of the visions to his subordinates; he had to see, he had to reveal the enemy's moves before they could be implemented. Only then could he stop them.
Ptolui was flying, again. He himself seemed like a ghost, carried by the breeze. A sense of nostalgia washed over him: he levitated placidly over ancient Lustria, a witness to a time now distant in the river of time. The ancient temple city, devoid of defensive walls, stood in the primeval forest, a forest that had not yet seen Chaos swarm over the world.
In a clearing on the outskirts, teams of young skinks were training in hunting simulations.
Ptolui didn't understand... where was the enemy? What was the meaning of all this?
For what seemed like hours he tried to find some clue, but the search was in vain... and now the sun was setting: the evening shadows were lengthening ever longer, until the sundial in the main square reached its last notch.
The Skink Instructor signaled the end of the daily activities with a whistle. “The day is over, young students! What has been done has been done; what you have not done will be your regret.”
The skinks retreated, amid cheers of jubilation and angry curses.
Only then did Ptolui understand, and the vision shattered.
When Lord Ptolui emerged from his trance, he already knew what he would find.
The Warrior Constellation had left the sky.
The skink priest Chilipanchi had his head down.
"My Lord Ptolui, Tequa is silent. The last message was last week. They had barricaded themselves in the temple and..."
Chilipanchi might have said more, but his voice died in his throat. Tears were rolling down Lord Ptolui's cheeks.
Per usual, the order of the pieces was determined randomly.
If you spotted one or more typos or formatting error in one of these pieces, please send me a private message with the ENTIRE correct story and not just the error portion. It's a lot easier for me to copy and paste a corrected version than to search out the specific error and manually correct it, in fact, I often create exciting new errors when I try that.
This is the first Short Story Contest Poll I've set up since Red Devil updated the forum software. I believe Scalenex's vast intellect will guide him through this. However, there is a small but non-zero chance that the new interface will cause Scalenex to make a mistake (the poll button is in a different place!
).The Long Wait
Rain fell in fat and rattling drops upon the temple city.
The old Skink priest let it beat across his scales and dampen his feathered cloak as he ascended the temple pyramid. To manipulate the winds of magic to make him proof from the weather would have been easy, to order an attendant or two to provide shelter would have been easier.
To the old priest’s mind accepting the rain for what it was meant an acceptance for the natural movement of the world. More besides, in its own manner it made the priest feel more alive.
As he reached one of the levels of which formed a midway platform before the final reach to the summit, his wet brow creased into a frown. A great and ancient Cold One was curled up, seemingly ignorant of the rain which ran in rivulets down the cracked and gnarled scales of its hide. Indeed, the great and ancient beast seemed to be dozing despite the attempts of a Skink attendant who was poking at it with a stick.
“What are you doing?” the Skink priest spoke in a tone edged with a deep anger.
The Skink attendant practically jumped and after a moment to collect himself, prostrated before the priest.
“High Priest Toren! I…erm…was making sure great Argo still lived.”
Toren moved with a sudden surge of speed and snatched the stick from the Skink.
“I assume you thought this position unworthy of you, Mena?” the priest growled, “in the time of my spawning, we Skinks had more respect. When we were given a task we did it to our best ability, more and more I fear the Skinks of today are tenfold lesser than mine.”
“I…I am sorry High Priest…”
Toren lowered the stick and sighed.
“You are young and likely do not know of Argo,” he admitted and despite the rain, eased himself into a sitting position near the slumbering Cold One.
The Skink attendant sensing a reprieve from his work, joined him and the two stared out at the dominating jungle turned to a green and grey streaked haze from the passing rainfall. It shook itself within uncountable leaves and rattled from branch to trunk. Below in the city, Skinks, Saurus, and Kroxigor went about their daily tasks and patrols.
“We live in a time of great peace,” Toren spoke at last, “but it was not always so. Long before even I emerged from the Spawning Pools, this city was almost felled by the schemes of the netherborn and their dark masters.”
He ran a claw subconsciously across the stone beside him, as he had done hundreds of times in the past, so much so that the stone was grooved. Though he fancied he had not been the first nor would he be the last.
“The mightiest of our city then was the Oldblood, Ul’Yss who with loyal Argo would drive the netherborn from our walls again and again. It is said that Ul’Yss was of a rare spawning, that he was gifted with eyes that could unravel the future. Not just for his skill with fang, claw, and maul, this would explain how he was able to predict and destroy all the netherborn incursions.”
The Skink Priest went quiet for a long moment, lost in thought in the rainfall.
“What happened to him?” Mena spoke at last, wary of upsetting the old priest.
“…There is a tale of a tear in reality opening within this very temple pyramid, Ul’Yss having the foresight to arrive just as it opened. Many Saurus and Skink fell, as did our last Slann. Though the netherborn were thrown back, the tear remained. I was told that in that moment that Ul’Yss knew what needed to be done.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
A blaze of gold and darkened blue was the last thing the daemons saw before their forms disintegrated into shrieking energy.
The Oldblood was a blur of fang, claw, and gold as he tore through the ranks of the daemons. Behind him he felt the rift shimmer and strain as the damage he had done began to unbind it. The gnashing mouth of a Bloodletter barely took his attention as he tilted around its attack and smashed its face into daemonic ichor with his shield.
He could make it back before the rift collapsed, Argo was waiting. Visions of futures played across his eyes and even as he began to double back to the rift across the dissolving piles of daemon flesh, he suddenly stopped short. A heartbeat later the ground of nightmares erupted as a huge serpentine shape arose, bladed arms opening out and an equine face leering down, cheated of its killing strike.
Behind it the rift finally came apart.
Ul’Yss rolled his maul in his palm and charged the daemon even as more and more descended upon him.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The rain had weakened as the clouds drifted away from the temple city, the scent of dry dust lingered in the air, awakened as it was by the passing showers.
“Ul’Yss had placed a claw on Argo’s snout and had spoken something to his old friend. Then he entered the rift alone. Soon after the rift then collapsed but of the great Oldblood, there was no sign. I have always wondered what he had said, though I would guess it was a promise. A promise of his return. A promise that was broken, and I fancy Ul’Yss knew it would be. That Argo may have a life of peace and not share in his doom.”
“Surely Ul’Yss could one day return?”
“…Perhaps,” the old priest conceded, “they say the realms of the netherborn exist out of time, if the tales of Oxyotl are to be believed. Though I fear in truth he fell to numbers beyond counting long ago…perhaps one day he will return and Argo will lift his head and the two will embark on one final ride.”
The ancient Cold One stirred slightly.
“Until that day, whether it happens or not, Argo waits. And we make sure he is comfortable. That is at least our promise…our oath. And we shall not break it.”
As the last of the rain passed and the sun began to sink, the two Skinks departed. Toren continued to the summit of the temple pyramid whilst Mena returned to the city below.
The stars began to appear and the visible sky became a dark shroud lit by so many distant lights.
Argo continued to sleep and continued to wait.
Rain fell in fat and rattling drops upon the temple city.
The old Skink priest let it beat across his scales and dampen his feathered cloak as he ascended the temple pyramid. To manipulate the winds of magic to make him proof from the weather would have been easy, to order an attendant or two to provide shelter would have been easier.
To the old priest’s mind accepting the rain for what it was meant an acceptance for the natural movement of the world. More besides, in its own manner it made the priest feel more alive.
As he reached one of the levels of which formed a midway platform before the final reach to the summit, his wet brow creased into a frown. A great and ancient Cold One was curled up, seemingly ignorant of the rain which ran in rivulets down the cracked and gnarled scales of its hide. Indeed, the great and ancient beast seemed to be dozing despite the attempts of a Skink attendant who was poking at it with a stick.
“What are you doing?” the Skink priest spoke in a tone edged with a deep anger.
The Skink attendant practically jumped and after a moment to collect himself, prostrated before the priest.
“High Priest Toren! I…erm…was making sure great Argo still lived.”
Toren moved with a sudden surge of speed and snatched the stick from the Skink.
“I assume you thought this position unworthy of you, Mena?” the priest growled, “in the time of my spawning, we Skinks had more respect. When we were given a task we did it to our best ability, more and more I fear the Skinks of today are tenfold lesser than mine.”
“I…I am sorry High Priest…”
Toren lowered the stick and sighed.
“You are young and likely do not know of Argo,” he admitted and despite the rain, eased himself into a sitting position near the slumbering Cold One.
The Skink attendant sensing a reprieve from his work, joined him and the two stared out at the dominating jungle turned to a green and grey streaked haze from the passing rainfall. It shook itself within uncountable leaves and rattled from branch to trunk. Below in the city, Skinks, Saurus, and Kroxigor went about their daily tasks and patrols.
“We live in a time of great peace,” Toren spoke at last, “but it was not always so. Long before even I emerged from the Spawning Pools, this city was almost felled by the schemes of the netherborn and their dark masters.”
He ran a claw subconsciously across the stone beside him, as he had done hundreds of times in the past, so much so that the stone was grooved. Though he fancied he had not been the first nor would he be the last.
“The mightiest of our city then was the Oldblood, Ul’Yss who with loyal Argo would drive the netherborn from our walls again and again. It is said that Ul’Yss was of a rare spawning, that he was gifted with eyes that could unravel the future. Not just for his skill with fang, claw, and maul, this would explain how he was able to predict and destroy all the netherborn incursions.”
The Skink Priest went quiet for a long moment, lost in thought in the rainfall.
“What happened to him?” Mena spoke at last, wary of upsetting the old priest.
“…There is a tale of a tear in reality opening within this very temple pyramid, Ul’Yss having the foresight to arrive just as it opened. Many Saurus and Skink fell, as did our last Slann. Though the netherborn were thrown back, the tear remained. I was told that in that moment that Ul’Yss knew what needed to be done.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
A blaze of gold and darkened blue was the last thing the daemons saw before their forms disintegrated into shrieking energy.
The Oldblood was a blur of fang, claw, and gold as he tore through the ranks of the daemons. Behind him he felt the rift shimmer and strain as the damage he had done began to unbind it. The gnashing mouth of a Bloodletter barely took his attention as he tilted around its attack and smashed its face into daemonic ichor with his shield.
He could make it back before the rift collapsed, Argo was waiting. Visions of futures played across his eyes and even as he began to double back to the rift across the dissolving piles of daemon flesh, he suddenly stopped short. A heartbeat later the ground of nightmares erupted as a huge serpentine shape arose, bladed arms opening out and an equine face leering down, cheated of its killing strike.
Behind it the rift finally came apart.
Ul’Yss rolled his maul in his palm and charged the daemon even as more and more descended upon him.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The rain had weakened as the clouds drifted away from the temple city, the scent of dry dust lingered in the air, awakened as it was by the passing showers.
“Ul’Yss had placed a claw on Argo’s snout and had spoken something to his old friend. Then he entered the rift alone. Soon after the rift then collapsed but of the great Oldblood, there was no sign. I have always wondered what he had said, though I would guess it was a promise. A promise of his return. A promise that was broken, and I fancy Ul’Yss knew it would be. That Argo may have a life of peace and not share in his doom.”
“Surely Ul’Yss could one day return?”
“…Perhaps,” the old priest conceded, “they say the realms of the netherborn exist out of time, if the tales of Oxyotl are to be believed. Though I fear in truth he fell to numbers beyond counting long ago…perhaps one day he will return and Argo will lift his head and the two will embark on one final ride.”
The ancient Cold One stirred slightly.
“Until that day, whether it happens or not, Argo waits. And we make sure he is comfortable. That is at least our promise…our oath. And we shall not break it.”
As the last of the rain passed and the sun began to sink, the two Skinks departed. Toren continued to the summit of the temple pyramid whilst Mena returned to the city below.
The stars began to appear and the visible sky became a dark shroud lit by so many distant lights.
Argo continued to sleep and continued to wait.
A Perfect Plan
Huatl was being rebuilt at the Slann council’s orders but their primary focus was on restoring the temples and city infrastructure, so the outer defenses were still in a mostly ruined state. They had to rely on scaly bodies to be the temple city’s proverbial walls.
Ikitek the Saurus Oldblood readied his hastily assembled Saurus warriors as the Skink scouts reported a mass of Skaven marching on their position.
According to the scouts, the Skaven outnumbered their garrison by two-to-one, maybe three-to-one, which actually isn’t a lot by Skaven standards.
Suspecting a trick, Ikitek had the Skinks watch them closely as they approached but no trick was forthcoming. The Skaven marched in a straight line towards them favoring speed above all other concerns. They took no action to prevent the Skinks sniping at them with blowpipes as they approached, trusting their mass of furry bodies could sustain these minor losses.
The Skaven were neither the strongest or the best equipped rats Ikitek had ever seen. The Saurus Warriors defeated them quite easily and were able to capture many alive to be sacrificed to Sotek later.
The Skinks and Sauri of Huatl were ecstatic at their great victory, but Ikitek was concerned. The ratmen must be witnessing a small piece of a much grander plan.
One Month Earlier
Threk Silverfang was the chieftain of a (relatively) small clan of Skaven that was an off shoot of Skyre and had powerful war machines. Thuch Aschenripper was the chieftain of a similarly sized clan that was an off shoot of Clan Moulder and had many powerful beasts. The two were concluding a meeting.
Threk bruxed his teeth and clapped his paws and grinned “It is agreed!”
“Yes-Yes” Thuch said, “We will pin the Lizard-things down with some armed slaves and some clan rats in need of discipline to distract and tie down the Lizard things. Then hit-hit them with our strongest machines and beasts!”
“Yes-Yes! We will destroy the scaly-ones best soldiers and then loot-destroy the lizards stone city sharing the plunder for each of us evenly! It’s a perfect plan” Threk said.
The two Skaven shook hands and departed with their respective entourages.
Once somewhat distant, Threk’s second lieutenant Crot Mournsnout asked.
“Do we trust Thuch to stick to the plan? What if he betray-stabs us?”
Threk snorted. “I trust Thuch to be a fool. We will let him run-attack first and take most of the enemy kill-slays then move-swoop in after he and the Lizard-things are weakened. Then we take-grab all the loot!”
“Brilliant sir!” exclaimed Second lieutenant. “I’m absolutely certain Thuch won’t see this coming.”
Shortly after the battle
Thuch Aschenripper and Threk Silverfang yelled at each other from twenty feet away as both side’s entourage waved weapons about threateningly.
“You held your best-best troops back! What are you trying to pull-pull?”
“You held your best-best troops back! What are you trying to pull-pull?”
“Okay, this time we won’t hold back.”
A few weeks later
As a precaution, Ikitek brought more soldiers to the outskirts in case of a second Skaven attack and a second Skaven attack came. Once again, the numbers and quality of the enemy rats were underwhelming.
The Lizardmen had reinforced their position with Terradons, Razordons, and Salamanders and thus defeated them even more easily.
Six days later, a third attack came. This time the weak front-line Skaven troops had reserves of much larger and stronger warriors. Mighty warriors and various mutated war beasts.
But the Lizardmen have reinforced their position again seemed to spook the Skaven. The more elite Skaven forces withdrew quickly using their slaves as soak troops to screen their retreat.
Back at Thuch Aschenripper’s Lair
“Why did they run-flee? We were supposed to kill-slay the Lizards!”
Inkrel the messenger winced.
“Lord, Threk never sent his good-good warriors, only slaves. The rats you sent didn’t want to fight the Lizard-things alone and lose valuable monsters so we gave up slaves.”
“Gave-gave up slaves! Slave’s are not-not free. A dozen armed slaves costs a warpstone token. Or it did-did! With all the losses prices have gone up-up. One warpstone token only buys eleven now! This is all-all Threk’s fault!”
Thuch snorted and fumed.
“And yours!”
He drew his sword and impaled the messenger.
"Get a new-new messenger and set up another meeting with Threk!"
Four weeks and several Skaven meetings later
Ikitek’s reinforced position noticed that the expendable front-line troops were screening clanking war machines and armored rats carrying strange weapons. Like the last attack, after the Lizardmen quickly decimated the front line soak troops, the more elite Skaven assessed the great strength of the assembled Saurus and Skinks and opted to withdraw.
Back at Threk’s Lair
Cren the messenger rat stood in awkward fearful silence.
Threk Silverfang glared at him, “Why so quiet..is the news bad-bad”
Cren shrinked away and tried to look small.
then softened his expression.
“I’m not going to kill-slay the messenger for bringing me bad word-news. As leader I need-need to learn of bad-things quickly so I can act-act appropriately. If I punish rats who give me bad news I am asking to be lied to. With all the losses minions are expensive, we can’t waste-waste rats on nothing. One warpstone token only buy-buys NINE slaves now!”
Cren the messenger wasn’t sure he believed this but he spoke.
“Sir, Aschenripper’s strong-strong troops never showed, only slave soldiers.”
Threk Silverfang roared in anger and huffed. Then calmed himself.
“Don’t worry, I’m not mad-mad at you. I don’t kill-slay minions needlessly You were a good-good messenger.”
He pulled a warpstone token out of his pocket and tossed it at Cren, then motioned for him to leave.
“Now I want dinner!”
His assistant came and brought him a plate of fried fish.
“I meant chicken not-not fish!”
He stabbed his servant through the chest with a sword, then shrugged and ate the fish.
“Not bad flavor, good-good breading...” he trailed off thoughtfully eating the fish contentedly.
“I have new-new plan. Arrange another meeting with Thuch Ashenripper.”
Two months later
Lord Thuch Ashenripper and Lord Threk Silverfang were all buddy-buddy as they parleyed with Lord Chueten Greatbrow.
“So after screening our armies with slaves, the THREE of us will work together to destroy the Lizard-things then spread the loot between us.” Thuch said.
“If we promise to work together, will win-win easily. It’s a perfect plan” Threk said.
A HIDDEN THREAT
When Lord Ptolui emerged from his trance, he already knew what he would find.
In the Hall of Eternal Knowledge, the air was filled with the scent of pulverized itxi grubs, released by the slow-burning lamps. The temple guards stood motionless at the entrance, and within the room the skink acolytes moved swiftly and silently, carrying out the tasks necessary to satisfy the needs of an awakened Slann. The skink priest Chilipanchi bowed deeply.
“My Lord Ptolui, Lord of the City of the Solstice, Voice of the Old Ones, Blade of True Thought, Prophet…”
“Do you mean to tell me that the walls of Tequa, City of Tides, are under siege by the undead?”
Chilipanchi was surprised for a moment by the abrupt interruption, debating whether to continue with the list of Slann’s honorific titles. He opted for the other option.
“Yes, my Lord. We have received word from their Priests. The forces of Death are gathering, and…”
“I know. Lord Temui sent a plea for help to the Council before his mind was occupied with maintaining the network of defensive spells. We are the only temple-city capable of providing relief.”
“How should we proceed, my Lord?”
“The Great Plan requires the City of Tides to be helped. But the Great Plan does not allow for impulsive action. We are not Stegadon’s offspring. I must meditate on the Terrace of the Stars.”
The Terrace of the Stars sat at the top of the Temple, far from the lights of the lower city and positioned so that nothing could distract or obstruct the observation of the heavens. From the translucent dome that covered the Terrace, Lord Ptolui gazed out into space, concentrating on the Sacred Invocations of Tepok the Inscrutable, the Giver of Wisdom, until the stars faded and the river of time enveloped his mind…
Ancient Lustria was plunged into night. The Great Sea roared on the horizon, as a storm was approaching. The tide was pushing the waters of the Amazon River inland, which flowed upstream, upstream, upstream... until they reached the western mountains. But among the mountains stood a strange mechanical apparatus, into which the waters poured, turning blood red and flowing through the apparatus, where a series of gears rotated, moving two metal rods, one short and one long, on a round, numbered dial.
“I know what that apparatus is” - Ptolui thought – “it's a water clock. It's an invention of warm-blooded humans, which they use to measure time. Undead, humans, blood, time... vampire wizards are at work, this is no simple attack. They are implementing a complex plan, one that requires time. A threat that must be uncovered…”
The vision slipped away, through the fingers of Ptolui's mind, and the Slann returned to reality.
Chilipanchi wasn't at Ptolui's side, but one of the high skink priests was. The stars in the sky had changed, weeks had passed and the Hunter Constellation was now dominating the hemisphere.
The skink priest bowed.
"My Lord Ptolui, the troops are ready. The skink scouts, three cohorts of Saurus warriors, the salamanders and handlers of the eastern swamps, the terradons of the lower and upper aviaries. The Stegadons and Kroxigors are also alerted and ready to move if necessary. What are your orders, Voice of the Old Ones?"
"Let them wait. This attack conceals a greater threat. With Tepok's help, it will be revealed to me."
Once again, Lord Ptolui plunged into the river of time...
In the vision, Ptolui was flying. Below, in the center of an immense desert, hordes of slow-moving, carnivorous caterpillars massed against a barrier of fire. They sacrificed themselves to the flames, burning in their thousands… their ichor tried to smother the flames, occasionally making them falter, but they still shone brightly.
But that wasn't the heart of the vision.
High in the sky, in place of the moon, an immense hourglass floated. The sand flowed, slow and inexorable. But the sand was… black?
Ptolui understood. It wasn't ordinary sand… it was grave-sand. The very essence of Shyish, the Realm of Death, turned to dust through black magic.
“They are not mere vampire wizards” - Ptolui thought – “our adversary is Nagash. This cannot be a simple attack… his plan moves with that sand, but we don't see it yet”.
Ptolui wanted to know more, but the vision slipped away…
The Slann returned to his body, his gaze still fixed on the sky. The Hunter Constellation was almost gone, the Warrior Constellation already covered half the sky.
While he was still thinking about the vision, the voice of a skink priest brought him back to reality.
“My Lord Ptolui…”
“Tell me, priest: I am certain you are in contact with the defenders of Tequa, and I am certain you yourself have used divination spells. Are the undead rearguards in defensive placement?”
“It appears they have placed sentries, but nothing more, my Lord. The Oldbloods believe we could surprise them and…”
“No. It is a trap. Tell the priests of Tequa to hold, we will arrive soon… but we will arrive on our terms, not the Necromancer’s.”
Lord Ptolui focused again… he had no time to explain the implications of the visions to his subordinates; he had to see, he had to reveal the enemy's moves before they could be implemented. Only then could he stop them.
Ptolui was flying, again. He himself seemed like a ghost, carried by the breeze. A sense of nostalgia washed over him: he levitated placidly over ancient Lustria, a witness to a time now distant in the river of time. The ancient temple city, devoid of defensive walls, stood in the primeval forest, a forest that had not yet seen Chaos swarm over the world.
In a clearing on the outskirts, teams of young skinks were training in hunting simulations.
Ptolui didn't understand... where was the enemy? What was the meaning of all this?
For what seemed like hours he tried to find some clue, but the search was in vain... and now the sun was setting: the evening shadows were lengthening ever longer, until the sundial in the main square reached its last notch.
The Skink Instructor signaled the end of the daily activities with a whistle. “The day is over, young students! What has been done has been done; what you have not done will be your regret.”
The skinks retreated, amid cheers of jubilation and angry curses.
Only then did Ptolui understand, and the vision shattered.
When Lord Ptolui emerged from his trance, he already knew what he would find.
The Warrior Constellation had left the sky.
The skink priest Chilipanchi had his head down.
"My Lord Ptolui, Tequa is silent. The last message was last week. They had barricaded themselves in the temple and..."
Chilipanchi might have said more, but his voice died in his throat. Tears were rolling down Lord Ptolui's cheeks.
A Closing of Eyes
High among the snow-capped mountains in the most craggy and inaccessible region of the Spine of Sotek, stood a mighty temple of ancient, weather-worn stone.
Though it was dedicated to the great Old One Tepok, no lizardman had come to this forgotten sanctuary in millennia. Its singular hall stood empty and crumbling, the snow drifting through the open door.
The hall was lit, however - in the recesses along its length there glowed orbs of shimmering magefire, and the snowdrifts only penetrated a few yards inside before they seemed to reach a zone of warmer air that banished them.
In the heart of the temple stood an altar, and upon the altar stood two large crystal spheres, both impossibly delicate and balanced gingerly upon marble pedestals. One crystal was white and diaphanous, the other black, with sinister red tendrils flashing within its depths. Both emanated an unmistakable aura of intense and powerful magic.
"The Eyes of Tepok," came an awestruck but gruff voice from the entrance. There, silhouetted against the Moon, stood a short but powerful figure, a pair of ginormous axes strapped to its back.
"The Eyes see, but they do not welcome. You are forbidden to look upon their sacred orbs, child of the Third Race."
The reply came in a strange croak from behind the altar, where there floated the temple's only resident: a slann of unknowable age who had dwelt here, unmoving, since its spawning in the world's dawn.
"Who do you call child?!" bellowed the dwarf at the door. "I am Gundur Ironteethson, son of Ironteeth Gundurson, and my beard is longer than any in Karak Krakkak. I have come to fulfill the Great Oath of Clan Stonefoot, and I shall not be denied by an overgrown toad!"
"You speak of what you do not know," hissed the slann, sounding displeased at the epithet. "The Eyes reject your petition."
"Twelve generations hence my great-forefather swore to claim that Eye," Ironteethson said, pointing a gnarled hand. "But it was taken from his reach by cruel reptiles. Twelve generations has my clan laboured to discover its location and fulfill the vow. Now, at last I have it!"
"You have nothing, warmblood infant. But how curious you should seek only one of Tepok's Eyes. From your kind I would expect a greed for both. Do you even know their power?"
"The lore is ancient but it has been transmitted faithfully by the scribes of Clan Stonefoot. One crystal," he continued, pointing again at the beautiful white gem, "is the Eye of the Selfless. Whoever destroys it brings great prosperity to their people. That other black one must be the Eye of the Selfish. It brings power only to the one who breaks it. But Clan Stonefoot has no interest in such trivial matters. My forefather's Oath was only to smash the goodly Eye in the name of the Clan. And that I shall do now!"
But even as the dwarf took a step towards the altar, there was a bang, a green flash, and something struck his breastplate, making him stagger back again.
"Never shall you take-seize what belongs to me!" cried a new, higher-pitched voice.
The floating slann was forced to turn its serene bulk towards the very back of the temple hall, where a flagstone had been shifted and the shape of a large rodent could now be seen emerging from below, clutching a rifle with warpstone ammunition.
"Another trespasser dares to profane the sight of the Eyes?" croaked the slann, angrily.
"Yes-indeed, it is I, Lord Steelwhiskers of Clan Sikr. And I have promise-vowed to my clan that for making me Lord-Master I would destroy the famous Eye-Thing of the Selfless!"
"You dare!" the dwarf roared and the slann croaked simultaneously.
"We skaven take our promise-vows very seriously, I promise-vow you! The Eye shall be mine!"
"The Eye is mine, and your head too! For Clan Stonefoot!"
"For Clan Sikr!"
At once, the rat and the dwarf rushed towards the altar from opposite directions. Bolts of magical lightening burst from the furious slann towards both intruders, exploding chunks of the floor. But its divided attention reduced its accuracy, and it was forced to use defensive spells to block a hurled axe and a volley of jezzail bullets. The two attackers were able to dodge the lightning and soon reached the Eyes at the same moment, screaming and leaping - both at each other and at the legendary crystals.
An observer would have seen what looked like a ball of whirling motion, punching, biting, scratching, everything spinning in a vortex of dust and debris, screeching and bellowing. The alarmed slann floated above, unable to discern what was happening in the chaos of the combat. Finally, it decided to intervene with a particularly powerful blast that sent the dwarf and the skaven flying against either wall.
Ironteethson clambered unsteadily to his feet, and looked down. His face was lit by the clean light of the white Eye, the crystal glowing serenely in his hand. He looked up - across the room, Steelwhiskers had also regained his feet, the rodent finding himself holding the black Eye, little red lines glittering within.
"Heh," muttered the dwarf.
"Hehe," chittered the skaven.
All at once, both of them broke into great heaves of laughter.
"Put those back or be destroyed!" yelled the slann, but the laughter only continued.
"At last!" the dwarf finally managed to speak, raising the crystal high, his face a mask of pure satisfaction and delight. "The Great Oath shall be fulfilled. The Clan's honour restored!"
"And at last I shall have the power-greatness!" squeaked Steelwhiskers, also raising his crystal. "They were fools to make me Lord before I gave them what they asked. Now all clans shall kneel-beg before me!"
"Stop --!" cried the slann, but it was too late. There was a tingling sound as both crystals were hurled down into the stone floor, smashing instantly into a million whirling shards.
There was a great whoosh of magic from both impacts, billowing through the room and out across the world. Then all at last was still.
"The Eyes have closed," said the slann solemnly, after a very long silence. "I pray they have seen what they wished to see. I do not pretend to understand your choices."
"For honour," said the dwarf sternly, his eyes shining.
"For power!" said the skaven, eyes glittering with malice.
There was another silence. Finally, the rodent spoke again.
"Strange though - I don't feel-seem any different."
"I do," said the dwarf. "I feel wonderful. Like I could take on an army of dragons singlehanded! Such is the reward of an oath fulfilled, I suppose."
"You look different-strange, too," said the skaven. "Are you sure you're not an elf-thing, or an ogre-thing? You seem much too tall-big for an angry bearded one."
"Indeed, that is the expected result of claiming the Eye of the Selfish," said the slann, musingly. "I would expect this creature to grow in size, become almost unkillable, and develop various magical powers that will make him quite unstoppable in battle."
"Whad'ya mean, you froggy imbecile? It was the Eye of the Selfless I destroyed - don't be daft now!"
"Not at all. I tried to stop you, but you smashed the Selfish without even hesitating."
"But it was white! And nice-looking!"
"That is an accurate description of the Eye of the Selfish, yes."
"No. No, it can't be..."
"Then... then I broke-smashed the good Eye, even though it looked so evil?" squealed the skaven, miserably. "You mean I did something good-benefiting for my Clan? And not for me?? I... I kept..." he gulped, barely able to say it. "I kept my promise-vow? No... Noooo!"
"NOOOOOO!!!!!" howled the dwarf in unison. "By the blood of the ancestors....I'm a...an oathbreaker! It cannot be. The dishonour... twelve generations... the Great Oath...nonononono--"
Clutching his head in his hands, the now enormously sized dwarf staggered away, having to duck under the temple door before running heedlessly into the mountain blizzard beyond. The slann watched until the snow embraced him, then turned to see the flagstone at the other end of the temple sliding back into place as the skaven lord vanished back the way it had come.
The temple was once more undisturbed, besides the shards of black and white crystal scattered across the floor.
The slann sighed, and reached out to the astral plane, summoning his spawn-kin to send a terradon service for his removal. The Eyes were gone, the temple had served its purpose, and the slann's long watch was finally over.
As his mind drifted through the cosmic aether, he recalled the long-ago time when Tepok himself had appointed him to watch over the improbable temple. There had been a suggestion that far in the future, the Eyes would at last play a vital role with their destruction. The slann wondered if this is what the Old One had intended. For his own part, he was satisfied. After all this time - his promise had been kept.
High among the snow-capped mountains in the most craggy and inaccessible region of the Spine of Sotek, stood a mighty temple of ancient, weather-worn stone.
Though it was dedicated to the great Old One Tepok, no lizardman had come to this forgotten sanctuary in millennia. Its singular hall stood empty and crumbling, the snow drifting through the open door.
The hall was lit, however - in the recesses along its length there glowed orbs of shimmering magefire, and the snowdrifts only penetrated a few yards inside before they seemed to reach a zone of warmer air that banished them.
In the heart of the temple stood an altar, and upon the altar stood two large crystal spheres, both impossibly delicate and balanced gingerly upon marble pedestals. One crystal was white and diaphanous, the other black, with sinister red tendrils flashing within its depths. Both emanated an unmistakable aura of intense and powerful magic.
"The Eyes of Tepok," came an awestruck but gruff voice from the entrance. There, silhouetted against the Moon, stood a short but powerful figure, a pair of ginormous axes strapped to its back.
"The Eyes see, but they do not welcome. You are forbidden to look upon their sacred orbs, child of the Third Race."
The reply came in a strange croak from behind the altar, where there floated the temple's only resident: a slann of unknowable age who had dwelt here, unmoving, since its spawning in the world's dawn.
"Who do you call child?!" bellowed the dwarf at the door. "I am Gundur Ironteethson, son of Ironteeth Gundurson, and my beard is longer than any in Karak Krakkak. I have come to fulfill the Great Oath of Clan Stonefoot, and I shall not be denied by an overgrown toad!"
"You speak of what you do not know," hissed the slann, sounding displeased at the epithet. "The Eyes reject your petition."
"Twelve generations hence my great-forefather swore to claim that Eye," Ironteethson said, pointing a gnarled hand. "But it was taken from his reach by cruel reptiles. Twelve generations has my clan laboured to discover its location and fulfill the vow. Now, at last I have it!"
"You have nothing, warmblood infant. But how curious you should seek only one of Tepok's Eyes. From your kind I would expect a greed for both. Do you even know their power?"
"The lore is ancient but it has been transmitted faithfully by the scribes of Clan Stonefoot. One crystal," he continued, pointing again at the beautiful white gem, "is the Eye of the Selfless. Whoever destroys it brings great prosperity to their people. That other black one must be the Eye of the Selfish. It brings power only to the one who breaks it. But Clan Stonefoot has no interest in such trivial matters. My forefather's Oath was only to smash the goodly Eye in the name of the Clan. And that I shall do now!"
But even as the dwarf took a step towards the altar, there was a bang, a green flash, and something struck his breastplate, making him stagger back again.
"Never shall you take-seize what belongs to me!" cried a new, higher-pitched voice.
The floating slann was forced to turn its serene bulk towards the very back of the temple hall, where a flagstone had been shifted and the shape of a large rodent could now be seen emerging from below, clutching a rifle with warpstone ammunition.
"Another trespasser dares to profane the sight of the Eyes?" croaked the slann, angrily.
"Yes-indeed, it is I, Lord Steelwhiskers of Clan Sikr. And I have promise-vowed to my clan that for making me Lord-Master I would destroy the famous Eye-Thing of the Selfless!"
"You dare!" the dwarf roared and the slann croaked simultaneously.
"We skaven take our promise-vows very seriously, I promise-vow you! The Eye shall be mine!"
"The Eye is mine, and your head too! For Clan Stonefoot!"
"For Clan Sikr!"
At once, the rat and the dwarf rushed towards the altar from opposite directions. Bolts of magical lightening burst from the furious slann towards both intruders, exploding chunks of the floor. But its divided attention reduced its accuracy, and it was forced to use defensive spells to block a hurled axe and a volley of jezzail bullets. The two attackers were able to dodge the lightning and soon reached the Eyes at the same moment, screaming and leaping - both at each other and at the legendary crystals.
An observer would have seen what looked like a ball of whirling motion, punching, biting, scratching, everything spinning in a vortex of dust and debris, screeching and bellowing. The alarmed slann floated above, unable to discern what was happening in the chaos of the combat. Finally, it decided to intervene with a particularly powerful blast that sent the dwarf and the skaven flying against either wall.
Ironteethson clambered unsteadily to his feet, and looked down. His face was lit by the clean light of the white Eye, the crystal glowing serenely in his hand. He looked up - across the room, Steelwhiskers had also regained his feet, the rodent finding himself holding the black Eye, little red lines glittering within.
"Heh," muttered the dwarf.
"Hehe," chittered the skaven.
All at once, both of them broke into great heaves of laughter.
"Put those back or be destroyed!" yelled the slann, but the laughter only continued.
"At last!" the dwarf finally managed to speak, raising the crystal high, his face a mask of pure satisfaction and delight. "The Great Oath shall be fulfilled. The Clan's honour restored!"
"And at last I shall have the power-greatness!" squeaked Steelwhiskers, also raising his crystal. "They were fools to make me Lord before I gave them what they asked. Now all clans shall kneel-beg before me!"
"Stop --!" cried the slann, but it was too late. There was a tingling sound as both crystals were hurled down into the stone floor, smashing instantly into a million whirling shards.
There was a great whoosh of magic from both impacts, billowing through the room and out across the world. Then all at last was still.
"The Eyes have closed," said the slann solemnly, after a very long silence. "I pray they have seen what they wished to see. I do not pretend to understand your choices."
"For honour," said the dwarf sternly, his eyes shining.
"For power!" said the skaven, eyes glittering with malice.
There was another silence. Finally, the rodent spoke again.
"Strange though - I don't feel-seem any different."
"I do," said the dwarf. "I feel wonderful. Like I could take on an army of dragons singlehanded! Such is the reward of an oath fulfilled, I suppose."
"You look different-strange, too," said the skaven. "Are you sure you're not an elf-thing, or an ogre-thing? You seem much too tall-big for an angry bearded one."
"Indeed, that is the expected result of claiming the Eye of the Selfish," said the slann, musingly. "I would expect this creature to grow in size, become almost unkillable, and develop various magical powers that will make him quite unstoppable in battle."
"Whad'ya mean, you froggy imbecile? It was the Eye of the Selfless I destroyed - don't be daft now!"
"Not at all. I tried to stop you, but you smashed the Selfish without even hesitating."
"But it was white! And nice-looking!"
"That is an accurate description of the Eye of the Selfish, yes."
"No. No, it can't be..."
"Then... then I broke-smashed the good Eye, even though it looked so evil?" squealed the skaven, miserably. "You mean I did something good-benefiting for my Clan? And not for me?? I... I kept..." he gulped, barely able to say it. "I kept my promise-vow? No... Noooo!"
"NOOOOOO!!!!!" howled the dwarf in unison. "By the blood of the ancestors....I'm a...an oathbreaker! It cannot be. The dishonour... twelve generations... the Great Oath...nonononono--"
Clutching his head in his hands, the now enormously sized dwarf staggered away, having to duck under the temple door before running heedlessly into the mountain blizzard beyond. The slann watched until the snow embraced him, then turned to see the flagstone at the other end of the temple sliding back into place as the skaven lord vanished back the way it had come.
The temple was once more undisturbed, besides the shards of black and white crystal scattered across the floor.
The slann sighed, and reached out to the astral plane, summoning his spawn-kin to send a terradon service for his removal. The Eyes were gone, the temple had served its purpose, and the slann's long watch was finally over.
As his mind drifted through the cosmic aether, he recalled the long-ago time when Tepok himself had appointed him to watch over the improbable temple. There had been a suggestion that far in the future, the Eyes would at last play a vital role with their destruction. The slann wondered if this is what the Old One had intended. For his own part, he was satisfied. After all this time - his promise had been kept.
