Fiction Digitized Stash of Paradoxical Short Stories

[Paradoxical Pacifism]

Spoiler: My thoughts

Some time ago, I've been very interested in writing a story that doesn't have conflict. One way I could've went about this was using a narrative structure called "Kishōtenketsu." It basically consists of four acts, and it hinges on a twist/change that initially doesn't make sense at first, but does by the end of the story. Here's a source that can describe it better than me But during my research, there were a lot of other narrative structures as well that were interesting imo, such as the "Robleto," which consists of multiple journeys that are connected to one and another with one repetitive line that is repeated throughout the story. I attempted the Robleto story structure here. I attempted Kishōtenketsu here and here, but I think this story is my best attempt at writing it. I also tried it with this contest story, but only in the first half. The rest of the story, I kind of just wrote it without any structure in mind.

Sprouting Flower


In the outskirts of Tlaxtlan, Tuhpoka stands underneath a grave site’s entrance. Rough and bumpy dirt stretches across the area with not a blade of grass in sight. The saurus knows that dead lizards who weren’t of legendary or noteworthy status are buried here, destined for their spirits to be released back into the jungle. Tuhpoka yearns for this fate.

His entire right arm is missing—chopped off by a rat. Because it was his dominant arm, his ability to fight was severely diminished. Now, without anything to do, his daily life consisted of wandering the streets of Tlaxtlan, watching newly spawned sauri march with their cohorts, watching kroxigors lift stacks of lumber, and watching skinks create pottery. Tuhpoka thinks of the grave site again, for at least the dirt would find him useful.

A massive kroxigor picks the saurus up and puts him on its back. Tuhpoka screams as he smashes his other remaining arm against the lizard’s tough scales. “Hey! What in the gods names are you doing? Cease this and put me down!”

“Hehehe, you like a skink!” The kroxigor bellows as it takes off. The pair push through various clumps of trees near the outskirts before ascending a steep hill. The kroxigor stops, and the saurus jumps down. All around, Tuhpoka sees various crops and flowers swaying with the wind, each one moving independently from another, and yet forming a coherent display.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“You sad! I don’t like sad saurus! You now help me grow plants!”

Tuhpoka is surprised by the strange request. The dancing colors and relaxing aromas overwhelm him, but he wonders what use is he in a place so vibrant and prosperous. The barren gravesite calls to him more.

“I’m a saurus who can’t fight. I’m useless. I’m nothing.”

The kroxigor throws its head up and laughs. “So what if you no fight? There so much to life you never even experience! You just need to stop being afraid.”

Tuhpoka thought it maddening a saurus could be dominated by fear. But those memories of him watching lizards complete daily tasks in their lives, with not a single ounce of fighting involved, came to him. He always doubted he could live the same way as them, for what is a saurus who doesn’t fight?

The kroxigor yanks Tuhpoka’s remaining arm and pulls him along.

“Rude! I was busy thinking!” Tuhpoka yells.

“You thinking too much! Too much of anything bad for you. Like me eating too much beans before sleeping.” The kroxigor embarrassingly smiles.

The pair stop by an empty spot of dirt from which no plants resided. Tuhpoka learns from the kroxigor how to plant seeds. The process was very easy: just dig a small hole, throw some seeds in, cover it with more dirt, and finally, sprinkle water.

Except it wasn’t. Far from it. The kroxigor went into extensive detail on which types of soil were the best matches for any plant, the different depths the seeds should be buried in, how far apart each type of seed should be planted, the differing amounts of water each needs to grow, and how much of Chotec’s grace—sunlight every seed needs.

Tuhpoka was cross-eyed. He tries burying some squash seeds with his remaining arm, but he tramples a row of bean plants, and his tail overturns a few tomatoes. The kroxigor cringes and shrieks as it watches the clumsy saurus.

As Tuhpoka tries his best planting seeds and following the kroxigor’s advice, he finds it funny how both the needs of plants and lizards are largely the same. Plants need adequate spacing, like what a cohort of sauri needs so they can fight effectively. Plants need enough water to survive, just like all lizards. And both need Chotec’s blessing, otherwise everything would wither away and die.

Tuhpoka finishes planting his squash plant seeds. The rough and bumpy dirt he buried the seeds in resembled the gravesite he visited earlier. Except here, the dirt shines with the promise of life. The saurus doesn’t know what he is, but as the kroxigor pats him on his back, he finds a new resolve: to sprout, grow, and prosper with his plants, side by side.






The Reviews:

2) Sprouting flower
Lots of unusual things here, starting from a gardener Kroxigor. He's the very unusual character here. However, i like the idea of a saurus warriors facing uselessness, that finds a new purpose in curing plants, and certainly the two form a very odd couple.
Pros:
A short and simple story, that goes straight to the point. The best part imo is how the saurus pictures the acts of gardening, finding references to fighting.
Cons:
A story like this should find a little more time to create the right mood, and the core of the story is resolved in very few sentences.

I don't think a gardener kroxigor is too unusual but I guess that's coming from me . I imagine gardening requires a lot of placing things in the right order, which kroxigors often practice their entire lifetime as the lizardmen's builders.

I wanted to expound more on the saurus finding bits and pieces of himself as he was planting, but I was tad bit too lazy :l

2. Sprouting Flower
I like it a lot. It is both melancholic and light-hearted. I am also impressed by how much story is told with such few words.
The grammar threw me off now and then, but the message thag the end conveys makes up for it. Everything is part of the Great Plan and even a disabled Saurus fits in. Paradoxically he learns it from a Kroxigor gardener, who fits the "Gentle Giant" trope nicely.
The "unusual allegiance" part is less clear here. I see it in the warrior -> gardener transition of the Saurus, and in that the Kroxigor is the one "in command".

Ah yes, the change in tone from Melancholic in the beginning to light-hearted in the ending was intended, and i'm glad you noticed that . That aspect of the story was inspired by @Scalenex's The Last Journey, which imo, is still the best short story on the forum. If you didn't remember, in that story the tone started off really light-hearted and was pretty funny, but then a twist at the end made it very sad and emotional. I believe the contrast of tones in the story was what made it very emotional for me.

I wasn't thinking about your message about the story—mine was far more simplistic—but yours is way cooler

Sprouting Flower: This was elegant in it's simplicity. A relatively low word count but very good characterization. Among the best character driven stories in this contest if not the best character driven story. I like the softer unorthodox take of "unusual allegiances."

I think with a story centered around a Saurus and a Kroxigor, I think this piece would have been even stronger with some more sensory description. Soil has odors and textures and even makes a sound when you dig it. Plants have olfactory and tactile elements to them too.

I've noticed that for me, writing imagery is really hard for me, even though when I first started writing for this forum, I absolutely KILLED it in the imagery game :c

Story Two:

Gitstompa: Flowers?! Wot da zog? Dis iz rite pansie like dem elves.

Ikkit: I’m not-not sure I scurry-followed this one. Normally hurt-maimed Skaven are quickly eat-slain or scent-find another way to be better. Let-letting this scale-thing survive is a drain on resources.

Gitstompa: Bet ‘e culd still beat yoo in a fite. I mean dey iz growing fings dat dey can eat, I guess dat iz sumfing dat wun arm can do. I’d ‘ave ripped off da arm from another git and got a dok ta stitch it where me old wun woz. But dese boyz ain’t green so iz unnerstanable.

Ikkit: I don’t get-get scale-things...

I wanted to include a in-lore reason as to why he wasn't just killed off, but tbh, I was just too lazy xD

Story 2: A more lighthearted piece, this one centres around a Saurus Warrior mourning the loss of his right arm, making him near-useless in battle, and hoping for a quick death and burial in the gravesite for those nameless Lizards that did not achieve a noteworthy status. He encounters a Kroxigor who puts him on his shoulders and takes him for a ride up a hill and into the garden that he tends. Putting him down again, he suggests the Saurus take on a new career as a gardener, and teaches him how to plant seeds, water them and help them to grow into new plant life. The Saurus, with his military brain, initially succeeds only in causing havoc, but by using his mindset to equate the plants to his own Saurus legions, he learns to organise the former in the same way as he used to command the latter and, ultimately, find peace with his shame and develop a new life for himself, just like the seeds he planted.

My main problem with this one is that it barely has any relevance to the contest theme - while we more often see Skinks working with Kroxigors than Saurus, both Saurus and Kroxigor are still Lizardmen and are still united in their duty to serve the Old Ones, meaning this allegiance is hardly 'unusual'. However, that still doesn't stop it from being a nice little tale that taps into the little-before-seen relationship between Kroxigors and Saurus, and alludes to what might happen if a Lizardman had survived a battle injury that still rendered him unable to fulfil his alotted duty to the Great Plan.

Thx for noting the saurusxkroxigor relationship in the story! It's very rarely done in LO, which partially motivated me to write this story.

 

[Imrahil]

I liked the style of your story a lot.
A quite peaceful story, but with a lot more going on to think about.

Grrr, Imrahil

 

[Scalenex]

Ah yes, the change in tone from Melancholic in the beginning to light-hearted in the ending was intended, and i'm glad you noticed that . That aspect of the story was inspired by @Scalenex's The Last Journey, which imo, is still the best short story on the forum. If you didn't remember, in that story the tone started off really light-hearted and was pretty funny, but then a twist at the end made it very sad and emotional. I believe the contrast of tones in the story was what made it very emotional for me.

Thank you for the praise. For what it's worth, I voted for your piece.

It takes courage to enact the Rite of the Final Journey, but it takes a different sort of courage to keep on living, which your Saurus did.

He could have taken a Final Journey and no one would have thought less of him, but he chose to stick around and find a way to keep serving his people.

 

[Paradoxical Pacifism]

Spoiler: thoughts

I've always wanted to write something cracky and ridiculous for Nakai, so I had no shortage of fun messing around writing this. I especially enjoyed writing Koma's moment of self-reflection too! Seeing him turn away from what he cherished and worshipped was a pretty beautiful moment imo. I hoped those who've read it enjoyed it as much as I did writing it .

The Biggest Baddest Lizard


Koma’s eyes swept over the plaque he held, examining every written glyph.

History as a concept never failed stirring the skink priest’s heart with inspiration. For thousands of years, before even the warmblooded races learnt to walk, It was Koma’s ancestors who endured countless tragedies, countless strife against the forces of Chaos. But the jungles of Lustria still spoke the language taught by the Old Ones, still did their children live on and awaited patiently for their return.

This history Koma shared was a tale he couldn’t stop obsessing over.

So it brought him unbearable happiness to learn that the plaque foretold the arrival of an ancient warrior even Chaos feared: Nakai the Wanderer—the oldest kroxigor thought still alive.

Nakai was history manifest; his scales over the ages have hardened into something nearly impervious, and each of his numerous scars told stories of countless battles—all in protection of his kin so much younger than him.

When Nakai appeared, it was usually during a time the hordes of warmblooded spawn sought to destroy lizard-kin and all they held dear. A time like now.

Koma left eagerly to prepare the sacrificial pits as his tail flicked with excitement. He imagined there won’t be any shortage of offerings from the battles to come.

***

It would be an understatement to say that meeting Nakai was the moment Koma looked forward to the most in his entire life. Tradition held that skink priests like him have adorned Nakai’s massive frame with tributes and gifts for centuries, thanking the ancient warrior for his service. For Koma to finally play his part in this tradition was a dream come true.

So he couldn’t stop staring in utter disbelief from what he saw.

A rat with a Jezzail sniper rifle strapped on its back was riding on top of Nakai, affectionately resting his furry head against the tough scales that made up the giant kroxigor’s neck. The two enjoyed each other’s company as the rat giggled uncontrollably, not used to the towering height, and Nakai chuckled from the almost childish behavior coming from his tiny companion.

“Nakai… what are you doing?” Koma asked incredulously.

“This rat wanted a place to call home,” Nakai rumbled, smiling.

Koma looked at the ancient kroxigor curiously. That brought up even more questions than answers.

“It’s funny, because you know, I'm a marksman specialist,” the small rat squeaked on top of Nakai. “It’s sort of my job to snipe-snipe you important lizards from long range. But… this is more fun-fun!”

“Right…” Koma said slowly, still not comprehending.

A few days later, as the many lizards and Slan steadily grew accustomed to the small rat riding on top of Nakai (there were still many stares, of course), Koma went to visit Nakai again, only to find the ancient kroxigor had a different, much LARGER companion with him.

“Nakai…” Koma stared at him somewhat tiredly. “Why are you hugging a minotaur?”

“This big guy wanted a friend stronger than him.” Nakai hugged the minotaur harder, his large arms wrapped around it firmly. “He was a lonely soul like me, so why not become friends?”

It looked like the heavily-built minotaur wanted to say something, but instead smiled and closed his eyes, choosing to enjoy this joyful moment with his scaly companion in silence.

***

Koma wasn’t mad. He had no disappointment, nor any sadness residing in him. Koma was just so immensely bamboozled. He broke away from the tradition of not questioning those of great status, and asked the ancient, revered kroxigor for the reasoning behind his actions. Koma wanted to know why Nakai treated the accursed anathema with respect and kindness.

Koma gestured towards the many scars covering Nakai’s scales, and asked quite pointedly, “Oh Nakai the revered lone wanderer, Aren’t the scars on your scales proof of your long history of struggle against the forces of Chaos? Aren’t you proud of this history? Don’t you find comfort in it like I do—like everyone else does?”

Nakai was silent as he gazed at his many countless scars. After a long moment, Nakai locked eyes with the skink priest he towered over. “History shouldn’t make you proud. You shouldn’t look back at history and find comfort as though you’re retiring for rest. It should break you, it should tear your heart apart, and drown your soul in utter despair. It should make you desperately yearn for a better future.”

Koma wanted to disagree, even felt anger budding in his chest, until he realized that although he was an old soul, he still had no scars to call his own. It was very easy for Koma, then, to look back at history like a comforting dream.

Koma looked away from Nakai and smiled with such immense pain.

***

For centuries, skink priests have adorned Nakai’s giant body with necklaces and bracelets which all serve as tributes to the Old Ones. There were tributes to Itzl, Quetzl, Huanchi, and the most numerous of all, Chotec. Now, it was Koma’s turn to partake in this tradition.

For a long time, Koma would’ve thought a tribute for Quetzl would be most appropriate for representing Nakai’s stalwart scales and the fighting he’s done for centuries. Itzl, Huanchi, and Chotec would’ve been other good options as well.

However, Koma instead chose the Old One Rigg. She was wildly unpopular (there certainly weren’t any tributes of her to be found on Nakai). But her values—her love for compassion—resonated a lot more with what the ancient kroxigor truly believed in—so different from what Koma originally thought Nakai would represent.

At the very least, it did tickle Koma’s heart when Nakai said, “I love this so much, little one. I will remember it until my last days.”

 

[Paradoxical Pacifism]

Spoiler: thoughts

Was enjoyable writing this. The main character was supposed to be Kroq-gar and I originally intended the story to revolve around his journey of raising his adopted human child with the customs and culture of the Lizardmen, and the rather traumatic experience of him predictably outliving his child. But i didn't have enough time nor energy, so I somewhat simplified the story and replaced Kroq-gar with Gor-rok. The bit about him giving the poor little one a piggy-back ride made me smile for days.

An Unlikely Father


Billowing smoke clouded the skies as fires smoldered on in the ruined village below. Not a single house nor structure remained unscathed from the horrific damage; all of them were reduced to mere rubble that gave middling hints to their former glory.

It was here that Gor-Rok, the Great White Lizard stood as still as a statue, where the stench of death overwhelmed the burnt ash that lingered in the air.

He was sent by the Slann, in all their wisdom, to the empire of man-spawn whereupon his objectives were to deter the ever-growing beastmen attacks and raids into human territory. He was successful most of the time, as their rampaging herds fled from the field in his wake, and their countless monsters laid defeated at his feet. He soon garnered a terrifying reputation, one that the hooved beasts trembled from.

But given the scenery, it seemed Gor-Rok failed this time.

He was about to leave, until he heard a barely audible whining cry out near him. It seemed the source of that noise was beneath the rubble, muffled but nevertheless desperate in its cry.

Gor-Rok effortlessly lifted chunks of wood and stone, until his bestial eyes met the scared and frightened eyes of a human child. Their soft face was blemished from many bruises and scrapes as blood ran freely from their wounds.

Gor-Rok stood there remaining silent as did the human child, completely unsure of himself. He was a creature entirely bred for war and ripping his enemies mercilessly apart, not for what had now confronted him.

Regardless, Gor-Rok scooped the wounded human child into his large arms without a word, and as if he acted on instinct alone, he rushed off to where he originally came from — where help could be.

As he went, the child quietly said something that only added to Gor-Rok’s confusion. “Father,” the frail child said to him before closing their eyes out of sheer exhaustion.

And as Gor-Rok hurriedly left behind his Shield of Aeons and Mace of Ulumak to carry the weak little thing, he didn’t know what to think about this new title given to him he never heard before.


***


In the imperial city of Norden, Gor-Rok was told by the humans that the child he rescued was nursed back to full health, but became so traumatized from the ordeal that they’ve forgotten most of their past, except their murdered family. Gor-Rok could never relate with this young child, and yet, he still felt a sense of responsibility to stay by their side. Whether it was because of an instinctual need to protect the vulnerable, Gor-Rok wasn’t sure.

Walking through the crowded streets of a city of humans proved to be a strange experience. He heard sounds he’d never witnessed until now, and sniffed many scents alien to his snout. But what he found familiar, above all else, was a pervading sense of fear in his presence. To Gor-Rok, this was good. He was a warrior; fear was like an additional layer of armor to him.

And yet, as the townsmen shivered in his wake and distanced themselves away from him out of frightful unease, this young child never ran away from his fearsome appearance. This tiny, almost soft ball of warmblooded vulnerability never shook a tiny bit in the presence of a mammoth-sized lizard that defeated entire armies, and slaughtered the nightmares of men.

No, instead this young child cheerfully rode piggyback on top of Gor-Rok, like saurus riders on Cold Ones.

It was a fate Gor-Rok never could’ve imagined happening to him, but it did, and it nevertheless gave him a new sense of purpose. Back in his homeland, he was regarded as an undefeatable champion; an immovable stone upon which Lustria’s enemies bashed their heads repeatedly on to no avail.

He was now also a father. And as Gor-Rok traveled back to what was once his child’s spawning home to retrieve his left behind equipment, he felt immense resolve in living up to this new title given to him.