Fiction Imrahil's short stories

Thank you very much

I based it on the 'Day of Testing' and 'Rite of the Sacred Guardianship' described on @Scalenex 's treasure trove.

Grrr, Imrahil

 

It truly is.

Grrr, Imrahil

 

This is the story I wrote for the October-November 2021 short story competition.

The theme was: "Parallel Dimensions"

My entry:

Call for the Old Ones

“Krkrkr ggg We can’t find west… gggkg Everything is wrong. We can’t be sure of any direction. Krggkr Everything looks strange, even the ocean.”

The radio went silent again. A couple of seconds past, Alfred hit the button to button.
“Can you tell us where you are? Do you have any reference points?”

Alfred released the button and waited for an answer. No response.
He looked up at his superior, Captain Wiley.
Wiley nodded to him, giving him a silent command to try to make contact again.

“Control tower for FT-28, do you copy? FT-28, do you copy?”
Again nothing.

This time captain Wiley breached the silence: “Keep trying to contact them, I need to make the necessary precautions.”
Alfred understood and turned back to the transmitter: “Control tower for FT-28, do you copy?”
No response. Time after time there is no reaction coming in.
After twenty attempts the captain walked back into the control room. His face clouded with a worried expression: “Any change? Did they make contact again?”

“No sir, still nothing.”

*****

“Boom, bom, boom… boom, bom, boom.”

Drums sounding deep in the jungle on the Islands of Sacrifice. Torches are lit along a path towards one of the central mountains. On the side of it a little temple is carved in the rocks. In front of the temple a Skink Priest is standing nervously staring into the jungle before him. On either side of the entrance platform a Saurus is sat whit a drum taking it in turns to sound them in a repeating rhythm:

“Boom, bom, boom… boom, bom, boom.”

Between the trees a small shadow appears and it follows the path towards the temple. At first it appeared to walk, but when getting closer it is revealed to be a Skink gatherer approaching with great speed. Still accompanied by the sound of drums.
Over his shoulder a small leather pouch is swaying from side to side as he runs closer. Once arrived at the foot of the temple he climbed the stairs up to the platform where the Priest is still waiting even more impatiently. He stretched his hand out to receive the pouch and immediately turned around and walked in to the temple, towards the altar.
Suddenly the drums stopped and another sound was heard coming from inside the temple:

“Ieeek, squik, squiieeek!”

On top of the altar a figure was struggling to get out of the ropes that were bounding it to the cold block of stone. Dark brown, uneven patches of fur, claws whit hideous long and tainted nails, a couple of big teeth sticking out underneath a pointy nose and a long flesh-colored tail. This was unmistakably one of the Rat-people that had infested and plagued the Lustrian lands in the last months more than once.
Bound to the altar it had no change of escaping. Nonetheless it tried viciously while loudly screaming and shrieking.

The Skink Priest ignored the sounds and struggles of the inferior creature and walked over to one side of the room. There stood a sort of desk, more like a workbench. The light of torches reflected on the golden tools and objects on the desk, they laid in a clean and orderly fashion. The Priest picked up a small mortar and pestle, took the pouch and pulled dried leaves out of it. After crumbling the leaves to a powder he walked over to the altar.
The Skaven noticed the Priest closing in and started shrieking even louder.

The Priest held the mortar in one hand and reached with the other underneath his feathered cloak. With a swing he pulled out a sacrificial dagger with a curved blade. The torchlight flashed in it as he lifted it and brought it back down.
Whilst carving into the Rat’s flesh he held the mortar in front of his face and inhaled deeply. Immediately his eyes widened and the vanes in his face thickened. His hand with the dagger started to move quicker and quicker, the Skaven’s shrieking build up to a climax and suddenly stopped.
Both the dagger and the bowl fell on the ground as the Priest reached into the now cracked open chest, blood pouring over both sides of the altar.
The eyes of the Priest started to glow and he raised his hands, covered in blood, holding the heart of the Skaven. He opened his mouth and spoke with a low voice that seemed to come out of the temple itself rather than the Priest:

“Great beings from times past! Creators of all that is and was! Wisdom eternal! I call upon you, givers of life and rulers of the heavens! Come to us today and lead us on the righteous path to complete your Great Plan once and for all! And cleanse the world of this chaos and filth! ’

Dark clouds started gathering high above the mountain peaks.

*****

An hour had past, Alfred already had stopped counting the attempts to get contact after half that time. Still no result. Not long before an attempt at rescue would be launched. His captain had gathered a crew to take flight any minute.

He tried once again:
“Fort Lauderdale for FT-28, do you copy? FT-28, do you copy?”

A few seconds past and suddenly the radio sprang to life:

“Kgg krg… We can’t make out anything. We think we may be about 225 miles northeast of base… kkgggr… It looks like we are entering white water. We’re completely lost. Gk ”

Struck by surprise Alfred turned to the door and shouted on top of his longs: “CAPTAIN!!!”

*****

As the clouds grew thicker and thicker the complete sky darkened and the atmosphere felt heavier than before.
Down below the winds moved the jungle canopies. It almost looked like the trees were dancing to the music that no longer was played.

With thunderous rumble the clouds rolled over each other and suddenly a crack of light ran through the center of it all. But instead of disappearing the crack of light was imprinted in the clouds and widened further. A downfall of fresh wind poured out of the opening and five Avenger Torpedo Bombers came forth through the rift.
The Sauri and Skink in front of the temple stared at the sky. The Skink turned towards the Temple:

“They have arrived! The Old Ones have heard our call!”

Grrr, Imrahil

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Some words of my own:

When the theme was announced I directly started thinking of ways to apply it. I was set on the Parallel between Warhammer and our world, but not sure how to work it out. My first thought was about something happening in Warhammer to have an influence on the other world, much like the parallel in the winning story of "Light and Darkness". I could not find a great way to work it in.

So I started to look into historic mysteries which are said to have something to do with parallel dimensions. This brought me to the Bermuda Triangle. As the Warhammer World is some sort of a projection of our world it was fitting to incorporate Lizardmen into the story because they live roughly in the same area as the Bermuda Triangle. Upon further investigation I found the missing Flight 19 (as @Aginor mentioned correctly) this was a perfect fit for the story I intended.

The used radio transmissions from the airplanes are the real last words heard from the pilots before disappearing.
After the reading started I figured that perhaps a date at the start of the story might have helped to make it more clear, without giving away to much.
The reason for summoning the planes to Warhammer was pretty unclear to myself for a long time. I finally settled on keeping it vaguely between:

- the Skinks picked the wrong dimension to open a portal to, or
- the humans are in fact the real Old Ones and 'we' have created the Warhammer World.

Grrr, Imrahil

 

I am pretty happy with the 3 votes my story got

I was really glad that you, as the first reviewer, figured out the link with Flight 19
It made me happy to read that you liked it.

We'll nothing interesting to see here

I agree with the open ending. As said it was intended, but perhaps to much to create the feeling of a completed story. Good points to take a note on for a next story.

Grrr, Imrahil

 

Good to know for upcoming competitions

Just out of curiosity: at what point during the story did you notice it was about Flight 19?

Grrr, Imrahil

 

This is the story I wrote for the January-February 2022 short story competition

The theme was: "Parasite"

My entry:

Throw caution to the wind

A light breeze blew over the banks of the Questing Serpent River. The usual dark blue water now glowing with a bright green hue. Slowly the river brought the filth of chaos out to sea, cleansing the land around it of the Nurgle infestations.
In the breeze a cloak of feathers moved back and forth. Overseeing the delta Yuq'al-takuil stood firm with a smile of satisfaction on his face. The battle was won, with a minimum of casualties. The corruption by Nurgle stopped, all deamons were slain.

Suddenly a bright icy-blue light surrounded Yuq'al-takuil. Behind him several beams of light breached the clouds above and cascaded figures down below in a cold light. Saurus warriors, Skinks and even Kroxigors. In a couple of seconds the battlefield was left alone, not a soul to be found in sight.

----

High above the plains of Ghur multiple pyramid shaped objects floated in the sky. On the outside it looked like giant temples of old, battered and weathered stone, partially covered with vegetation. If one was able to see them, this high up, they would not be able to make out what these things were, let alone how they possibly were kept afloat.

----

Aboard one of them the transporter room bathed in the same icy-blue light that now vanished at the surface of Ghur. Yuq'al-takuil stepped out of the light in to the room. Immediately the light faded and disappeared. In the fading several scaled forms started to take shape. Five Skinks walked around the room pressing buttons and pulling levers until all light was gone. For a moment the room was pitch black. Yuq'al-takuil took a deep breath he was back home.
With a sound click the small yellowish lights at the ceiling sprang on. The busy Skinks removed their shaded visors that they had been wearing while the bright light was on. The oldest of the Skinks stood up from behind his control panel to greet the Skinkpriest. “Welcome back, sir!”, he approached him bowing forward, “What an outstanding victory you have claimed today!”
“Thank you, Tak’ek Muntoc.” Was Yuq'al-takuil’s reply, “Are we all back?”
“Yes, sir, all the living have returned. You are the last.”
“Fine. Good job.”

Yuq'al-takuil left the transporter room. As he walked in to the corridor he shook his head and mumbled under his breath: “Suck up!”

Although his own Constellation had not suffered that many losses Yuq'al-takuil knew that of the other Constellations at least two had taken countless victims to the swarming hordes of Nurgle. Their strategy had seem so watertight and all would have been relatively smooth sailing for them. They did not account for the Realm portal to be kept open for that long. Atop of it the portal was unexpectedly widened to fit a dozen of Greater Deamons and even a Great Unclean One.
Even the exceptional Saurus Guards couldn’t hold the tide of Nurgle for that long.
It was to divine magic shielding and a shower of comets by the great extent of their Slanns that they regained the upper hand and they were able to destroy the portal.

-----

The communications room was two floors above the transporter room. Yuq'al-takuil had to walk three corridors and take the escalator at the far end of the ship to get there. Along the way he passed the barracks of Skinks and Kroxigors. The barracks of the Saurus were stationed at the opposite side of the floor.
The fast and light-footed Skinks were busy as usual, they always made their hands find or create work. In stark contrast with the mellow pace of the mighty Kroxigors next to them. But today there was something off about their behavior. At first Yuq'al-takuil had not really noticed it between all activity. It wasn’t until he watched and followed one Skink completing his task. Now and then the Skink interrupted his activities to scratch his nose and wipe his forehead. Yuq'al-takuil stopped and inspected another Skink to see the same behavior. And another, and another. All Skinks acted the same way. One of the Kroxigors started to act in a similar way, even more than the Skinks he seemed to scratch and sweat. What was even more different were his eyes, the usual yellow eyes were starting to glow red. First at the edge, but slowly it crawled to the middle, causing him to blink and rub his eyes.

Yuq'al-takuil started running. With a rush he entered the communications room shouting at the Skinks on duty: “Shut down the barracks immediately, close all doors until further notice! Make a connection with the other ships, fast!”
With a few touches on the dials a siren started to sound and alarm lights started flashing. With a buzz three holographic images appeared in front of the Priest. Two other Skink priests and a Saurus Old Blood. “Praised be the Old Ones!” Yuq'al-takuil said, and before waiting for any response he continued: “It seems that our ship has been infested in the aftermath of the battle. Be aware of any signs under your subordinates”

----

On the lower floors the tumult was increased by tenfold as all Skinks and Kroxigors now scratched at their faces because of the itch they felt.
Yuq'al-takuil watched from behind the closed door preparing for what was to come. In the corner of the barracks a Kroxigor sat down with his back against the wall he was curled over holding his knees and had his tail wrapped around him in a form of protection. He rocked slowly back and forth. Yuq'al-takuil figured that he was infected the most, so he probably was the one that had brought it on to the ship. In preparation of entering the barracks Yuq'al-takuil whispered a prayer of protection with his eyes closed. He opened his eyes again and turned a switch beside the door and manually overrode the closure protocol. With his staff in one hand and the other stretched out before him he approached the Kroxigor. Step by step the Priest moved closer all the while muttering a chant in a soft voice. With only five steps to go he pointed the staff at the Kroxigor a sphere of blue arcane light encased the Kroxigor. Only then did the Kroxigor lift his head and noticed the Priest.
As soon as the Arcane sphere was set all other Skinks and Kroxigors stopped scratching and a sigh of relieve was heard and felt through the whole barrack.

“What is it that you have with you?” Yuq'al-takuil asked
“Don’t hurt us. It is my friend!” He replied, “it found me by the river.”
The Kroxigor moved his tail and hands aside to reveal a little furry kitten laying asleep at his lap.

A smile appeared on Yuq'al-takuil’s face. This was not what he had expected. He relaxed his open hand a little and the sphere shrunk, it no longer encased the total Kroxigor but only the kitten. Yuq'al-takuil rotated his hand sideways and the kitten started to ascent from the Kroxigors lap and float towards the Skink Priest.
“Don’t hurt it!” the Kroxigor repeated.

Yuq'al-takuil walked down the corridor floating the kitten along in front of him. He walked around the corner to the transporter room. The Kroxigor followed them with his eyes, through the welling tears he could see a flash of icy-blue light coming from around the corner.

Grrr, Imrahil

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Note from the writer:

When the Theme was announced I knew I wanted to write a story in a way that could be interpreted as an infectious decease spreading within the Lizard community. At first I had no clue how I would be able to do this and what it in fact really would be.
If it was to be hostile, what would be the goals or intentions from it.

Then I stumbled upon a article on allergic reactions and figured Lizards could be allergic to cats as they are not that familiar with them being around.
The hard part was writing an end for it. The story is not quite finished to my satisfaction, but it was the best I could come up with within the time given

Grrr, Imrahil

 

What a cute story <3

Thanks for your work, it was delicious food.

 

Thank you kindly
I am glad you liked it

Grrr, Imrahil

 

This is the short story I wrote for the April-May 2022 short story contest

The theme was: "The Old Ones"

My entry:

The Hooded One

Streets glimmering, pyramids shining. The city of Chaqua laid glistening in the afternoon sun. In the middle of the Great Jungle this city formed the beating heart of the New World. From across all of Lustria the Skinks, Sauri and Kroxigors knew the path to this majestic feat of architecture.

On the streets amidst this architecture is where Qu’ Tuazl sat thinking about how it progressed from what this city once was. It all actually started when the Slann locked himself away in his Temple-Pyramid to further meditate on the Great Plan and its application for the first children of the Old Ones. By excluding himself from society, society excluded him even more and over the passing of years forgot completely about him.
In the absence of purposeful guidance a new purpose was made. Skink priests found plaques within and outside of the cities borders. These plaques spoke of evil tidings, offerings and salvation by a deity. Not long after these signs surfaced a name was rumored on every street and corner. Skink prophets preached it and spoke of the great serpent as the guider of life.
More and more Skinks joined this religion, the amount of followers grew and grew to cover every inch of the city.

In honor of this deity and to win more of its praise an enormous temple was planned to be build within the city’s limits. The foundations where raised quickly and the inhabitants of the city where reluctant to join in for this outstanding project. Layers of brick upon layers of bricks made out of gold from the finest quality. The sheer size of this temple’s floorplan was unfadeable. A first floor, a second floor followed within a year of construction work. The third and fourth floor took five more years. Then the pace of construction startled further and further. Around the twelfth floor a new spawning of Skinks had come and gone. Yet the building was still not halfway finished. Even after three cycles of spawning the top was not reached. Most Skinks had given up on the project for it took more than a day to get a brick up top for construction.

Qu’ Tuazl looked upon the construction site a couple of blocks away from where he sat. As Skink Alpha from his spawning he had the responsibility to keep the project going. This felt more and more like a burden than a privilege. The enormous task to complete this monstrous Temple was a World Wonder in itself. The last years there was hardly any progress, the few dedicated skink builders that had continued carrying bricks to the top had not returned from their labors.
Qu’ Tuazl looked up to just see the sun hit the horizon before diving past it. The daylight would soon be fading. His thoughts where cut short due to tumult at the gate. Qu’ Tuazl stood up and walked up to the gatehouse. Skinks of different divisions walked in and out, amidst them four Temple Guards stood unmoving. In between the Guards a single figure was hold in place. He reached the same height as the Guards and was from top to toe dressed in a black cloak. He didn’t show his face or seemed to care about the fuzz the skinks were making.

Qu’ Tuazl stood aside as the Skink Priest, Toc’l Mundi, set foot at the plaza in front of the gate. The rumor dimmed down and the Skinks fanned out to make way for the Priest. With a staff in his hand he walked slowly closer, meanwhile taking up the hooded figure from top to bottom.

The Priest was the first to speak: “Who is it that comes unannounced? What is your business here?”
“I am a mere traveler. I came with an offer of help for this city.”
“What help could you give a city like Chaqua?”
“If you have me within the city for just this night I will finish building the Temple for you.”
“Why do you think we will trust you?”
“Search me and find that I do not carry a single thing. I only bring knowledge and craftmanship.”

Qu’ Tuazl walked over to the Priest and tapped him on the shoulder. Toc’l Mundi turned over to him. “Your excellency, may I have a word?”
“Speak freely.”
“What hurt could it do if we win a Temple with it? Sotek protects!”
“Sotek will provide protection!”

Turning back the Priest motioned the Guards to stand down and gestured the hooded figure to follow him.
“Thank you kindly!”

Evening turned to night and all Skinks turned to their barracks. At midnight Qu’ Tuazl left his barracks to see what progress the mysterious figure would have made and if he would be able to hold his promise. Closing in to construction side there was a noticeable change of the temples shape. The top part, that used to be flat had been build upwards from.
To get a better look he climbed the closest ziggurat. Halfway up the ziggurat Qu’ Tuazl froze in place. What he saw shocked him to his bones. The thing that spawning upon spawning of Skinks had not been able to accomplish had taken the hooded figure about just half the night.

From more and more barracks Skinks poured in to the streets, all in awe of the completion of Sotek’s Temple. After a search of the city nobody had found the mysterious figure anywhere.
Though inside the top of the temple a deep metal tone sounded thirteen times…

Grrr, Imrahil

>Back to Index<

 

A few words of my own:

When researching the Old Ones I came across a The Hooded One. An suspected Old One that had not been known to work in Lustria or amongst the Lizardmen at all. The only reference to him is in the history of The Doom of Kavzar and the rise of Skaven. Reading this story and how it unfolded I really wanted to (re-)write this to a Lustria version. What better way than to let it take place in Chaqua, the city that became infested by the rats.

I struggled to find a way for the Hooded One to come into the story and build the screaming bell into a yet unfinished project.

I am very glad that I at least got two votes for it

Grrr, Imrahil

 

And now for the reviews:

No comments here

Thank you for the honest review. The lack of information about motives is a trap I most often fall for, translating background thoughts into the story is something I struggle with. Mostly because I don't like to have everything spelled out, but there is a path between them that I need to find. Thanks.
(sorry about the typos, I did not take a proper scan through before, or even after, sending it.)

Huzzah, someone recognized the original story in my entry Thanks for the kind words both from you and Ikkred Fire-Hat

Grrr, Imrahil

 

This is the short story I wrote for the July-August 2022 short story contest

The theme was: "The Explorer's Guide to Lustria or A Brave/Foolhardy Exploration"

My entry:

Game over

*Older man’s voice*
“Twisting through the vast green jungle runs the river Amaxon like a turquoise snake. Endlessly bringing water to the even more endless ocean. At places wide, at places slim, at places tiring slow and at places rampaging fast, but ever flowing. Many adventurers or explorers seeing the new world upon arriving have seen the mouth of this majestic river pouring its water into the sea, but none have even the smallest clue to where its origin lay.”

*Young adult’s voice*
“None you say?”

*Older man’s voice*
“Well, almost none.
There is one little group of people that set out to resist all treads that the New World had in store for them. We find them upstream of the river in a typical vessel: one mast with one red and white striped sail, a low bottom and the sides of it adorned with colorful shields. The prow of the ship has been carved into a wolf-like head. The Longship was crewed with twenty strong warriors and oarsmen commanded by Faustus Olafson.

Originally set out from their homeland led by the fearless Gundar Packmaster, the goal of this expedition was to reach the city with streets of gold. Up to this day, day thirteen since they landed at the coast, they had not succeeded yet. Four days ago there seemed to be a breakthrough as they ventured from the river land inwards to a suspected city, only to find themselves ambushed by Amazon warriors. Six men did not make it back to the ship in time. One of which was Gundar.
Faustus was put in charge for the remainder of the expedition, or at least for as long as he would stay alive.

Standing on the little raised platform at the end of the ship Faustus oversaw his men, hardened by battle and raiding expeditions far and wide, now bleak images of themselves. The journey in this warm and humid climate had drained them to near exhaustion.
The last two days the water that they moved around in was all sorts of brown and it smelled terrible. The water reserve on deck had been dried up by daybreak. On top of it the mosquitos were everywhere, hovering above the water waiting for a bit of bear flesh to poke through. .

Faustus spotted a parting of the river and maneuvered the ship into it. The water was clearer and moving faster over here. Some of the oarsmen noticed the change of water and tried to quench their thirst. A couple of buckets on a rope were let down in the water and hoisted up quickly. Before Faustus had realized what was going on the bucket had been passed around by eight men."Spit it out! Spit it out!” he shouted at them. Two of them spat the water on the deck and a third started coughing up a mixture of water and stomach contents.
“We all are thirsty, but the water from this river is nowhere near drinkable! We will have to make land to find water safe for drinking.”

At the end of the day they made land near a ruined city along the river. From the ship buckets, barrels and five lifeless bodies were set down on the embankment. Half of the crew started chopping down a few trees near the river. Faustus took the other half of the crew and all the barrels to the ruins and found a spring welling up clear water.
Apart from birds and insects flying away in front of the passing party and the chopping of wood behind them there was no sound or movement to be concerned about.
After boarding the ship again they rowed on, leaving behind a few tree trunks and a pile of burning wood with on top the remains of their previous comrades.

The fresh water supply did last for the better part of a week. The banks showed nothing but trees and vegetation with occasionally animals breaking the canopies or the water surface.
After two days the contours of the mountains showed up above the treetops and started to grow in size with every turn of the river.
The jungle became less dense and now and then they spotted an overgrown statue of a giant snake along the river. Around a bend suddenly appeared a stone carved quay of about fifty feet in length.
Further ahead the river became narrower and eventually it split into dozens of tiny streams coming from between the trees that adorned the base of the mountains.
Faustus decided to land on the quay and prepare to venture further on foot. Every member of the crew took a shield from the side of the ship and hung an ax on their belt. A stone arch stood on the edge of the small open area in front of them behind it a path stretched through the vegetation after twenty feet it bent to the right. Just above the canopies showed the top of a large stone pyramid. Faustus led the party onto the path, assuming it would lead them to the structure.

The path curved through the jungle vegetation avoiding trees left and right. The stones, slightly overgrown, were set uneven by the passing of time. They had to watch their footing. In the middle of this part of the jungle the trees parted and the path widened leading into an oval plaza. The path entered at the oblong side of the oval and continued on the opposite side. Faustus took a couple of steps on to the open plaza and scanned the edges of the vegetation. To both sides of him five men stepped forward to watch out for incoming danger. After a minute or two of impatient waiting the ten men strode further forward to the middle ready to continue towards the start of the next path.
“Halt!” It was Faustus that shouted out over the plaza. “Do not move any further.” Faustus pointed to the edge of the plaza, there stood the same statues like the ones along the river. A loud “CLICK” sounded and a deep rumble traveled through the stones. A large circle in the center of the plaza, with eight warriors of the frontline on it, dropped about a foot. Out of the holes in the now exposed stones crawled forth hundreds of colorful snakes, taking in the surroundings with their tongues in the air they located their prey immediately and attacked rigorously.
With their shields and axes they parried as the first wave of snakes, but wave after wave they struggled to keep their body away from the vile teeth and cringing venom. It took a couple of seconds before the remaining men realized what happened before they strode forward. Faustus turned around as they did and spread his arms wide: “Don’t do it! Do not aid them in this battle that can not be won! Let us move ahead and honor their deaths by reaching our destiny.”
Although counterintuitive the men knew Faustus was right: dying in battle was the most glorious way to go.

As the fighting in the center continued with less intensity the remainder of the party moved around the circle to the other side of the plaza. There they followed the new path closer to the city ahead. After five minutes the screaming and sounds of weaponry dulled completely behind them, leaving only the basic sounds of the jungle around them.
Faustus led the party further along the path even more wary of the surroundings than before. For half an hour there was nothing but a path, trees and plants. Now and then a bird flew over causing axes to be grabbed tidier and shields to be slightly raised. In front of them the low vegetation parted and only trees were visible in both directions.
Three more turns in the path revealed a wall of the same gray overgrown stones ahead. The path itself led to an opening in the wall to what might be construed as a gatehouse, but there were no doors nor a gate, just stones formed into a large circle and behind it the streets of gold and pyramids towering over the walls.

As the party stared in awe of this beautiful sight there was a soft sound of wind blowing: “woosh, woosh.” Faustus looked around to see what source this sound could come from. As he does, two of the men at the back of the group drop to their knees and sink forwards revealing a bright feathered dart sticking out of their neck and back.
“Shields up! Behind!” Like one man the remaining five warriors turned around and lifted up their shields. The shields blocked another dart with effect.
Faustus scanned the jungle where the darts had supposedly come from but couldn’t distinguish the source of danger. So close to their goal he could not think of letting it slip through his fingers. He instructed his men: “Let’s move as one. To the gate!” All together they continued on the path holding the shields in place behind them. Six steps in and again the darts were sent, now no contact with a shield, but a dull impact sounded twice. Left and right of the party a warrior stumbled and fell aside. “Rearrange!” was Faustus’ response.
The warriors shifted and one still held his shield in the back, while the other two each moved to a side, Faustus still in front.
The city came closer, about fourteen feet in front of them, Faustus upped the pace. Ten feet… seven feet… “woosh! woosh! woosh!” several darts flew around from various directions. Most hit the shield than not. Faustus heard a body fall behind him and then a second one… two feet… the last of his crew dropped to the floor.. one feet…

As Faustus ran through the gate a flash of blue light encased him. For a second he had set foot in the city with streets of gold and just like that all around him blurred to blue. He felt his feet being lifted off the ground and his body started to turn around. The blue light slowly faded and the blurred surroundings became clear again. In front of him the river Amaxon poured its contents in the blue deep and vast ocean. His feet found the sand beneath, he dropped to his knees exhausted from his adventure and with a broken spirit for losing something he did not really found. In his head he heard a voice speak slowly: “Game over””

*Young adult’s voice*
“That’s it? That’s your story? I can hardly believe that.”

Ivar Darkmane stood up from his chair on one of the quays in the harbor of Skeggi and walked away, leaving the older man at his chair behind the table. Next to the table a cardboard was nailed to a post, on it was written by hand:

“HIRING CREW - ADVENTURE AWAITS”

Grrr, Imrahil

>Back to Index<

 

A few words of my own:

When I read theme it felt pretty specific to me. A lot of stories have been done about the many raids on Lustria, so how to make it a bit different.
I started by researching historical amazon expeditions and came across the story of Francisco de Orellana whom was part of a voyage to find Eldorado. After a failed attempt to do so the crew took over the ship by mutiny and made Francisco captain. He was said to have been the furthest up the river Amazon and travelled all the way to the beach enduring all that the jungle had to face him, a lot of his men did not make it though.

At first I wanted to completely recreate the story in Lustria, but wasn't able to tie it all together within and beyond time limits. So in the end the result was the same, the protagonist faced all dangers Lustria had for him and he found himself at the beach in the end.
The aspect of protagonist telling his story came from the first start, referencing the starting lines (a bit) from the comic "Asterix the Gaul" "Gaul is entirely occupied by the Romans. Well, not entirely... One small village of indomitable Gauls still holds out against the invaders."
In the end I had to tie the storytelling together with an end scene. The hiring new crew was not entirely farfetched, because a year after his first travel Francisco returned to the Jungles with a new expedition, what would ultimately be his last.

Grrr, Imrahil