Fiction The best Lustria short Stories - a complete collection

Done.
For future reference, if anyone notices mistakes i think it's better if you just pm me so we don't clog the thread with various messages.

 

33th competition
Jan-Feb 2023: Theme is "Dinosaurs".

Winning story by @Killer Angel, after a tie-break with @Imrahil

Spoiler: The Dinosaur

The Dinosaur


The Knight Errant Roland was eager to prove himself, but he was aware of the danger.

He had already found the corpses of two other knights… better equipped than himself and more experienced, judging from their insignia, but even their ability had proved to be no match for a horde of ghouls in Mousillon (the former) and the arrows of wood elves near Artois (the latter).

Unsurprisingly, large numbers of the knights of Aquitaine were heading East… someone had kidnapped (through the use of dark magic) the beautiful Lady Charlotte, Duke Armand’s daughter. The Lady’s Prophetesses, led by their holy power, had been able to point the research toward a specific place: Uzkulak, in the Dark Lands.

Many knights had chosen the most direct route, heading toward the land of the Chaos Dwarfs by passing through the friendly realms of the Empire and Kislev… but not Roland. He was convinced that it would have been more worthy to take a riskier route, through the Sea of Chaos and the River Ruin. Legends are forged by courage.

So he sailed with a ship from l’Anguille, braving the dangerous, northern sea.

And dangerous it was, indeed: twice the ship was attacked… firstly by a Chimera, that tore many sailors before Roland was able to take it down, then some Norscan pirates, that fled when the knight beheaded their champion.

Roland was saluted as a hero by the crew, but all these extraordinary feats were not completely satisfying, as there was something indefinite that was worrying him… surely the fact that Lady Charlotte was still in danger.

When the ship docked in Erengrad, Roland followed a land route alongside the River Ruin, facing once again many threats… a feral great bear in the frozen plains of Kislev, then (more to the south) a black ork riding an armored war boar.

With each step Roland’s strength was growing… and so his discomfort, always with the feeling that something was out of place.

Finally, when the northern cold was only a distant memory, Roland’s goal was there: the tower of the Chaos Dwarf Sorcerer, where Lady Charlotte was kept captive.

Roland shook off his anxiety and went for the tower: many hobgoblins were slew that day, and finally he bravely faced the horrors of the tower: a bull centaur fell by his sword and lastly even the Dark Sorcerer was killed, despite his foul magic.

The day was Roland’s… and yet, while he was setting free Lady Charlotte, there was still something that he wasn’t able to explain to himself.

Then, the road to home: Kislev, the Empire… it was a long journey, during which Roland was still forced to fight a chaos giant. Inevitably, Lady Charlotte fell in love with this brave, gallant knight, and Roland loved her too, but he wasn’t happy, not completely.

When they returned to the Capital, escorted by a group of Grail Knights, all the kingdom of Aquitaine celebrated them, and the Duke, who knew how to recognize valor, granted Roland the title of Paladin and (reading his daughter's heart) also granted the knight to marry Charlotte.

That day would be long sung by the bards, with bretonnian and elven guests on their magnificent griffins and dragons, and flocks of pegasi flying over the city… the ceremony was stupendous, but all the while, even on what should have been his finest day, Roland was not left with the feeling that something was wrong.

After the wedding dinner, the knight and the princess left the city gates and strolled near the wood of lovers. The knight embraced his beautiful bride and suddenly managed to understand what had been tormenting him for all these months: "But shouldn't there also be a dinosaur in this story?".

“Indeed, sorry for being late, here I am!”, said the Carnosaur, coming out from the wood.

And ate them.

You can find the rest of the stories HERE

 

34th competition
April-may 2023: Theme is "War and Peace".

Winning story by @Y'ttar Scaletail , after a tie-break with @Imrahil

Spoiler: Purpose

Purpose


The moons gazed down over the Temple City, the lighter moon in dominance bathed the city in its white glow. The night was humid, filled with the croaks of night birds and the buzzing and clicks of Lustria’s many nocturnal insects. Atop the main temple pyramid an elderly Skink sat cross-legged. His scaled skin was gnarled and weathered like an ancient twisted tree covered in part by a faded feather cloak inlaid with golden charms and jewels. His staff of office lay silently to his side.

Iluikakonetl’s eyes were closed as he sifted through his memories and braced himself for the visits he was to make with the prisoners as decreed by the Slann, Lord Tamasolli.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It had been a time of peace for many turnings of the sun. No raids had come from the realm of the Dark Elves to the North, there had been no incursion by the ratfolk in generations, and the wards maintained by the Slann had held strong and so many had forgotten the terror of a daemonic incursion.

In this period the Skinks had worked tirelessly with the Sauri and Kroxigor to repair and maintain areas of the city that time and forgotten war had sought to ruin. The fruit harvests were bountiful and the stars showed good omens for a long time to come.

It was at the height of this era of peace that a strange cohort of Sauri emerged from the spawning pools. They were aggressive and prepared for war, their minds feral and maddened.

At first it was seen as an omen, that war would soon come to the temple city. The other Sauri prepared for imminent battle whilst the priests scryed the stars and consulted the sacred tablets. But no enemy came. The days stretched into weeks, weeks into months, but still peace reigned.

The aggressive spawned Sauri were restless and barely kept under control. Letting them loose in the jungle surrounding the city only served to reduce the local wildlife population, to the effect of even greater peace. What made matters worse was the Sauri had seemed to become more and more aggressive for all their decimation of Lustria’s wildlife.

Finally, something gave and the aggressive spawned Sauri in their maddened frenzy broke the bonds of brotherhood and duty and descended into murdering their kin. Many were slain before the maddened Sauri were killed or subdued.

As Iluikakonetl was about to give the order to slay the mad Sauri the momentarily roused voice of Mage Priest Tamasolli echoed in their minds ordering them to stop and bind the Sauri instead.

For there was purpose for them in the Plan.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Several enchanted gems of great antiquity embedded within carved stone walls bathed the chamber with a dim blue light. Chains of starmetal were pulled taut as the prisoner’s body lurched towards the elderly Skink Priest. Iluikakonetl looked at the Saurus with eyes filled with deep sorrow and regret.

Ignoring the prisoner’s hisses and snarls, he slowly eased himself to the stone floor and sat before the chained Saurus. He was quiet for a long time as if waiting to see if the madness consuming the prisoner would fade.

It did not.

If Iluikakonetl was surprised by this, he gave no sign.

At last he spoke.

“There is purpose for you. The Mage Priest knows it.”

Iluikakonetl’s voice echoed from the chamber walls, repeating the words ‘knows it’ like a mantra.

The Saurus gave no reply and continued to strain at the chains.

“Often, I have wondered how much the Old Ones designed us for war. I do not believe it was their original intention, but a product of necessity...maybe a contingency...”

He closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

“But what use is a thing solely of war when there is peace? Where do you fit in the Plan where there seems to be no purpose or place at this time? Are we to keep you and your surviving spawn brothers in chains until war does come?”

The Saurus snarled, ropy drool dripping down to splatter on the stone floor below.

“Maybe if you kill enough the madness will leave you, that you will no longer be driven to kill and kill and kill.”

The Skink Priest opened his eyes.

“But we both know that will not happen. The lust for death, the lust for bloodshed...it will only grow. Were it not for the Mage Priest’s foresight of the Plan, you would already have been granted the peace of death. No, there is purpose for you and your spawn brothers.”

For the briefest of moments the maddened rage-filled eyes of the Saurus seemed to clear.

Iluikakonetl tilted his head slightly, the fins of his head crest catching the glow of the light giving gems and deepening the shadows across his face.

“You are wondering why I am here.”

The Saurus gave a half snarl that ended with a hissing grunt.

The Skink Priest narrowed his eyes and was quiet for a long moment.

“There are two reasons. The first as decreed by Lord Tamasolli was to gauge how much of you and your brothers were more than just maddened beasts. The second was to let you know, whether you can comprehend it or not, that you are still our kin. If it becomes necessary to grant you death it will be with a heavy heart. Despite the madness afflicting you, despite the blood of our kin you have shed, despite the sorrow and shame you bring to our hearts...you are still our brother.”

The Saurus was oddly quiet as Iluikakonetl rose to his feet and left the chamber. Whether the elderly priest acknowledged this change as he left, he gave no indication.

In the dim glow of the chamber the prisoner sat alone with his madness and his thoughts. Sometime later a pair of Skinks would appear and thrust a piece of meat on a long pole for him to consume. He would snarl and pull at the chains and they would quail and hurry away once their duties were complete.

The Saurus looked up to where the Skink Priest had departed. For the moment the bloodlust and the anger drained from him. He tried to speak, tongue and jaw trying to make sound.

Alone in his prison he managed to speak a single word.

“...Brother...”

You can find the rest of the stories HERE

 

35th competition
July-august 2023: Theme is "Hidden in plain sight".

Winning story by @Killer Angel

Spoiler: The Nightbringer

THE NIGHTBRINGER


The Teacher
"Chaos is our enemy. Every threat we face is driven by a single thing…. Chaos."
The skink priest looked at the class. Almost fifty skinks had their eyes fixed on him… acolyte priests, scouts, scribes. Every one of them was giving him full attention. It's always satisfying when no student lets itself be distracted by flies or the pleasant rays of the sun.
"On a certain level you all know the four Gods of Chaos, their fields of influence and the danger of their corruption."
Many skinks' heads nodded in acknowledgment.
"But these daemons are not the first chaotic threat to the Great Plan. Before Chaos manifested in its true form, even before we were created, there were different entities… sworn enemies of the Slanns. They were called the C'Tan."
"These creatures were not made of Chaos, but derived their powers from it. They wanted to feed from the energies of the stars and the souls of the living beings. They held a strength capable of erasing entire planets, but their weapons were also deception, treachery and subterfuge. As the Chaos daemons, each one of them was a master in a particular field of expertise… and the most dangerous of them was called The Nightbringer."
A hand was raised.
"But Teacher Qui-Chin… I've heard that these so called C'tan are no more since millennia. Is that true? and if so, why should we study them?".
"That's a good question. Are they no more? They are mentioned in the ancient plaques… and time is fickle when you mess with chaos. I think it's better to know our enemies, even the ones that we think are dead. Now, to talk about the Nightbringer, it is said it was cloaked in shadows, and that it was the one with the greater connection to chaos…"

The Acolyte
When the lesson ended, the terradons already stopped chasing the morning ascending air currents. Time literally flew, while listening to the passionate exposition of Qui-Chin.
The acolyte was impressed "I never saw Qui-Chin so involved in an argument, not even during the lessons on the daemons of plague…"
The other students were chattering about the C'Tan, their ancient machinations, their tactics of corruption. Every one of them was clearly left impressed by the lesson.
"Yes, he was very passionate about it…"

The Teacher
The lessons about the C'Tan had been a success, from a professional point of view. Every student had been actively involved, every one of them questioned him.
An inquisitive mind is a mind eager for knowledge. Knowledge is power. They need to know what Chaos is capable of…
"Teacher Qui-Chin? May I have a word with you?"
Qui-Chin stopped his lucubration. In front of him there was a young skink, with the ornamental feathers that qualified him as an acolyte priest, destined to future service in the Vaults of the Ancient Knowledge.
"Acolyte Fren-Shui… what can I do for you?"
"Your lessons are very interesting, but I would like to delve into the topic. Is there some text I could refer to?"
"Again? it's not the first time you're asking me something more. You already have what's needed… further details could be redundant. After all, the C'Tan are only a very hypothetical threat."
"Yes but… please?".
An inquisitive mind is a mind eager for knowledge.
"mmm… I could grant you access to a couple of books I've used as references. After all, one day you will have to guard our Vaults. I will prepare a letter".

The Acolyte
Fren-Shui was finally in the Vaults. Yes, he could not have accessed the Vaults, the request was for the books, a consecrated priest should have given them to Fren-Shui.
It had been necessary to forge the permit a little. It had been risky, but it was the only way.
Fren-Shui looked at the two useless books in front of him. Then he looked at the corridors that gave the access at the most secret volumes and artefacts.
Now, my teacher, let's see what you real references are, and why you're so enamoured with these C'Tan…

The Teacher
"…and this is why the warmbloods are so susceptible to the lures by the deamons of pleasure. Now, I hope you will study your notes, because the next time you will be questioned."
The students rose and begun to leave the hall, discussing the lesson.
A brilliant class. The next leaders will know Chaos, and all its fascinating promises.
Qui-Chin moved toward the exit. Maybe he didn't noticed the pair of eyes fixed on his back.

The Acolyte
Fren-Shui looked at the teacher that was going away.
Teacher? yes, maybe you are a teacher… but what kind of teaching you're insinuating in us? I've read some of the ancient text, and not even all of them. Not the most obscure ones, the ones that you've learned. You were right… the Nightbringer cloaks itself in shadows, so that no one can see it.
Fren-Shui was filled by frustration and bitterness.
I've tried to talk with a couple of friends, the ones more open minded. I was forced to mimic irony, but nonetheless they refuses to see it… they don't correlate the passion when you were talking about the C'Tan and your indifference when you treat the chaos gods. They don't see behind your mask, even when I show them all the clues. What did you say? "creatures born from chaos always reveal themselves, but creatures that embraced it can hide its influence".
Fren-Shui was alone, and the rays of the sun were not able to warm his soul.
You are a prominent skink in our temple city. I'm just an acolyte. Dear Old Ones, what can I do?

The Teacher and the Acolyte
Qui-Chin was used to receive students in his chambers, especially the most brilliant ones; the saurus guards were used to this behavior, so they paid no particular attention to this particular student.
Qui-Chin was very surprised when Fren-Shui drew a dagger that was hidden in his vest, stabbing him… again, and again, and again.
Unable to cast a spell, all he could do was cry for help, gurgling in his own blood while the student raised the dagger for another furious stab.
Fren-Shui did not stop when his teacher was clearly dead, nor when the guards broke into the chamber. He knew the shards of the C’Tan could live after the apparent dead of the C’Tan itself, so he could not take a risk with one of their servants.
Old Ones, I will be killed for this. But at least You know… please accept my spirit and let me swim again in the spawning pools.
The weapons of the guards descended on him.

The High Priest and the Keeper of the Vaults
The high ranking skinks were in one of the inner chambers of the Temple. What happened had had dramatic repercussions on the daily life of the city, and the planning of the activities had been upset. It was vital to keep things quiet as much as possible, and give a… tranquilizing explanation to what happened, something that would allow the muddy waters to clear.
“So, this is it?”
“Yes. The acolyte entered the Vaults thanks to an altered request, apparently bribed by himself. The guardian failed to notice it”
“…and he put his eyes on forbidden texts. The ones capable to alter a weak mind.”
“It won’t happen no more, revered High Priest. From now on, any access to the Vaults will be granted only by me.”
“Yes. But now we’ll have to mourn the loss of a great Priest and a promising student. Because we weren’t paying enough attention.”
“He was just a student among many other ones… who would have thought that something was eroding its sanity? Who could have knew?”
The High Priest gave a bitter smile.
“It is said that in those books still lies a spark of the ancient C’Tan. If that’s true, the Nightbringer knew”

You can find the rest of the stories HERE

 

36th competition
Oct-Nov 2023: Theme was "Stranger in a Strange Land."

it was a tie between 2 stories (after a tie-break!), so there are TWO winning stories, made by @Llinyn Tathrenlir (with his first piece, nonetheless!) and @Imrahil


@Llinyn Tathrenlir

Spoiler: Of Wood and Whispers

Of Wood and Whispers

“Be careful out there,” Hilya implored her twin brother, her hands firmly gripping his wrists, “don’t get yourself into trouble like you always do.”

“I won’t. I promise! I’ll be back before you know it,” Yestril replied. “Sir Liadon said it’ll only be a day’s journey. A quick scout if you will. Besides, we will be having Quaru’uul and Yax’keldan with us.”

Hilya let go of Yestril’s arms to turn and look at the two lizardmen sitting on a few crates behind her while they were sharpening their great axes. She put a lock of hair behind her pointed ear and let out a worrisome sigh.

“They know their way around woodlands like these,” Yestril added. “I’ve heard Quaru say Yax has slain owlbears before.”

Hilya chuckled as a loud voice suddenly interrupted their conversation.

“All who agreed upon joining me on today’s journey gather your necessary equipment. I want to be leaving at a moment’s notice!” Sir Liadon's voice echoed through the campsite as he tugged on the straps of his knee-high leather boots.

Both lizardmen stood up and made their way to the waiting elven man. A stout and muscular human in his late forties joined the group shortly after, as he secured the last piece of equipment to his backpack. Yestril sharply inhaled and started striding through the still-dewy grass toward the scouting party. He stopped halfway to look back at Hilya, who smiled at him.

“Don’t go around bothering owlbears, Yestril! I want you back in one piece preferably!” she exclaimed.

“No promises!” He replied with a smirk.

Yestril swiftly joined the group as it had already begun walking towards the tree line of the imposing forest.

“You ready, kid?” The human asked with a grin on his face.

“Ready as can be, Ralm.”


_____________________________________________________________________


For the first moments of their trek, the group walked in a straight line through the woods. Yestril happily took advantage of the fact that he could still see their campsite as he took turns looking at his boots and back over his shoulder every couple of steps, causing him to trip over several tree roots. After losing his balance for the seventh time in ten minutes the group halted and looked back at Yestril. Liadon sighed as he turned around and continued walking. Ralm got to one knee and helped Yestril to his feet.

“You ought to be more careful, kid. These woods can be dangerous. We don’t want ya trippin’ over the edge of some cliffside and breaking y’ neck.”

“Yeah… I’m sorry Ralm.” Yestril groaned as he dusted the dirt off his trousers. He stood upright and looked back one more time before he continued following alongside the group. He frowned. He took another glance to his left and right. He could not see the campsite anymore nor did he recognize any sign of a beaten path in his vicinity.

“I could have sworn we had been walking in a straight line all this time…” he whispered to himself. “I… I must have missed a turn or two,” he added, shaking his head and waving away his thoughts, before joining the rest of the group once again.

The further inwards the group travelled the more grandiose the scenery around them became. Where at first the lizardmen had to regularly duck to evade low-hanging branches, the canopy now raised several tens of metres above their heads. Their path through the dense ferns and low-growing foliage was accompanied by sporadic and faint rays of sunlight peeking through the canopy. Yestril tried estimating their time spent walking since they had left their campsite by trying to observe the altitude of the sun. However, he couldn’t see the sun through the abundant branches and leaves. What’s more, every part of the sky above him that met his gaze never seemed blue like he would expect it to be. Its colours varied from orange hues to deep set indigo as if the forest was encompassed in an everlasting twilight.

“Gods, Hilya, I wish you were here to see this,” He thought to himself.

Yestril looked ahead at the two lizardmen walking side by side, talking amongst themselves, occasionally pointing at a piece of flora. He smiled and continued his journey in silent awe for all the spectacles around him.


_____________________________________________________________________


It was not long before the densely-covered forest floor made way for what looked to be an open field. The grassland went on for at least hundreds of metres before finally meeting the treeline again on the other side of the hilly field. The group drew up to the border of this opening in the canopy and seemingly awaited some sort of verdict from Sir Liadon.

“This scenery here is called a glade, gentlemen,” He explained, leading the group onto the grass field. “Perhaps this is a fitting place to take a halt and rest a bit.”

Yestril followed Liadon onto the glade looking down at the ground covered in mesmerising white flowers. As he kneeled to take a closer look, a cold sensation hit his neck. He shuddered and wiped the wetness from his neck while looking at the sky. As if mirroring the glade below his feet, the sky above his head was filled with thousands upon thousands of snowflakes.

“Is that… is that snow..?” He caught himself saying it out loud.

“This is rarer than a lizard in a library..!” Ralm blurted out. “Isn’t it supposed to be another five full moons before this shite comes falling from the skies again?” He muttered, rubbing his hands across his arms.

Quaru’uul and Yax’keldan gave each other a silent look before deciding it was best to stay silent and make it back to camp without unnecessary casualties.

“I suppose we could rest underneath the surrounding trees instead of here on the open glade,” Sir Liadon stated, also looking caught off guard by the sudden snowfall during this time of year.

They all gathered underneath the trees again and sought out a rock formation that allowed them to take a seat comfortably for just long enough to finish a short meal. Ralm set down his backpack and opened it. He was about elbow-deep in his bag before rapidly pulling his hand out again, letting out a shout and walking two steps backward before falling on his backside. The rest of the group looked at Ralm and slowly traced his glance back to the bag, which was lying on its side now. It was the stench that hit Yestril’s senses before anything else. The strong odour of spoiled meats mixed with a fume that could only be described as malignant penetrated his nostrils as he saw mouldy bread and rotten fruits roll out of the bag, covered in what looked to be maggots and grubs. Yestril gagged.

“Leave the sack here. It is of no use to us now. We’ll hunt something down along the way,” Liadon commanded, already having stood up and walked away from the mess.

Ralm looked at Quaru'uul and Yax’keldan in confusion before standing up, quickly dusting off his hands and following the elf.


_____________________________________________________________________


In the following hours, the peaceful woodlands gradually made way for more treacherous swamplands. Unlike in the glade - which seemed to be in a permanent state of cold - the air surrounding the travellers in these swamplands was hot and dense and filled with an ever-present mist dancing around their boots, seemingly knowing every next footfall. Soon after the group found themselves wading through murky water reaching Yestril’s and Ralm’s waistline. With every step they made, the muddy floor seemed to grasp at their ankles trying to drag them under the water’s surface.

“Ow! Daggers! I think something bit me..!” Ralm shouted.

“Are you alright?” Yestril asked, trying to turn around to face him but unable due to the muddy swamp floor.

“I’m fine. I’m fine. Just keep walkin’. The sooner we’re out of this shitehole the better.”

It wasn’t very long after they had left the murky waters behind them before Ralm suddenly sat down against a tree.

“Are you alright Ralmavir?” Liadon asked.

“Barkin’ spiders man, my legs are crampin’. Feels like whatever stung me down there is makin’ my joints lock up or somethin’,” he groaned.

The group looked at him with concern.

“Well don’t just stand there! Help me get my boots off! I can’t bend my knees!” he shouted.

Quaru’uul handed his axe to Yax’keldan and rushed over to release Ralm from his footwear revealing his foot underneath. To everyone’s shock, his entire leg was covered in bark and fungi as if it had been part of the surrounding forest for years. Silence filled the air for what felt like an eternity.

“Go on without me,” Ralm whispered with his eyes closed, breaking the silence. “In hopes you find your damned acorns!” He shouted, slamming his fist to the ground. Sir Liadon sighed.

“Stay with him Quaru’uul. Tend to his wounds as best you can. We’ll foregather on our return to camp.”

The lizardmen shared a glance before Quaru’uul nodded and started lifting the legs of Ralm’s trousers.

“Will you be okay, Ralm?” Yestril quietly asked.

“Just make sure it's not all for nil, kid. Maybe those dumb artefacts Liadon wants to find in this forsaken forest can save whatever the hell this is.” He grunted, pointing at his legs.


_____________________________________________________________________


The following part of the journey was quiet. Not the comfortable kind. Since Ralm’s incident, Yestril had become extremely suspicious of every thorny branch he encountered. The remaining three travellers stopped for a second as Sir Liadon gestured to do so. He frowned at his compass - which had been spinning in circles for a while now - trying to discern where to go next. Yestril heard the rustling of leaves in front of him and skittishly looked up. He stayed perfectly still with his eyes darting around from the canopy to the forest floor. Nothing. No movement among the trees. No beast nor man in sight. However, the winds had picked up. Making the whole forest seem to dance and sway.

“It must’ve been the wind then, right?” he tried explaining to himself.

He turned around to check the surroundings behind him. He looked at the ground as he saw that the swamp’s mist had caught up with them, crawling ever so slowly over the dirt below their feet. He kneeled to try and feel the dampness of the swamp in the mist. It was cold to the touch. He watched as the mist slowly trailed up his arms. The winds picked up again, stronger this time. Yestril kept his gaze to the branches above trying to ascertain whether the howling came from the trees or a creature in the distance. The mist had wrapped itself around his arm, all the way up to his shoulder as Yestril heard a whisper.

“Yesss… stril…”

Yestril shot straight up to his feet and looked at Yax’keldan in fear. The lizardman looked back seemingly not having heard the same thing Yestril had. Yax’keldan carried a stern look on his face Yestril has always known him to have. A chill went down Yestril’s spine.

“Gods, Hilya, I wish you were here,” he whispered.

After Liadon had given up on his compass and had chosen a direction out of pure desperation, the three walked in silence through the howling winds. The forest around grew denser with every step they set forth.

“Yax, would you mind clearing the way for us? I do not want us getting caught up in venomous vines or constricting roots.” Liandon pointed at the flora in front of them.

Yax’keldan tightened his grip around his axe and started slashing away at the greenery. Until he suddenly stopped. He stood upright with his scaly nostrils in the air.

“Is there a creature nearby? Yax?! What did you s-”

Yax'keldan abruptly put his hand up gesturing to Liandon to stop talking. Yax'keldan then slowly made his way through the greenery to his right until he was no longer in Yestril’s sight.

“Should we-”

“Stay here,” Liandon quietly interrupted Yestril.

Moments passed. A few twigs snapped in the distance. Then silence. Yestril had never really heard Yax’keldan speak before, which made the following that much more terrifying.

“RUN!”

Yax’keldan’s voice echoed through the woods followed by the sound of bones breaking and a painful roar. Yestril looked fearfully at Liadon in hopes of hearing the next logical steps to pursue. Liandon stood up, looking as distraught as Yestril, frantically looking for a way to escape the green maze, as an arrow dug itself perfectly into his left eye socket. Liandon hit the ground with a dull thud before Yestril’s eyes. He had to cover his mouth to not let out a yelp of horror. Yestril started crawling as fast as he could, back the way they came. Only to discover that the ground he was crawling on was littered with skulls and bones.

After crawling for what must have been an hour he found the courage to get on his feet and ran for what felt like another hour. He stopped to lean against a tree and looked back at the forest behind him. The trees were swaying more than he remembered. The winds howled.

“Gods… Hilya…” he muttered, right before passing out.


_____________________________________________________________________


Woken up by the warmth of sunlight hitting his face, Yestril sat himself straight up against the tree. He rubbed his eyes and the back of his head. He looked at his surroundings. This was not the tree he passed out next to.

“This… this is where Ralm helped me on my feet. This very morning!” he thought to himself.

He hastily hoisted himself up on two feet as quickly as he could while not passing out again. He quickly glanced around looking for any other surrounding details his memory could cling to. And there it was. In a straight line through the leaves and branches. Within eyeshot. The campsite.

There she sat. Close to the tree line. Almost exactly in the same place, Yestril had seen her last.

“Hilya!” he shouted, running straight out of the woods. She looked up with a confused expression on her face.

“Yestril? Did you forget s-?”

“Gods, Hilya, I’m happy to see you. I thought I’d never see you again.” A tear rolled down Yestril’s cheek.

“Yestril…






You’ve been gone for 5 minutes.”

@Imrahil

Spoiler: A Different Place and Time

A different place and time

Aetheric void, Temple ship Oyxl, Before the ages​

Darkness, without end.
Nothingness all around. No light, no life. Only what was, and has been, between these walls. Yuq'al-takuil searched the surroundings with his mind. Nothing penetrated the thick dark void around the Temple city turned Temple ship, not even his magical perceptive abilities.
Within the ship magic was roaming freely. The best example of it was the stasis that all Sauri and the non magic wielding Skinks were being kept in. Yuq'al-takuil, together with the other Priests, was taking turns keeping the stasis going in order to preserve the troops and keep the impact on the provisions to a very minimum.

Beside the Skink Priests only the Slann Lord Xruzi’o-Ila was left out of stasis. He was in control of the ship, keeping it afloat in the void, with his mental powers. Simultaneously he scanned the horizons to pick up a glimpse of something, just a single thing that was not dark nothingness.

Since they had escaped the catastrophic events in Lustria, and the world it was a part of, there hadn’t been contact with any other Lizardmen refugees. Neither had there been signs of other Temple ships even making the escape.
Yuq'al-takuil stared in the distance as the chaotic events played out in front of him again.

Footfall behind him pulled him back to the present. “Yuq'al-takuil, your presence is required.” It was Skink Priest Tak’ek Muntoc, he was of the same spawning as him. Although slightly smaller they both saw and treated each other as equals. “I would better not leave him waiting.” he resumed hastily with a smirk.
Yuq’al-takuil turned around with a clearly fake worryful expression on his face before he started laughing: “You are always the punctual lizard, aren’t you? However, I will honor his request.” Both amusingly went their way.

Yuq’al-takuil headed to the Eternity Chamber, the quarters of Lord Xruzi’o-Ila. He walked through the entrance with a little hesitation. Back in Lustria the doors to these quarters were sealed for years on end and heavily guarded from the inside as well. Nowadays the doors stood open and no guards were to be found. Like all other Sauri the Guards were dismissed from their posts and put in stasis, because there was not the slightest disturbance in the years of their voyage.

The inside of the chamber was dark; the only light was a dim blue-ish green hue emanating from the palanquin in the middle of the far wall. On top of the palanquin sat Slann Lord Xruzi’o-Ila, cross-legged, his arms up, elbows out, with his fingertips spread touching either side of his face and eyes closed.
“Please enter, no need to hesitate.” The words sounded without any movement of the lips, like they appeared out of thin air or they welled up in the skinks head itself.
No matter how often the priest experienced this it still felt like an invasion of privacy.

Yuq’al-takuil walked calmly forward with a bowing gesture: “You sent for me, my Lord?”

"Do you feel it?"

"I am not sure what you mean, my Lord."

"I know you feel it too. You can smell it in the air, you can taste it in the water.
The absence of magic on the other side of these walls. The nothingness that surrounds us. It exhausts me, all attempts to reach beyond it are fruitless.
The Geomantic web is no more, no web means no nodes, no nodes mean no connection, no connection means no information, no inform...."

The smashing of rock against stone interrupted the conversation loudly paired with heavy trembling of the whole chamber.
In an instant the Slann Lord moved his hands from his head in front of his mouth, fingertips touching each other. A bright orange radiant orb grew in between his hands as he moved them apart and now his lips did move: "Warning to all priests! Collision in progress. Be prepared to repair hull damage!"

Another slam shocked the Temple ship with an even louder grinding of stone and rock. Yuq'al-takuil looked above him in the chamber as a crack formed and widened across the ceiling. Glimmering black shards of rock shot through the cracks raining down upon Yuq'al-takuil and Xruzi’o-Ila. In a reflex the skink priest stepped aside and casted Mystic Shield above them, but the shards broke through like there was no shield at all. One of the shards struck the shoulder of the Slann. With a cry of pain the blue-ish green hue dimmed, leaving the room completely darkened.
“Lord Xruzi’o-Ila!” No imediate response: “Lord Xruzi’o-Ila! Are you okay?"
A soft pain filled moaning was all that he heard. “My Lord, how badly are you hurt?”
“Hhhrrrmm… my shoulder…. ugh… pierced, but no … hhhmm… internal organs are damaged.”
“Please hold still while I cast a mending spell.” Yuq’al-takuil raised his arm and turned his wrist whilst soft green energy dispatched from his fingers in a swirl. The light showed the Slann Lord fallen from his palanquin with a torn shoulder, the black shard glimmering at his feet. Yuq’al-takuil directed the spell towards the wound, but all of a sudden the energy was swept away from its path and absorbed by the black shard.
“Excuse me lord, I will try it again.” The priest repeated the motions, but with a similar result.
“What kind of rock is this?”
“Anti magic matter,” mumbled the Slann, “I have heard of its existence… hhhgg… before, but hadn't yet encountered it… ugh”.
“Anti magic?” pondered the priest “do you mean that it negates all magic it comes across? But how is that possible? And how do we get rid of it? And…”
“Calm down Yuq’al-takuil, one step at the time.”

Frantic steps sounded down the hallway growing louder and louder. In a hurry Tak'ek Muntoc ran around the corner into the darkened chamber. "What happened here!?"
"Lord Xruzi’o-Ila has been struck by a shard of anti magic matter." Answered Yuq'al-takuil. "Struck by what?"
"I know, I can't get my head around it either, but let us help him and mend his wounds."
"Yes, of course, healing…" “No, that will not help at all!” Yuq’al-takuil responded “I tried it, but the rock absorbed the healing spell. We need to get him out of the chamber or see to his wounds in the traditional style”
Since the light in the chamber had died the palanquin had collapsed onto the floor as well. The Slann Lord lay in between the rumble on the floor. Both Skink Priests stumbled towards him only guided by their touch and hearing. After a while they flanked him, each on one side, and tried to lift him up with no success. After a couple of attempts they settled on dragging him instead.
Once outside of the chamber the Priests saw the wound clearly. Now, further away from the Anti magic rocks, the healing spells did take hold and mended the wounds of the Slann Lord nicely.

"Thank you both for your help" Lord Xruzi’o-Ila replied, still visibly in pain: "what is our status Tak’ek Muntoc?"
"The hull damage and breach seems to be limited to the Eternity Chamber, all the stasis Chambers are still operational and no other citizens were wounded." Tak’ek hesitated a little before continuing: "... there is one thing though, that is why I came up to the Eternity Chamber to see you, your highness. The ship has lost its course. We are no longer floating."
Yuq'al-takuil and Lord Xruzi’o-Ila looked at eachother and only now noticed the small shift in angle that the ship had made.
"The impact must have redirected us and your ability, your highness, to stabilize the ship must have been taken by the shard that struck you"
"So we are no longer floating hmmm?" Pondered the Slann staring straight ahead. He closed his eyes and tried to raise his hands to the sides of his face. He immediately regretted it as a shockwave of pain swelled from his left shoulder.
"My powers have been drained. I can't take control of this ship again." He sighed in disbelief, but spoke again: "if we are no longer floating it means we are either sinking or falling."
While he spoke a third Skink came running down the hallway. It was a Starseer, appointed to scan the horizon for visible changes. "Your highness, your highness. There is a speck of light at the horizon. It has a green hue and is approaching fast. What should we do?"
Both the Priests looked at each other before looking at their Slann Lord. They head his words as if they were not right there beside him.

"We will need to brace for impact. Tell all priests to move to the lowest chambers and prepare a levitating spell. With all the power that we can muster, we might be able to slow down enough to minimize damage. Leave the posts at the stasis chambers as well. Get all of them and stay at the ready!"
The three skinks ran through the hallway where the Starseer came from to inform all priests and get ready for what was about to happen.

Ghur, Thondia, Thunderscorn Peaks, Age of Myth​

Sounds of battle and roaring of Draconiths and Thunderscorns alike echoing through the mountain range. The shear volume of raw power sends shockwaves through the rock hard ground, loosening stones, causing avalanches left and right. Dark clouds gathered, drifting in from every side as the air got cooler. Suddenly in the middle of it a small circular breach appeared and a flash of blue light struck from the sky down in between the mountains. Leaving an earthquake in its wake.
Since this incident a different roaring was heard between the mountains.

you can find the rest of the stories HERE

 

37th competition
Jan-Feb 2024: Theme is "Divine Intervention".

Winning story by @thedarkfourth

Spoiler: Practically Guaranteed

Practically Guaranteed

Once upon a time in Lustria, two ragged, sunburned, insect-bitten prisoners were being marched through the jungle towards a temple city of the Lizardmen. Hans and Wilhelm were Empire soldiers who had followed an over-ambitious gold-seeking adventurer on an ill-fated voyage. One by one their party had been picked off by disease, starvation, bloodthirsty natives, hungry predators, and finally, the lizardmen themselves.

"I bet this situation has never happened before in the history of Lustria," muttered Hans.

"You're right. No expedition has ever gone badly in these parts," nodded Wilhelm.

They continued to stumble onwards, their hands tied with rope, their reptilian captors prodding them with sticks.

"What are you so happy about?" Hans grumbled, seeing his companion's face. "They're sure to kill us when we arrive."

"I wouldn't count on it," Wilhelm grinned.

"What are you talking about?"

Wilhelm nodded towards the sky. "Divine intervention, of course. Practically guaranteed."

"Don't be daft."

"I'm serious. You must have heard about that bloke from Kemperbad. He was exactly where we were. The scale-skins had him all tied up on their altar, knife raised up to cut his heart out, sacrifice him to their gods. Then all of a sudden - bam! Solar eclipse. Sun went out. Lizzies let him go. Came back safe, now he lives like a prince."

"A heavenly alignment is hardly a common occurrence!" cried Hans. "What are the odds of that happening twice?"

"Dime a dozen, your last-moment eclipse. Sigmar sends one whenever someone's in a tight spot. My cousin's boy's wife's sister was about to be burned to death by Chaos Dwarves one time. Just as they're striking the match - bam! Solar eclipse. Fellah down the pub I met last year, gonna be eaten by goblins at a feast of Gork. Or was it Mork? Either way - bam! Solar eclipse! Fellah sitting next to him, one second away from getting dissected by Skaven? Bam!"

"Solar eclipse?" Hans asked, rolling his eyes.

"Nope - lunar eclipse. Warpstone moon clean vanished! Then when it was a vampire ritual goblet-filling, it was the normal moon that went out. Those bloodsuckers ran for the hills. Ah, here we go. You ready for a show?"

They had finally staggered free of the jungle, revealing a great city of crumbling stone pyramid-temples. Lizardmen covered every inch, waving their weapons and roaring with anticipation at the coming sacrifice. The prisoners were led down the wide central avenue towards the largest of the giant pyramids.

"You see?" Wilhelm continued. "They'll take us up there, tie us up, sharpen their best knife, and just when it looks like curtains - bam! Some kind of eclipse for sure."

They continued walking in silence, until they reached the base of the pyramid. But instead of starting up the long stairs, the lizardmen directed them towards a small door. Hans cleared his throat.

"Quick question. If we're certain to be saved by a celestial event, why are they taking us inside?"

You can find the rest of the stories HERE

 

38th competition
Apr-may 2024: Theme was "Tactic and Strategy"

Once again, it was a draw between 2 stories (even after a tie-break), so there are TWO winners: @thedarkfourth and @Killer Angel


@thedarkfourth

Spoiler: The Question

The Question

Kol-tak, legendary oldblood general of the armies of Zlatlan, hacked his way out of the jungle. He had crossed the great ocean from the Southlands on the back of a gigantic sea turtle, swimming the last hundred miles unassisted, trudged through swamps of clinging ooze, fought off wild carnosaurs, passed over rotting rope bridges spanning dizzying ravines, and single-handedly butchered three hundred disease-riddled skaven who had tried to mug him near Quetza.

After smashing his way past the last impenetrable thicket of vegetation and grasping vines (Kol-tak hadn't bothered using paths), the saurus had finally emerged above the treeline, marking the end of Lustria's spectacular forests. Now he had to climb.

Up and down the mountains he stalked, storming over snow and scree with equal disdain, paying no heed to monsoon or avalanche, frightening away the various monstrous beasts that occasionally thought to investigate whether he was worth eating.

One night, two full years after he'd left Zlatlan, Kol-tak reached a particularly towering mountain with an unusual formation at the top, appearing like a gigantic forked tongue. At the base of this rocky protrusion was a ledge, upon which had been built a beautiful pyramid temple. At the top, under an ornate wooden covering, someone had built a fire, which glowed welcomingly against the starry night.

Beside the fire, Kol-tak found an ancient-looking skink, with wrinkled, leathery skin and eyes clouded with cataracts.

"You have come far, child of the Old Ones," rasped the mysterious skink. "What is it that you seek?"

"I seek the Oracle of the West, who they say can shine the light of wisdom on even the most intractable problems," said Kol-tak

"I have been called such," conceded the Oracle. "Have you brought an offering?"

There was a crackle and a terrible stench as a bundle of rat tails began to sizzle on the fire. The skink sniffed the smoke.

"A most propitious offering," he allowed. "You may sit. Do you have a question for me, young oldblood?"

Kol-tak lowered himself into a crossed-legged pose before the Oracle. He unstrapped his weapons and laid them on the ground between them: a club of tough, blackened wood, and a long pole topped by a shard of obsidian.

"In my land, I am deemed the strongest of warriors," began the oldblood. "The Mage-Priests have entrusted me with leadership over the largest armies of the Southlands. To me falls the defense of the temple cities, and the execution of the ineffable designs of the Old Ones. I have fought in countless battles, and commanded others to fight. I have faced every kind of enemy. I have learned the deepest secrets of military strategy. I have outmaneuvered the most cunning adversaries. I have trained my soldiers in the most effective techniques for each and every situation. But there is one matter on which I have never been able to reach understanding. One single choice where clarity has always eluded me. I have tried each alternative countless times and in countless ways, and yet with all this experience, I still cannot decide which method is superior. And so I have crossed an ocean and a continent to reach you, great Oracle, all to ask you a single question."

The mountaintop seemed to hold its breath, as Kol-tak finished:

"Hand weapon, or spear?"

@Killer Angel

Spoiler: Friends and Foes

FRIENDS AND FOES

High Priest Tek'totiki stood in the Sacred Chamber of Meditation, where Lord Temmu, Master of the Temple-City of Tunk-Xha, normally resided. It had now been almost fifty cycles since Lord Temmu last interacted with the skink priests, but this was the norm.
Also that morning, as he had done for twenty cycles now, Tek'totiki read the weekly reports to his Master. The celestial signs, the activities of the spawning pools, the communications from other temple cities, the reports from the scouts about------ the enemies of the Great Plan, fortunately limited to a series of minor raids by the skaven along the routes of the outer borders.
Satisfied at having once again fulfilled his duty, Tek'totiki headed outwards, to return to the rest of his activities. It was only when he was almost to the door that a voice in his mind startled him.

“Raids of little importance, but particularly coordinated, I would say”
Tek'totiki whirled around, eyes wide. Lord Temmu, floating on his palanquin, had not moved. But his eyes were open.
“Summon Commander Kra-Gar. I have to entrust you with a mission."


The first battle – The swamps of Xo-than

“It’s a trap”
Kra-Gar gazed out over the damp, foggy expanse. Hygrophilous plants stretched as far as the eye could see, surrounding enormous mangroves and bushes of blade grass, the favorite lair of crested anacondas.
The Scar Veteran patted his cold one's side, eyeing skeptically what would normally be a great route for the troops.
“It certainly is, Commander. The enemy is waiting for us, reports of chameleon skinks are clear… or maybe…. it just seems so"
Kra-Gar just stared at Tek'totiki, which was trying to rearrange his thoughts.
“Lord Temmu has divined the enemy's camp. He himself showed us this path. Our cowardly foe, he loves subterfuge. Maybe they are showing us what they were planning for us to see. And perhaps they can deceive our senses, but not those of Lord Temmu"
Kra-Gar nodded.
“Let's move forward, the 3rd cohort will lead the way, I want the salamanders to cover the flanks.”
It was only when half the contingent was already scattered among the mangroves that the air was filled with greenish globes and lightnings; the first saurian screams arose, and with them a cacophony of squeaks from beyond the edge of the tree line. Many more than those predicted by the scouts.
Kra-Gar and Tek-totiki stared at each other, bewildered. It really was a trap.


The second battle – The Southern crossroads

Kra-Gar and Tek'totiki hadn't spoken much since the Xo-tan debacle. The expedition that was supposed to eliminate the threat to the outer borders had turned into a disastrous retreat; the patrols had been called back to reinforce the retreating contingent, and only stopped near the Crossroads.
Tek'totiki could not shake the feeling that he had made a terrible mistake, that he had grossly and incorrectly interpreted Lord Temmu's infallible guidance. And he knew that was Kra-Gar's thinking too, except that he was too disciplined a warrior to hold anything against Lord Temmu’s envoy.
Fortunately, reinforcements from the rear had also arrived, recomposing an army that was now even larger than the one defeated two weeks earlier. The crossroads was a great place to fight; not only was it a strategic point for the communications of the temple city, but precisely because of the converging roads, it was the most natural place to favor the arrival of the enemy, refreshed by the recent victory.
it was only a matter of planning the defense.

“Are you sure you understood it correctly?”
Kra-Gar scratched his head thoughtfully as he stared at the layout of his troops as outlined by Tek'totiki. His question was rhetorical. The Scar Veteran was present when Tek'totiki spoke under a trance, with the Voice of Lord Temmu.
“Is there something bothering you?”
Kra-Gar looked around, making sure the sentries on guard were not too close, then spoke in a low tone.
“Our center is well protected, on the right wing we can respond and reorganize effectively... but the left flank makes no sense. We have troops placed side by side but who do not support each other, our shooting barely covers a third of the front and if we need reinforcements, the closest units are slow and would be forced to cross our own shooting arch. If they attack us from the South-East we are in serious trouble, moreso because we have few scouts who can warn us. This deployment is not only weak... it is dangerous, and our enemy is far from a fool."
Tek'totiki had no answer.

After two days the skaven attack came. Slow at first, then with steadily increasing pressure. Low-ranking troops massing senselessly and hopelessly against the center and right flank.
Tek'totiki was relieved. It was evident that Lord Temmu had foreseen where the attack would come from and his orders had taken that into account. Kra-Gar sent the cold ones units to harass and encircle the enemy troops.
It was only when it seemed that the enemy would be repelled, that the drums and horns on the left signaled the danger. War machines, hordes of hooded figures and armored troops emerged from the South-eastern forest, heading inexorably towards the lines of the lizardmen.


The third battle – The lesser Temple of Huanchi

The retreat had been long and bloody, the rearguards decimated by the relentless attacks of the skaven.
The escape had stopped at the temple in the southern quadrant, dedicated to Huanchi. It was a minor building, part of the ring of citadels that surround the temple-city of Tunk-Xha.
The defense would be established there... not only was it unthinkable to allow the skaven to outrage a sacred temple of the Ancients, but it was also the last obstacle to stand between the rats and Tunk-Xha.
Kra-Gar was determined and moderately satisfied. With no indications from Lord Temmu, he had arranged the troops as he saw fit; the saurian regiments on foot had barricaded themselves in the walls surrounding the temple, while all skink units, cavalry and battle dinosaurs remained outside, to contrast encirclement and ensure mobility on the flanks.
Finally the skaven arrived. They almost no longer bothered to hide, encouraged by the series of successes... The warchief's banners waved proudly, among a mass of hairy bodies which incredibly had grown even further, intoxicated by the victories.

The assault began. The Skaven army, under the careful leadership of their lord, pressed against the temple defenses with no hurry, while elite units metodically protected the flanks, countering the enveloping movements of the forces of Kra-Gar.
The Scar-Vet had reached Tek'totiki. “It’s time to strike. Gather the other priests. Weaken their flank with magic, the razordons will help you, then the stegadons will charge and open a gap for my Saurus knights."
“Fine, I'll call the priests, just giv…”
Tek'totiki’s body stiffened as Lord Temmu took possession of the vassal skink. The Slann's voice was hollow.
“Kra-Gar, orders the retreat towards the temple city. Leave the field."
Kra-Gar looked the priest in disbelief.
“My Lord…?”
“The battle is lost. Retreat toward Tunk-Xha”.
The saurus commander grabbed the skink by the throat, lifting it to eye level. For a brief moment the veteran's muscles hardened, his throat let out a low, menacing growl... then he calmed down.
"My Lord, The battle is not lost, and the regiments in the citadel cannot retreat. If we leave we condemn them to death".
“Their sacrifice will be honored. The Great Plan demands your retreat. Now”.

The possession ended as it began. Kra-Gar now held a terrified skink by the neck, which was struggling to breathe... Kra-Gar let him go.
Tek'totiki fell to the ground on his knees, coughing and panting.
“I don’t understand…I’m sorry…”
Kra-Gar didn't hear it. He was already giving the retreat orders. And as the troops marched, only the drums of the saurus warriors could be heard in the distance, slowly drowned out by the dark ringing of bells.


The battle for Tunk-Xha

When they returned to Tunk-Xha, preparations for the looming battle were already underway. Kra-Gar and the other Scar Veterans were assigned to the reserve troops, while the Oldbloods set up the main defenses.
Tek'totiki had been relieved of front line duties and assigned to support the Revered Guardian in the defense of the central pyramid, from where Lord Temmu would telepathically coordinate operations.
“I've been cut off” Tek'totiki thought bitterly. “Not that it would have made any difference.”
The skink felt drained. After days of waiting and confusing but alarming reports from scouts on terradons, dawn had finally revealed the full extent of the threat. An endless horde of Skaven was amassing, far superior to anything Tek'totiki had ever seen or imagined. The city had no hope.

Then the assault began. Tek'totiki struggled to follow the flow of the fight in the early hours. He was not bred for fight, but in his mission he had begun to appreciate and fear the organized movements of enemy troops. But in the carnage that was developing in the plain, there was nothing organised. The skaven seemingly chaotically crowded into the lizardmen's defenses in uncoordinated waves.
Tek'totiki imagined it was some trick, but the doubt slowly faded when it became clear that the defensive lines, anchored on the regiments of Temple Guards and Bastiladons, were not giving way.
It was in the early afternoon that the attackers began to falter... the front lines tried to retreat, bumping against the pressure of their own backups, massed senselessly in the center, while the pincers of the lizardmen began to close.
It was only towards evening that panic truly spread among the skaven... regiments began fighting each other to gain apparent escape routes, which were promptly blocked by the Cold Ones and Carnosaurs.
After sunset Tek'totiki was no longer able to see anything, except for salamanders’ fire, but he could hear noises and screams in the distance. The massacre lasted all night. By morning the Skaven army was no more. A lake of blood extended in front of the city, soaking hundreds of thousands of hairy bodies.

Finally, Lord Temmu exited the Inner Sanctum.
“Ah, here you are, my little Tek'totiki. Your anxiety was very strong when you returned. And even now you are troubled... why? we achieved a great victory"
Tek'totiki didn't know where to start, too many thoughts crowded into his mind. Above all, he couldn't explain what he had experienced and seen.
“My lord… I… we retreated when we could have fought, and when it seemed we had no chance, we won. What happened? their warlord had proven to be a skilled and shrewd commander, while today his leadership was confusing and suicidal."

“That's because their warlord wasn't leading them. He died two nights ago. Leading them were several commanders eager to excel, convinced only that they had to compete for the spoils of a beaten and demoralized enemy. Too many heads, too many ideas, too little experience"
Tek'totiki couldn't follow the conversation. It seemed too absurd to him.
"Died? how did he die? it wasn't us... what killed him?”

Lord Temmu smiled placidly.
“His victories killed him”
“huh? how…?”
“Success and envy are a lethal combination, in the society of our enemies. If you create the right conditions, your enemy will defeat himself. As the Great Plan wills”

you can find the rest of the stories HERE

 

39th competition
Jul-aug 2024: Theme was "Hope and/or Despair" ;

Winning story by @Killer Angel

Spoiler: A Promise of Hope

A PROMISE OF HOPE

“just… one more… mile…”

The panting skink ran through the jungle. The pace of breathing was too fast, punctuated by a gasp every now and then.

“Oh great Huanchi… I am Te’Piki… Your humble servant… I beg you… give me the strength of the jaguar… to run… another…. mile".

The skink ran across a clearing of razor grass. When she emerged, numerous reddish scratches marked her legs, overlapping with other similar, slightly older scratches.

The skink ran awkwardly, carrying a suspiciously bloated shoulder bag, holding it in her arms so as not to bounce it.

The skink had a shield strapped to its back, and an empty scabbard at its side. The sword lost who knows where.

The skink ran.

“The top… of the hill. The top… of the hill. Then I'll look... behind. Then… I will rest.”

The top of the hill was a black ridge against the reddish sky, dazzled by the setting sun. When the skink reached it, she carefully placed her bag on the grass, then collapsed to the ground, her back resting against the trunk of a drum tree.

Panting, she looked in the direction she had come from.

The sky was boiling with greenish and purple clouds, behind the mist and the foliage of the tallest plants, the flashes of distant flames could be glimpsed… the flashes of the fire that was consuming the no more visible temple-city.

The clouds slowly expanded, no birds sang.

“I made so much noise that I must have scared them…”

Then the skink saw, from under a bush, a pair of eyes staring at him. The wide, glassy eyes of a howler monkey sprawled on the ground, motionless, its fur stained with spilled vomit.

“I have to keep running.”

---------

And the race went on. For almost a week, further and further west, always keeping the green clouds behind, always protecting the shoulder bag.

Every day a little slower than the previous one (“I should have already been at Thepulchan mangrove forest…”)

Every day with a greater need to rest ("What was that noise? I have to keep moving...")

Every day more and more hungry (“Corruption may have preceded me. I can't risk eating infected food...")

And so the flight continued, incessant, breathless. Fortunately, the skink was no longer alone. Pik'Ta'Ko, her dearest brother from the spawning pool, had joined her. He too was running away, he too was going towards the other temple city.

“I saw you die…”, Te’Piki had told him

“Don't be silly, how could I be here if I were dead?”, Pik'Ta'Ko replied.

And so they ran together for miles, remembering the days of training, the pranks on the saurus knights when they mixed the sleep flower with the food of the aggradons before the parade, the lazy swims in the Xanthi river, following the currents of warm water and try to catch by surprise the blot toads lost in their amorous serenades.

Until the warm water turned cold, and Te'Piki regained clarity. She was of course alone, with her legs immersed in the water of a swamp, in the late twilight, surrounded by the croaking of toads.

“For the Old Ones, I ended up in a swamp…”

Then Te'Piki realized.

“I'm in a swamp... it's salamander mating season. You should never go to the swamps during the salamander mating season."

The skink placed very delicately the shield on the water, like a small boat, putting the bag inside it. Then, very slowly, she began to swim, trying to disturb the waters as little as possible, trying to follow the few weak currents that could take her out of that trap.

“Caxuatn, God of predators, turn away from me the gaze of the flame-bearers. Tzunki, God of the waters, guide me through Your kingdom. Conalxa, God of shadows, hide me in Your cloak. Itzl, God of beasts, grant me to save Your children.”

And Te'Piki swam all night, silent and unable to feel her legs for the cold, letting the currents guide her, praying to Caxuatn, Tzunki, Conalxa and Itzl, until the marshes were behind her, until the first lights of dawn showed a landing place, until Te'Piki understood why she had been so lucky.

The salamanders had also arrived at the beach.

Dozens of bloated, rotting bodies… the carcasses had been carried downstream, pushed by the same currents Te'Piki had swum, piling up near the beach. No scavenger birds dared approach, only the flies were attracted by the fetid bodies.

Te'Piki left the river, and headed west.

---------

Day followed day, but time was now a blur. Sunrise behind her, sunset ahead. And in the middle a dull pain.

Something had followed Te'Piki from the swamp. Something in the water, the same something that had decreed the end of the salamanders. Something growing inside her, slowly but surely.

Since three days her breathing had become a gurgling hiss. Since two days she had been bleeding from her mouth and nose. Since a day she had felt something moving under the skin of her scratched legs that had been immersed in the water. It didn’t mattered.

Sunrise behind her.

“just… one more… mile…”

Sunset ahead.

---------

Confused memories accompanied Te'Piki. The Ritual of imprinting. The eggs that hatched, the baby aggradons that stared into her eyes, losing themselves in her gaze… her, the first living being there for them, their mother, who would protect and nourish them. And even years later, when they would have been nine feet tall seasoned killers, rode by Saurus Knights, they would have looked for Te'Piki, warbling the Song of Union.

“I’ve said stop! Don't take another step!"

Te'Piki shook herself out of her trance. She tried with difficulty to focus her gaze in front of her... the indistinct figures slowly became a skink priest, some saurus warriors and a couple of handlers with a salamander.

Te'Piki, exhausted, finally fell to his knees.

She tried to speak, despite the pain in her throat.

"I am the Chief Handler of the temple city of Xunt'la. We have been attacked by the forces of the ruinous powers"

The skink priest raised his hand, interrupting her.

"We know. Lord Baathrax is containing the plague, while we prepare the counterattack. But you brought the corruption with you... I’m sorry, but you can't continue."

He nodded towards the salamander.

“Your remains will be cleansed.”

Te'Piki nodded "I know, I’m not here to save myself."

She pushed the bag forward.

"There are two Crested Aggradons’ eggs in here. The ones we preserved from corruption, the last of their kind. Save them."

The priest looked at Te'Piki, a deep sadness in his eyes.

"Look... you've been traveling for over 2 weeks. Even if they hadn't been corrupted, and that's very difficult, there's no way anything could have survived all that time, away from the hatching grounds."

"NO!" Te'piki coughed up blood.

"No... the eggs were protected. Wrapped in enchanted cloth. The High Priest of Chotek gave them warmth, as if they never left the hatching grounds; the High Priest of Potek shielded them from the supernatural touch of Chaos. Please..."

The priest looked at the bag in front of him, thoughtfully.

"Even if it were, you've been running all this time... they will have been tossed around. The protection of the Old Ones might not have been enough. Dozens of things could have gone wrong. You're holding on to a very slim hope."

"Please... they are the last thing that remains of my city. Tell me I didn't do it all for nothing. Tell me there's a chance."

The priest remained silent. He grabbed the bag.”Such a thin hope…”

“But is there, yes?”

The priest turned his back to Te’Piki. “Yes, there is. May the Old Ones welcome you in the Celestial Spawning Pool”.

The priest went away. Te’Piki smiled, with blood tears in her eyes. The salamander closed in.

You can find the rest of the stories HERE

 

40th competition
oct-nov 2024: Theme was "A work of Art" ;

Winning story by @Killer Angel

Spoiler: Like Father Like Son

LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON​

The precision awl chiseled away the surface of the cold iron. Slowly, methodically.

Sweat stung Drazhoath Blakhorn’s eyes, and his arms ached. It didn’t matter.

The chisel fashioned the intricate rune of the “Holder of Treasures,” the thirty-seventh of the sixty-six names of the Father of Darkness. The next rune would bear the name of “He who kills with fire” A series of sixty-six runes, repeated sixty-six times… Drazhoath was now working on the bands that would surround the enormous breastplate, a five-meter-wide plate of steel, heated in lava, quenched in blood and tempered by sacred fires, beaten and shaped into the image of the Bull of Hashut.

With a few final, gentle strokes of the chisel, the Daemonsmith completed the rune, blowing on it to remove the metal dust from the grooves. He then took out his ritual dagger and made an incision in his thumb.

“My blood is not only mine, my blood belongs to Hashut, the One who owns everything and gives nothing away”

Drazhoath placed his thumb on the rune. The metal drank the drops of blood greedily, while the rune glowed.

“Keep this blood, and never release it. Be greedy as our Lord, I am You and You are me.”

The chaos dwarf watched his work with satisfaction, as the regenerative spells activated to close the superficial wound. He still had much to do, but his concentration was broken by the sound of the main door opening.

Before Drazhoath could see him, he heard him. He heard the clatter of metal on stone, the chugging of pistons, and the hum of well-oiled mechanisms. Even his two most trusted K'daai Fireborn dimmed the glow of their flames and stood back in deference and respect.

High above the balcony loomed the towering figure of Ghazkorr, the supreme Sorcerer-Prophet, lord of the city of Zhar-Marduk.

Like a centaur, Ghazkorr’s torso rose above the massive body of a mechanical bull, which enclosed the sorcerer’s legs and pelvis. Like them all, a victim of the corruption of chaos magic, Ghazkorr’s legs and manhood had long since turned to stone. Drazhoath wondered if, beneath the rich and elegant robes, the stone had already reached past his navel, or higher.

It certainly hadn’t reached his arms yet, nor his face, where two fierce eyes shone. Eyes that looked with displeasure at Drazhoath’s work, the chaos of the forge-workshop where disorder had been deliberately created and very little of the actual work was visible.

The eyes rested on Drazhoath again.

“When will it be finished?”

“When I will have completed it.”

Ghazkorr’s gloved fist crashed into the stone parapet.

“Be very careful, boy. Being my firstborn won’t save you from the punishment for negligence, and it certainly doesn’t give you the luxury of insolence. How long did it take for your tongue to grow back last time? Two months? Give me an answer.”

“I… I’m afraid I’ve gone into too much details. But I’m making up for lost time.”

“Hurry up, I need this Destroyer. I’ll give you another week… or you’ll find out the price of my disappointment.”

Ghazgorr left, creaking and dissatisfied. Drazhoath could hear the typical crack of the broken bone, as his father's scepter struck the skull of one of the hobgoblin servants who ceremoniously was holding the gate open for him.

“I don’t have much time left. In a week, whether I like it or not, my father will realize my deception.”

Drazhoath took a deep swig of the alchemical liquor hanging from his belt. A renewed energy spread through his body, the tiredness vanished in a few seconds.

“another night of work…”.

_______________________________________________


Three further days of non-stop work had yielded their results. Despite the unavoidable deadline, Drazhoath had still been methodical. No step was to be skipped, haste was not to detract from beauty. His work could not be less than perfection.

A new load of finished pieces was taken and carried toward the inner furnaces. The hobgoblin slaves pushing the carts were not stupid… they had eyes and ears, and they knew full well that Drazhoath was building something far beyond the orders of the sorcerer-prophet.

But Drazhoath had not needed to threaten them. They were aware that betraying him would mean a horrible death for them… his father was not the type to forgive a slave who goes behind his Sorcerer’s back, even if he brought useful news: the only place for an unreliable slave is the furnace.

The internal foundry was an immense room, heated to the limit of bearability by the pools of boiling lava and filled by the dark, reddish light of the enormous votive braziers; hanging from the metal frames towered an enormous metal structure, shaped like a sort of armor divided into pieces, to be assembled around something gigantic.

Each piece was engraved with sacred scenes… one greave showed a volcano with streams of lava spreading out to devour a village. The other greave depicted a lammasu flying between snow-capped peaks. A pauldron showed the Father of Darkness seated on a throne, atop a mountain of gold and precious objects. Each carving was surrounded by sacred runes that pulsed with silent power.

Drazhoath had been to the temples of Zharr-Naggrund, had seen the works of art erected in honor of Hashut, and knew that his work could be displayed in the central temple. It was just a matter of assembling the latest pieces as they were produced, and of course hoping that the couriers who had brought news of the main piece were right, and that it would arrive in time…

_______________________________________________


Another two days had passed, when the Overseer finally entered the forge.

“My Lord, Skaven envoys have arrived at the underground passages. I have made sure that no word of their presence has leaked outside the secure channels… but the caves have ears.”

“So we’ll have to hurry. Have your manpower, your winches, and your wagons ready. And prepare the sacrificial slaves.”

Drazhoath journeyed deep into the underground tunnels of Zhar-Marduk, escorted by his faithful Harridans, the warrior widows. Now he knew the real race against time had begun.

In one of the outlying caves, the rat-men delegation was waiting for him, nervously sniffing the air. Drazhoath knew that many of them were hidden, but then he also had his own countermeasures in case of betrayal.

“Let’s not waste time. Do you have it? Is it intact? Did you manage to preserve it without it deteriorating?”

A particularly evil-looking skaven, adorned with the icons symbolizing their clan and their horned god, stepped forward.

“Ah yes, yes yes.. the body-corpse is here, my excellent buyer-partner. Good-excellent condition, but very difficult-complicated, long journey from Lustria, long-long. Large-bulky corpse. Dead slaves, dead warriors… many costs-expenses…”

Drazhoath muttered a few words in the daemonic tongue, waving a hand absentmindedly. A chasm opened in the floor and streams of boiling lava engulfed half a dozen of the skaven underlings. The stench of burning fur filled the air, along with the screams.

“Let’s cut the formalities short. You were going to ask me an obscene premium and I would have told you it was too high, we would have threatened each other over the price, and you would probably have told me the trick you have in store for destroying the ‘corpse-body’. I cut the procedure short. Tell me the true final price.”

The skaven licked his lips, chuckling, and gestured reassuringly to the hidden figures in the darkness.

“eheheh… clever-cheeky, yeah? The surcharge is 50%”

“mh. Maybe it can be done, but beforehand I want to see the body. Show me the Dread Saurian.”

_______________________________________________


Drazhoath was standing in the large entrance of the forge, satisfied. He had managed to complete his work and now it was only a matter of waiting.

Beneath his large robe he had donned his Hellshard armor, and he had driven all the dwarfs away. Even the Harridans were not at his side, as in this particular circumstance he doubted their loyalty… he had kept only the K’daai fireborn with him.

He did not have to wait for long.

The gate was not opened by the slaves this time. A dull roar preceded a tremendous crash, and the massive stone and metal doors were torn from their hinges. Behind them, a Taur’ruk held a massive two-handed warhammer, which had proven more than adequate for the task.

The giant bull-centaur, chief guardian of the temple of Hashut, stepped aside, allowing Ghazkorr and his personal guard of infernal ironsworn to pass. The dwarf warriors’ expressions were masked by the closed visors of their helmets, but the sorcerer-prophet’s face was one of rage.


“A QUARTER OF THE TREASURE IS GONE! A QUARTER OF MY TREASURE! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!?” I SWEAR I WILL MAKE YOU BEG TO DIE!”

“I did.”

“OF COURSE YOU DID, YOU DAMNED IDIOT!”

Ghazgorr raised his scepter, ready to strike.

“I have completed the K’daai Destroyer. It came at a bit of a cost.”

For a moment, Ghazgorr was taken aback by the answer, and stood comically still with his scepter raised in mid-air.

“Do you want to see it?” Drazhoath said, as he allowed himself a smile. Behind him, the darkness lit up.



The Dread Saurian's body was covered in armor, inscribed with runes of chaos magic that had begun to glow a blinding red. The powerful clawed legs were reinforced by armored bracers with incandescent blades, the breastplate and gorget protected the reptile's entire torso, leaving only the toothy mouth free, while the skullcap was protected by a helmet that left the slits of the eyes open.

Hellfires burned inside the creature, turning its jaws and pupils red without consuming its body, preserved by the protective runes. Ghazgorr backed away, fearful, probably without even realizing it.

“What is that thing?”

“Do you like it? It’s almost twice the size of a Destroyer, I had it flown in from Lustria, I believe it’s the largest predator known. A worthy host for a greater fire daemon. A construct worthy of Hashut.”

“You’re a fool… I needed a Destroyer, not this… thing”

Drazhoath could no longer contain himself. A strange euphoria and excitement roared through his veins, his heart pounding, exhilarated by the bond with the chained elemental daemon.

“SHUT UP! You are weak, father… the stone is taking your body and you are afraid. You fear the moment when you will become a statue exposed on the road to Zharr-Naggrund, alongside the past Sorcerers. You fear what the magic of chaos brings… that is why you needed me to create a Destroyer, because you knew that the magic required to bring it to life would give your chest to the stone… COWARD! The stone is the medal we are awarded for knowing how to use the gifts of Hashut. And I embrace them WITH JOY!”

Drazhoath stomped his foot on the floor. Even through the sole, the dull thud of stone on stone was unmistakable. The confused Tarur’ruk backed away, and only the Ironsworn stood guard around their Lord.

Ghazgorr tried to compose himself.

“You are raving. I am the Sorcerer-Prophet of this city. You are my son. By the laws of Dawi-Zarr you owe me doubly. Kneel, now.”

Drazhoath shook his head.

“Hashut is my father, not you. It is time for this city to have a Sorcerer-Prophet able to remind the world that all the land belongs to Hashut… it is time for you to die.”

The Dread K’daai roared and charged.

You can find the rest of the stories HERE