1. This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this site, you are agreeing to our use of cookies. Learn More.

Fiction Digitized Stash of Paradoxical Short Stories

Discussion in 'Fluff and Stories' started by Paradoxical Pacifism, Sep 23, 2018.

  1. Paradoxical Pacifism

    Paradoxical Pacifism Well-Known Member

    Likes Received:
    Trophy Points:
    Some thread for nonsensical short stories.

    Stone Cold Affection

    Tazitzil stared at the erratic activity below him. Laboring Kroxigors hauled massive slabs of concrete, whilst Skinks with their chittering voices directed them. The small Kahoun’s scaly inhabitants chugged on under the beating sun, tending to whatever purpose the Great Plan held in their lives.

    Although a Saurus of the highly revered Temple Guard, Tazitzil’s red eyes studied the souls of the laborers and commoners alike, and saw his own resonating amidst them all. Akin to them, his life clung onto the desire of fulfilling the Old Ones’ wishes with utmost loyalty.



    They will return to this world and revel in the glory of their children.

    As Skink Priests and Chiefs ascended the massive cobblestone of stairs and into Lord Rivelot's temporary cave, this belief of Tazitzil’s eased the irksome feeling that had been bothering him in his century of monotonous guarding. Truth be solemnly told, he slightly felt his purpose in fulfilling the Great Plan slowly ebb away year by year when he sees his sauri brethren go off fighting in various campaigns.

    Tomorrow started off as any other day would start. Skink Priests strolled into the cave early morning, and the Chiefs followed shortly after in their usual routines of discussing plans and carrying out the will of Lord Rivelot.

    Minutes passed, and a Skink belonging to the worker caste, frantically ran up the stairs. Body language: Desperate. Intentions: Unclear. Tazitzil and his spawning bud, Bazichi, took these notes as they stood guard with halberds firmly rested upward, signifying to the Skink it wasn’t allowed to pass.

    “Let me through!” The skink yelled with strides towards the Temple Guard, “It is urgent that I pass and speak to Lord Rivelot!”


    The Skink’s large, golden eyes widened at the simple response. It didn’t help his frenzied mind, for words were hard to come into fruition. He did the only thing he could’ve thought of doing.

    Tazitzil’s red eyes sharpened at the small Skink’s pathetic legs powering its slow and predictable charge towards him. His own revved up his much more bulky mass into the foolish Skink, bolting it slightly into the air before making it tumble down on the stairs.


    Much of the day’s skies phased into the night without any further mishaps at all. The comfortable humidity that harmonically seeped through his ridged scales, replaced itself with occasional bouts of cold, dry air. But for some inexplicable reason, Tazitzil’s innards still felt warm as ever, almost as if an eternal fire finally sparked itself within his soul.

    Soft stepping sounded off in front of the statue-like Temple Guard, before a skink revealed himself yet again. Body language: Relaxed. Intentions: Unclear.

    “Hold up!” The skink yelled up as it raised its claws slightly above its orange crest, “Let me ju-”

    Tazitzil immediately charged yet again, punting the skink down the hardened stairs. Its tumble was long and loud before his eyes glared furiously. Seconds passed, and he soon realized he discarded one of the most important rules of being a good Temple Guard. Patience.

    “Make this the last time you tumble down those stairs, Skink,” Tazitzil threatened as he brandished his massive halberd, “Else It’ll only be your head next time.”

    The Skink’s teeth clenched intensely before picking itself off and running away with its tail swooshing from side to side in clear display of fear.

    “You could’ve been a lot less harsh.”

    Tazitzil turned around to see Bazichi standing with a glare of his own.

    “Why? This Skink clearly was a threat and was dealt with accordingly.”

    “I don’t know…” Bazichi struggled with the words as his helmed saurian head stared into the starry expanse of the night, “…Something doesn’t smell right.”

    Amidst the cold draft, Tazitzil smelt the strange stench too, noting that whatever it was, it didn’t belong here. The smell wasn’t the only thing he feared, for his body continually heated up despite the cold. It pinged at his mind and he wondered why this was happening to him during this lonely night.


    When the Sun’s ethereal presence raised, so did the stench that proliferated in smell. Suddenly, a massive sea of green creatures crashed onto the Kahoun’s unfinished walls. Flailing their small axes around, they cut down unarmed Skinks and Kroxigors that fought back to the death.

    Tazitzil immediately recognized the smelly invaders as raiding Orcs, inching his hunched feet forth in uncontrollable flinches. But duty came first, and his defense of Lord Rivelot was what ultimately mattered to him. Before, now, and in death, he and Baz shall protect the greatest living bastions of the Old Ones’ power!

    “You two!”

    Tazitzil and Bazichi turned to face a furious skink priest emerged from the cave’s entrance behind them.

    “Stop standing around like derpy Cold Ones and kill them!”

    With that loud shout, the two Temple Guard looked at each other and then their respective Halberds. They’ve never spilled blood in their decades of guarding the Temples and Slann, yet their halberds already drenched themselves in blood.


    Tazitzil roared onto the savage Orcs that stood readied before him. He didn’t know if his body was burning from the inside, or if it was the multiple wounds that pained his scales, but he literally felt enflamed.

    It was invigorating, and he wanted more.

    Tazitzil fought on, dropping the Orcs with well powered swings. He knew he had a significant range advantage, but what these smelly vile Orcs lacked in range, they made up for in numerical superiority. Amidst the slaughter, Bazichi’s whereabouts went blank in his mind, as he timed a perfect swing of his halberd into another Orc that charged him. More of the tiny axes plunged onto his golden plated armor, occasionally successful in drawing his blood.

    Tazitzil leapt back from the bloody fray, and tried regaining his senses. The fire that burned inside him, went out cold, and cold like stone, as it would seem his entire bloodied body couldn’t keep up with this. He glared furiously at them.

    Few of the Orcs remained standing in front of Tazitzil, probably trying to figure out how this one was tying all of them up by itself.

    From the edge of Tazitzil’s eyesight, he spotted a fast moving orange crested skink charging slightly behind the Orcs. It looked familiar, and with a smirk, he charged once more in an effort to divert attention to him only.

    Small axes pounded upon Tazitzil, mercilessly. But the Skink, with its bladed club, plunged into one of them before striking down another from behind. The last standing Orc tried turning around, but the skink quickly plunged its own club into the Orc’s chest. With excitement brimming in its mind, the Skink smiled as the blood from the wound he inflicted, dripped upon him. However, before the Skink withdrew his club from the Orc, the lifeless body started to wobble in its direction. It crashed down on the horrified Skink.

    Tazitzil coughed a sprout of blood as he frantically went over to the body. He hefted the lifeless Orc to the side, revealing a Skink drenched in blood. It made him earnestly smile when he confirmed who this Skink was. The fire within him reignited itself, finally solidifying his purpose within the Great Plan. All thanks to this puny, insignificant one he seriously thought of killing before.

    “You fight better than you talk, Skink!”

    “…Does that mean I can get through?”


    Camaraderie, acceptance, and friendship
    Last edited: Sep 3, 2019
  2. Paradoxical Pacifism

    Paradoxical Pacifism Well-Known Member

    Likes Received:
    Trophy Points:
    I saw a leaf fall down from a tree down onto my backyard. so yeah... pretty much my inspiration for this thing xD

    Fallen Leaf

    A Saurus stoically stood, leering at his lone Saurian opponent with its blade adorned club held firmly. between and all around them, stood the trees that had started shedding their brightly colored leaves in earnest. The undergrowth; barely noticeable amidst the many leaves that fell upon them.

    With a shattering roar, the Saurus charged forth, trembling the many watching leaves above.

    His opponent; a suspected preacher of the ancient enemy, was found out not before it killed a Skink priest and fled.

    The Saurus bought down his heavy club in a vertical slash, intersecting with his opponent’s own club in fury.

    His opponent; among the many that were the Saurus’ spawn brethren. All of them, together, looked forward towards bashing in the small ratty heads of the Skaven.

    The Sauri roared in pain as both of their clubs met flesh instead of each other, raining the blood of their respective masters onto the numerous leaves before them.

    And yet… here they were, fighting to the death as if both of their destined fates intertwined with each other with only one allowed to continue… a logical analogue towards nature itself, indeed, they thought.

    The Saurus leaped at his opponent in an attempt to bring down the full force of his strength and his resolve down into an unrelenting swing. His opponent, however, side stepped fast enough away from the downward swing, swinging his club in return.

    But at what cost does this logical analogue of nature pertain to? The Saurus prayed and prayed to the Old Ones in many illogical hopes and dreams that the accusations were false…

    The Saurus weakly blocked his opponent’s attack, stuttering slightly at its inertia powering through his Saurian body. Seeing this, his opponent quickly followed up with another horizontal swing to end this.

    Why must Chaos manifest through the souls of the many? At what point in the future will the Old Ones’ world and all of its souls fall into the deepest depths of chaos? Is there any hope for any of us at all?

    The Saurus instinctively leapt back to avoid the club, but it was too late, for it carved a meager path through his torso, raining a stream of painful blood. He leered into the small redden eyes of his opponent with rage making his Saurian body tremble.

    Under the cold cloudy skies, the reach of the dark powers seemed infinite, but the yearnful, burning flicker of the Old Ones’ children still burns on despite this. The burning blood inside him told him further: Winning here is paramount; survival isn’t.

    The opponent took to the initiative, and charged forth, seeing that victory is but only a falling leaf away. Enraged, but dutifully focused, the Saurus deceptively waited until only the perfect moment. The opponent’s club prepared itself for another downing of saurian blood as it spear headed towards the Saurus. Before it could strike, however, the Saurus side stepped away, swinging his own club with all his might towards the opponent’s out stretched club.

    It’s all over now.

    The stricken club dropped from the opponent’s scaly hands, providing the perfect opening to end this. The Saurus slashed his opponent’s torso before it could reliably defend itself, dropping down onto a pile of leaves below. With victory hung high in the drafty air, the Saurus raised his club above his opponent’s head.

    “Any last words, spawn brother?”

    “I’ve fallen… and so will all at some point!” The opponent roared whilst struggling and detesting its fate, "Chaos is all there is, spawn brother!"

    With those roars sounded off, the Saurus’ club cleaved through the head it’s been yearning to cleave through. The Opponent’s Saurian head rolled forward from its body, bathing in a pool of blood.

    It’s all over now…


    Many hours later, the Saurus stopped its march back to its temple city and looked up above.

    A single golden-brown leaf dangled upon its branch. It was lonely with all of its brethren already fallen down to the ground; destined to be decomposed into the soil of the ground below.

    It occurred to the Saurus that his spawning brother’s body will do the same; far into the unforeseeable future, feeding the hungry soil below its nutrients – a way of nature and the Old Ones despite his treachery.

    The leaf suddenly fell and gilded down onto the Saurus’ scaly snout.

    He then did the unthinkable. He contradicted what his spawn brethren would expect of him. He contradicted the will of the Slann mage-priests. He contradicted his sole purpose put forth for him by the Old Ones themselves.

    He cried.

    Thanks for the lengthy critique <3.

    Personally, i sort of do disagree that the lack of setting description brought down the whole piece. It was intentional for the piece to start off rather quickly with vague exposition about the plot in order to place an emphasis on the drama of the action.

    On the other hand, i do agree that i should've explained why the opposing saurus turned to the dark side. You said that i should've done so in the beginning, but i think it would be even better if i did it during the tiny snippet of dialogue before the protagonist Saurus kills his spawn brother. It would've made for a more dramatic, tear inducing kill!

    Not exactly sure how i could've made the saurus kill more "gorey" I think i probably should've been more evocative and descriptive of the beheading... yeah i agree!

    Who are you?

    Thanks! I really appreciate your positive input! but i do greedily want one more thing....

    moar negative points??

    I think I agree. I probably could've gone a bit more longer with the story and explore some of the concepts you've laid out in your critique.

    Sadly I sort of Oof'd myself by not naming the Sauri characters, and plus i'm still busy on my other story, so i don't think i'll continue this at all.

    Also, bob, your "Sheer Art Award" for me is made all the more ironic by the fact that i'm not much of an artistic guy at all - I can't even draw stick figures correctly :joyful:

    But I still appreciate it nonetheless <3

    I think i will consider this a review of my own story.

    Thanks, d00d <3
    Nazqua, Aginor and Scalenex like this.
  3. Paradoxical Pacifism

    Paradoxical Pacifism Well-Known Member

    Likes Received:
    Trophy Points:
    Near the start of the contest, I actually thought of another idea for my short story that would've been much more relevant to the theme in which a Skink priest deciphers a secretly stowed away plaque that foretold his/her Temple city's destruction. The sheer shock leads it to commit suicide, and one of its attendants discovers the body shortly after... anyway, i wrote deja vu instead, because i thought that idea was a bit too ridiculous :p

    Déjà vu

    Kro-tototl’s jaws clamped on a horse’s lifeless corpse, tearing a bloody chunk and swallowing its stringy contents whole.

    The incessant rain thrashed off wavering trees and ferns, bearing a noticeable – yet ignorable rhythm inside Kro-tototl’s mind.

    All that was left in Kro-tototl’s mind then, was the lingering, maddening thought of the invading Anathema and fallen untamed ones whom dared they could steal and desecrate the First’s homeland and its treasured plaques with their lives intact.

    Such wrongs were personally righted with the bloodied corpses of the northern untamed ones lying face-down behind Kro-tototl and his nutritious prey foolish enough to serve them.

    A sudden crackle instantly made the feasting Kro-tototl to stop what he was doing, pick up his spear, and turn to the mysterious source of sound that came from a myriad of bushes behind. What came to mind was a feral Cold One that sensed the smell of fresh warm blood, and rushed forth to claim a day’s worth of food.

    Instead, an Untamed One with similar, barren attire to the northern tribesmen Kro-tototl had slain, appeared from the bushes. The Untamed One’s large axe trembled as it saw its bloodied compatriots sprawled out across the jungle floor, and before their bodies, stood a leering Kro-tototl.

    Nonetheless, it charged with its face wrought with madness and rage, roaring a war cry of vengeance.

    Kro-tototl easily dodged the Untamed One’s initial swing before his own spear swiftly retaliated with a sideways swipe, cleaving one of its arms asunder.

    Roaring naught with rage, but with sudden tears, the Untamed One convulsed down onto the jungle floor and writhed about uncontrollably – unknowingly in front of its dead fellow tribesmen. Kro-tototl brought down his spear to end its pathetic suffering and went back to his nutritious feast, recalling the objective of exterminating the intruders.

    As Kro-tototl made his journey back to the temple city; either for more tasks or basks in the sun, he happened to be nearby a pond.

    Emerging from it, stared a lone, dull green primeval frog. Its black tadpoles swam around and under it in seemingly random patterns…


    Uncountable centuries after, along a village’s border, a lone Saurus stared at a gathering of humans with its bloodied spear. In-between it and they, laid the bodies of marauding Chaos warriors. Broken, brutalized, and decapitated.

    The humans regarded the lone Saurus with baskets of humane gifts and nervous flinches, showing their heartfelt thanks, and yet, tensed suspicions of a scaly person who won’t talk or seem to have any discernible emotion apparent despite it saving them.

    Turning ‘round, the Saurus regarded the prodigal humans plainly before walking away with naught a thought anymore in its mind, except the expected Ascendance towards the starry masses' glow embroiled in the night skies it called home.

    But then it happened before transcendence. A small clutch of dull green frogs appeared from a nearby stream before gathering at his clawed feet, smiling and tilting their heads jovially.

    An unusual feeling then coursed and flowed throughout the veins of the Saurus, and not long after, the cloak of night ushered in a surreal chill. Bathing the rigid scales in coldness, the chill beckoned the Saurus' head for a lengthy upwards reckon upon the starry skies.

    A feeling of striking familiarity, and yet, another feeling of presiding emptiness...

    I never really paid much interest or attention to the name since it's a combination of two words - hence the pointless hyphen :p

    Kro is Saurian for sacrifice or transcendence, and Tototl is Nahuatl for bird.

    I certainty do feel like i could've done more with the story since it does look a lot like a weird hybrid between a short story and a poem with no inherent plot. I do agree that it would've been better to describe the transition from the world-that-was to AoS in much more detail and characterize the generic AoS human village i've introduced a bit more. Doing so would've probably created a plot (albeit a very simple one), and slow down the pacing too.

    I do remember considering Saurus as impossible to write as characters since they're often seen as autonomous lizard-y machines designed to kill. But i think adding a little bit of personality and having the Saurus character reflect or mimic the underlying theme of a short story is a fairly easy way to write a Saurus character as close to the official fluff as possible (of course this doesn't need to be done at all if you just want to write a Saurus character however you want)

    Like for an example, Fallen Leaf's Main saurus character reflected the story's theme of the sorrow of having to do your duty regardless of your feelings.

    not really sure what's so deep about it besides all of the random rhyming that doesn't really have any pattern to them at all :p

    Forced philosophical quotes, eh PP? :p

    anyway, though Scalenex treasures Short stories for being short and having very appropriate word counts for their contents, i think this story could've benefited from being longer too (though not too long).

    The theme wasn't so bad, i just didn't understand it all. o_O

    I didn't realize soon enough that the Glyph Forty-Three on Plaque Twelve of the Third Chamber of the Sacred Archives of Oyxl had a subjective meaning behind it - the writer had to just write about it instead of just googling it :joyful:

    Is it bad that it feels like part of an unending cycle? I'm inclined to perhaps think so.

    I mainly wanted the short story to feel very relateable, and i think i did this very well with the first couple of lines and the last line:

    The last line was supposed to be very similar in length to the first line in order to create a similar rhythm with the two lines. This was done so that the reader could reference and relate to the imagery of the Rhythmic sound Kro-tototl was hearing.

    This line referenced what one might feel during a Déjà vu episode.
    thedarkfourth and Scalenex like this.
  4. Lord Agragax of Lunaxoatl
    Skink Priest

    Lord Agragax of Lunaxoatl Well-Known Member

    Likes Received:
    Trophy Points:
    I just think it was a truly bad theme in that both in its specific form and its 'generic' form as 'Interpretations of Prophecy' it is really limiting because I just think all 'prophecy' stories are really samey, but I expect that's just me ;)
    Nazqua and Paradoxical Pacifism like this.
  5. Paradoxical Pacifism

    Paradoxical Pacifism Well-Known Member

    Likes Received:
    Trophy Points:
    guess i'll post this here since it does somewhat tell a story. There's no double spacing or centered title since I finally realized that it would probably reveal its author too easily in the contest... :p

    For this contest, i primarily wanted to write about how a saurus would handle and respond to the grief of losing one that was close. The premise was based on the five stages of grief, but i didn't want to represent all of them due to how clunky it would be for a small poem to do so. As such, I originally wanted to focus on anger and depression.
    I also used feminine pronouns in order to fit the general tone of the poem as well. The poem does focus on rhyming, and while that's great, i think i'll just focus on rhythm and structure next time if i want to write another poem.

    Grieving Loss

    The Bellowing, raging wind swayed the grasses
    Where a saurus thereupon crouched
    Emotionless and cold of the wind’s tout brass
    For she held a corpse’s dead slouch

    Indeed, the wind’s assault upon her scales felt too real
    With the unending time’s taunt to feel
    She wondered if she could’ve felt the heart’s faint zeal
    Or if that was just her tensed claws’ reeling

    The omnipresent clouds begun darkening above her
    Rats and lizards’ many blood spills hardening around her
    Seething muscles pulsating themselves aggressively within her
    Teeth clenching and trembling with urges to roar their rage for her

    A stegadon herd trotted across the horizon yonder
    Its pups trailing from behind with grand wonder
    Contradicting her and the corpse’s bloody tale
    Her roar reverberating throughout in its scale

    Memories fleeted and faded amidst the burning pain
    Her Stabbed gut perturbed with churning shame
    Surrounded by bloody carnage that was; now enshrouded by lonely silence
    The mangled corpses all strewn about violently; now in peace with nature’s patience

    Amidst it all; amidst all of the otherworldly torment, she somehow found its sense

    For the sauri never question purpose
    An omen to the Old Ones’ incessant will

    And so, she let go
    And let go

    The eyes beginning to warm and water up strangely enough, she thought...
    Nazqua and Paul1748 like this.
  6. Nazqua

    Nazqua Well-Known Member

    Likes Received:
    Trophy Points:
    Awesome, Loving all the stories and the style, its very clean cut and well executed.
    Paradoxical Pacifism likes this.
  7. Paradoxical Pacifism

    Paradoxical Pacifism Well-Known Member

    Likes Received:
    Trophy Points:
    When i first saw the contest's theme, i knew i wanted to do something different (or at least something i haven't ever done yet). I predicted there would be no comedic stories what so ever due to the sweet, sweet grimdark theme (i was right). So, naturally, i directed to make a comedic story and the first funny thing that came to mind was... "Flying Saurus", a story in which a saurus somehow gets airborne with either a terradon or a ripperdactyl.

    Sadly, the comedic element is completely missing from the story - I never had time, and comedic writing is something completely out of my ballpark. Besides the missing comedy, the story was pretty rushed and it missed some things i wished i could've included, so it's not my proudest work.

    Flying Saurus

    In a dimly lit cave, two attentive skinks stood side by side, swinging their tails amidst the cold, drafty air. An abrupt breeze surfed their scales as they returned stares at the silent and aloof ripperdactyl before them.

    “Heh. I don’t think it’ll budge anytime soon,” Laz chirped.

    “What was Cahmahgazi thinking!? We’re a reconnaissance detachment!” Choki hissed loudly.

    “I’m sure he has his reasons…” Laz interjected as the ripperdactyl lazily swung its razor sharp beak aside, “He was assigned pack leader for a reason.”

    Choki casted off a furiously shivering smile.

    “Yeah, I thought getting us killed was one of them, but this is getting ridiculous!”

    “If it wanted to, we’d already be dead.”

    The cave fell silent from chirping and hissing at those coldly true words. Both Laz and Choki thought hard on how to get the rather timid ripperdactyl airborne and finally commence their sortie. Their train of thought, however, abruptly ended when a shadow loomed over the both of them, obscuring the rocky ground at their clawed feet in complete darkness.

    They turned around to see a hulking saurus, Munna, stare them down with a saddle meant for Cold Ones clenched firmly by one of his arms.

    Laz noted Munna’s saddle with perplexed eyes. It pondered upon him why Munna was still clinging onto something gone so long ago, and though he hid it well like any other saurus, it was still readable.

    “Itz’xa’khax. Elves. Intrude. North-East.”

    “We’re grounded,” Choki grudgingly replied, “Our ripperdactyl has found himself to be mentally challenged, and won’t even move for Sotek’s grace… or ours!”

    Munna noticed the ripperdactyl’s massive wingspan beginning to beat up and down rhythmically until a faint wind current could be felt throughout the cave. His blood rushed when he realized what the flying beast was attempting to do.

    “RUN! SKNIKS!”

    Both Laz and Choki startled back from Munna’s sudden roar before looking behind them.

    The ripperdactyl’s wings flapped aggressively until it leaped right past the skinks, instantly knocking them down and bolting towards Munna with an ear piercing screech.

    Stunned, Munna dropped his saddle and threw himself hastily onto the ground, dodging all but one of the monstrous talons whom were sharper than spears his scaly hide once had to bear. It scythed a long streak of blood throughout the entire length of his torso before finally parting ways.

    Munna quickly got up and clenched his chest as blood fell relentlessly from his claws. The ripperdactyl sized him up with its humongous wings spread out, readying itself to pounce him any moment. Realizing this, Munna’s instincts took complete control amidst the seething rage. He charged ferociously.

    The winged beast leaped up yet again with its talons stretched out mercilessly. Before they could scythe Munna apart, he slid underneath as they harmlessly whooshed above him. Quickly, he regained his posture and jumped upon the ripperdactyl’s back who was still recovering from its leap whilst thrashing uncontrollably.

    Munna excitedly bared his dagger-like teeth before working his way up to the neck to deliver the killing blow, only to find it was completely encased by a thick golden ring used for controlling and directing the beast. With no other option, and with no weapons at his disposal, Munna tried the only thing plausible that came to his frenzied mind: restraint. An impossible task made crazier, for the ripperdactyl constantly fluttered and flapped into the air until crashing down, all the while threatening Munna’s fall, and by extension, his death. This continued monotonously until the ripperdactyl finally tired out from exhaustion.

    Munna looked for the avian rider skinks, but they vanished like leaves before the breeze. The lack of body parts and significant amounts of blood strewn across the cave floor made him think they’re safe. Before he could reach for the beast’s thickly built neck for further restraint, the ripperdactyl’s head swiveled around and gave off a nervous glare. It glared and glared, patiently awaiting its ill-fated end in tense expectation, reptilian eye to eye.

    It felt as if the ripperdactyl’s eyes themselves were a mirror of Munna himself. He could feel and sense its weakness ooze from within as it scantly reminded him of the dreaded day he lost his Cold One - a day he lost something so much more than pride. He could sense the ripperdactyl lost something too, and whatever it was, it eroded from deep within.

    Munna eased up on the pinning, and instead, brought his head alongside the ripperdactyl’s, embracing the beast who tried killing him. The ripperdactyl flinched abruptly. It was a rashly dangerous move, but it was one unorthodox way of taming and relaxing a mount; all reliant on soothing the mount’s confused mind. Excreting the same odor of these creatures helped his cause, but this was no Cold One. Despite that, it still excreted that familiar odor that resonated along with his life of mounted warfare. Wounds of the past slowly begun clotting up.

    As Munna continually embraced, the ripperdactyl’s large wings flapped once. There was no warning or noticeable startup this time when the ripperdactyl, along with Munna, leapt into the air and bolted out of the cave.

    Munna growled a surprised yelp as wind suddenly blew. He looked underneath to see the breath of the jungle canopy below moving at a slow pace. He looked above to see the clouds shadowing him. He was flying.

    Munna’s mind raced with a whirlwind of thoughts. It was rarely fear, sometimes excitement, and mostly wondering on how in Chotec’s name to get down from this freezing place!

    That large ring that encased the ripperdactyl’s neck occurred to him. There was a large handle on the top, presumably for the skinks to toil its direction.

    Munna yanked it back towards him only for the ripperdactyl to inversely incline its flightpath. He yanked it again, but only forwards this time, declining its flight path. Munna tried yanking it left and right to see how the ripperdactyl would respond to his inputs. Soon enough, and with adequate amounts of trial and error, he could reliably direct the ripperdactyl’s flightpath. Landing, however, was still a mystery.

    The wind’s harsh rush reminded him of his cherished Cold One riding days. Ecstasy of the breeze's howling kept on emboldening his heart the faster he flew.

    Munna noticed small white blobs moving amidst the jungle floor. Itz’xa’khax. The intruding elves. He abruptly yanked the handle and rolled the ripperdactyl over into a steep dive.

    Munna roared as the wind blew harshly against him and the ripperdactyl. His blood lust rushed to new heights as the jungle canopy and its elf-spawn prey became clearer. He gave another look to accurately pick out his targets, only to find the white spots suddenly disappeared from view.

    Munna yanked the handle in order to recover from the dive, but the ripperdactyl wouldn’t budge. Continuously, he tried everything he could to recover their suicidal dive but to no avail. Munna glared, hopelessly, as the jungle canopy thundered into closer view until he and the Ripperdactyl splattered onto the jungle floor in an unrecognizable pile of gore.

    If only their descent was slower, if only he was able to comprehend what was going to happen, and if only he could consult the ripperdactyl one last time…

    He would’ve smiled nonetheless.


    I like to think comedic stories can both be emotionally powerful, and also outright ridiculous and funny. I think it's all about that balance. Writing something that appears to be outright ridiculous on the surface, but also have a powerful and perhaps saddening theme hiding underneath it all. Or maybe even the reverse of this. I can't name any examples of media that does this - I live under a rock somehow - but it's certainly something interesting.

    It's never explained in official fluff on how skinks actually control their flying mounts in the air. So, I *Improvised* xD

    You're right in that the Ripperdactyl never pulled up due to a combination of things. Munna's overconfidence, and also the intense air speed and steep dive that prevented its muscles and frame from successfully pulling out of the dive. I certainly could've done a better job illustrating this, though.

    Thank you... :D

    It was also my intent to explain why the ripperdactyl both attacked, and also flew Munna while they were both joyfully flying. I also wanted to show how he/she contributed to both of their deaths, not just Munna, but all of this was cut due to laziness lack of time.

    I like that alternative ending. It would've been nice for Munna to RTB back to a bunch of bemused skinks that are wondering what the mahrlect a saurus is doing on top of a ripperdactyl. A comedic story would be much easier.

    That was mostly inspired by @Yttar Scaletail 's fantastic story, "Cold" (it's an amazing story, would recommend!). Mostly just to justify how Munna could tame a ripperdactyl.

    That wasn't my intent, but then again, a suicidal ripperdactyl is pretty interesting.

    Thank you very much! Besides a fairly forced ending, this was a little bit on my mind when i was writing it.

    Thank you :D...

    Never watched game of thrones, so i'm lost. I'm guessing most of the episodes end in an abrupt, unforeseen manner. If so, that sort of was my intent. Deaths sting the most when they're completely unpredictable after all :D (though a saurus flying a ripperdactyl with no prior flight hours is just roaring for a accident to happen, and what i said about deaths isn't really true)

    fool-fool Hissk-thing wants raven to squeak-squeak rat-thing language! but raven only-only cluck-cluck! and CAWWWWWW!


    what-what's tha-
    Last edited: Jun 2, 2019
  8. Paradoxical Pacifism

    Paradoxical Pacifism Well-Known Member

    Likes Received:
    Trophy Points:
    During one of my random musings, I thought of writing a short story that would mainly explore the contrast between the Slann and Kroxigor in their intelligence as well as magical abilities. The general message of the story would've been how simplistic thinking can sometimes solve problems in a seemingly complex and intricate situation/environment fit for only a Slann; not a bare-bones Kroxigor. It also would've had a heartwarming ending too.

    Anyway, during around the last week of the submission part of the contest, i finally had some time to work on this story idea in a conveniently fitting contest theme by killerangel. So, i basically tried simplifying what I already had, and introduced the relateable, yet exotic theme of phobia for the kroxigor main character.

    Kroxigor's Magic

    In the dark, narrow alley ways of Tlaxtlan, hid a tensed Mallus. His bulky arms adorned with scales, wrapped around his even bulkier torso, shivering incessantly. His relatively small mind rushed with crazed fears that blighted the foreseeable future. The future itself seemingly hidden alike the many shadows that obscured his vision around him in a darkening void.

    Suddenly, a skink priest fashioned with variously colored feathers appeared off from the side of his panicked vision and mind. The skink and its staff shivered themselves into an aggressive tremble.

    “Mal! What are you doing? You’re supposed to be working!”

    Mallus looked up before his bulging muscles shivered even more, “Zakaku! Black things everywhere! Little black leg things make Mal scared!”

    Zakaku’s impatient, furious shivering stopped as his eyes slightly widened in realization.

    “Spiders, huh? They have been appearing a lot more as of late.”

    Mallus’ massively thick head nodded quickly, “Spiders want something! Mal dont know what they want from Mal!”

    “Enough with that!” Zakaku angrily barked. “You can smash them into a mere smoosh without even trying. They aren’t a threat to you - no - not even a threat to anyone!”

    Mallus’ shivering stopped whilst his eyes quietly leered apprehensively. Visions of those thin, springy legs tormented his mind.

    Zakaku sighed and left his magical staff to stand upon the stone wall behind him. He knew what he had to do. It had helped Mallus’ inexplicable bouts of intense fear for these critters, and help restore his confidence for the past twenty years.

    Zakaku immediately leaped forth upon Mallus, embracing his bulky form. Zakaku’s comparably needle-thin arms hugged as much as he could, soothing Mallus’ frightened mind.

    And soothing it was. Mallus’ fears boiled up and evaporated as if it was nothing but hot air. Everything in his mind finally seemed clear and alight.

    “Now don’t disappoint me,” Zakaku said whilst withdrawing from his embrace. “You’ve been called upon to take up arms and fight. Your strength will become invaluable.”

    Zakaku stepped back and grasped his magical staff before turning ‘round.

    “See you later, brother.”

    Mallus stared at Zakaku’s walking form as it disappeared from around the corner and into the light. His mind raced anew not with fear, but with excitement! He wondered if it’ll be the rats that will be fought. Maybe even the humans or elves. He loved fighting the rats the most. They get crushed so easily!


    Three hours passed. The sun’s burning dominance throughout the vast skies above was beginning to recede. Zakaku stepped into a small temple that stood in the extreme outskirts of Tlaxtlan. Inside, he found six skinks all adorned with colorful feathers alike himself. They all held higher ranks too.

    “Was I summoned?”

    “Yes, we’re here to inform you an additional dozen sauri have been assigned to your search party.”

    “Wait, why?” Zakaku questioned; bemused as to why he needed this amount of troops.

    One of them spoke up, “Well, It turns out Yuqal’xili isn’t missing anymore. His corpse was found roughly twenty miles east from here near a cave system.”

    “He’s dead, huh…” Zakaku uttered as the thought started permeating throughout his mind.

    “We initially thought it was the scummy rats responsible. That was until our scouts searched the surrounding area…”

    Another one of them took to the info dump.

    “Spiders. Big ones. They’re around one-half the size of a skink. They were also responsible for making off with the Staff of the Lost Sun Yuqal’xili had on him, somehow.”

    Zakaku’s guts sunk like stone on water. His eyes widened in disbelief.


    “Quite surprising, indeed. Almost harmless, though. Can easily be cut down by just about anyone.”

    “You know your orders then,” One of them said. “Take your search party and find the Staff of the Lost Sun.”


    Zakaku stepped out; his eyes glued onto the dirt before him. He pondered on whether he should tell Mallus about these unexpected turn of events. It utterly bemused him how anyone could fear anything that which does no harm.

    Zakaku sighed heavily before preparing to assemble his small host. These spiders will be crushed nonetheless.


    Another three hours had passed. The sun’s receding rays stretched across the horizon as nightfall made its presence felt. The search party consisted of a score of six Kroxigors, a small legion of sauri, and a band of skinks all on the march due east.

    The higher up skinks gave Zakaku a magically enchanted lodestone worn around his neck. It can detect waves of power that occasionally pulsate from the Staff of the Lost Sun. According to the lodestone, they were right - the highly revered staff wasn’t taken a long distance away from Yuqal’xili.

    They marched resolutely with no difficulties stopping them until they reached a rather large opening cleared of trees and other flora. Cave openings dotted themselves all around, and a skink priest’s bloodied, beheaded body laid near one of them. Luckily, the magically enchanted lodestone told Zakaku which one they needed to head towards. They were off marching again in no time.

    Mallus’ nostrils flared and his muscles shivered once again when he saw white stringy webs stretch across the corners of the tunnel they were in. He pondered with a curious claw on whether rats use webs.

    They continued on into twists and bends until the tunnel gradually broadened into three separate paths. Once again, the lodestone directed them surely and succinctly into the one that branched off to the left. They marched onwards until they eventually found themselves in an expansive chamber. The space they were in could’ve housed a large portion of Tlaxtlan by itself as the scaly warriors’ clawed feet made resounding echoes throughout.

    There were even more openings which presumably lead onto more tunnels on the opposite side. Nonetheless, the lodestone was practically beating upon Zakaku’s chest with reflective power. The Staff of the lost Sun was near.

    Before Zakaku could order his host yet again, arrows suddenly flew above them all. None were hit. He immediately turned to see who was responsible.

    Flooding in from the chamber’s opposite side, were spiders all enlarged to be half a skink, as was expected. What they didn’t expect, however, were the ones responsible for firing off the arrows. Little green humanoids rode upon the spiders. Sporemen! Greenskins!

    Their bows arced upwards, preparing yet another barrage of death. Zakaku’s staff beamed with light before himself and the rest of the host’s scales glowed with a sheen. The arrows bounced off harmlessly.

    “Mal!” Zakaku barked as he turned towards the kroxigors. His body begun to tremble with impatience until he noted the amount of kroxigors which stared at him, dumbfounded. What were supposed to be six, only stood five.

    Zakaku turned ‘round, fiercely clenching his teeth together as some of the goblin spider-riders charged at them all, while others arced their bows high.


    Mallus’ giant Warhammer swerved from side to side as he walked alone in a corridor. He divulged from the host’s path, for he felt something terribly amiss. His guts convoluted along with the invasive smell of ratmen purging all else thought. Even the white, stringy webs were growing in intensity with each stomping step. A clear sign of rats!

    He turned a corner and stared into the abyss that was before him. A few little green humanoids stared back at him. One of them held what seemed to be a staff that was adorned with beautifully woven golden metals. Its head burned with a ferocious orange hue.

    The realization hit Mallus’ mind instantly. Goblins! Sporemen! He growled angrily as he leaped onto one of them, gripping it with his jaws and ripping it apart. Their spears hopelessly glanced off his scaly hide before he swung his massive Warhammer. The rest of them were bisected effortlessly.

    What Mallus assumed to be The Staff of the Lost Sun, laid in a pool of blood, bone and meat. He curiously held it in his massive claws before continuing onwards wherever this tunnel may lead him.


    Ten minutes of darkness passed before the tunnel eventually widened. Mallus stomped into a massive chamber enraged with the commotion of battle. Arrows flew; blood was spilt. What made his heart race and his mind tormented, however, were his opponents. Tiny little creatures scurried upon springing legs. Goblins he killed earlier, rode on them.

    As if his innards were being pushed from within with rage and fear, he tried looking away from them, but couldn’t look away from the blue, scaly lizards falling with cuts and slashes. His blood seethed as his head arched upwards. He roared angrily as he hefted the Staff of the Lost Sun and his Warhammer, clenching them both with the combined strength of ten sauri.

    The gold adorned staff responded in kin with its orange hue burning exponentially. Soon, a violent flash scorched throughout the chamber’s surroundings, sending Mallus flying until he smashed into the chamber’s walls. His consciousness was escaping him alike the blood pouring from his head…


    Mallus’ eyes instantly slid open when water doused him. He was lying down. Trees… trees everywhere.

    “Mal!? Mal! You did it! You saved us all!”

    Mallus could see Zakaku’s bloodied form and hear him slightly.

    “Ughh… Mal don’t feel good…”

    “And you located the Staff of the Lost Sun! Brother, you never disappoint!”

    Mallus’ eyes quickly slid closed and his body’s muscles tensed up. Zakaku noticed this.

    “What’s wrong? The spiders are all dead! There’s nothing nevermore to fear now.”

    “Worm behind you…”

    Phobia, friendship, the overcoming of fear, mundane and magic, and kroxigor stupidity... or bravery.
    Last edited: Sep 3, 2019
    Nazqua, Paul1748 and Aginor like this.
  9. Paradoxical Pacifism

    Paradoxical Pacifism Well-Known Member

    Likes Received:
    Trophy Points:
    I really love giving characters some form of meaning connected or contradicted by their characterizations, but this time, i largely just stole the nickname from a friend and just slapped it onto the character :smuggrin:. I also enjoy names that have both feminine and masculine connotations. Mal and Mallus provided that perfectly.

    Zakaku. Largely an abstract reference of the world's only flightless parrot - the Kakapo. I don't eat cereal :oldman:

    Agreed. I thought it would've been a fun moment of self-deprecation, but i think i could've fitted it into the story better.

    They weren't heading the wrong way, just that Mal found a easier shortcut to get to the staff without tracking it or having the wits to do so.

    Yeah... i should've illustrated/plotted this more clearly :banghead:

    Sure. With the addition of this Total War: Warhammer II DLC, i'm pretty confident people would like to write Kroxigors as main/important characters more. It was fun writing.

    I am afraid of spiders (Some form of self-insertion then?). I hate them. Worms give me the creeps. Snakes are completely fine as they are, though.

    I had almost all of this mind, but didn't explore these points as much as i could have. Still very interesting to explore how the various species of the lizardmen interact with each other.

    Thank you... :D.
    Nazqua and Warden like this.
  10. Paradoxical Pacifism

    Paradoxical Pacifism Well-Known Member

    Likes Received:
    Trophy Points:
    So when I first saw the contest's theme, I was instantly set on doing a crossover. Except, it took me some time to realize that crossovers will probably be the most used idea for this theme, so I thought about something else that could fit the contest's theme. Some more time passed by, and I was thinking that changing a core lizardmen rule/theme that's essential in their lore would probably suffice. One of them is the lizardmen's almost perfect cooperation between each other, which I subverted.

    With the setting taken care of, I wanted to *experiment* with some writing concepts. Mostly on how to center an entire story on dialogue, how to draw a reader in with the story's introduction, and how to use dialogue to explore a theme and its conflict.

    Going back to the setting, a theme i immediately recognized I could use, would be the possible feelings a saurus could have if it finds itself in a civil war, killing off other sauri. These feelings of this 'saurus,' and his outlook on the civil war was the story's theme: Madness. After that, I wanted the conflict to be about finding out the lizard's feelings. The saurus' gazing, and his repeating of the word "Madness" were there to mask his feelings, and it was up to the skinks to unmask these clues, and find out the reasoning behind it all.

    For the story's introduction, i wanted it to be shocking :p I thought it'd be weird to open up a short story, and the first thing that's seen, is dead lizardmen already, as if the the 'good guys' lost. After that opener, I wanted to briefly describe what's happening with the story's setting, what they just saw, and the problem behind the story's setting. I never really needed to do more than that, since the story was all about the the two skinks and the saurus.


    The bodies of lizardmen were sprawled out amongst ferns and undergrowth. They laid with eyes staring and mouths agape, as blood poured from their wounds.

    There were other lizards who stood above the bodies. They either berated their dead kin, or sought refuge somewhere else to heal. Amidst the living, were skinks looting from the bodies, sauri roaring towards the heavens, and kroxigors hefting corpses into their jaws.

    It was a decisive victory for a minor force of Tlaxtlan over an Xlanhuapec reconnaissance group. A clash that mirrored the ones of long ago, and will see itself repeat on end in the future, spilling reptilian blood relentlessly. The lizards’ hatred for another scorched like a fire throughout their past.

    Tired, the Tlaxtlan warriors looted whatever they could, as the stench of the dead settled in. One of them was a skink skirmisher, Koriki. He searched for anything of use until he spotted a lone saurus who stood erect, peering out onto the skies above. The muscled warrior loomed over a few dead sauri with scars running across its scales.

    Koriki struck a conversation with his buddy who was alongside him, pointing with his claws.

    “Who in Chotec’s name is that?”

    His buddy, Nakaux, followed where the claws pointed with his eyes, spotting the lone saurus.

    “That’s Chaska. He’s been doing that ever since we won.”

    “You know him? Bit of an awkward one. Sauri usually don’t stare like that as if they’re deeply in thought.”

    “Maybe, maybe,” Nakaux said as he curiously looked on. “It is certainly the first time I’ve seen him stare in such a way. Makes me wonder what he’s thinking about.”

    Koriki leaned in closer, smiling with glee widely. “Let’s ask him then!”

    “Ehh…” Nakaux muttered whilst trying to push away the excited skink.

    Such brash rudeness didn’t register so well in Nakaux’s mind. He had always appreciated the wisdom quietness can often give. His curiosity, however, peaked to a near unbearable level.

    “I suppose it’ll be fine. Chaska is slightly more talkative than you might expect.”

    Koriki’s smile brimmed even wider as he grabbed Nakaux along with him.

    The intrigued skinks went on over to Chaska. The lone warrior still gazed towards the skies - his club dripping with blood as it quivered.

    “Chaska. Koriki here. Proud, stealthy slayer of the Xlanhuapec scum!”


    Koriki’s head shook, confused with the reply. Nakaux even more so as he stepped forward.

    “I think Koriki meant ‘Why are you standing here by your lonesome self?’”


    The two skinks turned towards each other, blinking with bemusement.

    “Madness? Are we mad? Are you mad? Are all lizards mad?!” Koriki enthusiastically questioned.

    The lone saurus gazed towards the skies - his club quivering on.


    Nakaux pondered on what Chaska meant by his repetitive utterances of ‘madness’. Was the saurus warrior simply mad? Or was it something else? He thought back to when Chaska reminisced of times most lizards have long forgotten. Times when lizards from both Tlaxtlan and Xlanhuapec traded in peace before war engulfed all of Lustria.

    Such recollections caused Nakaux’s eyes to drift towards the bodies lying by Chaska’s feet…

    “You feel sorrow for those you’ve killed, huh? Those dead sauri.”


    Nakaux shook from the answer. He continued staring towards the dead sauri until scenes of Chaska’s spawn brethren flashed before him. To the lone saurus, these spawn mates of his were united like branches of a tree. They were everything, for the gazing saurus never learnt anything else. So did the branches start to fall when Chaska and his cohort of brethren were ambushed by salamanders and skinks.

    The time when Chaska told all of this vividly played out in Nakaux’s mind. He soon began trembling and baring his teeth when a realization came to him.

    “Is this all about your spawn brethren? They’re all dead, Chaska! Countless lizards have already lost their lives, and many others will follow suit, so whimpering about won’t change anything!”

    Chaska gazed onto the abyss that was the skies - his club trembling with a quiver.


    That single, dreaded response made Nakaux’s blood seethe; his frustration boiling. The three lizards stood there as trees swayed side to side; the wind surfing about them as tails thrashed.

    Koriki looked on in bewilderment, trying to process why Nakaux was yelling, and why Chaska kept on repeating the same word monotonously. He also pondered on why Chaska’s club kept on quivering.

    The quivering itself captivated his attention. Upon focusing on it, a new sense of understanding suddenly flushed throughout him. What he had seen as bizarre, suddenly became relatable…

    And so, Koriki enthusiastically ran towards the lone saurus, hugging one of his arms. He embraced with all his might, for he finally understood.

    “Are you afraid? Are you afraid of what’s to come, Chaska?”

    Chaska’s quivering halted. His gaze turned away from the skies, and locked onto the skink hugging him. Eyes of the lone saurus that had seen centuries of blood splattering, centuries of lizards dying, and centuries of suffering pass by, stared towards pupils that haven't even experienced a year’s worth of time. Having seen so much, it was near impossible for him to know what was to come.

    Chaska raised his head and drew breath. He returned his gaze towards the skies once more.

    Nazqua and Scalenex like this.
  11. Scalenex

    Scalenex Keeper of the Indexes Staff Member

    Likes Received:
    Trophy Points:
    I'm curious, did you ever come up for what the Lizardmen were fighting over?
    Paradoxical Pacifism and Nazqua like this.
  12. Paradoxical Pacifism

    Paradoxical Pacifism Well-Known Member

    Likes Received:
    Trophy Points:

    Nope. :D

    It just never seemed important at the time for me.
    Nazqua likes this.

Share This Page