Fiction Sun-Blooded: The Spear of Chotec

Sorry folks, I'll be writing up a piece shortly here. Lots of stuff has happened in a short time, namely work ramping up and my FLGS shutting down and my community frantically looking for a new place to get to fighting.

 

You're entering the competition, yeah? It's the final and most important stage in initiation into L-O writer-hood. And I would love to read a stand-alone short from you. You have until end of Feb 3rd - ages

 

Part Six: Darkening of the Sky
​

The defenses of Gurensburg were left in shambles. The skinks had darted too and fro, inspecting, dismantling, and reassembling things in a blur of motion. If Allan understood the plan of his new lord, (the very idea making him feel uneasy) than he was sad to see the great wall's remains and the once glorious gate be reduced to a tottering mass of a trap. The man watched as the smaller creatures chattered and chirruped to one another while their crests bobbed up and down, flickering through several colors. The smaller lizards could speak fluent Freguildan, and even understood some of the more common turn of phrases, making communication easier between the townsfolk and the hulking saurian saviors. But they were far more energetic and, flighty at times that the survivors were often left wondering after them.

"What is your worry?" a light and almost squeaky voice asked from next to the taller officer. Gurenstein's gaze was turned to the 'attendant' he had been assigned by the great Starmaster. The image of the great toad, and the ghostly feeling of where the alien being had 'made room' in his mind for communication to be easy, still unsettled the mustached warrior.

"Oh I have no worry, Itzy. I'm just sad that my home is in shambles, and we are forced to destroy it further to survive." was the reply to the teal-scaled skink. The smaller lizard cocked his head and flapped his crest a few times, obviously pondering. Allan found that to be the case often whenever he said anything that dealt with emotion.

Itzy, really Itzimaluta, was short for even a skink at his four and a half feet in height. Yet the trappings he wore, the nimbus of celestial energy that always seemed to play about him, and the way other skinks moved when he commanded spoke volumes about his real stature. Brilliant feathers, skulls of rodents and lizards, small Ur-Gold glyphs and many other trinkets hung from wrist-lets, cords and even rings set into the chameleonic folds of his frill gave him the appearance of some sort of witch-doctor. His staff, topped with an ever fresh rat-skull with curled horns, seemed to confirm that.

"It is necessary. The Great One commands it as part of the Great Game, and as his vassals and as those he seeks to protect, we must act in accordance." The small skink clicked and whistled at the workers that were still setting traps and creating general nuisances for the coming foes "Also, it is Itzimaluta, not this 'Itzy' you insist on calling me." there seemed to be an edge to the lizard's tone, though it was not threatening so much as annoyed. Seeing even this much emotion displayed by one of the small lizards made Allan feel closer to them than to the hulking warriors they called Saurus.

"Of course, it suits you though." the man's voice was amused, this little bit of fun the only thing seeming to keep his mind from cracking apart and sending him into a gibbering wreck. The last day had been something of a whirlwind of baffling events and startling occurrences.

Itzy snorted and thumped the butt of his staff on the ground "Come, we must make sure the rest of your workers are ready to leave. The Great One bade it of most importance to have each body moving out of this city and into the hills." he said, turning away and striding off. Gurenstein sighed heavily and followed, having to shorten his paces to not completely overtake the small creature.

Making their way through the twisted streets of his home, the man took it all in one last time. Passing shattered shopfronts, homes with busted windows and doors, and places where wholesale slaughter of innocents had taken place, it was both horrifying and relieving to see it all. Occasionally they would pass saurus or solider guarding a door or inspecting this or that for any sign of danger. Twice they saw a villager rifling through desecrated homes or a store, searching for anything they could salvage. They cast cold looks at Allan, much the same as the men that they passed. This was noticed by the skink, who did not bother to broach the subject, as he did not think it would matter.

Of course, time would tell.

It was not long until they reached the back gates, where everything and everyone was gathering to make their exodus. Here was the most concentrated force of magic and soldiery the saviors had brought. Massive lizardmen with crocodilian faces pushed and carried loads fit for a cart, while even larger beasts carried howdahs of goods and skinks on their backs. Many also hung loads from their spikey sides, further burdening the beasts, who took little note of it.

At the foot of the back gate, which was still grand, but not so much as the front, was the Starmaster. It's throne hovered on a radiant light, which swirled and glittered like stars. Around him were arrayed several other Skinks, adorned more or less so than Itzy. They seemed to be working some magic, what kind the mortal man could not even fathom.

Off to the side stood the three oldest and strongest Saurus, whom had already been met. All three seemed relaxed, but attentive of their lord and their surroundings.

Around them, were the last survivors of Gurensburg, and the last soldiers that stood with it's colors on their breasts. In total, there were over five hundred souls, fifty of those healthy fighting men and women. Not including Allan.

"Sergeant, how come the preparations?" the man asked as they approached a clump of said humans. The leather-faced man from earlier gave hims a scowl in reply. Obviously he still wasn't too happy with his commanding officer.

"They be preparin', what's it to yah?" was the gruff reply. Allan's mustache bristled as he fumed ever so slightly. He was the commander, the last surviving noble of his house. These people were his charges and they owed their lives to him! Or so he felt. His tongue was held despite his hot anger burning deep.

"What of Reid and the rest of the rangers? Have they returned yet?"

"Naw, figured they all up and died out in dem woods like heros. Like yer father was." That struck a cord. Yet it hummed inside him, instead of snapping.

"Ollison, please." the younger man said, closing the gap slowly to almost whisper to the older, and taller man "This is not the time. Please, for all of Sigmar's Light, just. Help. Me."

The look the other man gave Gurenstein was even and hard to read. Sargent Ollison had served for nearly all of his fifty years living, and had the grit and scars to prove it. The fact that he was bringing it to bear on the young noble, who had been thrust into a position of command so suddenly, was wearing on Allan's thin humor.

After a long few moments, the wrinkled mitten of a face screwed up and Ollison gave a quick report "Fine then. Reid's boys were half-mauled when they got to slip in through some tunnels. Said Reid was out thar still, but they were the last alive of the Rangers. Everyone else is in a foul look, not too far from it bein you're fault. Everyone livin' is here or on the way,an the men we spare' are lookin for anythign that needs savin'."

"And the Temple?" an almost hopeful tone was there beneath the words.

"Sacked for the most part. We foun' the priest with a dozen beasts at his feet, hammer still glitterin in his palm. He were barely alive, sayin somethin' bout givin the hammer to you and talkin about angels." Ollison replied, pointing to a small stack of crates that were left alone. On one was a blanket covering something large and solid "Left it there for yah. Praise Sigmar an all that. Hope you can use it like the old preacher man." the Sargent added with a scoff.

While they two spoke, Itzy stood to their side, listening and watching his lord. When the subject of Sigmar, and the hammer was broached, his attention was fully captured "Sigmar?" he chirped to himself.

Above, the sky was starting to grow dark, and the smell of rain and ozone tickled the nostrils.


((And that was refreshing. Hopefully I haven't already lost my touch after so many days of silence. Again, feedback and constructive criticism is appreciated and wanted. Praise is good too.))

 

Seems to be a bit of foreshadowing going about here. Quite an enjoyable read. Keep 'em coming+

 

I like the description of Itzimaluta that you provided, lots of great detail. Sounds like he might look like a chameleon skink?

I like the idea of normal humans thinking about the new-age lizardmen as angels, but being rather shocked by their actual appearance. Although in the modern age, if we found out that angels looked like dinosaurs...

Awesome.

Also curious what the foreshadowing means. The smell of ozone cant be good.

 

@Warden Itzy is not a chameleon skink, but he does favorth coloration of one at times. His crest is much now vibrant and changes its hues easily compare to some lower skinks that convey general colors throuh their crest when speaking.
Even so, not like Mr. Gurenstein knows that.

 

Interesting; nice addition!

 

Part Seven: Shooting Star in the Sky​

The forests around the settlement were dark and foreboding. Already the grass quivered below and the branches above quaked in fear. The very unlife, rot and disease scared the woods, brought it to feel an emotion that nature once could not. Animals that had not already, fled for other homes. Even the smallest of life, bugs and grubs, burrowed deep to try to avoid the oncoming plague. The elf that stood among the trees felt their fear and watched them with his mind's eye.

Reid sighed in some sort of resignation. The elf looked about and made sure that he had not missed anything in this clearing, before kneeling to pick up something. Small stones, runes carved along their smooth bodies, lay in a pile where he'd left them many moons ago. The Waystones were warm to the touch, and glowed softly with blue and green light. Six fit into his hand, each pulling at his being gently. They must be protected, much like the sack of similar stones that hung at his hip. The last few Waypoints around this forest would have to be cleansed and saved before the coming rot overtook their power and corrupted them.

"I will not let it happen again." the elf whispered to himself, mind flashing back to a time of terrible destruction. His eyes clouded for a brief instant and were clear the next. No more time to waste, he moved forward. A tattered and torn cloak fluttered around him as he hurried through his homewood, the Draich and bow strapped to his back doing little to contain it.

As the scout ran, he ducked and dove beneath cover and into hiding holes, keeping out of sight of even the last woodland creatures present. Something unnerved the elf.

A shadow in the trees, another twenty paces away in a second tree. The strider veered away from his original direction and found a familiar stream. His boots kept out the worst of the water as he practically skipped across the surface.

Whatever was following him was dogged, stealthy, and kept pace easily with the master forest strider.

It was minutes of cat and mouse before the Waystrider paused in his thoughts long enough to realize he was being shepherded. The things did not attack, and were often just out of sight, but always there. Where were they corralling him? What purpose did they have to do so?

"I am no sheep. I am the wolf." he snarled, his voice barely above a whisper yet again. The next shadow that appeared he did not veer away from, but instead dove directly at it, scrambling up the sheer side of a tree-trunk. His heavy bladed Draich flashed silver in the shaded light of the forest, burying itself in the branch above. The elf froze.

It had been there a second ago, it hadn't moved.

Again he saw another shadow, though this one was slightly further than the others had been. Wary perhaps?

"Daemon" the elf growled, his teeth bared and his face twisted in a terrible mask of fury. What manner of monster was this?

Before he could remove his blade from the tree's thick grasp, a horn sounded out nearby, a wet-warbling sound. The forces of the Plague God were marching nearby.


((Short part tonight, was listening to that below and was in a bit of the mood for something like it. Good mood music for a hunt.))

 

Awesome addition to the story!

 

Cool music. Helps listening to it during the reading!