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Fiction The Itzl Blessed Slann

Discussion in 'Fluff and Stories' started by Dadoodler, Sep 24, 2017.

  1. Dadoodler
    Jungle Swarm

    Dadoodler New Member

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    Hello there everyone!

    Long time fan of the Old One's children here, though an infrequent visitor to this forum save to gawk at the glorious craftsmanship of armies and the occasionally wondrous bit of fluff. Having gotten back into Lizardmen after so long, and having been confronted with the current lore of Seraphon (0_0) I had to wonder how the aspects I love still existed and how. Well one thing led to another until eventually I ended up writing some lore for my slann, next thing you know I had several pages of aeon spanning fluff from the time of the Old One's right up to the Age of Sigmar.

    So hope you enjoy it as it's my own, hardly strict to the lore, take on the path of one particular slann blessed by a certain Old One...

    (Also any advice would be greatly appreciated though do be warned, this piece was typed feverishly over several late nights fuelled by sheer lack of sleep... have fun XD)

    [​IMG]

    Itzl-Tli Huanmundi

    The Times Before

    There were many great cities across the Old Ones kingdom. From the gravity defying structures of Tlaxlan, City of the Sky, to the steps of the Eternal City Oyxl that overlooked the southern plains of Culchan, and many such sacred places saw the plans of the Old Ones unfold, with many a blessed host given birth from their spawning pools. But unlike the sacred pools situated in the temple cities that most slann were spawned from, under careful watch and guard, surrounded by the stonework and mastery of saurian civilisation, it was far beyond the paved paths upon which the saurus marched, in the recesses of the jungle that Itzl-Tli drew his first breath.

    Deep within the Great Jungle a solitary pool lay within the root bowel of a vast gwammo tree, it’s mirror surface dappled by the haunting hues of lotus blossoms, the pool betwixt the roots of the tree. From those waters came a slann, brought into being by the energies and foresight of the Old Ones and for two moons the new-spawned slann called those waters home. One with the piranha-lizards and tigerfish, the slann pushed his mind beyond the green shimmering waters and intertwined with the jungle around it, finding each spark of life as abundant as stars in the night sky, constellations of life and death, predator and prey and eventually brushing against the mental boundaries of his own kin.

    When he was found, by a banned of skink scouts sent from the City of Chaqua, there was much hissing and murmuring, for though they had expected to find a slann in the deep jungle, the slann they did find was unlike any other they had seen, a bony crest adorned the slann’s head, a ridge of scales and snubs of horns, much like that of a hatchling stegadon. Still unsure and slightly unnerved by the slann’s predatory gaze they fashioned a howdah from branches and bamboo and bore the slann from his spawning pool to the nearest Temple-City.

    The arrival of the wild slann to the City of Tlaxtlan was greeted with equal measures of interest and disapproval. The slann’s unorthodox spawning cast doubt amongst the other mage priests and the newly spawned was quickly scorned, however his crest surely marked him as a chosen of Itzl, the Old One who had taken a great fondness to the primordial beasts of Lustria, though only the lower castes had every gained his blessing. And so the ‘Wild One’ as the other mage priests had mockingly named him earned the title of Itzl-Tli.

    Itzl-Tli’s admittance into the working cogitative aspects of the slann’s work within the Temple-City was not an… easy process. The young slann’s mental capacities were overshadowed by many of the venerated mages of Tlaxlan who had carried out the Old Ones work for millennia, and his calculations were known to deviate or even prove to be fallible, even his incantations and spell weavings were relatively feeble compared to mages of equal age. Furthermore, mage priests communicated rarely with words and Itzl-Tli’s use of words were rarer still as he was just as likely to hiss or growl, much to the strained nerves of many a skink priest, which resulted in few dealings with the wild spawned slann by the lower echelons of lizardmen society. Though there was one aspect that Itzl-Tli was unrivalled in...

    To the hour he could predict the monsoon rains, calling for the city’s canals to be reinforced, for the sluice gates to be opened appropriately to render the floodwaters harmless. With a lazy wave of his wrist rampaging colossodons would turn aside, and whenever his palanquin was brought to inspect the corrals in Tlaxtlan’s outskirts the beasts of burden would bellow and stomp before falling eerily silent in his presence. Atop his Chamber of Rumination ripperdactyles roosted, their predatory gaze locking onto anyone bar Itzl-Tli’s respective scribes and carers. And so he was known throughout the cities as Itzl's Chosen, a title begrudgingly bequeathed to him, though continually earned again and again with his mastery over all things wild. Many times the mage priest would leave the city with a small host to travel to sacred sites deep in the primordial wilds of Lustria, and not return for seasons, sometimes years. Once he reappeared from the jungles depths in the far north in the city of Pahaux, having not been seen for over a century, carrying with him a large egg which was sealed in the temples vaults before he headed south, not a word uttered on its importance nor its origin.

    The Coming of Chaos

    When Chaos fell upon the domain of the Lizardmen, still grieving from the unfathomable absence of the Old Ones for the first time in their existence, the first of the temple cities had begun to fall and daemons ran rampant across Lustria. It was then that tragedy befell the host of Itzl-Tli. Traveling from the south to reinforce the plague ridden city of Qu’ittax they were set upon by a roving band of tzeentch daemon. As his charges fell around him the slann’s erratic magic collided with that of a lord of change, a bird headed monstrosity that twisted and folded reality around it. With a thunderous explosion that flattened the jungle for a hundred feet the lizardman host and the daemon horde was swallowed by the blast while Itzl-Tli, palanquin and all was hurled from the battle and over the vine choked cliffs in to the dark valley below.

    Itzl-Tli awoke in the very depths of the Gwangee Valley, the deepest, darkest reaches of jungle that had lain untouched since time immemorial. Barely alive, surrounded by the shattered remains of his palanquin Itzl-Tli felt the very taint of the worlds agony befuddle his mind, leech his very will to cogitate and weave as the new taint upon the earth slowly seeped the last dregs of life from him, and it was at that point the jungle moved. A bank of trees shifted, timber squealing and cracking beneath an unseen bulk, roots tearing from the earth as a colossal weight shifted towards the feeble mage priest sprawled on the sodden earth. A saurian head pushed through the undergrowth, monstrous in size, lined with jagged teeth as two reptilian eyes the size of saucers glimmered in the darkness. A dread saurian.

    Ancient creatures that had roamed the land and clashed with the ancestors of dragons when the world was nought but a land of extremes and ancient monstrosities, perhaps the very reason why such winged lords were completely absent from Lustria, for hardly anything could match the dread beasts in ferocity or killing instinct.

    The slann mage locked eyes with the powerful built aspect of death, and for a moment the world stood still as for the briefest of moments his mind brushed against that of creature that reigned supreme since time began. Instinct, raw cunning and bestial rage, senses ablaze with the scent of his own life-blood as it seeped into the soil from his broken body.

    That very night Itzl-Tli should have died...

    The war against chaos raged across Lustria for almost 1000 years and many of the Old Ones cities fell to the onslaught of the daemons. After several centuries of grief and loss only a few temple cities remained, warded by the mage priests might and held by legions of saurus warriors.

    Lustria however had become even more deadly. Not only did the ebb and flow of magic soak the very land but the mage priests began to weave spells and wards to bolster the jungles already deadly menagerie of beasts and plants to new and monstrous heights, the very forests, swamps and valleys a natural boundary the daemons had to weather.

    But what was stranger still was the strange happenings that were murmured from the jungles, of the daemons failings far from the remaining bastions of the lizardmen. A horde of slaanesh were trampled beneath the stampeding bulk of a thousand stegadon, whose rampaging mass left nothing but toppled trees and bloody stains in their wake. The gibbering followers of tzeentch erected an idol that reached beyond the very clouds in the estuary of the Amaxon River, and they watched in horror as colossal roots thrust from the ground and toppled their construction, before the great lashing tendrils of thorns and barbs laid to waste the beleaguered daemons. And so the stories continued as the century long sieges rolled by, as if the very life of Lustria had risen to defy the monsters of chaos. Bloodwasps swarmed with no provocation, ripperdactyls flocked in never before seen numbers and the largest of pliodons broke the surface of shallow waters to snatch bloodletters and daemonettes alike from the shore.

    It wasn’t until the storms of Chaos broke, with the sacrifice of Lord Croak and the birth of the Vortex at the heart of Ulthuan half a world away, that Itzl-Tli was sighted again. Missing for close to a millennium he was carried astride the haunches of a battle-scarred dread saurian to the outer walls of Tlaxtlan, however in his absence the slann had changed, his crest had grown large and ornery with his time in the wilds and from it grew three ivory horns. With him came the song of flocks of leatherwing snappers, packs of cold ones encircled him, hissing as if greeting a well-known nest mate, and the dread saurian roared to the heavens as it departed to return to the jungle depths once more. Having spent the coming of chaos within the depths of Lustria, beyond the wards of the temple-cities the wild slann was bestowed a new title for his blessing from Itzl must truly be absolute, and so he was named Itzl-Tli Huanmundi, Itzl’s Chosen of the Jungle Deeps.

    Of the years to come Itzl-Tli’s actions were continuous and less questioned by his slann mage kin, and so many of which were recorded by skink scribes.

    The Age of Isolation

    -4524 The Temple

    Itzl-Tli erects the Temple of Fangs deep within the Gwangee Valley as the High Temple of Itzl, guarded as the nesting grounds of the rare and savage dread saurians. What follows after its founding is the erection of many shrines and temples throughout Lustria in honour of Itzl and his beastly charges by Itzl-Tli and his hosts of lizardmen.

    -4102 Chosen

    The hosts of Itzl’s Chosen send flocks of ripperdactyl riders to pick egg stealing skaven from the sacred coatl nest sites on the Sky Watch Peaks. The coatl bestow their blessing upon Itzl-Tli, lending their strength to the wards placed upon the deep jungles.

    -3780 Wandering

    Itz-Tli succumbs to the mind haze of all slann at this time, unlike many slann who reside in Eternity Chambers however Itzl-Tli enters his slumber upon the back of an adolescent thunder lizard. Itzl-Tli doesn’t wake for 800 years, though his every growing ‘mount’ is occasionally seen on the shores of Lake Incatol.

    -2932 Anger

    Itzl’s Chosen is awoken from his slumber when the Temple of Fangs is desecrated and sacred relics are stolen by a band of savage orcs. The orc horde is chased all the way to the boundaries of the Culchan Plains where the survivors are eaten by unnaturally vicious flocks of giant flightless birds.

    -2032 Sickness

    The jungles on the west coast of Lustria begin to suffer disease and rot. A Greater Daemon of Nurgle is found lurking in the Forests of Night, having survived since The Great Catastrophe. Taking heavy loses the hosts of Itzl’s chosen converge and manage to banish the daemon and cleanse the forests of its taint. From this point on Itzl-Tli is honoured as a Lord by his kin.

    -1500 Difference

    The duel between Lord Quex of Pahaux and Lord Itz-Xloc of Itza causes stegadon to stampede and damage the Shrine of the Carnosaur near the source of the River Amaxon. Lord Itzl-Tli takes personal offence from the mage priests thoughtlessness.

    -878 Wager

    Lord Xon-Loc wagers that his personal command of cold ones rivals those of Itzl-Tli in obedience. After the sudden loss of his favourite fan wavers arm to a freak mauling Xon-loc vows not to speak to Itzl-Tli for three thousand years.

    -329 Celebration

    In commemoration of the founding of the Chamber of Claws on the Isle of the Beast two thousand years ago Lord Itzl-Tli calls forth a meteor shower in a rare show of lizardmen frivolity.

    17 Agreement

    Lord Itzl-Tli is one of the first slann to lend his weight behind the preaching of Skink Priest Tehenhuain, the skinks mastery of serpents surely a sign of his divine prominence. As a gesture of good will Iztl-Tli aids in the excavation of The Serpent Vaults in the Piranha Swamps.

    832 Voyage

    With the near extinction of horned ones in Lustria Lord Itzl-Tli summons a colossal pliodon from the depths of the Mangrove Coast. After building a war shrine upon its back he sets off across the world pond to make landfall in the Southlands. Thirty years later he returns to Lustria, with dozens of adult horned ones and hundreds of eggs along with a myriad of other creatures blessed by Itzl from the Southlands.

    1126 Prophecy

    Deciphering a 5000-year prophecy in the depths of the Chasm of Scales, Lord Itzl-Tli deciphers the current resting place of the Lash of Itzaotyl, a relic of Itzl said to control the greatest of beasts, that has existed since the time of the Old Ones. Itzl-Tli dives beneath the waves along with a cohort of Tzunki blessed kroxigor and retrieves the relic from the sunken ruins of Zarmuda.

    2376 Growth of Ages

    With the alignment of several temples and shrines in place, Lord Itzl-Tli and several other mage priests strengthen the wards that transformed Lustria into a living death trap. The jungles become more dangerous and filled with cold blooded beasts.

    2401 Vengeance

    After finding the sacred pools of The Lost Valley tainted and some of the last of the arcanadon stricken with plague, the hosts of Itzl’s Chosen discover a hidden skaven warren of Clan Pestilens. A score of troglodons are let loose into the darkness below and the caverns echoed with rat-like squeals and bestial roars for three days.

    2521 Gift

    For his acts against the skaven blight and his guarding of Lustria's sacred places in the deepest wilds Mazdamundi, Lord of the Solar-City, places the last known quango egg in Itzl-Tli’s charge. The egg is then transported to the Temple of Fangs to reside in the Chamber of Evernight Boughs, until it’s hatching is called upon...


    The End Times

    The coming of the end was felt greatly by Itzl-Tli, being one of the youngest slann to spawn before the Great Catastrophe, his mind less guarded than the elder mages, was assaulted by the agony of the world and ever closing chaos moon. The jungles burned as the skaven took torch to all they could reach, while their plagues and diseases stripped the life from anything the flames did not.

    It was during the three pronged assault on Xlanhuapec that Lord Itzl-Tli called upon the blessings of Itzl from atop the Temple of Fangs, turning all things toothed and clawed against the skaven in the ethereal mist banks that surrounded the city. Troglodons rose from their cavern lairs to hunt in packs, the blind monstrosities unmatched within the thick impenetrable gloom. Slithodon dragged skaven by the score into the gruelling muck of the marshland while allisaurs prowled the waters edges.

    But even the endless onslaught of carnivorous ferocity couldn't stem the skaven tide as the ratmen filth toppled one ancient monument after another. The mile-high Idol of Itzl was sundered atop the Screeching Peak, while the Chamber of Claws was swallowed by the earth as skaven poured from their subterranean warrens. The Cavern of the Mlexiguar flooded with rotten green waters and The Lost Valley burned beneath a tide of molten lava from the mountains agony. Lord Itzl-Tli’s hosts retreated behind the ancient wardings around the Gwangee Valley, marker stones placed by Itzl-Tli after the Great Catastrophe that now glowed with the ravages of chaos energy, crumbling beneath the constant onslaught. Many of the beasts thundered and stampeded through the chaos, many seeking the instinctual shelter of the valley, while others simply did not make it. As beasts mewled, wracked with twisting energies and the jungle crackled and burned, with a thunderous boom beyond comprehension the tainted moon Morrslieb cracked asunder and its mountainous fel fragments fell to earth. They smote upon the Spine of Sotek, toppling peaks and levelling the mountains as chunks of chaos punch through to the very molten heart of the world. Lustria was breaking apart.


    Untold slann across the geomantic web blinked out of existence as their life energies were expended, cities toppled and wards obliterated. The greatest of their kind were casting spells even beyond the slanns own understandings as cities and their denizens were pulled from their very plane of existence and into the voids between. Lord Itzl-Tli felt each spark of light vanish from the web as the lizardmen fled the very world they had guarded since time immemorial.

    Surrounded by his highest skink priests, the Children of Ages, Itzl-Tli extended his conscience to the fizzling remnants of the geomantic web, if he didn’t act quickly the valley and all its denizens would be swallowed by the destruction of this dying world. He pulled upon the winds of magic, the flow erratic like a raging river, but for the logical slann and all his cogitation there was no guidance to the power that surrounded him. The earth heaved as bedrock cracked and screamed gouts of sulphurous pain, the trees shook as fel winds tore across the land as the very skies ripped and sundered as the very stuff of chaos flooded reality itself. But his weavings were not enough, his spell weavings were never as great as the others and now his weakness would be his undoing as the wardings failed and the world was torn apart. The beasts roared in rage and fear as saurus, skink and kroxigor alike watched the end of times with a cold uncertainty. Lord Itzl-Tli had failed the Old One’s will, he had squandered Itzl’s blessing and would now watch the Old One’s blessed beasts perish with this world, as is…

    A feather…

    Scintillating and pure the feather fell through the open ceiling of the Saur Chamber and on to Itzl-Tli’s lap. The length of his arm and a rainbow of hues, it’s beauty was a strange thing as Itzl-Tli felt the world die. It was then he looked up and found the feathers source. Coatl, dozens upon dozens, perhaps all that had survived the death of Lustria flooded the skies above the Temple of Fangs, their scintillating hues rivalling the very heavens of chaos as their cries rang out like pealing bells, their peaceful songs silencing the madness. The wind screamed as it twisted and whirled around the valley, ripping tree from earth, and suddenly Itzl-Tli felt a surged of power fill his form, his eyes crackled as all life in the valley fell silent, the land thrummed with energy as the coatl lent their ancient guidance to the slann mage’s ritual. Rising above the ground atop his palanquin he cast his horned head skyward, surrounded by the swirling masses of coatls, and was greeted by the visage of a three horned beast with gleaming eyes and monstrous jaws in the swirl of feathers, leaves and rampant wind. Itzl smiled down upon them. The slann stabbed into the void and found the glimmerings of the retreating forms for the rest kin, the spell fell into place, sealing the valley, and with one final heave it was torn from the world.

    “Be it the Old One’s will, Itzl’s will made whole!”

    And so the world died and chaos devoured the remains…


    Age of Myth

    How long had it been? How long had the void been their home? They had traversed the realms of nothingness as nought but light as they left the fragments of the distant past far behind them. He watched as the ages went by, aeons passed no different to seasons as he followed the constellations of his kin, specks of light as the others shot through the heaven’s leaving a wake of dying light and grieve behind them.

    With the aid of Dracothion, the Celestial Drake, they were led to the Mortal Realms where the remnants of the lizardmen made their home in the lofty heights of Azyr. And so with time they came to be called the Seraphon, becoming infused with the very stuff of starlight.

    As the ages passed by Itzl-Tli sat amongst the heavens and pondered, carrying with him the Primordial Marble, a sphere that contained a fragment of the world that was. The slann that had survived where forever caught in their calculations and planning against the forces that had devoured their world, for surely Chaos would someday spread into all of existence were it not halted. And yet Itzl-Tli found himself, with the faintest hint of humour, an outsider once more. Indeed, where his kin continued their detached cogitations and preparations for vengeance in their great gathering of celestial minds he found himself yearning for what was, alone in this void of light and nothingness, not a single scale to brush or raindrop to enjoy. And so Itzl-Tli waited, for what he could not say, but merely for a change that would signal his next path in his long life, and indeed that change did come. With the aeons spent in the void his readings of the constellations and the movements of the stars had slowly grown ever stronger and ever keener, and sure enough their peculiar movements gave grave portents most interesting. Such was the oddity of what he saw amongst the stars of his slann kin, the mage was struck dumb and had to look twice. The stars aligned into a symbol he had not seen for an age. A three horned beast, the symbol of Itzl hung in the heavens, painted with starlight as it hung above the mortal realms, it’s visage a guiding light above a place known as the Roaring Sea in the Realm of Ghur.

    With a haste unknown to most of his kin Lord Itzl-Tli fell upon the Roaring Sea like a streaking comet and from his lofty seat he saw a sight unlike anything before. Truly continental in size a colossal beast thrashed in the midst of the Roaring Sea, each of its colossal flippers sending tidal waves a thousand feet tall. It was an archalodon, a titanshell ur-turtle and the last of her kind, and from the shores of her shell vast chains as thick as mountains were anchoring her to the ocean floor. Even as Itzl-Tli hurtled from the heavens he could see Itzl’s blessing upon the creature, the unseen essence of the Old One emanated from its scales and shell, beaming like a sun in Itzl-Tli’s vision. The Old One’s blessings had reached as far as these realms, surely that could not be, perhaps other creatures in these lands bore the mark of Itzl, God of Saurian Beasts. Across its back of mountains and crags a foul race of ancient creatures scuttled like rampant ants, gibbering and chittering in the name of the Tainted Ones from the world that once was, they gnawed at everything and lashed chains to their host to keep it from leaving the shallow waters, to keep the endless feast of flesh escaping beneath the waves. Such was his anger that the slann’s magic erupted forth without a hint of mercy, blasting the cobbled hives of the beings down to the bedrock and the shell beneath as the roaring fury of a raging star was brought to bear. The chains were blown from the beast’s shell and with a thunderous roar that split the heavens the archalodon dove beneath the waves, drowning every single one of the mindless creatures beneath an ocean. For three moons the titanshell showed no signs of surfacing as Itzl-Tli hovered above the hissing foam, deep in rumination.

    When the ur-turtle returned Itzl-Tli was struck with a vision, one that had been permeating in the depths of his mind for aeons. The will of the Master of Cold Blooded Beasts had been realised, and with it the slann reached out with his mind, beneath the waves and called forth the archalodon. Becoming one with the creature Itzl-Tli sat upon the crest of its shell as it broke the ocean’s surface, the ridge as high as any mountain. Calling forth the power of the heavens he grabbed the Primordial Marble, that insignificantly minute sphere from a world that was no more, that piece of ancient life long forgotten, and shattered it. As the glass -like sphere broke beneath his fingers a great wind tore across the roaring sea. In a flash of blinding green light vines tore from the earth on the creature’s back and forests flourished and brush and flora took root with savage vitality. Rivers flowed as swamps and marshlands flooded in the recesses of its shell. Mountains heaved upwards wreathed in mist and greenery while others belched forth molten rock and flame. Stonework formed from the whirling starlight, rose in great spires and temple pyramids, called forth by itzl-Tli’s remembrance, his constant chanting in rhythm with the great turtles thundering heart. The Temple of Fangs, as resplendent as the day its stones were first laid rose higher and higher from the newly greened earth, it’s now gravity defying spires wreathed in cloud, nimbus and vibrant growth, it’s streets and plazas populated with beleaguered and dazed saurus, skinks and kroxigors. And lastly the air rung out with bestial roars and reptilian cries as all the life from the world that was was loosed upon this new land. Carnosaurs roared as stegadons and hornfrills bellowed from the valleys, cold ones, culchan and razorbeaks darted through their new hunting grounds, while terradons, rippers and leatherwings took flight to virgin nesting grounds. As the thunder lizards crashed through the jungles and the dread saurians marked their new kingdoms the coatl took flight above Itzl-Tli, their songs just as enchanting and haunting as they were all those aeons ago. With one final chorus of joy at their salvation the coatl took flight across the titanshell’s back to find new domains to weave their wards and magics.

    Itzl-Tli looked down upon the swathes of steaming jungle, the emerald plains and the roaring rivers betwixt towering peaks and vine wreathed architecture, it all thrumming with primordial life astride the greatest beast if Itzl he had ever come to witness, and yet there was but one more thing to do. Itzl-Tli floated down the great plazas of the now Mountain-Temple of Fangs before he began to ascend the tallest spire. Up and up he soared upon his palanquin, passing the roosting forms of several coatl until finally he came upon the open walled Chamber of Evernight Boughs. It was not logic that called him here, neither was it reason or planning that lead to that moment. It was instinct, raw and unbridled, that drove Itzl-Tli to his oldest and most venerable charge atop the stone dais at the chambers centre. Strange, how something so delicate could have survived time immemorial and the death of world, and now what should have been trepidation was replaced with unrestrained anticipation. Reaching out his will Itzl-Tli disrupted the ancient wardings and the stasis field fell around the last quango egg…

    Silence… and then…

    Tchk-crrk-crack-craTHUUUUM!

    The very heavens resounded with thunderous peals as an ever expanding being leapt forth from the egg, filling the sky above the ur-turtle with all its glory and casting its radiant hues upon the world. Even to the slann its form was so grand it was barely comprehensible as it’s serpentine form became one with the roaring rivers all the while its beatings wings as radiant as the spectrums of light danced between the heavy clouds of rain above the jungle. Like a morning mist it was intangible, and at the same time as ever-present as a thundering storm front. Its essence was similar, much like the coatl, but onto the coatl as a carnosaur was to a gecko, grander and more resplendent in every single way. With a piercing cry that cleared the skies from horizon to horizon the quango settled against the great turtles back, it’s body one with the jungle, it’s breath one with the clouds and rain and it spirit one with its denizens. And so the last quango graced the ur-turtle with its blessing, a powerful ward of purity and sanctuary, as it dipped into a deep and restful slumber.

    And so the ur-turtle Xapati-Kai, the Ark of Itzl was born and from those days forth, Itzl-Tli Huanmundi, Champion of Itzl, The Saurian Emperor of Cold Blooded Beasts, sailed the seas seeking the vengeance of the Seraphon against all things Chaos, all the while seeking all manners of beasts and saur that carried Itzl’s blessing across the Mortal Realms.


    A New Age

    The Ark of Xapati-Kai dips between the Realms of Ghur and Ghyran as the turtle gives birth to ten young, each the size of a small island. The young ones never leave the side of Xapati-Kai, their jungle swathed shells becoming places of reverence amongst the seraphon.

    Chaos Cometh

    With the coming of Chaos Itzl-Tli is trapped within the Realm of Ghyran. As the plane falls to the forces of the Plague Father, Nurgle himself, no matter how hard the plaguefleets search they can never find the source of the brutal seraphon raids.

    Turtle Chaos

    Having been flushed from their sanctuary the forces of Alarielle the Everqueen attempt to flee across the vast land bridge of Emerald Boughs. The Greater Daemon of Nurgle, Bilominous the Foul and his legion, almost overruns them when the continent sized skull of Xapati-Kai rises from the oceans below to sunder the land bridge, while also crushing the Nurgle Prince and his daemons beneath its bulk.

    Gratitude

    Thankful for the aid given, the Everqueen bestows a Seed of Life onto Lord Itzl-Tli, a relic from the Age of Myth with which to bless the jungles of the Ark with the very essence of Ghyran, calling forth a fertility and growth unlike ever before. The Seed of Life is planted and guarded in the newly founded Temple of Ages Growth. At this time several treelords and many dryads take up residence in the dense jungles of the Ark, tending to the dark growths and vibrant flora.

    Dreadful Hunting

    The vampire counts of Shyish set forth on their Pale Hunt for the shadescale raptors of the Mired Gulch. None of the counts return from their hunt as the creatures out-hunt the hunters with unnerving cunning, before slipping into the darkness once more, their eyes burning with the light of Azyr.

    Not Prepared

    The combined forces of three great bonesplitter tribes manage to capture the last remaining colossal dreadmaws in a valley sized cage of thrumming bones. However, before they could enact their wurrgogs rituals a seraphon host of carnosaurs and cold ones intervenes and shatters the cage with raging starlight. The ensuing carnage of the enraged dreadmaws left hardly a single orc alive to tell the tale.

    Allies

    While scouring the heights of Chamon for the elusive creature his skink priest discovered while scrying, the rare and lethal aerosaur, the terradons riders of Itzl-Tli stumble upon the duardin of Orrik’s Gate. They have little time to converse before they are set upon by flying daemon’s of Tzeentch. Though never truly trusting one another they manage to fight off the flocks of screeching daemons.

    Fool’s Gold

    Sheer luck allows a fleet of Kharadron to stumble across Xapati-Kai. Mistaking for it for a new landmass the fleets land to strip the abandoned looking temples of their precious gold. But a single daurdin returns to his sky-city, muttering of gold, claws and death.

    The Darkness

    The ghoulish armada of Basrick the Great sails across the Sea the Dusk in Ulgu in an attempt to outflank a landlocked legion of Stormcast. The ships however are set upon by great finned reptilian beasts from the deep that carry astride their backs scores of aquatic kroxigors that stove the ships hulls with hammer blows and colossal jaws.

    To Be Continued...
     
  2. thedarkfourth
    Temple Guard

    thedarkfourth Well-Known Member

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    Have....have you created the warhammer version of Discworld?

    This is really really great fluff - amazing stuff!
     
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  3. Dadoodler
    Jungle Swarm

    Dadoodler New Member

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    Yeah, if the Kharadron can have floating cities, and if the Stormcast can have cities on the back of giant worms then I think Seraphon can have a piece of Lustria on a turtle, besides we invented riding big scaly beasties ;) .
    And thanks for the compliment ^^
     
    Last edited: Sep 29, 2017
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