Fiction Fragile Cargo

The battle had been, to the simple mind of Utlix, merely a distraction from the tasks of the day. The squad of rat-spawn had somehow made their way through the endless wards twisting and contorting space around Xlanzec and, in a turn of events that surprised them as much as it had the guardians of the City of Outsiders, ended up emerging from the foliage right inside the temple city’s gates.


From there, the battle had been scarcely a battle at all. Few ratmen could survive an angry saurus leaping onto them from the battlements, and even fewer dared to stick around after seeing their compatriots crushed into mulch by a very surprised- and very furious- saurian warrior.


Still, the party of vermin had been headed by a young Grey Seer who’s fruitless attempts at casting off enough spells to keep his envoy from fleeing led to an errant bolt of warp lightning (Or, perhaps, one that was right on target if the rat-spawn had intended to ruin the square’s aesthetics) firing off and shattering a slab of stone holding the meditative pools atop the Great Pyramid intact, flooding the Temple City’s square with now warp-tainted water, and caving in the roof of the spawning pools below.


His own skull had, in return, been caved in by a particularly well-aimed rock from a skink upon the ramparts, and the morale of his dwindling squadron had fallen as quickly as his twitching body did.


Now, with half the city’s Saurus population combing the surrounding jungles for survivors, the square had returned to the relatively uneventful doldrum of daily activity. A rather overworked looking Skink stood atop a particularly unsteady chunk of rubble, his eyes darting back and forth at the line of Kroxigor that had instinctively assembled when they sensed work to be done. The skittish lizard leveled a finger at the each of the dozen hulking beasts one at a time, barking orders in short, harsh clicks.


As Utlix found himself at the end of that finger, the skink paused and it’s eyes narrowed as they scanned over the ancient Kroxigor, their teeth gently grinding in thought.


“Hmm. You, large one! Clear whatever’s found its way into the spawning pools, while YOU-“


The skink’s attention left as quickly as it had arrived, as they gesticulated wildly at a group of skink artisans unlucky enough to have wandered into range. Utlix simply tuned them out as he stomped off towards the Spawning Cavern’s ornate staircase. His orders were given, and to his mind, that meant there was nothing more of value to be said.


As the chamber of the spawning pool stretched out beyond him, the Kroxigor’s heart fell at the sight. The pool, usually a glittering emerald mass, lay stagnant and sporting a sickly pallid yellow hue. The eerily still waters stood far in contrast to the constant churning of life- from both infant lizardmen and the ecosystem of waterborn life that sustained them- Utlix was used to, and even his dull mind knew what was implied by the still shapes floating belly-up further out in the spawning pool’s waters.


He had not been born here, in these waters- few of those who lived within the city had been, it’s irregular and strange spawning patterns generally giving rise to individuals who would strike out on their own; skinks with red crests and split tails, destined to wander as extensions of far flung Slann, Saurus with instinctive knowledge of where a long forgotten relic priest lay undefended, or Kroxigor designed to rebuild grand monuments reclaimed by the jungles- but still, the grief at such loss barbed at his ancient mind.


It was not the first pool Utlix had seen befouled, to have lived a life longer than some of the youngest slann was to have seen this sight a thousand times over, but each was a unique tragedy in their own right, haunting memories burnt into his simple thoughts.


Suddenly, a wet slapping sound from within a corner of the shadowy cavern pulled the ancient Kroxigor’s attention. Already distracted from the duties at hand, the lumbering crocodilian edged his way around the room, keeping a healthy distance from the sickly, pallid waters of the diseased spawning pool.


Towards the eastern corner, where the destruction caused by the warp-tainted cave in had been worst, Utlix found a slick creature halfway between a tadpole and an eel, floundering in a thin layer of the glittering waters of the spawning pool. It’s yellow eyes glazed up at him, a flicker of instinctual recognition passing between the two.


The skinkling had been trapped in an alcove formed by the falling rubble, ironically kept safe by the very collapse that killed its spawn-kin. With barely enough liquid covering to keep itself hydrated, the larval skink simply sat sideways, gasping at the air with underdeveloped lungs and slapping its tail against the slick stone in a futile attempt to move.


Gently Utlix crouched beside the makeshift pool, hefting ornate hunks of rock to allow better access. Locking eyes with the skinkling again, it’s desperate struggling twisted something within Utlix- memories, all the same in structure and yet different in detail. A gnarled mass of pus and sagging flesh crushing a scaled tadpole underfoot in it’s attempt to tear at the host of Saurus and Kroxigor desperately trying to defend its pool from the endless hordes. A mottled green Slann, ever sorrowful, leaving an empty pool of withered husks- redistributing lifeforce desperately needed elsewhere. The cackling cries of rat-spawn as malformed skinks screamed in pain, torn too early from their infancy and with their flesh bubbled by pox.


With wet eyes and a closed throat, the Kroxigor gently placed his massive maw within the remnants of the spawning pool, a dull splash following him. Turning his head to the side, he scraped his open mouth from one side of the stone alcove to the other, the grating sound of teeth grinding upon rock echoing across the empty cavern.


With a level of care generally unheard of from his kind, Utlix raised his open jaws from the now empty pit, dull sloshing accompanying his every movement. A set of curious yellow eyes poked themselves over the serrated edges of their new temporary respite, before quickly disappearing once again into the now-consolidated mass of emerald liquid submerging the tongue of their host.


Utlix slowly stood to full height, ever careful not to lose a drop of his precious cargo, and turned away from the ruined pool. His previous orders completely forgotten as he wandered from the now-dead chamber, the old Kroxigor’s mind simply honed in on his new all-consuming mission.


He had a skink to feed.

 

I am speechless. I'd appreciate more, but it's still fantastic as a short story! I like how you wrote the Kroxigor main character and his POV very much.

 

Thanks! I origionally intended this to be the opener for a longer thing i've been chipping away at writing, but it turned out pretty self contained so I thought i'd post it that way. The idea of a Kroxigor carrying around a tadpole like real crocodiles do with their young was just too appealing not to throw in there

 

The site is hosting a short story contest btw. Just PM @Scalenex, the organizer of the contests, your entry by October 31st (midnight US central time) if you're interested in participating.

 

i find the idea of a skinkpole interesting and amusing, very nice job on writing this.

 

This is really sweet, and very well written. I love the depiction of a kroxigor as a tender care-giver.