Fiction The Beginning

Hi all!

This piece is something I whipped up at work during my downtime. Took all day to write and I'm pretty pleased with it. Despite appearances this is the beginning of my Sacred Host of Chotec (mostly).


The Beginning
Darkness. Cold, crushing darkness. It was all he knew. Ever since the beginning it was all there was. The only change was the gentle ebb and flow of the currents. There was nothing else. He was content. Until now…

He became more aware of himself, of what he was. He had teeth and claws to rend flesh, jaws to crush bone, powerful limbs imbued with primal strength all of which were weapons natural to his being, but he knew no foes. He knew no prey, nor family, nor enemy. He knew no creature other than himself but in becoming aware of what he was he came to know what he would become. A warrior.

Unknowable time passed, unperceivable in the blackness. Visions of the present, the past and the future swam in the liquid dark. A familiar world filled with familiar forms and familiar places that he had never seen nor visited was shown to him as clear as crystal. New currents flowed, not of liquid but of some invisible energy. Invisible even where all is unseen. The time had come.

With a violent eruption from the still waters he awoke. The first caress of the still cave air on his skin sent a wave of new sensation through his body. Heightened senses, dormant in the pool of his conception, came to life flooding his mind with information on his surrounds. The scent, the dryness, the warmth, the sound. Even before he opened his eyes he knew all there was to know about this room. All that was relevant.

He opened his eyes and confirmed all his other senses had already told. He was in a cave deep beneath the ground, a large rectangular pool of dark, still water in the centre. The orange glow given by flickering torches sparsely lit the corridor leaving the cave, but it mattered not. He could see as well in shadows as he could in light. Everything felt different than when he was in the darkness of the pool. Everything except the invisible current, always there as though just beyond the veil of perception.

The walls he strode past had engravings depicting great wars, mighty cities, sacred rituals and holy words. It was irrelevant; he knew it all already. He knew of the coming of the Old Ones, the collapse of the Polar Gates and the Cataclysm that followed. He knew of all the creatures great and small included in the Old Ones’ design, and knew that all that did not match them should be purged from the world.

The burning light of Chotec’s sun greeted him as he emerged from the dimly lit cavern. He stood atop a great pyramid built into the side of an ancient cliff face. Although every block of stone was intricately carved to perfection such details escaped him. He could hear the sounds, smell the scents, feel the sticky heat and see the life of Lustria in all its glory. Any other creature would be captivated by awe, but that was not something built into his mindset. Wonder was a liability in battle.

He did not feel wonder, but he understood it. He could see the marvel in the eyes of the others. The way they stopped their labours to gaze upon him. The way the Skinks bowed their heads in deference, the Kroxigor stared in admiration, the Saurus guardians nodded or saluted in minimalist signs of respect. The invisible currents raged around him, empowering him, filling his mind with visions of blood and victory, of unsurpassed knowledge and understanding. He was unique. He was destiny incarnate.

The feeling of power in its purest form coursing through his veins stood his quills on end. The feathery coating covering his scales puffed up, shivering in the wind. A surge of pressure built up within him, a sensation unlike anything he’d ever felt before in the dark. The explosion was magnificent, a great roar echoed across the city matched only by the majesty of the arcane flames that danced in a rainbow of pyroclastic fury. He was the one lone Saurus of his spawning, born in Hexoatl beneath the lesser temple of Tepok. Born from the darkness under the City of the Sun he was the Son of the Inscrutable, Herald of Destiny. He was Aki-Pterixx and he was blessed with the power of the Gods.

PS: Tell me if the font colour is horrible and I'll change it

 

I personally like the font color, but it made it a little hard to read so I copied it and pasted it into Microsoft Word to read. All in all not bad.

 

Yea Navy Blue on black if quit dificult to read....
how abou somethig with a higher contrast, like light blue?

 

Changed the colour. Any comments about the story itself?

 

Lol, ok now that I can read it, I have to say it's quite good.

 

nice read i like it!

 

Thanks for the kind words.

With the new models I'm even more excited to work on this project! Gotta clear all these Chaos Space Marines off my desk, buy a bunch of yellow and orange paint and then I'll be ready to go!

In other words there probably won't be anything for a loooong time. Which blows! Come summertime I'll have daylight left when I get home from work so who knows, maybe then?

 

A slow day at work on Friday so I whipped this up between things. I'm open to criticism and whatnot, so let me know what you think!

War Council

Eternity Warden Szeratops eyed the feathered Saurus suspiciously. Ever since the strange Son of Tepok had approached the Star Chamber of Lord Mazdamundi Szeratops had been cautious. It was not unusual for a spawning to show vibrant colouring, a feathery coat or a mark of the Old Ones on their hide. It was even known for Saurus to be spawned with peculiar attributes; uncommon swiftness, a keen mind, even resistance to magic. But for a Saurus to actually be able to harness the Winds of Magic, it was near unheard of!

Aki-Pterixx was immune to the aura of power that saturated every inch of the chamber. All but the oldest Temple Guard and the Eternity Warden himself, each who have endured a hundred years of exposure to the time warping currents, were slowed to a crawling pace. But not so the feathered Saurus.

The Skinks worshipped the Son of Tepok as an incarnation of the God. He certainly embodied the Inscrutable Protector of Sacred Places. He was covered in brightly patterned purple feathers, surrounded in mysterious invisible energies that seemed to protect him from the negative effects of magic, and was able to cast spells himself. Despite these peculiarities the most off-putting thing about Aki-Pterixx was the way he thought.

Szeratops instinctively didn’t trust him. How could one trust a sentient being who ignores the details of the world? Someone who is oblivious to all that does not concern them, their actions, or their own task. He had seen the stoic and emotionless Sacred Spawning of Tlazcotl stand fearless in the face of untold horrors, and the devout fanatics of Sotek unflinchingly put entire settlements to death but neither of them disregarded so much so naturally. They still at least acknowledged the majesty of the Temple Cities, the grace of the Slann and the loss of their kindred (even though they may not mourn their passing). But not so the feathered Saurus.

War Council was to be held in the Star Chamber, something that had not happened since before his predecessor had passed from this world. Standing opposite Szeratops and his Guardians were a troop of yellow and orange saurus warriors, the blessed of Chotec, led by Zpakatax - a dark scaled warrior of Quetzl. Skink attendants, normally twitchy and nimble sluggishly went about their tasks in the Chamber. A stone table in the shape of the continents of the world sat in the middle of the room. One the east side were the temple guard, on the west were the Saurus warriors. Between them, at what would be the south was a congregation of Skinks; Shamans, Priests, Chieftains, Heralds and Beastmasters from all corners of the Solar City. It was those who sat to the north that caused the most unease within the groups.

Aki-Pterixx of course was there standing beside the Skink High Priest. Behind them, above three stone plinths flickered the images of three Slaan Mage Priests, one each from the fifth, fourth, and third generations lending their astral selves to the communion. But it was the final figure that drew the attention of all. Seated atop a glimmering gold palanquin was an orange wrinkle-skinned Slann. Ancient, moreso than any gathered here by a measure of millennia. Atop his head sat a golden crown adorned with feathers and in his spidery grasp he held something no other Slann did – a weapon.

All in the room cowed before the mighty aura of the Mage Lord of Hexoatl. Even after near a century in service as the Slann’s Eternity Warden, even Szeratops felt the urge to kneel before the great Mazdamundi. No Slann ever required or commanded submission, but the desire to bow before the oldest living Mage Priest was undeniable. Although the Eternity Warden and his cohort managed to maintain their sober bearing many others in the room did not. The skinks made elaborate displays of individual reverence; the Saurus bowed forwards exposing their necks or took the knee thus exposing themselves as vulnerable in ways they never normally would. Even the ornery Quetzlite raised a claw to his chest in a gesture of respect. But not so the feathered Saurus.

As the rabble calmed the room darkened. Small orbs of coloured stone and pinpoints of light floated in the air throughout the chamber, each representing a celestial body or event. Aki-Pterix spoke first.

“We will claim victory for the Old Ones. Purge the Aberrations and the world will be set right,” the features on the map shifted and changed as the celestial bodies whirred overhead. Strands of light criss-crossed the miniature world forming a perfect and unbroken replica of the Geomantic Web. “Restore our power and Anathema will fail…”

“This has been the Great Mazdamundi’s goal for centuries,” chirped one of the Chieftains. “What you say is nothing new.”

The High Priest interjected “It is the details that now differ. Itza has always opposed an all out crusade, preferring to remain in Lustria to keep the great cities safe. Rarely will they or their coalition support Hexoatl’s wars.”

“It is the blood of Hexoatl that keeps the inner cities safe from the North. Itza’s refusal is an INSULT to the spawn-kin who die at our gates,” bellowed the dark Saurus. “They know nothing of the constant war against Anathema, the Aberrations and the Wayward Children. They are as useful to Great Plan as a slab of stone!”

Tension was palpable in the silence.

“Each stone in this world serves its purpose,” echoed the mental voice of one of the attendant Slann. “It can be built into a temple, carved into a plaque, chiselled into a tool, even dropped from the air to smite our foes. Itza has its place, and we have ours.”

“Yes,” sent another. “Itza’s reluctance to embroil itself in our wars is not for cowardice. They read different plaques, have different prophecies and a different purpose.”

The words spoken by the dark Saurus were more cautious, but the underlying rage barely restrained.

“If Itza refuses us what good are The First to the Children of the Sun?”

Deep rumbling words ground through the quiet that followed the Saurus’ words. Like the sounds of mountains colliding in the ocean’s depths punctuated by croaks and ribbits Mazadumdi’s words reached the auditory senses of all present. Although only the Slann understood the words themselves, their meaning pierced the minds of them all.

“Itza is The First, so too shall it be the last. We are the flaming sword of Chotec. Itza will not send aid, so we must hone our own edge.”

Everyone in the room flinched as Mazdamundi communicated his orders to them telepathically. The only ones unaffected were the Temple Guard, their orders unchanged.

“You now know your tasks. Go forth, and next we meet our purge shall begin.”

The celestial models vanished and light returned to the room. The chamber emptied, and all that remained where the Temple Guard and Szeratops. They dispersed throughout the chamber, taking up their posts once more. Szeratops approached Mazdamundi and turned to face the chamber door, assuming his regular stance.

“No. I have another task for you.”

Szeratops turned to face his Master, astounded that he would be addressed so in private.

“You are unique, as crucial to the Plan as Aki-Pterixx or General Zpakatax. You have a keen mind, just as the others gathered today. Unlike Aki-Pterixx you take in every detail, as all is relevant to you. Unlike the General you are calm and rational. You understand more than you know, and you are privy to secrets none other can hear.”

This was true. As Eternity Warden he was present in near all exchanges between the Slann and their attendants, even between priests in the temple. He knew things he should never have known, heard things that should never be spoken. It was his duty to never use what was uttered within the temple. These were sacred and secret matters that no lowly Saurus, no matter what rank, should know.

“I will give you a task Eternity Warden but first you must learn a secret known to none but the oldest of the Second Generation and the First of my kind. I will tell you of how the Saurus came to be…”

 

Looking forward to more. Laughed out loud for General Zpakatax - hope he lives up to his name!

SoB

 

Thanks guys! I've actually drawn a lot of my inspiration from the work you two have posted (including the 'issues' with Itza). You've both managed to put a lot of individuality and personality into your characters and I hope to do the same thing. While my tales will tend to be a bit more sober I like to add in a bit of my own humour every now and then. Glad someone picked up on it!

Originally this was intended to be the opening to a 'tale of gamers' type campaign, but that's been put on hold indefinitely. The campaign may have stalled but my vision for my army and it's story has not, so you might see more in this space soon!

 

Oh my what is this? Another slow day at work for Fhanados and with it comes the next installment of my Lizardmen's story! I have a fondness of Temple Guard, so this is another one about Szeratops but there will be more from Zpakatax and Akipterixx soon.

Temple of Blood

The host of Eternity Warden Szeratops had come to rest at the southern end of the Blackspine mountain range. Nestled in the jagged black rocks they had made camp at the Blood Pyramid, a single pyramid in the style of Lustrian architecture hewn from crimson stone adorned with gold facades and littered with bones. This far south and at this low altitude the icy chill the mountains were renowned for had yet to take hold. Warm Lustrian air kept the ice at bay and the glittering gold reflected the suns light made for a comfortable climate for the coldbloods.

The march from Hexoatl had taken days. How long precisely Szeratops knew but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that the host reached the pyramid and sought out the secrets that lay beneath the blackened peaks of the cursed mountain range.

Upon arrival they had found the pyramid occupied. A spawning of Great Crests had taken to guarding the structure as a sacred temple of Sotek and had begun anointing the grounds with the blood of their captives and making various totems and wards from their bones.

Szeratops was glad for their presence. These mountains were the haunt of Wayward Prodigals – foolish elfkin that had forsaken their place in the plan and taken to Dark Magic and who had a particular enmity for Lustria and its sacred places. With Sotek’s blessed Skink warriors it was in safe hands. The mere thought of these Wayward made Szeratops growl. Their greed knew no bounds and many sacred places had fallen to their treachery. That the Blood Pyramid remained in Lizardmen hands despite being so far from central Lustria brought him much relief.

Several days passed as the host waited on the Skink scouting parties to return. The nimble creatures swarmed the mountainsides searching for the entrance to a series of caves that had remained hidden for millennia. Only the Slann knew its whereabouts, but to most it was of such trivial unimportance that they needn’t bother remembering it. But not for Mazdamundi. The Mage Lord knew that the caves were significant. He knew of the secrets the Old Ones had locked away. And so did the Eternity Warden.

The Saurus drifted into a trance – recalling all that the mighty Slaan had told him. The secrets of their very existence. So enraptured he was by the secrets he knew that he did not notice the Skink Cheiftain scurry up the steps of the pyramid until it was rapping its claw upon his shoulder, demanding attention.

Szeratops leered down at the skink in minor annoyance at his thoughts being interrupted. When he noted the Skink’s body language he forgot his irritation immediately. The way he twitched and held his posture, the rise and fall and flush of blood to his crest, the excited chirp. He brought good tidings.

“Most Revered and Trusted Eternity Warden of the Golden City of the Sun, we found it!”

“Lead us there,” ordered Szeratops. Brief and blunt as all Saurus are.

“I most solemnly regret to advise the Great General…” the pleasantries were tiring.
“Speak plainly Chieftain,” he barked abruptly in the common Low Saurian tongue. Not rudely or without respect. The Skink understood.

“Certainly,” the Skink’s excitement seemed to swell now he was free from the encumbrance of High Saurian social protocol. He began anew in Low Saurian, “Glyphs in the stone. Seen from the sky. Point to the Gate we seek. The gate is closed to us. God’s tongue will open the way.”

The Skink had over simplified it. To any other Saurus it would suffice, but the Eternity Warden was keener than most and was granted a monumental task. After some extrapolation on his report the Skink revealed that from the sky one could see that various natural rock formations crudely shaped an ancient and disused High Saurian glyph for “gateway”, with small accents indicating the location of this entrance and the necessity for magic. Finding a path to the entrance would be challenging, and even then they still needed to open the gate itself. These obstacles proved difficult, but Szeratops knew that with great leadership, the inginueity of the Skinks and the strength of the Saurus they would succeed. It was only a matter of time.

Days passed as Skink scouts plotted routes through the rugged terrain while labourers and artisans reinforced the stony paths to bear the weight of the army. It wouldn’t be long before they could move into position, but there was still so much to consider and so many potential threats lurking in the peaks. It was his task to ensure they were prepared for all manner of foes – Wayward Elves, Anathema worshipping Humans, twisted Aberrations, the Ones Who Are Dead and a myriad of other natural and unnatural predators. There was one threat however that he was not prepared for.

There was a commotion outside. Skinks darted around chaotically, unsure whether to stand their ground, continue their tasks or flee the threat. Saurus warriors acting as guardians and lookouts quickly formed ranks and took up arms to face the approaching danger. Kroxigor stood around looking dumbfounded and enraged by the confusion. The Great Crests looked on and hissed viciously at those who would dare defile their sacred pyramid. Nobody was sure how to react. Nobody had expected an attack from Lustria.

Rank upon rank of dark green Saurus warriors marched up the mountain pass leading to the Blood Pyramid, flanked by small groups of Skink beastmasters and their various warbeasts. Behind them a trio of enormous Stegadons ponderous footsteps hammered a drum beat on the earth, in each howadah a high ranking Skink – two Chieftains and a Priest. The piercing cry of the enemy Terradons circling overhead were the final warning. They were surrounded and outmatched. They could not recall the warriors and scouts from the countryside around the Pyramid. They were alone.

“Cheiftain, arrange the cohorts. Do not attack. Let them come.”

The host from Hexoatl quickly formed up. Yellow and orange Lizardmen faced the green and black army that had come to a halt at the foot of the pyramid. A lone Skink daubed in white warpaint bearing their army’s standard stepped forward from the mass of dark Saurus warriors. He was the Herald of this aggressor’s host and he wished to parley.

Szeratops let out a long sigh of relief that they had not simply ground him into the dust. He was about to call for a Priest to negotiate with the enemy host but thought better of it. Best he do this himself. Best that blame for failure lay only on him.

“Speak Skink,” he bellowed as he strode down the temple steps. “I shall act as herald for my Host.”

The painted skink was taken aback. Usually it was other Skinks who acted as herald, and it was much easier to intimidate and flaunt strength to one of his own kind than it was a veteran Saurus in the full ceremonial garb of Eternity Warden.

Szeratops read the Skinks body immediately and knew he had the advantage. He would have smiled but that would give him away. He wanted to seem stern, stoic and cold. An immovable object.

“I am Tenihuan, Herald of the Stormhost. We have been sent by a Council of the Slann to put a stop to your invasion of the mountain and northern realms.”

“Itza sent you.”

“No, not just Itza. Tlax, Tlaxtlan and Xlanhuapec too. And others. The deliberations of the Council have concluded that Mazdamundi’s actions are against the will of the Old Ones and you must cease this expedition.”

The Saurus leaned forwards, bringing his face close to the Skink. He looked the Herald in the eye and growled a single word dripping in aggression.

“No.”

The Skink almost fell over, scrambling backwards away from his deadly opposition. Szeratops turned away and began to walk towards the Blood Pyramid, ignoring the agitated and desperate chirps and threats levelled at him by the Herald.

“Fine!” screeched the Skink. “Then you all DIE!”

Szeratops spun around to meet the oncoming Skink. Even unarmed he would be more than a match for the smaller Lizardman. He braced for the impact of the leaping opponent when suddenly the herald just stopped. In mid air. The hapless creature hung limp like a puppet in the air, harsh white light bursting from his eyes and mouth.

“I am Mage Priest Cuaqtectzin of Tlaxtlan,” the voice reverberated across the pass. “I speak on behalf of the Council. You must heed the Herald and end your quest.”

“Forgive me, but I cannot.”

“Then you leave us no choice but to end this expedition by force. We shall mourn your loss.”

“NO! Do not destroy the host gathered here. They have done nothing but what was asked of them, as per the design of the Old Ones. Let us resolve this conflict in the way of peace - ritual battle between the champions of each of our hosts. I shall act as my host’s representative. If I lose then we shall abandon our mission and return to Hexoatl and I shall face the penalties chosen by the Council.”

“Very well. If you win we shall leave you unmolested, but know this – even as we march on you here we march on Mazdamundi’s forces elsewhere. Your actions speak only for this conflict, not those of your peers.”

The news startled Szeratops. The entire task as given by the Mage Lord could be at risk. Nonetheless he had no choice. “I accept.”

“Good. Gor-Rok, step forward.”

 

Next part. Zpakatax steps up to the plate!

New Grounds

Zpakatax swung his weapon down in an overhead strike, crushing the helmet and skull of the foul vermin with the sheer force thrown behind his obsidinite weapon. There was a slight lull in the number of enemies advancing towards him. The ring of corpses surrounding the General most likely gave them pause. He took the respite to glance around at his forces. Most of his Cold One riders were now on foot and the ranks of Saurus looked disorderly and scattered. There was no time to order a regroup. No space to manoeuvre among the trees and tides of foes.

The enemies came at him again. He didn’t count them. He just revelled in their death. Another fell to his stone sword, spraying blood and bone into the air. A savage lash of his tail shattered the rib cage of another rat-like abomination, damning it to a slow and painful suffocation. The huge hidebound shield held in the general’s off hand smashed into one foe, and was swiftly followed up by a slash with its bladed edge disembowelling another.

The tides of ratfolk thinned. Many of their ranks had broken and scattered, only to be picked off one by one by the Skink skirmishers stalking the woods. Their middle lines quavered, on the verge of a rout. As the surrounding clashes became skirmishes the remaining Saurus formed ranks and advanced with the general. Spears, clubs, swords, axes, shields, fangs, claws and tails all drew blood from the enemy as the battle line pushed forwards.

So consumed by bloodlust was Zpakatax that he nearly doomed his entire force. As the Skaven fell back the Saurus moved to pursue. Blood. More blood. In a frenzy he charged forward, ahead of the ranks. Death! Aberrations must die! As he carved a bloody path through the retreating vermintide a lone character met his gaze. A spellcaster. With no magic of their own there was only one course of action.

“Magic. Back!” he barked.

The advance halted and reversed immediately. Two words was all that was required for the warriors of Hexoatl. The frontline splintered, several different spawning breaking off and moving away in different directions. Magic was a dangerous thing to the unprotected soldiers, and tight groups only presented a juicier target.

The Skaven mage squeeled in frustration and raised its foul paw. A single bolt of sickly green lightning arced through the air. Zpakatax brought up his shield to meet it and was thrown back by the tremendous force. The mighty Scar Veteran righted himself and hissed savagely at the spellcaster. In a fury he hurled the charred ruin of his shield into the crowd of fleeing rats, feeling some satisfaction when it landed with a solid thunk and a scream.

This battle was over, but the host of Hexoatl would be back to purge the Aberrations.

Zpakatax and his Cold One riders had been stalking the forests of the Border Princes. They were a long way from home, transported from one side of the world to the other by some arcane device and the phenomenal power of the Slann. They had been sent to the woods south of the mountains known as The Vaults to humans, an extension of the Black Mountains range to the west of Black Fire Pass. It was a hot region, but very different to the dense heat of Lustria. While humid, the woodland trees were too sparse and too young to hold the moisture in the air the same way as the rainforest jungles of home.

He and his cohort where tasked with clearing the woods of hostiles and establishing a secure foothold from which they could continue to receive re-enforcements from Hexoatl and its allies. The immediate area had been cleared of Aberrations – Beastmen, mutants and other unspeakable creatures lurking in the deep woods away from civilisation. The Lizardmen would return order to these lands, and it would be done by the tip of the general’s spear.

General Zpakatax had become known as Darkscale by some among his soldiers. He liked the nickname and took it as a title. It suited him well. Unlike the yellow and orange warriors of Chotec, Zpakatax was a dark grey colouration with bony black scales down his back. It was not only his colour that was dark, but also his moods. He was blessed with his hardy hide, exceptional strength and a quick mind. A mind tainted by battle lust. That was why he was chosen for this task.

He had pursued his quarry to the base of the mountains and it was there that they cheated him of total victory. The Aberrations known as Skaven to men had strongholds in these ranges, the first of which was called Fester Spike. A disgusting name for a disgusting place harbouring disgusting creatures.

Their numbers were few, and they lacked the support of Priests and heavy warbeasts but the smaller Salamanders and Razordons had proved effect in clearing smaller nests of vermin. They had already slain near a thousand of the creatures before the battle near Fester Spike, not counting the other monstrosities lurking in the shadows.

Now the host consolidated its territories. Zpakatax was still ill tempered from the engagement but he would not neglect his duty entirely. Construction of their stronghold had begun in his absence, a new cohort sent to these tainted lands. A host of Skink artisans, masons, and Kroxigor for labour.

Already foundations of dark stone blocks had formed. First would be the Skink barrios. The smaller Lizardmen were not as hardy as their soldier-spawned kindred and to house any significant populous shelter was required. Next would be permanent beast pens. Many of the creatures that marched to war alongside the Lizardmen were stubborn, vicious, ill tempered or all of the above. As much as the general entertained the idea of a Carnosaur pair set free in these woods he knew no good would come from it long term. It didn’t stop a toothy grin from forming on his savage face though.

Perhaps this new land wouldn’t be so bland afterall.

 

Meanwhile, in Lustria:

Untamed Wilds

The region known as the Old World was the largely the only part of the world that had remained much as the Old Ones had intended. The human realms of the Empire, Kislev, Bretonnia, Estalia and Tilea, and the scattered surviving Dwarf Holds were the few last bastions of civilisation in this dangerous region. To the west were the Dark Lands and Mountains of Mourn, swarming with Aberrations and the Wayward. The Mountains of Mourn themselves were the seat of the Orgres, children of the Old Ones who have strayed far from their intended place in the world.

To the South beyond the Black Mountains were the Border Princes; unsettled lawless human princedoms rife with banditry, treachery and greed. Further south still were the Badlands; an arid region dominated by dusty plains and dry grasslands and home to the largest number of Orcs and Goblins this side of the World’s Edge Mountains. It was this region that the mighty General Zpakatax was to subdue.

Aki-Pterixx however had a different agenda. He had been given his commands by Lord Mazdamundi, and he would fulfill his tasks as ordered.

The Son of Tepok’s journey started mundanely for a denizen of Lustria. A great journey south through the jungle to the river Amaxon. Such a voyage would take months, perhaps years for an untrained expedition of the younger races but for Aki-Pterixx and his host of Hexoatl it was mere weeks. The Lizardmen knew all the secret paths through the rainforests and the safe passages through the marshlands, and with such large a force the threat from predators was small.

Although a relatively easy march compared to those voyaging beyond the Lustrian borders it was not without its difficulty. Frequent skirmishes broke out between the Lizardmen and the various enemies lurking within the undergrowth. The fighting was a series of quick, violent affairs leaving no small mark on their surrounds. Forest Goblins, Ape-men, Skaven and tribes of primitive savages among others all felt the sting of Obsidinite blades and spears. The greater dangers were yet to come.

As the days passed and foes fell the host came upon some tributaries to the mighty Amaxon. The river was the lifeblood of Lustria, bringing water from the Spine of Sotek Mountains to the southern and eastern cites of the New World. Once they reached the river the legions of Hexoatl planned to travel south-east towards the volcanic islands of the Fuming Serpent and Spitting Serpent volcanoes – a sacred place to the followers of Chotec and Sotek alike. But Lustria is not a peaceful place, and even within their dominion the enemies of the Lizardmen seek to foil their plans.

As the army converged on a crossing point of the Amaxon they were waylaid by attackers of a new kind. Beams of crimson light shot out of the undergrowth on the opposite side of the river, scorching the terrain and scything through the foremost soldiers, mostly skinks. As the Lizardmen dispersed, seeking cover in the jungle a hail of arrows fell upon them causing further panic.

In the confusion of combat the front of the Lizardmen column had allowed it to be flanked. Javelins, blowpipe darts and arrows all fell upon the scattered host from the sides as more burning beams blasted the front from across the river. Human warriors, adorned in a fashion similar to the reptilian defenders rushed from the undergrowth. They were a threat well known but rarely seen. They were the Amazon warrior women and they were the enemy.

From his position atop a howdah mounted on a Stegadon Aki-Pterixx saw the battle unfold. He had never seen or heard of the Amazons before but he inherently knew of their history. They were one of the first human colonies in Lustria, guided by the Old Ones prior to their disappearance, and then the Slann afterwards. Eventually the Amazons turned from the Lizardmen, seeing them as unfit to carry on the Old Ones’ legacy and safeguard their relics. Most were exterminated in the following purge, but several small tribes and enclaves persisted, their access to powerful relics earning them a permanent place in the Lustrian wilds. It is the fall of the Amazons which made the establishment of Turochitan by Lord Merestar such a controversial endeavour.

Skink and Saurus commanders began barking orders at their subordinates. The broken and scattered ranks fell back into the main body of the column and fresh soldiers moved forwards, their movements perfectly co-ordinated on an instinctive level. The Son of Tepok watched the bloodshed with an air of aloofness. Amaxon guerrilla tactics countered by skirmishing Skinks and Chameleons. Terradon riders swooped through the forest canopy, dropping a hail of rocks, branches and javelins on the warriors across the river. With pinpoint precision the flying cavalry flung fireleeches into the undergrowth, igniting a roaring fire that cut off the enemy and herded them towards the rivers shoreline and into the open.

As the ranks of coldblooded warriors closed in the Amazons ranked up. Hundreds emerged from hiding in the jungle and formed an impressive battle line. Spears, swords and axes all almost identical to the ones held by the Lizardmen gleamed in the firelight cast from the opposite shore where the last of the long ranged support was being picked off by the Lizardmen flyers. The brutish Saurus, whipped into a battle frenzy by the brutal conflict, were posed to lunge headlong into the Amazon force. Instead of bracing themselves for the impact of the reptilian legion the ranks split to make way for a single woman, extravagantly garbed in bright cloth, vibrant feathers and daubed in war paint and tattoos that marked her out as a priestess.

“Parley!” the priestess yelled in crude High Saurian and threw down her club.

Aki-Pterixx deftly leapt down from his mount and glanced at the Skink Oracle that was accompanying the force. The representative of the Slaan was mounted on a legendary Troglodon, a rare and predatory beast matching the size of the larger Carnosaurs if not their ferocity. It was a sacred creature, only fitting that it would be present for negotiation.

The Saurus leader and Oracle approached the hundred or so remaining Amazons grouped in the clearing by the river. Despite their heavy losses they were still ferocious and defiant. Terradon riders had landed in the clearing as well, carrying captive warrior women and a cache of exotic weapons. When they reached the lone priestess it was her who spoke first.

“You trespass here,” her High Saurian was fluent enough, although coarsely spoken by Lizardmen standards. “Your kind is not welcome in our territories.”

“The lands belong to the Old Ones,” chattered the Skink from atop his mighty beast. “You attack their servants, you interfere with their plan. What we must do is written in the stars and the earth. Why do you hinder?”

“We are servants of the Old Ones as well. Rigg has shown us our part in the Plan, and that it is the First who stray, not us.”

“Rigg is an outcast and not revered. Her words are nothing and her plaques are lies. You steal the Old One’s gifts to us and stray from the path they set.”

“We PROTECT the relics of the Old Gods, not steal them! You barbarians squander them in warfare and forget their purpose through blind ritual.”

The Oracle retrieved one of the ornate staves that were the source of the burning beams of light and turned it over in his hands. The grip was made for a five fingered being. This was a relic not intended for use until the world was in balance and the Plan complete. Only then could such powerful devices be wielded by the Old Ones themselves against the great final battle against Chaos. That these upstart warmbloods kept them from their rightful owners was infuriating.

As his temper rose he felt another presence channel through him. His rage ebbed away as the will of the Slann took over. Mazdamundi’s telepathic voice rumbled through the minds of all present.

“Outcast children you wrong us. All lands of the Old Ones belong to the First. All lands are lands of the Old Ones. You claim to work in accordance to the Plan but you are wrong. Rigg was wrong to abandon her kin to foster you. Now you stand in the way of a crusade that will change the balance of power of this world, to take back what Chaos has claimed. For this the only fitting punishment is death.”

“No! We are only defending our homelands from you invaders,” cried the priestess. The gathered warriors gripped their weapons preparing for a renewed attack from the Lizardmen.

“This is folly,” the voice of Mazdamundi resounded.

Aki-Pterixx felt the invisible energies change. New power was pulsing from the Oracle and gathering in a vortex around the Saurus warrior. He could feel the pressure, sense the colours of the invisible winds, see the past present and future. He knew his task.

The priestess sensed something was amiss and gathered the white winds to her, forming a wall of light in front of her and her warriors. The Slaan’s irritation was palpable, and the winds were torn away from the human spellcaster by the Mage Lord’s unfathomable mastery of magic.

“Child of Tepok. End this.”

The swirling strands of magic around Aki-Pterixx turned dark almost instantly, the world around them was bathed in shadows. The Amazons saw the shadows take horrific humanoid shape, spectres of friends, family and fellow warriors fallen closed in around them, howling haunting accusations of blame and cries for vengeance. Through the shadows the Saurus emerged, purple plumage puffed up to give an air of immensity. The women gazed in horror as dark streaks of black magic congealed in a hurricane of shadows and dark lightning. He raised his claws and uttered a single word, then they knew no more.

The darkness receded instantly to reveal the aftermath of the spell. The remains were barely recognisable as human, merely mounds of gore and shattered bone. Only the occasional torn garment, soiled decoration, broken weapon or skull fragment betrayed its origin.

With the surge of magic abated the Lizardmen host formed up and began marching forwards again. Any valuable relics were salvaged from the ruined bodies and added to the hoard they brought with them. Aki-Pterixx climbed atop the Stegadon’s howdah again and surveyed the column. With a few barked orders they began crossing the river to continue their journey to the volcanic islands. There would be more blood before this was over, he was sure of it, but it was his destiny and he would not be denied it.

 

It's been a while, and the progression of the End Times has kinda ruined my intended story arc which is pretty annoying. On the plus side, it's motivated me to re-plan the adventures of my characters - which is pretty exciting to me!

So we continue our tale in the Bladespine Mountains:
Duel of Fates

Szeratops reeled from the impact of his opponent’s strike. He quickly regained his footing and raised his weapon – a black obsidinite imitation of Eternity Warden Chakax’s legendary Starstone Mace. It lacked the mystical properties of his fellow Eternity Warden’s weapon, but it held just as much weight and in the hands of a veteran it caused just as much damage.

Gor-Rok bellowed a vicious roar and redoubled his attack. The albino Saurus was marked for greatness by the Old Ones, and it showed in his ferocity and resilience. Hefting his enormous stone shield the Great White Lizard charged. There was little finesse in his technique, but like all Saurus this was adequately compensated for by instinct.

Szeratops sidestepped the charge, narrowly avoiding the impact of the heavy shield, and brought up his great weapon to fend off the follow up strike from Gor-Rok’s own ceremonial mace. The Eternity Warden reacted by lashing out with the weighted butt of his weapon, landing a solid hit to Gor-Rok’s shoulder. In the brief moment that the albino was thrown off-balance another strike crashed into his scarred chest, cracking ribs and forcing the wind from his lungs.

The uncanny toughness of the Stormhost’s champion was not to be underestimated. Before even attempting to catch his breath Gor-Rok lunged from his prone position and wrapped his crushing jaws around his opponent’s arm. Bone cracked, flesh tore, and warm blood spattered the ground. The pain was terrible, but like all Saurus Szeratops quickly overcame the shock of his injury and continued to fight.

A well placed tail strike lashed Gor-Rok’s face. In his primal frenzy he released his bite to snap at the tail. Szeratops took the opportunity to strike again and brought about his double handed weapon for a devastating overhead strike. He wasn’t quick enough and the albino raised his heavy shield. Such a strike would shatter or ruin a normal shield and at least break the arm, but the unearthly black stone shield weathered the attack with not even a scratch marring its surface.

The retaliation was swift and severe. Gor-Rok unleashed a powerful upwards strike with his shield smashing into the Eternity Warden’s throat and jaw, breaking teeth and bone and crushing his windpipe. The blow was followed up by a sideways swipe, crushing Szeratops’ ribs.

Both combatants had suffered severe injuries by any standard, but Szeratops knew he was at a disadvantage. There were many legends of Gor-Rok’s toughness and none of them unfounded. In a raw match of power the Eternity Warden was doomed to fail. His intellect, which was somewhat difficult to leverage while being constantly assaulted by his aggressor, was his only advantage. Fighting his every predatory instinct he shifted into a defensive stance and took stock of the situation.

The ground was flat and roughly even. All debris had been cleared away to make way for the ritual bout. Only the odd claw mark, spatter of blood and occasional shattered tooth marred the dusty ground. A wall of Saurus warriors formed a barrier between the fighters and their respective armies, excitable Skinks peering through whatever gaps in the shield wall they could find – some of the braver ones even climbing on top of the Saurus themselves. The sky was overcast as it normally was this far into the mountains, the gloom broken only by a few patches of vibrant blue.

A fanged grimace spread across Szeratops’ maw, an expression as close to a grin as a Saurus could physically muster. He shifted his weight as the next attack struck home, using the force of the painful blow to swiftly move around his opponent. As Gor-Rok spun round to face the Eternity Warden Szeratops glanced quickly at the sky and shuffled painfully back a few steps.

The feral glint in the albino’s pink eyes told Szeatops that his foe believed victory to be his. Gor-Rok coiled to attack, raising his heavy shield up as a weapon ready to deliver the deciding blow. At that very moment a gap in the clouds passed in front of the sun. Chotec’s glorious light and warmth bathed his chosen warrior. The warmth of the sun raised his spirit, but it was the light that was his greatest weapon.

Using the reflective surface of his polished golden breastplate Szeratops turned the light against his rival. Naturally vulnerable to brightness, the albino Saurus’ eyes were weakened still by acclimatising to the near-twilight levels of darkness of the mountains. He flinched away from the shining figure of the Eternity Warden and at that moment the battle was decided. Gor-Rok did not even see the blow that broke his neck and shattered his shoulder.

The clouds covered the sun once more and with the glaring light faded a sombre scene met the Stormhost and Hexoatl’s soldiers. Gor-Rok, the Great White Lizard, marked for greatness by the Old Ones slid slowly to the ground. The powerful arm that once hoisted a great stone shield now hung limp and useless. His neck was bent at an impossible angle and his body had stopped responding to his thoughts. All he had left was the ragged breathing and feeble heartbeat that was just barely keeping him alive.

Szeratops felt no elation in victory. There was no glory in smiting the great champions of the Old Ones. He felt a great weight on his shoulders: if Gor-rok died then he had hurt the Lizardmen’s cause so much because of it. In the end though, the task set before him by Mazdamundi could end the war against Chaos. Forever.

“Stormhost,” he spoke sternly. “Your champion has fallen. Leave.”

It was the Herald that stepped forwards, again speaking with the voice of Cuaqtectzin.

“We shall uphold your victory but you make a grave error in what you are doing here. The most ancient works of the Old Ones must not be disturbed!”

“I know the truth. I know what comes,” Szeratops spoke with a tone of sadness and fear that would be lost on the other Saurus. “The Old Ones will never return if we do not do as we are commanded.”

“Truer words have never been spoken Eternity Warden. Anathema comes for us now, the world will be rent apart by its fury. Lustria will need all its children if we are to survive to bring about order to this world once more.”

“And that is why you must go, and why I must stay. Your champion has fallen,” he repeated. “Leave.”

 

Thanks Scalenex! That's high praise coming from such a prolific fluff writer as yourself

I'm a bit at a crossroads at the moment as to whether to go down the "100 years earlier" or the "present day" path. It really depends if the continent of Lustria still physically exists (albeit in a devastated state) or whether it ordered the Ulthuan special with an extra large seawater. I've only read Nagash so far and spoiled the rest of End Times for myself by reading forums and listening to podcasts, neither of which really give the complete picture.

I'm hoping for "Destroyed but still here". I have some cool post-apocalypse visions of Lustria floating around my noggin which could mesh in with my original story with a bit of wordsmithery.