Carnasaur
Carnikang
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Topic has been converted to house my Short Story Competition Entries. Easy, as there were only two.
Call of the Stars (Jan-Feb 2017 Entry)
Alone in the Dark (Jan-Feb 2020 Entry)
Call of the Stars (Jan-Feb 2017 Entry)
(Edited Version)
It was warm where it floated, much like he remembered from his first days. It was good, simple, and sublime. The feeling seemed to last an eternity, yet also an instant something jerked on the world, or was it his being? The warm surroundings disappeared, every light and feeling around him seeming to fall into a whirlpool of color.
The world stopped with a jarring thud, and was black. Something tickled the senses, his nose? A rough surface, his scales? Gingerly the being opened his eyes, the golden orbs watery as they caught light and darkness for the first time, or was it the last? A rumble followed from a broad chest, a growl of both frustration and pain. Claws reached for his throbbing skull, and felt something warm yet hard like stone, touch his crested temple. Looking to the object, eyes saw an ornate claw, or one within a stone gauntlet. Jerking at a sudden pain in it's mind, voices filled his skull. Dozens of them penetrating and worming around within.
It moves. It lives. It thinks and reasons with its surroundings.
Is he as he was?
We shall see. We must test it.
As the others were?
Our hopes lie with him. The test must be administered.
Will we remember this one correctly?
Focus, we cannot try again.
The Anathema must fall, we will try again.
Standing slowly, the being stood and surveyed his surroundings through bleary eyes. A chamber tall and round, a single shaft of light piercing the apex. Many shadowy forms resided in the darkness outside of the light, though he could not tell if their were a dozen or a thousand. His mind was invaded again, as a bestial roar suddenly split the chamber.
Fight, prove yourself, were the thundering thoughts from more powerful minds that rocked his own; you are the last, the only one who may find our hope.
Moments later a massive reptilian beast exploded from the shadows, scales of fiery red, with eyes of hunger and claws of obsidian. Something awoke within, the awoken one charging the beast and striking at it with his stone gauntlet before breaking away and moving to strike again and again.
Snapping jaws, scything claws, and a crushing tail whipped about in a whirlwind melee, the two beings vying for the upper-hand. The beast roared and hissed, using it's greater bulk and muscular body to bully the smaller scaled biped. A silent and grim figure was a stark contrast, ducking beneath death laced claws, and leaping over a whipping tail of fury. All the while his mind raced as a feeling crept into it. This creature was his, it was one with him.
The feeling persisted, niggling at the back of consciousness, while the two continued their deadly dance. The Slann looked on, impassive but for their eyes. Here and there a widening eye, a nervous twitch, or a hopeful glance to another shadowy observer.
The battle came to a head in an instant. One of the tree-trunk legs shot out as the awoken ducked beneath the beast, and the combatant was sent flying. The room inhaled sharply.
The floor met his scaled side hard, and he slid on something wet. Moments turned into an eternity as golden orbs snapped open to see a gaping maw mere inches away. Slann clenched their webbed hands on stone seats, the sudden emotional turmoil surging about the room. Yet unable to touch the two in the light.
The beast's jaws would have clamped shut and torn him apart had they not been stopped by his own strength. One claw held the crushing bottom of the monster's jaw, while the stone-gauntlet held the huge fangs of the top at bay. The titanic forces between the two surged and muscles bulged. Reaching within, the warrior felt for a reserve of strength, a last reservoir of might. A name sprung forth instead, and his mind focused on it.
Grymloq
A mighty heave and the beast was thrown to it's side, stunned by the impact. Assaulted by a sudden mental calling, it scrabbled on the stone-floor. The one that had bested it glared down into it's orbs of fire with those of molten gold, wills doing battle as fiercely as their physical struggle had been. It relaxed slowly after a short time, recognizing the greater predator. A relieved wave of emotion settled throughout the chamber as the beast was cowed.
Good. You are worthy, unlike the other iterations. Only now did the smell of rent flesh and an odd ozone flavor tickle the tongue. Skin, scales, bones even, littered the floor, some glittering oddly in the light. Remains of those who could not conquer part of themselves, mere fragments. One caught his eye, a stone piece that looked as if it had come from his left arm.
His gauntlet was whole.
"What is this?" the voice came from his own throat, raspy and unused for what might have been millennia. There was a cold feeling deep in his belly, something truly alien amid all of this unfamiliarity. Was it fear?
The beginning of the Old One's vengeance, the beginning of Hope for their shattered Great Plan.This string of thoughts echoed more powerfully, coming from one mind in particular. It was shrouded, but it was familiar and ancient all at once.
"And I?" the words echoed in the chamber, the memories and being of the one who asked confused and jumbled in his own mind. He knew, but also did not know himself. What was he, and what was his purpose? The thought was plucked from his mind, the same 'voice' responding among others.
The Slayer of Anathema.
Lord of Beasts.
Herald of the First.
You are the Last Defender of Xhotl, and the First Spear of the Starmasters. You are "Kroq-Gar" the words rolled off the lips of every Slann in the chamber, and even the saurus himself spoke, his being and purpose suddenly clear. His mind unclouded now, the Old-Blood hefted a spear that materialized in his hand, ornate and shimmering with power, while the gauntlet that covered his left claw flared with the light of a million suns.
"I am the First Spear of the Starmasters, the Vengeance of the Old Ones. I will not fail in my task." His voice was cold and hard, filled with conviction as the massive Carnosaur roared along side it's eternal rider.
It was warm where it floated, much like he remembered from his first days. It was good, simple, and sublime. The feeling seemed to last an eternity, yet also an instant something jerked on the world, or was it his being? The warm surroundings disappeared, every light and feeling around him seeming to fall into a whirlpool of color.
The world stopped with a jarring thud, and was black. Something tickled the senses, his nose? A rough surface, his scales? Gingerly the being opened his eyes, the golden orbs watery as they caught light and darkness for the first time, or was it the last? A rumble followed from a broad chest, a growl of both frustration and pain. Claws reached for his throbbing skull, and felt something warm yet hard like stone, touch his crested temple. Looking to the object, eyes saw an ornate claw, or one within a stone gauntlet. Jerking at a sudden pain in it's mind, voices filled his skull. Dozens of them penetrating and worming around within.
It moves. It lives. It thinks and reasons with its surroundings.
Is he as he was?
We shall see. We must test it.
As the others were?
Our hopes lie with him. The test must be administered.
Will we remember this one correctly?
Focus, we cannot try again.
The Anathema must fall, we will try again.
Standing slowly, the being stood and surveyed his surroundings through bleary eyes. A chamber tall and round, a single shaft of light piercing the apex. Many shadowy forms resided in the darkness outside of the light, though he could not tell if their were a dozen or a thousand. His mind was invaded again, as a bestial roar suddenly split the chamber.
Fight, prove yourself, were the thundering thoughts from more powerful minds that rocked his own; you are the last, the only one who may find our hope.
Moments later a massive reptilian beast exploded from the shadows, scales of fiery red, with eyes of hunger and claws of obsidian. Something awoke within, the awoken one charging the beast and striking at it with his stone gauntlet before breaking away and moving to strike again and again.
Snapping jaws, scything claws, and a crushing tail whipped about in a whirlwind melee, the two beings vying for the upper-hand. The beast roared and hissed, using it's greater bulk and muscular body to bully the smaller scaled biped. A silent and grim figure was a stark contrast, ducking beneath death laced claws, and leaping over a whipping tail of fury. All the while his mind raced as a feeling crept into it. This creature was his, it was one with him.
The feeling persisted, niggling at the back of consciousness, while the two continued their deadly dance. The Slann looked on, impassive but for their eyes. Here and there a widening eye, a nervous twitch, or a hopeful glance to another shadowy observer.
The battle came to a head in an instant. One of the tree-trunk legs shot out as the awoken ducked beneath the beast, and the combatant was sent flying. The room inhaled sharply.
The floor met his scaled side hard, and he slid on something wet. Moments turned into an eternity as golden orbs snapped open to see a gaping maw mere inches away. Slann clenched their webbed hands on stone seats, the sudden emotional turmoil surging about the room. Yet unable to touch the two in the light.
The beast's jaws would have clamped shut and torn him apart had they not been stopped by his own strength. One claw held the crushing bottom of the monster's jaw, while the stone-gauntlet held the huge fangs of the top at bay. The titanic forces between the two surged and muscles bulged. Reaching within, the warrior felt for a reserve of strength, a last reservoir of might. A name sprung forth instead, and his mind focused on it.
Grymloq
A mighty heave and the beast was thrown to it's side, stunned by the impact. Assaulted by a sudden mental calling, it scrabbled on the stone-floor. The one that had bested it glared down into it's orbs of fire with those of molten gold, wills doing battle as fiercely as their physical struggle had been. It relaxed slowly after a short time, recognizing the greater predator. A relieved wave of emotion settled throughout the chamber as the beast was cowed.
Good. You are worthy, unlike the other iterations. Only now did the smell of rent flesh and an odd ozone flavor tickle the tongue. Skin, scales, bones even, littered the floor, some glittering oddly in the light. Remains of those who could not conquer part of themselves, mere fragments. One caught his eye, a stone piece that looked as if it had come from his left arm.
His gauntlet was whole.
"What is this?" the voice came from his own throat, raspy and unused for what might have been millennia. There was a cold feeling deep in his belly, something truly alien amid all of this unfamiliarity. Was it fear?
The beginning of the Old One's vengeance, the beginning of Hope for their shattered Great Plan.This string of thoughts echoed more powerfully, coming from one mind in particular. It was shrouded, but it was familiar and ancient all at once.
"And I?" the words echoed in the chamber, the memories and being of the one who asked confused and jumbled in his own mind. He knew, but also did not know himself. What was he, and what was his purpose? The thought was plucked from his mind, the same 'voice' responding among others.
The Slayer of Anathema.
Lord of Beasts.
Herald of the First.
You are the Last Defender of Xhotl, and the First Spear of the Starmasters. You are "Kroq-Gar" the words rolled off the lips of every Slann in the chamber, and even the saurus himself spoke, his being and purpose suddenly clear. His mind unclouded now, the Old-Blood hefted a spear that materialized in his hand, ornate and shimmering with power, while the gauntlet that covered his left claw flared with the light of a million suns.
"I am the First Spear of the Starmasters, the Vengeance of the Old Ones. I will not fail in my task." His voice was cold and hard, filled with conviction as the massive Carnosaur roared along side it's eternal rider.
Alone in the Dark (Jan-Feb 2020 Entry)
The world around him was cold. A chill that had never penetrated his scales, much less crept under his hide, now permeated his bones. The cold was not the only feeling that touched the great beast.
Eyes slowly opening, the creature stood up from a jagged bed of rocks. A wetness surrounded him, and dribbled off of his wide shoulders. Blurry images of other scaled forms could be seen in a poorly lit chamber, scattered about the water filled pools. A massive clawed hand reached up from his side and cradled his pounding skull. Another unfamiliar sensation, the rush of blood to the great creature's brain brought confusion. Yet with it came a dim clarity, as his senses sharpened with the sudden pain in his skull.
A sweet and repulsive smell filled his nose, the pool at his feet sloshing against his ankles as he took a step back from one of the forms. It too was cold, like he had been, but it was unmoving. Bloody. It looked like one of his spawn-kin. The dots connected themselves slowly, as his memory returned. They were his spawn-kin. His clawed hand moved away from his skull, the wetness there deep crimson against his dark blue-green scales. A bracelet of gold hung from his wrist, glyphs hammered into it. His name, given to him by one of the small ones. The beast rumbled low, reaching out and prodding one of the little bodies. Not one moved of it's own accord as he searched them. His reverberating growl turned to a weak whine. Even the greatest of his spawn-kin, the one with a red crest, lay atop a small rocky platform at the edge of the pool. This one's heart had been pulled from the chest. Another low growl followed as he turned from his slain kin, looking for an exit from this nightmarish place.
One was not but a few dozen strides away, on the stony platform that Red Crest was laying on. With a snap of his jaws and a few experimental slaps of his tail in the water, the great beast headed for the tunnel entrance. It too was dark, cold and wet. Streaks of red could be seen along the tunnel floor, leading from the pools behind him and into the darkness before him. Another smell filled the tunnel, one that made saliva pool in his mouth and his muscles tense for a hunt. Rats. Their musk was thick in the air.
-----------------------------------------------------------
"Why do we wait-camp here? Scale-things are dead-dead...." muttered a ratman as he stood guard at the edge of a ragged camp. A toothpick of a spear was clutched in one paw lazily, the other holding a shield made of rusted iron and rotten wood. To his left, was another ratman, almost identical were it not for the bandage around his head where an eye would be.
"Clawlord Skagllesnirt spoke-squeaked. Think-thinks there are more in the tunnels. Scale-things are tricksy, he say-squeak all the time." the other replied, seeming bored, though his one good eye did eye the other skaven contemptuously.
The first scoffed and kicked a rock against the tunnel wall that they stood at. Behind them, the camp was a mess of green sickly light and noise. Situated at a crossroads of three separate tunnels, the camp was supposedly more defensible this way.
"Skagllesnirt say-squeak this, say-squeak that...." it mocked the other's reedy voice. This continued for a few moments more before the two were brawling with knives.
It was then that a massive pale grey and blue shape came barreling from the darkness. Eyes bright yellow and gleaming with rage. No roar came as its massive jaws closed around the first skaven's head. The second was frozen in fear, seeing half of his compatriot disappear in a bloody mess. Opening his mouth to call for help in a shrill plea, the vermin only got half a word out before the shape twisted violently. A meaty tail smacking him to the side, cutting off his words. Colliding with the tunnel wall, the wind was knocked from the small ratman's lungs. It slumped, dazed, before a giant clawed foot kicked his head against the stone. Blood, brains, and skull-fragments splattered up the wall, touching the ceiling nearly twenty feet up.
Despite the violence, no rat in the camp seemed to notice. The great scaled shape grabbed both bodies and dragged them back down the tunnel. It hustled along quickly and as silently as he could. All the while, the great crocodilian reveled at the warmth of meat in his belly. The blood may have tasted of corruption and the meat stringy, but it was meat nonetheless.
It was a few minutes of travel back down the tunnel before the warmth seemed to seep away and the great one stuffed the other half of the first skaven into his gullet. Stopping at a branching tunnel, he squeezed into it. It was a much tighter fit, but it served as a hole to hide in while he ate and recollected his dim thoughts. There in the darkened corner of the small tunnel, he looked once more at his bracelet, trying to fathom the writing. He remembered being called something, but what it was escaped him. The memories before awakening were fuzzy, blurred. There had been a reason to come into these tunnels. A reason that he could not fathom. Yet he remembered it had to do with the stars. The thought brought with it a longing, to see the stars, to reach them. Looking to the ceiling of the cave, his crocodilian snout touched the stone there. The headless corpse in his clawed hand was set down, and he too sat.
There were many others, he realized. The scent of the camp had been repugnant, but it was not the only source of intriguing smells. Others different from the ratman stench could be detected coming from many more small branching tunnels.
One thought pressed against the thick skull of the beast. He was alone. Far from home, and without a memory to guide him. Absently pulling the corpse to his mouth, he tore off an arm and swallowed it whole. The warmth relaxed him enough to make him comfortable against the rough rock. The pain was receding in his skull now, and the cold was retreating from his bones. Perhaps once he had done more hunting, things would be more clear.
Eyes slowly opening, the creature stood up from a jagged bed of rocks. A wetness surrounded him, and dribbled off of his wide shoulders. Blurry images of other scaled forms could be seen in a poorly lit chamber, scattered about the water filled pools. A massive clawed hand reached up from his side and cradled his pounding skull. Another unfamiliar sensation, the rush of blood to the great creature's brain brought confusion. Yet with it came a dim clarity, as his senses sharpened with the sudden pain in his skull.
A sweet and repulsive smell filled his nose, the pool at his feet sloshing against his ankles as he took a step back from one of the forms. It too was cold, like he had been, but it was unmoving. Bloody. It looked like one of his spawn-kin. The dots connected themselves slowly, as his memory returned. They were his spawn-kin. His clawed hand moved away from his skull, the wetness there deep crimson against his dark blue-green scales. A bracelet of gold hung from his wrist, glyphs hammered into it. His name, given to him by one of the small ones. The beast rumbled low, reaching out and prodding one of the little bodies. Not one moved of it's own accord as he searched them. His reverberating growl turned to a weak whine. Even the greatest of his spawn-kin, the one with a red crest, lay atop a small rocky platform at the edge of the pool. This one's heart had been pulled from the chest. Another low growl followed as he turned from his slain kin, looking for an exit from this nightmarish place.
One was not but a few dozen strides away, on the stony platform that Red Crest was laying on. With a snap of his jaws and a few experimental slaps of his tail in the water, the great beast headed for the tunnel entrance. It too was dark, cold and wet. Streaks of red could be seen along the tunnel floor, leading from the pools behind him and into the darkness before him. Another smell filled the tunnel, one that made saliva pool in his mouth and his muscles tense for a hunt. Rats. Their musk was thick in the air.
-----------------------------------------------------------
"Why do we wait-camp here? Scale-things are dead-dead...." muttered a ratman as he stood guard at the edge of a ragged camp. A toothpick of a spear was clutched in one paw lazily, the other holding a shield made of rusted iron and rotten wood. To his left, was another ratman, almost identical were it not for the bandage around his head where an eye would be.
"Clawlord Skagllesnirt spoke-squeaked. Think-thinks there are more in the tunnels. Scale-things are tricksy, he say-squeak all the time." the other replied, seeming bored, though his one good eye did eye the other skaven contemptuously.
The first scoffed and kicked a rock against the tunnel wall that they stood at. Behind them, the camp was a mess of green sickly light and noise. Situated at a crossroads of three separate tunnels, the camp was supposedly more defensible this way.
"Skagllesnirt say-squeak this, say-squeak that...." it mocked the other's reedy voice. This continued for a few moments more before the two were brawling with knives.
It was then that a massive pale grey and blue shape came barreling from the darkness. Eyes bright yellow and gleaming with rage. No roar came as its massive jaws closed around the first skaven's head. The second was frozen in fear, seeing half of his compatriot disappear in a bloody mess. Opening his mouth to call for help in a shrill plea, the vermin only got half a word out before the shape twisted violently. A meaty tail smacking him to the side, cutting off his words. Colliding with the tunnel wall, the wind was knocked from the small ratman's lungs. It slumped, dazed, before a giant clawed foot kicked his head against the stone. Blood, brains, and skull-fragments splattered up the wall, touching the ceiling nearly twenty feet up.
Despite the violence, no rat in the camp seemed to notice. The great scaled shape grabbed both bodies and dragged them back down the tunnel. It hustled along quickly and as silently as he could. All the while, the great crocodilian reveled at the warmth of meat in his belly. The blood may have tasted of corruption and the meat stringy, but it was meat nonetheless.
It was a few minutes of travel back down the tunnel before the warmth seemed to seep away and the great one stuffed the other half of the first skaven into his gullet. Stopping at a branching tunnel, he squeezed into it. It was a much tighter fit, but it served as a hole to hide in while he ate and recollected his dim thoughts. There in the darkened corner of the small tunnel, he looked once more at his bracelet, trying to fathom the writing. He remembered being called something, but what it was escaped him. The memories before awakening were fuzzy, blurred. There had been a reason to come into these tunnels. A reason that he could not fathom. Yet he remembered it had to do with the stars. The thought brought with it a longing, to see the stars, to reach them. Looking to the ceiling of the cave, his crocodilian snout touched the stone there. The headless corpse in his clawed hand was set down, and he too sat.
There were many others, he realized. The scent of the camp had been repugnant, but it was not the only source of intriguing smells. Others different from the ratman stench could be detected coming from many more small branching tunnels.
One thought pressed against the thick skull of the beast. He was alone. Far from home, and without a memory to guide him. Absently pulling the corpse to his mouth, he tore off an arm and swallowed it whole. The warmth relaxed him enough to make him comfortable against the rough rock. The pain was receding in his skull now, and the cold was retreating from his bones. Perhaps once he had done more hunting, things would be more clear.
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. Anyway, I really liked how the kroxigor’s personal struggle for clarity was steadily built up, but I found the ending too sudden. The conclusion just never espoused as much emotions and feelings as the rest of the story did.
