This was one was tied in first place with
@thedarkfourth in the April/May Short Story contest. I really enjoyed writing it, so hopefully you enjoy reading it
THE RITUAL
Year 1536, Temple City of Hexoatl
Ca'raag stood in the topmost chamber of the pyramid before the great Tezca’coatl, Mage Priest of the Temple of Chotec.
Glowing stones lit the chamber, giving an even, bright light through the space and causing the numerous gold artefacts surrounding the palanquin on which the lord sat to sparkle like miniature suns themselves. Ca'raag was unintimidated, this wealth meant nothing to him as a warrior-born. Even after having trekked upwards through the numerous levels of the structure, passing monuments to the Lizardmen's glory and priceless treasures. Standing almost in the center of the floor’s inlaid golden symbol of Chotec, the Sun God, he stood at ease waiting for his lord's command.
He just wished he knew why he was there.
The Slann regarded him, large eyes blinking slowly. A skink priest stood to his right with scroll and quill to record any utterance.
He felt a pressure on his mind and reality...
shifted.
Bounding up the stairs, he weaved to one side to avoid the crashing blow and heaved his double-handed sword horizontally through the daemon's body. The runes on the obsidian sword glowed brightly, showing the intricately devised runes for a split second against the black stone and the daemon exploded into a mist of glowing particles.
Without pause he hurled himself up the remaining stairs. The daemons had almost reached the Eternity Chamber! A bright, burning rage filled him as he rounded the next corner. He would let no harm come to his lord. Ahead, blood-red daemons turned from a stone door set into the end of the corridor, their blades weeping blood that vanished into sparkling motes as it reached the floor.
Roaring his defiance he crashed into the beasts, smoting left and right. They were no match for his skill with the blade. One’s head was split in two, its body dissolving. Another daemon’s arm ripped from its body with his off-hand even as his sword impaled the last. As the ectoplasmic remains dripped from his sword, he looked up to find his worst fears confirmed. The Chamber’s door stood open and a red-light flickered from beyond.
Screaming Chotec's name, feeling the god's fire fill him as it did all true believers, he burst into the room.
A nightmare.
The Slann's skink attendants had been torn asunder, rib cages opened and hearts torn out. Their blood covered the walls and sacred gold sunbursts adorning the chamber. The Slann himself was encased in a coruscating, protective shield, but was being pressed to the floor by the assault of a huge, winged figure of red and black. Its whip and axe, runes smouldering in red upon its surface, struck mighty blows against the shield and even as he watched the mage's shield shrank to within inches of its face.
He took a breath. Even his rage-filled mind could see this would be his end. Committing his soul to He Who Brings Fire, he charged forwards even as the beast's dog-headed, snarling visage turned towards him.
Their weapons clashed, sparks flying through the chamber and blows were exchanged quick as lightning. One of the monster's strikes opened a large wound on his leg, even as he scored a heavy blow to it's midriff in return. Red ichor dripped from the wound, but its counter-attack smashed him from his feet, his blade flying from his grasp.
Forcing himself up, he almost fell as he put weight on his wounded leg. Bellowing his defiance, he staggered forwards to rake the beast with claw and tooth until it’s axe head buried itself in his chest. Overwhelmed by pain, he dropped to the floor as the beast loomed over him, seemingly unaffected by the gaping hole in its side.
As the huge, vermillion claws grasped him, he struggled to snap and bite, to inflict some kind of pain before he expired. The beast grasped his torso and dug its claws into the gaping chest wound, wracking his body with pain. The beast bunched its muscles as it prepared to splay his ribcage open.
A light built to a rapid crescendo behind the monstrosity, building in intensity until the world was consumed in white. A scream seemed to echo from far away, but of frustration rather than pain.
It took several minutes for his sight to return, but along with sight came feeling. Agony clouded his thoughts. The beast, though banished, had torn open his ribcage and his lifeblood fled him.
In his last moments he looked up and found himself face to face with the Slann. Looking into his eyes, an understanding passed between them. Knowing his lord was safe, he left. To find his place in the eternal sun.
Like he had been told, his spirit joined a stream of light like a spiritual beam of sunlight. Eventually, a ball of bright light hung before him. And he embraced it.
Ca'raag shook his head. What had
that been? As like waking from a dream, all details slipped away from him like a Skink disappearing into a stream. Some kind of battle? The last of the details went, leaving him only with a sense of loss.
The Skink Priest spoke.
"You are to be honoured, Ca'raag. You will carry these sacred implements into battle and bring ruin to those who oppose the Great Plan."
Befuddled, Ca'raag took the proffered obsidian blade and golden-studded armour. "Please inform the Great One that I am honoured and will gladly enact the will of the Old Ones, but... Why me?"
Wordlessly, the Skink Priest came forwards and, reaching up, took him by the elbow guiding him to back to entrance, Ca'raag looked back at the Slann but he had turned back to regard the large, bejewelled orb in the back wall and paid him no more mind.
Year -903, Temple City of Hexoatl:
Hamath reverently lit the pyre of his beloved general, Ca'raag. The Old Blood's body lay on top of the pyre at the very pinnacle of the main Ziggurat of the complex.
How fitting, he thought to himself as the flames grew and finally hid the body from view,
to be consumed by flames like you were consumed by the fire of life inside you.
Hamath turned to the assembled Old Bloods and fellow Scar-Veterans who had fought with Ca'raag. For some of them it had been centuries of brotherhood and camaraderie. Pushing down his own emotions, he steeled himself for the final step of the ceremony.
"HE WHO LIVES WITH FLAMES INSIDE", he intoned, roaring voice echoing across the plaza, "LIVES FOREVER IN THE SUN!"
As one, all present bowed their heads. Their grief hidden from each other's eyes.
Below them, in the uppermost chamber of the Ziggurat, Tezca’coatl watched the proceedings through the eyes of his Skink Priest. A single tear coursed down his face as his features slowly transitioned from grief through to determination.
Turning, he regarded the large orb depicting the God Chotec's eternal sun. Raising his arms, he let the winds of magic flow through into the sphere. Runes sparked to life across its surface, with a silver shimmering light seeming to blossom from its bottom up to a point two-thirds to the top. It was almost full, enough that it was appropriate to start the ritual.
Nodding to himself, Tezca’coatl increased the flow of magic into the orb. Gradually brightening, the orb became an incandescent circle as it tapped into the ley lines that the city was built over. The light built in intensity and then seemed to fire downwards in a bolt of energy.
So it begins again... he thought.
Year -920, Temple City of Hexoatl:
Xara’la stood at attention. Wondering what in his short career had earned him the honor of a reception with the Mage Priest. He wasn't intimidated by the surroundings as nothing glamorous could intimidate a warrior born.
He just didn't know why he was there.
As he looked up into the eyes of the Mage Priest, reality...
shifted.
Bounding up the stairs, he weaved to one side to avoid the crashing blow and heaved his double-handed obsidian sword horizontally through the daemon's body...
o0o
The doors closed with a dull thump behind him.
Scratching his head, he looked down at the golden studded armour and large, black obsidian blade. Somehow after his bizarre daydream, the interview had ended abruptly with the Skink Priest proclaiming that he would bring honor to Children of the Old Ones and presented him the items.
No matter what he said, the Skink Priest had refused to answer why and the Mage Priest had already moved on to other things. He had been ushered from the room and now stood alone.
Wondering at his luck, he set off at a rapid pace. His spawn-brother Cwa’tha would never believe he had just been gifted this magnificent armour and weapon.
Year -457, Temple City of Hexoatl
Heads bowed in sorrow, the Saurus phalanx entered the outer limits of the Temple City. Although victors in the recent conquest, with the loss of their leader it felt like defeat.
A Skink Priest met them on the outskirts. "Did you bring the armour and sword?"
Ula’thur, now the ranking officer of the unit, wordlessly nodded and handed the items to the Skink. He gave no thought to using the items himself, it would only serve to prolong the grief as he would be forever reminded of his Old Blood and friend.
The very pinnacle of a follower of Chotec, the remainder of the strike force owed their lives to him. The battle had been all but won, until the last of the cursed rat-men had enacted a foul ritual and brought a Vermin Lord into the world. The battle lines had been ripped to pieces by the Daemon’s surprise assault. It looked like there was no stopping the thing, until Xara’la had roared his defiance and charged the creature. Even as it struck fatal wounds upon him, the Old Blood had first lanced his sword through the beasts heart and then with tooth and claw ripped its head from its shoulders.
The battle had been won, but at great cost.
Steeling himself, Ula’thur turned back to his comrades and gestured towards the distant central pyramid. There could be nothing but the highest burial honor for their general. Immolation atop the temple of Chotec.
o0o
The Skink Priest entered the chamber and paced across the golden sunburst set in the floor. He didn't even look at the Mage Priest, who sat staring at the golden, sunlike orb.
Hefting the sword, he placed it in the statue's hand and lifted the armour over it's head. Standing back, he adjusted the armour until it sat perfectly. Then he turned and sat to wait.
Eventually, his master stirred.
"Zilith."
"I have returned master, the sword and armour are secured."
"Good. The orb is full now so the ritual can be enacted. Go and make exact note of those that emerge from the spawning pools today. I want you to watch them closely over the next few years and watch for one-"
"Who shows fire, passion and promise. Yes Great One, I remember."
With that Zilith left the chamber, leaving the Lord to his contemplations. He knew that he would sleep again, as the ritual to bring the Saurus back through the ley lines was very taxing.
Lord Tezca’coatl watched the doors close behind the Skink Priest.
Standing, he turned towards the statue. He had had it commissioned centuries ago after his most trusted protector and friend had given his life for him. The likeness was uncanny, but that was the benefit of being able to give the Skink artisan the exact mental picture of how the warrior had looked.
The statue, especially with the sword and armour, was eerily life-like. It's entire countenance speaking of passion and fire.
"Soon, old friend," the Slann whispered, "soon we will meet again."
Turning back to the sacred sun artifact, he braced himself and channeled his full might through the orb. The ritual culminating with a blast of light vanishing downwards.
o0o
The lesser Skink Priests followed Zilith into the underground spawning chamber of the temple. As they entered the space, the pools, normally perfectly tranquil and dark, were already churning and glowing as eldritch powers stirred the depths of the liquids. One by one, Saurus climbed steadily from the waters to be met and blessed by the attending priests.
The priests carried out their blessings in a workmanlike fashion, rapidly blessing all 300 warriors that clambered from the pools. Their curious questions about their high priest’s ability to predict the spawnings had long since been extinguished after repeatedly being ignored. Now they simply appreciated the efficiency by which they could perform their duties.
Blessed, the 300 warriors were led from the chamber into their barracks beyond, their part in this phase of the Great Plan now begun.
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