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The Great Plan

Started by Fhanados, May 17, 2013, 07:36:29 AM

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Fhanados

Hi all,

This is a little piece I whipped up at work. It represents the beginning of my Lizardmen army. I aspire to make this army my most fleshed out in terms of background, army composition, character and models. Other than buying models (of which I have many) this is my first step towards my ultimate army. Without further aduie I give you the beginnings of the greatest events to rock the (my) Warhammer world.

The Beginning (formerly Dark Origins)
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 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.


I've tried to keep it in a kind of third person perspective with a heavy focus on the main character. I really want to convey the otherworldly mindset of the Saurus (especially this one in particular, he's special!). Any comments and critisicm is appreciated. I know there's some amazing writers on this forum, and really look forward to some feedback.

BigToof

Neat intro!
Really have always liked Lizardmen, and I think your story works well with what's been established.

Love to see how this pans out.

Best,
-BT
BigToof Points:

Cammerz: 8
Waaaghpower: 1
The Man They Call Jayne: 3
Mabbz: 6
Archon Sharrek: 3

LinnScarlett

Oh, very very atmospheric! I really like how you captured that surreal feeling, something I have been recently tangling with in writing too. It has a very... mythical feeling to it, so if that is what you are going for, you should pat yourself on the back for a little while - very well done.

I think there is only small occasions where it momentarily flags a little, mostly around his actual wakening when he opens his eyes, at least to my feel (as compared to the tone and flow of the rest of the text). It might be in the fact that your sentences grow shorter for a while, before growing longer once more. Call it painting the fourth wall, but long sentences tend to give this protracted, flowing feeling to text.

Also, there is some tiny typo's/missed words here and there, but that happens to the best of us - especially on such a writer unfriendly medium as the text-input-box of a forum.  :shifty:

Oh - and perhaps consider some extra commas; I had a few moments where the (seeming) lack of one caused me to trip over the sentence. That's all I can think of for now. Again - well done, please write more! You clearly do it very well.  :D
I need more time to do the Emperor's work!

You can read my stuff on 2S's Fluff and Stories.

Or, you can come visit my author page on Archive of Our Own. WARNING: NC-17

Fhanados

Thank you both! I really appreciate the feedback, especially of two of the most amazing storytellers on the forum!

After re-reading it a few times I completely get where you're coming from Linn. At some points while writing this I was a bit mentally worn out (I done it bit by bit over the duration of my work day, so my brain was fried from work around midday :() and my creative brain juices weren't flowing as well. When I get a chance to do rewrite I'll take into account what you have said.

Anyway I have huge plans for my Lizardmen. They're the army that got me into the hobby in the first place and I hope to have some great battles once I actually paint them up.

LinnScarlett

That's great to hear - and I know how the brain-frying goes. I had the same with 'For Whom The Bell Tolls', which I posted just earlier to this forum. I've worked on and off on it the past weeks, and never seemed to get it quite right! Most of the things I post here have already been endlessly revised and re-read by myself, and sometimes by friends too. There's no shame in not managing it in the first draft - nobody manages that! Good luck with fixing it up a bit here and there, I am sure it will only become better. :)
I need more time to do the Emperor's work!

You can read my stuff on 2S's Fluff and Stories.

Or, you can come visit my author page on Archive of Our Own. WARNING: NC-17

Fhanados

Bit of a Threadromancy but I've expanded on this a fair bit so here it is. Enjoy!

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 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 or act upon.

"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..."


Fhanados

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."

Fhanados

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 after all.