Chapter Five: When Blue sees Green, Green sees Red.
There was a sense of awe outside the Eternity chamber. Each of the small blue Lizardmen stared intently at the entrance. Their feathered headdresses moved to the beat of an unnoticed wind, the sweltering heat reducing whatever cool breeze it garnered useless. Then finally, the doors opened.
Skink Priest Toklot danced in anticipation as they ground apart, the noise reverberating around the temple. For Toklot this was a momentous occasion, Slann Mage-priest Chuq’Mundi was about to address them.
Flanked by his Eternity warden, an unmoving muscled Saurus, his bone helmet marking him out as a Temple Guard, the toad like Slann approached them.
Toklot noticed the Mage-priest seemed distracted. But to Toklot, all of the venerated ones seemed like that, as though a part of their minds was still surfing the magical winds. Chuq’Mundi’s skink attendant popped an itxi grub into his mouth, which he ate absent-mindedly.
“Contemplate the celestial winds. Spawn-kin, return to us. Snatched by the Green,” the Slann said, his attention on his hand as he swirled it. A circle of blue revolved around his hand, before he dissipated. The Slann then returned to his chamber.
Toklot showed his annoyance, his scaly crest turning a tinge of orange. Slann were very intelligent and extremely powerful mages but they didn’t tend to make the greatest speakers. In this case Chuq’Mundi thought he had gotten his message across, floating backwards on his palanquin. His Eternity Warden stood watching the collection of skinks until he disappeared behind the closing doors.
They shut with a resolute clunk.
The skink priests began to chatter the meaning of their leader’s words almost instantly.
“Celestial winds must mean the Blue Azyr wind of magic. The fourth wind is known for its divination,” A priest said.
“Well, that is the easy one. That means the event is in the future. Yes?” said a second.
The group nodded their agreement.
“Spawn-kin. Returns to us.”
“That must mean a skink-“
“No, a saurus-
“A Slann?” The group turned to this skink; their blank faces otherwise devoid of emotion to the warmer races told Toklot all he needed to know, surprise.
“Really, how can this be?”
“The venerated ones never refer to anyone but themselves when they use the term ‘Spawn-kin,’”
“So a venerated one will return to us. This is wondrous news. But-”
“Snatched by the Green.”
“Perhaps the Jade wind?”
Several skinks shook their heads.
“The elves that have joined with the forest are very green.”
“That must be it. The Old Ones plans involved elves staying on the island of Uthuan, this means the Old Ones intended to return a Venerated one to us but the elves will stop this from happening!”
“Or it could mean Orcs…” Toklot said meekly.
Every face turned to him in anger.
“Orcs and Goblins are unintelligent creatures that have been around for centuries, they aren’t smart enough to steal one our leaders away. And the Old Ones would have planned around them.”
As Toklot slowly wandered off, his crest now tinted an annoyed orange; the other skinks discussed their plans.
“We shall alert the Scar veterans that we are going to war with the elves of Athel Loren…”
Toklot emerged outside into the hot humid Lustrian climate and scrambled up the nearest pillar hoping to see even a glint of what is beloved leader had seen. From here he could see the canopy of the trees that hid their temple and closer still he saw the blue specks off the workers going about their tasks. Up here, the sun beat down on his scales a lot harsher; it warmed his blood and made him feel relaxed. He could have lain here forever.
Accessing the Celestial wind he felt it wrap around him. His vision blurred, showing constellations of stars instead of the workings of the temple. The belch of a salamander quickly morphed into a meteor blazing across the cosmos.
His view spun and shot out at speed, zooming in on the world. He was falling towards Athel Loren, the woodland home of the elven splinter group. Perhaps his cohorts had been right all along… but then he veered off and everything became green and blurry until a pair of scowling red eyes were all he could see.
But the Orc wasn’t all Toklot could see. In those large red eyes he spotted the black malevolence of another presence. It seemed unknown. Unknown to the Orc and somehow unknown to itself as if it didn’t realise where it was. Then the entity saw him and he fell.
When Toklot awoke he found himself in something reassuring, the scaly arms of a fellow reptile. The Kroxigor slowly placed him on the ground, grinning stupidly.
“Er, thank you.”
“No problem,” it chirped, surprising him. It was then he noticed it hadn’t been the Kroxigor but the skink perched on its shoulder that had spoken. He had heard of these pair. The duo had spawned together, just the two of them and no others. The priesthood had decided the Old Ones must have a plan for them but hadn’t the boggiest idea of what it could be.
But suddenly, Toklot did.
Beckoning them to follow, which they did obediently, Toklot broke into a run. First scampering quickly down the stone banisters, not daring to try to run down the massive temple steps, he looked over his shoulder to see the Kroxigor easily keeping up, grinning like a dazed Cold one. They meandered past the many spawning pools on the outskirts of the temple before traversing the jungle floor as easily as a man would walk a garden path.
They eventually reached the sea.
Standing on the sandy beach, Toklot tried to catch his breath before summoning the winds to him.
“Where’s the Salamander burp, oh great priest?” the Kroxigor rider asked. Choosing to ignore the skinks vulgarity, Toklot tried to answer him while keeping his concentration.
“If what I saw is true, there is no time to muster an army even if I could siphon troops from my brethren’s coming army.”
A large turtle emerged from the ocean, its shell encrusted with a small variety of sea life. Toklot panted as he ended the spell.
“If what I saw is true, coupled with the venerated one’s own cryptic vision, then a venerated one’s soul could be in great danger.”
With that he boarded the large amphibian, the Kroxigor-skink duo following obediently. The turtle submerged and they disappeared from sight.
Zag clutched his head in pain.
He had seen two glaring yellow eyes and then the distant voices he had thought he could hear occasionally, blared into life. It was though they were inside his head and yet far away at the same time.
You failed to bring me the sword yet again, Dallan. Do you wish to aggrieve me? To sample my exquisite wrath?
A mumble followed, reminding Zag of the cocky human who kept vanishing and reappearing all over the place. There was a scream.
Give me a reason not to kill you right now? To not expunge your soul to Morr and then drag it back, kicking and screaming. I’m sure you will be of more use to me as a mindless automaton.
The mumble picked up again.
What is this? Why Dallan, you have actually managed something that isn’t rampant stupidity. This orb is glorious. The sword is a mere trinket by comparison. What? Reward? A mad cackle boomed in Zag’s head, causing him to roar in pain. More than one greenskin turned to stare at him as he writhed by the fire.
You should be thankful I don’t kill you to prevent any further stupidity tarnishing your one moment of worth. No Dallan, your immortality will have to wait I’m afraid. For a moment the pain subsided, before flaring up again. Zag unsheathed his sword. I shall dine on that one tonight I think. Do not be afraid, little lamb, I merely wish to kiss your neck… It was followed by a woman’s scream.
In a moment of sheer rage, Zag chopped about around him. A Goblins neck, a shanty tent, another Goblin’s leg, until finally, after embedding the sword in the trunk of a massive tree, the pain subsided. Happy in believing he had rid himself of the voices, Zag turned to the nearest Orc.
“Oi! Let’s go find something to fight.”
They waited amongst the trees watching the road; sooner or later someone would come past. Then he, Urk and the other boys would jump out and do what Orcs did best.
The voices hadn’t returned but he could feel something at the back of his skull. One of the boys had offered to open his head up and take a look but then had seen Zag move a hand to his sword and backed off warily, hands out in supplication. Zag stared at the Orc like he was an idiot. Conceding this was probably true didn’t stop him hacking the Orc’s left hand off at the wrist. That would teach anyone to try and mock him again.
After what felt like an age to Zag and considerably longer to the uneasy Urk, a simple looking coach trundled by. It was pulled by two thin horses that looked half starved. The man on top of the coach seemed to be mumbling to himself and Zag caught the gist of what he was saying even if it wasn’t the proper way of talking.
“What else can Sylvania do to me eh? Stealing my horses, giving them to Morr. Making me waste coin getting new ones and they look like they haven’t fed for a week. Its good job those Halflings can cook. Otherwise, this trade route would be a waste of my time.”
“Even Gobbos are tougher than Halflings,” Zag muttered. He looked to Urk who was chomping at the bit as well as a bit of Squig and decided it best to give the order now before he started on Orcs.
“WAAAGHH!!”
The Orcs charged the lone coach. But instead of screaming which was expected, the man pulled his scarf further over his nose, while simultaneously reaching for the handgun on the seat next to him. By the time the Orcs reached him and thrown him from his saddle, he had taken two of them out, a bullet in each forehead.
Zag loomed over the downed man, who tried to shield himself with his arms. Seeing red, Zag quickly and wickedly slashed his hands from his wrists before ripping off the man’s scarf to get at his neck. But as the man lay weeping, Zag noticed two small puncture marks on the man’s neck, a small dribble of dried blood clung next to them.
Something in the back of Zag’s head caused him to lean in, baring his teeth before Urk tapped him on the shoulder.
“Boss. Uh, what are you doin’?”
Snapping out of whatever trance he had been in, he knelt on the man’s chest bracing himself as he ripped the head from the man one handed, the man’ mouth making a useful handhold. The man’s jaw hung loosely from his neck.
Raiding the cart at the back, they found all sorts of delicacies that their Orc taste buds could barely comprehend. Zag was about to tell them to get the cart back to the camp when he saw Urk, sitting between two now very dead horses, chewing on one of their legs.
“Roight, you two,” Zag said pointing at Urk and one other as he clambered onto the cart’s driver’s seat, “Get out an’ push.”
Urk quickly delegated the task to someone else, which in the resounding debate ended up with a few less teeth. Urk then clambered aboard next to Zag.
“Where we taking the Waaagh after we get back to camp boss?” Urk asked.
“Down where that Umie had come from. Maybe kill some Halflings.”
To this, all the boys apart from the two straining at the coach grunted a cheer.