Chameleons in the City of Mist, 2,495 words

“We honor Tzunki whose waters cleanse and nourish the world….”

Kaleroc repressed a bored sigh while he watched the Skink Priest pour a small quantity of blessed water into the artificial canal linking to Xlanhuapec’s tributary to the Amaxon. Symbolic of lesser waters feeding greater waters much like how the community of the First works together…but Kaleroc didn’t care. To him, Tzunki’s honorifics signified that the ceremony honoring the Old Ones was slightly over halfway done. Kaleroc wanted to scream that water will continue to act like water with or without the blessing of some dead god.

"We live through water and the Old Ones!” chanted the crowd

Kaleroc maintained his outward expression of solemn reverence as more Skink Priests gave symbolic offerings to various Old Ones and the assembled crowd replied with rote archaic Saurian chants. As boring as this was, Kaleroc could not let his mind wander. If he was even slightly late for his part in the ceremony, the Skink priests would get suspicious.Kalerocloathed these ceremonies, butTlaztopoziwas a loyal High Skink in service to the City of Mists. Kaleroc had been pretending to be Tlaztopozi for over a year.

Finally his turn came up.

“Blessings be to the ever vigilant Potec! Potec who wards off the darkness as surely as the sun warms the earth!”

Kaleroc/Tlaxtopozi poured his package of ceremonial herbs into the bonfire.

“Praise be to Potec!” chanted the crowd.

Even the crowd seemed slightly bored. After praising the most important Old Ones for almost two hours, praising the Old Ones was becoming old even for the true believers. Despite this, Kaleroc couldn’t let his boredom show. The lesser priests put in charge of leading the worship of the minor Old Ones generally showed enthusiasm during the few moments they took center stage. As the city’s premiere priest of Potec, he had to act like a good little Skink who was proud of what he was doing.

Kaleroc, or rather "Tlaztopozi", lit a torch with the ceremonial fire and energetically waved the torch about the perimeter of the assembled Skink priests ceremonially warding off hidden evils. This was the always the hardest part—performing the warding ritual without smirking. If the ritual truly kept evil away, Kaleroc wouldn’t be here.

“Let Potec’s benevolent warding protect us another season!”
“Praise be to Potec,” chanted the crowd.

After Potec’s ceremony was done, Kaleroc sat through the praises to remaining Old Ones. He was pleased when it was over. He blinked a gnat out of his eye, confident that the glamor remained making him appear as a normal Skink. He had made it through another ceremony without blowing his cover.

Kaleroc reluctantly admitted that Xlanhuapec was wisely selected. Only the four largest Temple Cities had what his People needed and Xlanhuapec was deemed the most vulnerable. Hexoatl was clearly not an option. Hexoatl had a fully awake second generation Slann a general siege mentality. Tlaxtlan was nearly as dangerous. The Slann were not as powerful or alert as in Hexoatl, but the highly active population of Skink priests could have easily caught wind of hidden ones in their midst through routine divinations. Tetto’eko could probably see through their disguises without trying.

Kaleroc suggested infiltrating Itza, believing it would be easiest to blend into the largest population, but the elders disagreed strenuously. Itza’s Slann may not be fully awake, but they were many. The odds of one of them accidentally piercing one of the People’s disguises was high.

Xlanhuapec was ideal. Its Slann were few in number and were largely focused on maintaining the magical mists the city was known for. The city’s lesser population was so focused on misdirecting and fooling outsiders that they took their own security for granted. The culture of misdirection permeated daily life, so a “Skink” could be withdrawn and aloof from his brethren without attracting attention. It never occurred to Xlanhuapec that someone could be obscuringthem.

Still, the risk was great. If the First Children of the Dead Ones knew that their eldest foes were still in Lustria, they would crush them utterly. If the End Times were not so close, the People would never have attempted such a feat at all.

Kaleroc saw some of his lesser brethren amongst the city’s rank and file Skink, but he made no sign of recognition. Kaleroc could afford no slipups since he maintained the glamour disguising all of his fellow infiltrators. He did not like the plan, but he had no choice in the matter. It was rare enough for one of the People to be able to manipulate two separate winds of magic at once, but it was even rarer for one of them to be the Wind of Azyr. This, combined with his affinity over Shadow magic, meant there was no one else who could impersonate a Skink priest.

While the First were largely blind to motives of the warm blooded raiders, Kaleroc knew the warm blooded races used gold as currency and a status symbol. Still, Kaleroc suspected more was in play. There were easier ways to get gold than to sail across the World Pond, cross a deadly jungle, then fight a self-righteous army of isolationist warriors on their home turf. Even sacred objects made of low value materials such as stone tended to get grabbed by looters far too often. It was almost as if the First’s sacred objects had an intangible allure that attracted thieves.

Thieves sought golden plaques for the precious metal or as a tool to enhance spell casting, but they remained ignorant of what was written on them. Kaleroc was not like other thieves. He had no interest in the plaques themselves. He only sought their words.

Most of the information from the sacred plaques was written down on scrolls. The papyrus only lasted a few years, so scribes constantly transcribed them over and over again. Because the scribes worked so often on these transcriptions, the writings were available to any Skink who could read and write almost by default. Kaleroc figured he and the rest of the People had accounted for the near entirety of these writings.

Some plaques held information that was kept away from the general populace, but still kept on papyrus copies, generally plaques with vague or open interpretations. Priests were encouraged to read and debate these writings, but the general populace was not allowed to read them. These were not particularly difficult to obtain either. Kaleroc was impersonating a junior priest and the most common chore assigned to junior priests was transcribing sacred writings. Kaleroc estimated he had read three quarters of these semi-restricted texts.

He did his best to commit their writings to memory, in case his own elders wanted to debate their meanings, but Kaleroc doubted it would help. If the First couldn’t derive clear meaning from these writings over millennia, he doubted the People could do any better over a few short years. His true goal was the forbidden plaques, the ones only consulted on direct orders from the Slann. Kaleroc wanted to find out what the Slann would not tell their own servants.

All the while he had been impersonating a Skink priest, he had been studying the layout of the sacred temples and their guard details. He manipulated the Winds of Azyr to narrow down where his objective lay. He was hoping if he bode his time long enough, Xlanhuapec would give him the opening he needed. Unfortunately his fellow infiltrators were not cooperating.

They were all clearly tired of hiding amongst their hated enemies. The People had many common enemies with the First. The hidden warriors were able to vent some aggression as part of Xlanhuapec’s armies fighting the various warm-blooded usurpers, but these battles were few and far between. They lacked Kaleroc’s patience and restraint.

“Great One?”
“Saurian please, lest we tip off a casual observer…again.”
“Apologies, Great One...uh High One”

Kaleroc glared at his underling. Despite the fact his underling was nearly as large as Kroxigor (and disguised as such), but the great beast flinched under his diminutive master’s glare.

“What did you want?”
“We need you to help dispose of another pair of bodies.”
“Of course you do. Who was it this time?”
“Ralchochi and Itkarloq.”

“Those are Skink Chiefs.”

The hulking warrior looked confused as to what the issue was.

“You do realize two dead chiefs will be harder to quietly sweep into the swamp than two dozen ordinary Skinks.”
“You swept at least three dozen—”
“Not all at once! I can buy us a little time, but I’m going to have to accelerate our plans. Stop grinning! If we survive I will tell the elders your impatience nearly killed us all”

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Kaleroc already divined the temple most likely to hold the needed plaque. Still, he could only attack one temple with any chance of making an escape afterward. What if it’s not here? No, I have to be right. Focus on the immediate problems.

He had six “Kroxigor” and twenty “Skinks.” He was able to get them into the entrance to the temple on the pretense of blessing a new Sotek statue. The First really gravitated towards Sotek. The only one of their gods who mostly ignored them as opposed to completely abandoned them. Yet the First continued to worship the Old Ones in the vain hope they would return some day. Staying true to gods who had forsaken them, Kaleroc shuddered when he realized just how much The People had in common with the First.

Getting in the first chamber was easy. The next chamber of the temple Kaleroc could enter freely as a priest, but he could not take a pack of Kroxigor in tow. After that even a priest could not enter further without permission. He’d have to force his way in. Once inside and the entrance was shut tight, his warriors retrieved the weapons hidden amongst the recesses of the statue.

He approached the Skink attendant and the four Temple Guard behind him.

“We need to proceed to the next chamber.”
“With a fully armed cohort? Why would I let you all in?”
“You wouldn’t.”
“You need to leave right n—”

Kaleroc muttered an incantation forcing magical silence. Then he exhaled a dark mist which sapped the speed and coordination of his foes. He calmly pointed at the Temple Guard and the six “Kroxigor” advanced towards the weakened warriors. Even the Temple Guard hesitated in confusion for a split second when the enemy seemed to be friendly Kroxigor. They fell quickly to the superior numbers of mighty attackers. Meanwhile the Skink attendant was opening and closing his mouth, mutely attempting to shout for help against Kaleroc’s silencing cantrip before the faux Skinks surged forward and filled him with more sharp objects than a Razordon.

Kaleroc dismissed his silencing spell. He heard no cries of alarm. They remained undetected. He looked over his minions. He separated out the four largest of the Shearls, then directed them to put on the Temple Guard’s helmets and pick up their halberds. Their real forms were slightly bigger than the Skinks they impersonated, but they lacked the build of Sauri. Using the stolen gear as a focal point, Kaleroc was able to modify their disguise to make them look like Temple Guard, at least temporarily. Then he directed the others to haul the corpses out of sight.

Cloaked in shadows, Kaleroc scouted ahead, only encountering two unarmed, easily dispatched, Skink attendants. He reached the entrance to the next chamber, guarded by sixteen Temple Guard. He backtracked and carefully guided his minions toward them, then he cast another silencing cantrip, though he doubted it would hold long for a battle this size. Once again he summoned a miasma over his foes. Then he braced himself for the impending inner chill as he followed up his miasma by summoning a localized rain of ice. Though moving at a fraction of their speed from the sapping miasma and the restraining ice, the Temple Guard were resolute defenders bringing down two “Kroxigors” and three “Skinks” before falling in battle.

Kaleroc set his remaining minions to guard positions and proceeded into the next chamber. He should have hated everything he saw, but he couldn’t help himself, Kaleroc was impressed and awed by what he saw. The almost circular room was made up of at least twenty equal wall segments, each with a plaque embedded in the wall. A small shaft of sunlight poured in from the ceiling and reflected across numerous golden plaques illuminating the room. The plaques brimmed with latent power. The room itself seemed to warm his blood.

Kaleroc cursed himself for time wasted gawking. His cover would not last for much longer, and the First outnumbered his pitiful force a thousand to one. For all he knew he only had minutes before the defenders of Xlanhuapec came down on him like a comet. His minions were expendable but the mission would fail if Kaleroc couldn’t report what he learned. His escape plan was based entirely on magic. He was doomed if a single Slann was roused by his incursion.

continental alignment, not important…

He skimmed over two more plaques then couldn’t help reading through a plaque on the mighty Coatl in its entirety. He heard fighting outside. Kaleroc cursed himself for wasting time yet again.

He heard battle cries from warrior caste Skinks. Then he heard thunder, followed by silence. Kaleroc had stolen a staff that duplicates the effects of the spell Sky’s Bite and did not require a wizard to use. He told his minions to only use in an emergency. The immediate threat was gone but they alerted half the city that something was amiss in the temple. Kaleroc looked at his dark scaly hands, realizing his disguise was worn away by the ambient magic of the room. If his disguise was gone, so would his minions. Once the First realized who they were up against, their fury would double.

Kaleroc couldn’t waste time reading irrelevant plaques, but the dialect was so vague and dense that he couldn’t skip any plaque outright, or he might miss something essential. What are the Slann planning to do when the End Times arrive? How can the People defeat them and prove their worthiness to the Four great gods? Kaleroc must prove the People never should have been abandoned in favor of the usurping men. Then he saw a heading.

“The Old Ones Plan for the End of Days”…what I’m looking for cannot be this obvious.

Thunder rocked the temple again and the sounds of Saurus battle cries could now b heard, but Kaleroc continued to devour the words on the plaque. His eye gleamed. Despite the sound of his enemies nearing, he gave himself time to read the plaque over a second time just to be sure of its contents.

The Fimir Balefiend threw back his head and laughed.

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I wrote this piece for Lustria-Online's April-May 2015 Short Story Contest.
We were challenged to write about "chameleons". I figured since most if not all of the other writers were going to write about "chameleon skinks" I would write about a "social chameleon" to subvert expectations.
I have long been fascinated by the idea of Fimir as a dark reflection of the Lizardmen. I'm proud of this story concept, but I'm not particularly proud of the implementation.
It kind of has a vague ending. For an explanation.

Show spoiler

The plaque read that the Lizardmen in general and the Slann in particular are NOT meant by the Old Ones to last forever. The Lizardmen are suppossed to pave the way for the "lesser races" to stand on their own. Something the Lizardmen (or First Children of the Old Ones as they call themselves) would never accept.