Watching Things Burn, 2,036 words

“PRAISE BE TO CHOTEK!”

The chant echoed around the arena. Every one of the First stared intently at intricately carved stela. The wooden structure stood nearly twenty feet tall, nearly every inch covered with mosaics to the Old One Chotec. Now it was set ablaze. The seats were mostly filled with Skinks and a few Kroxigor that rarely left their smaller spawning brother’s side—even when they did things that were somewhat boring. The few Sauri in attendance were mostly older Spawn Leaders and Scar Veterans who made a point of attending religious observances when they were off duty. There were only a handful of the younger rank and file.

The red-crested Skink chief turned to the priest sitting next to him.

“I think the younger Saurus warriors are only here because they just like watching things burn.”
“Hush, that is not respectful.”

The priest meant to come across as stern but the younger Skink could tell he was suppressing a smile.

As the fire grew in size and intensity, the beautiful carvings on the stelae became less distinguishable until one brief moment when the relief blazed bright red making the carvings fully visible to all before the glow faded and the fire intensified incinerating the offering once and for all. The priest nearest them addressed the crowd with a megaphone.

“Chotec gladly accepts our offering!”
“PRAISE BE TO CHOTEC!”

The sun was setting as the crowd departed. This was as intended. Most rituals in Chotec’s honor were timed to end with the sun’s rising or setting. Gartol, the red crested Skink Chief and Huaraz, the Skink priest of Itzl were among the last to leave.

They were not very high up in the stands, but it was still slow work guiding Huaraz down the stairs. This wore on Gartol. Not from impatience or unwillingness to aid his elder, but because he didn’t like the idea that Huaraz was getting so old.

Huaraz was not like the other priests who closeted themselves away in private chambers contemplating the vaguest utterances on the Slann. He was a priest of Itzl, a passionate and brilliant warrior. Not just empowering his allies with spells but leading them in battle clawing the enemy with magically empowered attacks. When he wasn’t leading massed units of Skinks and Kroxigor into battle, he was helping train the city’s newest spawned to fight. He didn’t have the raw talent of the warrior castes Skinks but he had a patience they lacked making him an ideal teacher.

The priest last major battle made it clear Huaraz's place was no longer on the front lines. Even during training, his advancing age was beginning to show. Gartol didn’t like to think of newer spawnings not having the guidance that he had.

Rather than fixate on this, Gartol decided to strike up a conversation.

“I never understood this ritual, mentor. Why burn the tribute?”
"As you mentioned, some people like to watch things burn. Fire is beautiful and warming much like how the sun which Chotec embodies is beautiful and warming.” “Over a dozen Skinks labored for weeks to carve a beautiful tribute to Chotec and we burned it. That has to be galling for the artisans to watch”
“They were proud to serve, Huaraz. The stella was a labor of love.”
“Then why not keep it? It was a beautiful tribute to Chotec that could have stood for decades. We should set Skaven on fire as an offering to great Chotec.”

The elderly priest chuckled.

“Spoken like a true exemplar of the Sotek caste. Sotek is a being of action and valor. The Old Ones are beings of wisdom and contemplation.”
“Mentor, I faithfully serve Sotek, but I do not forsake the Old Ones who came before and prepared his Coming. We can’t contemplate a carving very well if it turned into a pile of ashes. Why not dedicate slain Anathema to all the Old Ones and not just Sotek.”
“Sotek demands we give him that which we despise. The blood of our enemies, the fruits of the battlefield. The Old Ones demand we give them the fruits of peace, that which we love. Being willing to give up what we love most is the essence of our mission to serve the Old Ones and the Slann.”

They finally made it to the ground. They were quiet for several minutes before Gartol spoke again.

“They say great Sotek is harsh because of the bloody sacrifices he demands. The demands of the Old Ones seem far harsher.”
“Sotek doesn’t have a monopoly on harshness or slaying enemies. You’ve seen what the power of my patron Itzl can do on the battlefield first hand. Huanchi is no slacker at spilling blood of the Old One foes either. Really, there isn’t a single Old One that isn’t harsh when the situation requires it, much like all the First.”

Huaraz stumbled on the road and nearly fell. Gartol steadied him while his mentor grumbled.

“I’ll be harsh if I meet the worker chief who allowed this loose pavestone on his watch!”
Gartol stopped walking. Huaraz took three steps before he noticed his companion was no longer matching his stride.

“Yes?”
“Mentor, it is getting late and we are still a good ways from the Temple of Itzl. I’m not carrying any weapons or gear at this time. I could…..carry you home….if you’d like.”

Irritation flashed across the elder Skink’s face, then appreciation. He waved the younger Skink off.

“I’m old, but I’m not that old.”

Huaraz noted his protégé’s look of concern did not cease. He removed his satchel and offered it to Gartol.

“You can carry my pouch if you want, but no one ever carries me.”
“Never?”
“Okay, one time, but the rules change when you are gushing blood from a battlefield wound. Thanks for that by the way.”
“Just paying you back when you helped me my first battle, mentor.”
“You were a good tadpole, I could see your potential. I knew you’d pay me back later, and you did, so we are even now. You aren’t carrying me anywhere tonight!”

Both Skinks laughed as they continued walking down to the temple district. The city was quiet, most of the residents had already settled in for the night. Gartol had another burning question in his mind.

“Should not one of the Slann attended the annual Chotec festival. Or the Tzunki festival before it. Not one Slann came for our last ritual honoring Tepoc. A major Tepoc ritual without a Slann present is like a large Kroxigor gathering without any food present.”
“Hah! You are spoiled with the Slann always floating about. Back in my day, The Slann spent a lot more time contemplating and a lot less time guiding us.”
“I thought they rotated between contemplations and leadership much as the lesser First rotate between rest and our various tasks. Why the change? What are they contemplating now, mentor?”
“Not so much contemplating as arguing. The Great Plan and how it accounts for the warm blooded races. In this case they are concerned about the Second Race.”
“The Elves? What are they doing now?”
“This doesn’t leave the two of us, but the so-called Fallen Elves in the land north of Lustria are launching a massive invasion of the Elves’ original homeland. Some Slann want to wipe out or convert all the Fallen so the Second Race isn’t tainted by Chaos further. Some Slann want to force all Elves, Fallen and otherwise to return their original homeland.”
“The island that is a ring?”
“Yes. The first group of Slann fears that letting invasion proceed unhindered will weaken the Second Race as a whole and spread the taint of darkness to those who are still relatively pure. The second group Slann sees the invasion as the fulfillment of the Old Ones plan as the northern Elves are returning to their original homeland of their own free will, at least most of them are.”
"That sound complicated.”
“It gets worse. Some Slann have given up on managing the Second Race at all. They just want to stop the Elves from raiding Lustria. Some of them think we should stand back and let the Elves reduce each other’s numbers. Others think we should side with the ring dwellers since they are the far less threatening of the two groups.”

They discussed the details of the various viewpoints all the way back to Huaraz’s cell in the Temple of Itzl.

“Mentor, what if we act and break the Slann’s stalemate?”
“You know better, Gartol, the Slann decide and we act…with their orders.”
“If they can’t decide amongst themselves how do we act?”
“We wait till they decide.”
“And if they don’t decide?”
“Then we wait longer!”

The pair were silent for most of the rest of their walk to the temple. Garok hung up the elder priest’s satchel and helped him into his bed.

“Mentor I’ve been thinking. The Slann thinking and we younger children of the Old Ones acting. That is somewhat like how the Old Ones think and Sotek acts.”
“That is probably why he is largely a Skink god. But still Sotek’s bold actions were foreseen and planned by the Old Ones. Much how our bold actions are still guided by the Slann. It is good to know your boldness is tempered with wisdom.”

Huaraz’s eyes began to droop.

“Thank you for the kind words, mentor. It is clear that though I am a child of Sotek in many respects I must always seek the blessings of the Old Ones.”

He paused and watched his mentor begin to doze. He stooped and picked up a spare pillow off of the floor.

“The Old Ones demand we give up that which we love.”
“What’d you say?” Hauraz asked his speech slurred.
“I said sleep well, mentor.”


Huaraz the priest of Itzl lay peacefully on a pile of dry wood in the middle of a delicate raft carved in the likeness of a Salamander. Gartol lit the pyre and pushed the raft gently into the middle of the spawning pool. He turned to the crowd of mourners. Almost every Skink of rank in the city along with a small number of Saurus leaders. They all watched in respectful silence as the raft became consumed by flames and finally sank.

“We commend a wise and mighty priest to the Old Ones’ hands. Huaraz has served as a mentor and guide for almost everyone here. His loss diminishes us all. We take solace in the fact that he lived a long life and died peacefully in his sleep. To honor his memory, we must follow his last wishes which he confided me to on his last night.”

He paused a moment until he was sure he had every individuals complete attention.

“He told me, ‘While the Second race resumes their civil war, we must march north, to the land the Second Race calls, Naggaroth. This will please the Slann who believe all Elves belong on their ringed island by denying these wayward warmbloods their adopted home. This will please those Slann who call the Naggaroth Elves “Fallen” as this will reduce the Fallen Elves’ numbers and resources. This will please those Slann concerned with the safety of our lands as the Naggaroth Elves will no longer have a nearby base from which to launch their raids upon us.’”

Most of the priests nodded agreement along with several skink chiefs. A small number of priests and chiefs a like looked doubtful. A lot of chiefs looked confused. The Saurus leaders’ expressions never wavered.

“We will advance the Great Plan! No more will the pale Elves from the north raid our temples! No more will they sacrifice our spawning brothers! No more will they enslave Cold Ones and other beasts of the jungle. We are the First Children of the Old Ones and will not be denied! We will not stop until every warmblood in Nagaroth is dead and every tainted structure, every blasphemous monument to their false gods is leveled.”

The assembled cheered. Even those harboring some doubts were swept up in the rising energy.

“For Sotek! For the Old Ones!”

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I entered a lot of Lustria-Online Short Story Contests. This entry was for the April-May 2015 contest, one of our biggest contests.
I really bored some heart into this entry and that's probably why I tied for first place in this very competitive contest.
I was still processing the death of my father.
I didn't intend for this piece to fit in my wider narrative stories, but this story might fit in with mild tweaking since it touches on the Great Debate among the Slann.