DM-Rocco
Explorer
Greetings all, I am a bit new to the story hour, but I have told a few that I would throw my hat into the arena and see how others liked what I had to write about.
A bit of background for this story, I had went to see Margaret Weis in Lake Geneva a few years ago to have her sign my hard cover collection of Weis and Hickman books. She was very grateful that a dedicated reader would travel so far just have her signature. I got her e-mail address and we write each other from time to time, just to stay in touch, and it was in one of these e-mails that I asked her if she would view one of my stories, to which she said, “no“.
Her lawyers have forbidden her from doing such things, however, she was in the final stages of accepting proposals for a new anthology based in DragonLance. Even though the final selection date was less than one week away, she suggested that I send her a short story, set in the world of Krynn, and if she liked it, she would use it. This also got around the whole lawyer thing.
Of course I was honored, so I set out to find a plot, and plot I came up with. She gave me good feed back, said I had good characterization and a vivid imagination, but that I lacked the ability to keep the story within the confines of the space allowed. She could tell that the story had more to it and that by limiting it to a short story I was not doing the story justice, so she declined the story, stating that not everyone can write a short story, some people are better at longer tales, which I took as a compliment.
Anyway, I started to write down the beginnings of the story, but have never found the spare time to finish it, but I think I can now, at least I had better give it a try, as I am expecting my son to be born any month now and every one tells me I will have no time to do such things once he comes into my world.
I will share with you the first part of the first of three stories that tie into each other. If I get good response from them, I will continue until I get to the story that I submitted to Margaret Weis. I am always a bit shy about sharing my stories with others; so while I would love positive feed back and constructive criticism, please keep all negative comments to yourself.
The final story is very well polished, but you may find errors in the first two stories. I will try to keep them as polished as possible, but I keep multiple copies of each story in different stages of development, so I may accidentally copy and paste a bad file, sorry if I do so.
Well, I can’t keep yapping about nothing, here goes.
The stories are broken down into three tales, they are named Lizard bait, Death Throws and To Slay my Slayer, I hope you enjoy.
In the depths of the swampy jungles of Xak Tsaroth one cloaked man walked with purpose down the spongy road that cut its way through the dense overgrowth of the surrounding marsh. Vegetation had long ago over run much of the road, making it little more than a hunter’s path. The soft rustle of his robes could barely be heard over the symphony of the swamp. Insects of all kinds made eerie chatterings, a strangely soothing music of the natural order. Splashes of water announced the presence of different types of water animals and birds of all sorts chimed in to add harmony to the rhythm of the pounding rain.
A strange and unfamiliar call disturbed the symphony and an unearthly calm settled on the Spongy bog. No insects chirped, no animals disturbed the wake of the water and no birds sang a song of any sort. A second call, in a lower key, but with the same tone, echoed off of the thick Ironclaw trees. A higher pitched note chimed in response a few minutes later and as the man moved down the overrun road the calls became more frequent, creating a new symphony, but unlike the other, this one was marked with an eeriness that chilled one to the bone; and as suddenly as it started it stopped.
The robed man stopped at the eerie silence and faced off on the road with another robed man.
“Stand fasst and pressent yourself, “ hissed Blith, the Baaz draconian. He held forth his spear, butt to the ground, in an open challenge to smite his authority. He stood with purpose and with faith, for he stood not alone. He knew others were about and he knew he was safe. From the spear, his Brass tinted, scaly hide disappeared in the shrouds of a large volumous black cloak, concealing his body within its shadows.
This cloak was a throw back from the last days of the War of the Lance when Baaz draconians were used as advanced scouts to the invading parties of the Dragon Armies. The Highlords would send them into human lands as spies, since they are the smallest of the Draconians; they were able to hide their wings within the folds of their cloaks. After the War of the Lance, the Baaz maintained the use of the cloak as tradition, distinguishing them from their brethren.
The figure on the road was dressed in a similar cloak, covering him from head to toe in deepest black, with his head engulfed in darkness. Nothing penetrated its dark depths; it was a shadow within a shadow. The cloaked man stood silent in the night, the wind whipping at his robes.
Blith strained his eyes through the driving rain and ignored the chill that it sent through his body. The two faced off in the dead of the night, each not moving, each not talking to the other.
“Stand and deliver,” shouted Blith once again. He made no other move since the robed man did nothing as well. Deep in the swamps of Xak Tsaroth the heavy overgrowth blocked out what little light that shed through the large ominous trees. The exposed roots of the Ironclaw trees drank from the murky depths of the surrounding swamp water and thick pools of mud. Vines creped onto every rock, tree and ruined pillar in the jungle like setting, the vines, for lack of other places to grow, snaked from one tree to another, making of the swamp’s sky a spider web of vegetation.
This was a scene of silence.
“Last chance, bear your arms and make full your intent,” shouted Blith.
The shadowed man made no move or gesture. He stood in silence, in direct defiance of the draconians authority. Neither spoke after that, nor did either make a move. The cloaked man made no gesture to advance, so Blith simply stood his ground, for he knew he had no need to move.
They emerged from nature like a tornado from the clouds, swift and undetected. The bronze and copper hues of the Bozak and Kapak made the appearance of bronze and copper crocodiles appearing from the murky waters on either side of the road. Like giant snakes they emerged from the deep, to crawl on the land in silence, daggers and short swords drawn and at the ready. The soft rustle of willow weed was the only indication that other Baaz draconians had made their presence know from behind the cloaked man while silver streaks in the sky beheld the arrival of three Sivak draconians. They circled their prey in wide, sweeping patterns. in such a way that the heavy overgrowth of the swamp seldom let the cloaked man from their piercing sight. Yet far enough from each other that they need not fear from flying into each other or spells that could take down many in an enclosed area of affect. Always they had their bows drawn and as their comrades advanced, they each let loose a volley of arrows, pricking the ground at the robed man’s feet.
“Make no move, whether in friendship or strife,” came from a voice behind him. “You are not recognized by us as either friend or foe, if you wish to become the former then by all means keep your tongue idle. Speak swiftly and with purpose, for you have been asked thrice and now a fourth, you shall not be asked again.”
“Impressive,” was the hollow reply. The voice was empty and deep, as from a man speaking in a cave, and it pierced all who heard it to the very core of their soul. The robed figure made no motion for a weapon but did grab ends of his sweeping cloak and turned slightly from left to right, ignoring the voice from behind. “ I must say that I did not hear the ripple of water from the swampy pond to either side. Also, I did not expect that such an avenue would be used as an ambush. No doubt the Kapak blades are envenomed and the Bozak’s have spells slipping from their lips, bravo”.
The Kapak and Bozak draconians to either side of the cloaked man stood their ground and as the stranger advanced he would stop just short of the area of threat where a draconian would consider attacking. The cloaked man turned his head from side to side and up and down, as if examining a statue in a museum and taking mental notes of the exhibit, but always he respected the space of the draconians and this fearlessness combined with a healthy respect seemed to unnerve the Dragonmen to the core.
“An attack from above is not all together unexpected, but I am impressed that creatures of such bulk could maneuver in such a confined space. Ah, there now, I see something else that was not there before, three, no four more hide in trees, but not with bows like their brethren, rather with their trademark saw-tooth two handed swords. No doubt ready to glide from the advantage of higher ground and charge their jagged blades into my hide. Ah, again, I am impressed.”
Krothan stood dumbfounded by this fool. In any other situation he would have been in complete control, but this simple robed man had made him question himself and worst of all this man had made him hesitate, the kiss of death for a soldier. Whether this man had the sheer confidence in his skills to defeat such a large company of Draconians, or he was a retard who somehow managed to survive the dangers of the swamp by sheer luck, he cared not. This had to end and end now.
“You have a lot to say, but little of importance,” slide the words from his tounge as his blade came dangerously close to the robed man’s throat, “your next words had better be good and to the point, for they will determine your life,” again threatened the voice from behind. Envenomed weapons raised and ready to strike a final blow, the Draconians felt secure that this mans ratings would soon falter.
“So impersonal you are, I would know your name before I reveal more. Fear not, I shall answer your questions, I simply wish to know the name of those that I address.”
“You have earned no such right with me or my kin, but I will oblige you, if it will speed your tongue to more useful information. I am Krothan, leader of this band of draconians and captain of the lands of Xak Tsaroth. You are not here by invitation or need, so now speak swiftly to the living or your next words will be to the dead.”
“Well met Krothan, and where did you come from dragon man,” casually came the reply as the robed man turned to face his addresser. “I did neither see you upon the road, nor in the trenches or faro ways, so where then did you spring from.” The robed man did not look upon the host of draconians that had sneaked up behind him as much as he analyzed them as a general would a battle tactic.
Krothan was not the only draconian to have reached his wits end with this fool as others from behind him made their ways from the ranks behind him so as to start an attack.
“Stand down to you dragon man, do you not know your master when you see him?” With that the man unrobed his head and drew back his cloak to reveal the glistening red scales of dragon hide fitted together with locking plates of finely forged steel and a wicked horned helm that covered his face, further concealing his identity. “I am Dragon Highlord Nethera and I come to you on behalf of our Queen.”
The draconians stood their ground and held fast their weapons. Not since the days of the War of the Lance had a Dragon Highlord been in power let alone seen. This perplexed the host of Dragonmen.
“Our Queen is gone from this world, banished in the ending of the Chaos Wars she was, saved her children she did, they are lies that you speak.”
“I never lie honorable dragon man, neither in practice nor in jest. She yet lives and is here, in this world, but come now, my road was long and weary and I still have much to do. Let us continue this conversation once purging appetites are satisfied and the dusty road has been washed from my mouth.” The draconians marveled in wonder as a door of light emerged from the darkness behind the self proclaimed Highlord. “Look for me in the ruined temple of the accursed Mishakal and let us finish our conversation there.” With that the door of light that had ripped a hole in time and space moved forward to engulf the Highlord in its blinding light and then it was gone. Only the confused Draconians where left on the spongy road, left behind in wonder and confusion.
A bit of background for this story, I had went to see Margaret Weis in Lake Geneva a few years ago to have her sign my hard cover collection of Weis and Hickman books. She was very grateful that a dedicated reader would travel so far just have her signature. I got her e-mail address and we write each other from time to time, just to stay in touch, and it was in one of these e-mails that I asked her if she would view one of my stories, to which she said, “no“.
Her lawyers have forbidden her from doing such things, however, she was in the final stages of accepting proposals for a new anthology based in DragonLance. Even though the final selection date was less than one week away, she suggested that I send her a short story, set in the world of Krynn, and if she liked it, she would use it. This also got around the whole lawyer thing.
Of course I was honored, so I set out to find a plot, and plot I came up with. She gave me good feed back, said I had good characterization and a vivid imagination, but that I lacked the ability to keep the story within the confines of the space allowed. She could tell that the story had more to it and that by limiting it to a short story I was not doing the story justice, so she declined the story, stating that not everyone can write a short story, some people are better at longer tales, which I took as a compliment.
Anyway, I started to write down the beginnings of the story, but have never found the spare time to finish it, but I think I can now, at least I had better give it a try, as I am expecting my son to be born any month now and every one tells me I will have no time to do such things once he comes into my world.
I will share with you the first part of the first of three stories that tie into each other. If I get good response from them, I will continue until I get to the story that I submitted to Margaret Weis. I am always a bit shy about sharing my stories with others; so while I would love positive feed back and constructive criticism, please keep all negative comments to yourself.
The final story is very well polished, but you may find errors in the first two stories. I will try to keep them as polished as possible, but I keep multiple copies of each story in different stages of development, so I may accidentally copy and paste a bad file, sorry if I do so.
Well, I can’t keep yapping about nothing, here goes.
The stories are broken down into three tales, they are named Lizard bait, Death Throws and To Slay my Slayer, I hope you enjoy.
Lizard Bait
(part 1)
By
C.E.Rocco
In the depths of the swampy jungles of Xak Tsaroth one cloaked man walked with purpose down the spongy road that cut its way through the dense overgrowth of the surrounding marsh. Vegetation had long ago over run much of the road, making it little more than a hunter’s path. The soft rustle of his robes could barely be heard over the symphony of the swamp. Insects of all kinds made eerie chatterings, a strangely soothing music of the natural order. Splashes of water announced the presence of different types of water animals and birds of all sorts chimed in to add harmony to the rhythm of the pounding rain.
A strange and unfamiliar call disturbed the symphony and an unearthly calm settled on the Spongy bog. No insects chirped, no animals disturbed the wake of the water and no birds sang a song of any sort. A second call, in a lower key, but with the same tone, echoed off of the thick Ironclaw trees. A higher pitched note chimed in response a few minutes later and as the man moved down the overrun road the calls became more frequent, creating a new symphony, but unlike the other, this one was marked with an eeriness that chilled one to the bone; and as suddenly as it started it stopped.
The robed man stopped at the eerie silence and faced off on the road with another robed man.
“Stand fasst and pressent yourself, “ hissed Blith, the Baaz draconian. He held forth his spear, butt to the ground, in an open challenge to smite his authority. He stood with purpose and with faith, for he stood not alone. He knew others were about and he knew he was safe. From the spear, his Brass tinted, scaly hide disappeared in the shrouds of a large volumous black cloak, concealing his body within its shadows.
This cloak was a throw back from the last days of the War of the Lance when Baaz draconians were used as advanced scouts to the invading parties of the Dragon Armies. The Highlords would send them into human lands as spies, since they are the smallest of the Draconians; they were able to hide their wings within the folds of their cloaks. After the War of the Lance, the Baaz maintained the use of the cloak as tradition, distinguishing them from their brethren.
The figure on the road was dressed in a similar cloak, covering him from head to toe in deepest black, with his head engulfed in darkness. Nothing penetrated its dark depths; it was a shadow within a shadow. The cloaked man stood silent in the night, the wind whipping at his robes.
Blith strained his eyes through the driving rain and ignored the chill that it sent through his body. The two faced off in the dead of the night, each not moving, each not talking to the other.
“Stand and deliver,” shouted Blith once again. He made no other move since the robed man did nothing as well. Deep in the swamps of Xak Tsaroth the heavy overgrowth blocked out what little light that shed through the large ominous trees. The exposed roots of the Ironclaw trees drank from the murky depths of the surrounding swamp water and thick pools of mud. Vines creped onto every rock, tree and ruined pillar in the jungle like setting, the vines, for lack of other places to grow, snaked from one tree to another, making of the swamp’s sky a spider web of vegetation.
This was a scene of silence.
“Last chance, bear your arms and make full your intent,” shouted Blith.
The shadowed man made no move or gesture. He stood in silence, in direct defiance of the draconians authority. Neither spoke after that, nor did either make a move. The cloaked man made no gesture to advance, so Blith simply stood his ground, for he knew he had no need to move.
They emerged from nature like a tornado from the clouds, swift and undetected. The bronze and copper hues of the Bozak and Kapak made the appearance of bronze and copper crocodiles appearing from the murky waters on either side of the road. Like giant snakes they emerged from the deep, to crawl on the land in silence, daggers and short swords drawn and at the ready. The soft rustle of willow weed was the only indication that other Baaz draconians had made their presence know from behind the cloaked man while silver streaks in the sky beheld the arrival of three Sivak draconians. They circled their prey in wide, sweeping patterns. in such a way that the heavy overgrowth of the swamp seldom let the cloaked man from their piercing sight. Yet far enough from each other that they need not fear from flying into each other or spells that could take down many in an enclosed area of affect. Always they had their bows drawn and as their comrades advanced, they each let loose a volley of arrows, pricking the ground at the robed man’s feet.
“Make no move, whether in friendship or strife,” came from a voice behind him. “You are not recognized by us as either friend or foe, if you wish to become the former then by all means keep your tongue idle. Speak swiftly and with purpose, for you have been asked thrice and now a fourth, you shall not be asked again.”
“Impressive,” was the hollow reply. The voice was empty and deep, as from a man speaking in a cave, and it pierced all who heard it to the very core of their soul. The robed figure made no motion for a weapon but did grab ends of his sweeping cloak and turned slightly from left to right, ignoring the voice from behind. “ I must say that I did not hear the ripple of water from the swampy pond to either side. Also, I did not expect that such an avenue would be used as an ambush. No doubt the Kapak blades are envenomed and the Bozak’s have spells slipping from their lips, bravo”.
The Kapak and Bozak draconians to either side of the cloaked man stood their ground and as the stranger advanced he would stop just short of the area of threat where a draconian would consider attacking. The cloaked man turned his head from side to side and up and down, as if examining a statue in a museum and taking mental notes of the exhibit, but always he respected the space of the draconians and this fearlessness combined with a healthy respect seemed to unnerve the Dragonmen to the core.
“An attack from above is not all together unexpected, but I am impressed that creatures of such bulk could maneuver in such a confined space. Ah, there now, I see something else that was not there before, three, no four more hide in trees, but not with bows like their brethren, rather with their trademark saw-tooth two handed swords. No doubt ready to glide from the advantage of higher ground and charge their jagged blades into my hide. Ah, again, I am impressed.”
Krothan stood dumbfounded by this fool. In any other situation he would have been in complete control, but this simple robed man had made him question himself and worst of all this man had made him hesitate, the kiss of death for a soldier. Whether this man had the sheer confidence in his skills to defeat such a large company of Draconians, or he was a retard who somehow managed to survive the dangers of the swamp by sheer luck, he cared not. This had to end and end now.
“You have a lot to say, but little of importance,” slide the words from his tounge as his blade came dangerously close to the robed man’s throat, “your next words had better be good and to the point, for they will determine your life,” again threatened the voice from behind. Envenomed weapons raised and ready to strike a final blow, the Draconians felt secure that this mans ratings would soon falter.
“So impersonal you are, I would know your name before I reveal more. Fear not, I shall answer your questions, I simply wish to know the name of those that I address.”
“You have earned no such right with me or my kin, but I will oblige you, if it will speed your tongue to more useful information. I am Krothan, leader of this band of draconians and captain of the lands of Xak Tsaroth. You are not here by invitation or need, so now speak swiftly to the living or your next words will be to the dead.”
“Well met Krothan, and where did you come from dragon man,” casually came the reply as the robed man turned to face his addresser. “I did neither see you upon the road, nor in the trenches or faro ways, so where then did you spring from.” The robed man did not look upon the host of draconians that had sneaked up behind him as much as he analyzed them as a general would a battle tactic.
Krothan was not the only draconian to have reached his wits end with this fool as others from behind him made their ways from the ranks behind him so as to start an attack.
“Stand down to you dragon man, do you not know your master when you see him?” With that the man unrobed his head and drew back his cloak to reveal the glistening red scales of dragon hide fitted together with locking plates of finely forged steel and a wicked horned helm that covered his face, further concealing his identity. “I am Dragon Highlord Nethera and I come to you on behalf of our Queen.”
The draconians stood their ground and held fast their weapons. Not since the days of the War of the Lance had a Dragon Highlord been in power let alone seen. This perplexed the host of Dragonmen.
“Our Queen is gone from this world, banished in the ending of the Chaos Wars she was, saved her children she did, they are lies that you speak.”
“I never lie honorable dragon man, neither in practice nor in jest. She yet lives and is here, in this world, but come now, my road was long and weary and I still have much to do. Let us continue this conversation once purging appetites are satisfied and the dusty road has been washed from my mouth.” The draconians marveled in wonder as a door of light emerged from the darkness behind the self proclaimed Highlord. “Look for me in the ruined temple of the accursed Mishakal and let us finish our conversation there.” With that the door of light that had ripped a hole in time and space moved forward to engulf the Highlord in its blinding light and then it was gone. Only the confused Draconians where left on the spongy road, left behind in wonder and confusion.
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