From the Hidden City (Warhammer Lizardmen Temple-City Quest) Fantasy (2024)

Day 75 Tlanxla's Season, 11633

"Loosen your grip," the elder warmblood instructed, an older male just into his fourth decade of life.

His closely shorn hair put Loqtli in the mind of a bed of black lichen clinging to a boulder, speckled with salt crystals. Working a finger underneath the clenched digits of his student, he loosened the white-knuckled grip of the younger warmblood.

"Firm, like you're plucking a nieb fruit, so it does not bruise."

"Yes, elder."

"Tch," scoffed the elder hunter, "I am not your elder."

His name was Mpho. Apparently he did not much enjoy the status his age and experience gave him, Loqtli had observed the warmblood over the last several hunts they had joined this small troop on and were he a saurus—

Loqtli swallowed the hiss that boiled at the back of their throat, stopping the shiver working its way up their spine in its tracks.

He was not a saurus. Warmbloods had not the obsinite-certainty of purpose of their kind.

Knocking the fur swaddled tip of the spear wielded by the other warmblood ko'chuul up and away, Loqtli's hissed at their own student. Nymandi, she was named.

"Aim for body center first."

None of the practiced Vohlu hunters, much less these still-wet-from-their-spawning warmbloods, had the skill for trying more chancey attacks on the limbs or other vitals. In battle such would get them killed. And even against the skittish ungulates that were their usual prey, a telling strike to the torso was better than a graze elsewhere, nevermind against more aggressive porcine prey or even one of the true jungle hunters.

"Y-yes, Sc-scaled-One."

Their next attempt was better, though still too hesitant. Still these were some of the youngest warmbloods, just into their first decade and not even fully developed yet, they did not even have their full height.

Letting the ko'chuul practice their control against him had been an exercise in frustration at first— worse than sparring with skinks. Even after more than half-an-hour they had shown only small improvements.

Loqtli had had to correct this warmblood's posture and stance five times.

Sunlight dappled the jungle floor as the breeze shook the canopy overhead. As the party worked its way across the low rise overlooking the clearing there was little but distant echoing bird calls and the gentle nickering of their prey down below.

Mpho brought them to a stop with a halt at a good spot.

Eight browned furred ungulates, their sides striped faintly with white, grazed in the small depression. One buck, five females, and three juveniles, two young to tell their sex from a distance. A pair of narrow, sweeping conical horns adorned the buck's head, growth rings indicating its age. Good prey.

Loqtli might have brought them in closer, there was a dip at the bottom hillside where a cluster of ferns grew… but even experienced warmblood hunters would have struggled to reach it without alerting the ungulates they hunted. They had never hunted these particular creatures, but they seemed related to the uani'tli that roved closer to Zlatlan and those were not particularly bright. But, with two ko'chuul along it was all but certain they would have been spooked.

Mpho made another gesture, signaling Loqtli and the other warmblood hunter, Tcho, to spread out to the flanks to corral the prey. With a nod the Scar-Veteran began to creep along the ridge.

Keeping one eye on the prey and the other firmly on Tcho and the ko'chuul as they crept down topwards the edge of the clearing.

Unlike warmbloods, the Servants of the Old Ones did not give away their positions by scent so easily, a Vohlu hunter could not have gotten so close as they or swing so wide. This allowed them to get a better vantage of Mpho and watch the warmblood guide his pupils, picking out targets and miming the correct motions. He took another moment to watch them practice the movements, adjusting their grips and correcting their posture before taking up a spear of his own.

Each spear was a simple, crude thing. Bare, green wood roughly scraped into shape with stone tools with a piece of knapped stone shoved into one end before being tied in place by twined grass.

There was another moment of stillness. One of the ungulates lifted its head, still chewing slowly as it scanned the clearing.

For a moment its eyes seemed to meet Loqtli's. Perhaps it saw the saurus, or maybe it did not.

It did not matter.

Just seconds laters three thin javelins whistled down from the top of the ridgeline. Two struck true, taking one of the older, larger ungulates resting in the low ferns in the side just a handspan from each other. But the third, unfortunately, only skidded along the flank of its own target— a large buck, as it turned its body.

Cries of panicked pain startled the herd to scattering. Leaving behind one injured animal as it struggled to rise with a pair of spears embedded in its ribs.

Loqtli intercepted the other target, letting the rest of the herd pass them by and lashing out with their knife; catching the ungulate in the neck and bringing it down in the next motion. Its hoofed legs thrashed briefly in the air as it tried to right itself and escape. That lasted only barely a moment before they wrenched their knife through its spine with a crack and a single, great spasms ran through the beasts whole body.

Day 21 Yuxa's Season, 11634

Zille'mi sat at the edge of the platform, her feet tucked underneath and her tail hanging out over the edge into a puddle gathering beneath. Rain beat heavy against the layers of thick leaves forming the roof. Occasionally a droplet hit the base of her tail, runoff from the roof. Men and women crammed themselves in tightly, pressing against each other until the rough wood of the floor could not be seen, babies and children— in some cases simply some of the smaller adults, held in laps.

They gathered in the largest of the dozen or so simple buildings that made up the camp. Most were small, just large enough to fit a dozen people at a time and were used to keep supplies away from easy access of pests or out of the rain. Four were larger, wide enough and long enough that the whole band could sleep on their floors of split logs. All were set on wooden poles, as wide around as a saurus' bicep, leaving enough space between the floor and the ground for the young children to crawl beneath when they wanted to escape their minders.

Made of mostly green wood and selected bits of timber, structure pieces were secured to one another through a combination of twined grass strips and simple notching. Only the smallest structures had anything like walls; panels of thin branches set next to each other, or, in the case of the drying hut where the meat brought in by the hunters was preserved, woven together into something at least resembling an actual wall.

Some of the elders had made noise about her sitting with them near the center of the loose coil formed by the warmbloods, but Zille'mi had begged that off.

Less any sort of 'meeting' and more a protracted verbal melee to her eyes. None had the authority to call it into order, each little cluster of people talked over and around each other. Even without being in the middle of it the dull cacophony of the conversations almost drowned out the sound of the rain.

" —thin even just two years ago. We should head south from the tall rocks, swing east towards the cave pools."

"Ha, setting camp near there would be next to impossible. Should we head for the screaming devil valley, chance the bad spirits?"

"Are you a frightened granny? Everyone knows old Sahti was— "

But whatever old Sahti might have been doing was lost as the voices faded into the hubbub.

" —return to the tall trees, I want more roast nuts this year. And laa cakes."

"I heard from Miendi, who heard it from one of the scaled-ones," here a quick glance to Zille'mi, then away, "That one of their wisem*n had a vision of some bad spirits moving in near the headwaters that will drive out the good prey."

"Should the baana or the nkuru flee from the headwaters they will move to the tall trees. Good hunting grounds, then."

Were they speaking of the troglodon living in the upper mountains? Atahuinqua had reported at least one mated pair with newly hatched young. They were some years yet from being any sort of problem for the Vohlu though.

"Old wood though, hard to work."

"We can range south or west to the fresh growth around the scarred hills, plenty of newer wood there to work with."

Turning away from one group to another, Zille'mi heard dozens of arguments. Some for going south or west or north or east, most to landmarks whose identity she could only guess at. This was the longest she had ever spent amongst the Vohlu, she had joined them on migrations from one camp to another before, but only after the decision had already been made.

Seeing them make that decision was… frustrating. There was little order and no clear hierarchy. Even their so-called 'elders' were little more than slightly more prominent voices, called on by this or that group within the band not for their wisdom but for their memories of earlier treks. Treated as living archives. Whose recordings barely weighed more than the ephemeral wants of individual members of the band.

And there was no urgency. Making the decision took the better part of an entire week as factions formed and dissolved, arguments erupted and were resolved only for new arguments to erupt in their wake.

Eventually though the band came to a decision. They were headed for some place called the gorge— which Zille'mi believed to be a canyon cut by a former tributary to the Red River.

Breaking down the camp was its own matter.

Even after the decision had been made it took another two days for the rain to let up enough for work to actually begin. Season's change had not yet come, so another storm was unlikely to be on the immediate horizon and the band could not wait much longer or they'd be stuck until the season turned again.

Once they were out of the lowlands the rain wouldn't be an issue in any case.

Just to be certain Zille'mi snuck off the night after the rains let up and cast the bones of a gull and a sea snake, reading the chances of storm in how they fell. Back in Zlatlan she could have been more exact; taking wind readings and measuring the fluctuations of azyr off the coast, but she made do with what was available. More rain was unlikely.

She thought it would be at least two weeks before the prevailing winds brought in another storm system. By then they should be well out of the lowlands.

Dismantling a camp the size of the one the band had established was not quick.

Roofs had to be dismantled, the bundles of grasses used to tie together layers of broad, waxy leaves unknotted and tossed aside in loose piles that littered the ground. Mud quickly turned into a ring of plaster by the churning of dozens of feet. Strips of vine were then used to make thinner, lighter cloaks from those same leaves for draping over supplies and people.

Smaller buildings were dismantled within half a day. Those dislodged slept underneath the stars or crowded in with others in larger buildings that first night.

As most of the band tore down the simple structures, a small group of hunters headed out into the forest, while the rest of the band took bundles of thin sticks from the walls and floors, along with the vines from the surrounding jungle and began fashioning packs. Some were lined with fresh animal skins but most either had sides of layers of leaves bound together similarly to the roofs, or had nothing at all and were simply meant to carry the band's bulkier property. Crude stone tools and ceremonial wood carvings.

Many were simplistic renderings of animals or people. Things that she often saw many of the band working away at during the night as the fire burned lower and lower; trinkets and toys often given to the younger members of the band, who seemed to especially enjoy them.

Others were more complex… ones Zille'mi had never seen before. Tableaus carved from larger chunks of wood polished by wax. These were mostly scenes of vaguely human like figures, with large rounded balls for heads that rattled in their animal skin lined pack until they were stuffed with grass and leaves.

By early afternoon on the second day the hunters had returned with several fresh kills, and even the larger structures had been taken down and all that remained of the camp were the thick sunken posts that served as foundations, the scattered firepits, and the crowd of humans (and a skink and a saurus) waiting around for night to fall. After the first fires were lit and the hunters kills were set over them on long raised poles, several of the Vohlu grabbed bundles of sticks wrapped at one end with dried grasses and set them beneath the slowly roasting meat.

Hours dragged on and the heat of the fires slowly began to cook the meat. And as it roasted the fat dripped out and fell onto the crude torches.

Once the meat had been fully cooked and everyone had eaten their fill— including Loqtli, the torches were lit from the fires and then pairs of Vohlu went around to the sunken poles. At each, one would take out a fist sized clump of something and hold it over the lit end of the torch for a moment before then rubbing it over the wood, often repeating this process three or four times until every bit was covered in a thin layer of tacky resin. The process was then repeated for each pole until everyone was covered and the clumps were much reduced.

By which time it was late and nearly the whole of the rest of the band was already sleeping.

In the morning they left.

Day 37 Yuxa's Season, 11634

Voices echoed across the shallow valley in song.

Zille'mi looked down on the column of warmbloods as it worked its way up the incline, passing from low rolling meadow down below back into the heavier jungle. By the standards of her people it was a disorganized mess; clumps of five or six wandering in a loose line surrounded by a scattered spray of scouts.

She had traveled with the Vohlu before, but only with smaller groups. While this band was only some one-hundred and sixty or so, hardly one of the largest, it was remarkable how disorganized it truly was. Were the other humans this lax? What of the elves and the dwarfs? It was astounding they had not all been rendered extinct.

No. She shook her head, that was unkind.

While the world was dangerous, it was not so dangerous that it required strict martial discipline simply for survival. Despite their proximity to the southern pole the lands of Huitzacatlan were tamer than they might otherwise be, with even the thin remnants of the Geomantic Web of the other temple-cities and Zlatlan in particular the Winds could not touch this land so heavily. Chuqitzan had its spell of wildness, but Huitzacatlan was unworked clay. But it did illustrate how far the Vohlu must come in order to find their place within the Great Plan and renewed her admiration for the work of Lord Wik'keer'mal and his brothers with the other warmbloods.

It was early in the day, the band had only been marching for an hour or so, and Zille'mi had chosen a position near the front of the column— with several of the elders, who were now resting from the effort of the climb up the hill.

As another group made its way up the hill she spied a familiar set of packs on their backs.

Turning to one of her companions, Khua, the granddaughter of Dhon, /Khusa's brother, she gestured down at the group.

"What is in those packs?"

Looking up from where she was trying to get one of the elders, Esho, a relative of some description whose precise relation Zille'mi had not yet figured out, the young human followed the line of her claw.

"Oh, idols and such. Of the Great Ancestor, Njem and her consort Njat. Some to the other great spirits of the land like the Pale Eater and Bhaku."

Zille'mi bobbed her head. She had never learned much of Vohlu religious or mythic beliefs, beyond a few comments /Khusa had made during her life.

But they had never seemed of much import; she knew they worshiped… or at least paid homage to what they called spirits, though Zille'mi had seen nothing like what Zecxa and Poqlixi'tli had reported near the Temple Avenue of Gold. Nothing she had seen in /Khusa or any of the other Vohlu had hinted at the divine. Simple aethyric sensitivity sufficed.

Another aspect of their culture she needed to explore. She wished she had though to ask /Khusa of these things when she had been alive. Hissing in frustration she turned back towards Khua to thank her.

"N-not your Lord Wikeermohl or Chotec of course!" the warmblood said, her dark skinned shading ever so slightly, "Nor the others. We do not dare steal your spirit's attention from you."

Zille'mi stopped, her mouth opened and then she snapped it shut as she stared at the warmblood.

To call the Old Ones spirits! That was—

Unimportant. Warmbloods such as the Vohlu knew as little of the Old Ones as they knew of the movements of the planets in their orbits.

"Thank you," she said at last after a moment to consider, deciding not to try and educate Khua on the nature of the slann and the Old Ones just then.

That would have to be carefully considered.

Day 46 Yuxa's Season, 11634

Something stalked the band. Too small to be one of the jungle's true predators, but large enough to draw Loqtli's attention. It had been stalking the band since the previous afternoon.

By sticking to the upper branches of the surrounding trees it had so far avoided being caught out by the Scar-Veteran, given away only by the rustling of leaves and the occasional whiff on the breeze. None of the Vohlu had noted its presence.

Their noses could not detect the faint perfume of salt, crushed leaves, dried feces, and fruit pulp.
Nymandi," Loqtli called, drawing the younger warmblood's attention and gesturing her over, "Come here."

Trotting over, spear clutched tightly in hand, she bobbed her head uncertainly.

"Scaled-one?"
"What do you see," they gesture to the stretch of forest jungle before them. Looking out at the trees and ferns and vines, then back at Loqtli, Nymandi hesitated.

"Jungle. Mbigi xolo vines, a few immature laa nuts."

They waited. She looked back out at the jungle for another long moment.

"Some old deer tracks, headed… east. Four at least."

While she was mostly correct— the ungulates had been headed west, three does and a rather young buck, she had not seen their stalker as they hoped she might with her attention drawn in their direction. Currently it was moving along a branch maybe seventeen paces off to the right, investigating those same nuts that Nymandi had identified.

"What do you make of the canopy, besides the immat— "

Suddenly several voices interrupted their testing as seven warmbloods broke through the jungle behind them at a steady march.Three were young, nearly what the Vohlu considered adults (two males and one female), and the other four were much older, evenly split between the sexes, with graying hairs and the typical wrinkled flesh of those approaching the ends of their time.

Nymandi frowned at their sudden appearance, but then brightened a bit and waved to one.

"Uncle Dhoj!"

"Nymandi," returned the other warmblood, while the rest of his small party remained engaged in conversation.

" —swing around the pits and head south."

"One of the other bands will be in the area. We can join them or continue on to the lakes."

"Uncle? Has the band decided to change directions?"

Loqtli tilted their head, such a thing was not unknown, but was usually brought on by changes in the weather, mudslides, or 'bad omens' read from dreams.There had been no reports of any of those three things.

"Ah," he grimaced, "No. I, ah- that is,all of us, we think it would be better— "

"We're leaving," said another of the older warmbloods, a female, "Band is going too far from our lands. Risking too much setting up a new camp. So we're going back. Maybe joining up with someone else."

"Um, is that really a good idea? That's a long journey and you're… there aren't very many of you."

Seven was not too small a party. But that was not really Nymandi's concern, Loqtli knew, what was more worrying was that only one of them (the younger female) held their spear with anything approaching confidence. Certainly the others had never been amongst the frequent hunters.

It would take at least two weeks for them to reach the more heavily trafficked routes, the band had already been on the edge of the marked out territory.

"We'll be fine, child."

Few things would seek to attack seven warmbloods, even with so many entering their last years of life. That did not mean the journey would be without danger for them, they carried few supplies and it would be difficult for them to establish a camp by themselves if they did not meet another band that would take them in.

Loqtli wished to order them back to the rest of the band. But they knew that to do so was folly, warmbloods were not made as the Servants of the Old Ones, they did not understand duty and purpose as they did. Even those not suffering from 'Lashu's Curse' often balked at being told what to do.

While you will be teaching the Vohlu a broad swathe of basic technologies by default. Now is when you get to decide what areas you'll focus on giving them more advanced help as time goes on. There are a number of synergies and opportunities behind each technology, some of which will also depend on choices made in the next sections; for instance, to have the Vohlu eventually start managing leadwood plantations for you, you would need to teach them Forestry and take a later option. Feel free to ask about specific combinations (just don't ask me to list off all the possible combinations). The next parts of the action will involve culture/governance and religion/magic respectively.

See below for the list of technologies, feel free to ping me if you think of any that don't appear there.

Vote by PLAN, NINE technologies per plan
Format Example:
[-] Plan Name
- [-] Tech 1
- [-] Tech 2
- [-] Tech 3
- [-] Tech 4
- [-] Tech 5
— [-] Sub-Option
- [-] Tech 6
— [-] Sub-Option
- [-] Tech 7
- [-] Tech 8
- [-] Tech 9

Notes: Comments, Critique, etc. Here we go. Bit longer moratorium this time, as this is a bit more involved than a lot of the past few choices.