The Shadownaar Years: Blit’zen Pieces. [FANFIC] #cleric

The Shadownaar Years: Blit’zen Pieces.

Donaar sat upon his ceremonial throne and tried not to look as bored as he felt. It had been weeks already in this bizarre palace. Nothing to do. Nowhere to go. He didn’t know if this place even had an edge. Maybe this entire world was nothing but the same endless maze of corridors, always lighted by shafts of what might be sunlight from skylights high above. And now, after he had spent what, a month? Two? Doing nothing but eating ripe fruits and dried, exotic meats… He shifted meditatively on the throne, farted, shifted back again.

It was, apparently, the time of the Spawning. He regarded the prospect with no great enthusiasm. Lizards everywhere. Not his thing at all. And they’d brought him to this place, and the Grand Vizier had told him to sit here, and even more nothing was happening. Before his uninterested gaze, an apparently endless stream of lizardfolk paraded past his throne, some with eyes cast down demurely, some casting him glances that might in theory have been alluring. His harem, apparently. They were filing past and leaving the throne room through a huge, beautifully decorated gateway. From the room beyond there was a faint sound of running water, occasional splashing. The Spawning Chamber.

He realised the Vizier was gently nudging him. He must have nodded off. Ah well. “What is it?”

“It is, ah, time, Sire. For you to enter the Chamber, Sire. This way, if you would be so kind.”

Oh yes. The procession was over. He saw the last tailtip vanish through the door. Might as well get it over with. He allowed the obsequious lizardman to lead him towards the Chamber.

“Now what?”

“Well, Sire, you enter the Chamber, Sire. And then you, ah, perform your function, Sire. For the eggs, Sire. I hope this is clear, Sire?”

“No. I’m new here. Be specific.”

“I’m not sure, ah, what else I can, ah…”

“Wait here.” Donaar stalked into the Chamber. Might as well spy out the land.

The Chamber was huge. Lit from above, as always and everywhere. The stone floor, smoothly flagged, sloped gently across the immense width of the room. On the higher side, a fount of running water splashed out of the wall and fell burbling into a small pool. From the pool, a stream ran down a carved channel and debouched into the wide, shallow pond that took up the lower half of the room. The walls were carved with an intricate display of lizardfolk disporting themselves in ways he couldn’t immediately grasp.

The pond was full of eggs. Huge, translucent eggs, like gigantic frogspawn. Filling the pond in a gelatinous mass. Donaar felt his gorge heave slightly.

The room was otherwise deserted. His harem was nowhere to be seen. He took a minute to scan, patiently, the entire room, just to be sure that they weren’t simply hiding behind each other. Then he tramped to the entrance once more. “Vizier?”

“Yes, Sire?”

“Come in. I need something explained to me.”

“But Sire, it is forbidden to any but royalty to enter the chamber, Sire, I…”

“Come in or I will come out there and eat you.”

“Coming in, Sire.”

The Vizier scuttled in nervously. Donaar indicated the room with an expansive gesture. “Explain. I need you to explain, in small words, who does what, and where. Start now.”

“Well, Sire… your harem have, of course, deposited their eggs, as you can see, Sire, in the spawning pond. And, ah, all is now in readiness for, ah, your contribution, Sire.”

“Explain. My. Contribution.”

“Well, ah, traditionally, Sire, the, ah, Sire, as it were, Sire, enters the Siring Pool, Sire, that’s the small one up there, Sire, and, ah, makes the. Ah. Deposit. S…”

“Say Sire one more time. I dare you.”

“Yes, Sss…ertainly. Yes. And, ah, the sacred waters carry the, ah, contribution into the pond, and thus, ah. The process. Yes. Concludes.”

“Concludes.”

“Yes. The eggs will, ah, develop in the waters of the pool under the tender care of your harem, and so in due course your progeny will emerge. Such joy, Sss…urely.”

Donaar let the creature mutter on. Its voice seemed to be coming from very far away. He could, of course, kill the wretched thing, but honestly, what would be the point?

“Go away.”

“Yes, thank you, ah, will there be…”

“Just go away.” And as the Vizier scuttled gratefully out of the chamber, Donaar gritted his teeth and marched grimly towards the pool. In the back of his mind, he could hear what sounded like a thousand halflings, laughing.

---

The Grand Vizier poked his head very carefully around the door of the royal chambers. Judging by the sounds he’d heard so far, the sword was not currently in the Sire’s hands. An opportune moment. Cautiously he slipped into the room.

Before he could speak, his attention was seized by the bizarre sight within. He knew that the Sire had called for strange materials lately – twigs, broad dried leaves, pigments – but he hadn’t known what he was doing with them. This was startling.

Scattered all around the room, some loosely piled into rustling heaps, some drifting across the floor on faint drafts, were the huge pale leaves of jungle palms, dry, almost brittle. Covering every one were angular letters, inscribed in reddish ochre. A leaf brushed against the Vizier’s ankle. He picked it up and scanned it. The script was one he’d seen before, on occasion, a Draconic variation. Perhaps he could puzzle out…

DONAAR BLIT’ZEN. ME.

BACONATOR. DECISIONIST. ME.

ACQUISITIONS INCORPORATED. RED LARCH. TWENTY-FIVE PER CENT. MINE.

REMEMBER.

He set the leaf aside, carefully, picked up another. This one bore a crude sketch of a small woman holding a stick.

ROSIE BEESTINGER. HALFLING. GRANDMOTHER. MONK.

TWENTY FIVE PERCENT ALSO.

HER FAULT.

REMEMBER.

The Vizier realised that there was more rustling in the room than the drafts should account for. And in the quietness, he could hear a low muttering.

Over in one corner, behind the massive bed, the Sire crouched on the floor, wearing a loose robe, unbelted. In one hand he held a twig, its tip stained with ochre. With worrying patience he was scribing huge, angular characters onto a leaf. As the Vizier approached, he could hear the Sire muttering under his breath.

“Prophe. Audra. Cat. There was a cat. Cat. Name. Cat name. What was cat name. Cat.”

The Vizier cleared his throat nervously. “Sire, I…”

Donaar whirled towards him and leapt in a single motion. The Vizier found himself lying down. His back hurt where he’d hit the ground. The tip of Donaar’s stylus was a fraction of an inch from his left eyeball. The Dragonborn’s eyes were wild, darting around the room in constant paranoia.

“DID YOU LOOK?”

The Vizier shook his head frantically.

“You don’t look! You don’t look at my stuff! Understand?” A huge clawed hand tightened around the lizardman’s throat.

“Yes, Sire! No look, Sire! Never look!”

Donaar leapt to his feet and scanned the room suspiciously. “Did you bring others? No others!”

The Vizier carefully climbed to his feet and smoothed his ruffled scales.

“I do apologise, Sire. I did not mean to intrude. I was informed by the servants that you wished to see me, Sire.”

“What? Yes… yes. I need…”. Donaar started to pace the room, like a caged predator. “Is it… is it going to be time soon? For another of those…”. He made a vague gesture. “Those times?”

“The, ah, the spawning, Sire? Perhaps in a few weeks at the most, Sire. Many of your harem are definitely gravid, Sire, the time will be upon us soon, you need have no fear.”

Donaar growled slightly. “I need something, Vizier. I need you to get me something.”

“Whatever is in my power, Sire.”

“This is something I need, Vizier. Before the spawning. You will obtain me this thing, or there will be no spawning, not this time, not ever. I need this.”

“Yes, Sire. What… what exactly do you require, Sire?”

Donaar loomed over him threateningly. A droplet of acid collected at the corner of his mouth, then dropped, hissing, to the floor.

“I want you…”

The Vizier could see nothing but fangs now.

“I want you to bring me…”

Not like this, he’s going to eat me, not like this, please.

Donaar picked the Vizier up with one hand and growled his demand into his face.

“I want you to bring me… a shrubbery.”

---

“Now, Thass’zk, you’ve been with us for a while now. Five years now, is it?”

“Six, Head Gardener.”

“Six, indeed. I’ve been very happy with your work. Diligent, careful, a real green claw.”

Thass’zk was a little confused by this, after all green claws were hardly rare among lizardfolk. But Head Gardener Thrazz’t sounded approving. He nodded and waited for the other scale to drop.

“I have a special task for you, Thass’zk. It will require skill and care, but also, discretion.”

“I shall be as silent as an egg unhatched, Head Gardener.”

“Come with me.”

The pair wended their way through the service corridors that honeycombed the palace. Thass’zk made careful note of their route. Eventually they halted before a substantial stone portal. The Head Gardener produced an intricate bronze key, then paused a moment before applying it to the door. “Do you know where we are, Thass’zk?”

He checked his bearings repeatedly. Surely not? He must be confused, missed a turning… but no. “This must be the Royal Spawning Chamber, Head Gardener. But it is forbidden for any commoner to…”.

“Permission is granted for particular purposes. You will tell nobody. You will be given your own copy of this key. You will reveal your task, and what you see within the chamber, to none whatsoever. Am I understood?”

He nodded. His tail trembled nervously. Thrazz’t unlocked the portal and, once they had both passed through, hastily closed and locked it once again. Thass’zk was astonished at what he saw within the chamber.

There was, of course, the pond. There was, of course, the running stream. So much was unsurprising. But the course of the stream emerged from a glory of foliage. Lush jungle ferns and great overhanging leaves formed a luxurious, verdant mass, basking in the shafts of light from the skylights far overhead. Once the initial shock had worn off, he was able to scan the situation with his gardener’s eye, and appreciate how cleverly the planting had been managed. The plants lived in the bare minimum of soil. A cunning arrangement of bamboo tubes let water flow and drip exactly where it was needed. He turned to the Head Gardener with newfound respect. “Sir, did… did you create all this? It is astonishing! Such craft!”

“Yes, lad, this is my own work. I created this at the direct command of the Grand Vizier, and until now, I and only I have tended it. But now, young man, I am giving you the task. You, Thass’zk, will be the Keeper of the Royal Bush.”

“Sir? I don’t understand…”

“This is what you must know. Reveal nothing of this to anyone. It appears that His Virility, the Royal Sire, has certain… preferences. Requirements, even. There is nothing that is more… effective, shall we say, than a truly luxuriant bush.”

“You have certainly created that, sir. I have never seen so dense and profusely thatched a bush.”

“You must keep it exactly so, Thass’zk. The Royal Bush must be… lush. Thick. Humid. Moist. Tropical. But! It must not grow wild and untamed. An unkempt bush would be worse than nothing! It must be well maintained. Carefully groomed. So prepare your finest blades and shears. Tending, trimming and pruning the Royal Bush will be your sole charge from this day forwards.”

Thass’zk felt his neck wattles inflate with pride.

---

Donaar was feeling better than he had in years. Time had established that there was no limit to how bored he could get, but now he felt he’d really found a pastime that worked for him. It involved enormous amounts of shouting at people and telling them what to do, but he’d tolerate that if he had to.

He reached down into the stone bowl, held for him by a diminutive, trembling servitor lizard, picked up a writhing skink, and popped it into his mouth for a snack. The rehearsals had taken longer than he’d expected, but he thought the ensemble was really coming together.

“All right! Once more, from the top!” he bellowed.

The chorus line of lizardfolk shuffled into their starting positions, smoothed down their feather boas and tutus, adopted postures of carefully simulated enthusiasm.

“Aaaand…. Go!”

It was an all-singing, all-dancing spectacular by any standards. Donaar nodded appreciatively as the choreography unfolded. Nicely done, number three a little behind the beat, maybe execute him later, okay, now for the showstopper…

And here it came. The lizardfolk sang lustily. None of them spoke the Genari dialect Donaar had written these lyrics in, so it was all done phonetically, but he thought the effect was impressive nonetheless.

“Sex bush, sex bush, you’re my sex bush, Your foliage enfolds me when I need a little push, Sex bush, sex bush, you’re my sex bush, And baby you’re so truly lush!”

Not bad. Not bad at all.

Donaar reached down for another snack, grabbed, lifted and bit. There was more of a crunch then he expected, followed by a splintering crash as a stone bowl hit the floor by his foot and shattered. The troupers screamed and ran, leaving a trail of performance clothing and props behind them as they fought to get out through the doors.

Donaar looked down. He had bitten the head off the servitor.

Godsdammit. Not again.

Ah well. Waste not, want not. Donaar ate the rest of the lizard.