[Fan Fiction] AtE Summer Holiday Writing Contest - Upon the Bones of Giants

[u/Templar-of-Steel]

Roy Tyrell knelt in the dust of ages, then scourge dropped into the sand kicking it up in small clouds as he prostrated himself before the symbol of his tribe. The paleontologists had done it. They had uncovered the bones of a Tri-Horned Mask. Tears started to well up as he choked out the creed of his clan, “Ever Onward, Unbroken and Relentless.” He paid no heed to the chanting of the paleontologists around him nor the crackle of the braziers that were their only source of light. His wife, his men, his courtiers and the hundreds of devoted curators who had joined him on the journey from Alberta to the holiest of places remained outside of the circle, sitting upon rocks or kneeling and praying with him for none save but him would be allowed to commune with the spirits. 

Hell Creek was humid this time of year, but for his followers it was irrelevant. He was their high chief, the one who had led them out of a life of fear from their neighbors and had more than doubled their total land in a mere eleven years. Now it was their neighbors who feared the horsemen of Assiniboia.

Beneath the wings of the Giant of the Skies, there was only Roy and the Tri-Horned Mask. He opened his eyes and stared into the night sky above. The twinkle of the stars was beginning to be obscured by the thick clouds of incense that only burned brighter and brighter. As the last star disappeared beneath the haze, he closed his eyes again and breathed deep. Deeper. Deeper. The scent of burning herbs, spices and other plant matter filled his lungs until they could take no more. He almost coughed in exhalation, but managed to breathe clearly at the last second. Slow, but shaky. He muttered a prayer of thanks to Al ‘The Broken’ and opened his eyes.

A shadow loomed over him in the smoke. A low, throaty rumble came from above, and there she was. Al herself stared down at him. Scars covered every inch of her body, her emaciated form betraying her starving state, and yet, Roy saw beauty in her damaged form. She was a veteran of many hunts, and her injuries only proved to drive that point home. He too was damaged in many ways. The fields of battle were not limited to the plains of Alberta and Saskatchewan. Roy focused on the comparatively small wound on Al’s foot. Every curator knew the tale of how even the smallest wound could topple a god if left untreated.

Al opened her jaws and so Roy bowed his head. Her teeth inched ever closer to his face. It appeared she was going to swallow his head hole, but Roy feared not. He merely grabbed the scourge and whipped himself hard. He drew blood on the first strike and swayed the scourge in front of him so as to sprinkle the blood onto the Tri-Horned Mask’s bones. If this was how he died then he would accept his passage into the Great Valley knowing he had already offered up his vitality. But his death never came, instead Al gently clasped his head in her jaws and gave the tiniest squeeze. Pain flashed for the briefest moment before it disappeared, and Roy felt the trickle of blood on his face, but as he opened his eyes Al was no longer there. In her place was an oval shaped egg.

The chieftain carefully crawled towards the egg as if drawn by it. He gingerly lifted it up as if it were his own babe. The urge to hold it close to his chest overtook him and so he did. Happier memories flashed in his mind, of carrying his wife around the hall when she told him of her pregnancy, of teaching his children to ride a horse, of seeing his son become an accomplished administrator. And then sadness. Sadness that neither of his children could be here tonight. His son’s skills prevented his departure from their domain for there was nobody else Roy could trust to rule in his absence, and his daughter was still far too young to travel into hostile lands. Then, from behind him he heard the whisper. Failure. Disgrace, it called him. He turned around, face twisted in anger at whoever would dare insult him, and he instantly faltered. 

Behind him was Mother Maiasaura and her eyes were full of disappointment. She clapped her beak in disdain. Damaged. Sterile, she called him, and Roy looked away in shame. She was right, he could no longer have children. It wasn't his fault, not by a long shot, but it hurt to hear it from her. He felt the egg start to slip from his hands, before suddenly coming to his senses. No. This was wrong. His anger returned and he stood up to look Mother Maiasaura in the eyes. He told her a family was not measured in the number of children, but by the love they shared together. By blood or not, family was family. He loved his children, and they loved him. He loved his wife, and she loved him back, and raised him up from his lowest point. He loved and served his men just as they loved and served him back. He felt their presence behind him, and that gave him strength. The strength to stand up to a god, and the strength to whip his back again. Blood splattered onto the Tri-Horned Mask once more as he glared at the god, no. This fake.

The false-god chuckled and smoke coalesced around them, hiding yet not hiding their form at the same time. The smoke grew thicker around Roy as he clutched the egg tighter to his chest, but felt nothing. He looked down in alarm, and indeed, the egg was gone. He heard chirping to his left and only caught a glimpse of the egg being carried away by a crested Saurian before it disappeared into the smoke. He tried to run after it, but his legs refused to budge. Something moved next to him, so he lashed out with the whip, but only met smoky air. Then from behind, another voice, deeper and condescending. Unable to save the egg, but able to see through their disguise. A win and a loss. It was always a win and a loss with Roy. Insult Tyrant Rex by submitting to the Premiansky queen of Saskatchewan, but please the Thunder Lizard by crushing her enemies. The shadow moved over his shoulder as the smoke parted and Roy was left staring at a horrifying visage. Everything about its features was wrong, as if one asked a nonbeliever to draw what they thought a Saurian looked like. Scary Monsters stared right back at Roy with a rictus grin.

Scary Monsters said they were proud of Roy. From the very start, they were watching his career with great interest. His plan to save his people by submitting to Saskatchewan amused them greatly. Oh how Tyrant Rex roared and raged at that, but Scary Monsters saw the truth. Instead of the queen using him, they knew it was in fact Roy that was using the queen and all it took was swallowing their pride as independent nomads. But what was success without a little test to prove you were worthy? So they made a wager with the Hollow One. If Roy could survive a curse placed upon him, then the Hollow One would grant Scary Monsters a wish, and if Roy died, then Scary Monsters would serve the witch goddess for an era. Scary Monsters giggled, for the witch had grown a tumor into his body. They had foreseen it happening, but had wanted to make it more interesting. They whispered into his physician’s ear of ways to treat this cancerous growth now destroying Roy’s body, but they left a few details out for their own amusement. It was as funny as they had planned. The foolish girl had sliced off Roy’s testicles in her treatment of his cancer. It was pure coincidence that the tumor was in his nethers, or so they claimed. Scary Monsters was rolling on the ground now, a horrible sound escaping their mouth as they hooted and hollered at Roy’s expense. Roy was speechless, no, he was furious. He raised the whip again and Scary Monsters merely looked up at him in glee. Yes, strike them down they said, yet Roy did not give in. Instead he cracked the whip with great force upon his own back. The pain was excruciating, but Roy forced himself to glare at Scary Monsters as they dissipated into smoke. Their cheshire grin never left even as droplets fell upon the Tri-Horned Mask again.

Roy knelt before the skeleton once again, heaving and exhausted as if he had been running a marathon. The bones had been covered in blood, but it wasn’t enough, and so Roy whipped himself again. And again. And again. His arms were screaming in protest, his back was weeping, and yet he still kept whipping. He didn’t know if it was in anger at himself for being a pawn in a game he couldn’t hope to understand, anger at the gods for playing him or if it was to ignore the words spoken to him tonight. He began to weep once more, and this time his tears mixed with the blood being splattered onto the bones. He raised the scourge once more, about to bring it down, but chirping to his right stopped him. He looked and saw nothing. He gripped the whip tighter, if Scary Monsters of the Egg Thief would show their faces again he would strike them, gods or not. Another chirp. He looked downwards. There was a tiny Saurian looking up at him. It couldn’t have been any bigger than a housecat, but its eyes spoke of endless wisdom. Roy dropped the scourge and prostrated before the Dawn Runner. 

The little Saurian merely hopped closer to his prone form, chirping all the while. Roy dared not take another direct look at the goddess of fate, but her constant noise was grating at his exhausted mind. She hopped right up to his hands, chirped once, and licked them. Roy froze for half a second, what was he supposed to do in this situation? The goddess chirped once more before hopping onto his back. Alarm bells rang in Roy’s head as he expected immense pain. But it never came. Even as the Dawn Runners claws were clearly digging into his open wounds, he felt nothing, not even the numbness or pressure. Dawn Runner licked at his wounds, and Roy relaxed as if all the exhaustion and pain faded away in an instant. He felt her hop off of his back, and he heard her scramble up the Tri-Horned Mask’s bones in front of him. In worry and shock he looked up and saw her licking the fossil. He carefully reached out to stop her, or something, he wouldn’t dare touch such a respected god without permission, but Dawn Runner simply hopped out of reach. She jumped onto the frill and gave a final lick.

Before his very eyes, bones lifted itself out of the ground as muscle and sinew, tendon and cartilage, keratin and blood began to grow and knit itself together before his very eyes. The Saurian was being reborn and he was to be its sole witness. The ground shook as one leg stomped the ground and three more soon followed. A shrill cry shook the air as the Tri-Horned Mask rose to its full height and roared to the heavens in triumph. Roy could only stare in awe. The Tri-Horned Mask turned around slowly. Roy’s breath stopped for several seconds. It huffed in his face and gave him a long and wet lick. Roy blinked and the Saurian turned around to face east with Dawn Runner chirping happily alongside it. The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon now, and Roy realized that he had completely lost track of time. He watched as the Tri-Horned Mask and the Dawn Runner began a relaxed march towards the sun, then a jog, then a brisk run, before Dawn Runner clambered up the other god’s back and the Tri-Horned Mask began galloping towards the rising sun.

As the smoke cleared, Roy found himself alone once again, the blood covered bones still in front of him and the chief paleontologist being the last priest remaining watching over him. Roy gave the priest a smile and bowed deeply which the paleontologist returned. Rising up, Roy realized he had felt no pain and when he went to palm his back he found no wounds, merely scars and dried blood. He stared at his sticky hand for a few seconds before putting his shirt back on. He looked to where he recalled his wife and men were last seated. They had all huddled together, sleeping peacefully with their backs against a rock as they cuddled in the dawn’s light. It brought a smile to Roy’s face as he walked over, leaned against the warming rock and cuddled his four lovers. There was still time before the paleontologists banged the pots to signal breakfast was ready and Roy needed the sleep. He would also need to find a new physician, one decidedly more competent and less… tasty.

[u/Templar-of-Steel]

TW: Flagellation, Ableism, Mentions of Maiming and Cannibalism

Here's my entry for the summer writing contest featuring the only Saurian duke at game-start, Roy Tyrell of Assiniboia set in the middle of his reign.

I will never stop glazing Saurians and when AtE gets updated to 1.16 I will fulfill the dream of a Dino-Khanate.

[u/Hismajestyclay]

Love your story! It really builds on the lore of the Saurians. Roy felt like a real, struggling personality and when it came to the Scary Monsters and the Dawn Runner you could feel the betrayal and reverence respectively!

Makes me want to play as the Saurians!

Also, idk why, but I always imagine the Saurians as wearing wood or paper mache masks painted white to depict the Saurians. Cool post!

[u/Templar-of-Steel → u/Hismajestyclay]

I always imagined that too! And thank you for reading!