Tear of the Ghlak by Ken, Repost

Hey dude! Thanks for the comments. I think you might have mispressed a button, becuase those comments appear but the story doesen't. That, said, I'm reposting it. Hope you don't mind

In the mists of pre-history from the end of the Devonian to the fall of the Rock, life and civilization existed, civilizations that could scarcely be imagined. Nations like Pious Nasir, where the Smilodon theocrat in his ruby mask spoke for a god whose sacrament was delusion. So too do the legends speak of the Kled Principalities, and reptilian Raptor Lords who rule them. Bards sing of the flying city of Zura, with it’s lich prophets, and Yaddith, glorious Yaddith, the Empire of the Pole, whose crystal towers pierce the heavens.
It is a history that is not true, but now, let us see what could have been, in the Dreamtime, at the dawn.



The Tear of the Ghlak

Nycal stood at the summit of his tower, watching the stars. A twist of a lens brought the constellation of Xel-Ilith, the Trilobite, into sharper focus. Nearby was the star cluster that formed the tentacles of the Ghlak. Another adjustment and he could see the shining purple eye of the thing, the star Shaggai.
The Sorcerer made an annotation on his star chart, and then breathed deeply, letting the southern winds invigorate his carapace. Shuffling footsteps signaled the arrival of the Servile.
The small primate was not much to look at, but he was dependable, once you taught him the way of things. Like his fellows, he had been dressed in simple brown robes, the color of subservience. His task was to keep the tower tidy, and to bring his master food should he require it, just as he was doing now. He carried a platter of meat and wine, which he set on the table.
Nycal clicked his beak in approval. “Thank you Servile. You may sleep now.”
“I go.”
Nycal smiled to himself. It good that the Servile was following his commands, finally. It had been months since he had had to use the brain worms.
Returning to his telescope, a shimmer near the purple star caught his eye. A single golden shimmer fell from the Eye, trailing a blue streak behind it. The falling star made its way west. Nycal held his breath. Could it be?
Moments later a tremendous explosion shook the ground. Yaddith in other towers nearby were jolted from their alcoves. Nycal took a moment to steady himself. His carapace was venting air madly in his excitement. His charts and the food had been scattered by the blast, but that was hardly on his mind right now.
The sorcerer turned his telescope to the west. Rising from the jungle was a blue plume of smoke.
“The Tear of the Ghlak!”
Shaking the dust from his robes, Nycal descended to the lower rooms of his tower, to the library. Here he kept volumes of lore forgotten or shunned by most. A casual telekinetic tug brought him the book he needed, a folio penned by the Arch-Hemotomancer Nemesis, cataloging rare sidereal phenomena.
The article confirmed his suspicions. Yes, in the 20th eon, in the Century of the Flayed Triceratops, there had been another impact, just like this night. There was an illustration on the following page, carefully rendered in nautilus blood. The tome was centuries old, and the only known copy, but the cobalt ink still shined in the torchlight.
“I must make haste.” Nycal said, clicking in anticipation. “Great longevity shall be mine!”
Despite his excitement, Nycal took his time preparing. All sorcerers understood the value of a first impression, to be regal and intimidating both at once. From his wardrobe he choose his best robe, darkest black, with a collar of white ground sloth fur and gold skybax embroidery. He wore his favorite claw ornaments, lapis lazuli for the upper pair and scarlet for the lower. Both had the smallest holes in the tips, so that he could still deliver his venom. His magical tools were held in an inside pocket.
And his wizards staff. Ah, the staff he was particularly proud of. It had been whittled from a petrified tree with a diamond carving knife, and the runes filled out with molten platinum.
Dressed and armed, Nycal ascended to the east wing of his tower, to the aerie where he kept his Glider. The flat-bodied beast floated on the air, its four eyes closed in slumber. The sorcerer prodded it awake with his staff.
“Awaken. We go to Kled.”
Grudgingly, the Glider hovered low, so its master could stand atop its back. They were soon soaring out into the night, racing towards the dawn.