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Black Library Open Submission: I am Seraphon

Last chance for the Black Library Open Submissions! Head over to Warhammer Community now to maybe start your (very niche!) writing career!

I've posted a Warhammer 40,000 story here before, about a Fallen Dark Angel's life on a back water planet, and it went over a huge amount of revisions thanks to feedback from readers. I'll be posting the final story, the one I submitted to Black Library, later this week.

I submitted another story tonight as well, a story I wrote in the Age of Sigmar setting.

I've been looking at Seraphon Carnosaurs for a while now, trying to convince myself I don't want one (rather unsuccessfully too). I think the new Lizardmen are a wonderful feat of imagination, being remembered warriors from the old Warhammer Fantasy, made real again by celestial magic. It's an idea wholly unique to Warhammer, forged by creators trying to justify Aztec dinosaurs in the new game universe without the jungles they could have evolved in.

How else will you arrive at demon dinosaurs riding dinosaurs, which are made of star light?

serphon age of sigmar black library open submissions

What sat at the back of my mind was the loss of developing characters with their new fluff. Seraphon warriors are "remembered" into being by the Slaan wizards who did survive the fall of the old Warhammer universe. This means that individual saurus warriors don't actually develop as characters, since they're remembered into being. They don't really change from their memory.

So I've been thinking for a while on how a lone saurus warrior might be able to manifest in the world. I have an idea, and I think it's compelling enough to write a book around.

That said, I only managed to get the story sorted out in my head two days ago, and a short sample of the story written last night.

Well, enough pre-amble.


A saurus warrior simply known as Seraphon leads a band of misfits on a series of adventures across the full breadth of the Mortal Realms. A swash-buckling tale following Seraphon, who has no memory of his life before being found by Bronmil, a drunken Kharadron captain with a sky-vessel and no crew. They are joined by Malvonna, an outcast Witch Aelf with a single scar on her abdomen, and Taciton, a Stormcast Eternal that never speaks but seems content to work with the others. They take on any job they can, sometimes for good but more often morally grey, looking to survive the tumultuous realms and come to terms with their respective pasts. A story about how memories define us as people, and make even monsters human.


“There might be gold down there,” muttered the duardin, as he swigged his home brew grog from his flask.

Seraphon peered over the side of the Drunken Venture to the steaming jungle below. To its reptilian eyes it just looked like another patch of trees. Tail swishing in annoyance, he rumbled “Why you say?”

Bronmil shrugged, clockwork armour clanking with his movements, “Seems as good a spot as any.”

“What’s the short one muttering about now?” Malvvona slid in next to them, the witch aelf still not bothering to wear anything warmer than her ceremonial garb.

Seraphon’s eyes span in circles, “He say gold down there.”

Malvonna leaned over the rail, her pale pink hair draping prettily into the air. Brushing back her locks in a way probably seductive to mammals, she turned to the duardin, “Why’d you say that?”

“Seems as good a spot as any,” Bronmil shrugged and drank.

Seraphon sighed. They had been flying over the jungle for days now, and still no sign of any buildings peeking out of the undergrowth. Supplies were growing short, but not nearly as quickly as their patience.

“Maybe try?” it said, if only to break the monotony of the Drunken Venture’s routine.

 Malvonna hopped on to the rail, and fell backwards over the side, legs hooking on to the rail to stop her from plummeting into the green below.

“Maybe,” she called from her position. Clearly she was as bored as the rest of them. And why not?
They were all in this expedition for the distraction. They all had some memory to bury under new deeds, or just new memories in general. This constant criss-crossing over the leafy canopies of the sweaty corner of Ghyran wasn’t helping any of them.

“Shall we ask golden-rod?” Bronmil said, wiping grog from his beard and motioning to Taciton, who had moved to sit in the centre of the arkanaut frigate under the rusting main-sphere two days ago and stayed there.

Seraphon cocked its head towards the silent Stormcast, “You want go down?”

Taciton stayed motionless.

“I think he’s happy with whatever we decide,” Malvonna called from below the rail, “Can we go down now?”

“I’m on it,” grumbled Bronmil, half staggering over to the frigates wheel.

Seraphon peered over the rail again, as the frigate began its descent. Sometimes it wondered if it had really made a good decision leaving its lake in Ghur. The fresh scars in its scales were a good reminder of how difficult it was out here.

It shook his head to dislodge the thought, something it noted was a very mammalian gesture. No.
Better to be out here making something of itself than to stay that feral crocodile-man.

“Hitting the tree-line soon!” called Malvonna, swinging herself back up to the deck. She winked at Seraphon as she brushed past, her strange perfume filling his nostrils for a second.

That was when the first volley of arrows hit the ship.

Probably shouldn’t have gone down…


What do you think? Worth anything, or just the result of perhaps a little too much Easter holiday cheer (and Creme Eggs)?

Until next time!

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