Darkness Surrounds: To Elysium

[Akralon]

Hopefully at this point, I'll be able to start bringing all the different story strands together now.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 2: The Glyph of Erland
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The hot sun beat down relentlessly on the searching marro. Ne-gok-sa hated errands. He much preferred the comforts of the hive, where he was given whatever he desired. But recently, Taelord had captured Denrick and a band of knights. Lord Utgar insisted there would be a rescue attempt. As a result, Ne-gok-sa had ended up leading the drones and few others into the heart of the jungle, where rumors of a glyph of summoning was said to exist. And the only thing Ne-gok-sa despised more than errands - was Me-burq-sa and his arrogance.

"The drones stop - the glyph is near," Me-burq-sa stated briskly, galloping up behind Ne-gok-sa upon his sinewy steed.

"A shame we haven't the savage anubians in our company," Ne-gok-sa uttered, "Their noses would've lifted the humans' scent long ago."

"We need no aid from beasts," Me-burq-sa said with disgust. "They are little better than the filthy gruts. Their only purpose is to take the axes and arrows of our enemies, that the marro may triumph."

Ne-gok-sa groaned, moving ahead to avoid another of Me-burq-sa's speeches on marro supremacy. The land ahead sloped down in the shape of a great bowl, with a murky pool at the bottom. The drones poked at the slimy water with their crude weapons and began spreading around the base of the pool. A small island rested in the center, upon which there looked to be a piece of gray stone jutting out.

"Robot," Me-burq-sa ordered, "Scan and report."

Behind them, emerging from the foliage, one massive machine leg clamped down on the soft earth, sinking into the dirt until solidly planted. A large, machine-gun mounted arm proceeded, turning aside a small tree until the trunk groaned and snapped. DW9000, as was labeled upon the name plate, towered over the marro warriors, who hurried out of its way.

A red glow emanated within the glass-like visor as the scan commenced.

The air was pierced by a high-pitched flaring, followed by a gurgle and a splash. Down below a marro drone bobbed lifelessly in the waters.

"Alert! Alert!" DW9000's loud mechanical voice boomed, "Aggressive action detected! Hostiles present. Location unknown."

"Kee osh nu mah! Useless robot!" Me-burq-sa cursed, rearing his steed aside and dashing for cover. "Find them!"


"Nice shot, Red," Sgt. Drake grunted.

SRX316, or 'Red' as the airborne elite had named him, made no reply. Instead, the omnicron sniper silently prepared for his next shot. Though humans often benefited from compliments, words did not alter the accuracy of his calculations or the precision of his shots.

The small band of camouflaged soldiers squatted in a patch of dense foliage, covered in leaves and mud, overlooking the pool and marro.

Drake nudged the soldier next to him, "They scatterin' yet?"

Hauser grinned behind his binoculars, "You know it, Sarge - they're lookin' around like a bunch 'a confused idiots - haha!"

"Alright boys, listen up," Drake ordered, gripping his grapplegun tightly and watching the drones make for the island. "We've got ourselves a P.O.W. situation. That glyph down there is what's gonna save our medieval buddies, so we've got to reach it first. If the marro take it and start summoning - things'll get ugly. Ramirez and Johnson, take the eastern ridge. Castillo and Burnell, you've got the western ridge. I'll need a lot of cover fire if I'm gonna make it to that island. Once I secure the glyph, form a defensive perimeter and dig in. We need to get the knights safely back to high ground."

"You're gonna need more than cover fire to get a mess of fully armored men across the length of that pool without getting shot," Castillo remarked.

"Let me worry about that," Drake returned. "Hauser, sit tight and stay on the horn. You're on lookout for creepers."

Hauser groaned.

"And all of you - easy on the grenades - we're almost outta frags, in case you forgot." He adjusted his cover and stared grimly down the slope. The drones had circled around the pool and were climbing uphill, toward their position. "Remember, we don't have to kill 'em all - we just have to hold out until reinforcements arrive. The roving sentinels should see the beacon when we activate the glyph. We just gotta sit tight 'till then. Any questions?"

"Yeah," Ramirez grinned, "When you get shot, who's gonna take over the airborne?"

"Funny, Ramirez," Hauser shook his head. "Just do your job."

"Don't worry bout me, bro," Ramirez returned, "Just be sure an man those binoculars!"

Sgt. Drake rested a hand on the hilt of his sword, his unshaven face grim, his steel gray eyes clear. "Move out."

As the airborne spread out, each heading for their designated locations, Sgt. Drake unsheathed his blade. "Alright Blue, move into position. I'm countin' on you to keep me alive."

"Acknowledged." SRX465's voice resonated with a crystalline tone. "Distance to target: 226.77 meters. Angle of trajectory: 23.45 degrees. Wind direction: southeast. Wind speed: negligible." The laser rifle hummed softly as the weapon charged. Then, with a bright flash of white light, and another loud flaring sound, fired. The forward most drone lurched backward and splashed into the dark waters. "Target acquired."

"Standy for cover fire," Ramirez grunted.

"Standing by," Castillo came back.

"Standing by," Drake readied himself.

Dropping into position, Ramirez steadied his rifle and took aim. "Run like the wind, Sarge!" The rattle of gunfire roared.

At once Drake was moving, racing downhill with unnatural speed and grace. The enchanted blade rang out as it sliced and slashed, sending marro limbs flying in every direction. He was a blur to the attacking drones as he sprinted by, leaping over gnarled roots and weaving from side to side, dodging the blasting fire of the marro warriors across the way.

"Ga naruk si amu!" Me-burq-sa screamed. "Bring him down!" Reining his fleshless horse aside, he tore down the slope, readying his paralyzing photon cannon. He called back, "Robot - earn your worth!"

Upon the eastern ridge, Ramirez cackled with glee as he mowed down the clumsy drones. They were untrained, dull-witted, out of their habitat - nothing at all like the Koreans.

He paused to reload, turning his head to his radio. "Hauser, them leaves down there are too big, bro - I can't see all of 'em. Any creepers?"

"Negative."

Ramirez nodded to himself, and then halted. He wasn't hearing Johnson's gunfire. "Johnson, come in."

There was no response.

"Johnson, come in."

Raising his rifle to fire again, he grimaced. "Hauser - you gotta a loc on Johnson? His radio ain't workin'."

"Sit tight, buddy."

Sgt. Drake was having no difficulty at all descending the slope. Ramirez could see that Castillo and Burnell were doing a fine job of massacring the western most marro.

"Ramirez, Johnson is NOT in position. Repeat, Johnson is NOT in position. Watch your back."

"C'mon!" Ramirez said through clenched teeth. He leapt up and quickly surveyed the brush for a better position. There was a large tree back aways with a good overhang. He leapt up and started jogging toward the tree.

He stopped abruptly when he saw Johnson standing unmoving next to the base of the tree.

"Johnson, what the hell are you doing? You're supposed to be covering the Sarge so we-"

Johnson opened fire.

Near the bottom, Sgt. Drake skidded to a halt, just before the water. Over the radio, Hauser announced, "Shots fired on the eastern ridge! Repeat, shots fired at Ramirez's location. I can't get a visual!"

Drake grimaced. "Red, move to Ramirez's location." He stopped all at once to meet the hollow stare of Me-burq-sa, sitting tall upon his writhing horse, on the opposite end of the pool. Without thinking, he lifted his grapple gun and fired. The claw shot up and clamped onto an outstretched tree bough. Drake flipped the pull switch with his thumb as Me-burq-sa fired.

The metal wire zipped away and Drake was launched into the air, just as the greenish photon beam passed beneath his boots and struck two surprised drones. A second later he released the trigger and the claw detached, sending him sprawling forward and splashing into the water, just several meters from the island.

"Blue," he gasped into his radio, "I'm almost there. Take out this cavalry son-of-a-"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 3 - The Izumi and Kozuke
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Mitsuru!" Shigeru called as he raced up the hill. He found his leader standing at the hill's peak, staring silently over the plains. His red armor was crimson in the setting sun. Wind swept over the plains, sending ripples across the golden blades of grass.

"Mitsuru," Shigeru said, panting.

"Yes, Shigeru."

"Our scouts report a battle takes place to the west."

At this, Mitsuru turned, his black moustache matching his dark eyes.

"Soldiers of Jandar and marro of Utgar," Shigeru continued. "They fight for control of a glyph."

Mitsuru's face hardened. "Let them fight."

"But Mitsuru," Shigeru protested, "It is a summoning glyph. If the marro conquer, they will bring more allies!"

"We serve Lord Einar," Mitsuru insisted. "He has no fear of Utgar or his untrained monsters. If they approach our borders we will cut them down." That said, Mitsuru turned and strode away down the hill. "Do not interfere," he called back.

Shigeru stood silenced for a moment, his head still racing. Mitsuru's stubborness would be their undoing. Though Mitsuru was a great warrior, he was far too entangled in the politics of leadership.

He thought of warning the other Izumi, particularly Osamu, for he was the best of the Izumi. But Osamu was too obedient, he would not go against Mitsuru.

The samurai grimaced. There was only one other option, one which Mitsuru would not favor. That was to warn the Kozuke. They were always training for battle, always ready to fight. Perhaps their leader, Saburo, would do what Shigeru could not. Perhaps he would act.

--- a short while later ---

Saburo knelt upon his mat, staring forward with unwavering concentration. A warm summer breeze washed over him. At times of distress, the only wise decision to be made was the decision of clear thought - freed from emotion.

"If Shigeru speaks the truth," he said at last, "Then we must risk breaking our command to remain here in order to do what will aid Lord Einar. What wisdom do you have, Hiroshi? Or you, Katsuro?"

Hiroshi folded his blue and silver robed arms. "Attacking the marro will incite retaliation from Utgar. We risk more bloodshed."

Katsuro, fastening his shoulder-plates, grunted. "The marro are a demon race. If they seek to summon more, we must stop them now. We must kill them all, and be sure it is done."

Saburo turned to Hiroshi, as if to say, what do you say in response? The elder samurai nodded. "Perhaps bloodshed is unavoidable. If Utgar is close, it is almost certain he means to invade - if not now, then soon."

Saburo looked back to the Izumi, "You were wise to bring us this news. If the marro march toward our lands, Lord Einar will be pleased that we stopped them before they could summon more allies. We may also gain the trust of Jandar, if only for now." He rose, one hand on the ornate handle of his resilient samurai sword. "You must return. Mitsuru will be angry that we leave our post. Though you have done Lord Einar a favor, you must still answer to Mitsuru. That is the way of things."

"Yes, I understand." Shigeru nodded a curt bow, which was returned by the Kozuke leader. "I go now."

Saburo watched the Izumi samurai leave in silence. At length he exhaled and eyed his two finest warriors. "Ready the samurai. We leave at once. Fate guide us - that we are not too late."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Part II
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shigeru knelt on two knees before the circle of Izumi samurai, seated on small flat pillows in a circle. The lantern light sent flickering shadows across the rice paper walls. The wood floor was cold, though the air was hot.

Mitsuru’s jaw was clenched tight, his fists closed. He watched Shigeru with unmasked anger in his eyes. His moustache twitched as he readied to speak.

"You have dishonored me," the Izumi leader said finally. "Your disobedience has shamed our clan."

"No," Shigeru stated, "I only gave the scout’s report. It was Saburo and the Kozuke's decision to act."

Mitsuru sneered, "Excuses! You meant for them to act. Your intentions were the same."

"I thought only of Lord Einar," Shigeru returned.

"You thought of glory for yourself," Mitsuru fumed. "This is the Izumi clan – there have always been rules governing our actions. You have broken tradition, went against me, and without the consent of the clan. Now you shall have nothing. Your hair will be cut - your sword taken. You will sit in prison until I receive orders from Hatamoto. I would cut off your head for the shame you have brought me…but the clan wishes to wait. You will wait in your cell until Hatamoto arrives." The Izumi leader called for the guards, who entered immediately and took Shigeru without struggle, and led him away.

"Was that not rash, Mitsuru," Osamu said softly. "He is a good samurai."

"No," Mitsuru retorted. "He is a deceitful wolf. I will not have a disobedient samurai at my side."

"If the Kozuke succeed in stopping the marro," another samurai spoke up, "We will be dishonored through our inaction."

Mitsuru frowned. "They have abandoned their post. It is they who will be dishonored. Even if they do survive."

--- In the Western Jungles ---

Me-burq-sa watched the fallen sergeant with unabashed glee. "Ki ah nu marru! Take the human. I want him alive."

Sgt. Drake lay sprawled at the base of the small island, lying unmoving with his face to the side. The three marro drones looked at him suspiciously for a moment before deciding he was indeed paralyzed. They dug their double-ended spears into the soft dirt and moved to lift him.

As they approached, the sergeant’s hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. One moved to his feet, the other two reached down and grabbed his arms. Two flaring sniper shots sounded and Me-burq-sa cursed as two of the drones fell backward and rolled away. The other was caught off guard as Sgt. Drake sprang up and rent him in two with the glimmering sword.

"Nooo!" Me-burq-sa screamed.

Drake stepped onto the glyph and uttered the words, "Fel Thalias Erland," as he was instructed by Raelin. Immediately the stone flared to life and a bright beam of emerald green light shot forth into the sky.

He concentrated hard, picturing Denrick and his men as clearly as he could remember them. "Thaylun Diendar!"

The light dimmed and to the marro commander's disbelief, revealed nine humans in full armor. He reared his fleshless head about, "Deathwalker! Kill them all!"

The great machine emerged from the trees and lowered its machine gun, leveling it at the island. Loud pings and pangs sounded as bullets bounced harmlessly off its thick metal plating. “Engaging hostiles,” its voice boomed.

“Hauser,” Drake grunted into the radio, “Get everyone down here now! We’re sitting ducks!”

“Where is Denrick,” Drystan gasped. The young knight looked about desperately. “Everyone is here but he!”

“No time,” Gareth ordered, “Raise your shields or that metal monstrosity will be our end!”

DW9000’s machinegun roared as it fired a steady stream of lead toward the small island.

The knights grimaced as their shields were rocked and battered. The clatter of metal against metal was deafening in their ears. One knight’s shield burst apart and his body jerked violently as he was pummeled relentlessly by the piercing bullets.

The gunfire was followed by a thundering explosion that rocked the land. The sergeant and knight squadron flinched as they thought it was their end, but soon discovered it was not.

Across the way the only thing left of the great machine was two massive metal legs. Behind the smoking limbs emerged a barrage of silver and blue samurai, shining swords brandished, and stone cold stares on upon their faces.

[Sapper]

Great read. I certainly hope there is more to come.

I wish the omicron's proved that good when I actually use them :wink:

Oh yeah, I almost forgot...Welcome to Heroscapers. I am sure you will find this place to be a valuable resource and community.

[Chimpy]

These are brilliant! (Though you could probably keep it all under one thread.) A very good read!

[Akralon]

Thank you - I really appreciate the feedback. I was kind of nervous to post at first, because they were kinda long and because I'm relatively new here.

My goal is to, through short pieces, span across most of the heroscape characters and units. I'm always open to suggestions as well. I hope to keep on entertaining! I'll try to put more in each individual thread - I was only afraid if I put too much at one time, no one would want to take the time to read it. At any rate, the next part is up an coming.

[Sapper]

I don't think that your stories are to long. They are just about the right length, you know a nice middle ground.

Keep em' coming though.

[Hex_Enduction_Hour]

These are brilliant! (Though you could probably keep it all under one thread.) A very good read!

I'll try to put more in each individual thread - I was only afraid if I put too much at one time, no one would want to take the time to read it.

PM sent!

[Akralon]

The Kozuke samurai moved with a grace and elegance the knights of Weston had never seen. Hiroshi was a whirlwind of blue and silver, his flashing silver robed sleeves distracting and confusing his opponents. He spiraled and spun like a dancer, evading swing after swing, poising like a cobra, then with a flash of steel, his katana would strike with lethal precision.

Katsuro, relying more on his samurai armor, charged fearlessly forward, his dual katana sparing the marro no mercy. He was a blur of blades and blood, and all the while, he continued his charge.

Saburo drove his katana into the open ribcage of a drone, pinning it to a tree, where it writhed and hissed. “Some can multiply,” he shouted. While holding the impaled marro with his katana firmly gripped, he drew his wakizashi sharply across its neck and watched the collared head roll forward. “Leave no room for doubt.”

“Sarge,” called Castillo, as he and Burnell waded across the pool.

Drake surveyed the area and nodded. “Get these men to higher ground.” Into his radio he uttered, “Hauser, I’m sending ‘em up. Blue, keep ‘em covered. Red – report status on the eastern ridge.”

SRX316’s crystalline voice was smooth even over the cackling radio. “Acknowledged. Status inconclusive. Ramirez has flat-lined. There is no evidence of Johnson’s location. Sensors detect micro-organic spores permeating the air in the immediate vicinity. Advise caution. Collecting spore sample for bio analysis.”

“Roger that,” Drake grunted. Castillo and Burnell were already leading the knights away, back uphill toward Hauser. The sergeant exhaled. He turned back to see the marro rider galloping toward the fighting samurai. The first was trampled beneath the boney steed’s sharp hooves, punctured and broken until the marro was satisfied.

Immediately Drake located the nearest grapple-ready branch and in seconds, was swinging up and toward the other side.

A trio of Kozuke charged the riding marro with blades gleaming.

Me-burq-sa snarled, firing his photon rifle with grim pleasure. The green beam of photons shot forward and slammed into the first two samurai. As they stumbled and fell, Katsuro ran up their backs, launching himself off their shoulders and into the air, a glinting katana in either hand.

As the samurai came down on the mounted marro, there was a hollow ear piercing cry as the horse reared up and bellowed. The blades came down. The photon rifle fired.

As Katsuro’s feet hit the ground, Me-burq-sa slid from his saddle and hit the ground. The skinless horse bolted, leaving its rider stranded in a pool of black blood.

Drake landed nearby, tumbling through some brush, and quickly jumped to his feet.

Me-burq-sa groaned, anger rising, at the sight of his own blood, flowing in dark rivers from his chest. As the samurai approached, a cold, stone hard look etched across his face, the marro hissed. “Nee ok su marru… Vee osh kah!”

“Silence your demon-tongue,” Katsuro growled. “Your spirit will follow your demon brethren to the shadow realm.”

“Wait,” Drake called. When the samurai eyed him suspiciously, he continued. “He is the marro commander. We need information. He knows where one of our men is.”

“He is demon-spawn,” Katsuro returned. “I must cut off his head.” The Kozuke raised one katana high, preparing to deliver a decapitating blow.

“Katsuro!” Saburo called. “Stand back.”

“But Saburo,” Katsuro protested.

“Enough,” Saburo silenced. “This was their battle. Let them do as they will. When they are finished, if there are any living marro, we will kill them.”

Katsuro speared Me-burq-sa with a katana, piercing the marro’s shoulder and driving it into the earth, holding the squirming commander painfully in place. “As you wish,” the samurai uttered.

“We are in your debt, samurai,” Drake said as he approached the writhing marro. “Jandar will know of the aid you’ve given us this day. We will all look at Einar with more respect from here on out.”

“Sarge,” Hauser’s voice came over the radio. The nearby Kozuke shot glances about, searching warily for the owner of the voice. Drake grinned.

“Go ahead and report.”

“You ain’t gonna like this,” Hauser’s voice was shaky. “You know that radar Burnell has that the omicron’s tampered with the other day?”

“Yeah,” Drake grit his teeth.

“Well it’s workin’ real good now. And it just picked up a large army headed in this direction. Blue says they’re Utgar… and they’re moving fast. Real fast.”

[Akralon]

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 4 - What Lurks in the Marsh
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rendalin knelt in the marsh, tracing his fingers around the edge of a blocky imprint in the mud. “We are not long behind them,” he said softly. His long grass-colored hair fell in long strands about his cloaked shoulders. He cocked his head, his tall pointed ear to the wind. He inhaled in short breaths. “The scent of iron still carries on the wind.”

Behind him, Morsbane scanned the horizon, which was hazy and thick with fog. “It is long since I’ve had to bear the rank odor of the swamp. The smell hides many things.” He drew his leathery robes about him.

A handful of elven scouts was hardly enough, the elven banisher thought. Ullar’s forces were spread too thin as it was. “It is as I thought then. Vydar has allied with Utgar. We must warn the other outposts.”

“Elle nuathu!” cried one of the elves. “We are too late!”

Rendalin and Morsbane turned as one. Lightly stepping over the pools of ooze, they deftly maneuvered across the patches of thick moss and weed to where the other scouts had gathered.

Before them lay sprawled dozens of serpentine venoc, broken and bloody.

Rendalin surveyed the area. His narrow eyes examined the corpses with growing concern. “Their deaths came from no machine,” he concluded.

“How can you be certain?” Morsbane inquired.

The scout leader pointed to one of the armored venocs. “Look. The wounds are sharp and deep.”

“The iron-skins wield many weapons,” another scout put in.

Rendalin nodded, “Yes. Yet these are perfectly parallel – and the poor creature’s innards have been rent out. Talons did this.” He eyed the mud. “The venoc slid many feet. Only a great beast could strike with such force to fling an armored venoc so far.” He walked along the edge of a murky pool.

“The mud tells no tales,” another scout added. “None but the venoc tracks remain. Yet … the marks outnumber the bodies.” The blue haired elf looked up warily. “Some were eaten.”

Rendalin looked to the banisher with gravity in his green eyes. “Iron and oil we can track. But a creature native to the swamp’s scent will be masked by the mists. The dead are recent – blood still stains the waters. Remaining here invites great peril.”

“Rendalin,” called another scout. “A foul scent rises. We are discovered.”

The scouts drew arrows almost in unison, each disappearing into the weeds and swamp grass. The banisher whirled about, his blackwood staff firmly in hand. The glowing emerald mounted on top pulsed with pale light, radiated against the horns of his head cover.

The elven banisher shuttered with unnatural fear, which rose up inside him like the great black monstrosity rising up from the slimy waters before him. Two great and horrific yellow eyes illuminated the mist with a malevolent glow. Bone gray horns spiraled down from the beast’s reptilian head. Boney spires ran down its neck and back, connected by putrid green webbing.

Higher and higher the serpentine dragon rose, until towering over the elves like a demon-god harboring malice and destruction. A terrible and heart rending hiss, like molten lava pouring over ice, sent chills down the elves’ spines.

“Little wanderers,” the dragon seethed. “Death has found you.”

[Sapper]

Could it be......Braxas??

Man this story is getting good. I can't wait until the next installment.

Question:

Do you have some of this stuff already written or do you just write it spontainiously?

[Chimpy]

Yes, it is quite nice. I really like all of the different viewpoints you present the story from. Kind of reminds of the Song of Ice and Fire books.

Anyhow, you are maintaining your fanfic's title as one of the best on the site.

[Akralon]

To answer your question - I don't have anything prewritten. I work 12-14 hour days on rotating shift work (which really sucks, btw) so whenever I get breaks I sometimes think about ideas and jot them down. Then in the few hours before I go in I try to write them out.


Chapter 4: Part II
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Wait!” Morsbane called, “Stay your hands-“

He spoke too late. A barrage of arrows sifted through the air from every angle, clicking harmlessly off the dragon’s bone gray scales.

The beast’s yellow eyes flashed with hatred. Its giant insect-like wings outstretched and its dark head slithered down and opened its massive jaws, revealing rows of razor sharp fangs. A long forked tongue, fetid green and dripping with ooze lashed out.

The elven banisher raised his staff and quickly chanted. A small disc of magical energy began to grow before him.

At once the dragon’s horned head jerked back and a rancid shower of steaming acid spewed forth. There was a loud sizzling and a chorus of horrid shrieks all about him as the elves cried out in agony. Plants withered, water bubbled and an olive-colored mist clouded the air, burning Morsbane’s nostrils with the smell of searing flesh.

The elven banisher began to grow light-headed and disoriented. His shield of negation began to flicker. He glanced about hurriedly for survivors. The fallen elves were a wretched sight indeed. Their flesh melted away and pooled in mixed rivers of blood and mucus. He grimaced.

“Morsbane,” came Rendalin’s voice.

Without looking back, the banisher shouted, “Run! I will hold the beast a little longer! May your feet find Acolarh!”

When he heard the scout’s footsteps splashing away through the swamp, the banisher met the serpentine dragon’s gaze once more. Lifting his chin and discarding his shield, he concentrated on a new spell. Raising the staff high he called, “Come, beast! You have feasted on the blood of Ullar’s warriors.” The emerald flashed with a new light. “Now feast on this!”


As Rendalin raced through grime and weed, a great boom resounded, echoing through the swamp with a deep rumble, sending ripples through the marshy waters and rattling the slimy branches of dead trees. He wondered if the banisher had defeated the beast, or fallen like the others before him. He did not stop; nor did he look back.

--Elsewhere—

“Fool!” Runa seethed, backhanding the minion across the face in anger. “I told you to stay with him!”

Before them, on the cavern floor, the minion assigned as torturer lay twisted and still. Black oily blood ran from the open mouth and pooled around the gaping stomach wound. The shackles that once held humans hung empty. The knight captain’s sword was gone, along with a torch from the wall. Booted footprints in the dust led away from the cave.

The demoness turned to the other minions. “Find the knight captain! He cannot be far; he is wounded and we are in the mountains. Fly!”

Runa glared at Beldur insidiously. “Bring me his head!” she snapped. “If you return without it – I will have yours!”

As the minions raced down the tunnel toward the open air, she smiled sardonically. “Pitiful human, I shall never fear the emblem of Jandar.” She lifted the horned helm of Mitonsoul and placed it over her black haired head. “And as for your rescuers… They have no hope against the force Taelord now leads to their location.”

[Sapper]

Well you definitely have a gift if you can just whip up a story in such a short time like that.

I am digging the whole story line. Funny thing is I never really looked at Taelord as being a main character or leader of an entire army, but then again I never play with the figure either.

Any plans for Agent Carr? :poke:

Seriously though even if you never include Carr I love the short stories. You get five skulls in my book. :skull: :skull: :skull: :skull: :skull:

[Akralon]

Thanks - as always, I appreciate the feedback.

I definitely plan to include as many characters as I possibly can. I've got a little more to do with the elven outpost, and then the roman march/ Kiova's palace. But Vydar is not far away.

[Akralon]

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 5 - The Diversion
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Marcus Decimus Gallus stared across the expanse of barren wasteland with eyes of steel. The battlefield stretched over broken rock, tangled weeds and dry cracked earth. The horde of gruts that charged ferociously toward them filled the air with the crazed roaring and howling and the thundering of metal-clad feet across hard dirt and stone.

“Ismarus!” the general called. “Divide the archers into two columns! When I give the command, loose the arrows at both flanks - prevent them from reaching ours!” His fist tightened around the ivory hilt of his gladius. “Valerius, straighten the line! Shields up! Strengthen the wall! Remember men, these are not trained soldiers! These are not disciplined warriors! They are savage beasts that fight like wild animals! Remember your training! Exercise discipline! When they crash against our shields, hold fast! Push hard! Thrust and recover!”

He thrust his gladius into the air, “For Einar and for Rome!”

“Rome is the Light!” they chanted. “For Einar!”

The legionnaires braced themselves, shoulders into their tower shields, sandaled feet digging into to the ground, spears gripped firmly. Behind them the archers drew and nocked their arrows, drawing back their bowstrings as one and raising their bows to the sky.

“And so it begins,” Decimus watched the green-blue tide surging forward. “Archers! Loose arrows!”

Ismarus echoed back the command. “Loose arrows!”

The twip and twang of bowstrings resounded and arrows filled the sky, soaring gracefully through the air before gravity brought them raining down on the charging gruts, forcing them back to the center.

At once the wave of orcs slammed into a wall of Roman metal. The sound of the two crashing armies was like that of a great and ancient beast, loosing an earth shaking roar.

The Romans worked like a well-oiled machine, forcing the gruts back, step by shoving step. The orcs were indeed ferocious, snarling and swinging and leaping. Some managed to clamber over the shields and into the legionnaire ranks, were they were promptly speared.

Despite the efficiency of the Einar’s soldiers, there was one thing that troubled the Roman general greatly. The battle was almost too easy. And as he scanned the grut ranks – he saw no leaders.

------

“Syvarris!” called the lookout, “A scout approaches from the east.”

High up in the trees, a series of vine and wood bridges connected circular wooden platforms, where the elves worked hurriedly to finish the outpost.

The elven archer strode across a swinging bridge to where the lookout stood, pointing toward the entrance to the marsh.

Syvarris frowned. “Is he not from Morsbane’s scouting party?”

“He is Rendalin,” the lookout replied. “He was the tracker.”

Syvarris watched for a moment longer than turned abruptly, moving back the way he had come. “Watch the borders. Ensure nothing follows him.”

[Sapper]

Whenever I use Marcus I will think of this line:

He thrust his gladius into the air, “For Einar and for Rome!”


And I love this line:

And as he scanned the grut ranks – he saw no leaders.

Wow, way to build the suspense.

Yet again....Bravo, bravo!!

[Akralon]

As legionnaires roamed the bloodied battlefield, stabbing each grut they came across to ensure no survivors, Decimus paced back and forth relentlessly. The legionnaire captain, Valerius, watched him with growing concern.

“I know what you think,” the captain stated. “Victory came too easily.”

The Roman general looked up. “This was no victory.”

“What do you mean?” Ismarus put in. “We slaughtered these gruts. We barely lost any of our own. There was not a champion among-“

Decimus watched the captain of the archers solemnly, as Ismarus stopped himself, realizing what he was about to say.

“We must return to the palace,” Decimus decided.

“Abandon the front line?” Valerius asked in disbelief. “Are you mad? There is nothing stands between Utgar’s lands and our own – naught but the IX Legion!”

The general nodded. His steel gray eyes swept the barren landscape. “And you think Utgar is unaware?” He waved a dirty hand at the piles of corpses beyond. “Or do you think this all he has to offer?”

Valerius said nothing.

“Get the men in ranks,” Decimus ordered. “Prepare to march.”

“And what of the dead?” Ismarus asked, though he knew the answer already.

The general sighed. “If we delay any longer… there will be many more.”

…

As the sun sank into the western sky, the clouds burned red. From atop the elven outpost, Syvarris stood surveying the woodlands beyond, his back to those gathered behind him.

“If what you say is true,” Acolarh concluded, “Then Vydar has cast in his lot with Utgar.”


“To avoid annihilation, no doubt,” Syvarris frowned. “Now the Vydarians serve as thralls of Utgar.”

“Vydar was never to be trusted,” Rendalin said. “Even Utgar must know this.”

“Utgar,” Syvarris turned around, “Is using Vydar to fight us. Meanwhile, Jandar tries to ally with Einar in an attempt to match the might of our monster commanding fiend. And we of Ullar, yet again, being spread too thin, and vastly outnumbered, are left to beg once more for Jandar’s aid.”

The archer glowered, shaking his head in frustration and tightening his jaw. “As always, what choice do we have?” He exhaled, observing the elves for a moment, then lifted his bow and left them, evergreen cloak fluttering behind him as he strode away down the gnarled footbridge.

Acolarh sighed. “He is deeply troubled of late.”

“As are we all,” Kyntela spoke softly. She stood, her flowing white gown rippling in the calm wind. Her long golden hair was tinged with strands of a pinkish hue. Her eyes, a gentle sea foam green, were sad. “Morsbane is lost. I fear we fight a losing battle.”

Rendalin stared off in the distance. The horrific images of the dark beast still haunted him… the spiraled horns… those yellow glowing eyes…

“We must again send word for aid,” Acolarh announced. “Only we are far from home, and we do not know where to find any of Jandar’s. Sending a messenger to Jandar’s lands would be a lost cause by now. None would reach us in time.”

Rendalin lifted his head, “In time?”

…

Retiarius’s trident glinted in the afternoon sunlight. He could see the light of the reflection in a bright circle on Crixus’s helm. With a grin, he twisted his arm and the light shined into the eye slits, causing the other gladiator to raise his shield instinctively.

Without hesitation, Retiarius swung his net round and hurled it forward. The weighted ends bounced off the angled shield and over the gladiator’s head. Before Crixus could grab it, Retiarius yanked hard.

The trident came swiftly. Crixus brought his shield down, knocking the thrust low. The prongs of the trident passed around his leather-wrapped ankle. Immediately he knelt, his knee coming down hard on the bronze stem, jolting the weapon from Retiarius’s grasp.

As Crixus tossed the net aside, Retiarius’s foot struck his helm. Crixus was sent tumbling over in the sand, while his attacker groaned and rubbed his sore foot.

“ARGH!” Crixus growled. “It rings!”

Retiarius tilted his head back with laughter.

“A curse on your net,” Crixus grunted.

“That helmet hinders your sight,” Retiarius said smugly. “It narrows your vision.”

“It also keeps my head attached to my neck,” Crixus rose to his feet, “And prevents your foot from reaching my face.”

“That it does,” Retiarius smiled, rubbing his foot again.

“One of these days someone will use your net against you,” Crixus squinted in the bright sun. "Mark my words."

Several shadows passed over them and they looked to the sky just as a raven winged imperium dropped from the air and landed before them.

The sun gleamed off his golden visor. Braids of dark hair fell about his bronzed shoulders. In a deep voice he spoke. “Return to the palace at once.”

“We’ve only just begun,” Crixus snorted. “I haven’t finished beating the tar out of Ret, here.”

“Your fight is over.” The imperium responded with no humor in his voice. “The hordes of Utgar advance.”

Crixus eyed the imperium as they soared by overhead, onward towards the golden palace. He looked back to the messenger. “What kind of hordes?”

“Gruts.” The imperium leapt into the air. “Hundreds. Some riding beasts.” As he rose higher above them and turned to follow the others, he called down, “Led by a great reptile.”

[Chimpy]

I think this is one of my favorites. Really, just because of this paragraph right here:


“To avoid annihilation, no doubt,” Syvarris frowned. “Now the Vydarians serve as thralls of Utgar.”

“Vydar was never to be trusted,” Rendalin said. “Even Utgar must know this.”

“Utgar,” Syvarris turned around, “Is using Vydar to fight us. Meanwhile, Jandar tries to ally with Einar in an attempt to match the might of our monster commanding fiend. And we of Ullar, yet again, being spread too thin, and vastly outnumbered, are left to beg once more for Jandar’s aid.”

That sums up thw world of Valhalla awesomely. (Word?)

By chance, how long after the game's start (in the Valhallan time frame) did you plan for this to be set?

[Akralon]

I hadn't thought of a time frame, to be honest. I just kind of pictured this happening in the middle of things, so to speak. As I'm sure you can attest, it's a little difficult to write too specific or broadly when Hasbro could very release something with the next expansion that completely contradicts whatever you've been working on.

That being said, I'll reiterate that I may diverge from Hasbro here and there, but I do try to stay true to the general mood of Valhalla.


Chapter 5: Part III
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“We should stop, make camp,” Valerius looked to his general.

“I do not like the feel of this wood,” Decimus said flatly. “The darkness is unnatural.”

The earth beneath their feet was still parched and hard, though now they traversed through a dead forest. The bare and thorny branches rattled in the night wind. The moon was full, casting all in its pale light. A howl sounded in the distance.

Decimus drew his gladius and lifted his shield.

“A bit edgy?” Ismarus came up behind them. “A wolf’s howl. Nothing more.”

“There are no wolves in the wasteland,” Valerius retorted.

“How could you know?” Ismarus asked. “What other manner of creature would it be?”

“Valerius speaks true,” the general agreed. “There is no game to hunt here. This land is dead.”

There was another howl. This one was closer. Decimus eyed his captains warily. “Ready the men. Be prepared.”

The captains had not yet relayed the order when a series of howls pierced the night air, coming from all around them.

Dark shapes moved amidst the trees as the legionnaires turned on their heels, backs to each other. The general stood in the middle, directing the columns with loud shouts. There was the clatter of sandals and clinking armor as they formed up.

Then there was silence. No howls. No padding across the earth. Nothing. Nothing but the wind and the darkness. The barren branches creaked and moaned.

For long moments they heard only the sounds of their breathing. Their eyes darted from tree to tree, searching the shadows for signs.

“What devilry is this?” Valerius whispered. “We are being hunted.”

Decimus said nothing, only continued to watch the trees.

Then they could see them. Yellow animal eyes, dozens of them. Blinking from behind the trees.


From the shadows, Khosumet eyed the Roman general, grinning wide and revealing his fangs. “That one is mine,” he growled. “Feast on the others as you like.” He eyed the hunched wolfmen with pleasure. “Leave none alive.”


“Give them a small volley,” Decimus ordered. “Bring them out of hiding.”

Ismarus raised his arm, “Archers!” When the arrows were nocked and bows lifted, he dropped his arm. The spray of arrows incited another series of howls. Then, the dark shapes leapt from the trees and came crashing down atop the legionnaires.

The screams of men filled the air as a flurry of fur and claws and teeth tore and slashed.

One anubian was larger than the rest, lumbering forward with a circular razor-sharp khopesh. He slammed into the legionnaires with a bronze shield, knocking them aside, and slashing down the defenseless. His yellow taloned eyes fixed on the general.

“Single column! Single column!” Decimus ordered. “They’ve entered our circle! Do not let them escape!”

“General!” Valerius cried.

Decimus barely had time to turn when the large predator pounced. He raised his shield just as the wolf came down on him. The weight of Khosumet sent the general staggering backwards. With one savage swing, the anubian caught the edge of his tower shield with the khopesh and rent it away – sending it spinning through the air. Decimus brought down his gladius as the wolfman swung up his shield to parry. As the blade glanced off the bronze barrier, the khopesh slashed across his chest, slicing through the clamp of his fur cloak.

The wolfskin slid from Decimus’s armored shoulders and fell away. Khosumet attacked ferociously, snarling and bristling, hacking and snapping. The Roman general was battered back until he felt the bark of a tree behind him. The wolfman did not stop, and one feral swipe of his claws tore across the Roman’s face.

Decimus fell to one knee, feeling the burning on his cheek and the running blood that dripped from his chin. His steel eyes focused on his attacker. His other hand felt the butt of a fallen spear.

“Think, poor human,” Khosumet grinned menacingly as he approached, “That while you die out here – your empress will soon be feeding the grut horde with her sweet flesh.”

Decimus lunged forward, striking hard with his gladius. Khosumet was ready, raising his shield with ease to deflect the blow. He brought down his khopesh to finish the battle. His yellow eyes bulged and he roared in disbelief and fury as the spear in the Roman’s other hand pierced his ribs, driving hard and exploding out his back.

The anubian fell to this knees, snapping and snarling, as a wounded animal. He lashed out wildly.

Decimus grabbed the end of the spear and brought the wolf to the earth. His grim and bloodied face held no mercy today. “Nobiscum Deus,” he uttered, jerking the wolf’s head forward and driving his gladius down through the back of its neck.

[Sapper]

The wolves are one of my favorite units to play! Love the short.

I only have one problem with the story though, Khosumet is not nearly that tough in real life. :lol:

[Chimpy]

This piece reminds me of something else I love about your story- it captures the spirit of the characters so well. The dialouge that comes with Runa, Khousmet, Drake, Decimus, Braxas, and the Elves perfectly suits them. It really makes me want to step back and look at the character portrayal in my own stories.

Once again, well done.

[Akralon]

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 6 - Unstable Alliances
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kaemon Awa knelt before the empress, the wavering torchlight glinting off his armor. He held his helm tucked under his left arm. His head was bowed low. He did not look up at her.

The empress sat comfortably in a throne of polished ivory. Her long raven colored hair fell like a sheet of obsidian down her back. To her left and right were Diran and Vahan, two of the Imperium's greatest warriors.

"Azad has brought ill tidings," she said calmly, her demeanor like cold stone. "A great army of Utgar's monsters makes its way to our palace." She frowned, her full red lips drawn tight. Her ebony eyes narrowed. "He thinks to over take our lands so easily, but he will not find it so – and this palace will not be so simple a target. Even now Melek oversees the groundwork for our defenses. You will prepare the Tagawa. Every Tagawa trained with a bow will stand atop the outer wall. Behind the wall’s gate, your samurai will be our first line of defense. Tar pits have been drawn and covered and a torchbearer posted over the gate. Gather your greatest samurai and set your defenses outside the palace gate. The gladiators also will be yours to command.” She observed Kaemon silently for a moment, and though her expression did not change, the light in her dark eyes was bright. “You have served Einar well, noble samurai. Do so once more. Bring honor to our people.”

…

“This here’s it,” James Murphy nodded, standing on a small patch of solid earth amidst the pools of bubbling ooze. Across the bog was a small island with a tomb-like doorway. Broken columns and collapsed architecture littered the swamp, jutting out of the muddy waters here and there. He turned over his shoulder, the brim of his leather hat shadowing his unshaven face. “If the Empress was right about this place, I reckon we’re in for a mighty fine time. The glyph’ll be somewhere near the bottom – well enough below ground to warrant your nifty night lights.”

The microcorps waded quietly through the bog, eyeing the ruins with wariness.

Lowering his red crystalline visor, the foremost agent tapped a small button on the visor’s ear piece. The visor hummed as he surveyed the area. “Infrared scan completed sat. No signs of movement, commander.”

“Switch to night vision,” Commander Armstrong ordered. “Major X-17’s squadron is standing by for two signals. Once Agent Carr locates the Ullar outpost, he’ll activate the tracking beacon. Upon reaching the near vicinity, they will again standby for the go-ahead transmission – acknowledging we’ve secured the glyph. The clock is ticking, so we need to move quick and cautiously.” He looked to the treasure hunter. “Mr. Murphy here is our guide. Do not – I repeat – Do Not act without his consent. This is his area of expertise. The glyph we’re looking for has a lightning bolt over top a gaelic style cross.”

“Glyph of Dagmar,” Murphy added, “As it’s known ‘round here. Most likely it’ll be on some kinda altar or in some ceremonial-like chamber. I don’t imagine the locals in these parts too advanced. Matter of fact, I’d bet they worshipped it – like some kinda divine gift.” He rested a hand on his bronze belt buckle, which depicted two crossed pistols. “You know what that means.” He grinned, “They wouldn’t be too fond of treasure hunters like myself.”

“Traps,” Armstrong frowned.

“Lots of ‘em,” Murphy added.

The commander sighed. “Hunter, you stay point. Keep your metal detection online. Jennings and Steiner, get the ordinance disposal gear prepped.”

“There’ll be traps, sure as sunshine,” Murphy said over his shoulder, “But they ain’t gonna be bombs. Not unless someone beat us to the punch.”

“I wouldn’t rule it out,” Armstrong replied. “I wouldn’t rule anything out in this place.”

Murphy rolled up his battered leather boots, until they covered his knees, and reluctantly stepped into the slimy waters. He grimaced as he waded forward, his boots sinking deeper into the mud with each step.

“For the record,” Hunter said, wading alongside the gunslinger, “What kind of traps do you expect?”

Murphy smiled. “All kinds.”

…

Denrick sprinted through the forest, branches whipping by his face in a flash of leaves.

Behind him, three minions tore through the wood like demon arrows.

The ground sloped down and once again, the knight captain found himself tumbling down the earth, rolling over gnarled roots and out-jutting stones. He clambered to the bottom and rose to his feet. The minion’s head he planted on a stick outside the forest's edge had done the task of inciting their anger. Perhaps too much so, for even now they emerged above him, grinning devilishly.

“There is no where else to run, human,” Beldur boomed. “You are far from the forces of Jandar.” He turned to the other two. “Rip him limb from limb. Tear out his heart and liver. But save his head. Runa wants that part in tact.”

“The heart is mine,” Uruk snarled as the minions soared downward, descending upon the knight with great speed.

“In-nethelle!”

Denrick flinched as he felt the wind of a dozen arrows zip past him.

The minions raised their shields, but their defenses were not enough. The arrows that pierced their arms and legs slowed them down enough to allow for the second wave of arrows to bring them down.

Beldur roared in outrage at the sight of the two slain minions. “Ullar!”

Syvarris raised his resilient bow. “Care to test your luck as well, demon?”

“You have sealed your fate, little elves! I shall return with a force great enough to crush this wood.”

Syvarris drew back a silken bowstring, and as he did so, Denrick’s eyes widened as an arrow of light formed upon the bow, illuminating the surrounding trees. The elf fired on the fleeing demon. The brilliant arrow shot forward, searing through the air and pierced the minion’s left buttock.

The demon howled as it disappeared over the ridge. Denrick found great humor in the sight, but the elves were not laughing. Instead they were eyeing him with scrutiny and gravity.

“You have brought evil here, human,” Syvarris said flatly.

“Evil is here already,” Denrick replied. “But I come to seek Ullar’s aid.”

Syvarris raised a golden eyebrow. “Shall I chance a guess? Grut hordes? Or perhaps drones of marro? Or maybe you wish to have us slay a dragon?”

The knight captain frowned. “Jandar has aided Ullar in the past. You dishonor our alliance with your sarcasm. If, in exchange for your support, you require mine – you need only state what must be done… and I will do it.”

The elven archer examined the knight with mild curiosity. The man’s eyes were a deep blue, like the oceans to the west. Syvarris could see they were full of courage, there was no doubt in that. But this knight was beaten and battered; he would be of no use to them as it was. However, if Rendalin had been right, and Vydar was planning an attack, perhaps this human might be of some use in their defense. Then again, he might just die. Syvarris shrugged to himself. Either way, he didn’t care.

“I will take you to our outpost,” The archer said at last. “But be warned, you will not have much time to rest before we face the forces of Vydar.”

Denrick eyed the elf warily. “Lead on.”

[Chimpy]

That is BRILLIANT!!! Use Murphy as a treasure hunter! Why didn't I think of that?

[Sapper]

I really can't say anything that I haven't already said before. Another great chapter.

I really like the way that you slowly bring in more characters in each chapter.

Again :up:

[Akralon]

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 7 - Events Unforeseen
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“It’s no good,” Drake muttered. “The glyph won’t work again.”

“That’s just freakin great!” Burnell cried. “We got no backup, no air support, and no chance of surviving this attack!”

“Keep your calm,” Hauser grunted. “It ain’t over yet.”

“Might as well be,” Burnell fumed, storming away.

Sir Drystan found Burnell sitting on a fallen tree, fumbling with his radar. “You mustn’t despair,” the young knight said quietly. “There is a thing we have that the monsters do not.”

Burnell gave the knight a funny look. “Yeah? What’s that?”

“Hope,” Drystan smiled weakly. “Hope is an anchor that holds us in place, keeps us from giving up when all seems dark. It is the essence of the human spirit, as with faith.”

“What are you a priest now?”

“He speaks truth,” came another knight. “We hold to a code, the Sanctity of Honor, which binds us to a higher purpose.”

For the first time, Burnell noticed that each knight’s armor differed slightly from the next. Though mostly silver, the shoulder plates and visors were various shades of blue. Drystan, to his right, wore a light icy blue. The knight before him wore a deep enchanted blue.

“The colors,” said the knight, noting Burnell’s expression, “Denote a specific virtue. Drystan wears the color of hope.”

“And you?”

“I am Lucien,” the knight answered, “And my virtue is Compassion.”

Burnell snorted. “Bet that scares the enemy.”

“He is second to Denrick,” Drystan put in. “An honorable and just knight.”

“Yeah, well I should get back to work,” Burnell lifted his radar and stood. “Thanks for the pick-me-up.”

The two knights watched the soldier leave. “He is scared.” Drystan said softly.

Lucien nodded. “He does not believe. To him – death is the end.”



“So what’s the plan, Sarge,” Hauser eyed the jungle warily.

Drake looked to the samurai. “You men have done your part. There’s no reason to stick around. They’ll be here any minute and this battle could get ugly real fast. And if our back up doesn’t get here soon, it’ll be over real fast, too.”

Saburo’s face was calm. “The Kozuke do not flee from battle. If it is our fate to make our last stand here, then we will do so. It would be far greater a dishonor to return home with the enemy on our heels. We will not disgrace Lord Einar.”

“We will kill demons until we can kill them no more,” Katsuro added. “That is our way.”

Sir Gareth approached. “We may be tired, but we are not unable to fight. Every knight here will lend you his sword.”

Drake nodded, looking to the two omnicron snipers that stood silently to the side. “What about you guys? You ready to do some damage.”

They answered as one.

“Affirmative.”

…

“The land grows hot,” Finn wiped the sweat from his brow. “I do not like this place.”

“Be on your guard,” Thorgrim said cautiously. “I smell blood.”

“I will strike our enemies down like all before them,” Bjorn raised his broadsword.

“You haven’t killed a single enemy yet,” Ulf grumbled. “I am surprised you still live.”

The other Tarn vikings broke into laughter.

“Aye,” Jarl grinned. “You shrieked like a woman when those metal rats attacked.”

“That was a warning cry,” Bjorn retorted.

“Mighty Ragnarok!” Thorgrim cried.

The vikings hurried to push through the dense foliage to where their leaders stood.

A large clearing was littered with the broken bodies of angel-winged sentinels. Blood stained the trees and grass. The vikings fanned out, surveying the remnants of the slaughter.

“Look here,” Ulf pointed. “A thin sword – like those of Einar’s samurai.”

“And here,” Jarl lifted a square shoulder plate. “Samurai armor.”

“Bloody samurai,” Finn frowned. “They provoke us.”

“Do not be quick to judge,” Thorgrim said quietly. “Things are not always as they seem.”

“It is a massacre,” Finn returned, “And there is but one way to answer it.”

…

An elven scout sat perched high in a tree, overlooking the beginnings of the swamp. The trees began to droop and roots curled up out of the soil about their bases. Further on the land would sink into a foul smelling bog. That was the way Morsbane and the scouting party had gone. That was the way from which only Rendalin returned.

A shiver went down his spine, and he quickly scanned the wood’s edge, but saw nothing. It was nearly time to switch watches. He decided to return to his original post. He deftly slid off the branch, swung down and landed lightly on his feet.

Then there an unfamiliar noise and he felt himself falling backwards. All went dark.

“He’s down,” Jade said into her com device.

“Perimeter secure,” Adams reported, straightening his tie and stepping over another dead elf.

Agent Carr stood silently observing the landscape. Through the trees, from this close, he could see the beginnings of the elves’ handiwork. Crude ladders and ropes of vine and wood. “Beacon,” he ordered.

Jackson handed him a light weight, plastic constructed rifle.

Carr knelt behind an overturned log, resting the rifle against his shoulder and looked into the scope.

Beside him, the purplish-pink skinned hound turned its snout west, its four white bulbous eyes resonating with pale light. A low growl rumbled in its belly.

When Carr and Jackson looked, a lone elf scout had emerged unaware on their position, was now held paralyzed by the hound’s stare – a look of horror on his slender face.

Without hesitation, Jackson raised his handgun and fired. The elf’s body tumbled to the earth.

Carr turned his glance back to the outpost. “Mark five seconds.”

Jackson raised his arm and set his watch. “Three, two, one – Mark.” The rifle hummed. “Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Release.”

The rifle fired. A small device shot forward, zipping between the trees and striking the base of an old stump. There the device camouflaged itself, taking the color of the dark brown wood.

“Beacon set.” Carr said into his com device.

Over their intercoms came an automaton response, “Beacon set. Standing by for go ahead.”

Carr stood, handing the rifle back to Jackson. “Our job is done. Move out.”

[Sapper]

“The colors,” said the knight, noting Burnell’s expression, “Denote a specific virtue. Drystan wears the color of hope.”

“And you?”

“I am Lucien,” the knight answered, “And my virtue is Compassion.”

Burnell snorted. “Bet that scares the enemy.”

“He is second to Denrick,” Drystan put in. “An honorable and just knight.”

“Yeah, well I should get back to work,” Burnell lifted his radar and stood. “Thanks for the pick-me-up.”

The two knights watched the soldier leave. “He is scared.” Drystan said softly.

Lucien nodded. “He does not believe. To him – death is the end.”



This is great. It really gives the knights character and depth. This gives them a sense of realism.

[Akralon]

Thorgrim and Finn stared solemnly at the large burning pyre the vikings had erected for the fallen sentinels. The flame’s heat was unwelcome in the already sweltering jungles, but they stood nonetheless, as was their custom, to see spirits off to the next realm.

“Einar will suffer for this,” Finn said softly.

“The blades and armor match Einar samurai,” Thorgrim replied, “Yet it does not sit well in my gut. Something is wrong with all of it.”

“Einar has lost his way,” Finn stated. “He fears defeat by Utgar's blade and attacks all who near his borders. He is our enemy now.”

“Yet they have more discipline than any other army. It is not their way to panic,” Thorgrim responded.

“We fight an unnatural war,” said Finn. "It has poisoned many."

“Much awaits us,” Thorgrim sighed. “We must rest.”

Finn watched his brother leave and then looked back to the pyre. The firelight glowed in his eyes. “Poor sentinels, your deaths will be avenged.”


Back near the tarn campfires, the vikings had unfastened their fur cloaks and laid them about as blankets. At one such fire, Ulf, biggest of the tarn, sat sharpening his blade.

“We have not fought samurai for many months,” Jarl said gruffly. “They are strong.”

“Give them no honor,” Bjorn stated, “I once slaughtered an entire clan of them.”

“Go back to sleep, Bjorn,” Ulf muttered. “You’ll need your strength to scream.”

“Like flies I will swat them,” Bjorn declared, swinging his sword. “With but one arm I will show no mercy to those hounds.”

“Does he always speak so?” Brandt asked, inspecting his shield for cracks.

“Hmph,” Ulf half grinned.

“He’s not right in the head,” Jarl added.

Brandt eyed the other vikings with uncertainty.

“It is true,” Ulf assured. “Strong as an ox, and dumb as one, too.”

“With the bravery of a hare,” Jarl put in. “He is a tarn because he is cousin to Finn and Thorgrim. They look after him.”

“He will get himself killed out here,” Brandt pulled a clump of dirt from his golden beard.

“There is not a creature that lives that can best me in combat,” Bjorn pointed to himself. “My skin is like iron and my blood like lava.”

“And your brain like a rock,” Ulf mumbled.

“Where is Ivor?” Jarl looked about. “His watch is ended.”


Just outside the edge of the encampment, a red-clothed ninja watched in grim pleasure as a swaggering viking relieved himself on a tree.

Slowly drawing his tanto from its sheath at his side, Isamu moved silently toward the humming viking. One hand grasped the tarn’s mouth and the other opened his throat. The red ninja let the warrior fall dead to the earth. His eyes narrowed with disdain. Drunken fool.


Off near the borders of the camp, Thorgrim paced relentlessly, shaking his head and muttering to himself.

“Finn desires blood. Yet, charging into battle against Einar cannot be the way. It is too soon. Nothing makes sense.” He sighed, his blue eyes searching the stars for an answer. “So far from home, they forget what we fight for. Surrounded by death… it has hardened them. Now wherever they look they see enemies.” He stroked his braided beard for a moment, reviewing the scene of the slaughtered sentinels in his mind once more.

His eyes widened. With sudden vigor he turned to the camp. “Ach! That’s it. Hammers and shields missing – missing from the slain sentinels.”

As he turned to head back, Jarl appeared before him.

“Thorgrim,” Jarl spoke tiredly. “Where is Ivor?”

“Wandering the perimeter,” Thorgrim replied. “Call my brother. I know who killed the sentinels.”

There was a rustle in the bushes, but before he could turn, he felt a stabbing pain in the small of his back.

He coughed a bubble of blood as the blade burst out his stomach. Anger grew inside him and he whirled about, flailing his sword wildly. The red ninja reared back and easily dodged.

“Viper!” Jarl roared, “I will cleave you in two.”

As the second viking charged, Isamu leapt into the air and struck him with both feet, sending Jarl tumbling backwards. As Isamu rose, Thorgrim’s shield struck him from behind.

The red ninja rolled forward, spun and lashed out his leg, sweeping Thorgrim’s feet from under him. No sooner did the viking’s back hit the earth then Jarl was swinging his sword at the assassin’s head.

Isamu ducked, deftly sidestepped and took hold of Jarl’s wrist – using the viking’s momentum to launch him somersaulting into the base of a tree.

Jarl’s back struck the trunk, his feet in the air, and fell down onto his head. He could hear viking shouts and running footsteps as he staggered groggily to his feet – just in time to see Isamu drive his wakizashi into Thorgrim’s heart.

“Nooo!” Finn cried. He stood facing the red ninja, who stared coldly back. “Wretched assassin! Tonight I will drink mead from your skull!”

Isamu left the wakizashi in the slain viking and held his tanto out with both hands, facing inward toward his stomach. “A message from Einar.” Then he drove the blade into his gut, and rent the wound open.

Not caring whether the assassin was dead already or not, Finn swung down his mighty blade, radiating with blue light, and sent the red ninja’s head spiraling from his shoulders. The headless corpse toppled over.

Finn’s eyes burned with rage. He fell to Thorgrim’s side. “My brother…”

Thorgrim’s eyes were open, but the light had already faded from them. Jarl and the other tarn gathered round, watching in solemn silence.

Clenching his brother’s hand, Finn clenched his jaw and ground his teeth. “I promise brother, my sword will not rest until I see the fall of Einar.”

[Chimpy]

And I was afraid Utgar was stupid...

[ares834]

Great story all the characters seem real.

[Akralon]

-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 8 - The Fallen Temple
-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hunter shook his head, raising his visor. “Something’s not right, Commander.” He looked to the microcorps leader with uncertainty. “There’s some kind of electrostatic field interfering with the scanners. I can’t get a clear reading on anything.”

Commander Armstrong stood ahead of them all in the narrow torch lit hall, foot on the edge of a great expanse that dropped away into darkness. Far across the gap the hall started up again. He frowned. “We don’t have the resources for this kind of operation. We have advanced heat and metal detection, explosive ordinance disposal equipment and aquatic enhanced combat suits and weaponry… We’re prepped to covertly infiltrate high threat targets and take out hostiles – not traipse around in broken down temple ruins. We don’t even have the right gear to cross this divide.”

“You’d best leave that to me,” Murphy reached for his belt, uncoiling his leather whip and stepping up beside the commander. “A big jump is all this is. Fancy gizmos aside, all you need here is a little faith.”

“Faith?” Armstrong cocked his head. “In what?”

Murphy sturdied his hat. “Me.”

“Watch your heads now,” the treasure hunter warned as he whirled the whip about. Then with a single effortless toss, the whip’s end spiraled around a large out-jutting root above the tunnel. He gave a strong jerk – tightening the whip’s grip.

Turning to the commander, with a sparkle in his eye, “You really oughta get some rope.” Then he leapt from the edge, swinging gracefully across the chasm and landing the far edge with his feet. He teetered precariously for a moment before regaining his balance and righting himself. Looking back, he called, “Who’s next?”

Once all the microcorps elite had crossed the chasm, the commander posted a watchstander.

“Stay here and guard our way back,” Armstrong ordered, readying his rifle. “The rest of you move out. Steiner, take point with Hunter. Jennings, trail back.” He paused, looking back to the agent at the whip. “And Borelli, make sure we aren’t followed.”

“Don’t worry now,” Murphy added, “We won’t be long.”

Not far ahead, the tunnel opened up into a large ceremonial chamber. The first area was wide and scattered with crumbled pillars. As the microcorps waved their broad high-power flashlights about the room, they could see along the walls there were what looked to be ornately designed coffins upright and embedded into slots in the stone. Across the broken entry room a broad stairway rose up several times, each to a new level, until at the top there stood a kind of altar, high above them.

“Keep your wits about ya, gents,” Murphy nodded at the altar. “Ruins might be old, and some of the traps probably don’t work too well now, but one never can be too sure. That and this ain’t like home. Things got a strange way of defyin’ the laws a nature, if ya know what I mean.”

Kneeling down, he picked up several large chunks of broken rock, casting them at random across the first room’s floor. He eyed one wall, then the other, as were illuminated by Hunter and Steiner’s lights. “I’d stay close to the walls, if I were you. ‘Tween the architecture and them holes and cracks from the sinkin’, makes it mighty hard ta tell what’s damage and what’s design.”

“If the blasted scanners were working properly we could tell if there were mechanics behind those walls,” Armstrong grumbled. “If this place weren’t likely to come down on our heads I’d just assume blow the walls apart.”

“Hunter and Steiner,” the commander shouldered his rifle, “Electrostatic field or not, keep those scanners running. There may be weak spots where we can pick up a reading. Jennings, post at the doorway. Yanson and Maddox prepare to advance, and keep an eye on the floor.”

With the treasure hunter in the lead, the microcorps fanned out and began slowly crossing the first room, stepping over shattered rocks and around broken pillars. Once across, they began ascending the broad stone steps. As they did so, they felt a strange chill in the air, like a cold winter breeze – only the air was not moving.

At the top of the stairs, the designs of the bronze altar became clear. Carvings of skeletal ram heads protruded from the ends and inscriptions in ancient tongues lined the sides. Atop the table like altar were dark stains, smeared over the barely visible markings of what appeared to be the glyph they were looking for, only instead of depicting lightning, they saw flames.

“That blood?” Steiner wrinkled is nose.

“Suddenly this place ain’t feelin’ right,” Murphy looked about warily.

“No sense panicking now,” Armstrong approached the altar. He tapped his intercom, causing the green light to energize. “Bravo unit, this is Charlie unit. We have secured the glyph. All clear. Go ahead.”

The response came back, “Charlie unit, Bravo unit. Go-ahead acknowledged.”

“Well,” Armstrong looked to the treasure hunter. “There it is. Activate it.”

“This ain’t like I remember,” Murphy said reluctantly. “What I read was different. There weren’t no skulls or blood stains.” He waved his arm at the wall behind them. “This writin’s all different, too.”

The commander’s face hardened. “Are you saying we’re in the wrong place?”

“No,” Murphy shook his head. “This is it alright. It’s just… My gut’s telling me we oughtta call back and stop the go ahead. This glyph looks all wrong.”

“We don’t have time for that now,” Armstrong stated with rising anger. “Vydar gave us a specific time window. We don’t get this done now, we’re risking everyone’s life for no good reason. Agent Carr set the beacon. We’ve secured the glyph. Now Major X19 will lead the assault and take the Ullarian outpost. Mission accomplished. Now stop wasting time and activate the glyph.”

Murphy muttered to himself. “Alright then, here goes nothin’.” He placed his hand on the center of the flaming glyph. “Etaro Un Denarri Elhatha!”

All at once the glyph flared to life, red light illuminating the entire chamber. The emblem of the glyph grew brighter and brighter, until the agents had to lower their visors to shield the intense light. A deep rumbling shook the ground and the walls, sending showers of dust cascading down from above. Smaller stones rattled over the vibrating floor.

Then Murphy screamed.

[Akralon]

--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 9: Utgar's Horde
--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sky was blood red. From atop the back of a mighty tyrannosaurus, rising up from the mass of marching monsters, Grimnak overlooked a blue-green sea of gruts. Gripping his spear tightly, he surveyed the formation of Utgar’s horde.

Swog riders darted between rows of grut archers, keeping them together in units, less the impatient and unfocused grut savages intermingle and mix ranks.

The grut warriors had to be assigned to follow one champion, or they would forget their orders and fight like feral animals, without direction or coordination. The barreling Brunak stood at the forefront, his great falchion glinting in the evening sun. His crimson hide would reveal no blood should he receive wounds.

To the left, Tornak’s blue-gray raptor shrieked with delight. Its tail slithered back and forth like a large snake. Its yellow reptilian eyes were wide and its large talons clicked on the hardened earth. Food lay ahead.

To the right, Oglun, largest of the dumutef, towered over its assigned gruts, slavering and drooling like a rabid beast. Rows of long jagged teeth protruded from its saliva dripping maw. Gnarled horns protruded from all angles of its skull. Hulking muscle-bound arms nearly scratched the ground with their long claws.

Grimnak patted the green-gray scales of his mount’s neck. His T-rex had not had a proper meal in many weeks. Today would be a good day. Today he would devour enough Einarians to fill his great belly.

Down below, surrounding the hungering beast’s strong legs were the armored gruts trained especially to fight the soldiers of Einar and Jandar. Their bronze plates scraped and clinked as they shifted about, gripping sturdy halberds and glaives.

Up ahead, the massive golden wall of Empress Kiova’s palace waited. Stationed in long lines above were samurai archers, bows poised even now. Grimnak sneered. Their defenses would do little to hinder Utgar’s advance. The power of the grut horde was unstoppable, the might of Utgar’s armies unmatchable. When the day came to its end, there would be nothing left of Kiova’s palace but smoke and ruin.

Raising his great spear, Grimnak roared, “Ruk mok Agra! Ruk mok Agra!” He thrust the spear forward. “Raaaaaaah udrok!”

The sea surged forward and the earth trembled.


“Ka! Light the arrows!” cried the Tagawa overseer, Tatsuo.

A torch bearer sprinted across the wall, lighting the tar soaked rags wrapped about each arrow head.

Down below, Grimnak’s t-rex thundered over the earth, scattering gruts as it charged, mighty head low, small red eyes focused on the wall. The grut warlord noticed, suddenly, that there was now a string of lights atop the wall… torches? No. What then? Lit arrows? His red eyes widened. Lit arrows!

“Ulak! Ulak! Ulak!” He waved his spear round, jerking back on his mount’s barbed harness. The dinosaur stomped to a halt, rearing up and howling a deafening roar.

Even this was not enough to keep the frenzied orcs from halting their raid. They charged forward recklessly, and to Grimnak’s dismay, plummeted and splashed into great pits of tar – hidden by a thin layer of sand. They cried and shouted in anger, some attempting to swim, others trying to get out.

Atop the wall, Tatsuo looked down with dark cold eyes. “Shinme! Ya Kaihou!”

The archers fired. Flaming arrows rained down on the helpless, tar-covered gruts.

All at once the pits erupted into flames. A dancing wall of fire burned between the horde and the samurai.

Those gruts that weren’t burning, raised their crude metal-plated shields to protect them from the second wave of falling arrows.

Brunak rumbled. Atop his back, Ornak raised the blood-soaked banner of Utgar. The trolticor lowered himself as if to pounce, then barreled forward, and with a great leap, passed through the flames and landed solidly on the other side.

Looking up with hate-filled amber eyes, Brunak stared at the defending archers. Soon they would be within his reach.

“Fiantooth!” Grimnak ordered, “Make a path! Use the rocks!”

One of the dumutef wrapped its long arms around a giant boulder. With a strain and a grunt, it tore loose the boulder from the earth and hurled it into the fire. The massive rock splashed dully into the thick tar, sinking until only its top was visible – effectively parting the fire about itself and providing a path for the gruts to move forward.

Several of the other dumutef did the same, creating more bridges across the burning tar.

As the gruts filed across the make shift bridges, a path cleared, revealing a lone droid machine, standing still, facing the wall. Its arms and legs were long and limber, its metal armor smooth and with a dull shine. A red light blinked upon its chest.

Tatsuo’s eyes widened with immediate recognition. “Destroy the bomb!” He ran down the line, screaming, “Destroy it! Destroy the robot!”

As if hearing the command, the polished deathwalker jolted to life, sprinting forward with amazing speed. It leapt through the fire and over the tar effortlessly. Arrows clicked harmlessly off its armor.


Inside the gate, the Tagawa samurai warriors stood in straight lines, silent and unmoving – a testament to their iron will and discipline. Amidst their ranks, Retiarius and Crixxus eyed the wall warily.

Ret leaned his trident over his shoulder, his one good eye staring forward with nervous gravity.

“Just another battle,” Crixxus said, eyeing his gladiating counterpart. “Without trained opponents.”

“Training or none,” Ret answered. “It is their numbers I fear.”

“Well then,” Crixxus grinned beneath his iron helm. “Let the contest begin. Most kills marks the better gladiator. May the best fighter win.”

“I wish Spartacus was here,” Ret sighed. “I always fight better with him around.”

“He’ll be along,” Crixxus grunted. “Faster the imperium sent to fetch him fly, faster he’ll join the battle.”

The gate exploded.

The air was broken with the ear-splitting crack of metal and stone. The center of the wall erupted like an angry volcano, showering them with fragments of shattered rock. Dust clouds billowed up, blanketing them all in a choking fog.

The Tagawa samurai readied themselves as the monstrous silhouettes of Utgar’s gruts came charging through the hazy dust cloud.

Without waiting for the samurai, Retiarius and Crixxus charged forward, slamming into the first wave of attacking gruts.


From high atop the palace’s largest tower, Empress Kiova looked down upon the raging battle with solemn sadness in her dark eyes. The outer wall was shattered. Utgar’s horde swept forward like a tide of darkness, readying to envelop the band of samurai. Through the dust fog she saw the great reptile for the first time. While its rider skewered all in the beast’s path, the dinosaur snapped its massive jaws down and devoured entire men with a single chomp. She gasped.

“Einar help us.”

[Chimpy]

Awesome!!! (Like always.)

And is that the glyph of Mitonsul I see?

[Akralon]

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 10
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sgt. Drake looked at his assembled men with all seriousness. Burnell sat on a tree stump fidgeting with the radar in his lap. Castillo knelt in the grass, inspecting his rifle. Hauser leaned against a tree, fastening his grenade belt over his shoulder. The knights looked over one another’s armor, sharpening blades and tightening armor straps. Off to the side, the Kozuke were quietly meditating. In the very back, the two omicron snipers stood tall and silent.

The sergeant searched for words that escaped him. The Utgarian force was nearly on top of them now. There was no escaping it. No outrunning it. Nothing to do but make one last stand.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, catching Castillo and Burnell’s attention. “I’m sorry I brought you into this. I’m sorry I didn’t plan this better. I never expected to lose anyone.” He looked to his soldiers. “Regardless of the outcome, we rescued our armored comrades here. We completed our mission. Just like we served our country back home.”

Hauser moved to stand behind the other soldiers.

“We’re not in Germany anymore,” Drake continued. “But we’re still in the army. We’re still soldiers. And we’ve got one last battle to fight.” He shook his head. “The odds don’t matter anymore. The only thing that matters… is we’re the good guys and they’re the bad guys. We aren’t fighting over land or against governments. We’re up against evil – real, in the flesh, evil,” he half-grinned. “Yeah, your classic fairytale kind. Only at this moment - that fairytale is real – and we’re now a part of it.” Several knights moved behind the soldiers to listen.

“What we fight for now – it’s not just an ideal. It’s the future of this place. We fought those Nazis because we believed that if we did not – they would march across the face of our world – taking away all we held dear – all we believed in.” He noticed the samurai were now also gathered and listening. “Our new enemy is far worse than Nazis. They aren’t just believers in a superior race. They hate all life – they spit on our values of freedom and peace.” He sighed, looking at the Thorian blade given him by Jandar himself. “Sir Denrick once said to me, ‘if Utgar wins this war – it’s not just us who lose. All those unable to fight, unable to defend themselves… the weak, the sick, the elderly… the little ones… they all lose.’ Back home, in the dirty trenches of our war, a man forgets what he’s fighting for. All you care about is staying alive, one day at a time. Just something you pick up when you’re surrounded by people trying to kill you. But it took the words of a captain of knights, from a time where chivalry was not forgotten, to remind me why I enlisted in the first place.”

Now he had the attention of the entire company. “We’re at war, gentlemen. That means bad things every day. It means most, if not all of us, will die here. But how we die is not what matters – it’s what we die for – it’s what we’re doing when our end comes.” His steel blue eyes swept the men with a newfound resolution. “Let’s show Utgar the strength and honor found in men – let’s show how fiercely we believe in the good in life. And let’s take down as many of those heartless bastards as we can for as long as we can.” He smiled, a genuine uplifting smile. “Who knows… we might just get lucky.”

[Sapper]

A finer chapter I could not have read.

Much of what you wrote about is almost a mirror image of our very real and present world. And it could not be any more true. If there was a saluting smiley it would be here :arrow:

[ares834]

Great chapter. Two thumbs up.

[Akralon]

Denrick awoke to a gentle breeze that smelt of pine and cinnamon. Hovering above him was a beauty like that he had never before seen. Large green eyes, a soft sea foam green, reflected the evening light like shallow waters of a tropical lagoon. Silvery blonde hair poured down over her slender shoulders like glistening honey. Her pink lips parted in a shy smile.

“The knight wakens,” she whispered.

“Where…” he started to rise, but a sharp pain pierced his head and he winced.

“Rest now,” she coaxed. “Arrangements are being made. Acolarh has agreed to lend you the speed of Theracus. Upon his wings you will reach your allies in short time.”

Denrick squinted in the golden light of the setting sun. He could see strands of pink-rose color in her hair. Her tall pointed ears twitched in the strengthening wind. Her smile was weak, and her eyes averted his own.

“Though I am grateful for Ullar’s aid,” Denrick said quietly, observing her thoughtfully, “I am troubled by the sorrow in your eyes. If I might inquire… Why does one who’s beauty shames the very dawn look so downcast? Please, if it is within my power, I would do whatever you ask if it would take that sorrow away. I have seen that look before – I would that I would never see it again.”

“You have your own worries, noble human,” she offered another faint smile. “My heart is here, with this wood. And those who would lay waste to all we hold dear now descend upon our outpost. It is a battle that many fear we cannot win. Even our champions give great skepticism.”

Kyntela rose to her feet. “I must tend the other wounded. These scouts,” she indicated the two archers standing silently behind her, “They will take you to Theracus. May the wind be at your back, and the spirit of the wood grant you strength.” She turned and left, the hem of her silky white robe sliding across the wood behind her.

“When you are ready,” the first scout stated.

Denrick said nothing. His eyes lingered on the fading elf maiden.

…

Like a magnificent tidal wave of raven feathers, the imperium rose up in the sky, dual blades gripped firmly in hand, and descended upon the amassing orcs with all speed – a waterfall of black and gold.

Grimnak reared his stomping dinosaur to a halt, raising his spear toward the diving imperium. “Anarak! Anarak!”

The swog riders snarled orders to the archers. The arrow gruts looked to the sky and fired, but the imperium spiraled and spun, twisting and dipping out of the way with unmatched grace. Blades brandished, flashes of gold and sprays of oily blood ensued. The imperium cut through the unskilled gruts with ease.

“This one,” Crixxus pointed to a swog rider, galloping in their direction. “Think you could even the odds a little, Ret?”

Retiarius said nothing, only readied his net, swinging it in circles, faster and faster. The swog rider saw the two gladiators and grinned, digging his heels into the swog’s ribs and racing forward sword in hand.

As the swog tore forward, sights on Crixxus, the gladiator batted his blade against his shield, taunting the creature with a smile behind his iron helm.

The orc licked his lips as the swog came into pouncing distance. He swung the flat of his curved blade to the beast’s hip. The swog leapt just as a sandy net swung out, closing around the orc like a mad tentacled monster, yanking him off the swog.

The grut hit the hard earth, flat on his back, the net entangled about his arms and face. He looked up just in time to see the bronze trident coming down.

Crixxus raised his dusty shield as the swog came down, roaring with hunger. Deflecting the outstretched claws with his shield arm, the gladiator used the weight of the falling beast to drive his gladius through its belly, rolling backwards and flinging the howling animal off of him.

The weight of the swog knocking him to the earth was enough to jar some of the wind from Crixxus’s lungs, and as he stood, his vision blurred slightly. Staggering while regaining his bearing, he saw Retiarius jerking his trident out of the dead rider. Steadying his helm, Crixxus started towards the bronze-skinned gladiator. He hadn’t taken three steps when a shadow fell across him.

Before Crixxus realized what was happening, before he could open his mouth or give warning – massive dark-scaled jaws came down from above and clamped down on the unsuspecting net-wielder.

“Retiarius!” Crixxus stared in helpless horror as his friend was wrenched off the ground and into the air, an agonizing scream piercing the air.

The Tyrannosaurus towered over him, its giant head blotting out the sun. With the sickening sound of each bone-crunching bite, rivers of blood burst from between the reptile’s teeth and ran down its scaly chin. Crixxus stood paralyzed as the red rain showered him from above. He felt his strength draining out his feet.

A crumpled hand still jammed between two large fangs, the mighty dinosaur turned its terrifying yellow eyes to Crixxus. The orc upon its back pointed his long spear at the gladiator.

[Sapper]

So I am guessing Grimnak rolled a 16 or higher against Retiarius?

What a way to end that chapter! I love it. Just reading that makes Grimnaks special ability seem so much cooler.

And the description of the Einar Imperium's attack was also very nice:
"Blades brandished, flashes of gold and sprays of oily blood ensued."

Very nice descriptions, makes it easy on the imagination.

[Chimpy]

I do hope Crixus kills him. He has never lost to Grimnak in my games.

[Akralon]

“An army of cold iron approaches,” Syvarris said gloomily, looking out at the marshy forest, hands on the vine-rope railing of the tree-home. “Against which our arrows will do little.”

“If you are as good as they say,” Denrick returned steadily, “You will find their weakness.”

“We cannot lose hope,” Kyntela said quietly. Her soft green eyes lingered on the armored man. “If one man can free himself from the clutches of Utgar’s minions in a place hidden and far away… then surely we elves can defend our home from metal drones who do not know the ways of the forest.”

“She speaks truth,” Acolarh stood, the edge of his evergreen cloak grazing the fallen leaves at his feet. “This is our home. Here, every tree is known to us - every rock and root - from the birch groves where the waking black bears drink… to the broken bald cypress that lies half buried in mud at the swamp’s end. We have more than bow and arrow – we have nature.”

“Yes, we have nature,” Syvarris frowned, “And they have iron hides thicker than oak. They bring weaponry of the likes we have never seen – their mechanical eyes see through solid rock. They rain fire on their enemies and will burn this forest down to get to us.” He turned to face them, his dark green eyes grave. “Make no mistake. They do not come to wage war. They come to exterminate. They have no care for the earth or its creatures. They will destroy everything.”

“You have one thing they do not,” Denrick put in. “Spirit.”

“And how many of Utgar’s minions did you slay with ‘spirit’?” Syvarris asked with thinly veiled sarcasm.

“I would never have escaped otherwise,” Denrick walked into the center of the platform, addressing all the gathered elves. “I have snatched victory from the jaws of defeat more times than would seem possible. Never underestimate what hope can bring. It grants you strength when you feel you have none. It steadies your feet when the urge to flee overcomes you. It sets in your mind a resolve that is beyond rhyme or reason. It creates in you an adversary to your enemies more fearsome, more unpredictable, and more determined than any machine could ever mirror.”

The knight captain rested one hand on the hilt of his sword, his face hard, his ocean blue eyes deep with thought. A strong wind rustled through the leaves, causing the forest canopy above to dance and whisper. It set the blue sash at his waist waving about. He looked to Acolarh. “I have asked that you grant me passage to aid my friends. But I see now that the path I have tread, the enemies I have battled, the hardships I have endured – all have led me here – to this place. I Will go to aid my friends.” His eyes found the lady Kyntela’s. “But I will not abandon those in need.”

“What are you saying?” Syvarris eyed the knight with skepticism. “You would stay here and fight a hopeless battle?”

“I will bring you hope,” Denrick returned, his face steadfast. “Machines are not so different from knights in their armament. Metal plates to guard vital innards. We merely find the chinks in their armor and exploit them.” He stared out the way Syvarris had been looking. “I will find the largest enemy in Vydar’s force… and I will fell him.” He looked back to the elven archer. “Then you will see what I speak of. Then you will believe.”

[Chimpy]

Very cool.

Although, isn't Syvarris supposed to be the one who thinks to high of himself?


And I think Denrick is going to die.

[Akralon]

I don't really think of Denrick's determination as arrogance, in the way Syvarris attributes success to his own skill.

I view Denrick as believing he is serving a higher purpose. He is idealistic (thus having written the book on virtues) and I think believing in that purpose is what drives him. He wants to do what he views is right, and can't help himself. (In my head anyway, and so, reflected in this story.)

So what I tried to do was show him getting caught up in something he couldn't walk away from, and getting fired up at the thought of battling evil and bringing hope to those who are downcast.

Hmmm. Is that too cheesy?

[Chimpy]

No. I thought your potrayal of Denrick was spot on. rather, it was Syvarris I was curious about. I mean, he seems to be all gloom and doom, while I thought he would be arrogant and self appreciating.

EDIT: I knew that the Heroscape philosophy thread would get to post here. :P

[Akralon]

I definitely agree about Syvarris. I do think of him that way.

His current situation is drab, and in the journal he spoke of wishing to be able to return home some day - which I took as him not being as committed to Valhalla as some others (ie - Drake).

Given the dark scenario the elves are caught in at this moment of the story, and combined with his frustration about Ullar's armies compared to the others - I felt someone who fancies himself exceptional and is arrogant (which is different from elitist) is used to getting his way.

I think Syvarris at some point probably felt his talents were wasted serving an army that seems to be losing hopelessly at that point in time. So my attempt was to show frustration more than anything else, that and feeling sorry for himself.

But things will change soon, as there a few of Ullar's 'big guns' that haven't come out yet. Hopefully then I'll be able to depict him more in the manner most people probably imagine.

(btw - thanks for the feedback. You and Sapper especially, it helps a good deal.)

[Chimpy]

I think Syvarris at some point probably felt his talents were wasted serving an army that seems to be losing hopelessly at that point in time. So my attempt was to show frustration more than anything else, that and feeling sorry for himself.


This explains his predicament with perfection. Know I can see why you potrayed Syvarris that way. Keep up the good work!

[Sapper]

Ooooh.....Ullar's big gunz? who could it be? Jotun...Charos....Deadeye....or maybe the Venoc Warlord? So many possibilities.

Waiting patiently.......


Not done yet? :D

[Akralon]

“Empress,” Azad pleaded, the dusty wind from outside blasting his royal purple colored leggings. “Though our skill is much greater than Utgar’s – his numbers are beyond our ability to match. There are too many orcs. The imperium cut through them like melted butter – only to be overtaken as wave after wave crash against our defenses. Without Decimus’s army, we cannot hold them. We must escape and warn Lord Einar.”

Kiova frowned, her onyx eyes watching the battle below. Her ivory face was still as a statue.

Down below…

Tornak’s fangs gleamed as he grinned with glee. The defending archers tried to hold together, but his raptor ripped through them with tooth and talon. He wasn’t satisfied with mere archers, though. He wanted to kill a real challenge – someone to elevate his reputation in the grut horde.

A loud battle cry pierced the air. In the center of the Tagawa, a uniquely armored samurai held his katana high. “These are not worthy adversaries. They are animals. Kill them quickly. Show them their place.”

As two blade gruts charged, Kaemon drew and fired with speed and precision. The first orc’s head jerked back as the arrow pierced its forehead. The second gurgled oily blood, clawing at the feathered shaft protruding from its throat as it stumbled forward.

As more approached, the samurai leader deflected their crude weapons with ease, striking like a viper each time, dropping them one after another. Kaemon skillfully flashed and whirled his katana about his arms and body, creating an armor out of the sharp blade’s edge, daring the next opponent to advance.

Tornak took the opportunity to charge. He slammed his heels into the raptor’s ribs and the reptile launched itself forward. Slithering in out of reach of the battling samurai as it passed, the predator gave a sharp shriek as its yellow talon eyes marked its prey.

Kaemon waved an arm to the orc rider, beckoning him to charge.

Leveling his spear at the samurai’s heart, clutching his shield tight and close, Tornak grinned.

Kaemon lodged his blade into the sand with one quick strike, and then his bow was up and arrow nocked. Twang!

The first arrow whistled forward, puncturing the raptor’s right thigh.

The reptile staggered in its charge, trying frantically to regain its bearing as it clambered onward. Tornak’s grip faltered, and his spear lagged.

Twang!

The raptor gawked as its left eye burst – the arrow shaft sliding through until firmly lodged in its brain. The beast tumbled forward, sliding in the sand all the way to the samurai’s feet.

Tornak raised his spear only to have Kaemon’s boot clamp down on it, jarring it from his grasp and pinning it to the earth. He raised his shield, his right leg pinned under the dead raptor’s weight.

Kaemon eyed the helpless orc for a moment then turned to aid the Tagawa in the next surge of blade gruts.

“Agra!” Tornak snarled angrily, “Stupid beast!!”

The sandaled feet of an imperium touched the dirt beside him. The golden masked kyrie stared the orc down without mercy.

“The samurai lord holds honor above all else. He will not slay a helpless opponent.” Melek’s deep voice was tinged with humor. “I, however, will.”
…

Crixxus deflected Grimnak’s giant spear as he charged toward the beast’s leg. With all his might he jammed his gladius into the reptile’s shin. The Tyrannosaurus raised its mighty jaws and bellowed.

Before the gladiator could pull the blade free, the great tail whipped about and snapped back. The power of the lashing tail sent Crixxus hurtling backwards through the air. He crashed through a storage shed with cracking and splintering, causing a small dust cloud to billow out of the broken opening.

Grimnak lanced a Tagawa that attempted to charge, lifting the samurai up on his spear, examining him briefly, then flinging him aside. The Tyrannosaurus lumbered forward, the earth shaking with each stomp. An imperium dove down from the sky, slashing the beast’s face as he passed. The reptile snarled and snapped, faster than the kyrie had anticipated.

Through the shattered wall, the dazed Crixxus saw a bloody leg and broken wing disappear into the dinosaur’s jaws, brown feathers floating down from above.

Continuing its charge, the Tyrannosaurus swung its giant tail once more, smashing the top of the wood planked shed into pieces and revealing the fallen gladiator, lying in a pile of smashed supply crates.

His helm still ringing, Crixxus rose shakily to his feet. The dinosaur’s jaws opened and came down fast. With one shot, in one moment, taking one chance – the gladiator hurled his shield forward.

The metal disc whirred upward, spinning through the air, into the open jaws until it lodged itself in the beast’s throat. The Tyrannosaurus wretched, putrid steaming bile splattering over the sand all about Crixxus. Wrenching its head from side to side, trying frantically to stop choking, the dinosaur staggered sideways.

Crixxus stumbled away, looking hurriedly for any kind of weapon he could use. Not unlike the gladiating pits, he thought ironically.

Just as he found a broken spear, he heard the beast belch and heard the shield dislodge and strike the earth. He looked to see it rolling on edge until it struck a dead orc and toppled. The Tyrannosaurus was glaring at him with fury in its reptilian eyes from across the battlefield. It lowered its massive head and lumbered forward.

Crixxus readied himself… ready to fight. Ready to die. Aim for an eye. Aim for an eye.

Then, just as he heard the whoosh of wings beating in the wind, strong hands came down, yanking him up off his feet and into the air.

…


“I don’t like this,” Jade watched agent Carr from a few paces back, raising her shades to see more clearly in the dim light. “Why are we out here? Why are we fighting Ullar?”

“We have our orders,” Carr answered without turning. “We're following them.”

“We used to work for the highest bidder,” she replied. “Taking this job and refusing that – living in freedom. Since when did you become a soldier?”

“I didn’t choose to come here.” Jackson said quietly, handgun gripped firmly as he scanned the outlying swamps. “I was drafted. We all were. That makes soldiers – doesn’t it?”

“I’m not a soldier,” Jade insisted. “I’m an agent. I choose who I work for. And I don’t like working for Utgar.”

“We work for Vydar,” Carr uttered. “Don’t confuse that.”

“Why are we fighting Utgar’s enemies then?”

“Utgar is our ally for now.”

“For now?” Jade fumed, stepping up beside Carr. “We are in the middle of a bug infested swamp hunting for another glyph so our robots can wipe out an Ullar outpost that is nowhere near our territory.”

“Back off, Jade,” Jackson, satisfied that his area was secure, started back towards the other agents. “Taking out this little post will keep Utgar off our back.”

Jade frowned. “Murphy and the Microcorps died doing the same thing. I hope it’s worth it.”

“We don’t know they’re dead,” Adams stretched his neck and looked over his shoulder.

“Don’t we?” Jade stared him down.

“Quiet,” Carr ordered. “Something’s moving in the water.”

[Chimpy]

*Dramatic music plays in the background*

[Akralon]

“Muri…” Hatamoto stared in shock and horror at the bloodied massacre before him.

The rolling hills were littered with the corpses of the Izumi. The grass ran red with blood. What was left of most of the tents were but smoldering ash piles. Several still crackled with dying flames. Broad pillars of smoke twisted up from the scorched earth like great columns spiraling up into the sky.

“Lord Hatamoto,” a Tagawa samurai called, “There are several undamaged supply tents to the south, and a holding block.”

“Search the tents, Yo****o,” Hatamoto ordered, “And the cell.”

Yo****o nodded, called a handful of spearmen and departed toward the southern hills.

The small band of Tagawa and battalion of Ashigaru Yari stood in neat ranks about the samurai lord. Hatamoto’s flag blew violently in the strong winds. The acrid smell of burnt flesh stung his nostrils. His eyes watered, burning in the smoke stained air. Then a metallic glint caught his eye from the base of the next hill.

Striding hurriedly down the grassy slope, he found the object to be a silver shield… the bold blue emblem of Jandar across it. The samurai lord frowned.

…

“Our strength fades, Ulf,” Jarl pushed himself to keep up. “This pace is madness. If Finn does not slow down, we will have no stamina to battle our enemy. You are the oldest and the largest. You must speak with him.”

“The boy’s beyond reason,” Ulf said grimly, looking forward as he marched through brush and branch. “His eyes are red with revenge.”

“The earth will be red with our blood if he continues to abandon good sense!”

“Do not fear, Jarl,” Bjorn said, coming up beside him. “I will protect you.”

Jarl sighed. “You know-“

“Smoke rises in the distance,” Finn called back. “The hills have seen battle this day. We are close.”

Jarl growled.

“Easy, pup,” Ulf grunted. “Save your anger for Einar.”

…

“Fall back! Fall back! Watch the hounds!” Sgt. Drake screamed. “Hauser! Tell me you’ve got some grenades left!”

“Two!” Hauser shouted, “Here!”

He tossed one to the sergeant and knelt in the grass, raising his assault rifle and peppering the adjacent slope with gunfire. The charging swarm of nagrubs scattered and rejoined like streams of water.

“It’s no good, Sarge!” Burnell hollered. “We aren’t even slowing them down!”

Drake yanked the pin out and flung the grenade. He turned, “Get to higher ground! Check the trees!” The booming explosion behind him send curling hounds spiraling into the air and rained dirt over his covered head.

“Sergeant,” Urian called, raising his visor. “We will slow them long enough for your men to find locations of advantage. I do not know how much time we can grant, so be quick and be true.”

Drake stopped, observing the knight for a moment, their eyes reflecting mutual respect. Then he nodded and bolted after his soldiers.

“Lucien! Gareth!” Urian called, “Form the shield wall! Do not strike direct. The beasts are armored about the top of their head, neck and back. Let them pounce and miss. Strike their belly or lower halves.”

Gareth tightened his grip on his warhammer. “Let them come.”

To the northern front, Saburo and the Kozuke leapt and dodged and spun and slashed, battling in a fury of blue and silver – discipline and skill put to the test on the edge of Utgarian axes.

The minions swept into combat with demonic rage, their darkened blades cleaving through armor and bone, rending the samurai limb from limb, sending heads spiraling through the air before them.

Katsuro crossed his katanas as and axe came down. A metallic clang pierced the air and his swords shattered like glass. “Unholy magic!” Katsuro shouted. “We cannot stop their demon weapons.”

Hiroshi sped past, the tip of his wakizashi opening the minion’s belly. He eyed Katsuro as he passed, “Rely no longer on your swords for defense – but your feet.”

The samurai scowled, tossing the broken blades aside and seizing another from a fallen comrade.

Above…

“Angle of trajectory: 22 degrees. Target distance: 200 meters and closing. Target speed: 8 meters per second.” SRX465’s crystalline voice was calm and clear of emotion. The rifle hummed as it charged.

“Blue!” Drake called, spotting the lone omicron facing the swarm of minions. “Fall back! You can’t-“

The sniper fired. The laser struck the minion’s face, blasting it from the air. The omicron rotated, raising the rifle, recalibrating the environmental factors and selecting a new target. As the blue screen eyes calculated, another minion swooped in from the side, and with one mighty swing, cleaved the omicron’s head from its shoulders. Sparks snapped and cracked from the wires spouting out, and the robot fell to its knees, the various lights dimming, flickering and going out – the calculations stopped.

Drake heard the echoes of unnatural shrieks as the nagrub hounds slammed into the shields of the Weston knights.

He looked back to see Castillo and Burnell had situated high as able in the trees and began attempting to provide some cover fire for the knights’ retreat. The knights, however, were not retreating. Even as the wave of minions descended.

“The airborne are in position!” he shouted, “Fall back! Urian! Lucien! Fall back, I said!”

“We said we would hold them as long as able,” Lucien called back. “We hold them still. Knights of Weston do not run. Prepare your defenses.”

“Son of a-“ Drake scowled. “Red, come in.”

“SRX316 – Online.”

“Red, the minions have a leader. He’s giving them some kind of power. We can’t stand up to their weapons. Find him and take him down. Look for a minion with black wings.”

“Acknowledged.”

“Castillo, Burnell, Hauser,” He grit his teeth and began running back toward the defending knights, “Keep that cover fire coming. We’ll handle the hounds – take out as many minions as you can.”

“Roger that, Sarge,” Castillo’s voice crackled on his radio. “We got you covere– what the…Sarge!”

“What is it!” Drake growled.

“It’s Johnson! He doesn’t look well.”

Drake’s eyes widened. “Don’t go near him! Take him down without killing him if you can!”

The knights pummeled the attacking hounds with their shields, bashing them dizzy with hammer and mace, hacking with sword and axe.

“There’s something else over here,” Hauser’s voice shook. “Somethin’ ain’t right. Sarge… It’s hard to breathe.”

“Get outta there now!” Drake screamed, “Move!”

There were no more responses.

[Deathclaw767]

Wow..... Just... WOW.... I was lookin' around and found this thread, and I must admit, this entertains me moreso than many published works I've read. Probably because I can imagine the battles and whatnot... Also, I really like how you give each character a very distinct personality. I think it makes the story a whole lot better. Chomp just seems that much more cruel when you describe it. All of the sudden, I feel like another massive 1500-ish point Orc battle again... Keep chugging 'em out, Akralon!

Enjoying every minute,
Deathclaw

EDIT: Sorry. Chugging is bad. Work hard on these. That sounds better.

[Akralon]

“Scouts report gladiatrons approaching from the southeast,” Syvarris stated grimly. “The trees provide excellent cover for the Aubriens. Ground defenses will be handled by the Ashrans. I will go to the front and await our enemy’s arrival.” The archer slung his ornately carved bow over his shoulder and descended the planked walkway down to the earth.

“Fear not,” Denrick said softly to Kyntela. “I will find their champion.”

“You should not be so eager to rush into battle,” the elf maiden returned, “Such an adversary as a champion of Vydar will not easily fall.”

“We all have talents, my lady,” the knight captain answered. “I am a champion of Jandar. My blessing comes with a clause. To gain the fullness of strength and valor, I must face the greatest opponent in the enemy force. That is my charge. That is my purpose.”

“Such danger,” Kyntela whispered. “It is reckless.”

“Not reckless, my lady,” Denrick shook his head. “Do not mistake the cause I serve and the resolve with which I serve it for recklessness.” The ocean of blue in his eyes was stormy. His resolution resounded in the atmosphere, almost tangible. Then he turned, shield slung over his back and descended after the elf archer.

She watched him as he left, headed for the front. Her large green eyes sparkled with adoration. This was not his land – not his people. Was it glory he sought? What purpose did he pursue? She exhaled. “May the strength of the earth reside in you. Wood protect you – you and all others.”

…

“General!” Valerius cried, panting for breath. “Smoke rises to the north. It is as you feared – we were diverted from their main course of attack. The palace is under siege.”

Decimus grit his teeth. He quickened his pace, waving his gladius forward. “Protinus incedo!!”

The legionnaires doubled their pace, jogging onward in straight columns.

“What is our plan?” Ismarus asked, “When we arrive?”

Decimus did not answer immediately. His steel gray eyes were cold and hard. “We survey the area, estimate their numbers and then devise a plan. If victory is within our ability, we will locate a staging point and prepare our advance. If their numbers are beyond overcoming, we move further north - join up with other forces and intercept them before they reach Lord Einar’s palace.” He looked to Valerius, “Whichever we decide, it must be done quickly. Ensure the men are ready for either.”

Valerius nodded.

…

“Look!” Brunak rumbled, his yellow eyes glinting. “The skies fill with fleeing imperium. They even carry others away. The air is ripe with despair. I can taste it.”

“The empress still hides in her tower,” Ornak snarled. “Lord Utgar’s wrath will be swift if we do not kill her.”

“Beside her personal guard, there is but one last fighting force between us and the winged wench,” Brunak grunted, steadying his large falchion. “The orange samurai.”

“Have the Dumutef take care of them. There are plenty of broken rocks to smash them with,” Ornak drew his bronze sword.

“Rukk!” Ornak called. A large bronze-plated grut shuffled forward, a great bloodstained halberd in hand. “Gather the Dumutef. Clear a path.”

“Lord Ornak,” Rukk grumbled, “There are no more Dumutef.”

“What?” Ornak scowled, “Impossible!”

“It’s true,” Rukk insisted, “There,” he pointed toward the shattered wall.

The orc flagbearer looked across the battlefield to where one giant dumutef howled and swung its long talon-fingered arms at a single man.

Ornak’s blood red eyes narrowed. The man wore a gladiator helm, bore a gladius in one hand and a bronze shield with wreathed emblems circling its edges in the other. The evening light glanced off the golden bird upon his breastplate.

The dumutef lashed out, which the gladiator easily ducked, pouncing forward and slashing its knee. Growling in anger, the bridge guard slammed its meaty fist to the earth in an attempt to swat the annoyance. That was its last mistake.

The gladiator leapt aside then sprinted up its broad arm to the shoulder, before jamming his blade down through the monster’s skull.

“Utak gunak!” Ornak snarled. “Rukk, gather the armored gruts and destroy the samurai. Brunak…”

The mighty trolticor grinned. “I will tear him open.”

As the crimson skinned Brunak barreled forward, massive falchion held high, the gladiator turned to face him, raising his sword’s edge to point to the charging trolticor. Then he lowered his head, bent his knees, leveled his sword and brought in his shield.

The gladiator charged, sprinting remarkably fast and gaining speed with each racing step, eyes never swaying from the monster.

Brunak brought down the falchion with all his might. The massive blade cleaved into the dirt as the gladiator darted aside and leapt, switching sword hands and jamming the gladius into the trolticor’s side, then in one fluid movement, used the impaled weapon as leverage to swing up onto its back.

Brunak bellowed, leaping and bucking furiously.

The gladiator grabbed a fistful of flesh with one strong hand and wrenched the gladius free with the other.

“Get the insect off me!” Brunak snarled.

Several grut archers fired, aiming poorly. Some arrows whistled harmlessly past. Two, however, pierced the beast in its left flank and shoulder. Brunak roared.

The gruts gulped and fled.

The gladiator wrapped one arm around the beast’s neck and with the other, drove his gladius down between the trolticor’s shoulders, the tip bursting from Brunak’s chest.

“Raagghhh!” the trolticor swaggered and stumbled, clawing at his back until finally he caught the gladiator and hurled the him off his back, sending him sprawling through the air.

As the gladiator landed on his chest, chin scraping over the hard dirt as he slid, he heard the massive monster crash to the earth. Pushing himself up, he turned to face the fallen Brunak.

Ornak stared in disbelief. “Fool! You cannot stop Utgar!”

Spartacus said nothing, only raised his sword again – this time pointing to Ornak.

…

[Akralon]

The camouflaged Ashigaru Yari deftly maneuvered through the tall reed-like blades of grass, like prowling lions, poised and ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

The Tarn, however, charged with ferocity and rage, like a blood-frenzied rhinoceros, trampling all underfoot.

Upon the bloodied hills of northern Braunglayde, were the ruins of the Izumi encampment still littered the golden grass, the cautious spearmen and crazed vikings clashed.

And from the edge of Bleakwood, the vampire lord Cyprien stood silently, his ancient black eyes flickering with mild amusement. The evening sun darkened his red armor, staining it crimson like the blood that was now being spilt.

“After all this time, amidst all the summoned warlords of our master,” Sonya whispered, sliding up beside him, her slender armor matching his own – the shades of red and black that marked the House of Esenwein. “You are still the greatest mind.”

Cyprien sighed. “The competition leaves something to be desired. I fear our poor soldiers are the dullest of all. Between the barbaric gruts, the mindless undead and the disease-ridden marro – there are few with any intelligence at all. It is a wonder our master has made it this far against two armies whose combined power would easily crush his forces.”

“And they would have,” Sonya agreed, “If not for your display of brilliance.”

“Those sentinels were a blessing from the dark prince himself,” Cyprien nodded. “Catching them off guard while they were devoutly in prayer was enough to sate my appetite for days.”

“Now Einar and Jandar will tear each other to pieces,” Iskra’s voice floated up from behind them. She was slender, as well, though unlike Sonya, whose long silky black hair and smooth pale face resonated with haunting beauty, Iskra’s pallid face and fiery hair gave her a wild and seductive demeanor. “The retchets are weary from slaughtering the Izumi.”

“And the undead?” Cyprien inquired, not taking his eyes of the distant battle. “Are they contained?”

“They are,” Iskra replied. “They feed on the bodies we brought.”

“And what of our new servants?”

Iskra grinned wickedly. “The Izumi zombies are mingling quite well. Especially that foolhardy leader whose blood you drank.”

Cyprien smiled in turn. “We will unleash the undead upon whatever rabble is left after this pathetic brawl is ended. Once Braunglayde is cleared of our enemies, Lord Utgar will honor his vow to give me dominion over all Bleakwoode.”

“You already hold dominion here,” Sonya ran her pale fingertips down his breastplate. “Your speech rules the mindless undead. The spirits fear and obey you. And with each soul that falls by your undead, another servant bound to your command is born. All you need now is a fitting castle.”

“In due time,” he muttered.

“I still do not understand why we must rely on useless buffoons to finish Utgar’s other work.” Iskra complained. “We should be leading the armies.”

“I’ve no mind to traipse around in the company of those wretched beasts, let alone take on the dreaded responsibility of organizing such chaos,” Cyprien answered, watching the vikings and spearmen slowly destroying each other in the distance. His pale lips widened in a faint smile, just enough to reveal the edge of his large fangs. “This is much more to my liking.”

[Chimpy]

Awesome. I totally forgot about Cyprien when I said Utgarians were to stupid to pull this off.

[Sapper]

Wow..... Just... WOW.... I was lookin' around and found this thread, and I must admit, this entertains me moreso than many published works I've read. Probably because I can imagine the battles and whatnot... Also, I really like how you give each character a very distinct personality. I think it makes the story a whole lot better. Chomp just seems that much more cruel when you describe it. All of the sudden, I feel like another massive 1500-ish point Orc battle again... Keep chugging 'em out, Akralon!

Enjoying every minute,
Deathclaw

EDIT: Sorry. Chugging is bad. Work hard on these. That sounds better. :word: I totally agree. Akralon you definitely have a talent for the writen word. You have found you niche. Every time I visit the site I always check to see if you have a new chapter.

[DEATHWALKER]

in the chapter where DW9000 is destroyed, I thought they were refering to his explosion special attack

have the other 2 DWs in there, won't you?

[Akralon]

DW7000 is in there - in the Grut Horde assault on Empress Kiova's Palace.

[DEATHWALKER]

DW7000 is in there - in the Grut Horde assault on Empress Kiova's Palace.really?

could you tell me the chapter?

great writing, btw

[Akralon]

Chapter 9.

Btw, we're packing to move out to San Diego right now, but we're driving up to Detroit for a few weeks first, so if I manage to get any chapters up in between, they'll be slow in coming.

I do, however, plan to continue writing as long as people continue reading.

In the meantime, if you have any suggestions as to places or characters you'd like to see - go ahead and suggest, and I'll see if I can't work them in.

[Deathclaw767]

I do, however, plan to continue writing as long as people continue reading.


Might want to take that back. I'll read these 'till one of us dies, we enter a nuclear winter, or some mega-virus is created and destroys the internet somehow.

[Hendal]

Just found this thread - WOW is all I can say, what great writting, I have really enjoyed it, and can't wait for more.

The only part that didn't follow Heroscape ( IMO ) was Khosermet was tougher then the wolves, which isn't how it is, he has a worse attack and a worse defense them them, OK he does have more live. But still the story was amazing and I still really liked it.

But wow, really great story. I think you are doing such a great job, I hate to make any suggestion.

Hendal

[Deathclaw767]

I like this Khosumet because he's more like what I think he should have been. Awesomer (is that a word?) than the anubains, and able to dish out punishment while taknig a fair bit himself.
LONG LIVE THE ORCS!! Erm... Devourers. Yea. them.

[DEATHWALKER]

Chapter 9.

Btw, we're packing to move out to San Diego right now, but we're driving up to Detroit for a few weeks first, so if I manage to get any chapters up in between, they'll be slow in coming.

I do, however, plan to continue writing as long as people continue reading.

In the meantime, if you have any suggestions as to places or characters you'd like to see - go ahead and suggest, and I'll see if I can't work them in.I see it... sweeeeeeeeeeet

(they think DW 9000's rapid fire gun was a problem, wait until they meet DW 8000!)

[Akralon]

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 13
------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alastair stared solemnly at the darkening horizon. As the deep blue of night stretched across the sky, and the sea of stars began to sparkle, a strong evening wind swept over the grassland, chilling the encamped highlanders with icy fingers.

“What're ye thinkin’ 'bout?” Drummond asked gruffly, his black beard twitching. When Alastair didn’t answer, he grunted with a weak smile. “Her again.”

The leader of the MacDirk Clan kept his eyes on the sinking sun. “I miss her, Drummond. Thot's oll there is to it. She gave me purpose. Without her, I dunnae... whot I should do, or where I should go.”

Drummond nodded, dark eyes watching the edge of the setting sun disappear. “You’ll see her again, lad.” He clapped a large hand on Alastair’s shoulder. “Ye con't give in tah saddness. You'll not do her any good thar.”

“In Scotland efrythin' was clear,” Alastair started, “But now, everyone I loved, my lond, my home – it’s all gone, Drummond. We’re in a foreign conetry, workin’ for a strange genral - who's got us out in de middle ‘o nowhere… trackin’ a creature we dunnae even know exists.”

“We'll be findin' out soon,” Drummond shivered. “The soonar the bettar, if ye ask me.”

“It all feels so far away,” Alastair observed the burly highlander. “I'm afraid, Drummond, afraid I've lost my own way.”

“Yer a man ‘o passion,” Drummond replied. “Ye've always been. Thot's hard tah find. Don't go losin' it now. She wouldnae won't thot eithar.”

Alastair exhaled, glancing back at the outstretching grasslands. “Thar’s a frost ahead. It’s gonna get a lot coldar.”

Drummond eyed the crescent moon. “Then we’ll have tah start buildin’ ar fires a lot biggar.”

[Akralon]

"Should we not return to the battle," an Ashigaru Yari asked worriedly.

Yo****o ignored the question. "There, the holding block. There's someone in it."

Several spearmen moved to the crumpled wagon with the wooden cell built onto its base.

"Quickly!" the Tagawa ordered. "Break the door."

The Yari used their spears to pry the frail wood apart. When at last the door groaned and snapped, they speedily yanked the fragments aside to reveal a pallid Izumi sprawled against the back of his cell. His face was ragged, his hair cut and his eyes dazed.

"Bring him out," Yo****o eyed the battle behind them nervously. Then he turned his gaze to the red and white armor of the rescued samurai. "Give me your name and what crime you were accused of. We have little time so speak quickly."

"I am... Shigeru," he coughed. "Last of the Izumi. You must stop them."

"Stop who?" Yo****o asked anxiously.

"The Tagawa and the Yari," Shigeru exhaled. "They fight the wrong enemy."

"What?"

"Utgar," Shigeru struggled, "They came down the hillside with horrid creatures - neither alive nor dead. The Izumi fought bravely, but with each fallen samurai rose a mindless monstrocity, rotting and wretched, to join Utgar's foul ranks."

"But the Jandarian shields-" Yo****o began.

"A trick," Shigeru cut in. "A trick of the vampire lord." His dark eyes glanced about. "He watches even now, to make sure we kill each other."

...

Sgt. Drake’s grip on the Thorian katana tightened as he raced forward. The marro warriors fired repeatedly, their putrid green acid blasts splattering all around him, hissing with steam as they ate away earth and tree.

Ne-Gok-Sa glowered, his black eyes burning with hatred. He pointed his vicious blade-arm toward the sprinting soldier. “Kill him – Kill him now!”

“We can’t hit him!” One of the warriors cried out in frustration. “He is never where he appears to be!”

“Worthless fools,” the marro warlord snarled, “I will do it then. This should get his attention.”

Drake darted and dodged, lightly bounding over rock and root. He could see Hauser, sprawled against a tree, unconscious. Castillo lay on his stomach to the right. The marro warlord was holding Burnell by the throat, and as the sergeant neared the top of the hill, drove its crude metallic bladed arm through the weak soldier’s belly.

Burnell gurgled blood, eyes dimming and then hung lifelessly in Ne-Gok-Sa’s grip. The sneering warlord flung the bloodied corpse aside like a dirty dishtowel, turning to face the advancing sergeant.

Enraged, Drake lashed out his katana in one mighty swing and the first marro warrior fell in two pieces. Slimy entrails exposed from its severed abdomen spattered the grass as the upper half hit the ground. The legs stood shakily a moment then fell backward.

Not stopping his sprint, Drake lowered his sword, deflected the warlord’s blade, and slammed full force into the marro.


Down below, Lucien saw the sergeant and marro warlord tumble and disappear over the ridge. The battle was boding ill for the forces of Jandar. The soldiers were now all out of the battle. The knights had long since lost sight of the Kozuke, who were, most likely, dead as well.

“Flee, mortals,” Taelord arced down and seized Gareth by the helmet, yanking him up into the air.

Gareth hammered in futility, bashing his warhammer against the minion commander’s ribs. “Go back to hell!” the knight roared, spearing the hammer’s top spike into the warlord’s gut.

“Graaghh!” Taelord roared. Then, with his other hand, he gripped the upper rim of the knight’s breastplate. He pulled up the human’s helm, and in one furious rending, tore the knight’s head from his neck, flinging the armored body to the ground.

A spray of blood rained over the shocked Drystan and the headless body of his comrade crashed to the earth beside him. Staggering backward in surprise, the young knight was caught off guard as two more minions slammed into him – their axes piercing his armor with great metallic wrenching, throwing him backwar.

Lucien watched in helpless horror as Drystan’s body was flung aside by the two murderous minions, their devilish faces grinning with pleasure. The attack had ceased now, and the remaining knights were forced into a small circle, back to back, as the minions closed in around them.

“You have lost,” Taelord landed before Lucien, tossing Gareth’s bloody head to the ground at his feet. “Your fate will be the same. Tell me where your leader hides and I will make your deaths quick.”

Lucien’s brow furrowed. If the minion warlord was looking for Denrick, then the knight commander did escape.

“You are but four knights,” Taelord laughed. “Outnumbered threefold. Hope is extinguished for you, poor human. But you can at least save your men from agonizing torture if you but give me Denrick’s location.”

The others looked to Lucien. Urian, Ector and Kay were all that was left. Without Denrick, it fell to Lucien to lead them. If they were to die, he’d rather die fighting. But he knew they stood no chance of victory, and doing so would only enrage the enemy and increase his brethren’s suffering. Perhaps he could at least spare them the agony and give the warlord a false location, hopefully leading him away from anything useful...

“Your time is ended,” Taelord advanced. “I will have your answer.”

[Akralon]

The dry dusty wind blasted the Roman general as it swept across the smoking wasteland, causing his fur cloak to lash about frantically.

Decimus's steel gray eyes burned. His face was grim. "I failed her, Valerius. I failed them all."

The legionnaire captain said nothing, only stared across the blasted terrain, where bodies of men and gruts lay scattered and bloodied. The once great palace was completely obliterated. A massive hole had shattered the center of the front wall. The fortress itself was crumpled and still seeping long billowing trails of smoke. The highest tower, the empress's tower, had fallen and lay broken in the courtyard.

Decimus unclasped his cloak and let it fall to the earth. "She called me Einar's greatest general," he muttered to no one in particular. "She said I would bring hope... that when the final battle came, and Utgar's greatest general marched against us... it would be my sword struck him down."

Valerius looked to his general. "Her prophecies have been tested and proven true. If the Empress said it would be so - I believe her. You should, too, General."

"General," Ismarus came up beside them. "The Utgarian horde marched westward. The wind has not yet completely covered their tracks."

"Were there any that fled?"

"No tracks that we've found."

Decimus sighed. "We haven't time to perform all the burial ceremonies necessary. Find only those of importance. Build a pyre with the rest. It will have to do."

"Yes, General."

As Ismarus left to begin the gathering, Valerius stooped to lift the general's discarded cloak. He held it up before him, brushing the dust from it then handed it back. "You ought to take better care of this, General. Not many Romans wear fur cloaks skinned from Anubian champions."

...

Metallic clangs shattered the air and showered the battling marro and sergeant in flashing sprays of sparks.

Katana ground into marro blade and Drake shoved forward, but the marro warlord held firm and threw him off. Stumbling backwards, he strengthened his grip on the Thorian sword and leveled it alien.

"You know something," Drake grumbled, "I'm sick of seeing your ugly face."

"You won't be seeing anything soon," Ne-gok-sa snarled, "After I rend your innards from your body I will gouge out both your eyes and cut off your head." The marro warlord lashed out in a wide arc, causing the airborne sergeant to leap back. "Then I will post your eyeless head on a standard - so that all your sniveling allies will see what fate awaits them." He parried the katana with his armored arm and slashed the sergeant's left rib. Drake gasped in pain, stepping back.

Ne-gok-sa's fleshless face contorted in satisfaction. "Poor human - it will be your disfigured visage that strikes fear into your own soldiers."

"I'd still be prettier than you," Drake raised the grapple gun and fired.

Ne-gok-sa tried to block, but the grapple struck his armored hand, latching down and continuing forward. The force jerked the marro warlord around and sent him spinning like a top as he toppled after it.

Drake flicked the return switch and the line zipped back, dragging the struggling marro with it.

Just as he came sliding toward the sergeant, Ne-gok-sa speared the human in the arm holding the gun with his blade.

Drake cried out, releasing the grapple gun, and with his other hand, jammed the katana through the marro's shoulder.

Ne-gok-sa hissed, recoiling in rage, bubbling green blood issuing out of his wound as he slid backward off the blade.

Drake's right arm hung limp and he grimaced as sharp pain shot all the way up to his shoulder. He couldn't feel his arm from the elbow down - it was dead-weight. He found himself light-headed, suddenly barely able to stand, and stumbled forward to his knees, propping himself up on the blade.

The jungle trees spun around him and he ground his teeth in an attempt to hold onto consciousness. He saw his grapple gun, but not the marro warlord. Then as his vision blurred he heard something... something beating the wind. At first he thought it was a chopper, but soon dropped the idea when he could hear clearer. He had never heard anything like it. Then he realized it was the sound of a thousand wings.

[Akralon]

The deafening gunfire drowned out all sound in the forest - an endless sound-stream of earsplitting pops and blasts.

Rising up behind the invading machines, a colossal juggernaut of metal veered its upper half toward the trees. Its mechanical legs were planted solidly in the earth. A white decal reflected the flashing light of gunfire: Major Q9. Its robotic limbs lowered, cocked and began spinning. All at once a stream of bullets tore through the leafy foliage.

“That one will be our end!” Syvarris shouted over the roar of machine fire. “We cannot get close enough to stop it!”

Denrick huddled behind his shield, peering over the rim for a quick sweep of the battlefield. The gladiatrons had surged forward in long lines – like a broad iron net. None of the elves could get past them without getting caught. The blastatrons lurked further beyond, pelting the immobilized forest defenders with unrelenting precision. The warriors of Ashra could hold their own in hand-to-hand combat, and even managed to dodge most of the blastatron attacks. This availed the elves little good, however, for they weren’t getting any closer to the metal monstrosity that was reigning down doom on everything in its path.

“And that large one,” Syvarris indicated the oversized gladiatron just as its massive claw clamped down on a struggling Ashran. The female elf hacked at its metallic arm in futility. “-Is slowly picking us off one by one.” The claw clamped completely shut, splitting the defenseless Ashran in half with a sickening bone-crunching snap and dropping the refuse gruesomely to the bloodied earth.

Denrick’s blue eyes narrowed. “Then he is my target.”

“No,” Syvarris shook his head. “You’ll never reach him. There’s too many of them.”

“Then lend me your bow,” he called, raising his shield and charging forward.

“Fool human!” the archer snapped, never-the-less steadying his bow and drawing back the enchanted bowstring.


Up above, the trees groaned and cracked under the constant biting of cold metal, nipping away at trunk and bough and showering the battling Ashrans in splinters and bark fragments.

“Our defenses won’t hold much longer,” Rendalin called to Kyntela. “The bullets eat our trees like a school of piranhas. The bridges are falling apart.”

Kyntela raised her staff and concentrated. Bare feet touching the wood, she began chanting. Her head tilted back and her eyes rolled up. There was a deep groaning sound and the tree’s trunk and limbs darkened, the bark hardening. Her face was covered in beads of sweat. “I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep this up,” she stated through clenched teeth.


Flashes of light gleamed as Syvarris’s magic arrows streaked forward like small bolts of lightning. One shot over the knight’s shoulder and slammed into a gladiatron - squarely in the chest. Sparks snapped and popped and the robot’s visor lights went out as it toppled backward.

The large gladiatron seized another Ashran by the waist and hoisted her up into the air, observing her with grim satisfaction. She grimaced as the claw began to tighten.

Denrick, sprinting as fast as he could, lunged at the machine’s leg. He collided with resounding clang, the weight of his full suit of plate armor was enough to jar the robot off balance. The claw released the Ashran, who nimbly rolled aside, and the large gladiatron staggered backward to keep from falling.

Denrick rose to his feet, holding his shield close and readying his sword.

Major X17 turned to scan its new target. “What’s this? A fleshling clad in metal?”

The knight said nothing, only searched his opponent’s bulk for some kind of weak spot. There was little to be found, for nearly all the robot’s exposed surfaces were thick and plated. Even the joints were protected. Only a few openings shone under the arm and inner thighs that one could hope to fit a sword end. And even then, the stroke would have to be precise. The only way to ensure that was to be close enough to see perfectly, and that would most certainly mean facing the claw.

“Come, human,” X17 beckoned. “Your armor will not protect you from me.”

Denrick leapt forward, attempting to batter the claw aside with his shield and cut for the inner thigh. X17, however, swung its other arm into the knight’s legs, sweeping them aside.

Denrick hit the ground hard, and before his vision cleared, the claw had clamped over his chest. The large gladiatron effortlessly lifted him into the air before it.

“Your metal is only a shell,” it mocked. “But underneath you are still soft and full of water.” The claw tightened and the armor creaked loudly as it bent inwards, causing the knight to bellow in pain.

“Let’s see what sound you make when you pop,” X17 droned, the red light emanating from its visor flashing with mechanical malice.

Denrick cried out, but in that instant, his eyesight came into focus on a single exposed wire under the machine’s claw-arm. Without hesitating a second, he summoned every ounce of strength left, bringing up his sword, and with enhanced precision, speared the wire. The severed ends of the chord sparked furiously and the claw-arm fell dead.

Taking advantage of X17’s shock, the knight darted aside, jamming his blade into the exposed inner thigh, up into the lower abdomen. A jolt of electricity shot the knight backwards and zigzags of current arched about the shaking robot.

All at once there was a great explosion, catching attention of all combatants. Then the scorched head of X17 came plummeting down, thudding heavily into the earth like a dropped anvil.

Denrick wiped the ash from his face, standing slowly and looking to the elves. Triumphant shouts resounded from the Aubriens and Ashrans. Several archers sprinted forward to take advantage of the machines’ surprise, Rendalin leading a small squadron. Even Syvarris gave a wry smile. The knight’s eyes, however, were searching for the elf maiden.

When Kyntela opened her eyes to see what the cheering was about, she looked down upon the battlefield and saw the knight captain standing amidst a pile of smoking metal and wire, the head of the large gladiatron resting next to his feet. His blue eyes held her own for a moment, which seemed to silence the surrounding noise and slow the very flow of time itself.

Ran-tang-tang-ting-tlooonng! The knight jerked about spasmodically, small explosions of blood bursting from his armor at every angle as a stream of high-speed bullets tore through him from behind. Kyntela gasped, momentarily dropping her oak strengthening aura.

The bloodied Denrick collapsed on his stomach in the grass. Rivers of blood streamed down his face and chest. Through his one good eye he looked up at a figure that came towards him, straining shakily to keep his head up.

“Sir knight,” Rendalin slid to his knees beside the coughing human. “We must bring you back to the tree.”

“Waste not your strength,” he sputtered. “A message... resides in the crest... of my shield...” His hand dragged to reach, but stopped. He exhaled. "It must... reach Jandar..."

“It will be so,” Rendalin stated.

“Tell the lady Kyntela,” Denrick muttered drowsily, “… Tell her… It was my honor... my purpose...” The knight lowered his head, closed his eyes, breathed a few shallow ragged breaths then clutched his sword handle tightly and exhaled one long breath. The knight captain moved no more.

[hi1hi1hi1hi1]

Wow Akralon, your fanfic just topples over anything mine could ever reach. Great job all around. Your caracterization is perfectly portatrayed, even each knight, however lowly, has a distinct personality.

My favorite part during the midst of a huge battle, you take the time to describe each death so eloquently. Yea death and elegence don't usually find themselves used together, but you pull it off with every story.

I can honestly say yours and johnny's are the top two. (differences in styles makes a number one an impossible choice)

[Akralon]

Thank you for the compliments and the feedback especially. As I'm sure you know, feedback is a writer's fuel.

The most enjoyable feedback is hearing what readers like and dislike, and especially their favorite parts. And if something doesn't make sense or seems off, let me know.

[Akralon]

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 14 - Turn of the Tide
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sgt. Drake rubbed his aching head. He stared at his surviving men in confused weariness. “Tell me again what just happened.”

Hauser sighed. “Man, Sarge, you really took a beatin’.”

“Our backup arrived,” Castillo said bitterly, “They only missed the whole fight.”

“Better late than never,” Hauser reminded. Then, looking back to the sergeant, added, “They wiped out the minions and marro. Mostly. There’s a handful of knights left, and the samurai are gone. No idea where they went or if they even survived.”

Drake eyed the two sentinels standing off to the side. Like statues of Norse mythology, they seemed sculpted from stone. Their hardened muscles were well defined, and their long golden hair fell in strands and braids about broad shoulders. Their faces were stoic and handsome. The mighty hammers known to shatter metal hung from their bronze belts. White feathered wings folded neatly behind them.

“It was nice to see Utgar losing for once,” Hauser continued, “Even though old Blackwing got away – barely.”

“He fled, as all cowards do,” came a deep steady voice. Another kyrie warrior strode up to greet the newly woken sergeant. He was armored head to toe in silvery steel. Dark brown hair fell in stark contrast to the other sentinels. “I am Concan, and I bring dire news.”

Drake shook his head with a sardonic smile. “This just isn’t our day.”


Down at the bottom of the hill, the remaining knights spoke solemnly amongst themselves.

“So many dead,” Urian set his helmet down. His shoulder plates were a deep evening sky blue. “Gareth, Drystan, Palamede…” He looked to Lucien and Kay. “These minions are demons in their most poetic form. They are grotesque abominations fueled by hatred and malice. There is no good in them – none at all.”

“That is why Utgar uses them,” Lucien watched the sentinels as they cleaned the battlefield – carrying away the wounded for treatment, burying the deceased and burning the enemy’s dead. “He fills his army with all manner of soulless creatures – that he might use them for the vilest of actions. And they do so without moral hindrances. They do the despicable and take pleasure in it.”

Kay stroked his dark moustache thoughtfully. “All the more reason this world needs us.” He exhaled. “I will check on Ector. Galantine said his wounds were treatable.”

Lucien nodded and Urian watched him depart in a half-daze.

Looking back to Lucien, Urian uttered, “So you believe Denrick is alive? If that is true, we must find him. He holds the secret we were meant to deliver.”

Lucien nodded. “Let us pray he comes to no harm.”

…

Having successfully dragged the knight captain’s body back behind the wall of Ashrans, the elf ranger lifted the shield and raced back toward the great oak tree.

At the top, Acolarh staggered, grasping the vine-rail for support. His breathing was haggard. He looked to Rendalin as the ranger approached. “I cannot do this much longer. I have been protecting our fighters and archers to the very brink of my ability to do so. I have never used so much of my power in so short a time. My stamina is exhausted.” His eyes darted to the battle below. “We cannot win this fight.”

The female Ashrans and the gladiatrons had remained locked in combat, while the archers and blastatrons tried unsuccessfully to help their side advance. It was only the warpath cleared by Q9 that gave the soulborgs the advantage, and against the monstrous machine’s firepower there was no shield, no protection.

As if sensing victory was within their grasp, the blastatrons lined up and trained their cannons on one target at a time. A series of explosions rocked the battleground, rumbling Ashrans and Aubriens off their feet. Large tree boughs groaned and cracked, crashing to the earth below.

“This is madness!” Syvarris shouted, “I cannot penetrate the large one’s armor. Not without being able to see where its weak points lie.”

Q9 tilted its mechanical head up to scan the treetops. A lone elf, bearing the leafy emblem of Ullar stood at the highest point. More than once the robot observed flashes of green light and witnessed shields of light flashing around the battling Ashrans.

Altering its calculations for new trajectories, the massive machine zeroed in on the elf flagbearer and raised its well-oiled weaponry.


Kyntela screamed as the uppermost platform exploded into a thousand splinters and elves flew sprawling in every direction. She scrambled weakly to the edge of the shattered bridge and stared in disbelief at the dark cloud of smoke. The standard of Ullar, scorched and torn, fell softly through the air, drifting down like the last leaf of fall.

[Metaknight]

Nice! I like how you wrote it! Way better than I could have! I just got to say it's a little confusing but that may just be me...

[Akralon]

Just let me know what's confusing and I'll see if I can't clear it up.

[Chimpy]

Amazing! There is no better way to get me siked about re-entering Scapers after a break than reading your fanfic!

[Akralon]

As evening approached, strong winds swept across the dry, cracked earth, sweeping sheets of dust against the sides of the rippling tents.

Inside the general’s tent, now draped in the furs of slain Anubians, the general and his top men stood gathered around the war table, a map of Anund unfurled before them.

Decimus traced a finger along the northeastern coast of Kinsland. “They sent a small regiment through the Searing Pass to draw us further south.” He tapped is index finger on the small island bridging Volcarren to Anund. “This is where Utgar’s true force lay.” He shook his head. “Once they diverted our attention away from our post, they would have had to use small boats to cross between the islands here.”

“But General,” Ismarus eyed the map keenly. “How would Utgar’s northern force have known whether or not the IXth took their bait without some kind of messenger?”

The Roman general’s steel gray eyes narrowed. “He needed no message. He knew we’d march.”

“Regardless,” Valerius moved several wood figurines up the map to the southern edge of a forest, “The Utgar horde will most likely have stopped here, at the border of Erebos. Studying the tracks headed north, combined with the amount of dead, we estimate their number to be around seven thousand strong.”

“Seven thousand?” Ismarus gasped.

“We’ve overcome worse odds,” Decimus remarked casually. “We are not far from them now. If we are to warn Lord Einar with enough time to do some good, we’ll have to slow them down. That means engaging them in a little game of cat and mouse.”

“A dangerous game,” Valerius eyed him warily. “Especially in a place such as the forest of Erebos.”

“We’ll use it to our advantage,” Decimus decided. “The trees are spread thinly and do not provide for much of a forest at all. Many have died, foolishly believing there would be ample water – only to find out too late that there was none. There is little game to hunt as well. If we can stall the horde long enough, they may just turn on each other. Erebos has a strange quality… Too much time spent in that eerie forest brings madness to its trespassers.” The general paused, scratching his unshaven chin. He divided the Roman figurines and placed them on either side of the Utgar figurines. “We will use an old retreat maneuver, tagging the horde from one side and drawing them off their path, only to come back from the opposite side and do the same. I will lead the western forces and Valerius the eastern. This weaving back and forth will not only slow them down, it may even divide them completely. In the meantime, a small unit will continue north to warn Lord Einar.”

“There is one major problem there,” Valerius put in.

Decimus nodded. He had no doubt that their supplies would last longer, having an army of disciplined legionnaires, they would be able to ration. The horde was primarily comprised of wild and barely controllable gruts. They would not last long without adequate supplies. The only problem was water. “We will have to make due on what water we have… for if we exhaust our supply - God be with us.”

“General,” a voice sounded from outside the main tent.

“Enter,” Decimus called.

A young legionnaire, Darius, entered, his face weatherworn and tired. “A great sandstorm approaches from the west.”

“Not again,” Ismarus groaned. “We’ll be digging ourselves out of sand piles yet again if we do not make haste.”

Decimus sighed. “Bring in the sentries. Tighten the encampment. No one is to leave the camp borders until after the storm has passed and I have given orders. Tell the men to get their rest. We march as soon as we are able.”

…

Upon the southeastern hills of Upper Bleakwoode, the wind was thick with the smell of death. The sickly sweet scent of rotting flesh stung the noses of the Tarn and the Ashigaru alike.

“This is your doing,” Hatamoto barked, katana gripped firmly with both hands, circling the bulky Viking. “You barbarians have no honor. You are little better than orcs.”

“Spineless dog,” Finn spat, keeping his feet moving, “You dare speak of honor?! Your fiendish betrayal against Jandar has sealed your doom and I will have my vengeance.”

Finn lunged forward, skirting the katana aside with his shield and slamming the sword of Guether down upon his enemy’s weapon. A searing blue light flashed in their eyes and Hatamoto’s katana shattered like glass.

“Lord Hatamoto!” cried Yo****o, racing up the hillside. “Jandar is not to blame for this destruction!”

The shocked flagbearer eyed the panting Tagawa with anger. “Do not defend the savagery of these barbarians! The air is thick with their stench.” He rolled to his feet, drawing his wakizashi. “Stay back, Yo****o!”

“No,” Shigeru grunted as the other Tagawa carried him forward. “What you smell is death.” He turned and pointed to the north, “There walk the demonspawn of Akuma!”

Rising up over the distant hills, like putrid layer of slime oozing over the earth, a wave of rotting zombies staggered forward awkwardly. Not alive, not dead, but some wretched state in between, the animated corpses moved forward with soulless eyes.

The Vikings and Ashigaru stared in awestruck horror. The undead continued stumbling unnaturally toward them, a sea of disfigurement and decay. Up above the shambling horde, dark spots hovered in the sky.

“You must set your differences aside,” Shigeru pleaded, “For Akuma and his kin cannot be defeated with mortal weapons.” He eyed the dark storm-cloud ridden sky. “They are desperate to destroy us to keep animosity between Jandar and Einar. They risk death by leaving the shadows during day.”

“You speak nonsense,” Finn uttered, not taking his eyes off the Einarian flagbearer, still eager for battle. “Why should we trust you?”

“You have no choice,” the Izumi exhaled weakly. “The undead will not discriminate in their ravaging the flesh off every living creature in their path. Their saliva is a cursed poison – and if it enters your blood than you shall become one of them.” He pointed again, “See?”

To Finn’s horror, he did see. The approaching zombies were riddled with Izumi armor, the crimson plates dark with dried blood. Some still clutched the weapons they wielded in life.

“They are an abomination,” Jarl cried. “We must burn them with fire.”

“They are not your worst problem,” Shigeru continued. “Akuma and his brethren will rend us limb from limb. I saw him... drink the blood of Mitsuru.”

“Cannibals!” Finn exclaimed.

“No,” Shigeru shook his head, “Something much worse.”

[Sapper]

It has been a while since I have been to the site. And wow, what a surprise to find several new chapters. Very nice.

That is to bad that Denrick is gone. I really liked the character. Guess I will have to find a new favorite. Any plans for a cowboy or two?

Great stuff, keep it up.

[Deathclaw767]

Ditto. I've been gone for a month, forgetting my password. Finally remembered it and got back to have 3 chapters waiting to be read.

[Who 'dat]

All I can say is, wow. Your story line is excellent. You're overall writing is VERY good, and there are certain areas in which you're writing is simply brilliant. It is also obvious that you are getting better as you go along. Each new chapter takes writing elements you used in previous chapters and builds on them. I love your take on character personalities as well. Excellent job. Keep up the good work.

P.S. That first dialouge between the Tarn was hilarious.

[Akralon]

For one eternally long moment there was no sound in the world but the
strong wind whipping through the tall blades of grass. Then, up from the grass like a slow rising tide came the first wave of tortured, mutilated faces, groaning in agony. Wretched and foul smelling, they staggered forward, smeared in blood and festering with rot. They stared with dark soulless eyes, faces twisted in disturbing expressions.

Finn glowered. "I've not finished with you, samurai." He turned to the
wave of undead. "Fear not these walking corpses, my Tarn warriors!
They are untrained puppets - slower and weaker than dreadguls!
Cut off their heads!"

Brandt and Jarl glanced at each other warily, then with darkened faces,
charged forward with a roaring battle cry. Ulf and Bjorn followed, and
then the rest of the Tarn.

Shigeru looked to Hatamoto, "You must aid them or we will not survive
the night."

As if in confirmation of Shigeru's statement, a figure clad in plates of
armor as crimson as blood and black as shadow fell from the sky, landing
amidst the crowd of Ashigaru. Before Hatamoto knew what was happening, a spray of blood erupted into the air like a small geyser. The demon figure lashed out with onyx blades, unleashing torrents of blood from the throats about him.

As a surge of Yari closed in on him, the vampire leapt up into the sky,
hovering above them with a cruel smile, his dark cape billowing behind
him like a black flame. His eyes flashed bright red as he located the
samurai flagbearer and he vaulted forward.

Hatamoto drew his second katana barely in time to see the vampire come crashing down on him, driving both blackened blades into his shoulders. The dark weapons speared the samurai to the earth, pinning him like tent stakes.

Cyprien grinned with mild amusement. The samurai waited to feel the tearing fangs of his foe, but instead, the vampire rose to his feet and stepped aside, allowing a new feminine figure to approach.

"What have we here?" She said in a hollow voice, her pale face expressionless. "It looks like such a heavy flag. You must be so very tired." With one slow and graceful swoop, she ducked in, bit deeply into his gasping throat, and began gorging. Thin lines of blood escaped her slurping lips and ran down his convulsing neck, dripping to the earth. She moaned with pleasure as she drank, then all at once, she bit down hard and wrenched the meat from his throat, spitting it out in a bloody mess beside him. She didn't bother wiping the crimson spatter over her mouth.

As the last bits of life ebbed away from the choking samurai, he watched her step forward and be clasped by the male vampire, and they embraced in a gruesome display of tongue-sharing. Then Hatamoto's eyes saw no more.


"There are too many!" Brandt grimaced, swinging his broadsword with both hands and lobbing off a zombie head. "Our strength will tire long before their numbers."

"Yet again we face overwhelming odds," Jarl shouted back, bashing his
shield into a lunging zombie and knocking it to the ground. "There will
be no summoning to save us this time. This time we fight to the death."

"For Thorgrim!" Finn shrieked, holding his sword aloft and illuminating
the battle in a sapphire light.

"For Thorgrim!" they echoed.

"By the Door of Ragnarok - I will avenge you!" Bjorn screamed, his winged helmet falling off as he charged blindly into the zombie mob.

"No, fool!" Ulf roared, chasing after the daft viking.


Shigeru ducked a clumsy club swing, brought the katana he had picked up across the zombie's ragged chest, opening up an already pock-marked gash in the greenish flesh. The zombie was unaffected and merely took another lazy swing.

The Izumi sidestepped and swung down hard, lodging his blade in the monstrosity's skull with a dull sounding THUNK! The zombie's body went limp and crumbled to the earth, pulling Shigeru's lodged blade with it.

He set his foot to the corpse and yanked the sword free. One quick sweep of the battle told him they were losing - losing hard. The zombie horde had all but surrounded both groups, and was squeezing them, constricting like a large rotting python.

Here and there, jumping about like giant fleas, the vampires were pouncing amidst the fighters, slaying viking and samurai alike at their leisure. I am samurai, he told himself. I must stay; I must fight to the death. I have been stripped of my honor once. If I flee, even to warn others, I will lose the chance to regain my honor. No, he would do battle one last time.

His eyes found one of the vampires, a fiery red haired one, twisting and spiraling like a war-dancer. He tightened his jaw, straightened his weapon, and sprinted forward.

[Deathclaw767]

Hooray! He returns! I now have another potentially regular but nonetheless high quality fan-fic to read! Three cheers for Akralon!

-Deathclaw

[Akralon]

Cyprien laughed. Pathetic. Was this truly the best Jandar had to offer? He tossed a large viking aside as if the lifeless body was a dirty rag. How could Lord Utgar have any worries? Let Jandar and Einar join. The vampire smiled sardonically, he could kill both. He was killing both.

"Lower your head, that I might strike it off," Bjorn cried, simultaneously lifting his winged helm from the ground and sturdying it on his head. "Or beyond painful, your death will be - you foul stain!"

Cyprien raised a dark eyebrow with mild amusement. "This is almost insulting." His blood-pulsing eyes glanced casually about, looking for someone, anyone, who might at least prove more than an easy slaughter. He sighed, finding none.

"Ignore me, not, I say!" Bjorn shouted, holding his sword aloft. "For this day I shall cleave a new era through your skull, you vile fiend!"

"Now, now," Cyprien shook his head with a teacher-like scolding, "Must we resort to name-calling?"

With unnatural, blinding speed, the vampire flashed past the viking. A loud clang resounded as the warrior's weapon was jerked nearly out of his hand.

Bjorn spun around.

"My, my," Cyprien clicked, "Strong grip indeed to keep hold on your useless weapon after a stroke from my arm..."

"Ha!" Bjorn scoffed, "My weapon is Not useless! Else you would not have tried in vain to strike it from my grasp! Not so clever, are you? Stinking vermin!"

"Bjorn," called Finn, as the leader of the vikings came barreling forward, "Stay back!"

"I shall enjoy this," Cyprien muttered, surging forward with the smoothness of a gliding shadow. Before Bjorn could return to see him, two cold onyx blades plunged through this guts and burst out his lower back. The vampire's pale face was grinning devilishly as it leaned in to the stuck viking's puzzled glare.

"NO!" Finn cried, hoisting a barbed spear and hurling it.

With unnatural strength and grace, Cyprien twirled, swinging the impaled viking around to block. The barbed spear pierced Bjorn's back, jutting out his chest and nearly touching the vampire's own.

Bjorn half cried, half gurgled and began sobbing like a hurt child.

"Nice throw," Cyprien laughed mockingly, throwing his arms aside, sending the dying viking sliding off the swords and sprawling sideways.

Bjorn hit the earth with a groan, blood spilling out his three mortal wounds. His eyes rolled back in his head. He clawed at the earth as his vision darkened. "Cousin..." he cried, "I'm afraid..."
Then he choked and spasmed and moved no more.

Finn reddened, shame and anger burning in his blood. His white-knuckled grip on his radiating blue sword shook with fury. He roared forward.

Cyprien. The vampire lord growled. It was the voice of Lord Utgar. Cyprien. I am moving against Einar at the border of Lindesfarme.

Their swords clashed again and again. The vampire smiling all the while he darted and dodged, playing with the viking leader. Savoring his prey. With each missed swing from Finn, the vampire lashed him along the leg or arm. Soon the Tarn leader was staggering, bleeding all over from his wounds.

Cyprien. Prepare to move. The blue sword slammed down against Cyprien's own blackened blades with a hollow sounding Clong! The viking was remarkably strong for a mortal human. Almost as much as the idiot viking, now dead.

Still, mortal strength was no match for immortal strength. Cyprien shoved hard, sending Finn hurtling backwards. The viking crashed to the earth with a grunt. Even as he rolled aside, Cyprien was in the air, plunging downward.

Finn saw the black shadow of death descending upon him, but his strength was gone. The battle with the vampire had slowly drained his stamina. He had failed Thorgrim. He had failed Bjorn. Now he would fail all of the Tarn. There was no reason to continue life. At least he would die against a worthy opponent.

He stared into the blood-red gaze of his slayer as the vampire came down and tightened his muscles as the blades plunged into him.

Only they didn't. Finn opened his eyes and he was staring at blue sky. There was no sign of the vampire. He staggered to his feet and glanced about in a daze.

The surviving vikings and ashigaru were looking around in bewildered confusion. There was no sign of any of the undead...

Utgar's forces had vanished.

[Akralon]

Sergeant Drake sat slumped against a tree, watching the kyrie with slight annoyance.

"Lord Jandar has confirmed that new wellsprings have been found all across Valhalla," Raelin was saying. "In Nastralund, far to the north, they work even now to bring reinforcements."

The sergeant's face perked up. His steely eyes flashed. "What kind of reinforcements?"

The kyrie's clear blue eyes glanced to the sky, gaging the sun. "He works with the Omnicron to bring one of their champions from Alpha Prime. Back at Idona Keep, they are working to bring forth another order of knights from your homeworld."

"More knights, eh..." Drake seemed unimpressed. He looked over at his Airborne. What started as his entire squadron had slowly been whittled away. He had but two men left now, Hauser and Castillo. He grit his teeth. So... Jandar had found two wells. He glared at Raelin. "Forgive me if I don't leap for joy."

Raelin turned her porcelain face back to the soldier, gentle breezes stirring her long golden hair. Her rosy lips thinned. "What would you have me tell you? That we meet victory in every battle? That Utgar is being defeated? That all the death around you is serving its purpose?"

"That'd be nice," Drake muttered. "You know - good news for once in this Godforsaken place."

"Don't reckon we'll be hearin' much a that, round here," came a new gruff voice.

Drake turned to see the newcomer, and couldn't help but smile despite himself. The man, from his own world, was trenched in a dark leather coat, dusty boots, six-shooters crisscrossed over his hips and an old western hat, the brim shadowing his scruffy face. A US Marshal badge gleamed in the afternoon light.

"I don't believe this," the sergeant leaped to his feet. "You're a gunslinger. A cowboy."

"Name's Johnny, Johnny Sullivan." He reached out his hand and Drake took it gladly, receiving a sturdy and powerful handshake.

Raelin smiled. She knew Drake's heart had been downcast, seeing his men die in every battle, so far from home and family. Lord Jandar was right. Sometimes nothing could raise the spirits like a kindred spirit.

Sullivan nodded towards the ragtag band of survivors, "Looks like your boys took a pretty good lickin' up here." His dark eyes resonated like the eyes of a hawk. His thick brown mustache twitched. "But ya did your job. Ya held your ground. Those boys what died, they died like men. Best way a man can leave this world - guns blazin'." He eyed the kyrie a moment before returning his gaze to the sergeant. "Don't know much 'bout fightin' in wars, but what I do know - If I'm gonna be fightin' in one, you're the kinda folks I want shootin' beside me."

Drake eyed the kyrie as he spoke. "They'll be plenty of shootin' where we're going." He turned back to Sullivan. "It's good to see another man from Earth... my own country even..."

"Drake," Raelin cut in. "I've waited as long as possible. There is a vital mission you must learn of. I've introduced you to Sullivan because he will be leading this army when you leave."

"Leave," Drake turned, agitated. "To where?"

Raelin's cold face was grave. "To Volcarren."

. . .

Far to the east, in the northern reaches of Anund

"I do not like this," Valerius frowned. "Something is amiss." He stared forward at the trees. A strange light was pulsing from within the eerie wood.

Decimus moved to the forefront. He began jogging, all the legionnaires and archers behind him jogging to keep pace. As he neared the edge of the forest, his pace quickened.

"I know that light!" he called out. "It is the light of a glyph!"

The Roman General passed through the first line of trees and slowed. His gray eyes swept the forest floor. There were broken axes. Rusty blades. Blood.

"They came this way," he muttered to himself, "Pursuing our northern armies." His heart pounded in his chest. "Kiova's forces..." He moved quickly, passing several more clusters of trees until the yellowish light could be seen flaring forth from a cleared patch of earth.

"A portal!" cried Valerius. He looked to Ismarus. "If Kiova's forces fled to this portal then it must lead..."

"Home," Decimus finished. "The fields of Lindesfarme are no longer safe. They have led the Orc Horde straight to the portal, and now to Lord Einar's front door. They invade our homeland."

Ismarus watched the general with uncertainty. "I suppose we've no choice but to follow?"

"We'd be abandoning our post in Anund," Valerius put in, but without much conviction.

"There is nothing left to defend here," Decimus stated. "We follow them through the portal. We go to Lindesfarme."

. . .

Tears streamed down Kyntela's pale cheeks as she cradled the mangled body of Acolarh in her arms, blood smearing her white gown. The slain elf's blond hair was matted with darkening crimson.

"Lady," the Aubrien, Rendalin, called, "Sir Denrick is slain. He bore this shield, and bade me take it to the forces of Lord Jandar. He spoke of a hidden message beneath the crest."

She looked at him, as if not quite understanding what he was telling her. Her large green eyes still full of tears, giving them the appearance of glistening glass.

"He bade me tell you," the Aubrien continued, "Serving you was his honor." The green haired archer flinched as another explosion rocked the trees around them, and a mighty oak bough crashed down from above.

"We have to fall back," Rendalin said urgently, "The Ashrans still battle the gladiatrons, but they cannot last with the blastatrons raining fire from aways back. And that," he paused to look back at the colossal monument of metal, twisting and turning as it slowly clomped forward. Its massive machine arms roaring as they spun and peppered the field with searing bullets. "We cannot stop that metallic monstrosity."

"Very well then," Syvarris called from the side, "Let us do what we do best and flee." He scowled, firing two arrows of laser-light. One glanced off a gladiatron, the second struck true. A shower of sparks erupted from the robot's head as it toppled over.

A whooshing sound swooped overhead as they looked up to see Saylind descending from above. "We will not flee this day!" she cried, hurtling forwards.

Q9's targeting system scanned the newcomer. Its massive arms grinding and groaning as they readjusted and began pummeling the air with fire.

Saylind spiraled and spun, several bullets tearing through her wings. She cried out in agony as her wings jerked painfully, tufts of feathers and streaks of blood bursting out.

The elves watched in dismay as the tattered kyrie fell from the sky.

Saylind arched her back and extended her wings enough to slow her fall. She landed roughly on her feet, before the great machine.

Looking at him with steaming fury in her green eyes, she lifted her brilliant shining spear to the sky and then brought it down to the earth with a solid Thud!

Q9 froze as its targeting screen flared bright white - completing blinding it. When at last the burning white spots began to fade, Q9 attempted to re-lock its target.

What it saw instead, was a leg. A big leg.

[Zelrig]

This story is great, probably one of the best I have read on this site. And I am guessing that is Charos.

[Deathclaw767]

I was thinking more along the lines of Jotun.

[Akralon]

Concan's wings folded neatly behind his armored figure as he approached the broad oak table, where a large map lay unfurled, its tattered edges overhanging the table on both ends.

"Utgar has divided his forces into five different armies. He has been using the Orc Horde to destroy Einar's outposts in Anund. Once finished there, we believe their general, Grimnak, will lead them north into Ekstrom to aid Vydar's forces, who have opened a series of teleporting glyphs that allow them to bypass the whole of Nastralund and most of Laur. They are besieging Ullar's forces on the border of Elswin." Concan's brow furrowed. "Vydar's soulborgs have been ravaging the woodlands... burning everything in their path. Ullar will not be able to hold them much longer. And when the Orc Horde arrives, Ullar will be finished." He looked up. "Wiped out."

"What's worse," Raelin added, "If Ullar falls, we will not only lose a valuable ally, but the lands of Laur will fall to Utgar as well. So far, Utgar has been strict in focusing his thrall Vydar on Ullar, but once the elves fall, we will have another army to worry about."

"Sandwiching us in," Drake concluded, examining the map. He looked up. "So tell me some good news."

"The omnicron have intercepted a transmission being sent from agents of Vydar," Raelin replied. "The news is precarious. It has yet to prove good or ill."

"What exactly does that mean?" the sergeant grunted.

Raelin glanced to the sentinels surrounding the various doors to the circular chamber. "Guards - leave us, and let no one enter. No one."

They nodded and exited.

Raelin's deep blue eyes held Drake firmly with their excitement mingled with anxiousness. "The wasteland of Volcarren is Utgar's headquarters, guarded by an army of machines, stalkers and reavers, zettian and deathwalkers. No one has ever been able to approach his black fortress, let alone bypass it... until now."

Drake eyed her suspiciously. "What are you saying?"

"We've been contacted by an emissary of Vydar." Concan answered, his voice grim. "An extremely intelligent soulborg. Much like their dreaded major, Q9. This one seems an upgrade."

"Let me guess," the sergeant returned, "Q10."

Concan smiled. "What they lack in imagination they more than make up for in firepower and armament. Q10 is not like their other soulborg. I lack the understanding to explain it, but if you like, the omnicron may be able to tell you what you wish."

"What about this message you intercepted - the omnicron that is?"

"A transmission being sent from Krav Maga agents to Vydar's outposts. SRX-976 was stationed atop one of the higher towers of Idona, which may have helped in 'overhearing'." Raelin answered. "The truth is, Vydar's communication waves wouldn't have been crossing our territory if they hadn't setup outposts in Laur, due to their assaults on Ullar. For this reason, we were perfectly positioned for just such an interception."

"Utgar has offered Vydar's forces more freedom than we'd have thought," Concan stated. "He must fear an alliance of the generals that much, to allow Vydar to have supplies and troops in Volcarren."

"The Krav Maga leader, Agent Carr," Raelin put in, "Was following up on a previous mission some microcorps had been sent on."

"Apparently, Utgar is breeding Marro like cockroaches in the marshlands east of Volcarren." Concan added. "One of the hives subsequently went rogue and had to be terminated. Instead of sending his own troops, he made Vydar take care of it."

"That was Utgar's second mistake," Raelin continued. "The microcorps agents were gathering information for Vydar, who is, it would seem, looking for away out of his servitude to Utgar. What they found was inspiring and alarming. First they encountered a small force of creatures, a battalion bearing a flag we have never before encountered. But before much could be learned, they were attacked by some new monstrosity. The newcomer was swift and left no survivors."

"So how do we know anything?" Drake asked. "What has Carr got to do with any of it. And where does Q10 come in?"

"Agent Carr was sent by Vydar, in secret, with his Krav Maga to find the information the microcorps had gathered. What they found confirmed what I've just relayed to you. One - there is another army, following a general as yet unknown to us. Two - Utgar has a new champion. One that made short work of three squads of soldiers."

Drake took a moment to absorb the information. "Alright. I think I'm beginning to understand why I'm here."

"So Q10 came to tell us what we already new, via the transmission interception. At the same time, Vydar wants free of his ugly master, so he's offering a temporary truce, in an attempt to gain favor with this new general. He knows that in order to unite the new general against Utgar, it'll take more than himself, who is right now Utgar's stooge. He wants to bring proof that he wasn't behind the attack. And being that Utgar thoughtlessly slaughtered the new squad, it shouldn't prove too difficult - at least to prove Utgar as an enemy." He paused, scratching his unshaven chin. "We need to get behind enemy lines to find this general, and therefore, we need a small... task force."

"You said he was sharp," Concan smiled faintly. "I see you spoke true."

"There is one other thing," Raelin said softly. "Our team will consist of a representative of each army."

"Each?" Drake raised an eyebrow sardonically. "Who's Ullar going to send along to aid the general that is destroying his forces?"

"One who does not know of what transpires in Laur," Raelin answered. "Ullar has located a powerful wellspring, but summoning takes time. He has begun a great many summonings, but only one has recently been completed. The mighty Theracus will swiftly bring him to us. His name is Sonlen and he is a powerful wizard from the elf homeworld. It is in everyone's best interests if he does not know what happens to his countrymen while on our mission."

Drake nodded. He was familiar with this kind of 'priority' information. Still, he didn't like it then and he didn't like it now.

"Lord Einar dispatched a small unit from Anund, before the Orc Horde began attacking. The leader, Kiori, will be going to represent his interests." Raelin's speech slowed, uncertainty in her eyes.

"What is it?" Drake prodded.

"Kiori," Concan answered for her. "She is young. Inexperienced. Not at all like what we would expect from someone so calculating and precise as Einar."

Drake nodded. "So Einar's under pressure as well. If he can't spare a true emissary, Utgar must hitting him pretty hard... But with who? The Orc Horde is in Anund. The Marro are still being bred beyond Volcarren. The machines guard Volcarren... And the demons under Taelord and their spawn continue advancing through Laur."

"The undead," Raelin finished. "Perhaps the worst Utgar presently has to offer. Like Ullar... Einar may not have much time either..."

[Akralon]

Finn, his face grim, walked slowly, the slain Bjorn in his arms. He carried his cousin to the pyre they had built and gently laid him across the chaff filled stack of wood.

"Quickly," Ulf urged. "Light the pyre."

Finn nodded, and Jarl and Brandt lowered their torches to the base, the chaff catching immediately and spreading swiftly. Soon the flames consumed the entire circular pyre.

"To lay them at rest, there was no other way," Ulf clapped Finn on the shoulder.

"I know," Finn uttered.

What remained of the Tarn hung back, watching silently as the flames ate away the dead. They had made sure after the battle, to behead all the slain, to prevent their rising, taking no chances. Some had begun to turn before they had finished, making their already gruesome task that much darker.

Only a handful of Yari remained, leaderless and indecisive. Finn urged them to return home. There was nothing for either group any longer.

"What path to tread, now that this quest is lost," Brandt asked, leaning on the hilt of his broadsword.

"Home we must go," Finn answered quietly. "All other roads, dangerous and hunted, are closed to us. We must carry the news to our great Leader. Of wretched undead and blood-drinking demons, Lord Jandar must now learn."

. . .

With one mighty swing, the oak-sized blade swept across the ground with series of clangs. Three blastatrons were sent hurtling aside like tossed stones.

Jotun thundered forward, the gigantic weapon came down into Q9's left shoulder. The weight alone of the massive sword was enough to jar the colossal robot nearly off his heavy feet. The edge cleaved into the wiring, enough to completely sever the electrical circuitry controling the arm.

Q9's unfunctioning left arm remained poised as it was, now lifeless and cold.

The machine rotated at its thorax, raising the barrel of its good arm into the face of the giant that now towered over him.

"Shield your eyes, Jotun!" Saylind called, her bloody wings limp and useless to her. He dragged herself back. "His bite is fierce!"

The chain gun whirred, heating up. For a moment, the enormous Jotun simply looked at the robot curiously, rending his blade free. Then the gunfire roared and the giant bellowed, lurching back, raising his other arm in defense. Searing hot bullets peppered his forearm and elbow, flaying the skin open.

Large drops of dark blood splashed to the ground. Jotun snarled. "Wretched creature - biting and clawing and scratching and stinging!" The gunfire continued to pelt him along his chest and stomach, but now the giant clutched his great sword above his head with both hands.

Q9 assessed that a single blow directly to its electrical mainframe would render it completely functionless, and a with great chance, beyond repair.
Changing tactics, the machine lowered its gun as it fired to the giant's legs.

As Jotun brought down his sword like a hammer of metal, pain lanced through his left knee and his leg buckled. The massive sword's edge sheared into Q9's right shoulder, completely lobbing off its other arm. The chain gun thudded to the earth, sparks snapping from the severed cables protruding from the armless shoulder.

On his knees, Jotun rumbled. His left knee burned uncontrollably, the bullets having torn off large chunks of flesh and chipped at exposed bone.

Some gladiatrons came to Q9's sides and began to clamp the arm back in place, using small welding outlets on their fingers to repair some of the damage.

"No," Jotun roared, "From the earth you were forged, to the earth you shall return." Dropping his sword, he snatched the gladiatrons up and flung them hard into squads of blastatrons. Ear-jarring metallic BLANG!s and CRANG!s resounded.

Then Jotun gripped the major in both hands, lifted him up into the air and brought him down hard, head first, into a large boulder lodged into the earth. The metal crumbled under the force of the blow. The giant repeated this again and again, bashing the lifeless robot mercilessly against the massive rock. Bits of metal, shards of circuitry and tendrils of cables littered the ground with each impact.

Finally, rage spent, the giant was left holding the battered remains by an ankle. Jotun grimaced and tossed the dead metal aside.

What started as cheers and cries of triumph from the elves soon turned into shouts of alarm. The gladiatrons were massing over the giant's legs, cyber clamping into his flesh like steel crabs, piling up over eachother. They weren't even attacking, simply locking themselvs on to him and then remaining stationary.

That was when Jotun realized what they were doing. He glanced up to see rows of blastatrons all about him, humming as their rockets prepared to fire...

[Zelrig]

Awesome chapter as always Alkaron. Keep up the good work.

[Akralon]

(Thanks for the feedback, it's always good motivation to write when you know somebody's reading it and actually being entertained - haha)

-----------------------------------------------------------------
Finn's Dream
-----------------------------------------------------------------

The faded light looked of either dawn or dusk, it was impossible to tell in the thickly shrouded fog.

Finn walked, wandered, aimlessly, yet with purpose. The tall grass was slick with dew. The silver mist that veiled the ancient wood left the bark of the elms sparkling with moisture.

Faintly, the Tarn could hear drums, the old story-telling drums of his past. They came from nowhere, almost as if inside him.

"Brother."

Finn turned abruptly, knowing before he turned, who he would face. "Thorgrim."

His brother was masked with swirling tendrils of wispy fog. "You must not linger here." Thorgrim's voice was sturdy, solid, strong as it has always been. It held the comforting tone of control and security, of wisdom. "In Bleakwoode, there is neither safety nor rest."

"We are lost," Finn resented the weakness in his own voice. "Against Einar we fought, foolishly so. We fell to an ambush of Utgar. Dead... we should be." His eyes burned. "Brother... I failed our cousin. Bjorn is dead."

"No, brother," Thorgrim's expression was masked by the mist. "Bjorn resides with me, in the halls of our fathers. As will you, when your time comes. Remember the edict of our ancestry."

Finn nodded slowly, in a disoriented daze, as he recited the ancient edict. "To battle I will go, without fear, till the day of my death."

Now the silvery mist seemed to pulse with soft grayish light. The already shrouded scene began to blur. "Hurry, you must." Thorgrim continued. "From the gates of Hel has Utgar unleashed a terrible evil."

"Tell me, brother," Finn pleaded, "Your wisdom I seek, your counsel I would hear."

"Far to the north," Thorgrim's voice was softening, fading. "The warriors of MacDirk did go, seeking a new ally. There are they frozen, forever trapped until aid find them. You must free them, and find this ally. For in the north lies a wellspring yet undiscovered. The tide of the battle it will turn."

"But how, brother," Finn stepped forward, strode soon after, but no matter how many steps he took, he found he drew no closer to Thorgrim's clouded image. "Thaelenk is beyond the sea! Not by the wings of Hugin and Munin could I reach the frostland in time!"

Thorgrim was barely visible now... a disappearing silhouette. "Not by wing of bird or hoof of horse, but by power of glyph, my brother." His voice was barely audible, not more than a whisper. "Seek the Flaming Arrow. To your destiny it will lead..."

"Thorgrim!" Finn called, chasing after the viking in futility. "Brother!" There was no answer. He was alone, lost amidst the vortex of the surreal mist. "Brother..." He felt small, alone.


A sudden wind stirred him, and he opened his eyes, finding himself lying in the cold grass under a gnarled oak. He glanced about. The Tarn were sleeping, the fire smoldering with a thin column of smoke. Morning had come.

He looked north, into the dark shadows of the dense forest. "The Flaming Arrow," he mumbled to himself. He glanced about, as if half-expecting to see Thorgrim standing off to the side.

But Thorgrim was not there. His brother was dead... But was his dream true - a message from Asgard? Or did the mystical malevolence of this black wood steal into the very dreams of men?

It mattered little.

[Chimpy]

Gosh. Sometimes I think your story is the best part of this webiste. Bravo, once again!

[Akralon]

Thank you. And thank you, and the others who continue to read this rather long epic. I enjoy writing it, but if it weren't for you guys reading, I most likely wouldn't be.

Also, to all you that zealously follow the bios, I may deviate somewhat here and there, nothing drastic, but wherever I think small details better fit the overall story.

Everyone sees the realm of Valhalla differently, based on their own background knowledge and understanding of both norse mythology and fantasy in general, via books and games. I myself am no different, and in fact go as far as repainting figures to appear more as I envision them based on my own take on things.

You will notice this mostly in the circle of elves, but other places too, like the Nakita agents...


----------------------------------------------------------------
An Assault of Conscience
----------------------------------------------------------------

"Something is all wrong about this," Adams muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He slid his shades back on, not quite comfortable without them on. Though he was no longer on earth, in the raging city of lights, he still felt necessity of the small masking the shades gave him. It was ridiculous to think that simply covering his eyes would hide his identity from any who would notice he was fighting on the side of murdering monster, but he took what little comfort he could get.

"I know," Jackson grunted. He wiped his micromesh suit sleeve across his brow. Even on the outskirts of Volcarren, the heat was intense. "Between wasting hours patrolling barren wasteland, having to put up with that sick smell that follows Utgar's troops everywhere, and knowing that I'll most likely never taste another beer..." The Krav Maga shook his head. His tone changed. "Is this for real?"

"Don't fall apart now, boys," Jade half smiled, though there was no confidence in her voice. "We didn't get to where we are now because we let the politics of the job confuse and disorient us."

"How can you say that?" Adams was annoyed. There was no question that the three of them were Krav Maga, tried and true. When it came down to it, when the objectives were clear, they were stone-cold killers. Business men... and women. They were elite mercenaries. The covert ops team of the corporate world. They were as adept hacking multi-level computer grids as tactically engaging large groups of armed adversaries. But this was different. They weren't doing a job any more. They weren't working for a corporate tycoon. They weren't even getting paid.

"What's with you?" Jade said, agitated. "For the first time in a long time, we've an easy mission. We simply rove the outskirts. That's a pretty easy job if you ask me."

"It's not the job," Jackson put in, "It's this whole war."

"We've already had this conversation," Jade sighed.

"Yeah," Jackson's voice went up a notch. "Well maybe we need to have it again. Cause it ain't getting through to you."

"What?" Jade stretched out her arms. "What do you want me to do? We can't go back, Jackson! We can't. We're here and we have to deal with it." She glanced out at the borderlands, where the dusty charred earth softened and blurred into sludgy polluted mud. "Like it or not."

"She's right."

They looked up. Agent Carr, his sword sheathed in the harness on his back, stood with his arms at his sides, like he was some sort of futuristic cowboy waiting to draw.

"About what? Being stuck here?" Jackson grumbled, "Yeah, thanks for reminding me."

"No," Carr's voice was solid, calm. "That we have to deal with it."

"Deal with what, exactly?" Adams whined, running a hand through his matted brown hair. "She is right about one thing - we're stuck here!"

"That doesn't matter," Carr answered. "What matters is what we do from here on out."

The Krav Maga felt it. The energy. Whether it was all the micro-electronics covering their bodies, registering new levels of adrenaline, or simply the fact that they had worked together for so long. They sensed it. Carr was about to do something radical.

...

The forest was murky haze of smoke, both black and churning and gray and misty. Numerous fires burned about the earth. Flames snapped and spit as they ate away fallen trees. Other, bluer flames crackled and zapped as they melted the electronic innards of the fallen machines.

Kyntela stood, silent and still, in a deep daze. The green makeup that once delicately accented her large green eyes now run down her tear-streaked cheeks. Her long silvery blond hair was tinged with blood. She leaned on her oaken staff as if she would fall without it.

"That was only the first wave," Saylind said softly, wincing as the Ashran warriors tended to her ripped and punctured wings. "There will be more, not long now."

Syvarris slung his bow over his shoulder. His face was spattered with blood, his gray-green eyes devoid of emotion. Instead his gaze held the emptiness of shock.

"We cannot stay here," Saylind continued. "We must fall back to Elswin." She half-expected Syvarris to complain. To rant against fleeing, to redundantly point out there would be no other place to go if they were forced back to Ullar's own stronghold. But the archer said nothing, only half-listened.

The war was taking its toll. In the beginning, there was a sense of pride - a sense of serving the greater good. The elven warriors had fought bravely, defiantly against the tyranny of Utgar and the treachery of Vydar.

Then the sense of duty and purpose fell away, replaced with a strong sense of urgency. Now it was desperation. Weariness had become their new worst enemy. They weren't just weary of battle. They were weary of the entire war. When would it end? they asked. When, if ever, could they return home? After all, they hadn't, not one of them, asked to be brought here.

The kyrie exhaled.

Saylind.

She looked up. "Lord Ullar."

The Wellspring has indeed proven powerful. I have brought forth great heroes of Feylund, wielders of the arcane, shapers of the elemental forces - wizards of elven blood. Let your forces come home. You have done well. Let us rest and regain our strength. A new battle is dawning.

"What does Ullar speak?" Rendalin asked nervously.

Saylind's face became placid, serene. "Gather the Aubriens and Ashrans. Tell Jotun the time is come. We're returning to Elswin, to Ullar's castle. The reinforcements have arrived at last."

[Akralon]

--------------------------------------------------------------
Magic Wielders
--------------------------------------------------------------

"Peace, Johrdawn," Chardris coaxed, stroking her long dark golden hair with serene gentleness.

His daughter was groaning in her sleep again, beads of sweat glistening on her brow.

"I am here," he continued. "You are safe." He tried to hide his irritation at the restless pacing of the other elves. The constant movement was not in any way calming. He didn't have to tell them that if Johrdawn suffered another seizure, there could very well be another shower of flame. The all knew. Yet for whatever reason, they appeared to be more concerned about their new location.

"Another plane, perhaps?" Emirroon was musing, more to himself than anyone else. "I myself am quite adept at the art of summoning, but this was beyond the skills any magic wielder could master. This was not teleportation - this was breaching the very barriers of our world. Not with all our magic combined could we mimic such a feat."

"When you've finished gawking over this... Ullar's spell," Arkmer grumbled, "Then we should begin asking ourselves the most obvious question."

Emirroon blinked, as if waking from a daze. "Obvious? There is nothing obvious about any of this."

"What he means," Chardris growled, "Is that in the manner of our vanishing - the wolves did also disappear."

"Ahhh, yes," Emirroon nodded. "So you think they are here as well?"

"Obviously not here," Arkmer muttered, with a scowl. "If you had heeded Ullar's words, he indicated he had summoned us from Feylund. Us - as in elves."

"Well," Emirroon acknowledged, "It stands to reason that if he summoned us, then someone or something someoned them. But who in their right mind would summon those feral beasts?"

"Whoever this Ullar is warring against," Ulginesh spoke at last, his breathy voice hinting at the elemental power of the wind that raced through his veins. "And if our enemies, fearsome and tireless as they were, are now mere pawns of some greater evil, then perhaps we'd better start paying attention to this new realm." His sky blue eyes were clouded with gravity. "Feylund, at least for the time being, no longer exists. This is where we are, this is where we act."

"Are you saying we simply bow to this Ullar?" Chardris asked, his temper rising, like the temperature of the elemental power of fire that burned in his blood. "We are shapers of the elements. We do not simply alter allegiances like mercenaries."

"You're wasting your breath," Arkmer grinned sardonically. "He's going to tell you that we are like the wind, changing directions whenever Nature deems it so."

At this Ulginesh smiled in turn. "Perhaps I should use earthen terms for you this time. After all, despite how many times I show that the flexibility of the willow allows it to endure and survive, you still remain the grim and unyielding oak you have always been. The oak that is broken when gentle wind turns to raging storm."

"Not this oak," Arkmer gave wry grin, tapping his staff. Then he planted its butt to the ground with a deep and solid Thud. "But let us not waste any more words. What is our task?"

Ulginesh turned with the rest of them as the large cedar door swung open, and the one who had summoned them stepped through.

[albertic26]

that is awesome can't wait tell next chapter.

[Akralon]

--------------------------------------------------------------------
Treasure Hunter Returned
--------------------------------------------------------------------

"So," Agent Carr observed James Murphy tentatively. "They're all dead."

"Every last one of 'em," Murphy grunted, rubbing the back of his aching neck. He sat atop a large metallic crate. They were inside Vydar's small outpost in the burning wastes of Volcarren.

"This is... troubling," Carr uttered, staring off into the charred earth.

Murphy nodded. He sure wished he could see the man's eyes. The agents and their damn sunglasses. Lookin' a man in the eyes was the surest way to tell what he was thinkin' or what he was about to do. Poetry aside, they really were a window to the soul. And he'd really like to know what was goin' on in Carr's head.

"We were never meant to be allies," the Krav Maga leader finally said. "Vydar knew this. Which is why he sent us after those lost microcorps... why he sent them in the first place."

"Last time I checked," Murphy put in, "We weren't lookin' at much of a choice. It was get in order or get killed. Utgar don't mess around."

"Still," Carr went on, as if he hadn't heard. "It makes sense."

"What makes sense," Murphy asked, tired of sitting. He rose to his feet, still rubbing the kink in his neck.

"Why Vydar chose only to send robots to fight Ullar," Carr answered. "He never meant to win. He was buying time. Keeping Utgar satisfied without risking any of us."

"He did send that titan, Q9," Murphy retorted. "I don't reckon you'd send him anywhere you planned on losin'."

"He had to make it look as legitimate as possible," Carr shook his head. "Vydar is smart, we all knew that. But I'm beginning to see that we aren't the only ones who overlooked just how crafty he truly is."

"So what now then?" Murphy asked. "I got no intentions of doin' any fightin' for that rat-b*st*rd Utgar! Not after that suicide mission they sent us on."

"It's clear that the longer we stay under Utgar's heel, the longer he'll expend our resources and our lives by using us to probe dangerous and unexplored areas of Valhalla - for the sole purpose of finding him more wellsprings."

"That might not be so bad," Murphy admitted, "I sure as hell wouldn't tell him if I found one, though."

Carr turned. "He'd find out. Then he'd kill you."

"I reckon he'd kill us anyhow, even if we told him straight away. After all," Murphy smiled, his dark unshaven face contrasting his white teeth, "Wouldn't want anyone walkin' about with that kinda knowledge in their heads."

"Exactly," Carr nodded. "It's clear we're on the same page. You should know that we're not planning on sitting idle for much longer."

"Oh I can see that," Murphy touched the brim of his hat. "I should tell you somethin' as well, seein' how we're on the same side an all." He held up his hands, showing where the glyph of Mitonsoul had burned its charred emblem into his raw palms. The scars themselves were bright red, with vein-like tendrils sprouting over the dead black skin. Just looking at it was painful.

James Murphy clenched his fists, his dark eyes flashing. "I aim to misbehave."

[Chimpy]

HE'S ALIVE!

t

[Akralon]

-------------------------------------------------------------------
The Forging of a New Plan
-------------------------------------------------------------------

The wind howled outside the West Barbican, battering the cold stone angrily. The roving omnicron hummed as their internal processors increased the both voltage and resistors, thereby maintaining the same current level, albeit raising the temperature of their inner circuitry.

Inside the one of the many circular chambers, the knights of Weston gathered round a large marble table, staring in awe at the holographic image of Bleakwoode, as projected from the central chest panel of Zetacron. The large omnicron stood silently in the back of the room.

A handful of Jandar's mightiest sentinels stood like statues, circling the inner wall of the chamber, wings neatly tucked behind them, arms crossed, massive hammers hanging from their broad belts.

On the other side of the table, the knights Templar stood solemnly, gowned in white, the red crosses looking dark, like dried blood, in the pale light of the projected hologram.

Sir Gilbert and Dupuis stood at either end of the table. Concan stood at Jandar's right side, Kelda at his left.

The proud Jandar was splendid to behold, to all in the room. His silver armor shined like polished mirrors, sending light glancing at all angles. His deep blue eyes were stormy, like the turbulent ocean caught in a maelstrom. His once perfectly golden beard was now streaked with gray, but it only served to age him with refinement, making him look the wiser. He looked like a god of old.

When he spoke, his voice resounded with power. "The first great battle took place shortly after Mallidon's Prophecy. A great wellspring was discovered in the heart of Bleakwoode. Many were sent." He turned his ancient eyes to Kelda. "Perhaps, faithful Kelda, you should tell the tale - as you were there."

Kelda nodded, her silvery white hair contrasting her sapphire skin. Her amethyst eyes sparkled as she stepped forward. "I led the Tarn south. Yet we were not the first, nor the last, to arrive." As if in response to her words, Zetacron's visor flashed red and the image altered, zooming into the massive forest, to a clearing where a great rock jutted out of the ground and a spring ran freely from its cracked side.

"The champion of Einar, Marcus Decimus Gallus had already arrived with his Roman legions," she continued. "At our approach, they took to arms, preparing for battle. If I had not calmed the Tarn, with Thorgrim's aid, violence would surely have ensued. However, Utgar had learned through his grut spies that both our forces had been marching through Bleakwoode. It was at this time Taelord had risen through the ranks of his cursed minions, becoming Utgar's champion. He sent the dark kyrie to claim the wellspring, with a detachment of gruts under Tornak's command.

"Tornak and his blade and arrow gruts were more than a match for the Roman legion in number, but their skill was lacking. Only Taelord's dark powers granted them strength to bear down on the Romans. The Roman General nearly slew Tornak that day, but at that time, a second wave of gruts appeared. Even with our aid, there were not enough to slow the tide of orcs." Kelda's violet eyes flickered with memory. "The Romans were forced to flee, and we with them. Utgar took the wellspring and has since built one of his three fortresses over top it."

"Bleakwoode," Jandar began again, "Is the heart of Utgar's forces in this land. It is the staging point for all his raids into Laur. When he unleashed the dragon Mimring from the tomb of Migol II, we lost the southern border. His wolves have guarded it ever since. And the dragon remains." As the archkyrie spoke, the hologram shifted, zipping across vast expanses of forest, finally coming to rest on the ruins of the tomb. "He has since refortified this unholy place, making it his strongest outpost in the north. Taelord and his minions now dwell there as well. And while our scouts report that the Orc Horde now marches across Lindesfarme, Utgar sends all his most demonic thralls to Migol II's tomb."

He looked up, his strong eyes sweeping the knights and sentinels about the table. "I have come here because he plans to move on Idona - soon. This time, it is not just demons we will face, nor just their dragon. Utgar has discovered and now controls nearly all of the summoning glyphs known to us. He is using them to transport large amounts of marro from the swamps east of Volcarren to various outposts. The marro have become our number one concern, for they breed like cockroaches in the swamps, and we cannot breach Utgar's Volcarren Fortress - not with the raw firepower contained in the monstrous machines that guard that desolate wasteland - to get to them, to cut them off at the source." He clenched his jaw, his blue eyes cold. "So we have sent a team into the heart of the enemy's territory. We - and the other valkyrie generals. Sergeant Alexander and Raelin have gone as part of this team. Since we cannot reach the marro spawning grounds, we are beseeching the aid of another army - one much closer."

"You speak of Ticalla?" Sir Gilbert asked. "The rumors are true then? There is another valkyrie general?"

Jandar observed the knight for a moment before replying. When he did, his eyes locked the knight in place. "That is yet to be confirmed. But all the signs point to someone leading the tribal kyrie in that region. That, and there is evidence of the power of wellsprings." He turned his gaze to the rest of the room. "We have received reports of wildlife grown to abnormal size - giant even."

"The crux of the situation is this," Jandar returned to the original subject. "With Utgar controlling all of Lower and Upper Bleakwoode - will never be able to do more than defend ourselves against the onslaught of his advancement. We must strike a place dear to him. We must strike at the heart of Bleakwoode."

"How can this be done?" Sir Gilbert asked. "If we face an attack here at Idona, and from what you say, no small attack at that, then how can we spare forces for such a trek?"

"It is not our forces that will do so."

[Akralon]

-------------------------------------------------------------------
To Elysium
-------------------------------------------------------------------

The open plains of Lindesfarme were ablaze with war. Falling footsteps thundered like a booming storm. Enraged howls, screams of terror, battle shouts and death cries filled the air, mingled with clanging metal and breaking bones.

As if ashamed of the battle taking place, the sun had hidden itself behind large storm clouds, which darkened and bulged, threatening to unleash a torrential downpour.

"Come, Cyprien," Iskra licked her lips, her fiery red hair accenting her bright eyes. "Let us join in the merriment."

The vampire lord frowned. The Roman Legion had come through the portal on the very heels of the Orc Horde. Ornak's forces were being decimated. He smiled at the irony.

"They need us, brother," Iskra howled, desperate for blood.

"If they had not been so foolish as to pursue Einar's flying imperium all the way across Anund, they would be well rested, fed and ready for battle," he scowled. "Yet they are orcs - gruts. Stupid to the last. Now they are weary from travel, weakened by hunger, and confused from lack of sleep. The Romans, pitiful and mindless as they are, are cutting them down."

"Yessss," Iskra hissed, "So why do we wait?"

"We wait until Utgar orders us to attack," the vampire lord answered flatly. "I would not be taking orders from him if he didn't know what he was doing."

...

"Fell the beast!" Decimus roared, thrusting his gladius toward the charging dinosaur. "Ismarus!"

The captain nodded. "Archers!" he cried. "Take aim!"

"Shield wall!" Valerius ordered. The rows of legionnaires guarding the archers lifted their shields, solidifying the barrier of metal. "Hold steady!"

Ismarus waited, his sword still held high.

Grimnak snarled as the tyrannosaurus lumbered forward, thundering across the battlefield. Each time a massive clawed foot struck the ground, several gruts were thrown off their feet. The dinosaur lowered its great head as it charged, preparing to barrel over the tiny soldiers. Grimnak gripped his barbed spear tightly. His yellow eyes locking onto the Roman general.

"Ready!" Ismarus cried out, watching the charging dinosaur grow larger and larger, more and more terrifying to behold. It was nearly upon them. "Loose arrows!"

A chorus of snapping bowstrings filled the air, followed swiftly by a whistling barrage of shafts filling the sky.

"Ready arrows!" Ismarus immediately called out. "Take aim!"

As the first footfalls of the racing reptile crashed into the lines of legionnaires, large shoelaces of drool whipped about from dinosaur's jaws. It snapped at the soldiers, but Grimnak jerked the barbed reins. "Nag!" the grut shouted, barely able to control the famished dinosaur's feverish hunger. He had to kill the general.

The tyrannosaurus roared an earth trembling roar, loosing its rage at being denied food.

"My sign is given," Decimus grunted, shoving forward at a full fledged sprint.

"General!" cried Valerius, unsure what his leader was doing. All the lines of legionnaires and archers likewise were watching, some confused, some unbelieving, all of them awestruck.

"Stay back!" called Decimus, "Hold the line!"

These are the moments, Decimus thought as he raced toward the towering monster that would have blotted out the sun, had it been shining. The moments men remember. The moments that change hearts. The moments that change destiny.

The dinosaur lurched forward at his approach, and he flung up his tower shield with all his might. The beast's spear-like jaws clamped over the metal, crushing it with grinding pain as the general ran underneath.

The tyrannosaurs whipped its head aside, sending the mangled shield spinning off into the air. It roared again, deafening, full of fury. Its hunger would not be denied again.

Grimnak grinned as the tiny general foolishly leaped at the orc warlord's leg. He speared the general through the shoulder.

Decimus snarled in pain as the barbed spear punctured behind his right collarbone. With his free hand he grasped the spear, his other hand, now dripping with the blood that ran down his arm, held his gladius in a deathlike grip.

Grimnak pulled the spear, readying to boot the human in the face, jaggedly tearing the weapon free and sending the general back to the earth where the dinosaur would snatch him up.

But before the general came within his boot's range, the Roman lashed out and cut the saddle harness with one strong swipe.

Before Grimnak knew what was happening, the weight of the speared general was pulling him and the saddle off the beast's back.

Decimus smiled, his eyes hollow, reflecting death, as the orc fell atop him.

The general managed to land on his back, curled legs between him and the orc, and with all the strength he had left, he kicked his legs up, throwing the orc backwards.

The tyrannosaurus, frenzied with ravenous hunger, had already turned to snatch its first meal. It did not matter that the body sprawling towards it was the very same that had been sitting atop its back only a moment before. Even if the all-consuming blood-thirst hadn't blinded and deafened the beast, it wouldn't matter. It saw a body. It saw meat. And it caught the meat. It ate the meat.

While the colossal dinosaur threw back its head and swallowed its latest meal, the storm of arrows had already begun raining down over it. Most of the arrows clicked harmlessly off its rugged hide. But more than one pierced through the leathery flesh.

Decimus tried to pull the barbed spear edge from his shoulder, but it only tore at his muscle and he nearly fainted from the unbearable pain. He staggered to his feet, cleaving off the long shaft with his sword. He wavered, staring groggily at the dinosaur, blood dripping from its fanged maw. Then he started forward. Arrows would not bring it down, not unless they could hit more than its armored back.

He raced up behind its large hind leg, ducking once as the tail lashed over his head.

Ismarus had stopped the hail of arrows, most likely because of him, and Valerius had kept the legionnaires in line. Good captains... the both of them.

He latched onto the beast's taloned foot. "For Einar!" he cried.

"For Einar!!!" the legion boomed.

"For Rome!" he screamed.

"For Rome!!!"

He drove his gladius down through the top of the middle toe.

The dinosaur bellowed in crazed rage. It reared its head, trying to duck down and see him. He removed his knife and carved into the second toe, hearing the tendons snap underneath, and watching them slide back into the meat.

"To Elysium!" He screamed one last time, and slashed the third toe. These are the moments...

This time there was no response. The Roman legion stared unbelieving as the dinosaur's leg buckled, as the beast twist awkwardly, its scrawny arms clawing at the air in futility as its balance was lost. They watched their general disappear under the bulk of the gigantic beast as it crashed to the earth with a resounding BOOOOM!


And far away, Cyprien grinned. "There is our sign."