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  #1  
Old March 4th, 2011, 11:48 PM
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Welcome to Valhalla

Private Dan Rickard of the Airborne Elite Division stared out at the tiny battlefield underneath him as he flew overhead in a paratrooper plane. Explosions and gunfire rocked the fragile ground and shook the air. He looked behind him as his companions; Privates Fred Lilliergen, Bjorn Hedberg, and AJ Marini laced up their parachutes and clutched tightly their guns. Behind them was the squad leader – Sergeant Drake Alexander. He gave his men an encouraging smile and urged them on.

“C’mon boys,” he said, as he gripped his pistol. “Let’s go kill us some Nazis.”

Dan grinned nervously and then jumped out of the plane. The air whipped itself at his face and he hurtled toward the ground. Reaching his fingers quickly toward his parachute cord, he pulled it with one mighty yank and above him billowed out his white parachute… perfectly visible for enemy fire, Dan thought. Shaking the negative thoughts from his mind, Dan crouched, ready for landing, and hit the soft, bloody and charred grass. Artillery pounded the earth, dirt and fragments of white-hot metal raining around the Allied soldiers. He looked up for his comrades, and down touched AJ, Fred, and Bjorn. They looked shaken. Above them floated down a white parachute, but no Sergeant Drake attached.

“It’s too late!” Bjorn shouted. “We have to go!”

The Airborne Elite swarmed up the nearby hill and opened fire. The smell of smoke and the screams of the wounded were blurred out as they pinpointed individual targets, aimed, and fired. The victims of the Elite never had a chance. Twisting, falling, screaming in the chaos, blood spurted high in arcs or spilled down chests and the wounded men called out for help which never came. Many were slain with the first bullet.

"We need to advance to those enemy bunkers ahead!” Fred yelled. “There’s a stationary MG holding our men down and we need to get them fast!”

Indeed, a concrete gray bunker sat in a rise in the valley across the battlefield and the flash and bang of a machine gun kept back the approaching American soldiers, struggling to make their way up the hill. AJ nodded and opened his mouth to talk.

Suddenly, three enemy German soldiers charged up the hill. AJ kicked one man down and they began to struggle hand-to-hand. Bjorn, with his Browning, shot down the second man before he knew what was happening. Bjorn dove to help AJ and Fred fell back in confusion. The third Nazi soldier, though, raised his rifle and pressed the trigger wildly. Bullets flew and Fred fell to the ground, grunting. He reached for his pistol in his jacket but an enemy boot stepped on his chest. Fred squinted up at the enemy profile holding him down, shadowed by the overhead sun. A swastika decorated the hateful uniform. Fred winced as he waited for the final blow to come.

Suddenly, all was quiet and calm. An eerie echoing buzzed through Fred’s ears. I must be dead, he thought.

“Think again, buddy!”

“Sergeant Drake?”

“You better believe it too!"

"But – but – but your parachute… and ..."

“We’re in a new kind of war, now, Fred. AJ, Dan and Bjorn are coming soon.”

Fred opened his eyes. Sergeant Drake was there, and behind him was a man, tall and broad-shouldered, muscular and armor-clad. He held a hammer and a shield, both bearing this symbol:

“Who… where are we?” Fred asked, open-mouthed.

“Fred Lilliergen,” the armored warrior said. His voice echoed like a melody of the ages that sung through time. Fred stared. “I am Jandar. Welcome to Valhalla.”

__________________________________________________________________

So now we know how Drake and the AE were summoned to Valhalla. Who shall be summoneed next? The choice is yours, readers.

'My dog's got no nose.'
"How does it smell?"
'Terrible.'

Last edited by The Deadliest Warrior; March 6th, 2011 at 09:57 PM.
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  #2  
Old March 5th, 2011, 02:18 PM
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Re: Welcome to Valhalla

How 'bout Knights of Weston and Sir Denrick with Hawthorne's betrayal.
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  #3  
Old March 5th, 2011, 03:04 PM
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Re: Welcome to Valhalla

Seconded. That would be cool.

Slink's story can be found here.
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  #4  
Old March 5th, 2011, 06:18 PM
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Re: Welcome to Valhalla

The knight rode up on his horse and dismounted, striding powerfully to the front of his men. He took off his helmet, revealing a kind but strong face topped with golden hair. “Fellow Knights of Weston!” he shouted at his men, turning to face them.

In front of him hundreds of men in shining plate armor and mail raised their weapons; swords, axes, halberds, and maces; and roared as one. “Today,” continued the un-helmeted knight, “we fight for glory! For freedom! And for the right to call Weston its own kingdom!” The thronging mass of warriors shouted their approval. “I, Sir Denrick, and my general, Sir Hawthorne, will lead us to this great victory!”

Another man strode up in matching armor. He, too, took off his helmet. A haughty, pale, thin face assessed the men. Slick black hair mopped his head. “For Weston!” he finally roared. As the Knights of Weston shouted and stomped and waved their weapons, Denrick turned to the man and said, “It is now or never, Hawthorne.”

The hot, bright sun beat down on the men’s armor and across a field of grass came the faint sound of bugles and horns. Over the waves of rolling heat emerged a rabble of unarmored men on horseback, howling menacingly. Denrick looked over at Hawthorne. Hawthorne nodded.

Denrick raised his sword high over his head, then lowered it straight in front of him and ran down the hill yelling. His men surged behind him and the mounted horsemen charged forward, peppering the oncoming army with arrows. Men fell, arrows finding breaches in their armor, and they were trampled by their comrades. “We must take back what is ours!” Denrick yelled. “We must defeat these invaders!”

As the Knights charged onward, the barbarian horsemen regrouped and fell back, still firing madly from their bows. As the arrows flew in high arcs through the sky and turned day into night with their intensity, more brave Knights of Weston weakly grabbed at their throats and fell back, gurgling or pulled arrows angrily out of arms or legs and limped onward, hell-bent on close-quarters revenge.

The horsemen began to approach the Knights yet again. “Faster, men!” Denrick shouted. The Knights took up a war cry and gushed forward, overtaking the surprised invaders before they could react.

The two armies collided with a sickening crunch. Hawthorne disappeared from Denrick’s view amid the mass of the horsemen and the Knights. Denrick raised a mighty sword and swung with a slash of morning light. One of the horsemen toppled to the ground, a bloody gash across his chest. Denrick followed up with a quick downward strike and as blood leaped onto his armor he turned and hacked at yet another oncoming barbarian.

The Knights clearly dominated the close-quarters fight. The barbarians were unhorsed easily and their leather armor proved no effective protection to the Knights’ crushing and stabbing weapons. Limbs and heads rolled to the floor and the injured and dying screamed horribly.

Denrick and one barbarian were in hard, brutal combat. Denrick’s large sword was unwieldy in such close quarters, and the horseman was armed with a long, wicked knife. Kicking Denrick over, the barbarian stabbed at his face. Sir Denrick rolled to the side and the knife went deep into the grass. As the Knight got up slowly in his heavy armor, the barbarian grunted and pulled the blade out of the grass. As the barbarian raised his knife to slash at Denrick’s unprotected head, Denrick buried half of his sword into the man’s torso. The barbarian, hands still raised over his head, dropped the knife and spat blood. Denrick ripped out the blade and the man fell dead. Turning, Sir Denrick found Sir Hawthorne standing behind him, a bloody blade in his hands. Lying at his feet was a Knight of Weston, blood oozing from cracks in his armor. Another Knight ran up to Hawthorne. Sir Hawthorne turned and swung the sword at the Knight. His head, still inside its helmet, rolled to the ground and the body crumpled on top of it. Hawthorne laughed a chilling, deep cackle.

“Sir Hawthorne!” Sir Denrick cried. “What are you –”

Hawthorne raised his sword and swung it at Denrick’s head. Inches before contact, Denrick disappeared and his armor clattered to the ground like a lifeless exoskeleton. “The hell?” Hawthorne started to say, but he too vanished like a puff of smoke. His armor fell next to Denrick’s.

Hawthorne found himself in a dark room lit only by torches. He was somehow clad in black armor now, with a new blade and shield. “Where am I?” he demanded.

A voice, cold and emotionless, answered from the darkest corner of the room. “You have come to serve me now, Sir Hawthorne.” The words played like the vilest poison dripping down a throat. “General Utgar.”

A throne built of bones sat in the corner. A tall creature, winged and red, sat there, a helmet of a skull resting on its head. “You serve me now,” it said.

Hawthorne looked at his new armor, and weighted the blade in his hands. “What of Denrick?” he asked.

“Denrick has been sent to a weaker general,” Utgar said. “I had no need of him. ‘Noble’ means nothing to me. ‘Power’, however does. You have that, Sir Hawthorne. Of that I am sure. One day you will vanquish this Sir Denrick. Of this I promise.”

Both evil creatures began to laugh a sound that held no joy or happiness in it, and the torches flickered and wavered weakly in the dank castle. Outside, it began to rain, a sign of the sadness that was held in the land of Weston at Sir Hawthorne’s betrayal that lost them their independence and the last vanguard that could ever protect them – the now-fallen Knights of Weston.

______________________________________________________________

There you go - Hawthorne, Denrick, and the Knights of Weston! Who shall be summoned next?

'My dog's got no nose.'
"How does it smell?"
'Terrible.'
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  #5  
Old March 5th, 2011, 08:19 PM
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Re: Welcome to Valhalla

Axegrinders!

My tourney record: 14-32 or 30.43% wins
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  #6  
Old March 6th, 2011, 02:17 PM
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Re: Welcome to Valhalla

These are really cool! I like your idea and look forward to seeing more! I suggest Sonlen.
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  #7  
Old March 6th, 2011, 02:25 PM
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Re: Welcome to Valhalla

Quote:
Originally Posted by BassistofDoom View Post
I suggest Sonlen.
Me too. Thats scary!
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  #8  
Old March 6th, 2011, 03:05 PM
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Re: Welcome to Valhalla

That was awesome! I want to see Sonlen and while your at it how about the Order of the Chrimsome whatever...the elf wizards!

Slink's story can be found here.
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  #9  
Old March 6th, 2011, 03:46 PM
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The Deadliest Warrior The Deadliest Warrior is offline
 
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Re: Welcome to Valhalla

Feylund was always a land of forests, full of mystical spells guarding the ancient temples and beasts roaming the woods. Only a fool or an expert would traverse these paths alone. Sonlen was no fool.

The elf was taller than most and swathed in a purple robe. A traveler’s sack hung across his shoulders. Boots meant for this kind of travel were laced high to his knees. His dragon, D’agonker, was perched on his shoulder like a stone gargoyle. It barely moved its chest as it breathed and only the tiniest of twitches of wings would reveal it was, in fact, alive. Sonlen gripped his staff tightly. He was learned in the arts of defensive magic and his dragon could heal him if things took a turn for the worse, but he still has a quiet and undying respect (and perhaps a bit of alarm, he admitted) for the unknown wonders and terrors of Feylund’s wild.

Stepping over a fallen bough, he paused to rest. The birds warbled high in the trees. A lone brown toad hopped next to Sonlen. The elf smiled, bent to pick up the small creature. Examining it, Sonlen smiled one last time before he dashed its head against the rock. He muttered a quiet prayer to the nature gods and reached over to his dragon. “D’agonker,” he said. “Food.” The dragon seemed not to move, but the frog disappeared in a second and D’agonker was licking his lips.

A misty fog served well for the bandits camped in the bushes. They greedily watched Sonlen approach. One looked at the other two. Nodding, the first stepped out as the other two crept to surround the elf mage.

Sonlen stopped not as the short, stocky dwarf stepped from the bushes, carrying a dagger. As he continued forward, the dwarf yelled in a scratchy voice, “Stop, elf!” The mage looked at the dwarf below him. “May I be of help?” the elf asked silkily.

Behind him, a voice answered, “You may. Give us your valuables and you can keep going unharmed.” Turning, Sonlen found himself looking at another dwarf, with a short bow, and a thick goblin with a staff. The goblin growled and tilted his head. “Well?”

Sonlen patted his dragon on the head and bent down to open his sack. The dwarves hovered ever closer greedily but the goblin stayed back warily. “What would you like, my friends?” Sonlen continued conversationally. “Jewels? Gold? Poisons or antidotes?”

The dwarf with the bow pushed forward. “How about we –” he began, but suddenly the bag opened wider and the dwarf was sucked in the midst of a blue vortex of energy. Screaming and flailing, he dropped the bow and was pulled into the bag before he disappeared. The vortex abruptly ended. The other dwarf yelled, “You just asked for it!”

With his dagger, he charged at Sonlen, waving it like mad. D’agonker swooped from his master’s shoulder and in a blur of screeching fury he slashed at the bandit’s shoulder. The dwarf reeled back, cursing and clutching his wound. Feeling blood, he turned his attention to the dragon instead. The beast whizzed about his head like a pesky fly and darted in and out for quick attacks.

The goblin twirled his staff menacingly. He snarled, revealing strands of saliva hanging in his mouth. Sonlen took off one of his gloves and dropped it simply to the ground. He twirled it in a circle and the staff leaped from the goblin’s hands. “What?” the goblin hissed. He stumbled towards the elf mage but with another flick of the wrist the staff sharply tapped the thief on the back, sending him face-first into the leaves and dirt. Spluttering, the goblin pushed himself up and took out a knife. The staff, possessed by Sonlen’s magic, whacked the goblin’s face and he reeled. When the staff twirled about again, he slashed viciously and the wooden stick fell in two. He wiped his bruised cheek and spat on the ground. “You’re next,” he promised.

D’agonker had the dwarf bleeding and weak. As the bandit made one final, pathetic attempt to score a successful hit on the dragon, D’agonker dove down like a bomber and bit down on the dwarf’s neck. The dwarf screamed and dropped his blade, and began to jerk uncontrollably as the dragon’s venom entered his body. D’agonker hissed and looked over at Sonlen.

Sonlen was fighting the goblin, who had managed to get up close with his blade. The goblin pushed him to the ground and landed a punch to the side of his face. D’agonker raised a hell-screech and tore through the air at the goblin. Looking up, the goblin threw his knife and watched as it spun through the air right at D’agonker. The dragon vanished inches before it would have been hit and the blade whistled through the forest fog and thudded into a tree trunk, buried up to the hilt in wood.

Grimacing in confusion, the bandit knew not what hit him as Sonlen summoned one of his most powerful spells. Blasted into the air, the goblin fell unconscious and broken and lay splayed out in the mud. One of his boots had fallen off. Sonlen turned and saw the dead dwarf, contorted and twisted from his final moments in agony. Sonlen muttered a quick prayer to his nature gods and bent to pick up his back when he found himself spinning through the air.

Landing hard on the ground, he looked up to find himself not in the forest but in a tent – although he did notice that there were many trees and plants inside. A delightful screech echoed and D’agonker swooped down to Sonlen before it perched on his shoulder. Sonlen rubbed his neck and looked up, seeing a throne made of earth and grass. Sitting upon it was a man dressed in leaves. “Who are you?” Sonlen demanded. Standing upright, he pointed a finger at the man. “I can and will defend myself!”

“Calm yourself, Sonlen,” the man said. “I am a friend. I have seen your skill on Feylund and it will serve us all well. I am Ullar, the lord of nature.” He held up a staff that bore this symbol:

“Why have you called me?” Sonlen asked suspiciously.

Ullar whistled and a snake slithered into the room. Ullar put his hand into its throat and pulled something out. As the snake slunk away, Ullar held up another staff that bore this symbol:

“General Utgar is an evil tyrant,” Ullar said. “He is trying to take over this land, Valhalla. If he succeeds in that, no one knows where he could strike next – Feylund included. I am assembling an army to fight him. Will you aid us in vanquishing him?”

“My skill is used to purge evil,” Sonlen said simply. “No more and no less. As long as that is all you ask of me, I shall comply.”

Ullar only nodded. Sonlen dropped to one knee and said, “Then I pledge my services to you, Lord Ullar.”

______________________________________________________________

And so, Sonlen becomes one with Ullar. Requests will be considered and don't worry, 'Scaper94, I am working on your Axegrinders story.

'My dog's got no nose.'
"How does it smell?"
'Terrible.'
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  #10  
Old March 6th, 2011, 04:25 PM
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Re: Welcome to Valhalla

Krav Maga. Awesome stories, TDW.

Orcs Blade is Evar Scarcarver...
in theTWILIGHT CAVE...
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  #11  
Old March 6th, 2011, 06:06 PM
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Re: Welcome to Valhalla

That was awesome! Sonlen owned those guys. You're doing a great job with these Deadliest Warrior.
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  #12  
Old March 7th, 2011, 08:24 PM
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The Deadliest Warrior The Deadliest Warrior is offline
 
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Re: Welcome to Valhalla

Quote:
Originally Posted by BassistofDoom View Post
That was awesome! Sonlen owned those guys. You're doing a great job with these Deadliest Warrior.
Thanks for the feedback guys! I have too much work to focus on this but I'll get up the next one when I can.

'My dog's got no nose.'
"How does it smell?"
'Terrible.'
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