Fan Fic Contest Archive

[Kaemon Awa 123]

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Week 1 - April 25 2011


Vydar has launched a bold expedition of five units to recover an ancient artifact deep within the Volcarren Wasteland; but they are suddenly ambushed. Write about the ambush and the ensuing battle.


CheddarLimbo - 1st place

Spoiler Alert!

Belly down and propped on his elbows, Jorsen surveyed the area ahead, the landscape tinted in shades of green through his goggles. The terrain ahead was formidable at best, and down-right hostile at worst. The cracked earth and the low foothills to the east were forbidding. Jets of gas would erupt - violently at times - from rocky piles and it seemed the ground beneath them was constantly shifting. Then there was the heat. Oppressive and unending, it seemed to get worse the further north the team traveled. Jorsen wore the distinctive Stealth Armor of his team, and while it had saved his life in the past, in this environment he was beginning to suffer for it.

He and his team had been sent to the area to scout for a secluded spot in which to stage a small task force. The area was far enough west of the swamp and the main battle that the Marro forces would be hard pressed to maintain a strong presence here. If Vydar could find an area in which he could stage an assault, they might be able to strike a critical blow to the Hive Lord’s forces.

A bright flash in the goggle viewscreen blinded Jorsen briefly, and he swore. Similar explosions had already erupted twice while he surveyed the area from his perch. The entire region seemed volatile, and the mission was going poorly. The last surviving member of a team of nine, Jorsen was beginning to worry that he and his new team might not succeed. While they had yet to find any of Ne-Gok-Sa’s forces in these foothills, the inanimate threats were taking their toll. It seemed to Jorsen that every advantage he and his team brought was canceled by the terrain itself. Their advanced monitoring equipment was unable to differentiate between living threats and the constantly shifting landscape. The rock slides negated their audio sensors, and the ambient heat made their thermal vision all but useless.

Jorsen’s earpiece squawked quietly in his ear. “Seven, this is base. Report.”

“Seven here” Jorsen replied into his mike. “No activity that I can see, Hillard. I’m about two clicks north by northwest. I’m heading back and should be there in time for the rendezvous.”

“Understood. Try to double-time it. Carr says he found a path through the foothills we can use to get around to the west side of the peak.”

“I read you. I’ll start heading that way.” Jorsen clicked off his comm. He moved to a crouch, and stretched his arms a bit before rising and turning south. As he crunched down the rocky hill, he reflected more on his situation. He hated the way Hillard insisted on calling him “Seven”. It was a constant reminder that he was not a part of the team in his commanding officer’s eyes. Carr and Hillard’s squad had found Jorsen after he’d barely survived a skirmish that had wiped out the rest of his team. Hillard's group had been sent deep into Volcarren in search of what he would only call "a powerful new weapon for Vydar". His lack of details just another example of Hillard's mistrust of him. Jorsen was relieved he’d been able to join up with their small force, and had tried to mesh with the team, but it was difficult. Microcorp are specifically trained and taught from the very beginning to act as a tight and unified squad. It wasn’t easy to find a place in that dynamic as a “fourth wheel”.

But he was alive - for now anyway - and that was worth something. It was more than could be said for Shane, Chris, and the rest of his team who had died eleven days earlier while trying to flank a horde of Annubian soldiers. They wolfen men had been patrolling the southern edge of Volcarren when the Microcorps had attempted to ambush them. Jorsen still heard their howls sometimes while he tried to sleep, and thought he’d probably never get the image of their maddening eyes and snarling faces out of his mind. Or the screams of his comrades as they were literally torn to shreds by the frenzied beasts.

Jorsen approached the camp, mutely acknowledging the perimeter scout, Fender. Once Jorsen moved closer in, the other team members made themselves seen and the group huddled together in the lee of a large stone outcrop near the base of the nearby foothills.

“So, nothing, then?” inquired Astor, the third member of Hillard’s squad.

“Nothing worth seeing.” Jorsen replied. “The terrain is rough. Gas jets, crumbling rocks cascading down the hillside every few minutes. It’s hard to get a proper read on the area. Something could be lurking and it’s very difficult to track in a region like this.

“I know what you mean,” Astor replied grimly. “You can’t tell if it’s just the rumble of the earth of if somethin’ is sneaking up behind you to slit your-”

“Enough of that, Seven.” came Hillard’s voice from behind. “I sent you out to get the lay of the land, not come back with ghost stories.” He approached the group and stared stonily at Jorsen.

“Sir.” said Jorsen, straightening. “Just acknowledging our disadvantage, sir. Our equipment isn’t going to be much use out there.”

“I don’t know how they did it in your squad, Jorsen, but Theta Unit uses our brains and our ability first. Our equipment is just the icing on the cake. Besides, this place is a wasteland. We haven’t seen signs of any troop movement since-”

A crash from the left made the team jump, and pull their weapons, instinctively falling into formation guns trained on two large boulders that had crashed to the ground from the outcropping above. Jorsen could feel through his feet as a series of far-off thuds and rumbles quaked. Was it the sound of an army mobilizing on the other side of the foothills? Or just this terrible pit creaking and flexing?

Astor moved forward, half crouched and weapon trained on the rocks ahead of him. He began to carefully circle the stony wreck, but before he could get more than a few feet away, a creature sprang up from behind the rocks and perched on top of the pile. It was small, with dark skin and pointed features. It clothes were a mess of tangled rags. It breathed quickly, it’s tiny eyes glinted black as they darted around the area. Its body began to coil inwards to pounce.


“Cutters!” Hillard shouted. “Set two! Mark!”The team quickly and fluidly spread formation, taking a few steps back and fanning out. Fender fired twice, missing. The creature scuttled quickly to the left, seeming to magically dodge the point-blank shot, and was gone from sight.

Astor cried out and a sharp pinching pain shot up his leg. Looking down, another of the tiny beasts was clutching to his calf, its teeth sunk into the padding of his armor. Astor used the butt of his weapon to smash the creature in the head. It let go, and stumbled backwards, dazed. Jorsen stepped closer and swung his own weapon down on its skull. There was a sickening crunch and it was still. Jorsen turned in time to see three more Goblins almost fly through the air towards Fender. Fender raised him arm to block his face, screaming. One Goblin was buffeted aside, while the other two latched onto Fender’s arm and thigh, scratching, clawing, and snarling as they tried to tear and rip through the thick armor. Fender stumbled backwards from the force of their leap, but kept his feet.

“Astor!” shouted Hillard from the left. “Up!”

Astor rolled backwards and sprang to his feet, barely dodging another pair of Goblins that swarmed forward from the right. He began to climb the nearby hillside to attain a perch from which he might be able to get a better shot of the swarming monsters.

“Where are they coming from?” thought Jorsen as he fired three times rapidly at the pair of Goblins. “How can so many have surprised us?” One of the Goblins fell to the ground, the other disappeared.

Hillard rushed forward to knock loose the Goblins clinging to Fender’s armor. Seemingly indifferent to gravity, one had quickly scurried up and around to Fender’s shoulder, and once there sank its teeth into the back of Fenders neck, just below the helmet. Fender howled, and Hillard tried in vain to pry off the terrible creatures.

The earth rumbled again, but with more force than before. Dread in his stomach, Jorsen knew, now, there could be no mistake. The rumbling quake was footsteps, but not the even march of an army on the move. It was the slow, thunderous pace of something enormous. And it was approaching.

Astor climbed quickly up the side of the hill, breathing hard. If he could get to a perch, they might be able to regroup. If he could begin to control the advance of the little beasts, catch them by surprise before-

Astor neared the summit of the hill and the earth rocked beneath him. A hulking, enormous form was climbing up the opposite side of the same foothill. The creature was twice the size of a man, and wielded an enormous broadsword. Its skin was dark, almost black and charred, and seemed to smoke itself like the fissures all over the ground. It’s blazing face was terrible in its hatred as it approached spotting Astor. Astor froze, and immediately began to descend back down the slope.

The flaming giant strode forward, with a speed Astor would not have expected from such an enormous thing, and hefted its blade. Astor stopped his descent, and raised his weapon. As his eye came to the sight, he hand time only to see the glint of the gigantic sword swinging towards him.

Jorsen was dizzy now, and blood trickled into his left eye, obscuring his vision. He was still reflexively crushing a Goblin’s small form in his bare hands when he heard Astor’s scream. Jorsen looked up in time to see Astor’s body flying across his field of vision, landing in a crumpled, unmoving heap.

A voice in Jorsen’s mind whispered darkly, “It’s happening all over again...”

BassistofDoom - 2nd place

Spoiler Alert!

Clank. Clank. Siege and his four companions marched slowly but determinedly through a seemingly endless field of lava. This didn’t bother them, however, because Warforged were designed for the toughest environments. Vydar had sent Siege and four of his finest soldiers, Tech, Spotter, Tank, and Bullseye, to retrieve an ancient talisman from the heart of the fiery desert. Although the Warforged were new to Vydar’s army, soulborgs were needed to defend Vydar’s fortress and Agent Carr was not able to bring his strike force because of the terrain. Siege received his orders, and he carried them out, no matter what they were. That was why he existed. Suddenly, a crack broke the silence and Siege turned to see Tech’s leg sinking into a patch of molten lava. Tank grabbed Tech’s arm and hoisted him back out. “Are you ok?” Siege inquired. “Affirmative.” Replied Tech, who had been brought along for his expertise with technology. Spotter was the scout of the group who was fast and able to navigate harsh terrain. Bullseye and Tank were the two fighters, along with Siege as the leader.

The group continued on their journey, undeterred by Tech’s slip, because they were Warforged, and it would take more than just some molten lava to put a dent in their armor. “Halt.” Announced Tech. “My equipment indicates that the talisman we seek is just north of here, perhaps 500 meters.” Siege nodded. “We shall march for 200 meters, then Spotter, you shall proceed ahead of the group and scout out the location.” The pace of the group quickened as they all eagerly approached the talisman, before Siege motioned for them to stop. “My sensors don’t detect any life.” Said Tech. “Good. Spotter, go.” Replied Siege. Spotter ran ahead, carrying only his steel dagger as the group watched him. There was a small hill up ahead of blackened rock, behind which he assumed was the talisman. Suddenly, molten rock sprouted up in front of him, taking an almost human form. Before he had time to react, a solid punch sent a fiery rock arm propelling through his skull, shattering it and ending Spotter’s life.

Siege watched Spotter curiously as he darted across the molten terrain, focused on reaching his goal. Spotter stopped abruptly, however, and Siege suspected there may be something wrong. As he watched Spotter collapse as a bulky figure stood over him, his suspicions were confirmed. “Ambush!” he cried to the others, who immediately grabbed their weapons and charged at the figure. Others shot up from the turf, and Tech was soon brought down in a heap. Bullseye slashed at each rocky form that approached him, but soon they overwhelmed him with their numbers and tore him apart. Although Tank’s mighty axe struck down many of the beasts, he soon was mortally wounded as well. Siege, however, would not fall. His mission must be completed. He defeated each attacker that challenged him until suddenly a long blade sprouted from his chest. Falling to his knees, Siege knew that he had seen that blade before. “Well well well,” said Agent Carr. “You…” uttered Siege. “Yes it is. Why might you ask am I here sticking a sword in your chest? Well, let’s just keep things short and say Utgar knows how to persuade a man. I’m talking about wealth, something stupid machines like yourself wouldn’t understand.” Siege noticed that Carr was able to navigate on the terrain with shoes that allowed him to hover above the molten rock. “Oh yes.” One of the lava beasts spoke in a deep, penetrating voice. “About that…” Carr whirled around just as the figure placed its hands on his neck and twisted it harshly so that a loud snap echoed across the desert. And so lay on the ground 5 heroes and a traitor, who’s body now slowly burned on the searing rock, as the Obsidian Guards made their way to the talisman, which would certainly serve Utgar quite well.

Elven Lord - 3rd place

Spoiler Alert!

RednixY scanned the horizon. Everywhere hot air bubbles formed, popped and frothed on the surface of molten lava. Very little lava rock remained and the battalion’s mission objective was still very far away. Rednix’s second in command opened a communication link and said, “Sir we are not making fast enough progress. There is so little land left and we have already lost many troops to ground giving way beneath them. We need something native.”
“Negative. There is no available life.”
“How about that magma lizard sir?” The mechanical arm of the second pointed to the precise location of the creature. Each time the carefully camoflauged creature moved the second’s hand moved with it always pointing to its precise location.
Rednix lunged forward and snatched up the foot long creature. A blue beam from Rednix’s eyes moved over the creature. A mechanical voice spoke, “DNA copied.”
He then passed it over to the second who completed the same procedure and passed the creature down the line. Reports of DNA copied issued from all down the line.
“Battalion commence morph.” Ordered Rednix.
Immediately every soulborg down began shifting his parts, the metallic bits moving soundlessly against one another until fifty copies of the lizard now appeared on the rock surface. Replicas of the fire proof skin covered metal body parts. The internal cooling system the lizards had possessed were modified and adapted by the soulborgs. Upon Rednix’s command the battalion dove into the lava and made headway on a shortcut to the talisman. The soulborgs pulled their long camoflauged bodies out of the lava and spread out as Rednix moved to take the talisman, a small gold ingot which possessed incredible healing power. Round identical blocks of solid obsidian stood round the small talisman as if to guard it. The area was scanned for signs of life, but instead of scanning for literally any life form they scanned only for DNA. Rednix grabbed the talisman, but as soon as he did so the obsidian blocks stood up revealing faces arms and legs. Rednix wasted no time in calling an alert and coordinating immediate aggression. A human or other life form may have paused in surprise, but Rednix could not think enough to be surprised. “Left wing commence back morph. Fall back twenty feet. Commence fire immediately. Right wing commence morph to laser cutters. Attack immediately. Battalion kill with extreme prejudice.”
Immediately all the bots on the left wing morphed into their original forms. They came out crouched, retreated 20 feet as ordered, and the units in the back began sniping with deadly precision while the front row poured as much fire as they possibly could into the obsidian monsters. At the same time the right wing morphed into small energetic soulborgs with long scythes for arms that shone shown with lasers in the humidity. The obsidians reacted more or less slowly. They took deadly sniper and machine gun fire to the head with hardly a blink. Five of the ten fiends turned to the cutters picking them off by twos by bashing their mechanical brains together and tossing them into the molten lava that surrounded the small obsidian island. The other five proceeded to attack the “Archers.” Rednix went for the talisman. Once it was safely inside him he chanced a glance around. One obsidian had been sliced to a pile of rubble one had lost it’s head from concentrated sniper fire, but the losses from the battalion were tremendous. All but two of the 25 cutters were down. The left wing had two losses only-which Rednix decided in some part at the back of his slowly developing free thinking mind-was a blessing. One obsidian curled himself into a ball. Another guard heaved him up and—Rednix saw what was happening and snapped a quick order. The left wing staggered the line, and in the same instant focused fire on the guard. The guard hurled the other obsidian into the line. Three soulborgs were flattened.
“Good only three” thought Rednix. Then upon seeing the one guard drop dead and the other roll into the lava, Rednix leapt to the offensive employing every technique he knew on the obsidians legs to bring them to the ground. The score was now four obsidians down and out, one injured, and thirty soulborgs down. At this rate the battle would be lost. Seeing his chance Rednix reluctantly gave the order, “Troops hold them off for as long as you can. Then retreat.” Morphing back into the Magma lizard he dove into the lava with the talisman safely inside him. His developing emotions and sense of honor told him he should stay, but he had a job to do, and he was going to do it. Those troops back there had duties as well and they would not retreat because “as long as you can” meant “until death” with those mindless fighting machines. He had left none too soon for the Obsidian that had rolled into the lava returned with a better position on the “archers” and had rolled one massive rock right along the line obliterating the last of the battalion. They had done their duty and done it well. Vydar couldn’t ask for finer fighting units.

Two weeks later Rednix appeared in Vydar's chamber delivering the talisman to him. Vydar then used the talisman to heal his deathly ill wife. Despite the mindlessness of their bravery the 5th 6th 7th 8th and ninth changling soulbourg units received a statue in their honor which still stands today in Vydar’s Fortress, Valhalla.

Sylvano the Wasabus

Spoiler Alert!

Deep within the Volcarren wastes there appears to be nothing but stone, rock, heat and the occasional steaming lava vent. Nothing grows, no bird flies, there are no signs of any kind of life. It is a place where you can lose your mind.

“Would you stop fighting?” Agent Carr huffed. “Would you just stop fighting!” Sweat had begun to bead on the agent’s brow. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take.

The gorillinators paused- they had been slapping each other and pulling each other’s body hair for some reason. Beside them, Major X17 stood steely silent.

“I don’t care what so-and-so did- we’re supposed to be on the lookout for that stupid medallion.” Carr continued, but he was raising his voice as his frustration began to vent. “Can we just do it and go home?”

X17 turned its head to Carr. “The medallion is not within range.”

Carr considered drawing his sword of reckoning and putting a few dents in that metal head. “And you’re sure you can sense the medallion?”

“Affirmative. Negative. I can sense it, but it is not within range.” X17 answered.

Meanwhile one of the gorillinators had pulled a tuft of leg hair on the gorillantor beside him, and that gorillantor had responded by hitting the wrong gorillantor, who retaliated with a head butt to the forehead of the other gorillinator...

Suddenly X17’s cyberclaw came to life- opening and closing with a dull metallic thud. X17 turned and began to walk towards some nearby rocks. In the middle of the soulberg’s back was a steaming hole where the metal had been burned.

Carr sounded the attack and drew his sword in the same instant. The gorillinators were still arguing but he moved through their hulking, bickering forms quickly and efficiently and caught up with X17. The soulberg had taken another smoking wound in his chest but Carr still could not see their attackers.

X17’s cyberclaw reached down and grabbed a large hunk of black rock- which began to move and squirm. With a quick flick of its bronze mace X17 smashed the obsidian guard to bits. But more rocks were moving, all around them.
Carr leapt at the nearest moving rock and slashed with his sword. The rock exploded in a shower of black shards. Another living rock grabbed at the sword but Carr brought his machine pistol up and blew its head off- did they even have heads? The agent glanced back at the gorillinators. They were still hitting each other.

“Help us!” He roared, but the modified apes didn’t seem to notice. He made a mental note to punch Skahen when he returned to Vydar’s hold for suggesting the primadons for this mission. She was probably having a good laugh about it right now. Would she ever forgive him? A sudden searing, burning pain in his sword arm wrenched his attention back to the fight. There was a hole in his leather jacket and he could see his own burnt flesh. They were throwing handfuls of lava at him! He tried to control his fury- his arm would heal, but his coat would never be the same.

One of the gorillinators cried out in pain as a searing chunk of lave burned into its flesh. The ape thrashed, and then fell, dead, it’s eyes rolling back into its head. The other two gorillinators roared with rage! How dare someone hurt one of them! They readied their weapons and prepared to fire but all they could see was rock and more rock.

X17 was smashing and crunching his way through scores of obsidian monsters. As long as he was close to them, he was okay. Carr’s burned arm had numbed. It’s burned through to the nerves, he thought. He used the machine pistol mercilessly, blasting every large rock within range whether in moved or not. Was it just the heat from the lava, or was the whole area alive with rock monsters?

“Pull back!” Carr shouted. “We can’t win this fight- there’s too many of them.” He quickly moved away from the monsters beside him and returned to the gorillinators.

X17 had heard but when he turned and moved away he took another wound in the back. The two remaining gorillinators were arguing with each other, and motioning wildly to Carr. It seemed as if.... they wanted him to cut their fallen comrade in half? Carr blinked in disbelief. They wanted to carry the dead ape’s body away with them, but wanted to do it equally. Carr ignored them and took to his heels, and the rest followed, leaving the fallen gorillinator in the stones where it had fallen.

Back at Vydar’s hold Carr wasted no time in seeking out Agent Skahen. He found her in the command hall, going over some maps.

“What the hell was that about?!” He thundered.
She looked at him calmly, tilting her head. “You’re injured.”
“There was no stupid artifact there. You sent me out to punish me!”
She looked suitably insulted. “Agent Carr, we have many areas to search for the medallion. It was a routine mission, ordered by Vydar himself.”
Carr regarded her angrily. “Gorillinators?”
“They are a valued part of our force.” She stated. “Perhaps you need to pay more attention to working professionally with others, instead of emotionally.”
It always came back to that, Carr thought. She would never forgive him. It had only been once, and the Nakita had looked so much like her, but she would never forgive him. Never.
“Skahen, I-“
She held up her hand to silence him. “If the medallion was not there, we must keep looking. This is your next mission.” She pointed at another map, covered with ice and snow....

bumper15

Spoiler Alert!

Vydar's Desert Campaign

Sweat poured down Jason's face as he looked through his sunglasses across the empty lands of the Volcarren Wastelands. Volcanoes broke the flat line of the horizon at times and nothing could be seen except for a wide, flat expanse of dry land, piles of boulders seemingly thrown to random places and rivers of lava flowing through.
Jason Carr turned back to look at the others accompanying him. Major Q10 returned his glance and quickly looked away, scanning the surrounding area constantly for what they were looking for, a talisman that could give whoever wore it complete control over the element of fire. Heirloom walked to Q10's left, he was new to Vydar's army and Carr didn't yet know what to think of him. Behind them was Major X17, his claw opened and closed periodically as if itching for a chance to be used. The final member of the party was Danus. Danus was Vydar's second in command and leader of their patrol. He was an introspective person that never talked much. This didn't bother Carr, Carr never talked much either. Danus lifted his arm to wipe the sweat from his brow, the clicks and whirrs caught Carr's attention. Danus had lost his left arm fighting against the fell dragon Mimring early in the war, and Vydar had replaced it with a mechanical one.
A sound impeded the silence, "My sensors indicate that what we seek is hidden in that volcano," Major Q10 stated pointing ahead. Carr nodded his understanding. "They also are picking up life forms all around us."
As that last part registered in Carr's mind, a massive boulder flew towards the group. In the next instant a blast of light hit the boulder and blew it to pieces. Carr turned around and saw Heirloom, arm outstretched, panting with the effort of the strong magic.
Suddenly dozens of Obsidian Guards arose from the piles of boulders and approached the group. Everyone in the group drew their weapons and waited for the approaching enemy. This was a mistake as suddenly a ring of fire emerged around them and boxed them in. A roar in the distance caught their attention and Danus, who had looked up at the sound said to the others, "Brunak."
The Obsidian Guards approached closer as the fire began to singe the party. Carr began firing at the Guards, ignoring the ring of fire closing around them. The others followed suit. Two rockets fired from Q10's wrist reduced two of the Obsidian Guards to rubble. Danus drew a rod from his belt and it extended into a spear. Energy crackled from the tip of the spear and a bolt of electricity struck another guard. Magic bolts from Heirloom cut through others. Still the ring of fire moved steadily closer.
Suddenly, the oddest thing caught Carr's attention, the fire seemed to have faces. They grinned evilly at him from the tongues of flame. Carr remembered a campaign he led with Einar's forces where their were creatures made entirely of rock, earth elementals. If there could be one made of earth, why not fire?
Carr decided to test his theory. He swung his sword at the ring, and abruptly a hole appeared where one of the faces had been. "The fire can die," Carr said calmly. With the thought of freedom so close, the party pushed harder against the mass of enemies.
Carr turned and saw that Major X17 had fallen trying to seize one of the elementals with his claw. His entire claw had melted and the circuits hung out, sparking sporadically. Carr turned back towards the tattered shell that had been the ring of fire, however the ring had somehow replenished itself and continued to close in.
Another roar, closer this time, told the party that Brunak had decided to join the battle. Carr risked a glance upward and saw not only Brunak, but a figure being carried on his back. Heirloom had struck at another tongue of flame, but the creature on Brunak's back held up a staff and the tongue returned.
Realizing what was going on, Carr raised his pistol and fired at the creature. His shot missed and instead deflected off of Brunak's tough hide. The shot wasn't a complete waste however, after it hit Brunak, it struck one of the Obsidian Guards in the eye.
Abruptly Brunak was upon them. Blasts from Major Q10's weapons slowed it however. Brunak stumbled and tripped over the limp husk of X17. Danus finished him off with his spear while Carr fired two shots into the other creature's head, silencing it.
The fire, which had scattered at the approach of Brunak and his rider, returned. This time however, when they died, they died permanently. In a few more minutes, the now party of four were all that still lived in the vicinity.
Carr looked down at Major X17. Even in death, he had helped their party. There would be no time to bury him however, they had a mission to complete. The party stowed their weapons and continued toward the mountain that Q10 had pointed out.

Orcs Blade

Spoiler Alert!

The Talisman of Thor

Major V4 halted, a mechanical hand snapping into the air above his shoulder as he signaled his battalion to halt. Its artificial brain processed its surroundings in an instant, recognizing that there was a high probability of ambush, given the easy cover of the heavy brush on either side of the winding path that they were following. Its battalion was going on a top secret mission through this jungle, attempting to reach the Volcarren Wasteland, a desolate, rocky area in which only lizards could survive. His objective was the Talsiman of Thor. This artifact was a necklace from the ancient times, a symbol of ultimate power. His master, Vydar, sought this talisman, for with it, he could dominate Utgar. Had V4’s mind contained the capability of true thought, it might have wondered what would happen to the other Valkyrie Generals if Vydar obtained this relic. Its scanners could detect no threat from the small life-forms in the surrounding brush, but it nevertheless turned to one of its Lieutenants and ordered “Be prepared for an ambush”. Its voice was cold and emotionless. But then, it always was. The battalion marched on over the trampled ground, ignoring mosquitoes and other such pests.

The robotic battalion rounded a corner in the bend, and finally saw the end of the jungle. No one cheered. It was not in their programming. At the edge of the jungle, Major V4’s hand snapped up again, signaling a halt. Its computerized mind told it that there ought to have been an ambush by now, that the other Generals would not just step aside and let Vydar obtain this powerful weapon. Major V4 swiveled its robotic head from side to side, assessing the terrain. Up until the wasteland, there were still sporadic clumps of brush that could potentially hide enemies. Then there was the wasteland itself. There could be no ambush there. There could be nothing that could live there. Toxic fumes floated through the air, poisoning the nearby brush so that it had receded away from the wasteland. Pools of molten lava littered the surface of the wasteland, and a false step spelled certain doom. Major V4 brought his hand down, signaling his units forward. They marched forward once more. Nothing happened. His troops reached the wasteland unchecked, and, not stopping to wonder why, Major V4 marched on.

Three soulbourgs had been lost to the lava pools, but Major V4 could sense the nearness of the Talisman. An aura of power seemed to lie about this place, discouraging would-be-treasure hunters from approaching. The major didn’t care. It didn’t have enough emotion to care. Suddenly, it heard a fizzling sound, and Major V4 turned to investigate. One of the soulbourgs in the third rank had lava splattered across its visor. It twitched once, collapsed to its knees, and fell, rolling down a small slope and landing in a pool of lava, sinking beneath the surface in an instant. Major V4’s gun came up as he searched for the source of the assault. “Ambush,” his voice told his units emotionlessly. More lava was flung out of niches in the rock, and more soulbourgs began to fall. “Fire” came the command. The robots began firing immediately, though they had no target. Then, suddenly, they did. Black and red humanoid shapes began running out of the rocks at them, sprinting toward the robots throwing lava. The robots instantly wiveled their guns towards these foes and took aim. There was nothing to aim at. As soon as the guns came to bear on them, the creatures seemed to disappear into the lava. Confused, the robots began to search for new targets, but the creatures sprang out of the lava and sprinted at them again. Major V4 fired, fired again, but every time, the creature seemed to drop out of sight right before the Major fired. Then the creatures were on them, tackling soulbourgs, their lava skins rubbing of on the robots and melting their circuitry. Within moments, Major V4 saw its command being obliterated. It turned away from the battle and moved on towards the feeling of power, firing its grenade launcher indiscriminately where he saw movement. All that mattered was the talisman. Major V4 could see the creatures closing in on it, and it began to sprint forward, spraying bullets and explosives everywhere. The creatures seemed to ignore these, running towards it with a renewed urgency. It sprinted on, the creatures closing in around him. Then, suddenly, they weren’t. They weren’t there. It looked back and saw them picking up chunks of lava. It sprinted faster and faster, and then it stumbled. As it tumbled forward towards the lava, an outstretched hand caught hold of something and pulled. Suddenly it stopped falling. It got up and looked at its hand. It was clutching a necklace etched with runes, but Major V4 spent no time dwelling on its mysterious beauty. It looked up at the creatures and saw them cowering, staring at the talisman in his hand. It confidently walked forward towards them, and they parted down the middle to make way for it, apparently to awed to attack. Major V4’s mechanical features would have born a smile, had they been able. Finally, Vydar would have the power and respect he deserved. He would rule the world, and every world. This thought was interrupted by a burning sensation in his hand. It looked at it with mingled curiosity and fear. Its hand was coated in lava. One of the creatures had gathered the courage and thrown lava at the talisman. Major V4 wasn’t worried. With the talisman, he could not die. Then the hand fell off, taking the talisman with it. Major V4 had only time to think that that couldn’t be good when he felt a burning sensation in his head, and then, blackness. His last thought was that Vydar might not rule after all.

[Kaemon Awa 123]

Week 2 - May 2, 2011

Utgar seeks to recruit a mighty Swog leader, Nerak, rumored to be living in the northern region of Thaelek. Tell the story of the three Swog Riders and their mounts that were dispatched to find Nerak!

Dadnarg434 - 1st place

Spoiler Alert!

With a shriek of pure, untamed rage, the snow-filled hurricane tore at the three miserable travelers. They rode in close formation, in a futile attempt to shield one another from the fury of the blizzard. Normally, such orcs wouldn’t come within a dozen yards of each other while out on a mission. Their mutual suspicions of each other saw to that.
Yet all that was abruptly changed by the storm.
Tarl grimaced, as the cold passed through his body in waves, setting every nerve of is body a tingle with pain. He looked up briefly, only to have his eyes blasted shut by the mini ice shards that constantly whipped around them. He went to raise his hand to block the wind, only to find that the cold had frozen his fist around the reins of his Swog. With difficulty, he wrenched it free and used it to shield his eyes. Looking up once again, he glanced over at the companions that rode along aside him. Neither was in good condition. Gore, the orc that rode on the left, shouted out suddenly over the howl of the wind. "Blood and rats!" he cursed harshly. "We’ll be dead afore we find ‘em."
"Shut yer gob!" Sharg, on Tarl’s right, bellowed back. He made as if to spit on the ground, but the wind blew his spray onto his hand, where the intense cold froze it solid. He cursed loudly, and rubbed at his skin to clear away the ice. He glared past Tarl at Gore, and yelled: "What are we supposed to do? Dig a hole and wait till this spawn of a storm has passed?"
"If it would help keep us from freezin solid!" Gore snapped.
"Oh! And I supposed yer gonna be the one to start digging through ten feet a ice?"
"I don’t see you comin up with any good plans!"
"Shut it, the both of you!" Tarl roared in anger. "We find him. That’s the orders, got it?"
"And what if we cant find him?" Gore asked angrily.
"Then you can go back to Utgar and tell em you gave up because of the weather. See what he says."
Silence greeted this answer, and they continued to ride on without speaking. Their Swog mounts were in slightly better condition. With the harsh bonds they shared, however, the mounts could feel the pain their riders felt. They bore it in silence, trudging steadily on through the snow.
Hours later, and still no change. They had left the open plain, and were now moving through a maze of massive, ice monoliths. The group marched steadily on, fighting cold and hunger with every step. Tarl’s eyes began to grow heavy, and he slumped lower and lower on his Swog.
The sudden rush of panic from his Swog filled Tarl’s mind a minute too late. His head jerked up as his Swog suddenly plunged downward. His companions gave loud cries as their mounts pitched forward too. Struggling to stay in place, Tarl grasped the reins in a death grip as they hurtled forward. They were on some huge, long slide of ice, as it twisted and turned and plunged down. They were moving incredibly fast: the wind whipped by with such force, Tarl was unable to keep his eyes open. His Swog struggled uselessly to find some grip in the frictionless, icy track.
The downward rush halted suddenly, as the track ended. The three riders and mounts were flung out onto an open clearing. They smashed into the ground, and went sliding out across it. Tarl grimaced as he realized that they were on a frozen lake. They slid across the frozen water, slowly coming to a stop. The Swogs carefully got to their feet, and their riders scanned the area around them. Tarl was about to speak to his fellow riders…
When he saw him. Not then yards away, he sat on a Swog of white fur. His armor was dull silver, in place of the usually bright bronze armor Grok riders wore. He sat perfectly at ease, watching them.
Tarl urged his Grok forward a pace, and called out:
"Greetings, Nerak, of the Thaelek Tundra. I am Tarl, Captain of the Northern Swog Riders. We come for Utgar, and he asks if you will join his ranks in his war against the enemy generals. Will you?"
Nerak remained motionless, surveying them.
Tarl frowned, and bellowed out again: "I am Utgar’s Captain! Answer me!"
Nerak stared back impassively, then spoke: "I serve who I please. No half grown squib goes around shouting demands at me."
Tarl snarled, and urged his Grok forward. "Your coming with us, either ridding………. or being dragged along."
Nerak smiled, slow and lazily. "Really?"
With a roar, Tarl spurned his Grok into a charge. Covering the ground in an instant, his sword swept out in a deadly arc… and hit nothing. Nerack’s Grok had simply stepped aside, and Tarl went sliding past him. Cursing loudly, Tarl turned his mount around, and charged again. Once again, Nerak’s Swog neatly step-sided the wild attack, and Tarl missed again. Tarl bellowed in anger. "Fight, coward!" Nerak’s eyes narrowed.
Tarl’s Swog leapt forward a third time, rushing forward with fury. As Tarl raised his blade, Nerak’s hand dropped to his hilt. With a scream of victory, Tarl swung down.
In that instant, Nerak’s sword whipped out, deflecting it to the side. As Tarl skidded past, staggering slightly in surprise, he felt a sudden, agonizing pain across his back. Howling, he fell from his Swog, which turned snarling at Nerak. With a contemptuous thrust, he slew it. The two other riders gave loud cries, and rushed forward. Nerak turned his Swog around, eyeing them coolly.
From where he lay on the ground, bleary with pain, Tarl watched as the Orc Champion ruthlessly killed his two companions, all with the same, lazy ease. As the final Swog crumpled slowly, Nerak turned around, and dismounted.
With a surge of energy, Tarl scrambled up, grabbing his sword. As Nerak advanced toward him, Tarl shouted in desperation: "Utgar can give you power and command. You can become a conqueror under him!"
A couple steps away, Nerak paused. In a calm, quiet voice, he spoke. "I told you not to shout at me." With a rush of movement, he leapt forward. Tarl’s blade leapt up in defense. Steel met steel in a clash, rapidly followed by two more fast, harsh clangs. Then Tarl looked down numbly, as his sword when clattering away, his hand still attached to it. Nerak twirled his sword, surveying his weaponless opponent. After a second, he said, "You know what, I’ve changed my mind. I will serve Utgar."
Tarl looked up with sudden hope.
Then Nerak leapt forward and drove his blade through Tarl’s chest. Tarl gasped, and sunk to the ground slowly. Nerak stared down for a moment, then withdrew his sword. He crouched down and stared into Tarl’s fading eyes.
"But not with you as my Captain."

bumper15 - 2nd place

Spoiler Alert!

An Icy Allegiance

Grulk sat upon his Swog and gazed across the icy landscape that was the Thaelenk Tundra. Utgar had sent him and his two companions, Druuk and Wrosh, on an expedition a week prior to find the renegade orc Nerak. Nerak had been the first creature summoned to Valhalla by Utgar, but a mistake duet to ignorance had resulted in the Swog Rider being teleported away from the wellspring. After years of searching, Utgar had finally pinned down his location.
The three Riders had no desire to find Nerak, but they feared Utgar's punishment more than they feared Nerak. Nerak had been the best Swog Rider of the Grut army back on their home planet, but his wild tendencies, even for an orc, had led to his banishment. He had eventually returned with an army loyal to him, and only his death at the hands of Grimnak had ended the civil war.
A sound startled Grulk out of his thoughts, he searched the wasteland and saw nothing. The wind had been playing tricks on the three of them for the three days they had been their. They were running out of food as well, it wouldn't be long until they had to give up the search and face Utgar's wrath.
"We needs to set up camp. The swogs are near exhaustion," growled Wrosh in the guttural language of the orcs.
"Alright then," Grulk responded in the same language, "Druuk!" He turned to look towards Druuk who had been unusually silent. Grulk was shocked to discover that Druuk had been missing. "Druuk!" he shouted again.
"Probably has collapsed in the snow a ways back," Wrosh said calmly, "Don't worry 'bout 'im. You 'ad the food and I 'ad the blankets, all 'e carried was the tents, we can huddle wit' the swogs. This way, there be more food fer us."
Grulk nodded in agreement, the Tundra was vast, and the piles of snow constantly changed the landscape. Druuk was probably buried in a foot of snow by now. Quickly they gathered their things and lit a fire. In minutes, they were both asleep huddled with their mounts.
The next morning, or what Grulk considered morning among the constant grey of the sky, Grulk awoke and found that Wrosh had already gotten up since he was no longer where he had been the night before. Grulk stood up and readied his mount. He looked across the landscape and saw a shape lying in the snow. He led his swog towards the form and saw that it was Wrosh, lying facedown, dead in the snow.
The poor thing must have rolled from the fire and froze, Grulk thought to himself. He bent down to roll the body over and take its moneybag when he saw a pool of blood under it. Grulk dropped the body, jumping back and drawing his knife."
"What are you doing in my domain?" an invisible voice asked, seemingly from a close distance.
"I 'ave come lookin' for a orc by the name Nerak," Grulk shouted, spinning around.
"Then you've found him," a mass rose from the snow, and, sure enough, there stood Nerak on a white swog. "What do you want with me?" Nerak asked in a low voice.
"My Lord Utgar, 'as requested you join 'is army to conquer Val'alla."
"That is an interesting proposition you have their," Nerak replied. Quick as a flash, Nerak's knife was out and in the stomach of Grulk, "You may send my answer to Utgar."
Grulk collapsed dead on the snow. Nerak took a few minutes to prepare the body and then mounted it on Grulk's swog and sent it off into the snow.

Utgar sat in his throneroom, waiting impatiently for news of the rogue swog to reach him. The rush of running feet caught his attention and the doors opened, one of his guards ran in.
"My lord, there is something here that you must see."
"Well bring it in!" Utgar roared.
The minion bowed and hurried out. A few minutes later he returned leading a sickly thin swog. On the swog's back was one of the orcs he had sent on the expedition. Utgar came down from his throne and looked at the creature. It had been dead for days, but the sight that caught Utgar's attention was what was on its chest.
Carved into the orc's chest was one word, Yes. Utgar smiled wickedly, he liked his new soldier already.

BassistofDoom - 3rd place

Spoiler Alert!

Just find him! These stern, harsh words rung in the ears of Grabnak as he and two other Orcs trudged through the icy desert. They could not leave this cold prison until they found a great warlord by the name of Nerak, or otherwise they would face the wrath of the soulless demon Utgar, who’s heart was as frozen and empty as the Thaelenk Tundra. “Where is Nerak be anyway?” complained Urgdok. “We never get out of here alive!” Grabnak shot Urgdok a menacing look as he brandished his dagger. “We follow orders, and orders say find Nerak. Now shut up, or I gut you like pig!” Urgdok kept quiet, scowling at Grabnak with pointy rotten teeth sticking out in front of his upper lip. Meanwhile, a dark figure clinging to the ground above them listened in on every word that was spoken. “I see! I see!” yelled Osituk, the third Orc who had remained silent until then. “Ahead!” Osituk pointed a crooked finger at a silhouette in the distance ahead of them that was barely visible in the heavy snowfall. It was larger than a normal human or Orc but had the stature of one, so they knew it was not the one they sought. “Not him!” scolded Grabnak, but in a matter of seconds the figure that was in the distance now stood staring at him face to face.

Grabnak noticed that this figure was a lot taller than he was and had piercing red eyes which would have frightened any other warrior but himself. “RAAHHH!!!!” shouted Grabnak as he ripped out his dagger and plunged it into the creature’s chest. It staggered back, with its white fur now becoming stained with blood. It was obviously dying, but more now took its place. Osituk drew his bow and fired, striking one in the head and causing it to plummet off of a cliff. Urgdok charged with his axe and started swinging, chopping off whatever limbs got in the way of his jagged blade. Grabnak whirled around to find another yeti about to deliver a bone crushing hit, but Grabnak was simply too quick and slashed a deep cut across the its chest. While the creature staggered back, Grabnak struck again with his dagger before finishing the creature with a hard kick to the chest which sent it falling backwards onto a sharp rock, which impaled the yeti. “RAAHHH!!!” yelled Grabnak while hoisting his blade above his head in a victory gesture. The three warriors took a moment to celebrate their kills before starting to move again. “Still must find Nerak!” stated Grabnak to remind the orcs of their mission.

The three Orcs continued through the nearly blinding snowstorm that now consumed Thaelenk Tundra. However, neither Grabnak nor Urgdok noticed Osituk, the last man in line, fall to the ground with blood spurting from a stab wound in his back. His body was quickly lifted and thrown over the edge of a steep cliff nearby before the hidden assailant stalked the two remaining Orcs further. “Does Utgar give knowledge of where Nerak be?” asked Urgdok. “So why would you want to know where Nerak is?” the figure trailing them spoke and alerted the two to the disappearance of Osituk. “You kill Osituk!” shouted Urgdok, preparing to swing his axe.

“Stop! You Nerak?” asked Grabnak, holding out a hand to stop Urgdok from attacking. “Why yes. That is me. Why do you ask?” Grabnak’s voice faltered. “Utgar have mission for you. You need to fight. Come?” He could see Nerak’s expression turn to one of anger, but he held it back. “No. No I don’t believe I will, but when you get to him, send him this personal message from me will you?” And with that Nerak grabbed a short knife and launched it at Urgdok, striking him in between the eyes, causing him to collapse in a pool of blood. Then, with one last look of contempt at Grabnak, Nerak vanished.

The Grim Reaper's Friend

Spoiler Alert!

The moon was bright against the dark sky, and shone down on the water. A light breeze rippled the surface, causing the reflection of the moon to waver. There was no sound in the night sky, and the moon looked down on the silent, peaceful scene.

The air was cold, and cut through the many layers of armor and leather of the three orcs. Icebergs floated silently past, and occasionally bumped against the side of the boat, creating a grinding sound as they slid past. A lone lantern, although it was utterly useless in the bright light cast by the moon, flickered and wavered in the cool night air

The trio of orcs did not speak. They lay quietly in the front of the boat, while their three mounts shifted restlessly in the back. They had been sent by Utgar on a mission of secrecy, a quest to find the mighty leader of the Swog, Nerak. They had almost reached their destination, the icy region of the Thaelink Tundra, and were even now nearing its frigid boarders.


……

The three orcs had been scouring the tundra for four hours now. They had found plenty: frozen beasts, frozen warriors, frozen grass, frozen water. And now they had finally found the frozen tracks of one of their mounts.

One of the swogs, Grek, leapt down from his saddle to have a closer look. He was not used to the cold and the snow, and the icy wind, which had by now picked up, stung his face. Shielding his eyes, he peered at the tracks, trying to discern how long ago they had been made. His expert hunter’s eyes quickly picked out details too intricate for a human to observe. He rose, but kept his back bent because of the wind. “It’s Nerak,” he shouted to the other two swogs. “He was here only two hours ago.”

The leader of the Swog band, Krell, nodded his head and motioned forward. Grek had one leg over the side of his mount, when he heard a crunch. Then he heard it again. He unhooked his lantern and leapt back down into the snow to have a look. As his feet touched the puffy white flakes, they made the same crunching sound, only smaller.

The crunch came again, this time much closer. Grek thought he could see a face through the small flakes that were beginning to float down through the blackness, but he couldn’t be sure. It looked just like another wall of ice. He came closer, reached out his hand, and touched it. It was ice. Yet, with a little imagination, he could almost see a face in that ice…

A high pitched scream broke the night air. Krell held up his gloved hand and looked back. Grek was not behind them. He turned his mount about, and headed into the swirling snow. Before he had gone five feet, the form of Grek, his arms flailing with panic, careened past him. Krell saw him slip and fall, heard a crack, and then a splash followed by a high-pitched gasp only an orc could make. He turned back to face the direction that Grek had come from, and saw a hideous head staring at him. It seemed to be carved from ice, but then it moved. First a massive chest appeared, and then long spiky arms, followed by two legs that almost as thick as pillars.

Krell had never seen such a creature, but he assumed it to be an enemy, and signaled his companion to charge. Together they drew out their swords and prepared to rush the beast. Krell, just as he came within striking distance of the creature, felt a sharp point of ice pierce his armor, lift him off his mount, and then throw him on the ground. His companion was luckier, and dodged the icy spikes, but was soon felled by a mighty blow to the head. Krell leapt up and lashed out at the creature with his sword. He got lucky and managed to strike the beast, but it soon delivered such a blow to his stomach that his legs gave way beneath him and he toppled like a pile of bricks.

Grek meanwhile, had climbed out of the water, and now charged the beast, his sword encrusted with ice. He ducked under the massive arms and dealt the creature such a blow that it fell over backwards and landed in the snow. He leapt on top of it to finish it, but was thrown back by what seemed to be the air.

Indeed, a small form glided through the air and smote Grek in the ribs. Its touch was like that of a blast of air, and it flew through the snow as if it were part of the air that surrounded it. Grek took a swipe at it as it flew past, but his blade went straight through it without harming it in the least. He leapt up so that he could try again, but was reminded of the giant ice creature behind him as it sliced open his back with a shard of ice. Grek fell to the snowy ground. As his mind clouded over, his last thought was that Utgar would need to send more than three to this accursed place to find Nerak.

Tornado

Spoiler Alert!

Exhaustion was taking its toll on the trio. Each breath was like icy needles in their lungs. The sun refracting off the snow of the vast tundra was stinging the eyes of the mounted orcs. The swogs were not accustomed to this environment. Heads hung low and shallow breaths were warning signs their steeds were suffering from hypothermia and starvation. Two weeks they have searched this bleak land and their supplies have run out. Verak, leader of the group held up a fur pelt covered hand.
"This has gone far enough. I will not let us die out here in a mad search for Nerak. Orcs should die in battle."
The other two nodded in agreement though they would have agreed if Verak had said to continue on. Orcs are great for following orders, as long as they have a strong leader and Verak was a beast. He had whipped the Swog Riders into shape and turned them into a crack unit for Utgar. He was using them to support the lowly orc archers known as the Arrow Gruts. Together they were a force to be reckoned with.
Utgar was pleased but wanted more. Rumors circled around that Verak's brother was somewhere in Thaelek and his orders were to bring him back to join Utgar.
Verak still remembered his brother's words when the war broke out.
"Orcs should be ruled by orcs! Not by some winged things that pretend to be gods." He never saw Nerak again.
"Let's go home, we have...." Verak's words were lost in thought as he spied a dark form appear on a gently rising hill. Suddenly the heads of the swogs lifted nostrils flaring catching an undesirable scent. The air was noticeably colder and fear clouded two pairs of the orc eyes.
"Nilfheim, scatter!" shouted Verak to his already fleeing companions. It was too late. A dark shadow engulfed them and they knew they were at the full mercy of the Ice Dragon.
Nilfheim rains icy hell from above. Verak cringes upon witnessing his friend shredded by razor sharp jagged shards of ice. The dragon king's breath weapon was terrifying to behold. Few have lived to tell the tale. Verak feared he would not be one as he is knocked off his mount by a blast of frozen death. All is black...

Regaining conciousness Verak found himself unable to see and very weak. He was riding with another on a swog he was certain. Thorak must have escaped and saved him. Sensing his movement his savior speaks, "Hold on brother, I have discovered a WellSpring, it is not far."

Elven Lord

Spoiler Alert!

Heruk sat his swog with ease, completely balanced upon his mount. No amount of twisting and turning of the swog would unseat him. He was an extension of the other creature. Such was the nature of the relationship between rider and beast. Hands callused and hardened by a life of war held the reins carefully but not tightly as the swog trotted carefully over the forbidding ice. Heruk's companions had taken different routes to the rendezvous point as marked on their maps.
How he would ever find the rendezvous point in this forgotten place never crossed Heruk's mind. His people had been using this place as a hideaway for months before Utgar found them. That was just after the accident. Yes that was it. Heruk could remember now. He and his warriors had been out on a raiding mission. They had just finished massacring the population of a town when they were summoned. Somewhere in the quantum between their worlds someone had interfered. The interference landed them in the middle of this misbegotten place.
That person was another Orc. Heruk hadn't known that there could have possibly been orcs elswhere but there were. This Orc was called Nerak. He was the last of the Thaelenk Orcs. He had been lonely well lonely-Heruk decided-wasn't the correct term for this ambitious warlord. He had taught them the art of riding Swogs. Swogs were an unknown creature until they arrived. Nerak had whipped them into shape taught them the ways of the swog and turned them into a fighting force. Then Utgar stole Heruk and his companions by summoning them a second time. This time Nerak was caught of guard and didn't make it to the quantum cave to interfere again.
Why were they here now and under Utgar's orders? Utgar simply brainwashed all of them. Once he was sure of their loyalty he sent them out to recruit Nerak. They were the only ones who knew the tundra well enough.
"but Utgar knows nothing!" said Heruk triumphantly, "he may think he has our loyalty but we will always be loyal to Nerak! And Nerak alone!" he yelled into the freezing afternoon air.
Heruk leapt to the ground. He slipped up a little and his swog quickly moved to support him. "Another thing Utgar doesn't know he thought, "most people take one look at a swog and think brainless eating machine," patting it's nose, "but they would never guess how great and loyal companion they can be. You have great initiative dont you?" he said to his swog, feeling a little foolish.
Heruk crouched low to the ground. His ears picking up every slightest bit of movement. He pinched some ice and put it on his tongue. Immediately his factory cells in his mouth scented and tasted, leather, sweat, and well ice. He spat it out. The stuff could have been three days old.
"Your tracking is improving."
Heruk started at the sound. He turned around but did not draw his blade for he knew who it was.
"And yours are as acute as ever Elder Nerak." he said to the grizzeled elder before him, "My swog never noticed you."
"Oh he noticed me alright."
"why didn't he give warning?"
"I told him not to."
"Of course elder Nerak."
"You forgot for a moment that I raised these swogs from pups." Neraks own older Swog with white fur and the same grizzeled appearance appeared dragging a stag.
"They also make great hunters and that's good because I'm--" his stomach finished the sentence for him. The other two swog riders trotted in and greeted their old friend with enthusiasm. Much clapping of arms and guttural guffaws at lousy orcish jokes.
"Where are the rest?"
"Coming Lord Nerak, but slowly. Utgar doesn't want to give us up so they will arrive in threes as wee did. Any who were with them will report missing in action. Those who await their turn will commit random acts of kindness to devalue ourselves in Utgar's eyes. When we ate total in force there will be enough of us to reek havoc."
"Ah a more beautiful word was never spoken. This is good news come I will show you to the camp. I fond hydrothermal vents. The area is warm enough for the swogs comfort as well as ours."
The minions of Nerak mounted and rode deeper into the unforgiving Thaelenk Tundra.

[Kaemon Awa 123]

Week 3 - May 8, 2011

"Chosen amongst the armies of the alliance, a selected hero has been given a daunting task. One few could hope to accomplish. He, (or she) must succesfully enter Cyprien Essewien's Castle and recover something............precious that Cyprien has stolen. And then escape, of course. Hopefully alive. "

Orcs Blade - 1st place

Spoiler Alert!

The black bulk of an enormous castle loomed up in front of the three travelers, indomitable and impenetrable. Gloomy mists hung at eye sight as they trudged along through the marshes. Lord Cyprien Essenwein had truly chosen a harsh landscape for his palace. “I need to get the name of his decorator”, Free commented, brushing aside a crumpled vine as he slid on through the trees, effortlessly covering distance, wraithlike in the full moon. Tom shot him a single, quelling glance before moving on. Kate, who was not quite as strict, gave him an amused smile. Those were not there real names, of course. The Krav Maga never use their real names when on assignment. Their actual names might remind them of what they have to lose, and make them more cautious than necessary. That was unacceptable. The mission that now required them to cease usage of their names was vitally important to the allied generals. Cyprien had ghosted deep into the heart of the allied realms and stolen military plans from the palace of Ullar, leaving seven dead elves behind to remind Ullar of his failure. Those documents showed the positions and suggested movements of all the allied forces. As they moved, Utgar was coming to review them. Cyprien had not opened the documents, as far as they knew. One of Jandar’s mages had intercepted a psi-telegram from Utgar, ordering Cyprien not to open it until he arrived. The Krav Maga had approximately two hours before the demonic Valkyrie arrived. They must not fail.

The three agents arrived outside Cyprien’s castle, shambling across the moat under a thick coating of makeup and costuming that showed them as zombies. Once under the cover of the gate itself, Tom, the most senior, pulled out a grappling hook. He took a quick, careful step outside the shelter of the gate and fired almost straight up. He felt the hook catch hold. The three agents swarmed up the wall, feeling very exposed, and hunched gratefully under the meager cover of the battlements. A skeleton guard came strolling by, and a blackjack swung in the moonlight. The guard crumpled, and Free stepped up into the space where the guard had been, pacing back and forth as though nothing was wrong. He strolled across the wall, and came to a stop by the keep, leaning on the wall. His companions soon joined him. They slipped noiselessly through a window into the shadowed interior of the keep, and moved towards the center. Kate, who was in the lead, motioned the others to stop as she reached a door, which was slightly ajar. She sneaked a look around the door, and then looked back at her companions, her face pale in the dim light.
She leaned forward, whispering “There’s plenty of them”.
The grim-faced Tom replied with the motto of the Krav Maga. “Non est defectus optio.” Failure is not an option.
Kate nodded grimly and they moved into the room quietly, spreading out so they would less easily be seen. On the other side of the room, about twenty skeletons were encircling Cyprien as he paced back and forth, staring hungrily at the un-opened parchment on the table in front of him. Suddenly, he stiffened, turning to look straight at Free. A grin of malicious delight spread across his face. “We have company,” he said softly. As one, the skeletons turned to face them.
“Go!” Tom yelled, pulling out his gun and shooting Cyprien in the forehead as he sprinted forward. It wouldn’t kill Cyprien, but it would sure hurt. The Krav Maga agents blasted their way through the crowd of zombies, fighting there way towards the scroll.Free heard a strangled yell off to his left and saw Cyprien hunched over the limp form of Kate. Cyprien looked up, twisted glee in his eyes and blood in his mouth. He lunged forward at Free, who dived out of his way, bringing up his gun for a shot. He fired from the ground, but missed as Cyprien continued his lunge right into Tom. Tom didn’t have time to scream, such was the speed of the fiend. Free backed away as Cyprien advanced slowly, taking his time as he moved in for the final kill. The remaining skeletons formed a circle around Free and Cyprien, boxing Free in. Free risked a glance over his shoulder and saw the battle plans lying on the table, which was right behind him. Carefully, not making any sudden moves, his left hand swung around and he pulled the plans off of the table. Cyprien laughed. “And what, my young hero,” he asked, “do you plan to do with that?” Free dropped his gun to the floor. Cyprien’s eyes narrowed, searching for the trick. Free stared bleakly at him as his right hand pulled a lighter from under his coat. He flicked it on, crumpling the battle plans and holding them to it. Cyprien screamed in rage and flung himself forward, but it was to late. The plans were gone. The allies were safe.

Non est defectus optio.

The Grim Reaper's Friend - 2nd place

Spoiler Alert!

A thick bank of clouds had covered the moon from view. Its rays were obscured and now no longer lit the path. There wasn’t a breath of wind, and the darkness of night seemed to close in about the four wolves.
They had been following the path for nearly two days. They were common wolves, native to Feylund and protectors of the wood. Normally they would be fighting elves at this time, trying to eradicate them from the trees, but the invaders had changed hands, and now desperate measures were needed.
The elves’ stronghold at the edge of the forest had been attacked and razed by the forces of the evil vampire Cyprien Esenwein. They had completely demolished the fortress, slaughtered all of the elves, and proceeded to burn the surrounding forest. The wolves were glad that the elves were finally gone. But when the charred scent of the burnt trees of their forest reached them, they vowed to track down all those responsible.
The war had gone badly. The wolves had lost every encounter, no matter how small or large. Cyprien’s forces were delving deeper into the forest, burning and killing as they went. Most of them were nearly impossible to kill, and they killed a wolf whenever they saw one.
The wolves had been driven to the point of desperation. If something was not done soon, the horde of skeletons and vampires that Cyprien had sent against them would soon overrun the forest, and the wolves with it.
Therefore, the wolves had chosen to make a bold move. They could easily elude the forces of the undead; it was only in open combat that they were defeated. Since they had this one advantage over the undead, the wolves decided to strike at Cyprien himself. Cyprien could hardly expect an attack against himself, and with his army deep within the forest, he would not be guarded as vigilantly as usual.
However, a large party of wolves could not be spared. Only four had been selected, and it was these four who now so stealthily proceeded towards the black hulk which was Cyprien’s castle.
Ten minutes later, after slipping past a sleeping skeleton, which was an odd sight, they arrived at the moat. The water was black, and had a foul stench. A thick white mist hung above it, giving it an eerie look. The lead wolf, a wise veteran who had seen many battles and who was known by the name of Nargshir, examined the water. It was thick and black, and stank of death. There was, however, no other way to the castle, and Nargshir, followed by his three companions slipped silently into the water and struck out for the other side. Almost immediately one of the wolves was grabbed by a rotten black arm and dragged under…
The three wolves, covered in black slime, clambered out on the opposite side of the bank. The walls rose straight up from where they stood, and no loose brick or crack was to be found in it. They skirted around its edge until they came to the closed drawbridge. There, digging their claws into the wood, they scaled it, pried it open about a foot using three metal bars, and slipped inside. The same strange white mist hovered a foot or two above the cold stone floor, obscuring their feet as they walked out of the gatehouse…
After a skirmish with two skeleton guards, the remaining two wolves crept quietly down a hall towards an open door from which candle light spilled. The door was open only a few inches, but the thin, cold voice of Cyprien was clearly audible to Nargshir and his companion.
“I want them dead, captain,” it said coldly, in a slow tone that lingered on each word and etched it with venom. “Every one of them.”
Nargshir and his companion edged up to the door, and Nargshir placed his paw on it, ready to fling it open.
“The wolves must be destroyed,” said the voice of Cyprien, quicker this time. “I leave none of my victims alive.”
A new voice answered him, “I’m sorry, my lord. I only thought… perhaps you would wish to…”
“No!” shrieked Cyprien. “I conquer to kill, not to bless.”
Nargshir froze at these words. They seemed strange coming from a vampire.
“I understand, my lord,” rejoined the other voice. “I will leave none alive.”
Nargshir was about to spring into the room, when the door suddenly opened, and the young vampire whom Cyprien had addressed as captain came out. He froze when he saw the two wolves, and then lunged at Nargshir. Nargshir drew from his belt a sturdy sliver of wood, and was about to thrust it into the vampire, when his companion, without warning, flew at him. The vampire, taken off his guard, stumbled under the weight of the wolf, who was fumbling for one of his own wooden slivers. The vampire was, however, too quick for the wolf, and plunged a dagger which he drew from his belt in his back. The young wolf lurched backwards, stumbled, and then fell to the floor, a thin trickle of blood coming from his mouth.
Nargshir wasted no time in mourning the loss of his companion. Without a second’s hesitation, he plunged the sliver of wood full into the vampire’s heart. The vampire looked confusedly at Nargshir a moment, and then fell over backwards, to land with a dull thud on the cold floor.
Nargshir bounded into the room, another sliver of wood ready in his paw. The look Cyprien gave him, however, froze him in his tracks.
Cyprien simply stared coldly at him for a moment. Then, in a soft, slow voice, he said, “You will pay for the death of my captain.” As he spoke these words, he pulled from the folds of his cloak two long daggers, each glistening in the candlelight.
Nargshir looked thoughtfully at the blades. The last time he had fought a powerful foe single-handedly had been in a different land far, far away. Now he was confronted with a different foe, a powerful foe, a foe that could easily kill him, given the chance. Nargshir relished moments like these. They were the moments that every wolf lived for: a chance to fight a worthy foe in single combat.
With a fierce and loud growl, Nargshir leapt at the vampire. Cyprien smiled an evil smile as he saw the wolf come towards him. His daggers drew circles in the air, eager for the scent of the wolf’s blood. The battle had begun…

Elven Lord - 3rd place

Spoiler Alert!

The Ashen Mere was silent under the pale light of the full moon. Slink and his escort ran tirelessly through the swamp, there feet making no sound against the soft earth. An owl hooted high above, and then was silent. It had been twenty years since they had driven the orcs from their lands. Peace reigned supreme in the still swamp that the naga race called home. All man all snake these creatures were once again the supreme beings, fierce in war, but relishing peace the naga had the adaptability and vitality to survive. A naga’s true form may never be known, but they enjoy both their humanoid and their snake forms. Slink held up his hand and the escort halted.
“Sssslink, why have you sssstopped? It is only a mile yet to reach the village.”
“Ssssilence Chuka.” Chuka obediently fell silent, then looked up suddenly eyes wide and wary. “You sssense it too?”
“Yesss my lord.”
“I’m afraid we may not be the firssst onessss there. Hurry!”
The escort took off after Slink. As they neared the village they heard it to. Screams of terror, wales of children, yelling, and groaning of the wounded and dying, but accompanying it was the most horrible sound. A cross between choking and snarling it was. Slink happened to look at the sky, “Dear Boahesu!” escaped his lips, “No!” He and his escort burst into the marshy town center weapons at the ready, but they were too late…
The clearing was silent as the tomb it had become. Bodies of the fallen were strewn upon the ground. Trees had been ripped up by their roots and the inhabitants living beneath it quickly slaughtered.
Eyes wide with horror and alarm Chuka spoke under his breath, “Just like when the orcsss attacked.”
“No Chuka. Thisss wasss not done by orcsss.”
“Who then?”
“I have a sssusspicion, but we will look for cluesss. I correct myssself. You will look for cluesss.”
“Where are you going?” Chuka asked, but Slink had already torn off in the direction of his dwelling. The other members of his escort and Chuka began searching.
Slink exploded into his den looking around wildly. Everything had been ransacked, doors had been ripped off hinges and flung across the dwelling. Slink raced into the child’s room, but there was no one on the covers. He flung them aside, and still nothing. He turned and ran breathing hard to his room looking around desperately. He was rushing out of the dwelling when he saw something sticking out from under the overturned table. It was an arm. Slink hurled the table aside, and there on the floor before him, pale as death, face frozen in horror, lay his wife Keisha. He sank to his knees, grasping her cold hand, and, pressing it too his lips, he began weeping. Sensing something he open his eyes and shook away the tears. He saw it now, minuscule as it was, Keisha’s belly was rising and falling ever so slightly. He ran to the door and called for Chuka, “Chuka get over here!”
Chuka came quickly, “Yess my lord?”
“Run for the sssnakebender quickly!” Chuka dashed off to the west without another word. The snakebender was living by himself at the far end of the Ashen Mere.
“Ssslink?” Keisha breathed weakly.
Slink rushed to her side again, “The sssnakebender isss coming. He can heal you.” He pulled her up and held her in his powerful arms. Her head drooped back, and her silky hair fell from it. Slink moved his hand to support it. “Who did this? Where is Aaron?”
“They got him.”
“Who’s they?”
“Esenwein.” She said, and passed out.
“Ssslink! Wolves!”
Slink looked up expecting to see them, but the naga who had called him, Dedrick, was waving a piece of light brown fur, “Nubiensss Ssslink. It was nubiens!”
“How’d they even…” then Slink remembered what Keisha had said. “Dedrick take care of her.”
“Yess ssir.”
Slink scrounged up whatever provisions he could, grabbed his bow, knives, sword, and an extra cloak, and raced off into the night in the direction of Cyprien’s castle.

He arrived earlier than he had expected, at the moat surrounding Cyprien’s fortress. It stood formidable against the night sky. A moat of mucky brown water surrounded it, and wolves patrolled the ramparts. Changing into a serpent Slink slithered easily across the moat. He rolled his elongated body in the mud to camoflauge himself. He was almost at the other side when he chanced a look behind him. He swore under his breath, “A barracuda. Of course he’s got a barracuda.” He changed into a sea snake dove to the side and delivered it a vicious bite to the gills injecting his potent venom into the creatures respiratory system. It sank below the surface. He changed into a boa constrictor and proceeded to slither up the wall of the fortress muttering something along the lines of, “Why do the generals spend so much time trying to get through the walls, when they could just go over the darn things?” He found a windowsill and curled on it, and as he turned his little loop he also turned into a king cobra. “So far so good.” He thought, “now I just have to find out where the heck they have my son and what they want with him.”
He plopped down onto the floor and proceeded to glide in the shadowed corner of the room. Suddenly a hand reached down and snatched him up by the head. He struggled and squirmed, a voice cackled, “Now what would a snake like you be doing in a castle like this? Hmm a common cobra—“
“King. King cobra…” thought Slink.
“You know it may have been wiser to pick a different way to be born,” another cackle, “Oh right you can’t control that now can you little fella? You realize I’m going to have to kill you don’t you?” then Slink realized that she had no idea that he was anything more than a cobra. She let out a surprised squeal as the cobra turned into a sidewinder breaking her grip and biting her nose. Then quickly her neck before she could make any other protest.
He transformed into a black rat snake, and proceeded to evacuate the vicinity. He crawled up a wall until he was eye level with a minion, “Where isss the new prisssoner?”
The minion captivated instantly by Slink’s hypnotic gaze quickly answered. Slink killed him then moved on. He found a qhoul with access to the chamber and she was delighted to bring him there. He killed her as well, “This is getting tiresome.”
“This is getting tiresome.” Repeated a voice from within, and Slink froze on the spot believing himself to have been spotted. However the creature who spoke was not speaking to him. He was pacing about in front of a raised table. That’s when Slink saw him. For the first time since he had left for his meeting with the other chiefs Slink saw his twelve year old son, but now his son was tied to a table with all manner of fiends about him.
Cyprien was speaking, “His father could be here any moment! I want to know what gives them their power!”
“My lord, their power does not appear to come from within.”
“Of course it does! Wear else could it come from unless…”
“You guessed it,” said Slink out loud, “A wellspring.”
“Yes I knew it!” shouted Cyprien with glee. Then he paused wondering who answered him. He scratched his head thinking, looked around, thinking, thinking, thinking, almost had it! Then it hit him…

The last things that the unwary Nubiens saw that night was two retreating backs in the distance. That night was the last one they saw...someone put sea snake poison in the water supply...I think...

BassistofDoom

Spoiler Alert!

The sound of heavy steel boots cracking twigs and leaves was all that echoed in the land of Morindan. Gabriel Forgione trudged through the thick forest that completely surrounded the black castle of Esenwein. Gabriel, however, would not stop for a moment before Jandar’s chalice was retrieved, for it was said to grant great wisdom to those who drank from it and he would not let such an important relic fall into evil hands. The Lord watched over Gabriel, and no foul creature from hell would stop him, for he was a warrior for Him: a paladin.

Gabriel stopped as he reached the edge of the forest. A bridge over a raging river separated him from the gate to this fortress of Satan. Suddenly, a decayed hand shot up from the dirt, followed by several more. Gabriel did not know how to react, so he simply drew his sword, who’s blade shown through the twilight. This was obviously some trick of Cyprien’s, but it would not be enough to stop him. Bodies and heads followed the outstretched hands and soon a dozen human corpses stood before him. “Begone demons!” he yelled, lifting his blade and bringing it down mightily on the first creature to challenge him. Its head split cleanly in two and black fluid poured out as it collapsed. Gabriel was quick to dispatch the rest of the beasts, who were no match for his strength. And so he stood in his shining, bloodstained armor, observing the castle and searching for a way to get inside. Then he noticed a small door on the side which seemed to be slightly open. Perhaps it was a service entrance that was left ajar. It seemed too easy though, as if Cyprien expected none to get this far. Gabriel picked up a rock and threw it onto the bridge, only to watch it cut right through it and sink into the river below. The bridge wasn’t there.

Gabriel watched in awe before picking up more rocks and tossing them out, with the same result. However, one stayed. Suddenly, Gabriel knew what to do. He grabbed rocks, pebbles, and twigs and carried them with him as he hopped off the edge of the ground and onto the same place the rock landed. He scattered the materials in his hands across the bridge until he noticed a pathway for him to get across. Although it took almost an hour, he sighed in relief as he stepped onto solid ground again. Wasting no time, he hurried in through the door and took his first step in Esenwein Castle. Instantly he felt an evil spirit weighing down on him, slowing him and clouding his mind. He said a short prayer but then continued on his way.
It was almost night, so he would have to hurry before Cyprien and Sonya woke up. Of course, that was hard when he didn’t know where he was going. He wandered through corridor after corridor, keeping his sword out in case of an attack. The place seemed eerily deserted to him, but suddenly he came face to face with the very embodiment of evil. Cyprien Esenwein stood staring at him with a cold smile on his face and darkness in his eyes. “How nice of you to join usss…” he said with a scratchy whisper. “I assume this is what you seek?” he opened the door behind him and there in the room sat the chalice on a small table. “Yes. Now stand aside, hellspawn, and I shall not have to harm you.” Said Gabriel firmly. “How grand,” replied Cyprien while walking into the room, “that you have such enthusiasm. Too bad…” Cyprien paused for a second, then leapt onto Gabriel, knocking him to the ground. He slowly moved his fanged teeth towards Gabriel’s neck, while the latter struggled to reach the weapon that could harm Cyprien the most. And he found it. Gabriel ripped a crucifix out of his pocket and pressed it into Cyprien’s flesh, which began to rot and burn. The vampire screamed in pain and without hesitation Gabriel plunged his sword into the demon’s chest. Then, in another swift motion, he pulled a dagger out of his pocket and slashed Cyprien’s throat. Instantly the vampire disintegrated and Gabriel felt the spirit’s weight lifted from him. He clutched the crucifix close to him and said a short prayer of thanksgiving before grabbing the chalice and walking swiftly down the hall. The Lord’s work was done; mission accomplished.

[TGRF]

Thanks for doing this, KA! Great idea! We'll have to post here every now and then to keep it with the contest itself. Perhaps you should have a short explanatory paragraph on the first one explaining what you're doing. It's obvious to us, but to someone who isn't familiar with the contest, it could be confusing. Just a thought.

EDIT: Oh, just read the big black bold letters over the top. Sorry 'bout that.

[Kaemon Awa 123]

Week 4 - May 15, 2011


A shifting of tectonic plates on Valhalla (they have them there, too ) has pushed a mountain up...right on top of Utgar's wellspring. As Utgar's hold over his armies wavers, the allies decide that it is now or never. They send in a strike force to take out Utgar himself while he is still weak. Write about the forces journey there and/or what happens inside Utgar's palace. Said strike force can be anything from a gigantic army to a couple of heroes, but there must be at least one person from each of the allied generals.

BassistofDoom - 1st place

Spoiler Alert!

“Gentlemen, the time has come. Each general has hand-picked the best man they could think of for this task and you are NOT expected to fail. If all goes well, you will return heroes, and Valhalla will finally see peace.” Five men stood before Sgt. Drake Alexander as he spoke these words in his tent, located 10 miles from Utgar’s fortress. Malechi, a warforged sent by Vydar; Gabriel, a paladin sent by Jandar; Haldir, the archer summoned by Ullar; Hayato, Einar’s samurai; and Baldrik, a dwarf sent by Aquilla. “Now go. You all know what to do, and we cannot waste time.”

The five heroes set out, all knowing that they may never see their friends again. But all would readily give their lives to complete the mission that would kill Utgar and bring a long sought end to the conflict in Valhalla. Silence fell on the group for at least an hour, broken only by the clanking of armor and the heavy footsteps that pounded the dirt below them. A long road stretched ahead of them, leading into the mountains at the side of Utgar’s palace. Suddenly, Haldir spoke: “Stop! I hear something.” They stood still, watching him expectantly until suddenly, THWAK. An arrow imbedded itself in Baldrik’s chest. “Urk-…uhhh…” He grunted in pain before collapsing. “Ambush!” yelled Gabriel. Hayato grabbed Baldrik and dragged him off to the side of the road behind a rock, shielding him from further harm. Malechi ran forward with his sword, undeterred by the unseen archer. Gabriel and Haldir followed, making sure to stay as much behind cover as possible. Then, they saw their opponents. A dozen orcs shouted battle cries and charged at Malechi, who began to slay any who came near him. Haldir drew his bow and began dropping orcs from a distance, while Gabriel moved in. He stabbed an orc in the back with his dagger, who’s shining steel blade became covered in black blood. Hayato caught up quickly and cut down an orc who was about to attack Gabriel from behind. Meanwhile, the orc with the bow remained hidden and continued to fire, narrowly missing Malechi’s head.

Haldir desperately searched the rocky outcrops ahead, trying to find the orc, who must be perched on height somewhere. Suddenly, he saw a figure on top of a boulder 10 feet high, and moved in. He drew a short sword and ran through the side of the skirmish, narrowly avoiding swinging swords. Reaching the rock, he leapt up gracefully and grabbed the side. Haldir scaled it and silently slashed the neck of the unexpecting orc before turning to observe the battle. His friends had defeated the orcs, and though bruised and bloody, none looked seriously hurt. Then he remembered Baldrik. He and Gabriel hurried to him, only to see that his condition was worse. They were too far away to call for help, but he was in no place to continue the mission. Baldrik nodded knowingly as Gabriel made the sign of the cross and said, “Your sacrifice shall not be forgotten, brave one. Go meet our Lord.” Baldrik beckoned for Gabriel and the others to gather closer. “Kill him, for me…” and with that Baldrik’s last breath escaped his lips.

The four remaining heroes continued to march, now determined to complete the mission for the fallen dwarf. Then, Hayato motioned for them to stop. “There!” he pointed at a palace in the distance, about 150 yards up a mountain. The group began a quicker pace and soon enough, they had reached the palace doors, which were strangely unprotected. Two lone human soldiers carrying spears stood between them and Utgar, most likely because of the troops that had deserted him. Even Ne-Gok-Sa and the Marros abandoned him for Valkrill. Hayato clung to the side of the building, drawing his sword. Then, before they could react, he ran his blade through their necks, causing their bodies to crumple to the floor in a pool of blood. “Let’s go.” He said. Hayato led the way into the building, but was stopped abruptly as an obsidian dagger was thrusted into his chest. “Hu-uhh….” He said before falling to the ground. Gabriel, Malechi, and Haldir all drew their weapons. To their surprise, Utgar himself stepped out of the darkness and looked down at them. “So, this is the team that has come to destroy me? Pity, I will not have as much fun destroying you as I would’ve liked.” He drew his jagged sword as the three attacked.
Utgar quickly and effortlessly batted away Gabriel’s sword before slashing a shallow cut in his arm. Gabriel stepped back and Malechi charged forward, cutting Utgar’s forearm. Utgar grabbed Malechi with a strong hand and threw him before turning to Haldir, the last member of the group still fighting him. Malechi, meanwhile from the ground, noticed a tall machine standing in the corner, labeled DW7000 explosive device. Press center button and turn to activate 10 second timer bomb. Malechi wasted no time in getting up and dragging it over closer to where the fight was. “Friends, to me!” he shouted. All three fighters turned and Utgar looked at him in shock. “No!” he lunged at Malechi, who pushed the button and turned it. A succession of loud beeps rang out as Utgar stabbed Malechi through the chest, still a second too late. “Run… comrades…” gasped Malechi to Gabriel and Haldir. Both realizing what was about to happen, they ran to the front door and dove down the hill as the bomb exploded, ending the lives of both Utgar and Malechi. Gabriel and Haldir rolled down the hill and hit the bottom hard. After a couple seconds of lying on the dirt, they stood slowly and stared at each other, bruised, bloody, and victorious.

bumper15 - 2nd place

Spoiler Alert!

The Final Battle

"The time has come!" A messenger shouted, charging through the doors of the Grand Hall to the dais where Jandar sat. His sudden arrival caught the immediate attention of the Valkyrie general, who turned towards the intruder. "The time is now my lord! Utgar has been crippled! Gather the Generals and hasten now to war!" With his message completed, the messenger collapsed from exhaustion.
Send word to the other Generals to prepare for war!" Jandar ordered his advisor.

"It will be too risky to have them attack the southern side," Jandar said to Einar, "Utgar has been weakened by the loss of his wellspring, but his army is still massive. The mountain pass is too defensible. Your forces are needed elsewhere," Einar nodded in response. They now stood in a tent, five miles north of where Utgar's fortress, Ra'thang, waited. Assembled with them were the other three generals of the alliance.
"We have to put some troops there, or else we allow Utgar an escape route," Vydar stated coolly.
"That is true. Would you mind sending Major X17 and the Blastatrons and Gladiatrons to the mouth of the pass to bottle it up?"
"That is no problem Jandar. They wouldn't serve much purpose storming a castle anyway, not much to grab when the enemy is behind a wall."
Discussions of this type raged throughout the day and night among the Generals as they decided the overall plan of the coming battle. At last the battle plan was decided, and each General had decided that they themselves would lead their respective armies in what everyone assembled knew would be the last battle. Whether it would result in victory or defeat, none knew.
The Generals finally adjourned the meeting and went to rest before the battle. None could rest however as the tension in the air was far too great for anyone soldier gathered to relax. Each General had brought all the forces they had assembled to this final battle.

After an almost eternal night, the morning came, and the sun's first glimpse of the world revealed an army never before amassed on this, or any, world marching steadily south. When at last they reached the walls of Ra'thang, every soldier was met with a sudden rush of terror.
Standing around the entire fortress sat an army that was easily the rival of the allied Generals. Utgar had managed to summon every soldier spread out across Valhalla to defend him in his time of crisis. Orcs grinned madly at the thought of bloodshed, Utgar's Minions raised their axes in anticipation, howls tore through the dawn as the wolves waited eagerly for the feast they would have after the killing, soulborgs stood at the top of the wall, ready to rain death on the enemy, Utgar himself stood at the forefront of his fortress and his army.
Jandar would not be cowed by his enemy's show of power however. He signaled all those gathered to move to their respective positions and watched as they shifted formations without a word.
"This is it", Jandar whispered to himself. He looked to his right and saw Sgt. Drake standing at attention next to him, looking out on the army before him. "It all ends here Drake. It has been an honor to fight with you all these years."
"The honor is mine sir. I am humbled that you chose me to stand here next to you in this fight."
Jandar turned back to the army and raised his hammer above his head. The army assembled behind him let out a raucous shout. Utgar's army responded with a shout of their own, and as each army tried to outshout the other, the resulting noise was so great that it was heard across the entire universe. The fate of the entire universe now rested on the victor of the resulting battle.
Jandar brought his hammer down and the allied armies charged across the field towards the enemy. The battle was fierce as both bodies of soldiers moved like landmasses against each other, both stubbornly refusing to yield. Utgar cut down the sentinal in front of him and turned to his attendent. He gave the attendent a wicked smile and turned back to the fighting, seeking a certain opponent. The attendent pulled out a horn and blew three long blasts from it.
An answering horn was heard and Jandar turned to where he heard it. Upon seeing what was behind his army his courage almost failed. Behind his army now sat another, only slightly smaller army, consisting of Marro and undead. His army was now heavily outnumbered.
Jandar's attention was brought back to the battle as gunfire from a Soulborg seared across his vision. A thought suddenly struck him. "To the gates!" he yelled. The soldiers began a renewed push towards the gates, fear of being surrounded driving them on.
A shout behind him turned Jandar around. Someone had called his name. Looking behind him, Jandar stood face to face with his most hated enemy. Jandar turned fully towards Utgar and approached him, raising his hammer. Utgar hefted his ax and charged Jandar.
Jandar brought down his hammer, which was deflected by Utgar.
"You've made a mistake coming here," Utgar hissed. Jandar swung again at Utgar, desperate to end what Utgar had started.

[Kaemon Awa 123]

Week 5 - May 22, 2011


Utgar is planning to ambush Ullar at his fortress, but one of Ullar's troops (can be viper, elf, monk, etc.) has figured that out. Little does he know, Utgar has sent a strike force to kill the soldier before he can reach Ullar. Write about that soldier's journey back to Ullar's fortress and the challenges along the way.

Dragonfire9788 - 1st place

Spoiler Alert!

It was fall when Atlaga had made the cross from one side to the other. The leaves had changed their color and were ready to fall when the pre-winter winds came. Like the leaves had changed from their typical green to a red of decay, Atlaga had changed his allegiances. He had been done with Ullar, leaving the city immediately and flying straight to the front. He landed in a kneeling position, offering his services to his new lord, Utgar.
The body of an elf fell into a pile of recently fallen leaves, a crossbow bolt in his neck. Atlaga stood a few feet away, holding the automatic crossbow given to him by his former master. This was the beginning of the invasion into the fertile lands of Ekstrom, domain of the house of Ullar. The weapon he had called upon was now being used by the man it had been called upon to fight. Atlaga's knowledge was key to the invasion. Troop movements were ambushed, as their correct time and place were known by the enemy. Towns were sacked, as their defenses were not secret.
One final push on capital city would end Ullar's role in the war for good. Atlaga and Khosument the Darklord were leading an army of Anubian wolves and orcs to crush the defenders and leave the city burning as a testament to Utgar's wrath. Atlaga would be key, with intimate knowledge of the inner workings of Ullar's grand palace. Usually at this time, Ullar would be moving to his Winter Palace in the south, but that palace had been razed to the ground two weeks earlier, its treasures being carried off to by victorious marro.
Atlaga had one condition, though. When the palace was stormed and Ullar killed, one of his generals was not to be killed. Saylind the Kyrie Warrior was to be left untouched. Khosument had wished total victory, but this was one small price to pay. He agreed and Atlaga told him in one hour they would meet in his tent and the kyrie warrior would divulge the information so the darklord could devise a plan of attack. Victory was at hand.
Khosument was late and Atlaga despised tardiness. He waited outside the tent with two other Anubian wolves. A map of the city was rolled up and tucked under Atlaga's arm. He paced back in forth while the wolves kept watch around the tent. Atlaga had requested his tent be in a clearing, deep in the forest and away from the other tents. Those tents were situated half a mile away in another clearing that was closer to the edge of the forest. The end of the forest gave way to a beautiful cityscape that would soon be engulfed in the flames of hate.
"Where is your master?" Atlaga turned to one of the wolves.
The wolf just snarled at him and returned to watching the woods. He wasn't looking for any sort of attack. All of Ullar's forces were on the front, fighting other armies. The city had an able garrison that might be able to mount a defense if given warning, but the thing was, using the forest, the whole army had managed to be concealed and they would attack with surprise. Not one would see it coming and not one would be prepared. The wolf had his eyes looking for a small rabbit or squirrel; any kind of decent meal to be found.
Atlaga grew angry at the wolf's answer. "That is no way to address your commanding officer!" He was to be treated with respect. He had the information, therefore he had the power.
"Shut up, you stupid bird, I'm hungry!" The wolf replied. He was above taking orders from any kyrie except for his master. He respected Master Utgar, for he had more qualities of the wolf than the kyrie.
"I ought to have you shot for that!" Atlaga shouted back at wolf. His hand motioned over the crossbow holstered at his side. He dwelt on the thought of killing the wolf himself. In the end, he decided he would be acting out of frustration for Khosument be late, though he would make sure this wolf would receive his lashes.
"There's no need for that," Said a voice from behind Atlaga. The voice was dark like a room you couldn't see your way out of and it radiated coldness that could send shivers up any strong man's spine. Atlaga was used to the shivers and recognized the voice immediately.
Spinning around and putting on a frown, Atlaga addressed the darklord, "Khosument, you're late."
Visibly indifferent, Khosument said, "It wouldn't make any difference if I showed up an hour or two later, would it? The attack will still go under away. The city won't just get up and walk away, will it?"
"I don't know, Khosument," Atlaga said. "In three hours I might be tired and not in the mood to give up the information."
"I'd place my doubts upon that," The darklord returned, not amused at Atlaga's attempt at humor. "Though, pray tell me you are in the sufficient mood now so we can get this underway first thing in the morning? I've already given orders to my officers to attack at the first light of dawn and I want to fetch me a meal."
The wolf behind Atlaga sympathized completely with Khosument.
"Fine then," The kyrie warrior said while taking the map out from under his arm. He opened up and pointed to various spots on the map, telling Khosument that these were weaknesses in both architecture and manpower. He would be able to take them with haste.
"Perfect," Khosument said while drawing his sickle sword from his belt. Atlaga was confused at this move until wolves behind him grabbed his arms, restrained them and pushed his head against the tree stump he had used in place of a table.
"What is this!?" Atlaga demanded. "Khosument? Order them to release me!"
The darklord walked behind the incapacitated kyrie and twirled the sword in his hand. Atlaga heard the crunch of the snow behind him and he saw the wolf's shadow fall across his face. Atlaga now realized that it was cold outside. Being held still, he felt the frost nip at his exposed skin. What a trivial thought.
"I've always hated the kyrie," Khosument started. "From the way they strutted about with their undeserved self-importance. How much better they think they are, just because they are a few inches taller than us and can fly. All are the same right before they die."
"What are you talking about?" Atlaga didn’t want to believe what he just heard.
"Utgar knows you've outlived your usefulness. You tired of Ullar, what makes you think you want do the same to us? Why'd you leave him, huh? Was it some scheme to save your skin? Throw in with the winning side? I always thought you kyrie had pride falling out of your ass, but I guess every race has its variety of weasel."
"Khosument, no. I know more! Jandar's fortress! I can get you inside!"
"You know, even if he hadn't ordered this, I probably would have had your wings on my mantle. I hate kyrie, Atlaga, and I hate you most of all. This is my army and my glory. You don't deserve any of this, you swine."
"My wings?"
Khosument couldn't believe how dumb this guy was. "Ever thus to traitors, Atlaga!" And with that, Khosument raised the sickle sword and swung it straight into the kyrie's wings, cutting through the first one.
Atlaga cried out in pain. This couldn't be happening. He had helped these bastards and now they were taking his wings? They wouldn't be here if it weren't for him and this is how they repay him! He could feel blood flow down his back. He tried to flap his wings, but all he got was a splice of pain. He could feel it. The right wing was gone.
"You like that?" Khosument laughed and so did the other wolves. He drew the bloodied sword back and brought it down into Atlaga's remaining wing. He sawed it back and forth causing the kyrie's legs to flail about in pain. When he felt he had loosened it enough, Khosument gripped the wing and pulled, ripping it straight from Atlaga's back. A fountain of blood erupted from the wound and an even bigger eruption of laughter belted from the three wolves.
"You know who's another kyrie, Atlaga? That Saylind you made us to swear to leave to alone. I don't think you can truthfully swear to a traitor, can you? She's got a nice pair of wings, doesn't she? I'd love to add her set to my growing collection. Then maybe I'll see if her flesh is as delicious as you think it is, loverboy."
No! Atlaga thought. Saylind. His wings. Not two of his loves. The blood fell in a slide down his legs. His once green tunic was covered red in his blood. He knew it would end, but not like this. He was being killed by the men he was helping! The bastards!
Then, all of a sudden, he felt the wolf on his right's grip loosen. He was too busy hooting and howling with sadistic laughter. Now or never, Atlaga. He felt an unknown adrenaline well up inside of him as he swung his arm upward, knocking the wolf back. His arm swung in a curve as Atlaga stood up. Pain shot through his back but he had no choice but to ignore it. His fist continued and connected with the wolf on his left's snout, knocking him to the ground. Atlaga had forgotten what it was like to fight. Sitting in his armchair while the battle raged on had made him forget.
He turned around and swept his legs under Khosument's. The wolf was completely caught by surprise and he fell to the ground, dropping the bloodied sword by Atlaga's discarded wings.
The only wolf still on his legs retaliated. He snapped at Atlaga with his teeth, but the kyrie's surge of adrenaline was on a rampage. He caught the wolf's mouth and pulled the snout in half, breaking its jaw bone with a satisfying crunch. The wolf let out one howl of pain before falling to the ground dead, having had a piece of a bone skewer its brain.
Atlaga took off into the forest, suddenly feeling inclined towards the latter of the phrase, "Fight or Flight." He had to escape and the only safe place was Ullar's Palace. The traitor had been betrayed. He hoped his old master would be merciful if he was warned of the coming attack.
As Atlaga reached the tree line, Khosument and the other wolf regained their footing and, having heard the screams, a drow chainfighter entered the clearing from the opposite side that Atlaga was exiting. The new combatant saw what had occurred and immediately sprinted forward after the escaping prisoner, his eponymous chain dragged along in the dirt after him. The two wolves were quick on the drow's heels and closing in fast on the limping Atlaga.
Every step was like getting shot. Atlaga was reminded of a time when he had felt the punch of a bullet slamming into him. A marro sniper situated in a tree half a mile away had noticed a bush move and shot at it. Unfortunately, the bush was actually Atlaga and the marro gave a hearty cry when he saw the plume of blood. Even more unfortunate, yelling really does give away your position and the marro was soon picked off by the Omnicrons.
Sniper. Brilliant idea, Atlaga thought as he disappeared into the trees. All he had to do was pick a tree.
The three belligerents continued their chase into the forest. Atlaga was following a familiar path that led towards the city. If they wouldn't kill him, then the city guards perched atop the walls surely would. They just hoped that if it came to that, it wouldn't give away the army's plan.
Then Atlaga disappeared from the beaten path and the three stopped in their tracks. Each took looks around them, seeing if they could see a bloody and bruised kyrie running for his life. Khosument told them to split up, himself going left and the other wolf going right. The chainfighter stood in the same place looking around for just the littlest bit of life that he could find.
Up above in the tree branch hanging right over the drow chainfighter's head, Atlaga drew his crossbow. The wolves had run off and it was just him and the drow. If he would just run off too, everything would be perfect. Loading the crossbow would be a pain enough. His back throbbed and he began to feel woozy. How much blood had he lost? The light peering through the canopy around him was eerie, almost supernatural in its glow. A small shadow draped over the trees and Atlaga hoped he wouldn't mistake one of these for the drow.
Atlaga eyed the quiver of bolts tied to his belt. He needed just one. He reached his arm down to grab one and a jolt of pain surged up his back. He tilted backwards, grimacing, and all the bolts slid out of the quiver and crashed to the ground. Atlaga screamed in his head all the swear words he knew.
Drow's are known for their amazing hearing. His head whipped around and gazed upon the pile of crossbow bolts. He immediately jumped straight into the shadows, disguising himself from Atlaga's view.
The kyrie hastily searched for the chainfighter, fearing that he already had found his hiding spot.
Atlaga's lucky stars weren't so lucky and the branch exploded as the drow swung his chain from the shadows and sliced right through Atlaga's perch. The kyrie fell to the ground, backside down. It was a strange euphoria of pain as Atlaga felt numerous leaves become lodged in wound.
The drow came walking out of the shadows, twirling his chain. His face wore the same stoic expression that colored all the faces of his race. His white hair was shorter than usual but his clothes were just as ragged as they should be. He had a chance here. The drow knew that one right move would end the kyrie. However, hamartia was on Atlaga's side. The drow decided to watch Atlaga wither in pain first, filter feeding off the warrior's agony.
As the drow laughed quietly at Atlaga's pain, the kyrie noticed that his foe had placed one foot onto the branch. He had one chance. Gathering what strength he had, Atlaga shot up and pushed the branch over, rolling it onto the drow's leg and pushing him to the ground.
In one swift move, Atlaga rushed over to the pile of crossbow bolts while the drow pushed the branch off of him. He filled his quiver as his enemy snatched up his chain. He reached for his crossbow as the drow stood up. He grasped air. Atlaga spun around in horror and saw the crossbow lying next to the branch, having fallen out of his belt when he fell to his ground.
There was no smile on the drow's face. Atlaga would pay for what he just did. He swung the chain and Atlaga shot off to the side, barely avoiding it. He had to bend his back to do this and the pain almost brought tears to his eyes. Almost. The drow swung again and Atlaga ducked. He needed some kind of cover. Ducking behind a tree, Atlaga watched the drow's chain slice into the tree, leaving a deep gash. Getting hit with that thing would surely ruin your day. The chainfighter swung one more time, the chain wrapping around the tree right above the kyrie's head. This was the time to act. While the drow reeled the chain in, Atlaga charged out from behind the tree, stomping on his enemy's weapon and making him drop it. The drow wore a look of confusion as Atlaga drove a crossbow bolt straight into the drow's neck.
Blood gushed all over the kyrie's face as the body crashed to the ground.
He took off running, creating quite the racket in the snow. Surely a beast with even superior hearing could have heard it. A few meters away, the Anubian wolf perked its head up and chased after the sound.
Atlaga froze in place and spun around, realizing he had made, yet again, a near fatal mistake. In his haste, he had neglected to pick up his crossbow. He noticed it right next to the dead drow, still twitching and bleeding.
He sprinted towards the crossbow, but froze immediately when the saw the Anubian Wolf bound into Atlaga's view. The wolf sniffed around and shot his eyes at the kyrie. Snarling, he locked onto his target. Damn the crossbow, Atlaga thought as he turned on his heels yet again and took off in the opposite direction. The wolf would cherish this challenge before his meal. Falling onto all fours, the beast charged after the kyrie. With the wolf's superior speed, Atlaga didn't stand a chance.
The fleeing kyrie understood this. He estimated that he only had about a few moments before claws and teeth dug themselves into his back. He clenched his teeth as he thought about the wolf's snout closing in around his neck and the eternal blackness rushing to greet Atlaga.
Scanning, the horizon, Atlaga noticed the little bits of sunlight were fading from the forest, clouds closing in around the sun. The area around him grew suddenly dim and Atlaga swore out loud. He could hear the snow crunches behind him start to get louder. Atlaga would be able to keep this going on longer if pain wasn't dominating his life right now. Hell, if that pain wasn’t there, Atlaga would have his wings and the wolf would have no hope of catching him.
A light twinkled in Atlaga's eye like the saving grace of heaven. He dismissed it as a ray of sunlight reflecting off the snow at first, but as he continued running through the forest, the light grew bigger. Atlaga took a glance and saw a silk spider web just ahead of him. He looked up and saw a single ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds and shining down upon the spider web. It was the saving grace of heaven as long as one thing was in place. Atlaga just had one shot at this. Man, he had been having a lot of those today.
He stole a quick glance backwards and saw the wolf was almost upon him. Now or never. Atlaga dropped into the snow in front of the web and lay prone while the wolf jumped forward and over shot him. Falling to the earth, the wolf crashed through the spider web, getting tangled up and ruining hours of work.
The wolf hurriedly tore the silk lines off of him, angered by his fur getting wet. Did that stupid kyrie know how long it would take him to lick himself clean and get all this stupid web out of him? At least he would get a meal out of this, since his prey had to good sense to just drop dead in front of him.
Up in the tree, an unseen factor awakened. His eight eyes peered down upon the beings below him. One was lying in the snow, with blood flowing from its back. Dead, obviously. The blood was cold. Not a good meal. The other was struggling within its net. An unorthodox way of getting caught in his trap, but acceptable.
The wolf stood up and heard rustling up in the tree. Probably just a bird. He ripped up the last piece of web that compromised his movement. Lunch time was here. Still laying in the snow, Atlaga was praying for anybody to help him now.
Dropping down from above, the spider, the size of a cat and just as hairy, fell onto the wolf's back. Before it could even react, the spider dug its stinger into the base of the wolf's spine. Venom shot into the wolf's body and it collapsed to the ground, barely alive. The venom had completely paralyzed the wolf and it was slowly suffocating from its inability to open its mouth to breath. The spider began to rolling it up in a cocoon of web while the wolf's eyes turned red and he slowly began to bleed out of the mouth.
Atlaga took advantage of the situation and stood up. While the spider was preoccupied with preserving its food, he snuck off. The spider barely registered it as it finished up and started to snack on the wolf's jugular vein.
Free again, Atlaga thought as he sprinted away from the spider. He was sure he was still heading in the right direction towards the city. His only to hope to right his wrongs and wrong those who had wronged him lay in that city. He increased his speed.
The forest around Atlaga began to blur and he felt even more and more like he was going to be sick. His whole backside was stained with blood that warmed Atlaga up, but also cooled him as well. Every bound was a journey. He could feel the wound get bigger every time he stepped on the ground with force. He needed to be even faster.
Atlaga's foot caught on a partially buried branch and he found himself face first in the snow yet again. Was it worth it? Maybe he should just lay here.
No, he had to get up and warn them. He had to save Saylind.
"You need to mind your footing," Said a voice that Atlaga instantly recognized. He knew the shiver going up his spine wasn't from the snow.
The kyrie warrior regained his posture and said, "Khosument." And it was true. Standing just a little ways in front of him was the darklord holding the sickle sword caked in blood. Atlaga's blood. On the other hand he held a small shield. His knees were bent, disguising him for a much shorter being.
"I must say that you've really outdone yourself," The darklord chuckled. "But, then again, you traitors will do anything to save your own skin. I'll enjoy taking it off of you."
"Not just my skin," Atlaga said as a fury surged up into his badly beaten body. He clenched his fists together.
"Someone wants a fight? Very well. Much more interesting than just an execution!" Khosument shouted. He howled into the air and charged straight at Atlaga.
The kyrie warrior stepped the side with much difficulty, so Khosument's sword sliced through nothing. Now was Atlaga's turn to act. He summoned all his might and anger and swung with his right arm, punching the darklord straight in the face. Khosument stumbled backwards a few steps, but did not crumple. He was not amused. He swung his sword, aiming at Atlaga's neck. The kyrie ducked in time, but Khosument had anticipated this. When his sword fell, he swung with his shield and caught Atlaga as he was coming up. A sufficient thunk resounded when the shield made contact and Atlaga fell down with the path of the shield.
Atlaga stared into the snow. He could see one of his bloodied teeth laying there. His jaw ached, but nothing like his back. Khosument stomped his open victim, slamming his giant paw onto the crumpled Atlaga's already injured back. The kyrie fell into the snow and rolled over. He looked up and saw the darklord standing over him, sword raised and pointing into the sky. It was a perfect sword for cutting and Atlaga had a feeling that that was exactly what the sword was about to do.
Khosument hesitated and took one moment to show Atlaga a smile. This was a fatal mistake.
Showing the darklord that he hadn't learned from his mistakes, Atlaga swept his legs underneath Khosument, causing the wolf to lose his footing and tumble backwards. Pain was using Atlaga as a container, but he couldn't focus on that. He jumped onto the surprised Khosument and wrapped his hands over the wolf's large neck.
Every limb on the darklord began to flail. He smacked against Atlaga's shoulder with his shield and the dull edge of sword hit against the kyrie's left thigh. Khosument began to cough, but Atlaga wouldn't let anything come out or in his throat. He was dying now.
With the last oxygen in his body, Khosument turned his sword over and sliced right into Atlaga's thigh, causing the kyrie to yell in pain and slam the wolf's head against the ground. There was a loud crunch and Khosument ceased struggling. Atlaga gave a hefty sigh of relief and thanked his lucky stars that there was a pointy rock underneath the snow. The slam had broken Khosument's neck.
The last of the party sent to kill Atlaga was dead. He rolled off the dead darklord that lay in the snow, taking in deep breaths. He felt the warm blood coming out of the deep gash in his left thigh. He tried to stand up, but he collapsed in pain, his left leg having been rendered completely useless by the wound.
He couldn't stop now. Not after all this. Four enemies were dead and Atlaga started to crawl through the forest, dragging his body along. Luckily the gash was pointed up to the sky and didn't face any contact with the ground. He pulled his body and pulled, going faster than any one could think a man could crawl.
He saw the end of the trees. There was no bright light at the end of the forest. The sky had grown cloudy, but still he crawled. His hands grew numb walking through the snow. This was good. Now he couldn't feel the aches in his hands. A bird squawked somewhere near as Atlaga pulled himself out of the forest.
He took one long gaze at the great wall of the city. He could see elves patrolling the wall and, praise the gods, the elves saw him too. Unfortunately, they knew who he was.
"It’s the traitor Atlaga!" One shouted.
He couldn't support himself anymore. Atlaga's arms collapsed and fell face-first into the snow. His vision was completely blurry now, but he noticed the wall's gate open and a group of guards come over and pick him up. He got sick all over one of them and he received swift retribution. Ever thus to traitors.
They carried him through the streets, marching for Ullar's citadel in the center of the city. Many cheered that the traitor that had brought so much woe was getting what he deserved.
He was dropped in the grand hall and informed that he was a swine. Atlaga didn't care anymore. He wasn't going to be around much longer. The pain had subsided and he felt high. The nausea had given way to pure euphoria.
Apparently Ullar was sick and Saylind was going to talk to the traitor for him. Saylind was the only word Atlaga heard. He had done this for her.
"What do you have to say for yourself, Atlaga?"
Almost involuntarily, Atlaga spoke, "An army is going to attack the city at dawn tomorrow. Be ready."
A bright light shone in through the window of the castle, signaling that the clouds outside had cleared up. The temperature was warming. Spring would be here in a few weeks.
Atlaga felt Saylind kiss his forehead. As his vision faded, Atlaga was surprised to be enveloped not by a harsh black, but by a forgiving and brilliant white light.

Orcs Blade - 2nd place

Spoiler Alert!

Syvarris moved smoothly along through the trees, the semi-dark of late twilight blanketing the world with an eerie darkness. Syvarris was as unperturbed by this as he was by the silence…he was used to it. He glanced around, and then swarmed up the trunk of a giant oak tree. When he reached the top, he could see out over a large chunk of the forest. He sat that way for almost an hour, as was his custom, soaking in the beauty and serenity of nature. After a little while, he began to climb down again. Near the bottom, he suddenly froze. He could hear footsteps approaching, and no elf would be careless enough to let someone hear their footsteps. This was probably a Protector, but Syvarris was cautious…one of the reasons he had survived as long as he had. His suspicions were confirmed a moment later, when a deep, growling voice grated over him, sending a shiver up his spine. “His castle is about two miles Northeast…watch out for sentries.” Syvarris clung to the trunk like a giant spider, hanging above the heads of the wolves as they passed underneath him. The line of Anubians seemed to be endless. His arms were aching from the strain, and he was near panic…Ullar was being threatened. As the last wolf passed underneath, Syvarris slid around to the other side of the tree and dropped of, massaging his aching arms. Suddenly, he heard a low, growling noise, and he froze. He looked up, and saw a Anubian staring at him with a very hungry gleam in its eyes. The Anubian took a step forward. Syvarris’s hands blurred and an arrow sprouted out of the Anubian’s chest. Syvarris realized his mistake a moment later when the wolf gave a howl of pain and shock. Quickly, he spun around and sprinted away, heading for Ullar’s castle. He was painfully aware of hunting cries coming from behind him. He hoped that those at Ullar’s fortress would hear them, but realized that they would attribute it to the local wolves, which were much less dangerous, even friendly. He lowered his head and sprinted on. He glanced from side to side, and spotted shadowy figures flitting through the trees. Terror coursed through him, but he mastered it, forcing himself to keep running rather than stop and shoot. He had to warn Ullar. A wolf leaped out in front of him, but Syvarris sprang onto its shoulders, shoving an arrow into it, and leaped of on the other side of the surprised looking wolf. His breath came in ragged gasps and a stitch was developing in his side. He heard course breathing behind him, and dove, twisting and firing up into the leaping body of the wolf. He jumped up and left yet another corpse behind with a look of surprise on its face. He gasped for air as he rounded a bend and ran into a clearing. Almost there. He could easily reach the castle with an arrow, but most likely they would attribute it to some careless hunter. As he reached the middle of the clearing, he became aware of the fact that he was not alone. There was a circle of wolves around the outskirts of the clearing. Three wolves came forward. The middle one was Khosumet. Syvarris stared. Khosumet wasn’t even willing to fight him fairly…he was bringing helpers. Khosumet reached pouncing distance…Syvarris moved smoothly, stepping forward and firing an arrow into Khosumets leg.Khosument stumbled, and Syvarris lopped his head off. The wolves were stunned for a moment, then they lunged forward, screaming in rage. The moment of hesitation was enough. Syvarris shoved an arrow through his prize and, before the wolves reached him, launched his grisly missile into the night sky. It arced through the air and smashed through Ullar’s private window, even as Syvarris went down under a storm of wolves.
Ullar had been warned.

Son of Arathorn - 3rd place

Spoiler Alert!

The encampment was better maintained than most that housed Utgar's troops. Under normal circumstances, the tents would be ramshackle, the water filthy, and the troops disorganized until the call for blood went out. Unfortunately, these were not normal circumstances.
The Aubrien was extremely nervous to see these unsettling changes in the soldiers discipline. Perched upon a high tree branch, he could see all of it laid before him. Row upon row of neat, straight tents, with a large one double the size of the others, smack in the middle. And these troops were larger. In his years in Valhalla, Amrodel hadn't seen orcs this large, not even close. But orcs they were, that was clear enough from the stench. Their armor was thicker than Heavy Gruts, and their skin darker. A yell went up from the southern corner of the camp, farthest from the elf. Troops assembled in front of the larger tent, and a figure came out. Amrodel could make out his form in the darkness, and he saw a man, with flowing hair, clothed in white, and carrying what looked like some sort of weapon. He gestured to the neat, stinking horde, and pointed out to the northeast. In response, the orcs roared with loodlust, and smacked their weapons to their shields. The man moved back into the tent as the largest of the foul creatures screamed an order, and they began to run. To the northeast. Directly towards Amrodel.
The archer cursed under his breath, which fled quickly from his lips. He turned, and leaped to the next tree, in the direction of Ullar's fortress. He was concerned, not only for his own safety, but for his comrades at the post. Many of Ullar's lieutenants were there, and the party of orcs looked to be more than they could handle without warning. He wouldn't send the signal, not yet, not where even the most keen-eyed elves wouldn't see it, not where it would give away his position to the unsettlingly large orcs. He must get closer, and hurry.
As he sprung from tree to tree, he heard the sound of pounding feet below him. The orcs kept up a steady pace, and Amrodel doubled his efforts to outstrip them. Harder and faster he leapt, and he began to open a gap between himself and the enemy. At last, the sound of clanking armor faded, and he dropped to the ground. He checked about him, and a good thing too. It was all that kept the black arrow from whizzing into his temple.
Amrodel threw himself aside, and rolled behind a large oak. He heard grunts behind him, and chanced a peek around the trunk of his hiding spot. He saw a dark silhouette in the trees rip an arrow from it's quiver, and begin to notch it in a large, ugly bow. Amrodel drew his own, his beautifully carved bow, and notched an arrow in the bowstring wrought of elven-hair. He took a breath, and turned, rolling his back along the tree trunk. His arrow flew into the thing, below the neck, and exited the other side, planting itself in the tree behind the orc, (that much was apparent from its squeals) along with a good deal of hot, black blood. The orc fell to its knees, and pitched forward into the brush.
Though instinct told him to flee, Amrodel rushed to the corpse. He rolled it over with his foot, hoping to get a good look at this new breed of orc. In the dying light, he got a good look at its body, and was utterly perplexed by what he saw. It was at least a foot taller than normal Gruts, and it's armor was thicker. Its skin was somehow halfway between Grut blue and a pitch black. Most disturbingly, in addition to its armor bearing the symbol of Utgar, the helmet the orc wore was painted with a strange mark. A white hand was imprinted on the front of the helm. What could this mean?
Lost in thought, Amrodel was startled out of his puzzlement by rustling to his right. He doesn't think, he doesn't feel, he just turns and runs. Sprinting through the trees, breaking through brush, a small branch whips across his face, and leaves a streak of blood on his cheek. A shape spring out of the darkness, and throws itself at him. Amrodel just has time to draw his short blade, and the orc impales its body on the dagger. Amrodel keeps running, not bothering to retrieve the knife, leaving the orc writhing on the ground.
He sees the lights ahead, and puts on a further burst of speed. As he bursts into the clearing, Amrodel realizes he has made a deadly mistake. These were not the lights of Ullar's stronghold, as he had hoped. Amrodel nearly falls onto his back as the orcs spring forth, torches blazing. He tries to backpedal into the forest, but can only make it to a singe pine before they are upon him. The first is rewarded for it's speed with an arrow in its throat. The next two trip over the flailing body, giving Amrodel enough time to scale the tree. The orcs are not pleased. They let out yells of fury as they smash their weapons into the old tree, but they are rewarded only with blunt blades.
Now that the torches of the creatures are below him, Amrodel can see the lights of the fortress ahead. He swears loudly in tongues native to Feylund, and curses this temptation of safety, this lingering light, this, this, tease! As despair overcomes him, the elf hangs his head. The orcs have encircled the tree, more are surely coming, and Ullar is completely unaware. Well, he thinks to himself, at least it can't get any worse, right?
His own mental question is answered for him, as an orc suddenly remembers what fire is used for, and holds its torch to the nearest tree branch. The others join it, and soon the trees lower branches are an inferno.
Amrodel lets out a scream, as defeat threatens to overcome him. As the flames climb higher, he looks out at the lights of the fortress. And now, he remembers why he came out here. To warn of an enemy that might come, to make sure that his friends are prepared.
With agility possessed only by the elves, Amrodel climbs down to the branches just above the fire. Incredibly dangerous, not just because of the flames, but if the branch breaks, he's done for. Quickly, he reaches behind his back and snags an arrow. The orcs, some twenty feet below step back, not wanting to become skewered. They needn't worry. As Amrodel dips the arrow into the flames below, he feels the branch move. He wrenches the now flaming arrow back to him, and notches it. He prays to any god that might listen, that his friends will please see it, please. The arrow is loosed into the dark heavens, and the branch gives way.

bumper15

Spoiler Alert!

Sonlen raced back to Ullar's territory, he needed to tell his general about what he had discovered. He had been out patrolling for signs of Utgar's Southern Army when he fell into a hole. What Sonlen had found in the hole had surprised him so greatly that he immediately fled.
Now Sonlen was running like Utgar's whips were behind him. He had to reach Ullar as swiftly as possible. Suddenly, Sonlen's dragon alighted on a tree just in front of Sonlen and squawked. Sonlen knew the dragon better than he knew himself, and he could understand the dragon. His dragon sensed living bodies in the vicinity.
Sonlen nodded his head and continued down the trail, his dragon took off and followed above. The dragon shrieked when it saw what was ahead and Sonlen staggered to a stop. Standing in the middle of the trail was an old Deathwalker unit facing away from Sonlen. Most of the Deathwalkers were obsolete as their armor tended to fail at the most inopportune times. Sonlen had never seen one so close. He walked around and reached out and wiping some of the dust off it, it was easily a head taller than he was and its shoulder pad revealed it as a 9000 unit.
Suddenly the lights on the Deathwalker lit and a whirring was heard as the slightly hunched figure straightened. Sonlen jumped back, preparing for a fight. The figure however didn't move to attack, instead it lifted its rocket launcher and fired straight into the air. The rocket went off like a fire work. Then, without warning, a loud siren echoed through the woods.
Sonlen realized his mistake, the unit had been set as a trap to warn Utgar's army of intruders, that explained why it had been facing away from Sonlen.
Sonlen held his hand out to the Deathwalker as another rocket blasted from its arm and into the air and sent a wave of electricity through the machine. All of its wires short circuited and the noise stopped.
Sonlen had no time to enjoy his small victory however as an arrow whizzed from the bushes and past Sonlen's head. A short grunt was heard as the arrow's owner swore from somewhere in the trees. The feather embedded into a tree on the opposite side of the trail, and Sonlen had just a moment to notice before he took off down the trail that the feathers were red and green, the colors of Utgar's Southern Army.
A trampling of trees was heard behind Sonlen realized that the entire army was probably behind him. More arrows flew by him and he realized that the trail was too open for him to be able to avoid being targeted. As he rounded the next corner, he dove into the bushes and waited for the army to pass.
So intent was the army on what was in front of them, they didn't even think to look to the sides as they continued to race down the trail.
Sonlen waited for the army to pass, then waited an extra five minutes before he climbed out of the bushes. As soon as he stepped out, a dart pierced his thigh. Sonlen looked up, but all he saw was a red blur. Sonlen pulled out the dart and looked up again, standing directly in front of him was Isamu.
"The dart was poisoned," Isamu said simply, "Although you won't live long enough for it to kill you." Without any ado, Isamu stabbed his knife into the wizard's chest. Then he whispered into Sonlen's ear, "Did you think you could escape so easily with so great a secret?"
A shriek tore through the night and as all began to go dark around Sonlen. His dragon dropped from the sky towards Isamu and attacked. The ninja swatted at the small beast, but the dragon was too nimble, the dragon lunged and bit into Isamu's shoulder.
Isamu screamed and threw the dragon off him. Sonlen, remembering his mission, and seeing his friend hurt, stood up and fired a blast of fire into Isamu, incinerating him.
With the battle over, Sonlen moved to where his dragon lay. Copious amounts of blood were pouring from the wound in his chest, but the weakened dragon held up his head and a light poured from his mouth, healing the wound. Sonlen thanked his injured friend and stood up, carrying his dragon to Ullar's

"I found the Southern Army in the woods as you feared lord Ullar," Sonlen said to his general, the rest of his return had been uneventful and Sonlen had made excellent time. His dragon was being treated by Ullar's healers.
"Thank you Sonlen, we will prepare the defenses."
"I have a better idea my lord. You see, I found something that encourages an offensive fight."
"What was that?" Ullar asked.
"Utgar's wellspring."

Elven Lord

Spoiler Alert!

A shadow moved silently through the trees closer and closer to the fire that stood seemingly abandoned behind a rock outcrop as if mongering its warmth. It paused and crouched. Something was moving toward it, something large and deformed. As it stepped into the firelight Moriko could see that it was indeed deformed, but then that was only because it was an orc. The extra deformity was the sack slung across it’s shoulder. Moriko waited in the shadows where she had crouched. Her interest intensified when the sack gave a grunt as it was tossed on the ground like another sack of potatoes. After a little while another orc appeared dragging a young pig. Soon there were twelve orcs seated around the fire feasting on the roasted flesh of two young fattened pigs.
“Interesting,” thought Moriko, “Utgar rarely feeds his minions pig, because it is so succulent because of its fat content. Which means he would keep it for himself unless…” Moriko froze as another inkling of an idea entered her mind. She couldn’t spend to much time thinking about it or she may miss something vital, but it had something to do with fat and traveling long distances. She abandon the thought process as one of the beasts opened the sack, and dragged out the virtually limp form of an elf. One of the other orcs opened a cast iron flask into which a pork rib was dunked. The orc holding the rib swirled it for a little then when he saw that the elf’s eyes had opened turned and offered it to the elf. The elf took it with unbound hands.
“Interesting no bound hands, strange flask, starved victim, and delicious piece of pig flesh, a combo I don’t like at all,” thought Moriko apprehension growing nearly overpowering within her breast. She began to rush forward still making no sound, but it was too late. The elf bit hungrily into the pig flesh. Moriko froze again. “Whatever happens now a mad rush won’t help anything so I may as well remain where I am and await my opportunity.”
The look on her face turned to one of pure horror as the elf before her grew webbed hands and feet while growing to nearly 3 times his original size. His muscles once wiry and whip like were now bulging so the skin split in places and blood seeped forth. A haunted look took dominion of his eyes, and fangs cut through his cheek near his mouth causing more blood flow and he to below in fury like another beast of Hell.
One of the orcs was speaking, “Whom do you serve?”
“Utgar,” the monster roared.
“Who will you kill?”
“Ullar!” again the monster replied in a roar.
“What will you do to accomplish this aim!”
The beast turned his head toward the orc, “Necessary!”
“Yes whatever is necessary!”
With decision the monstrosity grabbed up the orc, and rammed him squealing down his throat. The others ran screaming into the forest. The monster took off with incredible speed and stealth, moving through the trees with all the skill and speed of the elf it once was. Moriko leaped into action about to tear off after the creature. However, the fleeing orcs ran straight into her, and upon seeing the monster running off into the distance proceeded to attack her. Moriko dove under an axe and upon twisting her body around and flipping her swords backwards drove them through the orc skewering its stomach. The motion was much the same as the motion used to paddle a canoe. She whipped the swords out with ease. Lopping off another orc head as she flipped them back upright, she proceeded to dispatch the rest of the monsters with ease. By this time the fallen elf had gotten way far ahead of Moriko, too far ahead to be caught on foot.
“Darn it. I hate flying. Theracus!” The winged Pegasus took off from on top of the rocky outcrop and landed easily beside her. She clambered on and upon sheathing her swords and grabbing a tuftful of mane bid him make haste, “Theracus uleen thurla ciepi jupo heia Ullar.” (“Theracus we have to warn Ullar” in the tongue of the elves of feylund where Theracus came from). Theracus catapulted into the air. Any who could have been around to see it would have been amazed at the incredible speed with which Theracus went from standing position to full speed flight. Moriko looked around desperately from an altitude of 400 feet for the fallen elf. She had lost sight of it near the Ininian lake which bordered on Ullar’s castle. Theracus flapped his wings in fast flight. They were almost to the Lake when a strange howling pushed itself forcefully to the front of Moriko’s mind, “No!” she cried inwardly, “Someone must be warned or Ullar will fall!” She glanced at the moon and swore. It was full. “Come on Theracus!” Then her heart sank. Theracus had faltered. She had not spoken to him in his language and he was now confused as to what he was supposed to do. That few seconds was crucial. There was one last long drawn out howl, and she found herself plunging toward Valhalla. Something had grabbed Theracus’ legs. She tore off her mask and screamed as she fell as many times as she could. Then she tumbled into the canopy. She felt a furred hand close around her throat cutting off her scream. She felt their claws raking through her flesh, heard Theracus’ screams as he like her was torn apart by the brutal claws, saw one wolf’s open maw descending toward her neck. Everything seemed to be in slow motion. She saw her whole life flit before her eyes, broken here and there by images of the wolf’s face blood crazy as ever victory in its eyes. She felt totally at a loss with herself. She had failed her master on Earth, and now she had failed her master on Valhalla. She felt the teeth close around her neck, and as they did so she was filled with new hope. Amidst the snarls and screams she heard cries of alarm coming from the ramparts of Ulron Ullar’s fortress. He had powerful men at his command. Utgar had failed. Then the light went out.

Ullar had heard the screams emanating from the forest and when the beast arrived his archers downed it. Then his elves slew the creature.

Utgar had failed.

[Kaemon Awa 123]

Week 6 - May 28, 2011


Einar has fallen. A group of his soldiers are able to escape from the palace and flee into the desert. Somewhere they seek refuge awaiting winter so they may cross the desert with ease, but all is not safe. A group of enemies has tracked them to their hiding spot and the survivors must either decide to make a heroic last stand, run straight into the desert, or find some other means of overcoming this obstacle.

Son of Arathorn - 1st place

Spoiler Alert!

Einar's eyes are pleading with him. Lucius had been certain of that. The Valkyrie didn't want to be taken. Not like this, not in his own hall, as it was ransacked by the forces of Utgar, serving under one of the evil general's lesser lieutenants. Lucius knew he deserved better, so much better, better, bett- No!... he hadn't had a choice, he hadn't... no, no, NO!!!
"AUUUGHH!"
Lucius Sextus Temperon's scream pierced the night, as his companions started from their guard posts and patches of harsh ground that replaced a warm bed. The bloodcurdling shriek petered out into the dark wasteland about them as Lucius remembered where he was, what had happened. He was sitting bolt upright, a shred of blanket twisted about his ankles. His comrade, the only remaining soldier of the IX Legion, ran to him.
"What is it Lucius? Are you alright?" Lucius breathed heavily, taking in lungfuls of cool, bitter air.
"Noth- nothing... it was just a dream..." Scipios raised a disbelieving eyebrow, but said nothing.
"I'm fine Sir, really."
"Get some rest soldier. You'll need it if we're to outrun the enemy tomorrow."
Lucius lay his head in the sand, and drifted into fitful sleep.

BOOM... BOOM... BOOM...
Lucius could hear the war drums behind them. For every beat he took three labored steps, struggling over the dunes. Somehow, even during the day, the sky was dark. Clouds obscured the sun, and blocked a slightest glimpse of blue sky. That at least made sense. Lucius had seen who was leading the gruts and trolls, they all had. Utgar's black magic gave him adequate cover to venture out during the day. But across the desert, there was sunlight. A temptation that would keep them all running.
Lucius stole a glance at their meager force. Scipios kept a steady pace next to a slowly moving horse, mounted by a towering man. His armor was exquisitely detailed, and a great helm shaded his eyes, with a pure white plume of horse hair trailing from the noble brow. Only recently had he been summoned, not two months ago. Aloysius Maglin trailed behind, his heavy robes billowing and his skin shining with sweat in the heat. He was a diminutive man, barely noticeable on his own. It was difficult however, not to notice his companion. Aloysius walked in the shadow of a giant made of earth and metal. Strangely, the behemoth followed the small man's every order, a most unsettlng chain of command to Lucius, who had spent his life in Rome under the command of men greater than himself.
"GRAAAARRGHHH!" The war cry was closer, and spurred them on further, quickening their pace and speeding their collective pulse.
"Run!" The mounted man roared from atop his white horse. Easy for him to say.
"Stop!" Scipios yelled. Every member of the party stared at him, save the giant. He stared at the horizon.
"Are you insane? They'll catch us!" The man's face was going red, both from heat and temper.
"Let them. They'll catch us eventually anyway."
"So what, we just let them overtake us? Set our guts out to dry?"
"We let them pass us." The two men stopped arguing to stare again, this time at Lucius. "It makes more sense than you think. Just hear me out."
Scipios scratched his chin. "Very well. What's your plan?"
Lucius grinned, something he hadn't done for six years. Not since arriving on Valhalla. "Did we bring any shovels?"

Several hours later, the forces of Utgar crested a sand dune. The orcs beat their shields as they marched, and the trolls beat their war drums. At the center of it all, surrounded by his honor guard of Minions, marched Cyprien Esenwein. The Vampire Lord was near content. Einar had been crushed, his forces scattered, and his army would soon overtake what was left of them. Yet he thirsted, thirsted for blood that should have been his. Standing in the Valkyrie's hall, he had strode forward, ready to take the pathetic creature's life. But the chance had been stolen from him, as one of the General's own troops slashed him through the heart. A great pity. Such a blow would have greatly enticed Sonya to him... The ground shook.
"What was that?" Cyprien thought aloud. A Minion shrugged. Orcs began to look around nervously, and the trolls paused in their drumbeats. It rumbled once more, and a Minion looked about, only slightly unsettled. It did a double-take. Lord Esenwein was gone.

Deep in the dark, Lucius smiled grimly as Cyprien struggled under the foot of the giant. It was bent double, it's back serving as the ground- covered only in a light layer of sand- for the orcs and monsters above.
The pit was, of course, enormous. They had labored for over an hour with shovels before Aloysius suggested that the giant simply scoop a few handfuls from the ground. after that, it was a simple manner of clambering into the hole, and waiting. A slight shift in the giant's posture was all it took to send Cyprien tumbling into the depths with them.
As Scipios approached, the vampire hissed, his limbs flailing.
"Why keep me alive human? Why not take your revenge?"
"Oh, we will vampire. Your scum are not fit to walk this land. However, one of such, eh, nobility, deserves a fitting end, wouldn't you say?"
The vampire scoffed. "Torture then? I can deal with torture, whelp!"
"I'm sure you can."
The vampire hissed once again, and glanced at Lucius. "I know you human..." A flash of recognition passed into Cyprien's red eyes. "You! You stole my kill! You took the Valkyrie's life!"
Lucius almost choked on his words. "I put him out of his misery! He didn't deserve what your soldiers did."
The vampire chuckled. "Oh, the innocent warlord didn't deserve to have a wrecked palace? didn't deserve to be filled with arrows before his life was taken, by his own soldier? I care not for what is fair, you insolent spit of dirt!"
Scipios held Lucius back. "Worry not, my friend. He shall pay for what he has done."

The army had halted, disarrayed by the disappearance of their commander. The honor guard of Minions were calm, save one. The Earth moved from time to time, a most disturbing sensation to go along with Cyprien's absence. The minion had one last moment to shudder as it was hurled into the air by the ground propelling itself up.
Warriors went flying as the giant stood, clasping a struggling undead in it's left fist. None of the honor guard survived impact with the ground, and orcs were crushed beneath their bulk. The trolls were spooked, and some began to run, away into the desert. The largest however, slightly dumber than the rest, charged the great being, and many followed suit. They dogpiled the giant, bringing it to the ground. It pulled itself back up with it's right hand, and began brushing off the fell beasts. The man on the white horse leapt from the hole, and gave a battle cry, "Forth Eorlingas!" Lucius and Scipios roared and clambered out after him, shield raised and swords drawn. Orcs rushed forward after their initial surprise, and brought their blades to meet Roman steel. Metal clashed and creatures fell, as the orcs threw themselves into the fray, urged on by the screaming vampire, until he was silenced by a scrambling troll's foot in his mouth as it struggled to maintain it's grip on the giant. Scipios sprinted a short distance to meet the orcs, and while several rebounded off his broad shield, more were impaled upon his gladius. Lucius came in after him, and they fought back to back, fending off blows from all sides, each keeping the tide from overwhelming the other. They could hear the mounted man yelling insults at the enemy, and in contrast, Aloysius' squeaky voice piercing the air as he directed the giant to defend him and kill orcs with it's massive metal body.
Strong though they were in sword and shield, the Roman soldiers began to falter. An orc struck Scipios' shield arm, and it went limp. Lucius roared as he fought back, and his roar was answered by the strange man. Barreling through the mob of orcs he came, crushing them under his horses hooves and swinging his sword into the crowd. He reached down his free arm, and hauled Scipios onto the white steed. He circled around, sword flashing, and grabbed Lucius as well. The horse staggered, but held them, barely. He spurred the white horse on, and somehow, with many wounds, they made it to Aloysius and the giant.
"We can't keep this up much longer!" shouted the mounted man.
"What do you propose we do, rider?" peeped Aloysius, "Politely ask them to fall in the pit?"
"As a matter of fact I do," the rider yelled back, "Dismount men!" Lucius and Scipios dived behind the giant. "Now, little one, have the giant encircle the lot of you."
Aloysius gave several sharp whistles, and the giant threw off the last troll. It curled it's massive body into a ring, and closed all but the rider within. They were safe, until the orcs and trolls started scaling it's back.
From inside the giant's protection, Lucius heard the rider give a great shout, and the turning of many orcs was audible. Lucius clambered up the giants body, ignoring Aloysius' protests, and stole a glance over the rim of the ring. What he saw gave every ounce of respect in his body to the rider. He rode in a circle about the orcs, and they began to follow him as he screamed curses at them. Soon, the orcs were sprinting after him as he slowed to a trot. The rider glanced behind himself, and seeing his newfound parade, began to gallop over the next dune, making sure they were close behind. As he crested the dune, he gave one final bellow, and coaxed his mount to leap. The orcs followed suit, putting on a burst of speed after him. Lucius lost his view after this, as the giant shifted, sending him down to the sand.
"Ooof!" Lucius glared at the giant. He didn't bother to reclaim his lookout post, as he could guess what had happened. The rider yelled from outside the circle that was the giant's body.
"Now!" Aloysius gave a shriek, and the giant rose, Lord Esenwein still clutched gently but firmly in it's fist, and moved in the direction of the empty pit. Except it wasn't empty anymore. The pit was nearly full to the brim with struggling orcs, trying to get out, and stabbing many of their own in the process. Lucius turned away. Though he didn't see them die, he heard the orcs screams as the giant sat down.

"What do you plan to do with him?" The rider looked at Lucius.
"You saved our skins. Do as you wish."
"And if it weren't for your clever idea, I wouldn't have been here to save our skins. Besides, I know what I would do, and he doesn't deserve it." The rider glared at the vampire. The undead lord simply smirked.
"Very well. You notice the clouds are beginning to clear?"
"Yes, what of it?"
"Well, it appears to me that Utgar no longer values his lieutenant very much."

The vampire was tied to a pillar of earth. More specifically, the giant's finger.
The rider was puzzled. "So now you want to leave him here? Won't he eventually get loose?"
"I'm not going to leave him. You may wish to leave though, but I won't. I'm going to watch this creature die."
"Very well. I think I'll take you up on your offer. I'll be just over the next dune."
Scipios and Aloysius went with the rider. As they crested the dune, Cyprien raised his face to Lucius'.
"You think I fear death, human? I will be welcomed with honors at the halls of my-"
"Though you may not fear death, all creatures fear pain, Esenwein. You are no exception."
A flicker of doubt passed through the vampire's eyes, but he quickly regained his sneer. "Never doubt a vampire, scum."
Lucius only smirked, and pointed straight up into the sky. Cyprien's smile disappeared as the clouds broke.

Vader Fan 7 - 2nd place

Spoiler Alert!

The castle was overrun.
The relentless drumming of feet against the ground had all but died away as those still alive fled the besieged castle in swarms. The terrified screams of delicate women and the agonized gurgles of men skewered by blades had ceased to reverberate around the high stone walls. Bodies of the fallen littered the floor like discarded playthings; dark blood seeped from gaping wounds and severed limbs, pooling on the ground and filling the stagnant air with a horrid stench. Already the plague of decay had begun to settle on the slaughtered.
Taking care not to coat his boots in the widespread puddles of fluid, Utgar crossed the tomb-like chamber, his lip curled in a leer of both pleasure and disgust. His black wings beat the air lazily as he picked his way around the gruesome remains of the battle. The gore of the scene did little to disturb him; at least his orders had been followed, Utgar mused with some satisfaction, catching sight of the decapitated corpse of a small child sprawled amongst the debris. His army had left none alive.
The minute the thought occurred to him the dark Archkyrie was gripped with a horrible sense of unease. There was one life he had ordered them to spare, one body that could have been so easily struck down in the chaotic bloodbath – a mistake that would render the siege near pointless...
A figure seemed to materialize beside him as it stepped calmly out of a thick shadow that covered a grand portion of the room.
“Quite a sight, My Lord,” The figure spoke in a reverent voice. “At last, we have revealed ourselves to them; at last we have had revenge.” A small breath of air hissed through the figure’s teeth as it sighed in delight.
“Indeed,” came the reply. All of Utgar’s fears had been dispelled with the appearance of the capable assassin. The Archkyrie knew Kamaul Sidou would surely have seen his demands carried out effectively. “I trust you have – ”
“He awaits you in the next room,” the assassin replied, aware of his employer’s concerns. “Alive and ... conscious.”
It was impossible to miss the note of malice and pleasure that had laden Kamaul’s statement. Unharmed had not been one of the premeditated conditions for the unfortunate prisoner.
“And the army?” Utgar queried.
“Hunting down any survivors, including those that escaped in the fight.” The assassin replied confidently. Then, with a wide gesture of his arm, “Shall we?”

The prisoner knelt in the center of the room, immobilized by the thick chains that bound his arms, wrists, and ankles. His face and neck were bruised and swelling, blood dripped from his mouth. His eyes were closed, the head lolling ever so slightly on his shoulder.
As Utgar stepped into the room, the head lifted, and the prisoner raised his eyes to meet those of his captor. At the sight of the defeated enemy, Utgar’s face split into a wide grin.
“What know, Einar?” He taunted him. “Your reign has ended, your pitiful band of followers has deserted you; and here you are at my mercy, chained and held prisoner in your own castle.”
Einar stared expressionlessly at him, the still gaze never wavering.
“What, nothing to say?” Utgar demanded, more than a little irritated at the lack of response. “You have lost, my friend. There is nothing left for you.”
Much to the other’s disconcertion, Einar smiled. “Kill me then, Utgar, and be through with whatever you have planned. Or have you just come to jest?
Utgar knelt down and put his face very close to his enemy’s. “Oh, believe me, Einar – your death will come. But I have other plans for you at the moment.”
Einar’s smile faded ever so slightly, and he shook his head. “You will never win, Utgar. Nothing you could do to me will ever change that.”
Angrily, Utgar rose, put his boot to the other’s chest, and shoved him forcefully onto his back. Leaning in so that his weight was positioned on Einar’s ribcage, Utgar spat, “I will win, my good kyrie – in fact, I already have.”
“You have defeated me, perhaps.” Einar replied, unabashed by the fury in Utgar’s tone. “But my nation still stands; my followers will never allow you to continue this insane purge.”
“Your followers?” Utgar jeered. “You have no such thing anymore. They have fled like the cowards they are, and left you to face me alone.”
“That may be,” The Archkyrie said, this time with a tinge of sadness. “But I have not yet lost faith in them.”
“Perhaps your faith in your friends has been misplaced,” Utgar sneered. Einar stared evenly at him.
“We shall see.”

Screaming. Drums. The foul stench of freshly spilled blood spoiling the air. People running … shoving …
“Shiori…”
Groans … someone is crying … dead bodies cover the slippery floor…
Where is Einar? What has happened to him?
“Shiori!”
Someone steps in front of her… tall, thin, menacing … his black wings beat the air around him …
His hand reaches out as if to grab her. He smiles.
“Shiori,” Utgar says.

“Wake up already!” Someone had her by the shoulders and was shaking her … hard. Her head knocked against the ground and she let out a moan of protest.
“Let … go…” She demanded weakly, and the unseen figure obeyed.
Shiori opened her eyes. At first she couldn’t see anything other than the blurred object hovering over top of her, surrounded by a blinding halo of light. But as her vision focused, she realized it was a face, cast into shadow by the sun’s light that beat against the back of it.
“Morning, Hatamoto,” Shiori yawned. The other shook his head.
“Are you all right?” He asked uncertainly. Shiori frowned, still drowsy with sleep.
“What do you mean?” She asked, attempting to sit up. Hatamoto sat back on his knee to give her more room.
“You’ve been tossing and moaning for a while now,” He explained. “Bardan thought you were having a seizure.”
“Bloody irritating.” A new, more unpleasant voice put in irately, and Shiori flushed with embarrassment.
“It was just a dream,” She admitted. Hatamoto nodded understandingly.
“No kidding.” He said. “Here, have some water.”
Shiori’s throat was painfully parched, and she graciously accepted the water skin handed to her by Hatamoto. As she quenched her thirst, he stood up and walked towards the others, seating himself roughly in between the two.
It had been almost a day since Einar’s castle had been breached, and the four warriors, fleeing for their lives, had stopped to recuperate in the dip of a tall cliff, well hidden from any pursuers. Seated by Shiori on the hard, uneven ground were Hatamoto Taro, Bardan from the Tenth Regiment of Foot, and Artais, the archer.
“So, what now?” Shiori wanted to know. Hatamoto shrugged.
“I suppose we keep going.”
“Keep going? There’s nowhere for us to go.” Artais sulked. “If we’re in the open too long we’ll be slaughtered by Utgar’s army. If we stay here we’ll just rot to death.”
“Always the optimist,” Hatamoto muttered quietly, and Shiori allowed herself a grim smile.
“We don’t have to do anything just yet.” Bardan rationed, grimacing. One of Utgar’s soldiers had cleaved his left arm clean off in the previous day’s scuffle; the stump of it was wrapped in a makeshift tourniquet to staunch the bleeding. “They don’t know where we are yet, so there’s no sense in gallapanting off into the blue.”
Artais didn’t look all too pleased with the answer, but he kept silent. Shiori handed the water skin over to Bardan, whose face was covered in a thin sheen of perspiration. He accepted it with a mumbled “thanks,” and took a deep swig.
“If you keep drinking like that we’ll be out before the day ends.” Artais said hotly. “We’ll dry up before we have a chance to figure out what to do next.”
“Would you lighten up?” Hatamoto snapped impatiently. “We don’t need to be bickering right now; we’ve got enough problems.”
Glowering at him, Artais began to mumble grumpily to himself.
Shiori shifted position so that her back was pressed up against the rock of the cliff. She thought back to her dream, to the horror of the event. She had been in battles before, but had never seen anything quite that terrible. The sight of women and children falling to the ground with their throats slit open and their limbs torn off caused bile to rise in the back of her throat.
And Einar … A thick stone of guilt wedged itself in the pit of her throat as she thought about how she had abandoned him to the mercy of Utgar. She should have fought for him, defended him with her life … but instead she ran away like a coward, putting her life above that of her leader.
“What do you think’s happened to Einar?” Shiori wondered aloud. An awkward silence settled on the four refugees, and Hatamoto shifted uncomfortably.
Artais glared at her. “What do you think? He’s probably dead by now.”
“We don’t know that.” Bardan put in softly. Artais scoffed.
“This is Utgar we’re talking about, remember?”
“Why do you ask, Shiori?” Hatamoto queried, pain evident in his voice. Shiori shrugged.
“I keep feeling like we’ve … like we’ve let him down.” She finished lamely. Bardan and Hatamoto nodded empathetically; Artais rolled his eyes.
“Forget about him, Shiori. He’s as good as gone.”
Bardan looked at him, aghast. “Real loyalist you are. How can you say that?”
Artais sent the soldier a condescending look. “How can I say that? Look what you’re suggesting! That we all run hell-bent through a castle swarming with Utgar’s leeches to save a general that probably doesn’t exist anymore?”
“We don’t know that he’s dead,” Hatamoto began, and Artais cut him off immediately.
“Exactly – we don’t know. And to be frank, I don’t want to risk my life on maybe.”
Anger welled up inside of Shiori, and she felt her hand drift to her pouch of shruikens.
“We owe it to him, Artais,” she hissed through clenched teeth.
“Oh yeah?” The archer challenged. “Well go ahead then; I’m not stopping you. Go ahead and save Einar. Or what’s left of him.”
Shiori hesitated. Artais’ eyes flashed. “Exactly. You act all high and superior, when the truth is, you’re no better than the rest of us. You ran away; you wanted to save your skin just as much as I did. Don’t you dare preach to me.”
Feeling the fury and frustration coursing through her, Shiori didn’t even realize that she was brandishing a shruiken in her hand until Hatamoto reached out and plucked it from her fingers.
“Easy there, Shiori. He’s not worth it.”
Artais laughed. “Fine thing for you to say, Taro. I don’t see you doing any better than the rest of us.”
“Let’s just all stop bickering, okay?” Bardan sighed through the tension. “It isn’t getting us anywhere.”
The corner of Artais’ mouth turned up in a smug grin, but he said no more.
Hatamoto looked very tired. “Shiori’s got a point guys. We owe Einar. We just can’t assume he’s dead.”
Artais opened his mouth to retort, but Bardan put up a hand to silence him.
“Hear him out, Artais.” He said in a tone of finality, and the archer grudgingly obliged. Hatamoto continued.
“I know, attempting to take back the castle with the four…” He caught a look from Artais and amended his statement, “three of us, is suicide. And there’s no way to get Einar out – if he is alive. Not with Utgar there.”
Shiori ran a hand through her limp black hair. “I know I know,” she moaned, worn out by the lack of options.
Bardan looked thoughtful. “What if it isn’t just the four – three – of us?”
Hatamoto looked surprised and confused, Artais disdainful.
“What do you mean?” The former asked.
Bardan scratched his chin. “Say we manage to recruit an attack force. Not to fight with,” he added, for Artais’ benefit, “but to create enough of a diversion for the rest of us to get to Einar, or at least gather what information we can from what we find in the castle.”
Shiori was impressed with the logic of it. Hatamoto looked hopeful.
And then, of course, Artais. “An attack force?” He repeated scornfully. “And where do you plan to acquire that?”
“We could cross the desert,” Hatamoto suggested. “Get help from a different area.”
“What? In this heat?” Artais protested before anyone could stop him. “We’ll burn to a crisp.”
“Then we wait for winter,” Bardan suggested, but Artais was already shaking his head.
“We won’t last that long with the rations we have. And besides, if we can cross the desert in winter than so can Utgar’s troops. We’re trying to avoid them, remember?”
“Well why don’t you try to be more useful, if you’re so smart?” Hatamoto retorted. “We don’t need a pessimist, we need ideas.”
“Clearly.” Artais mumbled, and Hatamoto looked very much like he wanted to hit him.
Shiori spoke up impatiently. “Look, everyone, it’s the only choice we have. Our only other option is to stay here until we run out of supplies; we may as well cross the desert and see what we can do. We have to try.”
Bardan nodded. “I agree. We’ll wait for winter and then we’ll head off.”
Hatamoto didn’t protest, and surprisingly neither did Artais, though he looked very much like he wanted to.
Shiori didn’t know what to say. She was thrilled that they intended to help Einar – however small the attempt was – she just hoped it wasn’t too late. What if Einar was dead?
And if he wasn’t, how long would it be before Utgar was through with him?

Hidden behind a large rock on the cliff’s edge, the marro listened intently to the conversation below. How interested General Utgar would be when he heard the news! And how pleased, the marro thought, when he was told of how his army crushed them like insects.
Laughing silently to himself, the marro warrior withdrew from the cliff and slipped away unnoticed by the four individuals below.

Shiori was determined not to fall asleep again. She feared the nightmares that might revisit her, but more than anything she resented being humiliated by Artais’ sarcastic comments. But the stress of the last few hours and her lack of energy from malnutrition left her feeling ultimately drowsy. Across from her, Hatamoto dozed lightly against a flat rock in the ground. Bardan stared at the sky, absently nursing his injured arm. Artais had his back to her, but Shiori could still hear his inarticulate oaths and curses as he grumbled incoherently to himself.
Suddenly she sat up like a bullet. “Artais, be quiet.”
The archer turned around to glare at her. “It’s not my fault we’re in this situation. If it had been up to me – ”
“Artais, shut up!” Shiori hissed forcefully, rising to her feet. “I need to hear.”
Hatamoto stirred as the sound of raised voices met his ears. “What’s wrong?”
Artais was about to answer, but then Shiori whirled around, silver flashed in the sunlight, there was a surprised gurgle, followed by the sound of something hitting the ground.
Artais, who had dropped to the ground as Shiori’s shruiken whizzed by, opened his mouth to start screaming at her. But Hatamoto stopped him.
“Wait.” He said, getting to his feet to inspect the area where the shruiken had disappeared. Artais clamped his mouth shut angrily.
“Look,” Hatamoto called back to him, from a fault in the cliff face. Shiori quickly drew up next to him.
There, crumpled against the gap of the cliff, was a skeletal-looking dog, the shruiken embedded securely into its head.
“Marrden Nagrub.” Hatamoto said with disgust. “Nice shot Shiori.”
“Nagrub?” Bardan repeated from behind them. “What’s it doing there?”
“It’s not alone.” Shiori said grimly. “They travel in packs.”
Artais had got to his feet and was walking over to them. “But then where are the rest of them?” He asked in genuine concern.
Instinct prickled down Shiori’s spine, and she spun around to face whatever she had sensed behind them.
A second later, several forms began to emerge over the rocks. But they weren’t alone.
“Found them,” she said, her throat dry. Everyone turned around.
Hatamoto paled. “I’m afraid not,” he croaked, as one by one new figures began to appear from behind the rocks. “They found us.”

Time seemed to slow as inch by inch the grotesque forms moved over the rocks: Marros, with their rank, skeletal bodies; deathstalkers, their black armour gleaming in the sunlight; wolves of badru, their hackles raised and teeth bared. The four refugees each took defensive stances, pulling out whatever weapons they carried. Bardan took one of Shiori’s knives, since there was no way he’d be able to manage a gun with one arm.
Hiss-thwack! Artais let an arrow fly, shooting it deep into one of the marro’s skulls. It crumpled to the ground; in that moment Hatamoto seemed to break from his trance of terror. He lunged forward with his sword, slicing it across the torso of an advancing wolf. Blood spurted from its side, and the wolf snarled in pain, snapping its jaws at Hatamoto’s ankles. Shiori felled it with a shruiken, and then pulled out her other knife as a marro warrior lunged at her from the side.
The problem with marros, she thought as she slashed at it repeatedly with her weapon, is that they don’t bleed, so you can never tell how effectively you’re injuring them. Coming to a conclusion, she grabbed the enemy by the back of the neck and smashed the pommel of her knife into the side of his skull, shattering it.
An arrow whizzed by her head, sinking into the throat of a Marden Nagrub that was coming at Shiori from the side. The female ninja didn’t even have time to thank Artais before a wolf lunged at her, knocking her to the ground with the force of its body. Shiori grimaced as she struggled with it – the wolf’s fur smelled terrible, and the saliva from its sharp, snapping fangs dripped onto her face. She thrust her dagger into its side, shoving it off her when it faltered, and then stabbed it again through the heart. A sharp pain in her ankle told her that another one had come from behind. Rolling over, she saw the hairy form and the teeth embedded into her flesh; she tried to yank her ankle free but its grip was too strong. Growling, the wolf proceeded to drag her across the ground, causing her to loose her balance and slide uncertainly across the rock. More wolves began to descend on her as she was rendered helpless on the ground. Shiori lashed out with her knife, but it was the one at her ankle – the only one she couldn’t reach – that she aimed to kill.
“Artais!” She called in desperation. There was no reply for a moment. Then a rush of air, a meaty smack, and the wolf fell dead across her feet. Shiori wasted no time in ghosting away from the others, knocking them down with her shruikens the minute she had become disengaged. She heard Bardan cry in pain, but couldn’t see him through the chaos. She could only hope that one of the others had got to him.

Hatamoto forced his way through the press of bodies, solely intent on answering Bardan’s cry. He managed to break through a gap in the swarm, seeing Bardan on the ground, attacked by a Marden Nagrub. Hatamoto jumped to his side, cutting down the Nagrub with a swift stroke of his sword.
“Take care, my friend,” he said to his injured companion. “You follow Einar; you’ll share my strength so long as I am next to you.”
So saying, he positioned himself protectively in front of his fallen comrade, brandishing his sword in front of him.

Artais was in trouble. He was almost out of arrows, and had no close range weapon with which to defend himself. And even if he could retrieve his arrows, there were far too many of Utgar’s troops for him to keep at long range.
A marro warrior jumped at him from the side, tossing his bow Artais ripped the gun from its hands and rammed the butt of it through the marro’s skull. Literally crushed, it dropped to the ground, leaving the space open for another to take its place. Securing his hold on the gun Artais proceed to lash out at his attackers, slamming the weapon into any head he could find. He knocked the advancing deathstalkers out of his way, slowly creating a passage through the swarm. He knew he couldn’t last on his own. He had to find Shiori, or Hatamoto – someone who might be able to lend him a hand. Through a break in the scuffle he saw the ninja, prancing lithely around her adversaries, totally dependant on the knife she brandished in her hand since she had most likely already emptied her shruiken pouch. Then a deathstalker closed in on him, and Artais was forced to abandon his search as the armoured body forced him backwards into the swarm of marros.
Then there was a burning pain in his leg as new deathstalker bit him on the calf. He cried in pain, staggering backwards, the swarm of bodies causing him to stumble and fall to the ground. In an instand the dogs were on him ... his hand rose instinctively to protect himself from the inevitable...
The last he felt was the feel of the dog's foul breath on his neck, before the sharp fangs crushed his windpipe.

Blood ozed freely from Shiori's right arm. She was backed up against the cliff, fighting for her life with the inadequate dagger in her subdominant hand. The situation felt hopeless - there were still so many of them: marros, wolfs, and deathstalkers alike. Her shruikens were gone, and Artais' arrows had ceased there death-bound flights. She feared the worst, in his case.
Come on, she told herself. Don't give up now.
But she was exhausted, and it would be so easy.
After all, what was the point? Even if they escaped, it would only be a matter of time before they were hunted down again, and by stronger forces.
Shiori ducked aside as the blast from a marro's gun crashed into the rocks beside her head. She was reminded of that horrid purge of Einar's castle, the chaos, the death...
Einar. She thought. How badly she had wanted to help him. "We owe him." She remembered saying. It felt like ages ago.
But it had still been true. And she couldn't give up now.
"We owe you, Einar," she whispered. And then, with a final, raging cry, she threw herself back into the batttle.

Dadnarg434 -3rd place

Spoiler Alert!

Fan Fic Novel: The Last Stand of Einar

Stand firm, my generals. An hour of strife and conflict swift approaches. Fear not, for fear will undermine the unity that holds us together. What we have built over years, what we have fought and bled for, could be destroyed if we let our fear take hold.”
Einar gazed around at his loyal generals, commanders, and officers. His face was un-troubled, his composure calm.
“Pride will not enable us to overcome the enemy. Even the most arrogant fighter will quail before Utgar’s might.” His eyes moved from soldier to soldier, steady and unwavering.
“Bravery will not hold us together. Even the greatest man’s courage will waver when faced with the horrors Utgar drives toward us.” He seemed to look into each man’s eyes, instilling a feeling of strength and resolution in all he looked upon.
“Even love, my warriors, will not secure us a victory. Love may drive a man to reckless bravery, giving him fearless and irrational abilities. But that fearlessness will only lessen his ability to plan, coordinate, and assist his fellow soldiers. His reckless drive to win will result in mistakes, mistakes which will cost him the war. Love may drive one man, but it will eradicate the coherency of the whole. An army does not fight, stand firm, and conquer because of love.”
“Discipline, commanders, is what you must hold to. The discipline of the men who you lead is all that will keep them together. The sense of discipline we have forged will hold firm against anything Utgar can send against us. Maintain your discipline, and we will overcome this evil.”
Einar glanced about the room, one last time. Every soldier their gazed back, the eyes alight with pride. Truly, their general was one to follow to the end. Jandar had his passion, Ullar his wisdom, Vydar his precision, Aquilla his determination, but none had Einar’s leadership, intelligence, or undying loyalty and obedience from his soldiers. Above all others, Utgar feared Einar, for what he was capable of. That was why the 1st, 2nd, and 4th Utgarian armies had combined together, and where now on Einar’s doorstep. Utgar intended to crush his most dangerous enemy with one ruthless blow.

Einar raised his hand, and donned his helmet with the ease of experience. Narrowing his eyes, he laid a hand to his sword hilt.
“Soldiers, to your stations.”



Standing at the top of the hill, Arerius surveyed the weary forces spread out below him. The High Army of Einar, at its peak, had consisted of more than eight-thousand soldiers from various realms worlds. Einar had brought them together, and created a steel-hardened core of discipline at the heart of all who followed him. None of the armies of the other Valkyrie Generals could match the tactical ability of Einar’s forces; their level of training allowed them to employ complex battle strategies in the heat of combat, allowing them to overcome the enemy by skill, rather than brute force. A tactician at heart, Einar had led countless successful campaigns against the enemy.

All his ability, all his knowledge, had proved to be insufficient to prevent his destruction.

Of those eight-thousand warriors, less than three hundred had survived. They were spread out at the bottom of the sand dune where Arerius stood. The bulk of their remaining forces consisted of Roman Legionaries, almost a hundred and fifty in total. With them, there were also close to fifty roman archers. The samurai forces had mainly survived the battle, but numbered only nine, in addition to their captain. Furthermore, there were approximately a score of samurai archers. Adding the small number of commanders, there was less than two-hundred and fifty soldiers in total. Not even a tithe of their once great army. Not even a fraction of the force that was almost upon them.
The soldiers stood or sat around, in formation, but relaxed. They were saving their energy for the upcoming battle. Arerius looked ahead, off into the distance. Utgar’s forces had not yet come into sight at the crest of the hills, some two miles away. When they did, though, their attack would swiftly follow.
Arerius’ mind wandered back to the last battle against Utgar. In the beginning, it had been going well. The front lines had been yari soldiers, and they had repelled the first waves of orcs. Combined with the massed attacks of the Harquebus riflemen, Utgar’s forces had been slaughtered by the hundreds. Under the tactical commanders of Einar, who oversaw the battle from his palace balcony, the fight was going well.
Twice, during the orc charges, several battalions of Minions had swept over the battlefield, attempting to attack Einar himself. However, the Valkyrie General had prepared for such an attack. Dispersed along the wall in front of the palace were the bulk of the Roman and Samurai archers. Twice, the minion attack groups were driven back by concentrated arrow volleys from the archers. Everywhere he looked, it had seemed to Arerius that they were winning.
That was when it had all gone wrong. When Zelrig, the dragon emperor, had landed among the archers, nobody had thought anything of it. That was, until he opened his maw an engulfed his own soldiers in flame. Somehow, somewhere, he had been mind shackled. The archers were brutally massacred by the rogue dragon, who were killed before they knew who to attack. Even has the fire had rushed across the walltop, a huge cloud had rose up in the distance. Several thousand minions had rose into the air, and they rushed toward Einar’s castle in a massive wave of winged monsters. At the same time, several Warhulks had burst from the orc lines, and in the panic and confusion that had followed Zelrig’s attack, they had smashed through the Yari lines, slaughtering them ruthlessly. The minions continued their swift charge overhead, un-hampered by the dead and dying archers. In a desperate attempt to save their Lord, the Einar Imperium had taken to the skies. Numbering only five-hundred, they were a pitiful force compared to the ten-thousand strong minion army. But, without hesitation, they flung themselves at the enemy kyries, ready to sell their lives for their commander. They drove into the minion lines, were surrounded, and overrun.

But Einar was not one to flee. With a roar of anger, that had shook the entire battlefield, the High Archkyrie had leapt from his tower and charged toward his beleaguered soldiers. The air around him seemed to propel him forward, and hehad smashed into the minion lines with gale winds, sending the minions spinning off through the air. But Kyrie’s power was not enough to hold off the attack. The minion soldiers had recovered from his initial charge, and they swarmed the Valkyrie lord. Surrounded by hundreds of minions, nearly a thousand feet above the battlefield, the Archkyire was finally overcome. Arerius remembered the sudden stillness in the air, the shock of the remaining soldiers, as a single body plummeted down from the army of minions above. Still a hundred feet above the ground, the fallen kyrie was engulfed in a flash of blinding white light. When it disappeared, the body had vanished also. Arerius remembered little of what happened after.

A roar rose up around him, waking Arerius from his daydreams. The front lines of the Utgar forces had appeared over the hills, and were hurrying toward them. The soldiers around him were running to get ready, grabbing weapons and helmets. The Roman Legion assembled in front in shieldwall formation, presenting a barrier of steel and muscle to the enemy. Archers grouped behind them, and the samurai were grouped together at the top of the hill, surrounding the commanders.

Arerius watched as the shieldwall suddenly parted, and Marcus Gallus stepped out from the ranks of soldiers. Turning his back to the advancing enemy, he faced the army assembled before him.
“Soldiers, warriors, my kin!” he bellowed, his voice carrying to the far reaches of his army. “You know well what we face, and I am not the tactful commander our Lord was.” Marcus kept his composure calm, though several other legionares bowed their heads at the mention of their fallen general.
“ I’m blunt, and harsh, and I can only say it like it is. We face death, monsters sent by Utgar to spill our insides across the ground. When tomorrow rolls around, we could all be dead.” Raising his head, he roared out in a louder voice. “But we are soldiers of Einar! We will stand together, and make these creatures pay for the evil they have wrought.” Marcus Gallus drew his sword, and roared his last words to the heavens.
“These hell-spawn want our blood. But they’ll pay for it with their lives!!!” Arerius joined his fellow soldiers as they bellowed their approval, drawing their swords and shaking the hillside with their cries. Marcus, sword drawn, stepped through the shieldwall and back behind their front lines. The Legionares locked shields, and braced themselves against the first wave of charging orcs. The battle had begun.

The Roman and Samurai archers released a volley of arrows into the orc lines. Orcs were cut down by the dozens, causing confusion as the warriors behind stumbled over their fallen brethren. The archers continued firing scores of arrows, devastating the orc stampede. Damaging as it was, however, it was not enough to halt the charge, and the running blade gruts finally crashed into the shieldwall.
And were stopped, as the wall held firm and the roman soldiers slashed at the masses of orcs. Bodies began to pile up, as orc after orc was cut down by legion swords. Arrows continued to fly overhead, and the orc attack began to weaken. A sudden horn rang out, and the orcs began to turn and run in retreat. The soldiers of Einar gave a cheer as their enemies fled.
Arerius stood just behind the first couple ranks of Legionares. He hadn’t fought, but he’d been shouting orders to different soldiers. Few soldiers had fallen in the first wave, as compared to the piles of dead orcs that were scattered across the ground. He had his sword drawn, and anxiously watched as the enemy lines reformed. Within a few minutes, a horn rang out, and the orcs began a second rush.
Arerius studied the charge closely. Once they were within range, the archers released their arrows into the front lines. Again, orcs staggered and fell, and those behind kept pushing on. It was odd that they should the same tactic again, Arerius thought, after the first one failed so miserably.

The screaming orcs had fallen, and the main body had almost reached the shieldwall. Suddenly, Arerius noticed that the screaming had stopped. The remaining orcs were moving forward without a sound. No cries issued forth, even though arrows still hammered their lines. “That’s weird…” Arerius mused. He watched the charging orcs, and as they reached the front lines, shock and realization suddenly dawned on him. He shouted out, but it was too late.
Arerius watched in horror as the orcs crashed into the shieldwall for the second time. A Legionare a short ways away from him blocked a running orc with his shield. Then, shifting it aside, he lashed out at the orc with his sword. The blade swept down through the orcs shoulder, cutting partway through its chest. The orc didn’t even pause, as it swung out with a fist and shattered the Legionares elbow. The legionare blinked in shock, as the orc then pulled the sword from its body and drove it through the roman soldier. He sank to the ground, and the orc, with blood running down its chest, stepped over the fallen Legionare and attacked the stunned warriors in the second rank.
Arerius was numb with shock. All along the shield wall, a similar occurrence was happening. The orcs took fatal blows without flinching or pausing, and proceeded to kill the startled Legionares. Cries of pain and confusion began to ring out, as the unstoppable orcs broke through the shieldwall in several places.
They were immune to pain, and didn’t even hesitate with struck with what should have been fatal injuries. All this time, the orcs didn’t make a single sound or cry of pain.
Arerius recovered
from his shock as adrenaline flooded through him. He roared out, and his voice carried even through the cries of battle. “Their zombified orcs!” he shouted. “Strike at their heads!” Even as he spoke, he sprang forward toward a break in the shieldwall line. The orc there turned to face him, soundless. Arerius cried out in defiance, as he ducked under the orcs fist and swung his sword through its neck. Its head toppled to the ground, and it collapsed in a heap. Without pausing, he slashed twice at the two orcs coming forward. Both found their mark in the orc heads, and both crumbled to the ground, motionless. The Legionares regrouped, and reformed the shieldwall in front of him.

Arerius had realized the truth an instant too late. Utgar had created a force of orc-zombies, immune to pain and only able to be killed by a swing to the head. The Legionares, thinking they had been fighting regular orcs, had been surprised and crippled by the attack. Even now, though the soldiers struck and the zombies heads, the shieldwall was crumpling. A large break had appeared in the middle, and orc-zombies were pouring though.

Then, suddenly, someone leapt down into the midst of orcs. Swinging a sword in each hand, he cut them down with ruthless efficiency. He dodged each attack, and counter-attacked almost instantly, slaying the offenders with contemptuous ease. Kaemon Awa, armor stained with orc blood, held back the orc onslaught. Then, as a roar echoed from behind, his fellow Samurai charged forward and hammered the orcs with brutal counter-attack. Led by the Kozuke Samurai, they swept through the orc force, cutting them down by shocking in speed. Without halting their assault, they cleared the way back to the shieldwall, and held them back as the Legionares reformed their line. Arerius gave a shout of triumph, which was echoed by the surrounding warriors.
But he had spoken too soon. The zombie-orcs had not been the attack, mearly the diversion. In the time it had taken to close the breach in the Roman Shieldwall, the Utgar commanders had unleashed their main attack. With savagery that made the man quail in fear, the line of Ogre Warhulks charged into the already weakened Legionare lines.

Screams filled the air as the Warhulk flails smashed metal and bone alike. The massive, muscle-bound goliaths’ charge couldn’t be stopped, and the shieldwall folded inwards. The ogres pressed forward, wreaking paths of destruction through the Roman lines. The Samurai fought against the monsters, but there were too few of them to stop the attack. Legionares fought back with desperation, fighting for their very lives. Arerius watched numbly as their forces began to weaken and scatter. His body ached from where he had been crushed by Legionares flung through the air by the scything flails of the ogres. He stared around hopelessly, waiting for the end. “Its over,” he thought to himself. The ogres continued their push through the Roman lines, approaching the place where the commanders where situated. The army was collapsing.
A sudden shout rang out across the hill. Arerius looked up, a with a surge of hope he watched as every Roman Archer sprang to his feet and drew back his bow. Then, grouped into individual sections, they fired as one.

Ogres all through the lines suddenly roared out in pain as the Roman arrows found their mark. Individual arrows had done little to harm the monsters, but the Roman Bowmen had combined their attacks for maximum effect. The ogre charge was swiftly halted, as beasts everywhere staggered and fell. With a roar of new hope, the remaining Legionares surged forward and rushed the few ogres that were left. Arerius himself led a charge on one ogre, already injured from several arrows. It snarled and swung its fails as they approached. Arerius hurled himself under the flails and slashed at the thickly-muscled leg. The ogre roared and staggered, and several other Legionares leapt upon it, driving it to the ground. It crumpled down, and was quickly killed by Legionare blades.
A horn rang out again, and the enemy retreated for a second time. The survivors grouped together, cheering. One Legionare standing beside Arerius asked him: “Is it over? Have we won?”

Arerius opened his mouth to reply…the closed it in numb shock. In the distance, to his crushing despair, a black cloud was rising. Utgar’s final attack, the army of Minions, gathered in the sky, blocking out the sun. Another horn rang out, and the black wave surged forth. At the same time, the orc warriors had regrouped and were rushing forward toward the crippled lines of surviving Legionares. The final, brutal attack had begun. As Arerius looked around, he knew in his heart that it was over. The shieldwall had been permanently broken, and the remaining warriors did not have the strength or the numbers to repel this assault. The army of Einar would not survive.
Arerius turned to face the other Legionare. “Even if this is it, we don’t retreat. We give it everything we’ve got.”
The younger legionare stared back, his face pale. After a moment, he nodded, and a look of grim determination spread across his face. “Let’s make em pay,” He whispered. Arerius smiled a hardened smile, and nodded in agreement. Along the line, the Legionares grouped together. They stood, awaiting the final blow. Arerius shut his eyes, savoring the breeze that picked up, enjoying his final moments…

The breeze suddenly began to pick up, gathering force and speed. Arerius opened his eyes, and looked about. All the Legionares were looking around, similarly bemused. The gust was blowing from behind them, toward the approaching enemy.
A sudden, powerful sigh seemed to shake the ground. Arerius eyes widened in shock, as he felt a presence brush across his mind. For just a moment, it felt like Einar himself was beside him. A feeling of pride filled his body, and raised his head. As he did, a single horn cry broke out across the desert. But not the horn of the enemy. It was the horn call of the Einar Imperium.
With a rush of air, the last-surviving Imperium Guards of Einar soared overhead. The gust of wind surged forth with vigor, and the current reached gale-like speeds. Then, with deadly velocity, the two-dozen Imperium hurtled into the lines of approaching Minions. The winds about them, somehow called from the depths of the desert, blew the Minions aside like they were leaves. They scattered by the hundreds as the brown-skinned Kyries, swords drawn, swept through the lines. All the legionares watched in awestruck-silence as the thousands-strong Minion charge was broken. The orcs underneath had halted, momentarily shocked and afraid. Arerius saw their fear, and sudden emotion flooded through him. He sprang forward, raised his sword, and screamed to the heavens: “For Einar!”
There was a momentary silence, then the blood-curling battle-cry resounded from the throat of every man still standing: “FOR EINAR!!!” Then, with Arerius in front, the remaining soldiers pounded down the hill and charged toward the enemy line. The orcs, stunned, froze, unsure what to do. Then, the last forces of Einar hammered them with unmatched ferocity. Driving forward, the soldiers were quickly surrounded by the orc army. Fighting on all sides, they continued to push forward, never stopping their charge. More and more fell, but still they fought with everything they had. They would make Utgar fear the name of Einar.

As Arerius staggered and fell, a small smile spread across his face. “Einar was wrong,” he thought to himself, as the light slowly faded from his eyes. “An army can truly fight for love.”

With the love of their fallen commander burning in their hearts, the soldiers of Einar fought to the death. Eventually, surrounded by countless orcs, they were overcome. Utgar had won.

But they had made him pay dearly for it.

Kaemon Awa 123

Spoiler Alert!

“Hey, Marcus! Feel like doing anything? You’re looking a little bit boring over there.”
Marcus Decimus Gallus looked up from the map he was studying, glancing over at one of his centurions, Joshua. As usual, Josh was surrounded by a crowd of women, extremely beautiful and wearing fewer clothes than Marcus considered proper.
“Nightmares again?” Josh called out. “You should really drink something; it’ll get you out of that somber mood.”
Were he in a better mood, for indeed he was being bothered by nightmares, Marcus might have laughed at Josh and perhaps pointed out the slurring of the S sounds. As it was, Marcus was in no mood for such things, and did not feel the least bit like joining in the festivities going around him. “No thanks, Joshua. Not really feeling like it.”
“Pah, you’re no fun anyhow”
Perhaps he’s right. Marcus thought with a sigh, glancing around. By the firelight around the camp, he could see that most of the legion was involved heavy drinking like Josh was, or had retired to their tents, though Marcus doubted that it was for sleeping. As far as he could see, Marcus was the only one who wasn’t celebrating their victory in the most loud and raucous style possible.
“Enjoy your fun while you have it Josh, I fear it may not last for long…”
***
The next morning, the IX legion was more or less back to normal, sentries were back on guard, the damage caused from the battle was repaired and rations were being distributed. Though, Marcus admitted, there were a few more men visibly nursing hangovers then was usual.
“Joshua, report.” Said Marcus.
Josh sprang up from the chair he was sitting in, giving a crisp salute and starting his report in quick, military fashion. “All’s well sir. Fifth century still has a few wounded that’ll need to go back for more intensive care. No casualties yet, sir.”
“Very well. I’ll help escort the wounded back to the fortress, I need to speak in person with lord Einar. You’re in charge, I want increased numbers of sentries and scouts, send runners at the first sign of a substantial enemy force.”
“Anything wrong, sir?”
“I hope not, I certainly hope not…”
***
“My lord.” Marcus said, walking past the Imperium posted at the doorway and kneeling before Einar’s throne.
“Marcus,” Einar replied, standing up. “You know that you need not kneel before me, only circumstance and race prevent me from being your subordinate.”
Marcus straightened up, addressing Einar. “My lord, I fear that something is wrong. Our last victory was too easy, we slaughtered nearly one thousand of the Marro without taking a casualty, and only a few wounded. I would even wager to say that we could have won without thrusting a blade, so eagerly were the beasts throwing themselves upon them. I fear it was a distraction, and worse is to come.”
Einar slowly shook his head. “Marcus, Marcus. I fear that you grow paranoid in your old age, you must simply see a victory for what it is, a victory.”
Marcus suddenly became aware of something stirring in the room a type of energy, pressing against his consciousness, clouding his thoughts. He shook his head, trying to dispel it.
“Something wrong, my friend?” Einar inquired, leaning forward in his chair, looking concerned.
“No, no, it’s nothing I’m sure” replied Marcus.
“Very well then, I’ll have one of my guards see you to your chambers. You can return to the IX upon the morrow.”
Marcus bowed, and slowly backed out of the chamber.
***
Marcus suddenly awoke with a jolt of terror, he’d been having nightmares about Marro… it was always Marro.
“Well, well, well. It seems that our friend has finally awoken.” A dark, dark voice slowly slithered into Marcus’s consciousness, like slime dripping down his ear and into his brain.
No, no dammit. This can’t be. Marcus thought, I’m still having a nightmare, wake up… wake up… Wake up!
“We know you’re awake, Marcus. Why don’t you open your eyes, little Roman?” There it was again, the dark voice, Marcus scrunched up his eyes again, trying to curl up into a ball, only to discover that he was tightly tied to a chair.
Dammit, dammit dammit, please go away! By this point, Marcus was almost crying, so horrible were the memories that the voice invoked.
“Wake up now!” the voice screeched, and Marcus felt a hot slash of pain across his cheek, and blood drip down his face. Purely by instinct, he opened his eyes and saw Einar looming over him. No, wait, with a second glance Marcus saw that there was something wrong with the Emperor. His entire body flickered slightly, and looked as if he was underwater. Also, Marcus soon realized, one of his arms was deformed into a claw shape, almost like…
Marcus closed his eyes tightly again, trying to ignore the reality that was staring him in the face.
“What is it, Marcus? Don’t recognize me? Why don’t you open your eyes!
The last words were spoken with such mental compulsion that Marcus was forced to open his eyes against his will. “Good. Perhaps you’ll recognize this…” The image of Einar before Marcus flickered and disappeared, leaving the twisted form of Ne-Gok-Sa in its place.
Marcus barely forced himself away from tears, he was in such sheer terror. “Wha- What do you want?”
“Oh dear little Marcus, I want you to see what’s happening… I couldn’t stalk your nightmares for so long and then not let you know what was happening, now could I? Oh, no… that would be much too kind.”
“What’s happening then?”
“Oh, just the downfall of Einar, that’s all.” The voice broke off with a hideous cackle. Ne-Gok-Sa waved his arm at the wall on the far side of the room, and images appeared. Horrible images, of Ne-Gok-Sa mindshackling the guards, the guards silently killing the sentries, the members of the IX legion and the citizens of Einar’s fortress being slaughtered in their sleep, as Marro poured by the thousands over the defenses and walls.
“Enough!” Marcus yelled, closing his eyes shut, trying to make the images disappear from his brain.
“What little Roman?” Ne-Gok-Sa asked, letting out another hideous cackle. “Too horrible for you to watch?” He laughed again as Marcus scrunched his eyes tighter and writhed against his bonds. “Very well, it seems that with no more of Einar’s troops to kill, I desire a little sport.” He leaned in closer to Marcus’s face, so close that Marcus could smell his horrible breath. “Run.”
Ne-Gok-Sa freed Marcus’s bonds with a thought, and Marcus immediately bounded up from his seat, running out of the fortress and into the desert, not even stopping to grab his pack from by the door.
All Ne-Gok-Sa did was laugh. He was looking forward to the chase.

Elven Lord

Spoiler Alert!

“…but we cannot stand against such numbers for long!” Herenel son of Barten Forgemaster slammed a massive gauntleted hand down on the wooden table. It splintered under the impact.
“Lord Einar how can you expect to stand against such reckless hate?”
“We can, and we will Harcos son of Vadallat.” Einar said sternly to the rogue vampire.
“but what of your people my lord?”
“They have fled into the high mountains there is nothing I can do for them now except make sure their homeland is safe.”
“Their homeland won’t be safe unless you desert this castle, Einron, and flee to Dedron. The enemies won’t know what’s going on until we are safely behind its walls.” Rita the diplomat spoke.
“Rita, do you doubt my ability to defend my own keep?”
“No of course not my lord.”
Einar raised an eyebrow, he knew his diplomat all too well.
“Yes my lord. Under the circumstances I say we leave the wellspring and flee to Dedron. With our remaining forces combined with Jandar’s we can repel a large scale assault and take back the keep later when not as many of Utgar’s forces are so close at hand.”
Einar sat on his throne contemplating what she had just said. He would not tell them his precise motivation but the fact was that he would not leave his wellspring to Utgar’s clutches.
He sat up straight, and with an air of stern command said, “We will remain here.”

“Can’t you keep the pace a little quieter Herenel?”
“I could if perhaps I had a vampire’s lithe form, and annoying capability to get around unnoticed, Harcos,” replied Herenel obviously referring to Harcos’ natural predator skills, “and it may also be easier if I didn’t have to carry the diplomat as well.” He continued huffing and puffing, dry twigs snapping under foot, while Rita sat calm and composed as ever on the dwarf’s bent back. “You see Rita’s got it easy da—“
“You talk to much Herenel. If I let you keep going you would collapse.”
“Then maybe you had better let me keep talking. Then when I do you can carry Rita.”
“I’m not that ponderous, my vassal,” said Rita profusely.
“Well maybe if I drop you you’ll just be so ethereal you’ll float,” replied Herenel just as profusely.
This was met by a glare from Rita, which of course Herenel couldn’t see, and a chuckle from Harcos. It was as if there weren’t 120 zombies, and the Retchets, Isra’s pets, on their tails. Well they would be if the heroes had tails.
“Why couldn’t we have just brought a horse?” Herenel asked between breaths.
“You can’t ride a horse Herenel,” Harcos replied.
“Yeah well I’m being used as one.”
“That’s your fault,” Harcos countered.
“How’s it my fault.”
“You see you’re the only one here who’s broad enough to carry her,” said the thin, wiry vampire rogue.
Herenel chuckled at the double meaning, then tripped over a root landing face first in the muddy ground of the forest floor. A mumble escaped his lips.
“What was that?” asked Harcos pulling the dwarf up.
“Ouch.”
“I see.”
“Where’s Rita?”
“It couldn’t have been more than a few moments since you fell.” That’s when they heard screaming.
They ran toward the sound. Herenel whipped out his axe and Harcos his double knives. Rita had continued fleeing and run straight into the ambush that was set for all of them. Zombie’s swarmed over the clearing, shambling to and fro unsure what to do next. All the smelled was Rita’s brains, but she was kind of claimed by one of the Retchets. She lay on the ground writhing but not going anywhere under the massive weight of the Retchet. It had its hooked mouth over her face and she her screaming was cut short as her jaw gave way under the retchet’s vicious bite. Harcos and Herenel backed away into the Tangle. Rita was dead, but she had done the greatest thing she could have for them. Although it was unintentional she had saved them both from the very same fate. She was a hero if ever they had seen one. They dashed off through the Tangle. This time Harcos guided Herenel along obscure paths so that the amount of noise they made was at a much lower level of the decibel scale.
The erupted out of the Tangle and came face to face with a cliff face. They heard screeching up above and saw the other two retchets crouched on top of the cliff, then they heard groaning. Herenel turned to face the zombies while Harcos kept an eye on the retchets. Then everyone froze. *insert dramatic pause here*
Then the zombies were upon them and Herenel’s axe sliced through massive amounts of zombies with each swipe, but more just took their places. Dive bombing from above the retchets attempted to paralyze Harcos, but to no avail. The vampire rogue was much too fast for them. First one wing then the other of one retchet was sliced through. Harcos launched himself spinning into the air. Now that the vampire was in a predictable state the final retchet, the one that wasn’t bleeding its life out upon the ground, flew at him teeth and stinger bared. Harcos just brought his leg up and round housed the retchet which of course forgot that all vampires can fly. Then he came down and drove both knives through the injured one. It screamed, and died. The final retchet recovered quickly and this time circled Harcos sizing him up, and thinking just a little bit how to kill him.
Herenel continued to fight bravely, but it was a losing battle there was no way he could defeat such massive amounts of zombies. He had killed perhaps 40 which left 80, and he was growing tired.
“We can’t win this fight!” he shouted to Harcos.
“Would you rather flee West into the desert?”
“Where there is no food and with a Vampire I doubt it.”
“Then just keep fighting! I’m almost finished over here,” Harcos said unperturbed.
Herenel’s axe kept swiping through zombies like there was no tomorrow. Which of course there may very well be no tomorrow for the two warriors. Taking advantage of Harcos’ distraction the final retchet attacked furiously, but like all the vampire’s battle skills this one included trickery. He had feigned distraction, and the stupid retchet fell for it. He turned and hurled his knife straight into its heart. It collapsed without a sound. Harcos grabbed up his knife and joined Herenel in fighting the zombies. However, he found that they had quickly closed the gap. Now there was about a hundred feet between the cliff face and the oncoming hoard.
“If today be the day we die vampire then let this be the day that natural enemies fight and die together against unnatural foes.”
“For Death Glory—“
“and the Red Dawn!”
They charged at the zombies slaying them left and right, but constantly the oncoming hoard pushed the tiring heroes closer and closer to the cliff face. A zombie snatched Herenel’s arm and gave him a vicious bite before being decapitated. It was the arm he held his axe in.
“Good thing dwarves are trained to fight with both hands.”
“Very.”
That’s when they heard a new sound. A slishing slashing sound. Then the other retchet burst into the clearing followed by about a hundred more zombies. They charged ready to finish what they had started. Then a net flashed through the air and entangled the retchet, bringing it to the ground. An arrow pierced its heart. The zombies continued their mad rush when suddenly a huge burly man burst out of the Tangle waving a greater sword. He roared at the top of his lungs,
“For the fallen Lord!”
The cry was echoed throughout the Tangle, and Einar’s 1st berserker platoon burst into the clearing. “For the fallen Lord!” overpowered the groans of the zombies and the crazy men from Earth sliced their way through the zombies like a hot knife through butter, trampling paper thin skulls and decapitating rotting bodies.
“No.” whispered Harcos.
The first man who entered the clearing came over. “He was a good man Harcos son of Vadallat.”
“He was a better dwarf.”
Herenel lay in the dust with one of Harcos’ knives through him. “He was bitten and was turning so I killed to save him the pain. You came in the nick of time Trolt son of Agodom.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t faster.”
“You probably had other battles to fight.”
“We did, but I couldn’t let Einar’s commander down.”
“Thank you. I am in your debt.”
“Forget it. Come on let’s get you and our fallen friends body to Dedron. He will have a better funeral there, and I hear tell that dwarves have taken refuge there so it will be among his own people.”
“He will like that.”

BassistofDoom

Spoiler Alert!

Go! Now! The last words that escaped Einar’s lips before he was cut down were to Hayato, and they played back in his head over and over again. Now he marched through the desert with less than 30 men, half of them civilians who had picked up rifles and spears without knowing how to use them. This was all that was left of Einar’s royal army. Seven samurai from Hayato’s Tagawa clan had survived, but the only reason they had not died with their general was because Einar had made them swear to leave him and escort the villagers into the desert, where they would be safe from harm. Hayato wished that was the case. A band of orcs containing almost twice as many crazed warriors as their small force had been tracking them ever since they left the ruins of Einar’s castle. Hayato knew it was only a matter of time before they caught up.

“Look!” Hayato spoke loudly so all of his soldiers could hear him. He pointed to a tall rock formation in the distance. “Yarrick’s Salvation…” He spoke this time to himself. There had been legends of a man named Yarrick long ago who had become trapped in the desert and was on the brink of death when he discovered a group of 5 rocks that were all over 15 feet tall. No one could explain why they were there, but in their midst were several trees and a small pond containing fresh water. Now Hayato prayed that he was in the very same place Yarrick had been all those years ago. Upon arrival at the rocks, he knew his ancestors had been watching over him. “Set up a camp! Make tents with whatever you can. We shall stay here for now.” Hayato sensed the orcs coming. He knew that staying only meant that they were sure to be found. But he would much rather have his people stay where they could become hydrated again and have their spirits raised. He pulled Kazuya aside, his best friend and first lieutenant. “There is not much time. The horde will be upon us soon. Wait ten minutes, then tell the people to prepare for battle. We will not be able to escape them, so we must fight.” Kazuya nodded, then went back to the pond to take a drink.

Years passed before the ten minutes were over, and Hayato stood silently, observing the desert before him and wondering if his people would live to see the sunset. Finally, as the people were gathering up their weapons and turning to him expectantly, black dots appeared on the horizon. Then, the terrible war cry followed. “RAAAAGGHHH!!!!!” It echoed in the minds of all the frightened villagers and even Hayato and the seven samurai. “The day has come. We will not back down!” Hayato started to speak to his people as the black dots grew rapidly, showing the charge of the orcs. “We fight with honor!” Tornak became visible to them, riding on his raptor. “This day will be remembered by our descendants for thousands of years. The day when we stood our ground and did not back down.” The distance between the Tagawa samurai and the orcs was rapidly disappearing. “For we fight, for Einar!!!!!” As soon as he finished speaking these words the first clangs and slashes of the battle were heard.

Hayato immediately cut down the orc in front of him, who’s blood ran down his sleek sword. Kazuya, who was to his left, sliced his way through five orcs before Hayato noticed that something was wrong. Kazuya paused suddenly and lurched forward, collapsing to his knees with a dagger sticking out of his back. Then, after a long pause, he stood back up and continued swinging his sword at any foe that approached him. Hayato fought beside him, trying to keep him from receiving any more wounds, but Kazuya was struck once more, this time in the chest. But again he would not give up. Hayato and Kazuya cut down orc after orc until finally Kazuya was slashed across the chest and fell to the ground for the last time. “Noo!!!!” yelled Hayato as he watched his friend die. Then he became aware of the rest of the battle. Bodies of the villagers he was trying to protect were scattered across the ground, turning the sand red with blood. Only ten villagers remained along with him and three other samurai. Suddenly, he noticed Tornak getting ready to charge atop his beast. Hayato stood with his sword out, waiting for Tornak’s move. “Do you like jousssssting?” asked Tornak with a twisted smile before charging at Hayato. In one quick move, Hayato leapt out of the way at the last second and cut one of the raptor’s legs. It cried out in pain and fell to the ground. Tornak jumped off and drew a jagged sword, now in a rage. “I will dessstroy you samurai!” Hayato underestimated Tornak’s quickness and received shallow gash across his chest. He grunted in pain but did not falter. He sparred with Tornak for what seemed like hours but unfortunately the orc was much more skilled than he ever would’ve thought. Finally, Tornak lunged forward with a jab but Hayato caught him off guard and decapitated him. The battlefield was silent. Six orcs that remained fled at the sight of Tornak’s defeat and Hayato raised his sword in a cry of victory. The day was theirs.

The Grim Reaper's Friend

Spoiler Alert!

The desert was silent. A full moon lit the blackness of night, and cast a shadow of glimmering silver on the vast sand dune. The hot sand seemed lifeless, except for three lone figures running across its unbroken plain. They were an oddly assorted group. One carried a red shield and armor emblazoned with the symbol of the ninth roman legion, lost long ago in the mist of a savage land. Another wore leather armor and carried a curved sword in his belt. He was a samurai, an ancient warrior from a forgotten time. The last of the three figures was clad in golden armor, and carried a broadsword. He was a resolute warrior form a dark world.
The three figures ran on. Deeper and deeper into the desert they went, plunging through sand drifts and over giant dunes. They were beginning to tire, but they dared not pause to rest. Pursuing them were the forces of Utgar, the very incarnation of evil itself. They heard no war cries behind them, and, though they did not stop to look, there were no pursuing enemies. They were alone in the vast desert.
Yurihoto, the samurai, topped a sand dune not many minutes later. He stopped and surveyed the sand across which they had come. His experienced eyes told him that he saw nothing but lifeless stretches of sand, but he knew better. The forces of Utgar, exultant over their victory against Einar, would still be sure to slay all of his warriors. They could not afford to let any escape and spread the word. Yurihoto scanned the horizon, but found nothing. Tandros, the armor-clad warrior, climbed up the sand dune and stood behind him, panting. “Do you think we lost them?” he said, between gasps.
“No,” said Yurihoto, as Marcus, the roman commander struggled up the steep cliff of sand. “They’re still pursuing us,” Yurihoto said, more to himself than to Tandros.
A dark shape landed on the sand next to them. It was the brown form of a winged kyrie. “Why have you stopped?” he asked sharply.
“Do you see anything?” asked Tandros, ignoring the kyrie’s question completely.
The kyrie looked in the direction they had come. “They are pursuing you still,” he said. “They come with the swiftness of dragons and the numbers of drones.”
Tandros sighed, looking at the horizon.
“Then let us go,” said Yurihoto, turning and proceeding down the dune.
Tandros turned to Marcus. Marcus was bent over, his hands on his knees, panting. He looked up at Tandros. “I wasn’t made to run like this,” he said, in between breaths. “I’ll catch up in a minute; I need to rest some more.” Tandros nodded, and then hurried after the samurai. The kyrie shot into the air, looking back the direction they had come.
As the kyrie circled above the two journeyers, he thought he saw some black dots on the horizon. He couldn’t make them out, and looked closer. There were about thirty in all, half of them looked like the squat bodies of orcs, but he couldn’t be sure. One was large and moving very swiftly. It was tall, but at this great distance, he couldn’t quite tell what it was. That they were Utgar’s forces there was no doubt. About six of the dots appeared to be a ghostly sort of white, and the kyrie decided that they must be shades. Then, as they came closer, he recognized the smaller black dots, not as orcs, but as…
Marcus finally looked up. The cold desert night had cooled the sand considerably, and he was now ready to move on. In the distance he saw the retreating forms of his two companions. He started in their direction, but stopped suddenly as the kyrie that had been above him plummeted to the earth, deep gashes in his body. Instead of running to the side of his companion, Marcus looked up, and saw the red, muscular forms and bat like wings of six of Utgar’s kyrie. Marcus ran as he had never run before. The minions chased after him, but they were slow, and he easily outstripped them. Then he heard the howls.
A scream behind them caused Tandros and Yurihoto to turn around. Nothing was to be seen. The desert was peaceful, and the sky was clear. Too clear, in fact.
“Where’s that kyrie?” asked Tandros.
Yurihoto looked at the sky, looked back at the desert, and said, “I think Utgar is upon us. There is no help for our friends now, we must flee.” With that, he turned and ran down the side of a sand dune. “Keep low,” he breathed to Tandros as they silently raced along the desert. “If they don’t see us, they can’t follow us.”
Unfortunately for the two companions, a long, bare strip of level sand came into view. There was no way around it, for it was too big. Yurihoto stared at it grimly. He turned to Tandros. “Run,” he said. “Run as fast as you can and don’t look back.” Without another word, they took off silently into the desert. One of the minions, however, spotted them, and let out an earsplitting cry.
The two fugitives sped across the open plain of sand, not daring to look back, not daring to stop, not daring to speak. They could hear the sounds of their pursuers, coming closer… and closer… and closer. They went on, their breaths coming in short gasps. Their legs ached, their backs ached, and their necks ached form bending so low. Still they went on, running for their very lives. Their pursuers came closer. Tandros could hear their snarls, their yelps, and their growls. But the sound that he dreaded most was their footfalls. They came ever closer. They gained with each step, bringing death nearer to its quarry. And then the evil warriors were upon them.
Tandros gave up running and drew his sword. He turned to face the enemy, determined to sell his life dearly. In an instant, he was surrounded by at least six wolves. They leapt, tore, bit, and scratched at him, but they could not bring him down. Swinging his sword in mighty arcs, he managed to take out two of them at once, but tow more stepped in to fill their places.
Several feet away, Yurihoto was also surrounded. He stabbed at the wolves and deflected their blows, substituting his own instead. They fell more quickly under his blade than under that of Trnadros, but they still came. The tide seemed endless.
After several minutes of hacking and slashing, small piles of dead wolves were beginning to form around Tandros and Yurihoto, but they were beginning to tire, and the wolves sensed it. With renewed energy, they pummeled the two companions until, finally, Yurihoto fell beneath their furry bodies. Tandros, temporarily distracted by the death of his companion, suffered a stab from a knife and a savage bite on his armored leg. These injuries only caused him more distraction, and he was stabbed twice more. He fell to one knee, his sword useless by his side, trying to ward off the irrepressible flood of wolves.
Suddenly, the wolves scattered. Towering over Tandros stood the massive form of a centaur like creature. It had bulging muscles and a fiery red mane. It carried a curved scimitar in its right hand, and had an evil smile on its twisted face. Tandros recognized the creature Brunak.
Brunak, with a ferocious roar, pawed the air with his front feet and then rushed to attack Tandros. His red eyes gleamed with the lust of blood, and his fists clenched, as if he could feel the neck of his foe breaking beneath them. Tandros, beaten, bruised, and tired as he was, managed to roll to one side to escape the deadly blade. He raised one knee, but before he could get all the way up, he was knocked over by the huge fist of Brunak. Tandros rolled several times before he came to a stop in the sand. Brunak, sensing his enemy’s defeat near at hand, waited for him to get up.
Tandros, lying face down in the sand, did not move. These creatures had killed his lord Einar, and now they were going to kill him, too. He lay there, waiting for the inevitable. He could see Brunak’s clawed feet right next to him. He was waiting; waiting for another chance to throw Tandros to the ground.
Tandros had a sudden thought. He didn’t like to be thrown. He didn’t like enemies, and he didn’t like defeat. And he especially hated Utgar and his minions. It was time that they tasted defeat. Tandros got up, brushed the sand from his armor, and gripped his sword tighter. Brunak grinned an evil toothy grin, and leapt at Tandros. Tandros, a new energy flooding his veins, raised his sword and charged the red beast, determined to win...

[Kaemon Awa 123]

Week 7 - June 5, 2011

Valkrill's forces have begun to march on Utgar's lands. As they reach Utgars forces guarding his territory, they see that an army of the allied generals is already fighting desperately against Utgar's horde. Now the forces of the Allies are caught between two massive armies. Write from a viewpoint of a soldier in one of the armies, and MAKE. THIS. EPIC.


Note: Deadline undecided, TBA

[Vader Fan 7]

Dadnarg434 - 3rd Place

Spoiler Alert!

“The time is now! We have to act.” Sonlen’s voice, strong and commanding, filled the room where they were seated.“Are you sure, Sonlen? I do not believe our soldiers alone can overcome Utgar. If we attack him, we will likely perish.” Ullar spoke with a calm, clear voice that bespoke confidence tempered by wisdom.Chardris watched the discussion with a mixture of eagerness and surprise. This opportunity sounded almost too good to be true. A chance to finish Utgar! Chardris shuddered with excitement at the thought. “No, my lord Ullar,” Sonlen replied. “We will win this fight. Utgar has been weakened by his latest losses. This is our only chance. We must act now.”Ullar frowned, eyebrows contracting. “Why don’t we acquire the support of Jandar and the other Generals? Their soldiers would be of great help.”“We don’t have the time, General. It would take too long to assemble all the other armies. The window of opportunity is short. Utgar’s army, weakened from battle, is camped in the deadlands, miles away from his castle. We can finish them now, or never.”Chardris looked at Sonlen with a start of surprise. Although he was usually confident and outspoken, Sonlen seemed exceedingly forceful today. “Really, it’s no surprise,” Chardris thought to himself. “Anyone would be anxious if there was a real chance they could end Utgar once and for all.”Ullar stood motionless, his face pensive. After several moments had passed, he spoke: “I trust your judgement, Sonlen. We will march. By the end of tomorrow, Utgar will be no more.”Sonlen nodded, his face grim. “For the alliance,” he replied.With a roar that shook the hills, Ullar’s forces crashed into the orc lines. A mix of Ashran squads and viper battalions comprised the first lines, and they proved deadly against the orc warriors. The vipers would hurl themselves into groups of orcs, slashing madly. The orc formation would weaken, and the Ashrans would charge forward, cutting down the remaining fighters. All across the lines, the same tactic was being used again and again, with brutal success. The constant showers of arrows further hampered and weakened Utgar’s soldiers.Ullar and Sonlen stood together at the top of a hill, where their command tent had been set up. With them were Chardris, Ulginesh, and the other three members of The Order. All watched the battle below unfold.“It appears to be going well,” Ullar spoke. Chardris nodded in agreement. Sonlen, intent on watching the struggle, didn’t respond.“At this rate, I figure we will break through their lines and overcome them by the time the sun sets,” Ullar continued. “Should nothing go wrong,” Arkmer added. Ullar frowned, and looked back at the battle. “If nothing goes wrong,” he agreed.At that moment, a kyrie came soaring down through the air to land in front of Ullar. A massive, muscle-bound soldier, he carried a deadly looking gun in a holster at his hip. He bowed quickly, then spoke:“Lord Ullar, I bring word from our flank scouts. It appears that to our right, a few miles away, an army is marching toward the battle here. They carry the colors of Valkrill.”Sonlen turned about quickly, a look of surprise crossing his face. Chardris and the other elven wizards let out exclamations of shock. Ullar’s frown deepened, the skin around his eyes tightening. “How soon?”“Maybe an hour. At most.”Ullar nodded wearily, his eyes closed. “Very well, sound the retreat.”“No!” Chardris twisted sharply to look at Sonlen, who had uttered the cry. Everyone else turned as well, confusion and surprise evident in their expressions.“I beg your pardon?” Ullar asked, his voice dangerously low.“With all due respect my lord, we can’t retreat now.” Sonlen exclaimed.“And why not? Are you challenging my authority, commander?” Chardris shuddered, as the air around them grew thick with tension.Sonlen’s eyes narrowed, and for a sudden instant, the air around him seemed to crackle, as if with electricity. Chardris almost let loose a shout of shock, but he managed to contain it. Sonlen then spoke, composure in place. “Of course not, General. I merely believe this occurrence can be used to our advantage.”Chardris looked around, but no one seemed to have noticed the momentary change in Sonlen. Maybe he had imagined it.Ullar continued to frown, head tilted slightly. “How?” he asked.Sonlen walked over to the map spread out on the command table. Pointing down, he spoke: “Here we are, and here are Utgar’s forces in front of us. Behind us, perhaps a mile away, is the cliff drop-off before the canyon. To the right of our and Utgar’s armies, Valkrill approaches.” Sonlen looked up at everyone grouped around the table, then looked back down. “Instead of retreating from battle, out to the left, we should ‘fake’ a retreat backwards. Utgar will push forward, thinking he’s winning. He will hope to pin us against the edge of the cliff, where we will be trapped.”Ullar looked down at the map, his eyebrows contracted. “How does that help us?” He asked.“Because, as we fall back and Utgar moves forward, his forces will move directly into the path of Valkrill’s approaching army. Seeing a weakened force, Valkrill will charge right into Utgar’s flanks. We can simply watch, as the two armies destroy each other. We can then clean up what’s left.”Emiroon stared down at the map, and voiced a question. “How do we know that Utgar is not aware of Valkrill’s coming?”Sonlen looked up at him, a strange expression on his face. “My dragon, along with several groups of Aquilla’s Wyrmlings we encountered earlier, has been patrolling the skies. They have destroyed all Utgar’s scouting teams between us and Valkrill. He has no idea what is approaching.”“And your dragon can warn us in the event of an aerial attack, correct? Arkmer asked.Sonlen turned to look at him. “Yes, he can.”“Very well then.” Ullar spoke, his hands clasped together. “It may be risky, but let’s do it. Single the Commanders to begin a false retreat.”“Excellent, general.” Sonlen replied. Chardris looked down at the map again, and a sudden feeling of unease welled up inside him. Something was wrong; he could feel it. But he didn’t know what it could be. They stood, facing the approaching army. Ullar’s forces had successfully feigned retreat, and Utgar had eagerly pursued them. Now, with the sheer cliff face at their back, they faced the oncoming wave of orcs. The elven wizards, Sonlen, and Ullar stood together in the midst of the army. Charos had moved to join them; he stood a little ways away from their command tent. All watched, as the enemy drew closer. “Any moment,” Ullar muttered. Chardris nodded, his throat to tight to speak.Arkmer spoke, his voice deep. “There are clouds gathering.” Chardris looked up. Indeed, the sky was now almost covered by a thick wall of grey-purple thunderheads. As he watched, black lighting flashed across the sky in several places.Chardris took a breath, and focused inwardly. He could feel the power inside, fuelled by his fellow wizards around him. United together, the Order of the Crimson Sigil had the power to overcome almost any magical opponent. At their full strength, none could overcome them. At least, none had yet.Chardris closed his eyes, and let the power course through him. It calmed his nerves, and steadied his breathing. He looked around, his face calm, and ready.At that moment, Valkrill’s soldiers appeared over the hill. They swarmed forward, directly to the left of Utgar’s exposed flank. All of Ullar’s warriors around them gave a shout of joy, as Valkrill’s army thundered down the hill toward the masses of orcs. Chardris glanced around him. Ullar, Emirroon, and Sonlen were watching the two enemy armies. Ulginesh sat atop his winged horse, eyes closed in concentration. And his daughter, Johrdawn, was staring up at the sky, frowning. Chardris stared at her, curious: her eyes were wide, her mouth closed in a narrow line, her staff gripped tightly in her hand. Chardris watched her, thinking. What could she—A sudden shout turned his attention back to the front. He scanned the battlefield hurriedly, searching for something amiss. There was nothing different…and yet…He felt a sudden intake of breath beside him, as Ullar suddenly gave a low whisper.“Damn.”Chardris searched frantically, until he realized what was wrong.Valkrill’s army had changed course. They had turned away from Utgar’s flank, and were now hastening toward Ullar’s forces, backed against the cliff drop-off. At the same time, Utgar’s orc army had begun a charge, rushing from the other side. The two armies moved together, forming a pincer around the trapped Ullar forces. “They’re working together. They’ve joined forces!” Emirroon cursed.“How is this possible?” Arkmer roared. Ullar stood motionless, his face pale and lined. Chardris stared at the oncoming wave of enemies, his mind in shock. “It’s too perfect,” he said aloud. “They planned this, they knew we were coming. But how…who?”As Chardris’ eyes widened in shock, he felt a shudder behind him. He spun around, summoning a sphere of fire in each hand, his mouth opening in a yell.But he wasn’t fast enough. An ear-splitting crackle filled the air, and Chardris was blasted off his feet by a bolt of searing black-lighting. Flung a dozen feet backwards, he crashed hard into the ground, driving a furrow through the earth. He lay there, crumpled in pain. White-hot pain, that coursed through his nerves like acid, leaving him helpless in agony.Sonlen stood, lighting sparking around his body. His face was twisted in a savage smile, as he grinned at his fallen opponent. “To slow, Chardris,” he spat.A roar rose up, as the other elven wizards spun around. Fire whirled up around Jorhdawn, and Emirroon whipped his sword free of his belt. Ullar turned to face Sonlen, his face a mask of anger and sorrow. “Sonlen, why?” he asked.“Utgar has given me power beyond anything you could imagine. I am now an Arch-Sorcerer, a Dragon Master! Everything shall crumble before me.”Arkmer spat on the ground in front of Sonlen. “Traitor!” he cursed.“Since when did you desire power, Sonlen? You were the greatest champion I knew.”“I’ve wanted it since Ulginesh denied me entry into the Order of the Crimson Sigil. I was just as powerful as any wizard in the Council, but he refused me.”“The Order is attained by birthright, Sonlen.” Ulginesh retorted. “The magic is that of Feylund itself. I didn’t – don’t have the power to give you our connection.”“Pity for you,” Sonlen spat. “In return for Utgar’s power, I will follow my orders.” He raised a hand to the sky, and a lighting flash lit up the area. “Now!” he roared. From where he lay, Chardris painfully looked up toward the sky.And watched in horror as a force of Minions plummeted down toward Ullar.Fire and light flashed up, as the elven wizards drew on their power. As the evil kyries leapt down amongst them, several were obliterated by the magic attacks. There were too many to stop, though, and the Minions of Utgar attacked Ullar and his allies. Emirroon, sword drawn, slashed left and right at the surrounding foes. Fire leapt from Jorhdawn’s hands, and bursts of light from the staffs of Ulginesh and Arkmer. In the center of the melee, Ullar was encircled by kyrie. They hacked and slashed at him, and he whirled his staff above his head, warding off blow after blow.A screech of rage filled the air. Chardris struggled to move, but the pain was still too great. He slumped back, struggling to remain conscious. He looked up again, and dimly saw a red dragon come rushing towards them. Mimring soared down, heading straight for the engaged Ullar. Surrounded as he was by kyrie, he was unable to defend himself against the approaching dragon. With a bellow of anger, Charos flung himself into the air. He swept forward between Ullar and the charging dragon, and charged forward, claws and teeth bared. Mimring screeched again at the sight of the green dragon approaching. Just as they were about to collide, two other dragons came tearing out of the clouds on either side of him. Charos gave a roar of pain as both dragons smashed into him, spraying acid and fire across his body. He faltered, and began to fall back to earth under the combined weight of Othkurik and Moltenclaw. Mimring soared past him, and flew over Ullar, maw agape.Ullar and his attackers were consumed in an inferno of flame, as Mimring swept by, fire blasting from his jaws. He turned and flew off as the fire roared up. When the fire storm had disappeared, Ullar was left kneeling in a circle of blackened earth. The enemy kyrie around him had been vaporized by the intense fire. The elven wizards had overcome the other Minions, and now rushed to their fallen leader. Sonlen stood a short ways away from Ullar, smiling. “Goodbye, Ullar. It was… beneficial serving under you.”He raised his hands, and with a cry, let loose a torrent of black lightning. It surged through the air, toward the weakened kyrie. And was stopped by a wall of fire. Jorhdawn, standing before her fallen general, held back Sonlen’s attack. Lighting continued to flash from his hands into her fire wall, but she didn’t falter.“You won’t touch him.” She said, her quiet words like a steel whip. Her eyes were bright and hard, and Sonlen initially flinched back. He stared at her, and then snarled. “Do you think you can match the power of Utgar, girl?” he cried.“Not alone, but with us, she will.” Ulginesh spoke, as he and the two other wizards stepped up behind her. Closing their eyes, they combined their energy, sending it flooding through her.Sonlen stared at them, surprise spreading across his face. “Very well, then. See if you puny wizards can match real power.”Sonlen raised his staff, now blackened wood, to the sky. A rumble of thunder shook the air, with a blinding flash of light, a storm of lighting arced down into his upraised hand. Then, as his very eyes seemed to spark with power, he unleashed the lighting upon the elven wizards.The wave of electricity hammered into Jorhdawn’s wall of fire, and she staggered under its force. Gritting her teeth, she closed her eyes and stood her ground. The other elves stood behind, sending every bit of power they had into her.Chardris watched, helplessly, as his fellow wizards were overcome. Sonlen, eyes hard, kept up a steady storm of lighting. Jorhdawn struggled, using the strength of her companions to protect their leader.Emirroon was the first to fall. Energy drained from his body, he slowly collapsed. A few moments later, Arkmer staggered and fell too. The wizards had bound themselves to Ullar’s protection, but their power wasn’t enough. In struggling to keep Jorhdawn’s shield up, they gave their very lives. Slowly, agonizingly, Ulginesh faltered too. He slumped forward on his horse, his life spent. Jorhdawn, standing alone, gradually crumpled under the power of the attack. Chardris struggled helplessly, but the pain prevented him from using his power. He watched, unable to intervene, as his daughter died in Ullar’s defense. Sonlen ceased his attack, his face weary but triumphant. He stepped over the fallen wizards, picked up Emirroon’s fallen sword, and then with almost a casual indifference, he swept Ullar’s head from his shoulders.Sonlen turned, and looked at Chardris. “I think I will just leave you,” he said. “Your general is beaten, your friends fallen.” He looked up, as Mimring swooped down out of the sky and landed beside him. Sonlen turned to face Chardris, last of the Order. “Farewell.” He smirked, and then leapt up onto Mimring’s back. With a rush of wind, the red dragon leapt into the air and flew away.Chardris lay still for a few moments, as the pain finally began to fade from his body. Once he had regained control of his limbs, he staggered up.He staggered over to where Jorhdawn lay. He held her lifeless body close to him, pressing her hair against his cheek. Chardris wept silently, in anguish and rage at what Sonlen’s betrayal had cost him. As he knelt there, he heard a sudden thud behind him, the sound of some heavy creature. No longer caring about his fate, he turned around.Scared, burned, and battle-weary, Charos stood before him. He was covered in wounds from his struggles with the other dragons. Charos slowly walked past Chardris, to where Ullar lay. He stood, his massive head bowed for a moment. Then he turned back to Chardris, and spoke in a deep, gravelly voice.“He deserves to die for what he has wrought.” Chardris lowered Jorhdawn’s body to the ground. Standing up, he stared at the dragon. Their eyes locked, and Chardris nodded. He bent down, and grasped Jorhdawn’s fallen staff.The wind whipped through Chardris’ hair as Charos soared through the sky. Above him, the ceiling of cloud continued to flash and crackle with electricity. Chardris tapped Charos on the back, and shouted down: “I’ll call him. We’ll see if he comes.” Charos nodded.Gripping the staff tightly in his hand, Chardris bellowed out in a shout that was clear even over the sounds of the battle below.“Sonlen! Traitor! You killed your General, betrayed your friends and allies. I will make you pay for their lives!” He paused, gathering his breath, trying to control his anger.“Gutless worm! Coward! Show yourself!”The war beneath seemed to pause, as soldiers below gazed upward. Chardris sat tensed on Charos’ back, waiting. He would show, Chardris knew he would. But where---Charos suddenly dropped like a stone, just in time to avoid a blast of lighting. Chardris clung desperately to Charos’ spines as the dragon pulled out of his dive. Looking back, Chardris could see Mimring, high above them. “Hurry, go up!” he called to Charos, who began a rapid ascent. Mimring remained motionless, as Charos drew level with him. Chardris could see Sonlen sitting on his back, Emirroon’s sword still in his hand.“You’re dead, traitor!” Chardris roared. “You’ll die for what you’ve done!”Sonlen laughed, and called back: “Give up, Chardris. You can’t win.”“Watch me,” Chardris spat. Raising a hand, he sent forth a blast of fire. It hurtled toward Sonlen, who raised a hand. Lightning leapt down from the clouds to his hand, where he then thrust it out toward Chardris’ fire. The two attacks met in mid-air, and the fire disappeared. Charos swerved to the side, barely avoiding the bolt of lightning. Sonlen laughed again, and shouted: “Pathetic. You’ve lost. Even your precious wizard order couldn’t match me for power. You, alone, have no hope.”Chardris roared in anger, and unleashed several blasts of flame at his foe. Calling down more lightning, Sonlen scattered Chardris’ attacks with ease.“It’s over!” he bellowed. Lightning bolts hurtled down. Charos spun and soared away. Casting blasts of electricity at the retreating pair, Sonlen ordered Mimring to give chase.Charos flew hard, struggling to avoid the lightning that flashed around them. The sky above rumbled ominously, as more and more bolts arced down from the clouds above. Crouched low over Charos back, Chardris almost failed to hear the dragon’s shout.“Chardris!”“What?” he called back.“The clouds! The clouds are the work of Utgar! It’s where he’s getting his power from. Break them apart!”Shock ran through Chardris. Of course! The clouds. Chardris looked up, gathered his energy, and raised a hand.A blast of fire erupted in the sky above. The burst of flame broke apart the clouds, creating a break—Which disappeared as they surged back together. Frowning, Chardris tried again, to the same effect. “I can’t break the clouds apart! I don’t have the strength!” Charos didn’t reply. He didn’t have to. Chardris knew what he was thinking. They couldn’t win this fight.As Chardris sat there, despair filling him, he heard a sudden voice. Thinking it was Charos, he lowered his head to listen more closely. There, it came again. But it wasn’t from the green dragon beneath him…“Chardris!”“…..Ulginesh?” Chardris whispered, hoarse with surprise.“Yes, it’s me.” “You’re alive?” “No, my friend. The Order is no more. We have fallen; you are all that remain.” Chardris blinked as tears filled his eyes, but Ulginesh continued speaking.“Listen! I don’t have much time. The Order has fallen, but I am holding them together. We haven’t passed over yet; we are at the gate. I can’t keep us tied to this world for much longer, but we can help you. We can lend you our power. Once. For one moment, I can give you the full power of the Elven Order. With it, you must overcome Sonlen. He cannot be allowed to wreak more death among our allies.”Chardris sat still, a mix of emotion rushing though him. The Order had enormous strength…but not enough to overcome Sonlen through brute force. “I…I can’t,” he began, but Ulginesh cut him off. “No time!” he whispered. “Here, we give you our power. The last of our Order, the full strength of the Crimson Sigil, I pass to you, Chardris.” Ulginesh paused, then spoke again, in barely a whisper: “Make him pay.”There was a gasp, and the mental connection broke. Chardris was still, feeling the loss of his friends yet again, as fresh and painful as before.A sudden twisting in his gut made him gasp in shock. His skin began to tingle, his eyes watered. With a jolt of energy, Chardris’ entire being shook and shuddered, as power coursed through him. He felt it: a massive, barely containable energy.At that moment, Chardris knew he had the power to obliterate the entire army below him.At that moment, he also knew that is was insufficient to defeat Sonlen.Mimring was gaining on Charos. The large, heavy dragon lacked the speed to escape. Sonlen continued to unleash bolts of lightning, causing the very air to flash and spark. As Chardris struggled to contain the power, waiting for a last, desperate attack, and idea sprang to mind. Born from the depths of his despair, sorrow, and anger, it was his last option. But it could work!Charos was hurtling east, struggling to stay out of Sonlen’s range. But Mimring was closing the distance between them. He was less than a hundred metres away, and rapidly coming closer.In his last, desperate idea, Chardris bellowed out to Charos.“Turn around!” Charos started in surprise. He opened his mouth to argue, but Chardris cut him off with a roar. “Do it NOW!!!” Shutting his mouth, Charos slowed and twisted around. Gathering fresh speed, he began to charge toward the oncoming Mimring. Sonlen threw back his head and roared with laughter. “So this is how it ends?” he called.“Yep,” Chardris hissed, teeth clenched in an effort to hold back the force inside him.The two dragons hurtled toward each other, teeth bared. Sonlen raised his hands to the sky, calling down lightning to surround him and his dragon. Chardris fought to keep his power in check, waiting for the last moment.Sonlen, eyes alight, gave a scream of triumph as the dragons closed the distance. Chardris, eyes closed, finally released the dam holding back the raw power inside him.But it was not directed at Sonlen.An explosion shook the air, as a massive blast of fire blossomed ahead. The inferno of flame and heat scorched the sky, tearing apart the cloud cover. A break, miles wide, appeared in the thunderheads behind Charos as Chardris fire blast ripped apart the cloud ceiling.Through the gap, sunlight came pouring through, straight into the eyes of the charge Mimring, who shrieked and looked away in pain. And, in the brief instant that the cloud cover shattered, Sonlen’s power disappeared. Eyes wide in shock, the eleven traitor watched as Charos hammered into Mimring with a bone-crunching sound. Powerless, Sonlen’s last sight was that of Chardris, who had flung himself from Charos back, using the momentum to hurl himself towards his hated foe. Chardris lashed out with Jorhdawn’s staff, and with all the speed, velocity, and anger behind it, it smashed through Sonlen’s head in a clean, swift blow.As Chardris fell through the sky, bleary and barely conscious, he felt a sudden, weak presence against his mind. Barely a whisper, a voice echoed softly through his head.“Good job, dad,” Jorhdawn spoke softly.The connection disappeared, and Chardis remembered nothing more.

BassistofDoom - 2nd Place

Spoiler Alert!

"What is this madness?” The cold, harsh voice of Khan, a Death Knight and Valkrill’s right hand man, echoed among hordes of orcs and Death Knights alike. Valkrill had sent his massive army to confront and take down Utgar, but what lay before him was a scene of battle and destruction. Khan stabbed the ground with his sword in a rage. The allies had beaten him to it; Utgar’s empire was already falling to them. “No! I will not have this! Go, forces of Valkrill! We will continue, and we will destroy all in our way, whoever they may be!”
“Keep charging forward! The day shall be ours!” Sergeant Drake yelled among the clangs and crashes of the battle. Jandar’s forces, along with the other allies, continued to push Utgar back to his own castle, slowly gaining the upper hand in the fight that would decide Valhalla’s fate. He turned, getting ready to give orders to the troops behind him, but instead he saw what seemed to spell doom for the allies. An endless stream of jet black orcs was pouring down the mountains in the distance among fierce war cries and savage yells. “Aw hell…” muttered Drake to himself before yelling, “We’re being cut off! Gabriel, take your men and engage Valkrill! Samuel, take your force up to that hill and give him ranged support! The rest of you, attack the Drones across the middle of the plain! We have to keep moving!” He grabbed his radioman by the shoulder. “Any word from Dupuis? They should be here by now. We need those Templars!” The radioman shook his head in fear. “N-no sir. I-I don’t know…” But Drake was already gone. He sprinted to the front lines and sliced through the neck of a Drone with his Katana, using no more energy than he would to slice butter. He had to get his troops moving forward, or they would be easily overcome by Valkrill’s orcs.
Khan slowly stepped forward, observing a confident man with long brown hair and shining armor. “I don’t believe we’ve met….And you are?” He said in an almost mocking tone. “I am Gabriel. I am here to destroy you.” Khan laughed, sending shivers down Gabriel’s spine with his demonic voice, and drew his sword. “Let us begin…then.” At that moment Gabriel and Khan charged forward, with all their troops following behind. A sickening crash rang out as the first lines of each side began to fight. Gabriel lunged forward, but Khan easily batted his sword to the side. Gabriel tried to decapitate him, but once again Khan’s blade stood in the way. Then, Khan swung with uncanny swiftness and sliced a cut into Gabriel’s arm in between armor plates. Gabriel collapsed, yelling in pain. A searing pain spread from his arm all across his body, burning every inch of his skin. “It’s called poison, Gabriel. How does it feel? Good thing it’ll all be over soon.”
Drake thrusted his Katana into the chest of another Drone, not knowing how many he had killed anymore. Things weren’t looking good; their progress wasn’t fast enough. They were practically knocking on the door of Utgar’s castle, but he was still fighting and Valkrill was closing in. Unless they got some help fast, they would be crushed in the middle of Utgar and Valkrill. Someone grabbed Drake by the shoulder, and he turned around to see his radioman shaking nervously. “T-They’ll be here in 5 minutes, sir. D-Dupuis wants to know where you want him.” Without hesitation Drake grabbed the mouthpiece for the radio and spoke rapidly. “Ok. Here’s the situation. We’re pushing Utgar back in the front and making progress but it’s not fast enough. Valkrill caught us from behind and I need you to take your men and cut him down. I sent…” Drake paused, seeing Gabriel fall to the ground in the distance along with many of his men. “Dupuis take your men charge Valkrill from behind. Once you defeat him keep moving forward and reinforce the front lines ok I have to go!” Drake dropped the mouthpiece and ran at full speed towards Gabriel.
Khan slowly raised his sword, savoring the moments before he would kill Gabriel. Suddenly, a bullet struck the ground next to him. “What the-?” He looked up and saw several 4th Massachusetts line soldiers firing on him and his men. He yelled back at his troops and sent a squad of orcs to engage the troops and cut off their ranged support. “Now where were we?” He asked, smiling evilly down at Gabriel. He lifted up his black sword and swung down hard on Gabriel’s neck, but it stopped abruptly a foot above his target. “Not on your life buddy.” Spoke Sergeant Drake, holding out his Katana. Drake pushed Khan’s sword back and kicked him in the chest, sending him sprawling to the ground. As soon as he hit the dirt, however, Khan was springing back to his feet, sword in hand. “Finally, someone worth fighting…But I will still kill you.” Khan lunged forward and attacked Drake, who stepped back and blocked his sword. He continued to hold his own against Khan, until Khan caught him off guard and punched him with a metal glove, breaking his nose. Drake fell backwards onto his back, and Khan plunged his sword into Drake’s chest. “No!” yelled Gabriel, who got back up and staggered toward Khan, trying to begin fighting him again. Khan laughed and drew a short dagger. “This is a joke…yes? I will make easy work of you.” He was about to lunge forward at Gabriel, but he was stopped by a voice behind him. “Hey stupid,” said Drake. Khan turned around. “I will deal with you in a moment!” Drake began to chuckle in between coughing up blood. “You looked.” He pressed a button on the metallic section of his arm and the grappling gun fired, sending the hook shooting out and into Khan’s chest, killing him. Khan collapsed to the ground and the battle seemed to fall silent as the orcs and Death Knights stared in shock at their fallen leader. However, before they had time to react, hundreds of Templars appeared on the crest of the hill in the distance.
Sir Dupuis’s horse stomped the ground nervously as he sat observing the scene below him. He located Valkrill’s force and at the bottom of the hill and pointed to it. “There is where we must strike, and we will do so without fear or hesitation. Now, for Jandar!” Sir Dupuis yelled, raising his sword while his troops echoed it. “We have no time to lose! Charge!” The Templars charged down the hill like rolling thunder and smashed into the orcs, striking them down without faltering. Gabriel stood, feeling a strange relief to the poison, and observed Drake’s dead body in reverence before rejoining the fight. Within minutes the Templars and Gabriel’s surviving force destroyed Valkrill’s army, who’s morale had been broken at the site of their fallen leader. “Keep moving!” yelled Dupuis. “We still must charge on Utgar!” The wave of Templars kept charging without a single man stopping and reinforced the allied ranks. Gabriel smiled slightly as he ran to the front lines of Jandar’s men, stopping as he realized the armies were positioned right outside Utgar’s castle and the fighting had stopped. This was it. All they needed was the order to attack and they would destroy the last of Utgar’s men, including Utgar himself. Gabriel opened his mouth to speak but as he was about to give the order a deafening crash rang out, followed by a cold sensation washing over him. He stood in horror as he watched what seemed like every twentieth man collapsing simultaneously, all dead .”BRING HER DOWN! SHOOT!” Gabriel realized that Samuel Brown was standing right next to him, pointing at a black kyrie who was flying towards them, laughing hideously. It knocked Gabriel to the ground and grabbed his throat, hissing, “Hello, Gabriel! I’m Runa!”
He reached frantically for his dagger, feeling the life escape from him as her fingers closed tighter. Bullets and arrows flew all around him, but still more men seemed to fall dead. Finally he ripped it out of its sheath, cutting his hand, and he plunged it into her chest. Runa screamed and released him, grabbing the handle of the dagger. Gabriel quickly pulled out his sword and swung, slicing cleanly through Runa’s neck. She collapsed in what seemed like slow motion as everyone watched her fall, the last of Utgar’s resistance. It took mere minutes to break down the door and find Utgar in his quarters, dead of a knife wound to the chest. Sir Dupuis, Samuel Brown, and Gabriel, the first to find him, never knew if he had done it himself, or if one of his men had turned on him, but it didn’t matter. Utgar was gone, and Valhalla would soon be at peace.

bumper15 - 1st Place

Spoiler Alert!

The Battle of the Ages
Valhalla is undone. The world is collapsing under what she has done. At least the war is over, but we have brought this Dark Age upon ourselves. The very wellsprings we have fought so hard for are now under their control and have brought death to this world. As soon as they find me, I am dead. I write these words in the hope that someone will find them and remember the deeds of our last battle.
It started with a meeting of the Allied Generals. Jandar had received a tip from a traitor amongst Utgar's armies that the Dread General was weakened. Upon deliberation, the Allies had agreed on a final, combined assault. By the end of the week, our army, numbering in the thousands, began the march towards Utgar's lands. We didn't know it had been preordained.
No sooner had we crossed the borders into Utgar's territory, were we ambushed by a sizable, though small, force. The attack force consisted of mostly Goblins, they appeared from nowhere and quickly began to cause problems along the army. There were so many that the normally inconsequential Cutters were causing decent amounts of damage to the flanks of the Alliance.
The Goblins quickly fell to the sheer size of the army. Several had escaped however and it had been Carr who realized first what the attack had really been about. "This was merely a test by Utgar to see how powerful we really are," he stated simply, I knew he was right.
We marched the rest of the day, occassionally being attacked by a small guerilla force. We sustained no heavy damage throughout the day and morale was high amongst the entire army. No sooner had we set down to camp for the night than the real trials began.
Horns sounded across the plain, for that was where we were, the Plains of Amir. Desolate lands that had once been beautiful, destroyed by the many years of war. It had been here that Utgar had begun his campaign against the world those many years ago.
The army assembled, but an army of such an immense size took time to gather. The opposing army began its charge, it was almost as large as ours, but they had already assembled and began to roll over the number of our soldiers who had managed to face the enemy. I stood among them, tearing through any enemy that opposed me. No matter the size, no matter the skill, I tore through all of them as if they were merely sparring dummies. projectiles ranging from arrows to plasma blasts ripped through the air around me, but none managed to hit me.
Our army had at last fully mustered and began to push back at Utgar's army. It was then that I saw Vydar lying dead on the ground, seven arrows protruding from his chest. I saw Carr standing atop him, daring the enemy to come and take his general's body.
Vydar hadn't been the first of the Generals to be killed however. I heard from an elf later that Ullar had been killed in the first moments of battle by a pack of Anubien wolves who had charged ahead of the main force. Ullar had gathered a band of Aubriens around him and they tore through the wolves, but there had been too many and help had been unable to come from the still rousing camp. They had torn his body to shreds and there had been nothing left to retrieve.
I raced over to Carr and helped him beat back the force of orcs that had converged on Vydar's forces. It was then that I realized that darkness had fallen, and everyone was fighting by the light of the moon and stars and the few torches scattered throughout the battlefield. After a time, the orcs had been driven back and I looked to Carr. His face was blank, but I could tell that he had been deeply hurt by the death of his General. I placed my hand on his shoulder, saying nothing, but then the noises of war intruded on our silent conversation and we both raced off in different directions to other parts of the battle. I never saw him again.
I found a contingent of the Knights of Weston, desperately trying to hold back an attack from Moltenclaw and his cadre of Wyrmlings. Denrick was not far off battling against the fiend dragon Mimring himself. I leapt into the fray and assisted the Knights in successfully beating off the Wyrmlings, I personally slayed Moltenclaw with a stab through his eye. Denrick returned to us, having just slashed out the heart of Mimring.
I fought like this all night, running across the battlefield aiding any Allied forces that were being pressed by Utgar's hordes. I once almost lost my life to Krug as he took a swipe at me. He was extremely angry and arrows riddled his body. I could see Syvaris' head dangling from a rope around his belt. I dove under and hacked at one of his legs. The beast roared and collapsed, his injured leg no longer able to carry his immense girth. I decapitated him with another swipe of my sword.
One thought raged through my head as I fought tirelessly. 'How had Utgar known we had been coming?' An army of Utgar's size would've have taken almost as long as ours to assemble. He would've had to have started mustering his army around the same time.
My mind was faced with another dilemma when the sun began to rise. Harsh horns sounded on the hills and both armies looked up in horror at the sight facing them. Arrayed along the edge of the plains sat another immense army, bearing the olive emblem of Valkrill. The new arrivals let loose a mighty shout and charged against both tired armies.
I joined a group of Ashigaru who had immediately moved to try and intercept the approaching army. Their leader, Kato, informed me of Einar's demise at the hands of the vampire Esenwein. He also told me that Cyprien had fled shortly after to avoid the morning light. That left only two allied generals alive.
We clashed into the right flank of the approaching army and sowed destruction among the forces. Valkrill's army was fresh however and quickly began to beat back our tired and beleaguered force.
We were given a respite however as a force of Mohicans arrived at the battle to provide aid, led by Brave Arrow and Aquilla herself. Aquilla's silver sword cut through countless enemies, but she was soon surrounded by Death Knights. Brave Arrow dove into the fray and took a slash across the chest. He collapsed dead at Aquilla's feet. A scream of rage escaped Aquilla's lips and with a powerful thrust of her wings, she beat back all of the undead knights.
Seeing this battle well in hand I turned to leave and find somewhere else where I was needed. A silence descended over the battle field and I turned to see the mysterious general Valkrill staring menacingly at Aquilla, spear poised in his hand. With no noise, Valkrill launched himself at her and proceeded to beat her back. Aquilla was well skilled at the sword, but she was no match for Valkrill's prowess with the spear. He soon had Aquilla skewered on its tip.
I prepared myself to face Valkrill, but he turned away without a word and flew off to another part of the battlefield, leaving no trace of his former presence except for the body of Aquilla lying on the ground.
It was nearing noon and the battle had been waging nonstop for almost fifteen hours. The armies had beaten each other to a pulp and the final player was about to be revealed. Another army silently approached the battlefield. There was no fanfare, no shouts, only an army keen on its purpose. I stared down in shock thinking that Utgar had had reserve troops, but I was surprised when the newly arrived Marro army tore into all three opposing armies mercilessly.
A shout behind me turned me around. I saw Jandar kneeling at the feet of Utgar. They had been battling each other relentlessly since the fighting had begun. I watched as Utgar raised his sword and ended the life of the last Allied general. He turned and faced me, an evil grin on his face. He recognized me and knew what his deed had meant to me. He was so focused on me that he failed to notice another kyrie land behind him and thrust his spear into Utgar's chest. Valkrill had taken another of the Valkyrie.
The battlefield had devolved into a rout as the fresh Marro tore through every other army on the battlefield. Their numbers were larger than the entire combined forces of the Alliance, Utgar, and Valkrill. Apparently they had been breeding secretly for this very moment.
One of the Marro approached Valkrill, who had moved away from where Utgar lay, and proceeded to wage war against the Valkyrie. The Marro was skilled, I couldn't tell who it was from the distance they were at, but I was fairly sure I knew who it was. My fears were confirmed when the Marro took Valkrill by the neck and then simply walked away, Valkrill following obediently behind.
I was approached by a Marro as well. She rose up on her spider legs and stared down at me. "Well, Well," Kee-Mo-Shi stated, "It was good of you to survive this long, now you can see the end."
"You planned this didn't you? You had had this planned when you told Jandar of Utgar's weakness."
"Yes, I also told Utgar that I could convince the other Generals to arrive here for him to crush at the same time, and I also told Valkrill that here the opposing armies would be crippled enough to make them easy prey for his army. None of you realized that the only people benefitting from this battle would be the Marro. I win the most however, I made the Hive and the Hivelords swear that I would be given control of the wellsprings. They have no concern for those, only for breeding and spreading our plague, and they readily granted me that in exchange for all of Valhalla."
I lunged at her as she finished, she merely grabbed ahold of me and lifted me off my feet. "You foolish human, I shall be pleased to have you serve me." She raised her staff and went to touch it to my forehead, giving her access to my mind. Without thinking, I drew my army knife and stabbed it into her hand forcing her to release me. Then I fled from the battle, we had lost miserably.
Kee-Mo-Shi now has control of all fifteen wellsprings and the Marro have been let loose like a plague on Valhalla. I wait here now until they find me. I only hope that this letter is found and that people remember the beauty of Valhalla before the Marro infestation.
-Sgt. Drake Alexander, Ex-Commander of Jandar's Northern Army

Vader Fan 7 - Honourable Mention

Spoiler Alert!

Centuries of orcs flooded the large room, looking much to Gabryl like a nest of writhing flies. The clank of armor and weaponry resounded off the stone walls, as did the grunts and scuffles of the orc warriors weilding them.Gabryl finished strapping his sword to his waist. The long, curved blade was tucked snuggly into its sheath, with the ornate hilt in easy reach. Any minute now the orcs would assemble and prepare to march on the unsuspecting camp of Jandar, where the troops were still recovering from the previous days’ battle. They would crush the General and his followers with one final stroke.“Gabryl.”He looked up. Cyprien Esenwein, in charge of the assault, was approaching him. Gabryl nodded recognition as the vampire drew near.Cyprien looked him over once with his cold eyes before speaking. “You will take two centuries of orcs to attack Jandar’s camp from the side. I will be leading the rest in a head on assault.”Gabryl nodded affirmation. As Cyprien’s second-in-command, he had been briefed on the battle details quite a bit beforehand. But Cyprien wasn’t finished. His face hard, he held Gabryl’s eyes with his own, his mouth twisted into a leer. “Kill everyone you see. Do not hesitate, show no mercy. Let us be done with the Jandarian worms once and for all.”Gabryl bit back his discomfort with the order, but could tell the vampire sensed it. Cyprien’s eyes darkened.“Do not disappoint me, Gabryl.” He said darkly. Gabryl, after a moment’s hesitation, lowered his eyes in submission.“Yes, Father.”Cyprien’s glare bored into him for just a moment longer, before he turned on his heel and marched away.It was the dead of the night. The air was cold and the darkness pressed in from all sides, broken in places by the flames of the torches held in some of the orcs’ hands. The lights of Jandar’s camp were easily visible in the distance. To his right, Gabryl could see the darker shadow that was his father’s army. Cyprien stood at the head of them, his two swords drawn and glinting in the torchlight.As silently as possible, they advanced on the camp. Gabryl held back as Cyprien pulled his centuries forward. The older vampire would attack first. Then, in the ensuing chaos, Gabryl would take his troops in from the side. Come morning, when they withdrew back into the confines of Utgar’s castle, safe from the fatal rays of the sun, Jandar would have ceased to exist.Gabryl swallowed nervously at the anticipation of what was to come.Someone yelled in the distance, a sound easily picked up by Gabryl’s enhanced hearing. The hoards of orcs had no doubt been spotted marching towards the Jandarians, now cries of terror and anger reverberated from the enemy’s camp. With a bloodcurling cry of war, Cyprien broke into a run – the orcs following suit – and launched himself into the air above Jandar’s forces. The ground shook as the orc warriors stormed across the no-man’s-land between Utgar’s castle and the enemy, brandishing their weapons and beating their armor. Again, Gabryl was bizarrely reminded of an infestation of flies as the lines of orcs finally reached the camp.Do not disappoint me, Gabryl. His father’s words echoed maddeningly in his head.“Let’s go.” Gabryl said, both to himself and to the orcs within hearing distance of him. They gurgled in satisfaction, stamping their feet repeatedly into the ground in a bloodthirsty anticipation.Pulling off to the left, Gabryl led the centuries in their stampede, directing them along the side lines of the enemy territory, so far unnoticed and unprecedented by the panicking Jandarians. Bright fames torched the sky as Cyprien’s orcs set fire to the tents, sending intense waves of heat to rival the cold chill of night.Gabryl closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Then his eyes flashed open, and raising his sword high above his head, he cried as loud as he could, “NOW!”Screaming in delight, the orcs surged forward, Gabryl keeping steady pace in front of them. Then his feet left the ground, and he soared into the air, gliding above the tents and dropping back down in the center of the pandemonium, two hundred orcs close on his heels.For about twenty seconds Gabryl and his army were unidentifiable in the swarm of Cyprien’s orcs and the terrorized Jandarians. Then one of the captains saw Esenwein’s son making his way through the camp, and dismayed realization crossed his face as additional orcs swarmed in from the side.“Soldiers!” The captain cried. “Brace yourselves! Take up your weapons and fight! Fight for Jandar! Fight for – ”His shouts died away instantly as an orc’s blade skewered him in the chest. A soldier jumped at Gabryl from the side. Startled, Gabryl jerked his sword out of its scabbard and slashed it out in front of him. Blood spurted from a long gash in the human’s stomach, and he wilted to the ground, eyes wide in pain. The heady scent of fresh blood filled Gabryl’s nostrils, it was all he could do not to haul the human to his feet and bite him.Appalled by the thought, Gabryl shook his head to clear it and focused his senses on the task at hand. Jandar’s troops had finally started to resist; soldiers charged at the orcs, anger and desperation compelling them to fight. The noise was defeaning to Gabryl’s ears, bodies pressed in on him as the mentality of war seized hold of the armies, thrusting them against each other with insatiable malice. Gabryl forced his way through the ranks – through a break in them he could see his father locked in fierce combat with General Jandar. Then his vision was obscured by the thick bulk of a MacDirk Warrior, face red with rage.With a cry, the thickset warrior thrust his short sword at Gabryl’s chest. Gabryl dodged it easily and delivered his own attack, his speed catching the warrior off guard. The parry was clumsy, and within a second Gabryl’s blade knocked the other’s out of his hand. The MacDirk warrior lunged at him, hands out to grab Gabryl by the shoulders. Gabryl thrust his sword through the man’s torso; he too, fell to the ground and didn’t get up. Then someone else advanced on the young vampire; he lashed out instinctively, cutting down the attacker with a sharp stroke from his sword.“NO!” Someone bellowed, knocking Gabryl aside as he forced his way through the mass of bodies. Righting himself and staring after the figure, the young vampire saw Jandar on the ground, pinned there by both of Cyprien’s blades in his torso. Cyprien’s face was alight with triumph and malice. With a shouted oath, the rampaging warrior lunged blindly at Cyprien, waving his sword in an agony of despair over his fallen General. Without warning the vampire hurtled into him, flashing through the air like a black star. Before the aggreived warrior had a chance to defend himself Cyprien’s fangs were embedded deep into the other’s throat.They struggled in the air for a moment, the warrior suspended grotesquely like a puppet. Then Cyprien released him, and the warrior collapsed to the ground. Pale, bloodless, and dead.“Vampire!” Someone screeched. “Murdering swine!” A red-faced officer who had witnessed the encounter now dispatched his combatant with a final blow and swerved to glare at Cyprien. “Damn you and your kind to the deepest pit of Hell, where you belong!” He turned and caught sight of Gabryl, standing not far away. He opened his mouth to continue his rant … except he never had the chance to. Cyprien’s sword, retrieved from the corpse of General Jandar, had suddenly appeared in the officer's chest.Gabryl staggered backwards without really knowing why. A strange numbness was tingling through his veins, the bloodthirsty heat of the battle taking its toll on him.Not for the first time, Gabryl found he wanted no part in it. He turned away, whether to run or to continue fighting he never got a chance to find out. Something dropped from the sky, landing in front of him and blocking his path.Raelin the Kyrie brandished her spear. “Going somewhere, vampire?” She said. Gabryl stared up at her, speechless in his shock and indecision.Raelin attacked. Gabryl ducked out of the way just in time to avoid the stabbing tip of her spear. He pulled out his own sword to defend himself, and then swerved as the spear came inches from impaling him again. He raised his sword to strike … but something stopped him; some inward flicker of uncertainty stopped him from attacking. He was a vampire … killing was what he did to survive … but there had only been cold amusement in his father’s eyes when Cyprien had murdered the grieving officer. There was no honor in such slaughter, he knewTaking advantage of his hesitation, Raelin launched a series of attacks, forcing Gabryl backward as he dodged and parried them. But he didn’t once attempt to retaliate, didn’t once try to strike her down with an attack of his own.“What’s the matter, vampire?” She demanded, disconcerted by his strange behavior. She pushed him back further; Gabryl tripped over the felled body of an orc and landed on his back on the ground. Raelin positionned the point of her spear above his heart, ready to thrust it through. But she didn’t, and in that second Gabryl saw as a flicker of uncertainty ghosted through her eyes. He knew why. He had practically let her win, and now he was sprawled on his back on the ground, accepting that he was going to die and waiting for her to kill him. The point of the spear withdrew ever so slightly.Suddenly a black and red form exploded from nowhere, hitting Raelin hard and knocking her to the side. Her spear clattered away.Cyprien Esenwein paused once to look disdainfully at his son, before he turned on the kyrie.Raelin, realizing what was coming, hastened to retrieve her spear just in time to ward off a would-be fatal strike from one of Cyprien’s swords. But she had been caught off guard, and Cyprien had the upper hand. He knocked Raelin’s spear out of the way with a flick of his weapon and thrust the other one through her shoulder.Raelin gave a gasp of surprise. The wound wasn’t fatal, but the next one certainly would be. Gabryl watched in a torment of emotion as the scene unplayed; he felt he should run ... but the female kyrie had hesitated. She hadn't killed him. And her distraction had given Cyprien the opportunity to attack her.Cyprien raised his right sword, ready to send it through her heart – But then he was thrown back with startling force, crashing to the ground several feet away. Angrily he jumped to his feet, and saw Gabryl, standing defiantly between him and Raelin.Fury clouded Cyprien’s eyes like a shadow. “Get out of the way, Gabryl.” Gabryl stared up at him, glare for glare, but didn’t move. Cyprien bared his fangs. “Get out of my way, Gabryl.” He threatened. “I will kill you if I have to.” Gabryl brandished his sword. “You can try.”Cyprien yelled in rage, raising his sword to cut his son down. Gabryl charged him, grabbing him by the armor and hauling him into the air, high above the heads of the battling armies. Cyprien growled and shoved him away with his boot. He slashed both blades over his head; Gabryl put his sword up to block them – but then Cyprien pulled one of his blades back with alarming speed and swung it in a wide arc across Gabryl’s stomach. Gabryl lurched backwards to avoid it, then flashed his sword in a series of strokes and parries as Cyprien launched attack after attack on him.“You can’t win, Gabryl,” Cyprien taunted him as they fought. “You always were weak.”Gabryl thrust his hands against his father with all his strength, sending the other vampire flying through the night sky. Cyprien rolled around and launched himself heigher, then plunged downward with both swords bared and gleaming. Gabryl swept clear of the lethal blades, dragging his own weapon through the air above Cyprien’s back. The older vampire flipped around in mid-plunge, stopping the blow easily with the side of his sword.“Is this the best you can do?” Cyprien sneered. “I’m disappointed. I would have hoped my own son would have some skill with a sword.”Gritting his teeth against his father’s jibes, Gabryl continued to attack him, their blades flashing like lighting in the sky. The fighting had ceased below, Gabryl knew, as orcs and Jandarians alike raised their heads to watch the spectacle unfold above them.Cyprien sliced both blades forward in an X formation. Gabryl blocked the blow, but double-cleave upset the sword in his hand, he fumbled with it for a second – Cyprien rammed him backwards, sending Gabryl’s sword flying as the younger vampire hurtled towards the ground under the weight of his father. Gabryl tensed as his back hit the ground with a colossal impact that sent earth and rubble in all directions, engulfing the two vampires in a cloud of dust. Gabryl struggled to right himself, but then a searing pain jarred through his core, like each nerve was on fire. Stunned, he looked at his torso, and saw the ornate hilt of Cyprien’s sword protruding from it, at the gap above the ribcage just under his chest.His father’s eyes gleamed. “I told you I would win, Gabryl.” He said.Gabryl looked up at him and smiled sadly. “You’ve never killed another vampire before, have you, Father?”Cyprien hissed. “No.” He snapped. “Why?”“Because,” Gabryl said, and before anything else could happen he ripped Cyprien’s sword out of his own torso and drove it with all his might into his father’s chest.“You forgot to stab me in the heart.”The older vampire never had a chance to reply. His eyes widened in shock and fury, then something seemed to leave them, and he toppled sideways onto the ground beside his son.Cyprien Esenwein was dead.Gabryl pulled himself painfully to his feet, wincing as the wound in his torso slowly began to heal. He looked once at his father, dead at his feet. Then Gabryl turned, and found himself facing the hundreds of soldiers he had forgotten in the battle. They stared at him, eyes wide and mouths gaping. Some looked awestruck, others appalled.Then Gabryl saw Raelin, lying limply on the ground where he had left her. He pushed his way through the crowd; they backed up in their haste to give him room.Concan the Kyrie Warrior was already at Raelin’s side by the time Gabryl reached her.“Is she alive?” Gabryl wanted to know. Concan merely nodded, watching the vampire closely.“Why did you…?” But he never got a chance to finish A horn blared in the distance. Gabryl whipped his head around. The first signs of morning had begun to show across the horizon – but that wasn’t what had caught his attention.Lined across the terrain, mere sillouhettes against the lightening sky, was an army. Gabryl’s quick eyes counted fifty in the first rank alone. And above them, hovering ominously in the air, was the unmistakable figure of an Archkyrie General.“Valkrill.” Someone said. And they were right.Gabryl’s mind reeled. The unprecedented attack force was fresh and ready to fight, and Jandar’s troops had been weakened by the war with Utgar and Cyprien’s purge of the camp. Utgar's troops were plentiful and prepared, whereas Jandar's didn’t stand a chance against this new threat.Gabryl looked at Concan and saw that he recognized the fact as well. He rose from Raelin’s side and drew his sword, though there was no sign of hope in his eyes.Gabryl turned, and saw the orcs that flooded the camp, now under his command. Then he looked back to Valkrill’s waiting army, and the white light that rose steadily behind him.Lastly, Gabryl returned to Concan. The Kyrie’s brow furrowed at the look on the vampire’s face.“Take her.” Gabryl said to Concan, gesturing to Raelin’s prone figure. “And get out of here.”Concan’s frown deepened. He peered at Valkrill’s army, and the brightening sky behind him. Understanding dawned on his face, and he nodded. His cool eyes held Gabryl’s for just a second. Then, wordlessly, he scooped Raelin off the ground and ordered for a retreat from the camp.As Jandar’s soldiers fled, Gabryl addressed the orcs. “Servants of Utgar!” He cried. The orcs, confused by the loss of their original leader, gratefully conformed to Gabryl’s command. They sensed a battle in the making, and bared their weapons eagerly.“Valkrill plans to attack us,” Gabryl said. “Let us destroy him. Destroy him in the name of Utgar!”A deafening roar of consent emanated from the force of orcs. Raising his sword high above his head, Gabryl led his army across the plain to meet Valkrill’s.Raelin stirred. Pain seared in her shoulder; her eyes opened and she gasped.“Easy there, Raelin.” The steady voice of Concan assured her. “We’re getting out of here.”Raelin looked around, seeing what remained of Jandar’s troops as they fled from the camp. Memories came back to her, disjointed and hazy ... the vampire ... Cyprien, he had startled her ... she remembered the pain of his sword in her shoulder ... he had been about to kill her, but then someone had stepped in front of him.The vampire, she remembered. The vampire had saved her.Raelin turned her head to survey the battlefield Jandar's troops had departed from.In the distance, two airborne figures were just visible in the pre-morning glare, locked in fierce combat.As Raelin watched the struggle, one of the figures was suddenly engulfed in a flash of white light.The sun had finally risen beyond the horizon.

dragonfire9788 - HM

Spoiler Alert!

A Short Walk in the Woods

The twigs crunched underneath his labored and heavy footfalls. He gripped a tomahawk in his right hand and his pistol in the right. While an ambush was not expected, he wouldn't put it past the followers of Ne-Gok-Sa. Utgar had further ruined the marros poisoned mind. He guessed that there was a time when the warlord might have been merciful, but now the virtue had been completely flushed from his soul.

Brave Arrow scanned the overhang. It had been eroded by the recent rainfalls in this area. The Forgotten Forest is known for its merciless monsoons in the autumn. Long, thick roots from the towering trees stabbed through the earth and came out through the overhang's face. They were climbable.

The Mohican turned to his the man in the brown overcoat next to him. "You think you can manage that?" As he spoke, he pointed his pistol at the roots. A small clump of dirt fell from the top of the overhang and crashed down into a puddle below.
The man in the brown overcoat smiled. He took of his tri-courne hat and wiped the sweat from his brow. This short walk in the woods was starting to become more of a hike. He recalled hunting in the backwoods of the frontier, one eye on the target and the other on his gun. He could remember the gun tremble as he fired his musket, sending the ball into the doe's leg. It had been a little off target, but his prey had been downed. He remembered climbing out of the bush to collect his prize. The doe had been kicking with the few remaining legs he could use, desperately trying to escape his fate. The man took large steps, drawing his knife to silence the doe forever. His concentration was firmly on his prey, but it was soon broken by the angry roar of a gigantic black bear.

"Looks simple enough. Ain't no cliff face but it ain't no level ground." The man slapped the hat back on his head and slung his musket over his shoulder. Dropping it would surely compromise the mission and he couldn't compromise the mission.

Brave Arrow nodded, following his companion's lead and holstering his weapons. Cracking his knuckles, the Mohican began the climb up the root. He wrapped his legs around the root of a large oak that had to be nearly forty years old and pulled. Brave Arrow was no wuss, but his muscles strained from overuse as he pulled himself upwards. He could hear the man begin his trip up on the root next to him. Brave Arrow hoped the man didn't value cleanliness, as he had picked a very dirty root to climb.

The Mohican and the man climbed up at the same rate, both drawing sweat at the same time. Brave Arrow grunted as the man coughed. His hand reached out and grabbed a smaller root, but it came out of the ground and Brave Arrow lost his balance. His free hand reached out to grab a hand hold and luckily his hand snagged on a stronger root. Dropping the useless root, Brave Arrow smote the uneasiness inside him and continued climbing.

"Doing alright?" The man asked, climbing the roots with relative ease. He had chosen a root with deep cuts in it that he could bury his hands in. The man knew that he had been born lucky and choosing an easy root to climb was no exception.

Brave Arrow nodded as they both pulled themselves over the edge of the overhang and rested at the top. The Mohican lay down on the forest floor and caught his breath, watching his chest rise and fall. His muscles craved oxygen.

The man stood up and took a look around him. All he saw was more of the same. Just tree after tree after tree after tree. Usually the forest would remind him of his Kentucky home, but the forests on Valhalla had a sense of lifelessness about them. Back on Earth, the forests were brimming with animal life. There was no where you could go in the forest without hearing the sounds of a living creature, be it a chirping bird or a clicking squirrel. Here on Valhalla, the only sounds to be heard were the sounds of your anxious breaths. The only life to be found were the endless, stagnant trees and a few brave travelers.
"Are you ever going to tell me what we're doing here?"

Staring up into the sky, Brave Arrow could barely see the sun, though he knew it was slowly beginning to rise on this day. His feelings of tiredness were going to fade as his body recognized it was day instead of the foreboding night. "As soon as I know you can be trusted."
Mulling it over, the man stared at his Mohican companion. He knew that Brave Arrow wouldn't trust anyone who was cautious about revealing such a trivial fact. The man understood it completely, but his reasons still stood. "I already told you why I can't give it to you."

'I don't see why you're so afraid. This is a different world. They can't find you here." Brave Arrow stood up, resting his hands on his knees. He was getting older. "All of us have forgotten our former lives. This is a new world. A new life."

"You didn't forget your trust issues."

Brave Arrow nodded. It was a good point. He walked past the man to take a look at what was ahead. He could barely see the clearing at the end of path. They were close to the climax of their mission.
"Old habits die hard."
The man followed Brave Arrow, also seeing what was ahead. The clearing at the end of the path meant nothing to him except a few extra rays of sunlight. Why not, the man asked himself. No knowledge is gained without sacrifice. "My name is Samuel Brown."

Yet again, Brave Arrow nodded. "I know. I just wanted to make sure you knew."

Sam was appalled, but he looked past it. Once again, the Mohican had a point. "I always have. Now, tell me what I want to know."

Taking a deep breath, Brave Arrow began,
"We have been tracking a party of marro for the last three days. That I assume you gathered from the foot prints in the mud. We've know about this party marauding around the countryside for several months, but only last week did they do something worthy of catching our attention."

We. Our. Brave Arrow kept referring to a group. He always knew that Brave Arrow wasn't on the lowest levels of the ladder, but he didn't expect that he was just below the top. Why was he still doing missions in the field, though? He could just have someone do it for him.
"Yeah. Good to know 'up top' doesn't consider a marro warriors 'trouble.'"

"Hey, there were just four of them and they weren't doing anything bad. Burning a town's wheat supply here and there. I think the worst thing they did was kill a village elder for trying to defend his cattle."

"Worst thing until they did the deed that caught your attention, right?"

"Our attention. My ears aren't on every tree, but there are some of our guys that do. I only get the news that passes through the top first."

"Then there are some of us that don't get news at all."

"I was stationed in City 02, in the Vydar territory one time. I did drills with a man named James Murphy. He was kind of like yourself, dark, mysterious, brooding. He even had the same soft soul beneath the armor."

"I feel like this story is going to end in something that you can't tell me." Sam gave a soft smirk, not sure if it was about his joke or about how serious it would probably turn out to be.

Smiling back, Brave Arrow gave a rare chuckle.
"Well, actually the story was going to end with a phrase he always said. 'Ignorance is bliss.'"

The laugh was instantly shared with the conclusion of the story. "And here I thought I was a terrible guesser."

"Now I know he didn't coin the term, but it was something he had just heard, found some kind of inner truth in it, and just said it till it was tattooed on his mind. In the morning, he always said, 'Mr. Arrow, ignorance is bliss.' At lunch, 'Ignorance is bliss.' Even at dinner, 'Guess what's bliss? Ignorance.' Most of the time, it was applicable to the situation, but one time he said, 'I was talking to Major X17 last night, and he said that you look like the gal I had with me a few nights ago. And I thought about it and I thought, 'Damn, he's right.' Frankly, it wasn't something that I cared to know. I'm just gonna tell you one time, ignorance is bliss.'"

The minor chuckle turned into a full blown laugh, and just hearing Brave Arrow break out, Sam had to burst out laughing as well. It was a decent escape, and not once did Brave Arrow wonder if they were giving away their position. Damn. He hadn't laughed like that in years.

After awhile, the laughter died down and Brave Arrow continued,
"But what I'm trying to get across is that, being in the loop, you hear the things that you don't want to know. If everyone heard about most of the things that happen around here, then maybe the kyrie populace wouldn't all us the good guys anymore."

Sam took a page from Brave Arrow's book and nodded.
"Good guys. Bad guys. Just kid's stuff. I've seen men kill with their eyes cold as ice in the name of freedom and I've seen tyrant's pawns help children. The end justifies the means, don't it?"

"Certainly. Killing ten to save twenty, it makes sense. You just have to have an able man to pull the trigger on ten little girls to save the other twenty girls."

"Able man? Even if the end is desirable, I would have to question the morals of a man who would gun down ten little girls without getting sick. Killing a man with a gun pointed at you is easily justifiable in one's eyes. But killing innocents to save others, I don't know if I could live with that."

"For me, it would pay off just seeing the smiling people who are living. I would watch them speak and embrace, and I would know that I've done the right thing. Those who die in the name of good are martyrs in my eyes and my God doesn't punish martyrs."

"I'd just want to know if it was worth it. Did I save someone whose life is worth saving or are they some ungrateful filth who would take their own life for some superfluous matter. Would have I have killed someone of merit to save some scum?"
"Could you do it though? If it was something that you had to do, would you be the evil man doing good?"

Sam thought about it. Mulling it over in his head, he considered all the options that would be open to him in the event that this scenario occurred. "Yes, I think that I could....would be able to."
"Good. You have earned my trust, Samuel."
Brave Arrow spoke in a soft voice as he continued,
"We are here to assassinate Arkmer, elf wizard of the nine. The marro party I told you about, we always assumed that they were led by a nobody. However, when they attacked one of Ullar's Fortresses, we learned they were being commanded by Ne-Gok-Sa himself. And Arkmer was the target. Not the fortress. In one fell swoop, they ran inside and mindshackled the elf. Now Arkmer is a servant of enemy and he must be killed. While Arkmer's soul is gone, his mind remains and we must not allow Ne-Gok-Sa or anyone else to take the secrets that that mind holds."

Arkmer. That name sounded familiar to Samuel Brown. He knew he was a general in Ullar's army, but there was something more he knew about the guy. Sam felt like he knew him for some reason.
"Wouldn't killing Ne-Gok-Sa work just as well? Sever the mind link between the two or something to that effect?"
There's no guarantee that the warlord will be here. He wasn't last time I hunted down a mindshackled." Speaking of memories brought them rushing back into Brave Arrow's mind. Thorgrim the viking champion had been a fighter. Brave Arrow and his ally, Agent Cherokee of the Krav Maga, had chased the viking through the northern tundra. After four weeks of numbing cold and blistering blizzards, they cornered the viking at a bend in the frozen river. The Mohican still had the scars and he was certain Cherokee still had his as well.
"But what if he is?"
"By all means, kill him. But the primary target is Arkmer. I didn't put my trust in you for nothing, right? Can I count on you to do evil for good?"

Sam nodded.

"Good. Now prepare yourself for battle, they should be just up ahead in this clearing."
_______________
Samuel Brown peeked at the clearing from behind a wide oak tree. This certainly looked like a marro party, he thought. Three marro were gathered in the center, sitting down and talking in their strange clicking language. Their plasma rifles lay right next to them, ready to be grabbed at a moment’s notice. That was one odd that wasn't on their side. Both Brave Arrow and he held single shot musket weapons. Sam himself had a rifle, but Brave Arrow only had a pistol, which has the accuracy of a dumb bank teller. The patriot could only hope that his companion had excellent aim.
One advantage they did have, however, was surprise. Brave Arrow knew that both he and Sam would have time to aim their weapons and but a musket ball into two of them before the other one had time to react. Though, Brave Arrow knew surprise would only get them so far. That other marro could be a crack shot with a plasma rifle, or the fourth enemy in the clearing could give them a hard time. Arkmer of the nine was pacing around in the dirt, his staff in hand and ready for use.

There was one thing that Brave Arrow had neglected to tell Sam and that one fact was the reason they couldn't both take aim at Arkmer and run away. The Staff of Lerkin could not remain in enemy hands. Brave Arrow originally planned to tell him, but then the Mohican had brought up the point "Ignorance is bliss" and decided that his friend was better of not knowing the evil that the staff was capable of.

"I have a clear shot on the elf." Sam had said this earlier, but Brave Arrow had been forced to turn him down. Fire on the marro, the Mohican had said back. They are a bigger threat to us at the moment. And, technically, they were with their ability to reproduce at will. Both Brave Arrow and Sam could agree that they didn't want to go into a battle against a horde of marro.
Drawing his pistol, the Mohican looked out from behind the tree he hid behind and took aim. He had chosen the marro on the bottom left point of the triangle the three formed. He was the closest to Brave Arrow and his best shot of taking one out of the action. The Mohican looked around his tree and saw Sam leaning out from behind his, a musket rifle pointing at the triangle of marro.

Sam nodded his head twice at Brave Arrow. That was the signal they had agreed upon. It was the signal that the one who did the nodding was ready to fire and commence the mission. Brave Arrow checked his pistol one final time, making sure it was perfectly on target.

It was as perfect as it could be and Brave Arrow returned the nod to Sam. Starting the countdown in his head that they had agreed upon, Brave Arrow's finger began to tighten around the trigger. Three. He cocked the pistol, but made sure not to change his aim at even the slightest level. Two. Brave Arrow saw his target click twice at what he assumed to be Sam's target. The other marro clicked back in assurance. One.

Both muskets cracked simultaneously, though Brave Arrow didn't believe it. As soon as he fired his pistol, he cursed himself for firing too late, afraid that they were about to lose surprise. His worries were completely false though, and Brave Arrow watched as the musket ball fired from his pistol smacked into his target's head. He continued to watch as the head shattered and marro brain spilled all over the ground.

Following that musket ball, Brave Arrow looked for Sam's, but saw it sail over the shoulder of who he assumed to be the intended target and hit the already-shot marro in the gut, changing the cadaver's direction and propelling it backwards instead of to the right.

Catching Sam's gaze, Brave Arrow saw the rush of battle fill the patriot's eyes. He leaped from behind his cover and rushed towards the remaining two marro who wore expressions of confusion on their faces. The longer the time it took for them to realize that this was an ambush, the better. Brave Arrow holstered his pistol and drew his tomahawk, following Sam's lead and rushing into battle.

At the sound of the musket's crack, Arkmer whipped his head around and saw one of his marro friends dead and two men charging at the survivors, weapons drawn. Well, the short one in the brown overcoat was only holding his empty musket, so Arkmer didn't know how much of a weapon he could still get out of it. The gun could be used as a club, Arkmer assumed. Clutching his staff, Arkmer saw the Mohican run past the marro, more than likely bent of doing battle with the elf wizard himself.

Samuel Brown, however, ran straight for the marro, his rifle held outwards like a clothesline. The confused marro, the one Sam had missed with his ill aimed musket shot, wiped the surprised look off his face and reached for the plasma rifle down next to him. Sam realized the sudden danger, as not only this marro, but the next one as well, were about to arm themselves and kill him. He heard Brave Arrow's frantic footfalls and Sam knew that he would get no help from the Mohican hellbent on killing the elf.

As the marro scooped up the plasma rifle in his hands, Sam shifted his grip on the musket from both ends to one single end, holding it like ax with the butt pointing upwards. Seeing the marro prepare to take aim, Sam moved his hands behind his left shoulder and sprinted towards his enemies. The marro who Sam had missed stood up and the patriot took his shot. Swinging the musket with all the strength his muscles could muster, Sam heard it swish through the air and smack into the marro's shoulder. In a shriek of pain, Sam could tell he was successful and subsequently the marro's arm crumpled up and the plasma rifle dropped to the ground.

Not letting up, Sam brought the musket back over his shoulder and swung again, this time hitting the marro in the side and sending him straight to the ground. Sam continued on his rush, jumping over the downed marro and running towards his friend. He saw that the other marro already had his plasma rifle in hand and aimed, so Sam didn't have much time. Retaining his original attack form, he held the musket his musket like a clothesline and plowed into the marro right before he was able to squeeze off a plasma bolt that hit nothing.

While Sam was wrapping up the marro chapter, Brave Arrow was crossing the clearing with his tomahawk in hand, almost in slow motion. Arkmer had turned to face him, a grin on his face, and his hands clasped around his staff like it was the hand of a friend. The mystic, purple gem at the end of the staff began to glow and Arkmer began to grin with malicious intentions in his head. Time sped up as Brave Arrow broke into a brisk run, shattering whatever illusion of slowness that was once held over him. The elf wizard hoisted his staff into the air, the purple gem staring down and the Mohican. Each step that brought Brave Arrow closer to Arkmer made the grin on the elf's face even bigger.

The air heated up around Arkmer as the purple gem's glow shot from the staff in the form of a purple lightning bolt aimed at Brave Arrow. Not one to be frozen by fear, Brave Arrow jumped to the side as the lightning bolt impacted the ground and singed every living thing it touched. Tightening his grip on his tomahawk, Brave Arrow surged forward like an advancing army into the breach. His eyes were focused on one thing and one thing only. Arkmer wasn't intimidated. He readjusted his aim and fired another bolt of purple energy, but once again the Mohican was able to dodge it.

Brave Arrow closed the final distance between himself and the elf wizard by jumping at his adversary. It was a move that Arkmer had not anticipated and was caught completely by surprise. Brave Arrow's arms and head smacked into Arkmer's chest and the two tumbled to the ground, dropping their respective weapons in the confusion.

Continuing on his advantage, Brave Arrow jumped to his knees and knelt over Arkmer. He shot a fast punch at the elf's face, but unfortunately Arkmer moved his face just slightly to the left and the angling didn't allow Brave Arrow's punch to be quite as effective as it could have been. It still hurt like a *****, though. Recoiling in pain, Arkmer felt blood rush down his nose like a waterfall. He shoved the pain aside and pushed the Mohican off while Brave Arrow recovered from hitting him.

Falling onto his back, Brave Arrow cursed himself for being so stupid as to let his guard down like that. He saw Arkmer jump to his feet. Now Brave Arrow's adversary had the advantage. He watched Arkmer stare at him, wondering exactly what was going to happen next. Brave Arrow was vulnerable, but Arkmer had to act fast or the Mohican would have time to prove his impressive dodging skills once again.

Arkmer made a fatal mistake. The elf ripped his eyes off of Brave Arrow and dashed for his fallen staff, conveniently located right next to the Mohican's fallen tomahawk. Brave Arrow leaped to his feet as Arkmer made the two second dash to where there fallen weapons were. He bent over to pick up his staff, but he was too slow. Brave Arrow was already upon him.
With enough force to threaten an elephant, Brave Arrow pushed the hunched Arkmer over and caused the elf to perform a half-way hilarious tumbling routine. He settled a little ways away, but Brave Arrow crossed the distance quickly and delivered several well-aimed kicks into the elf wizard's stomach. Arkmer cried in pain, but his allies were too busy dealing with Brave Arrow's ally. One final kick to the head silenced this pains and the dark of unconsciousness washed over Arkmer.

Brave Arrow knew he had to act fast. Arkmer would come to in just a few minutes. The Mohican knelt down and scooped up his tomahawk. He stepped forwards and stood over the unconscious elf wizard. He held the tomahawk over his head and prepared to bring it crashing down into Arkmer's skull. Brave Arrow looked down on the man he was about to kill. Did he still know who he was? What he did? Where he was? Or had Ne-Gok-Sa taken everything from him? Was Brave Arrow doing more than the right thing by killing him? Both for the good of the war and for the good of Arkmer?

More for the good of you, Brave Arrow. You're killing him so you can move higher up. Each assassination you make, you get better and better in Aquilla's eyes. You go back to her palace and you are victorious. The praise is yours and you are a hero. Would she finally promote you or would you have to spend the rest of your life licking her boots? Would killing Arkmer get what you want, Brave Arrow? Or are you not going to get that till you finally man up and kill Aquilla?

Brave Arrow could a feel a haze overcoming his mind, but what was worse was he could bring his arms done to do the deed no matter how hard he tried. The tomahawk annoyingly remained in the air, suspended in indecision. But was it indecision? In his body, Brave Arrow knew he had to kill Arkmer, but his mind was preventing him from doing so. But his mind was perfectly capable of killing the elf, but his body just wouldn't do it already.

The Mohican turned to face the dark, red eyes facing him from the forest. It was an involuntary action. He knew the owner of the eyes before he saw the marro step out from between the trees. His blade glinted in the sunlight and his smile radiated evil. Brave Arrow could feel a chill in the air as Ne-Gok-Sa stepped into the clearing.

Kill him, Brave Arrow.

Across the clearing, Sam was tossed off the marro by his enemy's kicking legs. Sam fell on his back, his musket falling right next to him. The marro he tackled jumped immediately to his feet and ran over to his fallen friend who was still writhing in pain from where Sam had hit him. It was an act of compassion from a species that Sam thought had lacked the trait. But then Sam noticed why the marro had gone over there. Lying next to the marro was his plasma rifle. Sam hadn't thought it had been knocked that far.

A sudden idea rang in Sam's head. It might be his only chance. Picking up his musket, Sam stood up and pointed it at the marro,
"Don't touch the damn weapon, hellspawn."
Sam gritted his teeth and tried to look as intimidating and as menacing as he could. He just hoped that marro were as afraid of death as he was.

The marro turned around and looked at Sam. He stood, almost motionless, as if he was debating between himself to pick up the plasma rifle and fire or do some other option. The marro clicked some indecipherable words and Sam wondered if he knew about the bluff. The patriot's musket wasn't loaded, but did the marro know that? Did he know that much about guns? Do marro know things?

The marro hung in suspended animation, still lost in that indecision. In reality, it had only been a few seconds, but to Sam it might as well have been three years.

In a gigantic sigh of relief, the marro turned and jumped over his fallen friend and took off running into the forest. Sam stood and was happy for a few minutes, until he thought that the marro might be going for help. He didn't even glance to see how Brave Arrow was doing before he ran after the marro, bent on stopping any reinforcements that were being sent for. The marro already had a ten second head start, but Sam had faith in his speed.

The haze in Brave Arrow's mind began to cloud up his vision. He could feel like his muscles were no longer his. He barely even registered it when his arms were lowered to his waist and his grip on the tomahawk loosened. So, this is what being mindshackled felt like. He could tell Ne-Gok-Sa was walking closer to him, observing his new slave with grin fascination. The marro warlord recognized that this was the man who had killed many of his slaves. Every time Ne-Gok-Sa had gotten an enemy to follow him, this man showed up to kill his prize. Oh, this would be fun.

Do your duty, Brave Arrow. Kill the mindshackled.

Brave Arrow felt his muscles obey the warlord's orders. He felt the tomahawk turned around in his hands, the deadly end pointed at its holder. He felt his arms raise, the tomahawk pointing down at him. He felt his new master's gaze on him, forcing him to obey the self-destructive order. Brave Arrow tried to fight, remembering what it was like to control his actions. His vision had faded, his body now owned by Ne-Gok-Sa.

But his vision suddenly returned to him, and his muscles came back under his control. Brave Arrow gasped out, desperate for air. Being mindshackled had felt like he was drowning. His arms lowered, but he was able to stop himself before he dropped the tomahawk. He fell to his knees, his muscles like putty. Brave Arrow turned to Ne-Gok-Sa and saw that his grin had faded. Following his gaze, Brave Arrow looked at what had distracted the warlord.

He saw Samuel Brown, his ally, running back into the clearing. Brave Arrow hadn't realized that he had left. His friend was huffing and puffing, but not blowing any houses down. It was as if he was running for his life. Quick on his heels was an unarmed marro, surely one of the ones from the triangle that he was dealing with, but Brave Arrow could see no reason for their haste. Brave Arrow saw that Sam still had his weapons. Why was he running?

A loud shriek penetrated Brave Arrow's eardrums and he saw that even Ne-Gok-Sa was put off by the noise. Three dark shapes were following Sam and the marro, but they weren't as fast. All three were walking as if they were on a Sunday Stroll, but they held long, broadswords in their hands, so it would have to be a Sunday Stroll in Hell. They appeared to be men, but not at all as human. Their faces were expressionless and white as snow. They wore dark armor which looked surreal juxtaposed against their white skin. Behind them flowed long red capes on every single one. Brave Arrow knew immediately what they were. He had read the reports from the jungle. These were the death knights of Valkrill.

Following closely behind the three death knights was a being that looked like one of Lucifer's rejected followers. His crimson flesh was exposed to the elements as opposed to being covered by skin, and a pack of flies followed him closely. He was deformed with webbed feet and hands and large bone fragments jutting out of his back. His face was held in a permanent snarl, but his eyes burned with the hate of a young man. Brave Arrow knew who he was too. This was Marcu Esenwein, one who he knew had defected to Valkrill just a few months back.

"The traitorous swine," Ne-Gok-Sa clicked. His words were much easier to make out than those of his followers. And right now the frantic clicks of his fleeing soldier could be heard but not made out all across the clearing.

The death knights stopped and Marcu turned to face Brave Arrow and the marro warlord. His expression did not change. He spoke his orders in harsh growl of a voice. "There is the elf. Get him, and I shall get the Staff of Lerkin! Kill all!"

Marcu stood up, taking his hands of the ground. His full height was about that of a teenager, but he wasn't one to make fun of for it. Underneath his arms were horrific bat wings, as red as Brave Arrow imagined the devil to be. He jumped into the air, flapping his arms as he went, and sailed over his soldiers, aiming for Ne-Gok-Sa and Brave Arrow. While he was doing this, two of the death knights ran over to the unconscious Arkmer and picked him up by the armpits. His limp legs dragged uselessly in the dirt as they carried him out of the clearing and into the forest. The other death knight, perhaps feeling a little left out, walked after the fleeing marro and Samuel Brown.

Samuel Brown made a beeline for the treeline while the marro stopped where the triangle of his friends once existed. The marro Sam had injured had passed onto the other side, having had a major artery break and bleed out on the inside. But this marro's salvation still lay next to his deceased friend. As the death knight inched closer and closer, his sword being held in anticipation for blood, the marro picked up the plasma rifle and caught the death knight by surprise. Their eyes met and the death knight stopped walking. He stopped smiling, but that smile transferred to the marro as he fired a plasma bolt at the death knight, killing him.

Behind the victorious marro, Samuel Brown heard the plasma rifle fired and stopped in his tracks. The marro had finally been able to recover his weapon, but Sam had to react before the rifle was turned on him.

As the marro looked around him for another thing to shoot, Sam popped out from behind him and hit the marro in the back of the skull, sending him straight to the ground. Dust scattered around the marro and the plasma rifle fell to the side. Sam didn't let up, bringing blow after blow down upon the poor marro's head. Sam didn't stop to think about the damage he was doing to his gun. All he was concerned about was how much damage he was doing to the marro's head. In the end, Sam didn't stop till there was little to recognize the marro's head as the head of a marro.

Marcu circled overhead, wondering how he was going to attack the marro warlord down below. Ne-Gok-Sa held his blade arm out and his shielded arm in. He wasn't thinking about Brave Arrow who was silently crawling towards the treeline. All he thought was the traitor above who had besmirched his oath to Utgar. Ne-Gok-Sa would make him pay with his life. The marro warlord stood over the Staff of Lerkin. He had heard what Marcu had said. If he wanted the staff, he would have to go through Ne-Gok-Sa.

Banking left into a steep dive, Marcu locked his sights on Ne-Gok-Sa. If he hadn't, he would be able to see Brave Arrow leaning against a tree, loading his pistol. Right now, though, all he was thinking about was getting the staff and bringing the warlord down. He opened his jaw, showing his pointy, white teeth. Ne-Gok-Sa's neck looked like a perfect target as he closed the gap between them.

Just as Marcu was about to swoop in and attack, Ne-Gok-Sa swung his shield arm up, smacking the vampire in the head and sending him crashing to the ground. The marro warlord knew he had heard some bones crack, but from Marcu's back bones sticking out, he imagined the vampire could survive without his bones in the same place.

Marcu's right eye opened and stared up at the marro warlord. He tried to lift himself up with his arms, but he knew the crash had broken them. In fact, he could see one of his leg bones sticking out of his skin. Marcu could feel no pain, only numbness. It was almost a liberation when Ne-Gok-Sa slammed his blade arm into Marcu's head, ending his tragic and short life.

Ripping his arm from the dead body, Ne-Gok-Sa saw the vampire's blood ooze down the blade. The sun had moved behind a cloud and the beauty that came from the shine of the blade wasn't there anymore. What was worse was that the two death knights had carried off his slave and Ne-Gok-Sa was going to have to go back and recover him. He didn't have any living marro soldiers to go get him, so the warlord was actually going to have to do something for himself for once.

Lucky for him, he wouldn't have to do that, as Brave Arrow sneaked up behind him, pointed his pistol at the back of Ne-Gok-Sa's head and pulled the trigger. The warlord's head exploded, and the pistol's smoke rose into the sky as his body fell to the ground. Ne-Gok-Sa died horribly and Brave Arrow was incredibly relieved as to what he had just done.

Brave Arrow looked around and saw Sam, beating the only surviving marro left to death with his musket. "Sam!"

"Yeah!"

"You alright?"

"Fine!"

"I'm going to go get Arkmer!"
_________________

Brave Arrow couldn't believe it. The marro warlord, who he had been searching for all these years, was dead. Every time Brave Arrow had been called out to go assassinate a shackled, Ne-Gok-Sa hadn't made an appearance. It was usually just the shackled and a few marro, but never the warlord. Why had he shown himself this time? And more importantly, why had he acted so unprofessionally? Why hadn't he kept tabs on Brave Arrow when he fought with Marcu?

Don't question your luck, Brave Arrow. The marro's dead and his hold on Arkmer's mind was gone. For once, Brave Arrow would be able to recover a shackled alive. And both him and Samuel Brown were still alive too. Usually the shackled would put up a great fight, cutting down nearly half of the force Brave Arrow would bring with him. The marro were always pushovers, but the shackled would fight as if the fate of everything that ever existed rested on him surviving. Not Arkmer though. Had Ne-Gok-Sa merely done away with his quality standards?

He was following the footprints of the death knights and Arkmer. Earlier he had been following drag marks, but then he assumed that Arkmer had regained consciousness and started walking while still being held by the death knights. It also spelled good news for Brave Arrow, who knew that the death knights would be traveling at a much slower pace with a prisoner than Brave Arrow who was all alone. He had left Sam back at the clearing, but Brave Arrow had remembered to bring something of importance with him.

With the Staff of Lerkin in one hand and his tomahawk in the other, Brave Arrow's spirits soared as he looked down the hill and saw what he had been tracking. Two death knights holding Arkmer and walking slowly down the trail. A plan began to form in Brave Arrow's head, but he knew he had to be fast. The hill would certainly be of great help, since Brave Arrow couldn't go down a hill any other way than running. He gripped his weapons tightly and took off down the hill.

The death knights continued to walk on, Brave Arrow acting out his plan in perfect stealth. As he descended the hill, Brave Arrow took aim with his tomahawk, his eyes set on the back of the death knight on the left. When he reached the bottom of the hill, Brave Arrow let the tomahawk fly and it hit right on target. The death knight crumpled to the ground and the other turned around in bewilderment with Arkmer standing still. The death knight reached to draw his sword, but no matter what he would have been too slow. Brave Arrow was already upon him, the Staff's purple gem glowing. Brave Arrow summoned the last bit of magic in his system from drinking out of Aquilla's wellspring and sent into into the staff. A purple bolt of magic flew from the gem and hit the death knight, causing it to catch fire and burn alive. The last time Brave Arrow saw the death knight, it was running through the forest, desperately seeking out a watering hole to save itself. It would find none.

Brave Arrow put his hand on Arkmer's shoulder and the elf turned around. He had a surprised look on his face, but Brave Arrow guessed that was the face you get when you are saved from being mindshackled. The Mohican handed him the Staff of Lerkin and the elf wizard accepted it graciously.

"Arkmer, you were mindshackled for a long time. In case you don't remember, I'm Brave Arrow. I came here to save you."

Arkmer held the staff in his hand, thinking about it. Mindshackled? He thought not. The elf drew the knife he kept in his robes and drove it home into Brave Arrow's heart.

"You idiot. I was never mindshackled."

Brave Arrow's last thoughts were ones of betrayal and disbelief.

Elven Lord - HM

Spoiler Alert!

Gregory Armstan

May 9, I don’t know the year…
They’re coming…They’re coming…Utgar’s forces are near at hand…My breath comes in rasps. I rub my hands together against an undesired cold that shoots through my body, despite the fact that Utgar’s lands are constantly an inferno of heat and lava. I came with Einar and the rest of the 5th infantry. We came to destroy Utgar once and for all, but now a horrible force pushes itself against my mind, threatening to consume my very existence…I can’t get it out…I can’t get it out…I am trapped in my own mind…

May 11,
With each passing day more of my mind is vanquished by this force. I know not what the force is, but many of my comrades rub their heads much the same way as I do. With each passing moment I am filled with more and more dread. Something’s out there…something terrible…I fear...

May 15,
We engaged Utgar’s forces of evil three days ago. The fighting has been intense, but thank God Almighty we have reached a doldrum. I still fear, and my rifle lays close at hand at all times. Not only do I still fear the force, but it sometimes forces me to my knees in horror, as hundreds of terrible images shoot through my head. The mage once told me, before we came to this terrible place, that all Aether force, such that I fear I am experiencing, is tied to matter. As I come closer to that matter or as that matter comes closer to me the affects will intensify. Whatever is causing this pain is sure to cause a cataclysmic event as soon as it comes…I am haunted by the very thought…of death…

May 16,
I write in this journal though a haze of tears. My head has swollen to the point that no helmet will fit it. I am regularly racked by pangs of excruciating, burning pain, and I am certain that this is no regular migraine. A good half of the fifth infantry, including myself, is in the hospital wings. No one can discover the source of this suffering…I hurt…I burn…I fear…

May 17,
My throat contracts threatening to choke me…I can hear a commotion outside, but that is all for there is a drumming in my ears. I cannot control it. No amount of avila will reign in the tied of searing pain that racks my entire body. I clutch at my head...I burn…I clutch at the nurses, and the doctors…I fear…I have to be tied down, and gagged otherwise I will fall from the bed or my screams demoralize the army…I hurt…I feel something hot against my face, then my own blood fills my eyes. The mage is speaking to me, but I can barely hear him. He speaks slowly carefully so that I can just make out his words.
“Gregory, you must listen to me carefully. This pain is caused by only one thing which is caused by another. This pain is caused by a fear, a terrible sort of fear that is caused by the presence of mezzo demons, Valkrill’s minions. You must not fear. You must remain calm. I would have told you earlier, but I did not know.”
I try. I try to calm myself, but it is of no use. The fear intensifies as I struggle against it…I see a light in the darkness…the pain ebbs away as if carried by the wind as I move closer to it…My head no longer hurts…I do not burn…but I still fear…

Epilogue
Gregory Armstan died on May 17 from uncontrolled fear. There was nothing my magic could do.

I wrote similar records of the other casualties, then escaped before the minions of Valkrill and Utgar overwhelmed those of the other generals, driving them against the sea before crushing them. The Generals were not present, but many good men, and women died that fateful night. It would be too painful for me to reveal to you all of their stories, so except this small sample, and ask for no more…
~This epilogue was written by Jace Beleren, Arch mage of Jandar

Son of Arathorn - Bonus Material

Spoiler Alert!

Shafts of golden light lit the camp as dawn broke. The jagged mountains to the east kept the full light from coming through until hours after sunrise. The air was heavy, thick with dew and anticipation. Water flicked off tent flaps as they burst open, warriors crossing their makeshift thresholds. Equipment was checked, swords sharpened, and shields anxiously hefted as the collective forces of the Allied Generals prepared to march.
In the middle of the camp was a hastily erected command center, by no means permanent yet towering over the others. Five lieutenants detached themselves from the crowds and made for the tent. One by one they parted the flaps and entered. First to come, ever the punctual soldier, was Sergeant Drake Alexander, the renowned Commander of Jandar's Northern Army. Straightening his uniform, he swallowed the lump in his throat, clenched a fist, and entered. He was followed closely by Agent Carr, Vydar's oldest recruit in the War for the Wellsprings. The only reason the man hadn't been in first was his extensive training. Never enter a structure first without a drawn weapon. As his sword was sheathed and his pistol holstered, he kept back. Next came Morgrimm Forgehammer, prime commander of the General Aquilla's forces in the southern jungles of the Ticalla. His extensive beard braided neatly and his weapons shining, he held his head as high as he could, a bit taller than Drake's waist. Quietly after the dwarf came Kato Katsuro, Daimyo commander of Einar's Imperial Dynasty army. His hair was combed, his armor polished, and his face mask and helmet under one arm. Lastly came Jorhdawn, Elven Wizard of the famous Nine. At ease in the morning sun, she strode confidently to meet with the Generals and their most trusted soldiers.
The scene in the tent when they arrived was orderly, if tense. All five Generals were present, engaged in various activities. Jandar and Aquilla stood, studying a map laid out on a flattened rock. Ullar was pacing the length of the tent, speaking in hushed tones to Einar, who in contrast to Ullar, stood rock-still. Only Vydar sat, reclining in a wooden chair, his dark wings folded and his hands massaging his temples. As the lieutenants entered the tent, they each bowed to their respectable General, and took a seat from one of the five chairs set out. They waited.
Finally, The Generals stopped talking and faced them. It was Jandar who spoke first. "As you know, we have drawn all available forces to our current position." Before he could continue, Vydar mumbled something under his breath. Jandar flicked an annoyed glance at the General, then resumed his briefing. "While some may think of this as... unwise, the majority of our number believe that this is a necessary move. The recent gains of territory by Utgar's forces," Drake shifted uncomfortably in his chair, "while giving him strength, has also left him vulnerable, with his army spread thin to retain such quantities of conquest. We have decided that this may work to our advantage. Utgar himself is positioned on the front lines to oversee his campaign. While he keeps a measurable distance from the actual fighting, we know he enjoys seeing the fruits of his evil." Vydar smirked. Jandar noticed, and decided to give credit where credit was due. Vydar spoke now.
"The latest battle on my lands was not all it seemed to be. Though I lost many good men, Utgar has lost worst. His camp is set over the most tempting bait imaginable. In a gracious gesture by myself," Ullar let out a snort that was just audible. Vydar took no notice. "I allowed Utgar to take one of the Wellsprings my troops occupied. He is camped there now, with his most trusted advisors and commanders."
"So you want us to spring the trap?" Drake received stares all around. Interrupting a General was considered impolite, but interrupting Vydar could be deadly.
Vydar's eyes narrowed, but his lips curled upwards in a half-smile. "Yes. Exactly." Aquilla stepped forwards now.
"The Wellspring that Utgar now occupies is not exactly the best location to be assaulted at. It lies in a low valley, surrounded on all sides by sheer cliffs. The only real defenses it possesses are rivers on either side, and a wall surrounding the inner working of the outpost. If we strike now, we may have a chance to end this war." The only female General stepped back, beckoning to the soldiers to look at the map. "Look here. The valley has two major entrances, carved out by the rivers. Our plan is somewhat simple, but then it can be considering our advantages. We send a fairly large war party through the upper entrance, and force Utgar to retreat. As he moves for the lower entrance, the remainder of our forces will reveal themselves in the foothills around the lower entrance. Caught between our armies, Utgar will be surrounded and crushed."
Agent Carr and Jorhdawn both frowned. The wizard cleared her throat. "What is there to stop Utgar from simply flying out of the mess the minute we appear on the horizon?"
Aquilla smiled patiently. "We have it covered. In fact, I hope he does take to the skies. Before we go in, the best snipers in our armies will be positioned on the cliffs, waiting. If he leaves the ground, he's a dead kyrie."
Jandar stepped forward again, assuming control of the briefing. "Before the initial assault, you will all be personally given you instructions on troop placement and final alterations. Go now." The lieutenants stood, bowed, and left.

As Drake made his way back to Jandar's section of the camp, he felt a feeling welling up inside his chest. This was their chance. Their opportunity to put an end to it all. To finally have peace. As he strode into the tent occupied by Jandar's finest, he grinned.
Agent Carr was not so convinced. As they left the tent, he pulled Jorhdawn aside. "I don't like it." Jorhdawn nodded.
"I know. Nothing is this easy. And besides, killing Utgar might not end the war. Some of his commanders are just as evil as he is, if not worse."
Carr's face almost betrayed him, but not quite. He knew there was possibly something worse. Vydar's scouts had gotten in reports of a new sort of power arising in the Southeast. He almost told Jorhdawn. Almost. "War is a fragile thing. A single kill in the right place can tip the balance of power dramatically. Back on Earth, we called them shatterpoints. Perhaps in the early days of the war, Utgar was the shatterpoint. After seven years of this, I can't be sure anymore."
Jorhdawn cleared her throat. Carr suddenly noticed that he was standing unnervingly close to the wizard. He took a hasty step back. Jorhdawn spoke. "Do not speak of these... doubts, to the troops. We'll need all the morale we can get." Carr nodded. "Good luck, Agent Carr."
The agent swallowed. "Good luck," he whispered. They parted ways, and went for their tents.

Mogrimm Forgehammer entered the tent, slightly smaller than those around it. Smaller than normal beds lined the sides of the tent, with a clear aisle down the middle. All about dwarves milled around, packing any supplies, sharpening weapons, and preparing for departure. To the front of the tent were several contingents of Axegrinders, and with them their leader, Migol Ironwill. In the far back of the tent were new recruits, dwarves with grey cloaks and hoods, and beautifully fashioned axes. They had also come from a world at war, and though they often refused to speak of it, but occasionally one would speak of their home, with vast cities and mines under the majestic mountains.
Mogrimm shook his head. He shouldn't daydream, they were about to be off. He raised his hammer, and the tent fell silent.
"We are about to be off, my friends. Be prepared. This battle may be difficult. Many may die. However..." The tent was quiet enough to hear a dwarf tear a blade of grass with his heavy boot. "We shall emerge victorious!" Yells exploded in the tent, and axe handles were pounded on the ground. Mogrimm opened his mouth for a last shout, but the troops beat him to it. "TO WAR!!!"

They had marched for hours. Early on, they had split in preparation for the ambush. The bulk of Jandar and Ullar's forces had gone South, while Einar, Vydar and Aquilla's armies had gone North. Snipers from all armies went Northeast, to infiltrate the cliffs around the valley.
Sgt. Alexander was feeling confident. He was commanding Jandar's forces, which consisted mainly of Knights, Sentinels, and nearly every warrior Jandar could summon. They marched at a quick pace with Ullar's armies of Vipers, Protectors, and Elves. Everything was in order. The troops were confident, the scouts reported a clear way to the valley, and to top it off, Raelin was walking with him instead of flying. She was quiet though and it bothered him. "Hey," Drake asked. Raelin turned to face him.
"Yes?"
"You okay? You seem... distant."
Raelin smiled, but it was forced. "Yes, yes I'm fine."
Drake wasn't sure. "Really?"
Raelin snapped. "Yes, really! Why is it your business?"
Drake was taken aback. Raelin had never, not once, spoken to him crossly. "I was worried. If that's a crime, then-" Drake stopped taking. A tear was tracing it's way down the kyrie's face. "Tell me. What is it?"
Raelin turned away for a moment, then looked back. "Concan's dead."
Drake sighed. He had lost many comrades in the past years. "When? How?"
Raelin stammered. She never stammered. "Two days ago, a party of MacDirk Warriors found his body while passing through Bleakwoode. His head was gone, and- s-so were his hands. As they were taking what was left back to their camp, they found his head. Stuck on a pike next to the road."
Drake was stunned by this. Utgar had pulled out of Bleakwoode recently. "But- but we drove him back weeks ago! How could he do this?"
Raelin set her jaw and gripped her spear. "All they know is, it looked like Concan was interrogated before he died, and a symbol was... branded, into his chest."
Drake felt vaguely sick. "Utgar's Eye?"
She frowned, tears pooling in the recess of her chin. "No. It was new, something they haven't seen before. A skull, almost."
Puzzled, Drake decided to let the matter rest. "I'm sorry." They resumed the march.
At long last, they reached the entrance to the valley. A line of trees obscured their massive force from Utgar's view in the valley. Just over the trees however, scouts could see Utgar's flag upon a small outpost, hardly more than four low walls and a splintered wooden door. Drake gave the order to get into formation and wait. He looked around for Jorhdawn, hoping to confirm plans. Strangely, he couldn't. He was told she was in council with the Nine. As he started back towards the Standard of Weston, he heard a horn blow. Drake extended his right arm, and grabbed the top of a tree with his grapple gun attached to his arm. As he reeled himself up to the tree, he heard the collective roar of thousands. He reached the top, and looked up into the valley. Their Allies had begun the charge.
Einar's armies led the charge into the valley. Hundreds of Gladiators, legions of Romans, line upon line of Yari sprinted forward from the bottleneck at the Northern end. The Emperor Zelrig took flight, and glided on drafts of air, keeping pace with the humans. From the air, the mighty dragon spat blazing fireballs into the ramshackle fortress. The North Wall exploded in fire, and from it charged dozens of orcs, at least half of them ablaze. The mighty Emperor was merciless. Those orcs who escaped his fire were cut down immediately by Einar's foot soldiers. As they reached the walls, rushing inside, a jet of fire screamed from the gaping hole. At least five Gladiators fell, and more ran, their bodies now torches. A second horn sounded, and the forces of Vydar and Aquilla moved up. Quasatch Hunters mingled with horder of Warforged Soldiers, charging down the battlefield, weapons drawn and held high.
Mimring took flight from within the ruined structure. As he glided, he breathed an inferno into the charging masses. The air became rank with the smell of scorched animal hair, and the Warforged fused into a solid piece. It was all the beast could do before both Zelrig's fire and Omnicron rounds collided with the dragon, sending it to the ground below. What was left of the apes dog-piled the pathetic beast, finishing him with cruel, feral indifference to the creature's suffering.
Not wanting to take any more chances, Einar recalled his troops. A quick order was given, and the army split. Two thirds moved to the flanks of the makeshift structure itself, while the rest of the army moved in from the front. It appeared soon enough that Utgar had made his choice. A vanguard of Minions funneled out like hornets from a nest, and slammed into the troops at the front. The flanks rushed forward, swamping the rubble, and finally Utgar fled. Through the South entrance he rode on a black horse, followed by his own commanders. Quickly, the Minions turned to follow, only to have more than half their number stabbed in the back by Gladiators.
As Utgar and what remained of his vanguard fled, several Minions took to the sky. They didn't get far, as snipers bullets pierced their helmets.
Now the army at the South entrance revealed itself. Even from fifty meters, Drake could see the Valkyrie's face go from surprise to anger to blind rage. As the Minions fell to the Earth around him, Utgar's face changed. It was no longer surprise, nor shock, nor anger, nor rage. It was something closer to despair. Drake almost hesitated to call for the charge, and then he remembered what the Valkyrie had done, how many villages burned, how many lives wasted. Sgt. Alexander's face twisted into a snarl. "FOR VALHALLA!!! CHARGE!!!" His soldiers took up the call, and they ran.
Utgar knew he had lost the minute he saw the blasted human, Drake. The Valkyrie let out a scream of fury, high and cold. In his rage, he drew his sword. Long, it's blade black and hilt golden, red gems gleamed in handle. It was stained with blood. Though he had washed it in Vydar's Wellspring on arrival, it hadn't done any good. The sword had bit into too much flesh to ever be truly clean. Though the Valkyrie knew he would die today, he also knew that this blade would aid him in taking with him as many of the scum as he could reach. Lost in glorious thoughts of a final battle, a Minion unlucky enough to be on Utgar's right side was decapitated as the Valkyrie swung it in an arc. Every one of his lieutenants screamed. "DEATH!"
The two armies met midway between their charges. The first wave of knights literally bounced from all but a few of the Minion's shields. Line upon line of Vipers threw themselves into the fray, stripping living flesh from the kyrie. It seemed that they would break the line. They could see Utgar, just meters away. Then a pale form in red armor cut down a Minion. At first the Knights were puzzled, but they quickly realized that Cyprien had only cut down the kyrie to get into the fray faster. The Undead Lord quickly began to make short work of the knights. He slashed his blades, bit with his fangs, and dodged nearly every blow they could throw at him. As the heroes began to fight through the throng of their own troops, Esenwein spotted the renowned kyrie, Raelin. He bared his long, stark white fangs, now slick with blood, and he flew. Barreling through the weak humans, he left his swords behind, both embedded in the chest of Sir Denrick. As he reached Raelin, the saw him, and swung her spear. Cyprien could not stop himself. He was impaled upon the spear. Sliding own the shaft, he lunged. As he grasped her shoulders, the warrior spat in his face. The Vampire snarled, threw back his head, and bit down.

"No... NO!" Drake saw the whole thing. He couldn't reach her. Too many knights and Vipers in between. He did the only thing he could. he pulled out the pistol holstered in his belt, took aim, and fired.
Jorhdawn was near when Raelin was attacked. She was wading toward them through the tide of charging soldiers when Cyprien began to feast. If she moved fast, she might have been able to stop him, to kill the vampire, to incinerate his body. She wasn't fast enough.

In the sea of troops moving forward, there was an eddie. A standstill. Drake kneeled on the ground, Raelin's cold, pale corpse clutched in his arms. Jorhdawn stood, shocked. The charred, ruined lump of flesh that was Cyprien Esenwein lay nearby. The Sgt. was sobbing, bawling like a child. The expression on his face was twisted, anguished, horrified. Unimaginable. He hadn't been able to save her. Drake's bullet had pierced Cyprien, while Elven fire incinerated what was left.
"Get up." Jorhdawn's voice sounded louder than anything Drake had heard in his lifetime.
"What?"
"Get up Sergeant. There's nothing anyone can do. She may be gone, but Utgar is still here." Jorhdawn's stare was perilous, daring the soldier to argue with her.
Drake's eyes narrowed. "Utgar..."
Jorhdawn seized her opportunity. "Yes, Utgar. He did this, all of this! Go. Lead the charge, bring him down!"
Drake moved almost mechanically. He picked up the Spear of Gerda, and strapped it to his back. His eyes were dark. "He will suffer."

Utgar was surrounded. Einar and Vydar's forces had flanked him, while Jandar and Ullar's armies had cut off his retreat. All the Valkyrie had left was three Minions. The corpses of his soldiers were around him. Ne-Gok-Sa, the Marro warlord was in pieces. Taelord and Runa had fallen on top of each other, daggers and shruikens in their backs. He didn't know where Cyprien was. Utgar decided to make an executive decision. "Stand down," the General growled. The Minions looked puzzled, and slightly disappointed. "I said stand down!" Utgar screamed at them. The Minions dropped their axes, and Utgar threw his to the ground. Slowly, The Allied Generals flew to him, bristling with weapons and honor guards of kyrie.
Jandar was smiling grimly. "You wish to surrender?"
Utgar gritted his teeth. "Yes. What are your terms?"
Jandar nodded a moment, then spoke. "You are to release you hold on all territory gained during this war. You are to send all warriors you command back to their home worlds, after which you will go into exile in the Volcarren Wasteland. If you are seen anywhere else in Valhalla, you will be put to death. Understood?"
Utgar nodded. It wasn't the best deal, but he was prepared to take it, seeing as he was going to betray them anyway. "Certainly. Though, please, may I be allowed to-" Utgar never finished his sentence. A spear embedded itself in his throat, tearing his jugular vein. Utgar halved whatever life he had left by ripping the spear out.
Jandar whipped around. Sgt. Drake Alexander was standing not six meters away, breathing heavily. He had thrown the spear at five meters per second, from just that distance away from Utgar. The Valkyrie hadn't had a chance. "Drake!" Jandar roared. What have you done? He had surrendered!"
"With all due respect Jandar, he didn't deserve the deal you gave him."
Jandar was shocked, he was sputtering. "Be that as it may Sergeant, now he cannot order his troops to stand down. We could have avoided pointless fighting! Now you've extended this war, you, you idiot!" Jandar began to move towards Drake, sword drawn. Night was falling, the clouds were drawing like curtains. Every soldier within eyeshot drew a breath as Jandar advanced upon the finest his armies had to offer. Drake Alexander didn't move. Jandar drew back his right arm, sword gleaming in the dying light. The ground shook.
"What was that?" Jandar stopped, lowering his sword just a fraction of an inch. "What was that?" The ground shook again. Again. Again.
The dwarf closest to Mogrimm Forgehammer looked away from the scene between Jandar and the blonde haired soldier. His eyes widened, shining in the night. His grey cloak rustled as he began to shake. That pounding... he had heard it before... deep in the caverns of home...

It was now dark. The pounding had stopped. All was silent. Unnaturally silent. Ullar spoke. "What is it," he whispered. "What?"
Vydar breathed out. "That, my green armored friend, is the deep breath before the plunge."

"GRRRAAAUUUGGHHH!!!" A collective roar shook the valley walls. The soldiers looked up, to see the dark forms of their snipers tumbling from the cliffs edge. All around them, the forces of the Allied Generals saw the black outlines of warriors springing into view, and flooding the entrances to the valley. They were cut off, encircled by a writhing mass of orcs, goblins, and creatures too grotesque to describe. Every soldier in the valley stared, frozen in realization. They were trapped like rats. Stuck in an indent in the ground, surrounded by enemies, with no way out.
In the darkness, lights sprang from the armies of the Allies. Torches were lit, and the full measure of their predicament was illustrated to the armies by the rain of recently lit arrows plummeting down at them.
Screams echoed throughout the valley as soldiers fell, arrows sticking into them like pins in dolls. They writhed on the ground until they were silenced by either the second wave of arrows, or the stampeding feet of their comrades in arms. By the third shower of arrows, more than half the soldiers of the Allied Generals had fallen. Braxas fell, crushing more soldiers under her. The horses of the Knights Templar reared, bucking their riders into the crowd.
At either end of the valley, huge companies of orcs surged forward. Caught between the massive armies, many more perished. One by one the torches in the night winked out, until the Allies were eclipsed in total darkness, fighting against an enemy they could barely see.
Drake had unfrozen when the snipers began to fall, sprinting for the south entrance. He'd known what was about to happen, that they were going to be cut off. Now he fought on the front lines, cutting down orc after orc. He heard them scream in agony, heard their war cries, yelling for someone, someone named... Valkrill. Long he fought, saw many fall. Jorhdawn was overwhelmed, Carr killed while leading a contingent of Vydar's men in a charge. He hadn't seen Katsuro since this morning, but he knew Mogrimm was still alive. Drake could see him now, commanding a pod of dwarves who were surrounded by goblins. They formed a wall of shields, and as the orcs threw themselves at them, the dwarves pushed them back, over and over. As Sgt. Alexander turned to meet the strike of yet more orcs, he heard a low bellow from Mogrimm's position. Drake smashed the orc in the face with his grapple-arm, turned, and leaped to what was now a massacre of the small warriors. Somehow, they had been overwhelmed. As he dived into the crowd, cutting and slashing as he went, he heard a voice boom across the valley.
"STOP." The voice carried with it power. Absolute power. Every warrior stopped moving, every orc paused in mid-strike. The voice spoke again. "YOUR RESISTANCE IS FUTILE, SOLDIERS. SURRENDER NOW, AND SOME OF YOU MAY SURVIVE. RESIST, AND I SHALL RELEASE THE ULTIMATE EVIL UPON YOU. NONE SHALL SURVIVE."
In the light of one of the last remaining torches, Drake saw a form rise above the ground. He saw the outline of a helm, a familiar helm. Jandar
"Why should we surrender to you? Who are you!?!" Jandar's wings beat slowly.
The voice chuckled, a sound like rending metal in the darkness. "I AM YOUR DESTROYER, PUNY KYRIE. I AM THE ONE WHO WILL DECIDE YOU FATE THIS NIGHT. I, AM VALKRILL."
Jandar sank a meter closer to the ground. "We will never surrender! We will fight to the death! We will take your forces with us! To the last man standing!"
The voice spoke once more. "VERY WELL. YOU HAVE SEALED YOUR FATE. ALL OF MY FORCES, WITHDRAW. ALL OTHERS, STAY WHERE YOU ARE. PREPARE YOURSELVES FOR YOUR DYING DAY." The orcs began to retreat, slowly. Every other soldier in the valley didn't move a muscle. They were powerless to resist it's command.
Finally, when the last orc had left the valley, the soldiers unfroze. Stunned, they still barely moved. They stood, for what seemed like an age. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. A few of the wounded moaned in pain on the ground. Darkness took many of them. They faded into silence.

The ground shook. Drake started. It was like something out of a nightmare. Being frozen by that voice... it was terrifying.
Something coughed at his feet. Drake looked, and on the ground was a dwarf, wrapped in grey cloak drenched with blood. The soldier knelt. One look at the hole in the dwarf's chest, and Drake knew he was dying. The dwarf coughed again, and a warm liquid sprinkled Drake's cheek. Blood.
The ground shook again. Again. Again. A glow crept up the sides of the valley, illuminating the cliffs like blazing coals in a fire. A rumbling passed through the valley. The ground kept vibrating. Again. Again. Again. Strange, thought Drake. Almost like... footfalls.
"Listen to me..."Drake nearly voided himself. He had thought the dwarf was beyond speech. He moved his head closer to the dwarf. The pounding grew slightly faster. Again. Again.
"Yes? What is it, friend?"
The dwarf coughed again, blood dripping from his mouth. "We are going to die... die..."
Drake shook his head. "No. We'll find a way out of this. We will defeat whatever that is. Whatever he sends against us, we will resist."
The dwarf shook his head. "He has... summoned..."
Drake nearly shook the dwarf in terror. "What! What is it? What has he summoned?" The pounding grew louder, the glow brighter. The rumbling passed through the valley again. No. Not a rumbling. A roar, distant, yet drawing ever closer.
The dwarf gripped Drake's hand, coughed and spoke for the last time. "Durin's... Bane..."

THE END

[Vader Fan 7]

Week 8 - June 20th, 2011

Hordes of orcs are rampaging unchecked through Vydar's lands and terrorizing village after village. Desperate to end the madness, Vydar comes up with a plan to rid himself of the pests forever.


3rd Place - BassistofDoom

Spoiler Alert!

"They’ve broken through Sector 3. The city is in ruins.” The messenger stood watching Vydar, waiting for a reaction. All he saw was a broken man, face sinking further into his hands, feeling the pain of millions. “How are the soldiers?” Vydar asked. “Carr’s defected. Braxas is wounded, and Major X17 and Q10 were destroyed. We’ve lost at least several thousand troops, and only Sectors 4 and 5 are fully intact.” Vydar nodded, and waved the messenger away silently.
Agent Carr stood watching Runa, who was observing a map of Vydar’s land lying on a small table. “And thisss Sector 4…Leads right to his palace?” Carr nodded. “Why yessir. Send some scouts or something. It’s legit.” Runa stared at him, trying to detect any deception, but found none in Agent Carr’s stone face. “And if not…you will die. You have not earned my full trust yet.”

Citizens screamed and ran through a chaotic Sector 3, desperately trying to escape the onslaught of orcs charging through the city. In hours, it was all over. Runa, Agent Carr, and an enormous horde of orcs stood outside the steel gate enclosing Sector 4 and the road to Vydar’s palace. Destroyed Blastatrons, dead civilians, and burning buildings covered the landscape. “Well what now?” asked Runa expectantly, turning to Agent Carr. Carr smiled and strolled forward. “It’s alright; you need a passcode to open it. And that just happens to be known by yours truly.”
“We’ve done it!” Scientist Malcolm Black burst into Vydar’s quarters, shouting before bending over to gasp for breath. “Done what?” Vydar asked urgently, standing up. “The-the device! It…works! We can use it now if you want!” Malcolm continued to pant, weak from his sprint throughout the palace. Vydar pointed at the door. “Excellent! Now go! Hurry! Carr knows the passcode and it’ll be minutes before they’re all inside Sector 4 and after that, my palace!” Malcolm nodded and went back out the door, not looking happy about the prospect of more running.
"And here. We. Go.” Agent Carr smiled as the gate opened to Sector 4, revealing a largely deserted city. “Where isssss everyone?” asked Runa. Agent Carr shrugged. “Well, Siege deserted, I know that. Took most of his troops too, that explains the lack of military. And after hearing about Sector 3 most of the people are probably high-tailing it to Jandar or Ullar anyway. “Now where is the palace?” asked Runa. Agent Carr pointed off to the distance where sure enough, Vydar’s palace towered above the surrounding buildings. “Now, my money?” Agent Carr held out a hand expectantly. Runa laughed at him, drawing her sword. “I don’t think that was quite part of the agreement…” she hissed, before lunging at him. However, Carr was already gone. He reappeared 20 yards away, smiling. “By the way, have fun!” He held out a controller and pressed a red button on it, which caused the gates behind Runa and her troops to close. As soon as the clang echoed to signify that they were shut, a transparent fog seemingly lifted from the city, revealing hundreds of Blastatrons and Warforged surrounding the orcs, guns and swords raised.

“It works.” Stated Vydar as he watched the robots appear out of nowhere around Runa’s troops. “Goodbye Runa.” He walked away from the window as hundreds of gunshots rang out at once, followed by screams and cries from Utgar’s falling soldiers as they were cut down by Vydar’s troops. In minutes, Vydar’s soldiers swiftly sliced through Utgar’s horde, leaving nothing but mangled and bullet-ridden corpses.
Vydar stood with Malcolm and Agent Carr in front of the soldiers and civilians that had survived the war. “We did it.”He stated happily while shaking Malcolm’s hand and handing him a gold medal. “The cloaking device worked. Great job Malcolm.” Malcolm nodded and backed away as Carr stepped forward. Vydar held out his hand and looked with pride at Carr. “I knew you could do it. Only you could pull off a performance like that,” he said, beaming. Carr grinned slightly and took his gold medal. “Yeah. I should go into movies.”

2nd Place - Son of Arathorn

Spoiler Alert!

"We won't last until the end of the month General! We need reinforcements from the other Valkyrie now!" Major Q10 pounded his metallic fist on the table, nearly splintering the wood.
Vydar sighed. The technicians had given the Major a major software update last month. The Major had been developing more of a personality ever since, and Vydar was beginning to regret it. "There are no reinforcements. You know as well as all of us that the other Generals are too hard-pressed to do anything for us." The Valkyrie glanced at Agent Carr. The tall human nodded.
"Recent reports from surveillance confirm it. I'm sorry to say it Major, but we're on our own."
"Then we're all going to die." Agent Skahen spoke from the corner of the room, her voice echoing in the large space. "Our base may hold for a while, but eventually the orcs will overrun us. There are simply too many of them. And with the loss of Major Q9..."
Vydar exhaled heavily through his nostrils. Whenever Q9 had fallen in battle, they had always managed to salvage enough to rebuild the Soulborg. This time, the orcs had melted the components down before the rescue party got close. "Very well. Let us examine the situation. We are basically cut off from the other Generals, we have no hope of reinforcements, one of our best warriors is gone for good, and we have less then two weeks, at best, before we all fall to the onslaught of Gruts. Correct?"
All three nodded.
"Then we must come up with some solution! There must be something we can do! Something to stem the tide of orcs!"
Carr stepped forward. "Sir, I'm afraid that, barring a miracle, we're toast."
Vydar was silent for a long time. None of the commanders spoke. Carr was on the verge of breaking the silence when the General finally spoke. "Have all troops fall back to the Greymount Fortress, save 20 percent of the scouts. Once all are accounted for, send a contingent of Gladiatrons down to the forges. Once they're there, Q10, give this order to the smiths...

Carr stared at the horizon. It had been a week since that meeting. All remaining forces were either inside the fortress, or patrolling the boundaries, and even those were due to come in soon. He stared at the grounds surrounding the castle. Hardly believable though it was, it had all come together. Deep trenches had been dug into the ground around the fortress, with only four narrow bridges of earth, reinforces with steel, leading through. The bottoms of the trenches were lined with stakes, sharpened to wicked points, barbs carved into the edges of the greying wood. The trenches were half full of a thick, black, liquid. He had hardly believed the order that Vydar had sent to the blacksmiths. Every Gladiatron's sword had been heated, and then pounded until it was flat as a shovel. They had worked for days, never stopping.
BOOM. Carr started, not a normal reaction for a man of his training. In the distance he saw torches, and in the distance he heard the war cries, the drums, the sounds of feet pounding the earth. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
They waited. It could have been a few minutes. Or a few years. Yet still, they came. The orcs came on all sides. Carr was on the ground, outside the castle door. As they passed the tree line, Major Q10 sent four rockets flying. One for each of the trenches. As the rockets exploded, the liquid in the trenches immediately caught fire. Flames leapt up, leaving four skinny spits of land to the fortress. Through the flames.

The next few hours were a blur for Agent Carr. Hardly any of the orcs managed to make it through. Closed into such narrow choke points, the snipers picked them off as fast as they could come through. As they pushed each other through the narrow spans, some fell off, impaling themselves on the stakes. Some were killed by the wood. Some by the flames.
The orcs war cries turned to screams, and Carr turned. There! On the east trench, Swog Riders were running up and down their side of the trench, slaughtering their own troops.It made no sense. Why kill their own soldiers. Then Carr saw it. The bridge the Riders were building. Dousing the flames with flesh, and piling them on. They were building a bridge.
Soon, too soon for Carr to signal the sharpshooters, the bridge was complete. Orcs charged through the gap, crushing what was left of their comrades underfoot. That was it. They were finished. There was no way to stop them, there were too many. Q10 got off another shot with his wrist rocket, but a Swog Rider showed newfound ingenuity, and snagged a Blade Grut, catapulting it into the missile's path. It impacted in midair, doing no damage whatsoever.
Carr hung his head. They were finished. It was over. They were completely surrounded, and Vydar had apparently abandoned his troops for his chambers. Vydar.
Carr's face twisted into a snarl. He turned, and burst into the castle. Pounding down the corridors he ran. He could hear the soldiers that Vydar had brought to this place dying outside, their bodies falling against the thick walls. There! At the end of the hallway, the entrance to the Valkyrie's Wellspring Summoning Chamber. Agent Carr had just reached the knob when the door burst open. Vydar blasted through the door, sprinting down the hallway. Carr, confused, decided to pursue.
Vydar yelled. "Hurry! We need to get clear of the fortress!"
Carr closed the gap between them. "What did you do?"
"Send word for the troops to get off and away from the South wall. Get everybody away from that wall, now!"
Carr snatched the com unit from his belt and sent the orders to Skahen. "You want to tell me what the hell you've been doing in those chambers, General?"
Vydar panted with each stride. "Summoning, Agent Carr. Summoning."
Carr skidded to a stop. "Summoning what, Vydar?"
Vydar didn't stop running, diving for the door, trying to wrench it open. "Hopefully something that will get us out of this mess! Now, help me with this wretched door!"
Carr nodded. "Move." Vydar flattened himself against the wall. The door was reinforced from the inside, piled high with bodies on the the outside, bullet-proof, fire-proof, and built to withstand explosive blasts. It was not, however, Carr-proof. The Agent drove his shoulder into the door's weakest spot, drilling through it like a hot knife through butter. As he burst outside, he could see agents of Vydar running towards the North wall, being cut down by orcs as they went.
Agent Carr turned to Vydar. "What exactly did you summon, Sir?"
Vydar shook his head. "It hasn't been summoned yet. I had to use a very specific type of magic to, shall we say, time-delay the portal. It should come through in..." Vydar closed his eyes for a moment. "Four, three, two, one."
A huge tremor shook the Greymount Fortress. The sound of splitting metal tore through the ranks of orcs, causing them to clasp their ears in agony. The ground quaked, and a deafening sound ripped through the air. Yells, war chants, and the shrieking of some sort of animal. Carr almost fled.
Vydar tapped him on the shoulder. "Now, I believe you wanted to know what I summoned?" Carr nodded slowly, indifferent to the hundreds of orcs running in terror around them. "Well..." The Valkyrie trailed off. "That." He pointed to the South wall, and Carr's eyes followed his finger.
Squeezing itself from the remains of the wall was an enormous animal of some sort, almost like an elephant, yet somehow larger and more brutal-looking, with a large platform lashed to the creature's back. On the platform were dozens of men, some with their faces masked, some tattooed. They sot into the crowd of orcs with bows. One larger than the rest sat upon the animal's head, and appeared to be steering the thing. It drove straight into the mass of blue-skinned savages, trampling them underfoot. Strung between it's massive tusks were several taught ropes wound around lengths of wood and metal. Spikes protruded from the strands, and any orc lucky enough to avoid the arrows from the platform or the stomping feet was caught up in the massive length, and immediately stuck fast, the bodies held on by the razor sharp spikes.
Carr breathed. "What have you brought forth, Valkyrie?"
The battle was over. The orcs had run screaming, terrified of the beast. When the last orc with enough limbs to run had vanished over the horizon, Vydar took flight, landing on the beast's back and conveying a message to the leader of the men. The animal stopped moving, and knelt on all four of it's scarred knees. Agents milled about, burning bodies and reclaiming equipment. Agent Carr made his way through the mess, and eventually found Agent Skahen.
Carr shook his head. "How did we survive this?"
Skahen didn't bother replying for a minute. Then she spoke. "What can this mean, Carr. We've both seen dragons, but that thing is three times the size of any dragon we've seen! What does it mean, if the Generals can now summon things like that? What?"
Carr holstered his pistol. "It means this war is about to get a whole lot worse."

THE END

1st Place - The Grim Reaper's Friend

Spoiler Alert!

Agent Carr dropped to the ground. He leaned, panting slightly, with his back against a rampart of soft earth, and sheathed his sword. He sat quiet for several moments, straining his ears for the slightest sound. All that he heard was an occasional yelp, a muffled growl, or the clang of steel from the valley below. As he listened to the sounds of the orc encampment, the sound of heavy footfalls met his ears. Turning around, he saw the thickset form of Siege, his dauntless companion, coming towards him out of the blackness. Siege knelt down on the ground beside him.
“Any movement yet?” he whispered as he lowered his head so that it would not show above the rampart.
“None,” answered Carr. “They won’t be going anywhere until morning.”
Siege nodded, and then slumped down next to Carr against the soft earth.
It had rained the previous afternoon, and the ground had the clean scent of new air and moist soil. Carr and Siege were lying against a short breastwork of earth, turned up only a few hours ago, under the cover of darkness. It was only three feet high and eight long, but provided ample cover for the two of them.
Below them lay the largest encampment of orcs the lands of Vydar had ever seen, indeed, the largest that almost all of Valhalla had seen. They had been sent straight from Utgar, and had penetrated Vydar’s closely watched borders, killing all on their way. Once inside Vydar’s lands, they had begun to burn and pillage the surrounding villages and towns, destroying crops ad ruining valuable farmland. Vydar would have a shortage of food on his hands next season.
Something had had to be done. However, the army was so large, and Vydar’s forces in his lands so small, that they could not simply be killed. Nor could they be ignored. If they continued on their present path, they would soon come to Vydar’s fortress itself.
So Vydar had hit upon a new plan: Destruction. He had sent Agent Carr, Siege, Evar Scarcarver, and Major Q9 to deal with the orcs. Q9 had just gotten in from a mission concerning a strike force of giants, and Evar had been recalled from an intelligence mission into Utgar’s territory nearly before it had begun. Almost everyone else of note was elsewhere, beating back the forces of Valkrill and Utgar.
Of course, a force of four could hardly do any damage to at least ten armies of orcs combined. Q9, however, had undergone a few adjustments, and was to prove vital in their mission. His fire power had been amplified with magic so that the bullets could travel almost to the horizon and still be lethal. Also, within a special compartment inside the soulborg, had been placed a dozen highly sensitive bombs. They were meant to be buried in the ground, and then blow up under the feet of the foe. However, these, too, had been refitted, so that they could be shot out of a special gun mounted on Q9’s shoulder. If Q9 had ever been terror-inspiring, he was now more so than ever.
Carr found himself thinking that exact thought as the enormous form of Q9 himself came rumbling up the slope towards them. So much armor and additional equipment had been placed on him that his speed had been slowed considerably, and he was now reduced to a slow, deliberate shuffle.
“Ready?” asked Siege, turning to Carr as Q9 ceased moving and stood still just below the horizon line.
Carr saw Evar come up behind Siege, caught his nod, and said, “Yes, lets’ do it.”
Siege nodded silently, and stealthily slipped over the rampart and down the slope to the fires of the orcs. Agent Carr made sure that he had made it safely, and then followed. A few moments later, he heard the muffled sounds of Evar sliding down the loosely packed earth, and knew that the time had almost come.
He signaled to the other two to follow him, and, together, they silently crept past the sentries and out onto an open plateau situated just above the orcs.
The orcs, showing their ever faithful tactics, and pitched camp in one of the worst places they could choose. They liked dark places, and thus had chosen a shadowy valley. The valley was large enough to just hold them all, with a little room to spare. It was shaped something like an arrowhead, with steep cliffs at the point, and a sudden, level plateau at the bottom. If the orcs were ambushed, they would all scramble for the plateau, trampling each other in their attempt to get out.
Carr could see Q9 dimly silhouetted against a murky moon, positioning himself perfectly so that he was at the left point of the bottom of the arrow head. This way, he could send a stream of bullets across the bottom of the plateau, and pick off any orcs that attempted to climb the cliffs at the other end of the valley. Carr turned to his other two companions. “Aright,” he said in a whisper loud enough for them both to hear. “Spread out and make sure no orc gets past you.” They all nodded in agreement, and he continued. “Evar, you take the side closest to Q9.” Evar moved off. He knew where he was going, it had all been gone over that afternoon. Carr continued, “Siege, you take the middle, and chop down any orc that gets close enough. I’ll take the other side.”
It was a daring plan. They could have used more firepower, but the soulborgs simply had not been available, and the orcs were only a day’s march form Arcter, one of Vydar’s main cities.
Once they were all positioned, Carr paused to listen for signs form the orcs, and, hearing none, signaled to Q9. The effect was instantaneous and spectacular. What had been a peaceful night; a cool north breeze blowing; the distant hoot of owls; the calming smell of the wet earth; was now turned into a blazing inferno full of yelps of pain, cries of disbelief, and great, thundering explosions that shook the ground. Q9 had both of his guns leveled into the thickest part of the camp and was shooting bombs as if they had the weight of onions. When they landed, they burst apart in one, giant, force packed explosion. Dirt, flame, smoke, and debris flew everywhere, sending orcs to their knees whether or not they had been close to it.
Lines of orcs fell under the merciless fire of Q9’s twin Queglix guns, and the survivors clambered over each other, desperately looking for a way out of the trap. They spied the plateau, and rushed headlong for it.[/font]
[FONT='Verdana','sans-serif']Observing the action, Carr suddenly had the impression that he was watching a storm-whipped sea boil before him. Then, as if driven by a sudden wind, every droplet of water in the sea turned, and sped straight at him with a speed almost unbelievable. Carr grinned silently to himself as the excitement of the coming fray mounted. He griped his sword tighter, and drew out his pistol. He could see Siege wheeling his sword about, changing it form hand to hand, and knew soon that it would be dyed crimson – or green in this case. At the far edge of the plateau, he could see Evar forming blades of ice on his hands and launching sharp crystals the size of daggers into the air. Carr wondered for a moment why he was doing that – the orcs were well out of his range.
By a strange twist of fate, however, the orcs reached Carr first, and he had to look away. Slicing through the air with his sword, he leapt to the attack. His blade fell right and left, leaving deep gashes and cuts in the warriors that charged him. One got so close that Carr was able to hit him over the head with the butt of his pistol. Then he realized that Q9 was not firing on the orcs. The great explosions could no longer be heard, nor could he pick out the distinctive sound of Q9’s twin guns. They were loud enough to be heard over the noise that the orcs were making, and Carr wondered why Q9 was not helping them.
Then it hit him. With no Q9, he, Agent Carr, Siege, and Evar, were attempting to hold off the largest army of orcs in all of Valhalla. Carr had a strange sensation of heroism, defending Vydar’s lands from such numbers, which was quickly replaced by a rare feeling of dread, as an orc scimitar sliced into him between his ribs. He doubled over, clutching at his side, and felt a hot stickiness oozing out between his fingers. A mad cackling met his ears, and looking up, he saw the face of the orc holding the scimitar cracked into an evil grin.
Slightly disgusted, Carr, sliced off his head without a second thought. He beheaded two others, missed a third, and only lopped of his arm. The orc fell to the ground, howling and writhing in pain. Agent Carr, seeing an opening, took it, and began to sprint up the plateau, fleeing from the flood of orcs. He looked to his right, ad saw Siege and Evar running neck and neck. Then he saw a sight that made him stop dead in his tracks. Siege whirled around, and caught Evar in the stomach with his sword. Evar crumpled, but sprang back up, flourishing his blades of ice furiously.
“Traitor!” roared Carr, as he stood, rooted to the spot, staring unbelievingly at what he had just seen, yet being forced to except it.
Evar batted aside Siege’s massive blade, and dealt him a blow to the chest with his sharp weapons of ice. Siege took a step backward, but was not seriously hurt. Evar, however, who had rather clumsily deflected Siege’s blow with his arm, was bleeding freely.
By now completely ignoring the oncoming horde, Carr ran silently up behind Siege, and drove his sword straight through his chest just as he was raising his own blade to strike again at Evar. Siege turned, wrenching the sword form Carr’s grasp as he faced him. “No,” he whispered hoarsely, as the life flowed out of him. “He… is … the traitor…” He fell back on the ground, dead. Carr stared at him for a moment, and then looked at Evar as his last words sunk in. He remembered Evar’s unexplained attack before the orcs had hit him, and comprehension dawned upon him. “You…” he said to Evar.
But before he could finish his sentence, or Evar reply, they were both knocked to the ground by the horde of orcs. Carr, between the loud grunts and yelps of the beasts, could hear Evar plainly yelling, “He’s in there! He’s right under you!” Carr knew that he must be referring to him. With a groan, he somehow dodged the many blows of the orcs, and reached his sword, still deeply imbedded in Siege’s body. One orc clung to his back, stabbing at him mercilessly. Carr, gritting his teeth in pain from the knife, drew his pistol and fired full in the face of the orc. He heard a thud, and felt the weight leave his back. Pulling his sword out from Siege’s back, he leapt to his feet and managed to clear the space around him by swinging it in a great arc. Then he turned to Evar.
The moon had come out from behind the clouds, and in its wake Carr could clearly see the form of Evar running along the plateau, out of the valley. ‘Coward,’ thought Carr.
Then, before he could dash after Evar, an orc mounted on a catlike creature leapt in front of him. The swog growled menacingly at him, and the orc atop it swung at Carr with his short sword. Carr sidestepped the attack, and neatly severed the orc’s head from its body, slicing into the swog’s spinal cord as he did so. Both rider and mount crumpled to the ground, a smelly heap of fur and orc blood. Then three other orcs collided with him. They had gray fur and hideous, menacing faces. They carried small shields and swords, and each wore a suit of chain mail. Having been told about these orcs, Carr recognized them instantly. Death chasers were easy to bring down, if only you could reach them before they reached you.
He whirled his sword above his head, and brought it down hard on one of the orcs, stunning it instantly. He frowned, he had meant to kill it. The other two orcs rushed him. Dodging their swords by inches, he fired his pistol in the face of one, and sliced off the head of the other.
In the time that it had taken Carr to fell the three orcs, nine more had rushed up. Carr managed to escape them before they surrounded him, but they caught up with him before he had gone very far. Growling with battle lust, the orcs leapt on top of Carr, slashing and pummeling him into the ground. Carr rolled over, thrust his sword edge into one orc’s face, kicked aside another, and got up. He fired his pistol at one, somehow missed, and finished him with his sword instead.
The battle, was, however, a lost cause. The mission had utterly failed. If anything had happened, it was that the orcs had been riled up so that they would become unstoppable, and that Vydar had lost one of his most trusted warriors. The thought of Evar burned itself into Carr’s memory, igniting an inner rage against him. He decided that if he survived this battle, he would hunt down Evar and slay him for his treachery. Incensed with this rage, Carr swung his blade right and left, falling orcs like the were wheat at threshing time. A battalion of Gruts had joined the fray, but they, like the others, stood no chance against the might of a loyal warrior of Vydar. Soon, a small pile of dead orcs had begun to form around Carr. The wounded were lying at the outside of the pile, groaning every time another orc stepped ion them, which was quite often.
The orcs were by now furious at having been held at bay, and did not let up on their attack of Carr. For every one of them that he slew, three more took its place. Despite the cold night air, Carr was beginning to feel the heat of the battle. There were orcs milling all about him, growling and yelling as they vented their rage. Then Carr realized, as he glanced quickly about him, that the orcs were no longer running, they were all pressing forward, all ten thousand of them, to kill him. Carr vaguely noted that he had discovered the reason for the endless supply of attackers, and then, looking behind him and seeing his chance, ran for it.
He easily slipped through the mass of orcs, dodging blows and parrying swords so fast that the orcs barely had time to react. After several minutes, in which the only sounds were the bloodcurdling war cries of the orcs, Carr broke out of the seething masses and searched the plateau for Evar. He did not have to look long.
Evar was standing only a few yards away, apparently having ceased his flight, and was now flourishing his ice shard hands dangerously.
Carr, burning with rage at his former companion’s betrayal, stepped forward, heedless of the confused orcs behind him, still convinced he was in their midst. He struggled to find something to say to Evar that would properly convey his anger, but could think of nothing. Finely, his voice laced with venom, he said, “Why?”
Evar did not answer him immediately. Instead he stood there, leaning against the rock, smiling in a thoughtful sort of way. When he finally spoke, it was with a calm, steady voice that showed no sign of regret.
“I do not rush blindly into battle,” he said at last. “I truly serve only myself. I fight to live, not to die like a hero, blinded by his foolish loyalty.” He cocked his head and looked at Carr, as if expecting a reply or a compliment.
Carr said nothing, but instead brought the point of his sword up, so that it was level with his eye. “What you did tonight was a mistake,” he said coolly, his anger somehow calming him. “Vydar does not tolerate traitors, and nor do I.”
“I did what I thought right,” answered Evar, with an air of stating a simple fact. “I slew Q9, slew Siege, and after I have slain you, Utgar cannot hesitate to accept me into his ranks.” He looked at Carr, this time with an expression almost of incredulity. Then, in an exasperated tone, he said, “Utgar ih8s winning this war, Carr. We don’t need to die. We can be on the winning side.”
“Like these orcs, I suppose?” said Carr, driving his sword through one who had happened to notice him. “Utgar is evil. He may be winning, but what he fights for is not what I fight for. I am loyal to Vydar, and will remain such. If you have turned however,” he continued, eyeing Evar, “then I have no choice but to kill you.”
Evar grinned, as if remembering a funny joke. “Very well, try if you must,” he said, “but you must know that I am far superior to you.”
“I know,” said Carr, advancing slowly on Evar, “that the good and the right will ultimately triumph over the cowardly and the evil. And you should know that too,” he commented, as Evar began to come towards him.
They clashed without a moment’s notice. Evar, when he was angry, was, indeed, superior to Carr, though not quite as much as he had said. They were both wounded, but Carr more so than Evar. He parried Evar’s blows and dodged his icy blades, but knew that he could not keep it up all night. One of them would have to win, sooner or later. ‘Better sooner than latter,’ Carr thought, and aimed an undercut at Evar. His sword sunk deep into Evar’s body. Evar fell to one knee, blood spilling from the wound. He gasped and gritted his teeth against the pain, but looked at Carr and sprang back up. Carr knew that neither he nor Evar could take many more wounds. They moved around in circles, alternately striking and parrying each other’s blows. ‘One good strike could end this,’ Carr thought. However, as he searched for an opening, Evar seized the brief moment of distraction and dealt him a blow to the ribs. Carr fell sideways, crumpling unspectacularly into a limp heap. He was back up on his feet in an instant, and managed to ward off Evar’s second blow, but knew that one more such wound would bring him down again, never to rise.
Evar was by now at the peak of his fighting skill. He let loose on Carr with such a battery of blows, cuts, and jabs, that Carr thought that he surely must be part beast. He somehow got a slice at Evar’s belly in, but it was basted aside effortlessly.
Carr was, as little as he liked to admit it, being beaten. There was no chance that he could win against such a foe in such a state. The rapidity and relentlessness with which Evar attacked him did not abate in the least, and Carr could feel his strength rapidly leaving him. He aimed one last, desperate blow at Evar’s head. Evar took the opportunity to kick him to the ground, causing his sword to fly out of his hands. Carr landed hard on his back, and before he could get up, Evar was on top of him, preparing do deal him the finishing blow. He paused for a fraction of a second, with his ice weapon poised above Carr’s heaving chest, and said, “Goodbye, my friend.” With that, he plunged the ice shard downwards. Carr closed his eyes, ready for the worst.
The worst, however, never came. Just before the ice entered Carr’s body, Evar was lifted from him, ad thrown to the ground. Siege stood over him, withdrawing his sword form his back. He then turned to Carr.
Before he could utter a sound, he dropped to one knee, then both, and then fell over to lie sprawled on the ground, thick, red blood coming out of his mouth. Carr crawled over to his side as he whispered into the night air. “Siege,” said Carr, his head very close to that of the metal being, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
Siege coughed up a large quantity of blood, and then said, “I don’t blame you, Carr. I would have done the same were I you.”
Carr looked at him for a moment. “I blame myself,” he said, finally, staring into the cold eyes of his companion. [/font]
“Don’t blame yourself, Carr,” said siege, an odd gurgling in his throat. He was silent for a moment or two, and then said in one last final gasp, “You can’t stop destiny. It is what we live for.” With those last words, he fell back to the ground, dead.

Several days later, Car arrived at Vydar’s castle, to learn that Q9 had lived, and, the aid of Major Q10, had defeated the orc hordes. Siege’s words never left him.

Honorable Mention - dragonfire 9788

Spoiler Alert!

Carr turned away from the window, taking his eyes off the busy streets below him. New York City was a place he had thought he'd never see again. It seemed like just yesterday he was sitting in the office he had in the city, leaning back in his chair and congratulating himself on a job well done. He had busted a coke dealer down at the local high school, who was getting all the kids to try "just one bit" of his white powder of villainy. Upon hearing about this dastardly man's existence, Agent Carr stepped out of his office, walked down to the high school and shouted, "You! Dealer of Death! We must kung fu fight!"
The dealer, previously dressed in a black hoodie decorated with the logo of a popular band, ripped through his clothes with bare hands, revealing a gi as white as the death he dealt. He flailed his hands back and forth, chopping the air and punching the sky, just trying to intimidate Agent Carr.
The agent remained as cool as Antarctica, allowing a small smile to escape his lips. The man had been a pretender, not a contender. In one move, Agent Carr leaped into the air and delivered such a powerful roundhouse kick that it hit his adversary from ten feet away, dislocating the dealer's jaw and sending his sorry soul to judgement.
It had just been another job done well. Agent Carr celebrated it like he did any job, he ate himself a nice and delicious candy bar. Though it was not just any candy bar, it was a Chocolate Crisp that had aged to perfection. In Agent Carr's chocolate rack it sat for ten years, waiting for the treat to reach that perfect maturity that allowed it to be enjoyed in the fullest sense of the word. Now it was ripe enough so Agent Carr walked over to his rack and picked it up, eager as ever to enjoy it's deliciousness.
All was not safe, however. Just outside the door, the assassin, Isamu knelt in silence, watching Agent Carr through the door's keyhole. He drew his blade so silently that not even a bat could have picked it up. When Agent Carr was going to take a bite from his chocolate bar, Isamu planned to strike. He stood up ever so quietly, preparing to kick the door in. And that had been the last moment Carr had seen in New York City. Just as he unwrapped his candy bar and was about to take a bite, Vydar decided to intervene and save him, whisking him off to Valhalla to fight in the War to End All Wars. Isamu would join the war later and Agent Carr would finally be able to get his revenge.
Today had been the day. To stop an orc invasion of his territory, Vydar had sent Agent Carr back to New York City to retrieve something. It was an item so valuable, that no orc would be able to resist being bribed with it. This item was something everyone could enjoy and love, and it even surprised Agent Carr that wars had not been over it already.
It was much to Agent Carr's delight that this item could be found in the same building as Isamu, so on his way to pick it up for Vydar, he decided he would pay his dear friend a visit in his apartment. Catching the ninja completely by surprise, it was almost a shame when Agent Carr swung his sword and decapitated the bastard, his evil little head flying through the air and plopping onto the couch.
Agent Carr had to take one final look at New York City, absorbing as much of it's image as he could before he had to return to war-torn Valhalla. The skyscrapers dominated the skyline, literally scraping the sky as their name suggested. The cars down below were moving as fast as little ants, carrying their goods to and fro. Some were driving poorly, and the others were fuming about those who drive poorly. Carr missed it. He missed it all.
But he had to do his mission. Vydar had saved his life, and Carr had sworn to fight for him. All Agent Carr had left in his life was his stone cold good looks and his word, and he wasn't about to lose either of them just cause of something lame like nostalgia.
Stepping away from the window, he tried to avoid stepping in Isamu's blood, but it was hard cause there was kind of a lot of it. Had he really cut the guy's head clean off? Hah. Hammer wouldn't believe this even if he was right here.
Agent Carr closed the door to Isamu's apartment and began walking down the hall. The item should conveniently be at the end of the hallway, tucked in a corner somewhere. He could get it get out in just a few seconds. Carr liked doing things quickly.
He rounded the corridor and set his eyes upon the item. It glowed like the morning sun after a rainy night, lighting up all the wet ground with its magnificent rays. It was a sleek rectangle with rounded edges. It certainly was a pinnacle of the modern age, with the futuristic Pepsi logo emblazoned upon. Agent Carr could already imagine tasting all the soda that the item could dispense.
The soda machine stood rigid as Carr wrapped his arms around it in a hug of awesomeness. To any passerby, he would just appear as some nutcase who had a thing for soda machines, but to Agent Carr this was his duty. Without this soda machine, he was nothing. He reached his hand down the small box on his belt and pressed the red button.
Valhalla beckoned.

Later that day, two orcs turned away from Vydar's castle, two Pepsi cans in each of their hands. High Fructose deliciousness was theirs and safety once again belonged to the realm of Vydar.

[Vader Fan 7]

Week 9 - June 27th ,2011

A new marro terror has begun to plague the lands of Aquilla. (Single beast or many, the choice is yours) Two lone warriors (can be from any general) are making their way back to a base of Aquilla's, when they are suddenly ambushed by this fearsome creature(s). Only you can determine how the battle will end...

Tornado

Spoiler Alert!

Thorny branch and sticky vine blocked his path and tangled his feet. A warm drizzle hangs with the faint stench of wet death. Born and raised in the swamps of the Michigan Territory, he had been through much worse. Moving swiftly through ever closing gaps in the brush with blood oozing from numerous abrasions, Eslo presses on. This was relatively easy for he was able to sense the closing wilderness before it could trap him.
His companion was not faring as well. A dwarf like human known as Eldgrim was hacking his way along in full armor. They were investigating the disappearance of troops traveling through the forests of Bleakewood.
In the last month none who entered had returned. This was unfortunate for the area had recently been made relatively safe by eradicating the Shades that once haunted the woods. This quest was fulfilled by Ana Karithon and Rhogar Dragonspine, who were supported by a small contingent of Knights of Weston led by Eldgrim.
His familiarity with the area was one reason why he was chosen for this. That and he was the only one who volunteered to join Eslo.

Eldgrim was growing tired of getting lower tier assignments and the growing disrespect among the Knights serving under him. They all wanted to follow Sir So-and-So and some felt that they would be a better leader than some little Viking. He jumped at the chance to join the new loner in Valhalla.

In his short time Eslo had made quite an impression. Upon being summoned by Vydar, Eslo drew his hunter's knife and looked into the ArchKyrie's eyes and said "I'm going to cut you three ways, long, deep, and repetitively." Since then many followers of Utgar have been consumed by the midnight death flame expelled from Eslo's double barreled flintlock pistol. The weapon holds an evil force and a curse. Eslo can never separate himself from the gun nor can he die, for long. Each death is filled with pain and darkness. When life is restored the curse is always in his hand. Oddly enough this was not Eslo’s first time being transported to another world.
Perhaps this previous experience was why he was adjusting so easily to his new life. A sip from a WellSpring cured his thirst of fire-water and improved his disposition. However his cursed gun was not affected and it was not long before it claimed its first friendly victim. As the casualties of friendly fire piled up it became apparent that it was best to send Eslo in solo. Rumors spread amongst the troops that he was summoned by the wrong General. Vydar claimed that the entity in Eslo’s old flintlock was akin to the evil of MitonSoul but that Eslo’s heart was mostly pure.

Nature's defense ceases as the forest gives way to a clearing containing the corpses of their missing troops. Most of them looked like they had been run over by a mountain. Amongst the carnage not one skull was to be found. Upon discovering a crushed shield bearing the Crest of Weston, Eldgrim dropped to a knee.
Just then tremendous crashing came thundering from the woods to the pair’s left. With a mighty Viking BattleCry, Eldgrim rushed off faster then Eslo thought possible. In an instant he disappears into a wall of brush. For a moment Eslo saw a dark form above the tree line, and then the land was shaking beneath his feet.

The forest parts for death. Before Eslo stands a massive Marro resembling the creature Tor-Kul-Na uses as a mount in appearance but much larger and without a rider. It is carrying a tremendous Morningstar with a handle the size of a small oak. The flail consists of dozens of chains with up to eleven skulls on each, many dripping with Eldgrim’s remains.
Ironically Eslo had heard tales of this incarnation of war during his travels before being brought to Valhalla. On that world seven were summoned by desperate elves to destroy the enemies of the druids. The monsters had a peculiar ability to resurrect victims with a blue ball of light that emerged from their belly only to kill the reborn again. They would be known as the Kisserflee (flee or kiss death). They could not be controlled. The remaining armies of the Druid Wars were forced to stop their struggle and together destroyed, imprisoned, or ran off the terrible seven. What people there called demons were really members of the race of Marro.
“Run, you fool. Run!” Eldgrim’s voice rattled inside his head.

Eslo runs, faster then ever, firing the old flintlock over his shoulder, never looking, allowing the gun to aim. The wail of impending death and pain lets him know the gun is hitting its target. It sounded as if the whole woods were falling behind him. A chain linked skull whistles past his ear tossing sod into the air as it collides with the ground. A falling tree sends Eslo sprawling and tumbling onto his back. Looking up, the Kisserflee is looking down, salivating, smoking from fresh wounds. Hundreds of skulls darken the sky before avalanching into Eslo's helpless body

The black of nothing becomes blue light and life. Eslo's eyes open, the curse lying near his feet. Confusion and joy overwhelm him as he realizes he is free of the gun. Unfortunately the still present Kisserflee is already in mid-swing and laughing evilly. The death dealing skulls howl soulefully with air rushing through eye sockets with blank stares. Pain. Death. Pain. Black. Out of this darkness a small flicker ignites in the distance, drawing closer it splits into two pinpricks glowing angry red.

Furious life roars through Eslo. He is on his feet firing the old flintlock before consciousness returns. Eyes blaze open. They reveal two relentless rivers of Hellfire, as black as the demon hate which spawned them, tearing holes into the stumbling Kisserflee's back.
"Hurts, don’t it"
The Marro turns about and advances, step by unyielding step. An unstoppable juggernaut, disregarding Eslo's never ending assault. Snatching legs in one hand, arms in the other, the Kisserflee pulls and Eslo Rudkey becomes two parts. Death. Darkness. Life.

One eye opens as the other slowly melts from its socket The Kisserflee is preparing his skull to add to its weapon. Bending low, it drools corrosive saliva, dissolving flesh. With his face falling off Eslo shoves his arm elbow deep in the Marro’s mouth. In seconds his arm would be no more than bone but not before the back of the Kisserflee's head becomes a volcano of black fire and brains.

Before blacking out Eslo watches as the Kisserflee crumbles into a million spiders that scuttle off into the undergrowth.

BassistofDoom

Spoiler Alert!

“I got places to be you know.” Scott Smith of the Airborne Elite impatiently addressed Brave Arrow, who was studying a map spread out on a rock in the middle of the Ticalla Jungle. Brave Arrow looked up and observed Scott for a couple seconds before talking. “My sincerest apologies if you miss your television program.” Scott chuckled in spite of his annoyance and replied, “Wow…And it only took you a couple minutes to think of that one! Are you gonna be done soon? I have important papers to give to Aquilla.” He pulled a manila folder out of his bag and shook it at Brave Arrow, who was now visibly angry. “I could be finished a lot sooner if your impatience did not get the best of you every thirty seconds! Now please, stay quiet while I finish finding the best route to Aquilla’s palace!” Scott stood up from the rock he had been sitting on and pointed a finger at Brave Arrow. “You tellin’ me to shut up? Listen-“ “No! I am simply saying that it is obvious that we do not want to stay in each other’s company longer than required so if I had some quiet for a little while I could find out where we need to go more quickly and we could be out of each other’s hair!” Brave Arrow interrupted.
The escalating argument between Scott and Brave Arrow was suddenly cut short by a voice crackling over Scott’s radio. It was his C.O., Sergeant Morton. “Private Smith! Come in, Private Smith!” Scott ran to his bag and pulled out the radio before responding. “I’m here sir. What is it?”
“Have you made it to Aquilla’s palace yet?”
“No sir, we’ve been…hung up.”
“Dang. Alright, listen, we’ve just gotten word of some Marro in that area that may be looking for you. Some that we’ve never seen before, they kinda resemble rhinoceroses I guess. But anyway they’re big, fast, scary, and you don’t want to be around them, so try to get to Aquilla’s as fast as you can before they come find you.”
“Alright sir, we’re gonna get goin’ now. Private Smith over and out.”
Scott put the radio back in his bag and looked expectantly at Brave Arrow. “Yes, yes, we are ready to go.” Brave Arrow said. “That way.” He pointed towards a small trail leading deeper into the jungle. Scott checked his Browning to make sure there was a full clip and followed Brave Arrow into the trees.

“Alright so my C.O. says there’s some Marro in our area. You know anything about this?” Scott asked Brave Arrow, who was hacking away at tree limbs before them with his hatchet. “No. But I will be prepared.” As soon as he said this, however, he stopped and motioned for Scott to stay quiet. They stared at one another in anticipation as they heard a rumbling sound in the distance, rapidly growing louder. “Footsteps,” muttered Brave Arrow before yelling: “Get down!” He pulled Scott to the ground as a huge orange-pinkish animal snapped the trees behind them like twigs and charged over them, barely missing Scott’s head with one of its gigantic hoofs.

“****! Marro! We gotta go!” Scott got up and pulled Brave Arrow to his feet as the creature turned around to face them, standing 30 yards away. It was at least 10 feet tall and had two huge horns on its long, rhino shaped head. Horns also lined its back and massive tail, culminating in a spike at the end, and a Marro drone with a spear sat on its neck, watching them. Scott sprinted into the trees as it began to charge again, but Brave Arrow just stood there as it came towards them. As the beast came closer, Brave Arrow bent down, getting ready to jump, but Scott tackled him to the side at the last second. “What are you doing? You gotta be crazy to try to jump 10 feet onto that thing’s back!” Brave Arrow simply got up calmly as Scott shouted. “I am confident in my abilities as a warrior, but you apparently are not.” He replied. Scott looked at him like he was crazy before saying, “Well excuse me if- Nevermind, that thing’s comin’ back.” Brave Arrow scampered up a tree to the side as the beast rushed towards them. Scott, meanwhile, pulled out his BAR and unloaded all 20 shots, striking the drone in the head and causing it to fall off and land on the ground in a growing pool of blood. The creature, however, was significantly less affected. Though rounds pierced its tough skin, it continued its charge, nearly crushing Scott as he bolted out of the way. Brave Arrow hopped off the tree above and tried to land on the Marro’s back but his timing was off and he ended up narrowly missing falling on its spiked tail. Although its master was now dead, the beast was relentless in its charging. Scott and Brave Arrow both ducked behind a rock, where Scott turned to him. “Ok, I have 5 clips left. It’s like bullfighting; I’ll shoot until he’s right on top of me, then jump out of the way at the last second. You…help.” Brave Arrow shook his head. “No. That plan is full of American hot-headedness, but no Mohican strategizing. I shall climb a tree and attack from above, where I can strike at the beast’s head and destroy it.” Scott stared at him in disbelief, wondering how his plan was hot-headed and how Brave Arrow’s was any better, but he stayed calm while speaking: “Or you climb a tree and do that crap while I’m distracting it and firing, then you do your thing.” Brave Arrow nodded and quickly darted up the nearest tree while Scott reloaded, lit another cigarette, and stepped out into what now was a clearing where the Marro was getting ready to charge again.

“Come and get it,” he said quietly while he raised his BAR. The creature came at him and he began to fire, feeling the rifle pound into his shoulder while the beast began to bleed and slow down slightly. “Wounded, huh? Good.” He said again, slamming another magazine into the gun. He used half the clip before diving out of the way as the Marro roared past him, grunting as Brave Arrow landed on the side of its back, digging a hatchet into its skin to hold on. Scott stepped back out from the trees as the beast turned again, rage showing through its eyes. Brave Arrow, meanwhile, ripped a dagger out of its sheath and thrust it into the back of the Marro’s neck, causing it to pause and thrash around, sending Brave Arrow flying into the trees. Scott began to fire again, hearing the splintering of trees on the either side mixed with the splintering of the beast’s leg bones as he knew he had dealt the final blows. It began to collapse as its momentum still carried it forward, and Scott’s first instinct was to duck and curl into a ball as it fell over him, crushing him with one huge leg. Scott grunted in pain as the wind was knocked out of him, and yelled to Brave Arrow for help. The Indian appeared out of the trees and helped him to move it off of his chest as he got up, scratched up and bloody. “You ok?” He asked Brave Arrow, who seemed to be in the same state as him. “Yes. I am ok.” He replied before they began to walk away from the scene of destruction. “Let’s hustle up,” said Scott, starting to jog, “There are more of those things out there.”

[TGRF]

Week 9 - June 27, 2011

A new marro terror has begun to plague the lands of Aquilla. (Single beast or many, the choice is yours) Two lone warriors (can be from any general) are making their way back to a base of Aquilla's, when they are suddenly ambushed by this fearsome creature(s). Only you can determine how the battle will end...

3rd Place - Tornado

Spoiler Alert!

Thorny branch and sticky vine blocked his path and tangled his feet. A warm drizzle hangs with the faint stench of wet death. Born and raised in the swamps of the Michigan Territory, he had been through much worse. Moving swiftly through ever closing gaps in the brush with blood oozing from numerous abrasions, Eslo presses on. This was relatively easy for he was able to sense the closing wilderness before it could trap him.
His companion was not faring as well. A dwarf like human known as Eldgrim was hacking his way along in full armor. They were investigating the disappearance of troops traveling through the forests of Bleakewood.
In the last month none who entered had returned. This was unfortunate for the area had recently been made relatively safe by eradicating the Shades that once haunted the woods. This quest was fulfilled by Ana Karithon and Rhogar Dragonspine, who were supported by a small contingent of Knights of Weston led by Eldgrim.
His familiarity with the area was one reason why he was chosen for this. That and he was the only one who volunteered to join Eslo.

Eldgrim was growing tired of getting lower tier assignments and the growing disrespect among the Knights serving under him. They all wanted to follow Sir So-and-So and some felt that they would be a better leader than some little Viking. He jumped at the chance to join the new loner in Valhalla.

In his short time Eslo had made quite an impression. Upon being summoned by Vydar, Eslo drew his hunter's knife and looked into the ArchKyrie's eyes and said "I'm going to cut you three ways, long, deep, and repetitively." Since then many followers of Utgar have been consumed by the midnight death flame expelled from Eslo's double barreled flintlock pistol. The weapon holds an evil force and a curse. Eslo can never separate himself from the gun nor can he die, for long. Each death is filled with pain and darkness. When life is restored the curse is always in his hand. Oddly enough this was not Eslo’s first time being transported to another world.
Perhaps this previous experience was why he was adjusting so easily to his new life. A sip from a WellSpring cured his thirst of fire-water and improved his disposition. However his cursed gun was not affected and it was not long before it claimed its first friendly victim. As the casualties of friendly fire piled up it became apparent that it was best to send Eslo in solo. Rumors spread amongst the troops that he was summoned by the wrong General. Vydar claimed that the entity in Eslo’s old flintlock was akin to the evil of MitonSoul but that Eslo’s heart was mostly pure.

Nature's defense ceases as the forest gives way to a clearing containing the corpses of their missing troops. Most of them looked like they had been run over by a mountain. Amongst the carnage not one skull was to be found. Upon discovering a crushed shield bearing the Crest of Weston, Eldgrim dropped to a knee.
Just then tremendous crashing came thundering from the woods to the pair’s left. With a mighty Viking BattleCry, Eldgrim rushed off faster then Eslo thought possible. In an instant he disappears into a wall of brush. For a moment Eslo saw a dark form above the tree line, and then the land was shaking beneath his feet.

The forest parts for death. Before Eslo stands a massive Marro resembling the creature Tor-Kul-Na uses as a mount in appearance but much larger and without a rider. It is carrying a tremendous Morningstar with a handle the size of a small oak. The flail consists of dozens of chains with up to eleven skulls on each, many dripping with Eldgrim’s remains.
Ironically Eslo had heard tales of this incarnation of war during his travels before being brought to Valhalla. On that world seven were summoned by desperate elves to destroy the enemies of the druids. The monsters had a peculiar ability to resurrect victims with a blue ball of light that emerged from their belly only to kill the reborn again. They would be known as the Kisserflee (flee or kiss death). They could not be controlled. The remaining armies of the Druid Wars were forced to stop their struggle and together destroyed, imprisoned, or ran off the terrible seven. What people there called demons were really members of the race of Marro.
“Run, you fool. Run!” Eldgrim’s voice rattled inside his head.

Eslo runs, faster then ever, firing the old flintlock over his shoulder, never looking, allowing the gun to aim. The wail of impending death and pain lets him know the gun is hitting its target. It sounded as if the whole woods were falling behind him. A chain linked skull whistles past his ear tossing sod into the air as it collides with the ground. A falling tree sends Eslo sprawling and tumbling onto his back. Looking up, the Kisserflee is looking down, salivating, smoking from fresh wounds. Hundreds of skulls darken the sky before avalanching into Eslo's helpless body

The black of nothing becomes blue light and life. Eslo's eyes open, the curse lying near his feet. Confusion and joy overwhelm him as he realizes he is free of the gun. Unfortunately the still present Kisserflee is already in mid-swing and laughing evilly. The death dealing skulls howl soulefully with air rushing through eye sockets with blank stares. Pain. Death. Pain. Black. Out of this darkness a small flicker ignites in the distance, drawing closer it splits into two pinpricks glowing angry red.

Furious life roars through Eslo. He is on his feet firing the old flintlock before consciousness returns. Eyes blaze open. They reveal two relentless rivers of Hellfire, as black as the demon hate which spawned them, tearing holes into the stumbling Kisserflee's back.
"Hurts, don’t it"
The Marro turns about and advances, step by unyielding step. An unstoppable juggernaut, disregarding Eslo's never ending assault. Snatching legs in one hand, arms in the other, the Kisserflee pulls and Eslo Rudkey becomes two parts. Death. Darkness. Life.

One eye opens as the other slowly melts from its socket The Kisserflee is preparing his skull to add to its weapon. Bending low, it drools corrosive saliva, dissolving flesh. With his face falling off Eslo shoves his arm elbow deep in the Marro’s mouth. In seconds his arm would be no more than bone but not before the back of the Kisserflee's head becomes a volcano of black fire and brains.

Before blacking out Eslo watches as the Kisserflee crumbles into a million spiders that scuttle off into the undergrowth.

2nd Place - Bassist of Doom

Spoiler Alert!

“I got places to be you know.” Scott Smith of the Airborne Elite impatiently addressed Brave Arrow, who was studying a map spread out on a rock in the middle of the Ticalla Jungle. Brave Arrow looked up and observed Scott for a couple seconds before talking. “My sincerest apologies if you miss your television program.” Scott chuckled in spite of his annoyance and replied, “Wow…And it only took you a couple minutes to think of that one! Are you gonna be done soon? I have important papers to give to Aquilla.” He pulled a manila folder out of his bag and shook it at Brave Arrow, who was now visibly angry. “I could be finished a lot sooner if your impatience did not get the best of you every thirty seconds! Now please, stay quiet while I finish finding the best route to Aquilla’s palace!” Scott stood up from the rock he had been sitting on and pointed a finger at Brave Arrow. “You tellin’ me to shut up? Listen-“ “No! I am simply saying that it is obvious that we do not want to stay in each other’s company longer than required so if I had some quiet for a little while I could find out where we need to go more quickly and we could be out of each other’s hair!” Brave Arrow interrupted.
The escalating argument between Scott and Brave Arrow was suddenly cut short by a voice crackling over Scott’s radio. It was his C.O., Sergeant Morton. “Private Smith! Come in, Private Smith!” Scott ran to his bag and pulled out the radio before responding. “I’m here sir. What is it?”
“Have you made it to Aquilla’s palace yet?”
“No sir, we’ve been…hung up.”
“Dang. Alright, listen, we’ve just gotten word of some Marro in that area that may be looking for you. Some that we’ve never seen before, they kinda resemble rhinoceroses I guess. But anyway they’re big, fast, scary, and you don’t want to be around them, so try to get to Aquilla’s as fast as you can before they come find you.”
“Alright sir, we’re gonna get goin’ now. Private Smith over and out.”
Scott put the radio back in his bag and looked expectantly at Brave Arrow. “Yes, yes, we are ready to go.” Brave Arrow said. “That way.” He pointed towards a small trail leading deeper into the jungle. Scott checked his Browning to make sure there was a full clip and followed Brave Arrow into the trees.

“Alright so my C.O. says there’s some Marro in our area. You know anything about this?” Scott asked Brave Arrow, who was hacking away at tree limbs before them with his hatchet. “No. But I will be prepared.” As soon as he said this, however, he stopped and motioned for Scott to stay quiet. They stared at one another in anticipation as they heard a rumbling sound in the distance, rapidly growing louder. “Footsteps,” muttered Brave Arrow before yelling: “Get down!” He pulled Scott to the ground as a huge orange-pinkish animal snapped the trees behind them like twigs and charged over them, barely missing Scott’s head with one of its gigantic hoofs.

“****! Marro! We gotta go!” Scott got up and pulled Brave Arrow to his feet as the creature turned around to face them, standing 30 yards away. It was at least 10 feet tall and had two huge horns on its long, rhino shaped head. Horns also lined its back and massive tail, culminating in a spike at the end, and a Marro drone with a spear sat on its neck, watching them. Scott sprinted into the trees as it began to charge again, but Brave Arrow just stood there as it came towards them. As the beast came closer, Brave Arrow bent down, getting ready to jump, but Scott tackled him to the side at the last second. “What are you doing? You gotta be crazy to try to jump 10 feet onto that thing’s back!” Brave Arrow simply got up calmly as Scott shouted. “I am confident in my abilities as a warrior, but you apparently are not.” He replied. Scott looked at him like he was crazy before saying, “Well excuse me if- Nevermind, that thing’s comin’ back.” Brave Arrow scampered up a tree to the side as the beast rushed towards them. Scott, meanwhile, pulled out his BAR and unloaded all 20 shots, striking the drone in the head and causing it to fall off and land on the ground in a growing pool of blood. The creature, however, was significantly less affected. Though rounds pierced its tough skin, it continued its charge, nearly crushing Scott as he bolted out of the way. Brave Arrow hopped off the tree above and tried to land on the Marro’s back but his timing was off and he ended up narrowly missing falling on its spiked tail. Although its master was now dead, the beast was relentless in its charging. Scott and Brave Arrow both ducked behind a rock, where Scott turned to him. “Ok, I have 5 clips left. It’s like bullfighting; I’ll shoot until he’s right on top of me, then jump out of the way at the last second. You…help.” Brave Arrow shook his head. “No. That plan is full of American hot-headedness, but no Mohican strategizing. I shall climb a tree and attack from above, where I can strike at the beast’s head and destroy it.” Scott stared at him in disbelief, wondering how his plan was hot-headed and how Brave Arrow’s was any better, but he stayed calm while speaking: “Or you climb a tree and do that crap while I’m distracting it and firing, then you do your thing.” Brave Arrow nodded and quickly darted up the nearest tree while Scott reloaded, lit another cigarette, and stepped out into what now was a clearing where the Marro was getting ready to charge again.

“Come and get it,” he said quietly while he raised his BAR. The creature came at him and he began to fire, feeling the rifle pound into his shoulder while the beast began to bleed and slow down slightly. “Wounded, huh? Good.” He said again, slamming another magazine into the gun. He used half the clip before diving out of the way as the Marro roared past him, grunting as Brave Arrow landed on the side of its back, digging a hatchet into its skin to hold on. Scott stepped back out from the trees as the beast turned again, rage showing through its eyes. Brave Arrow, meanwhile, ripped a dagger out of its sheath and thrust it into the back of the Marro’s neck, causing it to pause and thrash around, sending Brave Arrow flying into the trees. Scott began to fire again, hearing the splintering of trees on the either side mixed with the splintering of the beast’s leg bones as he knew he had dealt the final blows. It began to collapse as its momentum still carried it forward, and Scott’s first instinct was to duck and curl into a ball as it fell over him, crushing him with one huge leg. Scott grunted in pain as the wind was knocked out of him, and yelled to Brave Arrow for help. The Indian appeared out of the trees and helped him to move it off of his chest as he got up, scratched up and bloody. “You ok?” He asked Brave Arrow, who seemed to be in the same state as him. “Yes. I am ok.” He replied before they began to walk away from the scene of destruction. “Let’s hustle up,” said Scott, starting to jog, “There are more of those things out there.”

1st Place - Son of Arathorn

Spoiler Alert!

Sir Hawthorne gasped. This jungle air was like breathing water. The air was humid, abuzz with all manner of vile insects. His companion wasn’t making the trek any easier. One of the newer recruits, he was warrior of great stature. His nut-brown hair hung about his broad shoulders, and a goatee adorned his face. His eyes though... his eyes were strange. Distrustful of everything. When he had first met Sir Hawthorne, in the middle of battle, the warrior had nearly taken the knights head off. Granted, Sir Hawthorne was fighting for the enemy at that point, but he had changed. Midway between the first charge and the last desperate moments of the skirmish, Sir Hawthorne had switched sides. Not the smartest move. He had been commanding a group of Marro who were attempting to establish a stronger foothold in this part of the jungle. Before they could even set up a perimeter, they had been set upon by a war party of the Allied Generals, and almost all had been slaughtered. As the twentieth or so Drone fell, Sir Hawthorne felt that his services could be used elsewhere. He had begun hacking away at his former underlings, relishing the opportunity to perhaps kill more than usual. It was a missed opportunity, for almost the second he turned traitor, the Hive that they had been ordered to cultivate began to spawn Stingers. The armor of Jandar’s Knights of Weston had acted as a conductor for the Stingers weaponry, and the knights fell fast. Soon, all that was left was Sir Hawthorne, the newer warrior, and a single knight, who informed Sir Hawthorne of the warrior’s background before the traitor slit his throat behind the mans back. After all, the last thing he needed was one of his former comrades informing the soldier about Sir Hawthorne’s past. No, that wouldn’t do at all. He needed to secure a comfortable position in the ranks before any of that came out.
And still they plodded on, towards Aquilla’s stronghold deep in the jungle. The newer recruit kept eyeing Sir Hawthorne’s back, like he wanted nothing more than to plant a knife in it. Smart soldier. Sensing tension, the former Knight of Weston decided to break the ice.
“You don’t want to know why I switched?”
The man barely spared him a glance, hacking through the underbrush with his sword. A good sword it was too, sharp, custom-made by the look of it. Inscribed in the blade, close to the hilt, was a tree, with a tower behind it. Strange, thought the traitorous knight. Never seen that before. “I didn’t inquire as to why you turned traitor, because I knew any explanation you give will be less reliable than an orcs promise that he won’t kill something. Therefor, I decided to observe you myself, and draw my own conclusion as to your... choices, such as they were.”
Sir Hawthorne started. This one was smarter than most of Jandar’s simple-minded, chivalry-ridden, idiots. Dangerous too. The black knight had seen the man in combat. deadly with both his sword and the circular shield on his back. It did give the knight some satisfaction to see that, on his back was a thick fur cloak, which was losing its character in the heat. Most amusing.
“Well, as you don’t trust me, let me reassure you with a simple introduction. I am Sir Hawthorne, former Scribe of Weston. And you?”
The man scowled, and shifted his shield on his back. “I see no need to tell you my name. My rank is another thing altogether. In my homeland, I was High Captain of my land, and of all our forces. In Jandar’s army, I am but a lieutenant commanding warriors.” He scowled again. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
Hawthorne stopped, and removed his helmet. “We won’t get anywhere if we can’t have some trust. Therefor, I suggest you tell me your n-”
“Yes, we will get somewhere. Hopefully, somewhere you can stop your incessant ba-” The man stopped. Off to the right, the trees had moved above the canopy. More than moved, they had splintered. One fell, crashing through the underbrush. Right towards them.
“Move!” The man tackled Sir Hawthorne, no easy task, as the knight was wearing nearly 40 pounds of armor. Strong, smart, quick, and definitely dangerous. He would have to go. They landed hard, in a patch of particularly nasty plants. Thorns and some sticky substance.The ‘High Captain’s‘ cloak was ruined. No time to worry about that though. Something large was moving towards them, and moving fast. They could hear it, the trees falling, the thing stepping. It was either very large, or very, very loud. Or both. As they got up, both the man and Sir Hawthorne drew their swords. Both brandished their shields. More trees fell, the noise grew closer, closer. It stopped. The warrior whispered. “What new devilry is this?”
Sir Hawthorne whispered lower. “I don’t know. I do recall hearing something about new experiments with the Marro here, but-” Trees started crashing down again, fell noises filled the thick air. And then it came, crashing through the last line of foliage.
It was a mass of flesh. Not exactly a recognizable shape, it pulsated for a few moments before them. It was large, as large as a command tent. Both warriors gripped their shields tighter. Then the hole in it opened. Yawning from the bottom of it, the thing spat out a mess of goop and slime. It splattered onto the jungle floor, throwing out a disgusting scent. At first, both of them just stared. The mass continued to pulsate, keeping time with Sir Hawthorne’s heartbeat.
They started. The pile of fluid, flesh, and slime on the ground moved. It started to move again. It began to pick its vile self off the ground. As it clambered to its feet, Sir hawthorne finally got a good look at it. It looked like a Marro, but less so, almost more... human. It was coated with sinew and flesh, stretched over the human-like form. Beneath the strands, he could see something, something cracked, long and brown. Almost like leather. On the things head, pinned by sinew and dried blood, were a few scraps of fabric, and its face had a few patches of matted hair beneath the mangled nose. It was utterly revolting.
While Sir Hawthorne stared, the High Captain took a more direct approach he saw the ruined weapon in the creature’s ruined hand. Before it could bring it up to aim, he stepped forward, and swung his blade. The head hit the ground rolling. It came to rest at Sir Hawthorne’s foot, and as he looked down, he recognized it. At the Dark Lakes, fighting for a diving device. The cowboy. A flash, a bang, and unconsciousness.
Now the behemoth of flesh began to rumble. Eerie clicks flew from the hole. Whistling air came from the opening. Both men stepped back. They kept stepping back, as slime and flesh gushed from the hole, pouring onto the jungle floor, flies flocking to the sickly sweet smell of decaying meat.
Now they both were pressed against a tree, watching in horror as the forms detached themselves from the muck. Through the fleshy coatings on their forms, the High Captain saw rusting armor, battered shields with snakes embellished on them. One had pieces of green cloth clinging to it’s otherwise naked body. still more had pieces of skin and bone sticking from their backs, like disgusting, ruined wings. The largest of the figures hefted a large sword, dull, yet still an effectively large piece of metal. The creature’s jaws sagged, and they chittered, clicking and whistling in the tongue of the Marro. Their arms held the remains of shields, guns, and blades. They began to move forward, some dragging themselves, some moving much quicker. In less than a minute, they were surrounded by more than 20 beings.
The High Captain found his voice. “We’re dead.”
Sir hawthorne nodded. “Yes. We are.” Then they charged.
The creatures, quite literally, threw themselves at the pair, swinging their arms like weaponry. Jandar’s soldier smashed the closest one in the face with his shield, then stabbed another one in the stomach, to no effect other than having his sword stuck in a dripping, still alive corpse. Sir Hawthorne had only just held back, long enough to see how the High Captain faired. He began to methodically hack through the things, careful to hit them in the head. One crushed, two more decapitated, another’s already weak skull crushed with his black shield. They both heard the rumble in the background, both knew that the flesh being was spewing more of these things, these shadows of soldiers. Sir Hawthorne turned, ready to face the new threat, and instead of more mutated Marro creations, found his companion surrounded by a pile of dead. The man spoke, panting. “Well... that, that wasn’t so diffi- Aarrgh!” He screamed as something tackled him from behind. As he went down, already trying to turn to face the threat, he heard a screech, and hooting. The remains of a Primadon were on his back, enveloped in the sticky, Marro flesh. It drove itself at him, reaching with its jaws to bite, to tear, to rend him limb from limb. More came. Now the behemoth was in overdrive, spitting out monkeys fast. Soon more than 50 filled the jungle, sprinting at them. The man had already recovered from the surprise of having a monkey on his back. It was now in several pieces around him, some still twitching. Not that it mattered, as the rest of them were hurling forward on torn hands, screaming and hooting.The High Captain raised his shield, smashing three back and cleaving another two in half with his blade. Sir Hawthorne yet again chose a different approach, preferring to body slam the horde while wearing too much armor. The end result was not as planned, as the knight ended up being dog-piled by reborn Primadons, being crushed under their weight. This is it, he thought. I’m going to die. These animals are going ape. Ha-ha.
And then the man was there, ripping through the swarm with sword, shield, and his bare hands. He pulled Sir Hawthorne from the ground, clinging Marro limbs coming with him. They both dived from the writhing mass of monkeys, which took less than a minute to untangle itself and begin the assault again. They kept stabbing, batting the things off with their blades. And still the mass of flesh spewed forth more Marrden monkeys. This is ridiculous, thought the High Captain. No situation can be this hopeless, he said to himself, as he dodged a monkey and smacked its head into a tree. There has to be a way out of this.
“Oi! Traitor! Did Utagr know of any patrols Aquilla set up? Because it seems to me-,” He decapitated another primate. “That we could use reinforcements!”
Sir Hawthorne snorted. “Of course! This entire area is populated by Quasatch and patrolled by Mohicans! What did you think I was doing here?” He kicked back another monkey, and drove his armored elbow into another’s stomach. “Not that it matters! We can’t get them over here! And I don’t think we can last long enough for a signal fire! We. Are going. To d-” A monkey tackled him, biting through his armor, weak at the neck.
The High Captain turned, sparing just enough strength to rip the Primadon off the knight. “Hold them off for a few seconds!” He ripped Sir Hawthorne’s shield from the knights hands, and tossed him his weapon.
Sir Hawthorne grinned. He twirled both blades in his hands, and went to work. He was through the seventh monkey and into the eighth when he heard three long bursts on a horn, louder than anything he had ever heard, and twice as frightening as it was loud. As it ended, the knight turned, and with one deft throw tossed the sword back to its owner. On they fought, to wrack and ruin.

They were almost overwhelmed. Almost. The Indians and apes arrived in time to carve their way through the horde, grab the pair, and run. They had made it to Aquilla’s palace unharmed, save Sir Hawthorne’s bite wound to the neck. Before the tribunal to hear Sir Hawthorne’s reasons as to why he shouldn’t have been put to death, and why they should trust him, he was found dead in his chambers. The cause of death was unknown, but it was decided that his body was to be dropped in the jungle. After all, the man had been a servant of Utgar, and as such, he deserved nothing better.

Before he had died, Sir Hawthorne, alone in his chambers, had watched as his wound festered. Before it overtook him, he thought he saw strands of flesh and slime working their way from the bite...