Fan Fic Contest - Are you the best writer?

[Vader Fan 7]

Done!

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 knew
Taking 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.

[bumper15]

Very nice...Very nice! Outstanding story Vader Fan.

[Dadnarg434]

Hey, wow. I feel like its rather pointless to put my story up, after reading Vader Fan's epic novel. But I might as well. Just for fun.

Note: For SoA. If there is a word limit, I probably broke it. If you feel my story is too long to be fair, thats fine. I just really wanted to include everything. I have had the idea for this story for a long time.

Hope you all enjoy, and hope its not toooo long.

Spoiler Alert!

Fan Fic Contest:
“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.

[Vader Fan 7]

Originally Posted by Dadnarg434

Hey, wow. I feel like its rather pointless to put my story up, after reading Vader Fan's epic novel. But I might as well. Just for fun.

Really?

Geez, man - you could at least have given the rest of us a chance.

[dragonfire9788]

Damn, I hope Dadnarg's story isn't too long, because mine is already longer and it isn't done yet.

[Vader Fan 7]

Originally Posted by Son of Arathorn

All I can say for what to write, besides epic-ness is, badabadabada... Anything Goes.

I took that to mean no word limit. I don't think length will be an issue, DF and Dadnarg.

Besides, SoA said "Make. This. Epic."
Kinda hard to do in a few paragraphs, don't you think? Of course, EL being the exception. Short, sweet - but damn cool!

[Kaemon Awa 123]

I might not have one... still busy with Soccer and such.

[dragonfire9788]

Alright, first off, I apologize for the sheer length of it. Next, I apologize for any grammatical errors I missed while editing it. If any are gigantically glaring, tell me and I'll edit them. I also took the liberty or working my way around many words in the prompt, but that's what I do. I especially avoided the word, massive when he described "army" but, . If it ventures too far from the prompt, I'm sorry. I also apologize if the format isn't desirable.

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.

It didn't really turn out the way I had planned it to and in my mind its the not the best story I've written, but it would be criminal to spend all that time on it and not post it. It's also my second idea and I loved the first one, but I was forced to abandon it cause there was no way I could've written it under 20,000 words. I still have the beginning of that story written, but I don't think anyone will want to read anymore after they read mine.

[Vader Fan 7]

Originally Posted by dragonfire9788

Alright, first off, I apologize for the sheer length of it. Next, I apologize for any grammatical errors I missed while editing it. If any are gigantically glaring, tell me and I'll edit them. I also took the liberty or working my way around many words in the prompt, but that's what I do. I especially avoided the word, massive when he described "army" but, . If it ventures too far from the prompt, I'm sorry. I also apologize if the format isn't desirable.

It didn't really turn out the way I had planned it to and in my mind its the not the best story I've written, but it would be criminal to spend all that time on it and not post it. It's also my second idea and I loved the first one, but I was forced to abandon it cause there was no way I could've written it under 20,000 words. I still have the beginning of that story written, but I don't think anyone will want to read anymore after they read mine.

Don't sell yourself short, Dragonfire. Your story is excellent, and the characters are very fleshed out and intruiging. I'm dying to know what your first idea was.

[dragonfire9788]

Originally Posted by Vader Fan 7

Don't sell yourself short, Dragonfire. Your story is excellent, and the characters are very fleshed out and intruiging. I'm dying to know what your first idea was.

I "sell myself short", because when I get in an idea in my head its all flowers and rainbows and flawless, but when its on paper I see flaws galore and its all I see. Especially since in the mad dash to get the story finished on time I didn't adequately set up the theme of good and evil that's only touched on during the conversation in Brave Arrow and Sam.

As for my first idea, I'll give you the synopsis:

Spoiler Alert!

It was basically that the allies are attacking a town and then Valkrill's soldiers show up. Kiova and her bodyguards are caught in the crossfire and one of the Imperium is in love with Kiova. After a minor scuffle, the other two Imperium are dead and Kiova, the surviving Imperium, and Brandis Skyhunter and trapped together. Eventually they get out of that and Kiova is captured, so Brandis and the Imperium go rescue her. After another scuffle, the Imperium is wounded and Kiova is rescued. It is then revealed that Kiova was captured cause she stole two vials of resurrection juice (never came up with a name for that) from Moltenclaw, the ruler of this town. Brandis then betrays them, kills the Imperium, and makes off with one of the vials. Kiova flies off to seek help from Rhogar Dragonspine (after a minor scuffle) and he agrees. The two decide to use the one vial that Kiova has on the Imperium, so that they have a better chance of killing Brandis. We then learn that Kiova needs to get the other vial to resurrect her husband, because he does something important for Einar (never decided what, though). This gets the Imperium mad, cause he loves Kiova, so he does something bad in the final battle with Brandis and Moltenclaw. Never had an ending in mind.

Here's the two beginning's I wrote. Fair warning, I've never edited them:

Spoiler Alert!

In the Einar Imperium, one does not have a name. When one is talked to, they are referred to by their superiors as “You” and when the time for them to talk arrives, they call themselves “I” and that only. This is done because, in the Einar Imperium, a kyrie is not a person, but a soldier and only a soldier. Nothing must come between an Imperium and his duty. Not emotions, not restraint, not selfish thoughts of survival, not anything. If anything shifts an Imperium’s focus away from his duty, then his mission can be compromised.
This Einar Imperium was grossly betraying his training, by focusing his eyes, not on the horizon he had been assigned to watch, but upon the person he was assigned to guard. Her name was Empress Kiova currently she was going over battle plans on a map with Sir Gilbert and Parmenio. Ever since he had been assigned to the unit under the Empress’s wing, he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of her. But why would he be able to? Her grace and beauty was unmatched in all of Einar’s lands, no, all of Valhalla! In his opinion anyway. He was what he thought about when he fell asleep and she was what he thought about when he woke up. He didn’t think it made him shirk his duty. In fact, he thought loving his charge would put him in a much more aggressive fervor if she was ever attacked, which would lead to him to greater success on the battlefield.
He saw her point towards the town and say a few words to Sir Gilbert. From what he could gather, the all out attack on the seaside town was going well. The knights were penetrating the eastern portion of the town with great gusto and the Sacred Band was maintaining a steady push on the northern side. However, when Parmenio brought up the attacks carried out by Aquilla’s forces and the elves on the lumberyards in the swampy forest outlying the city on the western side, she shook her head and closed her eyes. It was not going as well as they hoped.
A sound of clanking footfalls echoed in his ears. He ripped eyes from Kiova and turned it back towards the city. He had been watching it the whole time. Things actually had gotten more interesting since he started to stare at Kiova. The eastern side of the city was burning and he could see a large, black plume of smoke rise slowly into the sky. He could also see the ocean beyond the town. They had a great view of it from the hill they were situated upon and that was the point. If anyone was going to attack the general’s headquarters, they would see it coming from a long ways away and could properly evacuate.
Not like they would need to evacuate. Any attack Utgar had planned for the generals could easily be repelled by the security force that followed the generals around. There were about fifty Sacred Band soldiers up here alone, plus fifteen Knights of Weston and, of course, Kiova’s three Einar Imperium. And in case the enemy tried to attack from afar, Brandis Skyhunter and three elven sharpshooters stood near the generals, poised to attack. Skyhunter himself was eager for a fight, his bow already loaded.
The source of the footfalls stopped beside him. It was a Knight of Weston, come to take a look at the town. There were minions circling around in the skies over all parts of the town. The knight watched each minion circling over the south side in particular, since they were the closest to the hill.
“See anything?” The knight asked him.
He shook his head. If you could see his face, it would be perfectly stoic, giving away no answers to the knight whatsoever. The ornamental gold mask he wore was more than just decorative.
“Remain watchful. That Moltenclaw is a tricky one. It wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine him sending soldiers up here to attack us. I know those minions down below certainly are unsettling.”
He remained silent, never taking his eyes off the town to make contact with the knight. The Imperium were not known for being personable. His hands gripped his single katana, which, apart from his feelings, was the only thing that made him different from the other Imperium. He had lost his other sword in a previous fight and was now forced to make do with one until further notice.
The knight nodded and clanked off towards the Imperium on his left. This Imperium was faced away from the city, in case reinforcements were coming to help the defenders. The knight, yet again, spoke a few words to the Imperium and, naturally, the Imperium said nothing back, his eyes locked on the plains leading away from the town. After he finished speaking, the knight slapped the Imperium on the back and gave a hearty laugh. Instead of shrugging it off like he had been taught, the Imperium sprung into the air while pointing down the plain.
“Belligerents!” The Imperium shouted so that everyone on the hill could hear. All heads turned to watch as he flew down the hill and across the plain to get a better look.
Kiova and the other generals ran over to where the knight was standing. They were followed by half the soldiers on the hill. They stared at the Imperium as he flew towards the black dots that were quickly getting larger. Quicker than they should be. The other two Imperium ran to Kiova’s side, making sure she was safe as could be. As the Imperium on the plain turned and flew back towards the hill, his news was already on Brandis Skyhunter’s lips. Even though he was half-elf, he still had the great eyesight.
“Death Chasers of Thesk. Followers of Valkrill. And they’re coming towards the hill with great speed.” He said it almost happily. Like he was ready for a battle.
“How many?” Sir Gilbert asked anyone who could answer.
One of other elves replied, “Too many.”
The reality began to sink in as the Imperium landed on the hill and confirmed what the elves had already said. Kiova looked at her bodyguards next to her and his heart soared. She had beautiful eyes. He would certainly be given lashes if the other Imperium knew he was thinking about that when they were under threat of attack. Moving ever closer to his charge, he kept his eyes on the black dots on the horizon. He could actually make out physical traits on a few of them. They were close. He looked to his left and saw some of the Sacred Band with their mouths agape in awe at the sheer number of the oncoming orcs. There had to be at least five hundred of them. There was no way they could stand and fight. Someone had to make a decision.
“I think it’s time we left,” Parmenio said at long last.
There was a unanimous nod throughout the group that had formed on the hill.
“Make for the town.” Kiova herself was giving orders now. Even her voice sent a shiver of emotion up his spine. “Get in the town. We can’t join with our forces on the other side. We won’t be able to run fast enough.”
She was suggesting that they run into a side of the town that hadn’t been seized yet. It could be swarming with Utgar’s soldiers or it could be a ghost town. Either way, he saw the sense in the plan. It would be much easier to fight in the streets, or it would be much easier to lose the orcs in the streets.
While Kiova was speaking, the Knights of Weston had gathered around Sir Gilbert and conversed with themselves. Just when she got done, they had reached a decision. The same knight that had told him to be watchful stood out of the group of 16 and said, “We have elected to stay behind and hold the orcs at bay while you all run for the town. It will buy you some time.” There was no hesitation in his voice. He drew his sword and lifted his shield. Every knight behind him did the same.
The Sacred Band and Parmenio took them up on their offer to give their lives. Nodding, they began to make the journey down the hill and towards the town. They were followed by the three elves who weren’t Brandis Skyhunter. The elf archer had remained still next to Kiova, who had also remained still. His bow was trembling and he wore a smirk on his face. It was almost like he was jealous of the knights. He gave one final nod and ran after the Parmenio.
Kiova stood still, along with her Imperium bodyguard. He couldn’t move unless she moved. None of them could. She was in grave danger here, but they had to obey the orders of their empress. She stared straight at Gilbert and his knights a look of disgust on her face. “Gilbert, you can’t do this.”
The group parted, showing Gilbert, steadfast, flag in one hand and his sword in the other. His face showed no doubt. “I have to, Empress. With our sacrifice, the rest of you will be able to reach safety.”
“But you can’t just throw your life away!” Kiova remained on the hill. He watched the orcs just get closer. They would reach the hill in just a few minutes. Just a few precious minutes. “You’re needed alive just as much as we are.”
“I have to.” Gilbert said.
“Fine,” She said back. She drew her rune encrusted sword and held it over her head. “Then I must as well.”
No, he thought. Kiova cannot fight. She cannot die.
Luckily, one of the Imperium spoke up with the same thoughts, “Empress, I must advise against this.”
“You three will stand with me.” She said.
“No, Kiova,” Gilbert said. “You have to go.”
The black dots were getting bigger. He took a risky look behind him and saw that the Sacred Band hadn’t even made it halfway to the town yet. The elves were close though, being much faster than the humans. Parmenio was a close second, not being bogged down by a heavy hoplon shield.
“I’m staying as long as you are,” She returned.
Gilbert sighed. He was staying, but she couldn’t. She had to go.
“Take her.” Gilbert gestured towards the Imperium with his sword. “Pick her up a go!”
He was stunned. He didn’t know whether to stand still with his katana drawn or actually follow the knight’s orders. He looked and saw that his brothers had to same feelings of uncertainty. Their weapons were drawn and they were ready to fight, but they looked as if they were ready to sheath them, grab their empress, and run.
“Don’t you three dare,” Kiova said. That put their uncertainty to death.
The same knight, who, ages ago, told him to be watchful, spoke up. “Gilbert, go.”
Gilbert turned to look at the brave knight. He noticed that he was perfectly ready to fight the army of orcs that just reached the bottom of the hill. A sword doesn’t make one brave. Gilbert knew that. He turned to Kiova, who was just as ready to die on this hill. He had a choice to make.
Gilbert planted his flag in the soft dirt and ran over to Kiova and the Imperium.
“You three fly, I’ll run!” He shouted.
One of his brothers had other ideas though. He sheathed his weapons and grabbed Gilbert by the arms. He started to flap his wings and lift off the ground. That must be heavy, he thought. Kiova and the other Imperium began to take off too, so he followed suit. Taking to the skies, the four flew down the hill and across the field.
The knights turned and watched their leader fly off into the metaphorical sunset. They had given their lives for both their leader and a woman. Their duty was complete. The brave knight took a step forward and stared down the hill at the death that was running straight at him. He could see their hairy skin and brutish mannerisms. He could hear their howls and see the shine off their armor. These weren’t just gruts of Utgar. These were stronger, faster. They were followers of Valkrill.
Raising his sword to the sky, the brave knight charged forward, a whole platoon of screaming knights following him.
He didn’t dare take a look back at the knights. He flew straight forward, seeing only street that lead into the town. His wings flapped the second fastest, behind the empress herself. She led the murder of kyrie. Below them were just a few slow Sacred Band members. A bit more than half had already reached the town and were sprinting down the street. The elves were at the head of the pack, stopped at a fork in the road. Their bows were drawn, but, strangely, the minions that were circling around the town had disappeared. Off to join the other fights going on, he supposed.
Parmenio stopped suddenly in road halfway between the fork and the edge of town. He out of breath and doubled over. A few of his soldiers ran past him, but a nice one stopped by his leader and asked if he was alright. Parmenio told the soldier that he was fine, just a little older. The soldier accepted this answer, as Parmenio was putting on a little age. He decided to continue onwards, taking a step forward onto a land mine.
The explosion was fiery and loud, ripping a solid hole in the road and two neighboring buildings. The fires spread out and up, consuming a few unfortunate soldiers and one even more unfortunate bird that happened to flying overhead. All it ever wanted to do with its life was make a fine nest lay three eggs. Not two eggs, not four eggs. Three was the proper amount of offspring the bird had wanted to have, but the author would like to remind you that he used the word ‘had’ to talk about what the bird wanted. Because the bird could no longer want things. It was dead.
He shielded his eyes from the explosion, but kept on flying. He had to get to safety so he could make sure his empress was safe. He saw her up ahead, resolute and disciplined. She flew onward as the explosion died the down and the ground’s shudder expired. Her beautiful gray wings beat through the air, propelling her even faster. They flew over the blast zone, passing many screaming Greeks. Some were wounded and some were just frightened. They had no leader to rally them back to sanity.
Kiova spotted Brandis Skyhunter ahead, his bow still draw and his attack stance still engaged. Only a few Greeks had managed to catch up with them, joining the defensive position. The empress landed next to the elf and all three Imperium followed suit. The one carrying Gilbert was extra careful, as the knight had been shaken by his first experience with air travel. By the look in his wide eyes and his jittering body, he wasn’t exactly ready to try it again.
The knight brushed himself off and turned to look at the hill. The scene had drastically worsened. The brave knights couldn’t be seen. All that was visible was a horde of orcs stampeding down the hill and across the plain, heading directly for the evacuees. The knights had been overwhelmed. Ahead of Gilbert, the Greeks were running amuck and yelling loudly. The loss of their leader had defenestrated all their discipline.
“It seems our attempts to shake our pursuers have failed,” Brandis said. Those words had been on everyone’s mind. “What do we do now?”
Gilbert drew his sword. “I guess we fight.”
He stared at the knight if front of him. All the knight had done was just chosen his grave to be in the town instead of the hill. Why was he in such a rush to die? Though, he supposed, if we are going to fight, there would be no better place than here. The narrow streets would be the best chance at the stemming the orc horde’s advances. He looked at Kiova. He could tell that she was mulling it over in her head. She had been ready to fight and die on the hill, so it should be no difference here.

I rewrote it cause I didn't like it. Same idea, but it flows better IMO.

Spoiler Alert!

In the Einar Imperium, one does not have a name. When one is talked to, they are referred to by their superiors as “You” and when the time for them to talk arrives, they call themselves “I” and that only. This is done because, in the Einar Imperium, a kyrie is not a person, but a soldier and only a soldier. Nothing must come between an Imperium and his duty. Not emotions, not restraint, not selfish thoughts of survival, not anything. An Einar Imperium must be ready to sacrifice himself at a moment’s notice so that his charge may continue their life of vital importance to their lord and master, Einar.
Today, however, the Greek leader, Parmenio had sacrificed more than any of the Imperium so that Kiova could escape from the demon legion of Valkrill. Him and his soldiers, the elite and eternal Sacred Band stood shield to shield, back to back, with their swords pointed outwards as wave upon wave of orcs crashed like waves on them. Parmenio was a brave one, his sword slicing through any Death Chaser of Thesk that dared to show its ugly face in front of him. But, like any rock, no matter how strong, the wave will eventually win the battle. One final charge broke through the weary lines of Greeks, but still they fought on. One well aimed thrust spilled Parmenio’s guts on the ground. In his last dying breath, he told the members of the Einar Imperium to flee from this portion of the town. It had been compromised. They grabbed Kiova and fled, heading for the western district of the town, where Aquilla’s forces were attacking.
They slipped through a back alley between two wooden buildings. The skies were not safe. Utgar sharpshooters in the center of the town would have them grounded within a moment. Kiova had wanted to stay and save the brave Greeks, but the Imperium shuffled her through the alley and onto an empty street nearby. Two Imperium were in the back, watching to see if any orcs had followed them.
The other Imperium should have been doing the same. If any enemy came into the vicinity, he wouldn’t notice it. His eyes were too focused on his Empress, whose face shone a feeling of frantic terror that it nearly made him want to weep through his ornamental gold mask. It pained him to see his Empress express any feeling except happiness, while it would only pain the other Imperium if she was anything but alive. He wanted to run his hands through her thick black hair and hear her tender voice say, “I love you.” He always imagined that she would call him by a name, but he could never think of one that suited him.
His training had made it sound like controlling his emotions was easy. When he was assigned to Kiova, everything was immediately defenestrated. It had always been a problem for him, but right before the allied army attacked this Utgar town, he had convinced himself that he had gotten over her and was ready to do his duty to the edge of his ability.
Nought’s had, alls spent, where our desire is got without content.
But, now, as he ran down the street, staring his charge in her face, he felt all his lost feelings rush back inside of him. She looked so helpless and scared. He hated it. She had to be saved, but he had to save her. She must know how much love he had for her and hopefully, she could eventually love him in return. That would be the day.
They ran down one of the few paved roads that existed in this town. It was an excellent example of one of the reasons why they were here. They had to stop Moltenclaw from turning the place into a fortress and a good way to do that was to kill all his soldiers and place the town under allied control. All the dirt roads were going to be paved, all the wooden abodes transformed into stone warehouses, and the small fence would be replaced by a concrete wall standing twenty feet tall.
Kiova reflected on the reasoning as she ran ahead of the Imperium with one particularly fast one gaining quickly. Parmenio and Rhogar had been told only of the objective to stop the fortress’s construction. Kiova and another general, Brandis Skyhunter, had been told of the other objective. She had no idea where Brandis was now, but she hoped that he was remaining as quiet about that objective as she was being.
The three Imperium noticed that Kiova had gained speed, so they increased theirs as well. The two in the back remained vigilant, but the one in closest to Kiova still had his eyes locked on her. He noticed that she was looking straight ahead at the end of the road. The pavement ceased up ahead and the road split into two different paths. Between the two roads, there was a building surrounded by small stones. The door was open wide, like it was offering them to seek shelter in there. It was a good idea, granted that the orcs weren’t secretly following them.
One of the Imperium in the back was noticeably taller than the other two. This was the only characteristic that differentiated him from the other Einar Imperium. He was the same shade of the brown and had the same build. He held his two katanas in the same stance as he ran and the same thoughts were going through his mind. Why were Valkrill’s soldiers here? His soldiers were enemies of the allies, as well as enemies of Utgar. They couldn’t have been stationed in the town and there were too many of them for it to be just a random ambush. And the orcs wouldn’t be stupid enough to raid a town ruled by the infamous Moltenclaw. It was a name that inspired such dread, the Imperium felt a cold sweat going down his neck as he thought of it.
The other much shorter Imperium in the back stopped in his tracks. His legs were firmly planted on the ground and a sniffing sound could be heard echoing through the gold mask that completely covered his face. The other three stopped as well, watching to see what their friend smelt.
Kiova shot her eyes from the shelter at the end of the road, to the Imperium at the other end. He held his katanas up, like he was ready for a fight.
“What is it?” She asked. Her voice trembled, because she already knew. Behind the buildings, in the area they were fleeing from, she could see an amber cloud rising into the heavens. It was poison, secreted from the skin of the mezzodemon warmongers. Hell was almost upon them.
The time for sacrifice had come. The Imperium who had stopped the group said, “Go. Now.”
Kiova stood in fear and doubt. Her hand rested on her sheathed sword. The Imperium next to her saw this and his heart almost died imagining Kiova falling to the ground, coughing from the poison filling her lungs. His heart stung as he grabbed her arm and took off down the road. Reluctantly Kiova followed, almost unaware of reality.
The other two Imperium stood as solid as cinderblocks in the middle of the road, their katanas pointed towards the poison cloud. Their eyes were locked on the alley they had used to escape. It was the only way any offending party could reach them and God help anyone who chose now to run through it.
The minutes slowed as Kiova and the infatuated Imperium ran through the street, desperately seeking the shelter of an open building. The two still Imperium felt euphoria, as the anticipation of battle combined with their need to complete their duty. The poison cloud meant the demons were nearby and they knew that the demons had a knack for knowing where the bodies of the living resided. The demons would surely know that the Imperium were here and Kiova’s two guards knew that their Empress’s only hope for escape rested on them killing every last demon that came at them.
The sun was beginning to set on the horizon, calling this day to a close. Fighting would go on into the night with Moltenclaw sending forth his loyal Greenscale Warriors to fight against Aquilla’s forces in the west and Rhogar rallying the Mohicans to fight on. Ullar’s elves would regroup with the remainders of Einar’s army after Valkrill’s surprise attack today. The only safe place would be the areas in the western side of town that had already been liberated by allied forces. For now, the only place that seemed safe to the Imperium and Kiova was the house at the end of the road.
The two Imperium put their thoughts of safety to rest as they saw a man running out of the alley and onto the paved road. The kyrie prepared to leap at the offender, but were able to stop themselves when they saw that the man was a member of the Sacred Band. A band that they assumed had been annihilated, though this man looked like he had escaped death. His clothing, a usual illustrious white, was stained blood red and dirt brown. He carried a sword painted black with the life fluid of Valkrill’s orcs. He limped as he ran, a long gash running down the length of his leg.
The Greek ran down the road at a speed the kyrie could only hope to achieve when running from an enemy. He said nothing and looked at nothing except the road in front of him. The Imperium were invisible to him.
The two kyrie parted to let the man pass. He was a survivor, for better or worse, though the Imperium feared what he might have brought on his heels. The Greek ran between them, searching for the same thing that Kiova and the other Imperium were. Shelter was ahead of him and he was determined to survive.
Kiova and the Imperium ducked through the door and entered the building. It was dark with the only light coming from the open door. The windows had been boarded up for some nefarious and unknown reason. Fragments of furniture littered the floors and it stunk of mold, but it was still better than the open air outside. The Imperium found and overturned table and tossed his love behind it. He ran back to the door to stand guard, but was cut off as the Greek ran inside and feel to the floor, his hands covering his head.
The Imperium was appalled. He had been distracted by thoughts of Kiova when the Greek had come inside. What if it had been an orc? He wouldn’t have used surprise to make a preemptive strike against his enemy and the orc would have a free shot at Kiova before he even realized what was going on. Stupid. He allowed the Greek free range in the shelter, leaving him on the floor. The Imperium took up his position by the door, ready if another unannounced visitor showed up.
Outside on the road, the other two Imperium remained vigilant. Their eyes were glued to the alley. The tall one gripped his katanas like it was the hand of a dying lover and the other crossed them as if he was blocking something. Both leaned forward, forcing all their weight on their legs.
Slowly, five mezzodemons walked out of the alley, with the poison cloud following behind them. Their steps were labored, but cautious. The five demons snarled and shrieked as their exoskeletons clanked with every footfall. The four-armed monstrosities held their tridents outward with their pincers held back, ready to strike. The poison cloud suddenly gained speed and circled around their legs, marching down the road as its masters did.
The guardians of Einar stood motionless. Either would give say that their reason for this was to let the demons attack first, but in reality they were both very frightened of the enemies marching towards them. The intimidating growls, coupled with their odd appearance filled the two kyrie with fear. And the poison cloud had to be avoided. Yet, the Imperium remained. This was the time to save their empress.
Flapping their wings, the Imperium let out a war cry to compete with the snarls of the demons. Their enemies howled back even louder, shaking their tridents above their heads and clacking their pincers. But the demons didn’t realize that the kyrie’s little demonstration was a practical one. As they flapped their wings, the air generated began to push the poison cloud away from its masters and back from whence it came.
With bloodlust overcoming them, the demons ignored the subsiding poison and mashed their teeth. Letting out one last howl, they pointed their tridents forward and charged at the kyrie. In return, the Imperium ceased their flapping and charged at the offenders. The demons were caught off guard, expecting the kyrie to run in fear like all their meager enemies do. They didn’t dwell on it too long, as the adrenaline of battle was overwhelming them.
The fastest demon leapt at the tall Imperium and the battle was begun. Jumping, the demon thrusted his trident at the Imperium, but the kyrie ducked and jumped to the side, avoiding the attack. The trident stabbed into the pavement, giving the demon a loud clank of failure. He instantly brought it in and swung at the speedy Imperium before the kyrie even had time to blink.
Ducking down again, the trident cut through the air over the tall Imperium’s head, giving him a nice, gentle breeze. Now he had the turn to strike. He stabbed at the demon’s belly with one katana, but couldn’t penetrate the hellspawn’s exoskeleton, giving the kyrie his own loud clank of failure.
The demon griped his trident and pulled it back. The kyrie kneeling below him also drew in his own weapon, but now the demon had the chance to attack. He stabbed downward with his trident, but the kyrie was ready for him. Crossing his swords like a pincer, the kyrie knocked the trident from its path. Catching the demon off guard again, the Imperium whipped one of his swords out of the block and swung at the demons skull, slicing right through the exoskeleton and penetrating the soft flesh underneath.

~DF, who likes talking about his ideas.

[TGRF]

Well, I couldn't get anything in. I had a few ideas, but no time. Rather pointless anyway, with all the others...

[Son of Arathorn]

hoping for more final contributions, and am writing my story as we (I) speak. keep em coming folks,