Fan Fic Contest Archive

[Crixus33]

Challenge 34, July 2nd, 2012

One of the Alliance has overstepped their bounds. The other Valkyrie will not let this stand. An assassin has been dispatched by the Alliance to kill the arrogant Valkyrie. The guards are many, the walls are strong, but no matter. Failure is unacceptable.

Third Place

Superfrog

Spoiler Alert!

PROLOGUE
"He has taken too much power, then. Are we agreed?" The moon glinted off the speaker's wings.
"Yes." A soft butterfly touch of a voice.
"Yes." This one strict and commanding.
"Yes." Regal and true.
"Then we are decided."
CHAPTER ONE: THREE PLANS AND A PROMISE
The lot had fallen to him. Einar knew that his forces would be the best of any general's at this task, but it required much extra thought, as well as taking the brunt of the blame if anything went wrong.
"Guards!"
An Imperium flitted towards him soundlessly.
"Bring me Shiori."
"I hear and obey."
Einar began to grow impatient. "Guards! Where is Shiori?"
"Here," came a smooth voice as Shiori slipped from beside Einar's traditional throne.
Unphased by his own oversight, Einar began detailing his plan to depose one of Valhalla's strongest rulers. Shiori nearly laughed with delight. In the story of Valhalla, she was set to become a major player, changing the course of the world for years to come.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Jandar fumed in his tent. The other Valkyrie generals had left him a mostrous task, and he could not decide whom to trust in his own army to carry out the assignment.
He thought for over an hour until he struck upon a brilliant idea. He would do it himself.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Theracus flew down to Ullar's camp with Kyntela Gwyn perched daintily atop. Upon arrival the elven princess dashed with uncharacteristic speed toward Ullar's tent, in which she could see two shadows. One was Ullar himself, judging by his height and monstrous wings. The other must have been an elf or human, and when he shifted his weight, Kyntela recognized Syvarris.
As Kyntela delivered her message, Ullar's expression changed from shock to a fierce determination. When she was finished, Ullar looked to the elven sharpshooter.
"I have ever trusted you, Syvarris. Will you take upon yourself the orders of the Alliance?"
"I always do my best, Lord Ullar, and this shall be no exception."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Atop a hill, Thormun gazed at the stars, his nightly relaxation that faded slowly into placid sleep. As he drifted towards slumber, his mind suddenly became alert. Something felt most definitely wrong. Closing his eyes, he muttered to himself: "I will take care of this, whatever it is. I swear it on the wellsprings themselves."
CHAPTER TWO: FATEFUL JOURNEYS
Early in the morning, Jandar awoke. He had not bothered to tell his army that he was leaving. Drake would take care of things while he was away.
He struck out toward the camp that housed the Valkyrie he needed to see. The Alliance had left him no choice. Upon arrival, he flew directly up to the general, on of the seven most powerful beings in the world, and offered his hand in greeting. Jandar was more tricky than many of the creatures he had summoned. This meeting was not for the kill. That could wait. Jandar needed to establish an intimate trust with his fellow Valkyrie.
Several hours later, his mission accomplished, Jandar returned home.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Syvarris coughed as he climbed the mountain that sat between Ullar's camp and his target. The air was getting thinner and the climbing steeper. He gritted his teeth and pushed forward. As he crested the mountain, he caught his first glimpse of the enemy camp. In the half-light before dawn, it looked dark and sinister. But the mission could not fail. Syvarris drew his bow and took aim.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Thormun put on his cloak, a futile attempt to hide his identity from prying eyes. His journey was to take him to Jandar's camp, to the leader of the Alliance. Somehow, he knew that he would get to the root of the problem that had been plaguing him before the day was through.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Shiori arrived at her destination much earlier than any but she had expected. Getting through guards and walls were small details, easily dealt with. She now crouched behind the tent that housed her target. Shiori heard voices, and she hesitated. She did not need to rush, though. For now, she could wait.
CHAPTER THREE: FOUR PATHS CONVERGED...
Thormun stood before Jandar. "What is happening?" he demanded, stern but inwardly concerned.
Jandar started to answer, but closed his mouth. He had no words to answer Thormun.
Shiori saw her opening. She leapt forward, only to discover that she was being held down by two of Jandar's Sentinels. She couldn't even struggle, and within a few seconds lay prone on the ground.
Syvarris loosed his first arrow toward Jandar's tent. It landed ten yards shy of its target. He drew another arrow and pulled back his bow for a second shot. This time, he was confident that he could hit his target. He could see the shadows of two figures in the tent, and he drew his bow back farther, aiming for the farther one. Before he could release his arrow, though, he was laid out flat by two Sentinels, his arrow soarind harmlessly skyward.
Hearing the commotion, Thormun looked around, confused. Suddenly it became clear to him. Jandar was causing these problems, seeking power that was not his to take. Thormun's hammer came down one last time, destroying Valhalla's first champion.
EPILOGUE
When Vydar had called a meeting with Aquilla, Einar, and Ullar a few days prior and arranged for Ullar and Einar both to send assassins, it had been part of his quest to rise to power.
Jandar had grown increasingly distant from the Alliance until he felt forced to try something new. In desperation, he started plotting to take control of Utgar's forces as well as his own. Vydar had seized this opportunity to turn the Alliance against itself. Shiori had been slain, and Einar was outraged. Syvarris, the proud elf, had failed, bringing shame and a desire for vengeance to ullar's forces. Vydar himself had no desire to stay untied with Aquilla.
In the War of Valhalla, a new chapter had begun. Each general fought alone.

Second Place

Bro-man

Spoiler Alert!

Deception

The Alliance has lasted for many long years since the war of the wellsprings began. With the addition of Aquilla, the Alliance has a chance to fight against Utgar. However since the return of Drake's group from the Southern Jungles, something amiss has happened in Vydar's lands. Months since the return, Vydar has grown increasingly restless. He suspects everyone a theat to his land and people. However that was not the case and things became worse since that day. The other generals have learned that Vydar has sent his forces to refugee camps and killed the people inside. Vydar claims that they were spies, manipulated, and have been turned toward Utgar's side. The story was not convincing and the killings increased. The alliance then felt threaten that Vydar has turned mad, and was theatening the thousands of refugees in camps in their borders. If Vydar proceeded his plan, then they would have no choice but to turn on him and end his rein of terror. Unknown to the three other generals, Einar see things differently. He sends Shiori, his top assassin, to find Vydar's plans and eliminate him before his army could wreak havoc.

***

Shiori silently moves through the halls of Vydar's castle. It took a few months of travel but she has finally reached the castle and knew what she had to do. Since getting inside, it has been difficult to get past the guards. She didn't want to cause any harm to anyone, her only target was Vydar. When ever she encountered an kyrie or a soulbourg, she hid until the danger pass. If she could not avoid them, she dealt with them quickly before they knew what hit them. The kyrie she kncoked out, she hid inside doors, large barrels, and even had to set one up in a kitchen holding a wine bottle. When the guards came to check on him, they believed he was drunk, and Shiori was able to make her escape. As she made her way down a long corridor, her footsteps as light as a feather, she heard loud steps coming around the corner. She stopped next to a pillar and waited for the noise to pass. However the clanking noise of footsteps came closer. She pulled out her shuriken, and watch as the shadow came closer. The foot steps clanked and stopped at the edge of the pillar. Her breath shortened and readied to move. The large figure took another step and called out.

"Shiori. Are you there?"

She regonized the voice. She turned the pillar and readied to throw when two large arms were rasied up.

"Wait. I'm not here to harm you."

Her eyes widened and was relived to see an old friend.

"Q-10. Its good to see you. How did you find me?"

"I mearly detected your presence when you entered the castle. Since our travels, I have scanned and have sensors on our companions so that I may know how they are doing, their life signs, and where there location is."

Shiori put the shuriken in her hidden pouch and continued. "What is going on. Why has all these terrible things happened."

"Come with me. We have little time."

***

As the two went a long the corridor, Q-10 began to summerize of what has happened.

"Since my return I have notice something wrong with Vydar's behavior. When I questioned him he ignored me. Since then he has become distant from many of us and only gives commands and orders. However only a month ago, he ordered to pillage and kill the refugees at the camps. It was... odd, I didn't know what to make of him."

Shirori looked up at her companion. "He sent his army to kill innocents."

"Yes, which was not like him to begin with. He wants to protect his people, it was his main goal, but now his behavior is what bothers me the most."

"So you wish to help me?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"His chambers. He has strictly told that no one should enter. I think he is hiding something, and that is where we will find our answers."

Shiori nodded and the two continued through the long corridors. As they continued on their path they finally arrived to Vydar's chamber.

"This is it. However this door is sealed."

Shiori walked forward and grabbed a small tool from her pouch. Q-10 watched as she fiddled with the lock. A moment later a small click echoed off the walls and the door was open. The two entered inside and she gasped at what she saw. Vydar's room was litterd with papers and notes. The bed was shreaded and the desks tossed to the side. A glass window was shattered, glass littered the floor. The only thing standing was the table, where numerous papers scattered on top. Shiori walked over and began to search through the papers. Q-10 stood by, watching her work. The papers were plans. They involved Jandar, Ullar, and Einar's lands. To her surprise there plans in Utgar's lands as well. Targets, persons of interest, and places were the civilian populations reside. As she looked at the files she notice a strange symbol on one of the parchments, it was smudged and she couldn't make of what it was. She placed it in her pouch and continued her search.

"Intruder!"

Shiori whirled around and saw Two soulbourgs at the entrance. Before she could throw a shuriken, Q-10 suddenly grabs her by the foot and rasies her upside down.

Her eyes widened. She stared at her friend, the one she trusted the most to help her. Q-10 leaned closer and spoke, but only sounded like that of a whisper.

"Do you trust me?"

She looked at him confused and before she could reply, Q-10 grabbed her head with his metal arm and turned her toward the guards.

"I saw her enter Vydar's chamber. She ransacked the room before I could stop her. We shall take her to Vydar at once."

The two soulbourg guards complied and Q-10 dragged Shiori out of the room and down the corridor.

***

As Shiori watched through the cracks of Q-10 metal fingers. She watched as the two went into a large doorway. The two entered in, the footsteps echoed off the stone floors. She noticed more guards of soulbourgs, Gladitrons and Blastrons, all in line and off to the side of the main hall. Statues were scattered and broken all over the room. Q-10 stopped and dropped Shiori to the ground, landing on her hands and knees on the cold stone floor. She looked up and saw Vydar in his seat. His black hair stetched down to his lower chest. He wore his black armor and his Raven like wings stretched out and made himself bigger and powerful. He held his sword in hand, like he is ready to go into battle. On his right side a much smaller figure stood by. A hunch old kyrie who held his cane and smiled at her, he was missing his two front teeth. His wings looked brittal but was still capable to fly. As Vydar stood up she saw him smirk at her.

"So you dicovered my chamber. You know of my plans."

"All I see is targets. What are you after?"

Vydar laughed, echoing off the long dead hall. "There is more then you know, little one. My masters plans are sent in motion. He has close in tearing this alliance apart. By this time tomorrow, the alliance will be broken. And you will not live to see its down fall."

The hunched kyrie whispered to Vydar and he nodded to him. "I must be going, Q-10. Finish her."

Q-10 did not respond and Vydar was confused at why he did not move. Shiori smiled behind her mask. She grabbed two shuriken and throws them at Vydar. He lifts his sword and deflects the flying objects. Vydar gritted his teeth and cried out. "Kill her!"

At once the Blastrons aimed and fired away at her. Before she could react, Q-10 went to her and wraped his metal arms around her. The bullets hit Q-10, ricocheting off his armor. A moment later the Gladitrons charge forward when their counterparts emptied their guns. Q-10 turns and fights against his breathern. He grabs one of the Gladitrons and throws him at the Blastron. He didn't want to bring harm to his own.

Shiori runs foward and launches a small dagger at the old Kyrie. It hits his shoulder and he cries out in pain. She draws another dagger and runs at Vydar. He lunges foward and the two clash. Though he is fast with the sword, Shiori was faster and lighter. She quickly stabs at his arms and legs. She got a few hits but scattered back when he swung his sword. They fight for a few minutes when Vydar was becoming exhausted. Shiori smiled and Vydar looked at his wounds, and puss was coming from the cuts. It was poisen.

Vydar turned to the Hunched Kyrie and called for him. Shiori lunged forward and stabs Vydar in the neck. The two land and the dagger was going deep into his neck. Vydar gagged and coughed up blood. He looked at Shiori and his eyes remained starring. He was gone.

She stood up and looked at Q-10, who has already taken care of the other soulbourgs. She smiled and was glad that it was finally over. She went to grab the dagger out of the traitors neck when she notice somthing bubbling on his skin. Vydar's face began to changed, his eyes turned brown and hair became gray and white. His cheeks swelled and his face turned fat. The skin turned from a white skin into a dirty shade of brown. His black wings began to molt. The feathers dropping everywhere. When the feathers stopped falling, his wings were skinny, little to know feathers remained, and membrane appeared to grow out. When Shiori starred at her victim, it was nothing but a corpulant kyrie.

"This is not Vydar!" Shiori shocked at the man in front of her. She turned to the old Kyrie, who was flying in the air. She launched a dagger and it hit his wing. He fell down screaming. He landed hard and began to crawl away. She was on him and lifted him up. "Where is Vydar!" She demanded. The old Kyrie did not answer. She grabbed the dagger that was in his shoulder and began to twist it. He cried out in pain and raised a hand, his voice was dry as he spoke.

"Please don't kill me! He is in the dungeon, hidden with the others!"

She quickly punched the Kyrie in the face. The blow sent his head to the side and he crumbled to the floor, knocked out.

***

Shiori and Q-10 rushed down to the dungeons. Once there she saw many of the agents imprisoned in the cells. When they saw her they began calling out to release them. She grabbed her tool and unlocked the first cell. When the agents were out she handed her tool to them to help the others. Q-10 followed as they went deeper into the dungeon. She soon spotted two kyrie at the far end of the wall. The two spotted her and rasied their weapons at her. She tossed a shuriken at one, hitting directly into his head. She tossed a dagger and hit the kyrie in the lower abedomen. The two fell and were gone. When she got close, they too began to change. There skin turned red and she regonized that they were minions. The wall they guarded showed nothing. When Q-10 was by her side he scanned the wall.

"There is a heat signature on the other side."

He punched at the wall and the stone gave way to an closed gate. Q-10 ripped the bars off the cell and Shiori peered inside. In the far corner a lone Kyrie sat. He looked up and Shiori could tell that it was Vydar. There were deep sacks under his eyes. His body was more skinny then before. His black wings were ruffled and out of place. His mouth was cracked and dry blood was on his lips. His hair, which was long and beautiful, was now short and gray hair was growing on his sides. Shiori went to him and lifted him up. He could barely speak and when he tried it was to soft for her to hear. As she had his hand over her shoulder, she carried him through the dungeon and to the main hall.

They soon arrived and many agents were scouring the place. Carr was among them. He came and helped Vydar to his throne. They settled him down on the steps and he handed him a water jug. Vydar took the Jug and gulped down the water in four big gulps. He breathed out, refreshed that he had something to drink. He took a moment to breath in. He looked at Shiori and Q-10, his breathing being heavy..

"What *Gasp* happened here? What *Gasp* did those monsters *Gasp* do?"

Shiori soon explained of what happened over the last few months. When she finished, shock was all that seemed to be on his face. Vydar gritted his teeth, his fist clenched. "Those murderers." Vydar slowly got to his feet. Carr raised his hand to stop him but Vydar ignored him.

"Those, murderous, Bastards!" He stood at his full height, his voice echoed off the walls. "Damn you Utgar! You killed my people! I will never forgive you! I will kill you for this! You hear me! Kill you all!" His words echoed the walls of the hall. When he finished he stopped and his voice trailed off. Shiori looked at him and tears ran down his cheeks. He sat back down and tears continued to stream down.

"My people." He trailed off.

He placed his hands on his face and he began to cry out. Like a new born babe he cried out, for the death of his people that he swore to protect. He hiccuped and he brought his feet in close. The tears were coming through his thin fingers. Shiori wrapped her arm around the leader and hugged him. Vydar didn't seem to care, as he contined to cry out.

This is the lowest moment for Vydar's life.

***

As the two sat silently on the stairs, Carr and his agents return with a handful of papers. Carr soon spoke.

"Vydar, we found these in your chambers. They contain plans, plots, and when they are about to strike. We can warn our allies and tell them of what happened today."

Vydar remained silent.

" We have the old man in custody and are ready to interrogate him if need be."

Vydar continued to remain silent. Tears still coming inbetween his fingers.

"We have confirmed that the two guards were Utgar's own minions, but for the one that took your place, we are not sure, we can't find anything on record."

Vydar stirred and looked at Carr, his face was cherry red. He starred for a moment then looked back down at the floor. Then Q-10 spoke out, "We are not sure how, but it seemes that some magic or someone, had altered their appearance and took your place. Then the fake ordered to put you all into the dungeon while the soulbourgs followed his orders."

"Don't you think I know that." Vydar spoke, his voice low and bitter. They remained silent and soon they turned to leave. Shiori rememberd the paper and pulled out the parchment from her pouch and handed it to Vydar. "I found this when I was finding their plans."

Vydar wiped away the tears on his face, which are still red. Carr and his men turned and wanted to hear of what she had found. As Vydar looked at the parchment, his eyes widened and he starred at it for a long time. Not even moving, hardly breathing.

Carr soon spoke again. "So the old Kyrie, do you still want us to-"

"There is no need." Vydar spoke out. "I know who is responsible." His face continued to stare at the parchment.

"There is only one man I know who would do such a thing."

He showed the parchment to them and what was on it was only a skull.

"Valkrill."

First Place

Bumper15

Spoiler Alert!

The Hard Decisions
"It's almost as if rules have no more meaning to him anymore!"
"It's understandable of course. Her death has rattled him and clouded his reasoning."
"But he of all people should know the importance of the chain of command!" Jandar moved to the side of the room, facing the wall, his anger mixed with the tiredness that comes from years on the battlefield. "He is ignoring all orders from the council that don't satisfy his personal needs!"
Ullar approached his long time friend and ally and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Bring him in. He has always been a reasonable man. We need him back."
After a moment, Jandar nodded and walked to the entrance to the tent where he spoke to the guard, "Send an envoy, bring me Einar."

Two weeks passed without a sign of the Einar or the envoy with a return message. Jandar had long grown past being worried over the absences. He continued to tell himself that the envoy had been unable to locate Einar's marching army. That explanation seemed impossible though. Sending back reports on his army's location was one of the few Council orders that he still followed. Einar could truly be lost to them if he decided to stop sending those reports or worse, lying in the ones he had already sent.
He put aside his misgivings when a messenger came to his room telling him that a member of the Imperium, Einar's personal guard, had arrived at the castle. Jandar sent a message to the other Valkyrie in his castle, Ullar, who had decided to stay with Jandar until Einar arrived to help settle the matter, and Vydar, who had been lodging in the city for a few days before he would continue south to head off an army of Valkrill's minions, as he had a right to the information of the meeting as well.
When both generals were gathered in the meeting hall, the Imperator was sent in. All of Einar's Imperium wore masks to help cloak their facial expressions, but under this one's Jandar could tell that something wasn't normal as the Imperator's face appeared stern instead of blank.
Without an invitation, the Imperator flung a sack on the long table in the meeting hall. The sack fell open on landing and a head rolled out. Jandar recognized his envoy immediately but was too disgusted and horrified to speak.
The other two were likewise stunned, and the silence seemed to scream in the hall until the Imperator spoke, "Einar will not be summoned like an underling and diverted from his mission of revenge for the beloved Empress Kiova. He sends this as his deepest regards." The Imperator flew off without another word.
The silence wore on in the halls until Vydar spoke in his whisper of a voice, "He is lost to us."
"I'm afraid he is right Jandar," Ullar added, "and if not, he can still not be permitted to go unpunished."
"You are both correct," Jandar replied standing, "Einar must be punished for this act, and the penalty for striking down an ally in cold blood is death."
"The only problem is how do we kill a Valkyrie?" Ullar asked.
"I have the answer for that," Vydar stated, "I created a machine for the sole purpose of destroying Utgar when we next encountered him. Einar is strong but he was never as strong as Utgar."
"I hope it works," Jandar said softly, eyes returning to the Sentinel he had sent as envoy. Without another word, the three rose to leave.

Its directive was clear. Its commander had reprogrammed it from its original design, but the machine had little knowledge of what it had been before, nor did it know that it would be returned to its previous directive afterwards.
BRTX05 was built to be the fastest and strongest machine ever created in the universe. Vydar knew it to be the truth as he had in fact seen every machine ever built and only the best fought for him. This one was specially designed to surpass them.
Infiltrating Einar's camp had been far easier than the journey here. despite its advances in technology, BRTX05 lacked the ability to fly and had to make the several hundred mile journey on foot. It didn't even dirty his body.
Upon arrival, BRTX05 had reduced two samurai sentries to dust and had infiltrated the camp, cloaking shield on full power. The machine took an hour surveying the layout of the camp, running thousands of possible scenarios of the events to come. Once it had calculated that its success rate was all but one hundred percent, BRTX05 maneuvered its way to Einar's command tent.
It slipped into the tent without a whisper. The machine focused on the winged figure standing in meeting with his generals. It had found its directive. The machine directed all of its stealth mechanisms toward the Valkyrie, deflecting even his heightened senses, once the Valkyrie was alone, BRTX05 would make its move.
So focused towards the General in front of it, BRTX05's cloaking shield gave the faintest shimmer on its profiles. Archery commander Kaemon Awa took notice and with a blur of movement, two arrows were sent flying towards the disturbance. Both arrows vaporized on contact with the shield, but it was enough for the others to now know there was an unwelcome guest, as well as give the precise position of that guest.
BRTX05, knowing it was discovered, immediately shut off all cloaking devices to direct more power to its weapons and was revealed to all present. Seven feet tall with four arms, each ending in a laser. A head built on a stretched neck that enabled a full circular view of it's surroundings. Its metallic body strong enough to deflect almost any blow even without the aid of its shield. Its center glowed with a white energy source that radiated no heat.
Suddenly it moved, its speed making it invisible to all but Einar's enhanced eyes. It took up position and fired all four lasers at the Valkyrie. Two members of Einar's council were vaporized just by standing near the blasts. Einar leapt and avoided the blasts. He drew his sword and landed on top of the shield, bringing his sword to bear with all of his immense strength. The sword collided with BRTX05's shield and was stopped in its tracks. The shield shimmered as the blow drained much of the machine's immense energy stores.
BRTX05 brought up a laser and blasted Einar point blank. The blast tore a four inch hole in Einar's stomach. The members of the council converged on the machine but it had vanished, mission accomplished, it reestablished it's cloaking shield. With the drain on its energy from Einar's single attack however, it couldn't keep a power level high enough to maintain complete invisibility. Einar pooled the rest of his quickly diminishing strength and hammered a last shot at the machine. The machine had power, but it was nothing compared by the gifts given by the wellsprings. The shield crumpled and the sword severed the head from the machine.
BRTX05 collapsed to the ground and Einar followed. His eyes were quickly dimming and he softly uttered, "Kiova, I'm sorry," before the darkness took hold.

Jandar opened the letter he had received, I've watched the film sent to me by my machine which was, sadly, destroyed in the battle. Einar is dead. Vydar.
Jandar crumpled the letter and called for Ullar. When Ullar had arrived from readying his forces to depart, Jandar forwarded the message he had received. "My friend, it was a sad but necessary action. I am sorry."
Jandar looked to his friend and rose from where he had been sitting, "Continue with you preparations, I can't have you living here with me."
Ullar smiled and turned to leave. Jandar looked back to where he had crumpled the letter, new fear gripping him. Vydar would have to be watched, with the ability to build such a machine, he was dangerous.

[Bro-man]

Challenge 35, July 15th, 2012

Utgar has amassed the bulk of his army for a single strike against a key point in the Alliance's defenses. You will tell the tale of this deciding struggle as a victory for either side could easily be a sign of the war's conclusion.

Third Place- Son of Arathorn

Spoiler Alert!

A grey mist hung over the jungle canopy, the airborne dew breaking the shafts of light cast by the sun as it rose over the southeast Ticalla. Nearly a hundred feet below the bright emerald leaves that strained for the rays of the sun, darkness reigned supreme. Not a bit of light penetrated this far down, and the creatures of the forest had learned long ago, the instinct that drove their survival, that the all-emcompassing dark was not to be feared. It was a tool, perhaps the only one that could be relied upon in times of danger. Amongst the thick trees and dense brush, creatures called out in anguished pain and delighted feast alike. The jungle as it stood hadn’t been truly alive since the first days of the great war, and the cycle of life and death that drove the fauna and trees and mud to thrive was in a downward spiral. Invasion was coming, death was overwhelming the very air, and decay pervaded the mist as it descended to the dark forest floor.
Nestled amongst the cracked slime of the ground were hundreds of improvised lean-to’s shelters constructed of branch and dirt to give the soldiers, huddled in the dark, some protection from those around them. Not neat rows of an army disciplined, but scattered amongst the trees. Chaos hung amongst the camp, lit torches protruding from hollows in the trees and forks in the branches, giving a weak light to the awakening men as they emerged from their shelter.
Dark shapes came out of the trees to stand about a great fire, watching as it struggled against the dank, heavy air. The largest of them strode forward to speak. The crowd listened intently as a hushed whisper pierced the weight of the mist to slink amongst them.
“Running Deer. Step forward.” At the command, a slight young man stumbled close to the fire and knelt in the weak light. Black mud adorned his face, and a fur cloak rank with the smell of flesh was draped across his frail shoulders. The voice came forth again, “What news from the west?”
“Elder, I bring greivous tidings. The north is nigh on overrun, the borders of Jandar are weakening. But Elder, this is not the work of Utgar...”
A pause, and the strong voice spoke once more. “Go on.”
“Yes, Elder. We have been betrayed. News came out of the Underdark and the Northern Front at the same time. Vydar has turned against the Alliance. The forces of Jandar have been crumbling before a campaign north. They seek to overrun Laur, I am told.”
The air seemed to grow heavier. The fire flickered, the light retreating inwards to the coals, seeking refuge from the deathly cold of the mists.
“Thank you Running Deer. But this is not what I asked. You give me news of the north, but what of the west?”
The young man clutched his ragged cloak to his body, flecks of dried mud coming away from his copper skin. “Elder... our spies in Kinsland have told me that Utgar is ammassing his armies. One tells me that Utgar means to strike here with all swiftness, and then proceed north.”
“Why?” The voice was nearly inaudible.
“Elder, our spies believe that Utgar sees Aquilla as the final hindrance keeping his forces south. He dares not move against Jandar knowing that she is so close. And now that Jandar is weakened, he wishes to dispel this threat so he can send all of his forces north without fear of a strike from the south.” Running Deer scratched at the fur cloak once more, mud and animal hair coming off in patches now.
The Elder spoke again. “Are we then to reinforce Pataquala? Halt the advance before he moves too far?”
Running Deer seemed to collapse in on himself with the next words. “Elder, please. Please. Pataquala fell three days ago. There were no conditions. No surrender. No man is left alive. They now make for Dahali, in hopes of crushing what is left.” The circle of men fell into whispers of fear, drawing away from the fire as it’s flames failed, the coals giving off only a flicker of light.
The Elder raised his hand in a fist, and silence was immediate. “Thank you, Running Deer. Go now, to the camps of the dwarves and mearas. Tell them this, and tell them they are to meet with me at Jocasta Hill in three days time. And make haste, good warrior.”
Running Deer rose shakily, pushed past the stunned circle of men, and disappeared into the dark mist.
The Elder stepped into the midst of the nearly dead fire, snapping a whip-like branch from a nearby tree. He held the branch over the coals, and twisted it. Thick water cam forth, and falling upon the embers, it flared into a pillar of fire, illuminating the entire circle. Elder stared into the tired, scared, dirty faces of his warriors, cast into blinding light for only a moment. Then, as quickly as it had arisen, the fire died, the embers extinguished after their last proud gasp of life. Darkness overwhelmed the men. Elder spoke once more. “Gather the weapons, and food for a week. We must go now.”
In minutes, a line of men left their camp in the mud, bearing with them sticks of fire, weapons, and meager food. Not enough food to last them to the next outpost, little enough for a week. Single file, heads hung, they followed Elder into the darkness of the jungle.

“It is settled, then?” Elder stared into the rough faces of his fellow commanders. Rough-bearded and squint-eyed, King Dorrond of the dwarves nodded gravely, leaning heavily upon an axe carved with runes. Hair matted, chest scarred, Tikweh of the Quasatch tribes slapped a large fist to his bare chest, giving a hoot of approval. Lastly, Gilliyen of the mearas saluted, uniform crisp, his shining weapon tucked into the leather holster.
Dorrond hefted his axe, casting a great shadow upon the walls of the tent. “To the Halls of the Gods then. To the end, my friends.”
All four closed their eyes for a moment and chanted as one. To the end.

The Grut Chieftain stepped into the valley, the sound of running water and wild animals filling his ears. Adorned with great armor and a spear longer than a man, he sat astride a scaly creature, reins in one hand, the other hanging loose to the saddle. Behind him marched a great host of Orcs, wearing thick armor and carrying heavy weaponry in the sweltering heat. At their flanks were the cavalry, more Orcs upon Swog and Raptor. Bringing up the reare was rank upon rank of archers, accompanied by great champions upon fearsome mounts, their weapons hanging in the saddle.
Such a host had never been seen upon their homeworld, Grut, but by the power of Utgar they had been united for the Great March, as he had called it. The sweeping away of the enemies, cleansing the jungles of the south before the final push north.
A shrill cry went up from the tree above the Chieftain, and his mount shied away from the shallow water before them. Birds flew into the sky, easy to see as the trees parted to reveal the steep sides of the valley, and the sun. For days they had gone without sight of it, but now it was bared for all in the host to gaze upon.
His face set, the Chieftain dug in with his knees, and uttering a nervous growl, his mount trotted forth, barely ankle-deep through the water. Strange to see, he thought, for the smooth river rocks and water-plants continued up several more feet, yet were dry. Glancing at the Orcs following behind, the Chieftain away a bothersome fly. The sun was brutally hot now, accounting easily for the river’s dry banks. On, though they would barely be halfway through the valley by nightfall, on the Orcs pressed.

Darkness fell across the land quickly now, for the sun descended between the edges of the valley walls to set in the west. The Orcs made light camp upon the banks of the river, stretching back nearly a third of the valley’s length. They avoided the trees, prefering to gaze upon the stars as they ate and drank. Many warriors still marveled at them, for the stars were strange in this land, and unnerved them when they thought of the difference between here, and the heavens above Grut. Still, open sky was better than suffocating jungle any night.
After much feasting upon game and drink, the Chieftain and his champions settled in for the night, sleep falling unto them as quickly as the dark had. Scouts huddled on the ends of the column, torches around them.

Soon, the Orcs gave out drunken cries of pain. Under cover of dark, men had slunk down the dry riverbed, past the posted scouts, and begun to slit the throats of the sleeping warriors. The animals, tethered to posts, snarled at the intruders, snatching those men that strayed too close and tearing them to shreds. Soon the camp was alert, snatching up weapons and baying for blood.
As quietly as they had entered, the men withdrew to the trees, firing shots from muskets, loud cracks of gunpowder echoing throught the valley. The Orcs loosed arrows into the trees blindly, until the screams of the champions, now roused, formed the warriors into ranks. Quickly, they charged the men. Many were impaled upon the spears, thrust through them and stuck fast into the trunks of trees. Soon, the remaining men fled up the valley slopes, deep into the jungle. Few warriors gave chase, stumbling back to their meager beds in hopes of sleep.
They found none, for these raids continued into the night, and though only small numbers were taken by the sneaking men, musket shots rang at random through the night. More guards were posted, more torches lit, and the warriors tossed and turned, listening closely for the sound of a quiet footstep and unsheathed knives.

The Orcs awoke from what fitful sleep they could find, blinking at the harsh light reflecting off a light mist. Groggy from the torments of the night before, they began to roll up their blankets, partake of small provisions, and saddle the animals, which still pawed the ground nervously. Few Orcs took notice, for even the Chieftain felt the draining need of sleep upon himself.
As the army began their slog down the last stretch of riverbed, the mists began to swirl, the rising an falling air inside the valley sending the grey winds into turmoil. It was in this moment, the army about to leave the valley, the sun rising at their backs, the mists lifting, that the sound of a great war-horn bellowed forth, sending waves through the air to strike the backs of the warriors as they followed their leader. The horn was soon joined by the war cries of hundreds of warriors, reverberating throughout the valley, driving pain into the eardrums of the sleep-deprived Orcs.
The warriors of Utgar turned about wildly, seeking out their enemy in the wild trees, for it seemed that the sound was surrounding them on all sides. Back up the riverbank by some several hundred feet was a line of dwarven warriors, beating axes upon their shields and yelling as one being. Standing behind them, perched upon a boulder in the middle of the river’s remnants stood another dwarf, a flag planted at his side bearing the golden seal of Aquilla upon a background of deep purple, black, and blue. The mists parted around them, this small army standing in shallow water that nonetheless almost reached their waists in some places.
While some Orcs gazed in awe, the Chieftain had ridden upon his mount to the front, marshalling his troops into lines and assigning his champions to their places amongst the formation. As he did, the dwarves continued to beat upon their shields, their driving rhythm sending ripples across to their enemies.
In minutes, the Orcs were molded into columns of warriors, spears at the front, bows behind them. The Chieftain withdrew into the folds of the army, and his place at the front was taken by Grimnak, Bane of Bleakewoode. His spear aloft, screaming to be heard above the beating of shields, the champion uttered an order not heard by his warriors, who were all but deafened by the sounds vibrating the valley walls. Snarling, he pulled a short knife from his pack, and finding a chink in the scaly armor, made a slit in his mount’s flesh.
An unholy sound of pain and fury broke through the din of shields, and the Orcs began their march to the dwarves, swift but wary.
Halfway to the line, the archers halted, and drawing back arrows, loosed them upon the enemy. Amidst the screams of those dwarves that had not been protected by their shields and armor, Grimnak uttered a guttural scream, and spurring his creature forward, crashed into the line of dwarves alongside his warriors on foot.
A battle-song of metal upon metal, of cries of pain and yells of fury, of swords and shattering shields sang through the valley. The grey mists descended to encompass the warriors, and the standard of Aquilla still waved amongst the terrible chaos. The shrieks of Grimnak’s mount mingled with the screams of it’s victims as one by one they were plucked from the crowd. No soldier withstoood the onslought of rider and mount as they carved a great swathe through the ranks of the dwarves.
Two bursts of the war-horn arose, and the dwarves pulled away from the Orcs, locking shields in an attempt to give themselves a brief respite from the assault of the horde. The Orcs threw themselves upon the shield wall, to no avail. Grimnak charged forward, and as he reached the line, a great warrior stepped from the shield wall. His beard plated down his heavily armored chest, a helm of iron upon his head, the dwarf hefted a great barbed spear, and yelled bloody murder into the face of Grimnak’s mount. A leering grin upon his face, the Orc nudged his scaly mount forward, and as the jaws unhinged to bite down upon the foolish warrior, the spear was instead thrust forward between the rows of razor-sharp teeth. Emerging from the base of the skull, the mount fell forward upon the weapon, the head of the spear rending a deep wound along the rider’s chest. Uttering a cry of pain, Grimnak fell sideways from his mount, crashing into the riverbank below. His mount heaved itself to it’s feet for the last time, and fell upon it’s rider, defeated and lying in ruin.
The Orc horde fell silent for a moment, stunned at the defeat of their greatest champion. In this moment, the iron-helmed dwarf stepped forward to reclaim his weapon from the head of the beast, and leveling it at the horde, leading the charge through the water to meet the enemy.

Now the Chieftain, seeing his champion fall, roared in anger, and swerved his mount in a great arc, spear aloft, crying out for his second wave to advance, to reinforce Grimnak’s forces, now in disarray with the loss of their leader. Though only a small fraction of the army was lost, fury was such in the Chieftain’s mind as he had never felt. Bloodlust he had felt, anger, and pain through his years leading the forces of Grut in Utgar’s armies, but fury such as this had never entered his mind and heart until this hour. The mounts of the champions he had gathered about himself shied away from this rabid creature. His fury would not soon end.
As the second wave advanced to absorb and reinforce the first, a new stream of war cries went up. Not from the river before them, not the dwarves, but from the trees above, and the cracks of musket shots soon filled the air as copper-skinned warriors fired down upon the running soldiers. In their hast to escape the enemy and join their comrades, the second wave thinned, spread, and finally broke ranks. Tribesmen dashed out of the trees, tomahawks and rifle stocks caving in the heads of their enemies and driving the Orcs to use their unweildly halbards in such close combat. Most had to lose the advantage of their reach by instead using knives or short swords. Even ground belonged soon to the copper-skinned. By the time the first soldiers of the second wave reached their comrades at the front, both were so depleted that the dwarves locked shields, and as one were able to push the Orcs to their knees for the Tribesmen to slaughter.

The champions fell into a hushed silence as the Chieftain glared at his dying warriors, and the now thin ranks of the enemy. His eyes mad, the Chieftain turned to his champions, and uttered an order. All are to advance at once, to run the enemy to ground with sheer numbers. The champions shall remain at the back, and the enemy shall perish before the endless assault.
The Orcs pushed once more up the riverbed, and made short work of those Tribesmen that could not reach the safety of the shields. On to the dwarves they went, and soon the two sides were locked in brutal combat. Slowly but surely, the dwarves began to fall. Archers leveled volley after volley into the crowd, killing both Orcs and dwarves in their wild shots. No matter to the Chieftain, for their numbers were of those spoken only in legends of battle-heroes, and the enemy was falling back.
An evil grin began to alight upon the Chieftain’s features, but was wiped away by the sound of screams behind him. A champion upon a large Swog had toppled from his saddle, clutching at a shoulder wound. A gaping hole left his arm all but detached from his body. The smell of burning flesh filled the air. Fighting amongst the rear guard stood many men, loosing shots at the cluster of champions stationed at the rear of the column, and the guards seemed powerless to stop the volleys.
Screaming, the Chieftain charged into the crowd, spear impaling the men, their bright skin making them easily distinguishable from his own warriors. Soon they were killed, but not before most of the champions had been killed, or worse yet, crippled by the shots.
Murder smoldered in the eyes of the Chieftain, and turning to the front, yelled for more volleys from the archers. By the time the Chieftain reached the dwarves and Orcs fighting for control of the battle’s direction, fewer than twenty dwarves remained, clustered about their standard-bearer and their shields locked once more.

Far above the valley, at the river’s source, Gilliyen stared through field glasses at the ruin brought by the arrows to their comrades below. And still he waited as more and more of their warriors fell before the onslought of the endless tide of Orcs.
Finally, as all seemed lost upon them, and the final volley rained down, Gilliyen ducked behind a large rock with two of his comrades, raised his rifle, and fired a single shot at the mass of grey-green gelatin they had spent hours working into the rocks forming a high, narrow dam across the riverbed. The heat raised blisters upon their skin, and the rock dust flew into their lungs. Pain on their skin and insides caused them to pass out, all within a minute of each other.

Before him knelt the last dwarf, the standard bearer of the insolent warriors. Arrows embedded in he joints of his armor kept him from standing, and a grievous wound to his collar made his breath come in gasps. The Chieftain dismounted, strode to the dwarf, and kicked him to the ground. Blood leaked from the warrior’s mouth. The Chieftain snatched a halberd from one of his soldiers, and swiftly embedded it in the dying warrior’s chest, grinding the tip into the river rocks.
The dying breath came at the same time as the explosion far, far above them.

Water, now unleashed after days of confinement, poured into the valley, guided by the riverbanks. It thundered around a bend or two, and overspilled on the third curve to bring down some trees. But most was sent spiraling down the channel to meet the Orcs, all standing in it’s path.

The warriors had the good sense to run, some even thought to scramble up the sides of the banks. The Chieftain, his hands still clutching at the spear, stared blankly into the oncoming waves of unforgiving water. He took no notice of the Quasatch fighters that kept much of his army from climbing out of the riverbed, but instead looked from the water, to the ruined flag of his enemies upon the ground, and finally to the sun finally piercing the grey mists about him. Blood of his enemies ran thick about his feet, soon to be washed away by the furious wall of water, by the great river. And so came the Cleansing of the Great River of all whom had come to seek conquest and defense.

Second place- Bro-man

Spoiler Alert!

Fates Intertwined

From the words of Thorum;

It has been many long years since the war of the wellsprings began. As I grow old and weary so to does this war. As our allies grew with the addition of Aquilla, we have a fighting chance to hold against Utgar's rein of terror. However that was not to be the case. Utgar has summon all of his horde, the mass and bulk of his dark army. He has summoned the recent undead, a personal army of Cyprein, the life stealer. With his army gathered, he has brought forth a wave of darkness upon the land. His army move swiftly to Einar, in order to finish off a threat before he can deal witht the rest of the allies. However Jandar, Ullar, Vydar and Aquilla, have all gathered their forces upon the open plains. They alone stand to face the tied of evil that marches before us. They alone must hold until Einar brings his forces to bare against them. Indeed this would be the turning point of the war. However, not all things would come to pass, for as I starred out at the battlefield, there was one thing that I saw that change the course of the battle. An unlikely duo that would decided the course of this fight.

***

One hour into the battle: Far left flank, Drake's command.

***

"GET DOWN!"

A Airbourne calls out, a rain of arrows come over our heads. I ducked just in time to avoid a bolt hitting my flank. I yell out and the airbourne fire back at the Gruts. Bullets and arrows ranged all over the field as the battle went on. I was in command with the left flank. The majority I commanded was the Airbourne elites, the Viking brothers and their Berserkers, and the 4th Mass was at my command. The enemies main forces have came hard at us, charging into our center lines, trying to force us back, but we have held. The rest of the battle has been a stalemate. Ullar and Vydar have held the center pushing back the undead, the new army that Utgar brought forth. The right flank is slowly being pushed back, Jandar's remaining forces and Aquilla's own tribal army are holding the best they can against the Marro. But with the endless numbers pouring onto them, I fear the army will falter and run. I had to send Denrick and his knights to give them support. While Alastair and his Scottsman were also sent to keep the center lines from breaking. We only had to deal with the Grut horde. There numbers and warriors are fearsome, but we have dealt with them before.

"Sir! More Gruts incoming!"

I looked out and saw the mass of the Grut forces charging at us. I saw in the center stood their leader. Grimnak, riding on top of his beloved and deadly pet. I looked at my men who were weary and tired, but they were willing to continue on to fight by my side. I pointed my sword forward, the men let out a cry and we charged forth at the leader, for if we kill him his army will fall into disary, and the army broken. Gunfire ranged forth toward them. A few in the lines went down, but they kept their march. I drew my pistol, and began firing away. When we were fifty yards away. The men stopped and turned to the sides. I followed their gaze and Gruts were popping out of the ground. Clever, they hid among the dead. I turned my pistol and shot boint blank into a Grut's head. He went down and I turned to fire again as the ambushers came toward us. I turned toward Grimnak and sure enough began to charge at us. I yelled at the men to form in a circle. They got close to me but a few were caught by the Grut ambushers. I turned to help them before they were killed. I tackled the nearest Grut and forced him into the mud. The Grut grabbed my face and tried to choke me, I put my gun forward to fire at his head, but the grut used the other arm and grabbed my hand before I could fire. I fired a shot and missed his head. Before I could move his hand away, he grabbed a handful of mud and slapped it into my face. I rolled off and rubbed the mud away. When my vidion was clear I looked up and the Grut stood over me. However he did not lunge foward. I then realized when I notice the mass of Gruts circling us. I turned around to see my men getting overwhelmed and taken by the enemy. They were forced onto their knees and the Gruts rasied their swords.

"Halt!"

Grimnak called out, his Gruts held their position. I stood up and saw the Gruts have surrounded us. I turn my attention on Grimnak. His pet stopped and lowered itself to the ground. It growled at me and showed its fangs. Grimnak droped from his mount and walks toward me. He stopped ten feet away. I lifted my pistol but the Grut I fought grabs me from behind while others went and grabbed my gun. They yanked it off and went to join the circle of Gruts. I turned my attention back at Grimnak. He stood about my height, his teeth came out a little from his lower jaw. He wore a open helmet, his hair came out in a ponytail. He wore light armor onto his chest and legs. His large curved spear, which stood about seven feet, stands firmly in his hands. He smiled at me and began to laugh. When his mirr subsided he spoke at me.

"Drake! It is good to see you again. A worthy enemy that I sought for all these years."

I grinned at him, drawing my blade. "You still mad at what I did during our first encounter?"

Grimnak's eyes narrowed and his mount growled at me again. "Yes! But that is in the past. Since then our fights and encounters were short and never fully finished. This night I will put an end to this rivalry. Once and for all." He raised his spear and slammed it down into the mud. He let go and the spear stayed in the ground. A Grut from the circle came forward and offered a shield. The leader excepted the gift and drew it forward. A large skull was shown on front. He drew a sword from his side and starred at me. I then heard cries coming forth from the side. I turned and through the circle of Gruts I saw the 4th Mass charge in with their bayonets.

"You better stop them, before your men are killed." I looked at the men who starred at me, their captors put their swords and axes closer to them. I quickly called out.

"Stop! Don't fight!"

The men slowly stopped and were a few feet before they reached the circle.

"But Sir! They will kill you all!" One of them called out.

"We will all be killed if you fight! Just leave this to me."

I turned to Grimnak who began to circle me. I brought my sword forward and began to to the same. We circled each other, two rival wolves ready to strike.

"You know how long I have wait for this moment?"

I remained silent as we continued to move in circles.

"Once I defeat you, your skull will fit nicely with my collection."

I starred at the rack of skulls hanging down from his mounts saddle.

"I like to see you try."

We both stopped moving. Grimnak bellowed out and charge forward. I ran at him and we both clashed. We both seperate for a split second before charging again. He rammed me with his shield and forced me back. He swinged wildly at me as I defended, though I was fast to draw my blade against his blows his speed was more faster. He stuck me and I felt a cut onto my left arm. I pulled away and Grimnak waved his sword back and forth, taunting me. I rush foward and feint a left and gone for his shield. I punched the leader in the jaw and grabbed his shield as he backed up. I yanked his shield away and tossed it aside. Few of his warriors cheered for their chieften, only for the eldar Gruts to keep them silent as the battle unfolded. We stuck at each other, blow for blow, he wanted to wear me out before deliver the final killing blow. I knew that was what he wanted and I dodged his blows when ever I can to tire the leader out. His stamina however was astounding and he did not let up. We fought for what felt like hours when it only lasted for about five minutes. We clashed and held there for a moment. He grabbed my shoulder and I wrapped my arm around his. I twisted my hand and his arm went up. The leader cringed but not that much. I drew both of our swords out and headbutted him. His helmet went back and landed into the mud. He stared at me, his lips pushed forward. He raised his head back and headbutted me back. The blow was on my helmet but the pain was quite a whallop. We both seperated and I grabbed my head and pushed the helmet off. Grimnak gritted his teeth and I starred at him. He spit out some blood and I was at the ready for him to make the next move. With another bellow he charged and so did I. We clashed and our swords held in place, neither side moving a inch. Sweat poured down his face as it did mine.

"This is an honorable and worthy fight! Drake!" He said and smiled at me. I couldn't help but smile as well.

A horn bellowed out into the distance. We both stopped and held our positon. The men and Gruts around us looked toward the south east were the noise came from. The horn sounded again and Grimnak turned toward the hills. I turned and followed his gaze.

"Its Einar! He has come!" Some of the men called out.

"I have heard this call before. It is not of you allies." Grimnak said. We both seperated and walked forward. Everyone seemed to stop and stare at the sound. I looked at the top of the hill and a single man stood. His wings came out yet they were dark and almost bat like. He raised his sword and a large cry came from on the other side. At once a large horde came over the hill and black armor covered the top. Swords, spears, and axes clattered the air, the noise was tremendous.

"Those are Orcs!" Grimnak stated and lifted his sword. "Valkrills own army!"

Then as the horn blew again, the massive horde began to charge. The ground shook and the air around us began to shake. The heavy steps from the Orcs was like rolling thunder, and grew louder as they got close. I readied to fight against Grimnak but he made no move to fight. I turned to the oncoming horde and the first few units they attacked were both Gruts and Vikings that got close.

"I knew we should not have trusted him!" Grimnak backed up towards his spear. His Gruts backed and formed up behind him. They let go of my men and they readied themselves behind me. I saw the Grut that held my gun and I yanked it away from him. The 4th Mass took rank and fired away. Few Orcs went down as they dashed toward us. Grimnak let out a war cry and his breathern followed. I yell out and my men and I charge into the enemy.

The battle was intense. The enemy more deadlier then the last. We fought hard and kept the pressure but the Orcs kept coming and sweeping pass many, heading towards the other armies. I hacked my way and found myself next to Grimnak, his body covered in cuts and brusies. We both hacked and slashed at the oncoming Orcs, two figures locked in a endless dance. I turned and saw three more coming behind Grimnak. I rasied my gun and fired at them. They went down before they could lay a hand on him. He looked at me stunned, confusion was on his face. He then hefted his spear and throws it at me. The spear went pass and struck flesh and metal. I turned to see a tall Orc stopped in his tracks, the spear going out the back. Grimnak walked foward and turned the orc around. He grabbed the spear and yanked it out from the dying Orc. The Orc went down and I starred at him. We looked around, seeing the Orcs out numbering us and killing our men.

"Seem's we both fight the same enemy." Grimnak stated as he wiped clean the blood on the spear.

"You know what they say. "An enemy of my enemy is a friend." I think we should work together." I said, almost out of breath.

"And fight a common enemy." Grimnak added. I nodded and Grimnak raised his spear towards the oncoming Orcs. I raised my sword and we both charge into the fray. As we hacked and slashed into the oncoming ranks, both of our men saw us fight together. They too soon put aside their differences and fought together against the enemy. The Vikings seeing this have rallied and charged the sides of the Orcs. Our fight was tremendous as we fought, slaying ten more for every kill they claimed. As we renewed our fight the Orcs that were coming down the hill have soon dwindled. Only pockets remained in groups around the field.

Three more Orcs rushed me and Grimnak. Grimnak twisted and lunged his spear into his enemies flank. I stepped forward with my sword and slashed up, lopping of the Orcs head. The last came at me and Grimnak stabbed him in his lower chest. I drew my gun and pulled the trigger. The Orcs head snapped back and Grimnak pulled his spear out. The Orc crumbled to the ground and was gone. Then everything was silent.

We both looked at each other and looked around us. Gruts, Airbourne, Vikings, and the 4th Mass have mingled together, no hatred or rage was inbetween them and no reason to continue to fight each other. I looked out to the other lines and saw the main forces of Orcs defeated, and Utgar's army in retreat, heading west from where they came. I turned to Grimnak and he whistled for his mount to come. When his pet arrived he climbed on and his remaining Gruts gathered to him. He raised his spear and the gruts made a slow march back, not bothering to attack us. Grimnak stopped his mount to turn and look at me. He gave a small nod and I did the same. He turned and his mount continued to march with the rest. I turned toward my men and we headed back to our own lines.

***

From the continued words of Thourm;

The battle was over when Valkrill's horde charge through our ranks. His army attacked both sides, not caring for the loss of his own, but to cause as much destruction among both his enemies. Though Einar's men have not arrived until later, they too were held at bay by a small force sent by Valkrill. They were able to defeated them without suffering major casualties, but that intervention cost them to aid us in time. We have known there was a secret General working with Utgar. But to see him betray that alliance. I have no words to describe. This General has shown what he his and what he is capable of. A bringer of Chaos. After the retreat and as we tended to our wounds, I was able to meet with Drake and to ask of what had transpired. He didn't say much but I could tell that much had happened. Two enemies, working together, side by side. They were forced to fight together when the enemy sought both their deaths and after the fight was over they parted ways. I do not know what happened between those two. Either a mutual respect. The force of hands, or a trusted bond between the two was made, I have not sure. But what I do know is that this experience might prove something in Utgar's ranks. Those that would turn on him and those that are willing to aid us. I do not know what will become of Grimnak or his horde for helping Drake face the new enemy. But what I do know is that this a turning point in the war. As dearly I hoped that it would have ended this day, evil would always come to continue this bloodshed.

It seems that the war is far from over, and it will continue.

First Place- Dadnarg

Spoiler Alert!

Kato Katsuro, 9th Diamyo of the Tagawa Region, victorious conqueror of the Njuh-Tsoi Barbarian Tribes, and now both Commander in Chief and Supreme Tactician to General Einar, looked down at the map before him and cursed under his breath.

He surveyed the land with an expert eye, taking in the positions of Utgar and the Alliance forces, crucial landmarks and waypoints, refugee camps, wellsprings, and borders between the various regions. As his gaze moved across the worn paper, it naturally settled on the small wooden piece that marked both the source of his frustration and his current location: Castle Kingspur. A small, unremarkable structure of dull grey stone, it was barely more than a permanent fort. This outpost marked a critical part of the Alliance’s defensive border, as it controlled the only valley between the mountains. As such, it was the only way to cross the Thaelenk Mountain Range in large numbers, and it had so far prevented Utgar from launching an attack into the heart of the Allied realms. Kato had been stationed here to supplement the regular garrison, and his samurai army had been bolstered by battalions of Warforged from Vydar, a team on Anubian Archers from Ullar and a band of MaDirck Highlanders, courtesy of Jandar.

Kato stared at the map, cursing yet again. Everything had changed; the alliance was breaking. He had seen the strain lines starting to show months ago, and he had worked with Einar to try and hold the them together. But despite their efforts, things only worsened. The generals were starting to go their separate ways, ignoring their past cooperation. Vydar , obsessed with designing greater machines, had disappeared from the battlefield and was holed up in his castle. Ullar, having been surrounded by his elves for so long, was becoming influenced by their fey magics, and had come to distrust the soldiers from other generals. And Jandar, focused completely on his desire to destroy Utgar, spent every waking moment with his wellsprings, searching the Universe for champions who could help him overcome the evil Kyrie Overlord. Aquilla alone seemed to agree with Einar and realize the need for the alliance. Her pleas for cooperation fell on deaf ears, though, for the other generals had all but forsaken their bonds. Kato knew that Utgar would take advantage of this weakness, and strike hard. The only question was where…and judging by the report he had received moments ago, Kato was certain he knew Utgar’s target.

“Sir!” “Sir!” The ashigaru soldier came rushing through the door, remember a second too late to come to attention before yelling at his commander. Another second later, he realized that he probably shouldn’t shout at the Daimyo at all, whether he was at attention or not. Kato raised his eyes to the ceiling for a moment, then looked back at the flustered sentry, sighing inaudibly as he did so.
“Ashigaru, report.”
“Sir. Utgar forces have entered the valley, and are marching toward our location. They will be within offensive distance in less than an hour.”
“I have been made aware of this movement already. Have there been any developments since the last outpost report?”
“No, sir. Only that we have a better estimate of their number, and some idea has to what type of forces we are facing.”
The sentry went silent, and Kato watched him. After several moments of silence, the Daimyo raised an eyebrow. Well?” he inquired. The sentry stared back, confused for a moment, and Kato closed his eyes in despair.
“How many are there, soldier?
The sentry, still confused by his lord’s actions, hesitated a moment before finally responding. “About twelve-thousand, sir, but more may be hidden in the mountain passes. The force consists mainly of orcs and goblins, although we saw many trolls, ogres, and possibly a dragon amidst the group.”
“Very well,” Kato replied. The soldier remained at attention, and Kato glanced back to the table. In past times, Castle Kingspur could have been held against any army, regardless of numbers. Positioned right at the mouth of the valley, the amount of soldiers that could push attack at any time was severely limited. But the garrisons from the other generals had left months ago, on one task or another. Kato knew that he had to hold this position, for defeat would allow Utgar to launch a campaign into the very heart of the allied regions. Unfortunately, he was doubtful he had the forces to do so.
Turning back to the sentry, he asked: “The messages sent two days ago, requesting aid from the other generals. Has there been any response?”
The sentry was quiet for a moment. “No, my lord.” he said at last. Kato nodded once, his last shreds of hope slowly slipping away.
“Dismissed.”

Not for the last time, Kato cursed the foolishness that had driven the alliance apart. He gazed out over the battlements of the wall where he stood and watched the army before him move into battle formation. The front ranks consisted of ogres, carrying massive scaling ladders. Limited by the narrow valley, they could only fit about two dozen ladder-bearers across. The next ranks where filled with heavy grut orcs, distinguishable by their armor and large pikes. Beyond them, Kato could see seemingly endless ranks of regular orcs and goblins, all howling and screaming their war chants. The sound was almost deafening, echoing off the enclosing mountains and pounding the ears of defenders atop the castle walls. He could feel a sense of unavoidable fear rising up inside him, despite his efforts to ignore it. He knew that the rest of the soldiers felt the same, if not even more terrified. But they were trained not to show it; they were soldiers of Einar, and death was a possibility they faced on a regular basis.

Tearing his gaze from the enemy, he surveyed his defenses. The wall was manned by the fortress garrison, with Ashigaru soldiers carrying Harquebus’ rifles. Spread amongst them was his own personal force of Tagawa archers, along with the revered figure of Kaemon Awa. A veritable legend amongst the younger soldiers, he leaned casually against the battlements, watching the enemy approach. He glanced over, meeting Kato’s gaze, and both of them nodded. Kato allowed himself a small smile, glad that his long-time companion was here. They had shared countless fights together, and each respected the other’s ability.

The sudden silence hit the defenders with almost a physical force. Kato turned back out toward the opposing army, which was now standing still and silent. As he watched, a lone figure detached itself from the group and walked up a small rise. Even from a distance, Kato recognized the black wings and massive broad sword.
“Taelord,” he cursed softly under his breath.
The kyrie commander stopped at the top of the hill, and turned to survey his army. Satisfied that they were ready, and that the pitiful force facing them had no hope of survival, he turned back to face the small fortress. Kato watched as he raised the sword above his head and gave a cry that the samurai commander could hear from where he stood atop the wall:
“Attack! For blood and slaughter! Kill them all, attack! Attack! Take no prisoners! Chaaaarrrge!!!”

Forcing down the terror that rose up inside him, Kato straightened up and gave his own command: “Archers and Riflemen at the ready!” His voice, calm yet forceful as it cut through the din of the screaming orcs, gave no hint to the fear that filled the young Daimyo. All along the wall, the soldiers raised their weapons, Harquebus’ leveled and bows at half draw.

The enemy had begun their charge, jogging toward the castle walls. The sound of thousands of footfalls shook the air like thunder.

“Hold!” Kato shouted, ensuring that no over-eager ashigaru would let loose an early shot. The soldiers remained motionless, awaiting their commander’s call.

The army was drawing nearer. They were at full charge now, sprinting across the open landscape. The ogres were out in front, bearing the massive ladders that would be used to scale the walls.

“Steady!” Kato called, ignoring his own instincts to strike down the enemy while they were far away. He had to wait until the last possible moment, for that was when the volley would have the greatest possible effect.

Kato held off until the ogres were within fifty metres of the walls to give the order. Dropping his hand in a flash, he roared out the command.
“Fire!”
A wave of lead and steel smashed into the charging figures. At least half of the ogres went down, suddenly silenced from the vicious attack. Others were wounded, and staggered about or fell to the ground. The others kept coming, while groups of running orcs rushed to seize the ladders that had fallen.
“Ashigaru, reload!” Kato barked the order. “Samurai, fire!” Knowing that the archers were able to draw within the space of a few seconds, he had allowed them another volley. Another half-a-dozen ogres collapsed or slowed.
The army kept charging, now almost at the wall. Kato, seeing that most of the ashigaru had reloaded, gave the order for a final volley. More of the enemy fell, but more kept coming to fill their place. Then, the army gave a roar of triumph as several ladders where lifted up to slam against the walls, steel claws locking them in place. Kato gave a grim smile.
“Ashigaru, fire at will! Samurai, draw swords.” The archers laid aside their bows and unsheathed their blades, moving into position in front of any ladder that had made it to the wall. From somewhere in the middle of the wall, a standard appeared. Hatamoto Taro, his own sword drawn, raised the banner in defiance. As the orcs came over the wall, they were met with the steel of the samurai warriors.

On an open battlefield, orcs gained the advantage from the overwhelming numbers. They would crush their enemies by surrounding them overrunning their position. The wall nullified that ability. The orcs, only able to come up the ladders in small numbers, were forced to face the samurai in single combat. They were slaughtered without remorse as the soldiers, bolstered by the sight of the Einar standard, cut down any who made it to the wall top. The ashigaru continued to pour fire into the enemy ranks bellow. After half an hour of relentless fighting, a horn call sounded over the battlefield. The orcs began to retreat, turning to flee the castle walls.

Kato leaned out to survey the battlefield. Close to a thousand orcs lay dead along the wall top or at its base, and almost all of the ogre ladder-bearers were slain. Soldiers along the wall were already at work trying to remove the siege ladders. Although he had done little fighting, Kato had his sword drawn. He sheathed it now, and nodded to his lieutenants.
“See to the wounded. Prepare for their next attack.”

Within the hour, the orcs regrouped and charged the wall again. This time, they wasted precious moments struggling to lift up the ladders that had been cast down or dropped. Kato directed his soldiers to pour volley after volley into the seething mass of bodies at the base of the wall. The attackers managed to make it to the top, but were again driven back. Countless bodies of orcs and goblins were strewn across the walls and battlements, and were heaped in mounds at the wall base. By contrast, the samurai army had sustained few fatalities, and those who had been injured had been taken to the medical outpost in the courtyard below.

Over the next few hours, the orc army repeated their frenzied charges toward the besieged castle three more times. With each attempt, Utgar’s forces experienced horrific losses, and were driven from the walls. Kato’s army had barely lost a fraction of its number, as the samurai were brutally effective in defending the wall. Kato glanced down the wall now. Admittedly, his forces were tired. The repeated attacks had drained their energy and stretched their nerves taunt, and their weary expressions betrayed this fact. The light was fading fast, and the sky was quickly becoming dark as night came on. Still, Kato thought to himself, fatigue was a small price to pay for the incredible damage they had inflicted. He wondered why the enemy persisted with these attacks, given the losses they were taking. Underlining his already tired thoughts was a chord of uneasiness; it shouldn’t be this easy. Utgar must have something else planned. But then, if he did, why would he waste this many soldiers? His thoughts were interrupted by sounds from the opposing army. Glancing out, he saw that they were preparing for yet another charge. Giving the order, he readied himself for another clash.

The orc army came charging, the same as they had done each time before. Kato watched them from the wall, waiting to give the order for the archers and ashigaru to open fire. It was almost dark now, and becoming difficult to see. Torches had been lit along the wall; while they prevented soldiers from seeing much in the distance, it would allow the samurai to continue their slaughter along the walls.
Kato stood, judging that the army was almost in range. Even has he raised his arm, uncertainty blossomed inside him. How could any general simply waste his troops like this? Did Utgar really have the numbers to keep up such an assault? Hearing a slight cough from the archer beside him, he pushed those doubts from his mind, and dropped his arm, yelling the order to fire at the charging orcs.

They struck without warning. The archers and asigaru, in the middle of reloading, were looking down at their weapons when the Kyrie warriors of Utgar fell from the sky in a drove of whirling blades. The wall top, still and peaceful only a second before, had become storm of thrashing bodies and weapons. The ashigaru were cut down by the dozens, having no way to fight at close quarters.

Shocked as they were by the sudden, vicious assault, the years of samurai training took over. Kato’s hand had fallen to his sword handle at some sixth sense of danger, and he drew it as a Kyrie bore down on him. The upward slash of his draw all but cut the minion in half, and he fell lifeless to the ground.

Dodging the swing of a second attacker, Kato whipped his sword forward and slashed him from elbow to wrist. The kyrie dropped his blade with a howl, only to be silenced by Kato’s second blow to his throat. As his enemy’s head toppled to the ground, Kato gave a cry that carried over the din of battle:
“Retreat! Retreat! Fall back to the citadel!” He leapt forward and thrust his blade through the side of a Minion standing over a fallen samurai. It staggered and fell, and Kato pulled the man to his feet.
“Rally the others!” Form a defensive retreat!” Kato yelled. The man nodded and left, yelling at fellow soldiers as he did. Kato turned back and looked down the wall. His personal guard of Tawaga samurai had slain Utgar’s Minions, but the rest of the wall was a mess of bodies, many lifeless, yet many still grappling. He spotted Kaemon Awa a short distance away, dueling with two kyrie. As he watched, both slumped to the ground, one after the other. Kaemon turned and hastened over to wear Kato stood.
“Orders my lord!”
“Get the survivors off this wall!” Regroup at the citadel!” Kato shouted to make himself heard.
Kaemon gave a short bow and left, slashing another kyrie out of the air as he turned. The body flew past and fell to the ground below. Kato turned and nodded to his guard.
“Let’s go.”

Kato and his guard fought their way to the stairs, cutting through any kyrie that were still fighting. Many had retreated, leaving the few exhausted samurai that remained to face the orcs that now were pouring onto the walls. Kato sidestepped a charging orc, his own sword taking off the orc’s arm at the elbow. They were almost at the stairs, and Kaemon Awa was a short ways behind them. As they reached the stone steps, he paused to glance behind him. That quick movement probably saved his life, as he suddenly saw Taelord and a drove of fresh minions bearing down on them.

“About turn!” Kato screamed, panic making his words crack. Kaemon was the fastest to react, turning and lashing out blindly, and thus slaying the kyrie that was just behind him. Two more swept forward, their furious speed sending them slamming into the samurai captain. Kato leapt forward to help his friend. Swinging and hacking madly, he saw Kaemon struggling against the two minions. He watched as his friend killed the first with an overhand blow, then whipped his blade around to deflect the second attacker. He used the momentum to swing his sword around again into a riposte, faster than his enemy could register. The minion toppled dead a second later.

It was at that moment that Taelord appeared from the mass of bodies and thrust his sword into Kaemon’s stomach.

Kato gave a cry of horror as he continued to fight off the kyrie around him, trying to reach his friend. Taelord stood over the kneeling samurai, a grin of triumph on his face. Kaemon looked down at the sword in his stomach, then up at Taelord’s laughter with an expression of utter contempt. Taelord had time for a brief moment of surprise as Kaemon took a step forward. Impaling himself on Taelord’s blade, he drove both his katana down into the kyrie before him, burying them to the hilt. Taelord died, his expression one of surprise, and then both warriors slumped to the ground. Kato reached is fallen comrade a second later and lifted him up, supporting him with bloodstained hands. But the warriors eyes were already glazed over with the shadow of death. He still wore his expression of contempt. Kato bowed his head and let his tears flow, all but oblivious to the battle around him.

The cries of orcs brought his attention back to the present. They were rushing over the walls now, coming toward him. Glancing around, Kato saw that his samurai guard had all fallen in their struggle with Taelord’s Kyrie. He rose to his feet and gripped his blade with both hands. He screamed at the orcs, determined to protect the body of his ally. It wasn’t so much a war cry as it was a bellow of mindless fury.
“AAAAAEEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIIII”
The orcs leapt upon him, hacking and slashing and screaming. Kato stood with his back to the battlements, his sword weaving a deadly pattern of steel and blood. Driven by anger and adrenaline as he was, and despite the bodies that continued to pile up around him, the sheer number of endless orcs slowly began to show. As he staggered to his knees, a frown of weary disappointment spread across his face. Depressing that it should end like this after all that’s happened, he thought to himself. Strength failing, sword drooping, Kato prepared himself to face the inevitable.

A flash of light burst across the wall top, a light so intense it blinded all the orcs who saw it. Screaming now in pain, they staggered back from the golden figure that landed on the wall. Kato felt a strong hand grasp his shoulder before he faded into blackness.

Kato awoke, looked around, and slowly stood. Despite the ache he felt throughout his body, he was surprised that he was still alive. Looking out, and realizing that he was standing high up a mountain peak, he gazed at the burning, smoking wreck of Castle Kingspur that lay in the valley below him. A movement caught his gaze, and he turned to see a Kyrie standing a short ways away.
“You saved me,” Kato spoke with an inflective, questioning tone.
“Yes I did, Kato Katsuro. I am Aquilla.” The kyrie that stood before him was beautiful, with flowing brown hair that spilled on to her golden armor. She looked at him now, a mixture of sorrow and weariness in her green eyes. Kato managed a grunt in response. He was too tired, felt too much loss to give much care for anything right now. He glanced back down at the smoking ruin.
“It's over, isn’t it?” he asked, his tone flat and uncaring. Aquilla looked at him questioningly.
“The alliance,” he continued. “All our work, all our effort, everything we fought and died for. It was in vain. The alliance is broken. We have lost.” At those last words, his throat choked up, and he looked down.
A moment later, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked back up into the face of the beautiful kyrie. She gazed at him, and then spoke:
“An alliance can never be broken,” she whispered softly, “if the cause for which it stands is still alive. And a cause will never be lost until there is no one left to fight for it.” Kato stared back at her, unblinking, feeling the rush of raw emotions that still flooded through him. He waited, silent, as they slowly began to settle. As a small sense of peace final came over him, he looked into Aquilla’s eyes and nodded once.

Honorable Mentions

Elven Lord

Spoiler Alert!

“Sooooo,” a deep voice boomed from one end of a long red carpeted hallway, “Utgar plans to strike the allies where they least are least well defended. Undoubtedly, the allies have made a great tactical error to leave the port city of Islanbell, virtually unprotected.”
“Well it is guarded by a mountain range which is virtually impassible even to those who can fly. Besides Ullar decided the port city would be too costly to upkeep, situated in mountains as it is.” Protested the green clad kyrie herald, a little feebly, knowing full well that the port could have easily received upkeep from the river.
“And now Ullar wants us to cover his butt, and keep the enemy ships out of the river because he knows full well that if that port falls there will be nothing in the way of stopping Utgar from sending his troops down that river striking Ullar a decisive death blow. That’s it isn’t it?”
The kyrie herald shrank a little more as the tall Viking chieftain shouted this last bit.
“Ok.” Finn said light heartedly, waving a hand gently for matter-of-fact emphasis.
“But you’re going to do something for me.”
“Yes?”
“Get everyone out of the town. Disappear into the high mountains. ‘forsvinde ind i de høje bjerge’ as the mages would say. I want that place a ghost town. If Utgar tries a land assault it won’t be with very many troops. I want them to arrive to a ghost town that is full of fat sheep and cattle, and bars that are full of good wine. Wait a day for them to fatten up on meat and heady wines, then strike them at dawn while they still slumber. You’ll lose some property, but you won’t lose many lives.”
The kyrie nodded his understanding then departed quickly.
”What are you all gawking at?” Finn said to the Viking cheiftains around him, get your supplies on your boats we leave at crack of dawn for the mouth of Islanbell harbor.”

”Are you sure about this brother?” Thorgrim asked Finn, ”We are bound to lose many lives.”
”Are you so stricken with fear that you deign to your basist instincts?”
”It is not fear that drives my question, but wisdom.”
”Oh?”
”Brother, what if we do exactly as you will have the villagers do? Instead of fighting a pitched naval battle in a confined space we could let them beach their ships. Decide it was more lightly defended then they thought, and inevitably fall to what they do best, feasting and getting drunk. Then we burn their ships and fall upon them from the mountains. They’ll never see it coming brother. We already know that Utgar has sent orcs to do this job, and orcs r’ stupid.”
Finn mulled this over for a few moments, then nodded at the wisdom. Very well then. I will inform the chieftains of the change before we disembark.

The Scandinavians had just finished hiding their longships in the tall rushes, and themselves in the mountains. They built no cooking fires and instead ate trail rations of dried beef and pulled pork jerky. Then they waited for their foes to come, thankful for the fog that hid their positions even better than before.
Then they came.
The orcs beached their troll hide ships, and ran screaming ”Murder bloody murder” (translated ”urrrggghashughrahgarugghhurra!”) into the town. If they were surprised to find no one there it came through as a delightful surprise. They instantly fell about looting and plundering and drinking themselves dizzy.
At dawn the next morning the townsfolk and the raiders from the North came crashing down upon them, shredding through their sleeping drunken forms like a hot knife through butter. A few resisted, but soon lost a few necessary appendages if not more. At the last minute Finn decided not to burn the troll hide ships. They had a very orcish vibe, and could come in handy for future reconassaince of Utgar’s beach and sea based forces.

AMIS

Spoiler Alert!

It was still dark.
The Gruts had advanced on mass that storm cloud covered morning and they watched in exuberant anticipation as Sudema and half her army of Micro corp. had moved out to meet them on the beach. But the exhilaration turned to horror as the two score of Romans guarding Einar’s entrance to the Underdark watched Sudema and Tornak shake hands and point their way.

All day the soldiers had watched and planned the defense of their mud outpost but against two armies, armies that had them completely surrounded, the defense would be in vein.
Sudema had at least offered them protection when the sun had reached its zenith somewhere above the storm clouds and laughed when she received no answer. No brave comeback this time. Not even a whimpering yelp. Everyone understaood this was a forgone conclusion and that the evil was slowly organizing itself to roll into the post.

Sure, they would put up resistance, give them everything they had, but the battle was over before it began. All that was left was the waiting. The sun may have been shining but not here and not today.
Several legionnaires had gathered to plot an escape route but they needed more time. Time for the handful of folks who’d braved the Underdark to come back. When they would come back maybe they stood a chance…IF they came back. They’d been considered the bravest and most heroic warriors that were part of this largely Vydar army and none had considered it strange that Sudema had stayed to keep control the agents, until that fateful handshake.

Now it looked as though the only realistic escape any was following them down through the cavern but the gloom of the entrance hung thick in the air and created strange shadows on this lightless day. For some it was too overwhelming and disparaging but the others using their training and experience had calmed them down.

A drum beat struck in the distance and forty heads as one peered over the top to see an army slowly sauntering towards them.

[TGRF]

Note: We appear to have deviated from the original format of the OP. I am returning to that format. Also, I would like to begin including a link of the prompt post. If you do not know how to link to a post, PM me before posting here.


Challenge 36 - August 11 2012


One of the Valkyrie has given his/her most trusted soldiers a crucial assignment. He/she is to journey deep into the enemy territory to recover a precious artifact. But they wont be going alone...

Create a story about a character and his/her apprentice who undertake this mission. The master must be a real character from the game, but the apprentice is one who you design yourself. Enjoy, have fun.


Bro-Man - 1st Place

Spoiler Alert!

A Doubted Heart

Beyond the edges of Ullar's forest and past the Lone River, a figure pauses near the edge of a waterfall, before heading towards the valley below. He was the Darklord Khosumet, the leader of the wolves and their packs, and feared amongst his enemies. Khosumet arrived early during the war. He and his wolves were a fitting match to face against Ullars elves. Since Jandar was facing Utgars armies to the south, this was the best time to explore the new land, but Utgar had other plans.

Khosumet closes his eyes and breathes in the air around him. He can smell a deer that is eating berries on a bush nearby. A small rodent digging a hole for its family. A small nest filled with little chicks that cry out to their parents to be fed. The water that hurls itself down towards the river and crashes onto the rocks below. Everthing around him was pure, fresh. The scents that almost reminded him of his home, the very forests that he protects on Feylund, almost. He took another whiff and another scent came from behind. He recognized this scent, but what made him curious was that there were two scents then just one. He turned around and called out.

"I know your hiding, show yourself."

From the brush a wolf comes forward and in his hand a smaller wolf was in his hands, struggling around in his claw. The wolf bows his head and quickly explains.

"My lord, this runt left our pack, I knew she was going to follow you so I went after her."

Khosumet looked down at the little pup. He sighed deeply and shook his head.

"Again Rain?"

Rain looked up at Khosumet. "Yes, I want to help you. So that I may learn from the best."

The darklord chuckled. "I told you before, you and the others will train with us once you are ready."

"But I am ready, just tell this old bag of fur to let me go and I can prove it."

The wolf that held her growled and grew irritated. Rain turned and sticked her tounge out at him.

Khosumet laughed and shook his head. "Peace Jun."

Jun looked up at his lord. "But my lord, I thought-"

Khosumet raised his hand. "Let her go and go take care of the young pups until I get back."

Jun grunted and lets go of Rain's neck. The wolf turned and left his lord.

Rain starred up in delight. "You will take me?"

Khosumet nodded and began to head towards a path down to the valley. Rain followed and struggled to keep her excitment contained.

***

Rain was not like any of the other wolf children. She was about half the height of Khosumet, and any other wolf. Her body was normal and is the same with the other children, but what made her unique is that she has a tail. The tail came out and was barely touching the ground and it flinched up everytime it got close. It was rare for wolves to have tails, but it was extremly rare for her having blue eyes. Many of the other wolves eyes were always yellow. Its what made her stand out amongst the group.

For a good part of an hour Rain followed Khosumet down to the valley floor. They past many areas that were unfamilar to them. A small dam for a beaver, strange rock formations along the river bed, and small wooded owl stood watched as the two moved forward. Rain stopped when she saw the owl in the trees, mesmerized by the owls stare. The owl soon shifted its stance and took flight into the sky. Rain then noticed Khosumet a far off and hurried along to his side. Keeping pace with the leader she quickly asked, "So what is it that were heading to?" The leader kept his gaze forward as he spoke, "I have been tasked to find our missing banner."

"A flag?"

"Yes, a small force, mostly of Gruts, was sent to find any cities of our enemies, but they have not returned. They carried the banner with them and I was sent to find it."

Rain thought for a moment. "But why? Its just a banner, why not just make another?"

Khosumet stopped and turned to her, amused by her remark. "Good question. Apparently the banner is important to the Gruts and they believe it has a special aura around it. It is a silly task I know but I need to stretch my legs. Besides I don't want to be standing around and doing nothing."

Confusion was all over Rains face at first, then she giggled at the fact. She was young and energetic, always finding something to do that is around. Khosumet sighed that she didn't understand and continued walking through the forest.

"You'll undertstand someday Rain. Now come, we are getting close."

***

After thirty minutes passed Rain noticed the trees were torn down and large claw marks were on the sides of the trunks. Khosumet slowed down his pace and Rain stood behind him.

"We are here." Khosumet moved slowly passed the trees and Rain followed close, making sure she took each step that Khosumet has made. They were near the tree line and they both stood and starred out towards a open field. Past the field was a burned out and demolished buildings.

"A village?" Rain asked.

"Seems so, I can smell death all around us."

Rain looked up to Khosumet and she could see that he was surveying the area. He looked down and noticed Rain looking. "In time you will learn to control your senses Rain." He finished before she could reply and kept looking out towards the village. After a full minute had passed he cautiously moved through the field. Rain followed behind. The two moved through the field slowly as to not attract any noise. Khosumet stopped abruptly and Rain bumped into him. He sniffed the air and turned his head towards Rain.

"Wait here, I'll be back for you."

"But-"

Khosumet gave a sharp growl and Rains ears went back. She sat down and Khosumet left her. After she could no longer here him moving through the field she knew she was alone.

Anxiety grew in her. As the minutes passed she wanted to get out and find out what he is up to. For ten whole minutes she waited, her right foot bobbing up and down in excitement. She gritted her teeth and wanted to know what was going on. Her tail began twitching back and forth in frustration Another ten minutes passed and she heard noise coming from out of the field. Her head perked up and she headed towards the sound, her curiosity getting the best of her. She was at the fields edge and made her way towards a small cliff. She stopped and saw a dead body nearby. A winged kyrie, as the other wolves call them, was dead with a spear in its back. Its feet dangled over the side of the cliff. She slowly stopped near the body and peered over the edge.

Below was ruined building and was littered with dead. Near the center of the village she saw three large machines moving its way down the main road. She recgonized that they were the Deathwalker and its bodyguards. A large group of Gruts followed close behind them. She had found the missing force, but what she didn't see was where the flag was. As they moved close towards the edge of the village, right where she stood above them, she noticed movement within the buildings. She edged close to the cliff to see what it was and saw more figures moving on by. They were quickly heading toward the moving column. She watched as they got behind the buildings and the column of warriors moved past them. Then, without warning, an explosion rocketed the Gruts from behind. They scattered and gunfire erupted on both sides of the main road. The three machines turned and opened fire on their targets. Scream of men filled the air. A chaotic battle ensued in the village. Rain realized she has to get back. She stood up and the ground beneath her went down. The weight of her and the dead kyrie made the side of the cliff give way. She tumbled down along the side of the cliff rolling towards the village. She tried to grab the ground with her claws but couldn't grab a hold. She rolled and hit the side of a building. She looked up and the dead kyrie landed nearby, his face starring straight at her. Panic zoomed in her and she took off into an alley.

Rain raced through the narrow paths trying to avoid any of the fighting that was all around her. As she went down the next alley, glass shattered in front of her and a Grut crashed through a window, bullet holes riddeled in him. She jumped over the dead body and turned a corner. She stopped in her tracks and saw another Grut and a man in a green uniform. They wrestled each other with their weapons and the two tackled each other to the ground. Rain turned and bolted back to where she came. She made another left and then a right until she found a collapse building. She jumped in and found a small corner that was not destroyed. She hurried over and sat down, wrapping her arms around her legs. Her whole body was shaking with fear, her chest pounded as her heart continued to beat rapidly. Machine footsteps and gunfire echoed on the other side of the wall. Holes popped on the walls above and dust came down over her head. She clasped her head with her hands trying to shut out the noise. The wall next to her exploded inward. She screamed and debris fell all around her. She looked and one of the machine bodyguards was halfway in the house. Sparks flew out its chest and oil leaked from the sides. Rain realized it was not safe here. She jumped up and out of the whole that was created and was in the main road. She looked to her left and saw the other bodyguard being attacked by the men in green uniform. The bodyguard fires its weapon at the uniformed men. Two were shot down instantly while the others scattered, firing their weapons as they went. The bodyguard was trapped in a hail of bullets, it spun and its back was ripped open. It felt to the ground face first. Gruts came out of the buildings and went after them. Rain turned to her right and her path was clear. She ran forth, searching a way out of this battle. She turned and made a right down a street. A building exploded outward nearby and she stopped in her tracks and fell to the ground. She looked up and the last machine, the deathwalker loomed over her. The massive machine turned and a shell was inserted into its champer. The machine turned its weapon and fired towards a nearby building. The gun shot boomed in Rains ears, making her go deaf. She covered her ears from the pain and cried out. She watched as the machine turned and fired again but with its other weapon. Round after round poured into the building across from them. The building collapsed and men cries were snuffed out. The machine stopped and turned toward Rain. She looked up and starred at the souless eyes that gazed upon her. The machine lifted its gun towards her. Rain cried out, tears streamed down her face, but the machine didn't listen. As Rain's hearing slowly came back the round in the machines weapon began to charge. Rain watched as the round began to heat in its chamber. Suddenly something was flown towards it and hit the machine on the back. A explosion rocketed behind the machine and stopped its charged round from firing. The Deathwalker turned around and fired away at its targets. Five men in the green uniform fired away and began throwing small rocks at the machine. Rain watch as one of the rocks got close and once it hit the machine it exploded. The machine backed up, Rain moved away before the machine could crush her. She fell to the ground and quickly looked back.The machine fired again and the men were killed in a instant.

"Grenade!"

Someone calls out and one of the small rocks bounces towardsthe deathwalkers foot. Rain stares wide eyed as the strange rock rolls forward towards its target. As she stared at the rock, out of the corner of her eye, a hand quickly reaches for her. The hand swooped her up off the ground and she was being carried. Her head rested on the persons shoulder, her body craddled in the mans arms. She looked up and indeed it was one of the men in the green uniform. An explosion came a second later and the man began to run, caring the small wolf with him. The Deathwalker crumpled and in a instant later exploded in a hellfire. The man quickly placed his hand over the wolfs head and the shockwave from the explosion hit them. The man landed hard on the ground, his arms wrapped around Rain's body, protecting her. Then, everything went silent.

***

Rain opened her eyes and was starring at the ground. She felt an arm around her body. She wiggled free and got up to see who saved her. It was the same man in the uniform. She didn't know what to do, what to say. Anger grew inside her and she felt hatred toward that man. Where this haterd came from she was not sure. She saw him move and she bent down to one knee to speak to him.

"Why did you save me?"

The man breathed slowly and muttered her one word. "Why?"

Rain showed her fangs and drew her claws. "Tell me!"

The man was unresponsive.

"You are my enemy! I should kill you for saving me!" She thurst her hand under the man arm and shoved him onto his back. Once on his back she reached to strike him but was stopped when she saw his body. The mans legs were burned, some pieces of flesh remained but the rest was pitch black and smoke came off the burning skin. Two broken arrow shafts were inbeaded in his side, blood oozed out as he breathed. His left arm was gone at the shoulder. His face was scarred and covered in blood, his right eye was the only thing that seemed to function. That man should be dead, yet he still lives. Was he from the collapsed building, or the men that attempted to kill the Deathwalker? Rain could only stare at him, not sure to end his life or not. The man breathed again and his good eye looked straight at her.

"Your only... a child."

She growled and quickly was on top of him. The man didn't flinch as she sat there on his wounds, claws at the ready.

"Don't mock me! I am a full adult! I will kill you for that insult!" She lied. Her real age was that of fifteen, a middle-aged teenager. She continued, "I hate all of you humans! You kill everything around us!" The man didn't flinch as she continued to rant at him. She acted brave but was only fooling herself.

"You are nothing! A weakling! Your a-" She stopped abruptly. Without her knowing the man lifted his hand and touched her left cheek. She froze at his touch, and the man looked at her as she was still.

"You are so young." The man said softly. He rubbed his thumb next to her cheek and she shivered at the touch. Instead of pain that she expected the man to give, it was kindness. He rubbed again and a tear came down her cheek. Her mind raced of what to do, to get out, but her body was in a trance and not responding. She was taught to hate her enemy, yet he saves her and showing sympathy to the young wolf. She didn't know what to make of it all.

"Your eyes, you remind me... of my... daughter."

Her mind snapped back out of its trance at his remark. She starred at him and saw tears coming out of the mans good eye. She lowered her claws at him and placed her hand on his.

"Why did you save me?" She uttered a cry as she asked him. The man looked away towards the sky and slowly leaned to the right.

"We... we're.. helping-"

The mans head slumped to the right, his hand on Rains face slipped from hers, and hit the ground. The last breath from the man came and went. He was gone. She looked at the direction he was looking at. A building that was close by. She looked back at the man and saw a couple of small trinkets around his neck. She grabbed them and pulled them off. The first trinket had an odd shape. See saw s small inscription on one side of the flat base. She couldn't make out what they were but five large letters stood out to her that she can make out.

"B-ri-an." She muttered. She looked at the second trinkent and saw that it opened at the middle. She opened it more and saw a frame inside. She starred at it closely and saw that it was the same man. A women was at his side. In the middle, a small baby was inbetween the two. She didn't know what to make of it but she closed the trinket and carried the two items in her hand. She looked at the building that the man was starring at. She headed over quickly and saw that the door was not there. She went inside and after a few steps in she frozed in place.

The roof was missing and light poured into the room, but all around her dozens of mangled bodies surrounded the room. Many of the bodies had many burns and cuts all over them. Many missed body parts, arms and legs on one side, a piece of a wing and heads on the other. In the center of the room, two bodies stood motionless. A winged kyrie, her face was hollow and her body scorched with burn marks. In her arms she carried a small body of a girl in her arms. The child too had burns along its body, flesh and muscle was the only thing visible. The two looked to be half alive and the other half dead like a skeleton. Rain was breathless, her eyes wide at the carnage around her. In front of the two bodies, a strange symbol was on the ground. The symbol was made by the peoples blood. She turned around, wanting to run, to get as far away as possible. She headed out the door and bumped into a figure. She landed on her back and starred up. A hooded man stood over her, a red creature stood on its shoulder. The creature screech out at her and the hooded figure placed his hand forward to grab her. A large growl stopped him and the figure turned to see who it was. He side stepped back as the new figure stood in front of Rain. It was Khosumet. He roared at the hooded man, claws outstretch and ready to attack. The hooded man raised his hand and a strange red orb appeared in front of him. Before Rain could see what it was, Khosumet swopped her up in both arms and carried her away. She looked back as Khosumet ran. The last thing she saw was the man that laid there on the ground and the hooded figure standing over him.

***

Khosumet stopped when they were near the forest. He let go of Rain who landed hard on the ground.

"I told you to stay put! You could have been killed!" Fury was in his voice and his body pumped. Rain looked up and spoke softly, "I heard fighting. I got close to a cliff to watch what was happening, and I fell."

"No excuses! You would have died! Why don't you listen to what I say, I-" He stopped when Rain came and hugged him. She cried out, "I was so scarred! I didn't know what to do! I ran and ran and that was all I good do to stay alive! I am sorry!" Her body was shaken all over, tears came down her cheeks. Khosumet's rage which made him boil over because of her carelessness just a moment ago was no longer there. He looked down and placed his hand on her head. In a calmer voice he spoke to her to ease her stress and pain that she experienced.

"I am sorry. I was not there when I should have been. I will personally train you and help you when you are in need. I am the one who is to blame. I am sorry that I yelled at you. Do not blame yourself over this." Rain looked up at Khosumet and he smiled at her. He lifted his hand off of her and walked towards the woods and bended down. "I have found what we have been looking for." He picked up the banner and it flew in the wind. Rain looked at the banner and gasped at what she saw. It was the same symbol that she saw in that building. The blood stained symbol that was from the villagers. Khosumet noticed this and asked, "Is something amiss?"

Rain shook her head. "No, I'm fine."

"Then let us be off." He turned toward the forest. Rain began to follow when she noticed her hand was still clenched. She opened it and saw the two trinkets were still with her. She stared at them on her palm remembering the soldier that saved her. She clenched her fist again when Khosumet called.

"Rain?"

"Yes, coming."

She followed and was qucikly at his side. He continued walking towards the forest.

"Let us go home. My daughter."

***

As the years went by Rain would become a formidable warrior and a proud member of the wolf packs. But what Khosumet didn't know was that Rain doubted him and Utgar. She would remember the village and the massacre. The men who sacrificed their lives to defended them and then that man. The soldier that saved her life. She secretly retains the trinkets and the memories of what happened on that faithful day. She would never forget them. But as she remains breathing and living, she would forever be with her packs and serve under the darklord.

Rain. Daughter of Khosumet.

The Grim Reaper's Friend - 2nd Place

Spoiler Alert!

The sky was cloudless. Every tiny pinprick of light that was a star of Valhalla could clearly be seen in silky blackness. The wind came in half hearted breaths, just stirring the leaves of the trees. The air, though cooling rapidly, still held a lingering touch of the summer warmth. The faint scent of flowers, mixed with the rich smell of freshly cut hay, floated lazily through the air, lending its calming texture to the landscape. The countryside around Jandar’s mighty palace was peaceful and slumbering.
Two dark shadows, minuscule in the far off sky, flitted across the round orb of the full moon, and slid stealthily into the blackness on the other side. An almost imperceptible shadow crept over the landscape and the castle, dousing the air of calmness at once. A faint trace of terror took it place, causing a group of late night rabbits to flee to their burrows.
In a moment’s time, the two dark shadows dropped from the sky and melted into the outer wall of Jandar’s castle, resolving themselves on top of it as two startlingly white figures, wrapped in dark cloaks. They bore no visible blades, but then, vampires rarely keep their arms where they can be seen, much less taken.
Having landed, the two vampires set off at a brisk pace along the wall, crouching slightly to avoid detection. The first vampire bore a visage of evil concentration, his eyes not diverting from before him, his pace set and steady, though quick. His hands slowly grasped at the air unconsciously, as if ever ready to seek more power.
The vampire behind him was much younger, at least by four hundred years. His face was not as concentrated, and his eyes wavered from side to side, always looking, always contemplating. His strides were even and measured to match those of the vampire before him, and he seemed to exude an aura of control, though still bursting with young energy.
These two vampires were none other than Cyprien Esenwein, lord of the vampires of Feylund, and his apprentice, Ravorin, a young and deadly assassin. They had been dispatched on a mission by Lord Utgar to retrieve a certain powerful object that had somehow fallen into Jandar’s possession; whether by wellsprings or other means, they knew not. Only Cyprien and Utgar knew exactly what the object was; Ravorin only knew that it granted unimaginable power.
The flight through the summer-filled air had been short and uneventful, and now that they had at last reached Jandar’s castle, Ravorin was eager to let the fight begin. Cyprien had warned him that they were to avoid contact with the enemy at all costs, but Ravorin was sure that the legends about the security of Jandar’s palace were no myths.
Silent as shadows, the two vampires made their way past gates, over walls, and through streets bordered with houses, until they reached the very center of the massive city. Here, they flew over the wall, their forms blending perfectly with the soft blackness of night. They landed noiselessly on the other side, and crept into the interior of the great palace itself. So far, they had met no one.
The door to Jandar’s extensive quarters, study, library, personal armory, and so on, was soon found, and the two vampires slipped in, easily picking the lock. It would have been foolish to attempt to assassinate Jandar as he slept, even for two vampires. The entrances were guarded by at least twenty of the most skilled soldiers. Therefore, the two turned to the right, and went into the library.
Shelves upon shelves of books met Ravorin’s eyes as they entered the dark room. Ancient tomes, their covers spread thick with dust and their pages old and crumbling; thick spell books, the spines heavily worn and their covers almost gone with use; newer writings, some apparently by Jandar himself, their pages open upon the desks; and in one corner, propped open on a large table with thick, ornamented legs, a closed book, with chains about its thick cover.
The chains circled about the book twice, with no visible lock. They were perfectly straight, so much so that Ravorin suspected they were enchanted. The whole book looked evil, and seemed to be drenched in dark power. Ravorin could nearly see Cyprien’s eyes light up when he saw it, and it was obvious that it was this that they had been sent to retrieve.
A deathly white hand snuck out from below Cyprien’s cloak and grasped the cover of the book. With inhuman strength, for the book was quite thick, he lifted it from the table, and turned it over, examining it. No title or other marking was upon the book, and Ravorin wondered what its pages could contain.
Replacing it on the table, Cyprien drew a long dagger from the shadowy air about him, and placed it to one of the chains on the book. Before Ravorin could think what he was doing, Cyprien had severed the chain as easily as he would a dry stick. No effect occurred.
Cyprien placed his knife on the second chain.
“What are you doing?” asked Ravorin, a strange chill beginning to creep up his spine.
Cyprien looked at him, his knife poised above the chain. “If you are ever to rise to greatness, Ravorin, you must take advantage of your opportunities. If you have an opportunity to gain an advantage, you take it, for advantage is everything to us.”
“But,” said Ravorin, “Utgar gave specific instructions to not open the book. He said to bring it directly to him.”
“You must also learn to think for yourself,” said Cyprien sourly, turning back to the book. “If I had always done everything Utgar told me, I would not be in the position that I am in now, and I would definitely not be here. One opportunity leads to a host of others. Open one door, and a whole room of doors meets you.” He began to cut into the last chain.
It took Ravorin only a moment to figure out what Cyprien had implied. “You would use the power of the book for yourself?” he asked.
“It is an opportunity of great power,” said Cyprien. “You might say I have no choice. My entire life has been built on taking opportunities. To pass this one up would be impractical, not to mention highly foolish.”
A blade materialized out of the darkness by Ravorin’s right hand. Cyprien stopped his cutting and looked slowly up at his apprentice. “What are you doing?” he asked.
Ravorin’s head was reeling slightly. Cyprien had taught him many things. Without him, he would never had made it this far. He could see Cyprien’s point about taking opportunities… but betraying Utgar? That was something else entirely. Cyprien was constantly searching for more ways to expand his power, but at what cost? The cost of loyalty? And if he betrayed Utgar, where would the line be drawn? Or would it even exist?
Ravorin took a step forward. “I believe the book should be given to Utgar,” he said.
“I thought I had taught you better, Ravorin,” said Cyprien, turning back to the book. “If he is so foolish as to send me to fetch an item of indescribable power, he will have to suffer the consequences.” Cyprien raised his knife, and brought it down to sever the second chain, but with incredible speed, Ravorin lunged forward and met the blade with his own.
Cyprien whirled on him. “Stand back!” he hissed, though Ravorin knew he would have screamed were they not in Jandar’s citadel. “The book is mine! Utgar sent us to find it, and we shall use it!”
“If you betray him,” said Ravorin, sneaking the book closer to him with his dagger, “there’s no reason you wouldn’t betray me. You have no need for more power.”
“Do not be foolish,” snapped Cyprien, his voice slightly lowered in volume. “You must grasp what power you can when you can, or you will never succeed.”
“I think not,” said Ravorin, making up his mind. “There are many ways to succeed. You are simply so drunk with power that you can only see one.”
Cyprien snatched the book from Ravorin’s grasp and thudded it back down on the table. His eyes riveted on the chain, he raised his knife, and prepared to strike.
Ravorin leapt forward lightly and grabbed the book from the desk, tossing it into the shadowy void inside his cloak.
Cyprien turned on him, his eyes burning. “Give me the book, Ravorin,” he said his voice dangerously low.
There was a time to fight, and a time to flee, and Ravorin knew that now was a time for the latter. Swiping his blade downwards, he shattered a glass window nearby and jumped out, speeding away into the darkness.
Cyprien, sending curses flying after him, withdrew his other long knife from the darkness and leapt after him.
Ravorin flew fast, hoping to lose his master in the darkness. This was nearly impossible, as the night is day to vampires, and there were no clouds.
The two fiends flew high over the castle, chasing each other back and forth, while all the while, Jandar’s citizens and soldiers slept peacefully on, not aware that the battle for their lives was being fought above their heads.
Cyprien struck the first blow. Drawing on reserves of magic granted to him by Utgar’s wellspring, he aimed a shadowy bolt, laced with fire, at Ravorin, and had the pleasure of seeing it hit him.
Ravorin, though hit, was hardly injured, being a vampire. The jolt of the impact knocked him from the sky however, and, disoriented, he glided uncontrollably to the ground just outside the castle walls. As he tried to regain his balance, for his head was dizzy, Cyprien landed a few feet away, and landed a blow on his head which sent him falling to the grass. Then, his blades whirling viciously, Cyprien approached. Ravorin staggered to his feet and grasped his own dagger. He tried to leap from the ground, but it was too late; Cyprien was upon him.
The two vampires dueled across the grass, the sounds of their battle reaching far into Jandar’s capital. Experienced as Cyprien was, he was unable to get past Ravorin’s guard. However, as he had learned in extended periods of combat, he got better the longer the battle lasted. Therefore, he bided his time, knowing that the young assassin who had until very recently been his apprentice stood no chance.
It is likely that Cyprien would have killed Ravorin and taken the book for himself, had the sounds of their dueling not reached the ears of a powerful kyrie, who lay sleeping peacefully. This kyrie’s name happened to be Jandar.
Due to enchantments which only he knew how to weave, the entire situation was related to the Valkyrie in a matter of moments. Then, wearing full armor and carrying his staff of power, Jandar leapt from his balcony into the night, not bothering to take his guards with him.
Ravorin was reaching the limits of his capabilities. He was running out of tricks, most of them invented by himself, and still Cyprien remained unscathed. The only consolation was that Cyprien, too, had been unable to lay a blow on him. Ravorin knew it was only a matter of time, however.
Just when he was beginning to think that Cyprien had the upper hand, a flurry of wings and a bright blue light drew his attention upwards.
Silhouetted in a ring of blue and white was Jandar, Valkyrie, and sworn enemy of Utgar.
A surge of blue energy sparked into life between the two vampires, and flung them both away from each other, making room for Jandar, who landed in a kneeling position, his spear planted firmly on the ground. A blue shockwave emanated from its tip, and the two vampires were knocked back yet again.
Ravorin was the first to get up. Seeing his chance, he leapt into the air, but with surprising speed, Cyprien launched himself at him. In the split second he had before Cyprien collided with him, Ravorin twisted in mid air, and allowed Cyprien to land conveniently on his dagger.
A roar of rage and pain escaped Cyprien’s bloodless lips, and Ravorin felt the white hot sting of his blade in his arm. He ducked under a side blow and sunk his dagger in Cyprien’s leg, with only the result that a knife was plunged in his back. A swift uppercut allowed penetration into Cyprien’s arm, and was quickly followed by a downward blow which temporarily stunned the vampire lord, though not for long. Cyprien soon brought his knife hilt upwards, catching Ravorin under the jaw, and flung him to the ground with force enough to crack several rocks. Ravorin landed with a terrible crunch, sure that many of his bones, if not all, were now broken. These injuries, however, did nothing to the vampires but to hinder them, as their bodies were sustained solely by dark energy.
Ravorin, therefore, leapt back up, and was immediately cast back down as Jandar sent a nimbus of crackling lightning over his head, pulling down Cyprien at the same time. The two fiends crashed into the earth with great force, but both got back up almost immediately. Cyprien shot some form of dark energy at Jandar, which the Valkyrie swatted aside as though it had been a ball of yarn.
Ravorin allowed the two warriors to become preoccupied with each other, and then shot upwards, almost tasting freedom.
Once again, Cyprien collided with him, this time hauling him in with strands of darkness. Ravorin fought, but to no avail: both vampires were flung to the ground by Jandar once again.
“Enough of this!” cried Jandar, striking his staff on the ground. A wave of blue energy shot out from it, encasing the ground in a shimmering blue net. But Jandar was not quite as fast as a vampire. In the time it took the net to reach him, Ravorin sped upwards, and kicked Cyprien, who had launched after him, to the ground, where he was enveloped immediately by the blue strands. He then dodged a bolt of lightning from Jandar, and gained a few feet in altitude. Jandar turned to him, and began casting so many spells that Ravorin could not possibly avoid them all. Three struck him at once, and he was sent to the ground, his entire body temporarily shocked.
While Jandar had been preoccupied with Ravorin, Cyprien has disentangled himself somehow, and was now approaching Jandar, his blades eager for kyrie blood.
Jandar turned at the last moment, and began exchanging blows with Cyprien. Ravorin, seeing his chance, leapt yet again for the skies.
Cyprien looked up as Ravorin sped into the air above him, and that was all that Jandar needed. He caught Cyprien with a swift uppercut, then a downwards blow, and then another uppercut that left Cyprien dazed, but still very dangerous.
Ravorin, seizing his opportunity, as Cyprien had taught him, plummeted towards the ground and struck Cyprien on the back of the head with the hilt of his knife with strength that only a vampire could possess.
The head of the Esenwein family crumpled instantly, and Ravorin dodged a tongue of lighting that shot at him from Jandar. He then sped upwards before the Valkyrie could catch him. Jandar took to the air as well, but Ravorin was far faster, and was soon out of reach of the Valkyrie’s spells. There was nothing Jandar could do. He sunk slowly back to the ground, where the unconscious form of Cyprien lay in the grass, leaving Ravorin to speed through the air to Lord Utgar.

Tornado - 3rd Place

Spoiler Alert!

"Vydar fears us little one. Never forget that fact. The Arch-Kyrie have always been afraid of dragons. Their time will be short and we shall rule again." The words dripped like sizzling syrup from the maw of Braxas.

Soaring amongst the clouds of Valhalla, Braxas casts a dark shadow on the lands below. By her side flies another black dragon, a youngling known as Vexel. On a mission to retrieve the Glaive, an ancient weapon, believed to have been lost on a distant mountain top.

"This is their war. We must merely survive. When the dust settles, it will be below our feet." Vexel listened intently. She was still relatively new to the world. The first from her brood of wyrmlings to reach the stage of youngling, Vexel dreamed of the day she would be an adult dragon. She has seen her mother rain death with her breath, melting heroes as they screamed. Vexel wanted that power for herself but for now it was time to learn from the best.

"We are here. Look for a cave." The pair circle the snow capped peak of a lonely mountain. The sun set is setting swiftly turning billowing clouds a brilliant purple and orange. An opening is spied, a starving thrush stands guard. "Far too small for me to enter. I knew I brought you along for a reason little one. Be quick and retrieve the Glaive befrore....." Her words were cut short as sickly sharp shards of ice slam into her wings. "Go!" Vexel is in the cavern without another thought. It is dark but that is meaningless to a black dragon who dwells underground as well as in the sky. Outside Braxas is fighting for her life.

Acid versus ice amongst the darkening clouds of dusk. Black against white in the coming night. Dragons due battle.

Inside the mountain Vexel discovers a pool of flaming water. Just below the surface glistens the Glaive. without fear Vexel plunges her claw into the flames and draws the weapon from the water. "This is it?", she thinks to herself. She is not impressed but has no time to contemplate. Poking a wary head outside the cave's entrance not a sound can be heard. The thrush has flown the coop and there is no sign of Braxas until it is too late. The dark queen's teeth snap shut on her daughter's neck.

[TGRF]

Challenge 37 - October 4 2012


"Your challenge is to create music. One of the generals armies are marching towards a far city. One of the men begins a tune and soon the whole coulmn of troops begin to sing the song. This song can be made up. Add music with instuments thrown in. It could be anything you can think of. And most of all, make it catchy."

(The first prompt for this challenge was rendered void)

The Grim Reaper's Friend - 1st Place

Spoiler Alert!

To be read at medium speed, with this in the background. It will play automatically.

The Dwarven March

Through the blinding snow,
Through the sinking mud,
To bloody battle we go,
In Valhalla, where battles are fought.

Through the darkness of the night,
Through the heat of the day;
It is for Aquilla that we fight,
In Valhalla, where battles are fought.

At the powerful Valkyrie’s call
Shall her enemies cower,
And our honed axes fall,
In Valhalla, where battles are fought.

By the side of a dragon blue,
And past a score of furry quasatch,
Her enemies will we cleave in two,
In Valhalla, where battles are fought.

And if we finally outnumbered be,
If the day of darkness shall come,
And gone, be the hope of the free,
In Valhalla, where battles are fought,

Then shall our mistress upwards fly,
And perched upon the topmost cloud,
Let loose the victorious battle cry,
In Valhalla, where battles are fought.

Then her enemies will before her flee,
And we shall chase them to the ends of the earth.
And in her halls shall we all bend the knee,
In Valhalla, where battles are fought.

And when Utgar we do mercilessly kill,
And his hordes drive from this scarred land,
Step into her wonderous wellspring we will,
And forever leave Valhalla, where battles are fought.

Son of Arathorn - 2nd Place

Spoiler Alert!

Devil's Dance

Cold be wind with bite of steel,
Sun above, the fiery wheel.
Old be soldier, bent and grey,
As a wolf, in age at bay.

Cold be hand, and heart of stone,
Soldier weaves the devil's prance.
Far from home and chilled to bone,
Soldier weaves the battle dance.

Fortune take us, heaving breath,
Arrow flies, as winged death.
Beating drums call us to war,
Charging forth, the warriors roar.

Cold be hand, and heart of stone,
Soldier weaves the devil's prance.
Far from home and chilled to bone,
Soldier weaves the battle dance.

For wife is gone, and hearth is far,
But blood boils now, to leave a scar.
The shield wall breaks, before the storm,
As blood runs now, a crimson warm.

Cold be hand, and heart of stone,
Soldier weaves the devil's prance.
Far from home and chilled to bone,
Soldier weaves the battle dance.

Light now falls, beyond the west,
On the field no cries are left.
The mud now calls, and takes us in,
In her embrace, we know our sin.

Cold be hand, and heart of stone,
Soldier weaves the devil's prance.
Far from home and chilled to bone,
Soldier weaves the battle dance.

Tornado - 3rd Place

Spoiler Alert!

"Where there's a whip, there's a way."
"We don't want to go to war today, but the man with the lash says nay, nay, nay."
"Where there's a whip, there's a way."

[TGRF]

Challenge 38 - December 26 2012


Jandar’s time is running out. While the women and children escape his doomed capitol, he sends one warrior, perhaps with some backup, to buy him as much time as he can, and halt the enemy’s progression through the east pass, the only way to his capitol. This warrior knows the pain of battle, and knows the repercussions a single death can have. He still fights on though, knowing that with each blow, the lives of the innocents escaping are being saved. As long as he can wield a weapon, the enemy shall not pass.


Son of Arathorn - 1st Place

Spoiler Alert!

Gheald ducked into the roughly hewn stone doorway, coughing in the cloud of dust that had eclipsed the city street. The sun was a mere presence overhead, offering no light, no warmth through the thick, billowing soot. All about him he could hear fire roaring in wooden buildings, people screaming, and the deafening sound of boulders flung from catapults striking stone towers. And there, to his right, the sound of pounding feet clad in iron-shod boots on the pavement. Muttering curses under his breath, he tightened his grip on a silver-wrought hilt, the blade of his father’s father, and turned out of the doorway, into the pockmarked street. From the smoke and dust the sound of boots grew louder, and the shrieking of guttural voices.
Out of the cloud marched a group of blue-skinned savages, four by his mark. He loosed the blade in its scabbard, planted his feet firmly, and squared himself straight ahead. In the second it took for him to draw the blade, the Gruts had already begun to close the gap between them, loosing deafening bellows of bloodlust to echo through the streets of Majunvest. Gheald drew a final breath, and turned on his heel, into the first sword-form.
The blade found the unarmored underside of the first savage’s sword-arm, piercing his side and driving deep into his abdomen. The creature crumpled without so much as a cry, and Gheald withdrew the blade in time to see the second and third bringing blades down towards his neck. He ducked and drove his shoulder forward in a triangle catching the nearest Grut in the stomach. Little good it did, beyond bruising his shoulder against the creature’s armor. Still, he brought the blade home, driving through the neck and into the orc’s brain. Withdrawing it in one smooth motion, he brought it around in a wide arc, neatly decapitating the third orc. The next moment, a great weight flung itself upon his back, driving the air from his lungs and slamming him into the ground. Gasping for breath, Gheald writhed beneath the orc, and rolled away as the butt of its roughly-forged blade crashed against the pavement. No air would go into his lungs, and his muscles ached for oxygen. Still nothing. The orc reared back on bowed legs, and seeing him helpless upon the ground, drove the blade home.
A whistling followed by a sickening sound, a key sliding into a lock, echoed through the street as a black-feathered arrow pierced the eye of the orc. Gheald managed to get a bit of air, just enough to laugh before darkness closed in.

“Gheald! Gheald wake up. That’s it, c’mon, no time, move, move!” Gheald inhaled sharply, feeling the bruised muscles on his back press against his aching lungs in a painful vise. A rail-thin shape of a man was pulling him up from the ground, and through the dust his eyes focused on slanted green eyes, a hooked nose, and thin lips. No beard to speak of, but then, Asil has always laughed at Gheald’s. Drawing deep breaths now, Gheald firmed his feet against the ground, and roughly pushed Asil away.
With no warning, a resounding boom shook the streets, throwing up even more dust and sending Gheald back to his knees, hands clapped over his ears. Asil was the first up, shouting at him, though Gheald could barely hear him over the ringing in his head. As the sound faded, Gheald rasped, “What in the name of Aestel was that?” Asil grinned impishly, and clapped Gheald on the back.
“Well, unless mine ears deceive me, long-legs, that was the Western Gate folding in on itself. Three days they’ve hammered it, not like it’d withstand that for long. I’m surprised meself, thought it’d go sooner.” Gheald groaned inwardly. Five days since those savages had tunneled out from under the mountains, and three since they’d been allowed to reach the gate. No preparations whatsoever were making this the shortest siege he’d ever seen.
“How far are we from High Command?”
Asil shrugged, and replied unconcernedly, “Eh, I’d put us at eight, maybe nine blocks. I think I see that old tavern, what was it, Slighted Beggar? Yeah, that’s it. We’re a bit from ‘em chap, and the orcs are likely between them and us. Why?”
Gheald squared his shoulders and began to trot briskly down the ruined street. “Because we’re making a run for it! Keep low, keep quiet, and for Gods sake, don’t kill anything unless you have to!”
Asil’s shoulders slumped, and his face went into a narrow pout. “Fine long-legs, but when this is over you owe me an ale and a tavern girl!” Hefting his bow, Asil set off after him, and disappeared into the dust.

“My lord?” Flaidor edged into Jandar’s war room, hands nervously wringing behind his back, wings twitching in apprehension. The Archkyrie was standing with his back to Flaidor silhouetted against the dying light of dusk filtering through an arched window. “My lord?” Jandar raised a hand and placed it against the frame of the window; he seemed to be leaning as if under a great weight. Then his voice rose, echoing in the stone chamber.
“How did it come to this, lieutenant?” Flaidor took a tentative step towards the Archkyrie.
“To what, my lord?” Jandar sighed, and turned, crooking a finger at Flaidor. He hurried to the Archkyrie’s side, and followed Jandar’s pointing finger to the scene of chaos in the streets below.
“To this. Five years since Valkrill joined the war. Three since Vydar betrayed us. And now Utgar has marched on Majunvest with no care for our sentinels, for our allies. His rabble have broken through the West Gate. Soon they shall hold the Inner City, and after that, the Citadel shall fall.” It seemed then to Flaidor that Jandar had grown old in a matter of minutes. His face was ashen, his eyes wide, and his voice was a hoarse rasp. “And there is nothing... nothing we can do to stop it.”
Flaidor cleared his throat. This was no time for the general to fold, not now! “My lord, the East Gate still holds strong. And I have confidence that the Inner City can withstand the assault. We can hold Majunvest.” Jandar glanced at him, a worm in the presence of the sun eternal, and chuckled, though the laugh held no humor.
“Hope is a precious resource, lieutenant, but it will not save us now. The Eastern Gate will soon fall; Utgar sends reinforcements. We have not the resources to hold them off, and so we shall be forced to meet them at the Gate, where we will be strained and undermanned; the Gate shall break, and they will flood into Majunvest like locusts.”
Flaidor paled. No army had ever wrested Majunvest completely from the Kyrie of Nastralund. But then, no army had to this time yet tried. And now the Archkyrie may have well surrendered. Given up, for all intents and purposes.
Suddenly, a moving speck in the streets caught his eye. The minuscule form of a man, running from a blue tide that advanced slowly but surely through the streets, block by block. A tide to swallow the world. Flaidor cleared his throat once more. “Sire, there may be rebellion yet.” With that, he turned on his heel and strode from the room, a broken leader at his back.

Gheald crashed against the gate, hammering madly with his fist as he called up to the guard. “Open the gate! Do you hear, you fools? Open the bloody gate!” Asil was still a half of a block back, and running hard. Gheald turned to see a blue-skinned form rise from the lip of a rooftop and nock an arrow. “Asil!” Gheald roared, and pointed to the orc. Asil, still running, aimed, and loosed a shaft at the orc. It’s strangled cry was drowned in the insane noise pounding through the city, and it toppled over the building’s edge to strike the pavement below. Gheald turned back to the door as Asil stumbled the last few steps to stand at his side. “Open this gods-forsaken gate you fools!”
Asil turned, and stared into the space behind Gheald, down the street they had just sprinted down. Gheal turned, and beheld a blue-skinned hoard marching towards them, brandishing swords, rattling spears, and howling amidst the roars of savage mounts. And still the gate was to their backs.
“Will you open this bloody-”
“Move!” Gheald felt Asil’s slight frame crash into him, and drag him down to the rough ground. Once more, the air was driven from his lungs, though that concerned him little as a deafening boom erupted from the air where he had been standing. Scrambling out from under Asil, Gheald knuckled his eyes, and stared at the empty space where the door had been. All that remained now were splinters and the hinges. And still the soldiers advanced.
“Come on, Asil!” Gheald choked out a muffled shout through what seemed like clouds of dust in his lungs. Asil outstripped him easily as they careened through the gate, past the still-smoking boulder that had nearly pulverized them, and into the Inner City.

“Inside, get them inside!” The cry from the wall down to the gate rang high in the low, distant booms and guttural screams of men and orcs. Gheald lurched past the gate guards, clutching at his side. Damned wound, flaming orcs, gods-forsaken Valkyrie and their idiotic fight! Ah, there ahead from the mass of Sentinels sprouted a familiar face. Flaidor. But he was not looking at Gheald; rather, he was screaming over his head at the city guards. “Yes, they’re inside, now get that flaming gate closed! Nobody gets in or out, not without my word, or I’ll have your bloody hides!” Now he turned to Gheald, clapping a hand to each of his shoulders; Gheald winced at the pressure on his side, but returned the embrace. Flaidor released him, and spoke again, “The front lines get too hot for you, Captain?”
Gheald growled back, “The front lines aren’t where I was sent Flaidor; in fact, it’d seem they’re on your bloody doorstep! How did this happen!?!” Flaidor bowed his head.
“From what we know, the orcs tunneled out of the Underdark, and they sprang out from under the Western Range. Not quite our doorstep, Gheald, but close enough we couldn’t put anything between them and us other than city guards. Blame fools, everyone. Now it seems that the East Gate will fold once Utgar’s reinforcements arrive. We can’t hold it. The women and children are all out of the Outer Circle, but the Inner City still needs to be evacuated. Half these pips are too young or too weak to fly out on their own, and besides, we’ve gotten reports of Minions roosting in the mountains; they wouldn’t get far. So it’s into the tunnels. We need time to smuggle them north and bring this whole place down on the orcs heads.”
“Why bring it down?” Flaidor cocked an eyebrow at him.
“It’s that or we let them have the city whole. Why let them use it? We’ll never get it back, not after this. We’ve got our own sappers mining the city walls and every major block they can think of.”
Gheald gaped. “You’ve got men excavating tunnels to bring this mess down when they could be defending it? Are you off your head!”
Flaidor grimaced. “They aren’t mining, not exactly. Work’s being done in the sewers, which’ll make the fires twice as effective, I suppose. All I know is, the tunnels are already there, they just have to blow the supports.” Gheald’s eyes widened, if only just. Brilliant, if ruddy disgusting work.
“Anything else I ought to know?” Flaidor nodded somberly.
“Yes. You’re leaving, Gheald. You’re not much help here, not on the siege, no matter how bloody good you are with that sword.” Flaidor eyed Gheald’s family blade with only a hint of disgust; the Kyrie of Majunvest dealt exclusively in hammers, and were too damned proud of it.
Gheald’s jaw dropped slightly. “Leaving! Where? More importantly, why in the flaming circles of hell?”
Flaidor rolled his shoulders anxiously. “Remember how I said we can’t hold the East Gate? That’s if Utgar’s reinforcements reach it; we’ll be at too much of a disadvantage. But if the reinforcements never reach the Gate, we can hold the Inner City long enough to evacuate. I need you at the Eastern Pass.” Gheald opened his mouth in protest, but Flaidor cut across him, “Not alone, you flamin’ idjit. Take some of the men with you.” Gheald tossed his hands above his head in exasperation.
“How many can you spare?” Flaidor rolled his eyes upward as though tallying numbers in his head, though Gheald was a blue-skin if Flaidor didn’t already know it to the man.
“Twenty, at the most.” Gheald scoffed.
“You are crazy, Flaidor,” he waved his hands about his head to demonstrate, “blind out of your mind.” Flaidor raised his arm, and knuckled his forehead in worry.
“Too many men, and the orcs’ll divert their forces to intercept you before you can make the mountains.” Gheald turned on him, and roared back.
“That’s approaching bloody suicide!”
Flaidor growled like a wolf cornered. “It’s already suicide, Gheald. Staying here is also suicide. But in both cases, we need to make it last.” Gheald scowled at him, and clenched his gloved hands in fists tight enough to pop his knuckles.
“Twenty-five, and I get my pick of the men.”
“Done. Now get out of my sight before I decide to send you out there alone, tied up in a sack for fodder.” Flaidor turned on his heel, and disappeared back into the crowd of milling kyrie.

Gheald trotted across the courtyard, dodging plate-armored kyrie as he went. The sun was already low in the sky, and no time was left to be wasted. He already knew which men he was after; three years in Jandar’s armies had acquainted him with enough men to know which were reliable and which were fools. Asil was sliding through the crowd now, whispering summons and beckoning fingers to direct them all to the armory, where Gheald was headed right now. In a moment, he had reached the double wooden doors guarded by two Sentinels. A nod from each, and he’d slipped through.
Torchlight on the racks of weapons and armor created crisscrossing shadows coupled with the gleaming light of flames on polished steel which had something of a disorienting affect at first. Knuckling his eyes and shaking his head, Gheald strode to the far right corner of the room, and began mulling over the armor. Much of it was new, relatively speaking. Kyrie and humans were nowhere near close in terms of height or girth, so new armor had been made for the war as what the recruits had brought with them had been replaced over months of campaigns. Gheald moved up and down, considering his choice carefully. He’d been through the Eastern Pass once, on his way into Majunvest last year. The terrain was a mess, shattered plates of blackened rock and loos gravel ridden with blinding dust. No place for a man that couldn’t keep his balance. No place for horses for that matter, either. So heavy armor was out, or at least a complete set.
A ripple of light caught his eye as he moved past a rack of breastplates. Backpedaling slowly, he ran his fingers across an oddly forged piece. A breastplate, of sorts, with scaled pieces of steel lining the leather straps. It covered the upper chest easily, though faltered into stiff leather as it moved down the abdomen. On the same rack a left-arm pauldron of the same steel segments on stiff leather hung to the right of the piece. Perhaps most odd of the piece was the design worked into the breastplate. Wrought of brass, or perhaps bronze, the emblem of a wolf’s head with the eyes lacquered black was centered on the piece. Gheald’s hand stopped atop the emblem, tracing the lines of fur into the eyes. He lifted it from the rack. Curious, it was light despite its make. He let it fall a few inches in his hands, running his fingers along the segments. Quiet as well as light. Truly of masterful make. Gheald loosed the straps and began to fit himself into the armor.

Not long after, the men were lined up in the armory under torchlight. Each one was armored lightly, as was Gheald in the wolf’s-head breastplate, matching pauldron, and a light leather tunic. Asil stood at the end of the line, armored little in only a mail shirt and stiffened leather vambraces. The men were armed according to Gheald’s instructions, each carrying a cased, unstrung longbow with a full quiver at their belts, and their choice of melee weapons. Gheald himself kept his family’s silver-hilt sword at his side, a hunting knife strapped to his right boot, and a quiver belted on; his bow was with Farstride in the stables, along with his cloak.
After inspecting each of them in turn, Gheald dismissed them to the stables, following moments later. The sun was a brilliantly red ball of fire on the Western Pass, but offered no warmth as he disappeared from the courtyard and made for the horses.

In the stables, Gheald and each other man donned a grey-green cloak, lest the dying light reflect off of their armor and alert the enemy as they crossed the Erith Plain. Farstride stood saddled by the grooms, dancing in his stable; the horse was as anxious to be off as Gheald felt to stay. Mounting up, he led the procession out into the night, past the skeleton crew guarding the South Gate of Majunvest, and out onto the Erith Plain, the mountains but a lesser shadow in the East, rearing from the plain in a dark wave, frozen in time before it could crash to the ground below.

It was deep in the night before Gheald called for a halt. By his reckoning, they had crossed more than half the distance between Majunvest and the beginning slopes of the mountains. Hundreds of fires glowed in the west, casting an eerily malevolent aura about the remnants of the orc army encamped outside the West Gate; the rest were inside, where continuous plumes of smoke rose from the city like wraiths in the night, haunting a forsaken necropolis. It was a near starless night, as rolling clouds had tumbled over the mountains to eclipse most of the constellations. But a gap had broken, allowing moonlight to strike the plain in pale, quivering streams.
The horses were hobbled in a shallow gully, and the men camped further up the ravine, huddled beneath an overhanging rock. Reluctantly, Gheald had allowed a single fire. Some of the men were complaining of hunger, of the harsh northern cold. Gheald payed them no mind as he ordered Asil to take the first watch, and headed off to his own bedroll.

The narrow, stone-paved streets were slick with rain that streamed off of the roofs of the derelict shacks that lined the alleyways. It was a grey day, and most were inside. Gheald huddled under the lip of a building, shaking with cold and trying to avoid the rivulets of water that bombarded any unfortunate enough to pass beneath. He missed the fire, his bed, his mother. He’d counted every day since the brigands came. Since the fire, since his mother had left. Sixty-two. Bread was becoming scarce, and those that had once called his mother friend had seemed to have retreated into their homes without a thought for the orphaned, scrawny, filthy child alone in the rain.
Above the sound of pattering drops on the stones, Gheald heard children laughing. His friends avoided him just like the grown-ups these days. Except Neila. But she wasn’t allows out often, and the laughs echoing up the alley were enticing, bread to the soul. He edged along the wall of the building, gingerly stepping over puddles lest his ragged shoes soak through and his feet freeze solid tonight. Finally, feet still dry, though his head soaked still, he rounded the corner and saw the children.
Six of them stood in a rough circle under an awning, looking at something huddled in rage against the wall, laughing at it. Half of them stooped now and again to pick up stones and thrown them at the huddle. A dog barked, snarled at them. Something in Gheald’s mind sparked; his dog had been gone a long time, as long as his mother. “Hey!” The children turned, and seeing a street urchin in rags, stooped for more stones. Gheald drew one from his pocket, one of his collection of dark, rounded pebbles, and deftly winged it at the nearest boy. It caught him in the stomach, and though Gheald has not thrown hard, the boy doubled over, crying out. The other children eyed him warily, and as another boy wound back his arm to throw, Gheald flicked his arm. The stone took him in the cheek, and he fell to the ground, crying; the others took off down the street, wailing. The two on the ground followed after with anguished looks at him, as though he were a monster.
Gheald moved towards the bundle of rags cautiously, stopping to pick up his fallen stones as he did. The dog growled, but a hand shot from the bundle and caught the animal behind the head, and it ceased its noise. Gheald inched closer. “Hello?”
The bundle shifted, and a piece of cloth fell away to reveal the bruised face of a man, a scraggly grey beard hugging his sallow face. Yellow patches mingled with the black and blue splotches beneath his milky eyes. Gheald moved a bit closer to the blind man, and the dog met him, licking at his hand. The ragged man spoke in a hoarse whisper, “Who is tha? Who’s there? Fang?” Hearing its name, the dog returned to his master, and licked his face.
Gheald swallowed his fear and replied in a meek voice. “My name is Gheald.”
The blind man nodded slowly. “Your family name, boy? Or ye don’t have one?”
Gheald shook his head, then felt foolish, the man couldn’t see. “My father’s family name was Branding.” Again the man nodded, his mouth twisting into an awkward shape that might have been a smile.
“I remember ‘im boy. A kind man, ‘e was. I remember ‘im strong, boy.” The old man fixed his blinded eyes on Gheald and arranged his face somberly. Gheald squirmed, never mind that the man was blind. “Are you strong, boy?” Gheald shrugged, and once agains felt foolish.
“I think so. I can throw a stone far, and Da was teaching me in the forge before... before the brigands came.” The man shook his head, and waved a hand as if to dispel flies.
“Nay, nay, nah your arm. I know yer Da had a strong arm. Pair of us, we were soldiers, in another time, seems. Nay, I’m speaking of yer heart, yer head. Ye need to work those before ye can work yer arm.” Gheald was puzzled, and slightly unnerved by the old man. He reached out to scratch the dog, which was more than happy to oblige.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
The old man chuckled slightly, then coughed loudly into his arm for a few moments. “Le’ me tell ye a story boy. Of yer Da. He ever speak to ye of me, of Norid?” An almost hopeful tone had entered his voice, and it pained Gheald some to tell him no. Still, Norid waved it away. “Ah, no matter. Years and years ago, boy, before ye was a twinkle in his eye, we was out in a far off land. Nowhere we’d been before, nor will be ‘gain, it seems. We was at war, we were. Fighting some men, fools as we were and they, and burn me if I can flamin’ remember why.” The man paused, and closed his eyes, releasing a breath through his nose. Gheald spoke hesitantly.
“Why don’t you remember? Why would you fight for no reason?” The man’s head jerked up, and he pointed a crooked finger at Gheald.
“Nah for no reason, boy, just a fool reason. We were fools, yes, but nah brainless! Boy, ye’ll understan’, later perhaps, tha’ some reasons for fightin’ are bad, most are foolish, but a few are good. Tha’ aside, we was runnin’ on the field, ‘n came upon some fool scared boys. Barely growin’ beards they were, and didn’t know one end o’ their blades from t’ other. I moved to cut ‘em down, the daft pair of ‘em. D’ye know what happen’ next boy?” Gheald caught himself before he could shake his head, and answered no. The old man continued, “He stopped me. Your Da stopped me killin’ two boys tha’ had no place in tha’ field. And tha’ night, roun’ the fire, I asked ‘im why. An’ he answered me, soundin’ a blame fool then, that every life was precious. An’ every time we took a life, we was killin’ a bit o’ ourselves.” Norid went silent for a moment, scratching at Fang’s ears, and dropping his head to his chest. Gheald stared at him. His Da had never mentioned being a soldier. He’d never forged a blade either, in the workshop, not so much as a sickle for harvest. Gheald cleared his throat.
“What sort of soldier was my Da?” Norid picked up his head again.
“‘E was a swordsman, your Da. So was I, now I think of it. Some called us masters, but they were fools. Fools your Da called ‘em. ‘E called ‘em fools b’cause he said tha’ no man tha’ was master of ‘is craft would use it fer killin’. Strong man, your Da.” Gheald shook, and not just from the cold. His Da had said that once before, when soldiers had marched through town, and Gheald had wanted to watch them pass. His Da had ignored them, and scolded Gheald for saying that he wanted to be a soldier. Gheald felt the taste of salt in his mouth, and realized he was crying silently. Fang licked at his hand again, and Gheald bent to hold the dog close. The furred body was warm in the driving rain. Gheald felt Norid’s arm close around him and hug Gheald to himself and Fang in the cold.
Gheald fell asleep there, that night, in the driving rain with the old man and his dog. When he awoke, Norid was cold, and Fang was howling at the rising sun.

Gheald awoke to mutters in the dark, and the howls of wolves in the distance. By the sound, most of the men were asleep by now, and the wolves were far off, likely harrying the larger force of orcs. He glanced up to see a figure striding about the camp, taller and broader than Asil by far, barely illuminated by the dying embers of the single fire. Asil was asleep, then, which meant it must be late, or rather, early.
Gheald jerked his head to the right. A hearty smell had pricked at his nostrils, and sent his heart racing. As he rose from the bedroll, new howls arose, closer than the wolves. He strode purposefully to the two men huddled at the fire. As he’d suspected, the pair were roasting meat over the embers, the fools, the flaming fools! He knelt at the fire’s edge, catching the eyes of the pair, and pressed a finger to his lips. Gheald shuffled his boot to douse the fire in dirt, and seizing the spit that held the meat, rubbed it in the dirt. The pair’s eyes widened, their mouths moving viciously in outrage that they only hissed at him in the dark. Maybe not too late, maybe. He fixed his face in a scowl, and glared at them both, silencing any protests. “Fools, both of you. You think wolves are the worst that’s out there? Have weeks in the city made you go soft in the head? If we’re lucky, if that, then they haven’t caught the scent you idiots let waft over this whole damned ravine, over the plain. You know as well as I that those mounts of theirs have noses like dogs; if men weren’t in short supply, I’d truss you up and leave you for the carrion crows, so help me-” Those howls were closer. Not howls, but barks, rasping barks and snarls echoing down the ravine. Gheald drew in a breath sharply, then quickly gestured to the pair to wake the others. As he rushed to wake Asil, he swore under his breath. “Too late, too late. Hellfire!” A shake of Asil’s shoulder and a hand over his mouth kept him quiet. Most of the men were up by now, if not completely awake. And those damned barks kept getting closer. Gheald directed Asil towards the lip of the ravine, and the men followed his direction. Twenty-six men clawed their way up the ravine, ignoring the spiny grasses and razor-brush that slit their hands with minuscule cuts. The sound of pounding feet echoed through the ravine as the men pulled themselves over the lip of the gully and tucked themselves against the short rise that passed for cover before the drop.
The orc patrol entered the camp as a rabble, the reptilian mounts barking and shrieking with a high-pitched intensity that smacked of a predator closing on prey, checked only just by their masters. The largest mount was at least twenty spans high, and its rider was garbed in animal hides that still reeked of death from the bottom of the ravine. He was tall, though not broad, with a lithe form and, from what Gheald could spot over the lip of the ravine, wearing a perpetual sneer. He led nine more orcs on mounts, though none so large as is; each sported knife-like teeth and hooked claws, their eyes glowing yellow in the night. Moonlight gleamed off those eyes, highlighting the slit pupils that seemed like something out of a nightmare. Each rider wielded a lance, of sorts, with the point replaced by a wickedly sharp blade, whittled of stone and trimmed with hanging withered scalps. The mounts buried their noses in the dirt where Gheald had thrown the meat, then set to tearing apart their bedrolls. The leader paced his mount about the camp, though the animal seemed to be tugging at the downward slope of the ravine, its nostrils flaring at the smell of the hobbled horses further down from the camp.
Gheald heard the creak of a bowstring being drawn back, and noticed Asil at his side preparing his shot. The other men had done the same. Gheald cursed himself in his mind for leaving his bow cased with the animals, with only his sword at his side. Asil turned to him, and cocked an eyebrow. Gheald grimaced, and loosing his sword in the scabbard, nodded. Asil drew a breath, and in one smooth motion, stood on the lip and loosed his arrow.
It caught one of the beasts in the throat, and it collapsed with barely a cry, trapping its rider beneath its own dead weight. A flurry of arrows rained down upon the patrol, catching scouts in their throats and bringing their animals down. With the first volley, nearly every scout was on the ground, dead or dying. As the men prepared for a second, one of the men on the opposite side of the ravine pointed and cried out. Gheald followed his direction, and saw the fleeing form of the leader’s mount running back up the ravine the way the patrol had come, streams of blood gleaming at its haunches in the moonlight. Gheald shouted, pointing after the creature. Asil nocked a second arrow, and loosed. It caught the orc in the shoulder, and though his cry echoed in the ravine, the animal’s footsteps kept on. Gheald cursed again, and launched himself up from where he crouched at the lip, running with all speed after the creature. He stayed at the lip, not daring to put himself on equal ground with that creature.
He could hear the creature tramping over loose rocks; he only kept pace with it because the ravine sloped upwards sharply. Soon it would level, and the beast would outdistance him, and more importantly, so would its rider, bringing reinforcements down on their heads. Gheald spotted a spot where the ravine narrowed ahead, the lips closing to a gap of perhaps seven spans, and beyond that, a sharp turn to the left. The narrowed spot was coming up fast, and with another curse, Gheald lengthened is stride, and leaped to gap. His boots caught the lip, and barely catching at the loose dirt, continued to carry him after the leader. He was at an angle now to its path, and with luck, the time it was taking to turn the corner would let him close the distance between them.
Luck, it would seem, was with him, as the sound of tramping feet below grew closer, and still running, Gheald drew his sword and launched himself off the lip of the ravine. His arc carried him exactly as he’d intended, colliding with the rider and burying the sword in his chest to the hilt. The creature shrieked in surprise, and likely the pain of a man slamming into its side. The rider’s falling weight, combined with Gheald’s impact, carried the trio to the ground. Gheald felt himself slide off the mount’s form and crash against a stone. He tasted blood in his mouth as he staggered to his feet. On the other side of the ravine, the mount was doing the same, his rider’s corpse not far from Gheald. With a menacing growl, the creature was on its feet, yellow eyes fixed on Gheald in hungering rage. Gheald’s hand went to the scabbard at his belt, and found nothing. He looked wildly about the ravine, and noticed moonlight gleaming on the silver hilt of his sword, still planted in the chest of the mount’s dead rider. The mount was even closer than he to the sword, and besides that, it looked ready to charge, rivulets of saliva dripping from an open maw, pale blade gleaming in its mouth. Gheald readied himself for a run, and wondered whether Lady Death was near. He’d miss Asil, surely, though little else. Certainly not the killing.
Before it could take a step, the mount crashed to the ground in a twitching heap, the earth shaking beneath its massive body. An arrow protruded from the back of its elongated skull, and the lanky silhouette of Asil stood perched on the lip of the ravine, the moon at his back and a grin on his face. Gheald swore once, loud as he could manage, and began the short walk back to the camp. The sun would be up soon, and he intended them to be at the mountains by then.

The sun rose hesitantly over Majunvest, inching over the Eastern Pass as though reluctant to illuminate the ruin below. Smoke still rose in columns from the Outer City, and from horseback, the orcs camped outside the Western Gate were a mass of milling ants, gathered to devour all that stood in their path. So it seemed to Gheald as Farstride picked his way carefully up the seventh switchback. Gheald headed the pack that was strewn from the seventh to the fifth, climbing the winding slope that hugged the mountainside, wincing against the glaring orb that had just barely begun to edge over the Eastern Pass. In the west, booms began to echo across the mountain valley where Majunvest was cradled, the sound of immense boulders crashing against the ruined husk of a city.
Gheald sighed, and blinked the sleep from his eyes. It was a long way to the pass, and the sounds of siege wasn’t going to make it any easier.

By the time they had reached the beginnings of the Eastern Pass, most of the men had begun to hug at their cloaks, Gheald one of them. Freezing winds rode the crags down in waves, whispering into every crevice and snuffing out every bit of warmth. It seemed to Gheald an ill wind, Lady Death’s voice calling them up to the heights. A final whisper luring them to up and into her arms.
Gheald turned to the sound of his name. Asil was riding to the forefront of the column, gesturing to the rocks ahead. A goat path, or something similar, parted from the main road, climbing an even steeper slope into the rocks. Gheald nodded, and Asil spurred his dun forward, trotting up the path. Gheald turned Farstride in a tight circle, pointed his men down the main road, and whistled piercingly above the winds. Their pace quickened, the horses ascended the last road at a brisk run, and the winds howled down the mountainside towards Majunvest.

Gheald crouched behind a standing stone jutting from a rare level spot on one of the rock walls that fenced in the Eastern Pass. As he peered down the mountainside, he adjusted his cloak to cover the wolf’s head breastplate. The sun was a good ways overhead now, and sunlight gleaming off the metal would be worse than a bonfire up here. At least the orcs would think smoke came from the city.
Asil leaned against the standing stone, eyes closed and humming a melancholy tune. Most of the men were seated on the level area, with the horses hobbled further down the goat path. A short crest of rock kept them from being totally exposed to the pass, but a standing man could easily seen from the Migol’s Gate, the far entrance to the pass.
Gheald spoke softly to Asil, “Well?”
Asil opened one eye, a wry grin spreading across his face. “Dhorom will be back soon. Then we’ll know where they are. Flaidor say when these beasties would be jumping the pass?”
Gheald shook his head. “Not quite. Though from his mood, and how fast he wanted us up here, I’d say a day or two from when we left. At the most.” Gheald plucked at the fringe of his coat nervously. Hours, and the fool man wasn’t back yet!
Asil’s grin seemed to reach his ears now. “He’ll be back soon, boss. What d’ye suggest we do when the blue-skins arrive?” Gheald scowled. He hated making plans for battle, however good he was at them. It felt like orchestrating death without a thought for the repercussions. Norid had told him true words that night, and he’d remembered them ever since. Take no life, save in defense of one’s own, or in defense of another. Indirectly, this was in defense of others, and once he was out there, himself, but the planning of it all made him feel a bloody butcher.
“Well, we hold the goat path, and odds are good they know nothing of it. This spot’ll be a nice place to stash our archers,” Gheald now pointed a finger back the way they’d come, on the floor of the pass before the goat path, “and we can use that nook as a spot to stash riders. So while they’re coming up the pass, we keep some up here, some in the nook on horseback, and the rest on the fringes of the main road. When they come in first, the men up here can bring down their own archers, create a panic. Then the cavalry can charge, harry the foremost troops, then retreat back up the pass, draw ‘em out. They’ll charge headlong after them, and once that’s done, the men spring out from their places, and engage. Caught off guard, they’ll likely retreat, and try again soon after.”
Asil nodded, a satisfied look on his face now. “Impressive, boss. Where’ll you be in this bloodbath?” Gheald winced at the word.
“I’ll stay up in here with the archers. Come to think of it, so should you. This is my plan, I’ll keep a watch on it, and you’re the best shot in this damned party.” Asil’s second nod was slower. He rose onto his knees, and joined Gheald at the crest, squinting his eyes against the wind.
“Say boss, isn’t that Dhomon coming up?” Asil pointed, and Gheald followed his direction.
“Good eye, friend. What he’s doing coming up the main path I’ve got no clue, the ruddy idjit was supposed to use the goat path!” Gheald clambered roughly over the crest, and trying to find some semblance of a grip with his boots, slid down a slope of powdered rock and loose gravel. Despite the slope, he hit the main path with some grace intact, and was soon rushing up the main road to Dhomon. The sound of a second pair of boots hitting the path told him Asil was close behind.
Gheald reached the man in a matter of moments, and caught him by the shoulders, for the man was ready to double up, heaving his breath and clutching at his chest. Dhomon cast an arm around Gheald’s shoulders, and Gheald, not expecting it, nearly fell over under his weight. The man must’ve run the rest of the way up here. Gheald pulled him back up, and as Dhomon straightened his back, Asil reached them. Gheald gripped him by the shoulders and looked him in the eye, growling “What is it, man? What is it?” Dhomon heaved another breath, and spoke.
“They’re coming, lord. They’re close. Must be halfway up the mountainside by now, and marching hard. I had to haul it up here to outrun ‘em. They’ll be here, soon. Marching at that pace, by the time the sun sets on this flaming pass. At best, by nightfall.” Dhomon doubled up again, wheezing.
Gheald tightened his fingers into a fist, cursing none-too quietly. No time to sit about then. The enemy near upon them, and nothing ready, not a single gods-forsaken thing! He turned again to Dhomon, whispering intently to keep from shouting, “Was there anything else, man! Anything at all? Something unusual?” Dhomon shook his head slowly, and then hesitated.
“No, m’lord. Just your usual army, from the looks of it, a division by the looks of it. Massive, to be sure, maybe a whole tribe of those things, as I understand it.” Still he hesitated. Gheald ground his teeth, surrounded by bloody fools! Dhomon caught his eye, and spoke again. “Though I felt a mite chilled when I saw ‘em, sire. As though warmth had all but gone from me. And I felt fear, such as I’ve never before. Though I reckon those are normal, for a man on a high place looking at an army like that.”
Gheald nodded slowly, not looking at the man. Instead, his eyes were on Majunvest, barely visible in the far west, obscured somewhat by vapors and clouds, but still there. Women and children fleeing underground now, if Flaidor was doing his job, and the the Inner City still held against the tide. Lives were at risk now, and not just his own. He couldn’t afford to be sidetracked by some fool’s feelings of uneasiness in the face of death. Death was necessary now, to save life.
Gheald turned to Asil, and ordered he and Dhomon back into the archer’s nest, and giving them instructions for setting the plan in motion. The sun was already descending in the west, past its peak. He felt much the same. His slope was into darkness now, and there was no turning back. No sunrise.

The setting of the sun, it seemed to Gheald, came all too quickly, and yet not quick enough. His nerves were on edge, as they always were before battle. Twenty-six lives guaranteed to the enemy, when he counted his own, and how many of theirs were to fall in the Eastern Pass before he was overrun? No matter. Asil had been sent back down to Migol’s Gate, the last warning before they were to meet the enemy. The cavalrymen, all eight, were huddled in with their horses in the nook, ready to charge at the signal, while the archers huddled above with Gheald, awaiting Asil’s arrival to bring their total in the nest to five. The last thirteen were nestled amongst the rocks lining the pass exactly halfway between Migol’s Gate and the Majunvest, slightly above the crest of the Eastern Pass.
The darkness was not absolute, not by a long shot. Though it was no longer visible behind the crest of the Eastern Pass, it would still be visible from Majunvest, and from there it cast purple streaks of light upon the darkening clouds above, creating an otherworldly sky, a mingling of dying light and growing shadow upon the Eastern Pass.
There, the soft scraping of boots behind. Asil knelt beside him, having come back up the goat path and into the level area. Every one of them was huddled around the standing stone, minimizing exposure as much as they could. Gheald turned and whispered, not daring to risk an echo, “How close?” Asil nodded towards Migol’s Gate.
“Just passing the gate boss.” He cast a glance at the alien sky. “Nice night for it, eh?” Gheald nodded slowly, nocking an arrow at the bowstring. The others followed his example, and beyond that stuck three arrows each in the thin layer of dirt and rock dust that had managed to form up here. Blunt-headed arrows, good for bringing them down in one shot before the savages could loose their own barbed arrows, which was the whole point of the volley.
Almost immediately after Asil had reached them, the sound of marching boots began to echo up the pass, mingled with the voices of an army and the noise of animals. Not bothering to hide their advance. Either they were fools, thinking no enemy would hide in such a perfect place for ambush as this, or they did not care if they lost soldiers. No matter. Gheald edged his face just over the crest, the men following his lead. He motioned to them, and mouthed a single word. Choose. Each man’s eyes sought the crowd, picking out orcs carrying bows with quivers at their belts of on their backs. All of them nodded at Gheald, who drew a breath, and pulling back the bowstring, loosed a shaft into the horde. The men rose as one, aimed, and fired. A pod of orcs in the crowd fell, and shrieks, shouts, snarls began to echo up the canyon. Nevertheless, they pressed forward, looking about wildly to see where the shots were issuing from. Gheald rolled his eyes as he nocked another arrow. Their commander must be a fool to keep pressing after a volley, however small, in this place. Gheald rose and loosed again, the men following his lead as one. A second group fell, and as the men began to draw for their third volley, Gheald turned towards Majunvest, drew back the bowstring, and fired.

Fjorin peered out of the nook nervously, peering up the pass. He could hear the noise of an army, the chittering, guttural tongue of the orcs, and not a minute yet passed since they had begun to shout. Still not signal. When was he bloody going to quit the volley and let them- with a thunderbolt crack, an arrow nearly hooked his nose, and struck the rock behind them, the shaft splintering. Fjorin scrambled towards the spot where it had struck, and crawling in the dust, snatched up the end of the shaft. A black fletching of raven’s feathers ended the arrow. Fjorin turned to the other men, and nodded.
They climbed into the saddle, and spurring with shouts and cries to echo down the canyon, burst from the nook like an arrow from bow. Hoofbeats rang on the rocks, and the echo pounded in his ears as the high rocks all about cast their cries back down upon them, creating a tempest of sound to bring the attention of any orc ahead. Spears rested in their hands, and swords loose in their belts ready for drawing. The last rays of the sun sun was at their backs as they crested the pass, and all the better for it, for it would blind the orcs before they crashed into their line. Disoriented by the arrows and blinding sun, the orcs would fall back in panic, he was sure of it.
And their ahead in the darkness was the rabble itself, the savages with swords ringing on shields, arrows still pouring from the archer’s nest where the stone stood proud. Fjorin lightly tossed his spear upwards in his hand, and caught it again, poised for throwing now. He’d be lucky for a hit in this light, but still, that mount at the forefront was big.
They were nearly upon them when the orc on Fjorin’s target turned to the men in front and shrieked something in their guttural tongue. In the waning light, however bad it was, Fjorin could see the orcs kneeling and leveling pikes through the front line of warriors. Fjorin paled. They had been ready. No, impossible. But too late now, too late to stop and flee, they were seconds from hitting the line. They had no time left. Fjorin offered a silent prayer to whatever deity would listen, threw his spear, and drawing his sword, struck the line of orcs.

Gheald stared in shock at the mess below. Fjorin had led them charging straight into a briar patch of pikes, and horses were speared, screaming and dying on the ground. Three riders still were up, and the warhorses were kicking, biting at anything they could while their riders swung with blades that gleamed in the rising moonlight in the west that now seemed to eclipse the sun. Somehow, impossibly, Fjorin was one of the three, the white crest of his helm waving in the night air, and his spear had struck home. By their blades and spears, three mounts were down already, and the front line of orcs was a bloody mess. But that aside, the orcs had been ready for the charge, had kept advancing despite the volleys. Something was not right here.
His suspicion was confirmed when he turned to the sound of snarling animals and a screaming man in the archer’s nest. At the other side of the standing stone, one of the men was caught in the jaws of an orc mount that had just moved out from the goat path. The flaming goat path, which from the sound of it was now crowded with orcs that had crept away from the main group and had come to strike them here. The mount’s rider’s face was steel as he hefted a short bow of horn, and leveled it with arrow poised to fire at Gheald’s chest. Nothing for it anymore. The plan was coming down around their heads, and there was no time for anything.
Gheald rolled against the crest to the right, and heard the deafening noise of the arrow striking solid rock. Asil was on his feet, fending off another mount with a long, slender knife. Gheald roared above the din in that confined space, where they could not fight with swords or bows, shouting at Asil and gesturing over the crest, down at the bedlam below. Asil nodded, and ran the few steps to the crest. One other man made it over with them, but lost his footing on the way down, and disappeared into the writhing mass of orcs headfirst as Gheald and Asil skidded down the path. Gheald ducked a sword aimed at his head, and drove his shoulder into the nearest orc. Now with a foot of space about him and Asil, Gheald drew his sword. It was not out for more than a second before Gheald nearly fell over as a towering blur rushed past him, snarling. A flash of teeth, and then it was gone, back into the crowd, and Asil with it.
Gheald’s heart clenched into a fist, his blood boiled, and he swung the silver-hilt sword in an arc of pure destruction, rending limb and drawing blood all about him. Strike after strike he blocked, and life after life he snuffed out. Was there a point, anymore? They had likely failed in their task to stall the enemy, and all that was left was him in the middle of an army, sword in hand and death approaching, no matter how many he brought down. Gheald’s arms began to feel leaden, and instead of parrying the blows, they began to fall glancing on the breastplate, on the pauldron, or catch him in the abdomen, barely blocked by the leather jerkin that enclosed him. He was tiring, and the end was close.
So it seemed when a horse whinnied to his left, and a hand reached out of the darkness to snatch him up and behind the saddle. The rider tensed his knees, and the horse charged forward, never mind the extra weight of Gheald. Orcs fell beneath the driving hooves, and the rider’s sword was out along with Gheald’s, who was clinging desperately to him. Both swung downwards, catching them at the neck and felling them like trees.
And within moments, they were out of the fray, joining two other riders, one with a second man also riding behind him. Without a word, they pounded up the pass, away from the chaos of a ruined plan. They did not go far, though. Back in the nook they drew up, and Gheald dismounted hurriedly, rushed to where Farstride stood ready, and remounted, his sword tight in his hand, and eyes a storm to frighten the deadliest foe. The men looked at him expectantly, and he kneed Farstride out into the pass. The sound of iron-shod boots was approaching fast, and worse yet the howling of the mounts preceded them. Gheald turned back to the Majunvest Gate, and bellowed up the pass, hoping that the men there amongst the rocks would hear him above the din coming up from Migol’s Gate. “Men of Jandar! To me! Men of Jandar! Arise, arise, and charge now to me!” The echoes rang in his ears, and soon shouts began to ride down the canyon towards them, preceding the specters that followed, for they seemed so hooded and cloaked in what was now the dark of night as they ran with all speed to join Gheald. He yelled again, “Bows, men! Bows at the ready! Riders behind, and ready a charge, at my mark!”
The men had reached them now, and formed ranks, the riders on horseback prancing nervously behind two clumps of bowmen who huddled against the walls of the canyon. Gheald raised his voice against the approaching sound of snarling mounts, their shrieking rebounding off of the rock faces to ring in his ears like the caterwauling of a nightmare beast. “Archers, bring down the mounts first! The beasts must fall before they reach us! Draw arrows, and loose at my command!” The creaking of tensed bowstrings was eclipsed as the howls grew even louder, a din to shake the earth as an army approached like a storm. Dark shapes formed further down the pass, and within moments, the loping forms of the wretched creatures were closing in upon them, the running orcs at their heels brandishing sword and shield and crying out for blood. As the light of the moon bounced rays of white from their dagger teeth, the mounts drew close, and with the infantry not far behind, Gheald cried out, “Fire!” Shafts of death streaked down the pass, striking home and bringing down the front line of mounts. Not all however, for the few left were soon joined by riders spurred forward to the front of the pack. Gheald yelled again, “Reload, and loose!” Again the mounts fell, all but one sprawled and trampled by their fellows in their eagerness to reach the men.
They were too close, with no time for a third volley. Gheald raised his sword above his head, and turning to the bowmen, yelled above the din, “Draw swords, and follow our charge!” He gathered every scrap of air his lungs could hold, and loosed it in a roar to shake the rocks, “Horsemen, forward!” At the tightening of his knees, Farstride leaped forward, hooves ringing on the unforgiving stone, and Gheald steeled himself for the impact against the line of orcs on foot. The last mount had fallen back behind the line, unwilling to face the mounted men. Seconds before he crashed into the line on Farstride, Gheald noticed the eyes of the orcs on foot. Their gaze was that of fear, and some held their swords limply, helpless before the charge and utterly aware of their own doom. The thought passed from his mind as he waded into the crowd atop his horse, trampling warriors and swinging the silver-hilt sword to bring death from above. The men behind him whooped in the night, answering to the call of blood for blood with ecstatic shouts of war.
Within seconds, the shouts had redoubled as the men on foot joined them in the fray, a constant clash of bright light upon blades on both sides ending life upon life, and the ache of it pressed hard upon Gheald’s mind, for with every life saved by their fight, another was ended in their bloodlust. Farstride reared, and brought his hooves down swinging to crush the skulls of their enemies, and Gheald joined his screams of rage in a mad laughter at the slaughter about him. Perhaps his attention was lessened too much, for as he brought down another savage, a shudder went through Farstride, and the death-scream of his mount rent the night in two. Farstride collapsed in the mass of orcs, and Gheald scrambled out from under him, stumbling away and parrying the blows that already fell upon him. Farstride still writhed, screaming in pain as the orcs descended upon him in the night air that was dispelled by the sound of blood and battle. He turned away, blocking his ears to the sound of his dying companion, and took in that which surrounded him. He was in the midst of a raging sea, and his men were nowhere in sight. Gheald drew a breath, and entered the first sword-form.

Minutes turned to hours in the night, and still they fought. One by one the orcs fell to them, the last defense of the Eastern Pass and the desperate hope of the dying city. Somehow, impossibly, as the light of day began to creep up from the east, and the stars faded as a harbinger of dawn, Gheald found himself still on his feet. His left arm was wounded, a ragged-fletched arrow protruding from where it had entered beneath the pauldron, and it hung useless at his side. Gheald danced in death, shifting around his enemies to strike them unaware, and relying on the breastplate to save him where his skill could not.
One by one the men had fallen, and the screams of horses had mingled with those of men as they died before the rising of the sun. Asil, Dhomon, Fjorin, Farstride, the names of those he had lost pounded in his head like a hammer on an anvil, and the faces of those he had killed flickered in his vision even as he ended life upon life. Gheald felt weariness in him, burning iron in his veins dragging him down, yet still he stood, the final man before a horde. A field of bodies, it seemed, filled the narrow pass before him, and the oncoming swarm had to clamber over their own to reach him. One by one they were struck down by the silver-hilt sword, and their blows evaded or blocked by the wolf’s-head armor. Gheald could feel the cold of night passing, and the forebears of the sun’s heat creeping along the high canyon.
As the sun finally cast its light upon Gheald’s face, a crushing weight fell upon his stomach. Withdrawing his blade from the fresh corpse of a savage, he stared down to see an arrow protruding from his abdomen, somehow, impossibly lodged between the segments of steel to twist his insides and burn him from within. As he grasped it to withdraw the arrow, and damn the consequences, he noticed the fletching. Black, and smooth. Raven’s feathers. The mark of their company, and now it seemed, his utter ruin.
The silver-hilt sword slipped from his grasp as he gaped at the arrow that was siphoning life from him every second, and the sun’s light eclipsed all else. Rather than darkness, it seemed that the growing light was blotting out all else, filling him with peace and withdrawing pain to ease his passing. Gheald noticed with some surprise that he was on his knees, on hand on his stomach, clutching at the arrow, and his left arm limp at his side. Faces wreathed in light danced about him, flickering like flames, hundreds of faces of those he had lost, those he had taken. As the light consumed him, Asil’s appeared over him, face accusing and eyes narrowed. But just as quickly, it was replaced by the bent form of an old man in rags, accompanied by a hound, loyal to the end. The two forms lifted him to his feet, and at their beckoning, he follows them into the light.

Bro-Man - 2nd Place

Spoiler Alert!

Deaths cold embrace

From the writings of Thormun;
"The lands of Nastralund had known peace for many long years. However since the war of the wellsprings began, things had changed for the worse. I watched as my lands that I love were taken away by Utgar's vile hordes. I joined this war to help bring about an alliance that would fight against his evil, but as our armies fought, another force has grown in power. When it was revealed to us that this new force was from Utgar's own ranks I could not image what came next. Never in all my life that I see such a trechery such as Valkrill's. Valkrill is a lord of chaos and corruption. His deeds make him as equal as Utgar himself. Since the battle of the great armies near Einar's borders and the betrayal of Valkrill against Utgar and the alliance, there has been a sweep of destruction across all the lands. Though his attacks have been small, it is enough to distrupt every army throughout Valhalla, friend and foe alike. And now, he has begun his conquest. Its been six months since the great betrayel and the dark lord now has attacked our northern borders. His goal was the center of this alliance, the very thing that is keeping this alliance together. Jandar and his capital. I work now and gather my things for the long journey ahead. The people will flee to Ekstrom, where our close ally Ullar lies. If the people can make it to the forests we can be safe. I also learned that our retreating armies and our allies have been delayed by Valkrill's horde. From the east Ullar and his armies are being held back by waves of orcs and strange Marro. From the south, Vydar and Einar are also being held at bay by a equally large force. Aquilla is rushing her fastest warriors to aid us but it will be days before they will arrive. With our forces so spread thin Jandar has sent fifty of his knights led by Captain Gilbert. Along with a warrior that I have recently met. They set off before I could speak with him. They travel now to our northern pass to halt the approching army. I pray for those brave souls. It is late. The sun has set and the moon is rising. Blood will be spilled this night."

***
Jandar's main capital, Midnight

Everyone was in a panic throughout the city. The bell towers clanged from high above and the people frantically rush to gather their supplies and precious things down below in the city streets. The streets were packed as people loaded their wagons and carts to exit the city. Some even abandoned their things and took to the skies toward Ullar's lands, fearing for their own lives. The cold winter night chills the frighten people and the howling winds scream above the city making everyone scared, and on edge. Far to the north, twenty miles out, lies the great pass, and where the enemy nears.

***
The mountain pass, 1am

Sir Gilbert and his knights were nearing the entrance of the pass. The snow benath their feet crumpled with each passing step. He soon raised his fist and halted their march, starring into the mouth of the pass that was fifty yards away. However one kept marching forward toward the entrance. It was a viking. He soon stop about twenty yards away from the main group and starred at the pass before him. Sir Gilbert turned toward the knights and nodded to them. They soon readied their weapons and arms. Gilbert looked at the number of his men. Fourty swords and spears, the rest were crossbows and they readied their bolts in the snow. Sir Gilbert turned toward the viking and he still remained standing and starring out to the pass. He knew little about the warrior, let alone his name, but knew that there many rumors surrounding him and that he is very powerful. He headed forward and stood by the viking's side. Gilbert looked at his arms and armor. He had a large shoulder pad and was covered in wolf skin. His chest was covered in thick leather and his leggings were covered in fur. He wore thick black boots that, with enough force, can stomp a marro's head in. On his arms he wore bands and bracers, each had a unigue design and each seemed to tell a story. His hair was white and came down to the middle of his back. He had three scars going across his face, Sir Gilbert even wondered how he recieved them. The weapons that he carried was a large war blade and a large battle axe. Both are equally long, and both are equally deadly. Gilbert noticed what he stared at and it was the snow. It was perfectly intact, no footprints and everything seemed to shine in the moons bright starlight. Sir Gilbert looked at the pass and notice the road was nearly blocked off. Recent snowfall has casued the road to block up. It seems that only a single wagon was able to fit through the road at a time.

"Seems only a dozen or so troops can come through there." Gilbert said.

The viking turned and looked up towards the side of the mountain, ignoring the knights words. Sir Gilbert followed his gaze and noticed both sides of the mountain. Snow covered the very top of the mountains and came down towards the ground. It felt that the mountains would consume the heavens and consume them as well into darkness. However the moon gave adequate light for them to see. Sir Gibert then continued to follow the vikings gaze and saw an old watch tower on one side of the pass. The tower was filled with many holes coming from the top of the roof and down to the side of the tower. A large chunk of the stone tower was gone by the early fighting of the war, making the whole place uninhabitable. What made it worse was the harsh winds the come through the pass. The tower swayed from side to side ready to give out at any moment. But no matter how much it blows in the wind the tower still stands tall. Gilbert looked at the viking and he remained silent as he starred out at everything around him.

" The whole lot of the orc army is coming down that path." Sir Gilbert said, trying to start a conversation. The viking remianed silent. Gilbert tried to smile. "Don't you worry, you will get to kill plenty of those monsters before this night is through." The viking lowered his head.

"I despise killing." The viking said bluntly. Sir Gilbert looked at him and was confused.

"Come now, surely you jest? Your a viking, a brave warrior of the sea! A berserker!" Sir Gilbert exclaimed. The viking continued to stare out to the pass. Sir Gilbert then thought for a moment. Suddenly it hit him, something that he might have overlooked. He then asked, "Something happened to you before you came here. Was there?"

The viking turned to him and he stared into Sir Gilberts eyes. Sir Gilbert gave the return but could only stare at the scars that were across his face. The viking moved forward and grabbed his shoulder.

"They are close, they are almost upon us." The viking said. Sir Gilbert looked out to the pass and could see no one.

"Have your men stay low and be as small as they can, wait for me." The viking said then took off toward the trees. Sir Gilbert could do nothing but to believe his words. He hurried to his men and they all huddled down into the snow. Sir Gilbert noticed the viking has not returned and he heard the marching feet of orcs coming through the pass. He quickly went into the snow and held onto his flag.

"We are completly exposed." One of the knights exclaimed.

Sir Gilbert swallowed the lump in his throat and began to doubt the vikings words. He saw the orcs slowly coming through the pass. However there were fewer number then he expected. Only eight were present, two of which were carrying torches in the front.

"A scouting party." Sir Gilbert whipered. The knights readied their weapons and Sir Gilbert unsheathed his sword. He then notice something different in the snow. Everything began to grow darker. He looked up and clouds began to cover the moon, making everything as dark as any cave. The mountains added to it and made everything pitch black. It was hard for Sir Gilbert to see clearly, he could not even see his own hand in front of him. He looked forward and the orcs were thirty yards away, slowly making their way towards them. However they slowed their pace to a crawl and were deathly quiet, the snow crumling beneath their feet. The two carrying the torches waved them from side to side, trying to find a clear path. Sir Gilbert then noticed a shadow coming behind them. It was the viking. He drew his sword and was coming closer towards them, silent as they were. The viking came behind the first orc, grabbed its mouth, and slit its throat. The first orc crumpled to the ground and the viking moved to the next one. Like the first one he grabbed its mouth but instead stabbed it in the back. The blade pierced the armor and came out its chest. He quickly drew it out and quickly drew his battle axe. Sir Gilbert notice the ground began to be clear. The clouds above were moving away from the moon. The land around them began to grow bright and the orcs heard the sound of the second orc crumple. They all turned to the noise but before they could react the viking sliced both his weapons on the third orcs mid section. The Orc cried out as its body was torn in two. The lower half was flying to the left while the top half flying to the right. Blood splattered every where onto the frozen snow as the two parts of the body landed with a sickening crunch. The viking rushes the surprised orcs and quickly stabbing the first one in his sights. He twists and lops off the next orc's head clean off with his axe. He draws his blade as the remaining orcs began to charge at him. He quickly lunges forward with his sword and slashes forward at the nearest orc. He hit his target at the chest and down to its side. It twisted forward and slammed into the ground. The viking raised his axe and slammed it straight into the shoulder of the seond to last orc. He sent the orc behind him and ran straight to the last orc. The last orc raised its sword to strike the viking down but the viking turned at the last moment and raised his sword up. Both of the orcs hands were cut clean off and the orc starred in shock. The viking continued his momentum and rammed his sword up into the orc. The blade pierced its lower abedomen and straight out its leff shoulder. The Orc gasped and could not do anything against the powerful warrior. The viking drew his blade out and the orc collapased into the snow, its blood turning the snow black. Sir Gilbert was stairing in disbelief. The warrior dispatched all the orcs within a few short moments. The warrior turned around and noticed a straggler still alive. The orc lifted its head and cried out towards the pass. It shreiking cries echoed off the walls of the mountains. It cried out again but before it could get its chance the viking raised its axe and smacked it dead center on the orcs head. The viking drew his axe away, picking blood and bone from the orcs skull.

"The orcs will come soon." He said as he headed toward the knights. Sir Gilbert noticed that his expression remained the same as before. "They will be here within the hour."

***

Twenty minutes later

Sir Gilbert and his men rested and waited for the army to draw near. The bodies of the orcs began rot and the smell lingered in the air. Everyone was on edge, knowing that battle will be fall them at any moment. Sir Gilbert looked up to the sky as clouds began to roll in over the mountains. The moon was still high in the sky, casting its bright glow upon the land. Sir Gilbert then noticed the viking walking towards him. The viking came to his side and kneeled down next to him.

"You said to me that there was something that happened to me in the past." The viking asked, his face the same expression as before. Sir Gilbert nodded and the viking looked out to the carnage that he made.

"Then I shall tell you everything about my past." Sir Gilbert looked at him with renewed interest and the viking began his tale.

***

"Years ago before I was brought to this land. I lived a humble and peaceful life with my wife and daughter. The village we lived in was next to the sea and everything was so serene. We lived in peace for many years, living solitary lives. Then everything changed when our village was attacked by marauders. The people were killed and I was taken to the center of the village. They took my wife and tortured her in front of me. They beat her, played with her, and I was powerless to stop them. They then killed her when they were finished. I cried out in pain as my beloved was taken from me. They then took my own daughter and began to toy with her as well. I watched as they forced her to the ground and was going to be raped in front of my eyes. I then lost it from there. I broke my captives arm and took his sword, the very one you see here. I killed many of the marauders that opposed me. When they were taken care of and all was left was their leader I turned to face him, only to my shock and horror when the leader slit my daughters throat. I watched as the tears rolled down her eyes as she died before me. I was driven to madness. I fought the leader who used this very axe against me. When I defeated him he begged for mercy at my feet. Still driven by my loss I ran him through. I then smote of his own head and tossed it into the sea. Soon after the hours of the raid was over I knelt by my family and cried long into the night. I cried out to Odin, begging him to watch over my family. My life that I once had was taken from me and I would never get that back. As I buried my family I took it upon myself to never let innocence suffer by the hands of those that sought their destruction. I joined Thorgrim and his clans to make that happen. As I fought their enemies I came to notice something stirring in my soul. Every kill of my enemy and every life I take away I feel a guilt rising within me. With every enemy I slay a piece of me is taken away. I realize that with every kill I claim I am taking away someone else's family. A father, a young son, best friends, it tore me up thinking that when I kill to protect the innocent I caused grief and suffery for others. Those families will forever wait at the doors, hoping for their loved ones to come home, and they never will. It was all because of me. No matter how much it pains me in my heart to cause suffery to others I will continue to fight. These monsters we face now are no different and I even wonder if they to have families that are waiting for them as well. And now, I have told you everything."

***

Sir Gilbert was dumbfounded. He starred in disbelief, shocked even, for this warrior to have such a grisly past and to tell it openly to him. Sir Gilbert wanted to say something in return but no words came out. No words to tell or describe of what he had just heard. When he finally was able to speak a long horn was blown from the pass.

"The storm is coming, prepare your men, for this may be our final night."

The viking stood up and headed to where the dead orcs resided. He turned his head without stopping. " When I make my move you may join me in battle."

The viking stopped and hid himself under the bodies. Sir Gilbert headed toward his faithful knights and ready themsleves for battle. His knights knew what they would face. They were his hand picked men, seasoned veterans that he knew that can get the job done. They all crouched down and the armor blended well with the snow. Sir Gilbert rested and held onto the flag. The moon above continued to shine as more clouds close in to stop its brilliant light. The cries of the orcs can be heard throughout the pass. Sir Gilbet breathed heavily and could see his own breath in the cold night air. They waited as the the first torches came into view. The first line of orcs were visbile and the first few warriors entered the pass. The clouds soon covered the moon and everything became pitch black, just like before. Sir Gilbert looked and the cloud was smaller then the previous, it will give some cover for about a minute, maybe even less. The orcs began to march closer towards them, the few in the front scanning the area, trying to find their own. Several of the orcs marched ahead of the main group to find any sign of the enemy. They were close to the knights that hid in the snow, standing just a few feet away. The clouds began to disperse and light shined on the whole area. The orcs cried out when they saw their own in the center. The ones that were ahead turned around to look, not noticing the bulges that surrounded them in the snow. None of the knights have yet been spotted. The orcs were over the bodies and began to examine them. Sir Gilbert wondered if the viking hiding amongst the bodies will be alright. One of the orcs turned around and started to call out to the others. Sir Gilbert then noticed movement by one of the bodies. The viking burst forth from his hiding spot, dragging up snow into the air. The orc that spoke out turned and saw the viking coming at him. The viking raised both of his weapons and brought them down upon the orc, hacking off both his arms. The orc cried out as his limps flew away from its body. The viking lunged his sword forwarrd and stabbed the orc in the chest. He then raised his axe and lopped off the orcs head. Both the head and body went to the ground and the viking charge forward to his next target.

"Knights Now!" Sir Gilbert called out and the knights sprung forth from the snow. The unsuspecting orcs were hacked down while the crossbowmen fired away into the horde. The colunm of orcs loosed out their war cries and began their charge. The knights did the same and battle was joined. The fate of this war is in their hands.

***
2:30am one hour into battle

The battle has been only an hour and the knights our slowly losing ground. Hundreds of orcs have been slain but thousands more were still coming through the pass. Many of the knights were tired and weary from the battle. Two dozen out of the fifty knights have been killed and it was only a matter of time before they will be overrun. Sir Gilbert rallied his men to him and the knights formed around Sir Gilbert. The orcs pounded onto the knights, their swords hacked at their shields as they try to kill their enemies. Sir Gilbert noticed the viking was not with them and he saw him fighting against the orcs and his body and weapons were covered in blood. He was just as tired as the rest, his arms growing heavy with handling his weapons. However the viking pressed on, fighting back against the horde and killing many orcs with the swing of his axe or sword. Sir Gilbert ordered his men to push towards him and they slowly pushed back against the orcs but were making little ground. The viking fought on and didn't pay any mind to his friends that are fighting their way to reach him.

"Come to us!" Sir Gilbert called out to him. The viking ignored him as he continued to slay more of the orcs. "C,mon! get to him!"

"NO!" The viking called out. Sir Gilbert could only stare at him as the orcs were quickly gaining number.

"I shall handle them!" The viking said as he swung his axe against an orcs chest.

"But you will die!" Sir Gilbert yelled out.

"Then I shall be with my family again!" The viking swung his axe hitting another orc in the stomach. Before he could draw back his axe another orc swung his sword forward, cutting off his arm up to the elbow. Blood poured out and splattered the ground. The viking turned toward the orc and stabbed him with his sword.

"Go my friends! Live! And fight another day!" The viking called out and he swung his sword to keep the advancing horde back. Two more orcs went at him and grabbed his other arm. Another orc with a large axe runs and hacks his other arm off. The viking headbutts the orc that cut his other arm before being pushed to the ground. The viking was flat on his back as the orcs pin him down. The orc that he headbutted raised his axe in the air in triumph. Sir Gilbert and his men could not advance any further as the orc numbers were to great. He watched as the viking laid there in the snow as his captors held him there. As the orc with the axe readies to deliver the final blow a horrific cry fills the the air and surges above the battle. The scream was coming from the viking. His cry began to echo across the pass and he continued to hold it. His cry was louder then any of the cries of the orcs, louder then any sounds of swords on shields. He breathed in quickly and added another loud roar into the sky. The orc with the axe raised his weapon and chopped the warriors head. The vikings cries ceased and he was gone. Sir Gilbert watched as the head rolled away from the body. He cried out and with renewed vigor and fought hader for his fallen friend. Then as the orcs continued to press their charge a thunderous rumble came all around them. The fighting ceased and everyone looked up to the sound of the rumbling which was getting louder and closer. Sir Gilberts eyes widened and the snow on the mountain tops was coming down.

"Avalanche!"

The vikings cries has caused a chain reaction as both sides of the pass was coming down with snow, ice, and stone. It kept going further down the pass where the orcs are still coming in. The orcs were running, fleeing for their lives as the snows were closing in. Many dropped their weapons in desperation, trying to be quicker then the avalanche. Sir Gilbert and his knights were also running, trying to outrun the snow. He turned around and the roaring snow slammed into the watch tower and the tower crumpled to the ground. The snow continued towards them, swallowing up orcs that were too slow to escape. Sir Gilbert tripped and fell faced first into the snow. He whirled around as the snow came on top of him. He closed his eyes and the snow swallowed him whole.

***
Sun rise

It was dark and freezing. Everything was so tight yet so loose at the same time. Sir Gilbert opened his eyes and snow covered his face. His body was numb, frozen, to cold to move. He pushed forward out of the snow and light shined onto him. He squinted at first and his eyes soon adjusted to the morning sun. When he could see properly he could not believe his eyes. The pass that they were in was covered in ten to twenty feet of snow.

"How long was I out." He thought as he tried to stand up. His hands were so numb and he notice his hand was still wrapped around his flag. He leaned on it and looked out as small weapons and flags still poked out of the snow, where buried beneath were hundreds of orcs.

"You did it warrior. You did it." He said the said to himself. His eyes began to drift and he felt weak, cold for being out throughout the night. He needed to rest.

"No stay awake." He said to himself, knowing that if he goes to sleep again he would not awake. He noticed the snow moving before him.

"Good, they are still alive." He said and his eyes drifted again. He shook his head and looked up at his rising knights, not realizing that an orc was standing before him. His eyes widened and the orc drew his blade and slashed his right hand. Sir Gilbert fell into the snow and looked up at his attacker. Several more orcs pop out of the snow and were still alive. As they drew closer Sir Gilbert could only look at his flag. His hand was frozen but was still holding onto the flag. A small breeze came and lifted the flag up, showing its emblem to the orcs. Sir Gilbert smiled and he turned to look at the orc that was on top of him. It raised its blade up to stab him in the chest.

"You lose." Sir Gilbert said and the orc snarled at him. It raised its blade and the knight began to doze off. He then notice the wind change in the flag and a shadow soaring above them. A loud twang was heard and a arrow pierced at the back of the orcs head, coming halfway out of its mouth. It tumbled to the ground and more arrows were fired at the surprised orcs. Sir Gilbert could no long be conscious. The last thing he saw was that of kyrie descending from the skies and they wore green armor on their bodies.

***

From the writings of Thorum;

"Its been a month since the battle of the high mountain pass. Atlaga, the great warrior from Ullar's realm, and his army had beaten the force that held them and arrived to Captain Gilberts aid. Gilbert lost his arm in battle but reclaimed it and later healed by Keldas healing arts. The number of survivors from that battle were only twenty including of that of Gilbert. When the snows melted and the carnage was shown to us there were thousands upon thousands of the orcs that were buried alive by the snow. This has caused a significant blow to Valkrills forces, as he has been quite of late and his army has not been active since that battle. The kingdom has been saved he alliance will endure but Gilbert does not claim the credit for this victory. He said it was the warrior that saved us all and it was the warrior that saved this alliance all together. I never gotten his name and when I asked lord Jandar he didn't to seem know as well. He said to me that when he summoned the warrior he didn't find anything about the warriors past except that of his family. No name, no blood relatives, nothing to call this warrior. It baffled my lord as it did me. When we finally found his body we also found his head close by. To those that found it first they were shocked and I heard that the warriors head was smiling even after death. There are many rumors going on about this warrior, and about that his head may have been cursed. But I like to think that he may have found his small peace, that all of us strive for in this world. May this noble warriors soul rest in peace and that he will be with his family forever."

Elven Lord - 3rd Place

Spoiler Alert!

Amos’s eyes darted back and forth surveying the carnage which lay before him. The young freelance knight was saddened by what lay before him. He dismounted and walked among the fallen. He slew any of Utgar’s forces which he found alive. He stopped in his tracks, before him lay the most angelic kyrie he had ever beheld. One of her wings had been cleaved in half and a dagger protruded from her thigh, but she lived. He knelt next to her carefully taking in the nature of the damage.
“Albreich, come here.” His voice was soft and kind. The horse nickered a response and picked its way carefully between the fallen until he reached his master’s side. Amos rose and withdrew healing ointments and bandages from his saddlebags. He carefully applied ointment to the kyrie’s wing and bandaged it. The knife was a puzzle. It was sunk to the hilt in her flesh and wedged between the hip and thigh bone. Finally he came to a decision. He eased the knife out of the wound and rapidly bandaged it. There would be no ointment for that wound until he had gotten her to a hospital. He picked her up gently and as he did so she slowly opened her eyes.
“Who-are-you?” she managed.
“My name is Amos, and I am going to get you to a hospital. Who are you angel?”
“Raelyn.” She whispered and then sank into unconsciousness.
Amos laid her in the saddle, and made sure she was secure. He grasped the halter and began to walk toward Jandar’s fortress.
Albreich neighed a sharp warning and Amos ducked just in time to be missed by a black shafted ash wood arrow. The arrow thudded into the dust a few yards away.
Amos used the momentum of his ducking motion to turn himself around, shoulder his shield around onto his arm, and draw his sword. A large party of orcs had halted on a hill 200 yards away. The leader snarled a laugh.
“Give up human, and we will let you live.”
Amos gave the orc leader a steely glare which said, “No you won’t.”
The orc leader cackled. “Kill him.”
Albreich skittered nervously. “Go Albreich. Andron! Go! Go to Andron, Albreich.”
Amos set his stance and readied his sword. The first orc charged toward him faster than the others and separated himself from the others. Amos grinned and set his sword in the ground. The orc was confused but didn’t stop its mad dash. Amos stepped inside the orcs guard and drove the punching dagger he had unobtrusively drawn from his belt into the orc’s gut. The grut collapsed. Then the others were upon amos. The first received a shield in the face, another went down as the punching dagger slashed across his face, the final orc from the initial group collapsed as the punching dagger slashed right through his throat and embedded itself in the ground a yard behind him.
Amos took up his sword and finished the first two. He heard the whistle of an arrow and brought up his shield. The impact was minimal, the arrow just shattered. He set his stance once again as a group of five charged him. His sword rose and fell in rhythm, and his feet moved with practiced eased side stepping bodies which the orcs stumbled over, mistakes which earned them negative one head. The archers resumed their attack. Another group unwilling to fight without more than just a few orcs swelled to 20 and charged him.
“These guys have no idea how to fight. Their tactics suck.”
He twitched the blade of his sword, it reflected the light of the rising sun into the eyes of the first of the orcs. They dropped like flies. He didn’t even bother blocking blows he just smashed the shield into whoever happened to be throwing a strike, sidestepping the other blows in the process. He brought his sword over his head in a circle and struck an orc with a blow that could have gone all the way into its chest, but Amos’s training took over and he brought the sword away before it could become stuck in the orc’s gut. He continued circling away from them, his feet rising and falling in marching beat, keeping the orcs in a rapidly dwindling group in front of him.
In his mind’s eye Amos was going over the relative positions\speeds\directions of the allied forces he had spent the day observing. They needed only an hour to reach their defensive positions unless they had been ambushed or otherwise delayed.
Amos snapped back into focus, but it was too late, and grut had slapped his sword away. It spun off and landed in a pool of blood.
“I hope that’s not an omen.” Amos thought as he hurled the shield into the nearest orc catching him in the throat.
Seeying a soldier lying near him he thought “perfect” He swept up the fallen soldier’s pistol and fired it into the approaching orcs. They dropped. Soon the pistol was empty and he threw it into a red eyed blundering beast of an orc. The orc stood over 9 feet tall and the pistol didn’t even faze him. Amos balled up his fists, and faced the giant orc squarely. The other orcs backed away and formed a circle around them. The Orc lunged at Amos with a roar. Amos dropped into what would be crouch except he came back up and drove the spike elbow guard into the orc’s belly ripping a whole in it, and splattering the assembled orcs with black blood. The giant orc bellowed with rage and made a grab for Amos. Amos dodged nimbly out of the way, and drove his gauntleted fist into the giants face and activated a missile launcher in his arm guard. A small wooden projectile whistled out of the guard and embedded itself in the giant’s eye piercing its brain. The orc giant collapsed dead.
The other orcs were stunned for only a moment before charging in upon Amos. The knight fought with fists elbows and feet, but gradually they began to where to him out. “This is it.” He thought “Not the death I planned, but certainly a good one.” Then he heard a voice he never thought he’d hear again.
Hey boss. Miss me?
Albreich exploded through the circle the kyrie holding his reins. He kicked lunged and bit flinging orcs skyward. Amos leaped to the saddle, and Albreich wasted no time in booking it out of there. The orcs did not pursue. They were dead or on the hill, too far away to do anything.
“The soldiers, did they make it to Andron?”
“Yes.” Raelyn replied shortly, which was not a sign of disrespect, in fact as she passed out she said, “We should get dinner some time.”
“Sure.”
“And married.”
“I won’t argue.”
“Good.”
Horse is amused
“Shut up and run Albreich.”
The horse nickered goodnaturedly.

[TGRF]

Challenge 39 - February 26 2013


The prompt, as narrated by Morgan Freeman, Ian McKellen, or Leonard Nimoy. As you prefer:

It is an ill wind that blows in the east of Valhalla. Rumor grows of darkening shadows behind the mountain walls of Utgar's stronghold. It seems that the darkness has begun to spread outside the walls, as the forests surrounding the Kyrien Mountains have withered, died. The land itself is in ruin, as though it cannot bear the weight of what terrible evil the dark Valyrie has summoned.

The Allied Generals know that Utgar has brought forth something terrible beyond imagining, but scouts that seek it out have come back gibbering, insane wretches that cannot communicate anything. At least, those that do come back at all. Whatever this thing is, weapon, creature, plague, it is a blight on the land and it cannot be endured. The time for scouting and information gathering is over. A strike team has been assembled, and have begun their journey. Sailing down from the north in secret, they were inserted behind enemy lines. They must sneak deep into Utgar's territory, find the source of the blight, and destroy it by any means necessary...

Write about what happens from the moment the strike team steps off of their ship, into Utgar's territory on their mission to destroy Utgar's weapon/creature/plague/whatever terrible thing comes to mind. Emphasis on being inventive with the evil presence, and with the need for secrecy behind enemy lines. Good luck!

The Grim Reaper's Friend - 1st Place

Spoiler Alert!

A tear slipped silently down Raelin’s cheek. It fell to the floor, where it landed, soundless, as she watched her lord and general, Jandar, bent over a desk littered with papers. The ancient kyrie’s head was bent against the top of his desk, his eyes closed. Silence reigned with Jandar.
Raelin took a shaky breath and approached the veteran general. She had known Jandar since before the war, always a kind, loving kyrie, always ready to go out of the way for the comfort of even a stranger. The war had torn him apart, turned his hair gray, and caused lines to furrow his caring face.
Raelin gently laid a hand on his shoulder. Jandar let his breath out in a long, defeated sigh, but gave no other acknowledgement of her presence. After a moment, though, he raised his head from the mess of papers.
“There must be a way,” he said, his voice strained and hoarse, “there has to be a way, to end this war.” He looked up at Raelin, his blue eyes searching hers. He turned away. “If only,” he muttered, half to himself, “if only we could reach Utgar, and lay his ruin before the open skies. If only I could muster the men, soldiers with courage, and march them to the heart of his land…” Jandar sunk his head back down to his desk. “If only I had an army,” breathed Jandar into the wood before him, his breath ruffling the papers, “willing to follow my command. But I don’t,” he added, once again raising his head and staring before him, not seeing. “I don’t. My men have deserted me because they are too afraid to do their lord’s will.” Jandar was silent for a moment, his hand slowly forming a fist upon the wood of his desk. “If I had but twenty men with the courage to crush Utgar!” thundered Jandar, sweeping a pile of papers to the floor in an angry swipe. His head fell back down upon his desk, his form shaking.
“You are ill, my lord,” said Raelin gently. “You have not slept for four nights. If only you would…”
“Sleep, Raelin?” shouted Jandar, rising from his chair and facing her. Raelin took a step back, startled. “How can you speak of sleep at a time like this? My army has deserted me, refused to follow my commands! How can I win a war with a force like this?”
Raelin bit her lip. No soldier would follow the orders Jandar had issued, no matter where they came from. She could not try to reason with Jandar, though. She knew what would follow.
“No, Raelin,” said Jandar, his voice dropping, “We are beaten. With no army, I cannot defend Valhalla. Utgar has won. I will send word to Utgar, telling him of my surrender.”
“Jandar!” cried Raelin.
“Yes, Raelin, surrender!” shouted Jandar. “We are beaten, and there is nothing you nor I can do about it but to accept our fate and ride to our doom with dignity. If even that is not robbed from us,” he muttered to himself, turning back to his desk.
“Jandar…” began Raelin, but she stopped. He would not listen to her. She had tried already to tell him why his soldiers refused to carry out his commands, but he threw her logic to the five winds and continued to rant about disloyalty. And if she persisted, he turned on her, and banished her from his sight for the rest of the day.
“You are ill, my lord,” said Raelin to herself, so quietly that Jandar could not hear. “And though you may not see it, there are still those that care.”
Jandar bent back over his desk, his once glorious wings now faded and drooping. The once proud general, defender of Valhalla, was gone, leaving behind this husk of despair and grief. A tear slipped silently down Raelin’s cheek, and fell to join the first on the floor.

Kelda slipped silently from the barracks and closed the door behind her, leaning against it, her eyes closed. So many wounds, so many hurts, and none that she could heal, for they were all within. Defying Jandar’s orders had left the army broken. They had served willingly under him for many years now, and many had come to know him personally. Each and every one of his soldiers had been fiercely loyal to him, ready to fight for him until the last drop of blood was gone from their veins. To stand before him, therefore, and refuse to carry out his wishes, had been a hard thing. Even more difficult than that, however, was Jandar’s reaction. In the past, if his orders were ever questioned, he would search until he found the reason why, and then do his best to fix it. But when Drake Alexander had said that deadly word, ‘no,’ Jandar had stood still for a moment, stunned. And then he had released such a stream of screams and yells as no one had ever heard from him before, least of all Kelda. He had left for his quarters, calling his faithful men deserters and spineless fools. He had allowed only Raelin to see him for four days, anyone else he shouted out before they could get the door open. After such a display, the moral of the men was not at its highest.
Kelda let out an inaudible sigh and opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was Raelin, slowly descending the steps to Jandar’s quarters, trying to stifle her tears. Kelda half ran half flew to her, and was soon by her side.
“There’s something wrong with him,” Raelin said in a partially choked voice. “He hasn’t eaten since he… he… spoke with Drake. All he talks about is how the war is lost, and now he says he will send to Utgar, telling him that he… surrenders.”
Kelda put her arm around her and comforted her as best she could, but this news troubled her heart even further.
“Kelda,” said Raelin, stopping upon the steps and turning to her, “you know as well as I what has befallen Jandar.”
Kelda knew, but said nothing.
“Every scout we sent out,” continued Raelin, in a quieter voice, “returned broken, filled with despair, all of their hope gone. Some even never came back.” Raelin paused to take a shaky breath. “Jandar is the same as they. His words are twisted, his strength sapped, his heart filled with the blackest despair.”
Kelda stared before her, knowing that what Raelin said was true. “How?” she finally asked, not moving her head, her voice bleak. Raelin did not reply.

“There’s nothing we can do, Raelin,” said Drake Alexander, commander of Valhalla’s armies. “Jandar’s orders have turned to madness, and now many of my men are beginning to act the same. Whatever foul curse this is that now holds Jandar in its power, its spreading. I wouldn’t be surprised if in a month it had taken us all.”
Raelin shuddered. “No…” she pleaded quietly, “this can’t be happening; this can’t be how it ends.”
“Ends?” said Drake. “It hasn’t ended yet, Raelin. As long as there’s life in my men, it’s never ended.”
“But what can we do?” cried Raelin. “Our general and his army are being torn down by a force which we cannot see, much less fight.”
Drake was silent for a moment, as he stood, staring down at the grass, which was now black and withered. “I don’t know what we can do,” he finally said, looking up and facing Raelin. “Maybe there’s nothing we can do. Maybe it’s our doom to all die here, victims of an unseen curse.”
“No,” said Kelda, very quietly.
Both Drake and Raelin turned to her. They had not seen her enter the tent, as she had kept to the shadows. “What do you mean, Kelda?” asked Drake.
“There is one thing that we can do,” said Kelda, though very quietly. Her skin was ashen, and Raelin noticed that her hands trembled slightly by her sides.
“What’s wrong, Kelda?” Raelin asked, coming towards her.
Kelda rapidly backed away. “Come no closer, Raelin,” she said, her eyes telling plainly how much it pained her to say so.
Raelin stopped, slowly backing towards Drake as she realized what Kelda meant. Drake’s eyes widened as he, too, grasped the meaning of Kelda’s words.
“Kelda,” he said, “not you too.”
There were tears in Kelda’s eyes, but she brushed them away. “There is one thing we can do,” she repeated. “We can summon Vagmor.”
Both Raelin and Drake stared at her. After a moment, Drake spoke. “No,” he said, “that is one thing we cannot do. We cannot go against Jandar’s will a second time. The men are wretched enough as it is having confronted him once.”
“Then do it in secret,” said Kelda, her voice barely more than a whisper, “but we must summon him. He is the only one that can put a stop to this.”
Drake did not reply, but watched her, his mind churning. Finally, he crossed his arms. “Maybe he can, maybe he can’t, but I won’t defy Jandar again, no matter if he is half mad.”
At this, Raelin could contain herself no longer and a sob filled the tent, which she tried, unsuccessfully, to suppress.
Drake glanced over at Raelin, and then back at Kelda. “You’ll have to find someone else to do it, Kelda,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
Kelda nodded. “I won’t need to find someone else,” she said, her voice flat, but calm. “I know where the wellspring is.”
“Kelda!” said Drake. “Your ill, you can’t possibly summon anyone, let alone Vagmor.”
“I can, and I will,” said Kelda as sharply as her soft voice would permit. “I must,” she added, to herself.

The stones were wet and slippery. It was pitch black, and the air smelled of mold and standing water. Kelda felt her way carefully down the stone steps into the summoning chamber. Her spells would not work here, this much she knew, and she conserved her energy, rather than try to light her way. She slipped and almost fell twice, but soon felt the damp floor beneath her feet. At the same moment, the wall left her touch, leaving her disoriented in the dark. Taking small steps, so as to avoid running into unseen obstacles, she slowly made her way forwards, feeling the floor with her hands, until she felt water. She probed it, to be sure it was more than a puddle, and then, satisfied, she crouched by its edge, and, cupping her hands, drank of its waters.
At first, nothing happened, other than the strangely sweet taste of the water lingering in Kelda’s mouth. Then, a faint prickling sensation, starting in her fingers and moving slowly up her arms, began to drive away the flaky dryness which had so recently taken hold of her skin. The tingling entered her shoulders and spread throughout her body, until it finally lodged firmly in her head, a small multicolored spark, whirling with vivid images. Ignoring these, Kelda tapped into the power temporarily granted her by the water, and stretched out her hand over the wellspring.
“Show me your light,” she whispered into the blackness. An ominous blue glow, emanating deep from within the wellspring met her words. She gazed at it, the light eerily illuminating her features. She knew what she must say next, but the words caught in her throat, and she stood still, gazing fearfully at the wellspring. Jandar had always been kind to her, at least before this dreadful sickness had taken hold of him, but if he ever found out what she was doing… she dreaded to think of the consequences, especially in his current state.
Shoving the thoughts from her mind, she summoned the words anew, and spoke over the wellspring, her words clear, if somewhat quavering. “Vagmor, I summon you. Leave your rest in the eternal shadow and see the light once again. Vagmor, kammeth framir.”
The surface of the blue waters began to bubble, lightly at first, but then more vigorously. The light swelled in brightness until Kelda could no longer look into its depths, but was forced to stumble backwards in the half light, shielding her eyes with her arms. The water began to swirl, sucking itself downwards until it formed a cone which just touched the illuminated bottom of the wellspring. It was at this point that a figure would normally have emerged, slowly forming from mist into matter above the water. However, the water continued to swirl, the cone remained in place, and the light neither dimmed nor grew. Kelda lowered her arms somewhat, fearful something was wrong.
And then, a voice, deep and amplified by some strange means, a vast power hidden within it, spoke from the depths of the wellspring. “Why do you summon me, Kelda, daughter of Cirithmir?”
Kelda, who had leapt back at the sudden sound, timidly took a step forward. “Vagmor?” she asked, her voice minute against the roaring of the waters.
“Speak,” commanded Vagmor’s voice.
Kelda straightened, though some undying fear kept her partially hunched. “Vagmor,” she whispered to the waters, “we need you. Utgar has unleashed a terrible… something, and it has taken Jandar. He is half mad, and would direct his soldiers to… to…” her voice broke off, searching for the words.
“Calm yourself, Kelda,” said Vagmor from the wellspring. “What is this devilry of which you speak?”
“We don’t know,” said Kelda, her voice gaining a little volume as she grew used to her surroundings. “It’s spreading like a plague, and we can’t stop it. Utgar sent it, that much we know. Please, Vagmor,” she pleaded, “Jandar will destroy the alliance if you don’t do something.”
“Jandar created the alliance,” said Vagmor, his voice smooth, calm, but commanding. “How could he destroy it?”
Kelda hesitated. Making up her mind, she said, “He gave Drake a command.”
“What was it?”
Again, Kelda hesitated. The command had been so unlike Jandar that it still sounded ludicrous, even to her. “He told Drake to summon the armies of the other allied generals, and lead them, without their knowing, to Utgar. Then, he and Utgar would turn on them and form an alliance and rule Valhalla together, and crush any that opposed them.”
Only for a moment was there silence from the wellspring. Then, with a great rushing of water, the light intensified, and Kelda again had to cover her eyes. In another moment, whirling above the mist as his shape took form, appeared Vagmor.
Kelda just had time to catch Vagmor’s silhouette before the light faded and she was plunged into darkness. No sound met her ears, save for the very faint dripping of water. “You have been contaminated by this darkness, Kelda?” Vagmor’s voice was softer, not as loud and commanding as it had been coming from the wellspring.
Kelda nodded, and was about to reply, realizing that Vagmor could not see her, but a sound interrupted her. It was the sound of a footstep, but it was so heavy that the words she had been about to utter died in her throat. Vagmor took another step towards her, and she felt his hot breath close to her face.
He stood there for at least five seconds, before muttering in an ominous tone, “Morker.”
“What?” breathed Kelda, her faint voice quavering.
Vagmor did not reply, but Kelda suddenly felt a faint tugging at her skin. It was not as if something was pulling at her, rather as if some force was pulling away from within. Whatever it was seemed to resist though, and Kelda’s skin began to prickle in agitation.
“Be gone, plague,” said Vagmor in a voice so low Kelda could barely understand it. The tugging ceased instantly. Vagmor took a step back.
“Now, Kelda,” he said, his voice still low and ominous, “explain to me the dealings. Why has Jandar not summoned me before this?”
Kelda felt herself blanch. She had feared this would come up. Vagmor had been sent long ago to deal with the monster Valkrill. He had engaged the demon, but had never returned. A scouting party sent after him determined that Valkrill, as he was dying, had used his power to lock Vagmor into eternal shadow, a strange prison, apart from space or time.
“Speak,” said Vagmor, his voice neither loud nor quiet.
Kelda swallowed. From what she knew of Vagmor, he would likely be able to tell if she lied, so she decided to speak the truth. “Jandar was afraid of you,” she said, “afraid of your power. He knew he could easily win the war with you on his side, but he knew also that he could never control you. When you were cast into eternal shadow, he decided to leave you there, lest you overthrew him once the war was won.”
There was silence. Kelda waited for Vagmor to speak, trembling. When he did, however, it was in the same calm voice.
“Very well. Jandar had his reason. Tell me of this darkness, Kelda. What do you know of it?”
Kelda almost sank to her knees out of relief, but managed to remain standing, staring into the blackness she assumed was Vagmor. “All we know is that it came from Utgar,” she said. “We sent scouts to determine what he was doing, but half of them never came back, and those that did arrived half insane, talking with twisted words.”
“And what of Utgar’s forces?” asked Vagmor. “Have they attacked you in your weakness?”
Kelda paused. Now that she thought of it, no reports of Utgar’s forces had reached her since Jandar was taken. Were they all blind? Utgar had withdrawn and they had been completely unaware. “No,” she said in reply, “I haven’t heard of any of their movements.”
There was silence, except for Vagmor’s heavy breathing.
“Can you help us, Vagmor?”
“A nameless fear, impenetrable, consuming all in its path. Morker. Yes, I can help you, Kelda, but you must do as I say.”
Kelda nodded, forgetting again that she was in the dark.
Vagmor seemed to have seen her motion, however, for he said, “use the wellspring to transport me to the northern edge of the Volcarren, three miles inland from the tip of Fire Peak. I will return once I am done. Until I do, do not stir from this castle. Do not go outside its walls, not even for a moment of peace, for if you do, you will be lost.”
Kelda nodded again.
“You must understand, Kelda,” said Vagmor, his voice quicker, “Morker will try to drive you from this castle, at first by subtle means, but you must not leave its walls. You must stay within the castle.”
“What is Morker?” asked Kelda, confused by Vagmor’s words.
“That knowledge is not for this time, Kelda. Now transport me, quickly.”
Confused, but trusting that Vagmor knew of what he spoke, Kelda stretched her hand out towards that wellspring and recited the incantation that Vagmor spoke for her. Once again, the waters glowed blue and swirled downwards, and then, the chamber was empty, save for Vagmor’s lingering words, “You must stay within the castle.”

“What have you done, Kelda?” Jandar’s words stopped Kelda where she stood, one hand still on the half closed door to the summoning chamber. Jandar’s voice was quiet, and as yet held no malice, but Kelda knew he was angry with her. Fearfully, she slowly lifted her head to his eyes, his piercing blue eyes, which now burned with wrath. She had never seen him so angry, and the sight frightened her.
“You think to use my wellspring without my knowledge?” asked Jandar, his voice still quiet and smooth, but deadly nonetheless. “I knew what you were about the moment you touched your lips to its waters. Now tell me, Kelda, who have you summoned?”
Kelda could not bear to look at Jandar any longer, his suppressed wrath was overwhelming. She bowed her head. She dared not lie to Jandar, not after what she had just done. Summoning all her courage, she said in a quavering voice which was barely more than a whisper, “Vagmor.”
There was silence in the hall in which they stood for nearly a minute. Jandar stood completely motionless, staring at Kelda as if she were Utgar herself, and Kelda remained looking at the floor, trembling for what she knew was about to come. And then Jandar’s wrath broke.
His voice was quiet at first, but gained volume with each passing sentence. “You summoned Vagmor, Kelda?” he said, his voice quavering with anger. “Do you not know that I forbid him to enter Valhalla again? Do you not know his power? Answer me!”
“Yes,” said Kelda, the words barely escaping her.
“Is it not enough that my men have deserted me? Must you defy me as well? Is my judgment not good enough that you must take matters into your own hands?”
Kelda shook her head, unable to speak.
“All of Valhalla is turned against me!” thundered Jandar, more to anyone who could hear him than to Kelda. “My army refuses to follow my orders, and now even my own kin attempt to usurp my rule from under me. What is this madness that has seized the land?” He turned back to Kelda, his eyes burning. She caught his gaze, and he held her there, unable to move, against the door. “You have all joined with Utgar,” he said. “You have all conspired with him against me.” He took one or two rapid breaths before continuing. “Well no longer will your treacherous kind walk about my lands free. I have heard the last of your sly whisperings in my ear. Deep in the lowest dungeon will you lie, Kelda, where neither Utgar nor anyone else will ever find you.”
With this, Jandar took a step towards Kelda, his arm outstretched. Kelda shrank against the door, closing it as she fell against it, her eyes wide with terror. At the last moment, however, Drake stepped before her, barring her from Jandar.
“Have you forgotten the laws that you yourself laid down, Jandar?” he asked, his voice even. “You said that if one be sick, or in need of aid, that person shall never be set in prison as long as the condition persists. Kelda is ill, and you will throw her into no cell.”
Jandar took a step back, resuming his position. A maniacal smile spread across his face. Spreading his arms wide, he laughed, and said to the arched ceiling high overhead, “Even my most trusted general is turned against me. Even in my own house I have no power.” He then turned to Drake, the smile still in place. “Very well, Drake. You insist on refusing to carry out my orders? You defend those that would topple me? Then go and join your true general and leader. Go to Utgar, and offer him your service, for I have no need of men that have no courage to carry out their lord’s will. I banish you from my lands, Drake. See that when you return, you fly your true colors, under the red banner of Utgar. Go.”
Drake remained motionless, his arms folded, his eyes fixed on Jandar. In that moment, he realized that this kyrie before him was not his beloved general, the one that he would follow to the end. That Jandar was hidden, his face veiled by this insanity.
“Go!” thundered Jandar, his voice murderous.
Drake turned, and, without a word, lifted Kelda to her feet. He then turned back to Jandar, and walked resolutely past him, his eyes fixed ahead, Kelda following him. The Jandar they both loved and trusted was no more.

Vagmor opened his eyes. A harsh wind smote him in the face, laden with dust and ash, but it might have been the breath of a kitten for all the notice he took of it. The cracked earth of the Volcarren, usually red and brown, was now black, laden with layers of gray ash. The sky was a dark gray, laced with red, and ash fell from it as snow. Vagmor looked out over the desolate place. The fissures in the earth, usually filled with running lava, now were silent. The air, commonly broken by the regular eruption of volcanoes, was now as quiet as death itself. The falling ash made the only noise, a soft sound, as of distant water. A sound that, in this place, could quickly drive one mad.
“Morker,” Vagmor muttered. The hostile word rolled from his tongue, anxious to leave as he spat it out. He took a step forwards, and his foot sank in three feet of ash. Undeterred, he took another step, and fell in similar depth. As he stood there, in ash above his knees, he realized that he would never reach his destination in time. Therefore, he cast a spell, and soon felt himself rise above the ash. He took a step forward, but his foot did not sink. A smile would have crossed his face had he had one. He would confront this evil soon enough.

“Drake,” pleaded Kelda, “you cannot leave. Vagmor said we would be lost if we left the city.”
Drake turned to her, a harness in his hands. “Where do my loyalties lay, Kelda? With Jandar or with Vagmor?”
“It is not Jandar that banished you, Drake. It is to that Jandar that you are loyal, as is Vagmor.”
Drake turned back and began saddling his horse, a chestnut with two white feet. “Jandar may be blinded to all about him, Kelda,” he said, “but I feel he knows what he says.”
“Then he at least knows not why,” said Kelda, searching desperately for anything to keep Drake within the city.
Drake turned to her once more. “I have defied my general twice already, Kelda, I cannot do so a third time. We can only pray that Vagmor will succeed in his mission and Jandar will call me back once his senses return.”
“Drake…” pleaded Kelda, but Drake turned away.
“I cannot do what you ask, Kelda. I’m sorry.” Drake swiftly mounted his horse, and with a last look at Kelda, rode from the stables, many of his belongings strapped behind him. Kelda watched him go, her eyes dry, but a terrible sadness in his heart.
“Kelda,” the word was spoken softly, and Kelda turned to see Raelin come in a side door. “Kelda,” she said again, “Jandar has commanded that… that you be taken to the dungeons for… for disobeying his word.”
Kelda nodded; she had expected this. She stood and walked towards the door which Raelin held open for her. “Raelin, she said, turning towards her. “Vagmor told me that we must not leave the castle for anything, but Drake won’t defy Jandar, not again. He might listen to you, though.”
Raelin met her eyes and nodded. “I’ll ask him,” she said.
Kelda thanked her and added, “Do not try to release me. I feel this curse in me once again, and it is likely that I will be better in a dungeon, where I can do no harm.”
Raelin nodded a second time, this time with tears in her eyes. “Vagmor will end the plague,” she said. “I know it.”

Vagmor stumbled and fell to one knee. He could have easily gotten back up, but he remained there. Something was wrong. He had never stumbled before, not even in the Underdark, where no light penetrated. Glancing down at his armor, he saw that the biting wind had begun to wear it away, scratching into the delicately carved lines and curves. That was something else that was wrong, his armor was enchanted, no mere wind could erase it. “Be gone, Morker,” he said in his mind, infusing the thought with power. An echoing laugh was all that met him.
“You leave me, and I will leave you.” The voice was slippery and smooth, coated in oil and dripping with venom. Vagmor recoiled at the sound, though it was only in his mind. “You know not what you are meddling in, snake,” he said, his voice flat, but still powerful. “Leave this land and its people alone. Go hide in the caverns where you belong.”
More silken laughter met his mind. “No, Vagmor, I do not belong in the caves, the muck, the dampness. I belong here, with people, with you. You will realize it before you die, I’m sure.”
“Fool,” stated Vagmor. “I cannot die.” With these thoughts, he rose to his feet and continued to press on, driving straight into the tearing wind which fought so desperately to drive him back.
Morker kept up a constant whispering in his head, enough to drive him insane, but Vagmor brushed his voice aside and did not stop. He had beaten this foul thing before, and he would do it again.

“Drake!”
Drake halted his horse instantly and turned in the saddle, waiting for Raelin to catch up. She flew to him and landed by his side, looking up at him. “Drake,” she said again, “you cannot leave. Kelda told me what Vagmor said, and if he speaks the truth, you cannot leave this place.”
“Vagmor always speaks the truth,” said Drake, “but I must leave this place. “Jandar wishes me to go to Utgar, so I will, and drive my sword right through his black heart. With any luck, I may end this terrible plague and free Jandar’s mind.”
“But Drake,” said Raelin, “Vagmor said…”
“Blast Vagmor!” said Drake. “We have no way of knowing what he is doing, and no way of knowing if he will succeed. It’s better to have two going at Utgar than one.”
Raelin took a step back, looking at Drake. Slowly, her eyes traveled over his face, and then down to his hands, which were slowly turning gray. Behind his eyes burned a feverish fire, the same fire that now tormented Jandar. “Drake, please… don’t go,” whispered Raelin, just loud enough for him to hear.
“I must,” said Drake, his eyes softening.
“Indeed,” said Jandar’s imperious voice, as he landed beside them. “And you, Raelin, shall not attempt to sway him from for once following my orders, lest I send you to join Kelda.”
Drake stiffened in his saddle.
“Now go,” said Jandar. “Be gone Raelin. If you try to undermine me as has Kelda, your punishment may be more severe than hers.” When Raelin did not move, Jandar shot out an arm and grasped her by the shoulder, seeking to fling her away. His motion was halted, however, by the rasping of Drake’s sword against its sheath.
“You will not touch her,” said Drake, tensely dropping to the ground, his sword held firmly in his right hand. His eyes blazed both with anger and fever, and they bore into Jandar with a gaze that he returned with venomous hatred.
“So it has come to this,” said Jandar in a musing voice. “Blows at last…” With these words, he drew his own long two-handed sword from where it was strapped cleverly to his back, and released Raelin, facing Drake. Raelin quickly backed away, looking fearfully from Jandar to Drake, both of which were now crouched, circling each other like mad dogs ready for the kill.

With the sound that accompanies a small building collapsing, Vagmor crashed to the ground. His enchantment gone, he rapidly sank into the ash, and it poured in over him, blocking him from the already dark world. “Give up?” asked Morker.
Vagmor did not respond, but summoning the power within him, blasted the ash away. He rose to one knee, and then to the other, and raised his head to look before him. There, rising ever upwards and fading into the dark clouds above, was the gigantic mountain that was Utgar’s fortress. He was close, he couldn’t give up now.
Give up. The thought had never before entered his mind. Vagmor looked down at his metal gloves, now worn thin from the wind. What was happening to him? His armor was impenetrable, his mind unwavering, his strength unmatched. What force would rob him of all three? Morker’s laughter echoed in his head. Summoning his strength, Vagmor rose to his feet, and began to climb the face of the mountain.
“You, Vagmor, climbing? You disappoint me. I would have expected something more… spectacular from you.”
Vagmor stopped. What was he doing? He was no man to climb a mountain, nor was he kyrie to fly over it. He was Vagmor, unhesitating, undying, unyielding. He stepped back and pressed his hand against the mountain. With a thunderous boom, the entire side of the volcano came crashing down, burying Vagmor in a cloud of thick dust.

With an insane yell, Jandar leapt at Drake, whirling his blade wildly. Drake prudently took a step back, allowing Jandar to waste much of his momentum, and dealt him a blow with his hilt which forced him downwards, where he landed, sprawled in the dirt. Drake turned and waited for Jandar to get up.
The Valkyrie rose in an instant, and swung his sword at Drake. Drake flung his own up, and met the massive blade, but the impact traveled through the steel and into his arms, jarring him. He momentarily lost his grip and sank to one knee, struggling to keep Jandar at bay.
“Fool!” yelled Jandar. “I’m a Valkyrie, not some pitiless orc. You should have thought of that before you refused to follow my orders.”
“No one in their right mind would do as you had asked,” Drake shouted back, still struggling against Jandar’s strength.
“No one in their right mind would dare to refuse them either,” Jandar hissed back. He then lifted his sword and kicked Drake before he could reply, rolling him over in the dust. Then, as Drake still lay on the ground, he raised his sword high above his head and prepared to strike him down.
“No!” Raelin rushed before Jandar, trying to stay his sword. Jandar turned, and flung her to the ground with a fist. He then turned back to Drake, but Drake was by now on his feet, his sword back in his hand. Seeing Raelin upon the ground, not moving, he rushed at Jandar, his sword held ready. Jandar prepared to meet his blow with one of his own, and their blades clashed, ringing throughout the castle.

With a heave, Vagmor flung aside the last of the heavy doors to Utgar’s chambers and went inside, tearing down the black hangings that he found in his way. An overpowering stench met him, which he sensed, rather than smelled, accompanied by a sinister hissing.
The stench he had found all throughout Utgar’s ruined fortress. Orcs and kyrie lay together, their blood mingling, their hands still at each others throats even in death. Buildings had been toppled as dragons fell, battling with their own, and everywhere lay a thick layer of dust from the fallen stones. Blood ran like rivers in the streets, pooling where it met and lending a red hue to everything. Vagmor had come across Utgar’s axe, imbedded deeply in the heart of Mimring, who lay sprawled across several doorways, crushing the bodies of orcs beneath him. He had passed on, going deeper into the destruction, searching, until he found what he sought, and what now lay before him: Utgar.
Utgar sat, rigid, lifeless, in his throne of black, his arms open, his head tilted back, his eyes wide. A mindless grin was fixed upon his face, and all about him, destruction reigned. Hangings were torn to shreds, orcs and kyrie lay in piles at his feet, various limbs missing, and Runa lay, dead, against a far wall, a trail of blood suggesting that she had been thrown there. Taelord’s sword rested, still standing, sunk into the chest of Moltenclaw, and Taelord himself, minus his head, lay in a grotesque position slumped against Utgar’s throne.
Utgar himself had already begun to rot, and bits of skin had flaked away, showing bones beneath. But what had caught Vagmor’s attention and held it was the gaping hole where Utgar’s chest had once been. As if he had been blown apart from the inside, Utgar’s skin was ripped to shreds about the hole, and his ribs were scattered every which way. And residing within the hole, frothing silently in its own vapor, was Morker, the source of the black plague.
Morker had no shape, but was rather concentrated smoke, tinted black, sending tendrils of darkness out of Utgar to all parts of his fortress, and now, Valhalla. Disgusted at what he saw, Vagmor raised his hand, his palm facing Morker, and thundered in a voice as old as the peaks overhead, “Vatra gatt!”
Hissing was the only sound that met his ears. That, and Morker’s laughter in his head.

Drake’s sword came down, and a spatter of blood met it, dying his face red. He blinked his eyes to keep them clear, and readied his sword for another strike. Behind him, the sound of the guns of his men filled the air, their bullets mercilessly ripping through kyrie flesh. Jandar and Drake clashed again, locked, and then fell apart. Jandar could not wound Drake, such was his skill, and Drake wouldn’t if he could have. About them, chaos reigned.
A battalion of knights, led by Sir Gilbert, clashed with the full force of Finn’s Vikings. Thorgrim stood in place, hacking at any foe that came within reach. The Templar Knights, most of them without horses, stayed together, slicing as they were assaulted by elementals. Kumiko, silent assassin that she was, slipped through the giant fray, killing who she pleased, and sparing those she trusted, which were, unfortunately, very few. The whole of Jandar’s once grand army was occupied in destroying itself.
The battle between Drake and Jandar had been the breaking point for the men. Some had tried to pull them apart, fearing for Jandar’s life, but others had stopped them, feeling that Jandar could not be saved, and must be destroyed before he destroyed them. The situation had rapidly disintegrated, with those loyal to Jandar pitched against those loyal to him as he once was. And now, fed subtly by the plague that was in all of their veins, the men fought each other, barely knowing why.
Raelin, stunned by the blow Jandar had given her, was now flying far above the battle, desperately trying to convince Nilfeim not to strike down Drake. Concan had joined her, though his pleas were slightly less heart-felt than hers. Nilfeim, however, saw only his master in danger, and strove to get a clear shot at Drake. Raelin, determined to not let this happen, followed Nilfeim’s head so that she was always before him. He would not strike her, this much she knew, though his temper was rising quickly.
A volley of musket fire broke into the mass of Vikings, leveling many of them. Finn turned, and, signaling to his remaining men, charged the ranks of the 4th Massachusetts Line. Another volley, and Finn went down.
Sir Gilbert had engaged Kumiko, and was dealing her blow after blow, each of which she barely managed to block. With each swing of his sword, he denounced her as a skulking coward, traitorously slipping a knife into her enemy’s back when their face was turned. Kumiko remained silent, but dueled him all the fiercer.
Jandar and Drake clashed for what seemed to be the thousandth time. They tangled briefly, and then broke apart, each unable to strike the other. “You cannot win this fight,” said Jandar, eyeing Drake with a crazed look.
“Neither can you,” replied Drake shortly, his skin burning with plague. He doubted the veracity of his words, however, for he felt sweat coating the hilt of his sword, and his hand was beginning to shake.
“Oh, but I think I can,” said Jandar, the same idiotic smile creeping back onto his face. “You forget, Drake, that I am a Valkyrie.”
Drake froze. He had, remarkably, forgotten. He rolled just as the earth opened up below him, and improvising quickly, shot his grapple gun at Jandar. The metal arm knocked Jandar flat, and Drake thought he heard a wing snap as the kyrie struck the ground. Jandar bounded back up in an instant though, and kicked Drake to the ground, holding him there with his sword.
“This duel is over,” he said, all trace of a smile gone.

Vagmor slowly lowered his hand, his eyes fixed on the black steam that was Morker. “You say I cannot kill you, Vagmor,” laughed Morker’s voice in his head, “but you cannot destroy my either. I hold too much of Valhalla in my grasp.”
Vagmor did not reply, but remained looking at the ruined corpse of Utgar. Something here was not right. None of Utgar’s soldiers had begun to decay, only Utgar himself. And judging by the state he was in, Vagmor surmised that he must have been dead nearly a month. So then, Utgar had died first, and then his soldiers had followed. “What have you done, Morker?” asked Vagmor in his head.
Morker laughed. “What have I done? What have I always done, Vagmor? You’ve found me enough times to know what I am, and what I do. Yes, I have always been the same, Valkrill, Utgar, call me what you will. Answer your question yourself.”
Vagmor would have closed his eyes if he had any. So this was the answer to all the riddles. Vagmor had suspected something similar, but never this.
“You know, don’t you,” whispered Morker in his head, “what I am? Jandar has fought me for the better part of his life. Ullar has always sensed me in his forests. Einar sensed me, and tried to drive me from his halls, though he never fully succeeded. Vydar entertained parts of me, while ignoring the rest. Only Utgar recognized me for what I was, for I had always been with him. He saw my potential, though I must admit I kept the full consequences from him. He made Valkrill for me, and for a time, all was well. But then you came along, and had to spoil everything. You ruined Valkrill for me, and I had to go back to Utgar. However, things had changed in my absence. Utgar had begun to grow; Taelord and the others had sensed it. I tried to return to my old haunts, but they were unfamiliar to me. Finally, Utgar could contain me no longer. One of us would have to triumph over the other. Naturally, he was no match for my might, and the result you see before you.”
Vagmor’s mind was churning with the information he had received. It all made sense now. And he was powerless to stop it.
Morker’s voice laughed again in his head, reciting and ancient line, one that Vagmor had only heard once before in its entirety. “A nameless fear, impenetrable, consuming all in its path. A dark terror that drains the hope and comfort from all about it; an unnamed death, lurking in the heart of every living thing. It is I, this black plague, which has been set lose from its natural bonds. It is this dark disease that now ventures out from where it first gained its freedom, seeking to consume all, every living thing, until only it is left, and the void of my emptiness is completed.” Morker laughed again. “Very soon, Vagmor, very soon Valhalla will be mine. And then I will take you too.”
“No,” said Vagmor. “There are those that will oppose you always.”
“Jandar?” mocked Morker. “Here is your Jandar…”
An image flooded Vagmor’s mind: Jandar’s quarters, as he had once known them. Jandar, his skin withered and black, lay upon his death bed, Raelin weeping by his side. From out of the open window, Vagmor could clearly see the courtyard littered with the bodies of Jandar’s men, either slain or fallen to the unseen plague. The scene looked very similar to Utgar’s fortress. “You think Jandar can oppose me?” asked Morker. “He is but a wisp, as easily blown away as a trail of smoke. You have seen how easily I overcame Utgar, powerful though he was.”
Vagmor could stand no more. “By the power granted me,” he thundered, “I banish your very existence from the universe!”
Morker only laughed.
Vagmor stumbled back, his power drained. Morker was right, he could not destroy him. “Why, Morker, why? You know I could easily destroy Utgar or Valkrill.”
“Why must you fail now, Vagmor? I think you know the answer to that. I was born in Utgar, a little spark, a small flame. I was merely a thought. He nurtured me, poured his very being into me. When the war came, he fed me all the misery and suffering heaped upon him, and I grew. He gave me a mind, Vagmor, until I could think for myself. I fed off of the magics coursing in his veins, and I began to speak to him, subtly at first, but then more and more boldly. He gave me a form, in his mind, an insatiable hunger for quiet, the kind of quiet that only comes with the grave, the end of all things. As his strength waned, mine grew, and our places shifted. I drove him on, instead of him driving me. I drove him to crush Jandar and his puppets, to wipe them from the face of the earth. And then, as I have already told you, Utgar created Valkrill. In my absence though, Utgar began to see what destruction I had wrought, and he began to become afraid. He began to call back his minions, release his prisoners. When I tried to return to him, where I had been created, his mind was hostile to me. I could not live there, and I burst out, consuming Utgar, my maker, as I did so.
“But now you see, Vagmor, I don’t need Utgar any longer. His desire for destruction, his wish to kill, that is me, I am his will, and I can exist on my own, such is my strength. I am too strong for you to kill. I now sit here, slowly draining the life from Valhalla. When I am full, this land will be no more, and I will move on to more fertile grounds.”
Vagmor slumped against the dead body of Taelord. Morker was right. Even he, Vagmor, could feel the darkness of Morker slowly clouding his vision. Valhalla was lost. All would perish to this plague, unless…

“My lord, the duel is not over.” Sir Denrick’s blade clashed against Jandar’s.
“More traitors!” Jandar yelled, turning to Denrick. The two of them exchanged blows for a few minutes, but Denrick was no match for the skill of Jandar, and he quickly fell, his head cloven in two. Drake, however, had had enough time to recover himself and get a firmer grip on his sword, and now stood ready to face Jandar once again. Jandar rushed at him, his left wing trailing pitifully on the ground, but before he could reach him, something large and white thudded to the ground between them.
“Stop.”
Both Drake and Jandar lay on their backs, staring up at the massive form of Nilfeim. Raelin fluttered down, anxiously watching Drake. Concan hung just out of reach of Jandar’s blade, should he consider turning on him as well.
“You are both half mad,” said Nilfeim, “and if you would but pause in your senseless dealings for a moment, you would see this. Look about you, Jandar. Your armies clash against each other, tearing each other to shreds. Drake, these men look up to you. Command them to stop. This plague, this sickness, this is what it wants. Do you intend to humor it, or fight it?”
Both Drake and Jandar got up shakily. Raelin flew instantly to Drake’s side and helped him up, and Concan warily approached Jandar. Nilfeim remained between them, swinging his head from side to side, scrutinizing each one in turn with his hard blue eyes.
Drake slid his sword into his sheath, and waited for Jandar to do the same. Jandar, however, remained where he was, staring up at Nilfeim with an odd expression on his face. Drake saw in an instant what was coming. Jandar was too far gone to heed Nilfeim’s words, and in one motion, he swung his sword at the white dragon’s neck.

Pain seared across Vagmor’s body, but he did not withdraw his hands. Cautiously, he probed the center of the blackness within Utgar. He felt nothing but thick mist, but he cupped this in his hands, drawing it out. The mist was hot in his hands and throbbed as if it had a heart. Vagmor closed his glove on the smoke and left the room.
“You cannot kill me, Vagmor,” said Morker, though all trace of laughter was now gone from his voice.
“No?” said Vagmor. “Shall we find out?”
“No spell you know of can end me,” persisted Morker, but Vagmor did not stop. “You can hurtle me from the highest cliff, but I shall survive.”
Vagmor paid no heed to Morker’s whispered words, but rather hid his mind from him. Morker tried to break through, to see his darkest thought, but he could not. Therefore, he turned to other, more natural, means. It was this that Vagmor had been hoping for.
Vagmor’s glove was entirely melted by the time he exited Utgar’s fortress. Morker began to seep into Vagmor’s strange matter. He found it difficult to enter Vagmor, due to the fact that he was not human or kyrie or any other species that he had encountered before, but he managed it. He flowed into Vagmor like a thick syrup, diluting him, and spreading his curse throughout his strange body.
“No… no… You can’t do this Vagmor!” said Morker, sensing at last his enemy’s thoughts. “Think, think of what you could do with me.”
“I’ve done plenty with you already, Morker,” said Vagmor, even as he felt the plague begin to cloud his mind. “All of which,” he added, “apparently wasn’t enough.”
Vagmor stopped, and Morker saw through his eyes the crater of the volcano upon which Utgar’s fortress sat. Only here, in all of the Volcarren, lava still flowed. And still, it appeared to be but a faint trickle from this height. Vagmor raised his hand, and a shimmering portal appeared before him. “Kelda,” he said, speaking to the portal. The flat disk shone and contracted, and then remained steady. Kelda appeared within its depths, seated on a hard floor. She looked up, surprised, and Vagmor saw that her face was spotted gray.
“Kelda,” he said, his breathing becoming difficult as he fought Morker, “I will not be able to return. You will know when the plague has left you. When that happens, you may leave the castle, but no one is to approach the Volcarren for at least a year. When you do, do not do so alone. Evil still brews here.”
“Vagmor,” said Kelda, rising. “What… What do you mean you won’t return?”
“You will understand, Kelda,” said Vagmor. “Someday you will understand why.”
Kelda’s eyes widened. “Vagmor, no…no!”
Vagmor nodded his head once at her, and then fell, falling towards the shimmering ribbon of lava far below.
“You mindless fool!” spat Morker as he fell. “Think of the things you could have done.”
“I did,” replied Vagmor. “You were made by Utgar, and you must inhabit a living thing to spread your evil. You need a tool, like anyone else. However, once in that living thing, separating yourself from him is not such an easy task. And if that vessel is destroyed with you in it, you, too, are killed. Utgar himself placed you in Valkrill. I didn’t kill Valkrill, but his body was weak enough for you to flee it on your own when you banished me. You overwhelmed Utgar, and thus freed yourself, but you cannot escape me. I am the prison meant for but one purpose, to contain you.”
“NO!” shrieked Morker, but his cry was interrupted as Vagmor struck the lava.

With a clash of steel, Drake met Jandar’s blade. Nilfeim reared backwards, snorting, as he realized what Jandar had nearly done. No words came from Jandar now. Instead, he dueled Drake with a strength that was not his own. Drake was only just able to block blow after blow, but he was forced to back up constantly, losing ground with each step. And the more ground he lost, the closer he came to the gate to the city.
Concan, infected with the disease as he was, flew to Drake’s aid in beating back Jandar’s furious assault, but he was little help. In a stunning move, Jandar flipped his sword around, wrenching Drake’s sword from his grasp and knocking Concan to the ground at the same time. Jandar easily whirled his blade upwards and held it with both hands above his head, its tip pointed at Drake’s chest. Concan struggled to get up, but he was not fast enough. Jandar planted a foot on Drake’s chest and drove his blade downwards.

In that moment, Morker, far, far away, seething in Vagmor’s body, felt the heat of the lava consume his enemy, the one upon which he depended for his life.

With the force of a dragon’s wing shoving air from beneath him, Jandar was grasped from behind and pulled to the ground. He hit it heavily, and his other wing broke, his sword clattering out of his hand. Kelda stepped before him, and lowered her spear to his throat. Jandar, however, made no move to get up. As she watched him, Kelda saw the insane light in Jandar’s eye go out, and the grayness slowly leave his skin. She looked down at her own hand, and saw the same effect. She slowly raised her spear.
Drake sheathed his sword a second time and approached Jandar, still wary. Jandar blinked his eyes as he looked at him, as if he were waking up from a particularly sound sleep.
“Drake?” he said, his voice cautious, and not the loud rumble it had been. Drake did not reply, but merely nodded at him.
“Are you all right?” asked Kelda, helping Jandar to sit up.
“Aside from an ache in my head, and a weariness in my arms,” said Jandar, glancing at Drake, “I believe I will be fine.” He then leapt into the air, his wings newly mended by Kelda, and, thundering out over his capitol, said, “My friends! Cease your battles, for we fight our allies! The plague is gone; that which Utgar sent has been defeated!”
Silence slowly fell over the milling army as Jandar floated back to earth, and they realized that the curse had left them. Jandar retrieved his sword from where it had fallen on the ground, and sheathed it. “Come,” he said. “There are wounds to heal, hurts to forgive. Let us mend them now before they become scars, both on men and this land.”
Drake knelt before Jandar, his head bowed. “Forgive me for my words earlier,” he said, “I believed them to be necessary. You have my loyalty.”
“My friend,” said Jandar, raising him to his feet. He looked steadily into Drake’s eyes. “…I never lost it.”
A tear slipped silently down Raelin’s cheek. It fell to the ground, silent, but it was a tear of happiness. Utgar’s terrible plague, his awful wrath which had assumed a form of its own, was gone. Her general was back.

Dysole - 2nd Place

Spoiler Alert!

I hated times like this. The air was just the right level of still. Frogs had stopped croaking their evening melody. That was what concerned me. It wasn't the distant droning out of disgruntled croaks. It had come to a stop as sudden as if the frogs had ceased to exist. The fog was not helping matters. It was cold. I blew on my hands to warm them up which had only a marginal effect.

This was a covert mission. We had to go in and eliminate the threat. Unfortunately, we didn't really know what it was exactly. I was on board in case it was something mechanical. That was considered likely given what had happened to Murry. Back when we first heard that Utgar now had a brand new superweapon and planned on using it on the rest of Valhalla, we had sent in a recon team. No one had survived but Murry. Murry was another agent just like me. That was why I had been assigned to question him. He had been muttering for some time and ignoring food and drink. I had finally managed to get through to him.

"Murry, you in there? Did you destroy Utgar's superweapon?"

He looked at me. His eyes seemed to crawl around on the back of my brain. He spoke in a calm even tone.

"Hear the words. For the serpent has become one and his messenger shall bring a scythe and this scythe shall have blood. This blood is the blood of those who have suffered."

I stared at him for a couple of seconds and tried again.

"Murry? You in there? What can you tell me about this...whatever it is?"

His eyes just kept staring straight ahead like two empty lighthouses.

"And lo I looked to the east and there was a great flood rising up. And the waters of the flood were dry. A great dryness that could not be quenched. Many tried to quench the dryness but the dryness filled them."

"I'm sorry. What?"

"The light is good. We have been called. The sunset shall rise and the number of the sunset is three. I looked and the moon broke the first lock."

"You're not making any sense."

"And then they came up from the deep. They had faces like bears and the legs of a cougar and in their mouths they held the cup."

"What cup?"

Murry was silent.

I turned back to the assembled generals. They were hopeful since he had at least talked to me something that no one else had yet managed.

"He's not making any sense. I doubt we're going to get anything out of him if he continues to jabber on like this."

Jandar nodded and the generals left and discussed what they would do next.

They had decided that we would send in a strike team to eliminate the threat. We would be prepared for this...whatever it was. I was equipped with a high end camera into my goggles and they would be videorecording everything. Kelda was accompanying us as we had a minor breakthrough when she attempted to use her healing powers on Murry. His eyes had returned to normal and he began to eat but he had no memory of what had happened. Whatever happened to Murry, they wanted to make sure didn't happen again. Tandros Kreel was there in case we needed to fight anything. He would hold off the threat while we accomplished our mission. If whatever it was turned out to be some sort of monster, then he would do his best to distract or destroy it while the rest of us provided support.

The only others on the mission were Deadeye Dan and Darrak Ambershard. The dwarf was needed to remove traps and Dan was needed to remove any threats from a distance. Since secrecy was tantamount only the five of us and the generals knew where we were.

The silent frogs were still putting me in an itchy mood. I mentioned it out loud. Ambershard chuckled.

"Tell me. How many adventures have ya been on? Frogs goin' silent ain't nothin'."

Dan put a finger to his lips.

"I know how ta be stealthy. That weren't loud."

Dan simply muttered.

"We're in enemy territory. Can't be too careful."

I looked up at Tandros who had stopped rowing.

"We're at shore."

We got out and surveyed the area. The fog was pretty dense so it was difficult to see more than a few feet in front of us. Tandros began leading the way. Something felt off. I whispered my concern.

"Is this place typically foggy?"

"Are ya gonna be jumpin' at every stick and tree?"

"I just think we need to be more careful."

It was at this moment that Tandros stumbled over something. We all huddled up and looked at it. It was a wolf. Well it looked like part of a wolf, probably a Badru. Kelda grimaced as she looked at it.

"Something's eaten part of it."

"What?" Dan inquired.

"Not sure. Whatever it was the wolf never saw it coming and it did quite a number on it."

I knelt down and felt the wolf's skin. There was a mangled rip and the fur turned into gelatinous insides pretty quickly. It was missing the top half of its body and what were probably several vital organs. I'd like to think we scared off whatever was eating it but that seemed a bit optimistic. Ambershard smacked my wrist.

"Sure. The frogs aren't croakin'. That means evil but I'll jus' go ahead an' touch tha dead wolf. That ain't gonna bite me in tha rear end later."

I pulled off the glove I had been using and threw it on the ground. Thankfully I kept a spare. Tandros was doing his best attempt at tracking but he wasn't finding anything important. While looking at the ground he began to speak.

"What worries me the most is how little resistance we've met."

"Covert mission right?" I suggested.

"Yes, but usually by now something has happened. No advance scouts. Nothing to protect the...the whatever-it-is."

There was a muted silence over the group. And then the frogs croaked. We all jumped. Just as quickly as they started, they died down. We quickly agreed to move on. Tandros picked what appeared to be a trail but he readily admitted he could be wrong.

It didn't take long for us to reach the next site. Just over a hill was a pyramid made out of what looked like marble. It seemed so out of place that it was highly likely whatever Utgar had he was hiding in there. There were plenty of corpses around the front of it. Most of them were Utgarian. A troll, some drow, and some marro. Upon a closer examination we found no sign of the previous team. Kelda leaned down to examine one of the dead drow.

"It's fresh. I mean it hasn't been dead long."

"What killed it?" I asked.

"It looks like a knife."

"So do you think someone on Utgar's crew staged a coup?" Tandros suggested.

"Maybe." Kelda shrugged.

"Do you think whatever attacked the wolf did this?" Dan posited.

"It looks different." Kelda said.

We made our way to the entrance and after Ambershard checked for traps we went inside. The room was expansive. What impressed me most were the intricate carvings on the walls.

On the eastern wall was a picture of a large wave. Kyrie were throwing themselves against the wave and it appeared to be crushing them. On the far wall was a relief of a strange creature holding a large chalice. It looked like a kyrie except the face was broader and more animalistic. On the western wall was a carving of a snake eating its tail. A tall hooded figure with a cloak stood watching. I turned and saw that light was peeking it's way into three holes. I figured that was the sun peeking in right at dusk. In the light at the center of the room was a pedestal. It was on top of a series of stairs so whatever was on the pedestal was out of sight. We all approached uncertain of what we would find.

As I came up I took one look at what was on the pedestal.

"Seriously?"

It wasn't some big horrible thing like I had been expecting. It was a normal everyday coffeepot. I picked it up and looked at it. I hadn't seen one of these in ages. Not since I had been summoned to Valhalla. The coffeepot was empty and there were no grounds in it. A bright white Light Coffee was splashed across the front of the device in some annoying font. After checking it a little bit longer I shook my head.

"I think we've been had. Utgar has us on a wild goose chase. Whatever his weapon is it isn't here."

Ambershard muttered something as the others walked toward the door.

"Sorry what?"

"I said too bad fer ya."

"What do you mean?

"What I mean is that Utgar contacted us. Said if we lead you into a trap and report back to the generals there's nothing he'll save us from the coming apocalypse."

"You!"

I couldn't help myself. I fired at him. He attempted to dodge but the bullet struck true. My compatriots turned. Kelda was yelling.

"What did you do?"

"He was working for Utgar!" I shouted back.

Tandros pulled out his sword and charged me. Instinct took over and I put two bullets into him. A shot came into my arm. I saw Dan sitting a ways away. I charged him. Kelda stopped me.

"Come on. You don't need to-"

I shoved her out of the way and fired at Dan. My aim was really on as that bullet struck true as well. I then turned to Kelda. She was looking up at me with pleading eyes.

"Why shouldn't I?" I asked.

"We can save you too. Just let us talk to Utgar." she said. She reached out her hand. I shot her.

"I don't need you."

I knew I needed to get out of there and fast. If Utgar knew about this he would be on the place in a hurry. I quickly left my former comrades where they lay and began foraging back toward the boat. I soon saw that another boat was there complete with a second strike team. So the generals were prepared in case of a double cross. This was good. I informed them of what I knew and then collapsed. I was tired.

When I awoke I saw that I was in some kind of medical ward. I looked over to my left. There was a video feed. It was my video from the earlier mission. It was playing the part where I had to destroy the infiltrators. But someone had messed with it. I was hearing Kelda beg for mercy and ask what happened to me and I heard myself laugh and state that she was not called and had to die. And then I shot her. It was a strange feeling. Utgar must have messed with the tape somehow to make me seem like a traitor. I would explain to the generals. I knew I could make my case. A kyrie entered with a cup and a coffeepot on it labeled Light Coffee. I intended to ask him what was going on but something else came out instead.

"The light is good."

He nodded and responded back.

"We have been called."

I nodded.

Crixus33 - 3rd Place

Spoiler Alert!

Crixus shivered. It wasn’t that the night was cold, but the night was silent. He never knew any silence to be good. Not a single sound was to be heard. The crickets weren’t singing, the bats weren’t chirping, and not a single owl hooted. Crixus remembered when Einar had called him to a conference room a week ago. Spartacus was standing off in a corner of the chamber staring at a map laid across a table. Einar motioned to the table.
“I presume you have heard the rumors,” he stated. “Of the destroyed lands and the blathering morons that returned after reconnaissance. Yes,” Crixus said flatly.
Einar walked over to the table and beckoned Crixus to follow.
“What we have learned from the ‘blathering fools’, is that Utgar has summoned a creature of enormous strength, magic, or both,” said Einar, “We have.. conflicting reports about the rest of its features. Some say it can cloak as if it has advanced technology or powerful magic. Others say it smells of rotting flesh and decay. Still some say it doesn’t exist at all and lives in a time warp between space. Others claim a deathly sound accompanies it everywhere. However one constant remains true and that is a fiery, piercing gaze.”
Crixus looked to Spartacus for a reaction, his face did not betray his inner thoughts. Einar continued, “The other generals and I have decided we must assemble a strike team. A force to enter Utgar’s dominion and stop the enemies advance. We know the creature has done most of its ‘raids’ along the border between Vydar’s domain and Utgar’s. All the generals will pick a small group of its best warriors for this mission. I have chosen Spartacus, a dozen of his finest gladiators and you, Crixus.”
Crixus was surprised, honored even, but he was still glad he was wearing his helmet so the other two could not see.
“Why have you chosen us,” Crixus inquired.
“Because you gladiators have defeated unthinkable odds. You have killed scores of savage beasts in the coliseums back on Earth, and Spartacus led a rebellion defeating numerous legionaries. I believe you are up to the task at hand. Now head out to the gates to meet with your guide that will take you to the checkpoint to meet the forces assembled by the other generals.”
That conversation felt like it had happened only yesterday. Crixus looked around the boat at the other teams assembled by the various generals. Ullar had sent elf mages. They had said they were the Nine. However he counted ten of them. There was the one carrying a large flag, the beautiful female, the two fire wielders, the one who rode a winged horse, another accompanied by a dragon, another whose face was always hidden by a deep hood, one in yellow robes, the other who amazed everyone when he arrived alone and then summoned the rest, and finally the one who said he could strip any other creature of its characteristics including its very existence. His eyes then passed over the pile of stone at the back of the ship, if he didn’t know better that’s all he would have thought it was. Upon closer inspection he could make out the legs and heads of the two dozen granite guardians Aquilla had chosen for this mission. He then looked at his own men the, only other group currently on the boat. They were all strong, independent men. They may not be well organized but in the heat of battle they are the most ruthless, mightiest warriors. Crixus then thought of the score of blastatrons and Major Q9 waiting for the boat to arrive in Vydar’s domain. His thoughts then fell upon how Jandar’s two score templar led by Dupuis who were being forced to circumnavigate Utgar’s forces on there way to the rendezvous point because there wasn’t enough space to hold the horses on the ship.
Crixus eyed the nearing riverbank and large hill that sloped up from it. The boat ran aground on the shore and the forces slowly piled out. The small army climbed the nearby hill and Crixus stared at the soulborgs bustling around preparing last minute activities. Crixus and Spartacus approached the small table that Q9 and a blastatron were standing at. The blastatron was hooked up to a radio dish and was relaying messages received form other messengers. Ulginesh and R’ock, the elementar’s chieftan, strode over to the table. The major turned to the assembled leaders and spoke in cold, hollow voice.
“We have received information that another raiding party has been pillaging villages tonight. The creature is with them.”
“How far are they?” inquired Ulginesh.
“Less than a mile,” was the reply. “We’ll have to travel through forested area to get to the enemies position quickly,” continued the massive robot.
“Whe a’ te horsemen,” rumbled R’ock in a voice that sounded like two large boulders grinding against each other.
“See for yourself,” said Ulginesh as he pointed with his staff to a large cloud of dust approaching.
“They will be forced to go around the woods, causing further delay,” Q9 said, irritated.

Crixus was walking through the woods. He glanced to his left and right. He saw his fellow gladiators, as well as the soulborgs. He also saw the elf, Emirroon. He was the only elf that had left the camp, as he alone was less conspicuous than if the rest had come. He would summon the rest of his compatriots when they encountered the foe. The elementar’s had melded with the ground as soon as the meeting had ended. They were to stealthily locate the enemy’s position and report back. After Dupuis had reported in he immediately galloped off again with his troops to get a head start. Crixus suddenly snapped out his musings as he saw a head and then torso of rock rise out the ground.
“We ha’ fownd te enemy’s spot. On’ of mine kin haz gone ta lead te riders,” R’ock reported. “Follow me.”
The torso melted back into the ground so only the head was visible and then the head began sliding forward. Crixus and Spartacus exchanged bewildered looks. How were they to keep up with or even see R’ock as he sped off into the darkness. As if he had read there minds Q9 stepped toward them and spoke.
“My sensors are locked onto him. Just keep up with me, unless you can’t keep a big guy like me in sight.”
Crixus raised an eyebrow at Spartacus, “Did the man of iron just make a joke?”
“It is not a completely unfeasible conclusion,” the soulborg remarked and with that he charged off into the darkness.

Crixus slowed down as the major came to a halt. They were at the edge of a small clearing staring at the light emanating from enemy campfires. Seated around burning coals were red kyrie and marro holding stingers. They all sat with a small clearing in their midst where a large body lay, but Crixus couldn’t make out any features.
“Emirroon move to the opposite end of this field and when the battle joins that is where you are to summon your comrades,” Q9 ordered. “This way we’ll have them flanked on the eastern and western sides and when the knights arrive we’ll have blocked off their escape to the north.” Emirroon nodded and slipped off towards his position.
“I want you and your men to follow him,” Q9 told Spartacus. “The elves will need numbers to protect them.”
“What off the southern flank? Who will block that avenue off if the enemy attempts to escape?” questioned Spartacus.
“The elementars are currently stationed there to slow them down if they make a retreat,” stated Q9. With that the gladiators headed off to join Emirroon. As soon as they reached the opposite end of the field, Crixus heard Q9 telling Spartacus over a communication device that the knights were in position. The orders were given, the knights were to charge the camp. The elves and soulborg were to provide suppressive fire on the creature when it appeared. The gladiators were to protect the elves until they were needed to move in on the enemy camp. The elementars were to guard the south and some were to act as messengers between the separated groups. Q9 issued the order to charge.

Crixus watched as the cavalry burst forth from the woods and bore down on the enemy. The kyrie and marro were completely taken by surprise and for the first few moments did nothing but stared. Then the kyrie began winging to the sky and the marro raised their weapons. The marro should have acted as the kyrie and ran, for the templar were upon them before a single shot could be fired. On their first pass through the knights had felled every marro, but Crixus wasn’t paying attention to their handiwork as he was staring upon the great mass that had risen with the kyrie.

The creature was terrifying to behold. Its whole body was gray and appeared to be decaying. Its body was muscular, but its skin was tightly drawn across its body as the beast’s spine was protruded from its back. Its body was mainly humanoid accept for a few features. Its body only rose up from the waist, it had no legs. It had no wings to keep it aloft, so it must have been magical to be floating in the air. Crixus however hadn’t reached the most terrifying parts, the creature had an upper arm bur then they ended in a nub and where the rest of the arm should have been was nothing. That wasn’t as bad until he saw the creature had hands! They just floated in the air not attached to the body. They were gray and decayed like the rest of the beast. The most terrifying feature was the eye. The creature’s neck extended into instead of head just an eye. A glowing bright orange eye surrounded by, like petals to a flower he thought, thin triangular protrusions that could have been many eyelids. Then all at once the monsters grotesque body disappeared. Nothing was left of it but the disembodied hands floating above the ground.

Crixus looked across the field to where the soulborg were firing into the sky at the retreating kyrie and he watched as red bodies collided with the ground. He turned around to see the elf had already summoned Ulginesh and the two fire wielders. Crixus then saw a flash and the elves Arkmer and Haduc were there. Crixus heard a rustling above. Two kyrie had landed in the trees above them and now dropped to the ground. Spartacus and he charged the red figures. The man Crixus charged swung his ax aiming for Crixus’s neck. Crixus ducked and plowed into the kyrie’s midsection, tackling him to the ground. Crixus stood up quickly and stabbed his sword downward. The kyrie parried the attack with his ax, tucked his feet under Crixus’s stomach, and thrust Crixus away. Crixus landed on his back and the kyrie bore downm on him and swung the nasty weapon towards Crixus’s chest. Crixus rolled out of the way and pushed himself to his feet with his back against a tree. There was a deep pain in Crixus’s side as his enemy’s blade struck deep into his side. That blow would have felled a normal warrior but Crixus being the gladiator he was knew how to take more serious wounds than that and didn’t let the darkness creeping into his mind to blot out his thoughts. He instinctively used his arm and shield to pin the ax in his side, though this caused the wound to burn like fire, so that the kyrie could not free his weapon. The kyrie tugged on the handle but could not free it. Crixus smiled at the brute’s stupidity to not just let go of the ax ashe thrust his sword through the kyrie’s chest and out his back. The warrior stood blinked and crumpled.

Crixus fell to his knees. He knew he wouldn’t survive this wound, it nearly cleaved his abdomen in two. Before the darkness overcame him, the small red dragon waddled over to him and touched its nose to his side. At once the wound sealed itself up. The blood stopped gushing forth and Crixus’s head cleared. He rubbed the animal behind its ear and it crowed contentedly.
“Your getting careless,” mused Spartacus as he wiped the blood off his sword that came from the supine figure lying at his feet.
“I took the bigger one,” Crixus muttered. Spartacus smiled.

Crixus took in his surroundings. Emirroon was done summoning his brethren. He could hear shouts and clashing to the south and behind him. The elves, capuans, and elementar were finishing off the kyrie. Ctixus looked back to the field. The large hands and been devastating the templar. Horse rider alike lay mangled on the ground. One hand would grab a rider and throw him, while the other used a sweeping motion to clear away another three. The riders were stabbing the hands with their lances in an attempt to make them unusable or pin them to the ground. Crixus watched as a horseless knight threw his spear at one of the hands. The weapon cut clean through the monster’s palm. The creature let out a deep moan and shook its hand limply. The knight must have hit a nerve as the creature’s hand now hung weakly and unmoving. Dupuis noted this success, dismounted and picked up a spear from the ground. He flung the spear at the mitt of the beast, his aim was true. The monster let another moan, and Crixus watched as a cloud of dust bellowed up from the ground when the monste3r struck the earth. He then watched as the dust rushed forward, as the invisible monster and its hands were drug across the ground towards Dupuis. Dupuis grasped the hilt of his sword and pointed it outward with both hands and stood in between the path of both hands. He was specter to behold with a red cross across his chest and shield and a magnificent gold gilded cup hanging form his waist. The beast collided with blade. Crixus watched as the beast’s body reappeared. Its momentum carried itself over Dupuis and Crixus watched as the knight was trapped beneath the bulk. The soulborg and elves started firing upon the beast’s body. The body blackened and gashes were formed as the beast lay, paralyzed. Crixus noticed that the creature showed no pain and that the wounds appeared to be healing. That was until a templar drew a sword and slashed it across the beast’s eye. At that moment the thing’s entire body quivered and the beast let out a shriek. Its body moved again, rose into the air, and vanished leaving only the hands visible. As its body rose Crixus saw Dupuis’s prone body lying very still on the ground.

Crixus now knew their enemy’s weakness. But he watched helplessly as the remaining templars were crushed or thrown away. The hands then began moving towards the soulborg. The robots were shooting at the hands, but they were moving to quick for many shots to hit their mark. Once the hands were close enough they began smashing the machines into the ground. Crixus watched as Q9 was grabbed by one and thrown like a rag doll half way across the field. The major collided with the ground and tumbled a few more meters and then lay still, his armor was crushed inward and one of his arms was snapped off. The blastatrons managed to paralyze one of the hands before they were destroyed. Crixus turned to Morsbane.
“You said you could remove any being’s power correct?”
“Yes…”
“Well then reveal the creature so we have something to fight!”
“It will take time and concentration.”
“We will lend our strength to you,” said Ulginesh as he motioned to the other elves.
“And I’ll buy you some time,” Crixus stated.

The creature had begun slowly moving across the field. Its good hand beat out a rhythm on the ground creating a deep rumble. Crixus had contacted R’ock and was waiting for the elementar to strike. As the hand came down again solid rock wrapped around it and pinned it against the ground. The rock was five elementars struggling to keep the monster trap. Crixus charged out of the woods with a loud battle cry. Spartacus and the other capuans followed. Over their heads flew boulders ranging from the size of a man’s head to the size of a man’s body. Some pounded the earth but others had their trajectory changed when they collided with the unseen foe. Crixus reached the pinned hand force and the elementars holding it down slid away as Crixus thrusted his sword downward and impaled it clean through. The beast’s moaned and swung its hand and its body crashed to the ground. It began rushing towards Crixus, but his sword was still stuck in its hand so he had nothing to stab the creature’s hidden eye. Then a shot rang out and the beast reappeared and fell to the ground unmoving. Crixus turned to see smoke rising from the barrel of Q9’s good arm pointed directly at the glowing orb.
“I’m never down for long,” Q9 said. Crixus smiled and with both hands drew his sword from the creature’s palm. The other gladiators had proceeded to use their various weapons to stab through the creature’s hide and pin it to the soil, so that it could not take flight. Crixus rushed forward and began slashing at the bright eye. With each strike the bulk quivered and let out a shriek. After a quarter dozen swings the ‘petals’ around the eye bent inward and protected the eye. Without so much as wincing the animal rose into the air and ripped and rent its flesh from the weaponry holding it down. Those wounds immediately began healing, but the remained scarred. The body vanished and the hands began their gruesome work. First they pulverized the five granite guardians to dust then they swept away the capuans tossing them several meters. Each landed with a sickening thud. Spartacus leapt high into the air swingy his sword at where the eye was only moments ago. A massive palm crashed into him and forced him flying across the field and inot contact with a tree. He fell to the ground like a sack of rocks. Now only Crixus stood before the beast; except for Q9 who was slowly pushing himself to his feet. A hand swung down and grabbed Crixus. It began squeezing him with a vengeance. Crixus could feel his mind clouding over. Then a flash of bright light emanated from behind Crixus and the monster’s bulk was revealed. The elves had succeeded, now they and the remaining granite guardians could finish the task, he would not die in vain. The eye stared at Crixus with a burning hatred, and he could see the scars he had created on the orb. He then saw a figure appear from behind one of the ‘petals’ above the eye. It was Dupuis! He was finishing up the last swallow from a golden chalice. He hung it back on his waist and then grasped his hilt with two hands and plunged it into the glowing light. The beast tossed Crixus away and shrieked. It began thrashing about and Dupuis was cast off its back. He hit the ground at the same time Crixus did. They both stared at the ensuing spectacle. The beast began pounding the ground with open hands causing the ground to resonate with deep booms. Its body thrashed about wildly. Its movement gradually slowed to a stop. Its body turned jet black. It then began to liquefy into a big oozing puddle of blank gunk. The puddle was slowly absorbed into the ground. Crixus laid his head against the ground. We won. We defeated the great shadow that had been a plague upon the land. His last thoughts before he slipped into unconsciousness was that Einar will be most pleased.

Bro-Man - Honorable Mention

Spoiler Alert!

The Devils Jagers

Its been two hours since we disembarked off the coasts. We traveled light and moved slowly to avoid detection from prying eyes. I looked down at our ragged group of warriors. Five Knights, three vikings, and two kyrie warriors, including myself, that is leading this scouting mission. Our group was small but they were all hand picked for this mission. Every man has his duty and are well prepared to meet whatever threat that is out there. Those that returned scouting in this area were babbeling about monsterous creatures that are far worse then the Marro or the Grut armies we faced. Jandar ordered us to investigate what the new threat is. However since our depature and our landing we have found little to no evidence of any creatures that the men were speaking off.

"Concan. We need to scout ahead and find whatever these 'creatures' the scouts have told of."

I turned to Rahn, a younger kyrie but a capable young warrior, and smiled.

"Rahn I think we need to see what the others think. We can travel fast through the skies, but they are not like us."

Rahn nodded and we both descended towards were the others made camp.

"Concan. We have been traveling for hours and there has still been no sign of the 'creatures' that the scouts spoke about. The only sign of the enemy we did find was some marro patrols, however they are many miles away from us."

I looked at the young warrior and saw the others coming to us as we touched the ground.

"I know. It worries me that they have not been found. This is the precise location that the scouts spoke of. We must continue on, hopefully we can find what were looking for when we have rested."

Rahn nodded and turned to the other warriors.

"We will set camp here. We should conserve strength and we shall travel at first light."

The other men nodded and began to set their camp. One of the knights, Sir Thomas, who had brown hair and stong built, came forward. "Sir should I have one of our knights keep watch?"

"Indeed. Have Cain stand watch. Don't put a fire on, we need to keep our presence hidden."

Sir Thomas nodded and set out his guard to first watch.

"I hope we can settle this soon." Rahn said as he settled down to rest.

"I know. I just hope that this dosen't end up, how does Drake put it, end in a wild goose chase."

One of the vikings laughed. "Yep that is exactly how he says it."

"Be quite Stoick or you'll be on next watch." Sir Thomas spoke harshly and Stoick just waved it off. I rested myself on the soft grass as Cain took watch.

***

I bolted up right as I heard a blood gurgling cry out into the night. I raised my sword and took my stance in the middle of the camp. The others awoke from the cry as well and brandished their weapons.

"Where is Cain?" Sir Thomas spoke and the first watchmen was missing. Our eyes darted everywhere looking for him but his body was no where to be found.

"Look up on the hill!" Stoick called out and we all turned to see who it was. A single figure stood at the top of the hill overlooking us. The full moon was rising, obscuring the figure in its moon light.

"Is that Cain?" One of the knights said.

"What is he doing?" One of the vikings spoke aloud.

"Cain get down here now!" Sir Thomas called out to him as he readied his warhammer.

The figure remained still and I felt something was off.

"Cain?" I called out but no reply. I took the first step forward.

"I wouldn't do that." A voice from above stopped me in my tracks. I looked up to see who it was, only to see a half of a body falling toward us. The body landed with a sickening crunch and everyone was deathly silent. Sir Thomas went to the body and turned it over. It was Cain. His eyes were bulging and his mouth was wide open. He loooked as if he was in complete disbeilf before he was killed, not knowing who or what had taken his life. I looked up and a shadow passed over us, zooming towards the figure on the hill. The winged kyrie landed perfectly by its side. The kyrie's body was slender and was about the same size as the one that stood next to it. The figures wings was a redish black, making it visible against the bright moonlight. The kyries sword stood by its side and stood watching, and waiting.

"I see you found your friend. Or whats left of him." The kyrie spoke and I realized that it was a female voice. My eyes widened as I realized whose voice it belonged to.

"Runa!" I yelled and raised my sword higher.

"Oh you remebered me. I'm touched." Her voice was cold, chilling even, as the wind in the deep caves, whispering in the dark to consume its victims. The voice made me shiver and even the others seemed to have felt it.

"You are responsible for the missing scouts!"

"Yes. They were less, adequate then what I have expected of them. But now that your here. My experiment can have more fun." She snapped her fingers and the figure began moving toward us. I readied myself and the men went into a line by my side. As the figure began moving out of the moon light I saw a large axe being dragged by his side. It was twice his size, yet he was so small. Why would he carry a weapon that is larger then him? The man moved closer to us and I notice a mask on his face. It was a skull mask and his eyes was the only thing that was visible.

"I'll handle this." One of the vikings said and moved forward.

"Careful. We don't know what this thing even is." Stoick called but the viking ran forward and ran his axe into the man's chest. The man fell to the ground and the viking called out.

"Ha! Is that the best you can give us!? I took him out in one go!"

"Kill!"

The viking stopped and looked down toward the man.

"Kill!"

The man rose to its full height and raised its axe.

"KILL!"

The man rushed and swung his axe forward. The viking was torn asunder and was gone. We readied oursevles but the man stood over his kill. The man began to thrash his arms from one side and to the next. Its arms buldged and bones snapped and cracked as it grew. His upper body was growing larger and his skin began to turn red. The creature screamed out to the sky the same cry that was heard earlier.

"The hell is this thing!?" Stoick yelled out.

"What foul sorcery is this!?" Sir Thomas called out as well. The men nearby took a step back as the creature turned toward us, its eyes peering straight at us behind that skull mask. It charged forward and we scattered as it ran through us. Rahn turned and brought his sword down onto its left shoulder. The creature bended down to one knee and swung its axe back it him. Rahn managed to deflect it in time but the blow sent him straight to the ground.

"Surround it!" I yelled and the men did as ordered. The creature looked at either side as we surrounded it, blocking all available paths to escape.

"Kill! Kill! Kill!"

The creature swung its axe and lets it loose against us. The deadly axe flying directly towards the knights. Two of the knights were hit, killing one instantly, the other clutching its side. Sir Thomas rushed to the wounded knight and the rest of the warriors rushed at the creature. They all attacked at once. Swords, axes, and pikes was piercing the skin on its arms and legs. The creature roared and twisted and turned, knocking the other warriors down to the ground. It grabbed another knight by his leg and smashed him to the ground. He rasied him up and swung him about, like a child with its stuff doll, and smashed him into the ground again and again. The knight was no longer moving and the creature moved its arm up high, carrying the knights severed leg with him. The creature tossed the body part and was on the ground, its hands clenching into the ground. It cried out and its legs grew larger in size. Its skin turning a redish black, the same as Runa's wings. Its body grew over and stood taller than all of us, standing over twice my own height.

"Wounding this thing only pisses it off!" Stoick yelled out as he he readied to attack the monster.

The creature turned toward me and its mask still remained. Its eyes were bloodshot and animal like. Nothing human remained in the creature.

"KILL!" It roared out and began chargeing straight at me.

"Concan!"

Rahn yelled and flew straight at the monster. The creature stopped its momentum and grabbed Rahn before he could stike. Its entire hand encompassed Rahn's entire body and Rahn cried out as it began to crush him. Stoick cried out and charged at the monster. The creature eyed him and raised it foot and slammed him into the ground. Stoick cried out and hacked at the creatures leg. The creature kept the pressure and Stoick was going deeper into the ground, the monster screaming into the air with its victory. This was my only chance. I took off into the air, raised my sword, and hacked the creatures head off. The monsters head went to the ground and the body slammed into the ground. I turned around and went for Rahn, freeing him from the monsters hand. He clutched his chest but he waved his hand at me that he was alright. Stoick grabbed himself out of the dirt and coughed up blood. The others hurried to him and he laid on the ground gasping for breath.

"Three dead. Two men wounded, one critically." Sir Thomas said as he closed the eyes of one of his own. I turned toward the creatures head and its eyes still stared out toward us. How such a creature can become like this I will never know.

"Well done." "I heard Runa's voice. I turned around and saw her standing before us. I raised my blade and went for her throat. Sword struck sword and it was stopped in its track. I tried pushing it forward but I could not move my arms.

"So fast" I thought to myself.

Runa smiled. "Its seems my pet did well. I think they are ready for the front lines."

"What!?"

Her smile grew into a sinister grin. "I didn't say that I had more than one." A shadow grew on the side of the hill where she stood before. My eyes widened and the shadows began to move. Hundreds of shadows began to descend and heading straight towards us. They each had a skull covering their faces, their eyes focused onto one thing, to kill. Runa steps back and takes off into the air as the creatures headed toward us.

"Concan?" Rahm said as he stared out at the new force. "We barely survived one of these things."

"I need you to go." I said to him. "Leave with the wounded and I'll hold them off."

"Concan! I'll do it!" I turned to Sir Thomas and the remaining knight and viking was by his side.

"We can buy you time long enough for you to escape."

I shook my head. "No they will kill you before you have a chance, I alone can hold them back."

"And you and Rahm are the fastest ones to get the wounded out."

I turned to the other warriors and they nodded as well, knowing full well of what they were chosen for. I lowered my head and placed my hand onto his shoulder. "You will never be forgotten, this I swear."

Sir Thomas placed his hand onto my shoulder. "Go. Tell Jandar of what has happened. We will send these beasts to hell with us." I nodded to him and Rahm held onto the wounded knight. I lifted Stoick and held him in my arms, the viking still clutching his chest gasping for each breath.

"To the ship!" We took off into the sky and I turned to look down at the three remaining men, as the massive horde descended upon them.

***

Runa watched as Concan took off into the sky, the younger kyrie following close behind. Only three men stood in her pets paths. They were foolish but she couldn't help but smile at their bravery, for staying behind, waiting to die. The lead knight, carrying a large warhammer let his weapon down to the ground. The flat end of the hammer touching the ground as he held the weapon. He lowered his head and she could hear a faint prayer escaping his lips. He then raised his head and charge forth, dragging the warhammer on the ground.

"For Lord JANDAAAARRRRR!" The knight screamed and his two companions charged with them. Her pets roared out and several began to transform. The lead knight slammed his hammer into the first of her pets and his companions came in seconds later. A dozen of her warriors, that have not transformed, were killed instantly by their combined attack but were soon overwhelmed by her pets sheer numbers. They were being torn apart by her pets and she looked up into the sky. One of her pets went to her side and she stroked the creatures cheek. It closed its eyes and almost fell to its knees by her submissive aura. She smiled at Concan as he looked one last time as his friends were being killed before him.

"Run little kyrie, run. You can only prolong thee inevitable."

Clancambell - Honorable Mention

Spoiler Alert!

Agent Carr stood at the prow of the small boat. It was the boat that would deliver the small strike team in behind enemy lines, which would ultimately take them into a stronghold of Utgar. This new evil which was proported had all of the allied archkyrie in a state of panic. Now it fell to Carr and his small team to neutralize the threat. Carr took a long drag from his cigarette and exhaled, watching the smoke drift up into the night sky. He pulled his pistol and checked the action once more. It was good, but Carr already knew that. It was just a nervous action. He turned and surveyed the team. He would have preferred to work with those that he was more familiar with, such as the agents of the krav maga, or the microcorp. However this assembled team had it's merits. Jandar and Ullar had collectively decided that each of the allied generals would send one member from their forces. Carr felt honored that Vydar had chosen him for such an important undertaking. Einar for his part had chosen a ninja from the northern wind clan. It was a good choice, as ninjas were known for their stealth. If the girl had a name, she wasn't sharing it. In fact she hadn't uttered a word since they left. A mohecian named Nightwind represented Aqullia while Jandar had dispatched an air elemental. The elemental had a name, but Carr could not pronounce it properly, so he gave up trying. Ullar's choice left something to be desired in Carr's eyes. Syvarris was arrogant and haughty. Carr had a mind to pitch him over the side some miles back, but his morals convinced him otherwise.

The boat had reached it's destination and it's motley crew of would be heroes disembarked. Carr took point, which drew him a narrow stare from Syvarris. The rest followed in behind, while the air elemental took to the air for a better vantage point. The group hadn't traveled long when they reached their destination. They formed a small huddle in the tall dead grass and stared up at the entrance to the stronghold set in the side of a mountain. Carr spotted a pair on minions on guard and pointed them out. Syvarris was quick to produce his bow and had an arrow knocked faster than Carr could blink. Fortune favored Carr however, and he quickly swatted the bow down before the arrow was loosed.

"What are you doing," Carr hissed as loud as he dared.
Syvarris stared back at him incredulesly, "taking out our enemy so that we may gain access. What's the issue?"
Carr sighed, "the issue is what if you don't drop them both? What if your aim isn't true? It won't take much for one of them to call out, and then we're screwed."
"Do you doubt my skill sir," Syvarris spat back quickly.
"That's not the issue," Carr started, before being cut off.
"Thhhhiiiss iiiiss poiiiintleeesss," cried the elemental, in a voice that sounded like wind blowing through trees. "Iiii wiiill deeeeaaall wiiiithh thhhhem."

The elemental was gone like that. Carr watched as the minions were tossed around and beaten by a foe they couldn't see. He had to admire the elemental's skill. When the coast was clear the rest of the band moved from their position and rallied at the entrance to the stronghold. They headed inside where the found themselves in a narrow hallway of a sort. Carr allowed Syvarris to take point here. Not in any defference to him, but if they were going to run into an enemy, it might as well be Syvarris that catches the first blow. The hall emptied into a large circular room with several halls leading from it, and a set of stairs that descended into some unknown depth.

"How now," Syvarris asked. His gaze fixed upon Carr.
"Good question," replied Carr. Indeed it was a good question. In truth Carr had no idea, but he wasn't going to allow Syvarris to see that.
"Hold," came the word from Nightwind. "Listen."
Indeed Carr could begin to hear it. A low humming sound. It sounded as if it were coming from beneath them.
"To the stairs," Carr gave the order.

The group was moving swiftly down the stairs. Upon reaching the bottom the stairs spilled out into a large chamber. In the center of the chamber, emitting a low hum, was a large, well machine was the only word that ran through Carr's mind. A glowing golden pool of ooze was at it's center. All around the pool were cables, and instrument panels, knobs and switches. It was quite a contraption, and Carr wondered what the others thought of it. The rest of his companions being unused to technology of this scale. It was Syvarris that first ran to the machine, studying the panels. When he reached out to touch it, a voice called out.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," called a figure flying down from some unknown perch.
Carr could make out the shape as he landed. "Taelord," he spat.
"In the flesh you fool. Come to admire Utgar's handy work have you?"
Syvarris raised his bow in a flash, but Taelord was quicker. He smashed the elf in the side of the head will a solid fist and the elf was on the ground. The group brandished their weapons, but before they could move, Taelord slapped a button on the machine and it erupted with beams of light, blinding Carr and the others. Carr fell to his knees, his head in pain. This was just more than mere light. He felt as if his brain was going to turn to mush and leak out his nose. He could hear laughter, Taelord's laughter. He willed his eyes to open and could see the others also on their knees, in obvious pain. What was this device Carr wondered. Taelord casually headed over the group. He raised his axe up high and brought in down in one swift motion. Carr watched helplessly in horror as blood splattered everywhere and Nightwind's head went bouncing away from his body. Carr focused his nerve, trying to will himself to stand, to fight, to rid his head of the resounding pain that had taken up residence. It was to no avail. Carr could only watch again, as the ninja girl was treated to the same as Nightwind. Her head severed by the brutal monster that was Taelord. The air elemental had dissapated, Carr presumed the pain was too great and it shifted back to the elemental plane of air. Taelord came to Carr, and Carr was certain that his life was now over. Suddenly the light went off, and the machine had stopped. Taelord turned to look, but Carr could already see Syvarris slumped down under the button, a wry smile on his face. Carr was suitably impressed. Taelord let out a howl and charged Syvarris. Carr's head was feeling better and he managed to stand. Syvarris was being thrown pillar to post and Carr was sure he wouldn't last much longer against his foe. Still, they had a job to do, and killing Taelord wasn't it. Carr unsheathed his mighty sword and charged. With a furious blow Carr slammed his sword into the side of the machine. Straight into the pool of golden liquid. The glass shattered and the ooze escaped. Taelord turned his head at the sound.

"What," he exclaimed, "noooooooooooo, Utagr will have my head." He stepped back and bellowed, "minions!"
The chamber was suddenly full of the minions of Utgar, all brandishing wicked looking axes.
"Now," exclaimed Taelord, "throw down your sword, or die. Utgar might be cross with me for allowing you to destroy his machine, but I can ease the pain with a pair of high ranking prisoners."

Carr studied the scene. Syvarris was in no shape to fight, and his other teammates were dead or gone. There was no way Carr could battle these minions and Taelord alone and win. He tossed his sword down. He'd find a way to escape. For now, his mission was complete. The corrupted machine was destroyed.

[TGRF]

Challenge 40 - March 5th 2013

A warrior of Jandar has somehow discovered a terrible secret, a powerful weapon, a word which could destroy Utgar and end the war. What this secret is, exactly, is unknown, and does not need to be revealed. (Though you can obviously do that if you want to )In a sudden night attack, Utgar's forces have penetrated into Jandar's capitol, and seized the one with the deadly knowledge. They now make all haste to return with their captive to Essenwein's fortress, where Utgar awaits. Jandar, still in shock over what has happened, has ordered a strike force to regain the captive, and the secret that he/she holds. How far along Utgar's forces are, they do not know, but they set out anyway, knowing that the fate of the war is in their hands.

Whether Utgar's forces have already entered Cyprien's castle, or are still on their way, is up to you. What the forces are, is also up to you. The force that Jandar sends out could be anywhere from two people up, but there must be more than one. Emphasis on the urgency to get back the captive, but especially on those doing it, and on the captors. Let the words flow!

Bro-man - 1st Place

Spoiler Alert!

The actual entry is too long to post here. It can be found in the contest thread here.

Kevindola - 2nd Place

Spoiler Alert!

Rheyes soared. The klaxon that had sounded almost a half hour ago still resonated in his ears.
He had been returning from a scouting mission with others from his squadron when the alarm had begun to go off. His group, along with a few others, had than been selected to respond to the incursion which had taken place that night. Quick and precise, the team had been assembled in a matter of minutes. If not for the mask that donned his face, you would have seen a hint of shock appear on the features of Rheyes as he saw the Empress herself arrive with her own retinue of soldiers. She eyed the others lines up alongside Rheyes and glanced down the line. She sang out to the lined up Kyrie, ‘Those who fly o’er the Mirror Lake, are fierce warriors and make evil quake. From thy Empress accept my gift, for glorious battle take air and lift.’
The line of Imperium called cries out in unison their response, ‘Einar! Lindsframe! Empress! Honor!’ and took flight. She nodded, and spoke to a figure behind her, ‘We are ready. Einar’s Imperium fear none and are the best soldiers Jandar could hope to have for this mission.’
Rheyes soared with speed he could little remember ever attaining. The trees and shrubs below quickly flew past. The moon ahead was always a constant but the ground whizzed by as Imperium made their pursuit. Behind him, The Empress and Atlaga conversed as the group flew by. Every now and then another soldier would leave formation at Atlaga’s order to scout around and make sure the group they were following had not split apart. Rheyes did not know much about the nature of the mission. Only that the forces of Utgar had made a raid on the capitol fortress and somehow successfully taken something there that was vital to the war.
Kiova again voiced her concern to her fellow Kyrie commander, ‘Atlaga, a precision strike like the one made this night does not align with a straight line retreat with any subterfuge like the one we are following.’
Atlaga growled, ‘Utgar’s minions are not known for their intelligence. I see no reason to doubt that they are just looking for the most expedient path back to friendly territory. And this path leads back to the fortress the vampire folk have made hear on Valhalla.’
Kiova sighed with patience and tried to explain yet another time, ‘Yes you are right, but there are closer fortifications than Esenwein Castle through much smoother terrain that could have been chosen. Why has the enemy chosen this direction and made no attempt to hide their trail.’
Atlaga had a glean in his eye as one of the Imperium in front made a hand gesture and slowed to indicate his discovery. ‘Looks like we can ask them their choice of exit ourselves dear Kiova’, Atlaga replied. ‘It appears we have happened upon them.’
Kiova looked and sure enough off in the distance she could make animals galloping down the terrain. They wouldn’t have been noticeable at all except for the extreme moonlight this night reflecting off the murky water that was beginning to dot the terrain. She grimaced, ‘We must stop them soon, if they get deep into this swamp terrain we won’t be able to keep them in sight from the air and they could turn in any direction.’
‘Well then’, said Atlaga ‘Let’s turn our attention to the pursuit and not the chatter.’ The group increased speed with their eyes on the prize.
Rheyes soared down at a 45 degree angle. His discipline honed by years of training in Lindsframe, Einar’s capitol and training group for the elite soldiers. The group of Kyrie soldiers silently bore down on the mounted enemy. Then, at the critical point, blades were heard to unsheathe in the air, heard as if a company of whistle being blown. Blades met flesh and the screaming began.
The herd of beasts stopped with some of their riders whipping around with weapons that seemed of bone itself. He saw one crack against the forearm of one of his fellow Kyrie and the noise he heard of the forearm breaking told him that mere Kyrie or human bone could cause that much damage.
The riders had pulled around seeing their route cut off by more of the Imperium. The Empress and some of the soldiers had flow around front while Ullar’s man had joined the rest in the back. The initial Imperium surprise had cut down half of the forces of these mounted Marros. Rheyes could see now they were Marros. He had fought Marros on the field of battle before, but those had been mindless fighters, not these mounted warriors.
‘pOsItIOn’, he heard a voice yell. In the middle of the still surrounding Riders was an imposing figure holding a weapon in one hand and a bound and gagged figure lying across the back of its steed. ‘fOrm bAttlE lInEs’ it commanded. ‘lEt thEm fEEl thE mArk Of thE wArlOrd!’
Rheyes hesitated a moment. The monster’s voice echoed in his mind somehow and caused him pause. He came to his senses in time, as the remaining Riders had launched themselves at his position. He took flight along with his brothers and they charged, missing their mark. Plasma burst appeared in the air however and the Imperium had to fly lower to avoid the blasts. The blasts seem to be too many to have been coming from that one warlord though, and Rheyes grimaced behind his mask as he saw great masses of sludge emerge from soft swampy ground underneath. He brandished his swords and started slicing.
Kiova deftly worked her sword across another Grok Rider. She had instantly recognized Me-Burq-Sa from the air and had landed her group of fighters on his side of the battlefield. She had not been able to reach him though and her Empress Gift had been of no help to one her children as the Marro warlord had defeated him 1 on 1 in a fight where the Imperium member had not even struggled. The others around her were holding though and making headway. The Drudge had been a surprise, but nothing she couldn’t handle. The speed and defensive formation around her were proving too much for this group of Marro, and she could see victory coming close.
Rheyes soared his swords again and again into Marros coming from the swamp. They were tougher to kill then the ones who had been pushed onto the land, but they fell nonetheless. His sword didn’t so much rip into them as it did push into them. Like their bodies were made of the same squishy stuff as the swamp. Only a handful of the Imperium had been dropped from his group and almost all the Marro were gone now. Victory was nearly at hand. If only he had seen the wicked row of teeth gleaning in the shadows.
Atlaga shot down the last of the drudge that were on his side of the battlefield. He had looked over at the Empress not too long ago and she had lost even fewer Imperium than he had. This was going to be a good mission. There were only a few of the Grok Riders left fighting alongside the warlord now. He called his group around him, ‘Imperium. We shall take to the air and assault the warlord with a final strike scattering the remaining Marro and assuring victory!’ The words never fully made it out though, as suddenly screaming and a sickening stench of melting flesh and feathers filled the air.
Rheyes soared backwards, narrowly escaping the sudden burst of acidic spray that erupted into the group of Imperium without warning. 2 of his fellows were down forever. Their bodies sinking into the mire of the swamp. Atlaga had been hit two, and was frantically trying to get the green spray off of his shoulder. One wing had the top half simply gone. Rheyes couldn’t believe it. He had not time for beliefs though. He saw another of his fellow Imperium knocked of the sky by a wicked thick black tail. This was a disaster. He finally saw the form flying in the air. It had scattered and broken Atlaga’s forces on the southern end of the swamp. It was now heading to the Empress who was closing in on the Warlord with her Imperium bunched around her…’Just what this dragon wants.’ Rheyes thought. It must be stopped.
Atlaga tried to fly but couldn’t. His wings wouldn’t work. So he limped across the marsh aiming at Othkurik, but all his shots missed badly. He swore under his breath. Kiova had been right all along, this had been a trap and it was a slaughter so far. If only they could get the dragon under control, they could still claim the day. But with the losses Othkurik had already met upon them, it wouldn’t be a success. Atlaga calmed himself and tried the one change he could to bring down the Black Dragon. He called upon the power of Witherwood. The power that Ullar had entrusted him with to use only in the direst of times. He called that power now. He watched the sky as the clouds swirled and archs of electricity began to dance amongst them. He focused his thoughts on the dragon darting towards Kiova and her remaining followers. The clouds parted. Atlaga watched as a cracked explosion marked the heavens and he watched as the power in the skies disipitated without discharging out, an utter failure. Atlaga collapsed to his knees crying out, watching as Othkurik, undeterred, continued his flight to the unsuspecting Kyrie and let fly his deadly acid.
Rheyes soared. Like he had never before flown before with blinding speed. He intercepted the blast of acid meant for his Empress. It splashed on his face and across his swords, chest, and arms. He screamed, the noise alerting the Empress and her forces to approaching danger. She called out new orders and the Imperium effortlessly disengaged from Me-Burq-Sa and surrounded the young dragon. Fire shown in the eyes of Othkurik as his assassination attempt had been foiled. His claws struck out taking down an Imperium, but he soon felt the bite of multiple Imperium swords. Cutting into his torso. Kiova herself with her long runed sword struck at the beast. It crashed from the sky.
‘Thisss plan has not worked Warlord!’, It hissed to Me-Burq-Sa.
‘UtgAr wIll knOw whOsE fAUlt thAt Is, drAgOn!’, the warlord replied.
Suddenly Me-Burq-Sa let the gagged body drop from his steed. He called out a retreat and the few remaining Grok Riders and he took off into the night, with Othkurik flying behind.
Rheyes soared. He spiraled down from the air. His body seemed numb, except for the pain across the areas Othkurik had sprayed. The golden mask he always had worn was now melted into his cheeks. His chest was on fire, and he couldn’t feel his arms. He took that as a small blessing. He was blind in one eye, but while plummeting he had been able to make out the release of the prisoner.
Rheyes soared, but the impact he had expected did not come. He felt his body weight given support and his descent towards the ground slowed and then stopped. He looked up into the face of the Empress herself. She had a cut near her eye and mud and sweat covered the rest of her face, and yet she was the most beautiful thing Rheyes had ever seen.
‘You have saved us dear child’, she whispered to him. ‘You have the greatest honor that can be bestowed on a follower of Einar. I shall here it be said across the lands that Rheyes the great Einar Warrior saved us from destruction this day. Now go my child and ascend to be with the greatest of Valhalla’s warriors.’
Rheyes soared.

Crixus33 - 3rd Place

Spoiler Alert!

“crrsshh large group of crsssssshhssshh your way crsh arrive in approxccccrsh minutes. Crssshhh must intercept craaackle captured crsh it is imperative crsh be rescued at any cost.”
Sergeant Alexander pounded his fist on the radio. The message emanating from the machine died. “Piece of crap never works.”
“Sir I’d appreciate it if you didn’t damage the equipment I spent half a year trying to fix,” Pvt. Williams protested as he began twisting knobs and tugging on wires leading between the antennae, speakers, and other various parts of the large radio.
“If you spent that much time on it shouldn’t it function properly,” replied Drake.
Pvt. Williams scowled as he mumbled, ”It doesn’t work as well when a storm is raging outside.”
Drake began pacing the length of the room. “Well what we do know is a large enemy force has attacked the capital and are now heading to the southern border near this fort. They have captured someone of great importance, possibly Jandar himself for all we know, and this person must be rescued. Williams, who all is stationed here currently.”
“Well there is the 6th guard of Sentinels. All of the 4th Massachusetts line were sent out to handle that reaver scouting party yesterday and they haven’t sent any reports back yet. Squad Alpha of the snipers along with Delta squad of the repulsors are here. Finn and the Tarn are scouting the perimeter. Then there is Sullivan, his deputies, and my squad.”
“Okay, report to Sgt. Muller that he will be in command of you and the rest of his men and the soulborgs while I take the sentinels, Vikings, and Sullivan’s gang and intercept this group.”

The lightning flashed overhead and the thunder roared. Sgt. Drake was standing with Sullivan and his men in small wood point two point eight miles east of the base. His uniform was soaked through and he had to keep drying the grips of his sword and grapple gun. Three kyrie scouts had only landed moments before to tell him four score minions, a score of orc archers with a dozen swog riders and a few dumutefs were twenty minutes out marching this way. They also informed him Utgar’s kyries are avoiding flight due to the storm. Sgt. Drake liked the position. The road the enemy was using was muddied and would hinder movement. At the edges of the road the ground sloped up into hills providing his troops the high ground and each side was wooded with trees provided cover for the ambush. Also retreat would prove difficult for the enemy for the road led to a bridge over a vast river. If anyone decided to flee with the prisoner they would have to abandon him or her at the river, rush to either of Drake’s men positioned on either side of the road, or flee back deeper into Jandar’s domain where other retrieval forces are sure to be. Even the weather was on his side, the rain masking their scent from the orcs. Drake sized up the men with him. Johnny and his ten deputies were using their large coats to keep the rain of their various firearms. Staring up in the trees he saw the fifteen blue clad kyrie as they scanned the horizon looking for any sign of the raiders and if they had turned the nearest bend yet. Drake checked to make sure he couldn’t make out any of the men across the road. Finn did a good job of hiding his brethren and the kyrie under his command. “They approach,” whispered a voice overhead.
Drake snapped his head to the left and peered at the road. Two burly fiantoothes were lumbering down the road behind them followed the rest of the contingent. As the column continued forward Drake saw a four dumutefs towards the middle of the crowd carrying a bulky sack. “That’s the target,” Drake murmured ad he motioned Sullivan to come over. “Order Morret, Ricks, Laiman, and Timmins to take aim at each of the beasts carrying that sack and wait for my signal.”
Sullivan slipped over to his riflemen and they readied their guns and took aim. “Albin bring two of your men down her,” ordered Drake.
The kyrie tugged on two of his comrades wings and they floated down. “When you three see the fiantoothes fall rush swoop in and carry the package out.”
The kyrie nodded and crept closer to the edge of the wood. The two lead dumutefs had almost approached the point where the sergeant’s men were hidden by now. He drew up behind the riflemen. “Fire,” he breathed.
The shots rang out across the countryside. The four brutes collapsed to the ground. Chaos swept through the ranks. Orcs began jabbering and shouting as many fled towards the river. The red skinned kyrie quickly got their senses about them, but not quick enough to prevent Albin and his companions to fly in and extract the bulky sack to the other wood. Drake ears rang as the lawmen pulled out revolvers and began picking of the ax-wielding warriors. The two remaining dumutefs charged towards where the trio of sentinels had disappeared moments ago. A pair of sentinels each flew out and bludgeoned the creatures about the heads and the fiantooths shrieked and thrashed about as they died. The two sentinels barely escaped a volley of arrows from the remaining eight archers. Drake took out his field transmitter and spoke into, “Finn did we get the prisoner or was this a decoy."
Finn’s voice crackled through the receiver, “Weeell sergeant, dependin’ on who we were meant to be a rescuin’ methinks we have him. Its one of them large omnicron processing soulborgs must of discovered some real important intel or devised some foolproof plan for sacking Utgar’s capital or somtin.”
“Take your men and fall back myself and Sullivan will finish up here, if you don’t here from us in an hour assume the worst and make strait for Jandar’s capital.”
“Aye sir,” Finn replied grimly.
Drake pocketed the radio and turned to Johnny as he blasted a group of retreating orcs. Johnny understood what Drake wanted and signaled to his men to start taking care of the fleeing archers. Drake, no longer concerned about friendly fire, unsheathed his sword and ordered the 6th guard to charge the remaining two dozen minions slowly backing towards the opposite wood. The 6th guard flew out and landed in the trees and then fell to the ground to block the enemy from pursuing Finn. Two-thirds of the minions rushed the 6th guard while the other eight went after Drake, hoping for an easier target. Drake pointed his grapple at the lead man and fired. The fellow howled as the barbs pierce through his chest. Drake wasted no time in wrenching his victim into the another two, tripping them all up as they landed in a heap. Dropping his gun, he took up a battle stance. The first kyrie reached him and swung his weapon at Drake’s head. He nimbly ducked down and rent his foe in two. As the ax fell from a lifeless hand Drake snatched it out of the air and hurled it with such force that it split the sternum of its target. The three still standing encircled Drake. Drake stomped down on the retract button of his grapple just as one of the soldiers stepped onto the chord. As the line reeled in it slipped up the kyrie and gave him time to pull the knife out of his belt and hurl it at one of the remaining men. It plunged deep into the throat of the kyrie and blood gurgled and sprayed from his mouth as he cried and collapsed. Drake quickly spun around and caught the blow of the remaining man with his blade. He then kicked the brute in his gut knocking the wind out of him. (Drake snapped his arm around bringing the hilt into his foes's throat. The warrior dropped to his knees gasping for air that he couldn't take in. Drake dispatched him with a stroke of his sword through the neck.) around Drake proceeded to pick up his grapple gun and fire it into the face of the kyrie as he was standing back up. He took his sword and finished off the unlucky person. Moving quickly and cautiously to the three fallen, entangled kyries. He couldn’t help to smile at his luck that each had fallen on their own or another’s blade. He checked to see how his men were faring and was pleased to see they were felling the last minion and that they had only suffered four casualties. Drake decided that he should now see how the cowboys were doing cleaning up those that had fled…

Ninja Status and Dysole - Honorable Mentions

Spoiler Alert!

Ninja Status

Spoiler Alert!

A dark time in Valhalla has awoken, after the battle on the mountain of Kar-Sckhir the allince has drifted away from each other. Utgar sees an opening and is now plotting his move that can end the war all together and wipe out the alliance once and for all. Although even though there is a secret that Utgar doesn't want released who knows if there is enough time to even threaten him with it.

“Make sure we are alone” says a Tarn Viking as he enters the library of the councl of Jandar, “I will keep an eye out” says another “now, retrieve the information that we need. Quickly!” The chosen Tarn scuffles through the old ancient books frightened and scared. “Here!” says the Tarn, “you have it?” replied another. “Yes now lets get out of here before we all get thrown into court for theft” said the Tarn, “understood” the other replied. “Eldgrim” said the tarn, “yes?” “are there any guards overlooking the library?” “No sir, but it is best if we make a break for it now, there should be some circling around in a minute or so” said Eldgrm. The small team evacuated the ancient library as soon as they could and returned to the council of Jandar. “Sir we have the informat-” then al of a sudden they heard a horn that they havn't heard in a long time. Utgar had found them.

“Prepair for battle!” Yelled Jandar in fear his royal guard secured the fortress but even tho he secured the wall with 50 sentinels and 20 roman archers he feared that Utgar would still break through. His walls were not prepaired for a heavy battle so as soon as Utgar sent his minions over the wall and after the heavy orsimer broke down the front door it was all over. “People of the council!” Yelled a minion, “we only want the one that you call, Agnar to step forward and come with us” “Never!” Jandar yelled back, “kill us if you want but none of us will even give into your evil, dark, twisted ways of life! We won't give in!” there was a long pause. “Very well” replied the minion, he gave an exact swing motion and at that point Jandar was down two arrows had flown from afar and penetrated his leg and his side. “Then we will take him by force” said the same minion. Jandar was taken into the inner walls of the council, he could not win. “Take the viking and lets go!” Said an orsimer, “will you shut up?” replied the minion “I'm getting to it”. “Agnar!” Said the minion, “you have been tried with treason and theft of the 7 Valkyrie generals!” “How do you plead?”......”Guilty on all charges” replied Agnar “then come forward we will take you from here” said the minion. Agnar stepped forward, his head down because if any of the city saw him he would be a disgrace to himself, his family, and his friends. As he joined the forces of Utgar they fired one more arrow (just for fun) and hit the viking champion Eldgrim killing him.
As the forces of evil marched through the swamps of the marro, and the snowy mountains of the Dzu-teh Agnar asked “now exactly were are we going?” “You have been exiled from the city, you will not be able to return ever” Replied an orsimer, “that still doesn't answer my question” said Agnar “were are we goin?” The orsimer hit him with his spear. “We are going to the fortress of Cyprien Essenwien were he will decide your fate”. “Very well” said Agnar. “What just happened sir?” Said a sentinel to Jandar as they got reorganized, “we were ambushed what do you think happened” Jandar replied, “they captured the viking warrior named Agnar because he held a secret that would crush Utgar all together, the good part is he handed me the weakness to Utgar right before the attack took place”. “Well” said one sentinel “lets have a look”. Jandar looked back at him like he was crazy and then oppened the roll of paper. “Its a map” said Jandar “perhaps to his fortress?” Replied a sentinel “no it cant be to his fortress because whatever this thing is that he doesn't want revealed he has hidden in the depths of Kermode swamp.” “Which means that there is most likely a Marro Hive stationed on that exact location” said a sentinel. “It doesn't matter right now” said Jandar “what matters is getting Agnar back, he is the one who was brave enough to go into the the library and retrieve this information, we have to get him back” “sir if I may” a seninel said “we have a chance at stopping the entire war and finally being at peace, one viking warrior isn't going to get in our way of finally being at peace!” “Very well” said Jandar, we shall split up our forces and go after the two objectives at the same time.” “But what of the Hive sir?” “And probably all of the marro guarding it” said a sentinel, “we shall sneak up when the time is right and retrieve the secret of Utgar!” Said Jandar. “Raelin” called Jandar, “yes my lord”. “Rally the alliance” said Jandar, “we march for our people and for peace!”

"Were is the prisoner?" Cyprien said, "i-in here my lord" a skeleton replied shocked to see that the Vampire had come so quickly just to get a little knowledge out of a viking. As Cyprien opened the door to the chambers he sat down at an extremely long table with the viking at the other end in hand cuffs. "Now, you will tell me exactly why you went snooping in your on Valkyrie generals library" the viking didn't answer. "Come on spit it out" said the angry lord, "I don't have all day!" then the viking replied in a vicious tone "now exactly why would I answer to a bloodsucker like yourself?" Cyprien looked even more furious then before. "Look you little worm, unless if you want your tongue cut off and thrown in the pit full of my experimental minions I'd advise that you answer my question...Now!" the viking with no fear spit in the angry lords face. "I hope you like were you are going because it will not be for filling" the vampire said in anger. While he dragged the viking to the pit full of dismembered minion experiments Utgar entered the room, "Cyprien!" The vampire turned around in fear, "m-my lord I didn't expect you till later afternoon, the culprit here was just about to get thrown into the-" "Enough!" Said the valkyrie general angrier than ever. "It appears that I cannot trust you to get answers from the simplest person in the world" "b-but my lord" "no excuses bloodsucker" said the general "return to you projects and leave him to me" "yes my lord" said the vampire walking away in fury and rage. "Now" said the general "you will tell me what you know."

"Are the forces ready to depart sentinel?" questioned Jandar, "yes sir already to head out when you are" the sentinel replied "good" said Jandar "we will make our way to the swamp first, I have sent out a spy to retrieve our little friend Agnar". As the small dispatch team of agents, soldiers, and of course Raelin moved out in search of the "secret weapon" Jandar stayed behind so that he could plot the final moves of his plan. "Sir" said a sentinel, "Whats the matter" replied Jandar, a little frightened. "Our forces have made it to the swamp but..." "but what?" Replied Jandar "but there are no Marro there, they must have all died out because the hive looks rotten and dismembered" said the sentinel "Are you sure that they hade the right directions?" "I'm sure sir, is it possible that its a trap of sorts?" "No" Jandar replied, "somebody most likely got there before the dispatch team did and whipped out the Marro." "But who sir" the sentinel said, "I'm not quite sure. It couldn't have been any of the alliance, and Utgar wouldn't be stupid enough to go through with a plan like that. That only leaves.....Valkrill." The council went quiet when that twisted word left his mouth. "It makes sense sir but-" "But what?" Jandar replied in anger, "if he got there before we did then he has the secret plans and our strategy is ruined!" "Sir can't we just track him down and retrieve the threat?" "No" said Jandar, only one general knows the whereabouts of Valkrills fortress and that is his only ally Utgar." "Then there is no way of getting back the threat then" said a nearby airborne elite. "We will get that threat" said Jandar, even if it takes all of our forces, we will retrieve it and end the war once and for all".

"Leave us to talk" said Utgar to the guard "y-yes my lord, r-right away my lord". "Now" said Utgar, "lets get down to business shall we", "I am not telling you anything" said Agnar. "Oh you misunderstood" replied Utgar, "I am not here to get answers out of you, I am here to rescue you". Agnar rubbed his eyes and made sure his ears were not clogged "I'm sorry what did you say" he said. "I said" replie Utgar "that I am here to break you out", Agnar looked puzzled. Its me Agnar "Utgar" reveled his hood and underneath was Finn, a long lost friend of Agnar. "Finn?!" Agnar said in a joyful tone, yes its me. "Jandar summoned me to your location as soon as he heard of the news and everyone says I look like Utgar so here I am." It's amazing that you didn't get caught" said Agnar "yes well while your the ruler of the most dark army in the universe people tend to steer clear of you." "So, how are we going to get out of here?" "Leave that to me" said Finn. Finn slamed open the door (still in his Utgar costume) "Come on you little rat!" He said in an angry tone. "Where are you taking me?" said Agnar. "To my fortress were you will be burned in a hot lava death." "Umm excuse me sir is there a problem?" Said Cyprien "I am taking this prisoner back to my fortress at once" Said Finn in a strong tone. "Is there any way I ca-" "Oh shut up and return to your pointless projects you blood sucking fiend!" Finn yelled. Cyprien walked away with his head down. "Ah, now that were out" said Finn, we better let Jandar know that you are safe" "How will we do that?" Said Agnar, "simple" said Finn watch. Agnar watched as Finn signaled the nearby sentinels with an old fashioned bird call. At that moment they were up in the air and getting carried back to the fortress of the council.

"Give me the full report" Agent car said, "Jandar doesn't know quite what is happening at the moment right now but he says that it is important for us to remain in the area and to not go near that rotting hive". "Not go near it?" Agent car replied to the Krav Maga agent, "We were sent here specifically to go near it, I want my full amount of pay and right now that means accomplishing what Jandar instructed us on doing" "but sir" the agent replied "but what?" "Don't tell me you were in this just for the fun" "I'm not sir but I think we should refrain from going near the hiv-" "Don't tell me how to do my job" Agent car snarled. Skahen, Drake. "Yes sir?" "See if you can dig up that rotten hive from the ground" "Do you have direct orders from the council?" Drake replied. "I don't need any direct order from the council, I was put in charge and right now I am telling you to get that rotten piece of flesh out from the ground. Do you understan-" "Yes sir" drake replied. Drake took out his sword and began to chop away at the rotten hive, soon enough there was enough left to just pull it out of the ground. Then they heard a noise coming from the ground, a trembling in the earths crust, then a big wave of tiny marro sprung up. One leaped on Sgt. Drake with its claw like hands and wrapped itself around him. "H-help!" Yelled drake as the monster dug its claws into his chest and pulled him into the ground. The agents opened fire but the marro were to fast, the marro were pulling them under almost as instantly as drake was. "Retreat!" Yelled Car, "we can't just leave them here!" Yelled Raelin and Skahen in unison. "They'r already gone, we have got to get out of here!" Then Car got pulled under as well. Not from the little marro worms but from what it looked like was their mother. "We have to get out of here!" Yelled Raelin to Skahen, "grab my hand!" And in a moments notice they were the only two that escaped the terrifying trap.

Dysole

Spoiler Alert!

"I hear he's crazy."
"You hear a lot of things."

Ne-gok-sa and Cyprien made their way toward the door. As they approached the two marro outside quickly put away several cubes and stood at attention. Cyprien pulled out a small key and turned the handle. Inside a sentinel sat strapped onto a chair. His face was bloodied and his wings were missing quite a few feathers.

"Hello, gentlemen. Come for tea?"

Cyprien pulled up a chair across from the sentinel and looked into his eyes.

"Now where were we?"
"I believe you were in the middle of being frustrated and I was in the middle of comparing your wife to Bella."

The vampire snarled down at the sentinel.

"You will reveal your secret."
"You wish to know the word? The word of doom that will end the war? That word?"
"Yes."
"Sorry. Fresh out of desires to help the bad guys. You know how it is..."
"Silence! Ne-gok-sa has the capability to probe into your mind and get what we need!"

The sentinel edged forward in his chair.

"Fire up Cerebro."

The vampire and Ne-gok-sa exchanged looks. Ne-gok-sa grabbed the sentinel's head.

"Let's see what you have in here."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

"Any news?"
"The fortress is within sight sir. Estimated arrival time is 7.43 hours. Could be faster with a forced march but it is almost certain the force would be incapable of fighting at full strength."

Drake hesitated. They needed to reach that fortress fast. They had no idea how long they had. He knew what his gut was telling him.

"We don't stop until we reach that fortress. Move out."
"Yes sir. I will inform the troops."

Drake watched the sniper head down to the rest of the task force. He took off his hat and glanced up at the night sky.

"I hope we're not too late."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

This was familiar to Ne-gok-sa. Most people's heads were empty dustbins of piled up waste. Well the glowy electric stuff always showed up as well but usually there wasn't a whole lot else rummaging around.

"You like it? If I'd known you were coming, I'd have cleaned up the place."

This was certainly unusual. Few people were able to communicate with him on this wavelength. The sentinel was proving dangerous. The mental image of the sentinel flickered slightly which probably meant his grip wasn't all that tight. He contemplated breaking the connection to tell Cyprien to give the sentinel a few whacks to the head. That should break whatever connection and leave him undeterred. Then again, since he was able to communicate on this wavelength, it could mean there were hidden booby traps. It was certainly odd for a sentinel to be this finicky. It was usually the heroes who made it hard on him.

"What's the matter? Dund got your tongue?"

Ne-gok-sa shoved aside a dendrite and made his way toward the sentinel. The landscape changed rapidly. They were now in a field. This was not good. If the sentinel could change his mental landscape, Ne-gok-sa was going to have issues.

"I felt this was a little more cozy. I like fields don't you?"

Ne-gok-sa made his way up to the sentinel.

"Where is it?"
"The big ultra secret word of doom? Well I'd probably hide it behind a big ultra secret door of doom? Maybe something like this."

The sentinel reached behind him and opened up a door in the air and jumped in. Upon slamming it shut, Ne-gok-sa saw a large metal door with no handle or keyhole on it. He smiled.

"Bad move. Opening locked doors are a specialty of mine. I just needed to know where it was."

He reached around the sides of the door and concentrated. Soon the meadow was ablaze and the door was melting. He smiled.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

"Sir the troops are tired but we are here."
"How soon until dawn?"
"2 hours, 12 minutes, 36 seconds."

Drake grimaced. The vampires would be at full strength while his troops would not be. Delaying the attack could mean an easier time with the vampires but it could also mean that Utgar might have the information. He looked at the sniper.

"We attack. But do so sneakily."
"Yes sir. I will relay the orders. Shiori will infiltrate and try to get us an entrance."
"Good. Hopefully everything goes according to plan."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

They stood on either sides of a volcano. The heat seemed to be getting to the sentinel.

"What's the matter too hot for you?"
"No, I vacationed in Aruba once. That was hot."
"What is Aruba?"
"Way more expensive than it should have been."

Ne-gok-sa ignored that.

"So all your secrets are here? In a big volcano?"
"No, that's you setting things ablaze. It used to be a nice snowy mountaintop complete with 'Do not Feed the Yetis' sign. I liked that sign."
"You didn't answer the question. Is this where your big secret is?"
"The word? Why would I hide the word in a volcano? I'd hide a big ring of doom or something in a volcano? Words wouldn't keep."
"Then you are useless to me."

Ne-gok-sa lunged forward and shoved the sentinel. He lost his footing and fell into the volcano.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

"The drawbridge is lowered sir. There is no sign that the enemy is aware yet."
"Good work Shiori. Get everyone across that bridge and into the castle."

As silently as possible, the task force moved across the drawbridge. Drake didn't like this. No enemy resistance. Shiori was good but she wasn't this good.

"Stop. Something's not right."
"Quite right Drake."

They turned to see Iskra standing at the rocks they had just come from. She waved her hands and three large retchets appeared.

"Kill them my pets. It's their fault for wandering into an ambush."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

After the sentinel had fallen into the lava, Ne-gok-sa found himself in a corridor. The walls were a vivid purple and white messages flickered on and off. GO BAKC. STEY AWAY. YU DON'T BELONG HEAR. Ne-gok-sa ignored them and continued down the hallway. There was a door at the end. He opened it. Inside were several large coats. Ne-gok-sa pulled one out and shook it.

"What is the meaning of this? He must still be here somehow. I have a feeling this is his subconscious though. Why would coats be in a subconscious?"

Ne-gok-sa pondered this and then noticed that the walls extended back for a bit. He moved a bit further. He stumbled out into bright sunlight. It was desert with high cliff faces. That wasn't the most surprising thing though. Everywhere he looked he saw skeletons lying in poses as if they had dried out of thirst. One in particular looked like the sentinel grappling a more skeletal version of himself. Ne-gok-sa walked over and kicked the sentinel. The sound of rattling bones echoed off the cliff walls. He continued walking. That was when he saw it. He smiled. He knew he had found his prize.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Drake's sword slashed through the flesh of the retchet. It fell to the ground. They had beaten back the retchets but he knew more forces would be coming.

"Drake so nice of you to join us."

He knew that voice. It was Cyprien. The vampire was at his throat in an instant. Drake was finding it hard to breathe. Cyprien brought up his hand and extended a single finger. Drake could feel the iciness emanating from it.

"I'm in the mood for things to cool down. How about you?"

He pressed his finger against Drake's temple. It felt cold. Very cold. Drake could feel the heat slipping out of his veins. His sword dropped.

"Are you feeling better?"

Drake couldn't cough up words.

"No. Maybe this will help."

Cyprien plunged his teeth into Drake's neck.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

He stood before a whale skeleton. Inside was a glowing ball of blue. Ne-gok-sa came forward a little bit more. Suddenly a hooded figure stood in front of him. It flipped down its hood. It was the sentinel.

"Are you sure you want that?"
"Of course I do. It'll end the war. One word. That has to be powerful."
"It is. But that doesn't mean it's good."
"All the more reason to use it."
"Question. If I had a word that could put all of you to death wouldn't I have used it the instant you found me?"
"Collateral damage. You Jandar types are always into stopping that sort of thing."
"What about at your castle?"

Ne-gok-sa hesitated.

"Honestly at this point I really can't stop you. It's taking everything within me to hold this form. I doubt I'm much of a threat to you."
"Oh? Well then I think you're bluffing."

Ne-gok-sa shoved aside the hooded sentinel and reached into the glowing ball and felt its knowledge flood into him.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Cyprien dropped Drake to the ground. A gunshot wound landed in his back. He grimaced and looked up at a sniper.

"That was my commander. I shall eliminate you in exchange for his removal."

The vampire bared his fangs and charged up at the sniper. He knew his touch was useless to its metal exterior but he could still destroy its circuitry with his bare hands. He clasped around the sniper's neck and squeezed. The sniper's head popped off. He chuckled. The sniper spoke.

"I have fulfilled my duty."
"To die?"
"No, to distract you."

Cyprien turned around in time to see Drake's wounded arm send a sword plunging into his chest.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Ne-gok-sa wished he hadn't. Everything was becoming clear to him. One word did have power. It was a game changer. It changed everything. He was staring at the sentinel face to face. They were both standing on top of a world with stars all around them.

"You see now don't you?"
"This is impossible."
"The more you resist it, the more you are certain it is true. Madness is the only escape."
"This can not be."
"Oh it is. You are a child's plaything. You are a toy."

Ne-gok-sa understood that. It made sense. Aruba, Bella, Cerebro, the ring in the volcano, the closet that led to a whole new place. He got them. This one word had changed everything. It had opened up a door. A pathway that he understood. Heroscape. It was a nonsense word but it meant so much. It was their world which was only a world within another world. All of their battles were pointless and meaningless. This one word negated everything they had ever fought for, died for, been reborn for.

"Get rid of it."
"You have to leave it here. If you sever the connection it will follow you wherever you go. Jandar trusted me when I told him he didn't want to know."
"I don't want this knowledge."
"Knowledge is a curse isn't it?"
"Take it from me."

The sentinel reached into Ne-gok-sa and the ball flowed back from Ne-gok-sa into the sentinel.

"Now go quickly or else it will come back to you."

Ne-gok-sa severed the connection.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Cyprien screamed and vanished into a puff of smoke. Drake knew better than to assume the vampire was dead but instead made his way up the stairwell. He knew he was losing blood but he had to succeed to make the mission a success. He barely even noticed the divider he sliced open in front of the doorway. He shoved the door down. Ne-gok-sa laid slumped on the ground his hand having slumped down onto the bloody and beaten sentinel's neck. Drake raised his sword over Ne-gok-sa.

"Don't."

He looked up at the sentinel.

"He's been through a lot. There's no need to kill him."
"Now is the perfect time."
"No."

Drake lowered his sword.

"Then we can at least get you home."
"Sure, let's do that."

The sentinel coughed. Drake began to untie the ropes.

"Can you walk or fly?"
"Probably not. What Ne-gok-sa did drained me almost as bad as it drained him."

Drake nodded and hoisted the sentinel on his back. He charged back down the stairs and looked at the carnage below. He was the only survivor of the task force. Maybe Shiori but he couldn't see her. He needed to get out of there. He jumped out of a window and landed in the moat. As he swam toward the shore he knew he kept his eye out for anyone following him.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Cyprien materialized near Ne-gok-sa.

"Get up. They've won. They got their prize. I only hope you acquired the knowledge from him."

Ne-gok-sa rubbed his head.

"He was bluffing the whole time. He has no secret knowledge. It was a ruse. Unfortunately Jandar bought it as much as we did and so he lost forces on a useless mission."
"Well that is some consolation."

Ne-gok-sa rubbed his head again. That was what it was right? He didn't have a secret. Ne-gok-sa couldn't remember for certain but he knew that if the sentinel had had a secret he would have found it so it must have been nothing.

[TGRF]

Challenge 41 - May 31st 2013

Gather around everyone and listen well,
The time is here this I can tell,
The prompt is clearly visbile to me,
But here is my challenge for all to see!


"Einar has gathered his forces and plans to strike against Utgars lands. During the begginging of this war Einar and Utgar were in a brief alliance. Utgar shattered it when he invaded a large outpost on Einar's borders, seizing it for his own. Since then he has fortiefied it into a fortress and uses it to send his army to strike against the other generals. Now in present time Einar see's an opportunity to take back. He rallies a call to his closest allies that can aid him as his army marches to reclaim what is rightfully his. His army will not stop until Einar's flag rises over the walls."

Make a story about an invasion against Utgar. The outpost is heavily guarded and Einar must take it back if they are to take the fight to enemy. You can choose between any of Einar's forces to use in the battle. One large group or a combination of units, you can decide. You can have one ally force to aid in the attack, or arrive in the middle of battle. (Yes you can use anyone in the alliance. Jandar, Ullar, Aquilla, and Vydar. Yes Yydar because this would be before the Vydar betrayal scenario that was in the heroscape lore, if I'm correct.) Utgars forces at the outpost will use whatever they can to hold against Einar's men. You can also choose a specific group to hold the outpost, its whatever your descision.

Inspiration

Elven Lord - First Place

Spoiler Alert!

Laying seige to the hen house

followed promptly by a story totally unrelated to this title

Sit down you all and listen well
To the tale I am about to tell
Of Ducalion Jura and Robin Wilfren
Who with a group of but fifty men
Seized the scaffolds and high buttresses
Of castle Winthrop and burned its tresses

“Shields!” a rugged heavily bearded man with burning amber eyes cried to the fifty-one men who were with him.
They raised their shields and a wave of arrows thudded into them. One caught a man in the throat and he sank to his knees and collapsed dead in an instant resolution of fate’s canon. Another speared a man like a fish. Too shocked to cry out he sank to the stone. “Down shields! Forward to victory!” The rugged man yelled. The legionaries lowered their shields as one and followed their commander.
“But Ducalion! The injured!” a similarly dressed and decorated, but clean shaven and short man, protested.
“We can’t afford to slow down, Robin, it’ll only expose the other men to more of those arrows and worse!”
Robin nodded and left the injured man to die alone, though he did pause to hand him a religious article, and put the man’s sword in his hand.
A crack like thunder.
One of the legionaries halted in his tracks then collapsed face first. Another crack a captain from a different unit collapsed. Ducalion’s eyes searched the buttresses of Winthrop which they were storming. He already knew from whom the bullets came just not from whence they came. Then he spotted him, Dead Eye Dan, the treacherous crack shot bounty hunter who had betrayed and slain Ullar’s only son in a rage at his rejection by Ullar’s daughter, Kathleen.
Ducalion nodded to Robin who took out a radio. Robin was not actually an authentically summoned Roman Legionnaire. He was actually an American soldier and carried a pistol underneath his armor. Besides that he also had several hand grenades, and a radio. Accompanied by the radio he also knew had to radio in target positions. He did so now.
“Mission control, come in mission control.”
“Little bear this is mission control. Do you have the target. Over.”
“Mission control, this is little bear. I have the porcupine’s position are you ready to copy? Over.”
“Mission control is ready to copy little bear. Relay position. Over.”
“Relaying position. Porcupine is on big box 4-6 facing 30 degrees west from the initial over.”
“Mission control is dispatching Ullar’s revenge, over and out.”
No sooner had Robin put the radio away than an enormous green dragon landed on the tower opposite from Dead Eye Dan’s position. It knew Dan was on level 6 of this particular tower but it ripped the tower wide open indiscriminately. It snatched up the cowboy and flew off in the direction of Ullar’s domain.
The 4th legionnaire division reached the walls while the defenders were distracted by an enormous dragon tearing apart a fourth of their defenses with extreme prejudice.
“Grapple guns!” Ducalion called. It was great he thought, being commander of the praetorian guard, they were immediately singled out for their exceptional abilities and handed these futuristic though somewhat dishonorable weapons. Most of the guards had turned down the one’s that shoot bullets, others had taken them and the training with childlike enthusiasm.
The grapples snagged the top of the wall in a section which had been cleared by a second dragon though this one was Einar’s majestic kingpin summoned from the salted plains. The division reached the top with ease, but automatically Utgar’s forces swarmed in upon them and they were in the thickest fighting of their lives.
Robin wasted no time in skewering a goblin before shouting, “circle up!” Automatically the legionnaires formed a circle 3 layers thick Robin was in the middle with Ducalion who was shouting orders and encouragement. The goblins surged around them looking for week points and finding none that were not quickly adjusted for by the superbly disciplined Romans.
Robin unshouldered a very heavy and carefully wrapped package he’d been carrying the whole mission not even Ducalion knew what it contained, but as robin unwrapped it Ducalion’s eyes widened with shock.
“A machine gun!?” he cried.
Robin grinned at him, “It was my birthday present,” he replied in a golem voice.
“Who’d you have to kill?”
“No one important.”
“I see.”
They shared a good natured smile at the joke and then assembled the gun.
“Forward unit break ranks!” Robin ordered.
The forward lines broke ranks, and as soon as his men were out of the way robin let loosed a heavy barrage of fire into the goblin ranks shattering them like a million bowling pins.
“Form up!” Ducalion ordered. The legionnaires formed up sheathed swords and unshouldered their javelins.
The soldiers set fire to the scaffolds behind the machine gun and doused the area between the fire and the gun with water.
“Charge!” Ducalion ordered. Robin stayed at the machine gun with a few men to cover him and tried to pick off the officers. The rest charged the gate house and took it by storm. Ten men went to work and quickly opened the gate lowered the drawbridge, and raised the portcullis. The others held the gate house. As soon as the doors were opened the knights regents (Einar’s made up knights), charged through into the courtyard and ran down the zombies gathered there. Griffins descended from above and knocked the archers from their positions. The rest of Einar’s army surged through and the battle was quickly won. Utgar’s praetor was throne from the castle walls.
Winthrop had been seized for Einar. Unless Utgar could get it back and get it back soon he would not be able to resupply his masses in the Ticala Jungle.
4 months later Acquilla’s armies triumphed over the marrow and destroyed their hives. Jandar’s knights overwhelmed the zombies and skeletons on the Dead plains, and arrested the vampire family Eisenwein. Ullar’s elves conquered the wolves gathered in the Howlmoon Hills of Chestara. Vydar’s soulborgs chased the remains of Utgar’s shattered forces to his fortress and the war was won within that year.
Robin chose to stay in Valhalla. He married a young elf girl, Tharia, and had seven small children, Doc, Grumpy, Dopy, Happy, Sneezy, Bashful, and Sleepy. Ducalion was slain defending the sea port of Astar on the Astral sea. He died with many wounds defending a peasant family from an onslaught of evil kyrie skyjacks.

AMIS - Second Place

Spoiler Alert!

Darkness surrounded them as his searching fingertips pushed through underground growth along the old brick tunnel wall.
A whispered voice crept to him from behind, “Are you sure this is it?”
Frustration and stress were getting the better of him but he was determined not to lose it in front of them. Sneering at the Legionnaire as best as he could through the darkness Parmenio turned and whispered as loud as he dared; “Of course, now be quiet and let me look.”
Should’ve brought the Sacred Band instead was his first thought but he dismissed it quickly. Gallus was also making his way down a dark tunnel with several groups of Legionnaires and they had to make their move before the main wave of the Sacred Band were visible in the valley below.
Both Warlords had remembered these tunnels and could hardly wait to use them. The choice was to split the Legion or Sacred Band into two and Parmenio refused to have a Roman lead his men. Besides these smaller groups included archers and while they’d be useless in the vales that lead to the Castle, if they could get to the parapets they could be more than effective raining wooden death upon those base drooling blue creatures.
Parmenio found himself daydreaming as he searched, thinking about his life in the castle before the red betrayal. He would make sure Utgar paid his debt in full. Utgar’s betrayal happened just as Einar had built up a great life for the warlords and their armies. They had renamed it the Mediterranean Castle and both he and Gallus would chat quietly while their men in kept in fighting form by challenging and dueling each other constantly. The two warlords would never let the fights lead to death but even with the constant building of battle prowess proved useless as the Legion and Sacred Band left en masse to battle Jandar. The warlords were expected to ride out three days later to lead them to victory but Drones and Gruts swarmed the Castle and only with the aide of these secret passages did any of the remaining men escape.
Parmenio then shook his head as a slight grin came to his worn down face. How the heck can you sneer in the dark? Not like anyone could see it. As his mind began to berate himself his finger stymied against a small ledge and Parmenio let out a barely audible sigh. “Got it. Be ready!” he whispered to no one in specific. He heard the whisper repeat several times as the line of men behind him tensed and he cursed the day that made him choose these men.
Lining up his shoulders, leaving his hands on the wall, he pushed slowly and after a moments hesitation the wall started to move, silently into the darkness beyond.

[TGRF]

Challenge 42 - July 10th, 2013

Note: The previous winner did not submit a prompt. TGRF stepped in.

Your challenge is to write about one of the less well known races summoned to Valhalla. Trolticor's, Doggins, Quasatch, there are many others. Whether they are on Valhalla or their home world matters not. I want to leave this prompt a good ways open, so there should be plenty of options. What happens within the story is completely up to you. It could be about an ambush deep within the Ticalla, a fiery battle in a volcano on Feylund, or even a scene involving a Quasatch raiding a refrigerator, though that particular one is not recommended. Let the writing commence!

BiggaBullfrog - 1st Place

Spoiler Alert!

A sizable crowd had gathered around the makeshift coral. Stories had spread about the trolticor that couldn’t be broken, and dwarves of all ages had come to watch their leader deal with the stubborn mount. Many remarked of the size and strength of the trolticor; of how he was bound securely by chains rather than ropes. Clearly this was no normal beast–he had even given himself the name “Brunak.” And one could tell by looking in his eyes, that this tolticor thinks. This trolticor remembers. Where other trolticors were eventually subdued, this “Brunak” drew from reservoirs of hatred welled up inside. There were certain rumors, as well, that this trolticor especially hated the Chieftain of the Burning Forge.
The conversations among the gathered dwarves turned to cheers and cries of delight as they spotted their chieftain arriving. Here was a strong dwarf, they knew. He who had led the dwarves into Wolflin as a conqueror, who had built the Burning Forge. A dwarf of strength. A dwarf maybe as stubborn as the trolticor itself.



Brunak looked up as cheers started erupting from the crowd, and there he saw the dwarf. The one who had killed his master, his own God. A growl rumbled from the trolticor’s throat as he watched the Migol Ironwill walk to the front of the crowd, smiling as if he were on top of the world. Brunak wanted nothing more than to rip the dwarf apart, but the iron chains held him tight in place. For now, at least.
The dwarf turned to the crowd and held something high in the air, shouting something inaudible to Brunak over the cheers of the crowd. But then Ironwill turned and showed the object to the trolticor. Upon seeing the object, Brunak roared, he glared, he shouted challenges to the dwarf in his own tongue. He strained against his shackles, trying to break loose, wanting to grab the dwarf and tear from him the object–a huge, shimmering falchion. The falchion that had belonged to his master, to his God. To the deity he worshiped, before Migol killed it. Brunak did remember; he remembered well.
Before the dwarves came to Wolflin, the trolticors still served as mounts, but to greater beings than the short, bearded devils. In these lava fields had once dwelt Djinn, powerful spirits of fire who the trolticors worshiped as Gods. In those times, it was a great honor to bear the majestic Djinn on one’s back, and Brunak had cherished that opportunity greatly, bearing his Djinn into many battles, always returning victorious.
But then the dwarves came. Although the Djinn and trolticors had kept the dwarves at bay for a season, they eventually gained a foothold in Wolflin. Led by Migol Ironwill, the dwarves began to overwhelm the natives, killing the Djinn and taking the trolticors captive. Brunak had borne his Djinn into battle against Migol Ironwill himself, and the three had met in ferocious combat. But the dwarf, along with his allies, had overcome Brunak and the Djinn, killed Brunak’s God, and taken the trolticor captive with others to be used as a mount to ferry dwarves into the deeper parts of Wolflin. To act as a transport for the dwarves’ precious goods.
But Brunak would not be broken. Years passed, the Burning Forge, as they called it, was built. The other trolticors forgot; became the dumb beasts the dwarves expected them to be. They became nothing more than thoughtless animals used for the dwarves’ selfish schemes. But Brunak remembered. And he hated the dwarves.
Each dwarf who tried to ride Brunak was thrown. More than a few were killed. And finally, it appeared, he had gotten the attention of the dwarf he hated most. A dwarf who was now waving Brunak’s God’s falchion like a flag for a crowd of cheering, hairy dwarves.
All this passed through Brunak’s mind in instants as he watched Ironwill take the falchion tie it on a post at the edge of the corral. Brunak did nothing but glare in pure hatred as Migol Ironwill strode towards him. Shaking and hammering the tight fence around him would do no good now, he knew. So he waited, watching his most hated enemy draw ever closer.
Ironwill arrived at the corral, and stopped to look over the tolticor. “We meet again, old friend,” the dwarf said as he almost admired Brunak’s hard, strong body. Brunak snorted, and Migol smiled. “I hear you’ve been giving my men a hard time, that you’re too tough to break. I will have you know, then, that I have earned my namesake of ‘Ironwill.’” The dwarf stood as straight as possible, trying to look the trolticor directly in the eye. “You will bend to my will. I will break you.”
Brunak still did nothing but glare, and after a moment, Migol began the climb up the trolticor’s back into a saddle tied securely around Brunak’s lion-esque body. A body made for bearing a more majestic being.
“Well then,” Ironwill said softly into Brunak’s ear, “let’s have a little bout, shall we?”
At once the gate connecting Brunak’s pen to the corral was flung open, the chains were released, and Brunak, with a roar, charged into the corral, bucking and whirling the whole time. He could feel the dwarf clinging tightly on his back–he felt the small but strong hands clinging his main, felt the spurs on the dwarf’s boots digging into his sides, but he paid it no mind. All thoughts of pain he might have had vanished in the idea of the godslayer on his back. Brunak lunged, he jumped, he even tried to reach with his two massive arms around his back to pull the dwarf off his back, but Migol stayed firm, leaning with the turns, ducking the arms. With a roar, Brunak resorted to his best move–after a series of bucks, turns, and lunges, the trolticor suddenly stopped his movement, dropped, and rolled over on the ground, trying to crush the dwarf beneath him. But as Brunak stood, he could still feel the dwarf clinging onto his back.
“Surely you can do better than that?”
Brunak snorted, and again rolled on the ground, but this time stopping as he was on his back, bouncing just a little to thoroughly crush the dwarf. This time, when the trolticor stood up, the dwarf stayed down.
Shouts of alarm rang through the air, and Brunak looked around him to see dozens of dwarves climbing over the fence towards him, some brandishing ropes and chains, others with battle axes in their hands. But the trolticor soon paid them no heed, wheeling and plunging past the oncoming dwarves towards the edge of the corral. Upon reaching the fence, instead of trying to break free as the dwarves expected, Bruank instead reached over the barrier, took hold of his dead master’s falchion, and tore it from the post it was tied to. Then again he turned about, quickly seeking out Migol Ironwill in the midst of the dwarves.
Migol had taken an axe from another dwarf, and the whole crowd was converging on the trolticor, some already throwing ropes and chains at it. But Brunak threw these aside. Any dwarves too close to him quickly felt the sting of his falchion. And with a defiant roar, Brunak charged towards the godslayer.
He might not reach Migol, that he knew. He may be killed. He may be tied. He may be captured. But he would kill all he could. He would spill the blood of his oppressors. He would seek out vengeance upon Ironwill himself. Above all, he would not break for them. No matter what they did to him, whether he was living or dead, he would not break. He would not surrender. He would not let these godslayers be his master.
He was Brunak, and living or dead, holding a sword or wrapped in chains, he was a free trolticor, and that would never change.

Tornado - 2nd Place

Spoiler Alert!

Long ago, a lonely Bard
Spun a tale, of the Dumutef Guard

Misunderstood, avoided and feared
Now is the time, its name is cleared

Steadfast, unyielding, they will not bend
A lonely bridge, their eternal friend

No tale, no toll, you shall not pass
Seek another route, weather laddy or lass

This bridge is mine, the road warrior proclaims
Dumutef Guard, remember my name

Bro-Man - 3rd Place

Spoiler Alert!

From the words of Thorumn, Proving Loyalties

Another entry, and another day into this bloody war. As I write I can't not help but feel our lists of allies growing thin and our alliance losing hope. Since Vydar's betrayal we have been having minor skirmishes between our forces. Jandar himself believes that major clashes might take place and he fears that the alliance will falter even further.

'I often ponder on Jandar's decisions but they have led to great things for our people and our alliance. He knows this is matter might strain his plans or even cause to make unwise thoughts or actions, but he fears for his people and for his friends and he will do anything to keep them safe.'

My lord wishes for this alliance to remain strong and stand as a beacon of hope against the darkness. He has seen loyalties proven and seen many rise in the ranks to serve him. I know of one such group that have loyalties to Jandar long before he even knew about them. The Dzu-Teh. It is unknown to him how they came to be fiercely loyal but a recent trip to Thaelenk by Sgt. Drake and his men has shed light on the subject. The great stronghold, the Valledonn Fortress, is where he discovered some old manuscripts and documents that were written by both the wizard Valledonn and Jandar's own grandfather.

'These were discovered when a small group of soldier consisting of Scotsmen, Airbourne, and a small group of warrior of Ashra had came in contact with the warlord Ne-Gok-Sa and nearly claimed their lives but that is a story for another time.'

The Dzu-Teh have been listed in these records and I was able to connect with them and to Jandar's Grandfather. Long before he was born and long before this war had even started the Frozen continent of Thaelenk has been at peace for many long seasons. However the tundra was going to be hit by a dreadful winter that would sweep across the entire continent. Valledonn and his people would all head up inside the fortress walls, hoping to hold out from the storm. As the weeks pass and the majority of the citizen arrive at the fortress the wizard Valledonn still waited until all of his people arrive to safety. However the storms grew worst with each passing day and lighting has struck the mountain tops causing avalanches down the valleys below. Many people were trapped and Valledonn need aided to free his people. He sent word to Nastralund's royal family of his plight and they sent their youngest son and a small contingent of soldiers to help the people and bring them to safety. This youngest son would be Jandar's own grandfather.

'Some of the manuscripts have been old and the ink has faded. Sadly I know not what the Grandfathers name is. I would have to ask Lord Jandar later when I finished with my writings. For now I will just address him as the Grandfather.'

The Grandfather arrived and was sent to task to find the missing refuges within the valley. They arrived finding a terrible mess. Wagons and carts were over turned and scattered people trying to find their way through the blizzard or some hunkering down until the storm passes. Some were frozen alive in the snow when they first arrived. The men quickly went to work and gathered many of the survivors. However the storms were getting worse and the people were being scattered even further. After hours working they could not find the remaining people that were scattered. They had given up hope until shrieking cries filled the air. They went after the screams and found a unbelievable sight.

'This next record will be from the Grandfather's writing.'

My men found a few more survivors in the back and they were running toward us. They ran passed screaming of mountain beasts and we prepared ourselves. The beasts attacked and we fiercely determined to get at us. We kept fighting and killing them to drive them back but the creatures kept coming. I was never sure why they would attack us but the beasts were incredibly strong. I can respect strength.

'This marks the end of his passage.'

Half his men were killed and were desperately trying to turn the tide. If it was not for mother natures timely intervention then they would have been all killed. The storm over head has gotten worse and lighting strikes were booming overhead. A few moments after the first strikes everything was rumbling around them. The fighting stopped and from the sides of the valley avalanches began coming in on top of them. His men took to the skies but they were not fast enough. The avalanche consumed them and they were all trapped. Hours later they managed to get themselves out of the snow. The Grandfather gathered his men to get to the remaining civilians out but another cry soon made them all stop and turn to the unknown noise. He went to find out what it was and he could not believe what he saw next. He stopped in front of a small Dzu-Teh. The Grandfather watched as it was digging into the snow around a buried hand. The little one cried as it kept digging, trying desperately to get the buried hand out. It raised its arm and it was bloodied and stiff. The little one kept blowing on them to stay warm and he would return to digging in the snow.

'As I write this next part I was surprised myself that he did this.'

The Grandfather came to the little one who was scared stiff by his presence. He grabbed the hand and with his strength lifted the adult Dzu-Teh out of the snow. The little one cried out in joy and went to its parent. After helping the others the adult holding onto its little one could only look on as the Grandfather and his men went their separate ways. The Grandfather gathered the people that he could save and he took them to the fortress. Wizard Valledonn was disappointed that they could not save them all and he ordered for the gates to close and wait for winter to end. Just as the gates were about to close something more miraculous enters through the gates. The remaining civilians that were still trapped in the storm were safety inside. They spoke of the Dzu-Teh and how they came and brought them to the front gates. When wizard Valledonn heard of this he later confirmed that the Dzu-Teh were on a migration, moving south to avoid the coming storms. The two groups crossed paths and they attacked each other due to a misunderstanding.

'This is where the loyalties have finally been revealed.'

Jandar's grandfather was the one who helped the Dzu-Teh leader. Despite losing half his men and killing many of the creatures, he still was able to show respect and helping them out of the snow. After the people were returned the grandfather came back and help the Dzu-Teh to a place farther south and below the storm. Since that fateful winter the Dzu-Teh have help the people whenever they were in need. They have been extremely loyal into serving and helping one another. To this day I thought it was the righteous cause that Jandar believed in that the Dzu-Teh had followed him for it. Now I know that it was his Grandfather that earned the Dzu-Teh's trust and to this day are still loyal to the family.

As I finish my writings I realized something else to this story. Since Vydar broke the alliance, there was a pause if the alliance will succeed. I believe there is more to this and that Vydar was tricked by an unknown force. There has been a misunderstanding and in time I believe that both sides will realize what has happened and loyalties will spring anew. I just hope that Jandar will help Vydar in his hour of need and that Vydar will prove his loyalties once again. I know he could not have commit those atrocities against us. I've seen the man... and in those eyes he truly wants what is best for his people.

[TGRF]

Challenge 43 - July 30th, 2013

Within the Trollsford Swamps--A Desperate Rescue Attempt

I'm taking this next one straight from the book; that is, the mapbook from the Rise of the Valkyrie map book (link here). See page 8 for a picture of the battlefield, and page 9 for a description of the original scenario. You do not, however, have to follow the scenario to the letter. What is necessary is:

1. Sgt. Drake has been captured and his allies are trying to rescue him, and

2. The rescue attempt must take place at Trollsford Swamps (it doesn't have to be the exact battlefield, but must be within the swamps).

Other than that, be as lenient as you wish with the scenario. You can have huge armies clashing, or it could be a few warriors. You can have the two teams as described in the scenario, or you don't have to. You could even have two teams racing against each other to get Drake from the third team (example: Drake has been captured by Einar, and Jandar and Utgar both have forces trying to get him; Jandar to rescue, and Utgar to assassinate him).

So the main objective, in short, is to draw inspiration from the scenario, and then do whatever you want with it! Have fun! You can make up characters/races/natural disasters/whatever you want, and it can have as much action/humor/drama/romance/anything else you want. Just write a fun story.

MisterMario - 1st Place

Spoiler Alert!

How long had it been? Two months? 10 weeks? Days and nights mean nothing here. I tried to remember where I am, to picture the map we all studied so intently before the mission. What was that mission? It doesn't matter now. Nothing but gray mists and murky water surface in my mind's eye. Bleak and dreary swamplands, there is nothing more.

Don't die. That's what Jandar said. I'm the only one who completed that much of the mission -- and then only because the bastards needed a captive. My mind plays tricks on me more often than not. If I do stumble into sleep, I dream of blood, gore, and death. The war means nothing to me. The allies, my comrades and remaining friends, have abandoned me, if they even knew I'd survived the initial onslaught. I am alone, my muscles are weak, and my spirit is broken. All of my training was a waste. I try to remember the sound of laughter, but all that I can recall is the awful shriek of my men as they were gutted by Stingers. I can no longer remember the battle or their faces, but their final cries haunt me continually.

For weeks, the one called Shiori had visited every day. I never saw or heard her approaching until she wanted. Draped in the dark purple of her order, silent as death, she always carried her cursed blade - the blade I'd come to respect and fear. Shiori served Einar, and Einar served Ullar, no Utgar... My head clouds once more and I lose myself. The mists of the swamps roll in to cover me inside and all around.

Initially, Shiori had boasted and taunted, hoping to goad me into revealing information. When that proved futile, she'd moved onto torture. Questions, questions, questions. Sometimes Shiori probed into my past, but she mostly focused on my time with Jandar. What did I know about his alliance with Vydar, when would he move on the Giant's Bane? How many men remain at Durgeth? What was your mission in the Trollsford ruins?

I never caved. My loyalty remained unshaken. Questions led to more violent forms of persuasion. We ended our sessions with consistency: sweat running down her toned, muscular arms; blood trickling off her razor-sharp Wakizashi; her black eyes staring down at me, always unblinking; and me, a crumpled pile of unconscious rags.

Of course Shiori could have ended me, like I'd begged of her, but she would always let up after bringing me lower than I'd ever thought possible. Eventually hope gave way to misery, pride to despair. And then, one day, it stopped. Whether she had been ordered to move onto more fruitful conquests or if she'd determined that I would never reveal anything useful, I was beyond caring. She had not visited in at least a month. The only company I had were the barren red eyes of the Deathwalkers they'd stationed nearby. The unthinking robots delivered molding bread and charred flesh occasionally and my canteen was kept refilled, but I was never spoken to, touched, or even acknowledged.

I look down at my hands wearily and try to focus my eyes, try to keep them open for as long as I can. In my left hand I notice I'm holding something. It's small and metal, round but caked with blood and dirt. I do not remember it. I reach achingly down to my side and unclasp my canteen. Slowly pouring the brown water over the metal, I rub my thumb over its surface and clear the mud and most of the blood. I see three letters and a small button on one end. What is this? Holding it to my eyes, it takes all of me to remember the names of those letters.

P.H.H.

"P--Pearl." It's the first word I've spoken in at least a week. My voice is hard and cracked, but if saying her name will help me hold onto my past, hold onto my self, it's worth the pain.

An image rises up and sparks a small flame within me. The memory, if that's what it was, comes from a long time ago. I see Pearl, lying under a large willow tree. Pearl's back is to me as I lean against the huge trunk. More clearly now, I remember the soft blonde curls of her hair, absorbing the warmth of the setting sun and I long to reach out and feel her warmth. Summer has made way to the beginnings of autumn and the tree's leaves are a brilliant shade of yellow. She slowly rolls onto her back, looking over at me and smiles. "Remember me, Drake. Wherever you go, whatever he shows you out there on those other worlds, remember me."

"How could I ever forget the woman I love?" She smiles once more, but her green eyes seem distant.

Despite the crud caked on my remaining toes and my broken ribs and the putrid smell of sulfur, I smile to myself. The flame has grown brighter.

She reaches up to her slender neck and pulls the delicate chain from under her collar. "Remember how I'm named for my grandmama?"

"Of course. Pearl Holly."

She unhooks the chain to slide off the silver locket. "I put the picture of us from the fair inside the locket. It was my grandmama's. I want you to take it. Remember me. Promise me you'll remember me. Promise me you'll come home." She's crying now and I see what I'm doing to her.

I realize how shaken up she is about the news. I've never been much for sentiments, but I do my best. "This is just another mission. This guy, Jandar, he says I could make Sergeant and who knows from there! I don't know what's out there, P. It's a grand adventure. I'll come back from this just like all the others." Her eyes narrow and her lips purse.

"Promise me. No matter what."

...

The sound of a Deathwalker slurping through the muddy trail brings me back to the present. I take as deep a breath as I dare and fill myself with a rekindled fire. Survival burns hotter than loyalty. Love conquers where torture, broken bones, loneliness, and pain all fail. I do my best to yell: "Shi--ori..." It comes out as barely more than a whisper. "Shiori," I try again. "Shiori! SHIORI!

“I'll talk. Take me home."

Crixus33 - 2nd Place

Spoiler Alert!

Daily Diagnostic

Ocular Systems: Fully Functional

Targeting Systems: Fully Functional

Weaponry Systems: Fully Functional

Core Charge: 90% Near Optimum

Unit designation Gamma-123 continued through its checklist. All systems were fully functional except the motor functions were a little stiff do to bog water and various decaying matter gumming up the joints. Next it reviewed the mission data file.

Mission Type: Rescue Mission
Target: Sergeant Drake Alexander. It is vital he be returned alive at all costs.
Location: Moving prisoner escort through Trollsford Swamp exact coordinates uknown
Defense Detail: Vydar Soulborgs, Only confirmed unit: Major X17

Unit 123 viewed the surroundings as he continued to trudge through the swamp. The sky was overcast and the humidity was high approximately sixty percent. He and the other five snipers of the gamma division along with the fifteen repulsors of lambda squadron were scouring the expansive marsh of Trollsford. Even though they didn’t have to rest, they couldn’t seem to discover the location of said captive caravan for two days so far. They had only two more days before they would have to conclude that either the intel was bad or that the enemy had cleared the swamp. The soggy ground of the marsh made it near impossible to track. The water saturated ground filled in footprints with water and mud mere minutes after it is formed. The squad approached a small rise from the lower lying area they were previously searching. As they reached the top of the crest Unit 123 switched to infrared vision. As usual the unnaturally warmer terrain and many animals scampering through the vegetation made it near impossible to see much farther than a few hundred feet with infrared. It didn’t help that soulborgs are insulated enough that the heat generated by the internal mechanisms is nearly undetectable.

All of sudden a large heat signature appeared on its scanner due southwest. It was gone almost as soon as it had appeared. 123’s processors began reviewing the data and it deduced the signature was produced by a laser blast. 123 reported it to its squad leader unit designation Gamma-121. The repulsors were immediately commanded to begin heading on multiple intercept courses varying in direction to compensate for the lack of the known route of the enemy. The courses favored a southerly direction since that would be quickest way to Vydar’s domain. Their squad leaders, Gamma-121 and Gamma-124, then issued the snipers their orders. They would fan out following approximately one hundred feet behind lambda squad. After the enemy’s location was discovered Gamma units 121, 122, and 123 would move in to secure the captive while units 124, 125 and 126 would move to the nearest raised area to provide suppressive fire.

Lambda Unit-14 pushed aside a large leaf in front of its visor and looked out ahead approximately forty-five feet in front of its current location was the escort and Drake. The group was in a circular clearing approximately ninety feet across. The omnicron counted sixteen blastatrons standing in a ring surrounding what appeared to be seven gladiatroms struggling to pin down and secure a struggling Alexander. The repulsor also noticed a single gladiatron standing in the circle of blastatrons, but not helping in holding Drake with its cyber claw. /Upon further inspection of the unit the repulsor discovered its own cyber claw was missing.. Its attention then moved to Drake. After inspecting his vital signs the repulsor deemed he was alive and that he had sustained some damage to his left knee among other minor bruises and lacerations. The wound to the knee was a major burn, potentially third degree. The unit concluded the burn was caused by the laser blast seen earlier. Something wasn’t correct. The unit noticed the entire escort except Major X17 the only known enemy in the escort. The repulsor wired in the location to the rest of the group. It turned around slowly to head back to regroup when it caught a glimpse of gray steel before everything went black.

“Come in unit 14. Unit designation Lambda-14 respond.” Gamma-123 could tell by the urgency in the words of squad leader 121 that the trons must have discovered the unit. Unit 121 switched tones in its voice modulator as it gave out orders. “Repulsors form a perimeter around the coordinates last received from Unit-14. Units designations Gamma-124, Gamma-125, and Gamma-126 proceed to the hill approximately ninety feet due south of there. Gamma-122 and Gamma-123 you’re with me.”

Gamma-123 crept behind 121 as they approached squad leader Lambda-1. Gamma-123 noted the large trench dug in a circular fashion around another trench. “When we arrived the blastatrons had already scoured the ground with their blasters and formed the trenches,” reported Lambda-1.

Gamma-121 pulled a small semi-round object from his pack and began inspecting it. “What is that?” inquired Gamma-122.

Gamma-123 caught the object as unit-121 tossed it to 123 while responding to 122, “A weapon given to me by the sergeant’s most trusted men.”

121 handed another to 122 and pulled a third out for itself as it began transmitting orders to the omnicrons hidden in the brush around the clearing. “Once you see the enemy move, omnicrons open fire with EMPs, we want to avoid killing the sergeant. Even though it will take a while the EMPs should begin to shutdown some of the enemy’s systems.” It then turned to 123, “Infrared isn’t conclusive, but Drake should be in the center ring at the end farthest from our location. You and 122 will lob those into the outer ring once the trons begin moving out, we’ll move in for the sergeant.”

Gamma-123 pulled the pin and tossed the object into the ditch as the squad leader threw his into the inner ring. Immediately gladiatrons and blastatrons came out of both rings. Three blastatrons and a gladiatron missing its claw were caught in the explosions. The gladiatrons charged towards the brush as the blastatrons began firing in. The initial barrage of electromagnetic pulses caused the light in the visors of two blastatrons to go out as they crumpled to the ground. The bolts erupting from the sniper squad’s blasters felled a gladiatron. Gamma-123 followed his squad leader as they rushed through the gap in the ring of gladiatrons. They dropped into the first pit to avoid the crossfire. They popped up and 123 managed to snipe a blastatron before they dropped back down. “Lambda 6, 10, 12, and 15 have been neutralized,” informed 121.

Before 121 even finished a blastatron and gladiatron dropped into the ditch. The blastron’s barrel crashed into 123’s head knocking the sniper to the ground. Squad leader tackled the blastatron to the mud. 123 turned to see 122 grappling with the gladiatron. The gray soulborg had a hold of the sniper’s gun arm with its cyber claw. The omnicron was struggling to keep the ax from reaching its head. 123 raised his gun to dispatch the gladiatron. The weapon burst into smoldering flames forcing 123 to drop it. It looked up to see a twitching blastatron standing at the top of the trench. 123 reached up and grabbed the blastatron by the feet and pulled it in before its obviously fried circuitry could get another shot off. 123 punched in the faceplate of the soulborg causing it to go limp. The sniper turned to see the gladiatron snap through the last bit of metal in 122’s arm with its cyber claw. 122 head butted the robot, but it merely caught 122’s neck in his cyber claw and slowly squeezed the metal until the head unit fell of and 122’s body went limp. A surge of pain shot through 123. Deep down inside 123’s core a being screamed out in pain, anguish, and pure rage. So many feelings rushed through the Maeridian soul deep in the sniper’s metal frame. “NOOOO!” erupted the seething soulborg.

He dove to scoop up his fallen comrade’s weapon and rolling onto his back he unloaded into the monster. The gladiatron paused and then toppled over. 123 stared at the many bullet holes he had put into the gladiatron. He turned to see 121 staring at him over the smoking husk of a blastatron. It slowly stated, “Lambda 4, 8, and 13 have fallen along with two other gladiatrons.”

Gamm-123 couldn’t understand the new sensations rushing through his circuitry. He had no time to compute what was happening to him as his leader climbed from the trench and he followed. They took out another blastatron before dropping into the next ring. They slowly crept through the muddy reinforcement. They found Drake lying tied up just before a sudden bend in the trench. “Sergeant,” called 121.

Drake turned his head revealing he was gagged. Gamma-123 thought he was trying to communicate something since he was shaking his head as 121 approached him. The squad leader holstered his weapon. 121 bent down and untied the sergeant’s bonds and remove the gag. As it stood back up a sword flashed around from the bend removing one of 121’s arms. It looked down at its removed limb as X17 came around the corner and plowed both fists into the omnicron’s chest. The gray soulborg sent the sniper flying out of the pit. Gamma-123’s auditory receivers heard it land with a sickening crunch. Major X17 turned toward the remaining sniper. The sergeant still lying on the ground rolled into the major’s legs tripping him up. He then rose up and ripped the sword from the fallen warrior’s back, but as he removed the grapple gun the major rolled over and caught a hold of it with his claw. X17 must have miscalculated the sturdiness of the device as its barrel caved in. Alexander fired the grapple, which surprisingly still worked, and the barbs plunged into the major’s face. His visor light blinked out. Gamma-123 watched as Drake tried to reel in the grapple but the mechanism no longer functioned. Alexander tossed away the instrument with disgust.. “We have to get you out of here,” the sniper informed him. “You are vital to Jandar and I lost a good man to save you,” he continued.

The sergeant looked surprised at that last comment. He replied, “What’s the plan?”

“You should head back the direction I came head straight for the brush. Approximately ninety feet south of here you will find a raised section where three of my comrades will be waiting for you and will cover your retreat and escort you to safe area,” explained 123.

Drake nodded and headed down the trench. 123 received a report that only three blastatrons and five gladiatrons remained; however, only Lambda 1, 2, 3, 5, 11, and 12 remained. Gamma-123 climbed out of the ditch and shot down a blastatron before moving to his felled leader. 121 was trying to push itself upright but couldn’t as his legs were badly misshapen. Gamma-123 came over and tenderly helped it to stand. He put his companion’s arm over his shoulders and whispered, “I’ll make sure you’ll get out of here.”

121’s head snapped up and it barked an order, “Leave me and get the sergeant out of here!”

123 turned to see Drake fending off four gladiatrons, but that wasn’t all Major X17 was heading towards him. “I’m not leaving you,” he maintained.

“You were given an order, now do it,” scolded his… friend.

“I… can’t,” murmured 123

“You will, one way or another,” stated 121 as he unholstered his gun. !23 watched in horror as his commander fired a bolt directly into its chest plate. He screamed as 121’s visor dimmed and faded out. Picking up his other friend’s weapon he spun around letting loose one burning bolt of focused light after another. He grimly felled each gladiatron. He then let out all his grief on his most hated enemy. He stared as the Major staggered and toppled over again. He turned to see the remaining four repulsors finish off the blastatrons. He called over lambda 1,2,3 and 5. Out of the corner of his visor he could have sworn he saw X17 twitch. He had orders though and he wouldn’t deviate from them. He concentrated on them as he commented to Drake, “I will personally see that my remaining men and I return you safely to Jandar.”

Drake gazed at the sniper, “You are different from all the other soulborgs I’ve met.”

Gamma-123 didn’t respond as he scrutinized the two guns in his hands. Not his but his fellow squad members. How could Drake understand the pain he now feels?

Bro-Man - 3rd Place

Spoiler Alert!

Unexpected Timing

The doors to a small cell came open and two Marro entered inside. They open the padded gates and walked inside and unshackled the prisoner off the walls. Their prisoner, Sgt. Drake Alexander.

Six days ago Drake was in the fight for his life against the Marro hordes. However he risked his life to have his men retreat and in the process gets captured by the enemy. He was soon taken to the small hidden castle, deep within the Trollsford Swamps. Since that time he was brutally beaten and tortured to near an inch on his life. He has not spoken and his will is still strong. He hopes that he will survive long enough for help to come but Ne-Gok-Sa has other plans.

Moments ago...

Drake was chained to the prison wall. His arms bound and his feet crossed legged, he hung his head and awaited for the Marro to arrive again. His clothes were torn and his body ached in pain. His stomach growled and he wondered when he will get his next meal, he only got one a day. The door soon cracked and Drake looked up to see the light in the dark room. With light it shined brightly inside the windowless room, changing the twilight darkness and showing a shining beacon of hope for Drake. As the Marro entered inside, however, all the hope was dashed. The Marro soon unchained him and took him away. Several minutes pass as they dragged him up the staircase and into the tallest part of the castle. He knew the area well, it was here that he was tortured for the past six days. The Marro pass through the the large room and Drake noticed the few devices he was on. One was burning coals that they stuck on his back. Another was two barrels filled with hot and cold water that they tried to drown him in. A third was with two ropes next to a bloodied wall where they attacked him relentlessly until they had their fill or he was near unconscious. However as the Marro moved they did not take him to any of the devices. Instead the Marro went into a set of doors and climbed higher into the tower. At the top two doors opened and Drake was not able to take in his surroundings before he was forced onto a flat table, at the same time they bounded his wrists and ankles. Once there he tried to look around his surroundings. To his left was a large window about five feet high but was bolted shut. The mid-day light filled the room and made him squint from the sun. It was nice to see the sun again. He turned his gaze and saw a small standing mirror near the corner, the light shining on the corner of the mirror and making the room shine a bit brighter. He saw his reflection and he was a mess. His face was badly bloodied and his lips was cracked. His hair was in a mess and he had two black eyes. Drake looked up and he sighed and wondered what torture they would do next.

"You will find out soon."

Drakes eyes widened and he strained to find the source. Moments as he looked the table began to raise up and he felt his body move down off the table. He soon found himself hanging off the table and his wrists and ankles tighten from the restraints. When the table stopped moving he saw a line of Marro standing in front of him. Behind a figure steps on past them and walks forward into the light. Drakes eyes narrowed and his teeth grind at the sight of the Marro leader.

"Ne-Gok-Sa."

The Marro starred at Drake and laughed at his helpless prisoner, his laughter sounded venomous and bits of saliva seemed to come out and hit the ground. As he laughed he noticed his sword tied around the leaders side and he wished he could take it and run the Marro through. When the mirth subsided the Warlord etched closer to Drake.

"It's been a long time Drake!" Ne-Gok-Sa voice was chilling and vile as he starred at Drake.

"We have not met since our first encounter."

"Kill me or release you diseased parasite. But don't waste your time with talk. Because I won't say anything to you."

Ne-Gok-Sa shook his head from side to side. "All in good time. You see ever since our first encounter I tried to probe into your mind and force you to become my puppet. However you were very strong willed. I had never met another that can resist my powers. I had my warriors break you over these past few days and you still resist. Lets see how strong you are now when you face my full powers."

"I would rather die." Drake spat at his face and Ne-Gok-Sa wiped away the stain. He turned to Drake and a sinister grin crept onto his face. He raised his bladed hand and smacked it across Drakes face. Drake gasped and coughed blood from the sudden blow yet he still starred back at Ne-Gok-Sa, blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth.

"That can be arranged." Ne-Gok-Sa raised his hand and placed it firmly on Drakes head. In that moment everything was silent. Then Drake's eyes began to flare and his body was twitching from side to side. Ne-Gok-Sa smiled and his powers continued to work on him. In the moment of his own victory the doors burst open and breaking his concentration. He whirled around in anger and see's one of his own enter inside. Drake watched the helpless creature panting and out of breath. In only a few seconds that Ne-Gok-Sa's anger was turned into surprise and his mouth hung open from the information.

"They are already here!?" Ne-Gok-Sa said and turned to the others and showed them out the door. Several went out and two were stationed at the door with guns draw. Two more went at the window and were stationed there. Ne-Gok-Sa turned to meet Drake and he placed his hand up again.

"I will need time to finish your assimilation. Soon all of your information will be ours... and your friends will not interfere."

***

Twenty minutes earlier...

"Well this is quite a predicament." Raelin said as she and her seven companions were surrounded on all sides by Gruts and Roman troops. Saylind and Concan and the four airborne watched as the romans appeared from behind the trees and their arrows at the ready. At the same time Gruts came out of the swamp waters and surrounded them with blades ready to taste blood.. Roman troops blocked the road and their shield and swords at the ready. For a moment no one moved and no one dared to attack until a single roman entered out of the lines and marched forward. He wore a long cape that extended to the ground and his helmet was much different then the others. To his side a large Grut was coming forward waiting to challenge against them. The Roman looked over and nodded his head to both sides and the Grut warrior ever inched forward, his other comrades did the same and inch closer to them.

"Be ready." Concan said as he readied his sword for battle.

The Grut went forward and raised his blade to strike but cried out from a sudden pain. Raelin watched in surprise as the Roman soldier stabbed him in the back. At the same time the roman archers fired arrows into the back of the heads of the other remaining warriors. The grut that the warrior stabbed fell to the ground and tried to crawl his way out. The creature raised his head and began to keen out. However the roman quickly dispatched him by stabbing at his throat. The conflict lasted on a few seconds and all the Gruts were down. The roman Soldier wiped away the blood off his sword as the remaining Romans came to his side. There were at least over a fifty in total. The Roman turned to the confused group and he took his helmet off to see them.

"My name is Marcus Decimus Gallus. We have come to aid you in your quest."

Raelin was speechless as the Romans hailed them as friends. She turned to her companions and they were all surprised as her.

"Why are you helping us?" Saylind said as she readied her staff.

"My emperor Einar has told me to come here. He knew this was the perfect opportunity to come to you aid."

Concan leaned to Raelin side and whispered in her ear.

"Didn't Thormun and several others travel to Einar's lands to seek friendship?"

"It appears that way. We may have even gained an alliance."

"Why so few?" The roman interrupted the thoughts at the number of their own.

"Few in numbers mean less detection. We believed that we would go unnoticed." Raelin said as she moved forward, the airborne lowering their weapons as she did. The Roman nodded to her assessment.

"It seems as though we are now joined together in an alliance. But I still wonder. Why has Einar change sides?"

The roman was silent for a moment before turning to his men.

"Einar saw Utgar a much more powerful force within him. He knows that there can't be two emperors on this world. He knew that Utgar will likely betray the agreement first." The roman turned to them and readied his helmet. "Einar see's Jandar's alliance as a gesture of friendship. And our Emperor has honored the call."

Raelin nodded and gave out a plan to assault the castle.

Ten minutes later...

Raelin and her companions marched swiftly alongside the roman soldiers as they all moved on the dirt path. The small castle ahead had guards all along the walls both Marro and Grut ready to fire at anything that moved. When the group was nearly two-hundred feet away Marcus held up a small whistle and blew within. The Romans all quickened their pace and closed the distance, two-hundred feet was now a hundred.

"Archers! Fire!" Marcus called and his archers let loose onto the walls. Several hit there mark and the warriors fell and the remaining creatures turned to ready their fire.

"Arrows!" One of the men called out.

"Shields!" Marcus and his men stopped and they all raised their shields above their heads. The moment they were set the arrows rattled against their shields. Raelin watched from under the protection the Roman troops continuing to advance, despite the hail of arrows coming on them. Next to her a roman grunted when one of the arrows pierced through and went deep into his arm. Another Roman cried out when and arrow stopped short and the tip hitting the Roman's cheek and was two inches deep. After the arrows stopped the gates to the castle began to open.

"Archers now!" The romans lowered their shields and the archers loosed at the open gates. The roman soldiers also threw their javalins toward the oncoming horde. Raelin and Concan nodded to each other and took off into the air, the airborne lifted themselves up standing in front of the romans and fired away at the Marro Drones and grut warriors. As the battle commenced below Raelin and Concan were shot in the air by the Marro warriors plasma guns. They dodged with ease as they went high into the air to avoid their range.

"I see the tower! That is where Drake should be held!" Raelin said as she pointed directly at the tower.

"I have an idea." Concan said as he quickly descended to the ground. Raelin watched in amazement when Concan slams into a grut archer and takes him up into the air to her side.

"We will have to be quick about this!" Concan said as he held onto the struggling grut in his arms. Raelin nodded and the two dived fast towards the tower window. Concan lets go of the Grut at the last minute and the creature cries out as it slams into the window, shards of glass coming out into different directions. Concan and Raelin were inside and noticed several Marro including Ne-Gok-Sa on the ground with dead Grut on top of them. One of the Marro creatures ran forward and Concan drew his blade. As the two tangled Raelin turned to Drake who was dangled from the table and was surprised to see her friend still breathing. Drake raised his head and gave a weak smile.

"Hey darling. Haven't... seen you... in awhile."

Raelin smiled back at her companion. "We were all worried for you." Raelin said as she cut through the chains that bounded him. Drake fell forward to the ground and went into Raelin's arms. As she held him there she quickly turned to Concan.

"Concan! Grab his sword and let us leave!"

Concan had already finished with the warrior and he quickly snatched the sword from Ne-Gok-Sa's side. The two took off with Drake as the warlord cried out in dismay. His warriors bolted at the window and began firing at them but they descended down before there shots could make it.

"Hold tight. Saylind will be getting us in just a minute!" Concan said as Raelin grabbed his arm and holding Drake in her other hand. Marcus looked up to see them descend. He blew his whistle and the Romans and the airborne quickly tightened their formation as arrows and the warriors all descended upon them. Concan let his hand out and touched the top of the Roman formation as the creatures continued to attack the shield wall. The instant that they touched strong magic surrounded the group and they all disappeared before the enemies eyes. At the top of the tower Ne-Gok-Sa tossed the dead Grut out the window and cired out in frustration and anger that his prey got away.

Ninja Status - 4th Place

Spoiler Alert!

The desperate rescue, of Trollsford Swamps.

The doors to Jandars council room swung open as a city guard approached. “Sir!” “Sir!” The guard yelled. As he stumbled to the steps catching his breeth “what's the problem, what has happened?” Jandar asked “The ambush sir” the guard said “the one that you ordered be set into place at Trollsford Swamps.” “Yes, yes I remember, what about it?” “Sir it seems that there was a, well, a confussion in the ambush” “What happened?” “Sgt. Drake sir, he seems to have been taken into custody by one of Utgars spys.” Jandar thought to himslef for a moment. With Drake captured there was no point of proceding with the ambush. “Utgar has crossed the line one to many times with me.” Said Jandar sturnly, “how long will it take you to get to the swamps?” Asked Jandar. “If I can gather my 15 best we can set up at the swamps by sundown.” “Then you better get moving” said Jandar, there is no time to waste. “There will be a second part arriving by your side in this rescue as well” said Jandar. “Just remember to wait, as it will take all of you to proced with this assignment.”

“Ahh!” Yelled Drake. “Are you going to speak now?” Asked an orc, “never” said Drake spitting blood out of his mouth onto the gorund. The orc was about to take another swing at the soldier when the door opened. “Well, well, well” said a hooded man “Either I'm going to get some answers or it's going to be a long night.” “Who-who are you?” Said Drake, the hooded man refused to revele himslef in the light. “Show yourself!” Said Drake, out of anger. “Oh I don't think that will be necessary.” Said the hooded man, “we wouldn't want to make things to easy now would we?” Drake hung his head, “what do you wan't from me?” Said Drake, “thats better” said the hooded man. “I simply want you to tell me what Jandar has planed and when exactly he is going to strike.” “I” said Drake, the hooded man began to listen carefully. “I don't know what you are talking about”, “He is lying sir” said the orc. “You don't think I know that?!” Said the hooded man with anger on his tone. Drake chuckled to himslef as he realized that things were going exactly, as he wanted.

“All right” said Cladious. “Were here”,“whats our move?” Said a fellow officer. “Jandar instructed that we move in silentley and try to retrieve Drake without setting Utgar or his army off, he also told us to wait for the second part to arrive.” “Pfff, that will be easy.” Said a guard with sarcasm in his tone, “shh! Be quiet! We don't want to make things harder now would we?” Silence stood over the group as they steadily waited for their supposid second part to arrive. Rustles in the bushes approached them. “Cladious” said an officer. “What is that?” “It depends” said Cladious. “Could be the rest of our forces, or it could be a trap”. As they waited it out the rustles grew nearer and nearer. The second half of the rescue party approached them, “are you Cladious?” Said the leader of the second squad, “yes” said Cladious. “And you are...” “Shrainer” said the leader, “Shrainer Claemon. Jandar sent me to meet you here to instruct you on the rescue mission.” An officer snickered, “do you want to shut up?” Said Cladious, “or will I have to send you in there alone to deal with the mess?” The officer steped back a few feet. “Alright” said Shrainer “were going to head in. I'll lead and you follow up behind, we want to get this over with quick and clean.” “Understood” said Cladious “lets move out.”

“Tell me what you know!” Said the hooded man. “Now now” said Drake, “why would I tell you what I know?” “Because” said the hooded man. “I have the one thing that you can't live without, and if you don't tell me about Jandars plans then she won't live for very long and her time left will be very unfortunate.” “Who is she?” Asked Drake “who are you talking about?” The hooded man opened a small closet to reveale a tied up outline of a figure. As he pulled her into the light Drake realized who she was “Raelin?! What are you doing here?” “Oh, there is a simple explanation for that.” Said the hooded man, “she heard about you kidnapping and wanted to help of course. Jandar wouldn't have her in his little rescue party so he simply declined her request, Raelin was angry of course and felt the need to rescue you on her own so she, stupidly, went by herslef.” “How” Said Drake “how do you know all of this?” “There is a simple explanation for that as well” said the hooded man. He stepped into the lightness of the room as well te reveale who he really was. “F-finn?” Drake said in disbelief “but why?” “Because” said Finn. “After I had rescued my fellow friend Agnar from Cypriens grasp Utgar stole the one piece of home that I had left” Drake's mind raced as he thought this all out. “Why didn't you come to Jandar? Or to me for help?” Said Drake, “because” said Finn. “Utgar had threatened to invade and kill everyone that remained in the city from the previous war if I contacted anyone of the alliance. You see now why I have to do this.” Finn said with his hand at his belt taking out a dagger, he put it to Raelin's throat. “No! Please Finn” said Drake “don't do this, there is another way.” “No” said Finn with his hand shaking “there isn't!” “Stop right there Finn!” Said Cladious and Shrainer together. “Make another move, and we will be forced to fire!” Finn started to trembel, his hand gently thrusted at Raelins throat. “Don't do it!” said Cladious. An arrow had already pierced Finn's flesh. He fell to the ground, dead. “Why did you do that?!” Said Drake “he wasn't going to do it” “yes, he was” said Shrainer sheiving his bow. “Are you okay Raelin?” Said Cladious, “yes I think so” said Raelin with a horse voice. There was a moment of silence for a moment as everyone was in shock of what had just happened. “Well” said Raelin “we should probably head back to inform Jandar of what has happened and what the circumstances came to.”

The small group of companions headed back to Jandars fortress, carrying Finns body with them to make a proper burial. No one of that group ever looked back on that day that took place in the Swamps or even tried to remember it. However, It was never forgotten. The mission was completed, Drake had been retrieved, unharmed and Raelin as well. Even though they had lost a fellow friend and soldier in the process the orders were fulfilled and maybe, this, would be the end of it all. Maybe, this is where the battle ends and the peace begins.

[TGRF]

Challenge 44 - August 18th, 2013

As with any ruler who has over-reached in his quest for power, Utgar's varied races of creatures and death-bringers do not always see eye to eye. Create a scene to showcase one such incident.

Spoiler Alert!

Basically I'm looking for some depth into the enemy camp. What makes those creatures tick? Who gets along with who? Who doesn't get along with anyone? What romps do they have between battles with the official enemy. Feel free to go big or go close-up, whatever you feel. Happy Writing!

Crixus33 - 1st Place

Spoiler Alert!

“Faster!”

The whip cracked again. Gabbro felt pain lance through his back again. How he hated the whip. The moltarn glanced over his shoulder at his tormentor. The trolticor’s silhouette stood out against the light shining in through the entrance of the mine.

“Faster!” shouted the firm voice again. The trolticor whipped another unlucky moltarn. Gabbro turned his gaze to the Warden issuing orders to the great beast and directing the moltarn workers. Gabbro went back to digging into the heated rock. He continued to kindle the burning hatred he had for the Warden and the whip. His people wished no part in the war. Then the winged red man, Utgar, came to enlist them. He carried the stone. The father stone was beautiful to behold we willing pledged our allegiance to him and swore to die for him, but instead of sending us to the frontlines to fight for his glory, they are instead “guarding” the molten sea. It was slavery meant to use them to mine the mineral rich land around the volcano. Yet Gabbro couldn’t let his thoughts question Utgar, he possessed the father stone, his word was infallible.

He hated their captains though. The worthless lot. They didn’t deserve to be here, this wasn’t their homeland. What right did they have to decide Valhalla’s fate? They polluted the soil with their mere presence. The moltarn let his hatred subside for now as the whip arched through the air and lashed another of his kin. Revenge was near.

As Gabbro returned to his home that evening his collapsed happily into the ground. He was exhausted. As he lay there, resting, he heard the harsh clanging of the bell. Gabbro groaned. The bell’s clashing was insistent and so he headed outside. He approached the village square to see the warden pulling the cord of the large bell back and forth viciously. As the town population slowly congregate, Gabbro could tell that their numbers were dwindling. Harsh beatings and sheer exhaustion had overtaken some of his brethren.

The warden stepped forward and began walking back in forth in front of the front row of moltarn gather.

“The quota this week was five-hundred metric tons of iron ore, yet only four-hundred ninety-two tons were mined,” the warden said in his steely voice. He let the words soak into the slaves. “Why?” he asked. “Why are we so far under?” he asked again.

Lashing out he struck a worker across the temple and the moltarn collapsed to the ground. “I asked a question and I expect an answer do you understand!?” the warden demanded. The pile of stone remained motionless. After a few minutes Warden 816 drew himself up and motioned to a pair of deathstaklers across the square to come forward. “Toss this one into the volcano maybe the stone stored in his body will be of actual use,” he ordered.

Gabbro was appalled by the words but he didn’t let his face show it. Showing discontent would only lead to more beatings. The warden returned his attention to the crowd. “I expect you won’t fall under quota again,” he stated flatly and strode off. Gabbro seethed inside, but he remained silent. The warden’s days were numbered.

Gabbro sat in his abode until sun down. He then set out to the south. He headed for about a mile down and then he spotted the hill. He knew it well and he ducked into the cave at its southern facing end. Inside twenty other moltarns sat already gathered. One stood up and spoke as Gabbro took a place on the ground. “The time has come,” the moltarn declared, “it is time to cast out our oppressors.” “They are driving us into extinction through their cruelty,” the creature continued. “We must revolt!” he shouted. A hearty agreement rang out throughout the cavern.

“Gorbash,” Gabbro began to ask the leader, “when are we to attack.”

“Now!” rang out the reply. A cacophony of grinding voices shouted out in joy and anticipation.

Gabbro plodded along with the others. The group numbered fifty and was armed with not but fists and fierce determination. He was toward the center of the pack near the large basin. He could feel the heat emanating from creating an odd sense of comfort. He reached out caught a hold of the rope wrapped around it so he could help support it. He saw the two marro guards standing at the southern gate to the city. If you could even call it gate, it was more or less a break in the low brick wall that rounded the city. He scoffed at the fortifications deemed worthy of the moltarn, the warden will wish he had built a fort around the village by the time they were done with him. The two marro guards appeared uneasy. They lowered their stingers and one ordered in a chirping voice, “Disperse, or be considered hostile.”

Gabbro couldn’t take it anymore, pushing aside the lid of the basin he reached into the steaming, bubbling liquid. He let loose the molten rock at one of the marro. The lava struck it full in the face. The unlucky creature crashed to the ground thrashing about wildly and screeching in pain. Several more globs of magma flew forth and the remaining guard shared his comrade’s gruesome fate. The mob poured into the town. They made their way up the main avenue with no resistance. As they approached the town center a half-dozen deathstalkers past in front of them. More blobs of magma flew forward and three of the metal beasts dropped on the spot howling in distress. The remaining three ran off towards separate side streets. “Don’t let them raise the alarm,” shouted Gorbash.

The rebels ran in pursuit breaking apart to tale the soulborgs. In their haste the moltarn carrying the vat of magma dropped it and its contents splashed across the ground. Something seemed wrong to Gabbro, there were generally more patrols to enforce curfew at this time. Suddenly he heard screams down the adjacent street. Peering through the alleys between hovels he glimpsed a horrible scene of stinger weapons flashing and moltarn corpses sizzling. All at once a warehouse he was passing had it doors flung from their hinges. Brunak charged out whip lashing out and falchion gleaming. Gabbro’s friends and people fell about him to the sword of the beast. Twice he felt the whips sting across his back but he was able to flee the street and near certain death. Already in the alley he sought refuge was Gorbash. “We must make it to the warden’s quarters. If he falls the rest will surrender,” Gorbash stated.

Gabbro nodded in agreement and they charged out into the next street. The warden’s quarters were only another street over. Gorbash called out sounding a rally of the remaining forces. About two dozen moltarn responded and followed. Gabbro saw many be struck by bolts of energy before they could even reach the warden. The remaining moltarn forced open the front doors of the building and flooded into the main hall. A few stingers were stationed there and reduced the moltarn to six before being overwhelmed. Gorbash was the first to throw open the next set of doors revealing Warden 816”s office. The unarmed leader looked up from his desk as if surprised. Three of the obsidians charged forward with feral cries leaving Gabbro, Gorbash, and young moltarn to block the exit. With startling speed the warden pulled his evisceraxe from out underneath the table. Two blasts were shot out felling two of the attackers. The warden didn’t have enough time to release another blast at the warrior bounding over his desk, so he swung the bladed end of the weapon into the moltarn. The warrior was launched across the room into a wall, shattering to pieces.

Before the remaining three could attack, the warden pulled a lever and a section on each wall to the left and right of him swept upwards. Two short robust soulborgs, guns trained on the attackers, were revealed. “Before you do something you may regret I wish to negotiate your surrender, I still need workers,” the warden said quickly.

“You knew about this the whole time, didn’t you?’ Gabbro realized.

“Clever, aren’t you,” the warden mocked, “nothing in my establishment ever escapes my notice.” He swiveled a monitor around so the bewildered obsidians could see. They watched a deathreaver, a small sack clamped in its jaws, approach another which placed what appeared to be a camera into the sack. Suddenly a rat’s head flooded the screens entire view. Its maw opened and the screen went to static. “You see I knew about your attack even before most of you did; however, you still put up a valiant effort, I don’t see why Utgar wanted to use you as mere menial laborers.” He clicked a button and the screen showed what remained of the force outside. A quarter dozen moltarn pressed against the over turned cauldron were lobbing scalding hot lava out of the screen. Gabbro watched with dismay as each one fell amongst the other mounds of rock. The youngest warrior shouted out as the last one fell and leapt at the warden. He didn’t make it three feet before the zettian guards dropped him. “Rash actions lead to death,” Warden 816 chided.

“We won’t surrender,” replied Gorbash. “This ends now!” he erupted. Charging forward he dove underneath the desk avoiding the zettian fire. Gabbro stood still stunned. He gazed dumbfounded as Gorbash rose up and began swinging wildly at the warden. With surprising grace the warden dodged each blow slowly creating distance between him and his assailant. Gabbro groaned as he watched the axe travel in a deadly arc, lopping off Gorbash’s head. “Please tell me you have more sense then the other two?” the warden pleaded. Gabbro smiled wryly, no one was left but him, who was left to surrender. He jumped forward. Barrels flashed brightly and Gabbro knew no more.

The Grim Reaper's Friend - 2nd Place

Spoiler Alert!

The battlefield was unnaturally still. The absence of the clamor of battle had left the scene strangely quiet, as if the blood-soaked ground were separated from the rest of the world, holding its breath, waiting.
Thin wreathes of smoke wafted over the burnt ground, singeing the blackened stubble of what remained of once green fields. Sprawled in distorted positions on the hard ground lay the forms of dead warriors, their limbs mangled and knotted together in a grotesque semblance of sleep. Blood dripped from their many wounds, trying desperately to cover the ground. The futile effort only left the ground more hungry still, the cracks in its soil widening to accept more of the red liquid.
In all of the destruction, only two figures moved. One lay on the ground, sprawled atop the motionless figure of a dead companion, her arms bloodied, her wings broken. Tears streaked her face, and her frame shook with ill suppressed sobs. Blood and sweat mingled and ran down her armor, painting her skin a grimy shade of blackened red. The once gleaming feathers of her wings now drooped, as if bent with sorrow, all the luster of life gone from them.
Above her stood another kyrie. Her wings were held aloft, as if they refused to furl completely, and she held a spear in her right hand, which she pointed at the fallen kyrie. Ever one of her muscles was tensed, ready for action, and she seemed to quiver where she stood, as if unaccustomed to the stillness.
Runa wrapped her fingers more tightly about the center of her weapon, keeping the point towards her foe. The tendons in her hand showed white against her red skin. She breathed heavily through her nose, and sweat coated her palms, making her grip slippery. What blood was splashed on her was not her own.
“I told you we would meet again,” she whispered, half to herself, half to the kyrie before her. “You escaped me once, but that was long ago, in far friendlier skies. Your fate shall be far different here.”
No reply came from the figure on the ground. If Runa’s words meant anything to her, she made no sign of recognition. A fresh tear ran down her face.
“Come now,” said Runa, prodding her spear forwards and poking the kyrie in the side. Not enough to wound, but enough to hurt. “I stand here before you. Surely you wish for revenge?”
A half choked sob came in reply. “Revenge?” whispered the kyrie. “You stand there on this field, and speak to me of revenge?”
Runa frowned. She had expected this to be much quicker. “Surely you care,” she said, hoping to goad her opponent into action. “Jandar would seek to slay me on the spot for what I’ve done, but we both know he’ll never get the chance. You do your alliance a disservice by refusing to kill me.”
No reply.
Runa leaned closer. “Utgar has ordered that if you are captured, you are to be brought to him. I would slay you here, though. Either die bent over like a coward or meet me like the pathetic warrior you pretend to be.”
A shuddering sigh came from the kyrie, and Raelin lifted her head, turning to stare into Runa’s fierce eyes. “I care not what you think or want, Runa. I cannot escape, and you know I cannot kill you. Slay me here and have your vengeance. You have robbed me of everything that ties me to this horrible war, so let me depart it. By your hand, or by another’s, I care not.”
A smile, born of deep hatred and cruelty, slid onto Runa’s face. “No,” she breathed. “You have caused me much pain in your day, Raelin; I would do the same to you before I finally kill you.” As she spoke, Runa flexed her left wing, where Atlaga had once broken it, protected as he had been by Raelin’s magical spear.
Raelin turned from Runa, directing her gaze instead back to the form over which she knelt. “If you understood half of what you pretend,” she said, “you would know you have caused me more pain than a blade could ever inflict.”
Runa cocked her head, staring past Raelin, to the prone figure on the ground.
Drake Alexander, general of Jandar’s armies, looked strangely peaceful in death, at odds with his violent life. Runa had not meant to kill him, as she knew Utgar would have wanted to question him, but her deadly helm had a will of its own, and slew who it pleased.
She would have kept Drake alive for another reason, though. As long as he remained, she knew Raelin would never give up. A Raelin that fought back was far better than this saddened, suddenly defeated being at her feet.
Runa shifted her weight. “Perhaps your right,” she mused, fingering her spear thoughtfully. “I’ve robbed you of all that holds you to this life, and now I will take even that from you. Know that you died at the hand of Runa, Raelin, daughter of Kelther.”
Runa raised her spear, ready to strike her enemy down.
Raelin closed her eyes, her forehead touching that of Drake, a small smile fading through the grime that coated her face. At long last, the end was near, and she would truly be with Drake, forevermore.
“You don’t want to do that.”
Runa spun around, every muscle in her body suddenly taught, spear at the ready.
Isamu stepped out from behind a mound of corpses, seeming to appear suddenly in the air. “You know what Utgar decreed, Runa,” he said smoothly, his features masked by the red cloth wound about his head and face. “Raelin goes to him, alive.”
Runa gazed with hatred into his expressionless eyes, the only part of him not concealed. Isamu had the most annoying habit of knowing more than he should and appearing at unlikely times to remind one of that fact.
“I know perfectly well what my father said,” replied Runa, her tone venomous, “and you should know that he will honor my decisions on the battlefield.”
Isamu stared blankly out over the bloodied ground before returning his gaze to the red-skinned kyrie before him.
“The battle’s over,” he said calmly. “Your father’s instructions were plain. If Raelin were captured, she was to be sent to him. If you will not carry out his orders, I will.”
Runa nearly lopped off the ninja’s head at his insolent words, but contained her wrath. “You will not touch Raelin,” she said. “She is my prisoner, and mine only.”
“Prisoners are not to be killed, if I remember correctly,” said Isamu, staring pensively into the sky, now filled with dust.
“Enough of this,” said Runa, shaking with anger. “Be gone from this place. You have better things to do than to question my judgment.”
“Really?” said Isamu, sounding genuinely surprised. “After all these years, Runa? Are you truly sure I have nothing better to do than question your judgment? Shall I count the times I have intervened against you?”
Runa closed her eyes. If Isamu began, it would not be long before she could contain herself no longer and would attack him. She would prefer to kill him silently in the shadows, not on an abandoned battlefield, where it would be all too obvious who had done the deed.
Isamu appeared unaware of her building wrath. He looked down and began counting on his fingers. “Let’s see,” he said. “The scouting party. You wanted to kill the commander we captured, against Taelord’s orders. I intervened, and Taelord reprimanded you on your rashness.
“The assault on Ekstrom. You decided that you could take the garrison full of elves by yourself in flew right into the middle of them. I saved your life, killing most of them myself. Utgar thanked me personally.
“Your argument with Cyprien. I wonder if you ever learned that insulting Sonya in his presence is not a good idea? I deflected his blow in time, and you got off with little more than hurt pride as he flung you from his castle.
“The attempt to ride Mimring. You were confident that he wouldn’t dare hurt you, and only by swinging his head down in time did I keep you from being cooked atop his back.
“Your first duel with Raelin. You know perfectly well your helm did not kill those three kyrie protecting her. They were foolish enough to land, as were you, and they would have killed you had I not gotten to them first.
“Your attempt to single-handedly defeat the Ticalla expedition, including Drake, Q10, Shiori, Sonlen, and Raelin. I led them astray more times than once, and the marro were less than pleased with you, if I recall.
“Need I go on, Runa? You owe me your life over more times than I can remember. Questioning your judgment has become something of a second profession for me. Now either take Raelin back to Utgar or let me do it. I grow impatient.”
“You. Impatient,” Runa snorted, a sharp sound in the post-battle stillness. “I will do what I please. If you don’t like it, go elsewhere, but this is something with which you will not interfere.”
She turned back to Raelin, who still lay quietly before Drake. Her eyes were turned upwards, and they met Runa’s gaze as she prepared to strike her down.
“Look well, my enemy,” said Raelin, her voice unspeakably calm. “Look well on what you have wrought. You kill without thought, and take delight in pain. And behind your back, your enemy approaches. Your end will come sooner than you think.”
A sneer curled Runa’s lips. At long last she would smite down her opponent, the one which had thwarted her for so long.
Runa faltered, Raelin’s words stirring something within her. Turning, she was just in time to see a flash of red before Isamu’s blade dove cleanly through her back, its tip coming out through her skin gleaming red, before being withdrawn.
Runa slid off of the sword, feeling her muscles fail her one by one. Her legs refused to obey her, and crumpled, sending her toppling to the ground. For one brief moment, she saw Isamu standing above her, his dark eyes watching her solemnly, and then a great blackness enveloped her.
“And so falls Runa, daughter of Utgar,” murmured Isamu to himself. Then he withdrew a length of cloth from about his clothes and wiped the blade of his sword, returning it to his sheath soon afterwards. He then turned to Raelin.
“Let me see Drake,” he said, trying to make his words gentle. Raelin did not move.
Isamu knelt and gently moved her aside until Drake’s face was visible. Using two fingers, he felt the side of Drake’s neck, checking for a pulse. No beat met his search. For a moment more Isamu remained thus, his head bent. Then, suddenly rising to his feet, he offered Raelin his hand.
“Come,” he said. “Utgar’s forces will be here shortly. They must not find you when they arrive.”
Raelin silently shook her head, glancing towards the figure of Drake. “I can’t leave him,” she whispered.
Isamu almost smiled beneath his mask. “You won’t have to,” he said, keeping his voice measured. “I altered Runa’s helm with borrowed magic. All that it struck were put in a deathlike state, enough to fool their comrades. They should awake within the hour.”
Raelin stared at him, not comprehending.
Isamu glanced at her. Even in her disheveled state, she was surely the most beautiful kyrie he had ever seen, and he had beheld many. “Jandar has spies in many places,” he said. “Some are more cunningly placed than others. Now follow me. A squadron of Jandar’s kyrie await at an outpost to the south, and I would not have you found by the enemy.”
Raelin watched him for a moment more, and then took his hand, allowing herself to be helped up. Isamu stooped, and, with apparent ease, slung Drake over his shoulder. The three figures then left the scene, turning their backs on the mangled body of Runa. They turned south, and were soon swallowed by the billowing dust.
In their wake the battlefield became unnaturally still, as if the blood-soaked ground were separated from the rest of the world, holding its breath, waiting…

Bro-Man - 3rd Place

Spoiler Alert!

Struggles with leadership

Utgar's army resided near a river within their own border. The army consisted of four large groups, each taking part of a section of the camp. In the north it resided the Grut army. In the south lied the Undead horde controlled by Cyprien. On the western edge of camp lied the wolves lead by Khosumet. And on the eastern river lied the Marro encampment. The army were few in number due to a large battle that was taken place just two months ago. The army was facing the combined forces of the alliance and were in the thick of battle. What everyone didn't expect, however, was the betrayal of Valkrill and his hordes of orcs rampaging across the battlefield. They attacked both sides and forced a temporary alliance between Sgt. Drake and with that of Grimnak and his grut warriors. After the battle the two armies have parted and little no fighting to place since that time. The army continues to recuperate and replenish their forces and were given no orders by their leader. Until...

***

Northern encampment...

A lone grut warrior, covered in bronze armor and symbolized him as a veteran, stands near the edge of the Grut encampment. He strides through the encampment of pitched tents towards a lone hill were his leader resided. The warrior climbs to the top and is first greeted by Grimnak's mount. The dinosaur gives a low growl but the warrior ignores the mount and approaches the entrance of a small hut where six more bronzed warriors stood in position and guarded the entrance. He knocks on the side of the door frame and hears a grunting noise on the other side.

"Enter." Grimnak's voice sound it rough and was struggling for breath. The warrior pulled back the covers and headed inside. The warrior walked a few feet forward into lightly lit room. He stopped with bended knee and looked to see two poles in the middle of the room. The warrior looked up and he saw his leader performing sit ups, while being suspended upside down. His feet wrapped tightly around both poles so that he would not fall. Grimnak finished another sit up when he spotted the warrior. The warrior could clearly see the sweat pouring on his chieftains body and blood rushing to the side of his head.

"Ah my second in command. Speak warrior." Grimnak said as he continued with his exercise. The warrior bowed his head to his knee and spoke softly.

"Chieftain. I have received a message from lord Utgar. Our forces are to move west to hold out against any attack from Einar's lands."

Grimnak continued to workout and was expecting more from the warrior.

"There have also been reports given to the undead and the Marro. The Marro are already departing and the Undead leaders are waiting to move out."

"There is no information regarding to where they go?"

"None so far."

"And what of the wolves?"

"No message was given to them."

Grimnak stopped his exercise and he hung like a bat in a cave. He pondered and what the new movement of troops would mean for the army. He bended up and pulled a string that wrapped his bindings to his feet. He then fell forward, spinning around, and landed on all fours into the ground, his body hunched over from the exercise.

"Wait for me outside warrior, I will attend with you soon."

As the warrior departed Grimnak sat in his same position as the blood in his veins returned to normal. His muscles burned and ached from the strain of his routine. He soon breathed normally as he raised himself up from the ground. He walked toward his bed and grabbed his gear. After a few minutes of cleaning and equipping his gear Grimnak was ready to move. He grabbed his spear from his bed and headed outside. Once outside he was greeted by the cool air from the late afternoon, chilling his body for a moment until it got used to it. He whistled out and his mount came to him, making indents into the ground with each step. He climbed on as the warriors went to his side as escort. Grimnak inspected the camp and saw that much of the armies ready to move, though he see's his warriors below still waiting in their tents. It was still late in the day but much can be done during that time. He turned to his second in command and nodded.

"Lets inspect the grunts. Tell me everything that you know while we descended."

***
A few moments later at the base of the hill...

"So you can confirm that the Marro's movements were heading north?"

"Yes chief. The Marro horde movements are leading straight to the Dam that they built years ago."

Grimnak thought for a moment as his mount made its way through the maze of tents. His warriors back away from their path and allowed him passage making their movements much easier. Most could only bow their heads in respect while others went to their tents to rest. Grimnak turned to his escort and his second.

"So we know that they intent to defend that area but what threats have arisen. We know of Vydar attacking the alliance and breaking his pact so there has to be a reason why they go up."

The warrior turned to his leader. "I do not know. Whatever is happening up there can not be good."

"Let us just hope that they don't spawn new filth into this world. I fear they are getting too powerful and more savage as the war progress."

The warrior nodded and resumed to speak.

"There is also the prisoner that was caught in the recent skirmish. We were wondering what you will do to-" He was interrupted when another warrior came running toward them and stopping them in their tracks.

"Chieftain! The undead and the wolves are at it again! There going to tear up the camp if you don't come!"

"Blasted fools! There rivalry will never cease! Let us break it up quickly before blood is spilt!"

***
A minute late near the western entrance...

Grimnak and his escort arrived to see a dangerous situation. On one side stood the wolves of Badru and the Anubian wolves. The other side stood the undead horde, the many Retchets, and skeletons rattling and moaning and were ready to launch themselves toward the wolves. In between the two forces stood Khosumet and the two infernal vampire witches. Lady Sonya and Lady Iskra.

"You bar our way wolf. Stand aside so that we may pass." Sonya called out as she drew her blade.

"And after what you did to my own!? By knocking them aside as if they were nothing! You even spate at the face of my own kin!"

"Your "Kin" was annoying me and my pets. You have to put your own in their place.

From the wolf side I noticed one of the wolves step forward and went to Khosumet's side. Gimnak could not tell from his side but he assumed it was Khosumet's own pup.

"You vampire *****! I will claw your eyes out for your transgression against us!"

"Is that a challenge?" Sonya said as she waved her blade forward at them. Behind the horde of creatures roared out and was awaiting to attack. Grimnak rush with his mount and stepped in between the two forces. The mount roared out and stopped both sides and made them all stop to stare. No one made a sound as the tension ceased, nearby several of the undead creatures rattled there teeth together and moaned out toward him.

"Enough of this! We have been staying here long enough to get everyone on each others nerves but we shall not have this fighting now! We have all been through much and you wish to fight over petty matters! Your rivalry will cease and you will go your separate ways! I will have no more of this and by the end of the day you won't have to put up with each other any longer! Go now and if you threatened each other again I will have my pet feast on your flesh!"

His mount roared out and the two sides backed away. The leaders looked at each other and the two vampires turned their heads held high and walked to the exit, the undead army slowly following behind them. Grimnak dismounted and turned to Khosumet and his young, behind them the wolves began to disperse and make ready to leave.

"I'm sorry my friend. I wanted to avoid blood shed."

Khosumet lowered his head and he smiled back. "I know. I just hate it when the undead and their leaders act like they own everything."

Grimnak nodded and he turned his attention to his young. The wolf stood at the exact same height as Khosumet, although to a Grut's height and a wolfs the pup could be a few inches taller then the father. The wolf had a strong build much like Khosumet but was more slender in comparison. The wolf had the same features as any other wolf the only differences was that it had a tail in the back, deep blue eyes, and it's chest stood out even-

"Her name is Rain. My daughter." Khosumet spoke and Rain seemed to chuckle to herself as Gimnak seemed to be taken surprise by this. Grimnak nodded to her and she nodded in return before departing, her movements were graceful as she went to her packs.

"My daughter doesn't talk much. I guess she gets that from me."

Grimnak smiled at his remark. "I heard that you trained your wolves that would be strong as you. Was hers different?"

"Indeed." Khosumet spoke and he turned again to his friend. "Even if she is my own blood I trained her to be a killer. She has proven herself well since she began her training."

Gimnak nodded as he notice Rain speaking with the other wolves and a few younger ones came up to her. She smiled at them and she petted their heads and they giggled in delight.

"I'm sending her on a task with some other packs."

Grimnak turned and gave a puzzled look to his friend.

"The few packs that will be joining her will be over a hundred strong with many young ones. She will train the new wolves in the forests north east and help bring new recruits into the fold. Hopefully to please Utgar in the process."

"And what of you my friend? Where will you go?"

Khosumet look away and didn't seem to find the words to tell. The old wolf turned to him and gave a wide smile.

"I go where I am needed."

Grimnak nodded to his old friend and placed his hand onto his shoulder. Bidding him farewell the two departed and went their separate ways. Grimnak went to his mount and he was met by his second in command.

"Chieftain. What I spoke of before. About the prisoner. You have held him for over a month and he has not spoken since that time. What do you wish to do with him?"

Grimnak starred at his second and remembered of the prisoner. In a recent skirmish with the knights one was taken captive. After holding him down and taking him back to camp the knight continued to fight on. Grimnak remembered that his warriors beat him down so that he would remain still. However, every time the knight was knocked down he kept getting back up to fight. When the fighting got out of hand Grimnak had went to the knight to finish him for good. Grabbing the knight by the head he held him down to kill him. What stopped him was what he saw in the humans eyes. The eyes were unresponsive and dim. His body and mind were out but the man's spirit-

Grimnak snapped from his daze and he looked at his second who still waited for an answer.

"Take him south of the camp and let him go."

"Chief? Why should we-"

Grimnak starred at his second and the warrior took a step back from the sharp energy that the chief sent to him.

"Warrior. Once you are done with this task meet me at my hut."

***

Several hours later at the top of the hill...

Grimnak sat alone near the hill, his mount sleeping next to his side, watching the ramblings and movements of his warriors below. The sun was beginning to set creating a rich hue of orange around the camp. The grasslands around him began to glow from the sun's remaining light and shined around his skin. Grimnak looked at the sight for a moment longer before he could hear the footsteps of his second from behind.

"I did what you have instructed. The Knight was sent on his way."

Grimnak nodded not wanting to turn his head.

"Ash. Come to my side."

Grimnak said the warriors name. Ash came and sat next to him and was surprised that his Chieftain said of his name.

"Warrior. You know why I let that human go?"

Ash shook his head not knowing what his chief is implying.

"I sent him away." Grimnak started. "Because I saw something within humans that I thought I never seen."

"And what is that, Chieftain?"

"They have a spirit that can never die out."

Ash starred at his chieftain in confusion and Grimnak turned to his warrior.

"When I starred into the face of that human. His body was already pass its limit, snuffed out like a candle. However as he still stood in defiance his spirit was roaring like wildfire. When we fought side by side against Valkrill's horde we fought with such strength and unity. We fought as brothers against a common foe. The Human, Drake is what they call him, was had the same level of strength and skill as I have. The humans also seemed to retain more honor than any other warrior I have met. However, Utgar shows no respect or honor to those that are captured. There is no honor in killing unarmed men. There is no honor in torturing them to submission when you can fight glorious battles against them. There is no honor for killing those who do not wish to fight. And there is no honor for breaking our traditions of our people."

Ash continued to stare at his chieftain and he remained silent as his chieftain spoke.

"Why I say this is because I feel that Utgar has taken our people down a path that is not our own. I am not considering of leaving but if he pushes us further into this path, there is no telling what I might do. You understand Ash?"

Ash looked out to the camp were the gruts were settling themselves for the night. Everything seemed quiet without the other forces within the camp. Ash sighed and as he began to breath the air around him.

"Your warriors, Chieftain. Will follow you to whatever end, even if we have to fight for own traditions and build new ones in this strange land."

Grimnak turned and Ash who was smiling as he starred out. Grimnak also turned to the encampment and the sun has settled over the horizon. He placed his hand on Ash's shoulder and nodded.

"To whatever end."

[TGRF]

Challenge 45 - September 9th, 2013

A warrior cries out to the sky. A loss unbearable to imagine. The thing he cared most for has been taken from him (her). It would be one thing if it were to have happen in battle, but this was deliberate and gruesome. Now one thing is on his mind: revenge. He knows who has done this and only vengeance will bring him peace. It is indeed one of the strongest motivations for a warrior.

So basically I'm looking for as the prompt says, one of the warriors of Valhalla losing the person they most care about. I would prefer the characters be canonical, not from C3V. I am also looking some detail into what the warrior sees when he discovers the body, what makes the death seem even more tragic. Other than that have fun! The relationship can be anything, brother to brother, mother to daughter, husband to wife, lovers, or even rider to steed. How would Me-burq-sa feel if burq jr. passed on in a gruesome fashion? Again have fun.

Dysole - 1st Place

Spoiler Alert!

It was still. Not the quiet, calm still before a storm. Not the simple, serene still of a morning before most of the earth has awakened. It was an empty, broken stillness. And in the middle of it all like a lost lifeboat in the middle of a storm stood a man breaking apart.

The men left him alone. They knew their commander as a wall, a beacon, a rock. This was a new side of him. Tandros Kreel knelt down. His large hand caressed the side of Sharwin's cheek and then closed her eyelids. He couldn't bear to look at them. The last look on her face unnerved him. Her eyes were locked on whatever she had last seen. And it had terrified her. He took her cloak and wrapped it over her face. She didn't deserve to look like a terrified little girl. She deserved to look dignified despite the multiple gashes. He lifted her limp body and carried it back to the camp.

A samurai approached him. "Sir?" Tandros responded, "Not now, Ichigo." Ichigo nodded and fell back. The rest of the trek back to camp was in that same empty, broken silence.

"So, what do you think?" Ichigo asked the older Imperium across from him. The kyrie looked up and caught the young samurai's eye. "I think that it is none of our business. Commander Kreel needs time."
"But.." The Imperium raised a hand before Ichigo could finish. "Our interference will only make matters worse. I've seen it before. Put it out of your mind for now."

Ichigo couldn't sleep. He turned over on his side multiple times trying to bring some form of drowsiness to his eyelids. Nothing came. He heard a noise. Someone or something was moving outside the camp. His mind jumped to whoever had killed Sharwin earlier. He clutched his sword and slowly lifted a corner of the tent flap. He saw his commander walking out of camp. Ichigo's lip stiffened.

Tandros had been traveling for what felt like hours but what he knew as probably only thirty minutes. He really shouldn't be out late at night but he needed to clear his head. Mainly of the thing that kept replaying in it over and over.

***

Sharwin had been at the edge of camp when he had come up to meet her. She tossed her hair ignoring him as he had come up. He whispered.

"You volunteered?!"

She turned and caught his eye. He couldn't be mad too long at those green eyes. Unfortunately, her mouth was turned in a frown. That he could be mad at. She stared straight in his eyes for a few seconds.

"Yes I volunteered. It's a simple scouting mission. Nothing more. Nothing less. You don't need to worry about me. I'm not some terrified little girl."

His neck tensed up slightly. He didn't like how loud she was talking.

"Can you keep it quiet?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Really? You think the whole camp doesn't know? Your face speaks louder than I could shout. Look, your concern is touching but I can handle this. Okay? Do you trust me?"

She rested a hand on his shoulder. He placed his hand on hers and nodded and gave a small smile.

"Okay. Come back safe."

She smiled back.

"Don't worry. I will."

***

He should have gone after her. Stupid. He had known that there was danger. And now he needed to find whoever or whatever had done this. Judging by her wounds whoever had done it had a laserlike precision and showed no mercy. He knew Utgar's encampment wasn't too far off. There was some Drow there but the blade wounds were the wrong shape for Drow weaponry.

He began eliminating other possiblities. Marro weaponry tended to leave behind a bad odor reminiscent of the sickly hive they came from. It wasn't any of the twisted pets that they used. Soulborgs would have left bullet holes. Orcs would have likely burned the body. That left the kyrie as the most likely suspects. A name burned to the front of his brain. Taelord. He knew Taelord was encamped nearby and he was just the sort to swoop in and take out a scout and leave. It was bold for Taelord which didn't bode well.

He really should go back. Report his findings. But he kept pressing on. Taelord would pay. If he had seen Sharwin, he was likely seeing him. He would come. And Tandros would make sure the kyrie never flew again. He heard a rustling in the branches. He turned sword drawn.

"Who's there? Show yourself coward."

The bushes trembled for a little bit and then Ichigo came forward hands raised. He was holding his sword but didn't seem to have taken the time to put on his armor. Tandros lowered the sword.

"Ichigo what are you doing out here?"

"I...I saw you leave sir. I was worried and curious. You didn't seem all that well."

Tandros rolled his eyes. The young samurai had much to learn. His heart was in the right place but he still needed a little more toughening.

"Ichigo, head back. I'll be along shortly. I was simply taking a walk to clear my head. There's nothing to be concerned about."

The samurai turned to go. It was then that a voice whispered in Tandros' head.

"Hello again Commander Kreel."

He turned around sword in hand attempting to locate the source.

"Who's there?"

"It is I Commander. Or did you so quickly forget? Oh that's right. I told you to."

Tandros clutched the sword tighter.

"Get out of my head."

"It's all too easy Commander. As I recall, the eladrin didn't have this problem. Still didn't make her that hard to kill."

Tandros had been listening and heard a small rustle among some other bushes and charged toward it. He hacked aside some brush and came face to face with a mindflayer.

It didn't make sense. Mindflayers didn't use swords, at least not the sword that destroyed Sharwin. He pointed his sword at the mindflayer.

"You killed her?" he said somewhat unsure of himself.

"In a way. Don't you remember?"

Things came flooding back. He had followed Sharwin. He wanted to make sure she was safe. He made sure to stay back far enough so she wasn't aware he was there. All of a sudden, she saw something. A blast burst forth from her hands. It was met with a weird pinging sound. She shook her head and sent another blast into the trees.

"She was holding out quite well against my mental assaults. Someone else wasn't so lucky."

He began seeing things through the mindflayers eyes. He saw his body off in the distance go limp and then it snapped back up completely rigid. His eyes were different. He saw himself walk out of the brush and over to Sharwin. She turned and let out a scream. Her dying look, the one he couldn't bear to see earlier, became plastered on her face. Tandros tried to turn away but this was very difficult since the image was burning in his brain.

"You monster. You killed her!" he shouted.

"If you would kill me, you may as well just turn the blade upon yourself. You were the one who did the act. Who knows what might have happened if you hadn't been there?"

He glanced down at his blade. He slowly lifted it as a ping echoed across his brain. He was trying to figure out the best angle to make it the least painful when something hit him.

"Stop! Commander!"

It was Ichigo. The samurai had knocked the blade from his hand and it clattered off to the side. Ichigo was now charging the mindflayer who seemed to be trying to flee. Tandros pulled out his bow and fired an arrow. It hit the mindflayer right in the middle of his head and he fell. There was a still. It wasn't the empty, broken still but a light, relieved still. The two sat there panting. Ichigo helped his commander up. Tandros looked at the young samurai.

"Let's head back to camp."

He turned and then looked back.

"Thank you Ichigo."

Back at camp, Tandros scribed a letter to Einar.

Dear General Einar,

I request a leave of absence to sort some things out. I have put my company in danger and need some time to get my head on straight. In additon, I recommend Ichigo Matsuzaka for consideration of promotion to a leadership position. He shows skills which I have been lacking as of late.

Sincerely,

Commander Tandros Kreel

He folded up the letter and sent it off. There was a still. It was just a still. No emptiness, no brokenness. Just still.

The Grim Reaper's Friend - 2nd Place

Spoiler Alert!

Soft flakes of bitingly cold snow drifted from the sky, dusting the upturned faces of the assembled crowd. No sound was made; complete silence pervaded over the large gathering. The only sound was the soft stillness one associates with winter – a quiet peace, the peace of cold, the peace of a flake gently striking the ground.
Jandar looked out over his gathered army. So few, he thought. So few remain. Have the gods turned against me? How am I to fulfill my destiny without the means to carry it out? He cleared his throat, an obtrusively loud sound in the deathly quiet. He had never truly become used to having hundreds of faces turned towards him, waiting, expectant.
“My men,” he began, and then stopped. “My friends,” he revised in a softer tone, “You know why we are gathered here today, under this cold sky, all vestiges of warmth gone from us. You know why we do not have a familiar roof over our heads, or a cheerful fire crackling at our feet. You know what has transpired these last few months.
“You also know equally well what must be done. I will not fill your minds with false hopes, our warm your hearts with wrongful promises. What now lies before us… it will claim our lives. We have very little hope of victory.
“Long have you fought for me, your unwavering loyalty and valiant dedication to the cause enough to overflow the heart of even the greatest general. For that I thank you. I hold neither you, nor anyone of my subjects or allies accountable for what now faces us. The army now approaching has always been unstoppable; no fate could have changed that. “
Jandar swallowed, knowing full well that this was the last speech he would ever make, and likely the last time he would see the faces of those he now addressed. “You know why I fight,” he continued, struggling past the growing lump in his throat. “I fight for Valhalla. Not Valhalla as it is now, but as it once was: green, beautiful, peaceful. I fight to restore Valhalla, not change it. I fight to return it to its golden age, not seek another one. Valhalla, its people, and its freedom – these are the most precious things to me. This is why I fight.
“Given what fast approaches, I cannot ask you or anyone else to join me. I will meet Utgar in battle, and one last time will I defend Valhalla, until my breath is utterly spent. I ask no one to follow me. But if you will, know that you will fight for a just cause, one well worth dying for.”
Jandar paused, surveying the sea of faces, his beloved army. “I go now to battle.”
He turned, and, struggling to hide his tears, placed his helmet on his head, hefted his mighty spear, and descended the frost-riddled outcropping of rock on which he had stood. His feet sank into the fresh snow as he stepped onto the ground, and he turned his face south, towards the frozen coast of the Thaelink, his last and only domain.
One by one, his soldiers fell into step behind him as he walked purposefully forwards. The sun rose on their left, heralding the last day of Jandar, Valkyrie.
Utgar was coming.

--

One often associates silence with the end of a battle, a surreal time when the carnage of the mindless slaughter slowly sinks in. Such was not the case.
The ruined field was not silent, but neither was it loud. Flames flickered over much of it, their crackling piercing the air, their flickering tempo a fading afterimage of the rapid heartbeat of the past battle. The cries of the wounded drifted up from the mangled corpses upon the battle, their blood softly seeping into the snow, melting it with a faint hiss. Death-cries regularly were heard, as enemies found each other still alive, the strangled note dying quickly. And over the quiet destruction pervaded the endless sound of the waves, half frozen, crashing on the shore not far away, their foam crusting into ice before being withdrawn back into the unsearchable depths.
Not one of Jandar’s once glorious army had escaped. All now lay on the field of battle, either dead, dying, or in great pain. Almost no one moved, and those that did were hidden by the piles of corpses strewn about. Smoke dyed the sun a deep red, casting the scene into an early twilight, even though the sun was directly overhead.
Jandar leaned heavily on his spear, his legs refusing to support him. This is what I have wrought, he said to himself as he surveyed the aftermath of the battle with Utgar’s forces. As he had thought, the two armies had met, decimated each other, and fought until the bitter end. His men had slain three for every one of them, but still they had lost. He could have asked no more of them. The war was over. Valhalla was lost.
Jandar plunged his spear into the ground, willing himself to move. He took one shaky step forward, then pitched to the ground, a multitude of wounds searing across his body. He knew he would bleed out soon, and that then he could at last have true peace, the only comfort left to look forward to.
A faint glimmer of blue caught his eye. Jandar struggled to see through the red haze that was rapidly descending about him. He couldn’t see clearly through the pain. His breathing labored, his muscles shaking, he lifted himself from the ground, half crawling, half sliding, to where the faint light shone.
The blue sparkle came from beneath a heap of bodies, its light reflected by the sun. Jandar feebly pushed at the corpses, but to no avail. After a moment, he resorted to pulling on the object beneath them instead.
Bit by bit, the thing came into view. Jandar still couldn’t make it out. It was glossy, silvery blue, and had a light texture to it that Jandar found very familiar, though his sluggish mind could not place it.
The heap of bodies shifted as Jandar finally pulled the last of the object from the pile. Only then did he see what it was.
Its beauty stunning, at sharp contrasts with the horror of the battlefield, a kyrie’s wing lay in his hands, it feathers stirring feebly in the cold breeze. The wing had been hacked off cruelly at the joint, apparently being severed by three or four misaimed strokes, for the cut was irregular. The feathers were bent or torn, though that did little to diminish the beauty of the wing. All of this Jandar saw, but that was not what drew his attention.
With a strangled cry, fatigue and despair forgotten, Jandar leapt to his feet, new energy flooding into him as first realization, then horror, then a roiling, uncontrollable anger came to him, blotting out all else.
The wing he held he knew. It belonged to the fairest of all kyrie: Kelda.
A scream of pure rage tore from Jandar’s cracked lips. Tossing his spear aside, he threw the bodies one by one from the heap, until he found for what he searched, the owner of the wing.
Kelda lay, crumpled, her life gone. Her face bore a semblance of peacefulness, as it always had, but her features were twisted into an unbearable grimace of pain. Every position of her limbs was contorted, and her body was misshapen, indicating many broken bones. A rough axe, its stone edge hewn by foul hands, lay imbedded in her shoulder, the splatter of her blood still wet on its handle. A deep gash ran smoothly from her other shoulder to her hip, cleaving straight through her armor. The torn edges of the steel plates were now encrusted with red. Her hair, which had once been brown and smooth, now lay plastered about her, smeared with gore, filth, and blood, all frozen together into a half-congealed mass. Her fingers were twisted, convulsed as if grasping a weapon. Already the cold had rendered her partially stiff, her open eyes glazed over with frost, staring unseeing into the cruel sky.
Jandar fell to his knees, all emotion suddenly flooding from him. Not Kelda. No, please, no. Kelda had always been his life. It was from her that he drew direction. It was from her that he sought relief when the atrocities of the war met his eyes. It was from her that his strength had flowed. And she had always been there for him, always to help, always understanding, always holding him up.
But she had been more than that. So much more. Before the war had even begun, Jandar had known Kelda, and known her well. They had met when they were still young, unburdened with troubles. They had spent the entire rest of their lives together, rarely separated by any distance. Jandar had intended to start a life with Kelda, somewhere peaceful, where he could watch over his beloved land. But that had been before the war.
And now she was gone, taken from him as rudely and as cruelly as if an orc had wrenched out both of his arms, leaving him to die on the ground.
Kelda… Jandar moaned silently to himself. He had spoken the truth earlier to his men, before the battle. However, he had omitted one important fact. There was one other thing he cherished besides Valhalla, its people, and its freedom. It was Kelda, and her undying love. He valued neither above the other, however, for neither could matter more to him. He had always fought equally for Valhalla and to keep Kelda from harm. And now, in one battle, both had been taken from him.
A quiet energy began to stir within Jandar, starting in the marrow of his bones and slowly spreading outward. A primal fury, neither logical nor controllable, fueled by instinct, began to overpower his senses as he looked at the mangled corpse of his beloved.
“Utgar,” he muttered under his breath, his voice shaking with mounting rage, “today you have desecrated the land with the blood of the ones who attempted to keep it whole. Today you have taken from me the most sinless kyrie ever to live. Today you have destroyed my hope, my destiny, and my life.”
Jandar clenched and unclenched his fists. In a sudden burst of power, he leapt from the ground, his beaten wings barely keeping him aloft. Raising his voice to the skies and shouting with only one purpose in mind, he yelled to the heavens, “By all that has worth in this universe, Utgar, before the day is done, I will find you, and smite your ruin upon the land! Only then will my vengeance be complete!”

--

It has been said that revenge is the strongest motivation for a person. What Jandar did did nothing to sway that belief. Possessed by a deadly energy, consumed with grief and hatred, determined to not fail what was surely his last goal in life, Jandar flew, through biting cold, past clouds bursting with rain, over darkening thunderheads, below the brilliant rays of the sun, never stopping once, never slackening his pace, never altering his direction.
Many enemies flew up to meet him. Mimring launched a searing tunnel of flame at him, but Jandar ignored him, the speed of his progress through the air both leaving his foe behind and extinguishing the flame that had caught his wings. Taelord met him deep within a cloud, and was prudent enough to fall away from the Valkyrie, who sped past, his eyes never straying. Only Cyprien blocked Jandar’s way.
With a burst of blue energy, Jandar knocked Cyprien from the sky, rending him into a thousand demonic shards which fell to the ground, burning to ashes long before they struck.
When at last the noxious clouds of the Volcarren appeared to Jandar, he sped through them, heedless of the poison in the air, descending with frightening rapidity, slowing not at all when Utgar’s fortress came into sight. Clutching his powerful staff to his chest, he blasted apart the roof and three stories, falling through the air, his eyes fixed on only one figure below him.
Jandar thudded to the ground with such force that the rock cracked, and slabs of the walls fell to the earth, breaking asunder upon the baked stone. Spikes of blue energy lanced out from under the tip of his spear, cracking the ground further as Jandar slowly rose to his full height, his eyes locked on the figure before him.
Jandar’s bolt had smashed every floor of the castle, offering him a direct path to the chamber beneath, Utgar’s summoning room. It was here that he now stood, and it was here also that Utgar stood, his arms outstretched over the red waters before him.
Utgar had been chanting in a foreign tongue, doubtless summoning some new ally, but as Jandar landed, he ceased his magic and opened his eyes, maintaining his position as if too surprised to move.
The two Valkyrie were completely alone in the chamber. The hole that Jandar had blasted in the roof offered the sunlight to pour into the usually dark room, revealing the sharp surfaces of the walls.
Neither Valkyrie moved. Jandar remained upright, his entire frame stilled with practiced tension, his grip on his spear neither tightening nor relaxing. Utgar, too, was motionless, though his muscles were slack, his expression more dumbfounded than anything else.
It was Utgar who broke the silence. “Jandar,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. In that one word was conveyed all of his hate, admiration, and confusion. In that one word was spoken an eternity of strife, of mindless warfare and slaughter. And in that one word, Jandar saw that he had no hope of defeating the greatest Valkyrie of all time. But that had never stopped him before.
With a cry filled with anguish, Jandar leapt towards Utgar, blue energy streaming from his spear, seeking to crush the very essence of the red skinned kyrie. Jandar, his practiced eye going over Utgar’s body, picked out the best place to strike and angled towards it, determined not to lose, determined to strike down his enemy once and for all. It was all for naught.
Utgar whirled to one side, swinging his axe off of where it hung on his back as he did so. He deflected Jandar’s spear, and in the same stroke, twisted the haft of his weapon in his hand, causing the blade to sink into Jandar’s chest.
Jandar fell to the floor, half submerged by the waters of the wellspring. Slowly, very slowly, the light in his spear dimmed, and then went out. His eyes sought a face that was not there, even as his heart at last beat to a stop, its tempo leaving only a deep silence.

“Kelda… forgive me… I come… to you.”

And so passed Jandar, defender of Valhalla.

--

Utgar knelt beside Jandar, studying his greatest enemy’s features. Jandar’s expression was contorted, but Utgar knew he had found peace. Jandar’s life had been full of turmoil since the war had begun. He had rarely had a moment of relaxation. Here, at long last, he slept the longest sleep, never to wake.
Utgar laid a hand across Jandar’s face, and softly closed his eyes. “You wanted Valhalla to be free,” he said, as he studied the face of the fallen Valkyrie. “You wanted Valhalla to have peace again.”
Utgar tilted his head to one side, as if considering his next words with care, though none were there to hear save for himself. “You and I may not have agreed, Jandar, but that is all I ever wanted: peace. I did not want it to end like this, but rest in the knowledge that your final destiny will be fulfilled. I may be a tyrant and a war-lover, but all kyrie must die someday. And when that day comes, Valhalla will once again be green, beautiful, and peaceful. You fought to restore Valhalla, not change it.”
Utgar rose to his feet, looking down at Jandar one last time. “But change will come. It is forced upon us. All we can do is try to make it a good change. I fear that is where I failed you.”
Utgar turned, and walked to a door set within the crumbling wall of his dark fortress. Far above, the clouds shifted, dissolving away from the land, and a new shaft of sunlight fell upon Jandar. Utgar turned, staring a long time at his fallen enemy.
“Farewell, brother,” he said. And then he turned, and disappeared in the shadows.

Bro-man - 3rd Place

Spoiler Alert!

Undying Love

The war has taken a great toll amongst the people of Valhalla. Untold Deaths, Countless families broken, and the cost of victory too high on both sides of the war. However, in the southern land Of Nastralund the people have found relative peace for most of the war. The land is rich in vegetation and the land produces bountiful food for much of the kingdom. Not only does the land hold much food but also holds many horse fields that are best in the land. The horses born and raised are given to Jandar and his armies, the knights also benefit from the horses and they train them well. The largest village in the south is called Kern. With it's warehouses and farmlands it is the richest and most important village in the south of Jandar's Kingdm. The land and its surrounding villages have found a relative peace in this part of the land and are very happy for it. However, rumors and threats from beyond the border reach the hearts and minds of the people. Unspeakable horrors lie in wait to strike at them and they fear their peace will be taken from them. Jandar in his wisdom sends Sir Dupuis and over a hundred knights to protect the lands from the threats that seek the destruction of the land.

***
Village of Kern, Center village, late November...

"I'm so glad that you have helped us." The village elder spoke to Dupuis. The two men stood outside the main home in the center of the village. The buildings surrounding the village center stood four large warehouses. All around the people were already awakening up to a new morning and heading off to work. The village elder, whose wings were old and gray, smiled and thanked Dupuis.

"Since your arrival, three months back I believe, this village has done so much work in short amount of time. With your aid in the fields we were able to finish our harvest early and have stocked them all into the warehouses."

"I'm glad to be of service elder." Dupuis gave a small bow. "With the harvest finished all of us were able to finish building the palisade around the village on schedule. The palisade is strong enough and deep enough to hold off at least five hundred men. You will be well protected from any threat."

"Yes. The surrounding villages will arrive when the winter comes. Were still late in the fall but winter shall come swiftly within a month or two. The people will be well protected from the cold and we will all be ready to deliver our produce to Jandar's kingdom come spring time."

"That is good to hear." Dupuis spoke and he looked around to other people going about their business. He leaned closer to the elder and spoke in a softer tone. "There is also something you should know."

"It's the war isn't it." The elder spoke, holding on his cane steadily. Dupuis nodded and he felt a cold breeze hit him from behind and he wrapped his cloak tightly so the breeze would be bearable.

"Our scots report of an army of undead is coming through the pass and entering the border. They number just under a thousand and they are heading this way."

The elder gripped his cane and his knuckles turned white. He looked down and Dupuis could not tell what the Elder might be thinking but the expression that he gave showed he was greatly concerned.

"How long until they arrive?"

"At least a day maybe even less. Which is why I come before you elder. I ask of you to call volunteers to any able bodied man to help us. We will take the fight to them and stop them before they reach the village. We will be leaving in an hour."

The Elder stood silently as he pondered of what might come. His eyes narrowed and he looked at his own cane.

"You have done much for this village since your time here." The elder spoke as he rubbed his fingers on the grooves and edges of his cane.

"You done service for us and we shall do the same. I will call to the people and let them know of what is happening. I don't know what they will think but I will try to convince them." The elder began walking forward to the center but stopped short before turning his head to Dupuis. "I ask this. For the men I send with you. Please, bring back as many as you can."

Dupuis nodded and he placed his hand over his heart. "On my honor, I will promise to ensure their safety." With that the Elder turned and began going to the people and began to spread the word. Dupuis bowed his head slightly and he knew that the task was almost a suicide mission. But no matter what happened he had to fight for the safety of this village. He knew if Kern falls then the rest of the kingdom would be cut off from a valuable food source, resources, and the fields will be burnt away by the fires of war. He strode forward and took the path toward the stables.

"My lord! Dupuis!"

Not two steps he went forward he heard a familiar voice above him. He looked up and saw a Kyrie women descending right in front of him. She landed and her wings quickly folded back into place. She wore a simple work dress and her sleeves were rolled up passed her elbows. She wore a small apron with many tools attached. Her black hair was in a mess but was still beautifully made into a pony tail. She was several inches smaller then he was but her wings made her more bigger then she appeared. She smiled brightly when she stood in front of him.

"Ah Tara. It's good to see you again. How are the horses?"

"Fine as always... but you got to come now. We have one that is giving birth to a new foal right now."

Dupuis blink for a moment and was taken a bit by surprise.

"Really now? Well I was heading to the stable to-"

"Good." Without a reply she grabbed his arm and pulled him along and the two were heading straight for the stables.

***

Ten minutes later, near the stables...

"So how long has she been in labor?" Dupuis asked as he went alongside Tara.

"About two hours ago, early this morning. She is almost finished and I decided to get you to see the birthing."

"Well hopefully we are not to late." Dupuis spoke and he opened the stable doors. To their surprise they saw many more people inside working and moving horses from one place to another. People called out and horses neighed or snorted when moving about and it was impossible to hear anything clearly. Dupuis and Tara were delayed but were able to make their way through the packed people and move around the horses that blocked their path. Near the end of the stable, the last cell in the corner, a single man walks outside wiping away blood that stained his hands. He looks over and see's the two approaching him.

"Ah Tara. You just missed the delivery. The young foal is male and is healthy. See for yourself."

Tara sighed and she still held tightly to Dupuis arm. She then took him by the hand and the two stopped just outside the cell. They both looked inside and saw a small foal sitting in a pile of straw, the mother was standing nearby cleaning the foals body. A man was finishing cleaning water and blood that stained the straw and he finished by taking the straw out with him. As Dupuis watched the young foal he notice more workers gathering around and look inside at the new life. The mother stepped back after cleaning and the foal took a leg up to stand but fell to the side into the hay.

"C'mon...fight little one." Dupuis spoke and he and the other all felt the same thing, all hoping the little foal to continue to fight. The foal waited a minute more before placing both front legs up onto the ground. Tara gasped and watched as the foal takes a step up. The foal was soon on all fours and everyone was breathless as it stood. It's wobbled for a moment, the muscles in its body struggling to support its weight, before the foal took a step forward to the mother. After a few more careful steps the foal began drinking from the mothers milk and everyone were congratulating each other in the foals success. Dupuis could not help but smile at the sight and Tara took notice of it.

"Amazing. Watching the birth of new life take its first steps. It is breathtaking." Dupuis said and Tara smiled as she place one of her hands on the cell doors.

"This would make the sixth foal this week that has been born. We may even gain a dozen more foals in the coming weeks."

"Really? I hope that they grow strong when the springs come. Now about my horse."

She nodded and Tara escorted him to the back of the stables. They entered into a big field and there many horses scattered around grazing and not bothered by the activity around them. He gave a long whistle and a few seconds later he watched a brown horse galloping along the field towards them. He smiled as he could tell that it was his when he saw a blaze going down it's head. As the horse came forward he also notice a black horse following his own. It's black coat was remarkably beautiful and it bore a star shaped mark with a slight strip down in between the eyes. As the two steeds came to stop in front of them Dupuis walked and pet his horse on the forehead and he smiled as it responded with a short snort.

"Hello Shadow. How you doing." His horse moved his head up and down and he smiled as he continued to rub his forehead. The black horse stood close by and Tara was smiling as she pet the horse as well, she then moved her hand behind the horses ears and began rubbing the back.

"This here is Sweet Pea. She is my baby. She turned four years about five months ago." Tara spoke as the black horse enjoyed being pet behind the ears.

"Ah I see you made a friend Shadow. I hope you didn't do any funny business." The horse snorted and Tara laughed, her laughter making Sweet Pea happy as well.

"No I take care of her and watch her everyday. There was no "Funny business" between them." As she continued to pet her horse she smiled and place her other hand onto Shadow's forehead.

"Since I have been raising her she was very timid around other horses. However since you came she seemed to change when Shadow was around. She followed him wherever he goes and she has overcome her shyness to others. I am very thankful for that."

"And I'm guessing that your also thankful for me helping you with the sprain wing you had two months back?"

Tara turned her head in surprise and smacked him softly on the shoulder.

"It was an accident. You don't need to tell me about that again. Besides, it was embarrassing of you to carry me back to my home." Tara turned her head at him but he could tell she was hiding a smile.

"Alright I won't rub it in."

After there fun talk together Dupuis took Shadow from the field and readied the saddle. After a few minutes of work he finished and Shadow looked more like a warhorse he knew the most. He took him outside the stable and he escorted him by the reins to the fields. However he was stopped short when his horse stopped abruptly. Dupuis looked over and he notice Sweet Pea walking over from the other side of the fence. She stopped by and Shadow came and nuzzled his nose against hers. At the same time Dupuis noticed one of his knights riding up to him and nearby Tara was walking towards him and was closing the distance between them. When the knight arrived he gave a quick bow.

"Sir. The Elder has gathered over a hundred strong men. They are all willing and will aid in our defense. I have also gathered the items you have requested. We will all be waiting at the western Gate and will be ready when you arrive."

Dupuis nodded and the knight took off toward the western gate. He then turned to meet Tara who stood just behind him.

"Your going to face them aren't you." Her faced showed with concern.

He bowed his head slightly and he knew he could not lie to her. "I'm sorry. The enemy has come and they will come to the village like water on a rock. We must go to turn the tide."

"I understand." She said as she pulled a small red fabric from her pocket. She tied it around his wrist and she stepped on the tips of her feet to kiss him on the cheek. She stepped down and took a step back from him.

"Please return it to me."

Dupuis looked at the blue eyes that made her look so radiant and could not feel but joy from her. He placed his hands on her own and he gave a wide smile.

"I promise you that I will return." That said he came forward and hugged her gently and she wrapped her arms around him and did the same. Shadow nuzzled Sweet Pea and the two wrapped their heads around each other in a apparent hug. Dupuis took notice and he smiled at them.

"You can be together with your friend when we return." Dupuis said and Shadow gave a soft neigh, his neck wrapped more tightly around Sweet Pea's. After a few minutes the two separated and went their separate ways. Tara staying by Sweet Peas side while Dupuis and Shadow made their way to the western gate.

***

Ten hours later, ambush point...

"They are coming down the road! They are just right behind me!" A knight was galloping down the path and he stopped his steed in front of Dupuis, the hooves on his horse clicking on the paved road.

"The traps are set and the men are in place!" Another man called out as a dozen men settled themselves behind the trees all along the path. Dupuis looked out to the road and it was the perfect location for an ambush. On either side were steep hills and dense woods, making it impossible for the undead to navigate through. The fastest way was the road and they were willing to take it.

"Get to your horses men. We ride when the trap is set." That said he lowered his helmet and awaited for the enemy to come. As the minutes ticked by the men were very quite and did not speak to each other. The Kyrie volunteers were stationed up in the trees and stood side by side with the knights below. Even though it was close night time he could still see the knights breathing through the cold air around them. Nearby a horse snorted in anticipation and his rider quickly quieted him down.

"Sir look." A knight spoke softly and Dupuis tensed up as he soon saw a column of light peering out of the edge of the path ahead. Shadow snorted and a terrible smell surrounded them all, it was coming from the undead.

"Steady. Steady." He said as he patted shadow on his neck. Dupuis looked out and the undead was slowly making their advance. In the front was a line of undead, shuffling and moaning as they made their way toward them. Next to them skeletons carried torches and made the path visible for the advancing horde.

"Now my brothers." Dupuis spoke as he held his lance and shield in hand.

"We have fought against these fouls creatures before and we know what their capable of. Know this my brothers, we will show them our true strength."

As he spoke the undead horde spots them in the middle of the road, nearly a hundred yards out, and they turn their shuffle into a full on run.

"These beasts of hell will not set one foot into these lands, not as long as brave men stand in their path of destruction!"

The horde was roaring out in anger. Charging forward in a frenzy and they were nearly fifty yards away. Their only intention was death and pain to their enemies.

"Show them your courage men! Show them your honor! Show them that they will never take the lands you call home away!" Dupuis looked at his wrist and saw the red fabric that was still tied together.

"Now fight for you families! Fight for the ones you love! Fight my brothers!" That said he hoisted his lance up and Shadow raised his front legs up in a display of passion and courage and the steed gave a mighty cry out to the skies above.

"Unleash Heavens Wrath!"

As the horde drew closer men on both sides of the road cried out to them. The horde soon stopped in its tracks and looked at either side of the road, trying to find where their enemy lied. As soon as they turned fire was being lit all along the top of the hills on either side of them. The fire began moving straight down the hill to the enemy ranks. Before they could react the fire crashed into either side of the ranks. Dozens of balls of fire, standing at the height of an average man, crashed into the undead horde and scattered many of them into the ground. The horde were smashed and crushed by the large hay filled fire balls and lit dozens upon dozens of undead creatures. All along the line the undead were crying out in pain as they were caught in the flames. They flailed around, knocking into other creatures with their flame, and causing a chain of events that spread through out the whole column. When the large fire balls stopped and the undead horde in disarray Dupuis lowered his lance and readied his shield.

"Charge!"

***

Dupuis and his knights charged down the road and smashed into the enemy ranks, killing many with their lances and trampling many more as they continue to ride forth. On either side of the forest the Knights and Kyrie volunteers attack on both sides of the road, distracting the enemy on either side and causing further confusion in the undead ranks. With the three pronged attack they managed to slay more then half of the undead force before they could have a chance to fight back. The battle was quickly turning in their favor as the undead numbers dwindled rapidly in the hundreds and victory is almost certain. Until...

***

Twenty minutes into battle...

"Hurry men! We are pushing them back!" Dupuis called out as he drove his sword through the head of a skeleton. The men all cheered as they continued to press on the undead. Driving them back from where they came. Victory seemed it was in hand. Dupuis waved his sword up and he called out to victory when he notice more creatures on the road coming to them. He only got a glimpse but he definitely recognized what they were. Only a creatures of dark natures would wear red armor and black capes.

"Vampires! Quickly my warriors. Slay them all immediately!" Dupuis and other knights, both on horse back and on foot, charge forward into the undead elite. Dozen's of Vampires ascended and took to the skies and others charged on foot. The Kyrie volunteers crashed into the vampire horde first, each tackling and dealing blows to each other in mid-air, some even crashed into the ground due to the struggle. The knights crashed into the mix, killing vampires that got to close to the steeds. As the attacks were inter mingled there was chaos that surrounded them all. Many of the fights were one on one or when two knights battled a single vampire alone. The vampires were fast as well, killing several of the knights before being taken over by sheer numbers alone. Dupuis whirled around and he saw a vampire, caring a sword in one hand and a spear on its back, barking orders to his own to get into the fight. Dupuis found his target.

"Run like the wind Shadow. Give them the meaning of haste." Shadow neighed out and galloped forward and closed the distance between them in a matter of seconds. Dupuis lowered his sword and swung forward against the vampire leader. The leader saw this and ducked at the last possible moment, the sword missing him by a few inches. Dupuis turned Shadow around and began another charge, the vampire leader waiting for them. Dupuis raised his sword and swung again when he was close. What he did not expect, however, was that the vampire had reach up to him and yanked him off his steed. Dupuis crashed to the ground and rolled to lessen the fall, his armor clacking against the stone road. He quickly got to his feet and notice Shadow had took off, Dupuis cursed as he notice his chalice of fortitude was still attached to the saddle. He turned to face the vampire and the creature already lunged itself to him. He blocked the attack and the two exchanged blows between each other. Sword smashed against shield as the two fought for supremacy against one another. Around them the men were beating back the undead, pushing them back even further then before. Some vampires took off with the knights in hot pursuit. Only Dupuis and the vampire leader were in the thick of it. Dupuis lunged his sword forward and the vampire turned around and slashed his sword upward. Dupuis backed off and felt a cut across his cheek, fresh blood coming down the side of his face. The vampire attacked forward and Dupuis smashed his shield into him, the vampires face gritted in pain from the blow.

"Die you beast!"

Dupuis went after the vampire but the vampire whirled around and slashed his blade across his side. Dupuis gritted his teeth in pain from the wound across his side and he place his hand on the wound. The Vampire raised his free hand into a fist and punched Dupuis across the face. The blow made him land hard on his back and he felt blood come out the side of his lip. The vampire jumped forward and landed on top of him. The creature raised it's blade and lunged it forward to his heart. Dupuis lunged his hands and grabbed the vampires arm, holding the blade in place. Gritting his teeth Dupuis held the blade in place but the vampire continued to push the blade further down. The vampire then turned to punching at the same wound at his side making him cringe from the pain. Dupuis was losing strength and the vampire was gaining the upper hand. Thinking quickly he forced the blade to the side and the blade pierced his left shoulder. He cried out and the vampire roared in frustration. He pulled the blade out and raised the blade again above his head. The vampire cried out in victory and lunged his sword forward. Dupuis cried out and lunged his hands to stop it again when a inhuman cry echoed in his ears. Dupuis turned quickly to his left and saw Shadow running straight at the vampire who turned to see what made the noise. His ears were bent back, his eyes bulge and his teeth showing out. In anger Shadow lunged at the vampire and bit straight into the vampires right arm. The undead fiend cried out and stood up and tried to get free from the grip, dropping his sword in the process. Shadow bit down again and blood came out of the vampires arm. The vampire tore loose from the grip, blood dripping down the side of his arm, and looked at the new threat. Dupuis watched as Shadow stood over protecting him. It nickered and whinnied and its breathing was short quick bursts through it's nostrils, telling the attacker to go away. Shadow began stamping his feet in warning when the vampire reached for the spear on its back. The vampire lunged forward and Shadow went straight for him. Shadow raised it's forward legs kicking after the vampire. Vampire backed up for a moment and lunged forward with spear in hand.

"No! Run Shadow run!" Dupuis called as he tried to get himself up from the ground. To his horror Shadow went forward and kicked again and the vampire lunged his spear, going straight through Shadows chest. The horse cried and whinnied out as the spear kept going through, The metal blade going all the way in. However Shadow kept moving forward still kicking. His hoofs breaking the spear and smacking his hoofs across the vampires face and chest. Bone cracked from the blows and the vampire reeled in pain. He landed on the ground and Shadow, despite the deadly wound in its chest, raised his front hoofs and smashed them down upon the vampires leg. The vampire screamed as his right knee and leg was crushed by the weight and he grabbed his leg holding onto it as it crumpled in his hands. As the vampire continued to cry out in pain Shadow took a step back and turned his head to Dupuis. He watched in horror as the spear shaft was still imbedded deeply in his flesh and may have pierced his heart. Blood poured out the wound and Shadow was breathing very slowly, his breath in front of him coming out in a fog. Shadow took a step forward to him but the horse's legs buckled and the horse fell to his side.

"NO!" Dupuis called out and ran to Shadow's side. He sat on the ground as he held Shadow's head and placed it on his lap. Shadow's breathing was slow and heaving and his belly rose up and down, struggling to continue to live. Dupuis placed his hand on Shadow's forehead and he could do nothing but stare in at one of his oldest friends. Disbelief shrouded him and he felt that his fears were surrounding him and become manifest, taunting and laughing at his failure so safe him. Around him the knights and Kyrie volunteers chase after the remaining enemy and seem to be unfazed at what Dupuis was doing or show any concern for their leader. Dupuis didn't care and all he could do was stare at his friend. He stroke the hair on Shadow's main and whispered softly to his horse.

"Shhh...shhh. It's ok. You will be fine. Your... ok." Tears weld up in his eyes and he watched as Shadow moved one of his large eyes to him and it seemed to twinkle as he looked at his master. Shadows made a deep breath and a deep hot air escaped his mouth and created a small mist, To Dupuis, it looked as if that Shadows soul was leaving his body. When his belly didn't lift any more the twinkle in his eye was gone and Shadows eye closed for the last time. Tears fell down and hit Shadow skin and Dupuis tried his best to contain his sadness. He began to cry now, the first time since entering into this war, crying for not just his pet and companion but for one of his dearest friend. He breathed slowly and it made him a whimper as he did.

"I'm sorry Shadow. You saved me... when... I wanted to save... you." More tears fell and he lowered his head and he held there for a long time. His moment was shattered when a low laughter echoed around him.

"How... pathetic."

He heard a voice, cold and dark it was, and he lifted his head to see the vampire starring at him. The creatures face was badly bloodied and it looked like only one eye was functional. The creature smiled showing many rows of fangs that were all bloodied. Rage coursed through Dupuis as he watched the wretched vampire laughing at his pain.

"You humans... are so... pathetic. So...weak."

Dupuis lowered Shadows head to the ground, grabbed his sword and went to the vampires side.

"You humans... are weak. You bring... yourselves so low... for an animal."

Dupuis placed his knee on the vampires chest and it continued to smile at him.

"You cry... over a dumb animal!" The vampire continued to laugh as Dupuis felt more anger rise within him. He grabbed the vampire by the head, holding tightly to his silver hair and raised his sword. He hacked down the sword going deep into it's skull. He could still hear the vampire continue to laugh and he hacked again, and again, driving his rage and hate against the one who took his friends life. With each hack it went faster and faster, Dupuis was almost shouting with each blow, going deep into the vampires head. After hacking over twelve times, almost screaming his hatred to the vampire, the vampires face became nothing more then a big red mulch. He then took his sword one last time and severed the vampires head from his body. He lets go of the head and his shoulders hung over as the head rolled away from him. He was breathing heavily, knowing full well that his vengeance was taken, the loss of his friend still lingered and was overwhelming on him. When he looked up from the dead vampire he notice several knights standing and watching him, not sure what to make of what their commander did.

"Sir Dupuis?" One of his knights asked as he looked at the bloodied mess that Dupuis has created, the blood covering his white armor and turned into a crimson red.

"The battle is won...Sir. We are taking the dead and wounded away. What of the rest of the bodies?"

Without looking away Dupuis spoke softly that made the knight strain to hear.

"Pile the undead corpses and burn them. Once finished take a head of each vampire that has killed one of our own and place them on spikes at the border. Let it be an example for the enemy to never cross into these lands again."

His tone was cold and yet he knew that the knight would see the deed done. The Knight was hesitant at first first but soon agrees and goes to tell the others. Sir Dupuis then turned to Shadow and he placed himself over his fallen horse. He lowers himself and places his head upon Shadow's forehead and he gave a silent prayer.

***

Two months later, mid January...

Everything was quite in Kern. The people were all in the homes staying warm and enjoying hot meals with friends. Everyone was happy and enjoying themselves with their accomplished works and the people were in continued celebration. Outside there was a fresh blanket of snow surrounding the whole of the village, undisturbed by the foot steps of the villagers. No attack had came upon the village and no new threat came to them since that battle. Everything was just peaceful. However, the only thing that moved was a single man that stood over two dozen graves in a nearby field. Dupuis was on bended knee to the graves. He offered prayers to each grave and in turn he left a small flower to each one. He stopped at the last grave and he watched at it for a long time. He was almost obsidian as he looked at the grave, snow collecting on him like he was part of the new cemetery. As he stared at the grave he could hear the faint shuffle of wings and footsteps coming from behind him.

"Dupuis." It was Tara's voice. He looked his head over but did not turn all the way and he saw her in a warm cloak standing behind him.

"Dupuis you should come inside and keep warm."

"I'm only dedicating the graves Tara. I'll be done soon." He said as he looked back at the last grave.

"No your not. You have been out here almost every day looking at the graves. You hardly eat. You barely even sleep. You are still torment by grieve of your loss."

Dupuis lowered his head and he did not wish to listen to her. Just when he thought of it he felt warm hands wrap around him, Tara's own head rubbed against his back. Emotion raised up in him and he almost fell to his knees again.

"I lost a friend Tara." He began as she continued to hug him. "I lost someone who I loved for a long time. Like you I too raised Shadow when he was young. I cared for him, raised him and he was apart of me as I was apart of him. I called him Shadow because he always followed me. We have been together for so long since back on earth and to hear on Valhalla." He could feel Tara nod her head against his back. "He would have been fifteen this year. I have had him for almost half my life Tara." Tears began to weld in his eyes and Tara walked around to meet him face to face. "I thought I lost apart of myself when he saved me from the jaws of death. He goes and I live. Why is it that half my life was taken away from his death?" This time he fell into the soft snow that crunched by his legs and he wept deeply. Tara came and hugged him as he cried, trying to comfort him from the pain.

"We all lose friends Dupuis." She spoke softly. "We just never expect to lose them. I lost my parents when I was young as well. However what I do know is that I moved on from my past. It was painful but I overcame the losses I have and become something better. You can to Dupuis." She still held onto him and he continued to cry. They both stood there as the snow came down and landed lightly upon them and the graves. Tara bent her head and she whispered into his ear.

"There is something I want to show you. A new foal is coming and I want you to see it."

Dupuis looked at Tara and he could see her smile at him. Warmth came back into his cheeks and he nodded to her. They both stood up and walked away from the grave. Dupuis looked back for a second only to see the grave of Shadow, buried alongside the knights that fought and died for the ones they loved.

***

A few minutes later, stables...

They quickly entered inside and closed the door behind them. Warmth entered into his bones as Dupuis came inside. The Stables were quite and the horses were all in their cells. Tara walked down, holding him by the hand and taking him to the far end of the stables. As he walked Dupuis notice several horses in each cell caring for their young, all safe and all warm from the cold outside.

"Here she is." Tara said as she pushed open the cell and the two went inside. Dupuis looked to see a black horse with a star and stripe mark on it's forehead standing near the edge of the cell. He narrowed his eye and turned to Tara who continued to smile as the horse came over to them.

"This is only Sweet Pea. You said that there was a new foal that was coming. I don't see one here."

"I know. That is because it's still inside." Tara turned and smiled at Sweet Pea as the horse stood in front of them.

"She's Pregnant."

Dupuis eyes widened and his mouth was halfway open. He starred at Sweet Pea in disbelief and was not sure what to make of it. Confusion, doubt, and even wonder made him forget the pains that he had before.

"How? When di-" He started but the words fumbled out and was not sure what to say.

"You remember when I sprained my wing?" She said as she started to pet Sweet Pea on the head. "I think it happened when you took me away to heal the sprain on my wing. Sweet Pea and Shadow were more together after that I believe. One thing led to another and just last week I checked on her and she was becoming bigger then before. When I checked all the signs and confirmed it with the others I couldn't believe it myself. She is about three to four months in the pregnancy and will likely give birth in late spring or earlier summer."

Dupuis continued to stare and he did not know what to do. His mind raced of what could have happened and the time since then but it could not have been in doubt. He looked at Tara again who continued to smile at Sweet Pea.

"Your saying... that...that-"

"That Shadow is the father? Yes... there is no doubt."

Dupuis turned to Sweet Pea who continued to stare at him and he swallowed hard as he tried to comprehend it all.

"There is only a sure way to fine out." Dupuis stepped forward to her side and he placed his hands on her back. He looked at Tara for permission and she nodded to him. With that he placed his hand underneath Sweet Pea's belly. He pressed deeply and he felt a slight bulge. Lifting his hand up he placed his hands onto her back and rested his head on her side, the warm skin touching his cheek. Sweet Pea turned her head in curiosity to see him as he placed his ear against her belly. He smiled and closed his eyes and listened deeply, searching for the one sound to confirm everything that Tara told him.

*Ba-Thump... Ba-Thump, Ba-thump*

He opened his eyes and he could hear it.

*Ba-Thump*

It was a second heart... he could hear it. Tears streamed down his cheek as he heard a second heart beat from her. He lifted himself from her and Sweet Pea turned and rubbed her head against his chest.

"You bear his child." Dupuis was crying again and he was not crying out of pain but of joy. He cried for joy that the line of his beloved friend continues on. He placed his own hand on Sweet Pea's forehead, covering the star mark, and Tara walked over and placed her hand over his own. She wrapped her right arm and hugged him close. Her right wing also went over him, acting like a second pair of arms. He looked at her and he saw tears coming down her cheeks as well. He placed a hand around her and hugged her tightly. Sweet Pea stepped closer as well and her breathing was softer then before. In that moment all three were together. All the pain and misery that he experience is now gone and renewed with hope. Hope that new life can continue on. Dupuis continued to cry but also felt laughter and happiness enter his soul.

"You live on... old friend." Dupuis said as the three continue to hold each other in a warm embrace.

Mister Mario and Tornado - Honorable Mentions

Spoiler Alert!

Mister Mario

Spoiler Alert!

Trumpets resound and the fanfare rolls on. After 12 long, gruesome, and utterly devastating years, good has finally triumphed. The land is in shock, its people are war-torn, and the process of rebuilding will take as long as the battling, if not longer. Fathers, mothers, sons, sisters, neighbors -- everyone has been infected by the all-encompassing disease of war. Tonight, for the first time in as long as he can remember, Sir Duncan feels a glimmer of joy.

A light rain is beginning to fall as Duncan leans up against a fence post to take in his surroundings. The raucous laughter, whoops, and chants seep out of every tent, home, and nearby tavern. A drumline of Blue Coats near the town center take up a fast-paced marching beat and the local Kyrie chime in with spontaneous celebratory verse: a parade of smiles and happiness.

After being stationed all throughout Valhalla, Duncan remembers the thrill his squad shared when they heard Jandar had ordered Delta Company's return to Upper Bleakwoode after the Last Assembly. The small town of Milkston did not have any straggling Utgar forces to contend with so his squad and the many other assembled warriors of the company had passed the last few days relaxing in the woods, spending their hard earned rewards on local wares, and attempting to release all of the pent up emotion of these past years.

Duncan recalls when he was first transferred to the scouts of Omnicron. It had been a strange match, at best. However, with the knight being the only member of his squad to survive what later became known as the Charge for Valhalla, Jandar told him that his bravery, grit, and human conscience would be a crucial asset for Zetacron and his deadly Repulsors. That was two years, three months, and some five days ago.

Shouts of joy and cheering help remind Sir Duncan that he can let his guard down at last. Upper Bleakwoode's soft rain and the singing of its people begins washing the war-grime from the knight's thoughts. A group of children are chasing each other, screaming and play-fighting nearby. Duncan notices that there is a mix of races: Warriors and civilians have already begun making a new life here in Valhalla. Duncan begins walking along a worn path up a nearby hillside, passing discarded armor, weaponry, and farming equipment - all of life has been put on hold for the festivities. "Milkston is truly beautiful, though it lacks the majesty of a true castle," Duncan thinks aloud as he walks away from the ongoing singing and outbursts.

Always reflective, he can't help but remember those first days after the transfer. Duncan had appreciated the new assignment. All of his friends were now gone, most completely unrecognizable after the Charge. He hadn't felt like talking about it or to anyone, and the snipers didn't have much to say. Of course, there were many other humans and Kyrie in Delta Company, but Duncan slept near his new squad and was comforted by their predictability and regimen. He had settled into a deadly and efficient rhythm with his soulborg comrades. Zetacron would pass along suggested formations and attack plans to Duncan in order to account for potential human creativity and spontaneity. Zultor, Duncan's mentor in his new squad, had even taught him to use a focused EMP blast. Duncan was a quick-learn and seemed to be a natural with a targeting beacon, leading to many successful scouting missions under Zetacron's command.

Now what?

Duncan had stood side by side with Zultor as the scroll from the New Council had been read, but it had only made one brief mention of returning foreign warriors to their homes. Duncan's thoughts return to his own homeland. He can picture the pristine view from the west tower: the rolling river bending behind the hills and then reemerging just before entering the sea. Duncan and his fellow knights had been one of the first "recruits" almost ten years ago now. "I'm not the same man anymore," Duncan thinks glumly.

As with all of his important decisions, Duncan resolutely and entirely makes up his mind suddenly, with one last look back toward Milkston. He would stay. He and Zultor would travel the countryside, help to rebuild the lives around them, and stay useful. Contentment spread through the hardened knight. Maybe he would be adventurous enough to take Zultor up on his offer to visit the year 6000 and see "humanity's true potential" but for now there was plenty to accomplish. Duncan rushes back to his squad's camp. They, of course, had selected an elevated position, on the eastern hills overlooking Milkston. Duncan's thoughtful trail hike has led him to the southern hills, so he has quite a walk ahead. The rain begins to fall harder and Duncan tugs a hood up over his head. Increasing his pace, Duncan looks forward to the soulborg's monotone response.

As he nears camp, Duncan immediately notices something is wrong. The soulborgs had celebrated the New Council's decrees in their own way, and they would not desire any of the frolicking or drunkenness the townspeople were headed for back in town. Even if Zetacron had permitted a few Repulsors to visit Milkston for "data input and analysis," he would never leave the camp's outposts unattended. Even through the pounding rain, Duncan is certain he should have seen some white and blue armor or made contact with one of the snipers by now. He passes around one final bend in the trail where the trees disperse into an open clearing. He is greeted by a wide wall of grey and white dripping feathers and wings. He cannot see past or around the collection of Kyrie guards who seem to be circled around something, but he notices the coloring of two flags flying above the wing tips: this is Jandar's royal guard.

A high-level official must be nearby. There are only two guards facing the outside of their perimeter, the rest of the Kyrie face inward, watching silently. Large drops of water almost blind Duncan as he works his way to the encircled guards. "State your business, Knight," a Captain commands. Through the rain and darkness it's hard to see who this Kyrie is. Duncan doesn't think he recognizes him but wonders if the royal guard already knows his business in returning to his own campsite. Lightning strikes nearby and for a brief moment Duncan can see clearly through the pouring rain.

"My name is Duncan Leverson. I am part of the Omnicron outpost under Zetacron, Delta Company. Move aside and let me through."

One quick motion from the Captain and the wall of wings swings aside. Another bolt of lightning brightens the heavy clouds and reveals the scene inside the perimeter of the Kyrie guard. Duncan focuses on a figure in the center of the ring: Thormun, Jandar's messenger and first Archkyrie of Valhalla. His name and face are revered everywhere. Thormun is holding a small mechanical device and looking straight into Duncan's gaze. As the lightning passes and the circle is engulfed in darkness, Thormun turns his face toward a large mound. Duncan takes two steps forward before halting midstep. He realizes what he's looking at. Protruding from the mound Duncan can make out an arm, there a helmet, there a targeting beacon -- all in the white and blue of his soulborg squad, his only remaining friends.

Duncan doesn't know how many moments have passed. Thormun is at his side trying to pull Duncan up out of the mud by the shoulders. The loss is unbearable. Duncan screams out loudly and only pauses for breath as the heavens take up his cry with booming thunder. He pushes Thormun away from him and struggles to his knees. "How -- How -- How could you?"

"These machines were brought here with one purpose and their mission has been completed. Jandar commanded me to dismantle their programming and redistribute anything of value among our living warriors."

"They were living! They were useful. They mattered!" To me. Duncan's grief is complete as he stumbles through the muck to the large pile of machinery and parts. There he sees it. A black repulsor with Zultor's inscription along the barrel. Duncan bends down to collect one last souvenir from this war. Jandar will live only long enough to regret this terrible decision.

Tornado

Spoiler Alert!

My friend's blood, soaks in the sand
Sword of Reckoning still in hand
I limp over on broken bone
and retrieve his blade to replace my own

Waves of Marro, crash like living death
Noble warriors, fighting with dying breath
Reinforcements arrive, but far too late
Glory in battle, a warrior's fate
A soldier by trade, I take orders
Stopping evil on many borders

Now I must find, another path
A new route to seek my wrath
No more good, for goodness sake
The last mission for Sgt. Drake

Enemy lands by day and night
Slaying all within my sight

In time, his castle breached
There I find the foe I seek

So now, I must end this tale
The Sword of Reckoning does not fail
The ArchKyrie, lies before me dead
In my hand, Utgar's head