TBH that prompt is what did it for me. I couldn't find an entry of someone else's I could get enough excited about and think of a sequel for. Although now that the index is up to date it should be easier to find one if this ever got going again.
~TGRF.
Blaming me for all this and acting like everyone else's stories are beneath him; typical writer narcissism I see
~TAF
TAF was the Storyteller...
in THE ENEMY'S LAST RETREAT
Hey guys. Popped in here real quick. Really expected this thing to be a ghost town by now. Really nice to see the place still alive and breathing!
Below is the post I wrote a sequel for. After that is the sequel itself. Enjoy!
No reason this thing can't come back to life. Maybe not as a contest, but folks can still post a prompt and write something when they feel like. In my case, I finished all my work yesterday so I spent the day at the office writing this up LD.
Spoiler Alert!
Belly down and propped on his elbows, Jorsen surveyed the area ahead, the landscape tinted in shades of green through his goggles. The terrain ahead was formidable at best, and down-right hostile at worst. The cracked earth and the low foothills to the east were forbidding. Jets of gas would erupt - violently at times - from rocky piles and it seemed the ground beneath them was constantly shifting. Then there was the heat. Oppressive and unending, it seemed to get worse the further north the team traveled. Jorsen wore the distinctive Stealth Armor of his team, and while it had saved his life in the past, in this environment he was beginning to suffer for it.
He and his team had been sent to the area to scout for a secluded spot in which to stage a small task force. The area was far enough west of the swamp and the main battle that the Marro forces would be hard pressed to maintain a strong presence here. If Vydar could find an area in which he could stage an assault, they might be able to strike a critical blow to the Hive Lord’s forces.
A bright flash in the goggle viewscreen blinded Jorsen briefly, and he swore. Similar explosions had already erupted twice while he surveyed the area from his perch. The entire region seemed volatile, and the mission was going poorly. The last surviving member of a team of nine, Jorsen was beginning to worry that he and his new team might not succeed. While they had yet to find any of Ne-Gok-Sa’s forces in these foothills, the inanimate threats were taking their toll. It seemed to Jorsen that every advantage he and his team brought was canceled by the terrain itself. Their advanced monitoring equipment was unable to differentiate between living threats and the constantly shifting landscape. The rock slides negated their audio sensors, and the ambient heat made their thermal vision all but useless.
Jorsen’s earpiece squawked quietly in his ear. “Seven, this is base. Report.”
“Seven here” Jorsen replied into his mike. “No activity that I can see, Hillard. I’m about two clicks north by northwest. I’m heading back and should be there in time for the rendezvous.”
“Understood. Try to double-time it. Carr says he found a path through the foothills we can use to get around to the west side of the peak.”
“I read you. I’ll start heading that way.” Jorsen clicked off his comm. He moved to a crouch, and stretched his arms a bit before rising and turning south. As he crunched down the rocky hill, he reflected more on his situation. He hated the way Hillard insisted on calling him “Seven”. It was a constant reminder that he was not a part of the team in his commanding officer’s eyes. Carr and Hillard’s squad had found Jorsen after he’d barely survived a skirmish that had wiped out the rest of his team. Hillard's group had been sent deep into Volcarren in search of what he would only call "a powerful new weapon for Vydar". His lack of details just another example of Hillard's mistrust of him. Jorsen was relieved he’d been able to join up with their small force, and had tried to mesh with the team, but it was difficult. Microcorp are specifically trained and taught from the very beginning to act as a tight and unified squad. It wasn’t easy to find a place in that dynamic as a “fourth wheel”.
But he was alive - for now anyway - and that was worth something. It was more than could be said for Shane, Chris, and the rest of his team who had died eleven days earlier while trying to flank a horde of Annubian soldiers. They wolfen men had been patrolling the southern edge of Volcarren when the Microcorps had attempted to ambush them. Jorsen still heard their howls sometimes while he tried to sleep, and thought he’d probably never get the image of their maddening eyes and snarling faces out of his mind. Or the screams of his comrades as they were literally torn to shreds by the frenzied beasts.
Jorsen approached the camp, mutely acknowledging the perimeter scout, Fender. Once Jorsen moved closer in, the other team members made themselves seen and the group huddled together in the lee of a large stone outcrop near the base of the nearby foothills.
“So, nothing, then?” inquired Astor, the third member of Hillard’s squad.
“Nothing worth seeing.” Jorsen replied. “The terrain is rough. Gas jets, crumbling rocks cascading down the hillside every few minutes. It’s hard to get a proper read on the area. Something could be lurking and it’s very difficult to track in a region like this.
“I know what you mean,” Astor replied grimly. “You can’t tell if it’s just the rumble of the earth of if somethin’ is sneaking up behind you to slit your-”
“Enough of that, Seven.” came Hillard’s voice from behind. “I sent you out to get the lay of the land, not come back with ghost stories.” He approached the group and stared stonily at Jorsen.
“Sir.” said Jorsen, straightening. “Just acknowledging our disadvantage, sir. Our equipment isn’t going to be much use out there.”
“I don’t know how they did it in your squad, Jorsen, but Theta Unit uses our brains and our ability first. Our equipment is just the icing on the cake. Besides, this place is a wasteland. We haven’t seen signs of any troop movement since-”
A crash from the left made the team jump, and pull their weapons, instinctively falling into formation guns trained on two large boulders that had crashed to the ground from the outcropping above. Jorsen could feel through his feet as a series of far-off thuds and rumbles quaked. Was it the sound of an army mobilizing on the other side of the foothills? Or just this terrible pit creaking and flexing?
Astor moved forward, half crouched and weapon trained on the rocks ahead of him. He began to carefully circle the stony wreck, but before he could get more than a few feet away, a creature sprang up from behind the rocks and perched on top of the pile. It was small, with dark skin and pointed features. It clothes were a mess of tangled rags. It breathed quickly, it’s tiny eyes glinted black as they darted around the area. Its body began to coil inwards to pounce.
“Cutters!” Hillard shouted. “Set two! Mark!”The team quickly and fluidly spread formation, taking a few steps back and fanning out. Fender fired twice, missing. The creature scuttled quickly to the left, seeming to magically dodge the point-blank shot, and was gone from sight.
Astor cried out and a sharp pinching pain shot up his leg. Looking down, another of the tiny beasts was clutching to his calf, its teeth sunk into the padding of his armor. Astor used the butt of his weapon to smash the creature in the head. It let go, and stumbled backwards, dazed. Jorsen stepped closer and swung his own weapon down on its skull. There was a sickening crunch and it was still. Jorsen turned in time to see three more Goblins almost fly through the air towards Fender. Fender raised him arm to block his face, screaming. One Goblin was buffeted aside, while the other two latched onto Fender’s arm and thigh, scratching, clawing, and snarling as they tried to tear and rip through the thick armor. Fender stumbled backwards from the force of their leap, but kept his feet.
“Astor!” shouted Hillard from the left. “Up!”
Astor rolled backwards and sprang to his feet, barely dodging another pair of Goblins that swarmed forward from the right. He began to climb the nearby hillside to attain a perch from which he might be able to get a better shot of the swarming monsters.
“Where are they coming from?” thought Jorsen as he fired three times rapidly at the pair of Goblins. “How can so many have surprised us?” One of the Goblins fell to the ground, the other disappeared.
Hillard rushed forward to knock loose the Goblins clinging to Fender’s armor. Seemingly indifferent to gravity, one had quickly scurried up and around to Fender’s shoulder, and once there sank its teeth into the back of Fenders neck, just below the helmet. Fender howled, and Hillard tried in vain to pry off the terrible creatures.
The earth rumbled again, but with more force than before. Dread in his stomach, Jorsen knew, now, there could be no mistake. The rumbling quake was footsteps, but not the even march of an army on the move. It was the slow, thunderous pace of something enormous. And it was approaching.
Astor climbed quickly up the side of the hill, breathing hard. If he could get to a perch, they might be able to regroup. If he could begin to control the advance of the little beasts, catch them by surprise before-
Astor neared the summit of the hill and the earth rocked beneath him. A hulking, enormous form was climbing up the opposite side of the same foothill. The creature was twice the size of a man, and wielded an enormous broadsword. Its skin was dark, almost black and charred, and seemed to smoke itself like the fissures all over the ground. It’s blazing face was terrible in its hatred as it approached spotting Astor. Astor froze, and immediately began to descend back down the slope.
The flaming giant strode forward, with a speed Astor would not have expected from such an enormous thing, and hefted its blade. Astor stopped his descent, and raised his weapon. As his eye came to the sight, he hand time only to see the glint of the gigantic sword swinging towards him.
Jorsen was dizzy now, and blood trickled into his left eye, obscuring his vision. He was still reflexively crushing a Goblin’s small form in his bare hands when he heard Astor’s scream. Jorsen looked up in time to see Astor’s body flying across his field of vision, landing in a crumpled, unmoving heap.
A voice in Jorsen’s mind whispered darkly, “It’s happening all over again...”
Spoiler Alert!
“He’s awake.”
Jorsen’s vision slowly cleared as he cast about for the source of the voice. It was a soft feminine voice. The sweet scent of perfume hung in the air around him, layered with the smell of food bubbling in a pot somewhere nearby. I must be in someone’s home.
His eyes focused on the source of the voice and widened in surprise and joy. “Kelda!” The kyrie turned and smiled at him, the corners of her blue eyes crinkling slightly. “You’re alive,” he gasped. “I thought you died with Alexander at the battle of Heath Rock!”
The smile waned slightly at the mention of Alexander. It had been almost two years since that fateful night, but the emptiness in her heart left by her lover's passing still ached. She and a party of only one hundred men from Alexander’s unit had been trapped behind enemy lines when Utgar’s forces destroyed a stone bridge over the river. They hadn’t thought he would do it, not cut off his easy access to the low country, not for a hundred men. But the opportunity to capture and kill Jandar’s prized general was too tempting. And he had done it. Kelda herself, captured by the marro, a slave to a hive for six months before Jandar, burning for once in his life with vengeance, had personally wiped them out leading a large platoon of his special forces.
“I–I’m sorry,” Jorsen apologized.
“Don’t be,” Kelda replied. Then, placing her hand on Jorsen’s cheek gently, whispered, “we’ve all suffered great loss.”
Her eyes held deep, deep sadness, as realization dawned on Jorsen’s face, “My men–?”
“I’m sorry Jorsen,” Kelda choked out the words, “I’m so sorry. They’re all gone.”
“Dead? All of them?” Disbelief filled Jorsen’s voice. “No, no they can’t be. It’s not possible. There were five hundred men in that unit!” He was sitting up now, yelling and shaking Kelda. “Please! Please tell me it’s not true!”
“It is true,” the new voice, deep masculine commanding, “release her at once.”
Jorsen looked at his hands, then at Kelda who had not moved, her eyes wide with terror. She couldn’t move, not with Jorsen’s powerful hand synching her throat tight. Aghast at himself, he released her immediately. She sank to the ground gasping for breath.
He started to apologize but suddenly the world around him came flooding in. Looking around he realized he wasn’t in a home at all. The perfume he smelled was from the petals of jungle flowers growing all around them. A serpent rested on a tree branch high above a thousand pitched tents dotted with campfires, stretching back into the deep tangle of forest for over a mile.
His eyes fell on the figure who had spoken so commandingly. A tall man in his early forties stood at the edge of the fire. Jorsen could make out the outline of the thick bamboo armor of a samurai, and the hilts of at least three katanas and two short swords strapped to his side. As he stepped into the light the emblem on his armor burst to life, a coiling dragon, fire spurting from its maw.
“Daimyo Kato Katsuro,” Jorsen said, “it is an honor to finally meet you.”
The Daimyo was silent for a moment, then said, “What means this? She pulled you from the carnage of battle at peril for herself, and you attack her?”
It was Jorsen’s turn to look at the ground, “I–I don’t know what came over me.” He reached down to help Kelda to her feet, and she accepted, throwing a look of understanding over her shoulder at the leader of men, “He’s not the first patient to wake up disoriented,” she whispered, rubbing her throat, “He will be better once he’s rested.”
The Daimyo relaxed a little, “You are known to be a good man, Jorsen-San. Rest a while, then join me outside the command tent for briefing. The fight isn’t over yet. Ne-Gok-Sa and his host will be in the field by morning.”
With that he departed. If Jorsen thought it was odd how the snake’s head had moved back and forth from one speaker to the next during the entire conversation as though listening, he chalked it up to his wounds and addled brain from Kelda’s healing spells and potions. He lay back down and was soon asleep.
He woke two hours later. The sky carried only a hint of light from the half moon. He looked around, no kyrie, no samurai, no snake. He was alone. He got up and girded on his equipment which lay nearby, then passed the tents of three thousand sleeping men, their spears and arquebus neatly picketed nearby before reaching the daimyo’s tent.
The tall man and his captains were standing in a semi-circle around a campfire. It was not for the cold, there was none in this magical place. It was to ward off predators, light to see by, and, Jorsen imagined, to ward off peculiar snakes.
The meeting was brief. The daimyo wanted his officers to rest before the coming battle. Jorsen was surprised by his own orders. He would lead a pary of Kelda, Sir Dupuis who was Jandar’s military concierge, and another hero, Kaimon Awasome, more like Awesome he thought to himself remembering the deadly accuracy of the samurai warlord in countless battles, to seek out Ne-Gok-Sa on the field, and eliminate him.
Turning to go, he spotted a snake with its length lined against the bottom edge of the command tent. Jorsen was sure it was the same snake as before. A spy!! He whipped out his 9mm handgun, dropped into a shooters crouch, brought the muzzle to bear…it was gone. The whole action hadn’t taken more than two seconds and his adversary had just, disappeared. He looked around for it then reported the incident to the daimyo. Kato looked at him, then went back to what he was doing, completely unperturbed.
Jorsen pressed him, “And what of it?” Kato responded, “The spy was here, the spy is there. The spy is a snake you say? Look around you, the jungle is full of them. Would you have me wake my army, shoot every snake in a three mile radius and field them exhausted in the morning?
“What is he going to tell Ne-Gok-Sa that he doesn’t already know? That we are here? That we are going to wipe him and the legacy of his monsters off this celestial plain once and for all? Go get some rest, you will need it come morning.”
Jorsen stood next to Kato Katsuro and Kaimon Awasome Awesome as they surveyed the field. The Ashigaru were drawn up in combined arms lines of two to three. That is, two lines of pikes for every three lines of gunners. Katsuro had arranged them in the manipol formation he learned from the roman legions summoned to this plain. This was to compensate for the superior maneuverability of the hive-mind controlled Marro forces. The traditional tercios favored by Katsuro’s contemporaries back home would not work in this kind of combat.
The Marro, only two thousand of them, less than Katsuro’s force, was drawn up on the opposing hill. Although there was no formation to speak of, they stood ominously still as though awaiting unvoiced orders, which they were. It was a harrowing site, the thousands of humanoid webs of flesh standing like statues, bred for only one thing, death. They were the last holdout of Utgar’s Marro forces and would doubtless fight to the death for their kindred lord.
The Marro seemed in no hurry to attack the organized lines of the Daimyo. After waiting nearly two hours, until the sun had risen full force behind his men, Katsuro ordered the manipols to advance across the field. Jorsen, Dupuis, Kelda, and Awasome went with them.
It was an awesome sight, a thousand bristling spears, and well ordered ranks advancing across that open field. This was the type of warfare they were used to. Why the Marro came out in the open to fight instead of hiding in their swamp, was still a mystery to Katsuro, but he intended to take full, watchful advantage of the events.
The Marro remained stock still as they watched, indifferently as the Ashigaru abandoned the safety of their hill to march across an open field to attack them. But once the enemy came in range, the Marro opened fire. It was a withering assault. Their guns were far more advanced and had better range than those of the Ashigaru.
The first three manipols at the center of Katsuro’s formation withered under the heavy fire within minutes. The loose formations proved useful, and the army closed the breach. Advancing, always advancing. They took that fire with purpose. After today there would be no more. They pressed on, held on their path by honor and sheer balls, as another manipol, three hundred men crumpled like wheat and fell to the ground.
Then it was their turn. The modified rifles of the gunners raked into the Marro. The wounded monsters didn’t shriek or scream in pain, they simply sagged to the ground and died. More fire from the gunners opened a hole in the center ranks and there, at the top of the hill, was the prize, Ne-Gok-Sa. The center four manipols of Ashigaru split off and opened in an outward V formation, allowing three riders and a winged kyrie, harbingers of justice to ride out and face him.
Ne-Gok-Sa stood stock still, waiting. His bodyguards gathered round, a snake slithered through the grass on his right. He paid it no mind, focusing on the oncoming riders. He did spare a sidewise nod at the witch on his left. She lifted her staff. His bodyguards opened fire.
The scene was one for the annals of history. Screaming warhorses, glinting spears, laser blasts that would look out of place except that everything was weird in this world, a knight in shining armor and a…
“Where is Jorsen!?” Kelda cried. Startled. She had seen the witch’s staff strike the ground, but did not immediately connect it to the sudden disappearance of Jorsen.
“Do it,” the voice in Jorsen’s head hissed. He wanted to look around for the source of the voice, something compelled him to stay focused on the task at hand. There he was, the enemy, in his sights. Ne-Gok-Sa surrounded by his entourage. The figure before him was saying something. It didn’t sound like a Marro. The voice was familiar and deep, commanding and questioning.
Jorsen had had enough confusion the last few days. One thing was clear, there was his enemy, the one who killed all his friends and his enemy must die. He pulled the trigger and his enemy slumped to the ground.
The scene faded, the confusion cleared, and there on the ground before him, was the body of Kato Katsuro, blood pouring from his heart onto the land he had fought so long to defend. His empty eyes set in a face frozen in realization, “So that’s why they came here.”
Horrified, Jorsen turned the gun on himself but the Ashigaru beat him to it, a dozen pikes ruptured his body and he fell to the ground bleeding his life into the soil. “You didn’t really think you ever left that field with your men, did you?” “Ne-Gok-Sa,” he gasped, spluttering out each word before fading to darkness.
Ne-Gok-Sa’s face was alight with triumph, at least so far as a Marro’s limited expressions could show any emotion at all. The heroes had defeated his bodyguards and the Kyrie had slain the witch herself, but the heroes were routed by a contingent of reinforcements, unsuccessful by the sudden loss of their comrade, who had never really left Kato’s side.
The look of triumph faded as a sword point burst through his chest. He craned his neck as far as he could to see what manner of creature had bested him. The eyes that met his were serpentine and dark with hatred.
“Always-watch-your-feet,” hissed the naga, “you killed my family and so many others. Now your reign of terror is over. I’d have bitten you and let the poison do its work over hours in your slow system, yet I didn’t want the foul taste of your putrid flesh in my mouth.”
Ne-Gok-Sa didn’t hear the last few words. The dim light had already faded from his eyes.
The Ashigaru did not break when their daimyo fell, not as Ne-Gok-Sa had hoped. They rallied around his named successor, Kaimon Awasome, took the field, exterminated the Marro, and destroyed their hive. The Marro presence on Valhalla was at a permanent end.
Feeling like an old lurker. 15 years, wow. That's half as long as I've lived. Love y'all like family.
A cloud can change its semblance, yet retain its will
With the intimacy of destruction, One knows what it is to be alive
The empty sky holds no reflection, for sorrow - Eslo Rudkey
Well you did a good job, following up on the very first winner on the thread no less. Managed to add a twist to the original story and why misfortune seemed to follow the protagonist.
We'll see if anyone else wants one last crack at the prompt for the heck of it, but otherwise as far as I'm concerned you can throw out a new one whenever.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Dysole
Good to see movement. You probably won't see me over here much though. My writing interests have moved elsewhere.
~Dysole, hoping y'all have fun without her
Even a rare appearance every now and again would be welcome; your character-writing remains superb (and also there doesn't seem to be much opportunity to flex some Heroscape creativity through CoN storytelling / RPs these days).
~TAF
TAF was the Storyteller...
in THE ENEMY'S LAST RETREAT
I appreciate the compliments TAF. I just don't really have any desire to explore this particular world in writing. It was definitely fun and I had a great time, but like I said my interests have migrated elsewhere. Y'all keep up your good work.
Hmm, well unless anyone else comes swooping in I'll check it out, give you my thoughts, and then you have the next prompt, EL.
~TAF
Ha, go for it. We’re passed the deadline I think. I’d like to challenge TGRF to battle though. Been a while since he and I crossed wits.
I won't be submitting anything for this challenge. I have the same issue I did before, where I can't find someone else's work which gives me ideas for a sequel/prequel.
Hmm, well unless anyone else comes swooping in I'll check it out, give you my thoughts, and then you have the next prompt, EL.
~TAF
Ha, go for it. We’re passed the deadline I think. I’d like to challenge TGRF to battle though. Been a while since he and I crossed wits.
I won't be submitting anything for this challenge. I have the same issue I did before, where I can't find someone else's work which gives me ideas for a sequel/prequel.
I say let the prompt fly.
~TGRF.
Well, I challenge you to a writing match. One for the good ole days.
Hey TAF. Give us a new prompt as soon as this uppity writer picks up the gauntlet :P
Feeling like an old lurker. 15 years, wow. That's half as long as I've lived. Love y'all like family.
January 24th, 2022, 09:39 PM
TAF was the Storyteller... 
Similar Threads
Hybrid Mode