That figures. Something awesome hit me, no extra characters included. Be prepared for the first person though, and figures you rarely hear about.
~TGRF, making it up as he goes along. Seriously.
That figures. Something awesome hit me, no extra characters included. Be prepared for the first person though, and figures you rarely hear about.
~TGRF, making it up as he goes along. Seriously.
Can't wait to see what you come up with. With your entry and The average fan we should have two entries. Hope anyone else with a creative mind will enter in this challenge. I look forward to your entry my friend!
I have an idea but don't know what will come of it. Judging by TGRF's statement, we may have a similar idea. Who knows?
~Dysole, wondering if TGRF is drawing inspiration from at least one of his sources
I have no idea what my inspiration was. I just started writing. I didn't even know who the main character was until three paragraphs in. Fear not, I believe our entries shall be sufficiently different.
~TGRF.
Whew! I have finished my entry! I shall proofread it and likely get it in tomorrow.
@Bro-man
I also need to work on you know what. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten.
~TGRF.
And with the triple post, I give you my entry. 6,298 words, 12 pages.
Spoiler Alert!
Sometimes you know what you want. That’s a privilege. Sometimes, though, you can’t have what you want. That, too, is a privilege, because you can then appreciate it. Sometimes, though, you have what you don’t want. And sometimes you are forced to keep what you don’t want, if you are ever to have again what you do want.
The whole thing of wanting and not wanting is generally confusing. I prefer not to think about it. Thinking about what I want only brings me pain. Pain is something else I prefer not to think about, because it reminds me of what I don’t want. And since what I don’t want includes amounts of pain, it makes me want what I do want all the more.
Now you see what I meant about this being confusing. Let me start over.
The soft wood felt good beneath my boots. I suppose I should have felt right at home, the leaves hiding me, plenty of shadows to slip into, but I didn’t. I felt exposed, out in the open, a perfect target. I felt like I was missing something, like there was some important detail of my surroundings that I had overlooked. Of course, I often felt like that. It had once been true.
I moved at a good pace, weaving my way through Ullar’s capitol city, Felithien. He had designed it after the cities of the elves, all smooth branches and grown buildings. Arms of wood shot all over the city, connecting with high platforms and open balconies. It was really a beautiful city, so high above the ground. Beautiful, of course, unless you lost your balance and fell the five hundred feet or so to the ground below. Then your feelings towards the city might change.
I’m not saying I’ve fallen. I’m not as clumsy as some of the other warriors Ullar has summoned. I can keep my balance. The elves and I are perfect for this place. We leap gracefully from branch to branch, not caring about the safety hazards. I wish I could say the same about the vipers.
I would imagine it’s hard enough to balance on your tail, but doing it with such a large space between you and the ground must be doubly difficult. It’s no wonder they prefer to stay on the ground. I did too, once.
“Moriko!”
My head snapped around and my body slid into a graceful crouch, ready to spring away or dart forward at a moment’s notice. Being trained as an assassin can have disadvantages in a civilized city. I quickly assumed a more relaxed posture.
“Atlaga,” I murmured, inclining my head slightly as the general alighted on my branch.
Atlaga folded his wings in what was clearly an attempt at grace. A good attempt, but an attempt all the same. “I… ah…” He cleared his throat.
Everyone who spoke to me faltered. I wished they wouldn’t. It made me think they were about to attack me. None of them had, of course, not here, not on Valhalla. They were all my allies here. But I hadn’t always had such friends.
Atlaga tried again. “Ahem. The… uh… the convoy is ready to leave.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Convoy? How many of us are there?”
“I… well… I mean, just the two of us, yes, but… it sounded better… Are you ready to go?” he said, abandoning his attempts.
I nodded serenely. “I’ll meet you at the gates in five minutes.”
I leapt off of the branch and swung to the one below it, freeing Atlaga from having to leave me himself. I would be at the base of the city in no time.
It should not be assumed that I was playing with Atlaga, or that I enjoyed his apparent discomfort. He liked me. It was as simple as that. He was not the only one that couldn’t look me fully in the eye and deliver a straight sentence though. Even Ullar had trouble sometimes.
I had been trained to play up my part. As my master had always said, “they’ll never suspect you of having a knife if they’re too busy fawning over your appearance and manners.” One wouldn’t associate being pretty and polite with the training of a deadly ninja assassin, but that is what happened. It worked well. Ullar himself had said that I was the fairest of the soldiers he had summoned, and that included the elves. They were none too pleased about this. There was barely a soldier I knew who wasn’t affected by my appearance.
I leapt lightly to the ground before my home and went in. Home. I had once had a home, a proper home. I had once had a family, a mother and father, two younger brothers. I had loved and been loved. Though I hadn’t known it at the time, I then had everything that I wanted.
But I couldn’t think about that, or the pain would come.
Jandar’s palace was magnificent. Abandon right now any previous ideas you might have had of ice walls or snowy balconies. The palace was majestic and powerfully built. Magnificent on the outside, nothing but cold and lifeless on the inside. For being the heart of the resistance against Utgar, I didn’t find it much to my liking. Its stone walls chilled to the bone, and its people had a distant, drawn look about them. I couldn’t help but clutch my concealed swords tighter. It was difficult to trust these people. It was difficult to trust anyone, even Atlaga, who walked by my side. It had not always been so.
“Atlaga.”
The cold flat tone jarred against my senses. It clashed with everything that was natural, throwing my mind into disarray. For a moment, my jumbled thoughts, my pain, my longing, showed on my face. But only for a moment. It showed what I wanted. I couldn’t think about that.
“Zetacron,” said Atlaga, turning and holding out a hand to the soulborg. A moment later he saw the massive guns that the soulborg had for hands, and seemed to think better of it. “I trust you are well?” he asked, trying to smooth over the awkward moment.
Zetacron simply looked at him with his unblinking gaze. The gaze of deathless life. “My armor is at 82%. My mental capacity is 36% percent full. My core charge is approximately 7% depleted. I—”
“Where is Raelin?” I interrupted. My voice was soft, but Zetacron fell silent instantly and looked at me.
“Raelin – Current status…” he broke off, staring at me. I stared right back, albeit in a polite sort of way. I had been trained to do so.
“Raelin is well,” Zetacron said. Somehow, his tone seemed much more… human. “She is currently with Jandar, in the map room. They await your presence.”
“Lead the way then,” said Atlaga.
Zetacron turned and set off down the hall, the two of us in tow, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still staring at me through some hidden rear camera. It was a silent journey.
“Moriko!”
Raelin flung herself at me, hugging me tightly. I tried to respond in kind, I wanted to so badly, but my arms moved of their own accord. Fortunately there is very little difference between a hug and a Japanese defensive grip.
“Atlaga,” said Raelin, releasing me and greeting him as well. “I heard you were coming. Are we a team of four then?”
“Five.”
Everyone in the room, including Jandar and Sergeant Drake, turned to look at the doorway. I recoiled instantly, actually drawing my blade beneath my armor.
“Five, Kaemon Awa?” Jandar repeated.
“Five,” said the samurai, entering the room and glaring about it in what was clearly supposed to be an impressive way. I did not release my grip on my weapon.
Kaemon approached Jandar. “I was part of a northern scouting mission in Bleakwood. I was nearby, and I know of the southern lands in Braunglayde well. I thought you might be able to use me.”
“I don’t see why not,” Jandar said. “Another sword can’t hurt.”
Personally, I disagreed with him. The swords of many samurai had inflicted a great deal of hurt. I eyed Kaemon Awa with distaste.
He spotted me. “Ah, Moriko,” he said, striding towards me. “I hope there’s no ill will between me and you, being on opposing sides back on Earth and all. That was the old life, with old troubles.” He held out a hand expectantly.
I glared at him. “That was the only life I’ve ever had,” I said.
His smile faltered. I could nearly feel the air in the room thickening. A silence settled on us.
“Well,” said Jandar, a little too loudly, “shall we proceed then?” Kaemon and I somehow got separated as Atlaga moved towards the map table.
“That was a foolish thing to do, really.”
“It was foolish to stand up for what I am, for who I am?”
“That’s not what I meant. Kaemon just wants to forget about all that.”
“Well he shouldn’t!” I said angrily. My voice made Raelin stop. “He shouldn’t want to forget! That’s his life, his family! He can’t just forget about that!”
“He’s in a different time on a different world. When he is sent back, things will change, just as they did when he first came here.”
“Sent back?” I echoed. “Sent back? Open your eyes, Raelin.” I had been trained to control my emotions, but I could sense them rising to the surface. “He’s not going back. None of us are. There is no return, no return to my life.”
“Of course there will be,” said Raelin. “But that’s not the point. This isn’t Earth. You’re on a new world, with new troubles. What you knew and did back home can wait.”
“Don’t you dare tell me what can wait, Raelin!” I screamed at her. The procession ahead of us stopped, but I didn’t care. “Don’t pretend you know what it’s like, being torn from your world, your life, all that makes you what you are. You can’t just forget. There is no just forgetting. There is only this war, this terrible bloodbath that I’ve been dragged into, and I don’t want it! I don’t want it! I want to go home!”
I flung myself into the shadows on the edge of the path, away from Raelin, who looked hurt, away from Kaemon, who looked tense, away from them all. None of them understood.
I heard them calling after me, warning me not to enter the shadows, or that dangers lay in my path. But then I heard Kaemon’s voice: “Let her be. She can take care of herself. She will come back to us when she is ready.” Ready? I’ll never be ready. I was never ready in the first place.
I crashed through the dark brush, not seeing and not caring where I was going. The tears began to come, and I eventually stumbled to a log where I sat down and cried. It didn’t last long. I did a good job of keeping my emotions bottled up inside of me and hiding them with ones that fitted the situation, but sometimes I couldn’t help it. Sometimes they broke free. But I was an assassin, and no assassin wept for long.
It was hours past midnight before I finally found them again.
“Good of you to show up,” said Kaemon quietly as I slipped from the shadows. He whispered because everyone else was asleep. Even Zetacron had to replenish his core charge every now and then.
I sat down before the fire, silently accepting the plate of food he passed to me. He let me eat in silence for a few minutes before speaking again.
“I’m sorry if my words back at Jandar’s capitol offended you,” he said.
“They didn’t. They just meant more to me.”
“I would never want to forget my home. As you said, that place was what made me who I am. I could never abandon it. You spoke well.”
I thought ‘spoke’ was a polite way of saying that I had yelled at the top of my lungs.
“How’s Raelin?” I asked. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
“She’s… well, hurt, but she’ll be pleased to see you. She was afraid you wouldn’t come back.”
“Because of me or drow?”
“A bit of both, I think.”
The quiet conversation was getting to me. It wasn’t what I needed. What I needed was to go home. I closed my eyes as the pain of my longing returned. Only action, only battle, could distract me. And once it was over, my longing would return doubly, like a terrible burden that I could not shake.
“How do you do it?” I asked, my eyes still closed, trying to absorb the silence and transfer it to myself.
“Do what?” asked Kaemon. “Live away from Earth? Away from my home? I don’t have a choice. Neither do you.”
“That doesn’t make it any easier.”
There was a pause. “No. It doesn’t.”
I had hoped that he had some secret, some method that allowed him to escape the pain. But I had been wrong.
I suppose about this time, you might be wondering why the five of us were trekking through northern Braunglayde. It so happened that the alliance’s grasp on southern Valhalla was fading. Einar’s armies were being pushed closer and closer to his capitol. Valkrill was relentless. His dark legions kept spilling out of the Underdark in a seemingly endless wave.
Meanwhile, Utgar’s legions were keeping the alliance from assisting. They had set up a blockade through the middle of Valhalla, leaving only the haunted forests of Bleakwood untouched. No army, they reasoned, would be fool enough to venture there. Unfortunately, they were right.
As Valkrill drew ever closer to defeating Einar, the urgency of the situation increased. Utgar’s blockade seemed unbreakable. If Einar fell, the entire south of Valhalla would be lost, and Valkrill’s forces would be liberated to surge north and crush the rest of the alliance. Something had to be done.
Unfortunately, that was not the worst of it. Certain drow, displeased with the way Valkrill had usurped their dark king, had brought valuable information to Jandar. It seemed that Valkrill was now in possession of a dark artifact, one which would unleash a terrible plague, ending the war swiftly. Whether Valkrill’s own forces would be unaffected wasn’t clear. It would be consistent with Valkrill’s chaotic ways that he would simply kill everyone.
The drow had indicated that Valkrill meant to unleash the plague at the Broken Field, a desolate stretch of grass and rock near Einar’s capitol. Unfortunately, Einar, cut off from the rest of the alliance and unaware of what was going on, had decided to make his final stand at that very place. The remnants of his armies were even now massing opposite Utgar’s orcs.
We had to both warn Einar and stop Valkrill. If either attempt failed, the alliance’s grip on the south of Valhalla would be lost forever.
“Why do you hate Valhalla so?” Raelin asked me, brushing branches out of the way as we walked.
“I don’t hate it,” I objected.
“But you don’t want to be here.”
“Of course I don’t want to be here. Wouldn’t you rather be where you grew up?”
Raelin was silent for a moment. Finally, she said, “Have I ever mentioned Drake to you?”
“No, unless you count the hundred or so times before this.”
She smiled in the soft blue light from her spear. “There is one thing he wants above all else. Can you imagine what it is?”
I looked at her significantly.
She smiled again. “No. The thing he wants most is to go back, back to Earth. He wants to save his men. He believes if Jandar sends him back, he can save them all. But do you know what he wants after he has saved them?”
I looked at her.
“He wants to come back, back here, to Valhalla, to me. Can you imagine why that is?”
We looked at each other for a space. “I know what you’re trying to do, Raelin,” I said.
“But it’s true,” she said. “Don’t you see? Drake has a family. That family is his men, the men he served with. His loyalty is to them above all else. That is why he fights, so that he may go back and save them. But once he has done that, don’t you see what has changed? He wants to come back, back Moriko. Why? Because there are people on Valhalla too, people that need him, love him, look up to him. He has two families.”
I looked ahead.
“Valhalla is worth fighting for,” Raelin said quietly. “Your life isn’t the only one that has been affected by this war.”
She moved on, leaving me feeling guilty. She made it sound like I was only concerned about myself, what I wanted, not caring about the war or the deaths that it caused. Not caring about Valhalla, her home. Not caring about anyone but myself. But she was wrong. I wasn’t that selfish. At least I hoped I wasn’t.
But her words stayed with me as we continued walking. Valhalla is worth fighting for.
“Did you mean what you said, Moriko? Earlier?”
I looked up. Atlaga was watching me intently. “About what?” I said.
“Earlier,” he repeated, “when you said there was no return to your life. Do you really believe that? Ullar has promised to send you back.”
I bent back over my sword and continued polishing it, though its edge already gleamed as bright as the moon overhead. “I don’t really think now is the time, Atlaga.”
“I do. We’ll reach the Broken Field by tomorrow morning. If you think Ullar plans to go back on his word, what is there keeping you on his side?”
I had heard of bubbles of anger bursting inside people. What I felt was nothing like that. I felt the senseless stabbing of disbelief, the feeling one gets by being betrayed. I knew the feeling well. I leapt up.
“You think I would turn on Ullar, Atlaga?” I said, forgetting to keep my voice down as my companions slept. “You think I would betray you?”
I could tell he was trying to speak, but I didn’t want to hear him. “I know what it’s like to be betrayed. I know what it’s like to be lost, with no certainty of who your enemies or friends are. I know what it’s like to live your life constantly expecting an attack from behind.
“When I was seventeen, my master presented me with a final test, one which would complete my training. The test was to kill him. I refused. He attacked me.
“Every moment that I’ve lived since that time has been filled with doubt. I trusted my master, and he turned on me. What’s to say Ullar won’t do the same? Or even you for that matter? I can trust no one. No one, Atlaga. And you think I would turn on them? I can betray no one because I can trust no one.”
“It’s not a question of trust,” said Atlaga hurriedly. “I trust you with my life and more.”
I sank back to the ground. He pressed on.
“It’s a question of motives. If a different general offered you more than Ullar could, can you honestly say you would not side with him?”
I examined my reflection in my sword without seeing it. He had a point. I hated to admit it, but I knew what the answer would be all too well. I couldn’t tell him that, however. Especially not on the eve of battle.
“I might not trust any of my allies,” I said quietly, “but I would never turn on them.”
Atlaga scrutinized me for a moment, but decided to leave the conversation at that. As he crouched back down beside the fire, however, I saw Kaemon watching me from where he lay in the shadows. He had heard every word.
All in all, a better group could have been chosen. By the time we reached the Broken Field, Utgar’s five thousand orcs milling a hundred yards from us, no one seemed ready to let me walk behind them. They needn’t have feared. I had meant what I said. I knew what betrayal felt like, and I was not about to spread that feeling to others.
“Our priority is to warn Einar before the battle commences,” said Kaemon, scanning the battlefield from behind a bush. Close though we were to the orcs, they were not the most observant of creatures.
“He’s already forming ranks,” noted Atlaga, watching Einar’s army. “He’s going to attack any minute.”
Kaemon slipped back down behind a rock and turned to face us. “We have two options. We can’t circle around to Einar’s army via the forest, because that would take too long. There are at least two streams in our way that we would have to cross. So we’ll have to cross the field.
“Our options are either to send Atlaga or Raelin, as they can fly, and hope that the orcs don’t see them until it’s too late. Or we can send Moriko, and trust to her ability to remain hidden.” He didn’t sound too sure about the latter option.
“Raelin would be faster,” I observed. “Zetacron could provide some cover fire that ought to distract the orcs long enough for her to get away.”
Kaemon nodded his agreement. “That might be our best chance. That will leave the three of us,” he motioned to me, himself, and Atlaga, “to search for the entrance to the Underdark. It’s supposed to be somewhere in those rocks.”
It was a good plan. The problem with war is that it is disorganized, and good plans tend to not work out as they are intended.
Einar’s army began to move.
The orcs, seeing this, surged forwards, yelling and bellowing, raising their jagged blades on high as they ran. Most unfortunately, the forest jutted out a ways into the middle of the field, meaning that the orcs were running right at us.
“New plan,” said Kaemon as the five thousand blue-skinned warriors stampeded in our direction. “We make a break for it. Atlaga, Zetacron, you warn Einar. Raelin, we’ll need you in the Underdark. You too, Moriko. Go!”
We all broke cover and sprinted for Einar’s army. Kaemon was recognizable enough at the front, and Zetacron helped to dispel any doubt about who we were. The soldiers parted ranks and let us pass.
Once behind the lines, I, Kaemon, and Raelin broke off and turned right, heading for the jagged rocks that hid the entrance to the Underdark. Atlaga and Zetacron continued on, searching for Einar. Behind us, the armies clashed. And then everything changed.
With a thunderous crash akin to that of a stampeding dragon, the ground between the two armies erupted. Literally. Jagged rocks and pieces of earth were flung outwards, hurtling into both armies. Dense clouds of shadow burst from the ground, spreading outwards rapidly and obscuring everything from view. A massive shadowy form appeared at the center of the blackness, the point from which the explosion had occurred. It was impossible to discern its shape, but I had a sinking feeling I knew what it was.
Everything was confusion. The orcs stalled, looking around wildly as their companions from behind pressed in to see what had happened. Einar’s ranks had either scattered, or had remained still, and now had gaping holes torn in their lines where the earth had plowed into them.
Zetacron and Atlaga were nowhere to be seen. The shadows engulfed us, and I lost sight of Raelin. Kaemon remained in front of me, trying to instill some form of order to those about him. I simply stood still, ready to defend myself against anything and anyone.
The cries of confusion seemed to suddenly fade to silence as a terrible voice, deep and echoing, but at the same time clear and cold, reached my ears. It seemed to come from everywhere at once, but I knew, somehow, that it was the shadowy figure in the center of the darkness that said the words.
“Kaleron is my home. The world was green once, full of life and happiness. But then the plague came, destroying all but those who embraced it. Kaleron is a dead world now. The plague, undying, seethes over its surface in the form of a thick smoke. It infects the minds and bodies of those that resist it. None can escape.
“The plague cannot be transported by any device or container. It must spread on its own. Kaleron is my home now, silent, dead. Soon, the war shall be over, and Valhalla too shall be my home.”
No sooner had these words been spoken then the shadowy figure raised what appeared to be a shapeless lump. A ray of light struck it, illuminating it to be some sort of metallic artifact. And then several things happened at once.
A flat circle, vertical, humming with energy, appeared in the center of the shadows. It stretched and widened until it was as tall as two men. Within it, I could see the charred remains of trees, houses, even bodies. And then I saw the smoke. It billowed over the remains, boiling and frothing silently. A second later, I realized that the circle was a portal, and that I was looking at Kaleron.
The plague, seeming to sense the new world opened to it, began flooding through the portal. The instant it touched the green grass of Valhalla, it shot out in all directions, eagerly consuming anything and everything in its path.
Half of the orcs seemed to grasp what was going on. They immediately began shoving those behind them, trying to get away from the advancing plague, which poured over their struggling forms with the consistency of thick soup. They screeched all the louder as it touched them, and redoubled their efforts.
Most of Einar’s soldiers raised their shields, but the plague simply slithered beneath them. Several ranks broke and ran away from the shadow and smoke, and the rest of the army soon began to follow. Kaemon and I were immediately caught up in a full scale retreat.
“Moriko!” Kaemon shouted. “The artifact! We have to destroy the artifact!”
Of course we had to destroy the artifact. I plunged into the stream of soldiers, battling my way towards the advancing plague. So this is my doom, I thought grimly as I pushed forwards. Fated to die defending what I don’t want. Doomed to be lost in a land and time so far from my own. I didn’t stop, however. The plague would find me anyway unless I stopped it. I had no choice. The only option left was to fight it.
I broke free of the soldiers and found myself face to face with the roiling wall of smoke. I had a split second to cover my mouth and nose with my hood before it engulfed me.
The plague seeped through my clothing like it wasn’t there. It surrounded me, covering me, smothering me in darkness. I could feel it on my skin, and though I shrank away, it did not burn. It was simply there; a little cool, a little moist, but nothing to be afraid of. That is, until I breathed it in and it reached my mind.
I fell to my knees as images passed before me. They were not images like dreams. They were real, all about me, threatening me. The few people that I still trusted turned on me. My home burned, consumed with plague, unwilling to have me return to it. I was lost without knowledge, without understanding. Everyone and everything I met was a possible enemy, but I never knew, for they all looked the same. Fear was all about me. Fear of betrayal.
“Get to the artifact!”
Kaemon’s voice jerked me from the hallucinations, though they persisted in the back of my mind. He charged past me, seemingly oblivious to the plague that circled about him. I saw him plunge into the shadows, grapple for a moment with the dark figure within, which I knew by now must be Valkrill, and then bring his sword down in a mighty blow.
A sound like twenty gongs being struck filled the air. I clapped my hands to my ears. Kaemon had struck the artifact. The portal to Kaleron shivered, shook, and then shattered into twenty smaller portals, which all exploded outwards. The plague stopped coming.
One of the small portals flew directly at me, its surface blank and white. I had no time to react. It passed straight through me, and I could somehow feel its essence going through my mind, searching for a time and a place, something to provide passage to…
All sound seemed to halt. I no longer cared that the plague still frothed about me. It no longer mattered that Valkrill was mere feet from me, likely dueling Kaemon at this very moment. It seems harsh to say such things, but what was before me blocked everything else out easily.
The portal had quivered to a halt, shimmering. In its center, I could make out blossoming trees, a lovely garden, and a small house. It was the figure directly in front of me, however, that drew my gaze.
It was my mother. I was looking at my home.
She stared directly at me, startled. She seemed older than I remembered her, and I realized that some time must have passed since I had disappeared from Earth. Perhaps many years.
“Moriko?” she whispered, stretching her hand out to me.
I thought how odd I must look, suspended in the air before her, seen through a portal as if through a window. I thought this in a detached sort of way, for the full realization of what I was seeing was still struggling to break through my mind. I could go home. Right here. Right now. I could leave Valhalla forever.
“Mother?” I whispered. I stretched out my hand to hers. My arm went through the portal easily, and our hands met. That one simple touch confirmed everything. This was no illusion. This was real. I could step through this portal right now. There was nothing stopping me.
Sound slowly returned to me. Orcs and Romans shoved me, buffeted me, all trying to escape the plague that consumed them. I could hear a terrible hissing, a roar of pain, the clash of arms. Kaemon was fighting Valkrill. He needed my help. But I couldn’t leave my mother.
“Moriko,” she whispered, her eyes showing only confusion, “where are you? Come home.” Home. Two sides of my mind clashed. One part of me desperately wanted to fling myself through that portal, into my mother’s arms, away from Valhalla, away from the war, away from all the pain. The other part of me, the part closest to Atlaga and all those who had been kind to me, urged me to help Kaemon, to help Valhalla, to end the plague. I suddenly realized that I couldn’t leave them either. I had two families, just like Drake. Raelin had been right.
I had two homes. One was threatened with destruction, one was not.
“Moriko, come home.” My mother’s voice was like music to my ears, soothing me. I so longed to obey its every command. But I couldn’t. Not yet. I withdrew my hand.
With a thud of sword on flesh, Kaemon was flung into the air, away from Valkrill. I leapt up from the portal, through which my mother still beseeched me to come home. Kaemon fell to the ground and was instantly hidden by the plague. Valkrill picked the artifact back up. I knew what was about to happen a moment before it did.
I looked back at my mother, trying to convey all my love for her into one single glance. Behind me, Valkrill lifted the artifact above his head. The portal shivered once, and then flew back to rejoin the other portals. They merged and reformed the portal to Kaleron. The plague surged forwards and spilled from the opening, seething and boiling over the ground of Valhalla. The plague was back.
I dived forwards, drawing both my swords as I did. My mind was still unfocused from seeing my mother, and even more from what I had chosen. I didn’t have any plan, didn’t know what I was going to do. I knew only that I had to get to the artifact and somehow destroy it. Perhaps that was why I was surprised when Valkrill’s sword swung into my stomach.
I thudded to the ground, pain now blurring my senses. The plague flowed into my wound, which thankfully had been a glancing blow and was shallow. The dark smoke made the pain ten times worse, and I doubled up, unable to do anything. I was only dimly aware of Kaemon rushing past me, recovered, ready to strike at Valkrill again. He didn’t last long.
I couldn’t think. Only one thought seemed to remain in my mind, echoing loudly in my skull: Valhalla is worth fighting for.
Summoning all my strength, which was fading fast, I staggered to my feet. The plague swirled about me, threatening to drag me back down. I wavered. My head felt dizzy. The ground seemed to shake beneath me. I took a tentative step forward, and nearly fell. I righted myself just in time, which was fortunate, as I was sure that if I fell, I wouldn’t be able to get up a second time.
I could feel the plague in my veins now, weakening me, clouding my mind, slowly forcing me to submit to it. I tried to shake it off, but it was like trying to get rid of a heavy weight. It only pressed down further. I took another staggering step forwards.
Maniacal laughter reached me. Looking up I saw that it was coming from Valkrill. He was in his element. Chaos and destruction were all about him, and he, immune to the plague, was reveling in it. A second later my sluggish mind caught up with my senses and I realized that I was barely two feet away from him. He, drunk with what his artifact had caused, had not yet noticed me.
The ground tilted beneath me. My mind lurched as the plague got a firmer grip on it. The world flattened, then bloated. I wouldn’t last much longer, I knew it. I shakily raised my swords, their tips wavering before me.
I couldn’t do it. The plague consumed me. I fell.
Fortunately part of my mind directed my fall, and I fell forwards. I felt my swords sink, to the hilt, in Valkrill’s heart.
A scream of agony pierced my rapidly darkening mind. I fell to the ground, nearly senseless. Valkrill, thrashing about in pain, unable to see what had happened, kicked me. My body rolled helplessly, inevitably, towards the portal to Kaleron. I was going in, I knew it. Without Valkrill, the artifact would likely cease to function, and the portal would close, but I could then very well be lost forever in the plague-ridden world.
I closed my eyes. I had made my choice. I will miss you, mother.
As I found out days later, I would have rolled into Kaleron and be there even now, the plague frothing within my remains. I would never have had a chance of seeing my home or my mother again.
As it turned out, Kaemon had stopped me. His own mind nearly consumed by the plague, he had stumbled in my direction and stood in my way. I had very nearly pushed him into Kaleron instead. But I had not, and he had loosed an arrow, finishing Valkrill. The artifact had fallen to the ground and the portal had closed. What plague had already entered Valhalla was being dealt with by elves by the time I woke. In fact, it was thanks to their magic that I woke at all.
Ullar was there a day later. He looked half delighted to see that I was awake, half afraid of me. It was an expression I didn’t like.
“Moriko,” he said in a solemn voice, “you and your companions have doubtless saved Valhalla. Even Utgar recognizes that had you not stopped Valkrill, none of us would be here today.”
He paused, looking down. I recognized the expression of one steeling himself to continue. “Atlaga has informed me of what passed between you and him in the forests of Braunglayde. I am sorry that you ever doubted my word. I am sorry too of the pain I have caused you by summoning you here. I feel the guilt of many wrongs, and do not have the power to right them all. But I can right some of them.
“For your service, I can send you home. For what you have done, I will send you back to your family.”
I looked at him for a long time. Kaemon appeared in my doorway, limping slightly but otherwise cured from his duel with Valkrill. How he had survived at all I knew not. And yet he had still saved me. He was more than an ally. He was a friend, someone I could trust. I had never been able to trust anyone on Valhalla before. It was a feeling I hadn’t known how much I missed until that moment.
I turned back to Ullar. “I have two homes,” I said, “two families. As long as Valhalla is threatened, I will gladly continue to defend it.”
Note: Do not read this until you have read the above.
Spoiler Alert!
In this entry I tried out some advice I got from a book on writing. The advice was 'show, don't tell,' but the book went further. Instead of narrating what's going on, show it happening. Instead of telling your reader how someone felt, show the results of that feeling, and have the reader form the conclusion himself. Instead of bogging down the reader with lots of description, focus on trying to get him to picture it. (How often have you formed a mental picture of someone, only to have the author later release a detail that clashes with that picture?)
I tried to do a lot of that with this entry. I obviously told what was going on in places, this was just a first attempt at that style. Bro-man, did you find anything hard to understand or lacking in detail?
(Another example was a description of a computer geek. The description was one word: 'Greasy.' The editor complained that it wasn't enough, that he thought of the geek as being in his late twenties, perhaps holding a bag of chips.
Mission accomplished.)
If you can visualize the person, that is all the description that was needed.
Nuthin' to see here, man... nuthin' at all..... Especially for Bro-Man...
Spoiler Alert!
Good story TGRF! That first paragraph really was confusing (by the end I wasn't sure who I was anymore). I thought it had a nice choice of main characters.
On that note, one should probably consider reading up on each main hero's official Character Bio (found in their respective book) before reading each entry. Might clear some stuff up there.
My only gripe is Moriko didn't struggle with her true inner dilemma--that she's considered an inferior Melee-Q9. Q9 is her nemesis, but I guess her fighting him and possibly winning would be too unrealistic, so I suppose it's a good thing he didn't make an appearance...
P.S. Those vipers must be a real problem for any outdoor activities at Ullar's Capitol. Splat
TAF was the Storyteller...
in THE ENEMY'S LAST RETREAT
Good story TGRF! That first paragraph really was confusing (by the end I wasn't sure who I was anymore). I thought it had a nice choice of main characters.
On that note, one should probably consider reading up on each main hero's official Character Bio (found in their respective book) before reading each entry. Might clear some stuff up there.
My only gripe is Moriko didn't struggle with her true inner dilemma--that she's considered an inferior Melee-Q9. Q9 is her nemesis, but I guess her fighting him and possibly winning would be too unrealistic, so I suppose it's a good thing he didn't make an appearance...
P.S. Those vipers must be a real problem for any outdoor activities at Ullar's Capitol. Splat
@TheAverageFan
Here's the thing. I don't care that Moriko is an inferior Q9. Think of it this way: I made a character. She just happened to fit into the appearance and status of a green clad ninja by the name of Moriko. Q9 has nothing whatsoever to do with her. I don't want my story to be dictated by HeroScape. If parts of HS naturally fit, then great. I'll include them. If not... it's my fan fiction.
Also, I would NOT want you to read Moriko's character bio before reading my entry. Doing so would tell you why she distrusts everyone and so release all of the tension in the beginning that is keeping you reading.
On that note, perhaps you could put your post in spoilers? I don't want anyone to spoil the story by reading the bios, especially Bro-man.
Good story TGRF! That first paragraph really was confusing (by the end I wasn't sure who I was anymore). I thought it had a nice choice of main characters.
On that note, one should probably consider reading up on each main hero's official Character Bio (found in their respective book) before reading each entry. Might clear some stuff up there.
My only gripe is Moriko didn't struggle with her true inner dilemma--that she's considered an inferior Melee-Q9. Q9 is her nemesis, but I guess her fighting him and possibly winning would be too unrealistic, so I suppose it's a good thing he didn't make an appearance...
P.S. Those vipers must be a real problem for any outdoor activities at Ullar's Capitol. Splat
@TheAverageFan
Here's the thing. I don't care that Moriko is an inferior Q9. Think of it this way: I made a character. She just happened to fit into the appearance and status of a green clad ninja by the name of Moriko. Q9 has nothing whatsoever to do with her. I don't want my story to be dictated by HeroScape. If parts of HS naturally fit, then great. I'll include them. If not... it's my fan fiction.
Also, I would NOT want you to read Moriko's character bio before reading my entry. Doing so would tell you why she distrusts everyone and so release all of the tension in the beginning that is keeping you reading.
On that note, perhaps you could put your post in spoilers? I don't want anyone to spoil the story by reading the bios, especially Bro-man.
~TGRF.
Sor--it was merely jest. Besides, I had already read Moriko's bio before reading this, so I already knew about all that biz. Sorry for not putting my post in spoilers (just didn't want to confuse with entries)... So there you have it.
TAF was the Storyteller...
in THE ENEMY'S LAST RETREAT
Good story TGRF! That first paragraph really was confusing (by the end I wasn't sure who I was anymore). I thought it had a nice choice of main characters.
On that note, one should probably consider reading up on each main hero's official Character Bio (found in their respective book) before reading each entry. Might clear some stuff up there.
My only gripe is Moriko didn't struggle with her true inner dilemma--that she's considered an inferior Melee-Q9. Q9 is her nemesis, but I guess her fighting him and possibly winning would be too unrealistic, so I suppose it's a good thing he didn't make an appearance...
P.S. Those vipers must be a real problem for any outdoor activities at Ullar's Capitol. Splat
@TheAverageFan Here's the thing. I don't care that Moriko is an inferior Q9. Think of it this way: I made a character. She just happened to fit into the appearance and status of a green clad ninja by the name of Moriko. Q9 has nothing whatsoever to do with her. I don't want my story to be dictated by HeroScape. If parts of HS naturally fit, then great. I'll include them. If not... it's my fan fiction.
Also, I would NOT want you to read Moriko's character bio before reading my entry. Doing so would tell you why she distrusts everyone and so release all of the tension in the beginning that is keeping you reading.
On that note, perhaps you could put your post in spoilers? I don't want anyone to spoil the story by reading the bios, especially Bro-man.
~TGRF.
Sor--it was merely jest. Besides, I had already read Moriko's bio before reading this, so I already knew about all that biz. Sorry for not putting my post in spoilers (just didn't want to confuse with entries)... So there you have it.
No worries, most writers wouldn't mind. I'm just strange that way.
~TGRF.
@Bro-man
So... I propose we go ahead with the judging. I could be wrong, but I don't believe anyone else has said they have anything in progress. If anyone is interested in entering, feel free to call me on this. But if there are no entries coming, we should probably go ahead with the two we have.
~TGRF.
@Bro-man So... I propose we go ahead with the judging. I could be wrong, but I don't believe anyone else has said they have anything in progress. If anyone is interested in entering, feel free to call me on this. But if there are no entries coming, we should probably go ahead with the two we have.
~TGRF.
Hmm, you do have a point. I will begin judging tomorrow, late at night and reveal the winner then. However, if there is anyone else that wants to join in on the action then feel free to drop in, otherwise this challenge will end and a winner issused.
August 22nd, 2014, 12:46 AM
Fear not, I believe our entries shall be sufficiently different. 
TAF was the Storyteller... 
Similar Threads
Bro-man is a Minion of Utgar...
Linear Mode
