Fan Fic Contest - Are you the best writer?

[Son of Arathorn]

Must our protagonist be entirely alone in his/her/it's fight? A little assistance here and there cannot hurt, surely. Then again, it is your prompt...

[dragonfire9788]

Originally Posted by Son of Arathorn

Must our protagonist be entirely alone in his/her/it's fight? A little assistance here and there cannot hurt, surely. Then again, it is your prompt...

Asking permission to break the rules?

Pshht.

[Son of Arathorn]

Originally Posted by dragonfire9788

Asking permission to break the rules?

Pshht.

You're right, I just shoulda gone ahead and done it.

[TGRF]

Originally Posted by Son of Arathorn

You're right, I just shoulda gone ahead and done it.

I don't know, I like the 'one against a thousand' feel. You could maybe make it super epic or something, and then, just as the hero is about to go down under the weight of numbers, help arrives.
True, ti is my prompt, but it is your story. If you feel multiple heroes would work better, go for it, but keep them in single digits at least!

[Son of Arathorn]

Originally Posted by The Grim Reaper's Friend

You could maybe make it super epic or something

TGRF, how long have you been reading my work for?

[TGRF]

Originally Posted by Son of Arathorn

TGRF, how long have you been reading my work for?

I haven't read untitled in awhile. You really should name that thing, btw. I can't very well call it untitled when it gets indexed, now can I?

[AMIS]

How's this

Spoiler Alert!

So little time to prepare, so little time, he thought spreading sand over the last of the newly filled small trench.
He could hear the Gruts echo’s as they grew speed through the pass. It had been a trap from the beginning.
They had been forced into the valley and blocked from going up the other side by a huge force of Gruts. Turning around a similarly large force moved at them from behind. They had fought valiantly through the valley, giving up trying to gain height but using their speed to escape up the length of the valley and out between two cliffs. Just as he’d volunteered to slow the combined armies behind them a new battle emerged as a smaller army attacked them from the cover of a forest just over the stream that entered the valley. This small army would normally not be an issue but it was designed to slow them down for the main force to catch up. Always they were a step ahead. Now their survival hinged on him.
If he couldn’t slow them the main force join in the ambush and all would be lost. He needed more time but he’d just run out. The mines were placed to bring the walls of the valley down, “with a little luck” he thought to himself.
The first blue skinned warrior came rushing out of the valley and missed the mine completely. Pulling out his 38 caliber revolver he fired and watched another two emerge from behind their falling companion. Squeezing the trigger this time produced a hollow click. Turning, running and holstering his gun he knew he had to get as far as he could before the explosion would happen. If the explosion happened, he allowed himself to consider momentarily, before pulling out his truncheon. How many would get through before…
The concussion knocked him flat to the ground before the noise even registered. Smoke, sand, pebbles and rocks battered him for a few moments before he could rise. Knowing it was coming gave him a slight advantage but how many had gotten through first and how much time had he won?
The cloud of dust swirled as he gained his feet and charged the first down Grut, smashing it’s skull as it lay dazed and grabbing its sword. The sword he stuck in the creatures back and it cried out in pain as he searched for another target in the dust cloud. Barely able to see he still quickly managed to find the next target, but it looked as if shrapnel had helped here. To be safe he jumped onto it’s hand as he searched the cloud of sand for another enemy.
One Grut was helping another gain its footing when he ploughed into its back sending it over its unbalanced partner. Then he arched his truncheon up into the unbalanced creatures jaw, driving its lower teeth through its tongue before two handing the nightstick on its temple driving it to the side.
That left one on the ground cutlass in hand. It slashed wildly at him but he stepped out of reach until the blade had passed then quickly moved in punching. His fist, clutching the truncheon, felt the satisfying crackle as the Gruts nose collapsed in blood. He moved back again but the Grut managed to catch his upper thigh with its backswing. Ignoring the gash he stepped back in sinking the truncheon into the Gruts skull. It collapse where it stood but knelt beside it and hit it again to be sure.
The cloud of dust started to clear and he looked for more opponents but there was little movement.
Finally he saw his last target. An unconscious small dinosaur trapped the next victim’s leg underneath its body. The Grut was breathing hard and scrambling hard to move but his trapped leg kept him in place. It saw the black uniformed man walking up to it and cursed at him as the man slowly loaded his revolver, pointed at it, smiled and shot.
For the time being Valkrill had beaten Utgar.

[TGRF]

Ah, submissions! I am pressed for time at the moment, but I will read that later this evening. In the meantime, get the competition in! We judge Sunday!
EDIT: Well, I judge Sunday anyway.

[Son of Arathorn]

Originally Posted by The Grim Reaper's Friend

Ah, submissions! I am pressed for time at the moment, but I will read that later this evening. In the meantime, get the competition in! We judge Sunday!
EDIT: Well, I judge Sunday anyway.

Oh, ha ha. Thinly veiled jibe. Ha.

[Tornado]

Hopefully late Sunday. I have work and C3G tomorrow. This one is tough as I have four different characters I am debating using. Must choose one.

[TGRF]

Originally Posted by Tornado

Hopefully late Sunday. I have work and C3G tomorrow. This one is tough as I have four different characters I am debating using. Must choose one.

Four is stretching it, but it'd be fine with me if you used them all. Just make it super-epic-last-standish.

[Elven Lord]

“We’ll never get through!” cried Gorem of Elispen. His face was covered in blood from the previous battle, and he caressed a broken arm, “we’ll never get all the men through the pass!”
“Be not so faint ‘arted Gorem. We live an’ we die.” A large Scott replied. He carried his battle axe over his shoulder with one hand, and helped his friend along with the other.
“I knew this wasn’t a good idea Finn. I knew we couldn’t trust those two mages.”
“Shhh lad, they’ll hear ye. Twasn’t their fault we landed this mess. Coulda easily been worse. We could be dead instead of runin’. Thar wasn’t any way them mages coulda known about them pitfalls thes mangy mercenaries laid.”
“Things can’t get any worse can they?” Gorem asked forlornly.
Finn clapped an enormous hand to Gorem’s mouth, “Net in public ye git. Ye know them words is bad luck.”
“Don’t call me a git, Finn. We may be childhood friends, but I am still your lord.”
Finn began to apologize, but, just then the cliffs around them were swarming with men carrying bows. Foot soldiers rose from where they were hiding amongst the rocks. They did this with help from their attendants because of copious amounts of cumbersome armor. A hundred swords were drawn from a hundred scabbards, and the routed army rose in desperation to do them battle.
“We’re gonna die!”
“Nay lad! Them mages will clear this up in no time.”
Indeed the mages had begun chanting, and some of their attackers were collapsing holding their heads in agony. Then the pursuing force appeared at the other end of the pass less than a mile away. The soldiers of Hanweir advanced relentlessly while keeping a constant pace. Their soul intention was to destroy the last traces of Elispen, the last thing that kept the rival state’s blood-line alive, Gorem, the only living prince of Elispen.
To Finn’s horror the mages disappeared in a thunderclap, thus abandoning the small band to their fate. The enemy drew ever closer, and the other soldiers were preoccupied dealing with the more present threat.
Abruptly Finn shoved Gorem deep into a small cave created by the roots of a large tree. He turned, and knelt on the hard obsidian. He laid his axe down before him, and lifted his hands to the clear night sky.
“Laird, the heavens reflect thine glory, but th’ earth below has not te show fer it on this acurs’d night.” He prayed out loud, “Th’ last of an old an’ faithful line is ‘bout te be destroy’d by evil men. I know th’t ye remain obscure, thet in the nat’ral ord’r ye can better f’rgive us our ev’l doin’s, but now is a tem to grant thy vassal the strength to turn beck the tide of hatred.”
He let his hands fall slowly to his sides before grasping his axe and standing up. He waited patiently for the soldiers to come. Their commander halted the soldiers a short distance away. He looked gravely at the stout armorless man firmly planted between his army and his victims.
“What a pity it will truly be to put a sword through such a stout heart.”
Finn greeted the arrogant words with silence.
“Tell you what. Lay down your axe and grovel, and I shall spare you.”
Finn’s eyes looked directly into those of the Hanweir commander, and the commander became perturbed and restless.
“Ye would kill my Laird?”
“Aye an’ I would make ye the vassal of Hanweir, for is not Gideon a greater Laird?” The commander returned mockingly imitating Finn’s accent.
“Over my dead body,” was all that Finn said in reply.
“Wish granted,” replied the commander. He turned to his soldiers, “Kill him.”

The soldiers of Hanweir surged forward, covering the ground between them and their quarry with the speed of wraiths. Finn shifted his axe. He swung; his darksteel blade connected with the light armor of the first of the Hanweir vanguard to reach him. The man armor crumpled before the blow, and his screams followed his blood into the cold night air. The second man fell on the backswing; he crumpled soundlessly to the obsidian below. Finn swung his axe in an uppercut slicing the third man from the thigh to the collar bone. The fallen soldier was flung bodily into the air, coming down with a crash on his companions. Soon Finn was fighting multiple opponents at once, but always their heads rolled, and their decapitated bodies watered the ground with blood. Soon the entire vanguard lay slain upon the Earth, and the stars watched with constant, calm interest.
Finn stood streaked with blood that was not his own. His heart pounded in his ears, and his long brown hair, darkened with sweat fell over his eyes. He pushed it back, and wiped his eyes. The commander stood in wonder across from him, carefully out of reach.
“Who are you?” The commander demanded.
“I am Finnegan of Scotland, better known as Finn the Cleaver, and who are you, infidel?”
“I am Gideon of Hanweir, Lord of the Seven Provinces.”
Finn looked at him, but his eyes were steely, and did not reveal his astonishment.
“Why have you come disguised as a mere commander?”
“I have a great many enemies, and assassins would not be sent into an army after a commander.”
“Or it could be because you wanted to kill Gorem yourself?”
“Exactly. You’re clever. Here is your last chance; join me.”
Finn glanced around at the corpses of the vanguard. Crows had already descended, and were busy feasting on the carcasses in the brief lull. Finn turned back to Gideon, “…or what?”
“You will fight me.”
“…and you will fall.”
“What have you Finnegan, against a superior being, and elder warrior?”
“My Laird.”
“What, Gorem?” Gideon bellowed with laughter, “Enough talk!”
Gideon launched himself abruptly at Finn, his sword flashing from its scabbard. Finn sidestepped, and Gideon went careening past. Gideon stopped himself with amazing control, and quickly turned to face Finn.
“Amazingly good tactic, my elder cathar, but I’ve seen it before.” Finn smirked.
Gideon gave a roar and charged again this time anticipating a sidestep, and preparing for it. He wasn’t prepared for Finn to stand his ground.
“Think fast!” Finn announced loudly.
A thought flashed across Gideon’s mind, but he never got a chance to act on it for he was already upon his foe. Finn knocked the sword aside, and met Gideon’s charge with his head. Gideon went flying backwards, landing heavily against a stone. He got up slowly.
“I had thought, that you would not be so stout hearted, but seeing as you destroyed my entire vanguard, and can merely toy with me I see this is not the case. I have been proud. I am sorry.”
Finn was disarmed for a moment, but then his enemy was upon him. Gideon’s sword tore through the flesh of his right arm. Finn barely had time to register his injury, before Gideon’s cruel blade flashed through his thigh. Finn roared in pain. He brought up his axe in a parry, but this was not the purpose of his weapon, and he received a jarring jolt through the length of his arm. He switched the axe to his other hand, and swung mightily at his foe, but Gideon dodged backwards. Finn pressed his advantage, time and again throwing his foe off balance. Suddenly, Finn slipped on the wet rocks, and fell tumbling down several boulders before crashing upon the ground. He got up using his axe to help. He heard a cry from above, and looked up. Gideon had launched himself after Finn, and his sword was held high above his head with the point down. Finn had not the strength to move, but there was one thing he could do. He rotated his double bladed axe over his chest. Gideon’s, sword glanced off the slanted edge, and buried itself in Finn’s gut. The following reflexive reaction caused the axe to move perpendicular to Finn’s chest. Gideon, thrown off balance by his sword, fell upon the bared end of the axe. The axe was shoved into Finn’s chest, and Gideon’s head was cleaved from his shoulders.
Finn’s vision blurred, and his hearing dulled. The last thing he saw was the stars in their eternal, silent watch. The last thing he heard was the cries of his fellows as they fell upon the leaderless army of Hanweir.

The army of Hanweir was destroyed that night. Reinforcements who had previously been delayed, arrived to aid their Elispen comrades. Those who had seen the feats of Finnegan the Cleaver, took heart, and followed his example. They fought the enemy to the glorious end. Finn was honored with a special day of the year. All the people of Elispen drank to his name on this day, and told tales of his endeavors. These tales turned into legends. Though many of them became falsified through repetition, the spirit of Finnegan the Cleaver was always accurately portrayed. It is said that in his last moments he said, “Me Laird saved me Laird. Tha’s one fer the books.”