Valhalla:After the End (11/22/14 Rewriting and Rebooting)

[machinekng]

Hello all. It's been more than a year since I've dared to return to Heroscapers, but here I am, and so I will stay. I'm excited to get back to work writing this story, as I'm proud of what I've written so far and I want to share more with you all.

I would like to note that this is a dark fic. There will be lighthearted moments, but ultimately, I'm not going to hold my punches, and I will be exploring topics that Heroscape fan-fics may not usually cover.

Background
Here is some of the background information for the story. While everything here will ultimately be mentioned or discussed in context, you may want to refer here if you don't understand a particular plot point.

Spoiler Alert!

1. Utgar has died and the story begins 4 A.V.U. (After the Victory over Utgar). Valkrill however, is still at large, and is fighting a guerrilla war in the eastern provinces of Jutengard and Elswin. So are Cyprien and several other Utgar commanders, who are mainly fighting in Elswin and the Upper Bleakewoode. Other commanders have surrender or defected. Sir Hawthorne, for example, defected to Jandar, and the Deathwalkers and Zettians have gone over to Vydar.

2. Vydar, following the ascension of Valkrill, betrayed the alliance, making a new alliance with Utgar. When the balance shifted back towards the Alliance, he betrayed Utgar again. Although the Alliance has refused to acknowledge him as an ally, they tolerate him enough as to not dismember his realm of Anund, as they have done with Utgar's Aunstrom.

3. The marro had seceded from Utgar, and after a brutal civil war, have established an empire that covers the western Ticalla Jungle and the Volcarren. Like Vydar, they have not been recognized as an enemy or an ally, and although there is still a "border dispute" with them and Aquilla's people, the Alliance has made no declaration of war against them.

Here goes nothing.

Contents

Prolouge-En Media Res*
Chapter 1-A Day in the Life*
Chapter 2-Peace Council*
Chapter 3-War Party*
Chapter 4-City Life*
Chapter 5- The Other Side*

(* Indicates undergoing rewrite)

Prolouge-En Media Res

Spoiler Alert!

Drake raced through the blazing streets of Valgrind. He wheezed as he ran, covering his mouth against the choking fumes. His coat was torn, and he sleeves had been charred. His face and hands were cut and singed by embers.

Oh, and his hat was missing too.

It was a good hat.

Above the crackling fires blared the sound of screams and shouting.

“Long Live Jandar!”

“Sic Semper Tyrannis!”

Gunshots rang out, and in the distance, Drake could pick out the wail of women and children.

He dashed on, dodging overturned stands and carts. Darting past fleeing civilians and rebel soldiers.

“Dammit!” he screamed, “I need to find someone who knows what’s going on!” He ducked into an alleyway, barely avoiding another group of rebel soldiers. He gave them a glance as he leaped into the narrow streets.

He recognized one.

Robert Johnson. Ol’ Robby boy. Drake’s vision blurred, and for a moment, he was back in England. They were still training for the invasion, to take back Europe. They were on leave, and he and his men had decided to hit the town. Drake almost smiled, remembering Robby’s drunken challenge to the old Scotsman at the pub. Robby drank himself under after the third mug. He still bragged about it, however. How he had drinking challenge with a Scotsman and lived. The story only became all the more ironic and wonderful when he made the same idiotic challenge to one of the MacDirks. It was about four drinks, that time.

“Come on men!” barked Robert, “We have orders to scour this block, and kill any counter-revolutionary we can find!”

Drake glanced again, noting Robert’s tan trenchcoat.

“Sic Semper Tyrannis!” Robert cried.

He barely recognized him.

Once again, Drake dashed off, running through the alleyway into another thoroughfare. More fires, more screaming citizens, more bodies and more blood. A couple of automobiles littered the avenue, already abandoned by their wealthy owners.

“Finally,” Drake sighed. A squad of Sentinels was heading down the streets, half running and half flapping. Drake rushed up to meet them.

“Lieutenant Sigrid!” he called to the lead, female, Kyrie. “I want a situation report!”

“Sir!” she replied sharply, giving Drake a quick salute, “we’re in a bad shape. The rebels hit us hard. I’ve lost contact with the other officers. We’re outnumbered and outgunned, sir.”

“Where’s the rally point?” Drake shouted, “Where’s Baldur?”

“Captain Baldur, sir, is, dead, sir.” She murmured.

“Damn. What about the rally point? Where are you headed?”

“There is no rally point, there is nothing to defend. The rebels have seized the arsenal and have set fired to the palace. Jandar and the government have fled the city. We've lost the city, Drake. We lost.”

“No.” Drake turned around. He gazed across the burning city. The palace, as Sigrid had proclaimed, was burning. More gunshots and cries of pain rang out, but more importantly, the wailing had increased in volume.

“We have to save everyone we can. We need to evacuate the residential districts.”

“If we don’t…”

The screams and shouts and wails reentered Drake’s mind.

“Sir…” Sigrid hesitated.

“Take your men down the avenue into the Summerfield neighborhood. Get any other loyalists you come across to join you, on my orders. Go to each house, gather up everyone you can, and get people out.”

“Sir, what about you?”

Drake turned back to Sigrid. His eyes were burning, clouded by a mixture of smoke and tears.

“I have to stop this. I have strike this snake at where it hurts.”
“I have to cut off the bastard’s head.”

[The Grim Reaper's Friend]

Ah... a new twist. Never seen a fan fiction like this before, I think you might have something here. Great work, I only saw two or three grammar mistakes. (I have something of a reputation as a grammar fanatic, don't worry.) I look forward to the next chapter. Who would have thought that the war would end from within, and not from Utgar? Or are perhaps the rebels under his control?

Also, if you're just testing this out, probably the absolute best thing you could do is check out the fan fiction competition. It is perfect for new people checking this nook of the forum out. Be sure to read the OP.

~TGRF.

[machinekng]

Originally Posted by The Grim Reaper's Friend

Ah... a new twist. Never seen a fan fiction like this before, I think you might have something here. Great work, I only saw two or three grammar mistakes. (I have something of a reputation as a grammar fanatic, don't worry.) I look forward to the next chapter. Who would have thought that the war would end from within, and not from Utgar? Or are perhaps the rebels under his control?

Also, if you're just testing this out, probably the absolute best thing you could do is check out the fan fiction competition. It is perfect for new people checking this nook of the forum out. Be sure to read the OP.

~TGRF.

Thank you.

Just to clarify a few points (kinda spoilers, but they'll be included in the next couple of chapters):

1. Utgar is dead. Deceased. A 100%, bona fide, medically confirmed corspe. The story begins 4 A.V.U. (After the Victory over Utgar). Valkrill however, is still at large, and is fighting a guerilla war in the eastern provinces of Jutengard and Elswin. So are Cyprien and several other Utgar commanders, who are mainly fighting in Elswin and the Upper Bleakewoode. Other commanders have surrrender or defected. Sir Hawthorne, for example, defected to Jandar, and the Deathwalkers and Zettians have gone over to Vydar.

2. Vydar, following the ascension of Valkrill, betrayed the alliance, making a new alliance with Utgar. When the balance shifted back towards the Alliance, he betrayed Utgar again. Although the Alliance has refused to acknowledge him as an ally, they tolerate him enough as to not dismember his realm of Anund, as they have done with Utgar's Aunstrom.

3. The marro had seceded from Utgar, and after a brutal civil war, have established an empire that covers the western Ticalla Jungle and the Volcarren. Like Vydar, they have not been recognized as an enemy or an ally, and although there is still a "border dispute" with them and Aquilla's people, the Alliance has made no declaration of war against them.

That covers the political backstory. Individual character backstories should be covered throughout the fic.

[The Grim Reaper's Friend]

I see. This promises to be better than I thought. But I believe Utgar was based in the Volcarren, wasn't he...?
~TGRF.

[machinekng]

Originally Posted by The Grim Reaper's Friend

I see. This promises to be better than I thought. But I believe Utgar was based in the Volcarren, wasn't he...?
~TGRF.

I looked through the compendium, and it's non-conclusive. The compedium says that he controled the region, and at least on of his wellsprings was hidden there, but its unclear were his HQ was. Aunstrom makes the most sense to me as its mountainous, and Utgar recruited his minons from the Mountains of Kyriean, which, like his HQ, have no definite location.

[The Grim Reaper's Friend]

Originally Posted by machinekng

I looked through the compendium, and it's non-conclusive. The compedium says that he controled the region, and at least on of his wellsprings was hidden there, but its unclear were his HQ was. Aunstrom makes the most sense to me as its mountainous, and Utgar recruited his minons from the Mountains of Kyriean, which, like his HQ, have no definite location.

Hmm. I need to read the compendium more. Where did I here that? Ah well, someone once told me in a comment on my first fan fiction, it's your fiction, the background can be whatever you want it to be. Quite true. At any event, eagerly awaiting chapter two!
~TGRF.

[machinekng]

OOC: Just to be clear, the events in the prolouge happen later in the story, hence the heading "en media res."

Chapter 1-A Day in the Life

Spoiler Alert!

The alarm clock’s bell began its demonic ringing, leveling its assault from the nightstand. The sleeper groaned, giving the alarm clock a careless slap that knocked to the floor, yet its relentless barrage persisted. After of a few seconds of the rattling, the sleeper groaned again, and Drake Alexander opened his eyes. Wiping away the sleep in his eyes, Drake sat up on his bed. He could not tell the time with his villianous alarm clock on the floor and barred from view, but it was still dark. Well, there was still a full day left before him. His mother was probably in the kitchen, cooking up breakfast for him and his dad. Bacon and eggs, hopefully. He’d have chores to do. The combine still needed fixing, and there were probably other jobs for the father and son to work on. Times were tough, and they needed everything they could muster. Drake sighed, but as he arose, he noticed that something wasn’t right. His grandmother made him his quilt, before she died, and he had always used it, but it wasn’t here. Sentimental, perhaps, but still…

The alarm clock’s rattle wound to a close, its hands forming a fiendish smile. Its foul work was complete.

“Oh.”

He remembered.

He went to war, died, and went to war again.

The realization brought up pangs of sorrow, of failure. Glimpses of his men dying before his eyes, cut down in swathes of bullets and burned in fire. Shadows of shrieking, screaming hordes, howling in madness and lust and hunger, swarming around him, biting him, clawing him, slicing him open in a passionate frenzy of hatred and death.

“No,” he panted. Beads of sweat had welled up on his brow. He wiped them away, breathing slowly and deeply. The past was done. Its phantoms could not touch him. He was at peace. Drake sighed, having regained his composure. Today was a new day.

Drake arose, setting the clock back on the nightstand so it could wreak its horrors another day. Heading over to the closet and dresser, he quickly got himself dressed. His outfit conformed to the current city fashion: a navy blue longcoat, khaki slacks, and, he thought with a smile, a tricorn hat. Many of the men he had served with in the old days astutely recognized the ridiculousness of the headwear, and thus abstained from it religiously. Most people, however, thought they were trendy.

Well, despite the men’s opinions, it was good to look like the everyman. It showed people that you were in touch with society, and if you were in a position of power, it helped them trust you. There were few things more reassuring than seeing someone you looked up to walking the streets like the average citizen. Clothes make the man, or so Twain said.

Drake smiled again, and grabbing his epaulets and badge, he sauntered out his bedroom , down the stairs and weaved through the halls to the front door. He opened it, stepping into the fresh Valgrind air. It was still dark, but a light peaked out from the horizon: the sun was beginning to rise.

[The Grim Reaper's Friend]

Ah, excellent! Sentence number one: Great writer alert. Speaking of the demonic alarm clock... did you just use the same adjective or is the alarm clock actually possessed? Rather confused there. If it isn't possessed, I might suggest differing adjectives, instead of repeating the same one. It can give a sense of repetitiveness to your writing.
The only other thing that jumped out at me were minor word mix ups. A few small words (of, the) were occasionally left out of a sentence by mistake. The first sentence of the second paragraph also says that he weaved his through the halls.
Other than that, a most excellent chapter. Keep them coming!
~TGRF.
P.S. Don't worry about the criticism. I do it to all the fan fiction I read.

[machinekng]

Originally Posted by The Grim Reaper's Friend

Ah, excellent! Sentence number one: Great writer alert. Speaking of the demonic alarm clock... did you just use the same adjective or is the alarm clock actually possessed? Rather confused there. If it isn't possessed, I might suggest differing adjectives, instead of repeating the same one. It can give a sense of repetitiveness to your writing.
The only other thing that jumped out at me were minor word mix ups. A few small words (of, the) were occasionally left out of a sentence by mistake. The first sentence of the second paragraph also says that he weaved his through the halls.
Other than that, a most excellent chapter. Keep them coming!
~TGRF.
P.S. Don't worry about the criticism. I do it to all the fan fiction I read.

No the alarm clock isn't actually possesed, just personification. I didn't see where I repeated the adjective, but I revised the chapter a bit.

Thanks for your critique. I really need to proofread more often.

Chapter 2-Peace Council

Spoiler Alert!

Jandar hustled through the halls of Aun-Ban’gtar. In the old days, while Utgar still sat on the castle’s throne, the walls would have been draped in black and red tapestries, torches flickering from their holders, with an occasional victim hung here and there. Nowadays, mediocre landscapes and portraits dotted the walls, and light came from oil lamps hanging from the ceiling. The redecoration subcommittee even laid down a rug concealing the cold stone floor. It was official:

Bureaucrats have no sense of taste.

Or any other sensibilities, for that matter. Jandar’s staff was barraging him with parchment after parchment, scroll after scroll. They were good men and women, just doing their jobs, and he probably needed to review the documents the council was to discuss and vote on. But did it have to be now? He was late already. He had slept poorly, and it took longer than usual to rouse him. The night had dragged on what seemed to be enternity, spent viewing reports, both from Nastraland and the warzone. It was exhausting work, consuming hour after hour as the oil lamp began to grow dim. Yet it needed to be done, and by the time the lamp had burnt out, he felt ready to die.

But no. He had duties, responsibilities, obligations of every sort. At least the conference would be over soon. Then he could return home to peace and quiet before having to repeat the ordeal in another three months. To get back to the palace, to walk its grounds, enjoying every inch of its gardens. To return to his people, to be with those who he watched over. To get back to the colleagues he left behind, and to get something done, rather than wasting time with this bureaucratic insanity and diplomatic frustations!

To drink from the Wellspring once more…

He drove such thoughts from his mind, steeling himself for what was to come.

Two aides, a kyrie and a human, rushed ahead, opening the doors for their lord. The Archkyrie Jandar and his troupe of staff marched into the late Utgar’s throne room. It, like the halls, had received massive renovations. Namely, the throne itself was gone, dismembered so that the gold and gems that composed it could be sold to pay off war debts, just like the rest of Utgar’s treasure horde. Where once sat the terrible Utgar, a large, round table rested. Around it sat the reasons that he was here today, each with their own team of diplomats huddled like meerkats.

Ullar, Archkyire of the United Realm of Ekstrom and Ostrivik, and Jandar’s best friend. Ullar had always been a good man. He was quiet in the times that Jandar was shouting in frustration and gentle when Jandar saw force as the only resort. He was always a bit bookish, and delighted in nature in a way that Jandar would never understand. Unfortunately, he had become testy of late. Jandar noticed the scowl on his face. It must be politics, getting to him. It gets to all of us.

Einar, Archkyrie of Lindesfarme, “Emperor” of Crumland, Kinsland and so on and so forth. He sat there smugly, both in his titles and superior time management. Einar had begun to wear on Jandar’s nerves. It was his fault that the council was in such a political quaqmire. Einar consistently proposed to delay or temporarily dismiss proposals, avoiding progress and change like the plague. And most of the time, at least one of the other council members backed him, even Jandar himself occasionally, although he regretted it. He didn’t know if Einar was trying to tire the other Archkyrie to make it easier to pass his pet proposals, to bury issues he didn’t want to bring up in a pile of others, or simply to revel in being an arrogant prick. Whatever the reason, it simply had to stop.

And finally Aquilla, Archkyrie of the Moon Tribe, both beautiful and terrible. Compassionate and harsh. Jandar felt a bit of guilty pleasure in knowing that someone had more frustrations than him. Unlike most of the Archkyrie here, she had actual problems to resolve. Things in the south were getting worse, rather than better, and she needed the council to act. Unfortunately, Einar was a prick.

Not the only prick of course. Another table and set of chairs lay in the center in the room, below the platform that Utgar’s throne had rested on. Around it sat the Utgar’s former fan club: the Archkyrie Vydar and the Marro Ne-Gok-Sa.

Ne-Gok-Ra, rather, or so the abomination claimed. His faction had won the civil war that split the Marro from Utgar’s empire, and was now working on building one of his own, conveniently located in territory rightfully promised to Aquilla.

Therein lying the problem…

It was impossible to dislodge the Marro completely. They had essentially assimilated the environment into their Hives. According to the fact-finding team sent to help resolve the dispute, the Marro had warped the environment into their image. Reports of Ticalla fauna and flora mutated into half-marro monstrosities abounded. Not even the soil was safe from the ravenous swarm. The Marro Hives ran deep underground, their tendrils secreting vile acids that dissolved the soil, absorbing its nutrients and replacing it with its own biomatter. A border fair to both parties had to be drawn up, but Ne-Gok-Ra was pushing it as far as he could, and Aquilla was fighting back. Nothing official, of course, no one would risk war, but there were killings between the tribesmen and the Marro.

Jandar sighed and took his seat. He accepted the relevant papers from his staff, and quickly leafed through them. One of the aides, probably Einar’s, began to read off the titles of the seated leaders.

“I wonder who came up with that ceremony,” he thought, shooting a glare at Einar. “well, at least today we should be able to get some work done.”

With the meeting started, the aide switched papers and began to read the agenda.

“First item,” he spoke, with a pretentiousness that would make his lord proud, “Grimnak the orc, who claims kingship over the grut orc community in the Nordhal river valley, has requested that the Council of Archkyrie recognize the legitimacy of his principality.”

Jandar grimaced. Einar raised his hand.

“I propose to dismiss the proposal,” he intoned; his voice baritone and articulate, “a subcommittee can draw up an analysis of the situation, but we do not possess enough facts to make an informed decision.”

Jandar nodded reluctantly as Aquilla seconded the proposal. She had more important issues than discussing every petty Utgarite princeling’s claims.

The aide continued, “second item: the Facilitated Trade Agreement needs final approval.”

Easy enough. The treaty was nothing too difficult, merely an agreement to standardize tariff rates between the four Archkyries’ domains, and to ensure that minor principalities didn’t interfere with trade. Some last minute bickering on the exact rate went on, but the treaty passed unanimously.

Further minor issues flew by, either quickly approved or delegated to a committee for further review. It felt good to be making progress, to finally get something done. After days of thick-headedness and blocking on all the participants part, including Jandar himself occasionally, motions were finally getting passed. Nothing dramatic, but still.

“Next item,” the aide began again, “the contention over the border between the Marro Empire and the Ticallan Tribal Federation needs to be discussed and resolved.”

Aquilla, who had only been half-listening, perked up. “Thank you, Mr. Miyazuki,” she spoke with feigned sweetness.

So, that was his name.

“If you’d be kind enough turn to page 17 of the Ulkirk commission’s report, I’d like to point out that the soil testing data, namely the high concentrations of hydrofluoric acid, indicate the presence of Marro chemical seeding across the interim border, meaning that…”

“I propose to delay the discussion so that more evidence can be collected,” interjected Einar with a surprising abruptness that even caused the unflappable Vydar to blink.

“What?” Aquilla choked, startled by Einar’s uncharacteristic uncouthness, “the violence has gone on long enough! Do you know how many of my people have died from this debacle!”

Ne-Gok-Ra stood up immediately, almost leaping out of his seat, “are you accusing me of murder, your highness?” he hissed.

“I’ve seen the bodies,” she yelled back, “the remains at least, everything your animals didn’t gnaw away!”

“Have you ever smelled a burning Hive? I cannot myself, of course, but I’ve heard that it’s at a dreadful thing,” it spoke smoothly.

“Your point being?”

“I’d just find it hard to believe that you haven’t, if you’ve visited the border.” the Marro rasped, “After all, your ‘people’ burn one every day!”

“My people are protecting their lands and family from your wretches!”

“Mine are simply protecting their Hives and nutrition!”

Ullar slammed his fists on the table, “I second Einar’s proposal!” he stammered. The room went silent. Everyone was staring at Ullar. Not a soul moved.

Ne-Gok-Ra turned slightly towards Aquilla, what very well could be a grin appearing on his face.

Aquilla huffed, and throwing the doors open, she marched out the chamber. After a second of pause and shock, her aides scurried out behind her, taking every scrap of paper they could get their hands on.

“I, I think this meeting is over.” Ullar stuttered, his head hanging low.

“Agreed,” responded Einar, who calmly arose and headed towards the doors. Ne-Gok-Ra joined him, and Vydar soon followed. The aides, scrabbled out, leaving Ullar and Jandar.

Jandar looked at Ullar. His eyes were downcast, staring at nothing in particular. The door slammed shut.

“Why?” Jandar said simply, not even looking at Ullar.

“Because I don’t want to fight, and I don’t want to see people hurt.”

“You don’t want to see people hurt? People on both sides of the line are getting killed!” shouted Jandar.

“I don’t want to start the fighting all over again! Rooting out Valkrill and Utgar’s debris is one thing, but I don’t want another war. I just can’t, do it, not now, not all over again.” Ullar was on the verge of sobbing.

Jandar sighed. “I see,” he replied, getting up to leave.

“You need to talk to her,” Ullar looked up to Jandar, “talk some sense into her. We can’t let this turn into another battle.”

“I think we all need to get some sense talked into us,” Jandar coldly returned, “ I’ll do my best.” With that, he walked towards the door, leaving Ullar alone at the table.

He wanted to blame Ullar, but he couldn’t. Ullar wasn’t a killer, he loved life and hated destruction, that’s why he fought in the war. If anything, he was an architect, a gardener, expert at making and growing things. That was Ullar.

It just made it all the more terrible that he was the one to kill to Utgar, to deal the final blow.

Jandar turned back towards Ullar, to see his comrade’s face buried in his hands.

Jandar sighed, quietly opened the door, and shut it behind him.

[The Grim Reaper's Friend]

Right then, the grammar's a lot better. Just my opinion here, but I find all the government regulations, the breaking down of things into 'officialities,' the names of places, factions, I find it all a little... 'deheroscaping.' Don't get me wrong. I think you're doing a great job. It's just that the officialness in a fiction about a board game... it doesn't go together. Not that you should change it or anything, I can see how it could be a crucial point in the story. It's just my take on it.
Eagerly waiting for the next chapter!
~TGRF.

[machinekng]

Originally Posted by The Grim Reaper's Friend

Right then, the grammar's a lot better. Just my opinion here, but I find all the government regulations, the breaking down of things into 'officialities,' the names of places, factions, I find it all a little... 'deheroscaping.' Don't get me wrong. I think you're doing a great job. It's just that the officialness in a fiction about a board game... it doesn't go together. Not that you should change it or anything, I can see how it could be a crucial point in the story. It's just my take on it.
Eagerly waiting for the next chapter!
~TGRF.

Well, in a way, it's not really just heroscape, is it? Heroscape is about when you have all these characters and warriors from different worlds duke it out. This story is more about the aftermath. Now that the game's over, what happens?

[Sir Yeshua]

Cool story, I can't wait to read more! Are you going to tell us more about how Utgar was killed? I'm surprized that Ullar dealt the final blow.