RP Story: Yakhmar's Hole (an epic tale of roughly 20 parts)

Part 19, Appendix C

"MONCH!!" Se'Te'Kaa gathered his legs beneath him and leaped, driving his shoulder into the soldier's back and knocking them both to the side. The wormling that had emerged just where Monch had been standing and could have easily taken his feet off if not for the rogue's quick reflexes. The two of them struggled in the snow for a minute, finding balance as they came to their feet. The wormling had been pulled away by one of the other soldiers, where it was already coming to a swift end.

"Thank you," Monch said, somewhat ashamed of his own carelessness.

"If I did not act, it would be likely that you would be dead now, Muurkha. As much as I might relish the thought, I promised Tchi-ja that I would try to prevent your death if possible," the Stygian replied.

"You're not fooling me. It's almost the end of the story and you just want another part in it. Can't say that I blame you, there's enough spotlight here for everyone," Monch said with a smile. Se'Te'Kaa stared sharply at Monch before replying.

"It is clear that your head is damaged, even if we cannot see it."

"Very likely true," Monch replied. The two split up as another set of worms erupted from the snow. With the last set not fully vanquished, the Scion of Acheron set about directing his Seekers.

"Tenochta! Mixy! Datolite! Take those wormspawn down - NOW!" His voice seemed to focus their ire, and he watched them work with deadly efficiency to cut, hack and mutilate the remaining worms before they could be overrun by yet another wave. Faces were grim, but optimistic and Monch could feel a swell of pride and victory sweep through the raiders, even though their primary objective was still up and biting.

Moments like these, Monch knew, could be more deadly than others.

"Let's take the fight to the mama worm!" Melkel shouted as he put a flaming arrow to his bow and drew back to loose at Yakhmar herself.

Someone cheered in response, but the rest of the group recoiled as the shaft leapt from the bow and sailed across the open space towards the iceworm.

Monch gave a warning cry and raised his sword, but it was too late. As soon as Yakhmar felt the blistering sting of flame against her ice-hardened skin, she began to shriek and wail. The cavern itself trembled, sending a shower of ice raining down from overhead. It was a sound that no helmet or fingers-in-ears could block. It was a sound of pain that overwhelmed sense and reason and drove each member of the Corps to the outer edge of their endurance.

When Yakhmar was done, everything on two legs was stunned, shaking and disoriented from the harrowing lament of the ancient iceworm. As more worms sprang up from the snowy ground, those assembled made vague motions to act and react, but in the aftermath of the wormcry, their muscles could not be made to work and their brains were fuzzy and unfocused.

Monch watched with detached horror as Tarcon was driven to the ground by the barbed tongue of the great worm as she sought to drag him into her gullet. Nearby, the wormlings were mimicking the actions of their parental guardian, knocking over the larger half of the raid force and gnawing with their much smaller mouths at booted feet and gloved hands.

The Lion of Ahriman felt a eddy of dark despair starting to swirl around him, threatening to obliterate the effort that had carried them all this far. All the preparations they had made to get to this point: Would that collapse here and now? Monch's heart sank as he began to think that all was utterly lost.

(To be continued)

Segment the Fourth of the 19th Part of our Story on this Thread in this Forum.

"The burden of command is measured not by weight, but by... um... distance? numbers? counting on our toes? cheese and macaroni?" Monch cursed himself for not remember that thing that Rainelle told him that one time before she left Serenus. It was one of those things that she said was really important for him to remember. Monch tried really hard to recall it, so much that his brain started to hurt, but was ultimately interrupted by the screams of those around him.

"I'm trying to concentrate!" Monch yelled.

"Thanks for finally joining us!" Tenotchta yelled at him sarcastically. "Now fix this!" Monch growled in reply, discarding the hope of recalling his important message and turning his attention to barking orders at those still standing. He had to get them to reforms group and recover those that they could or all would be lost.

"Thelemus! Charade! Get some people on their feet and meet Javed back at the rally point!" Monch called Crispin from the shadows and sent him to distract a stray wormling that was barreling down on the still stunned Valazar. Monch would have handled it personally, but he wanted to make sure Tarcon's group was still intact. Rousing a stunned Blacklizard with a quick rally cry, Monch made his way along the bulky length of Yakhmar.

At the head of the worm, Georgetta struggled to both defend those behind her as well as assist Miaa in freeing Tarcon from the worm's barbed tongue. Monch arrived and landed a brutal jab at the creature's primary gumline, cutting a bloody gash and removing a few spiny teeth.

"I'll try and keep his attention!" Monch yelled. "Get Tarcon out of there and back on his feet!" Monch yelled. Georgetta responded in kind by stepping back to get a better grip on her two handed-blade. Now that the Scion of Acheron had taken the heat off of her to be fully on guard, she could take a moment to find just the right spot to sever the thick ropy tongue of the ice-worm matron. It withdrew spurting black blood and purplish paralytic venom. Free from that, Miaa was able to pull Tarcon back far enough.

Monch did everything he could to keep Yakhmar's attention, but the iceworm seemed to sense their momentary weakness and pressed to take advantage of it. The Templar of the Last Church cursed and swore, willful engaging every ounce of black sorcerous power that his soul could muster to fling against the monster.

Behind him, Miaa and Georgetta were using a combination of potent Cimmerian herbs and willful encouragement to try and put the young guard back on his feet.

"Looks like we've got more company!" Starwhisper yelled, indicating the arrival of more wormlings. The bulk of the Seekers were finishing off the last wave and it was doubtful they would be able to get up the hill to assist immediately.

"I need Tarcon up!" Monch roared.

"15 seconds for conqrez!" Georgetta replied.

"I don't know what that means!" Monch retorted, watching the wormlings crawl closer. Beyond them, Datolite and Madaylia were in the vanguard of a small group in pursuit of the newest arrivals. Monch tried to gauge if they would arrive in time, but it was all he could do to keep himself from being snagged by the dagger sized teeth in the worm's monstrous maw.

"DAMMIT! I did not get dragged through this worm's anus merely to be humbled by it a second time!" Monch screamed angrily.

Suddenly, Tarcon was beside him, doing far more damage with his broad-tipped halberd than Monch could hope to match. He looked better than expected, mentally crediting Miaa and Orikx's healing abilities.

"Don't worry, we've got this," Georgetta said, sliding in on the other side of Monch. "Also? That thing about the anus? Super gross."

Monch stepped back, leaving the two soldiers to their job and not bothering to comment further about his little outburst. Instead, he met the wormlings and with the help of a stinging ward, he turned them back towards the main force, into their lethal sea of blades and black magicks.

This time, their focus was in place, and the wormlings met their gruesome fate quickly. After a quick calculation in his head, the Blood Knight of Aquilonia punched his blade skyward and called out in a voice that roared on the back of his unholy might, rising above the din and hollow echoes of the great ice chamber:

"ORDER, TO ME! FINISH HER!!"

(To Be Completed) (in another bit or two, I promise)

Part 19, Limited Edition Director's Cut Deleted Scene

At that very moment, far to the South, under the unified banner of Order, flying high on the spires of the keep of Serenus, a meeting was transpiring. In the outer courtyard, on the second floor of a rather nondescript building, seated at a table crafted of Aquillonia's finest hardwoods, drinking the guild's finest ales sat two officers... two friends. One was a dark haired barbarian from the frozen lands of Cimmerian, the other a fair haired Aquillonian knight.

It was a crisp autumn afternoon, with a mild breeze coming from the west, perfect for circulating smells of the roasting meat downstairs and the fragarant autumn blooms on the trellis just outside the window. Between the two men sat a metal pitcher, filled with water, partially full. Next to it, within easy reach of either of them, was a bowl of fried, crisped potatoes, salty and delicious. The tavern owner's wolfhound was curled up in a corner next to the hearth, wherein a small fired burned, just enough heat to cut the full weight of the chill from the air.

The dark haired Tchicatta looked over at the fair haired Keranos. It was clear to any looking on at them that they had some heavy things on their mind.

"Remember when we kicked Kylikki's arse?" Tchicatta asked.

"That was so cool," Keranos replied.

The two then tapped mugs and drained their respective ales in one massive chug.

There was some burping afterwards.

(To be continued)

>monk

p.s. So after reviewing the deleted footage, I can totally understand why the studio wanted to cut it. It doesn't really add anything to the plot, it ruins the pacing of the fight with Yakhmar and I find the acting (especially Tchicatta's) to be a bit stiff and wooden, the dialogue is clumsy and the cinematography is distractingly detailed for such a throw-away moment. It's clear that we could totally do without this scene and should we ever redo this in a special-edition Blu-ray format, I will press harder to have it taken out again. You have my apologies.

THE END!
(also known as Part 20 for those keeping track, even though technically there have been more than 20 parts at this point, but let's not focus on that. Let's get to the action which is directly after this exceptionally long title here.)

"ORDER, TO ME! FINISH HER!!!"

The ranks of the Seeker Corp roared in response, filling the cavern with their courage. They began to surge forward when Monch signaled them to stop.

"Javed, Tenotchta, Demofile, Valazar... Anyone else who I've forgotten... Lilatta..." Monch said quickly, "Please remain here and do not cast fire on Yakhmar. The rest of us will finish her."

"Seriously?" Javed asked, looking somewhat deflated that he would not be allowed to participate in the final charge.

"It's nothing personal," Monch explained. The grizzled shaman known as Uthrik tugged on Monch's cape.

"We're going to lose our focus if we don't go now. No time for breaks."

"Yup, one second," Monch replied, signaling the group to start moving forward. Over his shoulder he called back to those that had to remain behind. "We respect you all, but you're too burny to go on. But you can cheer us on from the back ranks!" Tenotchta replied with an ancient Stygian single-digit salute.

"That's the spirit!" Monch yelled back as the group built up speed on the charge. Turning to Sidac beside him, Monch asked the well-traveled conqueror what the finger sign meant.

"Probably best you don't know, but if you show it to Drome, I'm sure he'll give you a quick lesson about it," Sidac replied with a grin. Monch made a mental note to talk to Drome when he got home. Further conversation was lost as the group slammed into the side of the great beast and began to finish the job that the first group had started.

It's not that Yakhmar was unaware of her impending death, but the whole concept of death to her (like most other things) was a totally foreign thought. She had always existed and would always exist. The only two constants in her barren frozen life were the hunger in her belly and that the stray parties of adventurers that would come along to satiate said hunger. She'd never been in a predicament that would cause her actual demise. So she never fought out of self-preservation or anger, she was unaware of such things.

But as the full weight of the Seeker Corps (minus the burning-fire types) stabbed, pierced, bludgeoned and otherwise rent her precious skins, she was getting a first-hand lesson on what it was like to be the hunted rather than the hunter. She did not enjoy the education whatsoever.

But the schooling continued, despite Yakhmar's growing screams of distress. It was a flurry of coordinated metal and magick. The Corp had finally found its footing, able to fully compliment each other at every turn, pressing every advantage presented to gain footing against the worm. Even the flailing barbed tongue and dangerous bulk of the worm were no threat to a fully armed and operational raid force.

There were no more wormlings. Unlike Yakhmar, they were well aware what fear was and they were too terrified by the screams of their dying matron to act.

The great worm thrashed wildly, but eventually fell beneath the surge. There was an attempt to break free, as she threw several members aside, but the gap was closed and the savaging continued. The next few moments blurred into minutes until one of them noticed she had stopped resisting. Slowly, the realization came to them all, one by one, that it had been accomplished.

Yakhmar was dead. Black ichor flowed into the snow beneath the body and other fluids ran freely from the worm's natural orifices. A few issues with rage and anger were taken out on the worm's quickly cooling carcass, but for the most part there was an elated sense of relief amongst those assembled.

Two voices raised a cheer to the icy cavern ceiling. It was joined by two more and then a dozen, and finally the rest of those there. Every member of Order's Seeker Corps cheered for their victory. For it was not the action (or inaction in the case of the fire-casters) of one person, but rather the assembled might of all those working together and standing under the united banner of Order (figuratively, not literally. They didn't actually drag a banner down into the cave).

And as the cheers subsided, they went about the grisly work of separating treasure from trash, fur from flesh and usable cuts of meat from the nasty bits. Wounds were tended and tears were shed and the toll of the battle was measured and found acceptable for what they had accomplished for their guild. Monch was quick to point out that it was under his leadership, but even his normal posturing seemed to acknowledge the individual efforts that all of them had contributed.

Out of the cave they came, in single rank, but high spirits. This one victory was not the end for Order's Seeker Corps. Wherever shadows congregated in the lands, there would be monsters inhabiting them and the call for someone to stop them. With today's victory they felt like the light that would shine into those dark corners, the sword that would slay those beasts, and (most importantly) the company that would bring Order to a chaotic land.

The End (Well...almost)

Epilogue: Shortly after the departure of our heroes

Greg slowly inched his way free from the loose snowpile he had taken refuge in. Greg was the former favorite of Yakhmar's for a reason. It was not for his bravery, for he was certainly not brave, but for his guile and cunning. Iceworms were not well known for having any guile or cunning, so the fact that Greg had even a little was a huge deal. It was also part of the reason he was not invited to play any iceworm games, but that's a different tale altogether.

Anyways, Greg undulated over to the corpse of his former denmother, nuzzling at her sadly for fear that she was just faking it. Had she been faking it and Greg had approached all cocksure of her defeat, it was probably going to end badly, but a little false sincerity on his part would go a long way.

It went a longer way than he had expected. Yakhmar did not respond at all. His segmented, decentralized heart skipped a series of pulses. This was... FANTASTIC! Greg had never felt such a sense of elated joy in ... well, ever!

Following his instincts, Greg shuffled up to the top of the carcass and began to quickly excavate as fast as his little teeth would allow him. After a solid few minutes of work chewing through the remaining blubber, Greg found where the cerebral ganglia were tied to the nerve cord by the circumoesophageal connectives. (The worms have less complicated names for these things, but I thought I would put in the scientific terms for any budding speculative xenopalentologists.)

At the heart of that mess was the fruit of Greg's search, a small gland no larger than the size of a fist (not that iceworms knew what fists were, that's totally for you readers out there). Greg's barbed tongue probed out until it was able to get a good grip on the gland. With a good pull and a savage bite, Greg dislodged the gland and pulled it greedily into his own stomachs.

He felt the change beginning at once. The concentrated burst of growth hormones and archived genetic knowledge were already beginning to trigger the change in Greg's physiology. Inside of an hour, he would be well into the protandry that would change his sexual organs and orientation. In just over a day, the ravenous hunger would be upon her and she would begin consuming anything within range, starting with the corpse of her former denmother and then any children nearby that answered her newly developed maternal calls.

By the following Tuesday (dunno why, but it's always Tuesday), Greg will have become the next Yakhmar, carrying the genetic legacy forward. Its former life will have been forgotten, and it will remember only two things... Hunger... Hunger and the ages-old faultless strategy of minion sacrifice with which to capture and consume her prey.

But that was for later. For now there was only Greg... and his increasing desire to feel pretty.

Quote the Monkster:

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Monk

Hail MashMash!

It warms the cockles of my cold, dead heart to see these words live on the inter-nets once more. In a time long forgotten, perhaps as long ago as a few months, I never expected to see this story live again. It is a tribute to my comrades in arms and the game that forged us together like a poorly made horseshoe that trampled our foes (both real and virtualized) beneath our hooves until it was flung off at an inopportune moment as we fled for our lives when things turned badly...

NEVERTHELESS! I may no longer walk the realm of fair Hyboria, but I reach out from beyond the veil of the unsuscribed and I bid thee good journeys on the trail of adventures bold! May you see your enemies driven before you, hear the lamentations of the women and... all that other business.

I proclaim this reprint is now authorized!

So sayeth Monch, The Lion of Ahriman, Blood Knight of Aquillonia, Scion of Acheron, Paladin of the Great Destroyer, Templar of the Last Church, Weilder of Temper's Edge, Eater of the Apocalypse Cherry, Commander Honorarium of the Seeker Corps, Sentinel of Serenus, Champion of Unending Heraldry and just two credit hours away from his Bachelor's Degree in Saddle and Rein Repair from the Cimmerian Institute of Animal Husbandry!

>monk

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Quote myself:

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Your Excellence

Giggity.

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BUMPING because hilarious. :p

For those of us who loved every bit of insanity that Monk wrote, and admired the heroic saga's or RogueLion -- both of them are now published! You can find them on http://lionsoftheempire.blogspot.com/ and each has a book out on Amazon now with Kindle downloads available. :kiss: