Stranger in a Strange Land - Part 7 - Our Time Has Come - UPDATE 5/2 - Chapter 16

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction Stories--Classic JC Board (Reply-Only)' started by Whiskey in the Jar-Jar, Dec 14, 2002.

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  1. Whiskey in the Jar-Jar Jedi Master

    Member Since:
    Apr 17, 2000
    star 4
    Wow...been a long time, hasn't it?

    I know I shouldn't be making excuses, but I have to say as far as DRL goes, 2007 will be a year I'll be glad to have behind me.

    A lot of my writing has slowed down recently, owing to my Dad's passing in July...and add to that the piling expenses of my car constantly needing repairs, and yeah...my head's not exactly been in the best of places for anything creative.

    It's been a slow process, but I'm slowly crawling out of the funk now, and things're starting to look better. I'm writing again, though not as prolifically as I was before. I'm also working on my podcast novel (Dalan's origin, if anyone's interested), as well as a few other creative endeavours.

    So, I'm really...really sorry for leaving this go for so long. I hope anyone who's left out there will be forgiving enough to give this battered old writer a second chance to entertain you.

    Thanks.

    Close to a kilometre away from where Bral met his end, another battle was taking place. Already, the Vong had lost six of their group, and were still no closer to discerning who was attacking them. Every few minutes, an arc of white hot plasma would streak forth out of the surrounding foliage and take down another soldier, but when the others went to investigate there was nothing for them to find.

    Blast bugs and thud bugs had already paved a good portion of the surrounding area down, but still the beams returned, claiming soldier after soldier. Their leader, an advanced scout named Trrsk, was growing frustrated. His heart was pounding with the realization that his life may end this day, and that the glory of victory would be denied him. He scanned the surrounding bushes, his eyes alert for the slightest disturbance. He gripped his amphistaff tightly in his hand, waiting?

    Waiting?

    Waiting?

    Waiting?THERE

    Trrsk reared his arm back as the next plasma beam shot out, cutting down yet another of his comrades. He hurled his amphistaff like a javelin towards the source of the beam, and his ears made out the sound of it strike home, cutting into metal and then into flesh. He saw the bushes rustle, and then a gout of dark green blood erupted from it, spattering on the ground.

    ?Attack!? he cried. He and the remaining soldiers sprinted towards the blood, staves ready to carve up the creature behind it. Their cries were wild, guttural snarls of bloodlust as they moved, crashing through the underbrush and seeing what Trrsk?s efforts had gained them.

    There were no words to describe it?at least none that could be uttered in time. Yes, Trrsk?s staff had struck home; an Invid Enforcer lay dead, the staff still sticking out of its chest. Yes, dark green blood still poured from the wound, soaking the ground, and yes, Trrsk could indeed mark himself for this kill?the first of this sortie.

    Well, he could have?had the other three Enforcers waiting for him had let him.

    It had been a group of four that stalked Trrsk?s squad. Moving like shadows, they struck quickly and faded away, making the remaining Hated Ones afraid and jumpy. They had deftly avoided the explosives they?d hurled, which had felled so many trees, and continued to strike, burning one soldier after another to Hell.

    It had been unexpected and unfortunate that one of the Enforcers had to die to draw the rest in, but it was an opportunity the remaining trio intended to capitalize on. Their armoured bodies betrayed no emotion as their plasma cannons reduced the remaining Vong soldiers to ash. Not so much as a twitch could be seen as the remaining four Vong screamed out their last oaths of defiance.

    However, beyond the armour?s cold exterior?beyond the barrier of speech across which only one Invid had crossed, their minds and souls all thought the same thing:

    Burn, you murderers?burn in the fires of the Wasteland.

    * * *

    The screams could not have been better timed. Ravage?s third target was distracted by the screams of his dying comrades, and barely registered the hand covering his face. It wasn?t until he f/>
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