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About This Game

Seek your fortune in forbidden tombs or upon blood-soaked battlefields. Cast dark and terrible spells of unimaginable power, at the price of your soul. Sail upon untamed seas to lands where no human in living memory has walked. Fight for the fate of civilization — or barbarism — on a savage frontier.

Game System

Other

Status

Inactive

Full Description

"KNOW, O PRINCE, THAT BETWEEN THE YEARS WHEN THE OCEANS DRANK ATLANTIS AND THE GLEAMING CITIES, AND THE YEARS OF THE RISE OF THE SONS OF ARYAS, THERE WAS AN AGE UNDREAMED OF, WHEN SHINING KINGDOMS LAY SPREAD ACROSS THE WORLD LIKE BLUE MANTLES BENEATH THE STARS..."

Robert E. Howard’s Conan: Adventures in an Age Undreamed Of takes you into the world of Conan the Barbarian, where heroes raise blood-spattered swords against dire sorcery, exotic lands beckon to the daring, danger and treasure lurks in forgotten ruins, and where loathsome creatures haunt the spaces beneath the earth… as well as in the throne-rooms of mighty kingdoms!

Seek your fortune in forbidden tombs or upon blood-soaked battlefields. Cast dark and terrible spells of unimaginable power, at the price of your soul. Sail upon untamed seas to lands where no human in living memory has walked. Fight for the fate of civilization — or barbarism — on a savage frontier.

Create your own legend in this decadent and violent world!

  1. What's new in this game
  2. Dracian of Messantia

    IC: [Pilot] Hither came...

    Dracian gripped his head. "I require water, food and for the love of Bel stop pounding on things," Freya was unfamiliar with the name he intoned, but a small smirk bent to Simeon's lips. There would be only one reason he'd have for invoking the name of the god of thieves. Neither could deny, he looked like hell. "I considered your words, Freya. Wasn't much to do as I lay there in a puddle of my own piss and vomit. Allow me some time to make myself presentable, eat, and rinse the taste of bile from my throat... and we will have a vessel and provisions." "What about a crew?" Freya asked. "Not needed. The three of us can make the journey, and should we fail, I'll not be delivering more victims for that inhuman wretch. I shan't lie," he shrugged. It appeared he was too hungover, hungry, dehydrated and exhausted, to execute his typical bravado. "This time anyway. Capturing the ship will not be easy. It will be bloody, and loud, and a lot people will not be pleased... but oh, will it be glorious."
  3. "While, I agree, Northerner," Simeon said calmly. "Were we to make this voyage, we'd need a ship." The bronzed thief pointed and nodded his head lazily, barely able to keep his composure through the spirits in his system. "A ship! Yes. A ship! We no ship. So... welp... we tried." He shrugged and attempted to stagger away from the two of them only to make it a few steps before falling over into a pile of wicker baskets and discarded refuse. Neither made any real attempt to catch, or stop him. By the time he hit the alleyway ground he was already passed out. "...and perhaps a good night's sleep, hmm?" The old alchemist amended his previous statement. The following day... It was well into the late afternoon when the drunken pirate-turned-coward rose from the pallet of straw and linen he'd been set upon the previous evening. He still reeked of booze and stale vomit. His hair was a mess and he'd looked liked gone one to many rounds with an angry shaleback. Simeon and Freya had spent most of the afternoon and morning planning how they were going to go about collecting the things they'd need for their journey, and how they would afford them. Neither of them really heard the Messantian rogue wander in. "Well, I'm afraid that won't be enough," Simeon told Freya calmly. "Provisions, crew, the vessel itself. Even were I to sell this shop, we'd not have enough for all of what we'd need to make a sea voyage." Freya slammed her fist on the counter. "I refuse to believe that it's not possible. I will make it possible."
  4. Freya let him blubber for a few more moments then caught his wrist the next time he was going to hit her shoulder. Gently she stood him straight as she could so she could look him in the eye. "Your right we don't know, how could we. You lived through it. You are alive, here right now. But you left them, your crew, and you left part of yourself there too. Now it is time to go back and find what you lost there, to make yourself a whole man again. And to gain vengeance for those others who died so you could live. I saved your life, you owed me, Not anymore. You fulfilled our bargain you brought me here and showed me the what I needed. You owe me no more." She let go of him and he swayed but stood on his own. "But you do owe them, the ones you left. And we will help you pay this debt."
  5. Dracian of Messantia

    IC: [Pilot] Hither came...

    Dracian was already plastered. Three sheets to the wind... was not enough sheets to come close to accurately describing how hard he'd hit the sauce that evening in the time they were waiting. "Oi!" The bartender approached Freya from his side of the counter. He waved Dracian away as he spoke. "Get this sorry sod out of 'ere an'on'is way! To d'street wiv'im!" Freya practically had to carry him, he could barely stand on his own. His face and beard and mustache were slick with alcohol and traces of other foul wafting aromas. He didn't put up much of a fight until she'd made it out side with him, mostly because she was pretty sure that's when he'd realized he was being moved. He could squirm well enough, even this drunk, and broke her hold on his tunic within a matter of moments by slipping out of it. She wasn't sure if it was by some thief design or just plain dumb luck that he fell right out of it. He stood up like a shot, wavering a bit to catch his balance. "No!" He shouted at her. He attempted a backhand but Freya didn't even have to move, his had flew past her nearly a foot off it's mark. "Only I know the way, and I'm never going back there!" He pushed Freya, hard. She didn't move, he did however. He threw himself backwards, literally pushing himself into the refuse of and trash piled up in the alleyway. "You don't know!" He scrambled to his feet, as best he could anyway. He managed more to scramble along the ground away from Freya than actually stand again. "None of you know! I've seen it. I've seen what he does to people. He's a monster, no, a demon!" Freya approached him and hoisted him up by his wrist, back to his feet. "For a year I sat in his cages! Watched as he butchered and tortured and... only I made it out...," his eyes met Freya's and she saw in him the eyes of a warrior. Even among her people the men and women would see terrible things that broke their resolve and shattered their spirits. There was no shame in fear, or failure. To live through it was the opportunity to set it right. Set themselves right. What this man had seen or done, it had broken him. "Only I made it out," he said to her, more softly and she saw the tears well up in his eyes. He collapsed into her chest, crying like the shattered man he was. He pounded a fist against her shoulder and she barely moved, the sound was akin to a hammer striking an oak. "...all of them. I left them there. My crew... I was their captain, and I left them to save myself." The sobbing came deeper as he used her for balance, occasionally striking her shoulder to punctuate how pathetic he'd become. Simeon only looked at Freya, shrugging sorrowfully with a mournful expression writ plain on his face. "I... I never knew. He never spoke of his time there."
  6. Freya and Simeon sat in silence for a good while. Frey drinking the wine supplied by the Sorceror and Simeon avoiding making eye contact withthe savage northerner. Suddenly Freya drained her cup and slammed it down rattling the table. Simeon jumped. "Enough! Take me to Dracian we will waste no more time." She said as she stood pushing her stool back. Simeon had to marvel they had finished two full bottles and most of a third of his best wine, and almost all of it by her. Yet there she stood not even a hint of drunkeness about her. "As you wish." They walked through the shadowy streets there path not unnoticed but none of the thieves felt eager to attack the Simeon who was known here or the large woman bearing arms who was not. Soon they found themselves in a filthy tavern that reeked of stale ale and vomit and even worse. Eyes watched gauged and looked away. Simeon studied the crowd and then pointed "There." Freya crossed the room giving little or no thought to those she passed. They were scum, but even though she gave them the disdain most of them deserved she was not a fool, and she took note of those that could prove dangerous. Finally she stood behind Dracian and placed her hand on his shoulder. "It is time to go, friend."
  7. Simeon of Koth

    IC: [Pilot] Hither came...

    "I'd hope that not happens." Simeon drawled. "Silly as it is, I do have some fondness for him." He refilled Freya's cup. "Wounds on the mind and soul run deeper than any physical one, and thrice as hard to heal. And to be honest, you'd need a very good plan in order to take that foe on, Dracian with you or not."
  8. Freya towered over the old sorcerer, her mein full of menace and purpose. But as the words he spoke sank in her glare softened from threat to resolve. She sat again and drained her cup then held it out for Simeon to refill "We shall wait then you can lead me too him. He'll help or by Ymir's stones I'll split his skull and leave him for the crows."
  9. Dracian of Messantia

    IC: [Pilot] Hither came...

    Dracian listened intently to her story, popping grapes and sipping from his cup as he enjoyed the meat and fruit Simeon paid good coin on so the thief could eat it all. Why do you always burn everyone's villages down? No wonder you can't get anything done up there, everyone's rebuilding all the blasted time." She shot him a scowl and he raised his hands in defeat, vowing silently that it would be the only time he interrupted her. At mention of the slaver's name, however, the warrioress saw the color drain from his face. Behind the veneer of jokes, quips, and ignorant care-free whimsy was a coward. She knew there was no shame in fear, all warriors in her country felt fear, faced fear, and laughed at fear as they simply did what needed to be done. She knew the fear in his eyes, it was the same she saw in the eyes of slave girls she'd encountered who were sold by her quarry to pirate havens all along the coast. It was not the fear of a man who gave lip service to another man's reputation or personal legend, it was the fear of a man who'd witnessed first had that reputation and escaped it. She knew right there in that moment: Dracian of Messantia was the man she was looking for. "I-I can not help you," he said, tripping on words that couldn't seem to pass his lips fast enough. "You're on your own. You court Death, Freya of Vanahien, he stood, so flustered and frightened by whatever was occurring in his mind that the deft coordination she'd seen him possess seemed to bleed away as he tripped of a shelf and stumbled towards the door. His exit was swift, but as graceful as a drunkard at last call. She went to pursue him but Simeon's hand grasped her arm. "Let him go." He said, releasing her arm as she scowled at him. "He'll not go far, never does. We all have demons, my dear. What you ask him to do is face his. I've known the boy since he was, well, a boy. He was a great sea captain once, pirate, corsair, whatever fancy title catches your fancy. He defied Bithulimon and a traitor on his crew turned him over to the slaver. He spent some time as his captive but doesn't speak of it, the year was a dark and bloody one. Of that I am certain. Give him an hour and he will be at the local tavern drinking himself stupid in an attempt to forget the treachery and nightmarish things he's seen." Simeon drank from his cup. "That is, if you still desire his help."
  10. Freya tried not to touch anything the place stank and it was hot she sweated in the clothes Dracian had insisted she wear. In other words she was miserable. She frowned when Dracian asked her to tell her tale. She pushed past him and the old man and hooked a stool with her foot and planted her backside on it. She could have used a drink. “You Simeon, you have something that can wet a parched throat?” Yes, water or stronger?” “Water will do if it's fresh.” Nodding the man left the room and they could here him bumping around. Dracian found a seat and called after him, “If you have any ale you can bring that too and some bread. Maybe some cheese? Simeon do perchance have any meat?” Grumbling Simeon returned bearing a platter with a pitcher three pewter cups and some food. Drinks poured and food grabbed Fraya began her tale “ During the winter months the villages along our coasts are safe but with the spring we go a reaving and there is not many left to protect the villages. But this is seldom cause for worry for we have few enemies who raid along the coasts. Our enemies are the Vanir and the Cimmerian who live further inland and to the south the picts bu tit is too cold for them to strike north for raids. But there is one who does strike fear. A reaver who comes when the raiders are gone he wit sand seeks out the weakest least protected villages and he attacks. They are ruthless. Killing all bu the youngest and prettiest girls whom they take as slaves. For many years this pirate has stung our coasts and has eluded our dragon ships but this year his luck ran out.” She drains her cup and pours another. “ My ship raided early this season and laden with our spoils we headed home while the others drove south. We came upon a ship leaving a burning village it was the pirate. He avoided battle and we chased him but with the added weight of our treasure we could not catch him. My captain and the rest of the men decided to turn back. I refused I had heard the wails of the women, our women taken by this monster. And I vowed then and there to end his depredations. They let me a shore and I found a another village where I acquired a small boat and I set off after the Pirate. Four months chasing a phantom No one knows where this wolf lairs where he takes his slave to break them. But then In a small pirates haven I learned of the man we are going to break. The man who will lead me to Bithulimon the slaver.”
  11. Dracian of Messantia

    IC: [Pilot] Hither came...

    Dracian waggled a finger, conceding the old man's logic. Then shrugged. "Well, okay, you got me there. Sanity and careful planning are certainly not my two most welcome of bedfellows, but I do sort of have a debt to pay, to the Northerner. You're more in touch with current events than I, what have you heard?" "Honestly, I've heard nothing. Your head was meant for the axe, but after your escape they've been relatively quiet as the man hunt for you continues." He sorted a few things on a shelf. "If hell bent you are on going back in there, I must admit, it'll be the last place they'd be looking for you. Guards would be light. All the prisoners are logged in the manifest. Capture that and it will tell you precisely who it is you're looking for." Dracian clapped his hand together, "Whelp, there you have it, Freya. Perchance you could tell me the full story before I break into a prison to rescue someone who may or not be there."
  12. Simeon of Koth

    IC: [Pilot] Hither came...

    Whom came out was a man certainly giving some impression of the occult as men imagined it. His hair was bedraggled, black with skeins of gray cutting through from top to beard. Narrowed gray eyes too, with robes of black and red upon his aged but still vital frame. Simeon sniffed as he set eyes on Dracian. "Hmmph. And here I thought you'd finally brought yourself to an end courtesy of the Viscount's daughters." "So you heard." Dracian acknowledged. "Well, I couldn't let my story end there, of course." Simeon let out a grunt as he sidled up to the plank-counter and fixed the thief with a stern eye. Then his companion, tall, long red tresses and very much a warrior woman. "And you, lass?" "Freya." The Vanir introduced herself simply. "I am Simeon, once of Koth." The old alchemist answered in turn. "So. What brings you here, again in Dracian's case?" "Well," Dracian began explaining in smooth fashion, "I agreed to help Freya find this man they have locked up-" "Say no more." Simeon cut him off with an assured wave. "I'll start making the tonic." "Tonic?" Dracian was thrown off by this. "Well, no, I was thinking-" "You just escaped from prison and execution, and now you plan on breaking in again." Simeon summed up. "Hence the tonic, to cure your mind of its distemper and madness."
  13. Together they traveled to Kordava upon the stolen horses of Zingara's noble soldiers. Stripped of their accouterments, save their saddles, they saved quite a bit of time on their trek. Now, however, they had the daunting task of confirming whether or not Freya's information was accurate. The mouthy thief Dracian claimed that he was highly doubtful he could be of any use to her and Freya was not very forth coming with any more information than was necessary until she trusted the rogue a bit more. It was to Kordava their story took them... Kordava was nothing like anything she'd seen as Freya and Dracian approached the mighty Black River delta. The walls were high hewn stone and the port was nothing like the one she'd visitited in the north. Ships of all kinds were in and out of the river's mouth while other came to port from the vast Western Ocean carrying all manner of trade goods. The entire city carried with it the architecture of reconquista-era Spain with high towers, steeped rooftops and cathedral-esque stone works everywhere. She'd heard rumors that the massive palace she saw nestled near the great port had floors of solid polished crystal. She'd covered herself upon Dracian's request, as the people of Zingara fancied themselves 'civilized' and walking naked in the streets was generally frowned upon. They waded through throngs of people, so many at times that Freya wanted to just being pushing them off of her. The market places were packed with all manner of merchants selling all variety of things she found utterly useless. Clothing, rugs, spices, various pieces furniture, etc... none of which any practical use that were intrisic to the natural talent for survival she and her people had grown accustomed to. Her people lived spartan, sure, but what amenities they owned were practical and served some purpose other than being pretty. Asie from trophies won in battle, but those were an exception considering they'd earned it in the gamble of combat by anteing their life. In a back alley in the slums of the harbor district, under the cover of night they slid through the narrow walkway until they came upon a small doorway whereupon hung a sign above it declaring it to be an 'Apothecary'. The door creaked open and the rank scent of various dried herbs and incense slammed them in the face. Only a candle light kept the small abode lit while they entered and ducked under various hanging plants and dried beast parts. A few jars were scattered about on rickety shelving filled with liquid and a preserved body prat of some form critter neither of them wanted to take a guess at its origins. "He's a bit eccentric, but he's a decent fellow," Dracian shrugged. "Just, uh... don't touch anything." Freya curled her lip up in disgust as something with huge eyes and withered flesh glared back at her from a soupy jar. "I don't think that will be an issue." "Simeon!" Dracien called out. "Simeon, you old fool, are you here?" He knocked on a plank of supported wood that served as the 'counter' for the Apothecary's 'shop'. Dracian leaned and addressed Freya. "This guy can make some strong brew. One sip and you'll eyes'll blur and you'll wake days later on a strange island butt naked with an erection that refuses to go away. I don't recommend more than a single sip though... I chugged an entire cup once, blacked out for weeks and was pissing in face for even longer. Quite embarrassing." "It's because it wasn't a drink, you ignorant, fool!" Boomed a voice from the back. "It was a rub." "Ah," he pointed to the back room and to the voice. "See, now that explains so much." All Freya could do was look at Dracian quizzically. "How have you lived as long as you have?" "Luck, mostly," he smiled. "Simeon, get out here you old coot!"
  14. Dracian of Messantia

    IC: [Pilot] Hither came...

    "Hm," he stroked his chin in contemplation, petting the small soul patch-goatee he had going on. "Rewards are certainly motivation. However, luv, the only man fit for the headsman axe in Kordava within the week, was me. Granted it took me a few days to escape my cell," he looked at her while speaking and laughing at the same time. "I was really drunk." "While I'm loathe to enter that city again anytime soon, situations like these do merit fact checking." He sighed, a bit defeated at the notion of both rewards and walking away from such a fine bosom. "Ugh, very well, I know a man in Kordava. He may be of some help, I'll introduce you. Besides, breaking out was easy, breaking in will require a lot more work." We smiled wide. "...and explosives."
  15. Freya gave a deep belly laugh at that and shook her head. "No, we are going to find the man who is going to help me find the other man whom I will get revenge on. The one we are seeking, he is in Kordova. I hope you know your way around that cess pool. He is locked away in the gaol and set to be executed. We have four days to get there and find a way to get him away from the headsman." She started walking in the direction she thought Kordova lay. "Are you coming? " Freya glanced back over her shoulder. "There may be a..reward." with a laugh she continued on almost certain the man wouldn't pass up that possibility
  16. Dracian of Messantia

    IC: [Pilot] Hither came...

    "Excellent!" He accepted her hand and she pulled him to his feet with an ease he was not accustomed to from the women he was used to being in the company of. He brushed off the dust from his leisure spot. "Now, simply tell me who this man is and we shall set out to locate him. Does he owe you money? Please tell he didn't raid your village and your kill your family... I am so tired of hearing that one."
  17. She walked over to where Dracian reclined while she finish strapping her weapons on. She gave a glance pointedly between his legs and smiled with what one could almost say was a smirk. "Yes you are a man," she said with the lilt of the north accenting her words, "but not the one I seek." She reached down offering her hand to raise him to his feet. "I will however accept your offer of help in finding him."
  18. Dracian of Messantia

    IC: [Pilot] Hither came...

    "Correction," said the man in a thick accent. "A man you have found. Several, in fact. I remain the only survivor, also another fact. One for which I'm grateful for." He certainly liked to hear his own voice... He drank in her frame and casually as he swigged from his water skin. Fiery red hair, chiseled muscles, ample bosom... she knew exactly where his mind was. Men of the southern kingdoms were, by an large, morons and fools. Decadent men who lived lavishly in comfortable surroundings where nature provided for all their needs. They weren't hardened by the trials of everyday survival in the harsh cold of the winters of Vanahiem. In short, her kingdom bred real men, this man was just a scrawny conversation where he talked for hours, but said nothing. "I've friends in low places, my lovely," she noticed his eyes trail below her hips. "And I'm even friendlier in low places," he offered a devilish smirk. "Mayhaps I know of this man. OR could assist you in finding him? After all, I owe you for that assist. Hate to leave a debt unpaid..." She had a feeling that wasn't entirely true...
  19. Frey washed the gore from he body, she made no attempt to hide her nakedness from this Dracian, no she knew his eyes were hungrily devouring the sights she laid before him, making it easier she hoped to entice him to her needs. Flinging her long hair back with a flex of her shoulders and strong neck she strode boldly from the river to where her gear lay on the bank. "I am called Freya and I seek a man."
  20. Dracian of Messantia

    IC: [Pilot] Hither came...

    The slender swordsman raised a brow at the carnage the northern woman left strewn in her path. "Well," said the stranger. "That was certainly... colorful." His lazy way of being concerned was not lost on her as he lifted her sword from the dirt and approached her, spinning it with a grace not unaccustomed to thieves and cut throats, but his technique, like hers, was mastered and flawless, not clumsy and showy. She made no mistake, like her, this man was a skilled killer. He offered her her blade, handle first. "I must say, I'm certainly thankful you came along when you did. Not to sound ungrateful, but...," he smiled mid sentence. "You know what? It matters not. I am Dracian of Messantia. Thief, pirate, archer, lover," he delivered that last little with a flirtatious tone that was barely impressive to the northerner. His bow was almost as unimpressive. "You seem... a ways from home. I'm parched and there is a fresh water stream not far from here. Why not get yourself cleaned up and I'll fill my skin. While we're at it you tell me what brings you this far south, unless it's because I owe you money, or am the father of your child. I'm not the father of anything am I? Although, I'm pretty sure I'd have remembered a night with you." He didn't wait for an answer, his blades back at his side he scooped up his dropped gear, complete with a bow and a full quiver. "Come, let us see which of us tried to mug and murder the other first. It'll be fun!" He smiled widely.
  21. Freya stayed silent except for a low growl only the Zingaran could hear. Her left hand shot out and wrapped around the wrist of the mans sword arm hold it out away from their bodies. Bearing her teeth like some feral creature she pressed in, her knife held low. From Dracian's view it looked like she was pulling the man into an embrace. The growl grew louder in the mans ear as she closed in pressing her body to his her cheek against his her hot breath on his neck. The pain as the point of her knife slid into his groin. “If whore I am, then blood is my price.” She whispered slowly with the passing of each syllable she pushed the blade deeper and ripped upwards. Dracian watched as the two seemed to dance, the Zingarans eyes wide his mouth an O of shock. The North woman's muscled back rippling with sure and strong heaving. Then Dracian noticed the blood. At first it was a few drops, then a steady drip and finally it pour to pool the ground between the two. Frey let go of the Zingaran who simple crumpled, disemboweled, eyes staring blankly at whatever hell awaited him and his companions. She turned to face Dracian, her chest and stomach covered in the blood of her victim, a gleam of excitement in her eye.
  22. "Northern whore," the footman spewed at her with rage. "You will die for interfering!" He lunged a her his dueling blade shimmered in the sun's light glimmering brightly. Freya's battle trained eyes locked onto that shimmer, that tell tale mark on the blade that told her exactly where it was was going to be, and more importantly, when. The man had drastically over estimated his own abilities and the fiery northern woman swift to remind him of his place. The clang of steel on steel resonated with a harsh echo as her knife caught the blade's edge and turned it aside effortlessly. His lunge left her dangerously close to the northern barbarian with out the defense of his weapon...
  23. Shooting a fiery glance at the mouthy Argosian, Freya growled and drew her knife from her belt. Closing on the Zingaran who was still on his feet, she easily deflected his blows with both Knife and shield. Then, with a quick lunge. her shield knocked the thin sword away and she drove the knife into the mans belly, up below the ribs. She pushed in closer, spit in the mans face, "Go to hell Zingaran pig," and slid the knife into his heart. With a joyous laugh she pulled the knife free, letting the body drop, and spun to face the last Zingaran, who was just regaining his feet. "Haha! Come dog, now it is your turn. I will even make it fairer for you." She said dropping her shield as she circled the man waiting for his attack.
  24. Dracian of Messantia

    IC: [Pilot] Hither came...

    "So!" The man said as he parried a lunge for his head with a quick swat of his wrist. "My fiery rescuer... you come here often?" The man was lithe and agile, moving around like a man who was less a soldier and more survivor. Thankfully the arrival of the Vanir had the fools so off balance that he was practically doing all he could to stop from bursting out into laughter. He could not have planned this any better, which was true, considering before she arrived... he had no plan at all. Fueled with rage, and possibly some desperation, the one soldier giving him attention was becoming more frustrated with every missed blow that Dracian smirked when he finally saw his opening. He parried high, knocking the mans weapon away high and wide as he pivoted his body, turning about so his back slammed into the man's front. The soldier's eye widened as he felt the curved sword slide through him. While Dracian parried with one blade, he stabbed with the other. The soldier died, slumping over, his head resting on Dracian's shoulder. He let the man comfortably fall to the floor. "I know, I know, that sounds like a line," He said, his accent was thick and rich. He spun his blades until they faced downward, sticking into the soil where he rested on them like twin canes. "What was it that drew you here, hm? The salty sea air? The crashing of the waves? The scent of a real man?" He waggled his eye brows at her while she fought for her life, a roguish grin imprinted across his lips. He casually walked around the perimeter of her battle, like it were a pit match. She shot him an icy look. "Don't look at me, look at them... they're the ones trying to kill you, luv." He swatted his finger away from himself and at her and the gentleman, shooing her gaze from him in a gesture for her concentrate on the battle at hand.
  25. The three remaining Zingarans attempted to recover but the battlefield had already melted into chaos. With two of their own dead already and now a raging Vanir female in the fray, their tactics melted away as well. Two went for the Vanir woman. Screaming in outrage they raised their weapons and charged her. One swung at her wildly. With no sword, she punched him in the face and he staggered to the side. The second was even less lucky. With his blade still raised in what would be an awkward downward slash, Frey rushed him, slamming into him with her shield and raising him up off the ground several feet where he soared over her and slammed onto the ground with a hard thud that tore the wind from his lungs. The Argossian continued to twist and parry, his blades a whirling shield in front of him that tuned aside the attacks of the one man he had to deal with.
  26. Conan age undreamed of character generator can be found here. http://conan.modiphiusapps.hostinguk.org/
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