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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.

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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. "Me?" Eingar stared at the pair as though they'd been touched in the head, then turned to look at Chiara as she struggled to safely pick up more than one axe at a time. Catrin was up at the prow in the lookout spot, her self-appointed post when not busy with ship-work - largely because it was the furthest point on the vessel from anyone else, most of all Eingar. She resembled nothing so much as a cat curled up in a tree, balefully watching the giant any time his wandering of the deck brought him near. The giant rubbed at his sun-burned brow doubtfully as he considered both women. "That is a terrible idea." he rumbled, turning back to Dracian. "If I talk to them they will jump over the side." "Try to avoid that." Dracian quipped in a dry tone. "I'm starting to become fond of them, and they're prettier to look at than you." "Then you go and talk to them." Eingar folded his massive forearms, each thicker than Dracian's thigh, over his chest and scowled. The pirate was unmoved. "You're the one they're scared of." he stated firmly, folding his own arms over his chest before realising there was no way he could match the Nordheimer for sheer physical presence. Still, he stood his ground and stared back up at the ice-blue eyes. For a long moment the two locked gazes, then Eingar snorted. "Fine. Don't blame me if it does more woe than good." he sighed, unfolding his arms and turning to walk across the deck. Simeon gave a dusty mirthless chuckle, glancing at Dracian. "Care to wager that one of them panics and tries to stab him?" His sardonic amusement was cut short by a sharp glance from Dracian. "I'm more worried they'll try to harm themselves." he said shortly, turning back to the tiller but keeping one eye on the deck. Eingar frowned as he moved over to where Chiara was fumbling with a pair of axes in the crook of one dainty arm as she bent over and tried to pick up a third. From behind, the view was pleasant as it was from the fore, he admitted to himself. He'd not really had any nefarious intent towards the girl - winning her at a dice game was just a way for him to thumb his nose at the snobbish Messantian former captain of this vessel, who'd been overt in his sneering about 'barbarous races' in the tavern. There had been a half-formed idea to woo her with her own freedom and perhaps receive some, ah, 'gratitude' for it, but in truth the massive Aesir was - pardon the pun - at sea with women of the warmer kingdoms, especially soft ones like Chiara. Catrin was more like an Aesir lass - at least in spirit, as the Gundermen were stoic and hardened by life on the frontier of the Hyborian kingdoms - but the beautiful dark-haired noble girl was outside his experience. "Let me help." he said, coming alongside her and dropping to one knee, meaning to reach down and gather the remaining weapons. The effect was immediate. With a low cry of surprise, the Ophirean dropped both the axe she was trying to pick up and the two she was already holding with a clatter, leaping away and falling on her rump as she stared wide-eyed at the Nordheimer, who in turn was regarding her with bemusement. "Help." he repeated, pointing to himself and then to the weapons, wondering if she was perhaps simple. Scooping up one of the axes as though it were a toy, he offered it to her hilt-first. Understanding dawned in the girl's eyes as she slowly got to her feet, keenly aware that even on one knee the Aesir's head was almost level with her own. She reached out, taking the axe in both hands, then watched him as he began gathering up the other cleaned weapons. Though not the blood-covered, joyfully singing engine of destruction who had hewn through the sailors, the large man was still fearsome in aspect. His pale skin - reddened in places by the sun - was tattooed in savage patterns and glyphs, the fierce light of the northern skies in his gaze, but there were other things now that caught her eye now that the blood and worse had been washed from him. His hair and beard were clean - she had seen him every day take time to wash, comb and re-braid them with fingers that were dexterous despite the size of them. He was massively built, by far the largest man she had ever seen, but there was nothing apish or shambling about his appearance and motion. Still, though, the knowledge that he considered her his prize weighed on Chiara's mind, and she was convinced that it was only due to the aegis of Captain Dracian that the giant barbarian had not ravished her already. "Come." Eingar handed her a neat bundle of swords lashed together, and motioned her to follow him below decks. He'd gone several strides when he realised that Chiara was not following, and a glance back showed her watching him, pale and trembling. He sighed, and stepped back over to her, noting that she cast her gaze down at the deck and stood still, a goat waiting for the slaughterman's axe. "Hmmph. Look at me." His voice was a rumble, but not harsh, and the Ophirean girl peered up at his face through her lashes. "You are not mine." Eingar stated in slow Argossean. "You understand? You are free. I will not hurt you, girl. I never was going to." Doubt tinged her expression at that. Eingar huffed, somewhere between laughter and exasperation. "I swear by Ymir, and the gods of my tribe. You are safe from me forcing myself on you. Now come - we need to stow these where they will not rust and ruin your work." There was still a wary suspicion in her eyes, but Chiara followed him below decks. There, they found an empty barrel which would hold the bundle of weapons, which Eingar showed her how to wrap in oilcloth before storing. "Good." he grunted, stepping back and catching the back of his head on a low beam, which caused him to emit a string of profanity in gutter Argossean and his own tongue as he clutched the offended area. He was in the middle of invoking various devils to take whoever had built such small cramped boats when he noticed Chiara trying to cover a smile. "Oh? This is funny to you?" he asked in a plaintive tone. The girl's smile disappeared almost immediately, and Eingar paused, then sighed, still rubbing his head. "Aye, it is funny. I would laugh if it happened to someone else." he rumbled in a resigned tone, waving at her as though granting leave. "Go on, then. Laugh away." "Let me see it." Chiara said in a soft, melodic voice, surprisingly both Eingar and herself as she spoke without thinking. "Your head." she clarified, pointing to him to sit. "It is just a bump." The Aesir's tone was dismissive, but she pointed again at the bale of sailcloth. "Let me see?" she asked, sweetly pleading, her dark eyes on his, and Eingar realised that this was, in it's way, her own overture of peace. Nodding wordlessly, he sat as indicated, aware that the girl was moving behind him, her touch light as she gently parted his thick blond mane and examined the bump. The northman made no sound, even when her fingers grazed the bruised area, and she peered closer. "There is no blood." she said, apparently satisfied as she stepped back around to face him. "You have many scars." she commented as she studied him, noting the slightly paler marks on his skin, marks of blade, or fangs, she could not tell. There had, too, been a nasty one on his scalp, hidden by the long blond hair. He grinned at her. "They are marks of victory over death." he said with a short laugh, rising - carefully - to his feet. Chiara studied him a moment longer, then smiled very timidly, gently touching the fading line on her pale throat. Eingar nodded. "Aye, you have one too. And now you are free. That is what beating death does - it frees you." he chuckled. "Come, let us go back above deck. This place is like a burrow for a very small tundra fox." Nodding, still with a very slight smile, she followed him out of the hold.
  3. By the time the vessel was out of the port the two young women knew more about sailing than they ever thought they would. The Northerner's strength combined with the Argossian's experience with the help of the two... slaves(?), set them on a course for 'as-far-from-here-as-possibble' in an impressive span of time. Sea spray and salt-scent dominated their senses as the high winds of the great Western Sea welcomed them with its endless wonders and call for adventure. Catrin, the tawny-haired Gunderland girl seemed to have some skill with blade and bow, lessons from her father out of necessity, she claimed. Given their fealty to Aquilonia and often serving as its infantry in times of war, nearly all Gundermen knew a bit about handling weapons, although hr finest quality seemed to be the never ending litany of curses and choice appraisals she felt everyone in earshot needed to be privy to. Death was preferable to slavery to a Gunderman, and Dracian feared that, if given a blade, she may try to take her own life than be handed back to the Northerner the moment she stepped off the boat. Still, he simply informed her that her life was her own, and welcomed her to pick up any steel she chose. The Ophiran girl, Chiara, was another matter entirely. The spoiled Ophiran claimed to be part of some nobility or another, and while she didn't display any outward arrogance befitting her proclaimed station, her absolute ineptitude and lack of enthusiasm for anything that might lead one to callouses in due time seemed antithesis to her very nature. The girl could barely butter her own bread, let alone place steel in the gut of someone who deserved it... or didn't. After a few days at sea it was almost comical trying to watch the girl manage herself with the day-to-days of keeping a ship on course, bellies fed and all the usual maintenance that usually required more of a crew than what they had at the moment. By the third night out they'd weathered their first storm. The waves tossed the small cog about as the winds slapped drops of rain again the skin like a volley after volley of arrows against their skin. Although tall and he lumbered like a giant, the great strength of the Northerner proved to be worth that of four average men as he secured the rigging and kept the sails from shredding in the wind and lightning. Between Dracian barking orders that kept them all alive, Eingar's strength and tenacity and the ladies' will to not join the depths and what lurk there... along with Catrin's colorful language, the ship floated once more on calm waters as the warm sun did it's best to dry the shimmering, soaked decks of the ship. The four were simply sitting there, soaking wet and tired beyond measure before they settled in for some rest. It was then that Dracian pondered that they might just have a chance at succeeding... it was a motley crew, but they had spirit... even the Ophiran girl didn't quit, doing anything and everything she could, including getting in the way a lot, but she didn't run below deck and wait it out. That was worth something b his count. It was past mid-day on the fourth day, their bearing was still southwest, a ways past the Baracha Isles, but not too far. Dracian claimed there was an island out there, past them, that was an ancient and dark place that once belonged to a civilization that no longer walked the earth. An ancient outpost the bastard Bithulimon had adopted and stored his plundered treasures and corralled his slaves before deciding which ones he'd offer up to market and which would be kept for his own unholy appetites. The ladies' had sheared their the dresses they were wearing on the night of their capture down to something that permitted more mobility, slitting them down the middle and stitching them into makeshift breeches. They'd not found a pair of sandals or pattens their size among the numerous men's belongings, and had remained barefoot the last several days. Chiara had been tasked to polishing the weapons, all of them, as it seemed to be the only thing she could accomplish without royally causing a mess of it. She wasn't much of a talker, in fact, she'd barely said much aside from her small introduction a few days past and the occasional apology for making a mess. Catrin was re-securing everything, both above and below deck, as the storm had set nearly everything adrift. Simeon came out into the sun, shielding his eyes from its rays for a moment before approaching the two men near the helm who were discussing Bithulimon and his long list of crimes against decent folk. "Her fever has subsided, but the wound was deep, caught a mild infection but she's a strong one. She'll live, she'll scar, but before that, she'll need time to heal. I don't think she'll be of much assistance to you in rescuing her people." Chiara was admiring a dagger and took a very clumsy, downward practice swing. The dagger slipped from her grasp and stuck in the floor boards of the ship between her feet, almost claiming one of her toes. She skipped backward, sheepishly, embarrassed in the hopes that no one had just witnessed that, then struggled to remove the blade from where the ship had taken ownership. It gave way suddenly and she fell back into her seat with a startled shriek as the three men looked at her, completely baffled as to how she'd made this far in life. "What?" was all she could muster as an explanation. "Sure know how to pick them Eingar," Dracian smirked. "Bed her and she's likely to break it off on accident." Simeon snickered as the poor Ophiran girl's incompetence had reached neigh legendary status in only a few short days. "So, it looks like it's just us three then? Figure these two will need to stay and watch Freya." "And how do you know they won't take the ship while we're away?" Simeon asked. "Well, one, Freya would kill them herself. These are her people, after all. And, I'm taking the rudder pin with us." Dracian smiled wide. The old man, haggard from tending to Freya for the last several hours, sneered at the young Messantian. "That's a right bastard thing to do, boy." The young man spread his arms wide, shrugging. "Uh, pirate." He said and both an explanation and justification. "W-weapons are done, Captain." The young girl spoke up over the lull in the conversation. Her hands clasped tightly in front of her, she didn't even raise her head to meet any of their eyes. "I'll be putting them away now." She turned and walked off to collect the few swords, axes and assorted blades left by its previous owners. "Poor girl is scared near to breathless," Simeon observed. "No doubt waiting for one of you two fools to be bored with her and cast her overboard." "I would never," stated the captain flatly. "Well, she doesn't know that," the wizened sage glowered at them both, keeping their conversation to harsh whispers. "Either of you two bothered to talk to them, ease their fears? Or were y'two too wrapped in playing in pirates in order to tend to the needs of your crew, as near as I can tell," he nodded to Eingar. "You're as close to a first mate as this ship has." Dracian scanned Eingar, sizing him up. "Second, third and fourth mate, too." He appraised with a grin. "But, you've a point. We have been doing a lot of, oh, what's the term... ah, yes, 'keeping everyone from drowning', the last few days that there hasn't been much time for conversation. We'll take your observation under advisement, you know, while we're keeping everyone from drowning. But, allaying their fears is certainly not a bad idea. Hard to do though when Eingar still thinks they're his..." he glared at the Northerner like everything was all his fault. "He's not the most pleasant of sorts." "Well, she did drop a shield on his foot," Simeon pointed out. "That was an accident," Dracian broke eye contact and looked suspiciously from left to right, pondering an answer. Confidently he nodded. "I think." They both turned to look at the giant northerner, who barely fit below deck, like he was nominated to be the one to go set the young maiden's fears to rest.
  4. "The letters-man? Aye. He told me where that nilthing captain was when I was looking to claim what I was owed." The pale-skinned giant scowled faintly as he regarded the two girls, particularly the pretty Ophirean, then glanced at Dracian, a flicker of interest in his gaze. "Certain death, you said?" "Almost certain." Dracian nodded. "A slaver foul even by the standards of that breed." "Will there be wealth?" "For sure." "Glory?" The light in the Nordheimir's eyes was vaguely terrifying - not in a direct sense, but for the sheer savage lust for war and glorious death that it betokened. "If we're successful, we will have ended the reign of a prince of devils." The Messantian said by way of answer, seeing even as he did so that the huge warrior was sold on the idea. Eingar turned to the girls. "You heard the man." he rumbled in his barbarously accented Argossean. "You're free now, at least on this ship." He motioned towards the shore. "How long you remain free? That's up to you." The other girl, a long-limbed tawny-haired lass who looked to hail from the hills of Gunderland, scowled faintly at him as she examined the faint cut on the Ophirean's slender throat. "And where are we supposed to go?" she demanded, planting her hands on her hips and turning more fully to face Dracian and the northerner. "Begging or whoring on the waterfront? We will be back in chains before nightfall." Eingar shrugged. "You could stay aboard, but you heard the Argossean. We're sailing toward peril, so if you're staying, best help yourselves to weapons and armor from the dead here." He seemed to have no qualms at the idea of a woman strapping on steel, or even coming along on a deadly adventure as he turned, nodding his huge head at Dracian as the two girls exchanged glances and fast whispers. "Eingar, of the Aesir." he rumbled, slapping a blood-smeared hand on his broad chest. "Point me at your foes, and watch them rent asunder, Captain Dracian."
  5. "From her perspective, you almost just killed her, Northerner." He placed his hand on the large man's wrist that was holding the woman, getting his attention. "Let her not trade one monster for another." He stepped away, scooping up the merchant's coin pouch and tossed it to the dock official. The portly man caught it with a jingle. "Here, this should cover any bribes. We'll dump the bodies further out, and may none of us speak of this ever again." He pointed his scimitar in the official's direction. "Best deal you're going to get. What say you?" There were no words, just a not and the jingle of coins as the large man 'ran' away and down the docks. "We have eight," he cocked his head, still watching the offical shuffle away in a panic. "Twelve minutes at the most. Let's get going." He looked at the large northerner. "Are you coming or staying, giant? That man will have many guards with him and while you may fare well, I fear your new friends," his gaze set upon the two women. "May not. Only two things you need to know: First, we're all about to sail to a dark isle and die horribly at the hands of a demon cannibal. Second, every man or woman on my ship is their own. You want to own a life? Buy a horse. If it's thanks you want from those two, perhaps try a bit of charm." It already appeared the young rogue possessed a soft spot for damsels in distress (which made his choice in ships to steal a bit clearer) and an aversion to slavery. "Dracian, of Messantia, by the way." "She's losing a lot of blood," Simeon said calmly, helping Freya move by providing her a means of supporting some of her weight. "The arrow bit deep." Dracian nodded. "Take her below, I'll get us ready to leave." He turned to the large, blond man. "The woman is Freya. Simeon I suppose you know already."
  6. "A straw death would be preferable for a man who would hide behind a helpless girl." rumbled the northern savage in his rough Argossean, wiping blood spray from his face with his forearm - though this mainly had the effect of smearing the crimson into his beard. The official, glancing from the captain to the two barbarians and the rogue with the ready bow, stepped forward, hands raised placatingly. "Come now, fellows... and, uh, lass." he said. "Let us have no more bloodshed here. I am a port official of Messantia, and if I were to be harmed over your quarrel it would go very poorly for you. Now, Master Knossos, perhaps it would be best to give the barbarian what he wants?" "I'll see him in hell first." The captain snarled. "And you too, damn you. Where are your guards!?" The dark-haired girl at his feet whimpered as the blade scraped her tender throat, her eyes wide with fear. "Not here, fool. Our arrangement was to be a private one, remember?" The official snapped as his exasperation warred with his trepidation. "Your men are dead, fled, or otherwise incapacitated and I, for one, would like to live past this day." With a visible effort, he forced calm into his tone. "Let us cut our losses, captain." "I am not giving my ship to that scoundrel or my girls to that savage!" roared the ship's master, and his dagger hand swept up, clearly marking it's course to plunge back down into the helpless young woman's body. The official started to protest, Dracian started forward - and Eingar threw his hammer. The solid mass of iron-capped stone was not a wieldy weapon, but the massive thews of the northron propelled it unerringly on its course. It sailed over the head of the kneeling woman to smite the captain of the vessel square in the chest with a sickening crunch, choking off the death cry of the unlucky man as the air was blasted from what remained of his lungs and his body was hurled backwards from the impact. He hit the deck of the ship, the hammer tumbling from his body as he wheezed his death rattle, the knife falling from his nerveless fingers. A shadow blotted out the sun overhead, it's voice a cold rumble as though of distant avalanches. "You should have thought of that before losing at dice." the blond barbarian stated dispassionately as he bent, scooping up his hammer, and hefted it, ready to finish the man off rather than let him linger - only for him to check his blow when he realised that life had already fled the shell that had been the captain. He looked at the official, whose face was pale with shock but was otherwise composed, then at the slender archer who had come to his aid - doubtless for his own reasons. "My thanks." he said in rough courtesy, then stepped to the Ophirean lass and closed a not-ungentle large hand around her upper arm, drawing her inexorably to her feet as she looked at him with terrified eyes and let out a wail. "Pssh. Stop that caterwauling. I just saved your life, woman. Some thanks would be welcome."
  7. From where they hunkered down to avoid the volley of arrows, the two Northerners prepared for their charge on the deck. A solid *thunk* echoed across the chaotic, yet relatively quiet battlefield. Slave-trading in Zingara was not frowned upon, but smuggling them in without paying the appropriate taxes or using them as to bribe an official, was. As far as dock-side ruckuses went, so far, this one had been handled quietly... as neither the The volley of arrows raining down on their cover suddenly ceased as the creaking of the boom swinging around and knocking the archers either off balance or into the water drew the Northerner's attention from cover. The only two archers that were left took aim until a swiftly blood-soaked shaft thunked into the deck of the ship, having pierced one of them through the upper part of his calf and the the archer next to him pierced through his lower calf, pinning them both to the deck. As they both instinctively moved from the pain, they only caused their pinned neighbor pain as well, and the cycle seemed endless. "Ha!" Simeon, laughed aloud. "Y'still got it boy! Well done." The thief hopped down from the shipping crates he'd used for elevation, sliding the bow over his shoulder. "I was aiming for his chest," he said in reference to one of the men now pinned to the deck. "And stop shouting, I'm still hung over." "Bah," the old alchemist scoffed while tossing a small vial up to the deck of the shit where the tow men were struggling, painfully to pull the arrow from the ship's deck. It shattered with a soft jingle of glass releasing a vapor that swiftly put the two men to sleep once they inhaled the fumes. Both the men approached, joining the two Northerners, as they closed in on the captain of the vessel and the dock official. The official didn't seem to want any more part of this evening's affairs, but couldn't get past the four blocking his escape. One of the slave girls was crouched behind a collection of barrels, fearful that moving would mean her life. The captain, on the other hand, still seemed to be struggling for some semblance of control in his unfortunate situation. "Don't know who you are," he growled. The glimmering steel edge of his dagger was already drawing rivulets of blood from the second slave girl's throat. "But another step and 'your prize' is soaking the docks." "Ugh," Dracian groaned. He'd pulled one of his slender curved blades from its scabbard. "By Bel's itchy small clothes, why is it always dagger-to-the-throat negotiations? You realize that she is the only thing keeping you alive? Not keeping us at bay. Besides..." he pointed to the barrel. "There's another one right there. The big guy can have her, we'll take your ship, spare your life so that you can swear revenge on us and no one needs to get hurt. Let her go, she's really not saving your life at all right now, in fact, look at the mountain, he's practically seething for an excuse to end you." Simeon slapped the thief's arm. "You call that negations, boy?" "No!" Dracian laughed. "We're not negotiating. He's a dead man, one way or the other. He just needs to decide whether he dies tonight, or years from now, comfortably in his bed."
  8. The barbarian advance stalled as it reached the gangplank, both were covered in gore, that of those they had maimed and killed and their own from dozens of cuts and gashes that they were unable to avoid. It wasn't the sailors they had fought on the way to the ship that stopped them, but rather the sudden appearance of and arrow shot through Freya's thigh. They looked up to see lining the ships deck some half dozen archers as they took in the sight the bowmen let loose a volley but neither Eingar nor Freya where still where they had been. In a rush the two has lept like panthers to either side of the gangplank their backs against the curved hull of the ship, the arrows piercing the planks of the spaces they had occupied a second before. Freya shoved the arrow the rest of the way through the fleshy part of her leg and after breaking off the fletching pulled the cursed thing out with a fresh spray of blood. She made no sounds except a few grunts which drew Eingar's attention. If she noticed his gaze while she tended her wound she gave no indication of it. While this was taking place the archers kept trying to get shots at them to no avail, but it did keep the two of the under cover. They could hear the sounds of more sailors on the deck and the clank and clatter of arms, as the ships remaining men prepared themselves to exact vengeance against those who had reaped such carnage among their crew-mates. Frey tied off a bandage she had ripped from the shirt the sorcerer had made her wear and wrapped around her bleeding leg. “We need to kill the bowmen and get on the deck if we are to take the ship,” she said in her native tongue which Eingar could understand and those above could not,”this leg will slow me down, you will have to lead the charge I will follow.” She looks back at the docks, “Where the hell is Dacian and that thrice damned sorcerer?”
  9. "CUR?!" The huge Aesir turned towards Freya, plainly bridling at the insult, the ire in his blue gaze increasing as he laid eyes on her. He spat at her feet, booming invective in his native tongue. "Fegh! Only a piss-reeking ginger slattern would confuse a man with a dog. Tis no wonder, though. All know how much the women of the Vanir like to lay with beasts!" For a moment, the ship, crew and (for Eingar) the girl who was his prize were forgotten, washed away by the savage enmity as old as Nordheim. For even as the Picts and Cimmerians hated one another with a deep loathing, so too did the Aesir of Asgard and the Vanir of Vanaheim war with one another gleefully. It is truly said that man hates most those with whom he shares most in common, and that enmity between neighbours can far outstrip rivalries between distant foes for sheer spite. Freya and Eingar glowered at one another, hands tightening on the hafts of their respective weapons as the ship's crew looked on in bemusement. Finally, the master's voice cut through their confusion. "Aiiee, scum! Kill both these savages - a purse for each of their heads!" With that the spell was broken, and with roaring cries the crew of the ship rushed along the pier at the two northerners. To be met with a furious gale of steel and woe, for the interruption of the pair's hostility was possibly the worst tactical blunder any man could make. Had the ship's master left things alone, the two Nordheimir would have torn one another apart, leaving the survivor likely wounded and thus easier game. Instead, just as a tall tree draws the lightning, so too did the reckless charge of the southern sailors provide a focus point for the pair's aggression. Freya spun on one heel, lopping off an upraised arm from one sailor before cleaving open the breastbone of another. Eingar was less graceful, but no less effective as the boss of his shield caved in the face of one man, even as the weighty stone head of his hammer carried through an upward arc, driving the shattered remnants of another luckless man's jaw through what was left of his brain. Another man, armed with a boathook, tried to snag Freya's arm with the cruel gaff, only to have the returning downward plunge of the hammer flatten his head like an overripe orange. Eingar began to sing lustily in his native tongue as he fought, the thunder of his voice ringing in the ears of all nearby. In a matter of heartbeats, the wooden decking of the quay was awash in blood and worse, and the two Nordheimir showed little sign of stopping as they carved and smashed their way towards the boat's gangplank. Red and gold hair flying, faces alight with the thrill of battle, and with their weapons and clothing splashed with gore, Freya and Eingar were a terrifying sight to behold even if one were an uninvolved bystander. For the hapless sailors in their path, the gods alone know what they felt, though several of those quicker on the uptake than their fellows began to jump into the harbour rather than stand their ground.
  10. "Well, I certainly can't kill that many men..." Dracian said matter-of-factly. "Although, I was not aware Siemon knew one of the northern mountains personally, crafty old fool." As she stormed away to do whatever it was she as going to do, the rogue smirked and began moving, opposite the ruckus on the docks and the direction all the men were currently facing. Sure, he didn't technically have a plan, but having a plan to come up with a plan while working within everyone else's plans? Well, that was positively genius. One day those around whould come to, hopefully, understand the lengths at which he went through for them. It wasn't everyday a man was willing to allow others to flex their cognitive abilities and muscles in the service of someone, or something greater. And id he ask for anything in return? No! He was ever the consummate giver. They were damn lucky to have him. He had no idea where Simeon had gone off too, or where he'd retrieved his northern frost giant from youngling from, but it was of little consequence. Freya had all the manners and intellect of a typical trousers on head northerner and the frost giant? Well, he wasn't too far off, plus he talked funny. If he was lucky those two would kill everyone and each other and he'd have a new ship and a lovely prize to help him break it in. With a wicked smirk, he disappeared into the shadows...
  11. Freya frowned then looked sideways at Dracian "So when you said you could get a boat, what you really meant that you could find a boat I would have to kill a bunch of people so we could use it?" She shakes her head as she steps away from the Massentian. Hand on the hilt of her broadsword red tresses flowing in the wind, Freya pushed past Dracian to stalk boldly out onto the quay leading to the ship, which she already considered hers, and the merchant, his slaves and his goons and now the yellow haired Aesir, one of her peoples most hated enemies. "Out of the way you tow-headed cur, I've business with this fat fop," she said coming to a stop aside the giant barbarian.
  12. Lo, it is written in the Scrolls of Skelos and the dark lore of fallen Acheron that at the bottom of the deepest furthest ocean is a dolmen formed from a single meteor. In script that was formed by no human hand is inscribed a dark prophecy that foretells the awful blasphemous truth that someday, someone will post. Until then, we just have to keep up the sacrifices of screaming virgins.
  13. He came striding along the dock, a blond giant of a man fully head and shoulders above what was considered 'full-grown' here in the warm Southlands. Stripped to the waist against the heat, his pale skin inked with barbarous runes and wearing a harness from which hung an array of cruel weapons he was an imposingly vital presence, a slice of the savage northern tundra given life and purpose. The footpads and ne'er-do-wells who frequented the docks in search of drunken prey noted the icy blue of the northron's gaze and the easy way one hand tossed, spun and caught the heavy-looking hammer, and slunk from his path. "Cap'n!" One of the sailors paled and called urgently, waving to attract his master's attention as he saw the giant approach. The ship's master also paled at what he saw, quickly motioning to his men to take up arms. Daggers, boathooks and cutlasses were readied, even as many of the ship's crew silently mouthed prayers to their varied gods. The northerner did not slow his approach, though his eyes narrowed over a grim smile and he ceased the careless tossing of his hammer at the sight of their preparations. He came to a stop at the foot of the dock, his eyes searching out the captain and alighting on the two girls beside him as he stood there, saying nothing. "What do you here, savage?" The captain called from the deck, his bluster increased by the readiness and numbers of his support. "I am come to collect my prize." the Nordheimir rumbled in a voice like distant thunder, speaking Argossean with a barbarous accent. "'A dark-haired Ophirean lass, lithe and sweet' you promised me for my winnings. And lo, I see such a lass there." He motioned with the head of his warhammer at the brunette lovely on her knees beside the two fat men, her pale skin paler still as she beheld the giant, her dark eyes wide. "It is lucky that the tavernkeep knew where you were berthed, Master Menaus." The blond giant stroked his braided beard, still smiling. "I know you would not wish to be forsworn on a debt, after all." "Debt?" The captain glanced at the richly-dressed man beside him, then cleared his throat. "I know of no debt I owe you, barbarian. Certainly not one as expensive as this young virgin. Now begone, else I shall have my men dump your fetid carcass in the harbor!" At the captain's words, his men tightened their grips on their weapons, though their eyes betrayed uncertainty. The Aesir laughed, a booming sound with little mirth in it, and slipped the round shield from his back. "Merchants." he spat to one side. "This day you learn that there are costs that cannot be counted in gold, fat man."
  14. Name: Eingar of Asgard Gender& Age: Male, 20 Homeland: Asgard Caste: Barbaric Caste Talents: Savage Dignity, Uncivilized Story: Rite of Passage Trait: Famed Among Peers Archetype: Barbarian Nature: Murderous Education: Born to Kill War Story: Left for Dead after A Slave Raid Languages: Nordheimer, Argossian AGILITY: 10 -Acrobatics – 1/1/11 -Melee – 5/5/15 -Stealth – 2/2/12 AWARENESS: 7 -Insight – 1/1/8/ -Observation - 0/0/7 -Survival – 3/3/10 -Thievery – 0/0/7 BRAWN: 14 -Athletics – 2/2/16 -Resistance – 1/1/15 COORDINATION: 9 -Parry – 3/3/12 -Ranged Weapons – 1/1/10 -Sailing – 0/0/9 INTELLIGENCE: 7 -Alchemy – 0/0/7 -Craft – 0/0/7 -Healing – 0/0/7 -Linguistics – 0/0/7 -Lore – 0/0/7 -Warfare – 1/1/8 PERSONALITY: 9 -Animal Handling – 1/1/10 -Command – 1/1/10 -Counsel – 0/0/9 -Persuade – 2/2/11 -Society – 0/0/9 WILLPOWER: 6 -Discipline – 2/2/8 -Sorcery – 0/0/7 TALENTS Winter-born - Born in a place of deep winter and intense cold, often spanning the entire year, you are accustomed to frigid climes. When in wintry environments, the number of successes required for any Survival test you attempt is reduced by 1. This can even reduce tests to a Difficulty of Simple (D0). However, you must achieve 1 additional level of success when attempting Survival tests in areas offering the Desert-born talent. Savage Dignity - Despite your barbaric upbringing, you have a fierce sense of pride in yourself and your lineage. You cannot be dominated or cowed easily. You may roll an additional d20 for any test to resist being intimidated, persuaded, or impressed by a “civilized” person. This is usually a Discipline test, but can extend to Personality-based tests such as Command or Society. Uncivilised - You’re uncouth and lack civilized manners, and those of more civilized societies will think poorly of you upon first impression. As a result, you suffer one step of Difficulty in Social tests when dealing with people from more civilized countries. On the other hand, your Upkeep cost is reduced by 2 Gold, as you are accustomed to roughing it and making do with what you have. BLOODLINE: Nordheimer- whether from Asgard or Vanaheim, a Nordheimer with this talent is descended from a race of humankind that devolved into snow-apedom after the cataclysm. The earliest true humans in the land, forefathers of the Hyborians, drove them northward past the Arctic Circle, where they once again became humans, eventually returning to the lands that would later be known as Nordheim. When a Nordheimer with an Ancient Bloodline fails a Personality test, they are prone to boastfulness and foolhardy overconfidence. MELEE: No Mercy - When making a Melee attack, you may re-roll a number of damage dice equal to the total number of Melee talents (and ranks in those talents) you have acquired, if desired. You must accept the results of the re-rolls. Blood On Steel - You do not hesitate to bloody your weapons. When rolling for damage with a melee attack, you may spend one Momentum in order to add the Vicious 1 quality to the weapon, or increase the weapon’s Vicious quality by 1 if it already possesses the quality.. Grappler - You know that a mobile foe is a dangerous one, and the easiest way to stop someone moving is to grab hold of them. After making a successful melee attack, you may spend 1 Momentum to gain the Grappling quality on an unarmed attack.. WARFARE: Skirmisher - You can fight in a Squad with one other character and not lose your Reaction. Attacks: -Brawl (M): +4 Dam - Warhammer: 2 reach, UB, Damage 4, Knockdown, Vicious1; Enc 1 - Battle Axe: 2 reach, UB, Damage 4, Intense, Vicious1; Enc 1 - Shield: reach 2, damage 2, 1H, Knockdown, Shield 2; Enc 2 Threaten: +1 Dam Soak: 2 -Armor – Full suit of Brigandine -Courage - 0 Stress/Harms: Vigor - 15 | Wounds - Resolve- 8 | Trauma - Fortune Points: 2 Social: -Social Standing - 1 -Renown - 0 -Gold - 9 - Upkeep -2 Other Belongings: Target Shield; Battleaxe that belonged to a fallen friend; A fine Bakhariot belt of worked leather; A magnificent drinking horn with metal cup Image: A massive example of an Aesir, even amongst such large people. Eingar stands close to 7 feet in height. His white skin is marked with pale blue tattoos telling of his manhood rite, and under the surface muscles move smoothly with a grace than belies his size. His hair and beard are pale gold, braided and well-kept in the fashion of his people, and his eyes are the deep cold blue of the northern sky. Background: From the time of his birth, the joke amongst Eingar’s tribe was that his father was secretly a giant. He grew tall and strong, being as tall as many men before the first whiskers appeared on his chin. The whispers of giant blood grew as he did, not abated by his fearsome murderous temper, and the breadth of his shoulders and strength of his grip were not something even a full grown Aesir would take lightly. It was the custom amongst his tribe for boys on the cusp of adulthood to range out far and wide, armed with only a spear, until they had done some deed worthy of note, whether slaying a foe or hunting one of the mighty tundra elk singlehanded. Eingar not only slew an elk, breaking his spear in the process, but also defended his kill from a pack of wolves attracted by the blood. Armed only with a broken-off spear and his bare hands the young Aesir slew five wolves, sending the rest of the pack running, and then dragged the sled containing his kills over the tundra back to his village. The acclaim of his deed spread through Asgard, and many of his folk heard tales of the ‘boy blessed by Ymir’. His manhood celebration promised to be a riotous one – and would have been so if not for the slavers. Hyperboreans: tall and gaunt, cruel and merciless. Guided by their witchmen, they fell upon the small village at the height of the celebration. They were not after children, men or older women – they sought golden-haired Aesir maidens and slew all that did not suit their needs. Eingar fell during the battle due to a blow from a Hyperborean mace that would have killed a less sturdy man. When he came to, there was nought but bodies and charred dwellings around him. Now he roams the southlands as a mercenary, seeking gold and glory and, perhaps, a path to vengeance.
  15. Simeon sighed. "Did you actually have a plan here?" Before Dracian could answer, the old alchemist cut him off with a wave of the hand. "Rhetorical question. This is why I have to take care of you like this. Fortunately, I do have an idea. Wait here and don't do anything stupid - no, no, what am I saying. Do nothing." The old alchemist plodded off back into town. Some time later, as the negotiations looked like they were finishing, that was when the roaring blond hulk of an Aesir charged into the scene.
  16. This happening? If so, someone do something. Last two post is mine, help me out here.
  17. "Eh," Dracian shrugged, still feeling well and good hung over from earlier. "It's for the best. Stealing a boat is easy, stealing a crew? That would take way too long." The ship was a cog, a merchant ship with a single mast. The Look-Far possessed both a fore and stern castle with a single deck. This was a larger model with a mast length of 80 feet and a beam of 26 feet. Between the merchant and his crew there were nearly ten men to distract and or kill if they were to commandeer it, but thankfully at the late hour they were either well into their cups save for a few who were still attempting to unload and sort all manner of crates or wrapped bushels of cargo. Several were on the ship while a few kept rotating from the pier to the ship to unload the cargo while the vessels Captain of the vessel stood on the dock arguing with a local dock official or fellow merchant. Neither looked like they's missed a meal in quite some time. Stealing a ship was not the wisest plan, but like most things from Dracian's point of view: it wasn't wrong if there were no witnesses. A distant scream caught the trio's attention as two scantly clad women were pulled up from the hold. They both looked like they'd only endured minor mistreatment, but they were young and certainly attractive. Two of the Captain's crew drug them don the ramp to the pier and thrust them at the feet of the large man the Captain had been arguing with. It was easy to see they were being offered up as some sort of a bribe.
  18. Freya took a deep breath and savored the scent of the sea then let it out with a heavy sigh as she planted hands on her hips and shook her head saddle. "Ymir's stones Dracian, dammed good thing you don't want to take a crew, that thing will barley hold the three of us." The boats wasn't really all that bad much smaller that the dragon prowed ships of the Vanir but it did look sturdy and was rigged for the open water, it could sit only four oars though and they would have to do with just two and only half the rowers needed at that. Freya peered down at the markings on the ships aft, she recognized the letters these civilized men used to scribe words but had no knowledge of the reading. "What do those runes say?" Simeon glanced up from where he stood near there gear and stores where he had been taking account of the things delivered to them. "It is the boats name, it says Look-Far."
  19. 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."
  20. "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."
  21. 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."
  22. 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."
  23. 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."
  24. "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."
  25. 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."
  26. 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."

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