In Cimmeria - Session 5
Posted: Wed Aug 19, 2015 2:56 am
"It was so long ago and far away
I have forgotten the very name men called me.
The axe and flint-tipped spear are like a dream,
And hunts and wars are like shadows. I recall
Only the stillness of that sombre land;
The clouds that piled forever on the hills,
The dimness of the everlasting woods.
Cimmeria, land of Darkness and the Night."
-- Robert E. Howard: "Cimmeria"
The party makes better time back to the Village of the Ice Leopard Clan. The wagon that had proved so troublesome the day before turns out to be quite useful in transporting the prisoner, Torse. In exchange for taking him back to face justice and an assumed clean death, he provides the general location of Grok's village-lair.
Ice Leopard scouts greet the party an hour out of the village. Bulvar and his retinue are waiting when the wagon rolls into town.
So this is one of the bastards that's been burning our people.
Lycia can't resist, And eating them, MiLord.
Bulvar spits, and his advisors bristle with anger directed at Torse.
The captive finds his voice, I've given them the location of Grok and his brood. I never ate no one, I ask only for a clean death.
Bulvar's black eyes narrow, A clean death is for men, not dogs and flesh eaters. Bring a rope.
Torse screams in rage, Then as the last remaining of the Black Bear clan I claim a chieftain's right to battle!
The advisers howl in rage as one and shake their heads and move around Bulvar. The old man sweeps them aside and regards the captive, a man half his age. He turns to Crazy Wolf.
Do you have his weapons?
We do.
Well, give them to him, and cut the dog loose. My dinners getting cold.
Bulvar strides to a large open area in front of the long-hall. His son, a towering man with a fearsome set of axes strapped to his back attends him. He hands his son his cloak, standing bare skinned to the waste in the crisp winter air. His back and chest are covered with scars, and though withered with age, his powerful frame is still apparent underneath.
Torse snatches his weapons from Crazy Wolf and heads to the circle. Most of the clan has now gathered around. They scream and spit at Torse as he makes his way forward.
Old man, today I'll have vengeance for my clan. Prepare to meet Crom.
Bulvar's breath streams in the air. He rests his hands on the hilt of his greatsword, the point resting in the dirt, six feet away.
You know dog, we went to war with your clan, and we won. But we didn't wipe them out, we took our spoils and went home. There own foolishness did them in two years later. But even beaten and foolish they wouldn't have had anything to do with a man-flesh eating dog like you. The fact is, when I cut you down. I'll be the one defending their honor, not the other way around.
I told you, I never ate anyone.
I've heard about you dogs. First you go for the arms and legs, so they can't fight back or run. The you eat the rest while they're still alive, screaming and warm.
To Hell with you old man!
Torse rushes in, sword held high, shield in front of him. He slashes low, trying to throw the old man off balance and get inside the guard of the massive sword he wields.
Bulvar steps back, and begins swinging the massive blade around his body, over his head and around again, tracing arcs in the air. The blade sings as it cuts through the cold evening air.
Torse gives ground before the wall of steel created by the old man. But Bulvar makes good on his promise. The blade comes faster and faster, seeking blood. First Torse loses his right hand at the wrist. His sword drops to the ground. He follows almost immediately as his left leg comes off at the knee. He screams as the blade shears through his shield and claims his left arm. Blood flows across the ground in a river. Torse's face drains to ashen white, just before his head leaves his body.
The great blade slows and comes to rest at Bulvar's side. The old man breaths heavily, but he hasn't got a scratch on him. He nods to his son.
Give them 100 pieces of gold for bringing this one to me. And there's 200 more for Grok' s head when you bring it in. Tonight we feast for our gratitude and you sleep in my hall. You can be off in the morning.
(You are given four potions of Slow Healing, it's in the sheet)
I have forgotten the very name men called me.
The axe and flint-tipped spear are like a dream,
And hunts and wars are like shadows. I recall
Only the stillness of that sombre land;
The clouds that piled forever on the hills,
The dimness of the everlasting woods.
Cimmeria, land of Darkness and the Night."
-- Robert E. Howard: "Cimmeria"
The party makes better time back to the Village of the Ice Leopard Clan. The wagon that had proved so troublesome the day before turns out to be quite useful in transporting the prisoner, Torse. In exchange for taking him back to face justice and an assumed clean death, he provides the general location of Grok's village-lair.
Ice Leopard scouts greet the party an hour out of the village. Bulvar and his retinue are waiting when the wagon rolls into town.
So this is one of the bastards that's been burning our people.
Lycia can't resist, And eating them, MiLord.
Bulvar spits, and his advisors bristle with anger directed at Torse.
The captive finds his voice, I've given them the location of Grok and his brood. I never ate no one, I ask only for a clean death.
Bulvar's black eyes narrow, A clean death is for men, not dogs and flesh eaters. Bring a rope.
Torse screams in rage, Then as the last remaining of the Black Bear clan I claim a chieftain's right to battle!
The advisers howl in rage as one and shake their heads and move around Bulvar. The old man sweeps them aside and regards the captive, a man half his age. He turns to Crazy Wolf.
Do you have his weapons?
We do.
Well, give them to him, and cut the dog loose. My dinners getting cold.
Bulvar strides to a large open area in front of the long-hall. His son, a towering man with a fearsome set of axes strapped to his back attends him. He hands his son his cloak, standing bare skinned to the waste in the crisp winter air. His back and chest are covered with scars, and though withered with age, his powerful frame is still apparent underneath.
Torse snatches his weapons from Crazy Wolf and heads to the circle. Most of the clan has now gathered around. They scream and spit at Torse as he makes his way forward.
Old man, today I'll have vengeance for my clan. Prepare to meet Crom.
Bulvar's breath streams in the air. He rests his hands on the hilt of his greatsword, the point resting in the dirt, six feet away.
You know dog, we went to war with your clan, and we won. But we didn't wipe them out, we took our spoils and went home. There own foolishness did them in two years later. But even beaten and foolish they wouldn't have had anything to do with a man-flesh eating dog like you. The fact is, when I cut you down. I'll be the one defending their honor, not the other way around.
I told you, I never ate anyone.
I've heard about you dogs. First you go for the arms and legs, so they can't fight back or run. The you eat the rest while they're still alive, screaming and warm.
To Hell with you old man!
Torse rushes in, sword held high, shield in front of him. He slashes low, trying to throw the old man off balance and get inside the guard of the massive sword he wields.
Bulvar steps back, and begins swinging the massive blade around his body, over his head and around again, tracing arcs in the air. The blade sings as it cuts through the cold evening air.
Torse gives ground before the wall of steel created by the old man. But Bulvar makes good on his promise. The blade comes faster and faster, seeking blood. First Torse loses his right hand at the wrist. His sword drops to the ground. He follows almost immediately as his left leg comes off at the knee. He screams as the blade shears through his shield and claims his left arm. Blood flows across the ground in a river. Torse's face drains to ashen white, just before his head leaves his body.
The great blade slows and comes to rest at Bulvar's side. The old man breaths heavily, but he hasn't got a scratch on him. He nods to his son.
Give them 100 pieces of gold for bringing this one to me. And there's 200 more for Grok' s head when you bring it in. Tonight we feast for our gratitude and you sleep in my hall. You can be off in the morning.
(You are given four potions of Slow Healing, it's in the sheet)