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| “ | Civilized men are more discourteous than savages because they know they can be impolite without having their skulls split, as a general thing.
— The Tower of the Elephant by Robert E. Howard
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Born in the snowy cap mountains, Conan was the offspring of a blacksmith part of a warrior tribe in the harsh land known as Cimmeria. Conan matured rapidly as a youth, due to the harsh environment and rigorous training, and became a well-respected warrior among his tribe at the tender age of 15. After raiding a rival civilization outpost with a group of his tribesman, Conan was enamored with a strange desire to explore the outer reaches of the Hyborian Age and quickly left his tribe to set off in his own adventures. The young warrior quickly gained a reputation as a skilled thief, a savage barbarian, a marauding pirate, and a fearless warrior-general throughout his travels; He faced a variety of threats ranging from immortal wizards to monstrous man-beast to the ferocious fire-breathing dragons that terrorized the land. In his later years, Conan became a well-respected king of a once tyrannical nation, but that only kept him at bay for so long before he yearned to adventure the outer lands once again. His name will be forever stamped as a legendary warrior of The Hyborian Era.
Battle vs. Guts (by Lunathemoon123)[]
Prologue[]
The brutal battle had been raging on for near 3 hours by the time the Aquilonian forces decided to flee. They effectively been outflanked by the warriors of Midland, their numbers having been crushed and lines shattered. While their attempts at resistance were valiant and brutal, the battle was clearly unwinnable, with most of their soldiers having been ordered to flee through the mountain passes from which they came.
It was during the time when the Captain leading Conans battalion would come to him. "Cimmerian!" the officer cried to him as the group ran. He knew that Conan was his best soldier, and he also knew that his chances of out running the platoon on their tail through the mountain passes would be impossible unless someone held the line for the rest. "Ai!" Conan called back. "I'll need you too hold the back line as the company flees". The Cimmerian Scoffed. "Do you really think I'd let myself die fighting an unwinnable battle" he said before spitting at the feet of his captain. Holding back his anger, the Captain held for a moment before speaking. "If you don't hold the line then we're all dead. And if you survive, when I'll double your pay until".
Conan knew he wasn't going to win this argument. "Ai. It is a good day to die" he bellowed before slowing his pace to take to the back of the group. After only a short while longer, the group had made it too the narrow pass, beginning to march in single file. The captain looked back at Conan, who'd taken up a position near is mount. "Your bravery will be remember son". But Conan Ignored him as he drew his sword and ax, taking up a defensive stand and preparing for combat as the line of Midland warriors lumbered towards him. "Ai" he thought, "This is a good day to die".
The Midland soldiers took less then a minute to arrive, the first eager warriors coming screaming towards him. The first three were all young men, not much past 18. "a shame" Conan though as he prepared himself for the attack. The man at the head of the trio, a scraggly red head, lunged forwards with his spear, attempting to pierce Conan through his midsection. Seeing this Coming, Conan redirected the blow with his blade, letting the boy close in before sinking the ax into skull. The second, angered at his comrades death swung at him with an hooked ax, causing Conan the duck the blow and lung forwards, burying the blade of his sword through the man throat. The third, panicked and in fear of the brute who just slayed his comrades tried to run, but fell after the beard of Conans ax caught him around the ankle. "No! Please" he cried as Conan stood over him. "I'm Sorr..." he got out before Conan cleft his head in half with a sword swing. The remaining platoon members, stunned in fear at the savage skill of the Cimmerian stopped in their. The men stood in a circle around him, none having the heart or will to enter the strike zone. "Ha!" Conan laugh, "No poltroon here has the nerve to cross blade with me!". But as Conan taunted, a single figure came to the front of the circle. Guts, to his own disappointment, had only had minimal amounts of action during that days fights, being stationed in the rear guard. Now seeing a foe like this land so easily into his lap, he left like this luck had turned around. He stepped into the circle, drawing his massive greatsword from his back and flicking down his visor. "I'll take you" he grunted.
Sizing up his foe, Conan was impressed. "I know you boy" he spat. "You're the Hawk raider who killed 100 men". Guts didn't react physically, taking a short moment to speak. "You're the Cimmerian savage". Both men looked at each other for a moment, clutching their weapons. And after a short moment, staring and breathing, the two lunged towards each other.
TBC
Expert's Opinion[]
TBD.
To see the original battle, weapons, and votes, click here.
Battle vs. Aragorn (by Lunathemoon123)[]
Prologue[]
The sounds of gurgling water fill the large cavern which engulfed Gracklestugh, the sounds of distant metal work and commerce echoing off into the distance. But near the cities limits, within the confines of what was once a guard post, stood a group of 20 Duergar. While irregular, each man and women was armed with weapons, both of the simple and martial variety. These men were the followers of Bothric Skikudis-Chath, a liberal dignitary with a foot in gang world. And his men were here for one reason, to help rectify a feud with blood.
Aragorn stood near the back of the column, hand of hilt and eyes closed in thought. He'd originally discovered this strange land on accident, but was drawn to the severity of the state of this place. Beyond just civil conflicts, Elven slavers and wild beasts, the place was being consumed by an elder evil. And from what he knew, after this land was consumed, so would the overworld. He than opened his pale gray eyes, catching a sound and smell in the distance. Orcs, Goblins, and more of these gray Dwarves. They were coming for them. "And soo it begins" he though as he tightened the straps of his helm and drew up Andruil from its sheath.
...
A band of 20 mixed warriors lumbered along the narrows resource passage from the interior Gracklestugh. The group was of mixed species. Among them were a base of Duergar, alongside a handful of Hobgoblins, Bugbears, Gnolls and one human. The group was composed of hired mercencies, many being escaped slave from Menzoberranzan. Being sent at the behest of their boss, a mad Derro named Mathuguleck the bald, the group was ordered to clean up a group of loyalists under the control of a fool politician.
Conan walked near the front of the section, weapons already drawn and helmet planted firmly on his head. He hadn't come down here intentionally, and still questioned why he was here. One night he'd fallen asleep, and the next morning he awoke in chains. He scratched at the brand mark on his shoulder, the area still healing from the burn. He'd cut his way out and made his way here, though the trek was brutal. He knew little of this land, beyond the fact that it was evil and dangerous, and he wanted out. And he was willing to anything and everything to do that. He soon a small group of dark Dwarves ahead of him, causing him to sign to his men. The fight was imminent.
...
Aragorn could now see his enemies, and was surprised at the groups diversity. He'd not expected to see Goblinoid here, but this didn't lower his determination. However, he quickly noticed a man who'd caught his eye. There was a single human among them, and he had a good idea of who this man was. When he first enter the Underdark, he heard tale from the Duergar of a human warrior in the city who'd taken up work as a gang enforcer. And now here he was, serving a new master. The man was shorter than Aragorn, but was none the less more impressive in appearance. Aragorn knew that he had to keep an eye in this man.
...
Conan sized up his enemies. All but one were gray dwarves, and most were relatively lightly armored. But his eyes soon were drawn to the mail clad warrior near the back. He was human, and impressively tall, towering over his allies. He was dressed in mail armor and carried a sword of master craftsmanship, its blade reflecting the dull light of the local bioluminescent fungi. Conan had heard of this man while still in Blingdon stone, with the local Gnomes telling him another human warrior crusading against the evil if this place. And now he was here, ready to fight. Conan bared his weapons in firm fists, knowing that this man was his most pressing opponent.
Both groups got into position, standing near 30 feet from the other. There was pause as both sides prepared. And was the moment ended, a mad ratting it metal sounded and war screams echoed throughout the chamber. And the battle was on.
TBC
Expert's Opinion[]
TBD.
To see the original battle, weapons, and votes, click here.
Battle vs. Logen Ninefingers (by Lunathemoon123)[]
Prologue[]
Conan road his old war horse down the dirt path towards the old farm. He loved slowly, keeping an eye of the terrain ahead of him. He clutched the hilt of his sword tight, ready for anything. The day before, he gained a report from a group of scouts. They'd been scouting out a farmstead on the outside of a large town during a raid. But as the approached, they were confronted by the farmer who own the place. When they tried to push past him, the farmer butchered a handful of them. So accordingly, Conan took it upon himself to deal with this man personally. He continued onwards, gray skies overhead.
Logen Ninefingers, now going by the name Lamb, sat quietly on an old apple barrel. He held his saber in hand, thumbing the blade as he waited. He'd killed some men the day before, but had let some get away. So noe he was waiting here, since he knew more men would be coming. He watched the crows picking at the day old bodies in the field, simply filling them time. Say one thing for Logen Ninefingers, say that he's patient. But his waiting wouldn't last long. After maybe another minute or two, Logen could see a figure coming up over the hill. The man was mounted, and dressed in full armor.
Conan could see the farm house from the top of the hill, a small wood and stone shack. He could also see the remains of his men, now a feast for hungry crows. And most importantly of all, he could see a man waiting for him, more then likely the old farmer in question. Conan lashed the reins and moved brisky down the hill, grey sky getting darker.
Logen could see his opponent now. A big man with dark tanned skin. He road closer, but Logen stayed seated. "If this bastard wants too fight or talk, then he'll have to wait until I damn good and ready" he thought, wipping a drop a rain from his brow. It didn't take long for the big man to get close too him, now maybe only 20 paces away. Logen was surprised by the other mans age, appearing to be well over 40.
"Are you the man who slaughtered my men?" Conan asked, his tone hard, voice filled with venom. Logen looked up at him, saber still in hand. "I was" he said. "Your boys tried to burn my farm, so I gave them what was coming." Conan scowled hard. "You took them by yourself? With just a sword?" he asked, hand still tight around his sword hilt. "And with a few good knive" Logen said. "Father always said you could never have to many knives."
Conan's scowl shifted too a thin smile. "You're a warrior then?" he ask. Logen shruggled. "I tried to leave that life behind. But it had a habit of coming back too me." Conan's smile switched for a large, manic grin. "Then you are just the man I am looking for." Logen was confused. "What do you mean? You cam searching for me?"
Conan laughed. "No, but you're the type of man I was looking for. A warrior with the skills to challenge me." Conan slipped off his horse, hand still on his sword hilt. "Hold on" Logen said, now standing up to meet Conan. "You came seeking a battle? What kind of sense is that." Conan laughed again, a deep, throaty laugh. "I seek to regain the excitment of my youth once again. For years, I've ruled over Aquilonia with a troubled brow. And now, I may once against feel the thrill of battle against a worthy opponent."
And with that, Conan drew his axe and sword from his belt and took up a battle pose. "Prepare farmer! bring up your weapons to face mine!" Logen's face was grim. "If this is how it must be, then I don't dissapoint you. He took up a simple stance, saber in one hand, a long skinning knife in the other. Both Barbarian's eyed the other down.
TBC
Expert's Opinion[]
TBW
To see the original battle, weapons, and votes, click here.
Battle vs. Drizzt Do'Urden (by Lunathemoon123)[]
Prologue[]
Conan walked slowly across the cold expanse, the frosted grasses and think layer of crusted snow crunch crisply in the night. The sky was dark and overcast, but Conan didn't need a light source to see on this tundra. This land was just like his home of Cimmeria Up above the vast black sheet of clouds, Conan could see faint glimpses of moving light, a common phenomenon for lands this far north.
His thick woolen tunic and animal skin cloak concealed turned the harsher breezes, though he wore his shirt of black iron mail over his clothes. He grunted and he climbed a wide but relatively flat boulder, trying to get some vantage point to get a better grasp of the local area. He looked out across the flats, but only saw more wilderness.
"Damn." he said. He'd hoped that the settlement on his map would be close by. However, it appeared that the fort was even further North, too far North for him to arrive at that even. He sighed with disappointment, now realized he'd have to seek shelter in this frozen hell. He began to walk again, before something else caught his attention.
A scent was on the breeze, one which Conan recognized. "Meat." he thought. He could smell freshly cut venison of the air, likely only a few hours old. The smell was feint, meaning it's point of origin was far off. He looked back into the darkness, at first unable to see what he was looking for, before finally spotting a small, cloaked figure, only a few miles off behind him. ...
Drizzt stalked his path slowly, keeping his eyes low to the ground. While he could move around just fine in the darkness, his vision adapted for low light conditions, he had actively switched into his Infrared vision in order to spot anything prowling around in the darkness. Earlier that night, Drizzt had spotted the tracks of a wound caribou, and had only an hour before downed the beast. He had been trekking back to his den with the choicest cuts of his kill when he had spotted a new set of tracks
They were booted, human sized feet, heading due north. Drizzt new few men could survive in these cold wastes for long, not before the cold or one of the Ice Lizards got you. He decided to follow the tracks, as he knew he had time before sun up, and he didn't want to let some poor foolish soul get killed for no good reason out here.
Drizzt had been following the boot prints for over and hour before he knew he was getting close. While weak, his Infra-vision could pick up traces of heat on ground. "Fresh." he mumbled, before continuing forward. As he continued to move, the heat from the prints became less and less feint. This interloper was close, likely only a few hundred yards.
Drizzt could see a small mound up ahead, it's slopes covered in snow. The prints moved past it, inspiring Drizzt to move it. However, as he did, he felt as if something was wrong. He instinctively tensed, laying his hand on his off hand scimitar, as he dropped down to inspect the tracks. He moved slowly, up until he got to a point just past the mound, when he saw the tracks suddenly stop.
...
It was only the sound of Conan's sword exiting it's sheath that altered Drizzt to the attack. Like lightning, Drizzt instinctively turned, drawing his blade as the same time, as he saw a hulking barbarian flying down from the top of the mound, falling upon him like a Wraith. Drizzt barely had even a moment to block the incoming strike, with steel shrieking against steel as Conan barreled down on him.
Drizzt used the moment of the enemy's strike to himself fall back into a backwards tumble, landing on one knee facing his attack. He quickly offloaded his cache and drew his other blade. He could see the dull red outline of his foe cut against the darkness. The man was big, rugged, sporting a mane of wild hair, and carrying a mean looking broadsword.
Conan could make out his intended target in the darkess, his catlike eye's picking up on the small tracker's appearance. He was thin, lean, but athletic, with long white hair and dark black skin, his amaythst eyes cutting through the darkness like a raging fire.
"What sort of dark fiend are you?" Conan snarled. Drizzt couldn't understand the Barbarian's words, as he was speaking in a tongue unfamiliar to even him. He poised himself in a loose guard, ready to fight back. Conan met his posture, holding his broadsword in a feral guard. Both men eyed the other, their night adapted eyes piercing the other like daggers. They both remained still for just a moment longer, before they both surged forwards.
TBC
Expert's Opinion[]
TBW