[Story Hour] A Tangled Web


So, my Conan campaign is up and running, the first session ending an hour or so ago.

Currently, I feel sufficiently inspired to bother doing some session write-ups here. Whether or not I can maintain said inspiration, remains to be seen, but I'll try nonetheless.

Forgive me if me prose isn't always magnificent, I'm not trying to create a masterpiece here. 8)

Here's a teaser to start the ball rolling:

Session 1
Part 1: Welcome to Zamora

The reek of blood and entrails, sweat and steel, hangs heavy in the air. There is screaming and cursing, as blades ring off each other, or pierce flesh and crush bone. This is a vicious battle, and each man knows that it will be to the death. What drives the aggressors is unknown, but the sinister, unrelenting glint in their eyes and the ferocity of their attack betrays their intent -- to kill or to die, with no thought of surrender or mercy.

Slowly, the din of battle fades, and the last, dying whimper is uttered. The survivors wipe their blades clean and survey their surrounds. Two of their traveling companions and six brigands lie still on the road. Of those that remain, none are untouched, but all have suffered only minor wounds. They will live.

“They seemed rather intent on slaughtering Sharzad,” Zoran mused quietly, perhaps to himself. The nimble Zingaran sheathed his arming sword and wandered over to investigate the corpse of his erstwhile companion.

Evanthe merely grunted. She was busy eyeing the scale corselet worn by one of the Zamorians, abrute of a fellow who had been the last of the bandits to go down. “I think that scale might just fit me,” she said.

Nolgrim peered at the Brythunian warrior-woman. He hadn’t seen her in combat before, but she had certainly held her own in this melee. “I’ll draw lots with you for it,” he suggested.

“Ok,” she replied.

Zoran looked up from where he crouched over Sharzad’s mangled body, sliding a few just-acquired silvers subtly into his pocket. “Hang on, I’ll grab some straws.” He scampered away, and returned with two blades of grass clenched loosely in a fist. “Shortest straw wins?” he asked?

“Not likely,” Nolgrim replied. “Longest wins.” The Nemedian wasn’t interested in perverting the natural course of luck.

He drew the short blade, and wondered off to take a long swig from his wineskin, seemingly unfazed by his loss.

“Sharzad wasn’t carrying much, but he did have this,” Zoran said, holding up a leather tube. Removing a cap from won end of the cylinder, he withdrew a sheet of parchment. “Looks like some kind of ancient Zamorian. I might be able to decipher it, given enough time.”

“Hmmm … not here,” Evanthe said.

“I have no desire to congregate with these corpses,” Nolgrim agreed.

“We’d better grab whatever’s of value and move on,” Evanthe said, gesturing to Chengis. “It’s still a long trek ahead to Shadizar.”

Chengis, the Turanian nomad, stirred to action, and helped Evanthe loot the dead. A handful of silver, a few weapons – mostly poorly cared for – odds and ends and two sets of very comfortable boots were their reward. Zoran chipped in a couple of silver to the group pool, though perhaps not quite as many as he had found.

Shortly they were on their way once more.