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Post by Char-Vell on Mar 6, 2018 21:40:40 GMT -5
Under the Sign of Jhebbal Sag VI
Sigyn raced furiously to through the woods, heedless of stealth or caution. Deftly she avoided pitfalls and obstacles. Aye, the moon illuminated all nearly as bright as day. Overhead, just above the treetops flew the great owl. “Follow! Follow!” it called. Though her lungs burned and her heart seemed set to burst from her breast, she did not slacken her pace! Freedom from the island awaited her, and the chance to avenge herself on those who would have her bear the obscene young of a demon from the outer gulfs! Presently, over the thundering sound of her heartbeat, she heard the crashing of waves and smelled the salt air. Out of the woods she ran, and onto the beach. The dry sand slowed her progress; it was difficult to walk in, like loose snow. She headed closer to the waves, where the moist sand would be easier to tread. The Owl wheeled west, and Sigyn followed. In the distance, she made out the light of fires, and between her and the fire, two figures headed in the same direction. Sigyn broke into a sprint, determined to catch them. As she closed the distance she saw they were indeed Borgar and Irb. They turned to face her, Irb raising his spear, and Borgar hefting a copper axe. “Hold girl,” he said raising a palm, “There’s no reason we can’t all…” Before the old Vanir could finish his statement, Sigyn leapt upon him, seeking to drive her dagger into his breast. Borgar blocked the blow with the haft of his axe and struggled to cast the girl off him. Irb thrust his spear at Sigyn, who managed to dodge, but in so doing was thrown to the ground by Borgar. The Pict brought his spear down, the obsidian point scraped along the girl’s ribs and pinned her tunic to the sands. Grasping the spear shaft, she pulled herself up and stabbed at Irb. He raised an arm in instinctive defense, and the dagger transfixed his forearm. Irb howled and agony and fell back. The dagger, imbedded in the Pict’s sinewy arm, was torn from Sigyn’s grasp. She pulled the spear loose from the ground and scrambled upright, heedless of the blood streaming from her side. Borgar had had regained his feet, and now charged her with upraised axe. She deflected his blow with a well timed spear thrust and Borgar stepped back to make another attack. From the corner of her eye, Sigyn could see Irb pull the dagger from his arm, then grasp it in his unhurt hand, stalking toward her. She blocked another axe blow from Borgar, and twisted to avoid a dagger slash from Irb. Her breath now came in ragged gasps and she felt the strength in her limbs waning. Borgar let out a harsh bark of a laugh, and swung again, Sigyn turned the blow with her spear but the flat of the copper axe-head stuck her temple and sent her reeling, stars flashing before her vision. She made out a blur that was Irb as he slashed at her. The blade bit into the flesh of her shoulder and tore a ragged slash down her arm. She lashed out with the spear, piercing Irb’s ribcage and breaking the obsidian point off in his lungs. The Pict fell to the sand, drowning in his own blood. Sigyn stumbled and fell, dazed from the blow to her head and bleeding heavily. Borgar closed on her grinning broadly. He raised the axe. Scrambling desperately for a weapon and finding none, she threw a handful of sand into the Vanir’s face. He roared and swung blindly. His blow missed widely. Sigyn regained her feet, but found Borgar was between her and the corpse Irb, which still gripped her dagger in its dead hand. Borgar wiped his eyes and leered at her, raising his axe and closing in on her again. Sigyn felt she would fail to avoid his next blow. Cursing, she clenched her fists and spat in Borgar’s face, prepared to fight the axe-wielding valid with her bare hands. The bald pated Vanir laughed again, and charged. A great grey shape fell in front of Borgar. There was a great rending sound, mingled with a crackling, a crunching. Sigyn beheld a great grey wolf crouched over the twitching form of Borgar. It turned to her, great jaws dripping with gore. Sigyn sat down in the sand and laughed. The wolf took a few steps toward her rearing up on its hind legs. Then there was a shimmering and blurring of the wolf’s outline. Then before her, she saw Obwey, pulling back the hood of a wolf skin cloak from his head. Smiling, he spoke to her, not in pidgin Vanir, but in the tongue of Jhebbal Sag. “You saved my life Sigyn of Asgard, now I return the favor. Go in peace! Speak well of Obwey of the Ka-Nu when you repeat this tale to thy children.” He turned away, and then stooped once more over the ruined corpse of Borgar. He rose and held on high a brilliant crimson gem. He closed it in his fist, and smiling once more at Sigyn, strode toward the trees.
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Post by zarono on Mar 7, 2018 6:20:38 GMT -5
Another excellent tale CV! This line is priceless, “Alas, my heath shall have to lie fallow awhile longer." Dig that map too.
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Post by Char-Vell on Mar 7, 2018 7:31:25 GMT -5
Another excellent tale CV! This line is priceless, “Alas, my heath shall have to lie fallow awhile longer." Dig that map too. Thanks!
It's a good thing Garnak lived in the Hyborian age, all that talk of plowing heaths would land him in Human Resources nowadays.
That last post was supposed to end the tale, but the closing paragraphs disappeared into the aether. I'll rewrite them and post them as a short epilogue.
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Post by Char-Vell on Mar 7, 2018 10:36:36 GMT -5
Under the Sign of Jhebbal Sag Epilogue
Sigyn leaned on the rail of the Swiftsure, wrapped in a thick woolen cloak against the increasingly frigid air. The Aquilonian galley sailed once more, sporting new masts fashioned from trees felled in the island forest, and rigging repaired with vines and hemp gathered from the same source. After she had been washed overboard, (along with several others) the remaining Aquilonian crew and the former galley slaves had set aside their differences in the interest of mutual survival. Under the leadership of Vikare the Kothian, they managed to steer the ship safely into the island cove. There, having drug the galley onto the beach, they set to repairing it. They had just finished and were planning to sail with the dawn when Sigyn staggered into their camp, delirious and bleeding. While she recovered from her wounds, she told them of what had transpired on the island. Having never strayed far from the galley, thus never seeing the wonders of the islands interior, the crew dismissed her story as the ravings of a delirious victim of exposure. Still, they were impressed by her fortitude and bravery, Honir and the Aesir in particular, and doted on her, making her somewhat of a ship's mascot. Presently, the Swiftsure was sailing the grey frigid waters of the northern reaches of the Western Ocean, approaching the coast of Vanaheim, after weeks at sea, Sigyn was nearing the place where she had first clambered on the galley. Honir sidled up next to her and clapped her on the back. she winced in pain as her wounds were still healing. "Not long now girl!" he said, grinning. "Just a quick jaunt through Vanir territory, and we'll be home!" Sigyn regarded him skeptically. "You make it sound easy." Honir scratched his beard, watching the gulls that now flew overhead. "Compared to the past months, it will seem easy, I'll warrant! Too bad Regn and Rothull were washed out to sea with that great wave; we will miss their swords on the trek that awaits us! But fear not! We'll have you home in time to wed erstwhile young Radulf when the spring thaws begin! Aye, this time next year, you'll be bouncing a musclebound babe upon your knee!" Roaring with laughter at his jest, Honir wandered off on some errand. Sigyn drew the cloak closer about her shoulders. Her tolerance for cold seemed to be less since her stay on the balmy island, while it was a place of nightmare, it was also a place of great wonder and beauty, and she found herself missing it. She had been absently fingering her amulet, and now looked at it, turning it over in her hand. Her friend Embla, a girl her age apprenticed to the shaman of her tribe, had given her the fertility charm with the announcement of her betrothal to Radulf. Its distended belly and bloated breasts served to remind Sigyn of both the horrors she witnessed in the sacred grove, and her destiny upon returning to Asgard. With a sneer of disgust, she tore off the amulet and cast it into the churning waves. Vikare came to her side, shivering. "Loins of Ishtar!" he swore. "You Aesir are a hardy lot to withstand this brutal climate, makes one miss the island, no?" Sigyn shrugged, speaking not. "Hardy indeed!" the Kothian continued. "That's why you nothrons make such formidable warriors! You yourself display more raw power and fighting spirit than many a man of the Hyborian kingdoms! With proper training......." He trailed off as if distracted, seeming to contemplate for a few heartbeats, then Vikare turned to her, addressing the girl more conspiratorially, "Your account of what happened to you on the island was fantastic, but I've seen equally strange things in my travels. In the whole wide world beyond the frozen wastes of Nordhiem, your tale is perhaps not so fantastic. And I know you did not get those wounds from rocks, reefs, or wild beasts, I know a knife wound when I see it. After we drop you near Torstvedt, I intend to sail to Fenrirborg, which is a day’s march south. I will be there about three days, recruiting Vanir, Aesir, and Cimmerian malcontents for a mercenary company I'll raise when I leave this seafaring lot to themselves and return to Koth. Three days, Sigyn of Asgard." With that, the Kothian left her to her thoughts. Sigyn sighed and watched the seagulls cavort in the air, free of earthly concerns, doing as they will. She loved her home and tribe, and indeed, she loved Radulf, they seemed destined to be a pair since childhood. But the sea, the phantasmagorical strangeness of the Hidden Island of the Ka-Nu, and the narcotic perfumed grove, sacred to Jhebbal Sag, had awakened something within her, a hunger to behold wonders, to see new lands, to hear the babble of foreign tongues. She stretched to her full height, working the soreness out of her healing limbs, and tossing her tawny mane. A seagull lighted on the rail and regarded her quizzically, Sigyn half expected it to hail her in the speech of Jhebbal Sag, but the sign had been washed from her forehead and the Aesir lass had forgotten. "What say you, bird?" she enquired of the feathered visitor, "I think Radulf can wait until NEXT spring to be married!"
End
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Post by buxom9sorceress on Mar 8, 2018 1:05:53 GMT -5
Under the Sign of Jhebbal Sag = ...Suddenly he found himself entangled! The girl had abruptly wrapped her legs about him, pinning his arms to his sides, he strove to free himself, but the strength of the girl’s thighs was unrelenting... ==== Hey Char-v, another very entertaining great grim adventure in the wide world of Conan. Tis nice to read a very strong Female warrior leading the dances of death. Your high quality tale telling just gets better and better. Many thanks for sharing.
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Post by Char-Vell on Mar 8, 2018 7:47:09 GMT -5
Under the Sign of Jhebbal Sag = ...Suddenly he found himself entangled! The girl had abruptly wrapped her legs about him, pinning his arms to his sides, he strove to free himself, but the strength of the girl’s thighs was unrelenting... ==== Hey Char-v, another very entertaining great grim adventure in the wide world of Conan. Tis nice to read a very strong Female warrior leading the dances of death. Your high quality tale telling just gets better and better. Many thanks for sharing. You're welcome!
I have a new one cooking right now, and i'll probably churn out a few more after that.
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Post by zarono on Mar 8, 2018 8:29:24 GMT -5
Good wrap up to the story and promise of adventure to come! It also explains why I sometimes stir fitfully from half remembered daydreams with the taste of saltwater in my mouth and ears ringing as from the thunder of an ocean storm.
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Post by Char-Vell on Mar 8, 2018 8:50:44 GMT -5
Good wrap up to the story and promise of adventure to come! It also explains why I sometimes stir fitfully from half remembered daydreams with the taste of saltwater in my mouth and ears ringing as from the thunder of an ocean storm. You are one and all the pageantry of shapes and guises and masks which have been, are, and shall be the visible manifestations of that illusive, intangible, but vitally existent spirit now promenading under the brief and temporary name of Zarono.
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Post by zarono on Mar 9, 2018 7:46:51 GMT -5
Good wrap up to the story and promise of adventure to come! It also explains why I sometimes stir fitfully from half remembered daydreams with the taste of saltwater in my mouth and ears ringing as from the thunder of an ocean storm. You are one and all the pageantry of shapes and guises and masks which have been, are, and shall be the visible manifestations of that illusive, intangible, but vitally existent spirit now promenading under the brief and temporary name of Zarono. That's what she said
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Post by Char-Vell on Mar 11, 2018 16:51:29 GMT -5
Because I know how interested you all are, here is a partial rough draft of Chapter 2 I started before deciding to streamline the narrative a bit by, among other things, having Sigyn wash up on the beach alone.
Under the Sign of Jhebbal Sag II
Sigyn was awakened by raised voices and incessant hammering. She strove to ignore it and go back to sleep, but the tumult grew louder. Finally she gave up and opened her eyes. She found herself on a low cot under a timber roof. On all sides of her were hung ragged sheets of canvas, flapping in a gentle salt-tinged breeze. She sat upright and stretched. She was somewhat surprised to find herself nude under the blanket that covered her. No, not a blanket, it was a silken standard of some kind with a golden lion emblazoned on it. And she was not fully uncovered, rude dressings had been placed on wounds to her leg, shoulder and head. And someone had washed the filth from her time at the oars from her hair and limbs. The oars! Now she remembered. She was still aboard the galley but it was so still. She went to the canvas from whence the hammering was loudest and peeked out. She saw an expanse of golden sand, gently caressed by frothy waves, clear blue sky overhead. No longer did the Swiftsure ride the sea, it had been dragged up on the beach. Men swarmed hither and yon, making repairs to the hull of the galley. But what was this? Men who wore the livery of Aquilonian sailors shouldered burdens beside Rag-glad galley slave and fur bedecked Aesir, all responding to orders bellowed by Captain Amulias, and relayed in the proper language by Vikare. Madness! Sigyn stormed from behind the canvas and to the railing of the vessel to get a better look at her surroundings. Spotting Honir, she hailed him. “Honir! What madness is this? Where are we? What…” Honir looked toward her when she called, as did the Aquilonian who was aiding him in the sawing of a board. Both went white as mare’s milk, and their eyes, started from their heads. “Sigyn! “ Honir roared, “Find something to put on, girl! You cannot parade about naked before this lot! I‘ll be up to explain things in a moment!” Sigyn had forgotten her state of undress, likely due waking to such a bizarre situation. She choked out a curse and scurried back behind the canvas. Near the cot was an opened sea-chest, rummaging through this, she found a blue silken tunic, emblazoned with the ubiquitous golden lion. She donned it and found it fit her nicely. She fairly squealed with delight when further rifling of the chest yielded a long knife in a shagreen scabbard attached to a matching girdle. She was strapping this about her waist when Honir entered. “That’s more like it.” he said, “Though I doubt Captain Amulias will take pleasure in your raiding his chest.” Sigyn snorted derisively. “What care have I for what Captain Amulias thinks? And why do you care for that matter? Did he not chain us to the oars and make us toil in out own filth?” Honir nodded, stroking his beard. “Aye, that he did. But the situation has changed. When that great wave struck the ship and nearly sank us, we few who survived had to cooperate to keep what was left of the ship afloat. When the storm broke, we spotted this island, thank Ymir! We bent our backs to the oars once more, this time with the Aquilonians at our side. We beached the ship. Amelius and Vikare think we can find trees large enough here to fashion a new mainmast. Then we can sail back home.” Sigyn sneered. “Home? He intends to return us home after having us as captives?” “Aye lass, that is the arrangement. But tell me how do you feel? We found you stuck in the rail with rigging from the fallen sail, which is what kept you from being carried out to sea. You were blue and drew no breath. Vikare managed to get you to cough up all the water you‘d drawn in, but feared you would never awaken, looks like you were made of sterner stuff than he thought by Ymir!” “I feel well enough.” Sigyn replied. “How long did I sleep?” Honir considered the question for a moment. “Three days more or less. We chucked you in here out of the sun and tended you as best we could. Fear not! I allowed only Aesir to see to you, none of these churlish southlanders! Come, now that you are up and about, you can help with the labor.” “How many of our tribe are left?” the girl asked. Honir cast his gaze toward the sea and replied soberly. “Counting you, five out of the original seven. Rothyll and Regyn were swept overboard when the great wave hit. Thalin claims he saw them alive and clinging to the mast as it floated away, but no doubt they perished.” Sigyn sighed and made her way to the deck. A crude ramp had been constructed to provide egress to the beach....
From here she was going to wander off into the woods to avoid work, then encounter the prehistoric animals and Picts.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 11, 2019 16:34:35 GMT -5
Under the Sign of Jhebbal Sag has to easily be one of the best things I've read in a long time. Good work. Loving the descriptions. I was blessed to be able to see things in pictures, when I dream its as though im watching a movie, but I'll be damned if I can find words to describe the things I see. Its a pleasure to read descriptive prose like this, I wish I could write this way.
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Post by Char-Vell on Feb 12, 2019 7:49:23 GMT -5
Under the Sign of Jhebbal Sag has to easily be one of the best things I've read in a long time. Good work. Loving the descriptions. I was blessed to be able to see things in pictures, when I dream its as though im watching a movie, but I'll be damned if I can find words to describe the things I see. Its a pleasure to read descriptive prose like this, I wish I could write this way. I'm amazed and gratified that one of my little stories could effect someone so profoundly. Thanks! Glad you enjoyed it!
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