Menu

Kaliker: Origin Stories

This topic contains 1 reply, has 1 voice, and was last updated by  Kaliker 1 year, 4 months ago.

Viewing 2 posts - 1 through 2 (of 2 total)
  • Author
    Posts
  • #471

    Kaliker
    Participant

    [Hello! This is a compiliation of my Exile character’s origin stories – all that occurred to him prior to Conan: Exiles. I’m going to play it safe and post a NSFW tag, just incase – as these stories may vary in content. Please enjoy and let me know if you have any feedback on my writing – thanks! – Kaliker]

    <The Damned>

    Dawn broke upon the darkness, washing away the chill of the night and too, the uncertainty that nightfall held. All around there were rolling hills, and swaying trees of various height standing defiantly against the band of two-dozen warriors that marched pass. Bark and branches caught cuirasses and clothing occasionally as they weaved between trees. These brushes with nature only resulted in a mere second of irritation to the wearer; nothing more. Miles away a pack of wolves let out their final howl to the darkness; one last salute to the night.

    A horn sounded from over the next ridge, followed by the clashing of steel against steel as the Rorik Company came under attack. The warrior band began to shuffle their feet as they quickened their pace toward the sounds of battle. Men and women alike took short breaths as a low chant grew from a grumble to a chorus of shouts as they came upon the peak of the ridge.

    Kaliker threw up his shield as arrows whizzed past his exposed head; long black hair blowing behind him. Several of his comrades stepped closer to him, practically shoulder to shoulder as their shields meshed to form a protective wall. The air was thick with the smell of blood, both close and far the screams of the wounded could be heard. Even louder than that though was the continued chanting of the line as the pressed in on their comrades and enemies.

    Peeking through a small hole, Kaliker could see the conflict unfolding before him. At least fifty mailed warriors pressed against Rorik Company’s thirty mercenaries. It wasn’t difficult to see that Rorik Company was losing ground and beginning to break. Closing the gap, Kaliker shouted his own call to arms – pressing the line forward. Arrows pelted and pierced their shield wall, but the line did not waver even as pikes and swords began to thrust. Feeling the press of someone against his back, Kaliker instinctively moved his shield aside to allow for the singing polearm of his ally to thrust into the chest of an enemy. As if on cue, an arrow broke through the shield and pierced the forehead of the woman behind him.

    The rinse and repeat motions of the shield wall would continue for several long minutes, each second bringing with it another breath of fresh air and a promise of it being Kaliker’s last. However, the final breath never came. Despite the overwhelming numbers and superior equipment, the line held against the assault of the mailed warriors. During the final moments of the battle, it felt as though they would reign supreme over their enemy – until the sound of hooves striking the earth could be heard.

    Shield wall or not, they could not hold against the momentum filled cavalry charge that collapsed the line in its entirety. Kaliker was thrown into the mud, instinctively placing his shield over his head to protect himself. Muddy and bloody boots began to stomp on his gut and groin, forcing the air from his chest as he felt himself being pushed further and further into the mud. Gasping for air, the mercenary considered his final moments – trapped beneath his own shield, being buried alive by the corpses of his allies and foes alike. The shouts became calls in the distance as the chilling darkness crept into his sight – shutting his eyes and washing him into the uncertainty of eternal night.

    • This topic was modified 1 year, 5 months ago by  Kaliker.
    • This topic was modified 1 year, 5 months ago by  Kaliker.
    • This topic was modified 1 year, 5 months ago by  Kaliker.
    • This topic was modified 1 year, 5 months ago by  Kaliker.
    2+

    Users who have liked this topic:

    • avatar
    • avatar
    #516

    Kaliker
    Participant

    As if a sudden gust of wind struck the sails of a ship; air pressed into Kaliker’s lungs as his eyes flew wide open. Staring at the tattered underside of planks of wood, his vision returned and for a brief moment he felt he had been damned to eternal life within a wooden coffin. It was only when the bloody smell of iron pressed against his nostrils did he realize he was not yet dead. With a renewed pulse of energy, he pushed and shoved with all of his might to escape what would soon be his grave.

    Cold night air scratched at his skin, the moon staring down at him from so far up in the stars. Glancing around him, the corpses of the dead had been mangled by poaching animals of the mountains. That corpse which had served as the anchor to his grave, had been torn in half by some large creature as he slept. Kalikers hands felt at his chest where moist blood had soaked from the attack. With ease, he took in a long breath as he realized he was truly alive.

    Pulling himself to his feet, he felt a stabbing pain in his shield arm – closer examination revealed an open wound. It had not yet been taken by infection, though slugs ate away at his exposed flesh. Kaliker realized the blood would attract predators of the night and any infection may mean an early end to his years of battle. With haste, he searched through the remains of the battle – grumbling words of apology to the dead. The exercise did not yield the best results; only finding some water and a few scraps of moldy bread. Eating around the mold, he sipped down only enough water to satisfy the needs of the body before setting off in the direction of Akbitana.

    (~Several Hours Pass~)

    Stumbling through the woods of the night, his eyes were keen, his blade held tightly in his right hand. During his passage through the mountainous terrain, he decided to wrap his wound with a piece of cloth from his shirt – as he had begun to feel the sting of infection. On more than one occasion he had almost fallen to his death, but even though he stumbled through the woods, avoiding any noise in the brush that he encountered – he somehow still survived. No creature nor pack had chosen to approach him, much to his fortune. It was only after hours of walking in the darkness that he noticed the land begin to flatten. Not long after that, he noticed a distant fire. Wandering toward it, the closer he got, the more clear the farm became to his vision.

    Blood was dripping down his arm, creating a small trail of crimson droplets behind his footsteps. Looking through the haze of early morning, he could see the light of the sun beginning to push itself towards the top of the mountain range in the distance. It was difficult to believe that he had descended that hellish landscape in the dead of night, only now to find himself steps away from either his certain death – or a place of healing and rest. Noticing that he was only a step away from the door, he dropped his sword on the ground and pounded his fist upon the wooden exterior, his eyelids beginning to shut involuntarily. It was only at the moment that an older woman answered did he allow a few pleading words to escape his lips prior to collapsing into the mud from exhaustion.

    “Help . . . me.”

    2+

    Users who have liked this topic:

    • avatar
    • avatar
Viewing 2 posts - 1 through 2 (of 2 total)

You must be logged in to reply to this topic.

Joining This Server

Recruitment Status: Open

Application Process:
Register on this site.
Fill out an application in the thread. [link]
Accept Steam friend request from Cyruskring.
Receive Steam Group invite and password.

Server Contributors

We would like to very warmly thank everyone who has contributed to the server donation fund!