Legends of Belariath

Augustus

Description

The barbarian Stands a staggering 7', his skin bronzed and smooth, combined with his rather lean muscular body and pale green eyes he is a rather handsome sight. His hair is a long raven color, that is the legnth of his mid back, sometimes select strands are in braids.. and others his hair is simply straight and silken. The barbarians face shows a sense of ruggedness have only a slight shadow of hair. Often seen in his full suit of dark armor, with a dark war blade strapped to his back. Face often covered with a visored horned helm.

Character Background.

Whats in a Name?

A woman lay upon a roughly sewn blanket of different color pelts and hides. A group of other women dipping a crude cloth into the ice cold water , gently soaking it then rubbing the cool water along her forehead , face and neck.

”It's over now dear.. “ one woman leans in to whisper in the womans ear.

Another woman picks up a blood stained sheet, washing it in another tub of water as best she can. A man enters the room, his eyes somewhat full of tears, he looks worried for the woman on the blanket.

”Is she alright...?” the man asks the woman who stays patting the wet cloth on the girls face.

”Yes, she will be fine...it was just a long birthing.. that is all, she is very tired and needs her rest. Not to mention all the bloodloss. “ The woman looks over to a bundle of blankets where a baby lays sleeping silently. “A strong one he is, strong and stubborn. I almost feel sorry for you Robert.”

The man looked to his son with pride walking over to him bending down to him whispering to him “strong and stubborn... you're already like your father, eh?”

A gasp comes from the tired womans mouth , very silent, very sweet and timid “ That is why he will be named after is father...”

The father simply smiled placing a finger on the abnormally large baby boy.

Years Later

As two young adults walked in the snow looking for prey. They were hunting for food and plasure. The serious hunting was usually left up to the grown men of the clan. One significantly taller than the other, yet both seemed alike in looks. The taller one having a hammer at his side, a fur lined coat over him to keep him arm. The shorter one had a trap, and a coat of the same.

The smaller one looked at the other inquisitively “Why do we call you Bob?”

The taller one blushed a little , and smiled “ I don't know... father just called me Bob one day... He said it was more practical , and quicker to call me Bob than by my real name. I think it makes it easier for him to scold me. “

The smaller of the two men laughed.

As they trecked through the deep snow the smaller one set a trap...and placed a peice of food into it. Both quickly made way about 100 feet away watching the trap interested in what might come by. There conversation a whisper now.

The smaller man looked at him again with a quesntionable look “ Well...what IS your real name?”

Bob looked at him rolling his eyes a bit “does it really matter to you that much?”

The smaller laughed silently “sorry its offending you Bob... I just wanted to know”

Bob smiled his eyes on the trap as an animal was slowly stalking toward it smelling the peice of fresh meat. “I am named after my father...Robert...because of who i am, my strength, and my abnormal hieght... the Colossal.”

The smaller man quirked a brow “So your real name is... Robert the Colossal? “

Bob rolls his eyes again “Yes.”

Just then the trap springs and the two go running toward the trapped animal...

And So it Came to Pass

A rather large barbarian lays fast asleep within a tent...with no idea of what was about to happen....

He awoke to terrible screams... screams that still haunt him today. Instantly the barbarian jumped from his blanket made of several hides and fur from different animals... Nearly naked he took in his hands a crude sword that had been given to him by his father. He trembled as he had never been in battle before, only training with the others his age in the clan... He had accelled greatly in the art of combat, nearly twice the rate of the others... his father had been very proud of his learning...but it was all about to go into action this night. As he lept form the tent kneeling in the snow... peering into the shadows... as he stood... the glowing flames of the fire cast shadows on the bloody...ripped apart bodies... of women, children... and men.

After looking carefully through the bodies , he had discovered a good majority of the women had been dragged away including his mother. Looking around there was a trail of blood...footprints he had never seen along with the trail of blood and disturbed snow. Quickly he followed, the cold snow creeping between his toes...freezing him to the core.. the adrenaline corsing through his veins warmed him to the point he didnt notice. After about 30 minutes of running on the path, smoke and light were maybe 50 feet in front of him...he slowed down only to look at three orcs at a camp. All three completely defensless.

One orc was on top of a woman... a woman he could identify out of one thousand dead bodies... it was his mother. Thankfully he could tell by the lack of breath escaping her noce and mouth she had long departed this realm. The other two sat lazily by the fire feasting on the spoils of human flesh. The barbarian was overcome by his anger...he rushed into the camp.

Raising his sword in the air running as fast as he could screaming the loudest war cry he could, startled the orcs to badly as to send chills up even their spines. His blad quickly found its way into the hard orc flesh of the two at the fire. The first one to feel the cold steel, felt it above their brow... the orcs hard scull cracking upon the feirce blow. Quickly he pulled the sword from the orcs head... only to hit the other with his hilt... sending the second orc into a daze... He held the sword high into the air...gripping it with both hands... with all his might, and body weight he thrusted the sword down with two hands. Blood spurting from the orcs head... the barbarian had sent the blade through the top of his skull into his throat... All that could be heard by the orc was gurgles and caughs as blood quickly filled his vocal coords.

He quickly turned to the thrid orc, filled with blood rage... he looked into the orcs dark eyes... holding the blade to his lips he slowly licked the orc blood ...coating his pink tongue with the think, disgusting blood of his enemies. The orc merely cocked his head oddly at the barbarian...now standing facing toward the barbarian. The orc rushed the barbarian as to threaten him, or perhaps scare him. The barbarian merely stood in place until the orc was only one foot in front of his burying the sword into his manhood. The orc howling in pain... gripping the swords blade trying to pull it out himself... the power, blood rage, and sweet taste of revenge flowing through the barbarians body...his stregnth resisting the orcs actions...He slowly began twisting the blade inside the orc... causing the orc to fall to his knees. The barbarian withdrew the sword... taking a step back to look at the fallen orc. The orc knelt there submitting to the barbarians swordplay and stregnth, breathing heavily, grasping his jewels or lack thereof. The barbarian held his sword up above his right shoulder, gripping the hilt as hard as he could his muscles tensing. With one swift hard delivered blow to the neck, the orcs bloody head rolled onto the ground . After looking over the camp the barbarian grabbed everything he could carry, weapons, blankets, anything of value. He walked away slowly...very confidently making his way to the nearest town...

The Metamorphasis

The Barbarian had been in nanthalion for quite some time now, having been somewhat betrayed… not by anything but his heart and soul. For her knew how he should be and knew how he should act. He was a barbarian, a leader of men, he could rape, he could pillage, he could command. Yet this torian had done something to him, his primitive needs and nature had subsided. The object of his obsession being the Torian, Mayalaya. They had had their moments and their affairs. Yet he had felt empty….. Something inside him was calling and he knew not what it was. It was this reason why he was going to leave nanthalion.

By this time the barbarian was tramping through snow up to his waist, on his way to the northlands where his family had been murdered. He knew someone was calling him there was something that he was seeking and he knew not what it was. The bitter cold nipping at the barbarians copper, bare skin it surprisingly did not bother him… he was used to the cold. He had grown up as a child in the cold. He had been traveling for months, and had held onto the same rations he had left nathalion with. The barbarian heard a bird above him as the snow flakes fell like soft flower petals… He looked up, he watched the large bird of prey fascinated. He found himself silently day dreaming as he watched. He shook his head and kept moving.

Two days later the barbarian saw what he thought was a fire, the light snow had turned into a blizzard, and he could barely see. The snow flakes were streaming down so fast it actually hurt when the small ice crystals hit his skin. The barbarian slowed now, he knew it was a fire ahead… knowing that orcs also roamed these parts, he carefully made his way… circling the fire, when he approached a large pile of snow he peered around it only so see a single figure warming himself in front of the fire. The man looked of a tribesman, adorned with pelts and feathers. The man stood from the spot he sat, turning as if he knew he was being watched… His eyes staring right through the barbarian known as Bob, A chill going down the barbarians spin as those eyes were almost glowing blue, shining in the darkness like two orbs of glaciers.

The Strangers voice called out through the snow and darkness. “Come brother… You’ve much to learn, and much to accomplish… And you have little time.” The barbarian was puzzled, but nevertheless, it seemed to be the right thing to do… the barbarian made his way through the deep snow toward the stranger. As he approached the stranger grasped his arm in a handshake they had done at his village, instantly the same was done in return. The stranger looked into the barbarians eyes

“I have been given the name Ice Spirit… and that is what you may call me”

Bob Nodded and returned “I am named Bob”

With that Ice Spirit chuckled.

Bob looked puzzled “What?”

Ice Spirits glowing eyes looked into the barbarians “That is not your true name, long ago… when your village was attacked, you had been driven far away from your homelands and your tribe before the naming process could be complete…. There is a time in our clan, when you learn your true name. Bob is what your mother and father had called you before that time. When you were to reach a certain age, you would’ve undergone the naming ritual of the Ice Bear Clan.”

Bob watched him carefully, the man had brought back memories that the barbarian had long forgotten.

Ice Spirit seemed to know what he was thinking “You’ve come here barbarian because you are incomplete. You are a member of the Ice Bear Clan, and you must be given a name, As it stands you are an abomination to the clan, without a name you are an outcast without a purpose.”

The barbarian looked at him looking for words “What must I do Ice Spirit?”

“It seems, young barbarian that you have already begun your journey to find out, You are here, and that’s where it starts… with me and you… I am of the few tribesman in the council of the Ice Bear Clan that can perform the Naming Ritual.”

“Very well then, let us find my name”

“You must find your name, Drink this Barbarian “

Ice Spirit held out a crude clay cup filled with a mixture of dark green, with swirls of very light enchanting blue.

The barbarian grasped the cold cup and, looked at it for a moment and then moved it to his lips gulping the bitter tasting liquid down his throat. It was think, and unimaginably cold. He looked at the Tribesman and seemed to stare into the distance… as if looking through him. Almost instantly the world before him began to skew… within moments the barbarian hunched over.

Ice Spirit quickly laid the barbarian out on his back in the snow. The barbarians night was filled with restlessness… tossing about in the snow as Ice Spirit continued his chanting over him. In his dream it seems that the barbarian had entered a whole new world, a world of his ancestors… going through many trials… and many people whom he didn’t know.

One thing that remained the same in the dream was his name…. A name that kept flashing in and out of his mind between each scene in the dream…

When he awoke, he simply looked at Ice Spirit, and said the one thing he could remember, his name…. His true name, the name his ancestors and the gods themselves had given him. The barbarians Gasps trying to catch his breath… as he manages to get out

“Augustus Coldfist”

The Ice Spirit nodded. “ The Coldfist is part of the Ice Bear tribes, and strong tribe that broke away from the original Ice Bear Clan when they became over populated. Augustus seemed to be a name that I’ve heard before… someone in your bloodline it seems. Bob is now dead… and Augustus Coldfist of the Clan Ice Bear lives… dead lost… and reborn found… and so we go one to create the legacy that you were born to live. “

The barbarian felt his heart fill with what he knew was missing, he had a purpose. He knew who he was and where he had come from. He stood in that blizzard with a new purpose… with renewed strength… And now he knew he must return to nanthalion.

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