While lots of people have heard of the existence of the dark barbarian, only a handful knows the story behind the man that has roamed the land for so long. Those few who know it do because they have had the patience to listen to the ramblings of an old blind hermit who lives in a mountain far away from any human or demihuman population, in the care of a druid. This man claims to be the last survivor of the cult that created the barb, and claims that the he allowed him to live so that he would tell others about him and his fearsome skills. According to the hermit, the story goes something like this:
Many years ago, Cherdrahn, an evil and charismatic priest formed a cult around him with the help of an evil deity, he and his men laid waste to the kingdom's countryside for years. His holy mission, according to the evil priest, was simple: they were harbingers of destruction, just as life gives way to death, and anything that is created is destroyed sooner or later, they were to be the instruments for death and destruction. They did not consider themselves evil, but rather as a necessary part of the eternal cosmic cycle.
The fanatical cult was very fond of human sacrifices and slaughter, done in silence and in hiding at the beginning, the cultists would abduct young girls and perform terrifying rituals before killing them. However, as the years passed, the cult became stronger, and the isolated murders turned into bloody raids in nearby towns and cities, sometimes obliterating entire villages in their sacred dates. Most of the villagers were fortunate enough to be burned along with their hometown or fell under the blades of the cultists, but others were taken to the cult's hideout to participate in horrible games of torture or foul necromantic experiments.
The evil band's activities escalated at a frightening rate, and the king soon took notice and dispatched many of his finest knights and soldiers. Leading them was Sir Zaekor, a holy paladin from the order MYTH, a true hero whose deeds were known and praised throughout the kingdom.
The battles that followed were truly epic, the knights and Sir Zaekor fought bravely, but the cultists fanatical faith filled them with a thirst for blood capable of besting the best of the kingdom's soldiers. This bloodthirst and their fiendish magic allowed them to give the knights a lot more than they had bargained for. Still, at the cost of one too many lives, the fair warriors managed to destroy most of the cult's hold over the land.
His forces broken and scattered, a weary Cherdrahn and other survivors fled north towards the mountains, swearing revenge upon their enemies. After many scouting expeditions, the king was assured that the remaining cultists were either gone or dead, and so the whole business was forgotten.
But Cherdrahn and his followers had not died, he and his closest allies had taken refuge beneath the surface of the earth in the numerous caves that ran beneath the mountain range. They were now only a handful, the once mighty band found itself weak and persecuted. One day, Cherdrahn told his followers he had a vision, he had dreamt a great champion leading them to victory and revenge, an unstoppable champion of destruction able to kill a man with a blow, whose ferocity and skill was unmatched. Cherdrahn considered this dream a divine revelation, and became obsessed with the idea of creating this crusader of darkness.
Years later, Sir Zaekor was blessed with a child, a healthy boy that brought him and those close to him much rejoicing. Two years after the child's birth, Sir Zaekor was awoken by screaming servants only to find his wife murdered and his son missing. The efforts to find proved fruitless.
Far from there, Cherdrahn was ready to begin the fulfilling of his vision, he had spent years learning from arcane texts and recruiting the help of numerous like-minded allies who could help him create his evil champion. As the paladins used their blade and powers to serve the light, his dark crusader would be the champion of darkness, he would lead them to victory and destroy anyone foolish enough to oppose him. And so it began, the son of his hated enemy was taken to the deepest recesses of the cavern and left there. For the child, a living hell began, his training was made with pain, death, and magic.
The first years, they would fill the cave with corpses during his restless sleep, filled with terrifying images magically and psionically inserted within his psyche. Sometimes, Cherdrahn and others would enter the cave and torture him, cutting and putting him back together altering his body with long forgotten necromantic spells. Illusions of death and mayhem filled the boy's day and night, despair and the smell of blood was everywhere. He was taught to fight by sadistic teachers who would sooner cut his flesh than teach him. As he grew older, beasts were let loose in the cave for him to fight with, if he could not defeat them, they would take care of the beasts only after they had mortally wounded him, he was then healed and punished.
Twenty years passed, and the boy was no more, as a matter of fact, many doubted the thing that inhabited the lower caves was human at all. The weapon instructors that entered the cave those days never returned, and some were found at the entrance days later, ripped apart and partially eaten. The now old Cherdrahn was ecstatic, not only for his champion's progress but also for the fact that he and the wizards had finally finished "Runic", a powerful magical sword destined to be wielded by the one true champion of darkness. But only Cherdrahn and his wizard allies were pleased with their creation, the rest feared it, they thought this had gone too far already.
In the middle of the night, the cultists slew the wizards in their sleep, all but one that is, the last wizard realized the ambush and fought back, killing many of the treacherous cultists. Cherdrahn heard the noises of the battle just as other cultists stormed his chambers, the priest grasped and uttered his Word of Recall spell seconds before the rebels' blades touched him. His spell, prepared for this very possibility years ago, took him to the entrance of his creation's cave. He quickly released the magical and mundane locks that closed the door and opened it, and there, naked and covered in blood, was his dark crusader.
He handed him the Runic Sword of the Elder Gods as the frantic steps of cultists approached them, "destroy them, my child" murmured the priest. An evil smile spread across the crusader's face as he grabbed the sword and turned to look at the cultists that entered the room. The battle did not last long, and soon the traitors' broken corpses were spread in the floor, a shout of agony trapped in their inert faces. The eerie silence that followed lasted for what seemed an eternity before it was broken by Cherdrahn's insane laughter.
"Impressive" the priest bellowed, "you are far more than I had expected, you and I will sweep across the land like a storm, we will show those worms true terror" he laughed again, his eyes filled with madness, "You and I, my child".
Yohon turned to the old priest, staring coldly at him in a way that chilled the cleric's blood before grinning darkly, "you are right, you made me what I am" he said spreading his arms, "I honor that by giving you a quick death". The priest's eyes opened wide with disbelief, but it was too late for him, he was about to scream when the blade sliced his neck.
As the priest's head fell to the floor, the only surviving cultist from the earlier battle gasped, his face contorted in terror. "Do you know why you are alive?" Yohon asked, not even bothering to turn around. "You will go and tell anyone who listens about me, you will them to wait for me, to fear me" the dark warrior turned to him, "you will also tell them I remember my father, his guild, and what they stand for" he said, approaching the man.
That last cultist is the blind old man who now lives in the care of a good-hearted healer retired from MYTH in a far away mountain
Fan Fiction about Drakkar
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