Barbarian's End

Brumlock the Vengeful woke with a cry in the night. Animated by his dark desire, he crawled out of his slumber and into the night. He gripped his large broadsword and began his trek towards his quarry.

His back cracked several times as he did so. How long had he been asleep?

It mattered not.

He would have his revenge on Kronn the Bold, and then he would drown this pitiful realm in flame. 

Questions swirled through Brumlock’s consciousness. Where was his horde of vassells, waiting on his command? Why was his castle toppled into a pile of stone rocks at his feet?

It was true, his defeat at the hands of Brumlock and his lover Zarla was far from ideal, but Brumlock the Sleep That Waits would have restored him in time. Now he was ready for his revenge. 

He passed by a stream for a drink, catching sight of his reflection. His dark beard had grown past his midsection. What surprised him was the shots of gray visible in each hair.

“Cobwebs, most likely,” Brumlock said, patting his beard. “And dust.” 

He continued on his path. Vengeance would be his. He was sure of it. 

After several hours of travel, he finally spotted Kronn. 

His foe tilled in a field like a common farmer. His black mane similarly saw a crown of silver. His large muscles blocked sight of a large belly. How much had Kronn fallen in so short a time. 

He locked eyes with his dreaded enemy. He drew his fierce broadsword and began his approach. For his part, Brumlock only picked up a common farmer’s scythe. This would be easy, he thought.

His blade catched against the scythe of Kronn. He reeled back for another blow, but Kronn brought his scythe whirling towards him with such speed that Bronn had to duck. Kronn reeled around for another blow, but Brumlock kicked him in the midsection, sending him spiraling to the ground.

Brumlock then raised his broadsword with two hands and brought it down towards Kronn, but his oversized enemy scurried out of the way at the last second. He picked his scythe, blocking his next blow and then using the staff portion to deliver a blow to Brumlock’s neck.

Undeterred, Brumlock brought his sword down once more, only for Kronn to hold his scythe up, blocking the blow entirely. Frustrated, Brumlock tried to will his broadsword to cut through Kronn’s scythe, to no avail. 

It was at this point that Brumlock realized how tired he was. His heart raced. He was panting like a dog. What sorcery was this?

“I’m done,” Kronn announced. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Inexplicably, Kronn turned his back and began to walk away. Brumlock could cleave him in two and be done with it, but the insult perplexed him - perplexed him and outraged him.

“No! We are not done!” Brumlock challenged. “Our dance is not yet complete!”

“No, it is. You’re just still salty about Black Gate,” Kronn said.

“Because you cheated!” Brumlock shot back. “If you hadn’t put me in the Sleep That Waits, none of this would have happened.”

Kronn shrugged. “I beat you, one way or the other. And since when do warlords care about fairness?”

“When it seriously inconveniences me!” Brumlock protested.

Kronn started to walk away again. “I don’t care anymore. We’re not young men anymore.”

“We’re….young enough!” Brumock said, till trying to pick out the invisible spider web from somewhere in his hair.

“It’s been twenty years,” Kronn said, leaning on his scythe. Brumlock couldn’t hear it.

“Lies! Deception!” he cried.

“It’s the truth. Your men got tired of waiting around and left,” Kronn said. “I still see Torrnak at the market every now and then.”

Brumlock threw his head back in a boisterous laugh. “Now I know you are lying. Tornak would never abandon me.”

“He would if you stopped paying him for twenty years,” Kronn said pointedly.

As remiss as he was, Brumlock knew Kronn had a point. 

“Kronn! Kronn!” a lighter voice filtered through the wind.

Brumock turned to see Zarla standing on the hill above, but this was a very different Zarla. The woman he had known was a skilled archer and warrior, all tanned muscles in a loincloth. This Zarla wore a white dress that did little to hide her soft matronly curves. From behind her large hips, two children peaked out with black and brown hair respectively. 

“DInner will be ready soon,” Zarla said. She cast a warm smile at Brumlock. “I made extra.”

“I’ll be in in a second, dear,” Kronn yelled back. Brumlock gave him a questioning gaze.

“She’s trying to poison me, isn’t she?” Brumlock said.

“Depends what you think of her cooking,” Kronn smiled.

“Seriously!” Brumlock said.

“Okay, fine, that’s not it,” his adversary smirked. “She just wanted to talk to someone from the old day. The village is filled with mewing crows complaining about the last harvest. I suspect my wife wants to talk to someone from the old days…even the Black Son of Nowford.”

Brumlock considered this for a moment.

Twenty years gone. His army deserted him. His enemies happily married.

He had only one question.

“What’s for dinner?” he asked.

“Beef stew,” Kronn said.

“I think…I could be persuaded to stay,” Brumlock said. “But I would have won that fight.”

“I’ll add senility to the list of charges,” Kronn said as the former enemies walked towards a new night.