Kyrthas The Barbarian King

The Barbarian King

The naked, ugly head of a massive black vulture nipped at the hair of one of the many fallen warriors that lay dead on the field of Ephinos. The bird crowed out in agitation as the warrior pushed it away with his hand with what little strength he could muster. "I'm not dead yet..." these words came as a surprise to Kyrthas, whose last memory was charging into the enemy clan with his own men rushing behind him.

The bird crowed once more as the barbarian king planted his right palm as firmly as he could on the ground and tried to prop himself up. His eyes scanned the field of wasted soldiers, all lying in pools of their own blood. "Did anyone else survive?" Kyrthas thought to himself. Surely there had to be some other survivors. What battle was ever fought where both sides obliterated each other? Someone had to be the victor.

Kyrthas brought his left knee forward as to try and give himself leverage in order to push himself up from the ground, but a shooting pain like fire shot up through his right leg the moment he put any pressure on it. The warrior hollered in pain and rolled onto his back and then groaned miserably. "A broken leg? Sprained at the very least." He judged within his mind before rolling back onto his belly and using both hands this time to prop himself up.

A long sword glimmered nearby as the sun peeked out from beneath the gray, cloudy sky for just a small moment. Kyrthas extended his arm, stretching it to its limits as his fingertips grazed the tip of the blade. "Come on..." he grunted as he pinched the end of the sword between his index finger and thumb and carefully pulled the weapon closer to himself. "There we go!" He thought in satisfaction as he then gripped the sword by the handle and drove the tip into the ground, to use it as a makeshift walking stick. "This will have to do."

A gust of wind, carrying the smell of blood, brushed his long, chocolate brown hair and beard back, causing him to have to brace himself lest he too get blown away. He was grateful that his wolf-fur cloak was still intact, as it helped keep him warm from the slight chill beginning to form in the air. Kyrthas hobbled through the sea of bodies, stepping over and around the corpses of the fallen as best as he could without hurting his leg too much. He spotted a hollow in one of the nearby mountains that seemed a suitable place to take shelter in until he could walk better.

The cave was dark and damp and had a faint smell of must as Kyrthas limped through the small tunneled entrance. The pain from his leg transformed from a dull throbbing to a steady burning sensation that travelled through every nerve ending in his leg. The warrior groaned in pain as he neared the back wall the cave and carefully dropped down so that he could rest. In this case, sleep would be the best remedy until he could gather the strength to find something decent to make a splint out of. But for now, rest was his priority.