Introduction of Gutbur: Session #000
Hail*NOR/
(Tundrra): Welcome to a short story following the adventures of Gutbur Bloodhawk the barbarian.
First a bit of context, a opportunity arrived where we were able to share a chat dialog between Marquis Talolan the Dungeon Master(DM) and Lord Lasarian the character Gutbur in an exciting format for the community.
Talolan gathered in-depth backgrounds from each player to build an extensive world within D&D’s Faerun modules along with his original twists. For 10 levels Gutbur traveled together with the campaign party, “Oswin’s Spear” as they unlocked their mysterious character backstories within the campaign.
For months, time had been tracked and mention of a upcoming pilgrimage Gutbur must undertake would come up in passing. That day has now come and Gutbur has left the party behind.
Gutbur’s adventure splits off from the group’s weekly video and audio meet up, and moved to a one on one text format between him the DM.
So the adventure begins and we hope you enjoy the story and dialogue exchange.
Session 001
Backstory!
(Lasarian): I am Gutbur of the Blood Hawk tribe, a clan of half-orcs related by blood to the humans of the Elk tribe of the Evermoors some three generations ago.
We are Ysgardians and keep faith with Uthgar, but we also make sacrifices to the orc god Gruumsh so as not to offend our orc ancestors. We keep a sacred mound in a hidden glade in Lurkwood. We follow spirit guides. Mine is the Cave Bear, as he put his mark on my body even before my totem calling.
Our home is eastern Lurkwood and its green skirts to the south. We would hunt and forage our grounds following whatever game was abundant: elk, deer or boar. Each season we would travel north for moot and to fish spawning season in the Surbrin. In leaner years we would raid the loggers in the southern forest or small caravans that wander too far from the road. My sister and I would be sent in among the fallen to dispatch the wounded and gather loot. She called it “Poking.”
More abundant seasons we might prefer to trade with them or our distant orc kin during moot at the knees of Many Arrows.
My father was Oksig, son of Volk’gaz and Miranna, warrior, hunter, furrier and tanner. My mother is Brunhalla, daughter of Kirvald and Lōgda, a weaver and midwife.
Oksig and Brunhalla have borne five children, my elder brother Oksig’os, my elder sister Grella, me, my next brother Hoggard, Begrir who drown and my unnamed little sister who died at four moons of fever.
I received my first tattoo before I can remember, over my left eye as a token to Gruumsh to please my orc ancestors. All the men in my family wear the mark. They receive it the day they are named, usually before two winters.
During my seventh summer my younger brother wandered too close to the Surbrin and fell in. The river is swift and deep, more so that time of year. Little Begrir vanished instantly and was never seen again. My grandmother blessed us that day, telling us the spirits must be angry. It seems to me the spirits are angry most of the time and nearly impossible to please.
That same year, after pestering my father within an inch of my own life, I received my second tattoo, on my right shoulder as the son of Oksig, son of Volk’gaz, son of Kebmor.
Discipline in my family was martial and swift – my father called it “the dressing” or “giving us the work”. Small infractions warranted a slap, greater offenses brought on a more rigorous beating. During a particularly thorough dressing, I remember him saying he was going to “Beat the orc out of me.” At eight winters I wondered with great dread what would become of me if my orc half was beat from me and I was left only human.
This continued until finally at eleven winters I tired of being dressed and hit my father back. I struck him in the face with my fist then pushed him down on the ground. If there was ever a moment I thought surely the orc and perhaps the human too, would be beaten out of me it was then. But to my surprise my father sat in the mud on his ass laughing. When he regained his feet, he bade me embrace him. I was wary, fearing some subterfuge, but I obeyed. He clasped me tightly, patting me on the back roughly – and proclaimed. “I am proud of you my son.”
Fights among mates and siblings were commonplace, but we were strictly forbad from taking up weapons against our kin. This offense was not taken lightly. The last boy to draw a weapon against his brother had that hand cut from his body and he wore it around his neck for the remainder of his days. One of our gravest curses is “kinslayer.” Fists and teeth were fair play though so bloody faces and broken bones were common.
The season before I confronted Oksig, my best mate and cohort Maldred and I were unwisely exploring a cave when we encountered a young male cave bear. The bear had me – I was pinned under a single paw and his claws marked me for life. Maldred was behind me and clear, the cave opening not far behind him. Instead of fleeing for his life, he intervened – provoking the bear and drawing all of its attention on him.
I had no idea my beloved cousin had such foolishness in him. That young cave bear made short work of Maldred. I don’t know what misguided impulse possessed him, but his reward was a crushed skull in the mouth of a bear and his dismembered remains strewn over the forest.
I was able to escape and survive. I learned that day the difference between courage and folly – I suspect so did Maldred in the brief moment he had left to learn it.
After the Cave Bear, I earned my third tattoo – the sign of the Bear on my leg around his mark.
The end of my twelfth winter is when I noticed the female Esthelga in a new light. She was handsome and stout and my thoughts often turned to her. My attention did not go unnoticed by Esthelga and she returned it – although that sometimes involved her stealing a kiss which I liked, or throwing rocks at my head, which I liked less. Our tribe approved of the match and I heard tell of our parents making plans for our mating. Although it was supposed to be kept from me, she told me she had already begun weaving us a blanket.
It was after my thirteen winter during our migration to moot that the Red Tiger clan raided into the far south and took members of the Blood Hawk tribe as slaves. My father and older brother were killed, but my mother, older sister, my younger brother and I were taken to serve the tribe.
We were all branded that very day.
This was also the day I first killed, a boy nearly my age. I learned later his name was Galgdir and he had just been made a man six moons before I cut his skull in half with an axe. His father, Elgronn, later sued for vengeance upon me, but the Chief’s old crone noted I had not yet been made a man and Galgdir had dishonored himself being bested by a boy.
Elgronn would nurse that unmanly resentment for many years, but it would be his undoing.
I had never seen so many humans. They numbered more than herds of elk my family hunted and their encampment was so large I thought it was a city. They made lines and pictures on stone, wood and parchment – I was told this is what words looked like. It seemed like sorcery to me.
Brunhalla and Grella were given to one of the chief’s wives and made servants, minding children, cooking, cleaning, washing in the river and beating out bedrolls on rocks. They slept in the stable in the dark end of the longhouse with the rest of the cattle. Sometimes they were made playthings or used for sport.
My brother and I were owned by Hed’garid, also known by his kin as “The Saw” for his jagged, black and yellow teeth. He was without a doubt, the most orcish human I have ever seen. Hoggard and I labored, hewing wood, hauling stone and dressing game. We too were sometimes used as playthings or for sport. The beatings, when they came, were no worse than those given by my father. The Tigers were known to flog their slaves, but this was rare.
Two winters ago, I won my freedom.
It began as a raid against a caravan of hapless humans; I was present hauling tack and goods for the warriors and men of the Tigers. The attack was brief and brutal, the caravan scattered recklessly into the wood.
The first enemy to come upon me wet himself as he stood there. I struck him on the nose, flattening it to his face with the heel of my hand. He lived and I took up an ankle and dragged him through the wood where I was beset by another human. This one was armed and gave me battle. I dropped my burdens and took up a stone from the ground. I struck him on the head, denting his helm and putting him down. Wishing to save time, I picked up my pack and an ankle each of my vanquished enemies and dragged them through the wood back to the raiders of Red Tiger.
On my arrival “The Saw” remarked I had been sent to forage for firewood, not for slaves, but bade me leave my prizes and go and fetch the wood I had been tasked with.
There was talk then of my value to the tribe. The Saw referred to me as his “Big Buck” – and hadn’t laid a hand on me in many moons, joking that once I had won him ten slaves he would set me free. I didn’t believe him, but Elgronn worried.
Elgronn had kept his womanly resentment against me for slaying his son, even sending one of the slaves I had captured to knife me in my sleep. I flattened his face again with the heel of my hand, but this time he died – gurgling on his own blood for many moments. There was no proof Elgronn was behind it – although putting a weapon into the hand of a slave was a grave offense. Around the tribe, talk turned over Elgronn and he started to take on the stink of a thief.
The final straw for Old Mother Elgronn was an offhand jape by the Chief, that I had secured two slaves for the tribe, carrying a heavy pack and weaponless, not yet made a man – where Elgronn’s son had failed.
In a snit of anger he demanded vengeance upon me – offering Hed’garid whatever sum he required for my purchase so he might mete it then and there, in the longhouse in front of the tribe.
The Saw, who did not gladly suffer fools, thought for a moment and told Elgronn his price.
“Fight him yourself, you poisonous old woman.” He said.
Elgronn was eager and hastily agreed, drawing his weapon and awaiting the nod from the Chief.
Turning to me, the Saw warned me: “Don’t let him subdue you, Buck, or your last days will be an agonizing eternity. If you survive – you’re free.”
Meaningless now were all my private insults to his manhood, I was hopelessly overmatched. His bitter words and cowardly attack made him shrink in my mind. For all his girlish mewling, Elgronn was no puny man and now, confronted by him in mortal combat, he suddenly appeared much, much larger. He was also well armed, armored and highly experienced.
He swung a great axe at me that would have cut me in half had it made its mark. I sidestepped it quickly and backed away, wanting to give that axe, that now appeared to me the size of an anvil, far away from my skull.
Another swing – and that great blade made for hewing mortals embedded itself deep in the floor of the longhouse. It was but a moment’s pause before he could free it from the floor, but in that time, I don’t know exactly what overcame me.
I felt hot, the blood rushing to my head was roaring in my ears. All thought of death or injury fell away from me and for a moment, I felt my skin would turn away even steel. There was no fear in me, only rage – and I launched myself at him without regard for my life. The ferocity of my attack apparently surprised even Elgronn – I leapt inside the swing of that great axe, I felt it come down on my back but nothing else. I had wrapped my legs around his waist, pulled back his head with both hands and bit down with all of my might on his throat – pulling back and ripping until a great fountain of blood exploded from his neck, his head hanging back nearly like a worn cloak, we tumbled to the floor in a gout of gore.
I pushed his body off me and got to my feet – my face covered in blood, it was dripping from me everywhere as I spat out his throat.
The Crone whispered something to the Chief. The Chief was seated calmly at his board, finishing the last bit of his meal – nodding as the Crone spoke to him. The longhouse was silent.
“Gutbur,son of … ” the Chief began.
“Oksig.” I answered.
“Oksig.” The Chief repeated, nodding. “Gwinezelle tells me it is the custom of your people to eat the heart of your vanquished enemy to claim their strength. “
I nodded, all of the rage within me was gone. I looked at Elgronn twisted up on the floor.
“I would not diminish myself so, Great Chief.” I answered.
“Ha!” he snorted. “Make some claim of your foe, Oksigson?”
Suddenly I felt the burn of the axe blade strike on my back. Looking at the great axe on the floor, I pointed.
“The axe would be useful.”
The Chief nodded. “It’s yours.” He declared.
“Take up your prize and go, Gutbur – do not linger.”
“Great Chief, before I obey your command, may I ask the price of my family?”
He answered my question. I then picked up the axe that bit me and fled for home.
My first winter I returned to Lurkwood to receive the mark of manhood – the tattoo of the Blood Hawk on my chest. The trial required me to take a solitary journey of one full moon entirely alone and with nothing but the furs on my back.
The price of my family is high, or I would never venture into the villages and cities of the south. My aim is to earn, win or plunder enough gold to buy my family from bondage. If I can buy Esthelga to take to wife I will, as well as her kin if there is enough.
Revenge must wait – family first.
Credits:
Images:
- Castle Avatar Art by Lasarian
- Gutbur Art and Title by Lucy Lisett
- Shield Art by Lasarian
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