The Oldest of Runes

Krjalki Bog is well named. It’s more wretched and stinking than the Greydog Beer festival bogs. And that’s pretty bad.

            We had chosen to go along with the Bison tribe when they announced a Chaos Hunt because we thought it would stand us good stead and earn us some respect among their braves if we ventured into the swamp and brought back chaos heads. I admit to being uncertain, since Krjalki Bog had a ferocious reputation and I wasn’t too convinced that taking such a risk was really worth it – we currently travelled with the nomads and any respect they afforded us was on the coat-tails of Garrath Sharpsword. And nothing was likely to change that. Whether we killed Choas or not, I felt that our prestige lay more with Garrath’s words than our actions. So I admit to not being overly keen on wading through the fetid swamp.

            Though adventure we did. Myself and Kulbrast waded out through the murk and mire, unsure where we headed. I was of the opinion that we should take minimal risk – our destinies lay not in the Bog, but elsewhere, and I did not want to needlessly throw our lives away on a whim. And a whim in a notoriously dangerous place at that.

            As we sloshed and panted through the brackish mere we saw silhouettes in the mist. We both dropped to our knees, looking keenly and sharply to work out what these horrid creatures could be. The horns on their heads soon gave them away as a warparty of vile broo. We counted over a dozen warriors and I thought the odds were against us and was about to suggest to Kulbrast that we let them pass when one of the creatures stopped, pointed to where we were and started hollering.

            We had been heard.

            The parley was a sore and difficult one. Though in the end we bested them – Kulbrast must take most credit for this, though he also took the most damage from their weapons. Yes, Kulbrast and my sylph, ????, are what saved us from doom in this battle.

            We decided this was enough and made back to the Bison camp with the heads of the broo wrapped in a shawl. We would not shine for our efforts, but neither would we be humiliated – we had held our own.

            Then Kulbrast showed weakness.

            He started mouthing off, saying how we should journey back into the swamp and take the life of a creature of Chaos that even the Urox himself would be proud of. Orstanor and myself counselled caution. Saul said little, sitting quietly sharpening his blades. When asked his view all he did was shrug his shoulders.

            You could see in Kulbrast’s eyes that he was unsure, that he really knew what we told him made sense. But I think he fell prey to his own pride. I think he wanted to back down and agree with the rest of us, but had backed himself into a corner and was honour-bound to recklessly tarry into the swamp in search of chaos to kill.

            And Death would soon be coming.

A week had gone by and no Kulbrast.

The other hunting parties who had gone into the swamp were slowly returning to camp, each proud and boastful of the Chaos they had killed.

But still no Kulbrast.

            This, of course, was ill news.

            He could be anywhere. The Krjalki Bog was as big as any kingdom, and who knows where he could be. I voiced the opinion that Kulbrast was master of his own Fate, and that he chose to enter the Bog, he could be anywhere and that we would have to assume the worst and leave his poor remains where they had fallen.

            Orstanor was against this.

            We had not known Kulbrast long, but Orstanor, quite rightly, spoke out and said that we should go into the Bog and make an attempt to find Kulbrast’s remains and bring them back.

            In truth, none of us would want such a foul and rotten place for a grave. We would all hope that our friends would bring our remains out to rest in peace among friends.

            So we agreed to enter the Krjalki Bog to find what was left of Kulbrast.

Whatever he had found it had been too much.

            Kulbrast’s body lay in a puddle of muck, devoid of dignity. There were no marks on his body, so we had no idea what had been his end. His body had not been stripped, so we assumed he had not fallen to the broo. But all this musing was pointless – the only certainty was that he was dead. He must have died soon after entering the Bog since he showed sign of decomposition. The rank air inside the swamp must have accelerated this.

            We wrapped him up in a shroud and carried his remains back to the camp.

            By the time we had returned Garrath had made his way back to the Bison camp and there was a great clamouring and hurrahing because Garrath had slain such a monstrous beast of Chaos that the whole tribe was excited and overwhelmed. It was readily agreed that he had acquitted himself most well and there was talk that he was some kind of White Bull. I felt almost guilty that we should lower the tone with news of Kulbrast’s death.

            Garrath had been the Orlanthi rune lord who had sponsored my initiation into the secrets of the Winds, and he once again showed his greatness by immediately falling to his knees and shedding tears at the miserable news. In fact, so overcome was he with grief, that, with greatness and magnanimity, he held his arms up to the Heavens and pleaded with the Great God Orlanth that Kulbrast may walk this Earth once again.

            And damn my eyes if at that moment Kulbrast did not wake and once more be part of the living!

            His body had paid a terrible price. What lifeforce of his that had dripped into the wicked Bog would stay there. His body would bear the burden of the days that he had lain in the muck, rotting and decomposing. Why, in front of lesser eyes – those who did not know the story of Kulbrast the Foolish – he would look like one of the living dead himself; a zombie, a terrible lich risen from the grave!

            Garrath turned to the shamen and tribal hags who accompanied our caravan and beseeched them to pour life and vigour back into Kulbrast’s pathetic body, as the Earth had given its succour to the Storm Bull in his hour of need.

            And Kulbrast turned to the Gods and Heavens, knowing with certainty that he must make his peace with Fate, the oldest of all Runes.