Shrieks of death were nearer still. The mighty Shaknur was not afraid, one too many rogue cannot harm him, for he was the Chief Warlock of Koth. No other man in the realms of the living could match his power and skill in the dark arts. Bloodied figure appeared in the doorway, only several pieces of fine silk drapes separating the warlock and his would be killer. The figure stepped into the throne room, cutting his way through the drapes with sword like a butcher. But not today, today the butcher would become the pig for slaughter. Shaknur licked his lips as he looked over the massive muscles of the invader.
“Yes,” he thought. “This one is perfect. In prime of his life, full of strength. He is going to be the perfect slave. And I have all the time in the world to break him.”
The rogue made few more steps, with sword poised to strike. But the blow never landed. The warlock finished his incantations. Smoke whirled around and formed into a small crystal ball on a small table beside the throne. The attacker fell on his knees.
“By Crom, what sorcery is this?” he uttered.
He was rapidly shrinking in size, his muscles diminishing. Soon a child, no older than twelve was lying on the floor in front of the throne.
“Now kneel before your new master, Chief Warlock of Koth, Master of Secrets and Bender of Wills. The years of your murder and pillage are gone. Only purity of a child remains.”
From the shadows of the throne room two enormous nemidian slaves stepped out. The child was motionless, even when they tried to pick him up. Then with bestial roar the child stabbed upwards, holding now comically large sword in both hands. He ran through one of the slaves and the sword got stuck. The other one tried to choke the boy, but even with his hands empty, the boy was faster and stronger. He pinned the slave to the ground and broke his neck.
With grin he stood up, looking the warlock in the eyes.
“Never underestimate a Cimmerian. And know they call me Conan the Cimmerian.”
He lunged forwards. The defenceless sorcerer just cowered on the throne. Conan grabbed the first thing he could, the small crystal ball, and smashed it against the warlock’s head. A crack was heard. With a loud hissing noise, smoke started filling the room. The face of the warlock was that of utter terror. Now it was him who was shrinking, becoming younger. Soon he was but a babe, in his overly large robes. And then he was gone.
When the smoke dissipated, the barbarian was standing tall and powerful as ever. He bent down, picked up ornate treasury key from the pile of robes and smiled.
This content is intended for mature audiences.
or, enter your birth date.*
Please enter a valid date format (mm-dd-yyyy)
Please confirm you have reviewed DeviantArt's Terms of Service below.
* We do not retain your date-of-birth information.