Five days in the desert and not one fucking bull in sight. I clearly remember the shaman’s words. “Onlos, your spirit lies with-in one of a speckled coloured cattle. A wild-bull, with a wide brow and a hefty body.”
Aloud he shouted, “There is a jackals, hyenas, springbok, oryx and vultures for days!”, he pauses and shouts into the clear morning sky, “Where is that speckled bull?”. Days past without any sign of the target.
On the sixth night, he had just skinned a small antelope he hunted, a fire was roaring and he has his favourite salt and rosemary rub ready.
He holds the head of the animal in his hand and speaks to it, “I wonder what they are eating in the stronghold tonight? I am not there to guide the mindless cooks.” He gives a soft chuckle to himself.
A clue
The antelope was just stretched out over the make-shift skewer, salted and the hunger was setting in. He just nestled to skewer on the supporting stick, when he heard a commotion a few hundred meters away.
He sets the food aside, throws a few extra dry branches on the fire, as he grabs his weapons,fastened his belt and sheaths.
Slow and meaningful, his large form walks across the hard arid earth. “Not antelope, not elephant. He reaches a small ridge, that looks down onto a watering hole, he did not know of. Excitement builds in his chest as a fifty-strong herd of wild cattle is resting on front of him.
Now or never
Frantically his eyes scan the herd, resting in the moonlight. “Speckled bull, wide-brow. Speckled bull, wide-brow. Speckled bull, wide-brow…”, a massive set of horns stop the barbarians thoughts midway.
The bull looks up into the air, searching for something. A wind running from behind the barbarian, betrays his position. Angry at committing such a rookie move, he slides back behind the ridge.
“Think meathead, think!”, he tries to rationalize his thoughts. He hears the bulking warning of the bull to the heard and a movement of hooves disturbs the quiet night air. “Fuck!”, he grunts as he starts to jog alongside the herd.
Dust kicks up in the air, as hooves stomps into the earth. The barbarian prince knows what is at stake. This is not about killing an animal, but to bind with a spirit of nature. To achieve better balance with Alhandria. “Where did you go, big guy?”, he asks himself.
Next movement all he feels is his wind knocked out and a horn ripping into his body and tearing leather armor. The bull completely blindsided him. A quick reminder of the merciless laws of nature.
The bull tries to throw him into the air, to ensure another gore attempt, but they barbarian already gathered himself. His first sword is lunged directly into his neck, keeping his torso on the horn, but piercing through the veins in the bull’s neck.
A horrible moaning noise erupts into the night, as the sword also rips into the throat. The bull’s head drop low, to knock the prince off. He did not keep his grip true and as he rolls back, blood and soil mixes.
“Come on big guy, show me your worth!”, he shouts with one hand on his broad sword and the other keeping pressure on the wound.
The bloodlust from battle pushes the bull into a frenzy, dazed from the loss of blood he rushes forward. Horns pointing directly at his adversary.
“Let’s keep this one fair, both wounded”, he lets his wound pour freely as his hand leaves to wound open. With a masterful quick step and a grunt of pain, he steps away from the charging bull, but also grabs his other sword.
Skills above brutish strength
He ready a dervish stance, taught to him by his late Uncle Pikal. It is not the general style of the Akasian barbarians, but it has beat many an opponent. He lost the first chance at gaining an animal spirit and will not let this new opportunity slip.
The bull’s third charge feels like slow motion. With another deft step, the barbarian’s muscles shifts into a beautiful circular swing. The blades slice into the bull, not once or twice, but rends the hide of the bull into rips.
Before he turns around, he already feels the spirit of the bull rush into his body. An invigorating rush of power from nature fills him. Healing him and pushing his mind into a state of euphoria.
Falling to his knees, he immediately thanks nature for what she has given him. He walks to the bull and with his hunting knife he removes the head, keeping the skull as his trophy.
Before long, the herd’s noise was no longer heard and the sound of fire in the distance caught his attention. “That rosemary salted meat is going to hit the spot just perfectly now”, he announces to the night-sky, as he lugs his trophy to his camping fire.
More about Onlos
- First Name: Onlos
- Last Name: of the Akasian
- Race type: Half-orc
- Class type: Barbarian
- Personality: Wise, Compassionate
- Gender: Male
- Side note:
- Powers / Abilities:
Spirit Beast: Nguni Bull
Spirit Beast power: The resistance and power of the spirit of the nguni animal, allows Onlos to be resistance to most diseases and hardy against arid and desert climates.
Improved Strength
Superior toughness
- Original link to Art:
- D&D 5th Generated PDF:
