For a while I was working on a Conan campaign. A free roam sandbox of pillaging and subjugating in the most barbaric fashion. Killing gorilla kings and drinking mead from human skulls served by dashing dancing girls. My problem was that none of the games approached Conan the way I saw it. As a swords and sandals pre-bronze age fantasy. Struggling to pick an appropriate game system I've opted into Conan d20 due to the fact that I did not have to learn a new system. My notion of getting over all the hurdles of what I've envision Conan as I took to the idea of Hyborian Heraclids but with Conan in the place of Hercules. Considering all the lovely ladies Conan has managed to woe in his ventures, he was bound to spawn plenty brawny bastards from the Black Kingdoms to Hyperborea. Players would take control of these Belgian Blue looking young men, mostly halfbreeds of Cimmerian and other blood. All united due to an odd unexplicable brotherhood and kinship they felt for each other and their brawny, brutal nature. The game would span a free roam campaign in each of the major regions of the Hyborian age. Players woulds start at the very bottom of the social ladder wearing nothing but loincloths. Crucified, enslaved, fighting on the arena as slaves or tied to poles as offering for giant man eating crocodiles. Fighting their way through human tyrants, oversized beasts and nature of the continent as well as supernatural creatures lingering in the many ruins of the world. Finally with a throng of barbarians and subjugated slaves, with an axe in hand toppling cities and raveging cursed ruins, throwing goetic mages out of the windows of their towers of evil. The purpose of each sandbox being to leave the confineds of the map through one of the extraction points leading to another region where the game would be begun anew. This adventure would be the introduction into the Coldblasted North regions spanning Nordheim, Hyperborea and the Eighlopians (Northern Cimmeria.) A hexmap would facilitate the rest of the adventure, with occassional city hub or a pseudo-dungeon like this one. ICY FYORD OF THE VANIR SLAVERS It was a many days at sea that you were bound north in a wooden cage, midst a medley of slaves carried to Nordheim upon a Vanir ship. All either bought at markets of the civilised lands or caught in raids on coastal hamlets. This party of enterprising Vanir decided to venture deeper South for more exotic stock of folk to cater to the growing appetites of Nordheim slave markets. The murky troth of the slavers’ drakkar was squalid, full of groaning slaves. You stood out from the flock through your frame and muscle, you would not be made into a mere thrall, that was sure. A mighty Vanir with a great bear pelt stood holding unto the prow of the ship peering into the milky fog raising over the water. Great shields wrapped with horse hide hung on each side of the water craft as the rhythmic thud of the drum signalled the appropriate moment to row for the Vanir reavers, slavers all, the wicked brood. The only supervisor a tall orange haired old man in a chainmail of giant links, and a bronze helmet with goat horns. He was the one to pace about tormenting the more active slaves either with his cudgel or with his whip, constantly eyeing you, naked but for a loincloths in the back of the ship, stoic despite the cold. The ship has been at see for weeks now, the skilled Vanir knew how to navigate their ships with ease, now that the floe begun to signal that the ship has entered the regions of Nordheim. One of the ships ceased abrupty with a thud and crash of floe. With groans and cries the lot of the drakkars ceased. Their path was blocked by a series of floe sheets, and giant sharpened stakes sticking out in a row from the wicked cold water, acting as a sort of catalyst for the wicked thick white ice. The fog begun to clear and the surrounding land appeared to be not a desolate Western Ocean but a fyord. The Vanir cried all a joyful cry, and one of them brought forth a horn which he blew with a loud resounding and echoing toot which shook the snows off of the nearby trees. The mute silence was broken with merry chatter in the Nordheim tongue, as the Vanir begun to pour out unto the floe path, armed with spears, axes and ropes. They begun to clear a path for the drakkar through the primitive barricade. Most of the warring men were up and about the ship, pulling on ropes, and hustling with the floe trying to carve a path for their ship. The leader of the raid stayed on board peering back from his perch, watching you with a smile and a breath of cold air. He looked upon his bounty with pride. You were to be sacrificed to Ymir for a save journey home. But the champion did not himself know, that brooding yellowish dead eyes were eyeing the ships from the Burial Isle. These were envious eyes far-seeing of once man, now only hungry for life-froce. The terrible will commanded a sleeping carcass of a freshly dead sea beast to wake from its comfortable benthic rest. Half devoured by spider crabs and eels the creature convulsed upwards, its guts bloated beyond recognition. Breaking the water and striking the bottom of the drakkar full of slaves and their keepers and your own cage. A sudden creak and everyone aboard was shook, some Vanir flew overboard screaming. The drakkar carrying your cage suddenly flipped to the side as a giant rotting carcass of a whale struck its side. Stench of rot filled the fyord as the frightened Vanir suffered the great hulking undead whale to crush into the floe with splitered ice flying all over the place. The bald sorcerer scratched his bald head with black talons, hopeful to reap of the drowned dead, retiring to his cottage. The great Vanir champion, holding to his perch with fear looked towards the isle knowing full well that's the price of wanting to outsmart the vitki. With one of the ships now flipped up side down, with a few flinging slaves and drowned Vanir, the giant undead monster flung itself into the drakker and unto the flow, smashing a path for the rest of the ships. Having composed himself the leader of the Vanir lead the remaining drakkars into the fyord, leaving you struggling for the shore. Having fallen into the frigid waters you were fighting for every breath with the biting waters, but this was your chance. Within moments you wrested the meak ropen straps keeping the cage together open. Cold water sapping life from your aching muscles as you were making your way towards the shore.
After the incident the drakkars sport some 40 Vanir hirdmen with a leader and 10 choice slaves huddled in the back.
(Above a quick and dirty map of the island)
Sparse grove This is where you crawl your way out of, freezing cold and shaking. Crawling unto a rising cliff side of a fyord. A small grove of trees grows here, broken and withered pines, and small young sproutling trees. The drakkar was lost somewhere behind in the open waters and behind cliffs of the fyord, not many men could survive such a dip in the subzero waters, the Nordheimers are surely not going to pursue believing you drowned or dying of hypothermia on some beach somewhere... yet you live, and you're ready to take vengeance. You see no one else but your company on the shore. Once you emerge from the water you should roll with disatdvantage on cold exposure, and in dire need of shelter, fire or such. One can attempt to fashion the various twigs and rotten trees into primitive spears and clubs. Leaving the small grove behind you stand on a snowy junction, an ascent to the left leads off to a withered forest, where from a petty wolf howl comes, a hunt perhaps could bring about enough warm blood and furs for you to keep warm. Yet to you right a small cottage covered in a thick blanket of snow takes your attention. In the end, living in such firgid conditions is all about survival, you have the option to steal the warm clothes from the locals cosy hut, or taking on into the dark forest of frost to rip the hides off of the backs of the still spasmotically breathing wolves. In both cases some creature will suffer death, left to slow withering by wurthering sub-zero winds. The players either move towards the Wolf Howl Hills or the Solitary Bondi hut. Solitary Bondi Hut An easy pray, standing in the middle of nowhere this sharp roofed lodging is inhabited, which you wager by the smoke rising from the rooftop. There is a movement inside. You spy a small man with a petty ginger beard, out gathering bramble, and a blond maiden leaving the hut for a moment to hurl out a bowl of some liquid into the snow, there are only them two in the house... The house is a single object which accommodates wealth in tiny scrimshaw figures, small amber chunks and ivory combs and fur garments; the house is inhabited by a bondi of the Vanir stock and his slave-wife of the Aesir stock, both commoners. You can steal their clothes and hides to outfit your party. They will remain in the hut unable to call for help. Bondi Village in the Distance In the distance a clustered of low burrows with withered grass overgrown roofs stands at the mouth of the valley, the peasant-slaves surely are no match for you even in your weakened state yet they are likely plenty, and ever so eager to call for alarm, and a Vanir champion is something you’d rather not meet on your path now, you need to rest... the local bondi live through beachcombing, stealing sea bird eggs from the cliffs and other pathetic means. A single shaggy stout grey goat shackled behind a ramshackle fence is bleating loudly, the Nordheimer goat is placed nigh the edge of town, you can see it plain, but there are folks walking about tending to their business, you would have to sneak by and sneak the beast off to eat it proper. In front of the goat shed a bondi rests awkwardly bound in heavy furry winter clothes. He's half sleeping made stupid from all the mead he's drunk. His merry red face bound with comfort. These lesser men are allowed to bear a dagger known as saex as a sign of their freedom. It dangles off of his belt heavily. It would make for a good weapon in a scrap. The players may try to stealing the saex or the goat, doing both will be substantially more difficult. The village has 60 bondsmen and women in it. They will flee if raided, but fetch help from the slavers at the fyord. 10 Hirdmen will come to the aid of the village if summoned. Your stomach rumbles, you need strength, slave gruel made you weak, you need meat, food of warriors! Now the question is, should you hustle some wildlife and risk your weakened self another injury which could amount to a trouble were you to run into a Vanir warrior? The wild beast is unlikely to summon help however... Should you the players eat its flesh raw it takes a CON save roll needed after eating it to succeed in the quest. Frozen Arch of stone As you leave the small village behind in the valley of crunchy snow you come upon an arch of stone and ice bound and wined by the spectacular and powerful elements of Nordheim. Following the ascent a great beach of shingle, upon which the plenty seals bathe in the sun, through the snow, towards you, all of a sudden crawls a seal pup. White of fur white giant pebble eyes of black, little huffing and puffing wet nose, making excited noises as it sees you come closer. It's skull ever so pedocephalic, not yet hardened after it emerged from its mother’s womb somewhere not far from here. You wager you can tear it's soft skin off of its back with your bare hands, an expensive trinket, or simply tear it apart for the sake of slaughter. The seal pup has one hit point and will not fight you. Frozen Waterfall Following the great heaps of snow away from civilization your path finally comes to an end, a great wall of ice and stone stands before you, in the distance to your right a small village surrounding a bay with plenty of ships in it. You could try and scale the great cliff for to descend upon the village from the hills, and gain the advantage of the forests, or try and cut through the open snow heaps... Wolf Den Inside of the icy cliff, a few drops further, you see an opening, a cave mouth. A good place to start a fire and rest a while, the corners of the cave are littered with bones, gnawed on by the local wolves. Probably escaped thralls or slaves like yourself... The bones can be used as clubs. Wolf Howl Hills From here the pathetic wolf cry came, the beasts must be hiding in this thin patch of withered trees trying to hunt something. The beasts are desperate enough to try and attack you, but you may try and go around the pack, rushing off into the unknown if you so desire... There are 7 mangy wolves in the pack that circle you around slowly. Once you mortally wound 1 they flee, one of them violently wounded staggers off somewhere, deep into the bramble filled wood, you may follow it with the hope of finish it off. Or you may try and move towards the mountain fyords. The thing with mangy wolves is their flesh is gamy and tough, black and unhealthy, taste poorly and it also contains plenty of vile parasites The CON roll on eating it is even higher if the players plan to eat it raw. Wolf Burrow The bloodied track follows the wounded and maimed wolf dropping it’s gate with each step, falling down into the snow by a small den covered with a blanket of snow, as you make your approach, the cold wind ruffles the fine pelt upon the wolf’s back. The moment you were going to slay the dying wolf, a sudden bark stops you, a tiny little wolf pup stands in the mouth of the root bound burrow. It growls and barks, it’s tiny furry chest shaking on the wind, as it barks with excitement once again. More tiny eyes with sudden yaps begin to bark at you from within without being sure about your approach. Three wolf pups in total. In Hyboria canine pups are considered a delicacy, often brought from Aquilonia in exchange for slaves. Meat on the old wolves becomes tangy and unpleasant where as the puppies retain a certain pleasant tenderness. You may roast the puppies for a fine feast, and take the mother’s pelt. Seal Beach Great many clumsy seals rest upon the shore huffing out clouds of smoke. In their midst a great heap of blubber rises, great bloated eyes throwing around envious glances, it’s a vile bloated elephant seal male, overlooking his harem. You should be careful as you disturb its brides, it might not take it too well... There are 30 seals and 15 pups on the beach, once you slay one 1d6 of each runs off towards the water. There is also the great male, it shall not attack unless you attack its brides, then it huffs loud, whistles and charges at you, when it does all the seals begin to waddle for the waters. Seal Clubber’s Cove As you turn the corner on a heap of rocks you come upon a small cove. Hidden away from the rest of the beach, where only the puny seal pups sneak past the rocks and hang out by a small pond. There in the midst a peculiar fetish of sticks with a human skull topping it. Tiny seals rest upon the softer black sand of the lake, on the other side of it three bondi are currently knocking out young pups and hauling them off to a rack upon which already three pups are hanging. One with a cudgel dazzling them, and another with a long two handed club finishing them off. Three wicked thralls, one with a small mallet-club, one with a simple cudgel, and one with a two-handed club are beating on seals. There are about 20 seal pups on the shore. The thralls seeing you will attempt to defend themselves, if defeated they'll break and run for the village. Icy floe pass The primitive heap of floe and stakes settled deep in the shoals of the fyord are supposed to defend the slavers’ cove from external raids, or at least slow the attackers down for long enough to evacuate the merchandise to mainland, now forming before you a challenge. A path of slippery pedestals of ice, that if followed would allow you to cross over the frigid murderous water and reach the eerie fog shrouded morose island on the other side of the fyord. Leaps and jumps of plenty, that’s the price. One has to succeed at a series of DEX and STR challenges, unless one falls into the water and suffers a CON save against the biting cold, and then non lethal damage. Burial Mounds The island itself is not wrought with snow like the other part of the fyord, sickly yellowish-grey grass grows upon the mounds and kurgans left and right. Tall menhirs surround each. Terrible dread pervades about you, you sense that this island is a restless place of evil. Some ungodly goetic magic is taking place here, or did once. It’s seeping through the very soil, speaking to your barbaric psyche, that something is not right. Wooden door in the side of a hillock lead off into burial chamber. There stands a single pillar covered with offerings, surely brought by the local people, vessels worth of goods, mead and animals slain, a vergild for the dead... If the players do not turn or try about to flee the cursed isle, continue on.
A few steps more over the wicked grass and all of a sudden the kurgans begin to rumble and shake, the entrances to the burial mounds erupt with splinters as screaching undead Nordheimer corpses in full warrior gear rise, their rusted hauberks fused in the shape that they rested in for ages, greenish mould covered flesh and long musty mite filled beards sweep the dead grassy. Mindless and mummified by the cold wind they stand before you armed with rotten weapons... If you enter the graveyard 4 draugir rise from the two grave mounds. Each mound can be pillaged for 2 points of wealth each in jewels and gold. Disturbed Stone Ship Now past the horrors of the undead Nordheimers a great open meadow by the great stone ship a grand stone structure appearing as if a stone vessel, surrounded by lesser common burrows of the dead, that with groans and splintering of the wooden entrances give birth to crawling draugir... The four grave mounds birth 4 draugir each, the stone ship briths whole 4 more, and a draugur jarl, with a giant funerary head piece, with normal statistics just a different look. Each mound can be pillaged for 2 points of wealth each in jewels. Vitki’s Hut A nordheim goat tied by a dilapidated little burrow covered with animal skulls was daftly chewing dead withered grass. After a moment of you eyeing the peculiar structure its rugged deer skin coroutine was pulled to the side, for a bald white eyed creature to emerge. It smelled of the grave as it scratched its bald skull with long black nails. Nordheimer tattoos binding its thin soggy elder arms, and plenty of bones fetishes of birds and rats rattling off of its form, it stood there resting on a staff. A vitki, once a mere escape slave now the terror of these islands. A former thrall learned in the ways of the goetic magic, using the ancestors of the very people he terrorised to sow fear upon the island. The vitki will not attack unless attacked itself, it is a commoner with ability to cast spells if attacked. It mummbles something in an unknown tongue and wards you away. It’s house can be pillaged for a point of wealth but a bunch of experience. Whale Cemetery Great bones of whales piled up upon the snowy banks of dark pebbles. And a fresh pile of carcass soon to join the ossified brethren, you recognise in its bulk the recently reanimated beast that broke the floe barrier leading into the fyord. A great stink permeates the air, as you make the corner over a stone protrusion you come upon a scene of a great beast, surrounded by puffins. Its flesh rotting away, eyes milky and grey. If you approach the whale with a source of fire the whale explodes and deals 2d10 damage. The whale can be carved up and eaten, yet it takes a substantial CON save if you wish to eat it raw. Shrine of Ymir
As you make your way up the roughly hewn stone stairs, you come upon a crude visage of the horned god-giant, patron of absolute violence, war and subjugation. The Nordheimers believe that after they die in battle they will be allowed to eat to their hearts content in the frightful shadow of the god-giant, and murder each other to his amusement.
The shrine has 60 hp and can be pushed off of the hill with a consecutive DR 16 STR roll, if you want to challenge the god. Destroying it grants you 5 xp. There are also six menhirs standing about.
If you fail, are slain in the Fyord or recaptured by the slavers, you end up on the market sold to one of the Vanir towns. However before that happens one of the player characters is ritually murdered at Ymir’s shrine, their steaming heart carved out of the chest to the relish of the hungry ice giant god. The rest of the players start their campaing in one of the Vanir coastal cities, lead on a string by their rich bondi owner.
Geysers
Geysers erupt from the cracked soil, some of the water turns green or yellow from the sulphur that comes up through these geothermic vents. The warm little streams run off into the cold bay, mixing in a heap of fog. A small strait that divides the main island with volcanic island, desolate but for shingles and an odd seal.
The waters can be traversed without having to roll survival, only DC 10 Swim.
Desolate Volcanic Isle The great island of desolate shingle and a great stark volcanic black mountain stands in the centre, a peculiar cave of ice opens its mouth in the southern corner of the island, peculiar sounds come up from inside of the cave. Peculiar sensetion swells in your heart, the island feels strange... Players may yet decide to turn back, their barbaric sense is trying to warn them of supernatural threat lurking in the cave. You enter a great icy cave of floe platforms and stony lays of the seal pups that swarm like tiny maggots inside of the grand cave. They are comfortably defended in the cave’s waters cut off from the bay, where they grow and eat cave fish in peace. There are 50 seals in the cave, if you slay 3 suddenly a cry can be heard, if you kill another one a louder cry can be heard, on the fifth, the ice breaks and from the dark frozen pool the giant seal mother erupts, and charges unto you, crushing seals under her immense weight, she’s out for blood. The creature is a huge cross between a narwhal and a seal with a huge horn sticking from its head and great walrus like tusks protruding from its jaw. It's the size of a Nordheimer house, bloated and oragnish of hue. Runestone of Maritime law A great stone stands upon a plain of white snow, not far from a village standing over a bay. Peculiar long Nordheimer dragon weaves between the runic letters that describe something or other in quite the detail. If any of the player characters are of the Northern races they may attempt to read the stone. The stone is a gathering of all the Vanaheim customary maritime laws, there is quite the lot of it, one in particular takes your attention, one which states that; “Anyone who slays a man in possession of a sea vessel, subsequently comes into possession of their vessel as its legal owner, so Ymir has it to his content” a primitive and factual way to go about it... The stone has no quality other than 20 hp, it can be toppled with a DC 17 STR roll. It gives you 2xp. Rock of Punishment The waters of the slavers bay swayed gently the frigid waters of the Western Ocean, in its midst surpassed by drakkars on every journey to the mainland, the rock of punishment. Here the most mouthy slaves were delegated so that the wind, seagulls and the mocking jests of the leaving Nordheim raiders would cull their spirits. Now a lonely figure sits in the wooden cage on the tiny rock in the midst of the bay. He speaks a slave gibberish, some foreign tongue enfeebled by a diet of thin gruel. The party can make its way to the rock and release the slave, the slave is very friendly in that he tells the party everything he knows about the slaver’s village. The slave is a male of a race determined by a roll of a d6 1-2: Civilized (Aquilonian, Nemedian) 3-4: Northern (Vanir, Aesir)
5-6: Western Oceanic (Argosi, Zingaran) Slaver Village The village stands over a bay filled with tiny blocks of floe. A line of huts is gathered around a series of long piers, the newly arrived Vanir are settling in into the long houses that are used by the slavers communally as a hideout. Three dinosaur prowed painted vessels are leaving through a mouth in the great fyord, slowly swimming Eastwards between twin great rocks. IT seems some of the slavers left for the mainland to do more trading. Only a single drakkar remains in the harbour. The shacks of the village are concentrated around a series of flimsy wooden cages, where the livestock is kept, the slaves that is. There are 40 to 30 warriors stationed in the shacks, all of whom are Nordheim Hirdmen, and a single Slaver Jarl who counts as a Huscarls. He alone stands a great ginger with a two handed axe, and faces you at the pier, blocking your path to the drakkar of his. If the bondi town gets attacked they send 20 of their warriors to see what’s going on. There are 10 choice slaves in town, closed in wooden cages, and 4 thrall servants tending to the currently feasting Nordheimers. You may sneak into the slavers village, and open the cages silently, then make your way to the vessel and sneakily get away, the slavers will have a tough time waiting for their fellows to come back... there is however a sleeping bondi guard with a spear you must get past in order to free the slaves. You need the slaves or other commoners, at least 8 to mad the drakkar. QUESTS; Small Survival; This is an homebrew which would allow for some survival based quests. Each of these quests recovers a single short rest. Players cannot rest without having done a quest. -Weapons: In Hyborian age folk seldom survive without at least a modicum of weapons at hand to protect themselves as they sleep, a thing to bludgeon or carve apart with, that’s the barbarian’s way. -Warmth: You need clothing in this frozen arctic land, your loincloth will not do, despite it being the most fashionable wear of Hyborian age. -Rest: Now that you’ve got something to put on your back, you need some rest by a fire or some place away from all the blasting Northern wind. -Food: You lived on nothing but petty gruel and nothing else. Slave food. Your muscles ache and are weak after all the abuse, gastric and physical, you need some proper food to get you back into shape. High Survival; Each of these recovers a full rest -Vengeance: In Hyborian age, mores dictates, once wronged the proto-shepherds must answer in kind. You must kill the leader of the slavers to avange your abduction. -Escape: Your wayfaring soul does not allow you to linger in this barbaric snowed over hell hole, you can head for to either pillage the Vanheim for enough resources and set sail for the Western Ocean’s warm Gulf Stream and try to reach Zingara’s shore, or strike out through the Asgard and Hyborea to break down into the civilized lands... but first, find a way to flee this forsaken island fyord, for instance by stealing the slavers’ ship. -Carousal: True heroes need to caraouse to let others know of their sagas. You may feast at the bondi village if you manage to raid it without raising alarm or defeating the fyrdmen coming to aid it, or in the salver village once you clear it out, stealing what was prepared for the slavers.
