About Temugai
Temugai the Hyrkanian
Agility d8 Smarts d4 Spirit d8 Strength d8 Vigor d8
Pace 4, Parry 6 (7 w/shield), Toughness 8 (10v ranged w/shield)
Nothing But a Loincloth, Elan, Bandit*
Fighting d8, Shooting d8, Riding d6+1, Stealth d6, Notice d4, Streetwise d4, Tracking d4 Survival d4
Hyrkanian d8, ? ?
Lame, Loyal, Death Wish (vengeance related)
The Black Sword (scimitar) attack 1d8 damage 2d8
Hyrkanian Double-Recurve Bow attack 1d8 damage 3d6 ROF 2 Range 20/40/80
Medium Shield
*as yet undefined
Temugai saw the smoke a long way off, and he whipped his horse, charging ahead of the other warriors. Two weeks ride across the steppe, and they had not caught their enemy. It seemed that their enemy had found them, though. Or at least the camp where their herds and families remained under a light guard.
By the time he reached the camp, it was over. The guard slaughtered, the women violated, the children collared in rows, to follow their enemies into slavery. The horse was frothing, slick with sweat as Temugai galloped down, killing two of the enemy before they realized they were under attack. Behind him, the other men of his tribe slowed, from fear or despair or horror, or the simple knowledge that there was nothing to be gained here.
Two more fell to Temugai before the leader turned to face him. He was a huge man in black armor, wielding a black sword. He barked an order, and Temugai's mare collapsed, a half-dozen arrows piercing his flesh. Temugai rolled free and came to his feet, sword in hand. The warriors stood aside as their leader strode towards him, laughing as he trod on the bodies of the women, some of them dead, some still crying in pain.
Temugai roared in his fury and the two men closed, trading blows and blind to the rest of the world as they fought. Temugai had the edge, for the man's black armor weighed him down, and he baked under the hot sun. Twice Temugai wounded him, and his parries were slower, his blows weaker. He fell back, struggling to stay on his feet as Temugai pressed the attack. Temugai would have won, except Sarkhani his wife lay on the ground where they battled. Nothing else could have broken his focus, but when he heard her voice calling his name, he glanced down. She looked up at him, the horror of what had been done to her written in her eyes, and that look broke him. Then she screamed a warning, and he flung himself back.
The black sword sliced through the air where his neck had been a moment before. Temugai stumbled, falling, but springing to his feet to avoid the killing blow. Except no blow fell. The leader of his enemy stood over Sarkhani, grinning cruelly, the black sword pressed against her breast. Temugai froze, and one of the warriors treacherously slashed at his leg from behind, crippling him. A blow from the haft of a spear to his head left Temugai unconscious.
When he awoke, the black sword waited for him, thrust through Sarkhani's heart, pinning her to the ground. The enemy was gone. There was no telling where his so-called allies had fled to. Aside from the dead, he was completely alone.
