Saga of Stren the Hunter

Saga of Stren the Hunter

Erotic Barbarian exploits in the Wilds of the Lost Future

Chapter 1 by Sthaana Sthaana

The merciless sun beat down upon a barren landscape of stone spires and desiccated scrubs. It was shortly before noon and what little shade there was appeared as pools of deepest black against the bone-white rock. This was an inhospitable landscape, at the edge of the wastelands. Neither man nor beast nor any of the many vile creatures inbetween ventured here unless absolutely necessary. Beyond the spires lay the desert, which stretched on for ever and ever, home only to the wind and the rocks and the ghosts of forgotten gods, or so the elders said...

And yet, here was a man, walking with long, confident strides out of the searing haze. He paused beneath the shade of a particularly mighty pillar and surveyed the landscape. He was tall, a whole head higher than the average valley-dweller and his skin was tanned a deep bronze colour. His hair was bright as platinum and fell across his broad shoulders in an unruly mane. In the midday blaze, his powerful muscles shone with sweat, rippling as he moved. He was naked, save for a loincloth, a simple necklace of red beads and a strange gold bracelet on his left wrist. It seemed to have been grafted to his arm in a single piece, more like a manacle than a bracelet, for no seam or hinge was visible and the regular, overly-smooth shape was beyond the skill of even the best craftsman. From his waist dangled a simple axe, fashioned from a large chunk of obsidian tied to the thighbone of some vanquished beast with strips of leather.

With eyes the colour of malachite and as sharp as a dagger he surveyed the valley, smiling when he caught sight of the river below, glittering like a silver ribbon and marking the border between the barren spire-lands and the forests beyond. He stretched and ventured back out into the blinding whiteness. As he approached the bottom of the valley, he noticed that the spires had begun to be decorated with a variety of offerings in a multitude of styles. Garlands of dry flowers, straw dolls, carved statuettes and what appeared to be a macabre effigy, crafted from human bones, strips of leather and crude plates of metal, beneath which the white rock was stained reddish-brown. With their tall, virile shape and mushroom-like flared tips, the spires resembled great stone phalli, and it appeared that the forest tribes would on occasion overcome their terror of the bleached wasteland beyond the river to bring offerings and pray for fertility and strength.

At the river, the mighty wanderer stopped and bent forward to drink deeply from the cool, clear water. Stripping off his loincloth, he waded into the shallows and began to clean the sweat and dust off his body. He sighed, closing his eyes and letting himself float on the surface, lazily swimming against the current just enough to remain in place...

A loud cry coming from the opposite bank cut through the noonday stillness, shattering the warrior's brief moment of serenity. He leapt to attention, scanning his surroundings until he spotted the source of the yelling. Emerald eyes narrowing to slits, his jawline became hard and his brow furrowed as he saw the scene unfolding on the other side of the river. Eyes burning with determination, he gripped the shaft of his axe and prepared to act...

What does our noble savage see on the opposite bank?

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