Wild and free, the barbarian tribes roam the plains, taking what they want and need from the cities of the elves and humans. They disdain the trappings of civilization as weakness, and regard city dwellers with nothing but contempt. Their lightning-quick raids of their outriders are feared by merchant caravans and outlying towns and villages, though the wild onslaught of the barbarian raiders tends to crumble in the face of organized resistance.
While the Barbarians may be considered by advanced societies to be the least civilized of humans, they are also the most versatile. The tribes of the north hunt the plains mammoths for food, war materials, and clothing, while the tribes of the south train deadly Carnasours from the Ferox swamps as battle beasts. The clan tribes of the west trade with the various Human, Dwarven, and Elven cities for goods and information, while the eastern tribes maintain a vigil in the Scarred Lands against the intrusion of Orcs and Goblins. These different aspects combine to make the Barbarians a powerful faction.
The Thousand Tribes
The various Barbarian tribes form a kind of nomadic anarchy, yet all fall under the collective of the Thousand Tribes. Once a year, the tribal elders and their retinues gather at the Barrow Hills to pay homage to their ancestors, eat, drink, carouse, and share information they have gathered on their travels. It's a hell of a party, as anyone who's been there can attest to.
The migratory patterns of the different tribes has lead to their specialization in different areas, with the Tribal Clans of the west being the most informed of "civilized society" and the Wolverine Berserkers of the Scarred Lands being the most animalistic. However, each tribe holds the Laws of the Ancestors in common
The Laws of the Ancestors basically state that the tribes should not war nor trade unfairly with each other. For the most part, the tribes uphold the laws since they are rules for survival in a world where battle is an everyday occurrence. Of course, there are always exceptions and internal disputes that erupt into bloodshed, but these are also accepted events within Barbarian society.
Every tribe has it's own religion, usually a form of ancestor or totem worship. Once again, this varies by geographic patterns and the specialization of the tribe.
The Scarred Lands and the City of Shades
There is some uneasy speculation among Human and Elven scholars that the Barbarians are the descendants of a much larger ancient civilization that may have spanned nearly half the continent. The few explorers and archaeologists that have been allowed passage to the Scarred Lands have remarked that the area seems to have been the site of a massive war that occurred millennia ago. Now it is just a blasted and cracked area of broken hills and barren plains.
When pressed by outsiders about the city, the tribal elders usually respond with a shrug or simple comment along the lines of "Yeah, I wouldn't go there." If they have any knowledge of the origins of the city, they keep it to themselves.
The merchant Dardorf cracked the whip and urged the raggedy mule pulling his peddlar's cart onward. The old trade road was treacherous, bordered on either side by deep forests, plagued with deep ruts and holes, and rumored to be the haunt of marauding Barbarian and Orc raiding parties.
Dardorf peered warily into the trees along the road. The sunlight filtered into a deep gloom through the thick canopy of foliage. "Maybe I should have taken the Imperial Highway to the bazar," he thought. "Then again, this way is quicker."
His cart rounded a bend. Dardorf gasped and gripped his whip tighter. Two Barbarians, decked in furs and hoods of bear skin, stood by the side of the road. The leaned nonchalantly on their massive double-handed axes, murmuring to each other.
As the cart crept by, Dardorf pretended not to see them. The two savages gave no sign of noticing the merchant either.
Suddenly, the cart lurched to a halt. The mule brayed and strained at its harness.
"Now what?" Dardord peered over the side of the cart and saw that one of the wheels had become trapped in a deep rut. The Barbarians continued their conversation.
"Hyah!" Dardorf cracked the whip again, to no avail. He cautiously climbed down, keeping the Barbarians in sight. Shoving against the cart did nothing. He screamed, he whipped, he pushed, he cursed. Still, the cart would not move.
Breathing hard, Dardorf turned to the Barbarians.
"I say, seeing how you haven't attacked me yet, might you lend an old merchant a hand?"
The two paused, said a few words to each other. One with blue streaks of war paint spoke.
"No."
"'No?' That's it? Just 'no?'" Dardorf gasped exasperated.
"I am Lothar," said the one with the blue war paint. He motioned to the other. "This is Quiet Bear. And we will not help you."
"In the name of the Dark Gods, why not?"
"We are waiting."
"For what?"
The sound of a war horn, not far off, sounded through the forest.
'"For that." The Barbarians hefted their weapons and trotted to the cart. Dardorf
shrieked and cowered against the side of the wagon. Framed between the two massive warriors, he realized just how small he was.
"What was that?" he stammered.
"Orc raiding party," Lothar mused. "Coming this way." He got down on his hands and knees and put his head to the dirt. "Forty or fifty strong."
"You mean you're so in tune with nature that you can hear them through the ground?"
"No, I can see their feet from down here."
Sweating, Dardorf climbed a wagon wheel and peered over the edge of the cart. The forest was swarming with the green skins.
"We're going to die!" he screamed as he dropped back down.
"Yes," smiled Lothar. "But not today! Quiet Bear, now!"
Quiet Bear turned to their side of the woods and let out a shrill whistle. Dardorf watched in amazement as the forest came to life. Barbarian warriors emerged from their hiding places and rushed toward the road.
Already the Orcs were upon the wagon. "DIE STINKIN' UMANS! WHOA! WHAT THE FU-" The lead Orc was silenced by a wave of arrows that took down the first row of green skins.
The two armies met. Dardorf took cover beneath his cart as blood and body parts rained down around him. The sounds of battle filled the air.
Next time, he would take the Imperial Highway.
