By Jeff Mariotte
Within the realm of Aquilonia, within the time whilst Conan used to be King, a tender barbarian fights to revive the respect of his tribe—and to assert his revenge… within the bustling urban of Tarantia, the younger Pictish warrior Kral has been imprisoned after slaughtering a cadre of urban Rangers and Aquilonian infantrymen, whereas his acquaintances Alanya and Doniel fight to discover safeguard within the labyrinthian urban streets.
But Kral’s look for enamel of the Ice Bear—and his attacks on those that stole it—have stuck the eye of King Conan himself. There are rumors he's sending a amazing strength to Kral’s place of origin to overwhelm the presumed Pictish uprising, whilst the Picts themselves are at the verge of launching a crusade that may drench the land in blood.
Now, Kral and his partners needs to stick to the path of tooth in the course of the again alley shadows of Tarantia, to the halls of King Conan, and around the seas the place their maximum problem awaits them…
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Additional resources for Age of Conan: Winds of the Wild Sea: Winds of the Wild Sea
Amelia let her good arm take the strain of the downward climb, aided by gravity and the rush of blood thumping through her heart. Crumbling dust from the scramble down coated her hair, making her cough. Her gun arm was burning in agony. She had accidentally thumped it into one of the cliff’s outcrops and the scorpion-poisoned flesh felt like the caliph’s torturers were already extracting their revenge from her body. They were near the bottom of the cliff face when an explosion sounded. Someone had stepped on her half-shattered shell, mixed the explosive sap in the firing chamber.
Amelia couldn’t even remember having discarded the weight of the cheap but reliable weapon. She had kept her knife though, for the stalking snakes that slid towards her at night, drawn by her body-heat. But the knife seemed so heavy now as well, a steel burden she could not pull free from her belt. The part of Amelia’s brain that had not yet shut down recognized what she saw coming out of the heat shimmer before her. The water-filled hump on the stranger’s back was unremarkable for the desert tribes – most of whom possessed the same adaptation.
An idea occurred to Ducker. A way to turn a penny and get a closer look at the carriage at the same time. He advanced on the vehicle and tugged off his cloth cap. ‘Excuse me, sir, wipe your gas lamps, sir? ’ The driver made to get out of the steering hole and Ducker saw beyond the short blonde curls and blue eyes for the first time, noticed her body. She was not just a beauty; she had the physique of someone who worked in the muscle pits. She was a whipper, a fighter for hire. The sole passenger of the vehicle seemed amused.
Age of Conan: Winds of the Wild Sea: Winds of the Wild Sea by Jeff Mariotte