Drybone Barbarian is a Splinterlands character. <a target="_blank" rel="ugc" href="https://splinterlands.com/">Splinterlands</a> is an NFT Trading Card Game based in the world of Praetoria. Lore: The Drybone Anarchists are an army of raiders, pillagers, and plunderers led by the llamataur warlord, Eternan Brune. They control the Drybone Badlands in the Wild Northeast, where it's survival of the fittest, and only the strong survive… and Drybone Barbarians are strong indeed. Wild, savage warriors, they rely on their brute strength and primal rage in combat. They attack any travelers and outsiders foolish enough to venture into their territory, taking what they want and leaving the rest for scavengers to pick clean.The storm raged across the Drybone Badlands. Dust choked the air, reducing visibility to almost nothing. A trio of Drybone Barbarians trudged onward, leaning into the ferocious wind, their leather hide armor and cloaks whipping around them. A whitehair minotaur, a hobgoblin, and a tall and gangly llamataur. Each wore a cloth shemagh about their head to keep the whirling sand and dust out of their mouths and noses. “Oy,” said the whitehair minotaur. He carried a crude, two-handed axe slung over his shoulder. “Wot's that?” His companions wiped at their eyes and squinted against the silt. Ahead, something burned. They angled toward it, feet plodding through the sand. As they approached, a small campfire materialized out of the storm. It glowed beside an overturned wagon. A figure sat slumped against the wagon, legs splayed. “Another poor soul, lost in the sands,” said the hobgoblin with a chortle. “Let's help 'em find their way,” said the llamataur. He uncoiled a leather whip attached to his hip and gave it a crack. The figure didn't move. The three barbarians closed in on the figure. It was human, male, and dressed in a green cloak with the hood pulled low over the man's head. His chin rested on his chest. “Wake up, sunshine,” the minotaur said. He unslung his axe and slammed it into the ground, sending up a spray of sand. Still, the man didn't move. The hobgoblin crouched, grabbed the man's head, and tilted it up. A pair of empty eyesockets stared back at them. The man's mouth hung open. Blood ran down his face. It was still wet. “It's a trap!” the llamataur hollered. A horn sounded in the distance, and war drums began to pound. The three Drybone Barbarians whirled toward the sound. They gripped their weapons and gritted their teeth.

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