So my DM wanted us to create backstories for our characters so he could use them later on in the plotline. and I obliged him. Here's the first chapter of Aramil's journey through strange lands accompanied by even stranger companions. With such colorful allies like an incompetent sorcerer, a couple of reclusive rangers, a drunken cleric, and a seriously unfortunate dragon warrior, Will Aramil manage to keep his sanity long enough to uncover the truth about his past?
Please review. I put a lot of work into this and I'd really like to hear what you guy's think
Prologue: Aramil Naïlo
It's a bright cheery day. The village of Everring Is going about it's usual routine, until a sudden commotion offers the settlement a brief reprieve from it's usual monotony. A lone hooded figure is seen running through the heart of the village square. As one could easily surmise, behind him were a large detachment from the village's local militia, looking quite flustered at their collective inability to catch a single thief. The mysterious man had led them on a merry chase all throughout the local area and he always seemed to be just out of their grasp. Until now that is. The man at the head of the procession of guards smirked to himself recognizing that the alleyway the criminal had just run into was in fact a dead end. Joyful triumph painted all over his face he turned the corner with a flourish only to be greeted by a plain unevenly mortared brick wall, and nothing else. A casual observer would not have thought it possible for a man to turn such a deep shade of red. The leader hastily barked orders to the rest of his men and they quickly dispersed in all directions to begin the hunt anew.
On the rooftop of one of the nearby buildings stood a man of undiscernable age with long black hair. His pointed ears obviously marked the man as an elf. He chuckled to himself as he took a bite of his stolen apple, just one of the many things he had managed to plunder while those idiotic guards thought they had him on the run. The truth is that because of the huge commotion the guards were making as he allowed them to follow him, he was able to steal items of much higher value. such as his brand new dagger. It was a beauty to behold, though plain and unadorned the blade was perfectly balanced, sufficiently sharp to the touch, and made of a high grade steel. obviously the work of a professional. He could tell that he and this blade were made for eachother... at least until it broke or he found a better one.
The strange man pocketed his well earned treasure, cast away his cloak and, gingerly hopped down to the village below, which was starting to recover from the shock of the earlier chase.
Approximately 100 years earlier
Shrieks of terror are heard across the land and all is bathed in the crimson glow of a raging inferno. A terrified woman is running as fast as she can dodging various piles of burning debris that had once housed her dearest friends and family. She wanted nothing more than to return into the chaos, to see if maybe there was someone back there who could still be helped, who could still be saved. But she just couldn't bring herself to face the conflagration once more. So she ran. She ran from the burning corpses of those she loved. She ran from the ancient trees, thousands of years old, who's immense size had always held a sense of majesty for her, now reduced to mere kindling. She ran from those things. Those crazed, bloodthirsty creatures who could hardly even be called human anymore.
They had come in the night, Hundreds of them. Their senses were obviously magically enhanced as was their strength. Only the fact that her guard post was on the opposite side of the village had spared her the horror of the initial bloodshed. Her elven bretheren had fought bravely, each doing the work of ten men... But the enemy horde was far too many, and one by one her brothers and sisters fell. Slaughtered were they stood. She had fought bravely alongside everyone else but a bleak moment of desperation had gotten the better of her. She had commited an unforgiveable sin, she had abandoned her fellow warriors and instead chosen to save only herself.
After running quite some distance she drew close to one of the many hidden entrances to the once tranquil ancient clearing that housed the beleaguered elvin village. She was about to make a dash for it but thought better of it and instead flattened herself against the wall of a nearby house that had yet to be set ablaze. As she waited sure enough a large group of the brutes turned the corner, eyes warily darting back and forth, lusting for blood. The elven maiden, being well versed in the arts of stealth, successfully managed to avoid their hungrily searching eyes. The enemies were just about to again pass out of view when a piercing cry rang out from the very house she was hiding against. She wasn't at all surprised about her sudden moment of extremely bad luck. She decided it must be divine retribution for her earlier moment of cowardice. Putting thoughts of divine fury aside she rushed her baffled opponents deciding to take the initiative before her foes could decide how to proceed with the situation. Several successive slashes from her well forged longsword left three of the brutes dead behind her. She offered herself a moment for a quick headcount and saw that there were five enemies remaining. She knew that defeating the remaining foes would be no easy task now that they were prepared for her. The men slowly encircled her with a practiced precision that could only be obtained through many years of harsh battle experience. One of the men lunged at her with a cleaving overhead slice so fast that she only dodged by a hair. She quickly slashed the man's throat, drenching herself in his lifeblood, but before she had time to regain her footing another man's blade found it's mark, biting cleanly through her shoulder effectively severing her left arm. Screaming she twirled around and opened the man from shoulder to hip. He collapsed to the ground and uttered a sickening moan before dying. The remaining three foes, seeing this, charged her at once, uncertainty clearly visible on their faces. Fueled by her new found bloodlust she savagely dispatched the remaining three brutes with extreme prejudice. The final man could only scream and cry as she ripped him limb from bloody limb, taking her time and making sure that her face was forever etched into his soul as he burned for all eternity in the nether realm. Some small part of her mind registered that she had become a mirror image of the brutes she so despised, but she didn't care anymore. Leaning heavily on her sword she began to laugh. The laughter rippled out of her on and on. She had clearly reached her breaking point. Her previous struggle had made a lot of noise. She knew more men would be on their way but she just couldn't bring herself to continue her escape. What was the point? There was nothing left. Her friends, her family her home, they were all gone. The reality of the situation crashed down on her over and over. She was about to break down completly when a loud noise brought her back to reality. The same piercing cry that had started the previous conflict was still ringing out from the house she had hidden by. It was unmistakably the cry of a child. Probably no more than a few years old.
Abandoning her left arm, which still layed among the various bits and pieces that had been whole men only minutes ago, The woman entered the plain wooden hut, not quite comprehending that here could be something still alive amongst all the slaughter and violence. Inside, Situated on a rough straw mat was a little boy bundled up in a cotton blanket. His parents lay in a bloody heap six feet away from him. At that moment something clicked in the women's mind. She would live on. She had to. Even if the only thing that came from her surviving was this one boy's life then it was still worth struggling. She took the baby in her arm and silently disappeared into the surrounding forest, leaving behind the dwindling fires that had uncaringly devoured everything she had once held dear. As she left she spotted a glint among the rubble.
Outskirts of the forest
A young elvin man paced back and forth within the confines of a large stone tower as rain poured down outside. The man looked visibly anxious as he walked over to examine an old rusted sword for the twelth time in as many minutes. The man started slightly as the door to his chambers creaked open.
"What news have you?" the elf barked at the sickly looking servant who stepped into the room.
"Well milord the legion has accepted your request to hunt down the goblins in the southern mountains, so as they are now three days ride from the weywood, they will be unable to assist Aranor." He timidly replied.
"excellent and what news of the siege?"
"The enemy has been routed milord. None remain within the village proper."
"Wonderful, Have our trackers comb the surrounding forest for survivors. Also Have the warriors begin searching the ruins, I wan't that gemstone found!"
Present day
Aramil saddened slightly as he thought of the things his adopted mother had gone through in order to save him. He owed all that he was to Xanaphia Naïlo. Not just because she had rescued him the day their entire clan was wiped out. She had always been looking out for him after that. Teaching him the arts of stealth and combat and making sure they always had food to eat. The elven rogue absentmindedly stroked the amulet she had given him on her deathbed ten years ago. She had said that it was to remind him that no matter how far he traveled she would always be there to encourage him in any endeavor the young elf may undertake. Her death had been caused by wounds she had recieved while attempting to gain information on the ransack of the village of Aranor ninety years hence. She had never given up hope that she would one day uncover the truth about that fateful day. Apparently someone had felt that she was getting far too close to the truth so he decided to have Xanaphia silenced. The wounds she had sustained were not at all fatal, but at the time they had had no money to hire a cleric or a medicine man. Despite all of Aramil's efforts to clean the wounds they still inevitably festered. And so he had lost the only person in his life that he had respected and held dear.
He snapped out of his daydream to find that due to his wandering he was no longer in the village proper. Even more surprising was that he hadn't even noticed the suspicious looking men that had slowly surrounded him.
"I don't suppose you gentlemen are out here enjoying an evening stroll" Aramil stated nervously. Sure he had recieved his combat training from "The One-Armed Demon" but he was nowhere near the warrior she was. Plus he was really no good in a direct fight. He preferred to hit his opponent from behind. His only hope was to diffuse the situation peacefully.
"Aramil Naïlo, Last living survivor of the Aranor massacre. Our employer has been searching for you for quite some time." The man who had spoken was a human with a face reminiscient of a rat. He wore a shortsword strapped to his belt and he seemed to give off an aura of authority.
"and what would your employer might want with someone like me?" As he said this his hand reached unconciously for his dagger as he already had a pretty good idea what the answer of the question would be. He counted his adversaries and caculated his chances of surviving. Twenty men, things didn't look good.
"Well naturally He wants you dead. Get H..." Before he had finished his command, the shaft of an arrow bloomed from his throat. If he learned anything from his murderous training sessions it was how to shoot... quickly. Aramil took advantage of their momentary confusion at the loss of their leader to slip through a small gap in the encirclement and escape into the nearby woods.
His reprieve was short lived as they were soon hot on his heels with a ferocity that rivaled any hunting dog. He managed to evade his pursuers for quite some time but he was unfamiliar with these woods and eventually he was forced into a corner. Breathing heavily and bleeding badly from several close encounters with his assailants he backed up against the sheer rock surface of a cliff that surrounded him on one side. At the other side were his enemies a look of triumph on their faces. Something caught Aramil's attention in the corner of his eye. Making a split second decision he chose probable death over certain death.
"Have you heard of the legend of the war of Dracaghn?" Aramil boldly asked them and continued before waiting for a reply. "They say that 400 years ago a battle was fought in the caves that dot this countryside. It was a fierce battle between a handful of human soldiers and a horde of goblin invaders."
"Oh ya, an wha's tha got ta do with dis?" An obviously lesser intelligent part of the group replied.
"Well they say noone, goblin or human left the evercaves. And to this day noone who's ventured forth to explore these caves have returned." Aramil continued
"Alright that's an interesting story but I fail to see the point." someone retorted.
"My point is this!" And before anyone could say anything else he pushed aside the strange boulder he had seen before and leapt into the cavern below. Lying on the cavern floor bleeding, his conciousness slowly faded away.