I am known to most as Aramond, though if
it is my true name I am not sure. I cannot recall any memory of my childhood.
All I know is that my life started on a cold winter day. I remember waking up in
the woods from a terrifying nightmare and discovering an orc carcass smothering
me. My hand was still gripped on the hilt of a sword that had ended its
miserable life. As I pushed the body aside and arose, I saw the horror around
me. It wasn't a dream, the nightmare was real. The forest’s floor was littered
with bodies of both elves and orcs. My head began to throb; touching it revealed
a deep gash near my left temple. I can then remember seeing a black figure
moving from body to body. It had noticed me and started to approach; I turned
and grasped at the sword impaled in the orc. I tried to pull the sword out, but
it was well lodged in the orc’s spine. My head began to spin with the effort and
I blacked out.
As my body tumbled into numbness, my mind began to dream of other lives I may
have had contact with in my life. The strange thing about this is that it seemed
as if I was living their lives. I’ve seen through the eyes of a thief and
murdered for greed. I’ve seen mine enemies through the slit of my helm and
plunged my claymore into their hearts. I’ve felt my heart pound with excitement
and hunger as my canine legs carry me to a kobold running for its hole. I’ve
seen a flash of light take hold of my body, only to find myself appear in the
middle of a forest. The strangest of these dreams is when I see myself on a
brightly lit painted box as one hand pounds on knobs with unknown runes and the
other pulls on some strange object with a string attached.
When I awoke, I found myself lying on a straw bed in a wooden cabin. A human
male of a venerable age was close by and approached me as I stirred. He then
proceeded to tell me of my situation. His name was Rawthog (a retired
adventurer) and that I am in Greater Faydark. He said I had been unconscious for
a week fighting a fever caused by a particularly nasty wound to my head.
My wounds slowly healed under his care and he later told me that it was he who
had found me at the massacre. He told me that my brethren and I were ambushed by
a marauding band of orcs. Ambushed by orcs, absurd I thought to myself, he
quickly added that they had powerful chaotic magic to help them. Ten orcs to
every elf had fallen that day, but in the end only one elf survived. The orcs
seemed rushed as they looted quickly and left, very strange indeed. Rawthog then
reached into a large chest and presented me with a fine suit of Black Armor with
a two long swords and a bow. He said they were gift, but I intended to repay him
in full for his kindness. As I suited up and prepared to leave I asked him for
some maps of the region and the exact location where I was found. Kithicor
Forest was the scene of my brethrens demise, but how did I get here I asked. He
just smiled as he handed me a backpack and said “a story for another time my
friend”. I thanked him again for his kindness as I shook his hand. I was
surprised by the strength in his grip.
I left his humble abode and started down the trail. Something caught my eye and
I quickly turned back toward the cabin. It was gone, vanished into thin air. I
searched the area for some sign, not even a blade of the grass was bent. I then
noticed a small parchment lying in the grass. All it said was “Wargoth”. "Who’s
Wargoth", I wondered.
