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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Funeris" data-source="post: 2257661" data-attributes="member: 22792">Prelude: Aramil and Gabrielle ConcludedOkay, last post for this prelude.  I realize its shorter than the others...but a couple of factors led to this.  First, the players of Aramil and Gabrielle didn't give me much to work with.  Also, I kinda want to move along to the first actual 'chapter' of the adventure.  So...there you go.WARNING:  Norum da Salaex can be a very gritty world.  Rape, murder, thievery all happen.  If you don't want to experience any of these events, turn away now.  In the famous words of Monty Python:  Run Away!  Run Away!  I will attempt to keep it as clean as is possible, but I make no guarantees.  You may find subject material that you disagree with.  Sorry, I'm about realism in my games.  That's just the way I am.  But I will try to keep it in a slightly toned-down manner so as to be publishable to this free website.  I in no way condone this sort of behavior, but I do sadly acknowledge that it does and did happen (in the real world and the fantasy world).  Thank you and consider yourself warned.-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The shoulder high field of wheat was a curtain of blindness.  Aramil couldn’t see more than fifty feet ahead of his position.  The sloping hills he and Gabrielle were trekking across rose steeply in front, blocking his view.  The half-elf wasn’t at all happy.Gabrielle plodded, not-so-silently, behind him.  She had taken to plucking on the infernal instrument she carried.  She had practically no ability with the lute and her voice was a horrible accompaniment.  Always, her tone registered flat compared to the voice of the instrument.   Her cacophonous chords did nothing to alleviate the strain on his sensitive half-elven ears.   Aramil grumbled quietly.“Would you knock that off?!”“No.  I am going to be the best singer on the island of Aedil.  And right now, I need my practice.”  The halfling returned to her prodding of the horse-hair strings.“Stop!”  Aramil spun and knocked the lute out of her hands.  “I need to be able to hear.  And I can’t do it with the racket you’re making.”  Gabrielle’s face welled up with tears.  Aramil released his anger with a hoarse breath.  “Look, if you don’t want to be captured by the Tyrant’s men, I’d suggest you be silent.  I need to think.”  Aramil pulled a worn map out of his satchel and tried to calculate their location.Gabrielle plopped down beside Aramil and tried to peer at the map.  Quickly, she became impatient and turned away.  Within moments, she was strumming the lute again albeit at a quieter volume.“I don’t understand it.  This map must be old.  Clearly, we’re nearing a town but it doesn’t appear on this,” he shook the parchment roughly.  “It must be.  Why else would we be traveling through a field of wheat?”“Oh, do you think we could maybe stop in and get some food?”  Gabrielle beamed.  “I’m so hungry.”  Her stomach rumbled loudly in emphasis.“I don’t think that’s a good idea.  Besides, the town isn’t on my map.  So, we’ll be lucky to even see it.  It must be quite tiny.”“There’s nothing wrong with being tiny,” she shot back.  “We should try to find it anyway.  I’m quite hungry.”“I heard you the first time.  Either way, you’re not entering the town.  I’ll get us food.  Let’s get moving again.”  Aramil began the arduous task of plowing through the field and leaving a path for his pint-sized friend.Suddenly, the half-elf tensed.  His ears had picked up a strange noise that raised the hairs upon his neck.  He tried peering through the blind wheat again, but to no avail.  “Run!” he hissed.“What is it?”  Gabrielle asked.“Horses.  Now, run!”  The half-elf shoved the halfling before turning to charge after her.  They fled as quickly as they could back down their obvious trail.  The galloping noise of hooves began to grow louder and louder.Aramil chanced a glance back and spotted two riders coming on strongly.  Both were decked in black half-plate armor and were waving weapons in the air.  Swiftly, the gap between the groups closed revealing more detail.  Aramil spotted the symbol of Ara’kull emblazoned on the armor, a broken bastard sword nearly arranged into a cross.  The rider on the left was waving a mace in the air, while the rider on the right twirled a net.At the last possible second, Aramil shoved Gabrielle off the path and darted the other direction.  The net had already been released and easily caught the halfling.  As Aramil plunged headlong into the crop, the horses changed direction and ploughed toward him.  He moved as quickly as possible but the stems of the wheat clung like greedy hands, slowing and pulling him down.  A shrill cry pierced the air from behind him.  He could hear another rider coming down the hill, although he dared not look.His pace increased but his vision was shrouded with memory.  Reds and yellows glinted off of the wheat.  Terrified he charged along even faster.An arrow sailed over his head but he kept going.  The wheat left welts on his skin, but he wouldn’t stop.  More arrows danced above his skull, just barely missing their mark.  Gabrielle shrieked again from behind, a dull thud chasing her fading voice.  Sweat beaded across Aramil’s brow as his lungs began to burn.  Out of my head, he demanded mentally of his memories.  But the weight of his father’s death effectively crushed him.The Orcs were behind him again as he ran with his father through the forest.  They had been heading to Aedil when the Orcs came out of nowhere.  Aramil’s father shoved him off the trail, where the child had tumbled down an embankment and into the cover of dense foliage.  When the half-elf had awoken at dusk, he heard the shrill cries of his father being tortured.  When Aramil found the body several days later, he realized his human father hadn’t been tortured but devoured alive.  The half-elf’s rebellious body had saved him from the same fate.Aramil burst out of the forest of wheat and into a clearing at the base of a hill.  A small stream cut through the trench.  A traitorous rock, piercing the water, snagged on his boot.  The half-elf tripped and plummeted to the ground.  A rough blow exploded from the side.  Bone-jarring force resonated through his skull.  The world spun and twisted.He struggled to roll over.  He reached for his father’s crossbow and clumsily loaded a bolt.  The soldiers burst through the edge of the crop and into the clearing.Aramil raised the crossbow and pulled on the trigger.  An arrow shaft pierced his arm, sending his shot wide.  The rider with the mace charged forward, swinging low.  The half-elf scrambled away but the forged metal connected solidly with his head.Colors merged and mated creating confusion as the sky disappeared and the ground darted upward.  Darkness swallowed Aramil’s consciousness.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------“Did you kill the child?!”  A gruff voice pierced Aramil’s veil of unconsciousness.  The half-elf shifted slightly, sentience and pain flooding back into his mind.“No, I didn’t kill it.  I should though.  The bitch is a halfling.”  This voice was slightly higher in tone but leering and condescending.“You are not to kill it,” a third voice commanded.  This one was older, laden with discipline and demanding respect.  Aramil struggled to open his eyes until he realized a torn cloth was tied tightly about his head.  Similarly, his arms and feet were bound as well, although in heavy metal clasps.  He tried to rotate his head against the cold earth to try to hear more.“I won’t kill it then.  But I am going to have some fun with her.”  Aramil heard the sound of hands working against leather.  He struggled against his bonds.“Heh.  Do you think they’re skilled whores?”  The gruff voice questioned.“Dunno,” the condescending soldier answered, “but they can’t be too bad.  They’re the same height as children, after all.  I’m sure her stubby fingers can work wonders.”  Laughter broke out between the two men.  Aramil struggled loudly against his bonds.“Now look what you’ve done!”  The commanding voice shouted.  Aramil felt the man coming closer and then felt a solid piece of oak crack against his skull.  Aramil tasted the metallic flavor of blood in his mouth as darkness swallowed him again.“Heh.  I bet the elf would benefit from you as well,” the gruff voice replied.“Rufus, shut the hell up!  You’re just encouraging him.  Neither of you will touch these prisoners in anyway unbefitting of your stations.”  Captain Lockhart glared at both of the men.  He pushed his sweaty gray hair out of his eyes.  Before either of his men could speak he stated, “If however, they need to be helped along with their…confessions, you may turn toward your particular methods.  But not one hand will be laid upon them until we return to the keep, unless that hand is mine.”The Captain threw a set of manacles to his men.  “Chain her up and then blind-fold her.  Once we’ve gathered their gear, we’ll leave.”  The aged soldier grabbed Aramil by his nape and threw him onto a warhorse.  Then the Captain leapt onto the horse and adjusted the half-elf.“Sometime today if you ever expect to receive your transfer!”  The Captain cursed the Royal Army silently for sending him the worst recruits to train.  Lockhart watched as the recruits carefully chained the halfling, making sure their hands wouldn’t stray too far.  Once everything was collected, the group rode toward the Town of Green Hills.</blockquote>

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