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+--- Thread: Angha Bodhr's Tale. (/showthread.php?tid=163)
Angha Bodhr's Tale. - Travis Cox - 03-17-2019
Eighth born son of Vadani and Silaqui Nailo. Raised in the elven forests of Nodria and trained by his uncle Enialis
Liadon to be a ranger. Aramil, known by his friends as Revion (to wander) would often be gone for days exploring the
mountains around his home. Even though quiet and preferring to be alone, when amongst friends he is open, playful,
and trusting. Enjoying winter wine, dark haired lasses, and lakeside mornings.
The event that most informed his youth was the death of his good friend Mátamelcan (strong worker).
Mátamelcan persuaded Aramil to take him on one of his journeys into the mountains. While crossing a narrow cleft on
the side of a mountain the stone gave way under Mátamelcan’s feet. There was nothing Aramil could do but watch his
lifelong friend fall. After that Aramil would never allow anyone to accompany him into the mountains. The guilt he felt
for his friend’s death haunted him for several years.
Unbeknownst to Aramil war has broken out in Sedaria. A brutal war. Entire cities are labeled as either rebellious
to the Republic or rebellion sympathizers. Men, women, children, are being put to the sword, their homes burned for
nothing more than where they plant their crops. Companies of mercenaries have been hired handle the slaughter. When
their brutality becomes too much for the good consciousness of the people the Republic brands them as outlaws.
Denouncing any connection to them. Claiming that they are nothing more than brigands come to plunder their good
country. Bounties offered for their decimation are usually collected by other mercenary companies.
It is one of these hunter companies that shapes Aramil’s destiny. While exploring the northern woods of Nodria
Aramil spots a small group of humans. He follows them for some time, watching, listening, pondering their intent. After
two days of tracking them in circles Aramil concludes that these stupid humans, aren’t all humans stupid, are lost.
Moreover, they are killing every animal they come across for food or sport. Aramil decides that they need to be led out
of his forest. On the dawn of the third day the company’s commander comes out of his tent to find him sitting in the
center of their encampment. It was this arrogance that sealed Aramil’s fate.
The company, known as the Jomsvikings, was indeed lost and in need of a guide. But why pay for something you
can take? After a brief struggle, in which Aramil suffers two broken ribs and a cracked orbital socket, he is told that he
can win his freedom through service. Stripped of weapons and food, injured beyond his ability to resist, Aramil is at their
mercy and agrees to their terms.
Once the commander is satisfied that Aramil is properly subdued he allows him to have his bow and three
arrows. Enough to defend himself against any woodland creature but not enough to cause any real harm to the
company. For the next six months Aramil guides this group of foul humans through Nodria. He witnesses the slaughter
of his people and his innocence. Eventually he becomes inured to it. At the end of this time Aramil has but a single arrow
remaining, the first fled in the side of a Velanto Niandon (land shark), the second over a cliff.
Aramil realizes that he could cause the most damage to his captors by gaining their trust. He begins helping
them plan ambushes of rogue companies. Setting up the killing ground and leading them to the slaughter. Few escape
and many thumbs are collected. The Jomsvikings are happy to let Aramil be the face followed into their traps. The few
that do escape spread the tale of Angha Bodhr, the bringer of destruction. On one occasion Aramil manipulates two
rogue companies into fighting each other. It wasn’t until dawn that they realized the deception.
Eighteen months into his pressed service Aramil stumbles across a skeletal finger piercing the duff. Pointing at
him almost in accusation. Pointing in the direction of his home. A ray of light, like a beacon, appears filtered through the
forests canopy shinning on untarnished steel a few feet away. As though Andra herself is revealing his path. Under the
duff are the skeletal remains of a long dead elf warrior. Clad in silvery breastplate this beacon of hope has rested
through the eons to offer Aramil redemption. Further digging reveals amongst other gear an elven thinblade, upon
which is engraved “Ken cín emel” (know your heart), a long bow, and a quiver embroidered with the name “Devraen
manui arros” (Devraen of the unending arrow). A name of legend, a lost hero of a bygone era. The light of Andra offering
freedom.
Equipped with the trappings of a hero Aramil, now truly Angha Bodhr, returns to the small band he is guiding
and without hesitation or warning takes their lives, their thumbs, his vengeance, and his freedom.
From their Angha Bodhr uses the very skills taught him by the Jomsvikings to help his people route them from
his homeland.
Sent as an emissary to Gadorah (not the correct spelling, will fix later) in search of aid in protecting Nodria from these invaders.
RE: Angha Bodhr's Tale. - frenzied67 - 03-17-2019
Well Angha, we would help if we could but first we have to meet with the Earth Wyrde to find out how to get into Mord (the city of the dead) to rescue Symon's sweetheart. Following that episode, we are probably going to go to hell so Kearse can forgive his father for cursing himself, Kearse's mother, and Kearse himself to never have the peace of an afterlife (just rebirth after rebirth ad naseum). Also, we are trying to pick up clues that will help us stop the resurrection of the chained god, whose release could spell the end of all life in Erath and several adjoining planes of existence. I know there are some quests that I forgot, but they are important and also spell the life or death of uncounted thousands. Although running through the wilds of Nodria smashing mercenaries in the face sounds fun. Oh yea, I have to find the true name and place of my god within the existing pantheon... he has been claiming to be the originator of all of them lately, go figure; and he won't let me stand on the street corner anymore to tell all and sundry about it. Maybe a mercenary mash could pass as a weeks vacation for us?