• My character is a Half-elf bard, raised in the wild by a gathering of Nymph's. If someone were to normally find this hidden sanctuary, the Nymphs would use their powers to blind any who found it. Following which they would leave them to the curses of the wild; to wander blindly till they met their impending fate. However his father, having agreed to relinquish his first born son to the Nymphs in return for a safe passage out, was allowed to leave.

    Aramil lived his life raised in the loving comfort of twelve Nymph's. One of which he called his mother; the other ten his sisters, and one his lover. He was raised with love and compassion. The moist, refreshing feeling of the pond played a role more comforting to him than any blanket. The songs sang to him were more soothing than any rocking cradle. Love shared between his family and himself held a far more rewarding pleasure than those of royal nobility.

    He heard many great things from both his mother and his sisters. Stories told to them by adventurers they had come across. Stories of Dragons, Demons, Righteousness, Treasure, Magic, Fame, Fortune, and Glory. Though above all else he was taught compassion, and how to love not only another, but himself.

    Though this would not be a tale if it had no climax, no defining moment, no story of woe and dread. Our hero has this too. A defining moment in his life, one that he will never forget, no matter the wine, ale, or women he could consume. One day upon returning to his pond, whilst away on a hunting trip to gather food for the celebration of the 20th year he had spent with his family, he returned only to find ruin.

    He could see fire and hear the roars of men whom he knew had no place in this hidden paradise. Rushing back to his pond the horrors that he could see would drop a black stain onto his very soul for the rest of his long days. He first looked around the pond set a blaze. Remembering the childhood he spent in them frolicking about only caused him to shed a tear. As his gaze was moved to the pond itself, he watched in heavy despair whilst his sisters were being ravaged by men.

    The sexual nature of it all almost made him vomit at the sight. As his vision began to blur with the tears he was shedding, he could see one particular figure standing out in this visage of agony and lust. A lone elf, standing near his mother, behind her, grasping her with one arm. It's opposite hand held a knife to her throat; pressed so hard it had began to draw trickles of blood.

    Aramil gathered himself for a moment, wiped the tears of sorrow from his face, and began a charge. His voice echoed with a ferocity that would make fire flick back in fear. He rushed towards the first sight of the man that he could find. His long blade made short work of the stranger who was attempting to take advantage of his sister.

    First he would target the legs. It was the best position to take advantage of the vile creature. He'd get behind the Nymph, and when the man would reel in pain- his body pulled back in the moment of torture that he felt- his head would become an easy target to be removed. Although deep down, Aramil knew he wanted to stay and comfort his sister. Though the rage he felt would overcome his compassion as he moved to the next man, who would find that removing the nymph from atop of himself to see what had happened, would prove to bring his death, as his "Human" shield was the only thing holding Aramil back. Thrusting his sword into the mans gut, the blade had pushed it's way to the very ground that the man had tainted. In this moment Aramil's blade was lost to him.

    With no time to recover he rushed to the third man and tried to beat him with his bare hands. He was successful in delivering a beating equal to that of a drunken Dwarf, although the time he had spent to do so would mean his capture.

    Quickly beaten and bruised, Aramil was thrown before the elven man who had taken hold of his mother; the pain he felt had forced him to his knees. He looked up at the elven man before him, and as his eyes began to focus. It had become clear to him who this man was. The slender look of his face, the blond hair, green eyes shaped just so.

    Aramil could see himself in this man, or to be more precise, the man could see himself in Aramil. It was indeed his father, having returned, ready to seek revenge for what the Nymphs had taken from him.

    "So... this is my son, THIS is what you had taken from me!" The elven mans hatred was covered for a moment by his feeling of disgust for the Half-breed that knelled before him.

    The Elf snickered, "I should almost thank you, look at him..." turning his head the elf could see the Nymph he was holding. Trying with what little might she could to turn away.

    Handling her by the jaw he turned her head with a quick and painful jerk, "LOOK AT HIM!" he shouted with disgust. "He is nothing but a weak and pitiful creature of this forest, much like yourself... PREYING! Upon the helpless people who would by some ill fate happen upon you she-devils. Well..." the side of the nymph's face felt the warm embrace of the elf's tongue as it slide it's way up the side of her face. Then she felt the ground pressed roughly against her opposite cheek.

    "Who is weak and helpless now..." The elf's words were slow and ominous as he began to remove his buckle and his intentions had become clear.

    "NO! STOP!" screamed Aramil with what little strength he still had.

    The elf did so, if only for a moment as a cold smirk rolled across his face and he pointed at the half-breed child.

    "Hold him down! I want him to see what fate falls upon those who would take advantage of me. If he dares to look away, remove his eyes entirely... much like what you would have done to me no..." He muttered as his gaze moved once more over the Nymph who trembled on the ground. Not only her body, but spirit broken too at this point. The elven man removed both his pants, and undergarments, and proceeded.

    Aramil's first instinctive reaction was to struggle and look away, but that only earned him a dagger that struck downward. Missing his eye only by the grace of the gods, the knife scrapped against his face and caused no serious damage. Not interested in testing his luck, Aramil was forced to watch, but thankfully his tear ridden eyes blurred his vision, there was nothing he could do to muffle the horrible sounds that protruded before him. His only option was to try and deafen himself as much as he possibly could.

    Not even the roar of the fire could silence what happened in front of him. After nearly an hour of pain ridden torture befell not only himself, but his mother. Aramil was lifted to his feet. Even through the tears falling from his face he could catch glimpses of the mess that his mother was left in. He could see not only her, but the rest of his sisters being dragged off into the burning woods; kept alive for whatever reasons.

    His face was grappled by the elven man as he looked Aramil up and down. "And to imagine the glory you would have reviled in should you had remained my son." Aramil looked at the man, the blood on his face nearly washed away from the salty tears that he had shed.

    "This is not the glory I was told of!" he shouted in disbelief. "This is just the act of a cowardly man, who returns the gift of life, with the pain of death!" The elf stood there for a moment, gazing into Aramil's eyes, trying to size him up.

    "Hrmmm..." Taking a moment for contemplation he looked back at the boy and a slow smile came across his face. "Release the boy, we have what we came for." The men had a confused look on their faces as they looked at the Elf,

    "You heard me!" he replied. "Take the whores and lets be rid of this foul place!" He took a moment to direct his men before turning his attention back to Aramil.

    "Should you be able to find your way out of this forest you will be welcome to try and find me. Though there has yet to be a creature, be it Dragon or Fey who have been able to escape this place without the help of the Nymphs."

    As he talked he began to put his pants back on, "I suspect you won't have any better a chance to escape than they would have...". Placing his hand inside of his left chest pocket he pulled out a short wand. It was ivory white and made of wood. It sprinkled with what looked like sand, as he pressed the tip of it against Aramil's head. He began to feel drowsy; the final words he heard were "luck...to... you" before he received the heel of the elf's boot to his face.

    Aramil would awake the next morning; his body screaming with pain as he looked about to find his home, a blackened ash, the shell of it's former glory. He looked around to see that he truly was the only one left behind. Gathering himself to his feet, he began to press forward into the wood. In his current state it almost claimed his life, but he escaped from the wood.

    His goal had become clear. He needed to save his sisters from whatever fate beheld them, rescue his lover from the life she was now forced into, and not only bring his mother back home, but to punish the man who had caused him all his pain.