Oct. 5, 2008 - Chapter 1 in my story...Any name ideas you can come up with would be appreciated!

  Chapter 1:

Aramil.

     Snap! Another stick snapped beneath Aramil's feet as he ran. His leg was bleeding.  "Just keep running, don't stop" he told himself as he neared the half-way point to his small farmhouse, his muscles burning from exertion. The pain from the wound was getting worse. Pain. Throbbing.  He thought back to earlier in the day, the reason he was running now.

     He had gone to town to stock up on the much needed supplies his family needed for the upcoming winter, and to have a bit of fun, considering he only came to town a few times a year. When he finally reached the small town of Sentaria, he instantly noticed the surprisingly large amount of Imperial troops wandering through town. "That's odd...I wonder what’s going on. Hope they're not here to take more of our crops." Aramil had said to himself. He was relieved when he saw that the soldiers didn't notice him .   He didn't feel like interacting with them for the same reason most other people in town didn't;  they got away with everything.

     He had hurried past the multitude of soldiers into Vlarns’ Meat hut, hoping to order a pack full of meat. “Same good ol’ Vlarn . ” ,  Aramil  thought, as he walked  in, examining the familiar hut.   The inside was pretty much barren, save for the counter in the middle, worn from many years of use and scarred from the  razor-sharp   blades  hitting  its surface.    On the walls behind the counter were racks of various knives, ranging greatly in size. Behind the counter was Vlarn, one of the oldest citizens of Sentaria, an honest, hard working man. Though he was very old, his eyes were softer then most and depicted a sort of innocence that not many have. “Ah! Aramil! I’ve been looking forward to seein’ ye!” said Vlarn, pure joy written on his wrinkled face. “I be reckonin’ ye saw them Imperials wandering about as you walked into town. I not be quite sure what those tick infested vermin be doin’ here, but they’re up to no good, of that I be sure.” ,  Vlarn said with a scowl on his face.   Aramil smiled and nodded .  He had missed Vlarn, and he enjoyed the old man’s company, even though he could be a bit paranoid at times.    Aramil almost thought of him as a grandfather. “Ah, but you’re not here to  listen to  some old kook ramble on about doomsday, are ye now?”   Aramil laughed “No, we’ll have to save that for another day I guess. Maybe you could come up and meet the rest of my family and sup with us one of these days?”   Vlarn nodded.    “Well, anyways, do you think you could load this pack here with meat?” Aramil said as he laid one of his packs on the counter. “Ah! Yes I would be more then happy to!” , and  the man went to work chopping, hacking and wrapping the meat. Vlarn insisted it was free of charge, “Considering what your family’s goin’ through, it be the best I could do, lad.”.    Aramil thanked him and walked out of the shop.

    He looked up in the sky and noticed the sun was already setting  and  quickened his pace so that he could get his errands done before he would have to get a room for the night. The soldiers were still here, and Aramil was nervous  as they may start wondering why he was here.  “I can’t have them know I’m here…” ,  thought Aramil, thoughts racing, then repeated “Not again!” Going through his head over and over, stinging his brain like an agitated hornet, and making him feel sore and battered.    He reached the smiths’ workshop, where he hoped to buy some pre-made pitchforks and shovels and other tools for the year.   The door was wide open and a fire glowed throughout the small room. A tall, muscular young man stood over the anvil, making some sort of utensil that Aramil did not recognize at its current state.    Before Aramil got up to the doorway, the smith noticed his approach and welcomed him ,  “Ah, you! I know your face…What is your name again boy?”,  said the smith, looking at him with wary but not unfriendly eyes.    “Aramil, sir.” he answered, hoping to be out of here as fast as possible.    “Ah!   I remember now.    Eventually I will remember all of your names ; I’m still getting used to this city.”   Apparently, by what Aramil had heard, the current smith had traveled from a distant town to here to be apprenticed by the last smith, Roden, but several months ago Roden died. “So, what can I do you for? I don’t suppose you’ve come here for conversation at this hour.” 

“I was wondering if you had any pre-made farm tools around, shovels, pitchforks, maybe a hammer or two?” queried Aramil, hoping to get what  his family needed . “Ah, let me see what I can find  Lad.”

“Thank you for checking kind sir. Say, what is your name? I heard you were apprenticed by Roden until he died.”

“My name is Therington, though I prefer being called Therin. And aye, lad, I was the apprentice of Roden. Just recently he died, his last words telling me I was no longer his apprentice. Of that I am glad, or else I would have to pack up and move again once the funeral was over.”  , Therin  explained he searched through his stockpile.    “Ah! Here we go laddy!    Now, is there anything else you may need?”

“No thank you sir, I’m well and good now. Have a good evening.” And with that, Aramil   paid the four Drakes for the tools and walked off.

     The  sun had well set now.  Sounds of horses trotting  were  nearby, the glow of  their  lanterns  could be seen around the corner.    By the boisterous laughter, he could tell it was the Kings men. “Act calm. Act natural.” He told himself ,  as he braced for the inevitable meeting. The horses rounded the corner.    Aramil felt metal spikes of fear jolt up his spine. He was in the lantern 's  glow. Aramil’s mind instantly started calculating.    All the soldiers were on horses, which would make it impossible for Aramil to run away from them on flat ground. But in the suburbs, he may have an advantage, as well as in the thick trees. There the soldiers were, dressed in the black and purple colors of the king, a black skull with red flames bursting around it emblazoned on the middle of their tunics and shields. The laughter was still loud and prevalent among the troops, but the one in the lead- he looked like a captain-  sobered up enough to yell  ,    “You! Boy! What are you doing out this late!    Haven’t your parents taught you any sense? There might be thieves about!” The whole group started laughing. The cold metal spikes he had felt in his spine earlier now spread through his whole body, making it hard for his jaw to move. “Sorry, sir!” ,he blurted ,  “I was just running an errand for my Pa, and I got a little sidetracked…”

“Ha! An errand? Boy, you got a whole year 's  worth of food in that pack!    Why don’t you bring it here? I’m hungry!”    A wave of agreement and laughter went through the whole group. He felt something on the edge of his consciousness, a sort of dark despair trying to ease its way into his mind. It felt as though it was from someone else...  not him.    He remembered that feeling now, it was from that one other time.    That time when he was—his thoughts were interrupted by the shouts from the lead soldier.    “Come here boy, or you're   going to live a life without your hands!”   Aramil ran. He ran faster then he ever had. He had to lose the soldiers somewhere in the trees in order to make sure they didn’t find his home, the home they had  hidden in from the King for  nine  years. A scream erupted from the lead soldier and he loosed an arrow at Aramil. The arrow was true and it hit its target ' s leg. Aramil screamed a horrible, blood curdling scream , but kept running.    "Run. Run. Just run!!  ", Aramil yelled, running towards the forest. The horses were charging now. Run. The sound of metal rubbing against metal while swords were drawn. They were at the trees now, the ominous forest looming over them. The twang of a bowstring rang out and an arrow hit a tree right in front of Aramil.  " I have to lose them…  ", He looked around for anything at all that could help him. The soldiers were getting farther away; the trees were hampering their movement. Strong curses could be heard behind him. He was getting away! “Keep moving… I can’t lose my advantage.” 

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      Aramil snapped out of his thoughts. He was almost there.

“Maybe…I can rest... s o…  tired”    Aramil wheezed, almost about to fall over from the 45 minute run that would normally take him 4 hours. “I don’t know how I ran so… fast…” Aramil pondered as he ran; his pace steadily slowing.

“No! No... I have to get back as fast as possible! They could find me… n ot again… n o.”    He picked up the pace again ;  each step felt like death to Aramil, his leg burned like it was on fire. He glanced down at his wound. His leggings were now completely soaked with blood. The arrow still protruded from his leg, he hadn’t bothered to take it out. And he didn’t enjoy the idea of trying to.

 The trees got thicker for a few minutes, and then cleared out. Cultivated land started appearing, along with  growing  crops . He was almost there.    A few minutes more… His house was visible in the distance, the door was closed, but the glow of a fire emanated from the window. He ran faster… faster. He tripped, flew three feet forwards and landed on his head. Blackness enveloped him.