The soft sounds of the forest echoed in the darkness of its mind. It took ages for the fact to register within its ravaged brain. Centuries passed before it remembered a name: Aaralon. It couldn’t remember why this was important, but suddenly its consciousness was beginning to awaken to these new bits of information.
Why was the name Aaralon important? What were these strange sensations that he knew were made by birds? And how did it know ‘he’ was a ‘he’? The name echoed in the pitch black void. Aaralon. Aaralon. Aaralon.
Memories flashed through the darkness, bright flashes of light illuminating scenes from another life. The light frightened him, but the images were strangely familiar, and he forced himself to continue watching them out of curiosity. Faster and faster the images moved as the name grew louder. Aaralon! Aaralon! Aaralon!
With each image, he felt more sure that he needed to get closer to the images. Something compelled him to draw near to them, even as they sped past at an ever quickening pace, until they were just a blur of incandescent memory. Awareness was filling him, and he knew that if he kept watching them go past, soon he would have all his answers filled.
Each image left something inside him, fragments of memory like the taste of something sweet or the first day of his schooling. Yet still the meaning of the name eluded him, despite its increased volume. AARALON! AARALON! AARALON!
Closer he drifted to the ribbon of images, until his entire vision was filled with the scenes from someone’s life. The need to reach the light was unbearable, all his earlier hesitation gone. He must know the meaning of that name. Reaching out with the pale arm he knew was his, he pushed his hand into the flow of images.
With a thunderclap of thought, Aaralon’s mind was restored.
“Aaralon!” a voice cried loudly in his ear.
“Graaah!” Aaralon screamed as he jerked up in shock. Looking around for the source of the voice (and desperately trying to slow his racing heart), Aaralon was surprised to see that he was in a forest clearing, where he had been resting with his back against a small tree before being awoken. Not finding the source of the voice, and in no immediate danger, Aaralon allowed himself to lean back again and release the breath he hadn’t been aware of holding in a loud snort.
‘You’re not dead, so calm down!’ he commanded himself, suddenly feeling childish for having panicked under Sareth’s spells. He needed to be in control of his emotion now, otherwise he might never make it back to school or pay off Sareth’s blackmail. Mentally preparing himself, he decided that his first job was to see what he looked like.
Looking down, he saw a large- correction, his large hairy body. From what Aaralon could tell from his vague recollection of his one semester in ‘The Biology of Animals and Beasts’, he looked to be a Bull minotaur that had just reached his adult stature. He was shaded a light brown, and girded in a simple leather loincloth. Admiring Sareth’s handiwork, Aaralon was confident he had made the right choice for going deep into orc country.
“That’s only if you can stand up, big boy” a soft voice whispered in Aaralon’s ear, causing him to jump to his feet, er, hoofs in surprise. Before promptly toppling over face first into the grass. Rubbing his bruised snout (and surprised to find a brass nose ring), Aaralon looked back at where the voice had come from. |