A dhampair hermit.


Born of a vampire father and a human mother, the damphair is often feared and hunted by humanity. But in the case of vampire Frederick Writefaller he had lived a relatively peaceful life near the town of Serpent’s Ridge.

His good work for the community and general good mannerisms coupled with his wife’s exquisite cooking made him a popular enough man. He had many close friends and even trusted one or two to be confidants of his “Condition.”

His first brush with humanity’s fear came when his wife fell pregnant. Everyone assumed she had takena lover on the side, but when it was announced his bouncing baby girl was indeed a damphair – a few former friends drifted away and his wife’s bakery went from flourishing to middling.

This pattern followed until the child’s second year when a vampire hunter “happened” across the family in Serpant’s Ridge. A confidant alerted the family and it was only his warning which allowed the family an hour headstart.

Sadly, it would not be enough, as the lynch mob closed in rifles spat into the air and the sang out in a chorus of lead screaming. In a last resort the parents left their child nestled under the roots of a willow tree – hoping her half blood would allow her the strength to survive the wilds.

Tearfully the lovers ran, leading the lynch mob away from the child – who cried as gunfire lit the night.

She grew, scared of the world beyond her wilds. She tracked, climbed, hunted and reluctantly fed on some of her prey. She had no idea what she was or where she came from. She simply lived.

Her first encounter with humans was a caravan being ambushed by bandits. The slavers fought to the last and she shook and paicked whenever a gun fired. As the survivors rode away, she moved in and looted the bodies she found.

A heavy crossbow that shot ammo like her rope trap and a cloak that would help her through the harshest winters. Two prized possesions for the hermit.

Each time humans, orcs or elves strayed near her territory she watched them, one died to berries and she gained a water container much finer than her clumsy crafted attempt.

Another was bleeding to death, the orc saw her approach and was resigned to fate. He tried to speak to her, but she did not understand. Nor could she mimic his noises. Instead she simply watched him die and took his boots. Resisting her hunger… it felt wrong to be tmepted by the orc.

But she never strayed out of her wilds. She was scared. out there was the thunder sticks and the things that killed the orc and the caravan guards.

She would stay with the monsters and animals. There were no thundersticks in her wilds, until one day short bearded men arrive dand began destroying her home. She ran for nights and days… leaving familiar caves, trees, mountains and valleys for the unfamiliar terrain she now walks.


I'll Fill This Out Later Gloveless scottishwolf