The twigs crunched loudly under Dhamrin’s boots as he made his way home through the snow-dusted forest. The world around him was stuck in a frozen stillness that was only occasionally interrupted by the sounds of small animals running from one bush to another. He exhaled and watch his breath become mist in the air.
Dhamrin lived a lonely life in this forest. His home was nothing more than a small shack made from wood and stone and he only ever went into town when he needed to pick up more books to read. Books, scrolls, and pamphlets were the only things that broke up the dreadful monotony of Dhamrin’s life. But this excursion was almost over and soon the isolation would consume him again, for weeks or months at a time until his desire for some meager stimulation drove him from his home and out into the world once more.
Life, in the general sense, is not an easy or enjoyable thing, and this was truer for Dhamrin than for anyone else. Of that, he was absolutely sure. The only reason he was alive now was because of an excessive amount of deer blood and the silver ring wrapped around his right index finger. Without that he would have been killed a long time ago. He had been hunted since the day he was born and the curse that was his life cost the lives of both his parents, killed by their very kin as they sought to correct the error that was Dhamrin’s birth. Luck would see him escape and the love of a blind man would see him gain the skills needed to function in this world, but that man was dead now and had been for over ten years.
The world’s lust for his death was constrained by the birth of his ring and the façade of normalcy that it provided him with. Still, he could not live like this forever, and eventually, the outside world would encroach upon his stagnant sanctuary. Whether this would be a curse or a blessing he did not know.
In truth Dhamrin only kept his own life going out of cowardice and how much of a uniquely difficult task ending it himself would be. His kind was the most hated of any creature that had ever walked the lands of Fallende. Hated by both Blutsauger and Mortal. A creature born of the love and lust of Bluts, a Pureblood who could never know the love of Aswia. As isolated in spirit as he was in body.
Dhamrin’s shack came into view. It was a small structure situated between two large twisted trees. This far out in Shaderoot Forest he rarely got any visitors, and the few he did were experienced hunters and paid him no mind as they tracked their prey. But something was wrong inside of Dhamrin’s little shack, through its meager window he could see a soft flame burning. A candlelit by an uninvited guest. He pulled his fur cloak tight around himself, checked the secureness of his ring, and ran towards the shack.
A vagabond would be no trouble for Dhamrin. None at all. Even with the ring muting his Blut nature, Dhamrin was still stronger than the average man, and even muted his nature couldn’t be changed, no amount of mundane injury could kill him. Even if it did cause him pain while the ring was on.
The Pureblood burst through the door of the hut and created a gust of wind that extinguished the intruder’s candle. He pulled a dirk from his side and rushed the silhouetted intruder with a roar.
In an instant Dhamrin’s found himself on the ground, thrown through his own handmade dining table. Splinters of wood had pierced through his clothes and cloak and had dug themselves deep into his currently Mortal flesh. The pain was excruciating and every slight move only dug the splinters deeper.
“Oh, dear,” the intruder said with a click of his tongue. “Perhaps this was the wrong hut?”
Dhamrin lunged forward, slashing at the intruder. Only to miss when the figure effortlessly swayed out of the way.
“No,” the figure said more to itself than to Dhamrin. “He fits all the descriptions. It has to be him.”
Dhamrin went for a stab to the heart but the figure caught his wrist and stopped the blade. The man’s hand was devoid of all natural warmth and his skin’s texture was unlike anything that Dhamrin had ever felt before, and even odder than that it appeared to be flowing.
“Are you Dhamrin Ring?” J’heno Edic asked.
Dhamrin tried to pull his hand free from J’heno’s grasp but it was no use.
J’heno rolled his eyes and with a flick of his own wrist, he broke Dhamrin’s.
The pain blossomed all at once and tears flooded from Dhamrin’s eyes as he fell to the ground screaming. He needed to take the ring off. He needed the pain to stop. Without putting any more thought into it Dhamrin tore the ring from his limp hand and immediately he felt its power fade.
Dhamrin’s pupils switched from black to burning orange and his body spat out the wood splinters and mended itself, hand and all. Finally, Dhamrin’s canines elongated and sharpened to points. The Knight used his newfound speed to jump away from his attacker, landing a dozen feet away and baring his fangs ready to fight.
J’heno mockingly applauded, a sickening smile resting upon his dead-eyed face. “Good show you darling little bloodsucker, but you misinterpret my visit. As much as I would love to spread your innards throughout the snow and listen to more of your lovely screams I’m afraid I have been sent here on a different sort of business.”
“Why should I believe you!” Dhamrin hissed.
“Before you continue to flap your idiotic Pureblood gums, please know that I have no qualms whatsoever with beating you until you comply. In fact, I would vastly prefer it to this demeaning display of kindness that I am currently offering you.”
“H-how could you tell I was a Pureblood?”
J’heno motioned to his mouth and his smile grew wider. “The Blut Hunters Special Legion exists for many purposes but one of the main reasons for its founding was to exterminate Purebloods like you,” J’heno relayed the information with no small amount of glee. “The teeth of a normal Blut are all sharp, but for a Pureblood, it is only the canines.”
“Now,” J’heno continued. “Are you going to hear what I have to say, or am I going to have to make you listen?”