Shadow of the Demon Lord @ Gamezilla RPG night
A cloven hooved, hairy legged, scrawnie, blunt horned, blue eyed, dark haired faun, with quite striking cheek bones.
“The traveller scarce deserved such wrath,
For warming fingers—cooling broth.
No statutes old or new forbid it,
Although with the same mouth he did it:
Yet this beware of, old and young,
What Aesop meant—a double tongue;
Which flatters now with civil clack,
And slanders soon behind one’s back.” – Jefferys Taylor – Poet
They say my great great great great great grandfather was a Dryad, a pity that information wasn’t shared with my father before I came into the world as he thought I was some sort of demon spawn and it was all my mother, her mother and her mother’s mother could do to stop him from throwing me into the river right after my birth. The women of the family knew, and feared the day, that some mystically charged faery offspring would pop out, however I was the first boy that had been born since way way way back when and I later found out my “affliction” didn’t affect any of the women folk in the line. Just my stupid luck for getting the wrong moon cycle for my parents to begat me.
My father ended up leaving my mother the next day and he never came back. She never remarried and I was an only child. Life as a ‘Faun’, that’s what they call us by-products of faery and human dalliances, has been bloody tough. In the past 30+ years I’ve tried to embrace my inner faery, stop chuckling, and lived among the elves, changlings, pixies and other mystical beings only to be treated like the lowest of the low, working as some errand boy for an Elvish family or relegated to shovelling dung from animal enclosures. Needless to say, it was shit, literally. Living among humans hasn’t been much easier, although instead of being ridiculed I always seem to get looked at with a bit of contempt or fear.
Prior to the last 3 years that I’ve served as scribe for the village, I was living in the far lands of Rul in a colony of devotees of the New God working towards an apprenticeship with the great wizard Bartholomew, who saved my life when I was a teen. Unfortunately, Tholo didn’t get to my aid before some nasty faeries cut off my horns down to nubs, but that’s a whole story in itself – at least I’m still alive! My master helped me learn to read and write the language of the land and so I worked for him as a scrivener copying old tomes until, for reasons I’ll keep to myself, I had to travel up north.
Now, when I’m not engrossed in my studies at the library, you’ll find me dressed in a long robe to cover my cloven hooves either helping out the village clerk or in the town square near The Lion, offering up my services to read or write letters for illiterates (most of the villagers), or filling out legal documents for a small fee. A guy’s got earn a few coins to live. I might like to devour a book, but that’s only feeding my mind.