Amria's page

Raised in a Varisian traveling troupe, he learned all he thought he knew of the world from the perspective of a visitor. Never long in any one place, the troupe made their living performing for townsfolk. During such performances, the young members passed through the crowds extolling the charms of the performers and collecting tips. Their older brothers, sisters and cousins would accompany these youngsters, helping the stubborn or ungenerous audience members to contribute by lightening their purses. At night, many of the adult troupe members added to the family coffers with finds from surprisingly unsecured homes.

Life was good for our little gypsy. That's not to say all was perfect. The horses never cared for him but, that was fine as he never had a liking for them either. He found the adoring attention of grain rats preferable to the smelly job of mucking up after those ill-tempered nags. When the elders noticed how well trained his pets were and the tricks he taught them to perform were so charming, they gave him a little table for a stage and had him running a side show.

He proved his worth again in a forbidding mountain pass late in the fall. The year had been lean and winter was coming early. The wolves had been shadowing the wagons for days and at that narrow pass they made their move. They rained down upon the lead horses. Their alpha, a huge brute, snapped the front horse's neck with a single bite. The troupe, unable to back up the wagons, were in disarray and panic set them to running. The wolves capitalized on the chaos, nipping at their heels, driving them together. Once cornered, the gypsies wept at the knowledge that they would be eaten alive. As the wolves closed, our boy stepped out of the throng. He spoke quietly, his gaze steady. The pack stopped and cocked their heads, almost as if they understood him. The alpha broke through his ranks and growled menacingly, thick blood-flecked saliva dripping from his jaws. In response, the boy stood to his full height, head held high and glared down his long aquiline nose at the beast. His unusual amber colored eyes deepened to coal black. With a sneer of utter disdain, the boy pointed off to the track. The lead wolf hunkered it's shoulders and lowered it's head. Tail down, it turned and headed off. The rest of the pack looking back and forth between the two, held their position for a few brief seconds before following their pack master's lead and surrendering the troupe and its tasty horses.

The family stood in awe and shock. Never before had they heard of anyone, let alone a mere boy, stand his ground before a wolf pack and drive them off with a look and a gesture. Some clapped the boy on the shoulder at his bravery. Others covertly made the sign to ward off evil. Still others looked around, unsure what to think. They went to work tending those animals injured but not killed by the wolf attack. Loathe to handle the remains of any animal killed by the wolves, they pushed the carcasses off of the side of the road. They continued on their way, quiet, their eyes to the peaks in search of signs for any further ambush.

Over the coming weeks, their chattel began falling ill. Those first to die were the animals bitten by the wolves. One after another, the livestock all caught the disease. It took three weeks before one of the children took ill. Quickly, the whole troupe caught the disease. None of the traditional folk remedies seemed to work. Day to day, one or another of the members would die. By the time of the first death, those who had been suspicious of the boy's ability to drive off the wolves began to whisper of his being "amria", a curse. For two weeks, the gypsies died. Eventually, there was only the boy and his great-grandfather. They were both stricken by the disease and the old man was fading fast. In his delirium, he raved about the dark lord and his pact with the night devil. How he had sold his own granddaughter's virtue to a lord of perpetual darkness for safe passage through his demesne. He wailed about how his wrongdoing had cursed the troupe and they had paid the price. He turned his disease maddened eyes upon his great-grandson and proclaimed him a creature of darkness. His ranting lasted for several days. In the final moments, lucidity returned to the old man and he patted the fevered boy's head. Feeling the heat coming off of his forehead, the old man smiled glad that his last living heir was human after all. Knowing that he would die like all the others in the family, he gave his last breath and died with a simple sort of contentment. The boy laid down next to his last relative and succumbed to the disease that had consumed his entire family.

It was a clear bright day when the boy awoke. His fever broken, he was weak but alive. He gathered such meager supplies as he could, even resigning to taking some of the tainted meat as it was all that was left. He struggled for days, eating when he must and then becoming sick until he collapsed only to rise the again the next day. Upon one such resuscitation, he found himself next to a campfire. A middle aged man sat across from him. A woodsman with the sign of the Hunter hanging from a leather thong around his neck. The man explained how he had come to find him lying motionless in the forest. First thinking him dead, the man was surprised to find him still breathing. The signs of disease had been readily apparent and over the course of a night, all signs and symptoms worsened until the next dawn when they quite suddenly abated, his breath and heartbeat returning to normal. The man asked the boy if he was aware of such a recovery. The boy answered that it happened every few days since his clan was struck down by a virulent disease brought on by the taint of strange wolves which had attacked his family's chattel. When asked if he knew why he lived, the boy said it was because he was a creature of darkness. The man asked the boy his name. Amria, was the reply for he was a curse unto his people.

Sometime in the late afternoon, another man appeared in the camp. One moment there were only two around the campfire. The next there were three. The other man looked, if anything, even more weather beaten than the first. He laid the carcass of a small deer next to himself. Grunting, he remarked upon the spawn having awoken. The first man chided his companion and introduced the boy to him. Hearing the name, Amria, the hunter snorted, saying it was appropriate. The first man smiled at the boy, lessening the sting of the rebuke. It was a sign of the relationship to form over the next several years.

Amria stayed with the two men, following them and learning how to survive in the wilderness. He learned to hunt, scavenge and thrive off of the bounty provided by nature. The smiling man turned out to be a priest of the Hunter, Erastil. He taught Amria the workings of his religion, the beauty of the natural world and the obligation his followers had to protect it, the creatures within it, and even those beings who thought themselves above it. The grim man was a true hunter, a ranger of the forest. He taught Amria the tricks and tactics to fighting those creatures who had forsaken the natural order. Amria learned how to use not only the tools and weapons of the hunter but, also those of the warrior. He learned the defenses and weaknesses of the undead to better fight their unnatural influence over nature.

It was some years before they came back to the mountains where Amria lost his family. They found the ruins of a homestead and the spoor of wolves. The three followed the signs, tracking the pack back into the mountains. All the way into a secluded valley overshadowed by a keep at its head. They set about quietly studying the terrain, learning the numbers and types of its inhabitants.

Once they felt confident of their knowledge of their enemies movements and numbers, they formulated their plan. They spent the next week setting up traps for the solitary walking corpses which roamed the valley. They set up an ambush for a patrol of the wolves, allowing none to escape. After this, all of the other creatures seemed to vanish. The men knew it was time to breach the keep and eradicate the menace lying within. They approached their task as consummate professionals. They fought a running battle with the occupants through the halls and passages of the keep. Fighting their way through to the main hall, they confronted the master and his pet. The pale lord kept his pack of remaining wolves close to him, led by the great brute from Amria's past. They led their attack with bows, taking down twice their own number in seconds. When the diminished pack closed the distance, the hunters drew their steel and met them head on. In a few short minutes, there was only the master and his canine servant. The wolf had transformed to a hulking creature standing upon its hind feet, it's fore paws formed into clawed hands. The master had likewise transformed. Fangs erupted from his distended jaws and he had also grown claws while maintaining his grip upon a fine silvery morningstar. They fought, neither side giving ground until the cleric called out to the great Hunter for the blessing of the sun's light in that crypt of darkness. Sunlight burst forth from the priest's outstretched hand and the vampire screamed. The vampire was scorched and burning. The wolfwere roared and pounced on the priest, sinking it's fangs into his face. The hunter cried out and thrust his silver tipped boar spear into the side of the wolfwere driving through the lung and into its heart. Amria rushed the vampire writing in flames. It lashed out at Amria, decrying him as a traitor to his own race. He struck off the dark creature's head with a single swing of his ax.

The fight finished, the hunter and Amria knelt down at the side of their fallen friend. His face a bloody ruin, his last breaths gurgled out through an eviscerated throat. They watched their friend die and then made sure he would not rise again. Searching the castle for any lingering menace, they found in the lowest levels an abattoir. The remains of numerous people were strewn about. The barely living were kept hanging from the crossbeams as a larder for the thirst of the keep's lord. They rescued those who could be saved and saved those who could not be rescued. In the lowest level, they found a massive lair. This had been the home of the pack. A last lone female was found there and quickly dispatched. It had been protecting a litter of pups. The hunter began to put the small creatures down when Amria grabbed at one. It was the runt, a tiny ball of fur. Hell's red eyes looked out from the soot colored fur. The hunter coolly regarded his young friend. Amria tucked the pup into his coat. He could sense the Hunter's approval in his action. The older man, sighed and nodded, before turning away.

They took all that they could find of value to the point of skinning all the wolves of their pelts. Amria collected that fine silvery morningstar of the vampire lord. They then turned the entire keep into a funeral pyre for their friend, setting it ablaze and watching it burn throughout the night. At dawn, they led the few exhausted survivors from the valley and back to the nearest village.

Amria and his mentor came to a crossroads. The hunter was ready to continue their travels, hunting nature's bounty and protecting it from harm when they found it. Amria was bent on hunting down such dangers and especially slaying his kin. Neither could persuade the other to his thinking. The men who had been such boon companions were broken with the loss of their friend. They parted, amicably, each to find his own way.

Amria kept the small wolf pup. He spent countless hours working with the wolf to teach it how to hunt and fight. Using the animal's natural inclination towards pack fighting and surrounding prey, they created tactics which increased the advantages of flanking and precisely striking at vital spots on their target. Over time they began to fight as one.

Amria and Smoke have been together for over two years now and are always on the prowl for signs of their chosen quarry, kin and kith to the inquisitor; vampires. They do not rest yet they are patient in their pursuit. Better a long hunt than a fatal mistake. It is on this latest chase that they have followed their newest prey into a deep dark fog. As the mists finally begin to thin, both dhampir and wolf realize they are no longer in familiar territory. Still the trail is fresh and the Hunter will have His due.