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Nibbler the Cambion
Once upon a time, a good Sendralian man found a baby sitting on the side of the road in Sigil in the midst of the night. Knowing he wasn't even supposed to be out at such an hour and not wanting the baby to suffer, the man, John, took the baby to his home while it was still wrapped tightly in the vagrant rags it was left in. When he got home, he showed the baby to his wife, who was infertile because of a disease she had as a child. He expected her to be thrilled with it, but saw her only gasp and frown. He was befuddled by this reaction until he looked upon the child himself.
"What is it? A dark-elf?" Sandra, the wife, asked with an almost frightened voice. In her mind, the presumably dark-elven child could spring forward out of her husband's arm and viciously slay her there with a switchblade it had concealed in the rags. This, of course, was ridiculous, but she was a rather uneducated housewife who believed it could easily happen if she wasn't careful.
The child had slightly tinted skin. In good light, its body appeared to have some kind of whole-body rosacea. A tiny limp tail could be seen hanging between its legs. The child had slightly elven-like pointed ears too.
"No. It couldn't be. The dark-elves have a green skin, like a goblin!" John said matter-of-factly. He had never seen a dark-elf and he had never left Sigil in his life so this was of course in ignorance. He could only guess what the heathen creatures looked like.
"Oh. It must have just been born at night. I heard that if the baby is born at night sometimes the demons get to it on its way out." She was actually somewhat correct in saying this. The baby did have a bit of demon in it.
"Well then we'll just remove the tail and it'll be fine. I'm sure it's only reddish because it was in the cold so long."
So it was agreed that they would keep the baby. John took it to the kitchen and, using their sharpest knife, he severed the tiny tail off. They debated cutting the ears to a more human-like shape, but decided that they weren't so pointy as to be heathen.
The child never lost his tint. Through the years, his pointed ears received him much discrimination. They tried to teach him the followings of Enoch so he could be a successful member of their society, yet at the same time they wished to banish him for what he was. This continued on through the years until he reached his thirteenth birthday (they assumed the day of his birth the best they could). It was on this day, on his way home, that a group of locals grabbed him with the intent of lynching him. They carried him north out of the city, into Druidwood, and pinned him against a tree.
"I say we cut off his ears first!" said one of the lynchers.
"YEAH!" the others cheered on. There was a total of 4 men.
The one who made the suggestion stepped forward, drawing out a wicked-looking knife. He reached up for the young one's ears, ready to saw them off slowly.
The boy kicked him hard in the stomach, and the man staggered back, dropping his knife, and coughed desperately for air.
"You stupid bastard," the man said between coughs. "Let's just kill him. Then I'll cut off his ears and shove them down his throat."
Another man pulled up a razor-tipped spear and pointed it towards the tied up boy. He held it firmly in both hands, ready to thrust it forward into the tender, defenseless body. It would easily pierce through him and into the tree.
He closed his eyes and turned his head away, tensing his entire body. He was ready to meet his fate. Any moment now, that spear would be thrust through and end his life for good.
This is usually the point where a hero would come in, killing all four men in one swift move, or dropping them all with four extremely-well targetted arrows.
The spear plunged into his stomach and ripped into the bark of the tree. Pain shot through the entire boy's body and he could feel the warm blood rolling down his stomach and his backside. The warmth was replaced soon with a feeling of deathly coldness, and soon he could barely move. He struggled hard to keep his head up.
Distracted with the burden of dying, he didn't entirely gather what was happening around him. Something scared the men before they were able to rip out the spear and take another stab with it to finish the job. The boy sat there convulsing and freezing as all his blood was emptying out of his body while he was pinned against the tree, unable to move, barely even aware of his existance anymore. All the sounds and sensations and feelings and everything were all getting so distant.
And then something was happening. His entire body was too dull to feel it, but he felt a pressure on his neck and his flesh was easily yielding to some sharp warmth.
The last thing he felt was falling from the tree. His limp body spilled to the ground easily and feel to a limp mass. Consciousness faded him. Death was eminent.
There was an eternal darkness he was plunged into and barely aware he even existed in it. His mind rushed desperately trying to realize what was happening while he floated in a senseless, depthless, inevitable emptiness.
And suddenly he was awake, throwing his body up and screaming as loud as he could as his lungs could bare, in sheer terror at suddenly being thrust back into the real world. The air was completely drained from his lungs, and still he tried to scream, until he gasped uncontrollably and fell backwards on a cold marble floor. But strangely, although the reflex was there, he didn't feel the starvation from the lack of air, only that he could no longer make sound without it.
He was in a cave in the Bloodmound Hills. It was very shallow, just enough for shelter from the elements. There was nothing around but him and a shaven, shackled sheep that kicked desperately but couldn't make use of his legs.
Without thinking, without realizing what he was doing, he was on his feet suddenly and sucking the blood from the sheeps neck, and suddenly he felt amazingly replenished and forfilled while he sucked the blood down and a pleasant warmth entered his body.
After he drained the life of the sheep until it was as pale and dead as him, he felt another natural thing come upon him, something he needn't think much about to even do. He entered a mist and felt his mind everywhere at once, even though he was barely physically present. He could soar to the skies and shoot to the ground, he could move anywhere and through doors and gates and past and behind and however he pleased with so little effort.
And so the legacy of Nibbler the Cambion had begun.