Merritt Louis Kempthorne

appearance
Merritt stands at 5'10" with a slight but athletic build. His body type falls almost exactly in between his parents: his petite and lanky mother, and his broad and pudgy father. His upper body is built and most notably he has toned and muscular arms, giving his overall body an inverted triangle shape. His skin is dark brown like his mother's and his black dreadlocks naturally fall to his shoulder blades, though nowadays they are often pulled back into a neat ponytail. Also on the road he sometimes bears dark stubble that he attempts to keep trimmed close to his skin, though otherwise he has relatively thin body hair. His face is undeniably handsome, sharp and angular, with furrowed black brows and eyes that are a brilliant gold. His lips are thick and he's often smiling a broad smile, revealing his two slightly pointed canines as per his race. Raised to never forget his pride and humanity, Merritt dresses as well as he can, typically in a tight shirt and riding pants with tall black boots.

Faceclaim: x

personality
esfj / 3w2 sxso / gryffindor / sanguine-choleric / strength
+ courageous, idealistic, loyal, compassionate, disciplined, observant, moralistic, honorable
- traditional, materialistic, headstrong, judgmental, short-sighted, proud, guilty, black and white
x

drives
- To lay Lament to rest
- To see the city of Vanbourne someday
- To free humanity from the gods' influence
- To become a renowned hunter

fears
- Being alone and without love
- Succumbing to bloodthirst
- Disappointing authority figures
- Losing his morals

pre-birth

Marjorie Rose Kempthorne was born to an inheritance that would soon be stolen from her, the second child of what would ultimately be three. Her youngest memories were of growing up in the Kempthorne castle, the Waernell Keep, within the city of Vanbourne in Myrefall. Her youth was characterized by privilege and decadence, a lavish upbringing that included tutoring in literature and especially magical study. Marjorie excelled in transmutation, though for herself and her family of philosophers and scholars, she never had to do anything except practice magic for magic's sake. The Kempthorne legacy had been carved into history at the founding of Vanbourne some four thousand years prior and their esteem had only grown through the tight grip they had on the classes beneath them. It would be all too fair to say that the Kempthorne family was characterized by extreme vanity and merely paltry offerings to the gods who deserved none of their wealth. Tensions grew as the presence of gargoyles became more and more frequent within Vanbourne's walls. While once the gods' demands had been nothing more than a nuisance, their aggression was growing and the Kempthornes found their backs against the wall.

The flood gates broke when an emissary of Sovvtar, an obsidian gargoyle named Dignity, turned the Kempthorne family against one another. Marjorie's grandmother Cordelia, their matriarch, and Cordelia's twin sister Madelina had always been at competitive odds, and Dignity promised Madelina the alliance of Sovvtar if she wished to seize Vanbourne, so long as she in return would give Sovvtar eternal tribute. Madelina's greed seized her and the Waernell Keep was stained in blood. Cordelia killed her sister but the coup had rattled Vanbourne and resulted in the death of much of the Kempthorne family, including Marjorie's uncle. On the heels of their misfortune came Rothschilde's curse and the ironic craving for more blood. The Kempthorne's power was crippled and the lower classes of Vanbourne began to rise up as their oppressors starved within their keep. While the Kempthorne family did not participate in the murder of the God-Mother, they were not saved from the repercussions: Cordelia died less than a week after her magic was ripped from her, the last to be buried in the keep's graveyard.

Marjorie's parents read the writing on the wall after their youngest succumbed to starvation, and fled to Carem, taking residence in the sleepy city of New Duchmore that boasted a sizable population of vileblood refugees. New Duchmore never grew to the majesty of Vanbourne — ravaged by starvation and detestation by surrounding human populations, her family and others had no skills to offer in exchange for life. Her grandparents were miracle workers and philosophers, though the world had no desire to listen to waxing tales and magical tricks from the tongues of predators. From its conception New Duchmore was built on the soil of tired depression, though its residents were those who refused to yield to the gods. The Kempthornes used their ancient knowledge for alchemy, and began to foster strained outside relationships in trading their wares. Marjorie herself was fueled by bitter determination to uphold her family name and was the face of her family's business, having retained enough of her transmutation prowess to grant her an edge as an alchemist.

Adam Shaw had no such inheritance and could not have imagined the extent of one regardless. A human born and raised in the town of Beckton, a two day ride from New Duchmore, Adam was a witty young tradesman with an appreciation for nature. He gained the nickname Chipper in his youth which followed him even into adulthood. His family was quaint, the town's librarians (which would be a job inherited by his older brother Edmund, and then his niece Alma) and well-off enough to send their children to the larger city of Whiteridge for college. Adam was always the adventurous soul of the five-child family, driven to explore what new truths lay in the world around them rather than recite what had already happened. He never lost the spark in his eye even after he attended the University of Whiteridge for classics, graduating in such esteem that he was recommended to pursue a professorship. Such plans were dashed when his family fell ill and Adam moved back to Beckton to care for his parents, effectively tossing away his degree to become a tradesman.

The illness that struck Beckton was waterborne, though they only had the knowledge to call it a plague that seemed startlingly persistent and contagious, deadly to the young and the elderly. Adam shouldered more than just his father's wares to sell as other families became afflicted, traveling the countryside to sell Beckton's products for gold or medicine. One city Beckton had dared not touch was New Duchmore, the hovel crawling with vilebloods, deranged and starved creatures who had brought the gods' wrath upon the world. Desperate as his youngest brother Gavin grew sick, Adam traveled to New Duchmore to be greeted by suspicious and emancipated vilebloods. They were ghostly and tired, but still undeniably regal, restrained by such refinement from descending upon him and drinking him dry. He offered texts and meats and spun threads, but what truly intrigued them was the blood from the slaughter they'd make into blood sausage or simply toss. Adam promised to return with blood, in exchange for the spoils and knowledge of the Ashlands they had brought with them.

Marjorie was one of the vilebloods intrigued by the presence of a human trader, rather than wary to the idea of a human infiltrating their haven. In order for New Duchmore to survive, they had to grow and adapt, particularly if it was another resource to help feed their families. She approached Adam with the proposition of trading her alchemic wares for his supply of blood, and found herself intrigued by how unexpectedly well-spoken and educated the man was. He was friendly and not so put off by the blood curse, and he spoke to her openly about the illness that had gripped his town of Beckton. The symptoms were frank to her: stomach pains, diarrhea, and signs of dehydration indicated a waterborne disease. Marjorie offered Adam not only a remedy for Gavin's symptoms, but her practice of purifying the water as well. As the plague in Beckton showed signs of improvement, the relationship between the two cities went from hateful to cautiously trusting.

And it was not the only relationship that did. Adam's courtship of Marjorie was playful, devoted, and poetic, and in turn her pursuit of him was underlay by the first passion Carem had offered her. The two were wed three years after their first meeting, long for a human and short for a vileblood, and Adam took her surname and came to live in the Kempthorne home in New Duchmore.

Though, of course, that was only the beginning.

birth & childhood

Merritt Louis Kempthorne was born late into their marriage, two years following a devastating miscarriage due to Marjorie's inadequate supply of blood. He came into the world underweight but utterly alive, a handsome baby with a lick of dark hair and brilliant golden eyes. He was the first Kempthorne of the new generation and his family spoiled him with all they had available. His home was nothing like the Kempthorne's old keep, though it was large for a Carem residence and Merritt's birth filled it with warmth. His childhood was characterized by being dressed in frilly onesies and carried around New Duchmore to subtly show him off. The Shaw family, who had nervously attended the marriage ceremony, could not resist Merritt's chubby cheeks when Adam brought him back to Beckton (though they always held him warily away from their necks). Merritt was a curious and charming baby who thrived on (and demanded) attention, undoubtedly spoiled and would cry when not immediately attended to. Within his sheltered environment, he was praised, invincible — there were always open arms to run to and someone to kiss his scrape. He could do no wrong in the eyes of his mother especially, who was fiercely protective and never wanted to see her baby boy fail. His father was compliant, though hovered far less, and even dared to take Merritt out into public more than once in nothing but a cloth diaper.

The existence of dhampirs was a young legacy. Only a scarce few existed older than thirty or forty, and while they were becoming common enough in recent years, none boasted the age of a true vileblood. They had no wings and their fangs were stunted and initially it was assumed that they were simply of diluted noble blood, though by the time of Merritt's birth it was becoming understood that dhampirs had a strength and beauty rivaled by vilebloods themselves. He was the first dhampir of New Duchmore and the subject of much curiosity, and Marjorie was keen to indulge it. Merritt was quick to learn to talk and expressed an insatiable sense of wonder that reminded all of Adam's; he lived almost the first year carried about by his parents, supervising everything they did, though the moment he learned to walk he was unstoppable. Merritt dug his pudgy hangs into anything he could reach, chasing animals, opening drawers, and pulling stuffing out of cushions. He was a strong child who learned the full force of his abilities quickly and did not hesitate to use it. Other children would recall him as a leader and a bitter enforcer of the law, fierce in what he had been taught and cross when anyone dared to suggest otherwise. His fearlessness was his cardinal trait: there was no elder he would not correct, no animal he would not chase, and no tree he would not climb.

Merritt's schooling began young due to his quickly growing vocabulary. He was tutored as was custom for vileblood adolescents whose ages were stretched across decades. Merritt had a sharp mind and thrived on positive reinforcement and attention. He was a teacher's pet and a brown-noser to his tutors, most of whom saw through his sweet smile. His favorite subject was by far literature and he lived for stories, particularly those his father told him as bedtime stories. Symbology enamored him, the idea that one thing could stand in for another, and that someone could say something that everyone knew meant something else. He would pick out his own books at the Shaw family's library and when he'd finish them he'd beg to return soon to Beckton to get more. Words never betrayed him, and Merritt's gift for languages made him naturally fluent in Court simultaneously with Common, and then Wer from a tutor as well. His birthday gift to his mother one year was a notebook of his own poems, fading from Common into Court into Wer and then back to Common again. There was no perspective a story could not unlock.

Education helped to dampen Merritt's fiery nature (it was the human blood, his grandparents would apologize) and taught him to contain his bursting energy beneath charm and well-placed words. His wild child side cooled the older he grew and he learned the subtleties of life. In vileblood society it was inevitable he became conscious of his appearance as well, and his pride was funneled into making himself orderly. By the time Merritt grew into adolescence, he was an optimistic child with a mischievous glint in his eye, a tale on his tongue, and never a hair out of place.

adolescence & young adulthood

It was inevitable that Merritt would come to learn the curse of the nobles and that not every town was like New Duchmore or even Beckton. As one of the few humans living in New Duchmore, Merritt's father was a communal tradesman who would sell the city's wares for necessities without anyone needing to know the true recipients were vilebloods. When Merritt would accompany him, he would ruffle his hair and say it's best that none knew he was a dhampir. On the road his father would tell him stories that were tired and bitter to his vileblood family's ears, stories of the gods and their gargoyle servants, of Earl Toombs and the blood curse. His mother made him sound like a nobleman of a time lost, the inheritor to a far-off castle filled with splendors waiting for him — every young boy's dream. However his father spun the bleaker side of the tale, quietly expressing how detested vilebloods were for devouring the God-Mother and setting the wrath of the gods upon the world. Perhaps not his father's intention, but Merritt found that his father made him sound like a sinner from birth, born into a world that wanted to hang him for crimes he didn't commit. Mother and I didn't kill any god, he'd protest, And Avu or Avi or Tera Florence neither, and we wouldn't, not ever. His father would pat his shoulder and say that he knew, but it wouldn't matter to most.

Merritt's elder cousins, Alma and Garrett, both attended the University of Whiteridge and Adam began the conversation that Merritt ought to be able to as well. Adam and Marjorie both knew that gold was not the obstacle, but no major human university had ever accepted a vileblood or their offspring. Adam pointed out that Merritt looked practically human, only with bright eyes and slightly more pointed teeth, and he could eat typical food regardless. Marjorie didn't want to compromise on Merritt's safety; if he were to hide the fact he was a dhampir, if he were to be discovered, he could be killed. Never a fan of not being able to do something and rather ignorant to the oppression the outside world harbored, Merritt argued in favor of his father and finally Marjorie relented. He applied to the university when he was nineteen years, and subsequently faced the first bitter rejection of his life. The letter told him frankly that only full-blooded humans were permitted without any hint of how they knew. Merritt's grandmother speculated that the Kempthorne surname was too prolific as that of a noble's, and his father pondered over applying again under the surname Shaw. The refusal had stung Merritt and he slammed shut the idea of submitting another application. It was sour grapes — he had everything he needed right at home.

Instead, he began apprenticing beneath his mother in alchemy. He'd always been keen on what she did, and finally she began letting him do more than watch. Before he could combine anything she made him memorize ingredients, identify them by their taste and their scent, recognize them chopped and whole, learn their origins and their dangers. She'd show him a minced stalk and he'd reply it was blooming ailiana, and she'd tut and respond that it was tangled gilliflower and he could accidentally poison someone with the fluid if he did not learn to use his eyes better. Merritt glowed with pride when he was permitted to make his first simple elixir, and then he was forced to make it again, and again, and again. After a year studying beneath his mother, his father laughed that he was beginning to sound like her too, pointing out wildflowers when they were on the road and exclaiming that he should put some spoolwood on his cut rather than just sucking it. The world was a better place with more Marjorie in it, he'd said.

When he was twenty-one, his parents awkwardly breached the subject of it he would ever like to go away, see the world, leave them behind. Merritt brushed off the suggestion. His heart was fullest when he was at home, surrounded by his family and the friends he'd come to love within New Duchmore. The outside world held no lure for him, especially not after eavesdropping on the angsting of humans over vilebloods. He shared in his mother's vision, of restoring the blood bonds between the Kempthornes and creating a home for them in Carem. There was nothing that could be more important than family.

death of his father

Death was almost akin to starvation for Merritt. His Shaw grandparents, Grandpa Louie and Nana Elizabeth, had passed away when he was in his teens, but he didn't see them as often and they had a plethora of grandchildren to dote upon. His Kempthorne grandparents, while not young, were far from death and were more often hungry than they were ill. Though they didn't discuss it often (and Merritt could tell it made them uncomfortable), he knew he had an uncle who had died of hunger after the curse in the Ashlands, and his great-grandmother as well. To die of old age was a phenomenon practically foreign to him, a curse that humans had to deal with. Watching his mother grow quiet at his father's grey hairs or wrinkles around his eyes eventually made Merritt's stomach lurch as well as he realized the consequences. It was a thought he didn't enjoy dwelling upon and pushed it out of his mind, a bridge he would cross when it came.

The bridge came sooner than any of them would realize. When Adam was only in his young fifties, he began exhibiting showing symptoms of illness. His cough would not go, no matter how much he rested. He was perpetually fatigued and wanted nothing to eat, and his girth shrunk until Merritt could see his ribs when he was shirtless. As the illness progressed, Merritt could see his mother's stress hidden behind the cool facade she wore. He could hear her crying and speaking in whispers to his grandparents and aunt. His father's optimism and humor stuck Merritt in denial. This could not be death — his father was not old, if only he would eat then he would grow healthy again. The cough turned to wheezing turned to blood-stained handkerchiefs, and Marjorie scarcely slept, bringing her husband new remedy after new remedy to try. She grew weary as well, scarcely sleeping or eating and spending most of her hours crafting. She locked Merritt out of her workshop and out of feelings, leaving Merritt to process the inevitable alone.

When Merritt was almost twenty, his mother finally came to him and said that his father was dying a human's death. She would make one final remedy for him: one to cure him of his pain and put him to sleep forever.

Adam Kempthorne was laid to rest in the basement of the Kempthorne manor, the first in the family crypt. It was Merritt's first bereavement, and the feelings that stirred within him had no outlet. He hid his tears as his family did, though not even in private would they speak of his father beyond being a good man and a wonderful husband. There would be no commiseration over the feeling of loss or space for Merritt to express his anger at the injustice or the fact that his father joked to the very end. Adam's passing drew a rift between he and his mother that Merritt never could repair. Marjorie had withdrawn from family life and became a ghost of herself, the passion drained from her eye and her words flavorless and flat. She pushed Merritt away more often than she held him close and slowly abandoned her alchemy. The workshop unofficially became Merritt's, though the practice was merely something to distract his mind. The community in New Duchmore had rallied, knowing well the pain of a lover's death all too soon, and brought gold and blood dregs, though none offered a shoulder to cry upon. Merritt felt himself disconnected from his friends as well, as though the emptiness of his mother was contagious.

His mother never did get better. If his father had been sick of the body, she was sick of the heart. Her fits did not improve and she ate only when she had to. Merritt assumed that this was how things would be forever, though one day Marjorie came to him, a rare smile on her face, though by the look in her amber eyes he could tell it was deranged. I'm going to save pata, I'm going to bring him home, she'd said to him, stroking his hair. Merritt replied that his father was dead, he was gone, there was nothing to bring a mortal back. His mother laughed, her voice strained, and said there were always ways, ways not contained in any book. There were always ways if one was willing to pay the price. Merritt's protests fell on deaf ears and finally he relented, realizing that he had lost his mother months ago, and there was nothing left to worry to lose. She kissed his forehead, and gave to him the necklace she always wore, a treasure for Vanbourne: a charmed key on a golden chain, capable of locking any door but unable to unlock any. It reminded Merritt far too much of the woman his mother had been since the death of his father, and it sat heavy on his neck. His mother promised to return soon and promised to write.

And then she left, departing New Duchmore with her navy hood pulled up over her halo of black curls atop the dappled family horse, and that was the last Merritt ever saw of her.

He waited a month, and then another, and with the passage of time he grew angrier that she did not at least write. She had left not only him, but his grandparents and his aunt as well, tearing the blood tie like she was cutting a vein. After five months, so began the whispers that she had died, stricken down by mankind in her fragile state. The idea set a rock in Merritt's stomach and he staunchly refused to believe both his mother and father had passed. Marjorie had been barely over three hundred years, so young for a vileblood and Merritt wrestled with the injustice of it all. On the six month mark, he knew he couldn't wait any longer, and would only be driven to madness the longer he stayed in New Duchmore not knowing. He promised his family he would return, and he set out on foot in pursuit of his mother's trail, determined to bring her home or at least bid her to write a letter to ease all of their minds.

rise of lament

Tracking a vileblood was surprisingly an easy feat, as one passing through stood out in the average man's mind, solidified by suspicion and fear. The dark blue cloak his mother wore, edged with white filigrees, was memorable to boot. Merritt had always felt an edge of difference between himself and other vilebloods due to his father's influence, but truly being immersed in the world of humans was a slap to the face of how he was nothing like them. They dressed poorly and they smelled and they cursed for one, but for the other Merritt found their minds remarkably... simple, seemingly capable of only grasping one area of knowledge and discarding the rest. They freely dishonored their families and cheated on their spouses, and altogether Merritt decided that they were an untrustworthy and selfish sort of people. Many towns were infested with sphinxes just as uncouth and unpleasant, tricksters that Merritt hesitated to speak with.

His mother's trail ultimately led him to Rothpaign, a city that Merritt had heard of but never visited. It seemed most loose ends were tied in Rothpaign: it was notorious as a haven of the unusual and the odd, logically somewhere his mother would wander to seek dark magic. In a city so dense with the peculiar, he anticipated needing to search deeper to locate where his mother had traveled next — though as it turned out, he wouldn't need to ask long. The mention of a lady vileblood with dark skin and hair, red eyes, and a blue satin cloak at the local tavern immediately made the crowd quiet. If you're hunting her, she's already dead, one man said through a sip of his drink. von Ger did her in. Merritt was shaken, a thousand questions coming from him at once: Were they certain it was the vileblood in the blue cloak? Who was von Ger? When had this happened? All he could shake from the patrons was that the vileblood had come to town four months ago now, her demeanor like a starved feral cat. Her words were rambling nonsense and she hissed terribly at any who confronted her. She'd fed first upon a young girl and evidently was whipped into such a monstrous blood frenzy that she'd wet the town square with blood before she was confronted by von Ger. The hunter had struck her dead, and they'd tossed her body beyond city limits.

Merritt was choked. It was not in his mother's nature to harm anyone, she had thirsted, achingly, before in her life and she'd never lowered herself to drink from an unwilling man. Disbelieving, he sought the home of the hunter von Ger: a habitual traveler but one who had grown roots in Rothpaign. His mother's murderer was not as he would imagine her: she was taller than him and almost as stocky, her skin a shade of olive and marred by scars, and her blonde hair streaked with grey tied back into a ratty bun. She wore exhaustion different than his mother had: it was in her face, aging her beyond estimation, wrinkles creasing her brows and reaching like branches from the corners of her eyes. Merritt told her he was here about the death of the frenzied vileblood. Unlike so many others, the hunter immediately knew he was a dhampir, and moreover hazarded a guess he was a relative of hers — they had the same eyes, she suggested cryptically. The story she told him was not much different than the one he'd heard at the tavern. His mother, driven to madness by heartbreak and starvation, had lost control of herself. She would not have wanted to live as a monster of legend, Merritt realized, and he swallowed the ache of her death. Von Ger invited Merritt to stay in her home and sleep upon an old straw mattress she had until he felt well enough to begin the journey back to New Duchmore, which he accepted.

If there was any awkwardness between them, it thawed quickly. Merritt was tired of anger and unrestrained emotion, and even if he had felt hatred towards the hunter, it would have been abated by the amount of respect he quickly gained for her. For a human, von Ger was perceptive, confident, and disciplined. She showed him her arsenal of weapons he was wholly unfamiliar with, and he told her about his talent for alchemy, offering to brew potions in exchange for the lodging she gave him. He learned her name was Linette and she hailed from Waxing, not Carem, which explained her odd accent. She'd been to Myrefall, but to Merritt's disappointment, not to Vanbourne and could not tell him of Waernell Keep. Von Ger asked him questions about dhampirs which he was willing to answer — Did he require human blood? How long was his life? Could he have wings? There were many he didn't know the answer to, and many others that made him feel like the creature von Ger was hunting, stuck beneath a microscope.

It was the morning of the fourth day that von Ger received an odd visitor (a what-in-the-heavens-is-that-creature, Merritt called him, though von Ger corrected him that the man was a bagheeta). The half-sphinx came to cajole her into investigating a persistent and tired legend that crept through the less inhabited parts of Carem: the Grimbeak, said to be a thief who stole from the spoils of the King of Thieves himself. He was thus malformed into a crow-beast, eternally wandering and yearning to restore his bounty. Two sisters had been assaulted by a being they said was the Grimbeak. Von Ger huffed at the idea there were genuine sightings outside of Rothpaign, but she could not turn down the request. Merritt, curious about the use of her trick weapon, bid her to let him accompany in tracking the monster, to which she tiredly acquiesced.

The Grimbeak was a fairytale, but the creature that haunted the edges of Rothpaign was not. Under the cover of twilight, Merritt and von Ger followed where the legend had been sighted, and did not have to journey deep before the supposed Grimbeak revealed itself. It was no crow-beast, but a skullbound instead, the head of a massive bird mounted atop a shadowed body. The fog of its form was encased within a feathered black dress and its eyes were round and red, bright like fresh blood. When it spoke its voice was feminine, haunting, familiar — and as the creature set herself with such malice upon von Ger did Merritt finally realize that he knew this soul. He shouted in vain for the pair to cease (telling von Ger not to kill her, telling the skullbound to listen) as the skullbound fastened von Ger to the dirt with strips of familiar transmutation magic. Merritt forced himself into the fray and brandished the necklace before the skullbound, pleading that it was him, It's Merritt. She froze immediately and curled her shadowed claw around the key, transfixed. My home, she finally murmured, though as fast as Merritt's heart lifted in his chest it slammed back down again. In a vicious movement the skullbound gripped his chin with her icy fingers and told him not to follow her, and then she fled.

Merritt did not even wait until dawn before he started the journey home.

the ruin of new duchmore & the creation of a hunter

However swift he was, the skullbound was swifter. Merritt arrived to a New Duchmore he did not recognize, the quiet scene of an unimaginable battleground. He had always seen vilebloods, while no longer the ancient strength that they had been, to be the most powerful of any creature that walked Carem or perhaps the world. There was scarcely a resident of New Duchmore who wasn't proficient in magical arts, who couldn't recite centuries of history straight from memory. They were a superior race, nigh immortal, save for at the hands of the blood curse. Though he had never witnessed the nobles as they once were, Merritt had always thought that power still coursed through the vilebloods' veins, somehow capable of being released when the situation truly called for it. Perhaps such fantasies were a security blanket — a lie he told himself to stave away the fear of losing the ones he loved.

Entire buildings of New Duchmore were torn apart, rubble and bleached bones in the street. Exhausted and dizzy from hunger, Merritt walked through the streets, grappling with the images before him and how jarring they were against his memory. His home, his safe haven, had been attacked, though it was inconceivable that a single skullbound had done such damage. This monster was not his mother, no more than the vileblood that had attacked Rothpaign had been, but Merritt would admit that it was a mutation of her soul and he couldn't imagine that soul being filled with such raw, destructive power. The roads were empty as Merritt found his way to his home, a broken stone building that made his heart ache in his chest. Shouting for his family, he stepped over the door off its hinges and lying uselessly on the floor. Only silence met him. Merritt became erratic, shoving his way into rooms, growing more and more desperate as he searched for signs of life. His family seemed to have utterly vanished until he came to the door to the basement, shoving aside splintered wood to grasp at the metal handle beneath — and it was locked.

He pounded on the door until finally, finally, it cracked open and the red eyes of his Aunt Florence stared up at him. She pulled him down the stairs and embraced him, telling him again and again that she had been hoping he did not come back. Down in the vacant basement crypt was only his aunt and his grandfather. Avi Evianna, they told him, was presumably gone, having fended off the skullbound when she broke into the house. It was not just her, Florence told him. The skullbound, who announced that she was called Lament, had awoken the graveyard and turned decomposing bodies against their bloodlines. She had set a skeletal army against New Duchmore, searching through houses and killing any that stood in their way. She kept speaking of a man who had been stolen, hidden. Merritt's eyes involuntarily drew towards the single coffin in the crypt: a body not in the graveyard, hidden beneath the house in a place Lament could not remember.

Lament's voice had been familiar to the rest of her family as well, but Florence said she had regarded them as nothing more than obstacles. Skullbound were fragments of their old selves, Florence agreed, a pure manifestation of Marjorie's desperation rather than all of the traits they loved her for. She was no longer a Kempthorne and logically they could then thus hunt her down and kill her, but the idea did not sit right with Merritt. There was no saying what would occur to a murdered skullbound in the afterlife. Would her memories return? Would she despise them? No, he said, she had made it clear what she needed, and perhaps if his father had been buried in the communal graveyard, she would have passed as soon as she found him. Lament and her army had vanished, Florence said, probably having assumed the body she sought was elsewhere. The answer, to Merrit, was clear: if Lament had not found his father, he would take him to her.

The idea of removing a body made his aunt and grandfather gawk. It was utterly taboo and terrible to think of; Adam Kempthorne deserved his rest, not to be lugged about as a weapon. Merritt attempted to reframe his perspective. His mother had left New Duchmore with the intentions of resurrecting his father, and her will had been so strong she had come back to complete her goal and dabble in the necromantic arts. Merritt asserted that his father would not want Marjorie's memory dishonored as a ghastly being scraping across Carem searching for him. They should be reunited and finally allowed to die together, and he was going to be the one to make it happen.

His grandfather was the most firm that Merritt was not going to be the one to put himself in Lament's path, but again Merritt refuted him. Lament had not remembered her sister or her parents, but she had seemed to remember him, or at least enough to not hurt him and tell him not to follow. She had not wanted to kill him, Merritt decided — that was the reason she had told him to stay away, he was sure of it. He would take his father's body and find her. Surely once she realized he was offering what she desired her hostility would quell, but the longer they waited the more who would be put at risk, depending on where Lament's fragmented memories directed her. His grandfather and aunt uneasily agreed and the three of them dragged Adam from his rest. His entire body was a deadweight and too much to carry, and thus they all participated in mutilating the corpse, removing the bones along with a lock of hair and his wedding band for Merritt to bring. Would Lament be even more furious for desecrating the body, Florence wondered. Merritt dismissed the notion, as they had no choice, and she would never know.

He took with him his mother's alchemy supplies and ingredients and his family bid him farewell as he departed New Duchmore with his delivery. He would write, he promised, and they all swore to never speak of their relation to Lament. The Kempthorne name did not deserve to be dragged through murder and mud. As anxious as Merritt was to hurry and find Lament, he recognized he was poorly equipped to do so. If he failed, not only would Lament's destruction persist, but the Kempthorne family would have lost another.

Thus is how he turned back up at von Ger's door, dropping a sack of his father's bones onto her table, begging her to teach him the ways of being a hunter.

He spilled the story of his mother, of the attack on New Duchmore, the decision to help bring her to completion with his father's body. He shared his passion for protecting others, shamelessly expressing his admiration for von Ger and how he wanted the stand between the people he loved and what plagued them. He was a dhampir, certainly, but he never wished scourge to rise up from the earth, never wanted the fear that contained his family within New Duchmore pleading for blood. He had spent so many years complacent in watching those around him suffer. He had come to a point where he was refusing to turn back, could not turn back, and if von Ger would not teach him then he would find someone else who would. Swayed by his conviction, von Ger agreed to bring him beneath her wing. He reminded her of herself in her youth, she said, with a spirit just waiting for be defeated. If one wanted to defeat a monster, they had to accept the monster within themselves, and not all could stare into the eyes of their inner beast and stay themselves. Undeterred, Merritt leapt into practice with vigor, combining his alchemy with the way of a hunter. Von Ger transitioned being approving and dark, never ceasing to remind him of the burden hunters carried.

Finally did von Ger introduce Merritt to the Old Blood. Not the hunters' strength, she asserted, as that came from one's will alone. All who tasted the Old Blood would eventually succumb to being a beast: it was only a matter of time. Merritt drank willingly. He'd had one foot in the darkness since birth, and now was the time to fully embrace it.

family

Marjorie Rose Kempthorne / Lament » Mother, age 315
Adam Kempthorne » Father, decreased at age 56

Evianna Jane Kempthorne » Grandmother, deceased
Theodore Thaddeus Kempthorne » Grandfather, age 591
Florence Anne Kempthorne » Aunt, age 298
Phineas Prescott Kempthorne » Uncle, deceased (perished in Myrefall)

Louis Shaw » Grandfather, deceased
Elizabeth Shaw » Grandmother, decreased
Edmund Shaw » Uncle, age 61
Katelin Harris née Shaw » Aunt, age 52
Breanna Robinson née Shaw » Aunt, age 48
Gavin Shaw » Uncle, age 42

relationships
Linette von Ger, hunter, human
A human woman of indeterminate age who served as Merritt's mentor in teaching him the art of being a hunter. She resides most often in Rothpaign though follows her sense of duty to travel Carem, defeating the vengeful servants the gods have sent to punish the mortals. She has a grim view of life and a bleak sense of humor, though beneath her independence is a strong will and unyielding loyalty. Though she killed Merritt's mother, Merritt recognizes it was out of necessity to protect the lives of the people and holds no anger towards her. Linette is one of his most trusted associates, a guiding force he strives to emulate. He ran into her in Rothpaign though did not have the opportunity or the courage to tell her he'd failed and died, and now serves as an emissary of Crom's.

Lament, witch/necromancer, skullbound
The soul of his mother returned as a skullbound inhabiting an avian skull. Merritt does not consider the skullbound to be his mother, despite her occasional fractured memory. He views himself as the only one who can help bring Lament to completion by reuniting her with her deceased husband. It is because of duty and family honor that he wants to help Lament rather than kill her, though he resists the idea that she is still a Kempthorne, as he could never associate his surname with blood frenzy and murder. Since growing close with Chase the skullbound and also hearing in Rothpaign that Lament doesn't attack those wearing keys, Merritt's heart is yet again split, wondering if he can have his mother back and yet torn about the crimes she has committed.