Dalàn

Some say that a life lived only in fear is no life at all. Yet, what can one do, when fear is all that one has ever known?

Dalàn has much to fear in the dark, dense woods that they live in. Strange, hulking beasts stalk within the shadows, their forms known to none who live to speak of them. Carnivorous plants of monstrous form lay trap, to snag unwitting souls, shrieking and writhing into their maws. And all about the forest floor, strange toxins dot the underbrush, flora whose thornprick will suck the life from anyone within a turn of the moon.

Yet, most of all, Dalàn has themself to fear - for fear of what they might do to others.

Born from of a poisonous vine, their very skin is deadly to others, their every touch a potential for murder. Terrified, they keep away from others, scurrying like a rodent in the hermitage that is their woods, gathering all that they can find to make strange potions. The small shack that they keep for their research is barely even secured, but where they live, few others would dare venture.

Only when they brave their way into the world, fretfully, their skin concealed, to they see other sapient life, and so their powers of communication are quiet stunted. Were they to learn how to speak with others, perhaps someone could tell them the truth of themself, that they have nothing to fear of their own body... but it is a truth that they will no time soon learn.

Sil Aivon, the king of the glade, keeps close watch on them from his hidden abode, secretly protecting them out of pity. Without this aid the defenseless creature would have never survived so long. But yet again, this is a truth that Dalàn will never know.