Damijan

[Damijan]

DAMIJAN Damijan's Song: The Great Below Basic Information Race: Human Birthday: 490 A.V. (20) Gender: Male Physical Description Damijan stands at an elegant six feet one inch, built of long lines and sculpted shadows. Broad shoulders that taper into a narrow waist and hips, figure muscled but angular, strength practically shifting beneath his skin with every movement. Oft-disheveled (but never sloppy) hair is dark, seemingly black until struck by a stray glance of sunlight to reveal the hints of auburn underneath. His eyes are the blue of a fresh bruise, dark and staggered towards the edges with a ring of black around each iris. Fine, patrician features include starkly high cheekbones and a cruel mouth, beauty in his countenance that has been sharpened and heightened by hatred and meanness of spirit. Most often dressed in black with trims of deep, blood red, his clothes are nevertheless always those of an aristocrat. Perfectly tailored to his figure, impeccably made, down to the ornately decorated scabbard buckled about his hips, and the wicked cutlass it sheathes. Of note: a tattoo can be seen crawling up along the left side of this throat. Thick, black ink winds in some tribal design, beginning behind his ear and threading down his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. Only the touch of a person's hand could discern that this tattoo hides a very nasty scar. There is something innately predatory in the way he moves, sleek and feline, the disinterest of a pacing panther while he ponders his attack. Rage forever tightens the muscles of his shoulders; disgust curves his mouth as though born there. His jaw strains against the effort of maintaining a civil disposition whenever the need arises. In his eyes, though, there lives a fierce intolerance, and the tips of his fingers burn with a near constant ache and need to hurt someone, anyone. Whence cometh this preternatural anger and ingrained menace is anyone's guess, but just a glance at him provides a stark warning to turn and walk the other way. And that's the only warning you'll get. Character Concept Damijan has no love for anyone. Perhaps tolerance, here and there, for family members and the occasional friend that has managed to survive him, but he couldn't give a shit about gods or temples or the finer points of philosophy and rhetoric. Fear, he believes, is power. And that is one thing he has mastered, to the point of terrifying just about everyone he meets, and only occasionally on purpose. He is wholly satisfied with who and what he is, and had to pay the price to be this way. He won't stand to be contradicted or changed, told what to do or how to do it, or tempered in any way. Only his family has any sway over his whims, specifically his father. For one so young, he has an abundance of unchecked rage aimed directly at the heart of the world, and all those who reside within it. He wasn't always this way. There was a boy who was quicker to grin than attack, once, but he's been dead for years now, and all that's left is the demon riding him. Memories of who he'd been have been stuffed so deep down inside that he wonders, sometimes, if any of it was real, or if he'd simply been dreaming the ability to love, to disentangle right from wrong, to even care about the difference. Wounds are fresh and still bleeding even though they've been hidden, but pain and suffering have never been his allies; he turns such feelings into anger, an emotion he is much more comfortable with. Temper like a hair-trigger, he will draw live steel for even the smallest slight, aggressive where someone else might parlay for temperance. There is no middling for him; there is no gray. Only a steady roll of shadows and the black veil of wrath to hide behind. Character History [WIP] Born into the infamous Lazerin family of Ravok, Damijan spent much of his early childhood writhing in his father's shadow. Before he could be drafted into the ranks of the Ebonstryfe, he petitioned to be sent forth across the continent to garner more influence for the family. He was granted this small favor, probably a testament more to his bloodline than any capabilities he may have displayed at fifteen. Off he went, however, determined to accomplish something of note before he ever returned to Ravok. He fell in quickly with a band of raiders worrying the Syliran countryside, and realized with relative speed that they were completely disorganized and incompetent when it came to the rules of engagement, or keeping themselves in business. Between his excellent education and the unstoppable charisma he was born with, it didn't take him long to begin cultivating the raiders towards his own purposes, but he kept such maneuvering as quiet as possible so as not to alert their current leader of his impending replacement. He kept their movements difficult to follow, taught them how to be silent in their attacks and how to hide their passage, reminded them over and over again that the more attention they caught, the faster the Syliran Knights would arrive to crush them into itty bitty pieces. Certainly an individual of flair and flourish, but way too smart to flourish where he should simply fight, Damijan guided the raiders, slowly turning them into his own band of mercenaries. As his influence grew, so did his ego. The arrival one night of a beautiful woman to the raiders' camp stirred all the men into a buzz, and when she requested to join them, wanting to seek her own fortune, it might have turned into an all-out brawl over who got to arrange her accommodations, except Damijan stepped in and grasped control of the situation himself. Nobody felt like going to blows over it, and so she and he got to know each other better. Much, much better. Over the subsequent months, they became inseparable, and he shared with her all of his greatest plans and machinations, how he was going to oust the leader of the raiders and turn them all into true mercenaries, how he would scourge Syliras until its green fields were stained with blood. He thought he'd found a perfect companion in her, and fell in love quickly, fiercely, and gave all of himself. He came awake in the middle of the night, roused by the sound of a blade leaving its sheathe, blinking through the dim flicker of candlelight to see the woman crouched atop him, a glinting dagger poised to slice him from ear to ear. In the ensuing struggle, she drove the blade into the soft flesh where his shoulder sloped to meet his throat. He managed to slice into her belly with a shard of glass. Couldn't scream because of the wound to his throat, and so the two lay dying side-bye-side, as blood soaked the floor of his tent. He awoke in his childhood bed in Ravok, alive but barely. It had been five years since he'd left the city, and he had no memory of returning, though he presumed someone must have fished him out of that puddle of blood and gotten him home. Every part of him ached, including his heart. Shamed by his failure and furious for his own folly, still missing gigantic swaths of memory, he makes his reappearance in the city of Rhysol at last. Training (Skills, Gnosis, Lore) Skills Sword 31 (15, +15 racial bonus), (XP) Intimidation 20 (starting package) Leadership 12 (starting package), (XP) Riding 5 (starting package) negotiation 1 (XP) strategy 1 (XP) unarmed combat 1 (XP) Gnosis None Lore Syliras trade routes – where the best pickings can be found for a raid. Rhysol – knowledge of the god Rhysol. Surprise Attacks Taking Hostages Thinking on One's Feet Kelvic Transformation Kelvic Curiosity Proper Care of Stitches Being Difficult to Deal With Equipment 1 Set of Clothing (cloak/coat & footwear included) 1 Waterskin 1 Backpack which contains: 1 Set of Toiletries (comb, brush, razor, soap) Food for a week 1 eating knife Flint & Steel Family Heirloom [coming soon.] Housing [coming soon.] Ledger 100 gold mizas (starting package) Thread List morning. border skirmishes.