Damien Zeehem

Character Name: Damien Zeehem

Age: 27

Sex: Male

Race: Elf (Alienage)

Class: Warrior

Specializations: Warrior/Warrior/Warrior – what else?

Favored skills: Shield bash, precise striking

Hobbies: What could possibly be more interesting than training in every possible way, for the sole purpose of becoming the best ? Making fun of others, crushing them, making sure they stay down.

Background:

Though he knows his life began somewhere in an alienage, Damien keeps close to no memories of whatever place it might have been: at the age of five, he was taken away by some noble –or at least very rich- family who, living on their lands in an estate remote from pretty much everything, wanted to fulfil their spoiled little child’s wish for someone to play with. Since leaving the estate to settle in a place where other people lived was out of the question, they thought it easier to just bring someone in, especially an elf for whom they would not be expected to actually care. What could possibly go wrong? Unfortunately for everyone, it so happened that the estate’s butler was a bitter old man, expert hypocrite and manipulator, who kept from old feuds a strong hatred for the very family he was serving. It never had the occasion to surface, but he saw the new elf child as the perfect instrument for his revenge.
Taking responsibility for the “non-dying” of the little Damien (“well-being” would be a little too much), he had him secretly educated, against what the wealthy family would have wished, taught to read, count, and write… It was around that time that the elven child started to develop an almost-religious respect for books that would follow him throughout his life. Over the years, the butler managed to plant seeds of hatred into the child’s mind, and what could have passed without major incidents (although certainly not pleasant in any way), slowly became a nightmare for Damien, growing in frustration and aching for a better life. He was shown paintings of kings, told tales of greatness, read stories of revolutions, promised greatness if he could only get rid of the ones holding him back. This could not end well, but even the vengeful old man never tasted the fruit of his works: one night a fire started in the mansion, quickly spreading to all the building. He died in the confusion, while Damien seized the opportunity and promptly escaped, not before having killed the young man with whom he’d shared his childhood, his father and even an elven maid who had tried too hard to reason him.
And so for the first time, Damien found himself on his own, wandering the roads: a fourteen year old boy with nothing to him but desire unleashed and fire in his eyes.

He found an unlikely home inside a group of bandits that came across him as the boy wandered aimlessly though a forest. Deserters, former mercenaries, outcasts of all kind… The group of roughly fifteen people decided to take Damien in: meatshield, cook, bait… maybe he could prove to be useful to them. Against all odds he survived. Months passed one after the other, and Damien learned the basics of survival, life in a camp, and most importantly of fighting. It was also there that he had his first contact with women, but that should better stay untold. They continued on for about two years, a remarkable lifespan for any such band, but eventually the young man grew discontent with this lifestyle: he hadn’t given up on his reading, nor on his longing for greatness, but he quickly realized that he would never find what he sought in the mist of human wrecks, guided by no other ideal than that of everyday survival. Eventually, it happened that the group was set upon by a squad of soldiers and militiamen intent on putting an end to their actions; the fight was intense, and the outcome uncertain, but Damien once again seized the opportunity and, drawing a dagger from his belt, killed by his own hands the leader of his group. He went on to help putting down the remaining bandits, stabbing backs and slitting throats – by the time they understood he had betrayed them, it was far too late. Thus, Damien managed to bargain his freedom with the soldiers: giving up his weapons and armour, they agreed to let him go. After all, he was “just an elf” – how far could he go before someone else killed him? And so the young elf found himself on his own, once again, travelling the roads to the nearest town: a sixteen year old young man with nothing to him but an unbendable will and a fire in his heart.

He eventually made it to the town of Denerim. One would have a hard time keeping track of all that happened there; the size and magnitude of the city mixing with Damien’s fiery personality, proved to be a rather unstable product. How fast he was put into the alienage upon his arrival, was about as fast as he got out, onto the dark back alleys of the town itself. The numerous gangs of thieves and criminals that populated the city’s poorest districts quickly got their hands on him, his willingness to fight and his ruthless efficiency. Gangs, thefts, robberies, beatings, jail, escape, gang, crimes, brothel, jail, escape. Then the alienage again, and the escape once more. Then again, the gang, the crimes, the library, love. Intimidation, promotion, taverns, fights, deaths. There was progress, there was action, but only little improvement: in the midst of intrigues and power struggles there was little place for self-centred training.
It wasn’t until he met, by chance or by fate, that old man in the streets, that he really began to learn something about the art of combat. He was a man of little words, and little empathy; a former soldier turned martial art expert, he accepted to take Damien in for personal training, impressed by the young man’s iron will and determination, and willing to give him some of the means to his ends. It was that same teacher who eventually gave young Damien his last name, “Zee’hem”, a title only a few others had received: the mark of the master whose training he had completed. Over the years, the intense training –and someone else’s attention- drew the elf away from the business of the backstreets. Over the years, of course, this made him a lot more enemies than if he had stayed within. When finally things went awry, they went awry very fast, and in the span of a few months he lost almost everything, barely keeping his own life.
All at once the city lost all interest to his eyes, and it seemed to him destiny was now calling from elsewhere. With some help, he managed to sneak out of town at night, and roamed the roads once more, a man with nothing to him but a raging ambition and fire flowing through his veins.

Less than a month later, words of the darkspawn’s horde began to spread across the country and immediately caught Damien’s attention: through the lens of all he’d read about the Blights, promises of greatness began to take form. He ventured south, but his first darkspawn encounter convinced him he wouldn’t make it far on his own – he was “just an elf”, and no matter how strong his determination, how fast he could hit, he stood no chance against even a few of them. Fortunately for him, in the middle of the stampede, he found others who weren’t willing to just give up – comrades to fight along with. He spent the entire Blight leading little skirmishes against the darkspawn, never venturing in tainted land, falling back with the advance of the frontline: even though he and his group never made a big difference, they did their part in covering the flight of civilians and the protection of supply lines. Their number varied over time, but after only a few months the fights had filtered out the weakest, and they found themselves a band seven men leading their own fights against the enemies of all, seeking fame and glory without caring about actually winning the war. The self-called “Seven Masks”, distinguishable by their horse-based fighting and the iron masks they wore over their faces in battle, achieved little renown, but also reasonable wealth.
Sooner than anyone could have expected, however, the Blight was over, the Archdemon slain. From one day to the next, the band found itself almost purposeless. They carried on together for as much as they could, mercenaries, bodyguards… Some of the band’s members got caught up by their past, some wished to settle down, and Damien was still unsatisfied. Even now, as the Seven Masks disband, the elven warrior still looks to the horizon with eyes lit up by ambition. Even now, on his way to meet with the Grey Wardens, he still dreams of kinghood and glory. Now Damien is just a man travelling the roads, with nothing to him but weapons and gold, unfulfilled dreams and a fire within.

Personality:

Selfish and ambitious to the bone, Damien is a convinced individualist, who cares little for others unless they are directly relevant to his interests. There isn’t much he won’t do to reach his goals; and with his knack for violence and lack of respect for people in general, it can (and already has on several occasions) end up rather bad. Proud to the point of arrogance, Damien id the subject of occasional fits of anger that can be quite devastating, but he keeps a cool head most of the time, even in combat: it is out of calculation that he generally acts, everything done is done for a purpose.
Though he has spent most of his life with low-life brutes and thieves, it would be a mistake to think of him as a mindless thug. His dreams for glory, and ambitions for the future, have led him to develop the one thing that would make him stand out from mankind’s swamps, and that would be knowledge. What everyone else discarded as boring or fruitless reading, Damien forced himself to assimilate: books on politics and economy, essays and works of obscure philosophers; he even tasted poetry and mathematics, taking in every bit of knowledge he could find. He has grown quite proud of this self-given education, with a better-than-thou attitude that tends to quickly get on people’s nerves.

Weapons/Armor:

With no professional training whatsoever, Damien’s proficiency with weapons comes from personal experience and a long history of fights: as a result, his style is rather pragmatic, but he would still be outclassed by a professional swordsman. Having lately travelled the lands in his skirmishes against the darkspawn, fighting horseback as much as he could, Damien has developed an affinity for the shield, whether it be with a sword, axe or spear. Picked up from the loot of his many battles, his armor is a patchwork of whatever he could find that fitted his size. It turned out rather well, as a leather-and-scale-and-plate armour offering a good compromise between protection and freedom of movement.
However, it is when the fight comes down to hand-to-hand that Damien can show his real art. Five short years of intense training under the direction of a ruthless master, have been enough to make the young elf and expert in the domain. His will and self-discipline allow him a complete control over his body, as well as his mind, able to act almost instinctively at a great speed.


Appearance:

His face does bear quite juvenile features, making him appear even younger than he really is, but they are most of the time violently distorted, either by a grimace of contempt and anger, or a mocking rictus. His blond hair is kept short to avoid any interference with the rest of his face, and most of the time with a very poor cut - but that’s what you get for using a blunt knife instead of a hairdresser. Underneath, his fine eyebrows almost always frown over dark brown eyes.

For a warrior, Damien’s body looks at first quite unremarkable, as he lacks the heavy musculature usually required for the trade. He is slim of build and even shorter than the average elf, but don’t let that fool you: he’s never enjoyed the alimentation to build muscles, yet his strength is still here, stemming from his speed and accuracy rather than his weight. Of course, you’ll never see him prancing around in full plate armor, wielding massive axes or mauls, and he may well tire out if he fights in his war gears for too long; but when he strikes, quick, precise and unwavering, he packs more power in his blows than many can take.

Other than a few criss-cross scars on his back, and some others acquired through his youth, His appearance doesn’t show any particular features.

As I have said in our email conversation, this character is good to go. It's good to have you here m'friend *hugs*

My pleasure, really ! I just hope I won't screw up anything. I tend to do that, sometimes...:p

(also, sheet updated with pictures for general appearance. I would have gladly finished them, but having to color porrly scanned sketches with a mouse tends to get on my nerves rather quickly)