Bio for Damian Cain
Hair: pitch black
Weight: 170 lbs
Primary Weapon: Sword
Secondary Weapon: quarterstaff
Brief Description: Tall and rather on the lean side, Damian bears several scars and the Thistle and Star sign on the back of his left shoulder marking him as one the regime of the Children of the Light has outlawed. His most outstanding scar, if you want to put it in those words is the rather dark purple-blackish one round his throat where he’s been hanged by the Children of the Light for being a Darkfriend. A scar Damian usually keeps covered by a black scarf tied around his throat. This indident has also affected his voice, which is now constantly coarse and raspy and somewhat strained.
Brief History: There they finally had him. The last thought blinking in Damian’s head before the odd sensation of being strangled, slowly cutting off all body functions as his organism was frantically struggling for the sweetness of oxygen required to maintain his life that seemed to inevitably fade from him though until merciful darkness finally released him from his torment, rendering him to certain death as his body hung limp from the tree the Children of the Light had chosen to make an example of the Darkfriend they had been holding in their prisons for the last five years now.
Or was it more? Damian had lost track of time of that. Sometimes he wondered if it wasn’t maybe one of the most fortunate things that had ever happened to him that the wheel had chosen to spread a cloak of oblivion over the time he had spent incarcerated by the Children of the Light, his tormenters who wouldn’t believe any of his solemn affirmation that he was neither a Darkfriend, nor in possession of even a slightest bit of the One Power anymore.
Unfortunately this episode, his encounter with the fact that he couldn’t trust anyone in this world, a mistake he had made and learned to suffer for greatly, hadn’t been blended out by his rather deranged memory. Damian remembered getting hitched with the wrong woman, a woman who had made him feel special, had made him feel at home after years of zealous wandering and homelessness aftter he had left the walls of the orphanage he had grown up in behind him forever. In fact he painfully had memorized, every kiss, every caress of his damaged and lost soul, every single secret he had entrusted her with, all too vividly.
One secret he knew though, he should have better kept to hmself, no matter in which shocked state he had been when he realized what hidden ability had suddenly begun to bloom in him at the age of twenty. Secretly Damian was still horrified about his own reaction as he one day had found out that he could channel the One Power, a reality that had suddenly enfolded itself in front of him rather by accident when he had nearly burned down the little ramshackle house he was more camping than living in as he was trying to cindle a fire, yet due to the leaking roof and water dripping into the fireplace, had less than no success in there.
Wholesome terror about the realization of just what he was able to do, handling a force that was considered divine and only befit for the hands of the Creator to work with in the country he had grown up and been taught about its values, Damian soon found out about a kind of usefulness of this curse inside him, a curse that might be considered as a gift as well if he tried well enough. An ability that could be used purposefully if you handled it wisely, an ability that didn’t mean immediate madness after all, he soon realized, yet managing to keep it safely hidden until he met Dana, a woman he had believed he could confide in. The worst mistake he had ever made. A mistake revealing her true identity to him, her being nothing less than a Sister of the White Tower, a spy to explore the Amadician underworld he was living in. A structure that offered shelter to those who needed it most, those who were persecuted for the thngs they could do, people just like him. Eventually, after having been rendered to the White Tower who gentled him and made him feel once again what losing everything he had ever possessed in life really meant, Damian ended in the hands of the Children of the Light himself, in a state of mind when he was convinced things couldn’t get worse for him, yet had to learn on the hard way that there were always things that could turn his life even further to misery than he had even been able to fathom. And yet he lived on. Damian didn’t give up. His stubborn and strong-headed nature simply not allowing him to give in to their strategy of draining him, of making him eventually lose his mind in their dark cells facing ‘visits’ of the Questioners in a rate he lost track of until they finally decided to get rid of him, after they thought they had broken him and branded him as one of the country’s vermin, vermin they had to gouge from the white vest of shining Amadicia.
Yet even though the rope around his neck was slowly choking him as he lost consciousness, it might have managed to cut off his voice for a long time, leaving it only a mere shadow of its former full and rich sound, a rope trying to end his life in the most humiliating way as it left him no other choice than to finally give up, yet Damian didn’t do them the favour. He wouldn’t. Not after all these years.
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