app for the_devils_see

[nifsaji]

P L A Y E R

☓ Name: Liz
☓ Personal journal: thebutt
☓ Age: 23
☓ Other characters in The Devils See: n/a
☓ Email: silkenarcna at gmail
☓ AIM: the zombie nun

C H A R A C T E R

☓ Name: Thomas Damian Witzbold now going by Damian qun Armad
☓ Canon point: Shortly after meeting Araña. Six years after meeting Araña.
☓ Age: 17 25

☓ History:
Thomas Damian Witzbold was supposed to be another well-bred, affluent, very mannerly Witzbold of Waldshür. Being the only child of the very prominent house meant that he was the happy recipient of all sorts of lavished affection and costly toys, and it was all a generally happy picture, with loads of parental love and more or less all wishes fulfilled. In short, Damien was a happy kid. Until both of his parents were killed, which put a bit of a damper on things.

When Thomas was 7, one of many family picnics was planned for moonrise. Waldshür is known for its spectacular display of fireflies in the summer months, and it's a common town tradition to pack a late dinner and head out to enjoy. The Witzbolds planned their picnic to take place next to the small lake on their property, well away from the noise and disruptive lanterns of the rest of the town. Also along was Memoria, the sweet girl who lived a few houses down the lane and had just agreed to be young Thomas's tutor. He remembers very little of the night. He knows that it began as nothing but an intriguing rustle in the bushes that he was the first to notice, but after that it becomes a bloody blur. When he next came to, it was with the news that both of his parents were dead, and he himself had just pulled out of a week-long sleep. Memoria had cared for him all through his recovery, and continued to do so after he woke. But aside from her presence, it was really just bad news from there on out.

His parents, it turned out, had invested poorly. The majority of their wealth was seized in the event of their deaths by various apologetic and non-repentant merchants, leaving just enough for Memoria to pay for suddenly having a very full-time student. With no relatives and very few willing to take on a stranger's child, Memoria agreed to keep Thomas. The second piece of bad news was a little bit more disruptive than even moving out of his large house and into Memoria's smaller house, shared with her parents. Thomas had been bitten by the creature rustling in the bushes. It had nearly been lethal, and only a number of hasty stitches in his neck saved him from bleeding out. But worse still, the bite carried a contagion. The people of Waldshür weren't unfamiliar with this particular bite, and legends had all the information you could want. Come full moon, Thomas would become one of the creatures that had killed his parents, and begin to rampage for himself. There was nothing to be done, death was the only cure.

Half the town urged for the boy to be quietly taken away out of sight and put down, while the other half thought it kinder just to drive him out. Memoria was having none of it. Against the better judgment of her parents, and not to mention the rest of the town, she vowed to keep Thomas under control during these times. The spare bedroom was fitted with bars at the window and a thick iron door, and Memoria kept her word. She sat outside his door every full moon and spoke soothingly to the snarling beast inside, and every moonset pulled the door open again to welcome a shaking, hungry Thomas out of the room and into a hug.

The two grew close, beyond just ward and caretaker. They became friends. Damian had become instantly outcast when he was bitten, and Memoria was not much better for refusing the urgings of the rest of the town — but they had each other's companionship. When Thomas began to dislike the name his parents had given him, thinking that he belonged to a little boy that still had both parents, and wasn't a monster, it was Memoria that suggested he go by Damian, instead. It was also Memoria that was quick to calm Damian if he ever got angry, or scared—two feelings he quickly learned to clamp down on, as they both began to trigger a change. Damian was a good student. He learned both from Memoria and from her parents, both retired professors from a grand university many cities away. Memoria was careful to teach him etiquette and manners, even if the house he was being raised in was far below the level of wealth he was used to. And just as Memoria comforted and protected him during his changes, Damian comforted Memoria when her father — and shortly after, her mother — took ill and died. Old age and sickness, Memoria said, but the townsfolk whispered otherwise. Damian was bad luck. It was just a matter of time before Memoria suffered, too.

As it turned out, they weren't wrong.

Damian began to grow closer still to Memoria, began to daydream of having her not just as a mentor and friend, but taking her as his wife, as well. She was older than him, true, but only by 9 years. And they loved each other, didn't they? He loved her, at least, and he believed he could read the beginnings of the same in some of the looks she gave him. So, tentatively, he began to pursue his feelings. Memoria was hesitant at first, but not difficult to convince. Damian hadn't read her wrong, although it was possible that he'd confessed his feelings to her a little sooner than she'd have liked. He was still just 16, after all. But Damian had grown into a very eloquent and persuasive, not to mention flattering, young man, and he knew Memoria well enough to know how to talk her into it. They began to peruse a relationship, and found that they only grew happier.

Until it got intimate, of course. They had a very short time together before Damian discovered that lust also triggers his change, and the resulting terror as it began to effect him mounted far too quickly for Memoria to try calming him. He tore her apart almost immediately. The next morning, shocked and heartbroken as he was, didn't fit his wits any duller. Damian packed a small bag of belongings, stole a horse, and left town before anyone could discover the blood-soaked house he'd left behind. He hasn't been back to Waldshür once.

He traveled a great many places the following year, before eventually making his way to the desert city of Sinai. Living by his wits on the street wasn't all that hard, if once in a while he did spend a night hungry. Every night of the full moon he would find either some small, secure place to lock himself, or a wide and desolate stretch of country, and he managed not to murder anyone else. Eventually he even found himself a convenient thicket of briars, small enough to worm into as a human, but thick enough to keep the beast inside. Life wasn't all so bad, considering he'd just killed the woman of his dreams and best friend. He even began a quaint little friendship with a fruit merchant in the marketplace named Khirsint. She wasn't exactly bright, but she was as warm and caring as anyone could want, and happy to befriend a guy who occasionally needed a free apple.

It was just a few months into his stay in Sinai that Damian ran into Araña, a decidedly dangerous woman. It hadn't taken Damian long to learn about the Silken Aracna, the town's largest underground crime ring, and Araña was the leader of it. She was also a woman of impulse and snap judgments. Deciding almost immediately that there was a role for Damian in her operations, she promptly nicknamed him Damascus, after a display of his quick thinking (knife-edged wit, she called it, and baptized him with a fond punch to his arm). So Damian had found himself a job.

He's still not sure if "underling" is really the right role for him, and there are times he thinks he'd much rather have a role similar to Araña's… but he's taken from a time far before any of this begins to be put into motion. They're just passing thoughts and sleeping ambitions at the moment.

ADDITIONS: From this later canon point, Damian has managed to achieve quite a lot for himself. It didn't take him long to take over a small wing of the drug trade in Sinai (a substance called nifsaji), and from there he built a monopoly on the rest of it. With the help of those funds, he's gone from subordinate of Araña's, to rival, to usurper, to conquerer. His small circle of loyal friends has turned into an entire organization and merged with those that came to him from Araña's Silken Aracna. Somewhere along the way he even fended off a tyrant from across the desert (a battle that slew Araña, just when they had finally agreed to put aside their personal struggle in favor of this one), earning a name for Sinai as the city that you don't want to bother, best left to its own devices.

Plans are slowly in motion to extend his territory across the desert. Just give him ten more years, he figures, and he should well be the richest and most powerful man in the known world.

☓ Personality:
Damian is a charming young man, and gives every impression of being responsible, well-meaning, and with nothing but the best intentions for everyone he meets. That isn't exactly untrue, but he's a very good actor, and excels and smiling through any emotion. The truth of it is that Damian is well-meaning and caring… about himself and those he considers his friends. It tends to be a very small circle, the people that he considers close enough to care for. For most of his life it had been only Memoria, and in Sinai it doesn't reach far beyond Khirsint and the few people he's beginning to meet through Araña. The rest of the world is there to be used, as far as Damian can tell. People at large don't care about him, so it would just be a waste of good resources to care about them.

And Damian is nothing if not aware of all of the resources and tools around him. He learns as much as he can about people, the better to see not only who would be useful to him, but how best to convince them to lend that usefulness to him. He has a plan for every situation and a backup plan besides that, and views it all as an exciting challenge. Not only will it be incredibly convenient if he can get that patrolling city guard to round the corner at exactly the moment Damian has gotten an irritating enemy to throw a punch at him, but it will be a little thrill of excitement and pleasure to see said enemy dragged off in cuffs. Every plan gone right does tend to stroke his ego a little bit, and if Damian can manage to feel as though he really has his feet under him, he begins to feel that he has the right to reach a little bit higher. That enemy he'd just had dragged off had a small group of followers that respected him pretty well, why shouldn't they respect Damian, instead? He probably deserves their loyalty more, anyway. It's these little thrills and jumps that lead into the ambition that is never too far beneath the surface of Damian's motives. While he's a careful planner, and knows not to jump too far ahead of himself, his hunger will sooner or later awaken. If he's tasted a little power or victory — well, so far so good, why not more?

With all of that acting and scheming that he does, it follows that Damian sees absolutely nothing wrong with a little lying. He'll lie to anyone to twist things to his advantage, what does he care what they think of him afterward? The chances are high, if they were merely a pawn or a stepping stone, that he'll never need—or even see— them again anyway. It's all worth it to achieve his goal. And the more rewarding that goal is, and the more Damian wants it, the more obsessed he becomes with the plan, and the more reckless he'll get in pursuit of it. There are times when he develops a little bit of tunnel-vision in sight of something that he wants, especially as he gets closer to achieving it. These are the times that he's most likely to miss some crucial sign, but so far these little moments of intellectual clumsiness haven't gotten him into too much trouble.

But occasionally ruthless ambition and cunning plans aside, Damian isn't without his share of guilt. While he can lock away an inconvenient person without an ounce of remorse, Damian has resigned himself to feeling nothing short of crushing despair and guilt whenever he thinks of Memoria. No matter how he looks at it, her death was entire his fault. It had been his idea, his perusal, and his monstrous other shape that had done it. It's because of this that Damian has decided to never romantically pursuing anyone else, no matter what he thinks of them (a vow made at age 16, so there's no saying how sturdy it is—but he certainly believes it will last forever). And while he can be cold and calculating, and wouldn't mind slipping a dagger between the right ribs, he will never use his other shape as a weapon. It may be an incredibly effective killer, but he has no control over what it does, and the thought of willingly slipping into that loss of control that mode is sickening. He'll go to great lengths to keep himself in his own shape and in control of his own mind, and nothing disturbs him more than the thought of losing that.

And speaking of that other shape, while it is a ruthless killing machine, it isn't entirely devoid of a mind of its own. While he's in his other shape, Damian becomes impulsive, curious, and eerily intelligent—for a beast, of course. He won't be solving math equations any time soon, but given enough time, he might just figure out how to use those long claws of his to pick a lock. But as soon as there's another living creature in the area, all thought is devoted to the best way to tear it apart and devour it. And of course, any humanoid creature bitten but not killed runs the risk of suffering the curse as well, not that Damian seems to have any understanding of that in this shape. His only instinct is to destroy.

ADDITIONS: Seven years' time earn Damian a lot more self-confidence. He's risen to power, overthrown the woman that introduced him to the game in the first place, and taken an entire city in hand. He's competent and he well knows it. He's still perfectly polite and cordial, but now with a little less enthusiasm to it. He no longer needs to impress or charm people much, after all. He tends to give off the air of a man who is used to being obeyed, even used to having people jump to carry out his orders. He's grown smoother, quicker-thinking, and deadlier.

Damian is no longer afraid of a little bloodshed. He doesn't seek it out and it's never wanton, but if a display of cutting open a throat is what it will take to motivate the rest to obey him without question, then that's what will happen. But despite the ability to call up this cold ruthlessness when needed, he's still perfectly capable of being warm, and cares very much for his most loyal friends. He's an efficient businessman, that's all.

☓ Abilities: Damian's strongest ability is the curse in his blood, of course. While he's in that other shape he's incredibly strong and fast, with long claws and a crushing bite, and enhanced healing. The only thing that carries over to his human form is the healing, though, and even then only a fraction of it. A broken bone would mend in about a week, while he's human. It would only take a few hours, as a beast.
And that aside, his only other abilities are a few sleight of hand tricks (picking locks among them), and his intellectual prowess.

ADDITIONS: By this point, Damian is also a lot better at controlling his were-form. He still locks himself up on a full moon, but it's now a precaution more than a necessity. He's integrated the two personalities, borrowing some of the creature's ruthlessness to supplement his own, and endowing it in turn with his thinking and consideration. He can even change willingly, although he doesn't often. It's always a messy ordeal when the claws come out.

☓ Weaknesses: An athlete, Damian is not. None of that strength or speed carries over into his human form, and in fact Damian is weaker, slower, and more easily worn out than an average guy his age. All that studying, not enough exercise! He pretty much has a typical nerd's physical abilities. But outside of that, his largest mental weakness is that tunnel vision that he develops when he begins to close in on a sought-after goal.

☓ Strengths: All of his strengths are of the non-physical variety. One could effectively call him both book-smart (thanks to Memoria and his adopted parents) and street-smart (a product of his own cleverness, compounded with having been living on his wits for the last year or so), and he's able to read people fairly well. He's observant, notices small tics and tells, and manages to keep his own face a mask of a pleasant smile most of the time. He's well spoken and very convincing when he wants to be, and an excellent actor.

☓ Intranet post sample: [ There's no fiddling around this time. Damian took care to get all of that out of the way before broadcasting himself. He now sits, perfectly calm, hands folded before him. ]

Were you all always this young? [ He looks a little amused, a little patronizing. But he smiles nonetheless. ] Well, nevermind that. I'm back. It seems the powers that be thought it might be nice to allow me to resume my vacation here, and here I am. I hope I've been missed.

☓ Log post sample:
It was the smell that he noticed first, although the water lapping against his cheek was a close second. Salt. Ocean. Something of an unexpected scent, as last time he'd checked, he'd been in the middle of a desert. But… no, he recalls something about drowning. It feels like a dream, but in the face of that sharp scent and the dampness of his clothing that he's slowly coming to notice, he has to admit that it was probably a bit more than a dream.

After assuring himself that there's no one crouched above him with a sword, waiting for signs of life to stab downwards, Damian opens his eyes more fully, glances around, and sits up. No one in sight, just an unfamiliar beach and a sodden cloak. Well, that's nice. The wool will be ruined by now. Annoyance twists his mouth downward, but only until he begins to unfasten the cloak from around his neck. Then his attention is focused again on the scenery, and he wonders what's past it. He has no explanations for anything yet, and he doubts he'll find any just sitting here, half in the surf.

Damian stands, slowly and carefully. Nothing hurts. He doubts he was attacked and dumped somewhere. As near as he can tell, he's carrying everything he'd had on him last. So why…?

He runs a hand through damp hair, shakes his head, and starts forward resolutely to find himself a few answers. There's already a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and he looks for all the world as if he'd meant to wake up on the beach and launch into a leisurely stroll. Just because he has no idea what's going on, well, that's no reason to let anyone else know how lost he feels!