Name Meaning: To tame; Silver
Name Origin: Greek
Nickname: Dae
Birthdate: April 13, 2009
Age: Two years
Luperci: Ortus
Heritage: 15% Aussie Shepherd, 15% Appalachian, 10% Mutt; 15% Himalayan Wolf, 25% Arabian Wolf, 10% Italian Wolf, 10% Iberian Wolf
Home & Rank: Cercatori D'Arte, Progettista
Lupus: 40lbs, 26in tall, 3'6ft long
Secui: 60lbs, 41in tall, 4'3ft long
Optime 95lbs, 4'3ft fall
Prefers Optime form.
General:
While Daemon is a Luperci, since the fire he does not shift out of his Optime form--the pulling of his muscles and stretching of his skin is simply too much for the poor male to bear. One might imagine, however, that even in Lupus or Secui form, he would be a sad, pathetic excuse for a wolf, twisted and beaten by the world, scarred and bloody--let us not think about it. In Optime form, he is short and thin, hunch-backed even before the fire--he spent far too much time bent over leather. This is not to say he cannot straighten his back; he simply chooses not to. And what would standing straight do, anyway, when he reaches most people's waist? The slim, frail man would only hurt himself.
Daemon's fur was once fluffy and thick, lusciously soft to the touch, luxurious to be in and beautiful to look at. Now he's bald. There are patches of fur remaining, though what was once white has now been charred black. The same with gray and brown; he could once boast a colorful array of patterns, and now he has black tufts that stick out at odd ends, most of which are thin and fine, like the coat of a short-haired dog. Even these are slowly receding, and soon he will be completely fur-less.
His whole body is a mass of scars, the skin nearly white from damage it has not yet healed from. The burn salve tints it that color, though sometimes it looks a bit green; he looks really scary, then. Despite the crinkled, fried-looking quality to his skin, however, he could still pass for a simple trauma victim, and not a monster. If it weren't for the welts. It's the only thing to call them, really; raised knots of skin that have twisted themselves nearly red, always looking throbbing and angry, like living things under his skin. These often bleed, though he's not sure why. It only adds to the grotesque image he creates, and his pain. These welts cover his body, often covering large tendons or veins and making them pop. He has one of these running across his left cheek and over the bridge of his nose to the opposite eyebrow, just missing either eye.
Because of this welt across his face, Daemon does not like showing it to people. He instead wears masks, easily accommodated by his surprisingly short muzzle, which hide his whole face, showing only the mask he wants them to see. He has many of these, all made out of leather, which also protect him from sunlight, when he chooses to venture out during the day. Other protective clothing he wears are several layers of cloth bandages, wound loosely around his limbs and torso--loose enough to prevent pain, and tight enough not to fall off. These even cover his head, though it works sort of like a hood rather than wrapping his face as well; having the bandages across his face reminds him of suffocation which, inevitably, reminds him of the fire. He tries to do as little as possible to remember his accident. On top of this he wears a cloak, varying between a heavy wool day-time one, made for his father and given to him after the fire, and a lighter, airier one for moonlight, mostly to hide the bandages so he's not called a mummy.
Eyes: His eyes are a dark blue, almost black; as dark as the cold depths of the sea.
Coloration: Daemon has no fur, instead covered in silver-white skin and pink scars.
Clothing: He varies between a heavy cloak and a lighter one over several layers of bandages, though he is almost always wearing one.
Accessories: Leather masks of all kinds adorn his face, most of which he crafts himself; ravens, wolf-like faces, even a deer or two occasionally replace their faces with his own.
Scars: Daemon is covered, top to bottom, in horrible scars, from spending nearly two days in a room on fire. He has no idea how he survived; no one else does, either. The point is that he did, and he's tried to move on since then.
Tattoos: None yet.
Piercings: None yet.
General: Daemon has the mentality of a two year old, with the added inability to talk. This becomes very frustrating for him when he's trying to get something across, especially because he remembers a time, not so long ago, when everyone understood him perfectly fine. He usually ends up having a fit when he attempts to talk to people, and runs away, sulking in a corner for hours--sometimes days. It was these fits that drove him away from his family, and while sometimes Daemon regrets the things he did, it is not often he contemplates going back.
As of late, Daemon is getting even more frustrated with his own inability, and slowly forcing himself into being something he thought he'd never be again. More and more, he attempts to focus on more than his work, and lets his mind drift less and less; his mind is growing, snapping out of its traumatized state and settling into some semblance of what he was before. With a bit of help, he could, perhaps, be the man he once was.
Traits: Determined, fierce, shy, sulky, mute, handy, hard-working, selectively focused.
General Style: Daemon does not speak--or cannot; no one is quite sure. But when he makes noise, or tries to speak in his own way, his voice is gravelly and harsh, hardly recognizable as a canine's.
Sexuality: Daemon can find beauty in anything, though that doesn't necessarily mean he's attracted to it; he doesn't recognize most people as members of a gender, but that, at most, means he's bisexual.
Religion: The clans Daemon grew up in and around were wholly religious, though this faith is foggy in Daemon's mind. He remembers distinct symbols they used to pray around, and rituals they would go through, but not the exact hows or whys.
Prejudices: Daemon has a bit of a prejudice toward non-Luperci, but this is only because the first one he met attacked without provocation.
General Beliefs: Daemon tries to believe people should be treated equally. He doesn't like thinking less of others because of the way they look, or who they are; but he understands, in rare moments of clarity, that this is something all conscious beings do, and so just tries not to be stupid about his prejudices or force his religion, vague though it is to him, on others.
Residence: A limestone house in Thornbury, in Cercatori D'Arte's territory. The house is mostly gray in color, with a stony blue roof to keep out the rain. It has held up wonderfully over time, as only the glass in the windows has broken or fogged. Daemon has placed pelts over the windows, to keep the light out during the day while he sleeps, and is in the process of moving his vast amount of materials into the house--up into the tower on that rests on the left side, which looms above the little two-story house another floor, making the perfect workroom to look out on Thornbury. The tower has three floors, revealing the staircase only when you pass through them. The house, on the inside, though cold and damp, has two staircases leading away from the main floor--one up to the second floor of the house, and one up to the tower. It has yet to be decorated, though when it is Daemon--or Fion, more likely--will no doubt turn it into a warm, comforting home.
Favorite Haunts: Cercatori D'Arte
Hobbies: Leathercrafting, leatherworking, sewing, trading, teaching
Habits: Daemon sometimes forgets where he is, or what he was doing, and starts doing something completely different, or going out into the sunlight without regard for how much it hurts--a little--or how much it reminds him of the fire--very much.
Substances: Daemon can't rightfully say he's abusing any substances, although with all of the painkillers he uses, one might say he's an opium user. He doesn't necessarily abuse it, although he might, occasionally, take more than he needs.
Skills: Daemon is rather handy around the house, knowing how to work with his hands--as long as he doesn't think about it. With a bit of watching and a few careful instructions, Daemon could probably learn just about anything, though, in truth, he's a crafter at heart.
Strengths: Daemon ha the ability to focus completely on his work, and block out everything else--perhaps because he has so little to focus on. He becomes a determined, if a bit loose and drifting, machine when he's working; his thoughts move like a dream, and he feels, for a moment, that the fire never took away his sense of self.
Weaknesses: Dae can't focus on anything for more than a few minutes at a time, unless it is his work, in which case he can go for hours without ever having to slow down. As it is, he ends up drifting away in the middle of conversations, the sound of voices soothing him and giving him a safe environment in which to space out.
Ancestry:
Maternal Grandfather: Costel Lupei
Maternal Aunts: Sabina Antonescu, Rodica Antonescu (Mate: Beito Gabor), Sorina Antonescue
Maternal Uncles: Sebastian Lupei, Sandu Lupei, Toma Lupei (Mate: Iria Funar)
Mother: Sandra Antonescu
Paternal Grandmother: Lia Sala
Paternal Grandfather: Daemon Argyris I
Paternal Aunts: Margarida Sala, Xoana Sala (Mate: Noela Funar), Carme Sala
Paternal Uncles: Anxo Argyris, Nicolau Argyris (Mate: Aleix Funar)
Father: Daemon Argyris II
Same Generation:
Half-Siblings: --
Cousins: Eli Antonescu, Ella Antonescu, Freya Antonescu, Mikkel Gabor, Nils Gabor; Axel Lupei, Dag Lupei, Egil Lupei, Edith Funar; Odd Argyris, Njord Argyris, Thea Funar
Descendents:
Grandchildren: --
Nieces: Lark Sala; Sukie Antonescu
Nephews: Vik Gabor
Past Packs & Ranks:
⋅ Rank: Progettista; This is the rank Daemon had when he first joined the pack.
⋅ Rank: N/A
Mates:
⋅ Name: N/A
General: Daemon grew up second-oldest in a brood of fourteen. No one really cared about how old they were, though the first litter tended to take care of the rest--read to them when they were bored or tired, hunt for them when they were old enough to want meat instead of milk, and play games. So many games; Daemon thought his family had more games than all the others, if only because they had more children than the other clans, too. He enjoyed the games, for a time, but finally, at a almost a year, he began growing bored with his siblings, and drifted away from them. By that time, most of the first litter was drifting; the second had taken over their duties, and they were free to pursue other matters. Lucivar, playboy that he was, started noticing the girls in ways he hadn't before--and liking it. Oana and Viorica, too, liked to giggle together over boys, and went to visit the neighboring clans often; scouting for mates, he supposed.
Daemon did some of the same, though none of them really interested him--none until Ivonette, a girl from a clan new to the area and unfamiliar with their ways. Daemon volunteered to show her around, and teach her about the places that were forbidden, but she inevitably asked the whys and how come's, and soon Daemon found he didn't know the answers. Showing her where she wasn't supposed to go also inevitably lead to going there, and when she asked the questions, he found himself wanting to know, too. Asking his parents would only lead to trouble, he was certain; so he sneaked into the most forbidden place of all--the remnants of an old human city, once known as Kent in Washington state. He wandered far enough to collect a leather kit before his brother, Lucivar, found him, and dragged him back by the scruff of his neck. Ivonette had seen him leave on his own, it seemed; so she'd called his family and gotten him into trouble, anyway.
After that, his curiosity couldn't be quenched. He sneaked into the forbidden places as often as he could, and very soon he found the matches and lighter fluid that caused his horrible accident. He'd slowly grown farther from the rest of his family, but it didn't occur to him that his new hobby could be dangerous until he set his room on fire. The house was made of stone, so no one worried about it burning down; they were only concerned with Daemon, who'd been trapped in his room by the circle of fire he'd poured around himself. In that accident, his fur burned away, and his blood nearly boiled in his veins, leaving welts that looked nearly infected when he was finally free, the fluid burned away and the fire dying almost two days later.
Daemon came out like a wild, feral animal, and he hasn't been quite right since; he remembers none of the love that was held between his family and himself, nor his affection for Ivonette; and while they tried to make it right again, and re-raise him to the way he used to be, the trauma from the fire made it nearly impossible. Daemon soon gave up on them, and himself; he snuck off in the middle of the night, intending to bring only the leather case he'd found that very first trip--leatherworking tools, even a knife that worked to cut out leather. Now all he needed was the material.
His father found him before he made it off the property. He gave him all of what he'd need, including pelts, a wagon, and fine leathers that he'd intended for Daemon to trade for food or money. Daemon began crafting then, and he pulled the cart himself, until he came across Vivica, beaten and bruised in a copse of trees north of his home. She'd been left to die, and her wounds were festering; Daemon used the salves his father had given him to help her, and was careful not to touch them as he cared for her. Vivica, when all was said and done, wouldn't leave his side; he hooked her up to the wagon for short periods of time, and they made their way slowly to the north.
They came across one Luperci town in which he attempted to trade some of the work he'd made, but they tried to cheat him when they found out he couldn't understand much of what they were saying--and didn't care, really, about any of it. Fion came across him before he could be cheated out of anything, and from that point on the boy became his spokesperson, and did his trading for him, for the most part. They moved around a lot, Fion driving the cart during the day while Daemon usually slept, until they finally came to Cercatori D'Arte, and were accepted into a new clan--a pack--of their own.
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