Damon Thresher
| Damon Thresher | |
|---|---|
| DAY-mon THRE-sher | |
| Created by | Jay Walther |
| Information | |
| Gender | Male |
| Occupation | Gaidin |
| Affiliation | The Grey Tower |
| Nationality | Tairen |
| Attributes | |
| Weapon Skills |
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| Masteries | |
Damon Thresher is a Tairen Gaidin of the Grey Tower.
Description
Damon is slightly taller than average with a farmer's muscular frame. He is used to working the land with his hands. He has brown hair and haunted green eyes. He has been on the run from the Whitecloaks and has a hard time trusting city and town folk and has learned to hide his feelings well. A quarter-staff is never far from his hands and he carries a long bow for hunting.
Biography
Another night spent under the cover of a sheltering pine. It was not uncomfortable as it once had been. He had not been able to afford Inns along the way, he foraged the best he could, and kept from the towns and cities. They would be looking for him there. He had been traveling for a long time, just over a year if he remembered correctly.
Someone, sometime back, had told him about the place he was headed for. A place where he hoped he could find shelter and help. Help finding someone he had lost long ago.
Old memories spent traveling drifted from the back of his mind. That war was such a long time ago it seemed. The Aiel waste was so grim, so hard on a foot soldier... Luckily the press gang leader had noticed his skill with a bow. His life would have been different, most likely shorter in the infantry. New "volunteers" didn't seem to last too long there...
Then the war was over. He thought he had found peace, there on his farm on the edge of Tear. His beautiful wife, so strong and so loving, how had she ever fallen for him? His sons were so happy growing up there. The memories of teaching his sons the staff and the bow made him smile. Teaching them how to hunt, to farm, to defend themselves and how to survive in the wild... Why had he not done more? "No! Stop thinking like that," he told himself.
His eldest son, a lot like himself, had been drawn to the call of the wide world. Oh, he had gotten his chores done, but more often that not you would find him at the blacksmith's admiring some new sword, sparing with his friends or watching the soldiers from Tear march by. He understood the pull, felt it himself when he was young. He hoped it would pass... The boy left to join that army. He wished he could have that day back. It had not gone well. Things were said in anger and haste that he wished he could take back. His son abandoned the Thresher name.
His younger son would always follow his father, but he too learned quickly how to use the tools of the hunt, of defense and of work...
Excitement and peace, his life always seemed to be the two extremes, oh how he longed for that peaceful life back...
Other, newer memories came too, all too clear they came. The sun setting to the west as he drove the cart home with the day's harvest, seeing the smoke from a cooking fire just around the bend, he was almost home, but something seemed different, wrong somehow.
As he rounded the bend his heart froze in his chest, Whitecloaks! Two of them were standing just off the porch of his house. Six horses where in the paddock next to his house. What were they doing there? What do they want with us? Just then he heard the terrified scream of his wife and saw his youngest son burst through the door with the scythe he was supposed to be sharpening for tomorrow, running straight for the two men Damon had seen standing outside the house. He was young and strong, but no match for the two soldiers in white.
"Dallon," Damon yelled. Damon whipped the draft horses into a run just as his son hamstrung one of the men, but his inexperience had put his back to the other man, the boy fell to the second man's sword.
"Willow," he yelled! As he leapt from the wagon at the man standing over his son, the quarterstaff he always kept by his side in hand. Taking the man in the side of the head, he fell like a sack of rocks and didn't move again. Somehow Damon knew there was nothing that could be done for his son, as he rolled to absorb the rest of the speed from his jump and the running horses. Coming to his feet he burst through the door, ignoring the man outside writhing in pain from his son's attack. He would not walk well, if he survives, Damon thought to himself absently.
The moment of surprised hesitation by the three inside gave him the advantage to dispatch the closest man easily; with a wide arc of his ironwood staff the second went down clutching his throat. The third had time to draw his sword, and Damon almost lost his staff, distracted by the screams coming from the other room. But that man too underestimated a farmer with his staff.
Damon shook his head to try and clear those visions, his wife's pleading eyes, the dagger pulsing with the last beats of her heart, his son facedown in the yard, the last Whitecloak with a quarterstaff through his chest... The wounded man outside had been gone when he finally left his wife...
He had burned the house to hide the evidence, mourning his wife and son. He didn't know if he had time to bury them, he hoped they would forgive his burning them with the rest. He knew the Creator would separate the "Light" from the darkness.
He kept a good traveling horse from those left by those monsters and let the rest run free. He knew he had to run...
Would his mind ever be rid of these memories? Did he want to be free of them? They fed his anger, they kept him alive. He would live with them for now, until he found his son. Then he would exorcise them, maybe then he could be free.
He was running now, searching for son, who left seeking adventure. The Army in Tear said he had run off, when they finally matched his description to the name he had given. There was something in the looks he was given as he left that last army camp. Something had happened there that concerned him. His son's trail was long ago cold.
Damon knew the Whitecloaks must be searching for him. He longed to find his son and dreaded it at the same time, would he live that long? Was his son still alive? He was tired of the road and hungry for food and human companions. He would risk the city again. Off in the distance he could see his goal, the Grey Tower. They were supposed to have all the answers. He would be there tomorrow, maybe the next day. Could they help him? Would they help him?
Dwillon, where can you be?
Career History
- Drin
- Ji'val (7 March 2008)
- Gaidin (11 December 2008)
- Gaidin Captain (18 December 2008)
