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A rather unassuming Furre stands just to the side of your line of sight. The first thing you notice is the sleek leather collar that is barely visible beneath his robes; it bares a mount and a small ring, perhaps for a tag?. You also notice that he carries himself with an air of pride rather unbefitting a slave, he's a Ventrue and he knows it, though he will give a slaver a certain amount of resepct if he feels they deserve it. The pure black robes that adorn his body, crafted from the finest of silks and velvets, do little to hide the sculpted form beneath them. Sleek obsidian fur covers rippling muscles and a body that moves with powerful, yet graceful motions, a form of movement crafted from years as a pleasure slave. Two eyes, formerly ice-blue, are now a dimly glowing blood-red and they peer eerily out from beneath a voluminous cowl, his dark, sultry gaze locking onto your form and seeming to follow you as you move past. What can be seen of his face is framed by his deep crimson hair, the strands that were once black as night now look as if they've been dyed in pure blood. Darkness eminates from this creature, a distinct aura of evil surrounds him, though there is a strong sensuality to him. Two small fangs protruding from his muzzle silently state his Vampiric unlife. Some have said he doesn't look like most of the bedraggled, desperate slaves that one sees in the pens; and that is because he is not. He wanders into the pens every now and then to relieve the endless boredom of eternity and no matter what side of the bars he may be on, his pride will remain intact. He tilts his head as you shuffle quickly past, and as you dare one look back towards this dark form, the smirk upon his face tells you that there is far more to this Furre then meets the eye.
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Known History
(Very Long)
Four years ago, Damon awoke to find himself soaked to the bone and alone on a beach he didn't recognize; with no memory of anything before that. He gauged his surroundings and found that he was dressed in what appeared to be very fancy clothes, black silken trousers with high leather boots, a finely crafted tunic and a regal cape. After having regained some of his senses and standing, he began to look around the beach for anything that might give him an idea of where he was. Nearby to wear he had awoken, he found a large sword, the frightening hilt resting snugly against the rim of the long, dutifully carved sheath. He picked the sword up, deciding it would be best to have at least a weapon, and in doing so, he noticed the glint of something through a hole in his sleeve. He pulled back his sleeves to find that bracers, made of black leather and Dragon scales adorned his wrists. Trying to remove them, he found that they were stuck fast, and to this day he has found no way to take them off. As he fastened the sword to his back, a small charm struck him lightly in the head; he took the charm in paw and studied it; finding he could remove it from the sword, he fashioned it into a necklace, which he still wears. He has yet to find anyone who can unlock the meaning of the deep red ruby hung from a small black chain, but to this day it survives as possibly the only trace of his past. He decided it best to find some clothes and some shelter, so he began to wander; he did not know when last he ate, but his hunger was ravenous, and nothing he could think of sounded better then taking the life of the next person whom he passed.
He found, over the next few weeks, that killing came easily to him. This neither disturbed or worried him, as it felt so natural. To attack a passerby in the midst of darkness, drain them to the point of death, and hide their corpse in the nearest well or cave, was like second nature to him, and he enjoyed it. He didn't find it strange that he didn't want food, the fact that he knew anything for sure after having lost whatever memeories he may have had was comforting to him. If it meant that he was to drink blood, then he would drink blood. Soon enough, he was well known for his ability; there was no man who attacked him, no theif who tried to steal from him, and no creature who challenged him to a duel, that came out wholly intact, if they came out alive. He spent his days roaming the lands in search of something, anything, that would bring him answers, fighting in duels and contests of strength for a living, and wiling his nights away in brothels and pubs that he came across, never ceasing to find amusement in the look in a whore's eyes when she realized just whom she'd strolled into a dark alleyway with. It wasn't long before he was nicknamed The Dark Dream Weaver, as it seemed there were few who could resist his charm, and yet there was something frightening about him; and more to the point, it seemed like those who crossed him and lived would be plagued by horrific nightmares of death and pain until they were driven mad. Soon he took the name Damon, for no other reason then he liked the sound of it; he then shortened his nickname to DarkWeaver and took it as he surname, feeling it was most fitting.
He continued to wander the countryside, a traveler by nature he found nothing better than to keep moving, to find new things and new places. After many months of dusty, fruitless travel, he stumbled across a slave market, something in which he had much interest. He found a seat beneath a tree and watched the comings and goings for an hour or so, mulling over his own thoughts until he finally decided that it might be reletively enjoyable to rent himself out; at least that way he could keep moving. He was then sold from Master to Master for several months until finally coming under the owndership of the Mistress Vision, where he remained for quite some time. However, as time went by, Damon grew restless once more, still not having found himself truly, he decided to ask for his freedom from Mistress Vision. Despite him being one of her better slaves, the Mistress Vision willingly released him and he remains to this day a welcome guest at The Chateau Vision. He was once a slave, and still rents himself now and then when he has nothing better to do, but think twice before looking down on him because of his former profession. Former slave or not, this creature has not lost an ounce of his inherant Ventrue pride.
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