LOUKOS, damien huron

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Damien Huron Loukos

Character Play-by:David Boreanaz

name:Damien Huron Loukos
age:Eighty-seven
gender:Male
orientation:Straight
race: Necromancer
birthplace:Greece
current location:Here?
occupation:Professional Badass

personality: Everyone is a pawn. This simple statements seems to sum up the general characteristic of the Warlock. Everything and everyone is expendable, they can be replaced or made do without. It is only his own survival that he need worry about, only his own well being. If slaughtering another will guarantee him even one more day of life than he has no qualms in doing so. Looked at if simply, Damien is dangerous. Murder isn't a sin, it isn't a moral constraint, it's only something that sometimes must happen. He's killed more than once, Hell, he'd killed more than a hundred times; and not one of them kept him up at night.

Manipulative and cunning, Damien relies on his ability to plot and keep ahead of the game over the need to be charming or a people person. Generally quiet, the Warlock prefers to talk when words are necessary, and save his words for when they aren't. Some might call him reclusive, while others would say ambitious. He is one of the few that has existed that seeks power purely for power. Damien doesn't chase dreams of being strong for wealth, for women, or even for popularity among the masses; he seeks it only for the power. The addiction comes from his life-long use of black magic; the most powerful of all magics. Power is what he is use to, it's what feeds him, it's what he craves.

detailed history: House Loukos. In most parts of the European magical community, that is all that needs to be said to bring a shiver to the spine. The Loukos are known as a dark bunch, dabbling in the Black Arts of necromancy, blood magic, human sacrifice and other foul things of the sort; and nearly ninety years ago things only got darker. With the birth of Damien it was seen as the chance to take things one step closer. Damien, being the child of Drago and Minerva who both were skilled and dangerous spell-casters, and both of who carried and affinity for the black arts. Born on a table of black marble, silver runes shining beneath Minerva as she gave birth. Members of the Loukos House were said to have been there that night Damien was born, chanting charms of protection, hexes against any that dared to bring ill upon the boy, and weaving spells of power to bring the boy into a magically charged world, bring the boy into dark magic the moment he was born.

It had seemed dramatic to some, maybe even foolish or cult-like to others; however, the fact remained that it had worked. In the years to come Damien would show himself to be powerful, ruthless, and down-right malicious; everything that could be hoped from when it came to the Heir of House Loukos. From the time he could walk his apprenticeship began. Damien was tutored personally by his grand-father, the man that had trained Drago; and his Father was renowned for being one helluva Warlock. Ogren was a cruel man, a man that had no shreds of love left within himself. In his eyes Damien was not a child, he was the next step in the legacy of their House, and as such it was Ogren's responsibility to make sure the boy became a Warlock of legendary proportions.

Whispers of the cruelty that came with his training circulated around House Loukos, not that anyone made an attempt to do anything about it, common knowledge existing that to interrupt the training of his one and only son would bring only death from the hands of Drago. However, as the years wore away, as Damien grew and so did his power, it became obvious that despite the harshness of Ogren, he'd done a damn fine job. By the time Damien was twenty years old he was fluent in twenty-six languages, the key ones being Latin, German, Albanian, Romanian, Sanskrit, Farsi, and Japanese; the key languages of magic. For such a young man he was also already a skilled Necromancer showing promise for the future, as well as a quickly aspiring Blood Magic user.

However, at the time of Damien's rise their existed a group that wished the destruction of House Loukos; the Silver Circle. The Circle consisted of a group of Mages that had sworn an oath long ago to protect the land from black magic and all other forms of the darker arts. It wasn't rare of Covens like that to exist, what was rare was for them to make the first move, for them to go on the offensive.

The House of Loukos had shaken the night of the attack. Mages clad in hooded silver cloaks with white scarves to mask their faces had rushed into the Manor, and with them they'd brought the wrath of God himself. Several members of House Loukos had perished that night, and among them had been Drago. With the death of Drago they'd thought that the head of the snake had been cut off, that the dark house would never rise again. However, they took something else that night, something that Damien had cared about much more than revenge; the Loukos Amulet. It had been a simple five pointed star, the amulet itself forged from cold steel blessed by both a Necromancer and a Healer; blessed by Darkness and Light. The amulet was said to not only protect from Immortals, but to make the spells of whoever wore it far more effective against them. It was a prize worth waging a war for.

However, Damien hadn't been a fool, he knew that rushing the Circle would bring only his immediate death. So he'd stalled, biding his time in the darkness as his power continued to grow. For nearly twenty years the Warlock worked behind closed doors, under the light of the moon. In those two decades he'd managed to acquire four of the twelve volumes that made of the “Grimoire Mortus Libri”, or Dead Books. They were texts written by an 8th century Necromancer, a Necromancer that was said to have been that best to have ever lived. So skilled, in fact, that he'd found a way to cheat life and life forever. It was with these promises that Damien had obsessively hunted for the books, and after acquiring only four, had learned a simple way to prolong his life, the promise of immortality seeming to be over the horizon.

As the years continued to wane away Damien's power grew as his knowledge did. He was able to fill his days reading volumes of ancient texts for the simple reason that he knew he had all the time in the world, he knew he could plan his retribution on the Circle for any time he chose, and with his revenge he would gain the prize of his hard work and patience; he would reclaim the Amulet that was rightfully his. It was in these long years that Damien had summoned an Earth Spirit to serve as his personal familiar. The creature assumed the guise of a powerful grey timber-wolf. The beast had spoken to him within the confines of his mind, the voice sounding feminine and wise; the voice of his second mentor.

Claire, as he'd named the Elemental, had expanded Damien's knowledge of elemental magic in both an offensive and defensive sense. Through the She-Wolf, Damien had learned how to emit flames from the palm of his hands, create a shield of water, and most importantly, how to destroy the Circle. Finally, after nearly three decades, Damien had returned to Greece, he'd returned to his place of birth, and from here he would step onto the path of his destiny. Mages who still live these days that had existed at the time of Damien's retribution speak of it only in whispers, only in terrified and hushed tones. No one was left alive of the Circle, meaning only Claire and Damien himself know what happened; though the evidence left behind has helped to pain a gruesome picture.

All forty-eight members of the Circle had been found with their skin peeled off, their eyes removed, and crucified upside down along the corridors of their sanctuary. None had been sparred, not even the eleven children that had been mere apprentices. Damien had been preparing for that moment for more than twenty-five years, and once the chance had finally shown itself the Warlock had exploded into a blood-lust created by anticipation and sheer pleasure. The massacre had cemented Damien's spot as one of the most powerful Warlock's in existence, his talent with the Black Arts growing every day. However, his revenge hadn't been perfect. There had been one thing he'd felt cheated out of.

The Loukos Amulet.

Through investigation of torture Damien had come into the knowledge that his dear sister Gwen had been the reason for the death of his father, Drago. His sister, in her foolish jealousy for the attention thrown upon Damien, had been the one to reveal the location of House Loukos to the Silver Circle. It had been Gwen who had helped them by-pass the defensive spells, and it had been she to tell them of the power of the Amulet. After nearly four years Damien had finally caught up to Gwen in Moscow where she'd been hiding under an assumed name.

That night had been a horrid one indeed for Gwen. By that point in her life nearly thirty-five years had passed since she'd last seen her brother, and Gwen was now in her early fifties. However, when she'd come home that night, when she'd walked into the kitchen just as she'd done every night for ten years, she had known something was wrong. Looking upon the man sitting at her table she hadn't been able to believe her eyes. It had been Damien, though he hadn't looked like he'd aged in twenty years, his hands resting upon the silver Wolf's Head cane he'd carried his entire life. A wicked glint had shown in his eyes as Damien had looked upon Gwen, and it had been then that she felt the splatter on her shoulder. Looking up, Gwen had seen her husband Victor stuck to the ceiling, his body torn apart and bloodied, his mouth open in a silent scream of terror. “Gwen, darling, where is my amulet?” That had been all he'd said to his sister, her tears blocking any words.

Damien had tortured his own sister for three days, demanding answers from her. He'd even ripped some of her blood forcefully from her body to look into it, to search her blood for the location of his prize. However, once he'd finally come to peace with that fact she didn't have what he wanted, well that was when Damien no longer had a use for her. With a simple motion of his cane Claire had ripped apart Gwen, devouring the Mage before Damien's eyes, and he'd simply looked on, the only disappointment that shown in his eyes came from the fact he still wasn't any closer to his Amulet.

For another three decades Damien continued to search, continued to comb through all the contacts he knew, chasing down leads; doing whatever he could. Those years were filled with constant training, constant reading. The Warlock never took pause, even in his hunt, when it came to reading the ancient texts, learning their secrets to power. Claire continued to fill the role of Damien's familiar, the She-Wolf teaching her Master all she knew. Together the two cleaved their way through the magical world, preferring to stay in the more ancient parts were true power could be discovered, places such as Egypt, India, the city of Prague, and even exploring Aztec and Hindu temples. Learning of the Old Gods and the Old Magic.

Finally, after all his years, Damien finally found himself in Forks, Washington, at least for a brief time. With the Vampires and Wolves popping up all over the place, the Warlock became obsessed with learning the secrets to Immortal Power, to their disease as he saw it. Unlike most, Damien did not fear them, he knew how to fight them, how to trap them, even how to bend some of them to his will. Damien was a totem to the Mages of Old, the spell-weavers that had originally imprisoned the Monsters so long ago.

fears:
-Obscurity
-Death
-Never obtaining his Amulet

strengths:
-Necromancy: The first Black Art Damien became versed in, the art of Dead Magic as some call it. Able to summon Spirits and learn from them as well as control them. With this power Damien has also found the key to keeping his body alive well past it's mortal limits. Through Necromancy Damien is able to devour the life essence of mortals, and through stealing the very essence of their youth he can prolong that of his own. When wounded even on a deadly scale Damien is able to devour the essence of another to heal himself and save his own skin. The power, however, comes with a price; his soul. Necromancy is a Black Art few Mages dare to dabble in for the singular purpose of you truly lose your humanity, not that Damien really cares.

-Blood Magic: Whether it be his own or the blood of another, Damien is able to manipulate it and bend it to his will. Capable of doing things from taking anothers' blood and learning their secrets and memories from it, drawing the incredibly powerful essence of life from still warm blood to temporarily heighten his own powers, to draining the blood of another if they are weak enough for his magical will to dominate them so forcefully.

-All-Around Magical Knowledge: Ranging from herbalism, to runic knowledge, summoning, sacrificial magic, power circles, and offensive and defensive spells powered by the core elements of Mother Nature that fuels all magic. Damien has gained all of this magical insight from a lifetime of being brought up around Mages in a family that was completely gifted in magic. One of the last truly pure-blood magical Houses in Europe, the Loukos are known their production of powerful magic-wielders; and Damien is their brightest example.

weaknesses:
-Holy Magic has a way of tying up Damien's powers, though not forever.
-True Love is said to break the power of a Necromancer, thus the Warlock pushes all way from himself except Claire.
-His pierce protectiveness over House Loukos could be harnessed as a weapon against the Warlock.
likes:
-Claire
-Silence
-Working in his private quarters
-Spellweaving to create new spells
-Red wine
dislikes:
-White Magic
-Werewolves
-Vampires
-Silver Circle Mages
-Gwen
-Arrogance
-The Church
-”God”

facial appearance:A strong jaw that is always clean shaven is the first thing usually notice, though it is easily credited to his Greek ancestory. Olive, sun-kissed skin coats his face, which seems odd upon the body of a Necromancer. Magically altered eyes now shine an unnatural black with the faintest traces of grey flecks trying to show traces of his old humanity.

clothing:Clad exclusively in dark clothing, the Warlock wears the stereotype of his kind proudly. Suits of black with accent colors ranging from silver to maroon compose the majority of his wardrobe, though there are those things he has set aside for special occasions such as robes and whatnot. Upon three fingers on his right hand, and two on his left he wears rings that carry special purpose and reason. Two of the rings are forged completely of silver, the bands serving as conduits of power when facing off against Lycanthropes. Another two of the rings were smithed of nothing more than cold iron, the rings serving as protection and power when facing off against Fae folk. Finally a ring made of cold steel is the last of his bands, the final ring serving as a powerful weapon against evil spirits and forces that wish him harm, ironic seeing who and what he is, huh?

build:Standing just shy of 6'6” and with a powerful enough physique, Damien seems to exude the kind of aura that screams he has the body to dominate. Powerful and wicked, his strength physically, however, is nothing next to magic.

marks/scars:Finally, the last thing noticeable about Damien is the extensive tattooing. To the untrained eye the tattoos look like nothing more than swirling and dancing lines, however, to the trained eye they are clearly more. The black designs, that when starred at long enough seem to shift and dance as if they were alive, are actually tattooed replicas of ley lines. The tattoos serve as an emergency supply when it comes down to it. Drawing from the ley lines of the Earth, Damien is able to draw powerful from the core elements when in great need through the ink that stains his flesh. The tattoos stretch from his feet up his legs, along his thighs and waist, over his torso, front and back, down his arms and end at his wrists and his collar bones. Creepy to some, beautiful to others.

species appearance: Uh, Necromancers are Humans?

your name: Jaxson!
age: Nineteen!
how long have you been roleplaying?: Like...six years.
how did you find us?: Lisa.
codeword: Eclipse

roleplay sample:(From another site, but still Damien.)

“I'm afraid screams are what I need, my friend...” The soft seemed to gently roll across the night air, being carried by a breeze that had brought the very words to the ears of the tortured soul that kneeled in despair, in pain. The man had been an innocent, or innocent enough by Human standards. He'd simply been caught in a classic case of 'wrong place at the wrong time'. It hadn't been his fault, how was he to know a late night jog was a bad idea? How was he to know any of this could have possibly happened? Being kidnapped and tortured by a Warlock hell-bent on making every nerve in his body scream in pain; and so far he was doing a pretty good job. So far he was making the poor soul wish he'd never even been born, because nothing good in his life, not even his greatest memories, were worth the price he was paying in that moment. Nothing was worth that pain, nothing was deserving of it, yet it was happening to him. It was being thrown upon him freely and without restraint. His own private slice of Hell.

“In nomen of Vetus Filiolus permissum orior ortus vestri cruciatus animus. Dico ut Obscurum.” The softly spoken words seemed to roll of his tongue, Latin being one of the Warlock's favorite languages to speak. It was so eloquent, so beautiful, yet so arcane. It was his preferred language for spell-weaving. The words of power seemed to hang lightly in the air, almost clinging to the moment as they worked their magic, no pun intended. Then it passed, time seemed real again, the world seemed to be going along it's merry path. However, the man that was locked within the Circle of Power that had been created upon the ground with stones and holly leaves had felt something far different in that moment. He wished more than anything to be able to run away, but for some reason his body wouldn't listen, it wouldn't obey. His uneducated Mortal eye couldn't recognize that the Circle of Power he was contained in carried runes that locked him inside like a prison, anything within the Circle becoming completely paralyzed until the Warlock freed them. Powerful magic, magic that had no need to ever be unsheathed against a Mortal.

Except by the truly wicked.

The spell had been a simple enough one in nature, though in actual execution it was one that took talent and control, a difficult spell to the average. The magic feed off of pain and fear, which Damien had created through his torture of the Human. The spell took the fear and pain, and combining the two raw emotions, amplified them on a meta-physical level and then sent it out like a beacon. The kind of beacon that made a Demon drool. The pure, completely tainted taste of fear, of pain, the promise that at the source was a chained Human ready for whatever twisted fate would be bestowed upon it. The perfect bait for the perfect prey. However, a kill wasn't what the Warlock was after that night, not yet at least. He needed answers first.

Damien was a man that understood the importance of information. He credited all his power, all his skill, everything that made him who he was to books. The ancient texts had given him all the tools he'd used to cleave his way to the top of the Magical World. From the simplest of levitation spells all the way to the ability Damien had learned that gave him near immortality, all of it had come from information, and tonight information was exactly what he was after. He needed to know why barrier was down, he needed to know if they'd torn it down or if it had simply gone too long without being renewed, without being strengthened again. Whatever the cause had been, Damien didn't like it. Demons were an risky. They complicated things, made the game more dangerous. He wasn't afraid for his life, no that wasn't it at all. However, he feared a Demon's unchecked malice, coming into contact with decades of careful planning, deliberate scheming. As far as the Mortal world went, the Warlock was clawing his way slowly towards being a God, the fear of death something he almost didn't need to have any longer. He would not allow some rogue Djinn destroy this.

That could never happen.

Glancing back to the man locked within the runic prison, he saw the panic within his gaze. The Necromancer turned to face his prisoner, looking at the Mortal through harsh, analytical eyes. There was nothing remarkable, or even mundanely interesting about this man. Nothing that made him any different than the rest of a herd. A nameless thrall with a million others waiting to replace him. Perhaps that was the reason behind Damien feeling no guilt. Raising his right arm, his palm facing the man, his fingers all curled down at the first knuckle. Though the honest truth was he knew he didn't need a reason to not care about this powerless, pathetic creature. The world would not miss it, destiny would not mourn it.

And it was in that moment that the darkness brought about by the thick clouds blanketing the moon above was suddenly split in a sudden burst of white light followed seconds later by a loud, pain-filled scream. Electricity continued to crackle from Damien's frame as he stood before the Mortal, a faint smile on his lips. “That's it, lad. Give them a show. I want them hungry when they get here....” As the Warlock had trailed off, the Mortal's eyes had gone wide before another blinding burst of light filled the darkness.

His screams sounding as if they echoed for miles and miles.

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