[hider=Damon Tardif: Hunter of Warren]
[center][color=slategray][h1]Damon Tardif[/h1][/color]
[img]https://i.pinimg.com/736x/25/32/b0/2532b003d3e43e34f8d8e725f8876468.jpg[/img]
[color=slategray][b]Image Credit:[/b][/color] [url=https://mantisslash.tumblr.com/]mantisslash[/url] on Tumblr[/center]
[color=slategray][h3][u][b]General Characteristics[/b][/u][/h3][/color]
[color=slategray][b]Name:[/b][/color] Damon Tardif

[color=slategray][b]Nickname:[/b][/color] The Hunter

[color=slategray][b]Age:[/b][/color] 31 

[color=slategray][b]Gender:[/b][/color] Male

[color=slategray][b]Race:[/b][/color] Human

[color=slategray][b]Place of Origin:[/b][/color] Warren

[color=slategray][b]Occupation:[/b][/color] Bounty Hunter/Mercenary (Unaligned)

[color=slategray][b]Eyes:[/b][/color] Black

[color=slategray][b]Hair:[/b][/color] Shaggy, Black

[color=slategray][b]Height:[/b][/color] 5'10"

[color=slategray][b]Weight:[/b][/color] 180 lbs

[color=slategray][b]Build:[/b][/color] Lean and Sturdy 

[color=slategray][b]Complexion:[/b][/color] Wolfish

[color=slategray][b]+Traits:[/b][/color] Cunning, Observant, Experienced

[color=slategray][b]-Traits:[/b][/color] Amoral, Ruthless, Borderline-Sociopathic

[color=slategray][b]Family:[/b][/color] William and Mary Tardif (Parents), Edmun Tardif (Grandfather)

[hr][color=slategray][h3][u][b]Life[/b][/u][/h3][/color]
It’s said one can never go home again. The buildings might still be there, and the people, and that moss-covered well in the center of town. But it doesn’t feel like it used to. Home didn’t change – you did. Damon Tardif was born into a long line of trappers and huntsmen, many considered nothing less than Warren’s finest. For decades, the Tardif men and women served the community by providing food and furs, guarding the settlement border, and slaying the occasional stray monster ill-fated enough to wander outside the safety of Grimlaw. Damon’s earliest years were spent with the expectation of carrying on the family legacy. Since he was old enough to walk, he was helping his father in the business. Weekends were spent waking up before the sun, packing a lunch his mother had prepared the night before, readying the hounds, and heading into the woods, armed with bows and short-swords. Each of these trips taught Damon a new lesson, the nature of hunting, tracking, and trapping. To understand your prey; its tactics, movement, behaviors. Damon soon learned the distinction between hunting a stag and a deer; a boar and a fox. As a boy, he was tasked with overseeing the family’s three hunting dogs: being expected to feed, train, and care for the hounds gave Damon a sense of responsibility, as well as a lifelong appreciation for the animal.
 
This continued well on into his teenage years. As Damon grew older and more experienced, he was given more and more leeway in the hunts, soon being allowed to undertake trips alone – some successful, others not. His skills as both a hunter and tracker earned his parents’ pride and the town’s respect. Many had it figured that Damon would soon join the dozens of other Tardif hunters in Warren history, and eventually pass those skills down to his son or daughter. But sometimes things aren’t meant to be.
 
One fateful trip in the woods followed by his faithful wolfhound at first went like any other. Damon had caught wind of a small herd of deer just a few miles out from the village, into the deeper woods near the south. The trek was a couple hours, but well worth the trip to bag a deer or two. What Damon found instead was a set of new tracks, rushed and stumbling, not used to uneven terrain – human footprints. Damon gave in to curiosity, and began following the new set of tracks, intrigued as to what kind-of business anyone else would have this deep in the woods. After a few minutes of trailing behind the tracks, Damon caught sight of a figure sprinting far in the distance, clutching something close to their chest. They were hurried, tripping over their own feet every few dozen feet or so, marked by clear desperation. Damon, in a moment of pure instinct, fell back to what he knew. Trail behind the hunted, conserve your energy, let them tire themselves out before moving in for the kill. Of course, such principles only applied when hunting animals, certainly!
 
Fully committed to his new quarry, Damon kept several yards behind, keeping low to the forest floor and measuring each step to avoid unnecessary noise. He blended into the foliage, his senses keened as if he had caught sight of a lone stag. Gradually, the figure’s speed began to falter, stopping for longer rests, trying to push on through sheer stubbornness alone. But the body would give out eventually, especially for one not used to the unmarked trail.

Soon, the figure could take no more, and dropped to the ground, leaning back up against a tree, still clutching the mysterious package tightly to their chest. Damon closed the distance warily, with all the cautiousness of a guarded beast, unwilling to give away its position unless absolutely certain of victory.
 
Finally emerging from the midst of the woods, hand hovering near his blade, Damon saw the figure firsthand: a weaselly-looking young man, head covered with a mop of greasy red hair, strikingly alert eyes darting from left-to-right, in stark opposition to his apparent exhaustion. The bounty clutched between his arms a burlap sack, clinking of metal and carrying the slightest gleam of gold and silver from the opening kept shut by a loose drawstring. Upon catching sight of Damon, the man scurried to his legs, drawing a long dirk from his boot and adopting a sloppy battle stance. Though Damon attempted to defuse the situation, the man lunged at him, prompting him to draw his own sword and engage the apparent thief in combat.
 
Though the skirmish was but a short one, Damon found himself...enjoying it. Though clearly unskilled and recklessly impulsive at best, the burglar offered Damon a battle he’d never faced before: one against another man. It was different than hunting an animal; the same primal instincts marked with the adaptability and resourcefulness that only a human could offer. The battle ended nearly as swiftly as it had begun, with Damon’s blade plunged hilt-deep in the thief’s gut. Though his hands were shaking, he realized in that moment that the thief’s blood looked no different from a wild animal’s. All ran that dark shade of red.
 
Damon wordlessly took the thief’s plundered goods and hoisted them over his own shoulder before returning to the trail, not even bothering to bury the body. The detour from the hunt had cost him, and what food he managed to bring back wasn’t close to what he had anticipated earlier. But he was left inspired, unable to forget that thrill.
 
He said nothing to his family of the encounter in the woods, simply turning the bag of goods in to the guardhouse, claiming it as loot he had found lost in the forest. Everything returned back to normal – so it seemed. The ensuing hunts after the incident had lost their appeal. Beasts seemed predictable, easy-to-outsmart. There was hardly any risk left, the rush that had found itself in his sword-arm, granting him strength and precision. He needed to go higher.

This all finally culminated with Damon storming the doors of the guardhouse, asking for any available bounties. Warren was a travelers’ hub, and one unaligned with the politics of Brevyon or Aigeovarth. Being as close as it was to the border, even the dangerous territory of Grimlaw, it was a runaway criminal’s haven. At first, the few guards in the building could only respond in laughter, assuming Damon’s request was a joke. But their laughter quickly faded upon seeing the look in his eyes, like that of a predator on the hunt. Reluctantly, they handed a rolled-up parchment to the young hunter; dead-or-alive, an arsonist in the woods, suspected of lighting a village on fire. It was a longer trek from Warren, requiring at least one night’s camp. Damon accepted the bounty and had marched back into the woods by the next dawn.
 
From that day on, Damon was never the same. The hunter had turned predator. His journeys took him from Warren to Aigeovarth, constantly in pursuit of new prey. The name of Damon Tardif had been forgotten: he was the Bounty Hunter, stalking his marks through the shadows, using his cunning and intelligence combined with the sharp sting of his blade to bring countless brigands and lawbreakers to justice, served at the business end of his axe. To those in Warren, he is a pariah, an outcast who sullied his good name and future for blood and coin. Yet still, he keeps coming back, unable to forget home.

[hr][color=slategray][h3][b][u]Personality[/u][/b][/h3][/color]
In his youth, Damon was an enthusiastic daydreamer. His free time was spent wandering the forests and fields of his home, wielding a stick he’d found on the ground that had caught his eye, one day hoping to journey into Grimlaw, itself, by his father’s side. The days of childhood have long passed, and the man Damon is today hardly resembles his former self. He is grim, aloof, and dark-humored, driven almost solely by the great hunt. A harsh and brutal man, years of desensitization have turned Damon into a hardened killer. Though not sadistic, he views himself as more than a man – a predator, and his quarry the prey. The men he kills are equal to beasts, distinguished only by their ingenuity and logical mind; aspects that make them far more appealing to hunt than animals. Though following a loose code of morals; placing high value on his word, and generally refraining from harming innocents, it’s clear that Damon derives great pleasure from his work, often begging the question whether he’s truly better than the men he hunts. A professional at heart, Damon’s thrill for the hunt is matched only by his love of coin. While not greedy to the point of avarice, he makes his motives plain and clear: the thrill of the hunt… the promise of payment. Though not a scholar by any means, Damon possesses an instinctive craftiness and insight that makes him especially dangerous in his field of work. Always one to prepare in advance, Damon strategizes every aspect of the hunt, learning as much as he can about his prey, searching for any weaknesses to exploit, and even scouting ahead to get a feel for the trail. Perhaps most remarkably, he’s capable of such insights even in the heat of battle, carefully watching the way his opponent fights to ascertain their strengths and weaknesses before developing a countermeasure. His position was not earned through brute force alone, but a sharp axe, a sharper mind, and a certain cunning. Not one suited for honor, Damon is not above using dirty tactics, underhanded measures, or even his immediate surroundings to gain whatever advantage possible in a fight. Such is the way of the hunt. A predator has no use for a warrior’s honor if he is to survive. 

[hr][color=slategray][h3][b][u]Skills[/u][/b][/h3][/color]
[list][*]Master hunter and survivalist, skilled in tracking, trapping, scouting, stealth, and basic field medicine.
[*]Quick and agile combatant, adept with several weapons but favoring the hand-axe and grappling hook.
[*]Observant and resourceful, capable of reading his opponent even when engaged in combat, studying their form and technique to devise a counterattack.
[*]Ruthlessly determined, will not give up the hunt until his prey has been found and slain.[/list]
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