|Residence||Newly arrived in Kirkwall, with the hopes to return to Starkhaven and reunite with a certain friend he had to leave behind.|
|Affiliation||Not of any group, but he reports all his findings to the Chantry.|
|Behind the Mask|
Demetrius takes after his Rivaini mother, from her dark, almost black hair that could use a trim, and her dark, dark skin, though his skin tone is a bit lighter, more olive than brown. However, he tans easily, and can become as dark as any Rivaini given a few hours of sunlight. He has his father’s eyes, ranging from green, to grey, to brown under certain lighting, but more almond shaped, like his mothers. He’s surprisingly fit for a supposed scholar, and keeps in shape performing the exercises his father and mother both taught him when he has time. He has a bit of a beard growing in now, which some would say suits him and helps him to look his age.
It varies from region to region, dressing in thicker and heavy clothes in the more colder cities, and lighter in the more warmer places. He likes to dress simply and practically, not one for heavy embroidery or lace, favoring light long sleeved shirts and comfortable breeches. His most prized possessions are his decorated leather drakeskin boots his father gave to him before he first left Nevarra and the bronze cross given to him during his days as an affirmed Brother of the Faith. He also keeps, though it is rarely known, his mother’s twin daggers.
Demetri is a man of conserved and easy nature. He finds pleasure in an ancient tome found in the dusty shelves of an old library, the moonlight shinning down from the window of his study on a cloudless night, and the sweet trill of a songbird soaring overhead. He may not seem likes the easiest man to talk to, and for many who have not known him long may call him stuck-up, more interested in dusty books than society. Which, in part, was true. He would much rather spend his time in the library, surrounded by books and scriptures, but he enjoys discussions with people; asking them of their thoughts on this work, this art piece, this person, who is on the throne in this country, their hopes and desires of the coming age, and who their family is and how they are doing. He can be quite charming, in a quiet, modest way of a man who truly wants to know what you are thinking, be it good or bad. He won’t judge you if you think one persons way of living is wrong, but he will enlighten you and explain why they would do it this way, and not your way. He likes to explain, to teach and to listen, and ultimately, to understand.
But that does not mean he is always a nice man. He knows how to wield a blade, but he does not approve of violence, least of all will he go look willingly for trouble. …but you can be damn sure he’ll be the last one standing in a fight, and by any means necessary. He may have the soul of a scholar, but he is also a man who could get angry as any other, with the mind of strategist and the heart of a merciless scoundrel to push him forward.
Demetrius was born the bastard son of a lowerclass Nevvaran nobleman and his Rivaini mistress. It was no secret that Demetri’s father favored his mother above that of his wife, the mother of his first-born son and heir, a sandy haired boy six years older, and it was not long after he was born that his father acknowledge him as his son and welcomed him into his household as warmly as any noble-born child. Here Demetri was raised just as his brother was, to read and to write, to wield a sword and parry a strike, and how to behave at a feast or gathering. Demetri in particular stood out. Where the eldest son was enthralled by stories of war and glory, the youngest son was more interested in history and mathematics, the strategies made before the ride to war, the landscape and terrain needed to be covered, and the political differences of the enemy. And he was quick with a blade, despite not having the ability to hold a longsword, Demetri was more than capable with a dagger, and by the time he was ten could keep up with his elder brother in sword-fighting. Overall, he was the perfect lordling.
And despite being compared to his little brother, there was no ill-will between Demetri and his brother. They loved one another as any pair of brothers could, with the occasional scuffle and bloody nose to bond them closer. However, Demetri learned early on to never be alone with the Lady Vargas. Whenever such a thing occurred, he would be found hours later, weeping in the family library with deep lacerations over his arms. But always there would be an excuse. He broke an expensive vase, spoke foul words (“…no doubt heard from that whore of a woman you use to warm your bed, husband.”), destroyed one of the family tapestries, and so on. Demetri’s father could never understand why he would misbehave when he was such a good little boy. Demetri never told his father the truth, which he would regret later in his life.
Six years later, when he was eight, his younger sister was born by his father’s wife, which seemed to sweeten the woman’s temperament. And for a few years after that, there were no more… incidents. But when Demetri was fourteen, while his father and brother were abroad fighting in the Nevarran armies, his father’s wife finally revealed her true colors. She forced him into the Chantry, no less dragged there by armed guards, and gave his mother to a “family associate,” a man who was nothing more than a slaver. From letters received from his retainer- who had written to him secret- Demetri learned that his father thought his mother had run off with another man and that he, in shame, had joined the Chantry of his own free will.
None of his letters would reach his father or brother, for the Lady Vargas would pay off those who took his letters and had them burned. But he was not alone. There were many household servants still loyal to Demetri, who remembered the smart, kind little lordling fondly, and knew the truth of their Lady’s treachery. But what could he do? He was just a boy, locked away in an unfamiliar place with no help save a few loyal servants whom were far and could do little. So he waited and bided his time, with naught but his desire of revenge to keep him warm at night.
For five long years, he lived within that monastery. By day he was the perfect Brother, even if he was just an affirmed; he was kindly to those in need, always having a coin to spare, helpful and understanding to his fellows and superiors, and always there when help was needed. Even the Grand Cleric was charmed by this quiet young man who would spend his days in the Chantry archives surrounded by books. No one would ever guess the darkness behind that calm smile that led him to befriend the lowest of cutthroats and thieves to achieve his goals. It was soon after his nineteenth birthday that news of his father’s wife’s arrest reached his ears. She was accused of delivering state secrets to an Orlesian noble, the man who was believed to be the father of her youngest daughter, and was to be charged with treason. Demetri allowed himself only one self-satisfied smile to play across his lips.
He left the Chantry immediately and returned to his household, now that the Lady had no power to keep him there. His father and brother were there to welcome him home, along with his sister. His father explained that while he knew now of his wife’s betrayal- Demetri had explained to him the truth of his departure and his mother’s disappearance- he could not condemn his daughter for her mother’s crimes. Demetri understood, completely, and kissed his sister’s brow with warmth, relieved she had been spared. There was hope that Demetri would join his brother on the front lines and defend his country, but the young lord had a different path to take. He told his father that he was becoming a scholar, and even had a grant from the Chantry to start his first research trip to the Free Marches. He only came home, Demetri told his father, because he could not leave without saying goodbye. His father, though deeply saddened his youngest boy would be gone so soon after being reunited, wished his son luck on his journeys.
Leaving Nevarra with his fathers blessings, Demetri traveled across Thedas for several years, visiting the cities and universities of the Free Marches, Antiva, and Rivain, and even spent a few years studying in Val Royeaux, the capital of Orlais. He also put the Chantry’s money to good use, hiring help to accompany him on expeditions he made into places like the Vinmark Moutnains, the Arlathan forest, and the island of Llomerryn. What was this young man hoping to find out there? A old ruin? Ancient artifacts or lost scriptures of forgotten historians? But the curious question was, why was he driven to find these things in other nations? Was he a spy for the Chantry? Some would say he was nothing more than an eccentric noble with a deep thirst for knowledge, while others whispered of espionage. Nevertheless, no one knew what to make of this Nevarran scholar. Not even the Chantry Herself knew for certain where Demetri stood. All he would ever say was that he was a simple scholar, and nothing more.
On the year he turned twenty-six, Demetri left Rivain and traveled to Tevinter. It was there that he would meet a little slave girl named Petra. He bought her on a whim, to everyone’s surprise, and shocked his household by coming home with that same raggedy child clinging to his shirt-hem. Everyone expected him to leave the girl somewhere, or give her to the Chantry to be raised; but as the months went by, she was still there at his side. Where he went, Petra would follow.
It was strange to his colleagues to see this girl-child trail behind him like a lost puppy, stranger still that Demetri would allow such a display- some would claim with a smile no less!- but it soon became apparent that he was smitten over the child; he doted over her like a father would his little girl. Where once he would spend all his gold on ancient documents and foreign scriptures, he bought silk ribbons and porcelain dolls. Of course, there was talk. Some would ask if there was perhaps a different motive behind his generosity and some began to question the integrity of a grown man keeping a young girl- who some were surprised to discover was not as young as they had first thought- so close to him. When Demetri heard such rumors, he made sure that those who made such comments never spoke another vile word against him. After the first few gossipmongers went missing, most shut up, and for a time after, no one bothered the scholar and his girl.
There were many who thought he would settle down, young as he was, to see to Petra’s upbringing. In his own way, he did. He didn’t go on as many expeditions, or travel as much as he used to. He stayed home longer and longer, and his concerns were more focused on his adoptive daughter’s needs than the discovery of a lost ruin. Then one day a letter came from an old colleague, inviting him to attend an expedition into the Frostback Mountains of Fereldan. No one knew what they would be looking for, or what was it they hoped to find. Only that if they were successful, it would be the discovery of a lifetime. It was one, as his colleague so strongly implied, that he could not afford to pass by.
Demetri left an adamant Petra in the care of friends within the Starkhaven Chantry and took the next ship to Fereldan. He promised her that he would come back soon, and that when he returned they would celebrate her birthday at the family estate. That was three years ago. What horrors he found during that expedition he would not say, but it was not until the Fifth Blight had ended that he was seen again walking off a ship in the ports of Kirkwall. Was it still the same man that had left, or had something in him changed during his absence? Only time will tell.