Davos is a trim, hard-bodied man in his mid-twenties who has clearly seen far too much for someone his age. He wears the red headband of the Catachan Jungle Fighters and the “XIII” tattoo of his former legion on his shoulder.
Born to commoner parents on the infamous death world of Catachan, Davos grew up quick and strong amid constant environmental dangers and a society of hard-bitten survivors. A bright, tough lad even among his people, Davos and his family took for granted that he would be swept up by the next levy from the Imperial Guard. They were right.
Davos fought and survived through battles with heretics, rebels, Orks and worse. On a planet known only by a number rather than a name, Davos saw regiment after regiment chewed up and laid waste by the forces of Chaos—and, Davos felt, by the plainly foolish decisions of a sadistic, incompetent Imperial Commissar. Ordered to take a hill no matter the cost, to offer no surrender and accept none from his enemy, Davos followed orders to the letter: he pulled out his bolt pistol and shot the Commissar in the face, right there in front of everyone. To the shock of all present—even Davos, though he quickly maintained otherwise—the Commissar had been so corrupted by Chaos that his very blood had run black. The Guard’s fortunes quickly changed; the tide of battle shifted, and Davos, though naturally taken away in chains after the battle, had saved the lives of thousands with a single rash action.
Ten years and more of constant warfare has left Davos somewhat jaded, yet oddly not bitter. He has simply never known anything else and values the blessings of his heritage and experience.