As Jak watched the Precursor's craft shoot upwards from Spargus's firey arena, he mused on whether they would now regret giving him his Flash Freeze power, now it had enabled his escape from the giant metal sphere.
Rolling his shoulders he muttered towards the speedily departing ship, "Guess you're gonna have to find that plan B!"
He then turned on his heel to make his way to Dax and Tess.
7 hours and 34 minutes later this took the title as longest time taken for any drawing. Got a bit of inspiration from replaying the trilogy on open goal… and listening to Shinedown for some reason…
I just found out that the Amino app shut down u_u. I'd drawn a few things specifically for that site and never posted them elsewhere, so I'm posting that art here to hopefully preserve it.
I've wanted to draw Damas for a while now! I've always been curious about what his younger self would look like as the king of Haven City.
Since he reprimands Jak so much for his reckless attitude in Jak 3 and advises him to be more prudent and patient, my headcanon is that young Damas was quite impulsive, and perhaps even arrogant, and a bit of an idiot as a nobleman raised in a palace, descendant of the most important family in history. He was overconfident and that led him to make some disastrous decisions during the war, which earned him many enemies among the nobility.
Also, old Damas seems like the type of man who would be deeply ashamed to remember the foolish things he did as a young man, and would want to punch himself if he could. The good thing is that his mistakes taught him valuable lessons, and in Spargus he became a much better king, worthy of the title.
Details:
The looks of his younger version is inspired by that of other noble and military characters like Baron Praxis and, ahem, also a little bit by the Targaryens from Game of Thrones.
I added some scars to his old Damas version. As a Wastelander warrior, I find it odd that he doesn't have any in his original design. To be the king of Spargus you have to be the strongest in the city and defeat all the warriors who oppose you to sit on that throne. This man has lived through many battles.
I always imagined his hair was 100% white since he was born, not because he's old. I don't think he's more than 50 years old in the video game, so it would make sense for his hair to have white and gray streaks, not be completely white. Therefore, I think he's born with white hair either because he's albino (which also explains his violet eyes), or because the original Mar or other ancestor married a Light Eco Sage who had white hair, and many of their descendants inherited it. Jak's two-toned hair is due to his mother's heritage..
That necklace only appears in the concept art, but I quite like it. My headcanon within my AU is that his wife made it for him. I like to think that in Spargus, instead of exchanging rings, it's a tradition for husbands and wives to make some handcrafted jewelry and give it to each other—it could be a necklace, a bracelet, a hair clip, a ring, or something more practical like pieces of armor, a knife, goggles or a knitted scarf for protection in the desert.
One thing I'm not entirely clear on is whether Damas literally has spikes embedded in his skull or not, but that's what it looks like. My theory is that once he managed to get the throne of Spargus, he thought, "This time, if they want to take this crown from me, they'll have to take it from my corpse." And he took it so personally that he asked the monks to graft the crown onto his head. Oh, well, Mr. Sand King loves drama.
Ok, look, nobody's a fan of the way Keira acts in the second game when it comes to Errol. The weird crush she has on someone who is obviously unhinged makes her character come off as stupid.
So it make me seriously wonder how better this interaction would have been if we left Jaks perspective at any point and saw who Errol was like through Keira's eyes. I have no problem believing that Errol is actually able to act like a decent human being around people he wants to gain the trust of, and the fact he likes Keira means he would have put in the extra effort to win her over.
2 years of being alone in a city full of very shady people after previously living in a cozy village, not knowing what happened to all the people you care about most and then here comes this very skilled racer who goes out of his way to treat you with more respect and care than anyone else in Haven. And he works in the Krimzon Guard? The main team with the duty of protecting the city from metalheads? What a kind hearted charmer. Then the mute childhood friend she thought was dead shows up going through the most horrific edgy phase anyone could go through, while throwing shade at the one good person in Haven for seemingly no clear reason.
Also, and this is only something I thought about while drawing him, but maybe (and this is a stretch) maybe Errol's orange hair and showboat ego reminded Keira a little of how Daxter was as a human, which is the reason she's more willing to look past the negative traits.
Am i grasping at straws here? Yes, because its not like the games gave me any sort of closure, that's what fanfic is for.
I also have a thought that Kiera exaggerated her feelings for Erol to Jak, as she was still a little sore about Ashelin pushing into her garage to congratulate Jak after the class 3 race.
She had no idea what Erol had done to Jak and was devastated when she found out.
"Haven's been decimated. Ash- Praxis is desperate, I knew that. I just-" Jak tilted his head back, stubbornly focused on hanging plants until his eyes didn't water so much.
"I just didn't think she'd go that far. She told me she would tell everyone I was a spy if I didn't cooperate. I thought- I thought she was bluffing, Damas."
"She was not."
Damas stood smoothly, this time taking his staff with him.
A symbol of both authority and judgment.
Jak’s heart sank.
"What you are telling me, boy, is that Ashelin Praxis framed you for betrayal because you...wouldn't betray Spargus?"
Damas lifted his chin and looked down at Jak sternly.
"This is her alleged "logic"?"
Don't panic. Don't panic! What would Daxter do? Breathe, breathe breathe-
Jak kept his composure for a full two seconds, but even he wasn't invulnerable. And at heart, he was still just a kid. A scared, lonely, hurting kid who didn't know who to trust.
"If I'm cast out?" Jak's voice strained, then broke under the weight of his trembling. "If I'm outside the walls, they'll be able to drag me back."
Jak’s pride deserted him entirely. He didn't know what his face looked like, but Damas’s was blurring.
"Don't- don't let them take me back. Please- please! Don't make me go back there, Damas, if it comes to that, just shoot me!"
"Shoot you?!"
Another shuddering breath.
"Death before slavery," Jak choked.
A hand found his shoulder, warm, but so, so heavy.
"Do you have so little faith in me," Damas whispered, "That you think I would pass judgment without even conducting a proper investigation? Do you think so little of yourself that you believe I would so quickly take the word of my enemy's daughter over yours?"
Jak’s shoulders shook silently. It was answer enough.
"Jak, I have to ask you these questions. I don't want to. Frith, I don't want to put you through this!" Damas squeezed his shoulder tighter. "But it must go on official record. As many separate accounts as we can gather, to compare or contrast against your accuser."
"I'm not a spy," Jak insisted. He wiped his nose, mortified and terrified all at once.
"No," said Damas gently, "I don't think you are. But you…you may have brought one into the city with you. In that sense, Ashelin may have been telling the truth -- albeit twisting her words to lead to a different conclusion."
Brought one into the city with you-
"What do you mean?" Jak swallowed hard. "I- I didn't bring-"
"Who is missing, Jak?" Damas interrupted, "Who was here during the Arena trial and yet is no longer clinging to my shadow like oil?"
Stunned, Jak barely noticed the second set of fangs beginning to sprout from his gums.
"Pecker," he snarled.
"I swear on my life, Damas, whatever that's worth, I didn't know."
The king exhaled heavily again.
"Unfortunately, that's no longer relevant, Jak."
"But-"
"Whether you could have known or not, Haven has found our city."
Damas turned aside and ran his fingers along the bladed edge of his glaive.
"For years they have tried and failed to find us. I knew one day they would find the right bait for a trap, but for it to be you, of all people-!"
"I didn't betray Spargus!" Jak burst out, desperately. He couldn't stop himself; he reached out to take hold of Damas’s arm.
Damas pulled his arm swiftly from Jak's grip. Jak flinched back as if he'd been struck across the face. But that same arm reached back to catch the back of Jak's head, halting his retreat.
"Stop."
"Sir-!"
"Stop it, Jak! You're not listening to me!”
Damas drove the butt of the glaive into the stone of the dais, sending an echoing tone over the water. Jak fell silent immediately, chest heaving.
"You're not listening," Damas said again, gentler this time.
"An accusation is not a sentencing. I am gathering evidence, boy! For you, not against you!"
When this did not calm Jak, he bent slightly to rest his forehead against the boy's.
"Look at me. I told you, I don't think you are a spy. I trust you. But right now you need to trust me."
Incrementally, the boy began to take deeper breaths. If he slowed his pulse, perhaps this panic would pass and allow him to think logically.
"There may be more questions. You will be required to give an official account of the meeting at the oasis -- and I'm sorry, but you will have to explain why you didn't report it. But you have to trust me."
A little hysterical, Jak tried to nod, was unable to move his head, and settled for a high, broken, sound of assent.
He couldn't have determined one way or another if his tears were despairing frustration, or pure relief.
Damas believed him. Regardless of any strain between them caused by Jak’s defiance in the Arena, Damas trusted him.
It would have meant little to him in Haven, but Jak had lived among Wastelanders long enough to know that to hold the trust of a king was no paltry gift.
Now shame crept through the dregs of his fear, a skulking latecomer scuffing its feet along his heart.
Damas trusted Jak, and Jak had assumed the worst of Damas. He had assumed almost without question that Damas would find Ashelin's story more believable because of his failure to report it. He'd thought he'd moved past the fear Haven instilled in him!
"Sorry," he began, but Damas cut him off again.
"Jak, do you know why I don't believe Praxis?"
"N- no? I-"
Damas released him and stepped back and away. Lifting his glaive, he scooped a live coal out of the nearest brazier. In one motion, he cast it to the ground and crushed it beneath his heel. Jak stared, bewildered and a bit concerned.
Stooping to brush aside the embers, Damas took a handful of ash and charcoal in one hand. Then he stood and held it out to Jak.
"I don't understand," Jak said, "What does- what are you doing?"
Patiently, Damas raised the remnant of the coal higher.
"What am I holding, boy?"
"It's char-" Jak's eyes widened as it hit him. He blinked back tears and looked up.
"It's charcoal."
"If you had been a spy," Damas insisted, "Haven would have come down on us while I was helpless, fighting the Blackwater virus."
"Oh," whispered Jak.
"Pecker hid in the aviary doing gods know what during that hell," Damas continued, "You and Daxter stayed by my side when I was at my lowest. You concealed my illness from my own Wastelanders, even taking up some of my duties to spare me the strain. That is how I know you would never betray me."
Jak was, in that moment, speechless. He was running on his twenty-sixth hour without sleep. Back to back missions and battles -- he hadn't even told Damas about the Marauder ambush. Was he supposed to tell him about the Marauder ambush?
The king shook the charcoal off his hand and brushed smears of black onto his tunic.
"Jak, do you trust me?"
Shame tried to drag his eyes down, but Jak forced himself to meet the king’s stare.
"Yes."
It's not a state of being. It's a choice. Right? I'm choosing to trust you.
Damas smiled, a little sadly, down at him.
"Son," he said quietly, "This is your Blackwater."
And Jak understood.
Whatever this coming trial entailed, whether the council wanted a full account, or whether they dismissed it with a wave and a scoff; Damas was going to be there. And he was going to be on Jak’s side.
"What do we do about Ashelin?" he asked, "She knows where we are now, doesn't she? What if they fly over the wall to-"
"To die very quickly? Because that's what would happen." Damas brought his staff down again decisively. "Get some sleep, Jak. When Daxter is finished giving his account, he'll be sent home too.”
Jak looked down.
"Can...I wait for him? I'm not- I don't do well. Without him. At night, I mean. It's..."
He trailed off, embarrassed, and wiped his eyes.
"Moral injury." Damas made a sympathetic sound. "That's what my uncle called it when I was a boy. A crime you have endured or witnessed and the way it breaks your understanding of safety and the rules the world follows. Believe me, I understand."
After a moment of hesitation, Damas’s shoulders fell.
"Alright," he said, almost weary in his pronouncement, "I suppose it's too late to have you walking across the city."
He waved an arm toward the concealed hallway.
"You know where the apartment is. Go get cleaned up. You can make your report in the morning."
Gratitude pushed through the cracks in the weight on Jak’s heart, snaking through like roots until the fear began to crumble away.
"Thank you," Jak whispered.
"This likely won't end with just the dismissal of the accusation," Damas warned. "Tomorrow, you and Daxter sit down with me and Sig, and we're going to go over every flaw in Haven's defenses that you can remember. And if Praxis or any of her allies contact you, what do you do?"
"Tell you first?" Jak mumbled.
"Good man. See that you don't forget it."
Damas clapped him on the shoulder once, then nodded to the corridor.
"And for the love of rain put some eco on those ribs! Did you think I didn't see that?" He pointed sternly. "Eco before you rest. We have an ordeal before us, boy, I'm not dragging you through it with your ribs sticking out every which way."
The image was gross and yet Jak found it absurdly humorous. He managed his first smile that day.
"Right, right."
When he had disappeared into the corridor, Damas’s relaxed posture fell away. He tightened his grip on his glaive and stalked to the window.
It had always been inevitable that one day an enemy would find some weakness in their defenses. A chink in Damas’s armor.
And Haven had found his before he knew it himself.