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Thralldom is often thought of as a dark pit without the opportunity for redemption, but when you're down in the darkest of pits that small beacon of light which is the exit can burn as bright as a supernova. Driskell's parents were prisoners of war, taken by Thraxan reavers and their debts claimed by the Darkwater family while Driskell was but a fledgling boy. He remembers the calamity brought on by the dark boats, how the waves broke across the bows and the reavers that poured out of the ships and through the village. He remembers most though in the fire and horrors of how organized the chaos was from the Thraxans versus how everyone fought for themselves in his own village. Split from his parents, the young boy took all his whippings and punishments without a sound uttered in defiance, instead using it all to strengthen his resolve. It was a fluke, really, when Driskell learned of Tehom and embraced all he could of the Thirteenth. His knack for knowing when his masters would need him, the young boy learned all he could from those in the household. Soon, he was noted as being quite intelligent and understanding the tides of politics and the terrors of the deep that is courtly life. He was able to pay off his thralldom but chose to stay with the Darkwater family to serve them willingly, nothing else in life mattered to him except that family. When the young Maximilian was sent off to serve with the warlord Victus, Driskell found himself sent along to protect and look after Max's needs for a decade. Ten long years reaving and Driskell witnessed again firsthand many times the controlled chaos like the smashing of waves against the shore and came to admire the man he was sent to look after. Driskell now serves at the Darkwater estate in Arx, a testament to a free man that became a thrall who became once more free. There's whispers that while the silent steward is always in control, perhaps there is nothing he wouldn't do to protect or carry out the wishes of the Darkwater family.

A rugged man hewn of the weathered golden cliffs and constantly changing sand dunes of the Saffron Chains, he is equal for resilience and fine grain under the fissures and cracks. Nearly six feet of hardened, compact muscle on his lean frame, combined with efficient, spare movements, project more a soldier's bearing even when he is in court attain. Often quiet, his voice is smooth, low although the occasional dry wit can nearly be caustic in tone. Ramrod posture and a precise, ground-eating gait do not weaken the impression. He wears duty well as Thraxan men do, attaining dignity with the years. White and gray bleaches loose blonde hair and his groomed goatee, but responsibility rests in the deep furrows between his straight eyebrows. Few lines groove under his piercing golden eyes or adjacent his long, thin nose and rare moments of levity completely transform his angular features with an inner fervor. His goatee trims his broad mouth, lending a slightly roguish cast. A smattering of permanent scars and nicks litter his tanned skin, a testament of willing sacrifices for his employers.

It is rare that anything seems to upset or alarm Driskell, a man who has served the Thraxan house of Darkwater for many years. He is always socially correct, although at times looks more warrior than steward and has no problems giving dry witty comments when the situation calls for them. He understands that his purpose for existence is to serve and he takes great pride in his work and status so that his employers can focus their attentions and resources without any distractions.