Born on Tokmia to indentured employees of Figg Excavations, and orphaned as a boy, Daven learned the value of hard work early-on. When engaged in a task, he maintains razor-sharp focus and tolerates no disruptions. Daven holds a special contempt for those he perceives as lazy, and will share this opinion with them in a heartbeat. Equal-parts dedicated and inflexible, his perfectionist nature can leave him frozen in the face of unexpected challenges, while also generally making him a pain to work with.

Daven is blessed to have the survival instincts of a true coward. Experienced in fleeing both civilian mobs and criminal syndicates, he is used to being outclassed and only enters a situation with an exit strategy in place. He habitually takes the temperature of a room, and adapts accordingly. While his superficial charm has often been enough to diffuse tensions around the gambling table, he prefers to cut-and-run before trouble even starts. This worldview helps keep him safe, but Daven's inability to ever relax or show trust in others makes long-term associates uneasy.

Whensoever the legality is questionable, Daven's skills are not. A misanthrope defined by a mercenary outlook, his moral compass is perpetually pointing south. He came up in the underworld as a teenager and learned not to ask questions like, "what's in the package," "does anybody deserve this," or "am I the Bad Guy?" Due to his bitterness and somewhat isolated upbringing, he is standoffish and always liable to make a poor first impression. Believing 'every being for themself' a tenet to live by, Daven gets suspicious of good intentions, and will analyze all seeming acts of charity for their hidden motive.

Daven was fascinated by his second boss's affectations of wealth and taste, but most particularly by her fancy, archaic, wroshyr bookshelf. After teaching himself to read late in life, he acquired an insatiable hunger for knowledge perhaps at odds with his rough-and-tumble lifestyle. He struggled through his first book, reading it cover-to-cover, over-and-over until its contents no longer confused him. That text, a dry examination of the subtle lexical differences between various subgroups of one language in a distant star system, awoke in Daven the love of learning and gave him a deep fascination with alien languages.

Daven considers the blaster an executioner's weapon, best used from hiding, or on a compliant subject - preferably one who is bound-and-gagged. Most of his early experience with weapons involved being on either the giving or receiving-end of ambushes. If running the other way while pouring blasterfire over his shoulder becomes no longer feasible, his second choice is to use cover, distractions, and taunts to keep opponents at a distance and off-balance. Against an enemy who is immune to such trickery, refuses to go down fast, or refuses to 'stay' down, his borderline-phobic aversion to combat sets in. Daven feels any loss of control keenly, and becomes paralyzed when at a disadvantage.

As anyone who's seen a playground fight knows, if the other guy's bigger, it helps to be crazy. Daven learned the basics of kickboxing by osmosis from all the beatings he took. As a result, he is wary of hand-to-hand, but once forced into it, goes from zero-to-sixty in an instant. He fights aggressively and instinctively, fueled by pent-up anger, panic and old traumas. Intelligent fighters are the bane of his existence. An aggressive, but more patient fencer might exploit gaps in his crude technique, while a defense-oriented martial artist could simply wait for him to tire. Daven will keep attacking until either he is defeated, or he exhausts himself, regardless of whether the opponent stops moving in the meantime. No trick is too dirty, no target off-limits, and this can lead to him severely escalating situations that only might have ended in black eyes otherwise.