Member
Name: Tobias Hawking
Age & Place of Birth: 27 (November 25th, 1470 A.D.); Tywyn (Wales), England
Race: Half Welsh, Half Saxon
Personality: Tobias bares the marks of a child who grew up too quickly. He has known no true life outside the monastery, yet remains untainted by the overzealous spirit of some of his brethren. Humor does not come easily to him, and there are times where he may simply remain silent. He finds solace in the passages of ancient philosophers, the testaments, and virtuous men. However, behind the wall of caution lies a burning ember just waiting to be stoked. His appearance of calm vigilance is the eye of the storm, held back by shame for his thirst of vengeance.
Appearance: Tobias takes after his father with long dark brown hair braided into many strands and held back by metal rings. As a Nazarite, he cannot cut his hair and so prepares it so that the rings chime as a warning of both friend and foe. Hawk-like green eyes with a sharp brow and strong straight nose help shape a serious face. A scruffy growth covers it as he often ignores shaving. He stands of average height with broad shoulders and tan skin covers his athletic build.
Equipment: He carries with him both a leather bag for carrying both everyday items and hidden branding knives. The knives themselves are usually set into a knife strap around his torso during fights. In general, he wears a dark blue doublet with matching jerkin, black breeches, and black riding boots. On his left side is a Long sword with a hollow center and a rapier guard, and a buckler shield which attaches to his left gauntlet. Other than that, he hides himself beneath a monk's brown cloak.
History & Backstory: Tobias was born to a family of farmers along the outskirts of Tywyn, Wales, and was the only other child besides his older sister. His father, Hrothgar, was a committed Saxon that held fast to his heritage of Germanic paganism, for which he taught to his children. His mother, Anwen, helped her husband as a herbalist in both healing neighbors and teaching her children her trade. Both were a part of one of the last occult clans that had survive the Christian conversion of the Anglo-Saxon world. As such much of their life was filled with loneliness and fear underneath the constant need to remain safe from the ever-increasing zealotry and rhetoric of church leaders.
One day, when Tobias had just turned six, a robed man on a well-bred horse trotted onto their farm asking for their hospitality. He revealed himself to be a monk on his way north to Harlech Castle, though his handsome face seemed to betray what most would assume to be a priestly disposition. Gabriel, as he called himself, appeared as a calm and charming figure with the look of a haunted soldier hidden beneath his smiling eyes. When Hrothgar returned from the fields soon after he revealed that Gabriel was a friend who worked within the church, acting as an agent for their group to warn them of any danger. While the two of them reminisced about long forgotten battles of old, Tobias had snuck in and with sleight of hand, took what appeared to be a strange dagger from Gabriel's pack before crawling off to marvel at the knife.
Gabriel stayed for several nights, often helping with chores around the farm. Unbeknown to Hrothgar, however, was a growing affection between his daughter, Aaron, who was 14 at the time, and Gabriel. There were times both of them vanished as the sun fell, and Tobias often caught the look in her eyes whenever they ate dinner. Finally, on the last day, Hrothgar noticed it as well when Gabriel was leaving, but disbelieved such a thought as he simply couldn't imagine a monk breaking his vows. Those three days became nothing more than an afterthought as life continued.
Over the next year, strange winds brought changes in all of them. Hrothgar grew a short temper, Anwen in return rebelled against his will, and Aaron became cold and distant often leaving within the dark hours of the night without a word. It all drew together in one night when just as Aaron was getting up to leave the dinner table, a great pain seized her belly. Moments later while she still stood, a thing not quite a child fell onto the floor in a pool of blood and a wild spirit descended upon the house. Anwen pulled her daughter away quickly as Aaron fought to take the creature into her arms. Hrothgar leapt from his seat and grabbed his sword, screaming for answers until he towered over both of them, eyes enraged.
Tobias was sitting on the floor a few feet from the table, staring at the baby. Utterly frightened, he could hear whispers singing over the muted shouts of his family, commanding him to kill and taste blood. It felt like his face was frozen in place as he could not look away. Finally, a piercing shriek echoed throughout the room as his father's blade sunk into the floor through the tiny red body. Like a dying ripple, stillness settled over the room. No one spoke and the only sounds in the house were of sobs and heavy breathing.
And then a deep voice like the rumbling of thunder and crashing waves spoke, “You have killed my offspring. I shall have yours, servant.” The body of the child burst into a splatter of black blood across the room and began to seep into their skin.
Mist escaped their lips as the room grew cold. The light from the last breath of dusk faded from their windows. All but the glow from the fireplace illuminated the shroud of darkness that had descended upon them. Standing, Tobias called out to his family and heard nothing in reply. He walked over to where the creature had died and saw their shapes in the corner far from the fire. He jumped at a sudden muffled scream from his sister and saw her hand reach for him.
“TOBY! AH! STOP...PLEASE GODDESS!” His ears picked up the sound of ripping skin between her cries of pain. His stomach nearly turned even though he knew not what he was hearing.
“Father?” He asked. A pair of golden eyes glanced at him and he heard a swallow before a deep growl. Suddenly the bloody figure of his father rushed forward into the light and Tobias simply turned and fell towards the fireplace. As he crawled closer to it he felt rough hands pin him down and teeth dig into his shoulder. He screamed and bucked with little effect, throwing elbows back to get loose. It was no use with his seven year old body, and when he stopped fighting the hands softened their clasp.
Lying completely still, Tobias quickly feels the indent of the knife hidden in his belt waist and stops crying. He pulls it out and twist himself just enough to drive it into his father's belly, Hrothgar gasping as he jumps back. Sitting up towards him, Tobias sees the blade smoking as the blood burns against it.
“A Nazarite blade?! Where did you get that?!” His father asked in a guttural voice not his own. Tobias could not answer, mesmerized by image of what was and wasn't his father before him. He simply held the blade up hoping it would protect him. “As your father, I command you to give me that knife!”
...touch the flame...
A whisper, deep yet soothing spike to Tobias. His eyes danced around to see where it came from. Nothing but the light of the fire pushing the darkness back was there.
...place the blade into the fire's maw...
A calm feeling trickled deep down into his chest and he noticed he was no longer trembling. He decided to trust it. His father noticed.
“No!”
Without fear, Tobias quickly turned and placed his hand holding the dagger into the flame. Hrothgar reached around the boy's arms to pull him back, but just as he did so an invisible force ripped his arms away and threw him back. Just as Tobias felt he could hold it no longer, the voice whispered for him to release it. He did so and saw glowing on his palm the Chi Ro symbol Tobias had remembered seeing on knight's shields.
“God damn you! Do not forsake the vengeance that is mine!” The possessed father proceeded to tear apart anything he could get his hands on, hissing and spitting at the boy as he did so. “I shall give thee the girl's soul. I beg you, give me my vengeance?” He pleaded with his eyes turned upward. When it was apparent nothing replied, he turned on his possessed wife and began beating her over and over.
“Stop!” Tobias screamed. The demon ignored him. He threw his dagger, which plopped against the demon's shoulder, making him jump back from the sting of its metal. “Please, stop hurting them!” Hrothgar paused. Turning his face towards the light, it had grown misshapen and grotesque.
“You have nothing of value, boy. You are tainted by the most unholy and have been found wanting.” The creature that had become his mother clawed at Hrothgar as he was distracted, but was slammed to the floor. Hopeless, Tobias bowed his head and went limp, tears overwhelming his face.
...Please, God... Tobias thought.
The demon twitched around and growled as if he had heard it, what hair remained on his hair standing in protest. “Silence! We do not speak his name!” Tobias looked into those golden eyes straight, seeing the fear behind them.
“God! God! God! God! God! God!” He yelled. The demon stepped back a little on each repetition, throwing furniture at the boy as he did so. Panic grew in his eyes. “Please, Jesus, just give–...”
Before he could finish his prayer, a wreath of flames from within the furnace reached out and spread out before the demon. The demon recognize them immediately and bolted for the door. Another flame jumped and splashed itself across the entire wall, blocking the exit. They quickly reached the windows. No one was getting out.
“Ha ha ha ha ha ha! You would burn the boy to destroy us?! How petty a god you are?!” Yet as the demon spoke, he looked down and saw the space around Tobias was completely empty. Tobias himself noticed he felt neither the heat nor was burned.
...Sleep... The voice whispered. Eyes drooping, he succumbed to the words and curled into a ball. The last thing he heard was continuous screams, not of pain, but of the purest hatred.
The next day the feeling of the morning wind and the sun's flickers of light awoke Tobias like the gentle touch of his mother's hands. The bird's songs were loud and plenty, and its comforting reverie wrapped around him like a quilt. Just as he hoped for the dream to continue, the wind shifted, scent of burnt wood and flesh flushing his nostrils, forcing him to sit up and cough harshly. Opening his eyes fully, he turned to where he last saw his father and saw nothing but the corpse; same as in the corner. Sorrow began to settle upon him once more, soreness growing throughout his body as well as his shoulder from the bite.
Standing up, he took the knife from the ash and wiped his eyes dry, walking over to his father's body. He sat the flat side of the blade on the arm and waited for a reaction. Nothing. Finally, he knelt down and sat his head down upon his father's shoulder. Forgive me, father. He did the same for his mother and sister, then walked out onto the porch to sit on the front step. Tears gone, not even the sun's warmth could fill the emptiness inside.
At midday, a pair of soldiers on horseback and a cart carrying some neighbors came to the house. They tried to ask Tobias what happened, but he said nothing. He did not think they would believe him, nor did he wish to betray the promise he gave to his father not to ever speak of their faith. After learning of his families death, they simply assumed it was a house fire and the neighbors adopted him. They allowed him to take a few tokens from inside, one of which was a pendant of Thor's hammer he hid in his clothes.
Later, as the orange haze of dusk fell on the land, a man in a monk's robe on a horse trotted up to their cart as they neared their own farm. Glynn, as he introduced himself, asked about what happened. When they mentioned Tobias, he asked to see the boy's hands. Upon seeing the mark he had both a surprised and saddened look on his face. Their eyes met and Tobias knew the monk understood what it meant. “It appears God has sent me to find you, my dear Tobias.” He said. He then convinced the family to take the boy to the monastery, especially since he would be another mouth to feed.
Thus began Tobais's journey as Glynn initiated him into the Nazarite Order, society even older than the Templars. They fight more sinister powers that pagans would summon into the world, mostly by accident. Demons, witches and warlocks of the Old and darker faiths, and even abominable creations of the nephilim. They are the cliffs against the eternal tides.
