An old character bio of mine, for a bard in a settings called World of Darkness. Its dark…
Tobias was very close to his mother, Catherine, and his sister, Katriana. His father, however, was the bane of his existence. He was hardly around home; but it was a dark day indeed when he saw his father’s mare hitched outside. The tyrant’s alcohol-induced rages oft left his family bloodied and broken.
And then, when Tobias was 12, things took a turn for the worse. Their father stammered into the house, clearly out of his mind. He looked rather pale and beady-eyed, almost as if the life had been sucked clean out of him. In an uncontrolled fit of rage, he began beating his wife mercilessly. The best strategy is to hide; and pray that the beating ends quickly. Katriana, however, knew that tonight was different. Tonight, the brutal man would not stop in his onslaugh. She tried to tear her father’s arms away from her bloody mother, but only received a murderous blow to her temple. She crumbled to the floor.
Tobias stared, uncrying, as his mother and sister were torn to shreds and fed upon by his newly vampiric father.
When all was over, Tobias Sr. treaded over to his son, licking his lips. He patted him on the head gently, saying, “I have plans for you. Soon, you shall join our glorious race. Carve these images into your heart, son. THIS is the feast of gods!”
He saw a lot more of his father now. He would lure his unsuspecting victims to their home, and feed on them in front of Tobias. The carnage and gore were too much for a child to handle—nay, for anyone to handle. When Tobias wasn’t inflicting wounds upon himself to cope with his turmoil, he was being beaten within inches of his, suffering for botched escape attempts.
Whenever he thought he had found refuge within a good-natured family, he would wake up to find their insides poured over the walls and floors. Whenever he indulged his fathers secrets to anyone outside, they were made examples of.
After several years of this, word had gotten out about a vampire problem in his village. Many amateur hunters came, and died. Once it had become a large enough problem, a hunter from the church was summoned. .He was called Father Nicolaus Anastacias IV .
He approached Tobias’ home one afternoon, looking for his father. The boy turned pale and ran away, screaming, “Leave us alone This place is cursed!!!!!!” Nicolaus showed no sign of leaving, though. He remained outside, singing to himself. Tobias listened to the beautiful songs of the priest. His soul was moved. This was the first experience of anything beautiful he had since the last time he saw his sister’s face.
At last, night had come. Tobias didn’t want the singing to stop, but he knew that it wouldn’t continue past sun-down for very long. It was inevitable. There was no hope. No escape. No beauty in this world that would remain un-warped by his father. He was foolish to listen to the music.
After a few moments, the music stopped. He heard some loud clashes, some hissing, and the inescapable scream of terror and pain. It was over now; his father destroyed another piece of his soul. He was used to this turn of events.
A tear slid down Tobias’ cheek, as faint sounds tugged at his ear. He couldn’t hear it clearly at first, mostly because he could not bring his heart to believe, to hope, that the music was sounding.
It was miraculous—the beauty continued! A glorious and triumphant song floated across the yard as the priest approached the house. Tobias’ heart rhythmically beated, synchronized with the notes. They etched themselves forever into his mind: The Hymn of Salvation.
The priest stepped inside his home, and extended a hand to Tobias. “Your pain is over now, son. Tell me, what is your name?” They stepped outside.
“I have no name.” Tobias pointed at his fathers steaming ashes. “He left me no name to be proud of.”
“Then I shall call you Graham. Come with me, I will teach you the splendor that our lord has to offer.”
Graham Delacroix spent many years with the church, investing his time in seeking the most beautiful music he could find. He found that music powerful enough to move the soul was able to move the universe as well. He learned how to harness the elements of the world with his spoken word. He learned how to bend the wills and minds of men with his moving songs. He discovered words of power, notes of incantation, and powerful chords strong enough to split bark and tree branches. He was a genius of music.
He had a strong empathy toward those who have lost loved ones. His church duties mostly revolved around dealing with the dead and the living who mourn them. Thus, Graham became a dirgist: a dark minstrel who sings/plays requiems, funeral songs, and basically gothy music.
He was forever tortured by the memories of his father and his youth. He was never quite the same man, but clasped tightly to what little character he had left. But, as a benefit, this provided more than enough material for his dirgist career.