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Summary of History

Born to Grand Master Cleric Lazarus and his late wife, Eliora, their child of the sun was placed on a path of holiness. Tiberius, their only conceived heir, is held to break-neck standards as he is raised with his future already charted out. While struggling with his development and grappling with the 'curse' that had been placed upon him and took his mother at birth, Tiberius contemplates and fights his moral instinct to feel remorse over the plight of 'beasts'.

After beginning his training early, he is given the opportunity to graduate at an age unprecedented in recorded history, and travels with his father a few subsequent years later to learn hands on about what his future is going to look like. As he is nearing the year long trip, taken around the whole of Norcrest's coast to visit the villages under their watch, they return to the north to make their last stop.

A Dying Ember

Even before being born, Tiberius’s future had been decided for him- Lazarus needed a disciple to pass the holy ember along to. While he himself had been given the honor of receiving the church’s flame through his decades of study and practice, the thought of raising a child to abide by the holy scripture seemed like it would be the safest way to ensure the faith would persist beyond his own lifetime. The Grand Cleric’s decision would go unchallenged, and he and his wife Eliora agreed to try for a child to raise in the image of their beautiful religion of light. Her pregnancy was tumultuous in the beginning, but their faith was rewarded when her baby was carried to term.

However, that light of hope did not shine for long.

Tiberius was never given the chance to know his mother. Eliora died in a pool of her own blood bringing him into the world and it was simply a miracle that Tiberius survived either, leaving his father heartbroken and mourning. Scornful of the darkness that he’s certain had taken her from him, the conspiracy was only reinforced by the milky haze that filled one of the baby’s eyes- a ‘mark of the moon’- to be a blemish on the child. Through the first few years of his life, Tiberius was raised under the watchful gaze of his father- primarily reared by one of the elder priestesses of his father’s congregation. He was a curious child, bright and attentive- promising in his temperament to be a competent young man some day.

Kindling

Tiberius carries memories of his early youth of following priestesses and deacons in the twilight hours of the morning. Through halls in his clean robes before the first light of dawn, he drifted quietly to attend the sunrise mass in the church of light. While other children played in the later hours of the morning, Tiberius was expected to follow the footsteps of his father and learn and practice his devotion. The extent of this came between classes of learning to read and write- sitting with his father to discuss the values of the church and the importance of its tenants. Lazarus wasted no time drawing a distinction between light and dark, good and evil. The Clerics and the Church of the sacred flame were there to protect humankind from the darkness that lurked beyond the boundaries of their world. That very same darkness that took his mother from him when he was born and shrouded part of his vision in shadow.

The blue-eyed child revered the idea of being able to protect people, to help keep the shadows at bay. He wanted to be just like his father, honored and decorated, a high priest and cleric, praised by the church and their people for the lives he had saved over the years. He wanted to be able to protect other little boys and girls from losing themselves to the temptations of darkness. There was still much to learn, but putting the beliefs into practice had proven to be much harder than simply stating them.

A Burn Beneath Water

One incident he remembers to the present like a fresh wound- age 10- The bellowing sound of the door as it groaned shut behind him and the firm voice of his father as he was instructed to kneel on the stone floor, bare his palms before the statue at the back of the room, and repent. The priestesses had caught him playing with bestial children- hardly any older than he was. It was over within a moment, but the sight of Lazarus’s child extending his hand beyond the fence to the bestials mortified them, immediately they pulled the golden haired boy away from the edge of the holy ground and back to his father’s office chambers to report what they had seen. His father was not interested to hear what he had to say, he had instead reminded him one fundamental truth.

“Darkness comes in many shapes and forms, they all bear the same danger, especially the ones that mimic the soul of man.” The words were like a lash unto the young boy, “Your mother would be ashamed to see you stray from the path of our holy Father- after all she had given to bring forth your light into this world, you mustn’t tempt her sacrifice with shadow.”

The fear that crossed him as Lazarus brought forth a bowl of smoking oil from the sacred statue was immense, he wanted so badly to pull his hands away, but he knew that if he had made a mistake that the lord would forgive him if he accepted the punishment. Lazarus had told him time and again that humans were imperfect- that it wasn’t going to be easy, especially for him- but that in time he would learn to deny the darkness that had touched him from birth.

Those dangerous reminders of faith were carved in young, before it truly mattered if he missed a meeting, or spoke out of turn- when his mistakes could still be counted as a lack of experience. Lazarus knew his child would grow out of his mistakes as long as they were corrected before they were able to take root and grow to become an infection on the soul.

Tiberius’s hands were scalded with the blessed oil to cleanse the flesh of sin. More than once in his youth he was reprimanded, instructed to seek forgiveness from the Father of Light, but the discipline of pain taught him quickly to separate himself from the shadowy beasts that mirrored man.

Adolescence was not an easier time, but one that the young man recalls more fondly. It came as no surprise that the son of the head of the church would grow to fill in his father’s steps, to serve his people with such a sacred purpose was a great honor. With the foundation for his future built upon sturdy pillars of faith and the church’s basic tenants, it was time for him to train his body to match his mind. Tiberius was excited to finally begin learning how to apply his knowledge on the field and to spread the word of the Father’s light where it was needed most.

Ignition

General conscription for the Church of Fire’s clerics began well into the young adult years of a laity’s life, with at least 6 years of formal theological and liturgical study and 6 years of training for any cleric or priestess position. However, Tiberius had already been educated to the standards needed to be placed into training earlier than other men of his age. Expectations were high, but Tiberius was eager to prove his mettle and did so with pride.

From age 14 to 20, Tiberius was trained beside his older peers, even if they had a few years of emotional and physical development over him he pushed on and exerted his limits endlessly. Reception for him was often warm by his peers, but tempers did flare from time to time under the accusations of ‘special treatment’. Such arguments were often quelled when he was witnessed performing all the same drills, but not always.

Only once was he goaded into an altercation by a new recruit, who claimed that he was as weak as he looked when he was unable to help move a crate of supplies larger than himself, and they wound up teenagers acting how they do. Tiberius, being the smaller of the two, learned a lesson of humility when he asserted that he would win in combat and was promptly kicked to the dirt by the older student. Both cleric squires received discipline, but Tiberius dwelled for days on why he was so bothered by what the other student had said to him.

Cultivating humility into his life grew him as a humble squire, not wanting to take for granted the opportunities that arose and trying to pick apart learning curves he had to surpass that others may have already excelled through. He was among the first to leap onto the chance to join a company of veteran clerics reporting to a call for aid. All of the men wanted to go and to prove that they were ‘ready’, but after their journey beyond a few villages outside of the capital, they were thrust into the worst of it.

A village bordering the forest was being torn to pieces by a mob of beasts. They slaughtered livestock and fearful peasants emerged from hiding to direct the clerics and their squires to protect them. It was a learning experience that left a lot of them scarred, physically and emotionally, and even ended up costing the life of one of the other students who attempted to take on one of the raging beasts. Tiberius had never seen so much blood in his life, but if anything, it was a sobering experience. He had to protect those who were unable to protect themselves, even at the expense of his life. Once the monsters had been slain, the clerics set to organizing with the local church to repair what had been damaged and to replace what had been lost- honoring the fallen with a ceremony.

Unfortunately not all of the calls that he and his party of squires were brought along for felt so clear. More often than not, the confrontations were to protect the villages of people from the beasts that wore man’s clothing and spoke their tongue. Bands of brutal bestial folk would set fire to farms and ransack villages, leaving a wake of gore in their paths if the villagers didn’t pick up and head for the hills. These requests for aid were far more taxing on Tiberius than he cared to admit. He would see the anger in the eyes of these creatures when their blades clashed with his. This anger wasn’t the same as the beasts of shadow that bore the same name, but he knew that every strike he endured was one strike less that could be done on a vulnerable man, woman or child.

The first bestial man he had killed, cried- he cursed the father of fire, and knowing that a living manifest of darkness had been slain should have comforted him. But, it did not- It sat in the bottom of his stomach like a stone for weeks- and the idea of feeling guilt for doing what he knew to be right perplexed him. It upset him, even. He sought comfort in prayer, looking to the texts to find answers where he was too afraid to ask aloud or confide within the confessional.

Tiberius worried deeply that perhaps his blind eye -the one his father claimed to be the result of being touched by the shadows- gave him this weakness to these unnatural beasts, a susceptibility to the darkness they peddled. He mustn’t think too hard- lest he be drawn down a path of immoral thought- he told himself he had to be strong and be strong was what he did.

The guilt still gnawed at him deep. He had seen how cruel some of his peers treated the bestial folk, but everything he had read preached of the values of justice and mercy serving side by side. While justice for those fallen and wronged by the odd-folk was important to him, making their deaths slow and agonizing did not feel like mercy. It was not their duty to punish them, his peers asserted they lacked a soul, but no creature would cry as that bestial man had if they lacked one… Even if his father may disagree.

Torches

As he entered his final years of training, the golden haired son of Lazarus had become well known within the districts of the kingdom. Being one of the youngest clerics in recent history to be receiving his title, his reputation had since preceded him within the ranks of the common folk. To Tiberius, advancing his social status wasn’t especially important to himself. He felt he was no more important than his brother in arms. He wanted to help because he knew it was the right thing to do and most in service of the church respected him as an equal for it. But his father wasn’t bothered by the praises the common people would sing about his ‘blessed son’, choosing to simply smile and agree.

Because of his father’s status and the devotion and spirit he carried, he brought a wealth of talk. Among younger acolytes,priestesses and even the ladies of the kingdom, whispers were circulated of the strapping ‘Saint Tiberius’, who was charming, ever loyal to the Father and humble to boot. Rumors spread fast when the topic involves opportunities of power, and somehow the message had spread that Lazarus was scoping out potential ladies to wed to his son. When asked about it, he refused to comment, -but in the eyes of the public, not answering usually is treated as an admission of guilt-. Tiberius kept his faith his priority and while fair maidens attempted to court him, he was firmly committed to finishing his training to become a full fledged Cleric.

At age 20 he received his title, a feat not seen at such an age and ever more praised and glorified than it needed to be in his eyes. Over the course of the following few years he served close alongside the Church of the eternal flame in the heart of Norcrest, and was given clearance to assist in maintaining the parishes dotting the Garrison’s countryside, establishing his routines and working himself into the communities that needed him.

It wouldn’t be long before Lazarus began the long process of mentoring his son on how to manage the many shifting facets of the faith- after all, he needed to be prepared if he was going to be next in line to guide in the new era of light.