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Nazbith, Nathaniel

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Nazbith, Nathaniel  Empty Nazbith, Nathaniel

Post by Nathaniel Nazbith on Sun Sep 29, 2013 11:02 am


Nazbith, Nathaniel  Wwkms6 Nazbith, Nathaniel  Wwkms6Nazbith, Nathaniel  Wwkms6
” ’Magic’ is such a broad term...a child’s first breath, a beautiful song, love…what I somewhat less special. I provide hope.”


Full Name: Nathaniel Reinhart Nazbith the XV (15th)
Nicknames (only usable by close friends or colleges): Nathan, Nate, Father Nazbith
Alias: Father Charity, The White Mage, The True Cleric, The Stalwart Champion



50% English/50% Italian

Manchester, England

January 15, 1975

Nazbith, Nathaniel  AbelNazbith, Nathaniel  134285-92765bcdb017d7347784ef113ef2ec7bNazbith, Nathaniel  Abel-Nightroad-trinity-blood-6441266-398-800Nazbith, Nathaniel  Abel1
Nazbith, Nathaniel  Abel-Nightroad-abel-nightroad-20167871-640-360Nazbith, Nathaniel  Abel-Nightroad-abel-nightroad-20167887-640-360
Nazbith, Nathaniel  Abel_Nightroad
Nazbith, Nathaniel  Abel_nightroad_by_snowdustdragon-d30zeqm
Nazbith, Nathaniel  Abel_nightroad_by_dreik91-d2zkju0



Nazbith looks very strange. Appealing to the eye, yes, but strange. Nathaniel was born with a pigment deficiency, leaving his hair silver grey whenever he began to grow hair. It almost matches his incredibly pale porcelain skin which is stretched over perfectly taught muscle on his lanky limbs. He often looks down on people, standing at a comfortable 6' 3". When he does look, one tends to notice behind his perfectly circular glasses are a pair of frost blue eyes framed by long tresses of the aforementioned grey hair. His hair now, even after being shaved off by a particular Templar, has grown to mid back length which is tied together by a black ribbon.

Nathaniel carries himself well, always standing up straight in a dignified yet warming way. His every movement oozes kindness as does his expressions for the most part. There isn't often a time when a smile isn't on the man's face. As he may seem dignified, he wears all sorts of clothes from t-shirts and jeans to traditional Western armor. More often than not, you'll find him in a black robe, something of a variation on the traditional habits, with a waist length cloak sitting atop the shoulders with a large collar. He often carries with him a cello case, not often containing a cello but rather the instruments of punishment against demons. Whilst in Inferis, he often adds spaulders marked with red crosses onto the shoulders of his priestly garb or more elaborate suits of armor. He fancies himself a knight, might as well look the part.

But there is one thing he possesses that most knights never had. A fantastic auditory gift. His voice is so charming, so endearing, and so fluid that trying to fight a question from it is very hard if not impossible. It's often calm and smooth, embellished with a vocabulary he has accumulated over the years that is aggravating to some and lovely to most.

If you were to imagine a homeless urchin, scrounging in scraps of clothing and digging through garbage, it'd break your heart. Even moreso if it was a small child. If this child were to beseech a church for help; a place to stay, food, comfort, anything, they would need to talk to a priest. Someone who just emanated kindness and generosity. A priest that would be silhouetted by candle light with a kind smile. "Please come in, my child," he would say, "Come inside for you are weary and the night is cold out there." Well...he might not sing that Les Mis song, but you get the jist. Nathaniel is a kind, emotional man, playing to the benevolent priestly archetype. He gives his time, money, and ability to those in need and is always around to talk to.

His face is almost never barren of a smile, happiness seeming to be the Father's default expression. Really, Nathaniel is incredibly emotional, having a full gamut of human emotion from which to pull from. Often times, his musicality can sometimes betray his mood. In happy moods, he is springy in step and often humming. Bad moods have sullen expressions and tapping out slow beats. He's not good at lying about things that have to do with his moods, but he IS good at dodging questions and changing subjects, which tends to happen when talking about him specifically.

Back to his emotionally charged aspect, this can be both a blessing and a curse when it comes to his job. When angered, Nazbith can overdo it on the divine punishment. He will smite, smite, and smite some more, but he is often reigned in by his Christian duty to forgive. This can also be played against him if something particularly emotional can be used to control him. This can be a downfall to Nazbith on his own, which is why he likes to work closely with a team, where his tactical know-how can come into practice and his powers more helpful.

The man is borderline genius. Years of study in music, religious lore and practices, and world history (mostly pertaining to war and tactics) have given him extensive credentials to be trustworthy in mind as well as several field reports which account for Nazbith's commanding presence and charismatic influence which make him an agreeable and trustworthy leader. Even so, people not too keen of such happiness, hope, and steadfast determination should pack up and go home, because Father Nathaniel Nazbith is not someone to be around. With the heart of a gentleman and the soul of a sir, Nazbith with always be there.

In accordance with his job, Nathaniel works. Alot. Loves to do it too. There is no job below or above him and he tackles all challenges head-on. From cleaning churches, wandering Inferis, helping out at the orphanage, feeding the poor to outright murder of evil cultists and demons, he minds none of it. He enjoys it, almost, but he certainly prefers the quiet life of the priest but if being a Templar helps more people, then he will do it wholeheartedly.

Cold. The air was cold. Thick and cold. It didn't even feel like air and he could breathe. His tiny eyes scrunched up and as he came up, he could take in that sweet, sweet air with fits of crying as a minister's gentle touch crossed his forehead. His head was cradled lovingly as he wept, slowly calming down and reaching for the ebony-haired Italian he would come to call "Momma", a smile on his face as he cooed.

This is his first and fondest memories. Surrounded by the church and his mother's arms, his blonde headed, proud faced father tickling his stomach. It would be a place where he would often find himself. His second memory was quite clear. Only because it too had to deal with cold, frigid water.

"MOM, STOP! MOM! I WANNA LEAVE MY HAIR LIKE IT IS!" He would scream as his mother kept pour hair dye into his follicles. He hated when Mom did this, how she went on and on about being accepted and that he'd be made fun of, but Nathaniel never bought it. He thought it was really cool how he had silver hair and how long it got. No matter how many times Dad came at him with the scissors, it always grew back. No matter how many times he got knocked down at school for being a freak, he always grew back too. Stronger too, smiling and turning the other cheek like his priest taught him.

Ah, the church. Nathaniel enjoyed it more than other kids he knew. Not just for the sermons, but for the music. Sometimes they would sing hymns in a sort of made up language that he didn't understand, but was told he could sing it well. But his favorite part, his absolute favorite part was the organ. It always sounded so cool how it could play so many parts at once and with only one person playing it. It sounded so soothing and glorious, like angels descending from the paintings on the wall, and that's when he got the idea.

For the next few months, he would pester and pester Maria and and Nathaniel for an organ. Just a small one, one he could learn on. Maria would always try and make the excuse that it would be too hard for him, but Nathan knew that was a lie. He was too smart, so bright, and he was top in all his classes. Nevermind his obsession with old knights-and-dragons stories, he could handle it. His parents agreed on one condition: that he teach himself.

Not one single day went by from then on that didn't involve organ music in the Nazbith household. As years went on and he entered secondary school, Nathaniel loved putting on private concerts for his parents and a few neighbors when get-togethers were arranged. Soon, at one such gathering, Nathan learned of the monolith of Manchester's musical education. Chetham's School of Music. His parents agreed whole-heartedly and little Father Nazbith's face had never donned a smile so wide. But there was a catch. A deadly catch. An audition. Nathan stuck himself to his organ for hours and hours, day after day, learning a song. A song that would be impressive, even for a child.

Moreso, if it was memorized.

The audition was barely interrupted as, without sheet music, Nathan took his seat at the organ of the church he attended. He had only dreamed of playing such a magnificent instrument. There was a slight scoff as the schoolmaster sat with crossed legs and clicked his pen. His fingers rested on the aged white keys. He pulled the plungers and soon, the song began. Bach's Passacaglia and Fugue in C minor, a 12 minute piece for pipe organ. All memorized in less than two months by a 13 year old. Needless to say, Nathan's enrollment was thoroughly ensured. What went through his mind as fingers and toes blissfully rambled out this work was something of fantasy. The ancient cities rising again to pristine glow, a dark and sinister castle and only one night in shining armor. Himself, wielding the always potent power of music.

He met many interesting characters at this school, being one of the key organists of the student body, but there was one person that caught his eye. A girl from not to far away, the city of lights and splendor, Paris. Her name was Laurina. Fantastically emerald eyes with the combination of creme skin and luscious hazelnut hair, Nathan had fallen instantly. There was only one problem. She spoke no English. Nathaniel's solution, to only himself, was rather simple.

He had to learn French. And he did, slowly and surely, there was less and less need for her translator. She dressed as a princess would and she quite qualified for one. Her parents were rich. By some unknown circumstance, they had taken to china making and became one of the finest craft empires of the world. It was almost like magic. This girl and Nazbith would grow at this school together, make such wondrous music even after graduation. Nathan had decided to study on his subjects of passion, history and theology, as well as fencing. He had thought of becoming a priest, but his recent choice would somewhat prevent such a thing. They would go on to university, into the orchestra and one day, one rain drenched, miserable day, both soaked to the bone, Laurina found something on her violin bow. It was small, circle shaped, glinting in the florescent light. A band of white gold topped with brilliant cut diamond. Nazbith had saved since his first years at Chetham's. He was that sure she'd say yes.

When Laurina looked about the room, glimpsing gasping flutists and the brokenhearted celloists, she couldn't find Nathaniel. He was by her knee, under her gaze upon one knee. Her eyes were full of tears as Father Nazbith started to speak. She simply stopped him by planting her lips on his, speaking volumes beyond what words were capable. Both finished with honors and were married the day after to a crowd of hundreds. Every school-mate, every relative, every church member and friend attended the ceremony. Life was good, hard and struggling, but good with a daughter in his arms every day and a loving wife.

But every song ends. And this ended like a elementary school concert. Harsh and abrupt.

Blood. Blood everywhere. On walls, on floors, blood. Nathan had expected to kiss his wife, kiss his smiling baby girl and spend what time he could with them. They would have dinner and his little girl would coo and giggle as she smeared her food into her mouth, no doubt making for a extensive cleaning. He would chuckle and put her to bed, then curl into bed with Laurina, whispering "I love you"s until falling asleep. But instead, he was greeted by blood.

The coroners could barely piece her together. The child was not found, but instead assumed to be smeared along the walls. Above what eviscerated corpse there was, in barely legible script was "She is mine, Nazbith. Soak in your suffering." Nazbith may had been a good man, but he was far from rich. Without her immense wealth, Nazbith could not afford such luxuries, leaving him without home, without love, without music.

Soon, the sweet symphony of domestication would be drowned out permanently by the ever-changing rhythm of bullets, explosions, and war. Nazbith became desperate for work and solace from his now depressing, saddening, worthless life. Nathaniel wouldn't stop obsessing about that one day. Many splotches, he had observed, looked to be simple splotches. But they were characters, like a language. Something he'd never seen except in one book. During theology class, the subject being demons. That one minute thought ate at Nathaniel's mind. That's why he became the "unit priest". A small time PMC, mercenaries from similar backgrounds, had accepted him on one condition. He was recommended by an old friend from his university years, but Nathaniel was just allowed to not fight. He had to face what he would comfort soldiers from. What he could save them from.

Years went past, perhaps a decade, before any headway was made. Nathaniel had seen things that most soldiers had: things they would not wish on their worst enemy. Nightmarish images of death yanked straight from the Boogeyman's goodie bag. He couldn't bare it anymore. He needed a place to go. God gave him one. The Vatican had called upon him, a letter in his hand. An invitation to join the Templars.

And the rest, fellows, is what we call history.


[MASTER THEOLOGIST]: Has extensive knowledge on almost every demon, including habits, appetite, locations, and so forth.
[STRATEGIST]: Studies of historic battle strategy and implementation in the field has given him a good grasp of commanding a battlefield.
[COMMANDER CHARISMA]: Easy to follow and agreeable with.
[A PALADIN'S REPERTOIRE]: Thoroughly skilled with ancient bladed weapons and combat techniques of medieval times.
[SMALL ARMS]: Nazbith has proficiency with pistols and sub machine guns.

[EMOTIONAL]: Can be driven to recklessness by excessive rage or to depression by excessive saddening moments
[ARMY-LESS COMMANDER]: Works better supporting others and being supported, finding his best strength in a group
[TRUSTING, CARING, HUMAN]: Readily helps those in need that are not hostile, neverminding race.
[TOO EXCITED]: Could drive a man to insanity with his ready and willing attitude.

Speaks English, French, Italian, and Demonic


- Plays the organ and sings in his spare time
- Enjoys strolling aimlessly about Vatican City
- Enjoys helping, nothing specific, just helping
- Loves all animals, but especially spiders
- Tries to get along with everyone, which can make him a pain
- Plays D&D with some of the other Templars on his work leave
- Practices his techniques in his room with a weighted wooden sword
- Can't cook. At all.
- Often does any paperwork he has as quickly as possible
- Keeps his glasses and armor spotless
- Likes to nap when he's alone




Jerome Fontaine, Leviathan, Heiwa Karasu, Iaska,

Several years....more that I could count

[b]Trinity Blood[/b] :: [b]Abel Nightroad[/b]

Holy Magic Man
Nathaniel Nazbith
Nathaniel Nazbith

Posts : 24
Join date : 2013-06-12

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Power Level: 1
Character Faction: Templars
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Post by Nathaniel Nazbith on Tue Oct 01, 2013 1:06 pm

WOOT WOOT, CHOO CA CHOO CHOO. He be doooone :3
Nathaniel Nazbith
Nathaniel Nazbith

Posts : 24
Join date : 2013-06-12

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Power Level: 1
Character Faction: Templars
Player: Kume

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Post by Jinhong Jangmi on Wed Oct 02, 2013 2:33 am



|:English (crimson)
Korean (palevioletred)
Demon (firebrick)

When speaking at the same time with her twin, they use mediumpurple no matter the language. Depends on the context and what they've been speaking before.

When in Inferis, they use italics with an appropriate color coding for the language when speaking telepathically to each other. :|
Jinhong Jangmi
Jinhong Jangmi

Posts : 111
Join date : 2013-04-20

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