Hawthorn

Personality
Hawthorn gave up on "rational thought" a long time ago. He isn't insane or unhinged by any stretch, however; he just stopped seeing the point in acting reasonable anymore. He speaks informally and rarely conceals his emotions, whatever they may be. Usually despising having to commit violent acts, even against those deemed enemies, he'll try to find a peaceful solution. Unsurprisingly, due to his current occupation, Hawthorn is in a crossroads in his life, unsure what to do or where to go next. While he decides, though, he's staying put with his new friends.

Background
Ivan Hatcher was born into a family of poor nobles. His father, having lost the rest of their family fortune, put his hope into his young son to return to the aristocracy's good graces.However, as Ivan grew, he rejected his father's wishes, preferring to weave cloth with his mother than to practice sword-fighting, and to dance rather than to read. This, of course, angered his father, as his son wasn't turning out to the knight he envisioned him to be. The tension between them accumulated one night when Ivan was twelve- he had been spending the day with his best friend, the baker's son, and didn't come home by dark. His father went out to go looking and found them under an oak tree, holding hands and much, much closer than two boys should ever be. In the ensuring chaos, Ivan ran into the woods, and never came out again.

A druid found him sleeping in a hawthorn bush, and decided to help the young boy survive by teaching him his ways. The boy, now named Hawthorn, learned eagerly. In a few years, Hawthorn became self sufficient and left the druid. He grew and honed his skills, straying farther and farther into the wood, and forgot about the humanity that never understood him. One moonlit night, he came across a crystal-clear lake. He took off his cloak and swam- the water was cold and refreshing, snow fed from the mountains surrounding. When he pulled himself out of the water, he blinked, confused. The forest surrounding the lake seemed different- weren't there more pines than firs? And where did this spruce come from? Foolishly, he shrugged it off, donned his cloak, and set back off into the woods, confident he would find his way again. He looked around. Was this way north? He felt a breeze... westward? Wasn't it facing the other way? He shook his head, confused. He could find his way. He scaled the closest tree, and looked up at the stars..... and he couldn't read them. In a panic, he leaped off the tree, and ran back to the fair, pretty sheet of water he saw before. He could just find his way in the morning. As he ran, the evergreens turned into deciduous trees, shocking green and thriving with summer. The lake was nowhere to be found. Hawthorn grabbed his head and fell to his knees. A light, airy voice sprung up to his left. "Lost, human?"

((((( its 1:30 am so im ognna go to bed someone remind me to get this done))