|Hair Color||Dark Brown|
|Eye Color||Steely Blue|
|Uncles/Aunts||Martin Hawkmour, Anton Grimhall, Helena Hawkmour|
|Authored By / Featured In|
Thomas Hawkmour is a man of distilled ferocity; all of his movements are sharp and swift, but also somehow reserved, as if he is capable of lashing out at a moment's notice, but given to intense observation first. His features bear the classic bold angularity of his House, with a proud nose and firm brow that hoods his deep-set blue eyes, which sometimes seem almost to burn with an inner passion and clearly project his deeply-felt emotions. While his full lips are often given to pleasant smiles or sharp grins, a deep, curving scar bisects his right eyebrow and runs at an angle up across his forehead and into his hairline, a remnant of some cruel blade that only adds to the overall harshness of his visage. His neatly-trimmed dark hair and soldier's stubble may lead some to simply consider him ruggedly handsome, however.
"Intense" is perhaps the best word to describe him, and the reasons for this have changed over time. No longer just the cold-eyed falcon driven to fixation on his obsessions that came to the city, Thomas seems to carry a blazing passion that can't help but shine through his eyes and often transforms his countenance entirely. He's a cerebral sort of man who can be found contemplating works of art or the city's shrines, or perusing private literature collections and the Archives, all with the same awe and reverence. Paradoxically, while he can often be very private, he encourages intimacy and warmth wherever he can, and likes to jest -- even if these are almost always rich with the sort of gallows humor one might expect from a long-time soldier. He is not given to hiding his emotions but prefers to wear them on his sleeve, and this is often his weakness; especially sensitive for him are the Oathlander chivalric ideals he romanticizes and tries to uphold, even if he can be shockingly pragmatic at times...as most men of the Hundred Cities are.
As a child, Thomas was a bright, cheerful, and proud little lordling, the youngest son given free rein to wander and play through the halls of the family citadel and explore the crater of Brassfall March with a lifetime of opportunity ahead of him. His mother and father were very fond of him and were in the habit of indulging whatever fancy struck him...perhaps too much so, but it was difficult to hold this favor against him, and he was well-liked among the people of the March and armsmen of the House. He spent many hours simply talking with the servants and listening with obvious fascination as they explained or demonstrated their various crafts, and it was said with pride among the smallfolk that he would one day be a fine leader - if he could only learn to focus with the same passion on the lessons his tutors painstakingly tried to enforce.
As he grew up, he was very close with his older brothers Erik and Duncan - he tagged along after the nearly-inseperable pair like a faithful hound pup, and Thomas admired Duncan fiercely for his devotion to the House and his position as heir. While Thomas loved his father dearly, it was no secret that he sided with his brothers without question in everything; so it was that when the Tor-Southport war broke out in all its horrible ferocity, he demanded with all a child's stubborness that they be allowed to fight for their leige lord, as this was what Duncan and Erik so desperately wanted.
More was the pity.
When news came home of Erik's death, something changed in the lad, a bitterness that snuffed out much of his former joy - and when both of his parents were lost to illness only a few years later, that bitterness hardened into a dark resolve. Thomas threw himself into learning the blade and soldier's craft, volunteering for every border skirmish and Abandoned raid he could and throwing himself at his foes without remorse. Though he was respected by the men and women he served beside and eventually lead, he was no longer well-loved as much as feared for whatever terrible ruthless cold had rooted in his heart.
As youth faded, Thomas served as a noble general for Hawkmour's forces loyally and competently for years...and yet even he was unprepared when Duncan was assassinated. Stunned, shocked, he was nearly hollowed out and ended by his despair...but instead a thirst for vengeance flared bright in his breast, burning away almost all traces of sorrow and filling him with grim purpose.
Knowing how badly his family now needed him, and that answers would be waiting there - and maybe, somehow, justice as well -- Thomas packed his things and left for Arx, to offer his service as the House Sword to the Marquessa-Regent.