The Kind-Hearted Pyromaniac



Standing around 5’5 and weighing practically nothing (most likely somewhere in the 90 pound range), the young woman appears to be in her very late teen years, or possibly just into her 20s. She dresses like someone her age, either tight jeans, witty t-shirts, skirts and the like, but two things remain constant. She is never with her red, high-top Chuck Taylors (which look as though they have been used to walk through hell and back…which is not entirely untrue) and her fiery red and orange hair; it appears to be constantly dyed shades of red and orange, as if to simulate a mighty blaze. Even in the mortal world, she feels as though she has a fever…and a strong one at that.


Her heigh and weight do not differ from her mask to her mein, she is still a skinny little thing, and her clothes are no different. One thing, however, is different…the fire. Tob’s hair, which appears dyed to look like flame to mortals, is fire to Changelings. Her eyes, normally appearing as grey, flicker to life as a bright orange; they shift and change colour like glowing embers. Occasionally on the pale, soft skin of her arms, flames lick and dance. Just as her mortal form, Tob’s skin feels as though it is burning.


Tob’s mantle isn’t all that powerful, but there are three distinct feelings around her as a result of her supernatural aura. One: It’s safe to be around her…there’s just something comforting and relaxing and refreshing about her. Two: She smells faintly of flowers; orchids of various kinds…and maybe a hint of weed (or is that just what working at the Hot Box smells like?). Three: Occasionally…VERY occasionally she smells vaguely of sex and of lust…it is an alluring, attractive smell.


The Story of the Little Girl and her Fireplace Prison

In August of ‘81 and red-headed girl to her 16 year old mother, a rape-victim with overly religious parents. Her mother and she lived in a complex in Regent Park. Her mother worked two-jobs and could still barely afford to raise her young daughter. As time went by, and the girl grew up, her mother become more and more burdened, turning to street drugs supplied by, unbeknownst to her and most others in the neighbourhood, Loyalists. The young girl’s childhood was rough, she had seen her mother overdose twice, there had been stray bullets fired through their tiny one-bedroom dump.

One day, mere weeks after the red-head turned 16, at around 3 in the morning, gun-fire erupted outside her window. She snapped awake, just in time for her window to shatter. Everything happened so fast. It’s hard to tell what happened next, but the fire started, and started fast. There was shouting from rooms next door, yelling and screaming as the luminescent orange strands of scalding hot fire crept across her floor. The door burst into flames, sending searing hot embers in all directions. The fire crept rapidly along the walls, peeling paint and destroying artwork and pictures from the red-heads childhood. She screamed and yelled for help, and just has her bed was about to engulf the poor teenager in flames, that help arrived.

A brilliant flash of light filled her bedroom. It came from the door frame, a bright blue glow. It was something out a fantasy novel, almost a portal to elsewhere. Standing in the doorway, almost in front of the glowing portal was a man with spindly, frightfully long arms and razor like fingers. The rest of his…of its body was shrouded in shadow. It held a hand out to her. The poor girl had mere seconds before the fire reached her bed and would incinerate her. She did what anyone would do…she reached out and took the creatures hand.

Six months later, the media was still abuzz with what they had dubbed as the Regent Park Blaze, a tragic house fire started as a result of gang violence that claimed the life of a 16 year old girl. The mother of said girl had just been awarded a astronomical amount of money in a settlement, and, much to the ire of the public, purchased a sprawling manor on the Bridal Path. The house had been complete gutted and redone for her, save for a single item, an old, Victorian-era fireplace. There had always been something about the fireplace that the mother enjoyed. Was the it the colour of the wood? Could it have been the impeccable carvings of thorns and brambles across the wood?

That same six months was a blink of an eye for the red-headed girl. She was dragged from her bed towards the portal by the strange man. Soon the kind blue glow of the portal changed, the heat rose. It became an inferno, just as her room had, flames licking at her soft skin. She screamed and writhed as her and the slender creature floated in the fiery tunnel.

The girl, now slightly scorched was dropped into a scalding hot, walled room made of stone. The stone was bright orange with heat and every time she touched it, it would sear her skin. This was to be her prison cell and her torture chamber. On the far wall there was a huge, Victorian-era fireplace, made of a deep brown wood, with brambles etched into the surface. The fire was always burning and just through the fire, she could see directly into her mother’s mansion. She was the fire, the fireplace…and no matter how hard she screamed, no matter how hard she cried, the mother saw her as nothing but a flame. She watched for three years as the mother re-married and had a new daughter, and raised the girl in front of the fireplace.

On days when the fireplace wasn’t on her keeper, the shadowed man, would take her and abuse her for his own pleasures and indulgences.

On the third anniversary of her capture, the girl had had enough. She started kicking at the grate of the fireplace, kicking over and over again. For hours she kicked, until it finally gave out and clattered away. She crawled out in a strange world, of green thorn bushes. She stood, now a young girl made of fire, changed…damaged. She looked around and noticed a flock of what appeared to be black birds eyeing her. As she stepped forward, they took flight and circled above her, screeching angrily.

The whine of a bullroarer filled the air and the birds left, leaving the brand-new Fireheart, standing face to face an elderly woman and a group of two others; Sugar Molly was the womans name. She smiled sweetly at the young Elemental.

“Welcome back, little one,” she said, her voice hoarse. “You got a name?”

The fire-girl felt tears coming on. She couldn’t remember it. Though she did remember reading a baby-naming book in the doctor’s office. One name stood out in her mind…

“T-T-Tob,” she said. “I’m…called Tob.”

It meant goodness, and desiring to do good. The young fire elemental burst into tears, falling into Sugar Molly’s arms. This was the first moment of her new life.

Current Activities

  • Tob spends a good portion of her time working at the Hot Box, and it’s rumoured that since Molly is dead, she is going to be taking over management of the establishment.
  • After the Trial of the Motley, Tob was seen with Bailey and Marjan talking about Marjan’s membership into the Spring Court.



The Freehold of the Shaded Wing ReubDav