Age
32
Species
Half-Elf
Gender
Male
8 (-1)
14 (2)
16 (3)
10 (0)
10 (0)
17 (3)
3
3
4
3
3
4
2
3
4
4
4
2
3
3
2
3
3
2
130
30 ft
Hermit
Warlock
11
32
Half-Elf
Male
Nicodemus was around ten years old when he first realized he was different. However, this wasn't in some destined-for-greatness kind of way; instead, it was more of an 'everything's better when I'm alone' understanding. His impulsively dangerous curiosity, coupled with a consuming obsession for books, swiftly marked him as an outsider. Other children seemed happier when he wasn’t there to inadvertently ruin their innocent games of sticks and stones. By that age, trivialities began to become tolerable, and solitude became a preferred companion.
Growing up in Calimport as the son of a stable hand and a scullery maid, Nicodemus found little in the way of intellectual stimulation. Books were as rare and precious as the desert rain. This shifted during his chance encounter with Maya—an aged wizard labeled an outcast in her own right due to her peculiar lifestyle choices. When the opportunity arose, Nicodemus 'borrowed' enchantingly bound tomes from her. This forbidden pursuit of literary treasures continued undisturbed until an innocuous acquisition engendered a binding pact with Mephisto—a power-hungry entity staking claim on his burgeoning intellect.
The acquiescence to the pact compelled Nicodemus into a dual life—one of shadow's constant embrace juxtaposed against the limitless delve into boundless tomes—forever fueling a flame of knowledge with baleful consequences.
Nicodemus embarked on a seven-year journey populated by shifting locales and whispered legends—each rumor promising evacuations from his sordid fate. Before his abrupt membership into The Dragonbone Vanguard, he dared entertain the end of his cursed trajectory.
Nicodemus Hartwick stands at an average height and possesses a lean physique reminiscent of a marionette whose strings have been cut. His once vibrant brown hair has embraced the depths of night, becoming a shade of black so pure it seems to absorb light itself, casting a frame around a face that has been marked by wariness and shadow. His sharp, bird-like eyes penetrate all facades with an intensity capable of unraveling the most intricately woven secrets. His neglected scraggly beard drapes his chin like a relic of former neglect. It seems that even the embrace of nature cannot rid him of his insidious past, as the presence of Shadowfell appears tethered to his very soul.
