Nathaniel Harker's page

Kyras Harker's Hidden Blade: Kyras Harker was not a famous thief. He was not even a particularly infamous one. But he was Nathaniel's -or Nate's as the half-elf called him- adoptive father, as well as his teacher in matters of stealth and swordplay. And he was a capable enough mentor and a caring enough parent, at least up until the night he vanished, becoming a somewhat mysterious and unsolved disappearance case. It was a job like any other, he said the last time they talked, the last time they saw each other. Nothing to worry about, he would be back before dawn. And then he left, leaving his sword cane behind. And that was the one thing that was strange about his departure, as the half-elven scoundrel never went on a job without his trusted blade. In fact, he never went anywhere without it. And when the dawn came and went the next day, Kyras did not return. And so his adopted son, thinking to give his father some time as even simple jobs may prove less so, waited for one more dawn. And then another. And another. And another...

Lady D'Argent's Heart: What appears to be a vaguely heart-shaped brooch made of sterling silver with the words "non sic dormit sed vigilat" -roughly translated as "sleeps not but is awake"- engraved on it once served a purpose other than keeping a cloak in place. A purpose it can still serve in fact, even without the now long lost smooth round crystal that was once set in the item's round hole and the magics of seeing and revelation bound within it. For this particular item was made for Lady Viviana D'Argent, a Taldan noblewoman and diviner of no small skill, to be used as a planchette alongside a wooden spirit board in order for her to communicate with the Other Side. Or at the very least that was the idea. But the very first time she looked through the silver planchette's crystal, using it as a focus for her divination magic, was also the very last as whatever she saw shattered her mind, her body soon to follow. Or, at the very least, so the story goes. Whatever the truth, the planchette's crystal is long gone and the remaining item was at some point fashioned into a cloak clasp, albeit one with the part of it that is the original planchette made to be detachable.

Signifer Petronicus Crispin's Ebon Cloak: Petronicus Crispin was a Signifer, a Hellknight of the Order of the Gate. He was neither the greatest swordsman nor the most accomplished mage, but what he was was a particularly skilled craftsman and enchanter. And one of his creations was an entirely black hooded cloak he made for himself, imbuing it with magic of various kinds, prevalent among them that of a protective nature. Hearing others speak of it, it could stop anything from sling bullets and arrows to fire and lightning. If only it were so. The cloak certainly possessed such enchantments of protection and shielding among others, that much was true, but quite possibly not to the extent some of his brethren in the Order were talking about. And even if it did, it became apparent one fateful day that such protections did not work against boulders hurled by giants. Following that particular incident, Petronicus Crispin's black hooded cloak, its magic and powers all but gone, was buried with what remained of Petronicus Crispin himself.

Standing five feet and ten inches tall, Nathaniel is fit and healthy, albeit possessed of a somewhat slender build. His raven black hair and fair, almost pale, skin are, along with his sharp features, evidence enough of his Chelaxian heritage. Still, there is one exception, for Nathaniel's golden eyes are quite unlike his people's more common dark orbs. And it is this particular characteristic that along with another strange trait of his, that being the fact that animals of all kinds seem oddly wary of him to the point of almost never approaching him if they can help it, serve as hints that something about him is slightly different, perhaps something to do with his birth or ancestry or a relic hunt gone awry.

Nathaniel shows a preference for comfortable fitted clothing, ideally well made and with several hidden pockets sewn into the fabric, and light armors, unwilling to sacrifice freedom of movement for better, but more encumbering, protection. An entirely black hooded cloak secured with what appears to be a vaguely heart-shaped brooch or clasp made of silver complements the rest of his attire and is in fact one of two items he is almost never seen without. The other is what appears at first glance to be a finely made cane of steel and black wood, although closer inspection reveals that it is actually a sword cane with a blade of cold iron. Other than that, he has a couple of other weapons hidden on his person, such as a dagger of alchemical silver that is concealed in a spring-loaded wrist sheath of dwarven make secured on his left forearm and wrist, as well as a sling and its accompanying bullets that are kept in a nondescript leather pouch.

Nathaniel stops, taking a moment to stare at the two paths in front of him before turning to look at the sickly fog behind him. He seems to have managed to evade it so far, leaving it ever so slightly behind, but there it is, inexorable, drawing ever closer. He sighs as he turns his gaze upwards.

'Such a strange sky,' he ponders with a sigh as he takes in the alien colors of it, of the moon and the stars. 'Such a... familiar sky?' The thought is as much a statement as it is a question.

He then turns entirely, no longer facing the two paths but the roiling mist. "This is futile, yes? The upward path will slow you, perhaps, but it will do the same to me. And the descending one will certainly feel quicker to me, but to you as well," he says softly, almost as if he is addressing both the fog and himself, as a faint click and then another are heard. The first is followed by the bottom part of the cane held in his right hand falling to the ground and revealing a cold iron blade underneath it, while the second is accompanied by the sudden appearance of a gleaming silver dagger in his left hand. And then comes the magic as both his black cloak and the clasp that secures it in place come alive for but a moment, as enchantments of protection shield him. "Enough running, I believe."

He looks down at the weapons in his hands. "I... I know how to use them," he mutters to himself, feeling as if the fog is not only out here, but in his mind as well. "I have been... taught?" He looks back up again. The mist is close enough now to make out shapes within it. Not all look human. "Well, at least he is not here to see me make an utter fool of myself," he quips, a crooked smile appearing on his lips. Then a thought, a rational one. 'Cold iron in one hand, silver in the other. One of them is bound to work.' And then another thought, a fleeting one. 'He? Who is he?'

"We have such sights to show you." The whispering voices, inviting and threatening at the same time, come from all around him. They are everywhere.

"Yes, I trust that you do." He brandishes his weapons and looks at the yellow cloud about to envelop him calmly, stoically. "But I very much doubt I will survive the experience."