Nikolae's page

Nikolae was born to a Varisian entertainer / servant in the House of Vermiis, a minor noble line based out of Ostenso, in Cheliax. His father was the lord of the house, and had several legitimate children, refusing to acknowledge the products of his dalliances with servants and staff, and so Nikolae grew up a servant in the household of his father, running errands and cleaning chambers and grooming steeds or tending to hounds and hawks in the service of half-siblings who remained blithely unaware of their blood ties to the ‘servant boy.’

Blessed with his mother’s dark Varisian features, and charming ways, he soon enough had himself permanently assigned to his eldest half-brother Stefan as a body servant, and used his words and ways to convince the young man that his other siblings were jealous and resentful of his elder station, so that the young man spent much of his time plotting against those younger siblings, trusting only the counsel of his ‘faithful servant boy.’ Nikolae particularly enjoyed accompanying Stefan to the local scriptorium, where the impatient young noble struggled against his lessons in matters arcane, Asmodean lore and ancient history, while Nikolae eagerly soaked up these same lessons, convincing his elder sibling to allow him to ‘help him study’ by studying the same lore, that they might practice together. The old tutor at the scriptorium saw right through Nikolae’s game, but was frankly uninterested in trying to beat sense into the heads of young nobles, and was pleased to have a student that actually seemed to exhibit some interest in the subject matter. The fact that teaching such lore, meant for the scions of the noble families, was forbidden by law only added a certain thrill to the private lessons in the eyes of the old jade.

And so Nikolae read of the ancient Thassilonians, and his dreams were gripped by the thought that mere men could tame mighty dragons to use as beast of burden. The parallel between himself, so much the superior to his ‘noble’ half-brother, struck him as well, and he dreamed of the day when he could uncover similar secrets, to soar away from this life of occulted truths and gilt-encrusted lies, on wings of obsidian, to demand the respect and recognition that had been denied him by birth.

Years progressed, with nothing but dark dreams of unattainable hopes to keep his heart unbroken, and Stefan grew cruel, as his body strengthened and his soul hardened, the better to take the reigns of Cheliaxian ‘nobility.’ Nikolae would practice with him, and they would battle with staves and clubs, only for Nikolae to return night after night with fresh bruises, keeping the tears from his eyes concealed until he was able to curl up in a quiet corner, tucked away in a storeroom behind the kitchens, where none would see his weakness. He did not know that their father had told Stefan of his ‘manservant’s lineage, encouraging him to brutalize the young man by pointing out how Nikolae had thought he was fooling him all along. Stefan took out his anger at the bastard’s assumptions on the sparring field, never revealing the source of this newfound cruelty, and it served his father’s wishes well, that Stefan learned to be harsh and cruel, to expect treachery and deceit all around him, and to show no mercy, not even to one who shares his blood.

On the night his old life ended, Stefan came to Nikolae, finding him even in his secret refuge, and dragged his already-beaten body back to the training room, where he beat him to unconsciousness in their last ‘duel,’ using rattan sticks that nonetheless left behind stinging welts. Nikolae awoke to the splash of stinging seawater in his many cuts and abrasions, and found himself tied within a pentacle, all of red wax and powdered silver, surrounded with black candles, as Stefan told him that not only had he known for months, but that his father had told him the real reason why Nikolae had been allowed to remain at liberty in their father’s household for so long, so that Stefan could seal his allegiance to the Dukes of Hell by making a sacrifice of his own flesh and blood, a companion of many years!

Nikolae felt his hopes die in that moment, accepting the terrible truth that his entire life had been orchestrated merely for this moment, and when Stefan stepped across the room to don ceremonial robes and make preparatory incantations, Nikolae felt his body slump to the ground, as if his soul had burst free from his chest and was struggling to escape the weight of his fleshly live. Black wings beat in the darkness enveloping him, and his blood felt sluggish and sharp-edged, being dragged though his veins like icewater. As if from some great distance, he heard a cry of alarm, and as vision returned, he saw his feared brother brought low and mauled by some black-scaled beast. Again, the dizziness came, and he awoke to the sensation of blood flowing back into his bound hands and feet, to find the beast from his fevered imaginings, looking more like a great scaly predatory cat than the great-winged dragon he had envisioned, biting through the leather straps binding his limbs, and dragging him from the summoning circle.

Stefan’s body lay in a spreading pool of blood, and as he pulled himself to his feet, he could see that the candles had been knocked over as he was dragged free, and that the pentacle was catching alight. He reached up to the lantern lighting the room and upended the oil upon the floor, to hasten the spread of the flames, and fled into the night, leaning upon the back of this creature torn from his dreams of vengeance and freedom, manifest to bring both to life.

He reached the docks that night, and snuck onto a ship marked for Korvosa, seeking to flee to the ancestral homeland of his mother’s people, and the ancient Thassilonians whose dragon-taming lore had so fired his imagination, only to awaken in Augustana, as the merchants were engaged in illicit trade with the Andorans, and had flown a false flag. Found stowed away, he was forced to work passage, and to pay off debts working within Augustana, while discovering the new extent of the lore he had mastered. From the Shadow Drake, as he named it, he learned secrets of magic and lore, that the drake insisted were within him all along, and found that he could call upon magics to beguile the minds of others for a moment (the dragon’s stare can afright the minds of lesser men, he was assured), to recognize the presence of items of magic, and similar feats, most dramatically, to call forth the muck and slime of the swamps of old Thassilon, the home of the black dragons, to cause others to trip and fall, or to lose their grip upon an item. Using his newfound abilities, particularly his talent to repair small objects, Nikolai has secured enough money to purchase armor and weapons for himself, and to outfit himself with something more than the blood-soaked rags of cloth that where all that Stefan had left to him.

A freeman in Andoran, Nikolae is no longer sure if he cares for the sound of Korvosa, where he may have enemies, if his father’s concerns in that family would recognize him, or of the intimidating sounding Kaer Maga, Nikolae remains where fate has deposited him for the time being. Whatever secrets old Thassilon has left to offer up, his newfound companion assures him that he does not need, that in the fullness of time, the small wings upon his back will gain in strength, and his back will grow strong as well.

They will fly the night skies, this much the Shadow Drake assures him in its sibilant Thassilonian tones, and Nikolae is content to wait.

Nikolae is handsome, and he knows it, keeping his muscular arms bare, and often wearing a short tunic or kilt, to show off his legs as well, if the weather is appropriate to such a display. He avoids going completely shirtless, as his body still bears some scars from his recent past, but otherwise cuts a fine figure, with flowing black hair, flashing dark eyes and a mischievous half-grin, suggestive of a secret that he knows, and he does indeed have such a secret. At night, or when he is alone (or feels as if he is under threat), an inky Thassilonian rune appears on his forehead, and his ‘friend’ comes forth. They whisper to each other in that ancient tongue.

Celestial Riding Dog; Medium Animal, Init +2; Senses darkvision 60 ft., low-light vision, scent; Perception +8; AC 13, touch 12, flat-footed 11 (+2 Dex, +1 natural); hp 17 (2d8+8); Fort +7, Ref +6, Will +1; Speed 40 ft.; Melee bite +5 (1d6+5 plus trip); Str 19, Dex 15, Con 19, Int 2, Wis 12, Cha 6; Base Atk +1; CMB +5; CMD 17 (21 vs. trip); Feats Skill Focus (perception); Skills Acrobatics +6 (+14 jumping), Perception +8, Survival +1 (+5 scent tracking); Racial Modifiers +4 Acrobatics when jumping, +4 Survival when tracking by scent; SQ Acid, Cold, Electricity Resistance 5, Smite Evil against one target for +1 tp attack and +2 damage for duration of encounter 1/day

Nikolae summons the wyrm.
Reaches into pouch and produces a mixture of ash, chips of bone and flakes of rusted iron, making a circle. Holds up a candle of yellow wax, flecked with green herbs of some sort, in the wax. As the candle burns down, the bits of herb are exposed to the flame, and pop, spark and flare, producing a punguent odor. “From the shadow-stain upon my soul, I invoke thee, Black Beast. I light the way that you may come forth. Attend me, XXX!”