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Name: Hartwig Radulf Grimwald
Nicknames: Hart, Grimwald the Grimacer
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Date of Birth: 13 Harvestmere, 9:10
Occupation: Mortalitasi
Companion(s): A spirit of curiosity inhabiting the form of a skeletal rat; lovingly named Tarsus.
Standing at just over 5'6" and weighing in at 130 pounds–give or take a book or two–Hartwig is not a man of assuming stature or demeanor. Bookish, perhaps, is a more appropriate descriptor. While those with no sense of decorum might even go so far as to describe him as effeminate. It has never bothered him overmuch, though it certainly dashed his early childhood dreams of being a mighty dragon slayer like so many others in Navarra. Which makes it lucky his magic manifested young.
Though slight and slim, Hart dresses to his own advantage; choosing clothes that compliment his figure rather than drown it in layers or attempt to build it up with imaginary bulk. He has accepted who he is and does not shy from it. Rather, his shrewd eye for sartorial elegance creates for him an air of untouchability. Or… at the very least, respectability.
Hartwig wears his dark hair long and surrounds the warm brown of his eyes with a fair amount of kohl as a means to offset the patrician–if somewhat hawkish–nose. He does not choose to let people see him without at least a bit of doing up. And if that feeds kindling in the fire of those who wish to brand him a fop, then so be it. Hart sees no reason why naysayers need to be the reason he lets himself go.
Thanks to years upon years of reading in dimly lit rooms, Hart requires spectacles. His are round-lensed and call attention to the sharp angles of his cheekbones as well as the steep curve of his nose, of which they are constantly sliding down.
Hart's olive skin tone is dusted with a fine smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose and the curves of his shoulders. And at the corner of his left eye, one such speck has darkened into a prominent beauty mark.
Class: Mage
Specialization: Necromancer
Weapons & Armor: Hart wears no armor, but does carry a carved obsidian staff topped with a blue-green gem
Languages: Common/Trade Tongue (written and spoken)
Non-Combat Skills:
- Master:
Death Rites
Navarran Embalming Practices
Research
- Expert:
Arcane Lore
Corpse Whispering
Writing
- Intermediate:
Anatomy
- Novice:
Herblore
Coming up as a mage in Navarra has given Hartwig decades to hone his craft and learn a great many secrets of the arcane. He considers himself to be a student of magic and spirit lore first and a Mortalitasi second–close second though it may be. After all, though he knows much about his own magical field of study, Hart also knows there is always much more to learn; both in the greater field of death magic, and the many schools of the arcane that he is less familiar with.
Studious by nature, Hart can often be found researching and reading as a form of entertainment; always taking meticulous notes on anything he finds particularly interesting. He has published a number of small pamphlets on subjects ranging from magical preservation techniques to the proper way to welcome a willing spirit into a newly empty vessel.
During his time with the inquisition, Hartwig leant his hands to the overworked apothecaries that simply could not keep up with the need for potions and salves. As such, he has developed a novice's ability to do all of the mincing, crushing, and stirring involved in getting herbs ready for use, as well as a burgeoning interest in herblore and how various plant species can be used to improve embalming practices currently used in Navarra.
Combat Skills:
- Intermediate:
Death Magic
Paralyze
- Novice:
Drain Life
Disorient
Weakness
Hartwig has not had many reasons to fight, and that fact shines through whenever he has had the need to defend himself. He suspects that this is the reason why he was never accepted into the Mourn Watch, and resents his inability greatly. That said, he has continued to find combat of any kind distasteful and persists in prioritizing other aspects of his studies despite his acknowledgement of his martial shortcomings. He prefers to leave the heroism and feats of valor to those who are more suited to it. After all, he'd much rather lose himself in a good book than lose his life in the heat of battle.
Many have accused Hartwig of coming off as cold and callus–thus the nickname Grimwald the Grimacer following him around both Navarra and the Inquisition. He does not consider these aspersions to be true (his face simply rests that way, he cannot help it). Rather, he counts himself among the many death mages that do not possess an affinity for interfacing with the living. He does not understand nearly any of the social niceties that many consider common knowledge; preferring instead to say what is on his mind and state the facts as they are pertinent to a situation. Small talk not only does not come naturally to him, but also causes him a fair bit of anxiety. He is uncertain why anyone should care as much about the weather as some people seem to, for instance.
Books and cadavers make up the largest wedge of his comfort zone. But solitude surrounded by the inanimate has a funny way of becoming… lonely. As such, Hart does what is required of him to exist within the parameters of society. He will talk to people he is unfamiliar with–when under social duress–, but much prefers to keep close to his chest the few friends he has managed to make; most of whom consist of his colleagues within the Mortalitasi. Which is possibly for the best, as not everyone enjoys–or even understands–his dry sense of humor nor his mode of direct communication.
That said, there is a piece of Hart that wants to be accepted by someone. For the complete–sometimes ugly, almost always stuffy–truth of who he is. Love and intimacy is not something Hart has given himself much time to entertain, however. After all, those who can tolerate him for more than an afternoon number somewhere in the single digits, and of those few, even less appeal to him on a deeper level than friendship. There is also the subject of his sexuality, which has continued to be a sore spot in Hartwig's life since his parents took issue with it in his formative years.
Still, the idea of quiet domesticity with a handsome someone or other certainly has its appeals, no matter how far-fetched it might sometimes seem. But, when all else fails, he can always confide in his darling spirit, Tarsus. Which has gotten him along just fine until now. He expects it will continue to do so until he finds a person brave enough to risk his particular brand of intimate companionship, or until such a day when he transitions from the caretaker of the dead to the caretakee.
Hartwig Radulf Grimwald Pentaghast was born to one of the many offshoots of the Navarran ruling Pentaghasts. He was the eldest of Lord Friduric Gervasius Waldomar Pentaghast and Lady Ælfwynn Svanhildr Theudelinda Pentaghast, and was expected to bear all of the responsibilities that came along with being their heir. These expectations were tempered somewhat when it became clear that their son was not made for the dragon slaying legacy of the vaunted Pentaghasts.
Born sickly and small–a full two months before he was expected–Hartwig grew into a frail child, and then a thin and fragile youth. It was clear that he was not going to become the hale and hearty scion of the Pentaghast dynasty that they had wished for, and that was something of a disappointment to face; one that the lord and lady found hard to hide in their dealings with their son, and only worsened when their second child–a boy they named Balderich Alwin Hildimar Pentaghast–fit much more snugly into their hopes for their offspring. Hartwig never knew how to broach the subject with his parents, but their dissatisfaction with him was something he felt keenly.
Another complication presented itself with the manifestation of Hartwig's magic. Navarran mages are almost always expected to become a part of the Mortalitasi, after all. And while the Mortalitasi themselves are a respected faction within Navarran society, the lord and lady Pentaghast hardly wanted their first born to be whisked away by an organization that was beginning to gain a reputation of puppeting the ruling branches of the Pentaghast family.
Hart, on the other hand, was overjoyed by the development of his powers. He was fascinated by both the theory and application of the arcane, and always had been. He'd read so many stories about mages and the fade, and had inhaled any bit of information he could on the practices of the Mortalitasi; revered as they were. Hart would not hear of his powers being hidden from the rest of the world, and demanded that he be allowed to study with others of his kind.
Hart's parents resisted at first, but after years of obstinance on the part of their son, they eventually gave in and sent Hartwig to study with Viuus Anaxas, a Mortalitasi and long time friend to their particular branch of the Pentaghast family. Hartwig was twelve when he left his family home, and to this day he has not returned there for more than a handful of days at a time.
Within the Mortalitasi Hart discovered what true passion was. His love for reading turned from a disappointment to his parents into a boon for the organization. He grew into a fine young scholar and a competent mage under their tutelage and care, and though he never quite got the hang of magics of the martial variety, he excelled at those involving Navarran funerary and preservation rites. And when it became clear that he was one of the few Mortalitasi capable of corpse whispering, he was able to train directly under Professor Emmerich Volkarin for a particularly enjoyable stretch of time. For once, he felt as though he had found a place where he could meet the measure being applied to him–that was until his first request to join the Mourn Watch was rejected.
At that point in his life, inadequacy seemed like a shroud that insisted on following him around in the face of his best efforts. For years, he watched as many of his peers were recruited to guard the Grand Necropolis, while his requests continued to be denied. Viuus attempted to soothe Hart's wounded pride by telling the lad that not every Mortalitasi was destined for the dangers involved in guarding the Grand Necropolis, but despite his mentor's best efforts, the sting of being found lacking had once again set into his bones like a wound gone rancid.
He began to withdraw into himself, and eventually felt so isolated in his bitter disappointment that he turned to his own magic for company. One of the kept mousers in the Mortalitasi hold in which he studied brought him a rat one evening. It was mortally wounded, and nothing that Hart could do for it would have saved its life. So, he instead helped the poor creature along. Then–like so many other recently abandoned vessels he had been taught to fill with willing fade creatures–he used his skill with death magic to infuse the still warm little body with a spirit of curiosity. He named the resulting amalgamation Tarsus, and let the dear thing soothe his aches. Why should he not, after all? So many of the Mortalitasi had spiritual companions or assistants. It was about time he had one of his own.
Tarsus became Hart's confidant. All of the things he could not say to living, breathing people he could say to Tarsus. And the rat simply listened with a quiet, accepting air about it. In the beginning, Hart liked to say he could see acceptance in the rat's eyes, but over time, decay took its toll on the poor creature's body until he was little more than a set of magically animated bones. By that time, though, Hart could read the rat's love of him in even the subtlest of gestures.
So many hard truths he discussed with his little spirit friend. From how empty his parent's disappointment in him made him feel, to the more recent rejection by the Mourn Watch, and even how a fellow Mortalitasi by the name of Sindri made him feel all fluttery inside. How trapped it made him to know that his parents were attempting to arrange a marriage to a 'good Navarran woman'. And then eventually how awful it had been when he inevitably refused said marriage on the grounds of what he knew deep down in his soul to be true; how he had sobbed when parents had rejected the notion that their son should put a matter so trivial as sexuality above a good, political marriage.
This friendship to what others saw as a lowly vermin slowly but surely brought Hartwig out of the darkest places in his mind. Though he continued to be galled by the Mourn Watch's repeated dismissals of his desire to join their ranks as well as his parents' dislike of who he was on every level of his being. Tarsus made that pain bearable, somehow and Hartwig cherished him for it.
Still, he felt he needed a new start. A place where he could remake himself and possibly, finally, find belonging. So, when his mentor, Viuus Anaxas, left Navarra to join the Inquisition, Hartwig went with him, cutting all ties with–and claims to–the Phentaghast name as he did so. This displeased his family, of course, who disowned him in no uncertain terms. Rather than feel sad about this, however, Hart felt set free.
During the Inquisition's battle against Corypheus, Hartwig–guided by Viuus–helped with the dead and injured. He was fascinated by Ferelden's strange custom of burning their dead, and threw himself headlong into getting acclimated to a new set of funerary rites. He also aided the alchemists and apothecaries when the need arose. It was not a position of vast glory, or even one of much notice, but he found that he was enjoying himself unselfconsciously for perhaps the first time in his life. He had a purpose, and he knew how to fulfill it. It wasn't as distinguished a dream as the Mourn Watch had been, but maybe a simpler life was what he truly needed.
It was with this redefined view of himself that Hartwig decided to stay in Ferelden even after the end that Corypheus sought to bring about was summarily avoided. Even still after Viuus returned back to his beloved Navarra. After all, the Inquisition still stands, and while there is not as urgent a need for someone to see to the dead and dying, there is still some good that he can do, especially with Solas making trouble all across Thedas. If nothing else, he is quite good at locking himself away to research obscure bits of history–elven or otherwise.
For Hartwig, it is the least he can do for the institution that first made him feel truly at home. It is a bit lonely to be so cut off from his mentor and Mortalitasi colleagues, but Tarsus has yet to leave his side, and Hart has made a few friends among the Inquisition's ranks.
Anything else he could need would come later. At least that is what he's told himself.
Timeline: Post DAI
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