Nikodemus

aestheticbap✚bapthe immortal




Two thousand years is a long time to spend chasing a man. I have not chased him, per se. Nor has he - me. But this symbiosis between our ends and beginnings akin to opponents walking circles in the boxing ring or cats and mouses and the like feels like it at times. I am an end. I am absolute. And he simply refuses to accept me, balancing the edge of objectivity with every atom of his being. This is not particularly new to me, nor is it usually as massive an obstacle as he has made it. Trying to avoid me is much like trying to wiggle out from under the blade of a guillotine. I repeat, I am absolute. Perhaps the mere question mark at the end of his existence tends to make him slip my grasp. Such thoughts have occupied me for two millenias. I would attend to them if I were not busy being absolute like the rest of the world and all of its inevitabilities.

For now, he is. He simply is.

I have come to the conclusion that a thing that does not live cannot die. I have later come to the conclusion that the aforementioned conclusion is just me being metaphorical and poetic. There is nothing poetic in death.

And just in case, because I know you have been theorizing - I Am Not Death. Not The Death.

I am something a bit more personable to him. A past enemy, and a future friend.








NAMES TAKEN Nikodemus Desalvar
Something he's branded himself with out of need for a family name, his own long forgotten. He spent the 1680s as Eris Valderisso and met a scarred man who called him lovingly so. Matteo Abiatti is etched into a grave a woman once dug herself - he never forgot her, the flowers and Matteo, for all he was(n't) worth.Nik Johansson - you are at this level, you need trust points to climb up the ladder of fakes. The Giver - it's a dangerous name this one, even he hates it, the book is a shitty too. Niko - odd nickname, unlike Nik - given freely.

TITLES King, Lord, Dux, Count, General, Captain, Professor, Doctor, Priest, Bishop
(the last two he has occupied ironically)

GENDER Male APARENT AGE 22-26 D.O.B. Nov 29th, 627 B.C. (November 19th according to the Gregorian Calendar) P.O.B. Current Denmark Born during the Nordic Bronze Age in Southern Scandinavia SPECIES Magical Human, Witch SUB-SPECIES Immortal, Necromancer BLOODLINE Some dead woman, a man who couldn't care less and a bunch of people who can all fry, in his personal opinion. SYMBOLS Coven, family, personal The emblem of his birth coven - a blackbird perched inside a roaring feral wolf's mouth; his family's token animal - a vine-suspended black ram; and The Gift ROMANCE Panromantic SEXUALITY Pansexual

GENDER ROLE Excuse me, what? ACTUAL AGE 2632 D.O.D. Jun 7th 585 B.C. (May 28th according to Gregorian) P.O.D. Norway ALIGNMENT Neutral DEITY None in particular STATUS Single MARITAL Complicated Unmarried, married, widowed, divorced, depends. BELOVED Nathaniel, Josette, Tori CHILDREN Simon OCCUPATION Various Jack of all trades, master of none but magic. Offers magical services, dabbles in much else.

Every soul will taste death

ORIGINAL APPEARANCE A nordic man. So nordic in fact he looked taken out of an encyclopedia detailing his ilk, all whispy blonde and pointy-featured and with an air of worn down strength around him. Sun-blonde with eyes taken from Élivágar glaciers, he was as bleached as bleached gets. His body was chiseled from a beautifically tilted water rock - that is to say, sagging gently, remodelled by hard work but elegant, as if that is the way a body should be. In Krlnei, one supposes, it should. MODERN ERA As modern as the 15th century gets. Yet he remembers it as the time of permanent newness. Of brunette hair and the name Eris. The time of discovering henna, realizing he looked good a few shades deeper - and that the art of change could ripple through his fingertips - and etching it into himself so masterfully it still stings - both the darker hair, skin and eyes and Eris, so far gone from Nikodemus. Now only a name clings to the man in question. Even his looks (sun-kissed, brunette, murky ocean-eyed) have reliquinshed their hold.

SCARS Only those received in the life he was rationed. Death erases all blemishes. Those it couldn't, he covered with loose ink. Most notable might be the blackened, dead fingers of his right hand if it wasn't covered with magic in public, but not to prevent staring - the hand's fingernails bleed when cut, or otherwise quite randomly. Another trademark spans his back rather prettily for a scar. Linear lacerations like decorative stripes - whipmarks deep enough to heal up like shapely waterbeds. Not as ungainly as they should be, much to their owner's disdain. Loving fingertips' caress fit nicely within them, he remembers, disgruntled. TATTOOS (See Symbols) The Gift - Slavic witchcraft within egyptian within a snake with its tail in its mouth. Old magic upon old magic upon old magic. One might even stop to marvel at them if they themselves stopped to allow it, rather than flitting about his skin like ants. They move. The eye of horus stands quiet watch at his shoulder, the blackbird flaps inkblot wings going nowhere, the snake hugs ankles and wrists like apple branches and they all wait - they wait for an eclipse - an alignment, when they can each take their designed place and unleash hell together.

PERSONALITY He's something of mismatched puzzple pieces alright. A collection of stolen interests, quirks, talents. A bits and pieces from everywhere sort of deal. I can only detail those which are his own: 1. A love for chaos. 2. A love for challenge. 3. A hate for the opposites of the other two. 4. A lack of desire to conquer anything beyond that which he already owns (and he owns so little yet so much depending on what you think of immortality) 5. A mood controlled by the worst possible whim - that of a deadman. // If it's been a particularly chaotic day for the man, you might already know all this.

MANNERISMS Of course it depends on the when, the how, the why. His face is chameleon and of course his body will be too. He swings from psychopathic unpredictability to textbook giveaways. More common guest appearances from: itching hands, fidgeting fingers (the magic trills when it wants out), animated legs that move like they don't belong on the ground, tapping shoe toes, a purring laugh, a frustrating love of textured sound that can grind anyone's gears - amongst few... Ever and never changing is the smile, somehow. Orderly, too-sharp-looking teeth, with lips that stretch to reveal them all like a curtain. As if with an innate desire to eat, inhale, consume, take take take. Not necessarily in a bad way. You'll know when it's bad.

POSITIVE 1. He's a man of achievement. The moral grounds and objectives of that achievement don't particularly matter although he's never leaned towards biding time, abiding law and ignoring loopholes. He notices them, how could he turn the other way? His stronger interests garner ambitions that don't lead to the best of places but with eternity and magic on his hands, he can allow himself long-term projects if obsession grips him hard enough and short-term ones that get done occasionally if he finds he can snap a finger and make it happen fast enough. Usually, he finds he can. There's something about knowing the worst possible outcome is a bit of 'sleep' that lessens risks. That, and also knowing he's smart enough to not fall back on it so heavily. 2. A reasonable man shapes himself to fit the world. An unreasonable one shapes the world to fit him. Nikodemus' unreason has a smaller radius than the earth's circumference, but oh, what unreason it is... One has to take measures not to die of boredom after all (of all things, it's the most dangerous) and the mage has long ago discovered that 'right is wrong' is just right. Because right is ridiculously mundane. Are you following? I assure you he hasn't lost his adaptable humanity, but what man in their right mind would one day wake up and decide he no longer wants to die? The exact same man who has kept himself from craving it for over two millenias. 3. For all his desperate flitting from one undertaking to another, Nikodemus knows what he wants. Knows when he can get it. And knows when he can't - or, in his words, when he needs some aid. Immortality leaves you to deal with yourself for so painfully long you learn all of your own innerworkings. Experience teaches you what you need and what you don't. When the former makes a decade a mere blink of an eye and the latter is worth that decade, you committ. Wouldn't you believe it, Nikodemus Desalvar has committed four times in approximation and yet has spent nearly 900 years in dedication between the four. Supply and demand, cost and price, I suppose. Like a poor man saving up for Rolexes. 4. He's the least expected person to effectively communicate with people and if you told him that he wouldn't be insulted. It's his history with people that lead to properly reading them. No one forsaw him using it for good - must be the rest of his personality - and, true, he sometimes doesn't but it's a very human capacity to amplify. Akin to a psychologist abusing his diploma to win a petty argument, Nikodemus manipulates only when he wants to, not when he needs to. NEGATIVE 1. When he wants, he wants. A petulant child with its eye on a toy, tugging on fate's skirt and pouting at any refusal. Indignant, sticky fingers get him what he wants, cunning wit hides him from the cruel matron that keeps foiling his plans and he keeps looking on his intense want as an excuse to take. Circumstance eventually rewards dedication, right? Mother eventually gives in. As a kid that's torn down his fair share of obstacles, he's undeterred by a finger wag. Or a belting all the same, when the consequence is lesser than the reward. 2. Us around here, we're above crude-forcing our way. We're much more refined in offense and defense alike. Who 'us' is, I don't know, but Nikodemus believes himself to be part of that likely imaginary class above reproach for their cruelty, just because it doesn't involve rancorous punching. No one's explained to him how jolly a good brawl with a cup of beer after can be, as opposed to sneaky, snaky things done in the dark that are considerably more sinister looking. He's not a mere brute. Personally, brutes are found to be nicer. 3. When pain loves you so much, you learn to love it back. Nikodemus has learned to enjoy it too, this particular Stockholm Syndrome he has for the reaper. With an itch to die so deep and unreachable, one makes do with the available tools to get as close as one can... without doing it. When adrenaline ain't what it used to be, it starts getting darker, more dangerous, starts taking people with it. He's balanced the edge of life so long, of course he'll live like it too. 4. Some call it talent, others curse, but it's all much less intentional than its excessiveness makes it seem. How can a man so self-absorbed exist? Quite comfortably, I assure you. He doesn't find himself missing those that can't stand his tirades and patronizing. (Except when he does miss them, because flattery and devout agreeableness is so drab..) Neither should the mentioned hold their breath for any epiphany of his, or moment of realization - it's come and gone, he waved it good bye, then went back to bitching.

They say the reaper wears a different face for everyone. I wonder when the Apocalypse comes if he will ride out wearing mine.

n o t h i n g ... t o... f e a r... i n... t h e... l i g h t

b u t... t h e... d a r k... b u r n s... s o... b r i g h t