Dark Lords of Praemor
Hemme, The Afflicted
Plagueborn Artificer of Praemor
Cure Light Wounds
Cure Moderate Wounds
Cure Serious Wounds
Monstrous Physique I
Undead Anatomy I
The earliest memory Hemme possessed was awaking in the midst of a four day old field of battle. Corpses lay all about him rotting in the sun. The air hung heavy with vermin and disease. Hemme didn’t know how he ended up among the bodies, only that they lay dead by his hand. He staggered from the field with nothing but ragged clothing and a lifetime’s knowledge of poison and disease.
Hemme soon stumbled into the picket lines of the Paemorian army. The guards drew back in fear as he made his way to the center of the camp. The commander approached, his face a mixture of surprise and confusion. “We thought you fell… Master.” Hemme laid a hand on the commander’s shoulder and said “Decay never harms its own.” Hemme lifted his hand drawing a wince from the commander as the skin on his shoulder sloughed off in thick flakes and floated to the ground.
Hemme continued to a large tent in the center. He sat on a small wooden bench and surveyed the encampment. Apparently this army was his, but to what end would Hemme use it? Ossiraekes’ or his own?
Those who see Hemme first notice his emaciated frame. His face is gaunt and his bones can be seen clearly under pale skin. Hemme stands about five feet and eight inches tall and weighs one hundred and twenty pounds. His thinning hair is stark white leading Hemme to appear much older than his actual age of twenty-nine. The number 222 is tattooed on his chest just below his right shoulder in plain black ink. Hemme always wears a mask covering his entire face except for his eyes which are yellow in color and bloodshot.