"This world has too many secrets for me lay idle! That slothful, unquestioning life is for sycophants, and products of incest. Or both. Definitely both!"
Description: Harmon is thin, having not performed hard labor beyond what is average for a man of science. His skin is pale and contrasts his ink-black hair, while his bright green eyes meet somewhere in the middle of the two colors. He favors dark, heavy, multi-layered clothing with multiple pockets on top of his traveling robes and belts for carrying whatever he finds or deems "absolutely necessary for reasons I can't explain because oh stop asking me things I can hear your cheeks slapping your teeth." Despite his frequent bounces of moods and thoughts, he seems to wear readily-available and genuine smiles when talking to others and answering whatever questions asked of him. His movements are punctuated with bouts of frantic energy, sometimes feeling the need to run or climb.
Personality: Harmon both thinks and speaks a mile a minute. He constantly glances around himself both alone and during conversation with others, and is prone to tangents or obsessively focusing on certain things that capture his attentions for reasons he can only mumble in distraction. His sense of humor is, to put it politely, "inappropriate". He's also prone to laughter at jokes only he understands. For all of his frustrating qualities, however, one thing cannot be denied: His spark of genius is more like an inferno, and his tenacity is as iron-glad as his will. No maliciousness can be attributed to him, and if his attention can be seized and focused then he's always willing to help those who ask. However, certain topics will cause him to suddenly stop talking and leave as if he just remembered the most important thing in the world seconds ago.
Background: One of Harmon's most difficult hurdles in life has been simply fitting in. His mind doesn't work the way most do, to the point that he has exhausted his old family and the closest he's had to friends. Fits of sudden shouts, running off into the night, disappearing for days at a time have all taken their toll on those who were in his life. When an experiment of his had set his home villages' leader's home on fire (he was convinced that something was hiding in the walls), he was exiled. He traveled alone, surviving by sheer will and intellect while learning about the world around him, and its "laws that the gods wrote under its skin." Harmon, ever since a child, has been searching for something he could never bring himself to explain. Along the way, he has learned dizzying amounts of things that apothecaries, physicians, and herbalists would love for him to talk about... despite the costs. He refers to himself a "Seeker", though others would call him a Savant. His talents (when focused) are used to the benefit of Malvici, able to both tend to wounds and to create tinctures for soldiers, guards, and adventurers. He's happy to do so, as well as brew the occasional beer (though he considers it a bit of a waste, but what does he know? Besides everything, you fools!) Harmon's eccentricities were a collision of worlds during his mandatory military service when the Malvici took him in. He was barely able to use a sword and bow without being a danger to anything within eyesight, but for whatever reason he was a passable wrestler and boxer, perhaps due to his knowledge of anatomy and how to bend other people in ways they're not supposed to bend. The utility of his non-martial skills outweighed the fact that he was a liability on the battlefield, and he was instead set to be a battlefield physician as well as apothecary for mixing poisons for use in the arrows of forward scouts and raiding parties. He wasn't proud of that, but it was the only way for him to pay back what he owed.