Nicomo was born in a Ceraki slave pit; human chattel - trash meant to be passed from one master's hand to another until broken and then discarded.​

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While serving his last master, Nicomo learned a vorpal sword art from the oldest and most pitiful slave, using a thin stick to imitate a blade. It was during this time that Nicomo nearly perished, and in his most desperate moment prayed to any god or heathen to save his life. His plea was answered, and he was brought back from the brink of death.​

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With a newfound sense of immortality and his sword arts, Nicomo slew his master, burned his estate to the ground, and set out into the world to walk an idiotic path of violence.​

Calm, serene countenance with a piercing, intense gaze. Becomes severe and stern with a sword in hand. Is neither short nor towering in stature. Has a lanky, athletic physique and carries himself with a warrior-born's self-confidence. Dresses practically. His skin carries the brands and marks of countless masters.​

A formidable combatant who is suited for any athletics. Adept in fighting bare-handed and boasts an expert level of proficiency with single or double-edged straight swords. He is likewise masterful in his practice of a powerful sword art.​

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Brushes off debilitating injuries with ostensible indifference. Ignores pain that most others would find unbearable.​

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The pact formed with his patron gives Nicomo quasi-immortality. Superficial wounds rapidly heal, and he will eventually recover from even fatal blows. Even upon his death, Nicomo will rise after some time. With each revival, Nicomo's sanity slips further into madness. The nature and conditions of his pact are a mystery to him.​

Hedonistic. Obsessed with battle. Practical alcoholic. Honest and forthright. Mostly easygoing. Absolute nutcase.​