Harold is a stocky, muscular dwarf with a fiery orange beard that seems to shimmer even in low light. His skin is unnaturally warm to the touch, and subtle golden scales are visible along his forearms and neck. He wears functional acolyte vestments over heavy leather boots, and his hands are calloused from labor rather than study.

Harold is surprisingly blunt for a man of the cloth and a sorcerer. He finds flowery language exhausting and prefers a firm handshake or a well brewed ale to complex ritual. Despite his lack of social grace, he has a core of unshakeable discipline derived from years of temple service.

Harold spent his youth as a laborer for the Temple of the Glimmering Forge, more comfortable hauling stones and guarding the gates than reading scripture. He always felt like an outsider among the more studious acolytes. One afternoon, while defending the temple from a pack of raiding kobolds, his rage manifested as a literal gout of flame that scorched the intruders. The high priest realized that Harold carried a latent draconic legacy, likely a gift from a gold dragon that had protected their clan centuries ago. Because his magical aptitude is tied more to his physical constitution than his charm, his training was difficult. He struggles to project the commanding presence most sorcerers possess, often resulting in spells that are potent but difficult to aim. He was eventually sent on a pilgrimage to better understand his heritage, as his frequent, accidental ignition of tapestries made him a liability in the enclosed halls of the temple. Now, Harold travels the world as a holy man who would much rather hit a problem with his staff than talk to it. He views his magic as a tool for destruction and protection, much like a hammer. He seeks to find a way to honor his ancestors without burning down every tavern he enters.