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Character Behavior
Derranged Instigator
Malloki is absolutely out of his gourd when it comes to interactions with people. He lives for the thrill of the kill at all cost, especially if it means he is the one to die beside his current victim. His love for pain (both receiving and in sharing) and the means to "Fight" require someone else to throw the first blow, so he often antagonizes his target to come to blows. When that fails, he has little else in the repertoire, both in combat perspective and social. When not bringing lambs to the slaughter with a violent game of Pattycake, he tends to be awkward, weird or outright crazy in his attempts at socialization.
Physical Description:
Malloki stands at six foot with a fit-but-still-lanky frame. His morning jogs long before his life of running helped build up muscle tone, but his healing-burns-calories boon and curse keeps the man at nearly zero percent body fat. His abs may be nothing to write home about, but they exist. The same healing ability often does not heal wounds entirely, leaving numerous "fresh" scars looking years old, very faded across his tanned skin.
Character History:
Nicknamed “Living Voodoo,” Malloki is a self-proclaimed pacifist with a greater death tole than some small wars.
The death-toll is a relatively new development. Not even a year ago, this ordinary man was down on his luck and in need of a job. So… he accepted an offer from a researcher as an assistant. It was the pay that swayed him, not the potential fame for whatever this “researcher” was on about. Unfortunately, it was this desperation that the researcher really needed.
Malloki quickly “vanished” from the public eye, where he was subjected to experimentation as the so-called “researcher” sought to perfect his own version of the voodoo doll. A soul that could bind to anyone, many people even, and transmit pain and senses. It was the ultimate tool of warfare.
Dr. Vahst Throm, a warmonger in mind, heart and soul, drove Malloki to the point of breaking day in and day out, then healed him so that the next day he would be new and fresh. Of course, he did so merely by healing the “voodoo doll mark two” just to see the potential ally-benefits.
Days turned to months. Eventually Malloki’s mind snapped. Unlike some, who claim immunity to pain through exposure, Malloki’s reaction was to laugh it off. Laugh like it doesn’t hurt. Laugh like he is not nearly dying every day. Ha!
The “good doctor” gathered priceless data as desired, but it was his focus on practical use in war - on others - that blinded him to the doll itself. He noticed the doll’s effect growing weaker, needing to be “recharged” quite often, but he attributed it to the transfer of damage, healing and sensation. Not once did he consider that which powered the doll was simply leaking.
Never did he think the doll was constantly dripping its magic into the only creature it was bound to for so long. Like osmosis, that which enchanted the doll would enchant Malloki himself, and the enchantment grew as the doll was constantly recharged to greater and greater potency.
Only when Malloki’s incessant laughing angered the researcher did they both realize. Dr. Throm decided a new test subject was needed. This one was too far gone. To dispose of the body, he induced a lethal injection to eat away at the young man’s insides. The death was supposed to be quick, but painless was not high on Throm’s to-do list.
Instead of keeling over, Malloki burst into a dark, crackling miasmic aura and the good doctor fell to the ground in a short-lived agony.
Standing over a corpse, Malloki entered fight or flight for the first time in quite a while. What to do? Surely he would be blamed for this. Would they understand? Would anyone? Did HE even understand? The answer to the last question was no, so it was not a stretch to assume that was the answer to all the rest.
He fled. As he ran from place to place, world to world, memories started fading. Not of his torture, but of anything before it. The humble life of poverty became a distant dream. His parents, his siblings, his wife and children… Did he have any of those things? He remembered only the faces of people he once knew.
His running ended on Opealon. Who would think to look for him there? Where they even looking? Not once in the two months of fleeing had he ever actually been chased in a physical sense. Despite constantly looking over his shoulder, he could only suspect that the eyes glancing his way were malicious. Even that cute three-eyed woman with a shy smile could have been a bounty hunter…
Opealon was good. Strange yes, but it had everything he needed to survive, at least till the heat dies down. It should be fine until the heat dies down -- if there ever was any "heat" that is.
Derranged Instigator
Malloki is absolutely out of his gourd when it comes to interactions with people. He lives for the thrill of the kill at all cost, especially if it means he is the one to die beside his current victim. His love for pain (both receiving and in sharing) and the means to "Fight" require someone else to throw the first blow, so he often antagonizes his target to come to blows. When that fails, he has little else in the repertoire, both in combat perspective and social. When not bringing lambs to the slaughter with a violent game of Pattycake, he tends to be awkward, weird or outright crazy in his attempts at socialization.
Physical Description:
Malloki stands at six foot with a fit-but-still-lanky frame. His morning jogs long before his life of running helped build up muscle tone, but his healing-burns-calories boon and curse keeps the man at nearly zero percent body fat. His abs may be nothing to write home about, but they exist. The same healing ability often does not heal wounds entirely, leaving numerous "fresh" scars looking years old, very faded across his tanned skin.
Character History:
Nicknamed “Living Voodoo,” Malloki is a self-proclaimed pacifist with a greater death tole than some small wars.
The death-toll is a relatively new development. Not even a year ago, this ordinary man was down on his luck and in need of a job. So… he accepted an offer from a researcher as an assistant. It was the pay that swayed him, not the potential fame for whatever this “researcher” was on about. Unfortunately, it was this desperation that the researcher really needed.
Malloki quickly “vanished” from the public eye, where he was subjected to experimentation as the so-called “researcher” sought to perfect his own version of the voodoo doll. A soul that could bind to anyone, many people even, and transmit pain and senses. It was the ultimate tool of warfare.
Dr. Vahst Throm, a warmonger in mind, heart and soul, drove Malloki to the point of breaking day in and day out, then healed him so that the next day he would be new and fresh. Of course, he did so merely by healing the “voodoo doll mark two” just to see the potential ally-benefits.
Days turned to months. Eventually Malloki’s mind snapped. Unlike some, who claim immunity to pain through exposure, Malloki’s reaction was to laugh it off. Laugh like it doesn’t hurt. Laugh like he is not nearly dying every day. Ha!
The “good doctor” gathered priceless data as desired, but it was his focus on practical use in war - on others - that blinded him to the doll itself. He noticed the doll’s effect growing weaker, needing to be “recharged” quite often, but he attributed it to the transfer of damage, healing and sensation. Not once did he consider that which powered the doll was simply leaking.
Never did he think the doll was constantly dripping its magic into the only creature it was bound to for so long. Like osmosis, that which enchanted the doll would enchant Malloki himself, and the enchantment grew as the doll was constantly recharged to greater and greater potency.
Only when Malloki’s incessant laughing angered the researcher did they both realize. Dr. Throm decided a new test subject was needed. This one was too far gone. To dispose of the body, he induced a lethal injection to eat away at the young man’s insides. The death was supposed to be quick, but painless was not high on Throm’s to-do list.
Instead of keeling over, Malloki burst into a dark, crackling miasmic aura and the good doctor fell to the ground in a short-lived agony.
Standing over a corpse, Malloki entered fight or flight for the first time in quite a while. What to do? Surely he would be blamed for this. Would they understand? Would anyone? Did HE even understand? The answer to the last question was no, so it was not a stretch to assume that was the answer to all the rest.
He fled. As he ran from place to place, world to world, memories started fading. Not of his torture, but of anything before it. The humble life of poverty became a distant dream. His parents, his siblings, his wife and children… Did he have any of those things? He remembered only the faces of people he once knew.
His running ended on Opealon. Who would think to look for him there? Where they even looking? Not once in the two months of fleeing had he ever actually been chased in a physical sense. Despite constantly looking over his shoulder, he could only suspect that the eyes glancing his way were malicious. Even that cute three-eyed woman with a shy smile could have been a bounty hunter…
Opealon was good. Strange yes, but it had everything he needed to survive, at least till the heat dies down. It should be fine until the heat dies down -- if there ever was any "heat" that is.
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