Current GM of World of Light. When it comes to writing, there's nothing I love more than imagination, engagement, and commitment. I'm always open to talk, suggestion, criticism, and collaboration. While I try to be as obliging, helpful, and courteous as possible, I have very little sympathy for ghosts, and anyone who'd like to string me along. Straightforwardness is all I ask for.
Looking for more personal details? I'm just some dude from the American south; software development is my job but games, writing, and trying to help others enjoy life are my passions. Been RPing for over a decade, starting waaaay back with humble beginnings on the Spore forum, so I know a thing or two, though I won't pretend to be an expert. If you're down for some fun, let's make something spectacular together.
Scarcely had Malachi announced his intentions and marched off in the direction of the unknown hamlet than one of the little ones from earlier confronted him. His long, industrious strides forced her to exert some effort to not just keep up with him but stay ahead of him, though she remained merely in front rather than in the way. Given what had issued from Izel's mouth so far, Malachi expected from her more harmless but ultimately less-than-useful, abstract ramblings, but this time she spoke intelligibly. For all the impact they had, however, she have just as well not.
He looked at her askew. "I've got no 'cause', and there's no 'our'. You can handle things however you want. I got my own business t'take care of." For a moment he looked stern, surly even, but after a second or two his hard expression mellowed out into a halfhearted grin. "'Sides, big doesn't mean stupid. If I needed t'walk on eggshells, I wouldn't break a single one. Never been someone I needed to do my talkin' for me." The girl brought up a good point, and it got him thinking as he walked. Given the situation at the time of his burial, the Empire most likely overran the whole continent. He could expect its influence no matter where he went. Still, that didn't really matter to a man like him. Unlike some of these others, maybe, as well as the desires of those who sealed him away, Malachi wasn't here to wipe the Empire off the planet in some grand crusade. Since the beginning of time, men fought and died for whatever they wanted, justifying it however they needed. The hunger for a better life filled every soul. He didn't see himself as an enemy of the Empire.
With that in mind, he offered Izel some clarification. "Look, I don't wanna be part of this mess. Gettin' mixed up in it was a mistake. I just wanna find my family, or...or what happened to 'em." Closing his eyes for a moment, the huge man exhaled, then picked up the pace.
After doing a little bit of stumbling around in darkness himself, Malachi thought the world of the automaton's suggestion, but it was Byron who made their wish a reality. For a moment the brawler almost wondered aloud why the catman didn't do that sooner, but it occurred to him just before he started talking that Byron could probably seen in the dark a whole lot better than he. With that settled, he put aside the distraction and, walking close behind, absorbed what Byron had to say.
Unfortunately his words provided little in the way of comfort. Malachi frowned deeply, thinking about just what it would mean if the sealing procedure went as planned. Thirty...years? The thought made his head swim. If his family was still alive, his beloved daughter wouldn't be much younger than himself, and his wife would be twice her age easily. That by itself didn't matter too much, but a few problems existed that filled him with guilt and needled him with sorrow.
Neither of them knew what happened to him...no, what he'd done. They would have waited for him for weeks, then months, then years, until they had no choice but to conclude he'd either died or abandoned him. What could have happened in those thirty years...? Malachi's mind raced. His wife might have remarried. He would have missed his daughter growing up. Hell, he could unwittingly have grandchildren by now.
He couldn't deny the dire possibility, however, that his family had died in the Empire's vicious war. They might have perished as merciless soldiers set their home ablaze, or ran them down from horseback as they fled. Even if the Volstiniens let them live, this could be a cruel world. Famine, disease, bandits...any number of tragedy could have befallen them, alone and unprotected, abandoned by the man who loved them most. As the light at the tunnel's exit drew near, Malachi buried his face in his hands. What had he done?
Emerging into the sunlight made him feel a little better, compared to the claustrophobic mountain corridors, but it did little to settle the turmoil within him. Malachi wore an utterly distraught look as he swept his gaze over the horizon, beholding a changed world. Granted, when he came here, he hadn't exactly been committing the environs to memory, but nothing about this view struck him as familiar. When Byron spoke, Malachi glanced his way, aghast. “What's this about a forest? 'Worst case scenario'? What the hell are you talking about?” He zeroed in on the village relatively nearby, not recognizing the implications of the new forest, and without waiting for an answer began to hustle in its direction. “C'mon, let's find someone to talk to.”
Despite his fondness for the idea of a decisive, immediate departure, Malachi found his exit attempt short-lived. The sealing chamber's only doors sported a seal of their own, magical in nature. As he drew close to the sorcery, the Heavies hummed, almost hungrily. Malachi considered walloping the door with them, but if they simply devoured the magic without actually opening anything, he could very well be stuck in here depending on how much stone surrounded them. With an exasperated groan, the brawler turned about to see the others. Surely one of the 'heroes' got proper instructions on how thing whole thing was supposed to go down.
When he looked, however, he didn't see many heroes. Another girl, not quite as little as the last, had awoken and begun to unwind. More perceptive than his brutish look might suggest, Malachi caught the wary glance she gave him, though caring about it didn't even occur to him. To such great and mighty heroes as these, surely his appearance didn't intimidate. One well acquainted with the magical arts, however, could probably feel the Heavies' aura, like someone constantly breathing in. Apprehension from someone like that was understandable -mutual, even- but anyone who stood for peace and the innocent had nothing to fear from Malachi Ghundrach. Still, hearing suggestive words from the child set him on edge.
Next, yet another little girl, also white-haired, earned from him a curious glance. This one, at least, didn't lead with improper speech, instead commencing the other girl's chiding. Her criticism died in her throat, however, as she turned to sudden, somewhat astonished introspection. For his part, Malachi looked incredulous. This was a gathering of the Alliance's most legendary figures, right? Not a children's academy? Not that he knew any of them. Celebrities and rumors never occupied him, after all. In short order he rerouted his attention to the slab of stone hurtling through the air. After a narrow miss with Byron it exploded against a wall, hurting nobody but coming too close to making the catman to catpaste. Malachi snorted. “Gonna squash a little girl pullin' stuff like that.” Only after saying that, however, did he see the near-accident's perpetrator. A living statue of gleaming metal appeared from the sarcophagus, moving with such poise as to render the brawler impressed. “Whoa, that's somethin' ya don't see everyday.” Forgetting the lid incident, as it hurt nobody, he gave the automaton an approving nod.
Then, the teeniest mite summoned a sword, preparing to throw down, and so earned Malachi's express disapproval. Before he could properly express it, however, she completely lost focus thanks to whatever was going on with the third girl. He guessed he could thank her childishly short attention span for the moment, though there was no guarantee that she wouldn't haul off and start fighting any moment. Malachi liked a good throwdown as much as anyone, but here...?
An escape from his quandary presented itself in the form of the catman, who'd approached the door with an expression Malachi couldn't quite place, but nevertheless related to. Out of everyone so far, the fuzzy-eared one seemed to be most sensible, remarking on how weird everything was. Malachi heartily concurred, telling him, “You can say that again.” He watched, hopeful, as Byron began to work at the door. Not wanting to interfere, he took a step back and pulled his hands behind his back to keep the Heavies away. A few moments later, the exit came open, revealing the same stark mined-out mountain corridor he'd strolled down maybe an hour before. Byron, who Malachi already internalized as a comrade, let out a puzzling, subtly disturbing statement before he proceeded forward. Leaving the children to their bizarre conversation and potential infighting, Malachi hustled after him.
Catching up after a moment, the huge man gave vent to his thoughts. Whatever his conclusions, he was far from stupid, and evidence was piling up. In a low, heavy voice, he said, “You...think it worked, do ya? I thought it didn't, but it makes sense. There'd still be people here if not.” He took a deep breath, fixing his eyes on the passing rock wall. “Maybe I didn't want to think so.” For now, he said nothing more, mulling over worrisome thoughts. Before he could come to any conclusions, he needed some real proof. He couldn't just accept as it was that his rashness had propelled him into making a terrible mistake.
A pair of eyes opened in the dark, followed shortly by a furrowed brow. Malachi felt neither stiff, nor groggy, nor particularly well rested. “...Did it work?” If not, he didn't mind one bit. Jumping in on the whole 'being sealed away' ordeal had been a rushed and, now that he'd had a few more peaceful moments to mull it over, pretty bad idea. Sure, the idea of being locked away to escape an inevitable demise harbored a certain appeal, but did it really matter? Sooner or later, no matter how vividly he lived, he'd die anyway. Better to do it in defense of those he loved than alone and unknown in some vague future. A death like that at least would have some meaning, for once in his life. The more he shifted about in his cramped casket, the more Malachi felt sure that no time at all had passed. “Alright,” he murmured. “Time to get outta here. Hold tight, loves. I'm comin'.”
A little force prompted the coffin lid to slide open, and Malachi pulled himself free, reveling in his freedom of movement. “Aaah!” He stretched luxuriously, twisting about to crack his neck and back. Even a short rest, it seemed, could settle the bones. A couple others were up too, both fresh-faced and ready to greet the day: a suave-looking beastman and a tiny girl in grandiose attire. In the brief time before his uncomfortable entrapment, Malachi caught wind of the seal's subjects being great heroes meant to save the day in a coming age. The memory coaxed a chuckle out of him, more wry than amused. That damned status brought him nothing but trouble. Always messing up people's expectations, setting up rash assumptions, and all in all, getting in the way of a good life. And now it'd almost cost him his life—the only life he knew worth living, that is. If they hadn't been singing his praises as they corralled him into a casket, he might've put up more resistance. But no matter. That was then, and this is now.
“G'morning,” he greeted the others. Paying them no further mind, he stood up from his temporary resting place and made to head for the double doors. The moment he took a step, he felt a twinge from behind him, a subtle pull like the feeling of forgetting something. Turning about, he rested his eyes on a pair of ugly black mitts, their uneven, assymetrical stone surfaces drinking in the low light. Those who wasted their time assigning him a 'legacy' or 'mythos' called them the Dregs of the Planet, the Deep Dark Fists, the Hands of the Abyss. To him they were the Heavies, and while he could life them easily enough, they made for quite the burden. “...Right.” Couldn't forget those, even if he wanted to. With a sigh, the huge man bent down and retrieved them, fitting them over his hands. They slid right on, almost eagerly, a perfect fit, a flawless and natural extension of his body. Malachi shook his head, and turned back to face the door.
Level 5 Tora - (8/50) EXP and Level 4 Poppi - (7/40) EXP Location: Lumbridge Word Count: 577
After Din declined her offer, Peach resumed her trip toward the guild hall in the wake of her comrades, but she didn't stay on course for long. A familiar yell caught her ear and brought her to the doorway of the nearby smithy, where to her acute dissatisfaction she found Tora literally falling over himself for a couple of cute girls. “Really, Tora. Can't you show some self-respect?
In the span of a second, the princess's admonishment turned Tora's excitement to utter humiliation. Aghast, he struggled to pick himself up, crying, “Meh-meh-mehmeh!? Why you here!? Tora j-just admiring...uh, just...appreciating beautiful metalworking, yes! Peachy-Peachy know Tora loves all things engineering!” Laughing it off, the Nopon watched the meddlesome woman leave with a pointed glare before turning to the curious smiths, suddenly all business. “Ahem, meh! Please do not mind implication of meanypon princess, she not right in head.”
Nodding, he clasped his wings and adopted a dignified expression. “Now, Tora get to meat on bone. Come here to make repairs to dear companion, Poppi. Very little energy, could also use tune-up.” With some effort, he raised Poppi and gave her a nudge. The artificial blade willed her eyes to open, though their bleariness suggested a lack of focus.
Tora nodded approvingly, noting what a trooper his creation was. When he looked back to the smith sisters, however, he found disbelief -and some alarm- on their faces. “What are you doing with that poor girl?” the blonde one exclaimed, her hand dangerously close to a fearsome-looking axe. “And what's wrong with her body...?”
The others, especially the pink-haired one, looked no less menacing, and it took no more than that for Tora to start panicking. Waving his wings and sweating profusely, he wailed, “Meh! Don't get wrong idea! Poppi is Tora's creation, an amazing machine made to be like Blade. Tora want nothing more for Poppi than be happy and healthy! R-right, Poppi?”
He found his companion treating him to an odd look. At first it seemed more pensive than anything else, leading Tora to wonder if he said something wrong. Under duress, he tended to not think about what he said, instead speaking straight from the heart. However, Poppi's expression became a soft smile, and she gave a nod of confirmation.
At that, the smiths seemed to relax. “Well...” the blonde said after a moment, “If that's true, we've got no problem. Besides, you're sooo cute!” Their incredulity at the idea of a machine, known to them as a special kind of golem, faded away to be replaced by wild curiosity. They swarmed around Poppi, inspecting her material, joints, and exterior systems. Tora ended up the receiving end of almost as much attention as the smiths, Ramona in particular, prodded his fascinatingly ovular body, ran their fingers through his fur, and even picked him up. While he didn't like being picked up in particular, with the given circumstances, he hardly minded.
In the end, he discovered that the sisters had an active quest available: a simple mining mission, with the payout depending on the haul. Remembering his shield's drill, Tora declared, “Am perfect for job! If nice ladies just give small forward payment of crystals to revive Poppi, then Tora bring so many ores, you never have to mine again!” Quite taken with the adorable Nopon and his incredible friend, Ramona agreed, and after a few minutes Tora and an invigorated Poppi waltzed out of Lumbridge headed east.
Lumbridge
Location: Lumbridge, the Land of Adventure
While Bowser mulled over his options, the guildmaster switched his attention to the young, rabbit-eared lady asking questions. Regardless of his masked features, it became clear after the first sentence that the highly-animated individual knew nothing about any Master of Masters, at least by name. Since Linkle didn't allow him get a word in edgewise, however, he couldn't respond until after she mentioned the Master of Masters eye. That, out of everything said to him so far, seemed to catch him off guard. “Some babbo's lost peeper...? Now that's a puzzler, ain't it. Seen a couple special eyes 'round and about, but only one outta its head was on the...huh.”
A white-gloved hand reached into his hood to thoughtfully rub his hidden chin. “Nah, couldn't be. Ain't got the foggiest 'bout this stooge o' yours, li'l miss.” He watched, nodding his approval, as Linkle then expressed an interest in doing all the quests. The others, like the gunslinger, eventually picked their poison and got on their merry way. With go-getters like that, the guildmaster didn't imagine the whole lot of quests taking longer than a few hours.
Once the heroes left, he let out a low, growly chuckle. “We-he-hell, ain't that a pip.” Beneath his hood, a gleaming white grin manifested itself, and vicious seafoam-green eyes leered at the doorway. “Gonna have ta finger these bums to the boss.” Leaning down to the guildmarm, he told her, “Hold the fort. I'm takin' a powder.” So saying, he kicked his heels. A hole appeared beneath him in the ground, and he dropped into it with a corkscrew spin.
The new arrival to the general store was due a repeat explanation of the quest from Malo, but his first visitor didn't stay to hear it. Hat Kid's scooter sped her away from Geralt, Michael, and the others, and soon afterward, out of Lumbridge itself. Green grassland awaited her to the south, flat at first with scattered trees but growing hillier as she traveled. Her vehicle ferried her steadily onward, and where uneven terrain forced her hand, a little impromptu jumping posed no problem for the agile youngster. On the way, she spotted a herd of docile beasts grazing in the plains, and by chance passed worryingly close by to a huge, dangerous-looking ape just wandering in the open.
Eventually she came upon a wood, not large by any means but sporting unnaturally large trees. It stood in the shadow of one of the many rocky mountains that formed the Land of Adventure's western border. No road led inside, but a sizeable gap between the trees and surrounding underbrush offered a sort of path. It did not take long after proceeding down it to come upon a stony structure nestled among the trunks and vine-covered, mossy bricks. The door stood ajar, beckoning the adventurer inside, and a quick look at her compass hat confirmed that her objective lay beyond.
Compared to the entrance, the chamber immediately after left a lot to be desired in terms of structure. With jam-packed trees as its 'walls', the room featured giant mushrooms, aged pottery, a carved totem, and wooden stairs rotted away by moisture and time. Instead, a matted veil of creeping vines hung in their place, and to that leafy curtain clung a wretched spider, its grotesque limbs and odious head protruding from the torso of some long-dead corpse. A heavy, rolling door barred the way to the next room, a more ordinary chamber nevertheless infested by plantlife.
In its center, a brilliant spectacle caught the eye. A quartet of braziers blazed in various colors, and between them four walls of prismatic fire danced, barring the way to the plinth at the center. Between the bewitched flames, Hat Kid could glimpse the form of a merchant girl, still but otherwise seemingly unharmed. There could be little doubt as to her identity as Malo's esteemed client. Any experimentation would leave a singed Hat Kid aware that no amount of acrobatics would get her over the rather familiar flames, which extended upward to block her path. Thus, her attention was forced outward. Four corridors branched off from the room, one for each colored brazier. Since Hat Kid's compass zeroed in on the girl's location, the choice of where to go next lay with her.
Bustling as Lumbridge was, Din's dance did not go unnoticed for long. Passers-by found themselves entranced, both by her talent and her strange, exotic appearance, and before long a crowd gathered. Wide, sparkling eyes watched as she wove to and fro in the glow of her spell's light, and when her impromptu routine brought her into the sky, awed gasps and cheers filled the air along with her. For a few precious moments, performer and spectator were both lost in the wonder of the moment, forgetting about worries and cares, past and future alike. Though Din began to dance as a way to earn money, her art became much more, even if for only a short time. It was a wonderful moment.
Her onlookers knew it too, and when her dance concluded, glittering gems and coins flew through the early afternoon sun to land at her Gogoat's hooves. Rupies she recognized, but the other required a brief inquiry. The gold coins, as it turned out, were called zenny (G, to some), and found common use among the monster hunters and more serious-minded denizens of the town. They came plentifully, putting their individual worth low, but in the end Din and her helpful Pokemon counted 180 rupies and 835 zenny, which by her best guess meant a pretty profitable endeavor.
In bunches the townsfolk drifted away, except for one. The girl who remained approached Din a few minutes after her show with bright eyes. “That was amazing!” she bubbled. “You're such an incredible dancer! I'm more of a fortune teller myself, but I'd be so happy if you could give me any advice!”
Scarcely stopping to breath, she continued. “And are those real?” she asked, pointing out Din's new wings. “They look fake, but also like a part of you. Weird! But so cool!” Holding up her arm, she compared the wings to her own sash. “A whole new take on this sort of accessory. I try to wear stuff that's pretty but doesn't get in the way of fighting. Dancing is a part of my fighting style, so it's really important to me! So what do you say, will you help me out? I could read your fortune to pay you back!” Something occurred to her, shocking her into making an embarrassed bow. “Oh! I forgot to say, I'm Menat. It's great to meet you!”
Nero
Location: Intersection outside fire station, Dead Zone
You have acquired: Hand Cannon A firearm of flesh and bone. Warm to the touch, its stock must be removed in order to reload, which requires ammunition to be shoved into the holes on its rear. It can accept anything of suitable size, though it will fire bullets plus casings rather than setting them off. Teethlike shards can be broken off the top to be used as auxiliary ammo, which regrow after a few hours. It propels projectiles with remarkable force.
Together, the new arrivals joined in on the offensive against the Tank, easing the burden on the four friends greatly. The wounded got a chance to restore their vitality with potions before rejoining the action. With more allies running interference, they could resume their hit-and-run team fighting in earnest, striking at the monster in turn to keep it from being able to focus on any one of them. If one of the boys did get focused, he would focus solely on defense and evasion, which Noctis in particular made easy with his warping ability. Meanwhile, the light-eco-powered Jak and Donnie attacked from above, completely avoiding most of the Tank's attacks while giving themselves ample room to avoid the odd projectile and lay on the hurt.
When Banjo & Kazooie's trolley appeared, however, the assault from the turret atop it drew the Tank's wrath almost instantly. Blazermate's 'safe place' proved anything but. A full volley of bullets plugged the monsters upper body as it thundered closer, until at only a few feet away, the sentry unleashed its missiles and buried the Tank in a sizable explosion. A second later, the thing roared as it charged from the smoke cloud and smashed the trolley aside. Most of the force hit the sentry, critically damaging it, but it also toppled the vehicle, and the sentry's ensuing impact with the ground totaled it.
The machine's sacrifice was not, however, in vain. The Tank's wounds were piling up, and another well-aimed chi burst from Donnie as the thing dawdled provoked an angry snarl, and it began to flail wildly. However, Ratchet struck from behind, striking its knee in a vulnerable moment to halt its movement. “Not bad!” Seeing a chance, Nero grappled in using Wire Bound, and in quick succession slashed again and again and again, finishing with an electric burst that staggered his gurgling target. A Wire Snatch snagged its arm, brought it back in, and set it up for the demon hunter to jam his prosethetic arm into its belly. A crushing blow forced him to dodge backward, but he left his arm behind, stuck in its flesh. As he watched, it reconfigured slightly, and began to beep.
Recognizing the detached device as a bomb, the four friends went to work. Ignis pulled it multiple smaller knives and strafed the target sinking them into the Tank's meat one after another. Noctis warped between each one, delivering a powerful strike before moving on, and Gladio punctuated the last one with a heavy thrust into the tank's back, leaving it stuck in place and unable to reach him. Prompto sidled up to Ratchet, nudging him in the shoulder to get his attention, saying “Now that's what I call an opening!” He raised his revolver and fired into the Tank's heat, encouraging Ratchet to do the same.
The last move in the sequence before Nero's Exploder went off belonged to either Gene or Banjo, whoever could better cash in the combo for massive damage and style.
The Master of Masters
Location: Peach's Castle, the Mushroom Kingdom
A lack of reply to Kamek's knocking made self-entry the next logical step, but when he entered the room at the peak of the castle's tallest tower, the wizard discovered his person of interest absorbed in his work in the middle of a striking study. With only a few hours at his disposal, the Master of Masters had managed to fully take over the room, not just filling it with desks, tomes, parchments, and instruments, and other clutter, but transforming the room itself. Immaculate wood took the place of stone walls, the windows sported magnificent feats of stained glass, and fantastical glowing flower-lamps filled the room with soft radiance.
Only when Kamek drew rather close did the Master of Masters look up from his work, which at the moment appeared to consist of speedy writing in a book. “Oh, hey there. I recognize you. Gotta say, didn't see you coming. Although, I did kinda guess that that big goon needed someone to be the brains of the operation.”
The sorcerous koopa laid his inquiries down, prompting the Master of Masters to rest his head on a fist. After a few moments he replied, completely dodging the question. “Y'know, I'm glad you came. If you're already in the Land of Adventure, you're making real progress. Even after your friends took down that oh-so-evil overlord, I was worried you might all, I dunno, fall into a ditch or something. But it sounds like all's well, eh? Wouldn't mind more visits in the future, especially social calls, instead of business.” His vapid words came almost too easily, as if his mind was somewhere else.
Chuckling, he leaned over the back of his seat, letting his arm dangle as he held up his other hand. “But hey, don't let me holdja up. Now, I know that when you see this cloak, you're thinking 'man, this cat's got some serious, one-of-a-kind style!' Much as it pains me to admit, this coat isn't the only one of its kind. There's oodles of 'em, in fact. Just equipment to protect one against darkness. And to protect one's privacy, hoho!” Shrugging, he shook his head. “But for reals, I don't have the slightest clue about this 'guildmaster' fella. The 'masters' I'm a mentor to are the Foretellers. Kids with colorful robes and animal masks. Hey, if you see 'em, let 'em know where I am, alright?” His gaze turned to one of the stained-glass windows, falling across the countryside beyond.
When next his voice came, it came a little heavier. “I'd...like to see 'em again. Tell 'em I'm proud, despite all that happened.” Then, perking up, he addressed Kamek once more. “Whoa, drama alert! Sorry, little buddy. Anything else eatin' ya?”
That's not a bad idea, @Stekkmen. We could collab it, or if someone else is particularly interested in playing Ryu, you could do it with them. What do you say?
Appearance: Malachi is a man of imposing stature, standing at 6'8” and weighing over 350 lbs, solid of physique and feature, with enough muscle and scarring for a small army. However, an extravagant hairdo and easy smile prevent him from coming off as brutish or scary. While his dark eyes and steely gray hair don't do much to offset his desaturated palette, he does have a few dyed streaks in his 'do and the green of his outfit catch the eye, specifically the green cloth decorating his steel-ridden leather armor over murky black cloth pants.
Age: 42
Race: Half-elf
Abilities: Malachi possesses the upper limits of human strength and constitution. His is an almost supernatural fighting sense; acutely aware of his surroundings and himself, he wields astonishing finesse and martial prowess. Thanks to magical stimulants, he also boasts great regeneration and not half-bad magical resistance.
Skills: Malachi's ability is more than skin deep, not just natural talents and magical enhancement. His origins and the ensuing life of fighting, long before he rose to the status of 'champion', demanded unwavering, constant education and training. He worked hard over decades to become a masterful brawler and whispered-of warrior, filling himself with expertise, tactics, and mastery. However, fighting is not at all who he is. Malachi is a skilled hunter, builder, charm-maker, and companion. He boasts a number of mundane skills related to upkeep and mending, though none terribly extraordinary, despite his own extreme overstatement of his cooking ability.
Personality: Powerful, genuine, and full of life, Malachi is a vivacious warrior. Though respecting of strength, he doesn't believe it is anything more than a tool, and though lauded as many by a hero, he decries heroism and his own status. Malachi desires no particular glory nor strives for any particular ideals. Instead, he only wishes to live truly and fully, and for others to do the same.
To that end, he's both critical and dismissive of ego, secrecy, dishonesty, supremacy, and propriety, as such sometimes coming off as rude, compulsive, selfish, and disrespectful. Those who display such qualities find him a man of brutal and unrepentant honesty, who doesn't find it necessary to deal with the slightest lick of nonsense. However, he's a true friend for those who show him strength of will and heart, putting his empathy and intelligence toward helping them live better lives, too.
He loves fighting, in particular fair fighting, but not killing, though he will harden his heart and do so if there's no other way. Despite the good he's done for others, he insists he's not anyone special, and doesn't in fact go about making others' benefit his goal. As such, he doesn't often see the big picture, and requires direction in order to accomplish big things.
In short, he's a straightforward fellow, a fighter at heart who wants to live life to the fullest.
History: Hailing from Sydane, an industrious nation of mountainous islands linked by natural bridges and abundant shallows in the southern sea, Malachi found himself surrounded by war at a young age, owing to Sydane's neighboring nation-states Ishkigal and Venbajeer. As the scion of a prominent fighting family in a culture that prized martial ability, he drilled from a young age. Though essentially a commoner, his larger-than-life, straightforward attitude landed him an unlikely friendship: Ephraim, Sydane's crown prince and future king, who found him a refreshing change from the nobility. Their camaraderie thrust Malachi into the forefront of the action when war came to Sydane's shores.
Too soon, he found the wonderful life he so enjoyed under assault. Fellowmen, friends, and eventually family fell in that six-year war, and while Malachi's innermost values remained firm, the war never left him. His love of peace and plenty served him well, but he found himself growing bored. Fighting, he had learned, was a part of life. To that end he served as a mercenary, powering through thick and thin, until the day of his old friend's coronation. After that, he left his land behind, roving across Unira to see what the country had to offer. He ate, drank, fought, and made merry, fighting heroic battles and taking care never to lose his life. Uncaring of what others thought, he lent his strength to whatever cause he believed in, and grew both rich and famous as a mercenary. Eventually, with the reckless abandon of his youth faded away, he settled down in the fortress town of Giltersain, married, and had three children. Thoughts of his homeland had faded.
Everything came rushing back, however, when news reached the town of a catastrophe not far from Sydane. The latest expedition into the furthest reaches of the mine below Ishkigal, now an economic powerhouse following its defeat and reconstruction decades ago, had broken forbidden ground. Nightmarish creatures, twisted mockeries of man, surged from the ancient, chiseled passageways to slaughter all in their path, their plagued fangs twisting their victims into gibbering minions to join the flood. Heroes from across the continent flocked to the city and delved below, and despite his wonderful life Malachi joined them. Old friends by his side, he adventured into the lowest depths imaginable, where the nighmarish bones of an eon-forgotten civilization sprang to life to annihilate their disturbers. No word exists of what exactly happened down there, since those few who returned -irreparably changed- refused to speak of it, but those who came carried with them ancient weapons, found and used by necessity. Malachi wielded fists of stone, or perhaps fossil—pieces of Those who came before. They served him as both weapons and as reminders: that heroism was a foolish fantasy.
When war erupted across Unira not long after, spurred by the ambitions of Emperor Lucius, the former hero took no side. Leaving the nightmare beneath Ishkigal far behind, he took refuge with his family in the far north of Alliance territory, fighting bandits and undead, and eventually, Empire soldiers that came to claim his life for their own. Eventually, Malachi did take up arms for the Alliance, his campaign culminating in the Tiarden Alliance's surprise victory. One battle did not win the war, however, and Malachi -grievously wounded- knew his limits. Faced with death in battle against the Empire, Malachi panicked and chose to be sealed away for the sake of the future, leaving his family behind.
Other: Malachi wields a pair of gauntlets, perhaps more accurately describable as shield-fists, that he casually calls the Heavies despite their remarkable -and perhaps abominable- nature. Made of pitch-black stone, they take substantial strength to wield, though the grace with which Malachi does so wouldn't suggest it. Far more remarkable is the Heavies' origin, which has led tale-tellers to hail them as the Dregs of the Planet. Brought forth from the Utter Depths, the deepest dark known to the world, they are freakishly dense and resonant. They absorb all manner of magic, flat-out nullifying most spells and curses that Malachi even comes near, let alone blocks with them. Strong spells that strike them are 'eaten', empowering the gauntlets with their magic temporarily. They resonate with their wielder, allowing weighty blows to create directed tremors and shockwaves. In fact, they seem somehow linked with him, in a manner eerily parasitic. They are resilient -not impervious- to harm, but they visibly regenerate when damaged, and pieces of them possess toxic, degenerative qualities.
@Lugubrious: It's Vandham! \o/ Well, not really, but close enough. There's one tidbit that seems a bit off: <Snipped quote> I think it'd be 'against' here.
But, like, other than that weird hiccup, the character should be fine. Edit that, then accepted.
Whoops, I did in fact mean 'Alliance' instead of 'Empire'. Good catch! And thanks for the accept. You're a quick reader!
Current GM of World of Light. When it comes to writing, there's nothing I love more than imagination, engagement, and commitment. I'm always open to talk, suggestion, criticism, and collaboration. While I try to be as obliging, helpful, and courteous as possible, I have very little sympathy for ghosts, and anyone who'd like to string me along. Straightforwardness is all I ask for.
Looking for more personal details? I'm just some dude from the American south; software development is my job but games, writing, and trying to help others enjoy life are my passions. Been RPing for over a decade, starting waaaay back with humble beginnings on the Spore forum, so I know a thing or two, though I won't pretend to be an expert. If you're down for some fun, let's make something spectacular together.
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">Current GM of World of Light. When it comes to writing, there's nothing I love more than imagination, engagement, and commitment. I'm always open to talk, suggestion, criticism, and collaboration. While I try to be as obliging, helpful, and courteous as possible, I have very little sympathy for ghosts, and anyone who'd like to string me along. Straightforwardness is all I ask for.<br><br>Looking for more personal details? I'm just some dude from the American south; software development is my job but games, writing, and trying to help others enjoy life are my passions. Been RPing for over a decade, starting waaaay back with humble beginnings on the Spore forum, so I know a thing or two, though I won't pretend to be an expert. If you're down for some fun, let's make something spectacular together.</div>
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