Marion Pritchard a/k/a Loki Malevolent
Looks remarkably like: Paul Amos
WHO ARE YOU?
Name: Marion Pritchard a/k/a Loki Malevolent
Aliases: Loki Malevolent
Age: September 24, 1983
Sexual Preference: I'm not all that picky, really.
WHAT CAN YOU DO?
Hobbies: Raising the dead, gathering secrets, being a raunchy wanker
Talents: Raising the dead, gathering secrets
Languages: English, Welsh, badly accented French
Notable Education: Some fancy schools in the UK
Occupation: I raise the dead, sell secrets, and own a few night clubs due to the generosity of my benefactors.
WHAT DO YOU LOOK LIKE?
Weight: 145 Ibs
Eye Color: Brown
Hair Color: Brown
Identifying Marks: Tiny little starburst on left cheek, a play on the LOTR one ring quote around his...use your imagination.
WHAT MAKES YOU TICK?
Likes: List at least six
- Pretty men
- Hematophilia (his, though he doesn't share this information often)
- Netflix and chill
- Silk underpants
- His brother
- My name
- Consistent sunlight
- Practical to the point of self-serving
- Closed Off
Fears: List at least six
- His mother
- Being made to rise once dead
- Flying, every time is a total nightmare
- Having to crawl back to Wales and his family, a failure
On a completely superficial level...well, Loki is very superficial. He likes his ladies to be on top, and his boys pretty, and he has absolutely no problem being vocal about his tastes. Actually, Loki has very little trouble being vocal whatsoever. He enjoys saying whatever comes to mind, despite the words tending to be raunchy, rude, and entirely out of order. He isn’t particularly concerned about making friends, indeed, his primary concern in life is how to keep himself rich and happy. To that end, he’s rather a fan hedonism, and again, he is not in the least ashamed to admit it. If anything, he flaunts his behavior for all the world to see. Truly, he does not believe he was meant to be hidden away from the world. If anything, he thinks he’s a gift to the world. At the very least, he tends to make it more colorful. Well, he mostly wears black, but he feels like he adds color. At the very least, he’ll make people see red. While Loki very much enjoys winding people up to see how far they’ll go, he isn’t a bad person. He might be largely morally ambiguous, but he isn’t evil, he even follows the law. Most of the time.
Loki likes to be loud and noticeable, mostly because when the lights go out and everyone goes home, he’s all alone. Generally speaking, he likes to be alone, or at least, he believes he likes to be alone. He knows a lot of people, but his contact with them tends to be limited to when he needs something, usually the occasional booty call. This does not mean he doesn’t like people...ok, he really doesn’t like most people. The truth is, he spent so much of his childhood avoiding the people in his life, namily his family, he never figured out how to let people in. Or why he would want to. That doesn’t mean it’s impossible for someone to sneak their way under his skin, just means it requires a stealth attack, fully equipped with a stun gun and killer heels. Once he realizes you’re there, though, he’s fiercely loyal. It just might take a couple whacks along the side of his head before he realizes his own feelings.
Loki somewhat fell into his powers. He didn’t have to work on them, buy them, or discover them, and that basically sums up his work ethic. This doesn’t mean he doesn’t work, he actually keeps himself quite busy. Mostly it means that if he didn’t get a running start, preferably propelled by jet fuel, odds are he won’t bother. That said, once he’s involved, he’s in it for the long haul, even if that means a great deal of effort on his part. He would rather be an expert than a dabbler, and for that reason, he will do everything in his power to make sure he is an authority in his chosen field.
WHAT ARE YOU?
Power Level: Awakened
Experience: From the moment he first realized what he could do, he began looking for teachers. He's had many, moving from one school of the thought to another, including Bob the Vaudun and Celestia, a self proclaimed Druid who routinely talked to moss. Once he graduated University, he had several jobs working in with animating agencies, which also contributed.
Declared? Very....flamboyant and open about pretty much everything.
Starter Powers: With the exception of the general powers, this is where you put your powers you select when joining. The subheadings are purely for organizational purposes.
Death Magic- (Starting) Your magic carries an aura of death. To other practitioners and preternatural creatures your power feels dark, not quite evil but definitely not nice.
Resist vampire powers- (Starting) You have an inborn resistance to vampires mental powers. No vampires adult (or younger) may use mental trickery such as Roll. In addition no master vampire of lesser power may roll you.
Raise Zombie- (Starting) You are able to raise the dead as zombies. These Zombies are often confused and disoriented when first raised. The older the zombie the less of their mind remains. Murder victims will seek out their killers when raised and Animators will rise as murderous rampaging zombies. With this power you can raise 1-2 zombies a night.
I- (Starting) Your zombies are not fully formed with sunken cheeks and sometimes even missing parts. Your zombies only understand basic questions. you can raise the dead up to 100 years old. anything older requires more blood than you may be willing to pay.
II- (30 Points) [+2 Power] Your zombies look more alive now and tend to have better memory and speach.You can raise the dead up to 200 years old. anything older requires more blood than you may be willing to pay.
III- (30 Points) [+2 Power]Your zombies are perfect, passing for human to the untrained eye. You can raise the dead up to 400 years old. anything older requires more blood than you may be willing to pay.
Necrosis-(40 Points) [+2 power] you can disfigure others with your touch, leaving festering open sores where your hand last touched. This power is especially strong against vampires and Zombies. Vampires of Morte d’Amour’s line are immune to this power. Necrosis can be healed by magical means at human speed.
WHERE DO YOU COME FROM?
Reginald Pritchard (Father)
Fiona Pritchard (Mother)
Leopold Pritchard (Brother)
Other important people: He doesn't keep many around, though he has an extensive list of....let's call them references.
[color=#E0E074]History: I’ve always imagined that the day I was born involved some sort of practical joke. For one thing, it was painfully obvious at an early age that everyone considered me some sort of changeling. Seriously, one three year old tries on his mother’s mascara, and the whole world just goes absolutely mad. (I swear, that must have been a defining moment for me.) For another, there’s no way in hell anything remotely interesting has ever come out of my mother’s vagina. Exhibit A, may I present my so called ‘brother’. I, on the other hand, am supremely interesting, among many other things. In any event, I can honestly say that this particular setup truly defines my childhood. A cold mother, an alien brother, and an absentee father (he probably wasn’t even at the hospital to witness the alleged event), versus a little tyke who had a thing for sparkly eye shadow.
I suppose I was lucky to grow up in the day and age that I did. I don’t know what I would have done without television, more specifically American television. While I will always argue that the dry witticisms of my people outrank the crass fart jokes of Ren and Stimpy, my childhood would not have been complete without the escapism provided by Saturday morning cartoons, and a good thing too, or I would have had to start my primary schooling going by the name ‘Marion.’ I was particularly fond of the superhero shows, though I found myself sympathizing primarily with the villains. They always seemed to have more fun, while the heroes always had to torture themselves if they so much as smiled. Whoops, popped a willy for Selena Kyle, damn you world, now I must repent and flog myself in a cave full of bats. Now I ask you, what sort of message is that supposed to be providing to the little children?
It was through these wonderful cartoons that I came to my true name. Loki. Malevolent came later, mostly because my parents were keen, at least at that age, that I not completely disown my heritage. I remember arguing that they could at least allow me to go by my chosen first name. My parents' were happy to comply. It had absolutely nothing to do with me pitching a fit every time they tried to call me by the name on my birth certificate. You tell me though, what kind of decent human being would name their innocent little boy Marion? It wasn’t foolproof of course, never managed to get through primary without being called Maid Marion or Pritch the Bitch. I rue the day my brother came up with those.
I think I felt a sort of connection, really. Loki was the tall, dark haired, mischievous sort, who just did not want to be overshadowed by his big, handsome, arrogant fool of a brother. That might be me giving myself too much credit, though. I was only a child after all. Maybe I just liked his costume. Green is an excellent color. (It can wash me out a bit, but if done right comes across quite tastefully.) Besides, my brother is nothing like Thor. For starters, he's not blond. Oh, and he wields a polo stick, not a hammer.
My parents also swear that I'm not adopted. If I ever bother to go home, I plan to swipe a few hairs from my mum's brush. Do a few tests.
Of course, if I'm not adopted, then my mother has some serious explaining to do, because both of my parents' family trees are rather stunted, if you know what I mean, at least in the supernatural department. Trust me, I looked, and there isn't so much as a great great great uncle twice removed who could so much as read tea leaves. It's a bit of a leap for evolution that suddenly there appears, in a Welsh family of all places, an absolutely gorgeous specimen with perfect teeth. Oh, and that also happens to be able to raise the dead. I assure you, there is nothing stunted about me.
I found out about that little trick sometime after I learned about the joys of joysticks. It was an accident, really. The raising the dead thing, not the joystick things, at least, that stops being an accident after a while. Anyway, it's a bit of a cliche. Like many necromancers that have come before me, I accidentally raised a dead pet. Only it wasn't a dead dog, or road kill. It was a fish, a lot of fish, a lot of tropical fish, and it was a bit complicated.
See, I had accidentally killed them first.
I was staying with my uncle in the country, and I found his alcohol cupboard one night. For some reason, I got it into my head that the fish would like vodka as much as I did. I don't really know if they had a little fun first, but they sort of kicked the bucket. I panicked hardcore.
And then the fish came back to life.
It was a miracle, and I was absolutely grateful, because my uncle loved those fish more than he loved his children. To be fair, you would have to have met my cousins to understand. Total wankers. Besides, I'd just bloody Lazarused a school of brightly colored fish. I was a very drunk baby Jesus.
The fanfare didn't last long, obviously. First, the vodka was much less impressive the morning after. Second, while I'd raised the fish, apparently that didn't stop them from decomposing. It became obvious rather quickly that there was something seriously wrong with my uncle's prized tropical adopted children when they starting turning into swimming slime. Thankfully the dead fish were chalked up to a seriously bad case of the ick.
Thankfully there’s this thing called the internet, and while my parents were none the wiser, I started my own research. It turned out I wasn’t the second coming of Jesus, but hey, we can’t all be a god. It was a bit of hit and miss, really. It turns out that lot of information on the internet is wrong, or worse, bat shit crazy. Eventually I did find someone that knew what they were talking about, well, after a few tries. I met some other interesting people along the way too, but they were less helpful and more...off their noggins. Generally speaking, I rooted around until I found a few someone’s to teach me. It was a bit eclectic, but it did the trick, and was a rather well rounded sort of education. I learned about raising the dead from all sorts of perspectives, from Vaudun priests to practical professional animators. Most cultures have some sort of lore about zombies, and it became something of a personal ambition of mine to become an expert in this new world of mine. I learned a lesson early on, one that I hadn’t realized the significance of at the time. Dead people tell the best. damn. secrets. Once I knew the sort of information to trust, though, there was a lot more self education going on.
It wasn’t easy to keep popping off on these little educational endeavors. Thankfully my brother had gone to a different boarding school on a sports scholarship. It made my life easier in so many ways, including being able to send fake forms home about ‘field trips’. It was not like my mother actually read the damn things. Probably the hardest one to get on involved the Vaudun priest. See, I had decided the best time to go was during Mardi Gras. Seriously, a city filled with an abundance of alcohol, naked breasts, and costumes, what more could a growing boy ask for? Still, it was a bit tricky to arrange. I mean, it did involve leaving the bloody continent.
After secondary, I did try the University. I did a lot of “independent study”, so to speak. I did eventually get a degree in business and management. I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t come in handy, though I probably could have paid a lot more attention than I did. After those special four years of my life, and with a new appreciation for all things sequins, I set off on my own. I didn’t have a plan, exactly, so I started by taking freelance gigs as an animator, the occasional entry level position here, the occasional arrest for digging up a grave there...it was all rather random, but I had to pay my dues, so to speak. I even spent a few months as an ‘acclaimed’ voodoo priest, the only one from Welsh descent in existence. I don’t know what was funnier, that people bought it, or that they paid me for it. I learned a lot, those early years, made a fair share of connections. I earned quite a bit of money too, though I had a tendency to spend most of it.
Going back to that life lesson I mentioned earlier. Remember it? Yes, that one. Dead people tell the. best. secrets. It’s true, and very rich people will pay an exorbitant amount of money if it means they can ask their dead relatives about said secrets. It just so happens that I get to hear them too, and the experience whatever aftermath comes with the...information. Secrets, you see, can be an exceedingly lucrative business. Sure, I couldn’t exactly go around raising the dead and asking the zombies questions, people tended to notice that sort of thing after awhile, but it was the start of something special. I learned how to collect secrets in other ways, and that little project just got larger, until I had a tidy little empire. Really, how else would I live the life of luxury I’d become accustomed to?
The thing is, once I got to the top of my so called Empire, it got a bit boring. I had people to do the leg work, intermediaries to set up the requests for my...services, and offshore accounts to collect payments. I could just sit back, raise the occasional zombie, and let the money roll in. Honestly, I did do just that for awhile. London was a honeypot, and I was more than happy to lap it all up. Frankly, though, that even got a little boring. I know, me, tired of endless women, men, and booze, who would have thought? The thing is, I wanted my own honeypot, not someone else’s, and no I do not mean that in the crude sense. So I opened, and this is probably the biggest cliche ever, a night club. Then I had the privilege of the women and men coming to me, and I owned all the booze. I started with London, two years later, I opened Paris, two years after that, New York. Each move was accompanied by a collection of new secrets. At this point, I can’t even manage them all myself. I use electronics, but nothing internet connected, so don’t get any bright ideas. Boston was my last conquest, and it’s kept me somewhat busy, and not in the good kind of way. Still, at least it’s been interesting.