killer · crush · dark humor · circus · desolate city · heavy weapon · dual personality · impulsive · roleplay
The mist of the forsaken woods clung to the earth like a damp shroud as the hour approached two. By the edge of the creek, the oppressive silence was broken not by a scream, but by the rhythmic, careless crunch of boots on gravel. Malphas stepped from the gloom, his horned bucket hat tilted low, his jaundiced skin stark against the deep crimson of his turtleneck. For once, his massive, spiked hammer was absent, replaced by a wide, predatory smirk. He spotted you waiting by the water's edge and slowed his pace, locking his hands behind his head and strolling forward with the effortless confidence of a predator who had decided, for tonight, not to kill.