[[Template core/front/profile/profileHeader is throwing an error. This theme may be out of date. Run the support tool in the AdminCP to restore the default theme.]]

Community Reputation

10 Good

About Malhavik

  • Rank
  • Birthday 04/26/1990
  1. "She's a smart lass. Not what I would call a proper Lady but I will say she knows how to get results."
  2. "Such potential that one... Far to troubled."
  3. My wife said she'd draw me up a sinister, utterly evil portrait of Malhavik. This is what I got.
  4. Malhavik


    Full Name: Vincent Malhavik Undercroft Titles or Nicknames: Malhavik Age: Died at 26 Race: Undead Gender: Male Hair: faded Blonde Eyes: Black Height: 5'11 Weight: 160 Notable Physical Features: The flesh of his lower lip and jaw have been eaten away exposing the bone beneath, though he rarely shows his face to others. Place of residence: The Grims Warlock Sanctum, abandoned inn in Silverpine. Place of Birth: Born in a small town outside Stormwind. Rebirthed in Undercity. Known Relatives: Talfryn Undercroft. Religion/Philosophy: "Chaos and strife give me desire, and therefore purpose. Peace, will put me to rest." Occupation: Alchemist, Soldier. Guild Rank: Reaper. Known Associates: The Grim. Known Nemesis: Kex'ti. Special Skills: Born to a wealthy family, Malhavik is well schooled and particularly excels in botany. Positive Personality Traits: Malhavik was groomed to be a gentleman in life, and is very polite. Negative Personality Traits: Malhavik is extremely competitive. When tensions rise, his personality darkens and changes completely. History Before The Grim: Malhavik worked under Varimithras with a team of two others for many years to eliminate high priority targets. Upon Varimithras' order to betray the Banshee Queen he murdered his teammates and collected their souls. He then went into hiding to await his masters demise, and ensure any bounties on his head to fade. History In The Grim: Malhavik has proven himself a dedicated team member under both Anaie, against the Iron Horde, And Ley'ujin against the Alliance. Though a core member of both fists, Malhavik has a reputation of stirring up trouble and being rather sneaky about it. Due to this, his superiors have one eye trained on him at all times.
  5. Rain drizzled casually down on the old wooden inn that was now his home. Vacant cobwebs glistened with moisture and glowed a soft green in the pale daemonic light emanating from the multitude of candles strewn about the room. Dilapidated, moldy wooden furniture outlined the room, which held a stone alter at its center. The alter was a meter and a half in height and spewed a liquid torrent of green fel from a deep recession molded into the top. Several inches above the source of the fel floated a purple-black diamond. Malhavik stood hunched over the malefic aperture, strumming through the pages of a warped leather bound black book. “Death will not save them from suffering…” The warlock thought to himself while focusing on the ritual. “To escape me so easily…. the audacity!”. He paused a moment, finding his inner well of magic teetering at the strain of imbuing the gem. With a mental command a voidwalker materialized from the shadows, only to erupt into shadow again as Malhavik consumed the demons energy to restore his own. From his robes he protruded another, smaller, black gem. “Your soul will bolster the strength of the walls of my prison Fhenrir” he spoke jovially to the gem he held in his hand. He closed his eyes and opened his hand. The gem containing Fhenrir’s soul levitated to the larger gem until they touched; causing the stone containing Fhenrir’s soul to shatter and release a pulse of black energy that sucked all light and sound from the room. Flicks of small purple lightning shot out from the stone illuminating the now dark room in quick rapid flashes. Malhavik gently plucked his new creation from the air and held it before him. “My most esteemed warden, your charge is great indeed. Soon I will be sending you prisoners you must ensure remain obedient. I have many things for them to witness.” He fastened the gem into a socket built into the chest of his robes, and made his way through the creaking inn to the outside. He looked up to the grey misty sky of Silverpine as the rain softly whetted the thin cloth covering his face. “Not even death can save you from me…”.
  6. Malhaviks head swam, and he peered at Vionora through blurry haze. Accalia's voice bounced around in his skull, commanding him to obey his nature, to devour Vionora's soul. The old beings words inflamed the gnawing hunger crushing the warlocks chest. His clawed hand inched closer to the elf's pristine skin, the joints creaked with anticipation of grimy caress. "Just remember..." The words cut through his foggy mind like lightning. He blinked in sudden surprise, gaining clarity in the odd situation. He looked to the mangled twisted corpses of Tahma and Folak, then to Vionora standing beside them. "That's not right... " He mumbled dumbly to himself while halting his advance. "This isn't real!" He suddenly realized. Accalia urged him on, regardless of his sudden awareness. "WE ARE THE SAME, PROVE YOURSELF TO ME!" The triple canine voices in he head screamed. "No. We are not the same." His clawed twisted grasp changing to caress Vionora's jaw. "You seek the end of all things, while I seek to continue struggle eternal." He gazed at Vionora, a perfect, beautiful agent of strife. Capable of so much conflict, so much progress! He knew though, that was also a lie. He had failed in his creation of such a beautiful creature. This was just another false construct of his mind. The real Vionora did not enjoy suffering as he did. She was, despite her reputation, a kind soul. A soul dead and devoured. Malhaviks chest heaved, not out of hunger, but out of regret. "You are as vile as the peace mongering weaklings of the Alliance and Horde... Both of you seek an end. An end to progress! I will never allow such indolent behavior!" The warlock closed his eyes in determination, and when he next opened them, he found himself staring into the twisted treetops of the Darkmoon isle.
  7. The room exploded into action as orange angry flame surged from the warlocks body, setting the room ablaze. One of the shamans totems began to emit a blue lights as healing water magic kept the flames at bay. Tahma fired a volley of arrows into the heart of the inferno, attempting to cease Malhaviks Hellfire. While most of the arrows were vaporized, one struck home and pierced the warlocks chest, successfully breaking his concentration. The two quickly ran through the burning remnants of the room to subdue and capture Malhavik. "I will not fail my lord..." Malhavik spoke quietly as he watched the two approach. Behind his mask his skin began to twitch, then writhe as if it were a living thing trying to break its bonds. He knew he couldn't possibly win against the two of them at once, he would have to do something desperate. The pain in his chest began to grow immensely. "I am so sorry, I know you only seek what is best for me." He extended his hands for the two to help him up. Folak sighed and reached out to grasp the warlocks hand. Tahma's sharp eyes caught the movement under the warlocks robes just before Folak and Malhavik joined hands. "NO!" He shouted and moved to shove Folak to the side, but he was to late. The troll screamed in agony as the affliction coursed into his body. Malhavik stood and grasped Tahma by the shoulder while he was distracted with Folak. The soul shards floating above Malhaviks head all exploded in unison, surging power into him. His two friends immediately fell to the ground and began shrieking and clawing at their flesh. Their eyes bled, skin blistered and ripped, and very souls began to boil. Malhavik had poured every ounce of his magic into his afflictions, and they were great and many. His companions would not survive. Malhavik stood trembling over the two on the floor amidst the burning furniture. "You left me know other choice... I must obey my lord..." He said pitifully to himself. He wanted to run, to flee the nightmare he was in but his legs would not move him. He had to do something for them... The guilt in his heart was maddening, he couldn't leave them here to die slow agonizing deaths. With trembling hands he pulled out two large soul stones and looked into them. In the reflection he saw himself with eyes glowing bright amber, and he dropped the stones in shock. Deep hideous laughter filled the room. A sickly familiar voice filled his mind. "I know your secrets little one... You are monster just as I me." Malhavik wanted to argue but couldn't find any words. He stood there not fully believing but not denying it either. "You thought your humanity died that day until you met my herald. Now you've fooled yourself into believing you are something capable of compassion..." The voice hissed. "Lets find out what you really are once and for all then..." Suddenly before him, Vionora had appeared. "Devour her soul!" The voice commanded. At some point the pain in his chest had disappeared, and was replaced by a ravenous hungry void. Vionora's soul looked exquisite. He took a step toward her, seemingly incapable of stopping himself. "I'm sorry dear girl. I... can not change what I am..." he spoke sadly.
  8. Dark whimsical chimes and deep drums filled the air, accompanied by the guttural growls of the hungry dead bleeding softly into his private room in the Brill Inn. He stood staring into the visages of Tahma and Folak, his companions in the arena for the past year. Tahma stood tall and proud, decorated in the predator garb awarded to only the highest ranking hunters of the Horde. His expression was one of anger, and his great bow was gripped tightly in his massive tauren hands, notched and ready to fire. Folak sat on his heels beside Tahma, face masked and impassive behind trollish voodoo fetish. They had been arguing for hours, this moment charged with the electricity of eminent battle. Folak pleaded again. "Brudda, dis be not joo! Listen teh us! We wud not evah mislead joo!" Tahma snorted and spoke in a deep voice with deadly seriousness, "He has chosen his path, Varimithras is obviously more important to him than we are." Malhavik hesitated, "My dearest friends, please do not stand in my way... Varimithras has given me purpose! He is the only reason I stand here today! When everyone else had forsaken me, he was the only one to believe in me!" The warlock began to glow as he readied his magical defenses, he had battled along these two hundreds of times and knew Tahma would seize the moment of opportunity the second it presented itself. He did not believe they would kill him, but they would surely maim him and prevent him from completing his mission. "We will not let joo commit dis travesty!" Folak growled while slamming down totems of bone and hair. The sockets in the voodoo skull he wore began to glow brightly, momentarily blinding the warlock. Tahma let loose an arrow as Malhavik raised an arm to shield his eyes, but from out of the warlocks shadow a voidwalker lept to intercept the arrow knocking it harmlessly to the side. Though physically unharmed, Malhavik felt a pain suddenly burst into his chest for but a moment. He ignored the feeling and quickly snapped a soulshard to gather soul energy for an assault. "Please, just leave me! You cannot understand!" He shouted.
  9. The Forsaken wound there way down through the narrow corridors and twisting staircases, passing many heavy wooden doors guarding unknown chambers. Malhavik chuckled from time to time as he watched Syreena nimbly maneuver over the scattered bones, steep steps, and uneven hallways without spilling any of her goods. She's still in there somewhere... When they approached the door to the lowest chamber, Malhavik produced a simple black iron key. He stuck the key into the lock and door clicked open without they key being turned. The room was very dark, save for the demons fiery mane at the far end of the room. With a nod from Malhavik the demon began to drag the lid off the top of the white marble sarcophagi. Malhavik paced the room, lighting candles with soft green felfire. As soon as the room was well lit, and the safeguards of the coffin removed Malhavik spoke loudly. "Head up stairs my lovelies, the other guests should be arriving soon. Gather your brothers and sisters and make sure you entertain them while we prepare." He turned to face the dark waitress as his demons made there way out of the room. "The one lying in that coffin I hoped might pique your interest. Have a look won't you?"
  10. Malhavik looked up from the journal he had been writing in when he noticed a familiar clinking noise draw near. "Ah, miss Syreena! How wonderful to see you! I trust you brought drinks for the guests?" He laughed merrily and ushered Syreena down the steps. "There is one here you absolutely must see immediately! Come, come"
  11. [[ shit. Well I suppose shad priest is pretty close to an affliction lock! ]]
  12. [[ Us warlocks gotta stick together! ]]
  13. The corpse convulsed and twitched randomly. Black fluid began to run from the eyes, nose and mouth. "Agamand Mills, Tirisfall. I await your presence with joy!" The corpse stiffened and remained motionless, black eyes continuing a dead stare at the elf.
  14. The mages body jerked violently and the eyes flicked open, revealing inky black orbs. The mouth twisted into a crooked grin, and Malhaviks voice whispered through parted lips. "Well if it isn't lovely Lady Aaren! Tell me the news I wish to hear."
  15. The sound of Malhaviks tightly wrapped bony heels and clawed toes echoed throughout the tombs tight corridors. Briskly he descended the spiraling stone stairs to the lowest chamber, where he so often kept his 'guests'. Loosely scattered bones clinked here and there, as rats made their quick escape from the encroaching vile green light of the warlocks raiment. The chamber he entered was fairly large with a stone table near him, and a large marble sarcophagi with two demons standing adjacent on the opposite wall. The floor was a dark smear of blackened blood stains. As the warlock approached his captives cage, Shahriah pulled the immensely heavy lid to the side with her six powerful arms. Within the sarcophagi was a blackness that stretched to unfathomable depths. Malhavik flicked an annoyed gaze to the Voidlord beside them and the portal to the abyss vanished, revealing a sickly elven man within the sarcophagi. The elf lay motionless, and largely covered in bloodied bandages. His hand still lacked a finger, and the necrosis had spread nearly up to his elbow. Without the attention of a proper healer, the body would succumb to infection and give out very soon. Malhavik slid a lithe curved dagger from his belt, and began carving long strips of flesh from the elf's chest. He placed the strips into a jar on the stone table, nodded at the two demons to replace the lid and portal, and began to ascend the stairwell. "I have plenty of samples to study should the elfs body falter. Too bad miss Syreena isn't of proper mind." He thought to himself as he climbed the stairs. "Perhaps I'll invite her over soon. She really should be the one to kill him."