Moltus

by **Mr Molly** November 19th 2013, 7:28 am

MOLTUS
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The Basics

Identity: Milo Molly
Renegade Name: Moltus / M
Title: Pollutant Pantomime, Fantastic Mr. Fungus
Alignment: Horizontal, preferably. Neutral is fine too.
Age: Modern
Gender: Male (asexual)
Race: Interstellar Fungus
Shell: Crimson
Cells: Scarlet
Height: 158 cm
Weight: 38 kg
Blood type: Foreign

The Look You Love

His charming attire is a meeting of East and West. Frock, shirt, belt, pants. It's unusual in design, but not terribly out of place. A taxidermic fox can't be subtle with clothes. The more it looks like a costume, the less people pay attention. Speaking of foxes, his skins are numerous. One day he might switch out for an owl, a dog, or maybe a robot. Never any tails. Tails are cumbersome. Always on him is his satchel, cigarette case, and a pair of curl-toed aviator boots to reach those high shelves.

Spoiler:

For those extended outings, he has a different set of togs. One that looks like he ran headlong into a pile of used curtains, then stitched various craft store goodies to it. When appearing in this set of sheets he will almost certainly have all his equipment handy.

Spoiler:

Why You Love It

Under the skin: A terrible sort of chaos envelops this devil. Room for good and evil, but no true ambition for either. Paranoia keeps him alive; curing his photosensitivity keeps him moving forward. I'd like to add that he can get a bit creepy. Some emotions... he has to see up close. Speaking of senses, Milo has no ability to communicate normally. Sign language works well enough, though dreams are easier.

Origins: If I may, I would like to recall a whisper. A tale of a meteor that came with a friend. It crashed and cracked, sizzled and oozed. The sun baked the spewing liquid, hardening it to match the rest of the case. The outward appearance not unlike red jade, no bigger than your brain. It stayed for a day before leaving that night, gone from memory. The one to see it? One hunting for food. Word is she became food. In fact, she took that rock home—a shack away from the world.

Upon the fall of night, the interstellar prize was given a place on her windowsill. She dreamt it spoke to her. Her hammer, the rock, the Moon. The next morning she was unsure what to make of it. Cursed, perhaps? She thought to put it back, but the dilemma had her conflicted. It was so ornate. Unique. She'd never seen anything like it—probably never again.

She gave it another night, and another. Each night, the same dream. Hammer, rock, Moon. Hammer, rock, Moon. Hammer... rock... Moon. Her motivation grew so mountainous that on the tenth night, she took her hammer to it. The night was full. Moon: high. Little could have made that night more appropriate for action.

The rock shattered like a dutch tear. The shards ricocheted off every surface, wedging themselves into anything that would let them. What was left by the impact was little more than a writhing ball of red moss. The hunter didn't pay heed to it; too busy licking her wounds, screaming some Romani gibberish. By the time she had a chance to peek, the alien was gone.

Time went on. She had better variety in her dreams, and no scars to show. However, it wasn't long before presents began appearing at her door. Inedible berries and mushrooms at first; soon whole animals. One night she decided to pretend to sleep, keeping her eyes and ears open for guests. Turns out she had a resident: her not-so-dead stuffed fox. She let it go and return unhindered, waiting for sunrise. She would face it then.

The same hammer used to shatter the rock would be used to smite the fox. As small as it was, she heft it as high as the sun, only to bring it down upon... nothing. The fox jumped to the side, then at her hand. Teeth clenched down, forcing the hammer to fall. She stepped back, terrified, bleeding once again. The fox's eyes, false as they were, locked on the hunter. It paced back and forth, never breaking this visual lecture. Ten minutes of uneasiness passed before the fox finally stopped its unnatural movement. It sat by the hammer, brushing the object away with its tail. I suppose an understanding was met. She wrapped herself up, pet the fox, and removed the hammer.

They grew to be friends, learning from one another a great many things. They would explore, hunt, dream—together. It was in dreams that they could more expressively communicate. Of their many conversations, one was of eventualities: death. The fox would not die, but she would.

Near the end of her days, she helped him build a new identity. Still a fox, but one that could stand. A functional freak of nature. He would be able to leave the forest like that. Maybe enter cities. It would have to be without her, however. She died within a fortnight of its completion. Sometimes, when you're sick, cold is too cold. The next day, the fox had gone. Only the bones of the hunter remained, resting peacefully under the warm cover of a wolfskin. Where he went, and who he became? Well...

Of his many Identities in the years that came, his first: the [You must be registered and logged in to see this link.] was perhaps his most famous. A vaudevillian pantomime performer from back in the day. His act ranged from illusions to acrobatics, all usually involving oddities of taxidermy. One of his more consistent acts resulted in the removing of his own head. Never a dull show. However, the rise of talkies proceeded it in popularity rather quickly. Refusing to put his act on the silver screen, Milo left the limelight.

Since then he's had too many run-ins with the men in black to make himself a spectacle in the age of instant information. Last I heard, he was hired by a billionaire to scout potential vacation spots. Very discreet.

Tool Shed

A case of flavoured e-cigs. They contain liquids that, while harmless and tasty by themselves, when mixed with his fermenting core create a sludge. It can be either spit out little by little, or violently ejected. There are three varieties: honey, lemon, and vanilla. The first is rather harmless unless you're being chased by a nightmare. Slumber inducing. The second is quite an awful experience overall, similar in characteristic to eating large quantities of nutmeg. A few hours of nausea and paranoid hallucinations. The final one really shouldn't be spat nor vomited at anyone. It's a comfortable experience—almost euphoric. For any of these to take effect, they must make contact and be absorbed by a human. Creatures with similar physiology may also be affected. The potency depends on the amount absorbed.

Crunch:

(5)

To deal with those days where rain falls hard, he carries around a blast-beating brolly. Shell fragments are embedded in the fabric, strengthening it (and consequently making it shine like Dorothy's slippers). Slung from a shoestring baldric, this little wonder helps disturb/deflect bullets and airborne shockwaves when open. Archaic methods of combat can pierce the umbrella as a spear does kevlar. To combat this: a hidden blade carefully constructed via strategic cellular sun exposure. Twist and remove. Like a subtle knight: sword and shield. These are very fragile in the light of the Moon, but strong as diamond otherwise. (3)

The last of his super tools is a pair of curl-toed aviator boots. Hardly noticeable. It enables jumps to reach 15 meters with specially triggered pumps. Without some hard training, using these would certainly be hazardous. (2)

The final thing of note is a satchel containing taxidermic dolls. The main reason for this will become apparent soon. As an aside, the bag also contains an emergency sewing kit.

What Else?

Numero Uno: super-replication. He's a collective of fungi working together, forever evolving, forever a hivemind. Damaged cells get cannibalized, extra cells get put to good use, and sometimes there's a party. (6)

Those extra cells I mentioned, when they get put to use, are typically also for eating. Sometimes however, they get to go on a trip. They're separated from the main body, unable to function normally. No reproduction. These newborns are free agents until they rejoin the hive. Used commonly as spies, these mini-molds can be contained inside stuffed animals, boxes, etc. If there's no sun, walls can hold them too. Data transfer occurs at touch. He keeps them small to avoid any possibility of a civil war. (3)

Doll Types:

As for his collective senses: he has alternate methods. Put simply, rather than sight, he tastes and smells the air around him. Range is roughly 150m radius. A city block. Aside from those he has an ability to speak. The only ones that can hear are those under the influence of the Sand Man. The range of his voice is no further than a whisper. (1)

The Grid
Intelligence: 5 (tools: 5/3/2)
Occult: 0
Strength: 2
Speed: 4
Durability: 6
Ability: 6/3/1
Fighting Skills: 3
Magic: 0
Spells: 0
Flight: 0
Wealth: 1

Weaknesses include:

Sunlight exposure. Solidifies cells in shell-structure. Basically dead. No cure as of yet.
Moonlight exposure. Canesword's basically useless. Impact shatters shell-structures.
Cleaning products. Toxic stuff, that.

by **Sim** November 19th 2013, 3:33 pm

I like the concept, you'll want to take a look at this thread though, as airborne toxins aren't allowed:

[You must be registered and logged in to see this link.]

by **Mr Molly** November 19th 2013, 9:27 pm

Sim wrote:I like the concept, you'll want to take a look at this thread though, as airborne toxins aren't allowed:

[You must be registered and logged in to see this link.]

Darn.

Here's my fix:

Mr Molly wrote:A case of flavoured e-cigs. They contain liquids that, while harmless and tasty by themselves, when mixed with his fermenting core create a sludge. It can be either spit out little by little, or violently ejected. There are three varieties: honey, lemon, and vanilla. The first is rather harmless unless you're being chased by a nightmare. Slumber inducing. The second is quite an awful experience overall, similar in characteristic to eating large quantities of nutmeg. A few hours of nausea and paranoid hallucinations. The final one really shouldn't be spat nor vomited at anyone. It's a comfortable experience—almost euphoric. For any of these to take effect, they must make contact and be absorbed by a human. Creatures with similar physiology may also be affected. The potency depends on the amount absorbed.
Crunch:
(5)

Other edits:

Added e-cigs case to description.
Made umbrella stopping power more clear.

by **Sim** November 20th 2013, 9:30 am

Works for me, just don't go too crazy with the first power. I assume that beyond the fluff it works like a regen power, which makes this recent rule clarification relevant to your interest: [You must be registered and logged in to see this link.]

Approved until stated otherwise.

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