parnellsimon
Villager
Name: Ziggy
Nickname/Alias: The Leper
Age: 42
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 10 stone
Hair: None
Eyes: Red
Skin: Pale
Identifying Marks: Covered in weeping red/yellow sores
Appearance: Dressed in rags, looks very much like on of the undead. Smells of rotting skin.
Strengths: Compassion, Intelligence, Determination.
Weaknesses and fears: Physically weak, Carries Leprosy, Fear being injured as wounds can become infected easily.
Religion and cults: None, Outcast (so far)
Profession: Mazebuilder / Medicine
Back Story:
Nickname/Alias: The Leper
Age: 42
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 10 stone
Hair: None
Eyes: Red
Skin: Pale
Identifying Marks: Covered in weeping red/yellow sores
Appearance: Dressed in rags, looks very much like on of the undead. Smells of rotting skin.
Strengths: Compassion, Intelligence, Determination.
Weaknesses and fears: Physically weak, Carries Leprosy, Fear being injured as wounds can become infected easily.
Religion and cults: None, Outcast (so far)
Profession: Mazebuilder / Medicine
Back Story:
Meet Ziggy - poor rotting face leper that he is - don't throw that rock, he's not a zombie. He has feelings and a heart, and he understands regret.
You see Ziggy used to be just like you and me. He was fresh faced and eager to make a name for himself. Mazemaker extraordinaire - they would call him. Well that's what he wrote in his notebooks as he scribbled away with his plans.
They started out as mere paths etched in the dirt - Sand dropped carefully along his well laid puzzles. Things were so easy then, the materials for his designs were found within metres of his home, barely even noticing the squalour of his basic cabin. But why should he care. He had a future, and a bed and workshop was all he needed, though the taste of melon had become a little old.
Soon, with his skills improving, and his imagination running wild, he found himself trailing local architecture, looking for tips and ideas. Offering his meagre pick and shovel for hours of backbreaking work for the education he was desperately short of.
But it was worth it! Instead of digging holes and chopping down trees, he could now process ores, and how they glittered in the furnaces - these he knew would lift his wonderful labyrinths from paper to become reality.
Stop, Stop! I hear you cry. What has this got to do with the mucus sack of moaning flesh before me?
Well- quieten down and I'll tell you.
You see, with manuscripts being produced at a prodigeous rate, Ziggy realised he had underestimated how hard it would be to find the materials he longed for to raise his dreams to the heights only a true master builder was capable of. And they lay deep, deep in the earth. And worse even, into the realms of the Nether, a demon world he had only heard tales of.
Like so many great men before him, Ziggy, though bright, was too full of pride to take full notice of the risks. Packing only sparse materials he set off, alone into the darkest, bleakest caves in the region. With no experience, he was woefully unprepared, but too arrogant to ask for help.
It did not take long my friend, for the young Ziggy to become lost and disoriented, soon his torches were exhausted, and food was running out. Then came the groans and Ziggy was sore afraid. A wooden sword surely not enough to protect him from the horrors that remains in the shadows.
Without warning the very dead themselves fell apon him and tore through his pathetic defences as if they were none. Biting and scratching, our foolish hero, falls beneath them, his end in sight.
Then came the Tssssssss-BOOM!... and the lights went out.
So you may wonder how he comes to be here?
Well in that last moment, the explosion of what we know as a creeper attack, destroyed those zombie assailants though leaving Ziggy badly wounded and with his strength almost gone he knew he could not make it out of those caves. And thus it was that Ziggy made the choice that would transform him into the monster you see before you. He ate of the flesh of the dead. He ate deeply, fiercely, greedily until the disease dripped from him, then as if one of those foul and pathetic creatures, he crawled, crawled for hours until he came to the light.
And now you know.
Do you still wish to stone him? Or can you pity him now? This dreamer who tried to go it alone?
