Mallory Blackwell

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## Personality

Mallory’s personality is as enigmatic as it can get. He seems to have a presence that is best described as translucent, as though he’s only just barely attached to the fabric of reality. Mallory looks spaced out most of the time, sinking into his thoughts the moments where he’s not totally engaged with his surroundings. When he does seem to notice, he’s always documenting the things that stand out to him on his bandages.

Nothing is too small or inconsequential for Mallory. He could stare at a particularly shiny rock for hours, observing every groove and pattern. He likes collecting the little things that most seem to overlook, and has a whimsical capriciousness to his actions. Much like a fickle feline, his behaviour can be unpredictable and troubling at the worst of times, giving him the reputation of a weirdo that does not conform to most societal expectations.

If those rumours bother him, Mallory doesn’t show it. While his behaviour alienates him, he is nevertheless comfortable with being himself. He is kind, mostly out of a habit that stemmed from the empathy and beliefs that dictated most of his life. Mallory is one to think of others, out of a belief that they too should remain pure. He takes it upon himself to make them happy, often subconsciously manipulating situations so that they might be more comfortable, even if they themselves don’t realise their discomfort. His high levels of empathy causes him to neglect himself when the situation calls for it.

Given his fragmented memory and mentality, Mallory tends to be exceedingly blunt. He is not one to mince words or use them much at all, his sentences are short and to the point, whether you choose to listen to them or not. They are genuine and full of his own personal conviction, though he isn’t as good at manufacturing long speeches and tend to veer away from those forms of conversation altogether, mostly showing with actions and not words. Actions are longer lasting in his opinion, and he often acts unprompted and impulsively, given the fact that he may forget any considerations if he thinks too long to act. With his faulty memory, considering an action may mean not taking it at all, and so Mallory jumps from one situation to the other without giving it a second thought, allowing his heart to dictate his decisions instead of his mind.

## Biography

Mallory Blackwell had a captain for a father and a missionary for a mother. Both firm believers in the teachings of Chuami, it was all too clear they never let their children forget it. He grew up amidst stories of angels and the holy duty entrusted to them, the vessels. He would listen close to the wind with his mother, as though he could hear the whispers she described. Remnants of the souls left behind after purification. His parents were both getting on in their years when they had him, the youngest, and for a long time Mallory was hardly aware of his siblings’ presence. He was a happy child, mindful not to linger on brief instances of sadness, always ensuring his purity for the angels above. It was the three of them, until the fateful day his mother became ill.

Perhaps it was only to be expected, his mother had always been sickly, and her health only deteriorated after Mallory’s birth. Still it was difficult seeing her waste away slowly in bed, with his father by her side. Mallory was forbidden to see her. She was always one door away, and through the wood he could hear her voice sometimes, when he knocked, singing a familiar lullaby for him. They did not want his memory of her to be tainted. Mallory was not there to see her die. He only knew her voice stopped coming one day, no longer speaking when he rapped the door. Her gentle humming was replaced with his father’s strangled sobs.

His father was never the same after that. He went out more often, determined to retrieve what’s left of her memory from the sea. Mallory learned to fend for himself as he was there less and less.

Mallory climbed the mountain one day, the one they said was closest to the voices of the angels, the whispers and echoes of the memory sea. He wanted to hear his mother among them- perhaps then he could convince his father to stay home with him and stop searching. The moment he reached a high altitude his mind was assaulted by sound and emotion. The already forgetful child had his existing memory fragmented for a moment, mixed and muddled with the whispers that haunted his mind like ghosts. But it was worth it, because he felt his mother, a lick of empathy from a shared experience. Mallory continued to go up the mountain, despite warnings that it might permanently alter his mind. It was, afterall, their birthright. Mallory was taught that, and never had a doubt whispers were something to be accepted into you. He had no reason to be scared, even as he felt his mind slipping away from him little by little with every visit, replaced with the sighs and howls. Every memory was precious, and Mallory wanted nothing more than to be a vessel for them, documenting every single one lost to the sea of murmurs.

His father didn’t get better. Eventually, he gambled away all their money on expeditions and sentinels, and his crew slowly left him. Whispers of how the Captain Blackwell went mad drifted around the little town he grew up in, and Mallory stopped going outside. He didn’t like what they said about his father, who locked himself in his room trying and trying to listen for any sense of his mother, even without a sentinel, as if their souls called to each other.

Mallory likes to think that was the reason, ultimately, why he disappeared one day. With nothing but a note left behind for him, telling him he was leaving to the memory sea. Mallory understood, amidst the sympathetic glances thrown his way. His father just wanted to be closer to what remained of his mother lay, buried under the murmur of whispers.

A helpful neighbour looked after him for a brief few days, after informing his siblings of the news. They arrived to settle the things their father left behind, as well as pick up Mallory and place him under their care. Mallory did not want to go. He didn’t recognise any of them, nor did he want to leave the mountaintops of Ordene and the whispers they held that were so familiar to him now, the soft hum of voices that lulled him to sleep. They insisted, nonetheless. His siblings were horrified by the state Mallory was in, and were insistent on getting him away from Ordene at least until he recovered from his habit of looking out for the whispers.

They had to physically pry him from the old house. Mallory found himself in Concordia, living with his sister and her newfound family, two new nephews and a brother in law he had never seen before. Mallory was wary of them for the first few weeks, putting himself in corners and staring at them with unreadable eyes everytime they asked him a question. It was a difficult time for him to adjust, but Mallory was grateful to her for trying. They put him through the rest of his education, Mallory was a bright if not scatterbrained student, but his rigor in note taking and quiet determination in his aim of being a fisher in the future went a long way. He eventually learned to love them as well, as family.

But it couldn’t last long. His keen sense of empathy picked up on their fears and frustrations, the late night whispered conversations about ‘what exactly to do about that boy’. With a third child on the way, his sister was in no shape to look after Mallory and his eccentricities and needs. One night, as Mallory watched the feathery yellow lights rise, he made a decision. He’d only taint them with sadness if he stayed. His sister and her family were good people, they deserved to stay pure. And so Mallory insisted on leaving.

He was rarely assertive, and so it came as a surprise to her. Not questioning his decision, they left him with a sum of money to tide him over for the time being and a spireglass necklace to ward away the whispers, should his habit rear its head again. There wasn’t much he owned that he couldn’t part with, so it wasn’t difficult for him to leave.

Mallory spent his money on getting a fisher’s license almost immediately, wanting to head to the memory sea. He had studied for that express purpose, something deep within his memory told him it was the right place to be, and he clung onto that instinct even as the rest became blurred and unclear. However, given the rumours about the reputation attached to his name, it was difficult to find a crew that would accept this strange hire. That was, until he found Cor.

## Trivia

* Mallory has a bad memory, he constantly forgets things all too quickly if he isn’t writing them down on his bandages. Oftentimes he gets lost because he simply forgets the reason why he’s in certain places, and has to reroute his mind. The whispers he opens himself to often muddles his perception of which memories were his, so he keeps a physical ledger on the bandages covering his body, changing them every time they get filled with writing.
* The more important memories are tattooed on his wrists. His name, his parents, the address of his remaining siblings in case he ever forgets where he came from. Mallory isn’t sure what will be left of him if he completely loses his mind. It is a thought he doesn’t dwell on.
* He had an affinity for music, and likes to quietly listen to anything remotely melodic. There’s an old melody that brings tears to his eyes, though Mallory no longer remembers why he hears it in his dreams, or what lies beyond the old oak door.
* It does not bother him as much as people think. Mallory thinks it’s a good way to remain ‘pure’, as in the teachings of Chuami. He only notes down happy memories so he could let the bad ones slip away, as far as Mallory cares conflicts last but a second in his fleeting mind.