Trigger Warning

This character deals with:

• Hallucinations
• Eldritch horrors
• Mentions of death

Personality

Usually held together, calm, and softly-spoken, Uzayr ends up being intimidating to most without trying, or even if attempting not to be. Vampires, people, critters, monsters—no one seems to be able to quite pin-point his intentions or reasons despite them being simple enough to be able to put them into one sentence: his only goal has always been the well-being of his kindred. Those worthy of such feats, at least.

His affinity for an Ammurun is an open secret bordering a legend among the Vampire kind; on the other hand, the lengths Malishad is willing to go to satisfy that admittedly simple and sentimental desire for connection remain yet uncovered. Here's a hint: they're rather grand. Even his protectiveness of his kindred doesn't go that far.

Younger vampires—those who dare meet the Gharasham, anyway, be it out of desperation and necessity or whatever other reason a mind ravaged by youth can conjure up—say the Eldest of Elders has lost his mind from the time the one has spent holed up in the quiet lonely darkness of the Beauclair catacombs. They're wrong.

It was the boredom that did him in, the chattering of rats and the squealing of bats, the ice-cold water dripping from the cave ceiling. No amount of peeking out through others' eyes would help it, fix it. The glances to the side at nothing worth looking at, or his head tilted to hear something that nobody else seems to pick up.

It hasn't changed him much: Malishad's mind remains sharp, or mostly so, and he's always been considered a little off his rocker. So, on occasion (rather often, in fact) that serious, menacing facade cracks, leaving behind a curious, snappy, jestering old bat, which somehow ends up being even more intimidating.

Appearance

Uzayr in his human shape does not look impressive to the unfamiliar eye: a short, incredibly pale man of barely five and a half feet and of forty or fifty years, with unkempt black hair and, sometimes, a barely trimmed beard, both riddled with grey. His face is slighty wrinkled, his expression never looking welcoming or friendly, even if he smiles. His eyes are a dark greyish-brown, almost black, with an ever-present smoke and glint in the pupils. In the dark, the glint shines like that of a nocturnal predator, and he doesn't bother to remove it. His body is covered with scars of old battles.

In the catacombs, perhaps from the time spent marinating in the Old World's atmosphere, perhaps because he spends most of his unobserved time in his monstrous shape closely resembling a Nekurat, al-Kuffas's usual look resembles human, but only resembles. The mix of bat-like features intervenes, giving him longer ears, bigger teeth, sharpened claws at the ends of his fingers. Hardly anyone sees him like this, apart from the usual inhabitants of his caves: wounded lower vampires, bats, and a rare higher.

No matter the situation, Malishad's posture is usually relaxed and unbothered, yet commanding clear authority. Not having been keen of emoting in his life, the late centuries full of boredom turned him a little rash, coyotish, unconventional: he grins, he squints, he grimaces, he waves his hands with an unexpected energy.

He dresses in dark clothes, reds, whites, simple at the first glance yet fancy if you know what to look for. Strict and a little out of fashion, but he doesn't bother. He holds a strong love for tinted glasses, and keeps a pair that's been given to him all those years ago for an occasion that seems to never come. A being of his age can allow himself to lack care for social expectations. The biggest oddity one might've noticed about him was a bat he wore instead of a boutonniere the time he ventured outside of Toussaint, or the ever-present shift of some tiny creature with leather wings in the wild mop of his hair.

History

Malishad has always been a natural leader, an older brother figure to his comrades and boon companions, and later a father-like one to younger vampires under his care and chiefdom, despite his knack for causing bloodshed, intentionally or not. In the Old World, he lead research paries, scout and battle troupes, and he buried or caused the burial of many—with little grief. The only fault in their demise Uzayr ever attributed to himself was the one's inability to see their weakness before he led them into bloodbaths. His cohorts always attributed this growing outward coldness to the loss he saw hardening his heart, assuming he ever had one—no, that would be a lie. That basic fact cannot be denied: he had to give something to his mate, after all; but said organ's use or usefulness is debatable.

Others may deem his crusades a mistake, but in the end, no one could and will never be able to deny success Malishad had in eliminating his kind's natural enemy. Tough times require tough decisions to be made: heads that will roll are only balancing weights, and this one's hand has shown itself to be best suited to hold the scales time and time again.

Nor was it a surprise he was chosen to be the warden of his kindred beyond the Gate. He never had a family or progeny, nothing to tie him down, only those under his lead, and the truly loyal of them followed him; the only thing that could possibly hold him back was that fateful connection, and, leaving even Ezra himself surprised, there soon occurred an easy fix for that. The stars and the moon aligned, just for a night, and, in the end, his future mate followed him through the Gate, too.

Beyond the border of the unknown, the times move slower, or so it seemed to Uzayr from his domain beneath the continent for the last few thousands of years. The only break from the boredom was the time the Ammurun invited him out, leaving another Gharasham Elder behind. Despite many secretly and few openly finding that decision foolish, childish, naive, or any fitting epithet, Malishad quite enjoyed his leave; not for what he did during but for who he spent it with. All debts and duties fade in comparison to the simple desire for and delight of good company. The end to that vacation is a dark shadow stained with rage and black blood looming over the sweet memories, however, and this one is not keen on recalling that miserable incident or disclosing its gruesome truths.

At least he's never been truly alone in his underground cage. Bats and lower vampires are his forever guests, and it's good to have an occasional addition: someone to take care of—if they're courageous, stupid, or unfortunate enough to deal with the Eldest of Elders or fall under his mercy, of course. And the Gate opening once more promises an addition to his coterie.

Abilities

Some names carry weight that echoes, and should not be spoken aloud lest you may call up what you cannot put down. There is a reason no one uses the moniker Malishad, not anymore. Even the words One True Elder, The Unseen, The Eldest of Elders resonate with the air, as if the universe itself refuses to bear the burden of the being referred to. Over the millenniums, he has carried many: Samir, Tariq, Maktub, Saif, Zaman, Amir the latest. They circulate, gain power, fade, some sticking with the whispers, some only spoken once, never to be heard again. The only thing remains: Malishad al-Kuffas, the Bat, or Abu Watawita, Father of Bats.

Can't blame the folk for giving him such nicknames. The swarm of plumards, fruit bats, microbats, vampire bats, rats, black cats, wolves and crows and snakes, little critters of the night always surrounding the guy are long an open secret. Pointless minuscule bugs in comparison to the higher vampire, and yet he takes care of them—as long as they serve him well. It must be noted that he's been called Abu Watawita long before he stepped through the rift between realms: he made care of young vampires his—what is it the word humans use nowadays? Profession. Even if many wouldn't call him particularly caring for or careful with those under his wing.

What separated Malishad from others since the old days has been his insights, as he always humorously called it. There's a reason for his entourage of nocturnal critters and lower creatures: at will, one sees through their eyes. With age and becoming the Unseen, this ability magnified along with all others, reaching further across this world: the rumors of the One True Elder being all-knowing had to have come from somewhere. Then it extended to thoughts, the quiet humm, more so general concepts than actual lines or images one thinks. It requires no effort with bats or wolves or Ekimmas; little, if any, with young vampires; the necessary force grows with the age of his target. Someone might not notice bats glancing at them, or dogs following their trail, but pushing into minds leaves a trace: a sense of pressure, or a void stealing your thoughts like a vortex, a memory disappearing, or one you've never lived gained.

With ages spent in the dark, Uzayr's eyesight's grown poor: blurry, sensitive to the light, and blind to any blue in favor of seeing ultraviolet. His hearing has sharpened, and with years the vampire started… hearing spaces, what's the fancy word? Echolocate. It's much easier done in his monstrous form, but the weird recognition remains otherwise, too.