A towering, lean figure at 6'2", with deep violet skin that catches the light like dusk. His long, ink-black hair falls just past his shoulders, framing sharp yellow eyes and curling rams' horns that hug his skull like a crown. A well-worn gray cloak drapes over studded leather armor the color of old blood.

Dry-witted and calculating, Malachi masks a sardonic warmth beneath layers of cynicism. He collects old spells like a seasoned librarian gathers dusty tomes, and has a habit of murmuring to himself in Infernal when annoyed

He was born where moonlight met embers — the tryst of a wandering elf and a fiend who called himself Cantriin, who claimed his payment after he did a favor for the husband. He learned language and magic from his mother who escaped the husband and raised Malachi on her own, gathering rage and cunning from whispers in the dark that slithered through the small ruined tower after she died. As a Tiefling Warlock, he did not so much choose his path as recognize that the fiendish legacy in his blood answered before he could refuse; he bartered with Cantriin once, in when he came of age, binding a portion of its power to his will so he could pluck forbidden spells from locked grimoires and taste things the wise hide behind wards. The pact left a signature—embers in his eyes at night and a hunger for knowledge other men called sinful—but it also sharpened his wit and gave him charm enough to talk his way out of more than one burned bridge. Revenge against his mothers husband, and eventually Cantriin himself drives him to be ever more powerful.