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He grew up an only child in a middle-class family. Dad worked a full-time white-collar job that allowed mom to stay-at-home. They took family trips. He wasn’t spoiled. His parents set rules. He had chores. He got good grades in school. He was well-liked at school. By all accounts, he was a well adjusted young man.
But he was bored.
His first was a white-collar businessman, like his father, that had bumped into him in a packed bar. He followed him to his car, watched him fumble with his keys before opening the door, then he walked up behind him and tried to slit his throat as he’d seen in the movies. The pocket knife his father had given him wasn’t sharp enough and the muscles and skin of the neck were much stronger than he had expected. The drunk screamed and turned on him, they wrestled to the ground where the man that would become the Minstrel took the knife out of the hand of his assailant and repeatedly thrust it deep into his attacker's chest, again and again. His blood flowing freely down his neck as blood splattered from his victim.
The trial was quick, Not Guilty. It was Self Defense.
Then it wasn’t.
He’d gotten a taste for blood, literally and figuratively.
His victims were always at random whenever the desire hit him. Sometimes there were witnesses, other times there were not. He ended some victims quickly, others he tortured slowly. It didn’t matter. They always died.
He had been developing the persona over time, first came the mask. He wasn’t sure what he wanted but he knew it had to be unexpected. He had always liked minstrels and jesters of old so he ran with the idea. Juggling clubs held razor-sharp knives. Gift boxes held various gases or spring-loaded blades. He painted grenades to look like toys. He crafted armor like knights of old, added a jester’s cap, gathered military surplus hardware and gear. And when the world fell to the gaping maws of the undead, he took his show on the road.
He leaves no one behind, there are no stories, no rumors, no one expects the mild-mannered entertainer to slaughter them.
He does so with a grin.
"O, woe be the day the enemy descends, mourn we will, for the sake of all that's holy in this universe....
... 'cause the Alley Viper Corps is gonna fuck it ALL up!" - NFC
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