Yocherry might be described by a poetic type as ‘mountainous.’ The rest of us dumb, down to earth fellows would probably just say something along the lines of ‘really bloody huge.’ He is tall enough to bash his head into doorframes (breaking right through them, he would assure you) and wide enough to be worth approximately two people (three people, he would assure you). These physical traits stem largely from his double-musculature, his thick bones, and his body’s need to carry the mess of additional organs and advanced circulatory systems he has mutated. His features tend towards hard and craggy, and his skin is thick, wrinkled, and scarred. The ‘other half of him,’ as it were, is a widespread glowcrust infection that has spread throughout his body, notably manifesting on his (hairless) head. It goes over the left side of his face, above his head, and around the back, down to his neck, appearing rocky, sharp, and icy. It glows faintly blue, and the occasional luminous hoarshroom grows from it. It manifests in certain other places, of course, particularly his wrists and ankles, but nowhere as conspicuous as his head.
His wardrobe is rather limited, considering that most pieces of clothing would rather explode into useless scraps of fabric than fit around his dangerous bulk. He frequently wears a huge, black coat, his patch sewn into the front, and a pair of far too short shorts, usually pink or bright yellow, or some such discomforting colour. He is trained in the usage of rifles, and particularly sword and shield. His personal weaponry, being rather unique as far as equipment go (his sword can catch fire. It’s solar-powered.) don’t leave the RC much, Caves of Qud having a fanfiction total of one half, but it’s the thought that counts. He is skilled at both unarmed brawling and rapid improvising, considering that he finds himself dragged away from his equipment so frequently. His ridiculous size and strength certainly give him an edge, anyways.
Yocherry is a grinning, chuckling troll of a man with a non-discriminatory sense of humour that leaves him giggling and wheezing at practically anything. His attitude towards most situations is one of jovial sarcasm and cheery irreverence, very rarely taking anything seriously. Everybody, in his eyes, is either a friend to joke around with or a near-future friend to joke around with. He is irresponsibly loyal to anyone he considers close. Likely as a result of a mixture between his tough biology and boiling, misplaced apathy, he is quite certain of his own invulnerability, and says things like ‘I’ve had worse’ with alarming regularity. Having spent a good majority of his life in a military environment, he responds to orders well, taking to them with the casual attitude of someone who is, ultimately, not bothered to disagree. His sense of personal responsibility and deference for orders are the two great walls standing between him and sheer mission-ruining recklessness. His personal spaces tend towards the kind of rigid cleanliness he was raised around in the Wardens, only marred by the fact that Yocherry is really kind of weird. Like with that one boat he has sticking through his RC wall. He takes great pleasure in maintenance work, from his personal armour and weaponry to the machinery of his RC. The quality of his work hangs worryingly within the balance of the Ironic Overpower as a result of of his training having originated in a pulpy, cheesy sci-fi. As far as he’s certain, all an engineer needs to do is whack the machine with a wrench and maybe go at it with a blowtorch. There is little doubt that, when the day comes, the Laws of Narrative Comedy will arrive, and his entire RC, will collapse into scraps and ashes.
He is more familiar with the workings of Headquarters than most socks are with the sight of feet. He has watched endless stories torn apart; warped his way through endless distortions in reality; smashed endless numbers of Sue-heads open; been singed by endless broken newbies howling ‘MR. ROGERS!’ Maybe he’s been around for too long. Maybe it’s all driven him a bit mad. He doesn’t like to think about all that.
- Tires of his job of killing lots of things as a warden. Opts to kill lots of things in the PPC, instead.
- Is partnered with Maz. Does not noticeably celebrate Christmas.
- Is horrifically injured by Alleb. (She gets horribly injured, too, so it’s all fine.)