Chalice lives life peacefully, quietly, and happily in York with his pet crab. His daily business which includes foraging for limes and cheap liquor is occasionally interrupted by a brutal murder. These murders have in fact been reported so brutal that a few coroners have quit in the process of retrieving limbs. He's wearing an inhuman amount of weights and has a freak mask on his face.
Oh, I (me being the narrator you're vaguely hearing describe this person) forgot to add that Chalice tends to dance like a deer on the moon. So it goes.
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NOTE: CHALICE IS NOT A SPY FOR A FOR-PROFIT ANTI-YORK TERRORIST FORMATION. HE DOES NOT SEEK TO OVERTHROW YORK SINGLE-HANDEDLY BY CLEVER ANTICS THAT WILL MAKE PEOPLE SHAKE THEIR HEAD AND SAY "OH, THAT POOR BOY. I BET HIS PARENTS ARE DEAD." NO, REALLY. HE'S NOT! STOP STARING!
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And yes, his parents are dead. But it's cool, Chalice doesn't believe in time anyway. Aliens taught him that. I forget the precise wording, though. He yearns for the day when he will inherit the beautiful curtains from Swamp Castle from his father, the Swamp King, although he doesn't believe in days and is merely waiting to experience that given moment in existence so that he may file it amongst other moments for his browsing in moments of otherwise boredom.
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You see a glimpse of his agenda...
Sabotage, Propaganda/Disinformation, Destabilizing/Overthrow, Espionage, Interrogation/Torture, Crushing Rebellions, Military Reconnaissance, Border Disputes, Mutually Assured Destruction... Healing.
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Member of the 1st Colonial Militia, thanks to the lovely frilled Invite personally sent from Comrade Serious Sam. Note: invite retracted recently.
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Secret Member of the Colonial Police, don't tell anyone. Booted for no reason, after a healing-spree in York! Reinstated as a healer to the CP when leadership changed, hopefully for the better!
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Left the Tavern Clan, Czechy took his gold, gave no drink.
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Die-hard Protesting Catholic. Until further notice.
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Founded the Shartak Insane Asylum.