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The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 29: UNINTELLIGIBLE!
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AgentBlue
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 14: HEAVEN!
that escalated quickly

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Sunshine, Lollipops and Diabetes
Username: Agenholy
Name: Harriet Hicks
Gender: Female
Species: Heathen
Text Color: I am flesh and I am bone
Description: "Rise up!" Come the voices of the demagogue in her wake. They break down the temples, tear down the statues and smash in the altars. In her wake, religion dies.

They speak in hushed words of the Heathen, who trundles across the towns and cities in her forge-caravan, who cradles a great forge hammer in her large hands like a man would hold a chisel, or a sword. They speak of her dark hair, short and raven-black, and of her burning brown eyes, which looked upon gods and saw only pretension.

Some storytellers describe her figure as lavish, bountiful and slender. They lie.

Some storytellers weave the story of how she was merciful to their god, and how she spared their lives. They, too, lie.

Some storytellers stick to the truth, and tell the one story they really know:

Items/Abilities: Ting. Ting.

The hammer struck the anvil true, and the icon borne between them stood no chance. Already heated to the point of softness, the blow wiped the intricate carvings away and reduced the cross to its base metal, which oozed, molten, out from under the red-hot hammer blow.

The hammer was not unholy - the demons of the Pit were still gods, oppositional as they may be - may have been. Like the Heathen herself, it simply ignored religion: the best-blessed wards were worthless in its wake. And when the hammer, red-hot from her forge coals, smashed through temple wall and gilded altar and brightly-shining spell alike...

They say it was a sight to see.

Biography: Like glitter and gold.

Harriet straightened up, and watched droplets of silver fall, one by one, into a circular pool around the anvil. They hissed as they struck the unsanctified water below, and cooled fast into little round bearings. With a large hand she mopped the sweat from her brow, and wiped it on her leather overalls.

"HEATHEN!"

The voice boomed from outside the caravan, the unmistakeable voice of a god. Behind it was the murmur of a thousand followers, all ready to fight with all the power a god could bestow upon them. The clanking of spears and axes spoke their intent clear and true.

Quietly, Harriet cracked two eggs into a frying pan, and let it rest on the forge. "Detheos," she shouted out the window, "If you'd like to talk to me now, you'll have to face me on my terms, on my turf."

"THIS IS MY TURF, HEATHEN! YOU HAVE DESPOILED ENOUGH OF MY TEMPLES, KILLED ENOUGH OF MY PRIESTS! WE END THIS NOW!"

She stuck her head out the caravan door, and stared Detheos in the godly eyes. "Do you forfeit your right to trial in your heaven, under your laws?" She looked the god up and down, all ten feet of rippling muscle and shining chains and giant golden axes, the whole bit. Still, underneath the great god seemed... weedy?

"YES! YOU CANNOT FIGHT US ALL OFF, AND I WILL HAVE YOU SACRIFICED IN MY NAME!"

"Are these all the followers you could find?" She spared a glance for the suddenly uncertain crowd.

"THEY SEEK REVENGE, FOR YOUR ACTIONS HAVE BROUGHT A GREAT FAMINE! THEIR FAMILIES STARVE, FOR YOU HAVE CUT SHORT OUR AGE OF PROSPERITY!"

"Your prosperity came at a cost." Harriet began, stepping fully out into the overcast day. In one hand she held the forge-hammer like a toy, and she towered over the tallest man. "It was you who sucked the land dry of its life, bringing it to blossom out of season. Do not presume to blame your crimes on me."

"SHE LIES! MY POWER IS INFINITE!"

Stepping closer to the god, Harriet twirled the hammer in her hands. "Your power cannot touch me, and so it falls to me to bring judgement."

"TAKE HER," Detheos sputtered, but at that point Harriet threw the hammer, and his followers' resolve broke. Which was probably fair, considering that she'd just turned their god's head into a pile of steaming mush.
07-01-2016, 10:26 AM
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Colby
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 14: HEAVEN!
The Westcoast Wizard of Toast

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Alright, we got some interesting entries this round! I do have to say I'm extremely disappointed that nobody made a dog character given the theme, but that's my own issue! All the characters were extremely interesting, and nobody seems to have created a joke character.

Fishbowl Award goes to Schazer's E-majin! I still don't know how such a terrifying AI of nonviolence relates to the topic, but they are honestly scarier than any of the other contestants. (Maybe of any I've ever read!) They're like a walking, talking A Clockwork Orange! I certainly didn't see any part of this character profile coming, but Im glad I got to read it!

Elementalist Award goes to DragonFogel's Kevin Evans VII for being an extremely fun profile to read, and my personal favorite of the batch. I don't know how someone who is only good at lying would fair in a grand battle, but I'd love to see you write it. I love that his trans-dimensional kidnapping would confuse his audience into believing he was raptured.

Worldbuilding Award for Gatr's Shane Pillman. A lazy teenage medium is nothing without the podunk middle of nowhere seven-eleven. I'd love to see a tv show starring this guy, it would be like a mix of Courage the Cowardly Dog and Deadbeat! (a Hulu Show.) Awesome job on creating a great atmosphere for a generally unique setting. I always felt there was something twilight zone-esque about convenience stores in the middle of the night.

Actual Battler for Agent's god-slaying heathen Harriet Hicks. She's over powered as fuck and when all the gods are dead she'll be the only one left, but damn if I dont want to see her take on a grand battle. I can just imagine how she gets everyone murdered convincing them to take on the god-like grandmaster. I especially liked the detail about her forge hammer, that was really fun!

Good job everyone! See you next round (as a contestant, probably!)

Hi there! I'd really appreciate it if you took some time to read my adventure Madeline Beaufort and the Moon Thief! Thanks!
[Image: 8zbr3I4.png]
Dope ass dragon created by the incomparable Earthexe
07-03-2016, 07:58 PM
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AgentBlue
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 14: HEAVEN!
that escalated quickly

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Sunshine, Lollipops and Diabetes
Okay how about I throw in another one into the hat? Can't promise secret prizes this time though.

Your new theme is: MIRROR

Deadline like next week or something. August 6th, there
(This post was last modified: 07-26-2016, 11:56 AM by AgentBlue.)
07-26-2016, 11:55 AM
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Pharmacy
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 15: MIRROR!
scraw.

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Anywhere.
Name: Rorrim of the Rime.

Gender: Femme.

Species: Water Fairy.

Text Color: Smiles And Tears.

Description: Rorrim is a torso of a shapely woman sprouting from where the gills should be on an enormous, silver fish. She is extremely beautiful to the point of uncanny valley, certainly not helped by her tendency to forget subtle mortal behaviors like blinking or breathing. Rorrim finds mimicking such expected actions to be tedious but tolerates it anyway as mortals have the greatest fashion sense which she seeks to emulate as closely as possible, developing a fondness for flowy dresses ornamented with useless metal bits.

Rorrim is almost a typical exemplar of your average fairy noble. She is courtly with disarming manners and a mile-wide streak of patience although she always has an air of sadness around her. While not actively malicious, her otherworldly nature means she does not truly understand mortals and tends to assume things of others, which has a tendency to result in a lot of grief for all parties involved. She is also super uncreative. This is actually pretty normal for fairies so most do not really care but she finds it a personal embarrassment.

Abilities:
When prompted, Rorrim can speak the truth even if she has no prior knowledge or experience with the subject. There are two major disadvantages though. One, Rorrim cannot lie at all although she could certainly twist the truth to her own means. Two, sometimes people do not appreciate being told the truth; this has landed Rorrim in hot water more times than she could count.

If Rorrim must defend herself with the vulgarity of fighting, she is quite adept with a rapier and moderately armored with thick scales polished to, of course, a mirror-like sheen.

Biography:

Spoiler :
Elfhome is a plane of unspoiled wildlands. The world is so full of life that entities spontaneously come to being from the mere chaos of the surroundings. Rorrim of the Rime was formed from seafoam, fully formed of body and mind. The first few centuries of her life were free from worry and fret. The years passed blissfully as she frolicked and danced with her sisters but sadly, things were not to last. She was a fairy, an otherworldly being whose truth-telling abilities were known and were in high demand. Soon, her happiness ended as she found herself summoned to the world filled with mortals that she never knew existed until now.

Rorrim was contract-bond to a royal family with much experience and investment in summoning otherworldly entities. She chafed at her bonds but she was a fairy and fairies had to follow rules, especially magical ones. Unhappily, she did what she was told. Although there was much excitement in new places and she adapted well, Rorrim found no joy in doing political subterfuge for mortals and constantly yearned for her release from this unaccounted service. She often confessed her feelings to a spellsword who escorted her to important rituals. This spellsword was named Mist. Much to Rorrim’s surprise, she listened and more importantly empathized with her as she herself was pressed into service of the royal family although for more obviously mundane reasons. Eventually, Rorrim and Mist became close friends and then, became close lovers.

Eventually, the royal family went to war. Rorrim of the Rime was contractually bound to help but Mist could not bear the violence or even the potential loss of her beloved. Against all odds, Mist manages to liberate her from her magical service, the resulting chaotic energy shifting Rorrim into a destination she cannot choose. As Rorrim disappeared into the aether, she was filled with both joy and grief. She was happy at the possibility of returning back to her home plane, but her heart was filled with aching emptiness. Rorrim of the Rime loved her home…but she also loved Mist.
07-27-2016, 06:34 AM
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bigro
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 15: MIRROR!
Please explain

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Radelaide
Username: I forget
Name: Nathan Limirrorck
Gender: Male
Species: Human
Text Color: Yes
Description, Items/Abilities, Biography:

I am rubber and you are glue.
Insults bounce off me and stick to you.
Nathan was a dunce.
He said it but once.
And did not expect it to be true.

Alas this was not to be.
A curse was laid, don't you see.
Nathan pulled a trick.
They said "you're a dick"
And then they found their head could pee.

Young Nathan thought this was grand.
His life was no longer so bland.
He came home late.
His wife was irate.
It did not go how he had planned.

Detached from the power he wields.
He now wanders the open fields.
If you go out at night.
He's not a nice sight.
If you tell him you'll learn what that yields.

[Image: sdivps.png][Image: ldrohc.png][Image: rqgkny.png]
(This post was last modified: 07-27-2016, 10:15 AM by bigro.)
07-27-2016, 10:14 AM
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Dragon Fogel
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 15: MIRROR!
The Goddamn Pacman

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Username: I

Name: Madam, I'm Adam

Gender: A man, a plan, a canal - Panama

Race: Was it a rat I saw?

Text Color: 07BB70

Biography: They called it the Heap.

It wasn't really anything to look at; just a big pile of trash left over by the Giants long ago. Or so everyone guessed.

Still, there were more than a few valuables in the pile. You could tell they were important very easily by their one common trait: they were all so shiny you could see yourself in them.

Considering how filthy everything else around was, the novelty of being able to see your own face, to figure out what needed cleaning - that had become more valuable than anything, even better than good food. After all, the tribe had long ago learned they could just eat whatever was lying around if it came down to that.

So when Adam was finally old enough to go scrounging in the Heap, he was excited. Thought he might get a piece of shine for himself, rather than having to bargain with his bigger brothers and sisters.

Unfortunately, the only shiny thing he could find was a rock. And it did, indeed, shine; and you could see yourself in it. But it wasn't smooth. You had to work to see anything in it.

Still - it was his now. So he damn well wasn't letting it out of his sight.

He wondered if it might be possible to make the rock into the smoother shines. Maybe the Giants had known how, once. Maybe somewhere in the Heap, their secrets lay buried, waiting for someone to find them.

He wasn't going to find out, though. Not long after getting the rock, Adam vanished.

Description: Adam is a rat. Slightly larger than average, and with very crude clothing; and his people are starting to move on just their hind legs a little more often. But to your average human, he'd just look like a big rat, although one with slightly better hygiene.

Adam is extremely distrustful and possessive, because that's how you survive in his world. There's no real concept of "someone else's property" beyond "things I'm not able to steal". Still, despite all this, he's a curious sort and might go poking his tiny little nose around in places where it's not supposed to go. And if someone actually did him a favor, well, he'd expect they want something in return, and he'd oblige by putting minimal effort into giving it to them.

Weapons and abilities: Being a rat, of course Adam is good at sneaking into small spaces. He's also got a talent for identifying small objects.

The only item he has with him is a small shining rock. It doesn't seem to have any special properties, though he won't let anyone else see it. On the other hand, he might be persuaded to hand it over in exchange for a smoother piece of shine... after all, this one's just a rock.
08-05-2016, 04:30 AM
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AgentBlue
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 15: MIRROR!
that escalated quickly

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Sunshine, Lollipops and Diabetes
Welcome back to the Mirrorverse, where everybody wears goatees and shit, even the women. I'm your host, NEGA-AGEN...

Spoiler :
[Image: negaagen_edit.jpg]

...and we're visiting your vastly less shitty, more pacifistic world today to judge these weird, goatee-less entries for the ɔo puɐɹƃ... oh, sorry. The GRAND OC. There we go.

----

What's this? So our first prize is the The First Five Eighths Sportsball Award, for people who make the best out of things that aren't the traditional Description, Biography or Items/Abilities fields. What? In my world we don't bother with those. We post clips of interpretive dance instead.

...battles aren't very popular in the Mirrorverse.

Spoiler :
DRAGON FOGEL, for Adam!

This wasn't exactly a tough choice, considering that only three of you fuckers entered this thing. Are battles not popular in your universe either?

Having said that, the palindromic Adam definitely reads like something that Fogel dashed out for the first bits and then decided to run with, as Fogel does. Good job, Fogel.

In our universe Fogel's a pro wrestler.

---

Our second prize is the the Thomas Packston Elementalist Award, which is for the entry that best exemplifies the theme given. We usually have issues with this one, so we settle it with goatee laser duels.

Of course we have goatee lasers. Don't be silly.

Spoiler :
DRAGON FOGEL, for Eve...

...no, just Adam again. Aside from Adam's obviously pun-based origins, his little mirror asks all sorts of interesting questions and raises Adam's emerging civilization as a 'mirror' to humanity, though I still think he'd be better off with a goatee and a handful of lasers.

Mirror Fogel's finishing move is the ROADWORK JACKHAMMER.

---

Up next we have the The Glere Award For Kitchen Sinkery (aka the Fishbowl). This one's for the profile that has an interesting twist or convoluted reasoning. Unfortunately I don't think we can award this one strictly in the sense of the rules, but I'm happy to give it to...

Spoiler :
BIGRO, for Nathan Limirrorck... mirrororrororck?

In our universe, no prizes are given for poetry. Slam poetry is instead rewarded with actual slams: impromptu basketball tournaments in which Tony Abbotts fight for supremacy, and everyone else throws things at them.

In any case I liked Bigro's use of poetry, and the strict adherence to the limerick form, though honestly I have no idea what actually happened to Nathan because of this. Oh well.

Mirrorro raises cats for a living.

The Arnold Fogge's Actually Practical Award is awarded for the best profile that fits the Grand Battle format. In our universe, we have a breakdance for the worst profile, but this bit is pretty tired by now, since it's been like eight months.

I'm happy to award the Arnold Fogge to...

Spoiler :
PHARMACY, for Rorrim of the Rime!

Rorrim's ability to speak the truth, and only the truth, makes her an ideal candidate for the chaotic web of lies that fill the confusing realm of battle. In addition, her aquatic nature can be a brilliant asset or a terrible flaw (especially in deserts). Also, she the kind of character who would be fun to draw.

Anyway time to go back to my universe because I took way too long at this, and everyone gets all the rest of the awards, have fun :___:

Agenface
03-13-2017, 06:27 AM
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Pharmacy
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 15: MIRROR!
scraw.

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Hey, hey. It's been a while.

Today's theme of the week is DRACONIC. Interpret what you may, whether it's a beast or a pun. Godspeed and good luck. I'll see (and judge) you next Sunday.
(This post was last modified: 03-13-2017, 06:55 AM by Pharmacy.)
03-13-2017, 06:54 AM
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Schazer
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 16: DRACONIC!
Patron Saint of Normcore

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Ōtautahi
Username: Of Schaz'
Name: Francis McAllard and Billie
Species: Human and "dog"
Gender: Trogdor was a man!
Color: The Viridian Hood

Description: Francis was a student of batrachology a very long time ago, but a sudden kick up the global power rankings and a supplementary dose of ego's helped him adjust to his leadership position. He's not an especially regal or imposing presence at first glance, so when intimidation's a factor he grabs his regalia. There's a motorcycle helmet, glossy bottle green with a yellow-tinted visor; a brown leather jacket with whitened scratches all over the sleeves for some kind of ominous tally; a revolver at each hip (purely decorative, iridescent purplish inlays on the grips); his favorite "dog" on a leash, and orange galoshes.

The galoshes kind of distract, but that's swamp life for you. He'll probably take 'em off and find something more useful as soon as he can.

Magical infusion did a number on Francis' formerly-reticent personality; like most leaders in the new world he's callous, conniving, violent when angered, deeply arrogant, and fundamentally self-serving in all his schemes.

The "dog" is definitely more of a herpetological take on man's best friend than a mammalian one. It's kind of slimy and comes from a noble lineage of magically-transmogrified animal residents of damp and soggy places. Francis thought it'd be a nice slap in the face of the beastmancer to repurpose his weaponry after the failed invasion. He's fond of keeping trophies of fights with other magic users he's driven off his turf, and gets rather irritable if anyone tries touching his collection.

Francis has been known to lock people in boxes for harming wildlife. Despite this he's not above shoving a newt down someone's throat if it means a fight gets resolved without a clash of magicks.

Weapons/Abilities: Francis gained the inexplicable magical power to create rooms out of nothing, or perhaps more accurately to create a large chunk of nothing in the middle of something else. Something about the magic leaves the remaining solid's now-walls just as strong as they were before being hollowed out, which makes it an ineffective way to murder someone by turning them into a human-shaped cavity. It does work to seal people inside airtight invisible boxes though, which is an application he gets quite a bit of use out of. He's mostly used the ability to make a sprawling underground network of rooms for his citizens to live and work in, as it sure beats living on the swampy surface of a war-torn world.

Billie the "dog" has a bite strength of at least 3000 pounds per square inch, poisonous skin, and an overland speed that takes people by surprise considering his stumpy legs.

Biography: Francis was out doing data gathering in the field when magic struck the universe and arced through all its soft and vulnerable tissues like otherworldly lightning. Considerable power corrupted considerably, as it does, and the subset of individuals who oh-so-happened to become walking points of high magical density wasted little time before taking over the world. The remnants of civilisation - following the cataclysmic contests of strength between these souls - coalesced under the leadership of these powerful megalomaniacs, with things getting worse but still maintaining a sense of normality under the domains of those with the most overpowered magical arsenals.

Francis' settlement has survived this long thanks to its leader's focus on defensive tactics, the lack of strategic value in his city's location, and his reputation for fucking up something fierce anyone who tries bringing the fight to him.
03-14-2017, 03:51 AM
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AgentBlue
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 16: DRACONIC!
that escalated quickly

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Sunshine, Lollipops and Diabetes
Username: Agen who should never judge again
Name: People know him as the Good Doctor. Accompanying him, Tragen the horse.
Species: Goast and goast horse
Gender: he/him, horse pronouns
Color: Old blood, old bandages

Description:The Good Doctor is an old man, wrapped almost entirely in tattered, bloody bandages. If asked, he will claim the wounds underneath come from a thousand cuts and burns. Given that he is usually incorporeal as well, no one has been able to confirm this. His nut-brown skin is wrinkled in ways that suggests extreme age, from a time even before the Greatest War that wiped out humanity. He wanders the wastelands, accompanied by Tragen, his equally ancient ghost draft horse. Occasionally, he will sing a haunting, tuneless, rhythmic song into the empty night.

Items/Abilities: Tragen pulls a low, leaden cart, laden with salvaged missile warheads. Every so often the Good Doctor will dig one from the ground, pointed end first. He handles them gingerly. On them are inscribed the sigil of a long-lost corporation, one the Doctor founded, one that backed the wrong side in the Greatest War. A corporation that eventually, in desperation, built frightful sonic weapons, missiles made all of metal and sound that soared over cities, smashing windows and skulls. And when finally the other side responded in kind, the argument tore the world apart...

Now he pulls their remains from the ground, hoping to atone, somehow, somehow. But there are no other ghosts. Perhaps his weapons sucked the very souls from their bodies in death.

Biography: The uniformed man raised the black warhead into the air, admiring the way it sucked in the light. "Andre, these will be the saviors of humanity. Thank you."

Andre nodded, and gestured modestly. "No, thank you, General. I always appreciated your having my back, all the way back to the hood. The company has never done better."

"On that note, Andre. Have you considered our proposal?"

Andre coughed. "Remind me? There's so much that goes past my desk..."

"The merger? With our corporate wing?"

"You mean the National Intelligence Corporation? Yes, the board liked the numbers a lot. We haven't made a final decision yet, but just from me to you, our chances are pretty damn good."

"Good, good." The general admired the warhead for another second, turning it in his hands, running his fingers over the amplifier grill on the flat end. Then, almost with a sigh, he put the warhead back in its foam case. A faint hiss of air sealed it into place.

"The head slots into the missile cone, amp out-"

"What are you going to call it?" He interrupted. "There's never been anything like this before."

"Not exactly," Andre said and smiled, "I did build something like this a long time ago, long before I started DreCo."

"Oh?"

"I wanted to refine sound. I wanted people to hear my music the way I wanted them to hear it, so I created the most refined sound systems. But it was a much smaller scale. The skull smashing came later, you get me?"

"You want to christen this after that?"

"Yeah. Beats, by Dr. Dre."

Spoiler :
I DON'T KNOW WHAT I
03-15-2017, 04:24 AM
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Pharmacy
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 16: DRACONIC!
scraw.

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Wednesday, its the midway point. Woo!
03-15-2017, 07:35 PM
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Dragon Fogel
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 16: DRACONIC!
The Goddamn Pacman

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Username: Don't call me you-know-what
Name: Maximillias Verdagon Escalor III
Race: Green Dragon
Gender: Male
Text Color: As green as his scales.
Biography: The green dragons were always considered the weakest, looked down upon by the other dragons and even considered a mere nuisance by most dragonslayers. When a green dragon captured your princess, your kingdom lost status for not drawing a respectable color, like black or silver. Even purple was at least considered a sign you were trying. But green was just an embarrassment.
Then Escalor came along, and she was the most ferocious beast anyone had ever seen. She rampaged over thirteen kingdoms, fighting off not only their best knights, but also more than a few purples and blues who sought to move in on her territory. She was only vanquished by an alliance of thirteen knights from all the kingdoms, who had to fight her day and night for three weeks before she finally succumbed.
And that was not the end. For Escalor had laid an egg in each of the thirteen kingdoms, and each of her children begat a new lineage, upholding the honor of their great ancestor. And though none were quite as fearsome as the mighty Escalor, they were all legends in their own right, and as they banded together with other greens, the greens saw their stature rise.
Maximillias was the latest in the line of Verdagon, thirteenth child of Escalor, and he carried great expectations on his shoulders.
And he did not feel he could live up to them.
He was already a hundred and fifty, and he still hadn't developed the lungs to breathe fire. His wings were small, barely able to lift him off the ground. Even his claws were only strong enough to smash rock; they should have been sharp enough to tear through a knight's armor by now.
There was only one way Maximillias thought he could become a legend worthy of his line: if he were vanquished by a great hero in battle. Then, he knew, tales of his defeat would be greatly exaggerated as time went on, and whatever weakness he might show would be forgotten.
And so, Maximillias plotted to create the greatest hero the world had ever seen, so he could become his first conquest.
But before he could get started on that, he was summoned away to a battle.

Description: Maximillias is an immature green dragon, but rather weak as dragons go. His one and only goal is to be defeated in a memorable battle by a great hero, to leave his mark on history.
Fortunately, it seems someone else has picked out seven possible candidates for his vanquisher. Even better, his defeat will be so legendary as to transcend worlds. He just needs to make sure the fight looks good.
He would have no problem cooperating with someone, even his eventual destroyer, for the purposes of furthering this scheme. Maximillias is crafting a story here, after all, and anything that makes it better is worth doing, in his view.
On the other hand, if he thought someone was interfering with his intended storyline, he would have no qualms disposing of them. Preferably in a way that heightens his apparent menace.

Weapons and Abilities: Maximillias is about the size of a small house, and consequently possesses great strength. It's not that high compared to other dragons, even other greens, but it's nothing to sneeze at.
He should be able to breathe fire by now, but he seems to be a late bloomer in that regard. He can also fly, but only about six feet off the ground. Enough to be intimidating, but not much else.
03-16-2017, 04:19 AM
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Pharmacy
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 16: DRACONIC!
scraw.

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Joined: Jul 2011
Anywhere.
Woah man! Time for GrOC prizes!

The Glere Award For Kitchen Sinkery/Fishbowl Award goes to the Swamp King/Petty Tyrant and his weird dog, Francis McAllard and Billie. I give this award mostly because of the “cellar-mancer”/salamander wordplay, but I do really like the synergy of traditional dragon-y behavior (i.e. ostentatious displays of power, trophy-collecting, being a jerk) and magic lair-building. Keep it up!

The GBS2 Award For Gratuitous Worldbuilding Award goes to the Apocalypse Ghost and his weird dog, the Good Doctor and Tragen. Your effort to relentlessly incorporate every conceivable pun involving the word “dragon” is admirable. However, I do like the Cold War/slipstream sci-fi vibe from his story. Gives it sort of a satirical vibe especially with the non-stop puns. Good job!

The Arnold Fogge's Actually Practical Award goes to the Sad Dragon, Maximillias Verdagon Escalor III. I like how he is plotting to get defeated by a worthy opponent so his reputation can skyrocket and he can retire from the family obligation. I am sure in a theoretical Grand Battle, it means he’ll take initiative in messing things up and interacting with other player characters. Very nice!

Anyway, that is all. I enjoyed reading the submitted profiles. Good luck, and thank you all for participating in this week’s theme!
03-20-2017, 07:04 AM
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Pharmacy
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 16: DRACONIC!
scraw.

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Alright, this week's theme is METAMORPHOSIS. Show game-changing profiles (or puns)! Good luck!
03-21-2017, 05:03 AM
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Dragon Fogel
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 16: DRACONIC!
The Goddamn Pacman

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Name: The Cocoon
Race: Cocoon
Gender: Cocoon
Text Color: #C0C00...A?
Description: A very large cocoon. It doesn't seem to move at all, but occasionally it shakes as though something will come out.

Biography: Well, presumably it was a larva of some sort at one point. Nobody is really sure; it just sort of appeared in Lab B one day. The general consensus is that it's the janitor's fault.
The janitor didn't object to this, mostly because he hasn't been seen since the cocoon appeared.
Lab B was locked down ever since, with plans to either fumigate or just torch the thing, but then the whole thing got bogged down with Dr. Tonal asking for permission to study it first.
By the time that piece of bureaucracy was dealt with and the exterminators were sent in, the cocoon had disappeared entirely. Not that it didn't leave a huge mess behind.

Powers: The cocoon just sort of sits there. Except, while no one's actually observed this happening, it seems to make webs grow around it. These webs also seems to attract other insects; nothing unusual was observed in the webs left in Lab B, except for the sheer variety of insects.
The webs don't seem to be a trap or anything, as the insects were able to crawl around over them freely. But for all anyone knows, they might have been moving towards the cocoon.
Also, sometimes it throbs, or pulsates, or shakes. It's a very unsettling sight.
It's probably not a good idea to stay near the cocoon for extended periods of time, either. We can't actually prove it has any connection to the janitor's disappearance, but better safe than sorry.
03-21-2017, 05:17 AM
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Schazer
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 17: METAMORPHOSIS!
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Username: High Schoncept
Name: E1, or "Ellie"
Species: Elder Elver (juvenile)
Gender: Any, though different members of the research team tasked with it had their own notions.
Color: Ideorange

Description: E1 resembles a vaguely fish-shaped floating piece of foil-thin sheet metal, about eight feet long and three feet wide. A single, perfectly circular hole is cut out on the anteroposterior axis of symmetry, where this thing's head would be were it a real fish. One could fit their fist pretty comfortably through this hole, except for the orange-and-violet fire hovering in the middle of it. The entire shape is also wreathed in a multicolored flame, though the hues outside of orange are desaturated in comparison. The fire extends out the back in a translucent "tail" that makes E1's total length about twenty glowing orange feet.

E1 is small for their species thanks to a rich and steady diet from a young age which avoided the typical Elder Elver survival strategy of diffusing over a large enough area that they could find food. This is fortuitous for something the size of a galaxy does not a good Battle contestant make.

Carefully glued to the side of the Elver are some electronic devices: one is a tinny speaker E1 can activate by changing the properties of their skin, the others are designed to log location and ambient atmospheric data. They probably weren't designed for trans-universal logging. E1 is quite talkative, personable, and rather childish in personality. They possess a vast array of knowledge though it tends to take an esoteric/"alien" lens when they try to explain it.

Weapons/Abilities: E1's "skeleton" is made of an otherworldly material - while heavy impacts can and will bend it it'll readily unfold back to its usual shape. Being extremely thin and tough, E1's front edge makes for a dangerous knife's edge as it swims through the air/soil/whatever obstructs it, really. E1 "eats" by chopping things up into fine particles, also breaking down concepts or ideas associated with the matter into comprehensible chunks and consuming them with the bright flame in its eye-hole.

E1's non-front edges are starting to dissolve into semi-conceptual existence, which may demonstrate interesting properties depending on what is silly enough to touch it there. Along with its diet transitioning from "concept-infused matter" to raw ideas, and its habit of sometimes flying "flat" instead of "upright" it's quite clearly at the end of its current life stage and big changes are coming its way.

Biography:
Quote:The Department of Exoversal Studies invites all students and faculty to our weeklong series of lectures and events to commemorate the departure of our very own exoversal entity, E1. E1 has been a valued collaborator with the department, immeasurably expanding our understanding of the unusual lifeforms which dwell beyond the edge of our universe. E1's contributions while they carry research equipment on their migration to what can only be speculated as the Elder Elvers' interstitial spawning grounds, but their departure marks the end of an illustrious era in RIMI's history.

29/4 1300, Lecture Hall 3 - Introduction to Exoversal Diversity with Dr. Strang

30/4 1300, Lecture Hall 3 - Flight of the Elver: Projections and Predictions from E1's Flight Data with Dr. Sirocco

31/4 1300, Lecture Hall 3 - Teleconference Q&A with E1
31/4 2000, Edgeway spaceport - Voidscope Observatory tour (limited to eight participants. No fee but bookings essential, RSVP here)

32/4 1300, Lecture Hall 3 - Braving the Beyond: Designing Research Probes For Interstitial Durability with Visiting Lecturer Dr. Amaryll
32/4 1800, Main Green - Farewell barbecue. 500cd donation; proceeds go to Scopes For Schools charitable organisation

33/4 0200 Official Farewell Ceremony (restricted to departmental members and invited guests)
03-27-2017, 07:03 AM
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AgentBlue
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 17: METAMORPHOSIS!
that escalated quickly

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Sunshine, Lollipops and Diabetes
Name: Francois Hiccke
Race: Human...?
Gender: He/him
Description: An ordinary man, wrapped in sheets and sheets of loose paper. The paper is gathered together into the rough shape of an overlarge trench coat, the bottom edge of which scrapes the ground. His face is impassive, and seems entirely incapable of expression (it is made of flesh. you did check). On one breast pocket he wears a metal badge, which describes law enforcement of some kind - what law and what enforcement is unclear. The words are unreadable (they are clear words, emblazoned in brass, but they do not seem to say anything when you try and read them). The paper coat is also covered in words (but they too do not seem to say anything, at great and verbose length). Other than that, he wears strange leather gloves, the fingers of which bend in strange ways out the corner of your eye. When he moves them to take coffee or to pick up evidence-bagged contraband, they rustle in excitement (you do not know if it is the paper or the gloves, but it almost sounds like scuttling).

He is here to escort someone. The law wants them. He does not know who or why, but he is sure it is going somewhere. He is working.

Items/Abilities: Francois holds a police revolver. It is black and nondescript. It does not look as if it has ever been used. His spare magazines do not have bullets in them. They shake from time to time, and they are brown, not black.

Biography: Hicckesque, is what they called him at the precinct. He was a normal man. The setting was a town. Orders came from above, in manila envelopes. Every day he opened them and read the orders to the others. One morning he woke up with three people in his bed, whipping each other. He threw his blanket over them as he got up, and he didn't see them anymore. The wheels on his bicycle squeaked. The manila envelopes stuck to him. The people at the precinct began to stop. They would be carted out, along with their desks. He stopped showering. The room began to become empty at work. There were fewer people to read the envelopes to. The envelopes had orders in them. Sometimes they were blank, as if the people who they were meant for were no longer here. Sometimes he could not read them at all. The envelopes began coming in coir, sisal, burlap sacks, and then they stopped coming at all. Every day he would read the paper, densely printed. He would send his men, then his man, then no one at all. There were no desks but his. The papers just came on their own. They stuck to him. He felt small. His blankets were too big for him. He felt as if moving was strange. He could climb the walls if he wanted. The papers were everywhere. The whipping couple had moved into his apartment. All his things were in the closet, and one day the closet door was gone. There was only wall. The papers stuck to him. He did not smile anymore. One morning he went to work and his desk was gone. Then he was gone, too.
03-27-2017, 07:12 AM
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Pharmacy
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 17: METAMORPHOSIS!
scraw.

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The Thomas Packston Elementalist Award and Arnold Fogge's Actually Practical Award is given to the thing that may or may not had eaten the janitor (or might be the janitor), The Cocoon. I sure do love the B-movie vibe and I like the cut-and-dry concept of a developing problem that will emerge into a horrifying consequence. Also, I am a little afraid of what might come out of it. Let’s hope it’s like freshly baked pie or a pile of kittens instead of a horrific bug or bug-like mass.

The The GBS2 Award For Gratuitous Worldbuilding goes to the baby genius/universe E1/Ellie. The fact that Ellie’s strange and immortal nature has a substantial impact on the world and the relatively mundane inhabitants is interesting and can have potential implications (and potential development because she absorbs ideas like how tofu absorbs refrigerator smells). Also, Ellie gets the The Glere Award For Kitchen Sinkery because I realized something when I read the biography. I saw what you did.

The Lucky VII All-Rounder Award goes to the Kafkasque cleaner Francois Hiccke. The profile does a good job at showing the sheer absurdity at the increasing intensity of impending doom/despair so common in early Modernism and how his bland demeanor is weirdly ominous. He also gets the The Convolution Teamfriendliness Cup because what if people get infected/altered by the weird tone he radiates. What if he met the Convolution in person. Will the round implode.
(This post was last modified: 03-28-2017, 06:04 AM by Pharmacy.)
03-28-2017, 06:01 AM
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Dragon Fogel
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 17: METAMORPHOSIS!
The Goddamn Pacman

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Okay, it's time for another theme!

This week's theme is Party.
03-28-2017, 06:04 AM
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Pharmacy
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 18: PARTY!
scraw.

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Name: Mavrodaphne
Species: Raving One
Gender: Female
Color: Girls just want to have fun.

Description: Mavrodaphne is enormous. She isn’t actually large but she is barely held back by the barest limitations of the average human height, like how her muscles are barely held back by the fawnskin and ivy excuse for modesty. She has prominent horns and is prominently hairy, with hair so thick in places that you can see leopard spots on it. Mavrodaphne radiates an aura of seeming invincibility and never seems to be without a cocksure grin on her face. Despite her intimidating nature, she is quite amicable and if for some coincidentally bizarre reason you are in the same gym as her, she’ll tell you how to diet and exercise properly. Basically, she’s fun at parties if it weren’t for, you know, the barbarian rage and cannibalism thing.

Weapons/Abilities: Mavrodaphne can fall into a mindless battle rage, enhancing her already substantial strength to ridiculous proportions. She can do it just fine while being straight-edge but what proportion is dependent on how intoxicated and in ecstatic frenzy she is. Like doing a kegstand? Leveling a small town ridiculous. Draining every beer factory dry? Potentially god-killing ridiculous.

She also has a weird pinecone wand and snakes, a lot of snakes. She is like a muscular hairy equivalent of a cat lady, but for snakes. They are her babies. Interacting with them is a great way to get on her good (or bad) side, depending on what you do.

Biography: Mavrodaphne was born in the Days Of Yore, into the Cult of the Twice-Born. There she learned the liminal mysteries – the mysterious boundary between gods and men, between life and death – and other miscellaneous skills, like snake-handling and wine-tasting. She was doing fine, steadily rising to the point she was getting referrals for Head Priestess until the Cult was attacked by an organized raid of the Twelve, the official religion of the state. In an effort to save Mavrodaphne, the Head Priestess flung her into liminal space, between now and then, between existence and non-existence. After an agonizingly long period of unthinking non-existence, Mavrodaphne found herself in the Days Of Now.

[Round 1: …
(This post was last modified: 03-28-2017, 07:32 AM by Pharmacy.)
03-28-2017, 07:02 AM
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AgentBlue
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 18: PARTY!
that escalated quickly

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Sunshine, Lollipops and Diabetes
Name: Robert Bilder (or just Bilder)
Race: Toolman
Gender: He/him
Color: kachunk
Description: Bilder is half a man, or more accurately, just over a thirtieth of a man, stretched out over into a vaguely man-shaped figure. Inside him is all manner of power tools and weaponry, all powered by a fiendish tangle of pneumatic and electric hoses. If there's an actual power source in there somewhere, no one has actually seen it. His eyeless sockets house glass orbs instead, retinal chips suspended in them. Every so often he unhinges and airs out a drill or two.

He carries around with him a gigantic socket, about his six-foot height, into which is carved a complex and incomprehensible series of tumblers and grooves. It seems designed as a slot for some tremendous key. Stenciled on one beveled side is a large jet-black 'Y', followed by a slathering of technical jargon in smaller print. It seems to be protocol for inserting this missing part.

Obviously, Bilder is looking for it.

Items/Abilities: He fixes everything in his way. Permanently.

Biography: He has scattered memories of friends, but one was a scarecrow so he no longer really knows what was real and what was, perhaps, a strange and brightly colored fiction. He remembers being taken apart for his talents. He remembers his designation and care of his socket and key. He does not remember where the key went.

They took him apart, into how many parts? Some number. Thirty? Less. A little less. He was a little less, and he did not know anything other than the proper realignment of a ZX-2150a laser saw, and other minutae of the kind. He could fix things. He must have been one of the last ones made, because he remembers having things torn away and knowing you once knew things and loved things and wanted things and not knowing what they were, until the feeling was gone and only he remained.

It hurts. It hurt then, it at this point had ceased to remind him of anything but the proper maintenance and care of a Byrson All-Purpose ANTON (3rd edition), and let's not be hasty but the proper realignment as well. He did not know what pain was anymore, but he remembered that it happened. He is pretty sure that happened. Did his tractor use to talk? Did he have a tractor? Was he the tractor in the end?
03-29-2017, 03:15 AM
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Schazer
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 18: PARTY!
Patron Saint of Normcore

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Username: Someone beat me to my usual username so I'll go with Scout
Name: Devril Harald
Race: Offense+Defense hybrid
Gender: Male
Color: Time... to level... the field.

Description: Devril is a sharp-featured French man with an Incursor Cell grafting itself between his shoulder blades. It looks vaguely insectoid and the skin it's lying under is translucent, letting a ghastly neon-teal glow through. Similar-colored striations, raising the skin like cords or mismatched muscles, work their way down his arms and back, and up onto his neck and face. His fingers only seem to bend at the knuckles, and the glow in the palm of his hands flickers with pattern almost like a language.

He's an extremely rare case of an Incursor Cell remaining viable out of storage or grafted to a more typical host, and various governments' attempts to study him to better-understand the enemy have left him suspicious of authority and rather hostile to anyone too curious about how his powers work. With his powers' restrictions reducing to him one surprise hit at close range, and ranged attacks too slow to catch a one-on-one opponent out, Devril's at his smoothest in chaotic situations with a lot of bodies flying and a decent amount of backup. For Devril, being alone is worse than being with people he doesn't trust.

Items/Abilities: Devril's primary weapon is the ever-charging explosive energy of his Incursor Cell; anything he grabs is blasted sharply away. Without a target to grab, however, the Cell charges until Devril's arms "lock" in position and he's forced to transfer catastrophic amounts of energy in the from of straight lines burned into the ground ahead of him. Devril can sense these power spikes and position his hands so the divisions take a tactically advantageous form, to either hem enemies in with close-combat allies or granting a team-mate breathing room. Once the "lock" initiates, it takes a couple of seconds for his aim to stabilise, which often forces him to perform his battlefield role out of the enemy's easiest lines of sight.

Devril's power is especially effective against vertical defensive surfaces, though the destructive+electrocuting effects last longer when cast on the ground. Because the energy is less launched from his palms and more that his Cell-grafted arms are like antennae, the shape of terrestrial scars to come can be figured out by a smart opponent by watching his hand position.

Biography: The lone survivor of an Incursor attack on his region, Devril is on a quest for answers about the alien power he can barely control.

Born and raised on a farm in Provence, Devril only survived the attack by grabbing an Incursor Cell from a crashed pod and letting it graft itself to his own nervous system. The Cell somehow took, and masked his bio-signature enough to spare him from the mass-roundup of humans. He's since been on the run, seeking out anyone he can trust to watch his back and join him in the fight against the Incursors
03-31-2017, 08:55 AM
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Dragon Fogel
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 18: PARTY!
The Goddamn Pacman

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Going to judge sometime tomorrow evening. Last call to get entries in!
04-04-2017, 12:12 AM
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Mirdini
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 18: PARTY!
You're Alright

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Username: Mirdinneri

Name: Jo, Jeff, Nadia, and Amel

Species: Regular Humans, and they'd like to stay that way

Gender: NB, Guy, Gal, Gal

Color: Something somewhat like this.

Description: Jo could best be described as... volcanic. They certainly look the part: tall, rugged and smoldering. Wild red hair completes the landscape, which is generally well-visible in their usual getup of a tank top and shorts. A bubbly personality, Jo can often be found having a good time at the center of any event, and tends towards spontaneity and doing things 'nur zum Spaß davon'.

Jeff stands out in a crowd, and not in a good way. Polo shirt, slacks and shades are the order of the day, with a slicked-back undercut as if the former wasn't enough. Standing 5'11'', he's got the physique to 'pull it off' by conventional standards, though looking pretty is the least of anyone's worries at this point. Jeff's questionable fashion sense belies his demeanor though, as he cares deeply and easily about others, often to the point of self-sacrifice.

Nadia is in fighting trim, and has a combative approach to people to go with it. Highly competitive, acerbic, and generally not a pleasant person to be around. Highly competent too, though. Middling height, Iranian ancestry, strong features will murder you with a harsh glance.

Amel is the youngest of the group, but definitely the most stylish. Punk as heck hijabi, 6'1'', reserved with people she doesn't know but mischievous and fun with people she does.

Items/Abilities: Jo is a professional fire-eater and an unprofessional pyromaniac. While they won't openly admit to knowing exactly how to cook up a molotov cocktail or various other flame-based weaponry, they sure seem to 'find' a lot of them while scavenging.

Jeff was a professional golfer, before all this. While he wasn't quite constant birdie material, he rarely got stuck with bogeys, either. As a result his weapon of choice is any of his set of sturdy clubs, which he wields with precision to avoid unnecessary damage to them.

Nadia, on the other hand, was an Olympic-level fencer for Spain and has the reflexes and swordswomanship to reflect it. As her foil isn't really suited for actual combat, she improvises with whatever suitable items are close at hand.

Amel is a world-class inventor, her specialty being UAVs. Her efforts had secured her a scholarship from her native Algeria to a renowned French polytechnic, and she's only improved since. Her prototypes were already impressive work, and she's upgraded her favorite ('Ray') with a scouting camera, silent propulsion and a remarkably versatile grabbing claw. Jo's idea of taping a gun to it has been vetoed... for now.

Biography: Each of the motley now-crew were in Monte Carlo on unrelated business when it slowly began. By coincidence they'd all arrived at Le Metropole at roughly the same time, and managed to end up in the same elevator as it juddered to a halt. Awkward silence gave way to awkward small talk after half an hour, genuine exasperation an hour later, and cooperative escape after a second hour with no response from the emergency bell. Upon re-entering the hotel at large it was immediately obvious something was Off - a glance out of a window showed traffic in chaos and most people walking around with curiously stiff gaits. Curiously stiff gaits employed in what seemed to be pursuit of people pretty obviously on the run.

A few encounters with constantly smiling, polite, and remarkably homicidal... somethings... wearing human skin later our heroes decided to band together to survive whatever the hell was going on. Thankfully the non-people were easy to spot and circumvent - all the intelligence of a poorly-functioning ASIMO, and a stock phrase ("Hello! How are you? Please accept It! Accept It Today!") repeated just under shouting volume as soon as you were spotted.

They were relentless, though. Having to violently dispatch a few has certainly taken a mental toll, though camaraderie and occasional contact with various other souls marooned in this strange new world (strangely, all also in elevators At The Time) has helped somewhat.

It remains to be seen how they'll react to their relocation to an even more alien existence.
(This post was last modified: 04-04-2017, 10:17 PM by Mirdini.)
04-04-2017, 10:15 PM
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Dragon Fogel
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 18: PARTY!
The Goddamn Pacman

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Okay, judging time!

First, our party animal Mavrodaphne takes away the Lucky VII All-Rounder Award for being a solid all-around profile, and the Thomas Packston Elementalist Award for having by far the most straightforward application of the theme.

On that note, Robert Bilder receives the Kracht Saw It Coming Award for the very blatant Part Y pun. (What, not Part E?) However, it also receives the Glere Award For Kitchen Sinkery for its gimmick of Part Y being missing, and what this means for Bilder's state of mind.

Up next, we have Devril Harald, who walks away with Arnold Fogge's Actually Practical Award, primarily for his tendency to group with others. Someone like this is inherently going to make alliances in a battle. And the Convolution Teamfriendliness Cup goes here too, mostly for potential interactions with our next entry. Not only is it a group for Devril to attach himself to, but the fact that both entries come from worlds under attack is sure to lead to some interesting developments.

And finally, our latecomers, a party of four named Jo, Jeff, Nadia, and Amel. They receive the First Five Eigthths Sportsball Award, mostly due to having the only gimmick in the early fields by virtue of being a group. In addition, they claim the GBS2 Award For Gratuitous Worldbuilding for the tantalizing story of an apocalypse where all the survivors were trapped in elevators.

I'm sure I missed a whole bunch of veiled puns in those last two entries. Maybe more in Bilder. But that's how the awards are being laid out this week, and I'd like to thank everyone for participating.
04-05-2017, 02:52 AM
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