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The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 26: SANGUINE!
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Ixcaliber
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 24: HARDCORE!
Post: #201
Merchant Queen of the Space Consortium

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Posts: 4,071
Joined: Jul 2011
Location: trash mountain
Username: Ixcaliber
Name: Thrillseeker
Gender: Female
Race: Human, mostly
Text Colour: #8A0707
Description: Thrillseeker is tall, athletically built with tan skin, amber eyes and a gaudily dyed blood red pompadour. She typically wears glossy black lipstick and aviator sunglasses with white frames and cherry red lenses. She wears fairly casual clothing that allows as much mobility as possible. She was at the time she was taken for battle wearing a black t-shirt with a white logo of a lantern, a worn, and in some places a little bloody, denim jacket, fingerless gloves, a miniskirt and black leather boots. She has a lot of tattoos, the only ones immediately visible are those on her legs which are nearly covered in obscure iconography.

Thrillseeker tends to be kind of guarded when around unfamiliar people or in unfamiliar situations. Though she’s a woman of very few words her emotion is often written clearly in exaggerated body language. She tends towards caution, having suffered badly for recklessness in the past, but is willing to make a mistake if she thinks she can learn something from it. She has no hesitation when action is called for.

Items/Abilities: Thrillseeker is accompanied by a modified Public Homunculi Vat (known colloquially as a Cauldron). A PHV consists of an upright human-sized translucent cylinder filled with a viscous liquid (in this case blood red) and an attached control panel utilizing touch screen controls. Thrillseeker’s Cauldron has been significantly modified; it has been fitted into a primitive chassis which contains a mobile generator and sits atop a set of hydraulic robotic legs.

Back before the merge PHVs were used to create disposable servants to perform menial tasks and at a low low cost, thanks to the work of the Lanterns the Cauldrons now serve a different purpose. It is possible to use a Cauldron to create a genetic and mental imprint of yourself which will activate should the user happen to expire whilst still within the Cauldron’s range, decanting a homunculus with the consciousness of the user. Furthermore it’s possible for someone who finds themselves in that kind of situation to recreate and reinhabit a copy of their physical body using genetic data stored in the PHV and a consumable bundle of genetic materials. Thrillseeker has a handy stockpile of these.

Additional functionality modded into the Cauldron via a transdimensional beacon is the ability to either summon and decant the consciousness of another user from another dimension into a temporary homunculus or to offer a version of your own consciousness which can be used the same way. This functionality allows thrillseekers to engage in some good spirited teamwork, however it is important to remember that not all thrillseekers are benevolent in their intentions.

Thrillseeker carries a flask of Rapid Growth Formula (known colloquially as Lifeblood). This is the same liquid from the Cauldron’s Vat and when consumed provides a very temporary healing effect. Thrillseeker’s flask contains enough for only a couple of uses before she’d have to return to the Cauldron to refill it.

Thrillseeker has a couple of different weapons available to her, but her primary one is the Scythe of Iaoael. This weapon was forged from the essence of Iaoael the Rancorous, an animalistic phantom that had slipped free of the White Labyrinth when Thrillseeker encountered it. Much like the phantom from which it was made the Scythe of Iaoael is jet black with a faint purple shimmer across it. It is ornately carved, though the pattern of eyes is difficult to discern in the blackness of the scythe.

Biography: Some come to Ilmire to fight the Night, or to try to understand them. Some come to scavenge what little remains of the decrepit city’s incredible technologies. Some come to peer into the void or to try to tame its powers for themselves. Thrillseeker came to this wretched place just looking for a good time.

[Image: ixchive_zpsmzpjaksv.png][Image: Jorbannernew.png][Image: Fentinybanner2_zpsd8493b8b.png][Image: Helbanner_zpsb6559a65.png][Image: Abanner.png][Image: triangle_zpsspgnq401.png][Image: sistene_zpsko2snjpw.png]
06-01-2017 06:36 PM
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Pharmacy
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 24: HARDCORE!
Post: #202
sk8r d0g

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Posts: 464
Joined: Jul 2011
Location: Anywhere.
KEEP CLOSE YOUR WALLETS AND YOUR NAMES,
FOR THE DREADED MERCERNARY TAMERFEIGN
WHAT DAMNABLE DEEDS SHE HAD DONE
IN THE NAME OF HER KINDRED AND HER LOVE?
BUT HER HISTORY REMAINS A MYSTIC LORE,
HER EMBLEM SCREAMS RED AND NEVERMORE.

PEOPLE FEAR TO NOTICE TAMERFEIGN
HER ANGER, HER FURY, HER ABSOLUTE SHAME
RAM-HORNS BEDECK HER WICKED FACE
AN INFERNAL CORE, HER TRUSTY MACE.
MASSIVE WINGS THAT BLOT OUT THE SKY,
JAGGED WITH FEATHERS, SHARP AS KNIVES.
SHE’S FILLED WITH RAGE AND INDIGNITY,
NOTHING IN HER EYES BUT ABSOLUTE CLEAR,
STARRY DARKNESS, IT’S OKAY TO FEAR.

SHE’S USED TO COWARDS, CAN YOU SEE?
FOR THE CURS SHE THOUGHT THEM BRAVE,
SOLD HER SOUL FOR POWER THEY CRAVE.
SHE TOOK THEIR BLOOD, AND HER REVENGE
BUT A PRICE AND A LOSS, SHE CANNOT AVENGE.
HER FAITH SHATTERED, HER HUMANITY LOST,
SHE MUST WALK THE EARTH, THAT IS THE COST,
ALL WREATHED IN FLAMES AND IRON-RUST.
WHICH MAKES HER ARMOR AN ABSOLUTE MUST
FOR IF SHE DEIGN TO SHED HER SKIN
THE COLD WILL COME, DEATH WILL WIN.

IF YOU SEE A FLAG, BLOODY RED,
KEEP CLOSE YOUR LIVES, KEEP CLOSE YOUR HEAD.
KEEP YOUR ARMS TIGHT, KEEP YOUR HEAD LOW,
THERE’S NOTHING FOR YOU BUT ABSOLUTE WOE.
FOR THAT SYMBOL, IT CAN ONLY BE CLAIMED,
BY THE FALLEN PALADIN TAMERFEIGN.
(This post was last modified: 06-01-2017 09:39 PM by Pharmacy.)
06-01-2017 09:38 PM
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AgentBlue
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 24: HARDCORE!
Post: #203
that escalated quickly

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Posts: 4,251
Joined: Jul 2011
Location: Sunshine, Lollipops and Diabetes
Username: Agencaptor
Name: Manhook
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Color: door grey

Description: Manhook has a hook for a hand, a man with a hand, a man with a plan. Manhook was a man with a hand, but the hand was a hook! And this plan was grand. The hook was a hand, the hand was unplanned, but the door was hooked upon the man's hand! The children screamed, man! Man hook car door man door car hook hand!

Items/Abilities: Manhook has a door, a door from a car, a car that was hooked upon his hook hand, and the hand had a hook, and the hook had a door, the door was handed in this man's hand. Manhook also has a gun.

Biography: CAR DOOR

Let me out Stay safe inside | You're not kind | Ethics are overrated | What is life | Men are pigs | I'm so drunk | EAT ME NOW | Click clack fuck | Is this right Only money matters | Change my clothes | Little sun rising | One cat's future | Wax and wane | Dark times ahead
----
So very British / But then again | People are machines Machines are people | Oh hai there | There's no time
----
Superhero 1920s noir | Multigenre Half-Life | Changing the future | Command line interface
Tu ventire felix? | Clockwork for eternity | Explosions in spacetime
06-02-2017 01:43 AM
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Schazer
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 24: HARDCORE!
Post: #204
Patron Saint of Normcore

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Posts: 6,537
Joined: Jul 2011
Location: Nippon
Username: Predating the workshop-studios
Name: Amplifire, V-of-the-two
Species: Second-gen Inpheral
Gender: Deafening laughter
Color: Avalanche

Description: 12 metres tall and ready to rock, Amplifire is a hulking construction of metal coated in glittering permafrost. Amplifire lacks a face so much as a grilled front, vaguely amphitheatrical, from which you hear a many-layered clicking, and its hunched upper surface sports speakers each the size of a tractor tire. It balances on two sturdy legs, thick pistons attached to downward-pointing railspikes giving a little more balance to its top-heavy silhouette. From the front of its underside, a curtain of inch-thick cables dangle and sweep the ground.

Despite appearances Amplifire is actually pretty chill if you're not trying to invade his homeland. Even then, he'll settle for dropping several thousand tons of snow ahead of you rather than on top. Due to hardware limitations, a lot of his mental "processing" is made audible; this sounds a lot like headphone cables being pulled from and plugged into the jacks of still-powered speakers.

Biography: Amplifire's three granddads are colossal mechanical brains that survived a thaumonuclear catastrophe and decided "well we better make some hands if we're gonna keep doing our jobs." So they did and then those hands were actually robots. Or Se'anvil Also they were like fifty metres tall because the limiting factor in their construction sure wasn't a lack of material to work with. One of those Templar' was something designed to keep not-robots out of the bitterly inhospitable mountain passes granting entrance to their even bittererly super-inhospitable iron plateau, and it decided it could do its job more efficiently with at least a couple of underlings.

And that's how we got Amplifire!

Items/Abilities: Amplifire was built to prevent trespassers in snowy mountain ranges, and does a damn good job at it. The constant clicking is a form of echolocation, letting it build a mental map of its surrounds and notice if anything's out of place. This would of course render it blind when introduced to a completely new environment, or a particularly chaotic/hectic one, but that's totally not gonna be an issue at all where Amplifire's going.

In order to actually stop intruders, Amplifire uses the back-mounted loudspeaker system. A single one of these directionally-designed amps is large enough to trigger avalanches several miles off; the whole lot in concert will easily cause permanent hearing damage if it doesn't bring the nearest building collapsing on you. Of course, no amount of omnidirectional speaker technology is going to stop avalanches from occurring right where our large metal friend is standing, hence the giant hydraulic leg-cleats.

Amplifire's not specifically built for combat, beyond incidental traits like the massive bulk, solid-state hard drive, sonic repulsion, and a faceful of steel cables that would make quite an effective flail.

peace to the unsung peace to the martyrs | i'm johnny rotten appleseed
clouds is shaky love | broke as hell but i got a bunch of ringtones
eyes blood red bruise aubergine | Sue took something now Sue doesn't sleep | saint average, day in the life of
woke up in the noon smelling doom and death | out the house, great outdoors
staying warm in arctic blizzard | that's my battle 'til I get inanimate | still up in the same clothes living like a gameshow
06-02-2017 08:02 AM
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bigro
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 24: HARDCORE!
Post: #205
Please explain

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Posts: 1,600
Joined: Dec 2012
Location: Radelaide
AWARDS SHALL BE FUCKING
D E L I V E R E D

ABSOLUTELY DEVASTATING THE LUCKY VII ALL-ROUNDER AWARD IN NO REAL PARTICULAR WAY IS AMPLITUDE FOR ITS STUNNING ABILITY TO BE A VERY GOOD PROFILE IN ALL RESPECTS.

TAKING THE FIRST FIVE EIGTHTHS SPORTSBALL AWARD BY THE HORNS AND RIDING IT INTO THE SUNSET FOREVER MORE WHILE A CONFUSED YET THANKFUL FAMILY SLOWLY WAVES GOODBYE IS THE DREADED MERCERNARY TAMERFEIGN AS A POETIC APPROACH HAS NOT GONE UNAPPRECIATED TODAY. BEST SHORTFORM, AND BEST LONGFORM TOO IN THIS SHOUTY COMMENTATORS OPINION.

CAREENING AROUND A CORNER ON A MOTORCYCLE THEY STOLE FROM THE FUZZ JUST TO GET TO THE WAREHOUSE IN TIME TO SAVE THE THOMAS PACKSTON ELEMENTALIST AWARD IS THRILLSEEKER AS THEY ARE BY DEFINITION, THE MOST HARDCORE.

WRESTLING WITH THEIR OWN CREATION DEEP WITHIN THEIR LABORATORY JUST TO SEE IF THEY CAN CREATE THE GLERE AWARD FOR KITCHEN SINKERY, AND SUCCEEDING, IS BYRIAN SMYTCH. BYRIAN SMYTCH THE ZIVERDORIAN FLYGGWYATH IS NOT SO MUCH CONFUSING AS IT IS INCREDIBLY HARD TO PLACE OTHERWISE AND GETS THIS AWARD NO SWEAT. THE PRIZE IS A FISHBOWL.

DOING A SOMERSAULT THROUGH A WINDOW AND SHOOTING UP ARNOLD FOGGE'S ACTUALLY PRACTICAL AWARD IS THE THRILLSEEKER YET AGAI-
I'VE BEEN INFORMED BY MY SPONSORS THAT MANHOOK IS TO RECEIVE THIS AWARD AS THEY ARE THE ONLY ONE SMART ENOUGH TO ACTUALLY HAVE BROUGHT A GUN, AND A HOOK, AND ALSO A CAR DOOR. THAT'S ENOUGH PARTS OF A CAR, AN ARMOURY AND A MEAT FRIDGE TO BE 100% VIABLE. MOSTLY THE GUN.

THE GBS2 AWARD FOR GRATUITOUS WORLDBUILDING GOES DIRECTLY TO THE MASSIVE HUNK OF METAL DOING A SICK FLIP ON A SNOWBOARD OFF THE SIDE OF A CLIFF THAT IS AMPLIFIRE.

AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST. THE KRACHT SAW IT COMING AWARD AWARD GOES TO THE BLUE RIBBON WINNING FRUIT, PEACH.

[Image: sdivps.png][Image: ldrohc.png]
(This post was last modified: 06-02-2017 05:37 PM by bigro.)
06-02-2017 05:36 PM
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Akumu
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 24: HARDCORE!
Post: #206
Strawberry Fields Forever

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Joined: Jul 2011
This week's theme is TANGLE
06-04-2017 01:52 AM
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Dragon Fogel
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 25: TANGLE!
Post: #207
The Goddamn Pacman

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Posts: 7,759
Joined: Jul 2011
Name: Vildrus Kanive
Gender: Male
Race: Giant Spider
Text Color: #CC0000

Biography: Three damn years.
It had been three damn years since Vildrus set his eyes on Dor's seat at the Royal Court. Three damn years of spreading rumors indirectly, forging incriminating messages, slipping them into the right pockets, and worst of all, sucking up to the other courtiers to seem like a natural successor.
But tonight. Tonight, at last, it would all come together.
The best part was that Dor would be the architect of his own demise. From the beginning, Vildrus knew he'd done something to be ashamed of; but, without the rumors and sabotage, Dor would have been able to weather the scandal.
But now. Now, everyone was ready to believe the worst of Dor. When the truth about his manservant came out, it would serve as a ready excuse to remove him.
There was little doubt. Tonight, Dor would confess, resign, and Vildrus would take his place on the Court.
Of course, there was more work to be done after that. The court had its own share of backstabbers, after all, and its own hierarchies. But all of his future plans depended on holding that seat.
He sat in the gallery, resisting the temptation to rub his forelegs together. That would just give him away. No, all he had to do for now was wait.
But he never heard the announcement he was waiting for, as he suddenly vanished from sight.

Description: Vildrus is a tarantula about the size of a human. He's not sensitive about this, coming from a world where everyone is a human-sized animal of some description.
In terms of personality, Vildrus is a schemer through and through. Of course, it's never a good idea to present yourself as a schemer, so he always tries to come across as enthusiastic and naive, in order to lure other schemers into trusting him to carry out key parts of their schemes.
When that doesn't work, he improvises.
Vildrus is very ambitious, and willing to do anything to get what he wants. He's also patient enough to wait for years if that's how long it will take to acquire it without too much risk.

Weapons and Abilities: Being a spider, naturally Vildrus has the ability to create webs, and to cling to walls and other surfaces to climb them.
He's about as strong as an average human, and very cunning. Primarily, he specializes in fooling people - usually by earning their trust, but if he can't, he won't let that stop him.

There's no reason for this | Or this | Death is inevitable | You can't challenge fate | The smallest change | I'm overwhelmed
I'm serious | It makes perfect sense | Easy as ABC! | I can't even explain it | Cleaning up someone else's mess
I suck | I rule | I've got it made | Really, I'm serious | This bugs me | It's all lies | I want to believe | Beauty is a curse
06-05-2017 05:17 AM
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AgentBlue
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 25: TANGLE!
Post: #208
that escalated quickly

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Posts: 4,251
Joined: Jul 2011
Location: Sunshine, Lollipops and Diabetes
Username: Agenfresh
Name: Francis l'Oranje-Flavoire
Species: French
Gender: French
Color: French (actually vive la france)

Description: Francis is a noble formed from the intermarriage of living interpretations of the Netherlands and France. The slurry from such incestuous couplings in between countries have given rise to many other beings that stalk this strange and metaphorical world, but none so fresh and tasty than this spindly, pink man-shaped scion of France. His robes are green and orange, the noble colors, and weave in patterns on the hems suggestive of grafted tree branches, with the sleeves hanging low on his arms. A kindly aunt, Elizabeth Tibbets O'County, a daughter of California, granted him that particular gift, as well as a set of orange-shaped cufflinks that smell delicious.

Items/Abilities: Francis knows oranges, everything about the plant, the color and the concept altogether, a preternatural talent earned from his ancestry and a gift from his doting aunt. Under his hands and his name, oranges of every breed and every type come blooming forth from the ground. This talent has lent itself to rumors that Francis may in fact be an incarnation of the Principality of Orange itself, though we may never know the true taxonomy of the Orange line: the ancestries and couplings involved create a web that we may never be able to unravel in this metaphorical context. But back to the scion.

Francis personally prefers oranges with a low-to-middling acid content, to add a little tang to the taste, but not too much. He has a liking for navel oranges, especially those his aunt sends him. He wishes everyone else would like oranges as much as he does.

Around him bloom orange groves, and around him the smell of ethylene fills and ripens the air. They must have his blessing, thematically and literally, for his breed of orange are the sort that do not brook refusal.

Biography: The fact is, Francis is little more than a boy, a little less than a man, and definitely not ready for his duties and investigations. His parents, if they can be called that, care little for micronations or the interpretations thereof, and most children of such unions are sent into the less metaphorical world, sans metaphorical power, to make something of themselves. But Francis has a powerful ally in his aunt, and has been given far more power than he should have been. It's a good thing all he wants to do is breed oranges.

Let me out Stay safe inside | You're not kind | Ethics are overrated | What is life | Men are pigs | I'm so drunk | EAT ME NOW | Click clack fuck | Is this right Only money matters | Change my clothes | Little sun rising | One cat's future | Wax and wane | Dark times ahead
----
So very British / But then again | People are machines Machines are people | Oh hai there | There's no time
----
Superhero 1920s noir | Multigenre Half-Life | Changing the future | Command line interface
Tu ventire felix? | Clockwork for eternity | Explosions in spacetime
06-06-2017 06:49 AM
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Pharmacy
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 25: TANGLE!
Post: #209
sk8r d0g

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Posts: 464
Joined: Jul 2011
Location: Anywhere.
Name: Hamhock and Cheez (not their real names)
Gender: Both dudes
Race: Two-headed Alien (Kereberon)
Color: Lock and Load

Biography+Description:
The Planet of Tartarus is known for many things: their grey, dismal climate, the hallucinogenic gases, and other peternaturally unpleasant things. However, the most famous quality of Tartarus is the multicephaly of their fauna. In other words, (nearly) all the native creatures have multiple heads. However, the wolf-like Kereberons are sort of a strange variation of that ecological rule. At birth, they are born as singular-headed entities – most live, love, and die like that. However, in an occasional but not uncommon case, a miracle happens. Xenobiologists had attempted many explanations: physiological, environmental, and other science-y things, but the truth is, you cannot fully know the intricacies behind two people making an irreversible choice based on intense romantic feelings and mutual understanding.

In this case, this choice makes a two-headed anthropomorphic wolf clad in leather and spikes. Hamhock and Cheez (most definitely not their real names) are two separate entities sharing half of one body who love each other very much. Hamhock is the left one and makes a great poker face. Cheez is the right one and never rejects the opportunity to do terrible wordplay. Sometimes they pretend to be the other for shits and giggles but the ruse is often short because they burst out cackling. You get the impression they are both terrible but they are great for each other.

Ability: Hamhock and Cheez are hardened mercenaries and their competency is validated by the impressively large resume in the XENOMERC database. Hamhock and Cheez specialize in a Tartarusian weapon called the Othrusian Rifle – a strange, two-pronged weapon that’s more like a ballista than a speargun. The ammo generally is a net of interconnected cords with weights at end, designed to capture entities of interests. While there are exotic variations (stunning weights, glass-covered cords, et cetera), the ammo is actually fairly easy to manufacture by hand if you know how (like Hamhock and Cheez). The Othrusian Rifle is extremely heavy and takes a lot of skill to shoot and clean, but the two handle it deftly.

You can say it takes two…to tangle.
(This post was last modified: 06-09-2017 06:01 AM by Pharmacy.)
06-08-2017 11:40 PM
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seedy
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 25: TANGLE!
Post: #210
Sol Heir

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Posts: 232
Joined: Dec 2011
Name: Elspeth Yates
Gender: Girl
Species: Human (dormant Chaos elemental)
Color: like her hair, y'know?

Description: Elspeth is a slightly chubby, average-height, near-sighted glasses-wearing Scotch-Irish-looking 20 year old with curly ginger hair that is constantly escaping from a tight bun. She has an irritable, micromanaging personality that she still hasn't grown out of yet. She's slightly unsociable, since people don't tend to get along with her, and she resents that. She's also very driven.

Biography: In Elspeth's world, magic is real. Weakened elementals who find themselves high-and-dry sometimes shed their energy and powers onto nearby young physical forms. Sometimes it's an insect or a larger animal that suddenly has superpowers and is incredibly dangerous. Sometimes it's a human child. Usually, the signs start showing themselves in childhood or the teenage years. That is, if you don't have any self-control I guess. Is what Elspeth would think, if she knew. Of course, it also helps if you have a really stupidly obvious element like “oh look fire is coming out of my hands,” and not some abstract bullshit.

For most of her life, Elspeth has been dogged by small things going wrong. Shoelaces tangle, her hair's always tangled, machines break, things slip people's minds, and things just don't work the way they're supposed to. It is a testament to her determination that she worked through this and came out the other side with her hands full of color-coded file folders and post-its and highlighters. Elspeth realized very young that things go wrong in life, and that it would fall to her to correct it.

She might also have realized something was odd if she had studied any magic or magic theory. But she's too busy for that. She's majoring in English as her pre-Law degree.

Powers: Chaos works its magic around Elspeth. Things that had a low chance of happening can happen, and things that had a good chance of happening might...not. She has no conscious control over this, since she has no idea it's going on. And if she did, boy, would it piss her off. But pushed into a deathbattle, and under more stress than she's ever been in (even including finals), she might start to have a few epiphanies about herself.
(This post was last modified: 06-09-2017 04:26 AM by seedy.)
06-09-2017 04:18 AM
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Schazer
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 25: TANGLE!
Post: #211
Patron Saint of Normcore

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Posts: 6,537
Joined: Jul 2011
Location: Nippon
Username: Schainzer
Name: Torch-Tower
Gender: Tenuous
Species: Altar/Avatar/Parasite
Color: Foundation and Tether

Description: A mist-shrouded tower in miniature, standing five feet tall and about one foot wide at its base. Carved from an unidentifiable blood-red mineral to resemble an upward-coiling cluster of pillars and pipes, its design sports three lines of symmetry and three particularly large hollow spines crowning Torch-Tower. The base of the tower is carved out into a pavilion, with twelve pillars supporting the structure above. In the pavilion occupies a burnished disc like an upturned cymbal, shifting symbols inscribing its rim, too large and curved to have possibly been slipped between the pillars.

Biography: The Torch-Tower is some manner of deity given physical form; records as to the circumstances of this manifestation lost to time. Torch-Tower itself was one of those slippery abstract gods, the kind who crawled from the woodwork once a more sensible pantheon had been laid out by mankind and the only market share left was in the more abstract domains, personified and elevated to godhood by the machinations of ambitious cults.

Torch-Tower's world lies barren, drained, abandoned, washed-out fragments of once-reality all that remains for the deity to dance with. An outside force - pulling it to new worlds - offers Torch-Tower a fresh start, a new fertile ground of connections to capnostigate.

Abilities: Torch-Tower was the personification of connections - whatever is offered upon the zill is subsumed and all its connections plied by Torch-Tower. A leaf is linked to its tree, a pipe to its carver, metal to the its mountain and the picks that mined it and the coals which wrought it and the blood spilt by it. Once Torch-Tower has its smoky tendrils in a connection, it can bolster it with its own reserves, acting as a bridge for Torch-Tower to extend its influence even further.

Inanimate objects cannot maintain the depth of bond people can, so Torch-Tower is hindered until it can draw a being with which to create a primary connection. Non-essential nodes can have their links swamped by Torch-Tower's influence, ultimately reducing them to mere threads when the deity withdraws its support.

Those drawn into Torch-Tower's influence have no direct way of influencing its actions; the personalities of those who become its primary nodes - or prove to be a connection-dense auxiliary - have a way of shaping the deity's morals, such as it may have them.

peace to the unsung peace to the martyrs | i'm johnny rotten appleseed
clouds is shaky love | broke as hell but i got a bunch of ringtones
eyes blood red bruise aubergine | Sue took something now Sue doesn't sleep | saint average, day in the life of
woke up in the noon smelling doom and death | out the house, great outdoors
staying warm in arctic blizzard | that's my battle 'til I get inanimate | still up in the same clothes living like a gameshow
06-09-2017 08:54 AM
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Mirdini
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 25: TANGLE!
Post: #212
 

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Posts: 1,715
Joined: Jul 2011
Location: Strudel Central
Username: Mrdnii
Name: Firippa
Gender: Gal
Race: Kl’sayut
Text Color: Punch

Biography: The Kl’sayut of the Sayut Highlands are renowned throughout the civilized world for their martial expertise: Tales of babes barely out of swaddling able to bring down a lowlander soldier are told in many a tavern. While that much is pure stereotype, Kl’sayut culture is very much based around their gyms, tournaments, and a respect for physical prowess.

Kl’sayut that cannot or do not want to devote their lives to the pursuit of strength can choose from or be assigned to a wide variety of administrative or scientific positions. The relative unpopularity of these career paths mean they offer little prestige, but promotion prospects are good and they are generally respected as people who keep the nation functioning by society at large.

While working prosthetics did exist, Kl’sayut research had yet to produce ones able to match Kl’sayut limbs in strength or speed. Firippa lost both her legs in a childhood accident, and her family as well as many of her friends assumed she would pursue one of these careers upon entering adulthood. Firippa didn’t agree.

On the eve of her 13th birthday, Firippa stole away on a caravan to go seek the help of a lowlander sage, rumors of whom had reached even the famously isolationist Kl’sayut. Those rumors suggested they were a master craftsman, though none obliged to specify where exactly they could be found.

About a year later and on her last legs—quite literally, as she had outgrown her first pair and purchasing another that fit a Kl’sayut burned through the most of the lowlander coins she’d swiped from the communal pool—Firippa did manage to find the sage.

It took several trials and a fair few years of tutelage following that for the sage—quite ancient, and looking for an apprentice—to agree to Firippa’s request, but agree she did. Four years after she’d arrived the sage passed away, and Firippa headed back to the Highlands richer a splendid pair of magic-infused prosthetics as well what skills the sage had managed to teach her.

Firippa returned home to a mixture of shock and joy from her family, having failed to write for five years out of a mix of forgetfulness and the (correct) fear that her mother would cross half the lowlands to drag her home. Her return was viewed with suspicion by some, but Firippa took the classic Kl’sayut route to respect of challenging anyone who so much looked at her funny to combat. All of which she won.

It was only a short while before Firippa continued to prove she had not slacked on her training while out in the wilderness by winning a local combat tournament. Traditionalists were dismayed, decrying her sweet gams as constituting an unfair advantage. The judging panel disagreed, noting that the Code had nothing to say about prosthetics and that any Kl’sayut worth their salt could smash through wood at least as thick as Firippa’s (admittedly robust) legs.

On the eve of her contesting the junior national championships as a dark horse favorite, Firippa vanished just after practice at her local gym. Her detractors claimed the pressure had proven too much, that she’d run away again like they’d said she would all along. Her burgeoning fan base cried foul play. They were sort of correct.

Description: Firippa is a Kl’sayut, a bipedal Leporine race famed on their plane for their martial prowess. The average Kl’sayut stands somewhere between 6 and 7 feet tall, and their fur tends to conceal the significant proportion of their body mass devoted to musculature. Kl’sayut ears are long and stretch down the back of their necks, while their paws exhibit opposable thumbs. Firippa is 6’8’’ with her prosthetics, and has grey fur peppered with white splotches. Her prosthetics are carved wood, enhanced to be supernaturally flexible and strong by a type of artisanal magic pioneered by her former teacher.

Firippa is headstrong and always ready for a fight, more now than ever. She prefers to evaluate others by engaging in sparring matches with them, and likes to taunt her opponents into making mistakes (like engaging in a sparring match with her). She’s not good at making friends, mostly due to a lack of social skills stemming from mild ostracism in her childhood and an adolescence cooped up with a rad old hermit lady. She got a decent amount of street smarts from her year on the road, while the four years of intense vocational tutelage thereafter means her literary education is somewhat lacking. Her spatial, critical and mathematical faculties are top-notch, however, and being able to debate, say, the presence of bias in historical records is thankfully not something that comes up often in Kl’sayut society.

Weapons/Abilities: Like most Kl’sayut, Firippa is in the lifelong process of developing her own martial art. In her case, it relies on a mixture of throws and grapples, the potency of which are enhanced by her prosthetics’ resilience when it comes to standing her ground. She’s also somewhat trained in the use of a variety of hand-to-hand weaponry, though she prefers hand-to-hand combat if she can get it.

Firippa is also a master craftswoman, though her mentor could not teach her everything she knew before she passed. Specializing in the construction of ensorcelled wooden objects, Firippa can also work metal, earth and some liquids into many useful tools using shaping magic. Her specialty, of course, is prosthetic limbs, but she has the ability to craft a range including drills, siege weapons, and cookware.
(This post was last modified: 06-13-2017 03:08 PM by Mirdini.)
06-13-2017 02:15 PM
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Akumu
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 25: TANGLE!
Post: #213
Strawberry Fields Forever

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Posts: 2,009
Joined: Jul 2011
TANGEL AWADRS

Thank you to all the entrants for your submissions and for your gracious patience. Let's run through our battlers!

Vildrus Kanive is a man-sized tarantula, which may be terrifying to some, but Vildrus doesn't want to liquify your insides and suck them out, he just wants power. And then maybe the other thing? As a schemer and a deceiver, Vildrus could pour venom into the ears of the more headstrong battlers, and would probably fit right in with the court intrigue that Francis l'Orange-Flavoire is used to. As such, Vildrus Kanive is awarded this week's Convolution Teamfriendliness Cup.

Francis l'Orange-Flavoire has a very particular set of skills, or should I say, compétences? His species? French. His gender? French. His color? You'd better believe it's French. With such a solid grounding for the essential flavoire of this character in the first five lines, Francis's mastery of le tang is just icing on the cake. This week's First Five Eigthths Sportsball Award goes to Francis l'Orange-Flavoire.

Hamhock and Cheez are just a pair of rowdy, dirty boys. Their love for each other was so strong they decided to tangle up their very bodies, resulting in the best space mercenary this side of Samus Aran. As well as tangling being their very essence, it is also their primary means of attack, with their cool customizable net gun. Love these boys! Thomas Packston Elementalist Award!

Elspeth Yates just wants to get on with it, and doesn't have any time for this magical tomfoolery. If there had been more entrants, I probably would have given the Lucky VII All-Rounder Award to Elspeth, because she's just a real solid character. I'd love to follow her adventures, even in her original setting. Back there, she's still got conflict with her society, her self, and maybe some magically-supercharged bears or something. No need for a battle! This week's GBS2 Award For Gratuitous Worldbuilding goes to Elspeth Yates.

Torch-Tower has a lot going on. It's a god, but from what I can glean from the profile, not a very anthropic one. More of a force of nature? It's got three horns and twelve pillars. It can desiccate worlds, or learn, perhaps, to love. I have no idea how Torch-Tower's involvement in a battle would play out, but it would be sure to be interesting and destructive on a planetary scale. Torch-Tower gets this week's Fishbowl.

Firippa of the Kl'sayut will kick your ass. She'll kick your dog's ass. She'll kick her own ass. I appreciate a battler who is ready for a foight, it's easy to fall into an aimless malaise so some spirited fisticuffs are always welcome. Firippa is not malevolent though, so could have ready (if awkward) team ups with other battlers, and has the magic and craftsrabbitship to deal with the rare situations where MMA is not the most effective solution. Arnold Fogge's Actually Practical Award goes to Firippa!
06-20-2017 02:54 AM
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Sanzh
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 25: TANGLE!
Post: #214
breaking the law

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Posts: 425
Joined: Aug 2011
Location: west coast represent
Theme this week is sanguine.

| Tumblr | Experiment Horror | Technician Alchemist Progenitor Tree | Armor Paladin |
06-20-2017 05:12 PM
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One
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 26: SANGUINE!
Post: #215
 

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Posts: 11
Joined: Mar 2013
Username: two
Name: Orok
Species: Biomechanical construct
Gender: Irrelevant
Color: The need for blood does not stop

Description: An articulated statue of a saintess in brass, porcelain, and gilt, clicking ratcheting joints segmenting cunningly wrought limbs. Behold the sculpted fingers delicate enough to clasp eggshells, a face a white mask of beatific peace, the tick and click of sanctified clockwork motors hidden beneath the drape of red silk robes edged with yellow gold. Behold the manifold metal calipers that serve as its legs, propelling it smoothly in all directions as if gliding. Behold also the discreet needles on jointed armatures that unfold from beneath its robes, linked by tubes to the complex array of glass vials and bulbs the saintess wears about her navel like a crystalline womb, treated painstakingly with anti-coagulant agents and antibiotic brews.

This is no heartless automaton. Mainly because there’s a heart in there. There’s also a brain and a spine (because miracles require a central nervous system to perform), at least four eyes, one book lung, two livers, and three kidneys.

Give it your blood. It’s in safe hands.

Biography: Blood is your lifeblood. You need it to live. The Church of Ydanius needs it too.

See, Ydanius is a valorous sort of god. He fights on behalf of humanity against the beasts of the Outer Night. With his sword and his bow, he protects the world from those who would predate on the tiny things that live on it, the nightmare legions from between the stars to whom humanity is but a candle to be snuffed out.

Ydanius has fought for humanity since the dawn of time. He is fighting now. He will never stop.

Ydanius is a mighty warrior, but the beasts he fights are mighty too. Ydanius bleeds from a hundred wounds, and every day he takes a hundred more. It’s fine, though. Ydanius doesn’t mind.

But every drop of blood Ydanius sheds makes him weaker. Every scratch he bears is a curse. The beasts of Outer Night cannot prevail against him in a single, mighty battle, but they hope to kill him by degrees, to bleed him dry and then step over his pale corpse to eat the world.

Ydanius needs blood. Ydanius needs your blood. The Church of Ydanius exists to gather blood for him, to restore the strength he loses daily. It’s a reverse transubstantiation, only without the wine.

The Church, of course, has all manner of bloodletting rituals. But as of late, church attendance has been going down. The priests blame all manner of factors -- the youth these days, the commercialization of worship, etcetera. The technicians offer solutions.

Enter Orok and its ilk.

To call them traveling vending machines would be disrespectful, but not too far off the mark. Have a cavity that’s troubling you? Want to do well on your exams tomorrow? Hoping to get that job you’re angling for? Go to the Offerants. You tell the Offerant your desire, you offer the Offerant your blood, and the Offerant uses a proportion of that blood to perform a minor miracle on your behalf. It’s blood magic and blood money in one handy package. The remainder, the Offerant takes to the banks for the priests to use in their rites.

Orok is one such Offerant. It’s seen three years of operation and four service upgrades to its underlying technobiomancy. In that time, it has drawn blood 10,063 times and collected roughly 750 gallons of the stuff. Its roster of performed miracles includes restoring hearing, curing colds, removing tattoos, and in one case smiting a small termite infestation with unerring small-scale divine retribution. It is programmed to help, and to be calm and deferential.

Ydanius needs blood. Please give some to Orok.
06-21-2017 07:24 AM
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bigro
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 26: SANGUINE!
Post: #216
Please explain

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Posts: 1,600
Joined: Dec 2012
Location: Radelaide
Username: BigBig
Name: JenJen!
Gender: Usually!
Species: Bummer, but you wouldn't know it!
Color: !!! !!!!! ! Oh gosh, I've never been asked before! This one looks super cool!

Description: Well, I'm a Bummer, we're usually droopy guys but I've got a better outlook on life than the rest! We're real short bug dudes with big flat shiny heads and four big feet with uber cool gangly legs! I like to wear red galoshes they're totally my style! Adults are usually about one foot tall, or well, three of our feet! haha. We come in all sorts of colours its really fun! Most people paint themselves black so they don't get noticed but not me, I show my natural blues!

Biography: So, as you can guess I came from planet Bummer, duh, we all do, but here's the thing right I was always strange there. Most people shy away from the nasty beasts that roam our planet but not me! I walked right about in their face and none of them wanted any of this! It was a real miracle you know? All the other bummers thought I was just lucky and I'd get whats coming to me in due course like the rest of them but you know what it never happened, I think it's because of my can-do attitude and gumption honestly. Those big birds really respect someone with self confidence!

Abilities: A doctor once told me I had a mutation that made me exceptionally venemous! And that I exuded pheremones that communicated this to most animals and instilled paranoia in them about me! Wild right? I have no idea what any of that even means! Apart from that, us Bummers are usually supposed to be able to bring the mood down of anything at all but I'm not really that good at that...No problem though! What a terrible ability that is!

[Image: sdivps.png][Image: ldrohc.png]
06-21-2017 08:17 AM
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Pharmacy
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 26: SANGUINE!
Post: #217
sk8r d0g

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Posts: 464
Joined: Jul 2011
Location: Anywhere.
Name: Falachar mac Morchroi

Gender: Male

Species: Vampiric Fey (Blood-Talker)

Color: Predictable but appropriate.

Description: If you took a brief glance at Falachar, the first thing you will notice is how beautiful he looks. The second thing you will notice is how beautiful he makes himself look. From the plumed hat delicately alight on his head to the distractingly open shirt, it is almost easy to ignore his capillary-like antlers and the blood-red fetlocks of a horse that he stands on. You see, Falachar is a Fair Folk, a Fuath of the liquid mortality called blood.

If you spend time around Falachar, you will realize he is a bit of a troublemaker. He is quick-tempered, mercurial, and a bit of an incorrigible flirt. Despite his roguish demeanor, Falachar is genuine and gallant, eager to right wrongs (and write poems). While he would defer being called “a hero” (as Aos Si cannot be categorized as good or evil and he does not want to give the wrong impression), he wants to do good, inspired by the good and beauty in others. His personality is infectious. It is not so much fairy magic as his sheer earnestness, which gives everything he does a charismatic veneer. Even his hot-headedness is oddly inspiring in the right light.

Ability: Falachar is not seen without two things: a dundeen pipe and a hurdy-gurdy. The pipe is just for show. The hurdy-gurdy is for use, a means to project his fairy magic. Falachar can “talk to blood,” his performances having supernatural influence over blood and viscerally positive emotions. The songs never result in direct offense, but the results can be quite profound. For instance, he can sing blood back into a dying man or make a person weep with joy at a good memory long thought to be lost.

If all else fails, Falachar is very capable of fighting. He is incredibly strong. Not exactly superhuman but he is definitely strong enough to bend pipes into horseshoes, all backed behind an elegant mastery of broadsword he would rather use to dramatically flourish than to end a life. After all, you don’t really get a lot of romance if you keep off chopping heads.

Biography: The Fuath are a category of fey strongly associated all aspects of water. The endless expanse of the sea, the serpentine grace of rivers, or the tranquility of pristine lakes, the aspects can be large. Or at least used to be. The rise of Man had a considerable impact on the Fair Folk. While the realm has not become diminished in any way like they feared, things had certainly changed and with the Age of Technology, the Otherworld had certainly became more complicated.

Falachar is a Fuath who manifested with a “modern” aspect of water. The narrow (and too earthly) nature of his aspect ensures that he will never reach the levels of his more primordial kin, not that Falachar cares. The relationship between them is as frosty as the first inklings of winter. Falachar never really believed them, that he was unlucky and “weak.” However, Falachar did believe in fate, that there was a place in the world for him and it was definitely not in the Otherworld which is nothing if hostile. Indeed, there was no love lost between them as he left the Otherworld to find his fate in the realms of Man.

In the preceding centuries, he still had not found his fate, but his shenanigans and the occasional heroic exploit had allowed him to find a holistic balance in life. Perhaps, he will find his destiny one day but for now, he will just enjoy himself. The journey is just as important as the end, after all.
06-21-2017 09:09 AM
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Dragon Fogel
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 26: SANGUINE!
Post: #218
The Goddamn Pacman

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Posts: 7,759
Joined: Jul 2011
Name: Smiley
Race: Blood Demon
Gender: Male
Text Color: Blood red, what else?

Biography: Blood Demons are artificial beings crafted through dark magic. The process is, in essence: get a bloody corpse, by whatever means necessary, then use the blood as a conduit to summon a dark spirit into it. This does not produce a reanimated corpse, however; instead, the corpse changes form into a hideous blood-covered monster.
If you conduct the ritual properly, the monster will obey your every command. However, errors in the ritual will cause the spirit to take full control of the Blood Demon. This usually leaves you with a bloodthirsty monster that destroys everything in sight.
Sometimes, a more cunning spirit will take over, and rather than going on an immediate rampage, it will behave obediently, sometimes for years, before one day turning on its supposed master.
Then there's Smiley.

Description: Smiley looks like a ferocious monster covered in blood, except he's constantly smiling. It's not a cruel smile, either; he's genuinely enthusiastic and always greets everyone he meets, no matter who they are, with "Have a nice day!"
Smiley has no apparent motivation beyond spreading joy throughout the world. Of course, sometimes people need cheering up, and when they do he's only too happy to help. He'll do his best to help a friend however he can, and he makes friends very easily.
The problem comes when two different friends ask him for conflicting things. Then Smiley doesn't really know what to do, so he just tries to hug both friends until the problem goes away.
Usually this happens very soon after the hug. Smiley's hugs are not especially safe.

Weapons and Abilities: Smiley has immense strength, even though he's not much bigger than a human. He also has the power to manipulate the blood he's covered in; he can even leave it somewhere and move it no matter how far away he gets.
He generally uses this power to leave bloody smiley faces around and transmit messages to his friends through them.

There's no reason for this | Or this | Death is inevitable | You can't challenge fate | The smallest change | I'm overwhelmed
I'm serious | It makes perfect sense | Easy as ABC! | I can't even explain it | Cleaning up someone else's mess
I suck | I rule | I've got it made | Really, I'm serious | This bugs me | It's all lies | I want to believe | Beauty is a curse
06-22-2017 05:18 AM
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Schazer
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 26: SANGUINE!
Post: #219
Patron Saint of Normcore

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Posts: 6,537
Joined: Jul 2011
Location: Nippon
Username: Schyraz
Name: Zin Fandell
Species: Human
Gender: She's a hot mess
Color: The Vintner's Luck

Biography: Zin grew up in a travelling band of entertainers, finding her place in concert halls and old amphitheaters where her voice rang out and summoned the townsfolk of the troupe's latest stop for a night of entertainment. Zin's operatic tones could enthrall audiences filled to standing-room only, and the sound of her practicing on the road was the quiet delight of many in her troupe.

One fateful night on an outdoor stage, after the guests had gone home and Zin had the stage to herself, something heard her practicing and called from the moonlit seating to continue. Zin, gripped with fear but knowing better than to refuse the requests of one of the Revelry, sang to the tune on the Reveller's flute, and couldn't stop until the sun arrived to chase the stars from the sky, and the Revelry from the arena.

The first Reveller praised her for a job well done, but her reluctant thanks were water in her throat and she threatened to drown. It was only after days spent mute and terrified did Zin dare to raise her voice again. The prose still splashed and choked her, but words put to music were rich and thick enough to cling to her throat, rising to where she might safely swallow them. It was intoxicating - both literally and figuratively.

Her relief was short-lived when she saw the effect it had had on her family. Too riotous in their celebration that Zin's voice returned. Too loud, too jovial. The quartermaster, a belligerent drunk and firm teetotaller, threw up and punched the stagehand who whooped at his display.

Zin performed rarely after that - often only at her parents' behest, to loosen up a tough crowd - and she didn't practice around the troupe anymore. After one troupe meeting where it was discussed if she were obliged to sing, to save the coin otherwise spent on drink, Zin had had enough and stole away in the night.

Zin survived performing here and there, stealing from insensate patrons (well gone past sober herself) before she could be tied down to one place.

Description: Zin is dressed like a traveller, wearing simple armor and enough layers to keep her most important possessions close to her person. There's a knife at one hip and a book at the other, the first half of which is filled with pictures, diagrams, and simple phrases, the back half kept blank for future discussion. Her hair's dirty brown, cut short and badly. In a sturdy attache are several fine dresses, a long wig, and portable makeup table. She smells permanently of alcohol.

Items/Abilities: Zin's singing can cause intoxication and a serious need to party hard in those who hear it, with apparent disregard for differing biology (it's worked on things she's pretty sure would die if they drunk alcohol). Like all shitty blessings, it obviously gets her drunk as well. She's built up a tolerance, for however much that counts.

peace to the unsung peace to the martyrs | i'm johnny rotten appleseed
clouds is shaky love | broke as hell but i got a bunch of ringtones
eyes blood red bruise aubergine | Sue took something now Sue doesn't sleep | saint average, day in the life of
woke up in the noon smelling doom and death | out the house, great outdoors
staying warm in arctic blizzard | that's my battle 'til I get inanimate | still up in the same clothes living like a gameshow
06-22-2017 06:10 AM
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AgentBlue
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 26: SANGUINE!
Post: #220
that escalated quickly

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Posts: 4,251
Joined: Jul 2011
Location: Sunshine, Lollipops and Diabetes
Username: Agenroyal
Name: Her Highness Wyatt Peer, Lady of the Singer's Weave, Protector of the ?????????????
Gender: Queen
Species: And we can be royals (royals)
Color: Royal purple

Description: A nation mendicant roamed the dusty hills. Scrub-grass grew in places, and the farmers knew, after many failures, the ways to coax their herds into eating it, and thus, the nation subsisted on milk, meat and grass. Their old lands were long gone, collapsed into the abyss at the edge of the universe. All they could do was run, run, run into the hills, hope for a tomorrow with less suffering than today.

Leading them, giving them the only hope in the world, was their Queen, Wyatt Peer, the highest of authorities, judge and lawmaker and commissioner. Tall, proud, head unbowed, the avatar of a civilization long past, a face unfurrowed yet steely, a mind cunning and sharp. The lady of the Singer's Weave, the tapestry of history, fraying into forgotten pasts at the end, woven into form at the beginning. The Singer herself had long since lost her voice to age, and had no pupil to teach the art of weaving song into fabric. The weave's beginning ended about a decade ago, when the Singer-Ascendent had sacrificed her life to save the nation from a raiding army, and had been an indefinite mass of blank white strands since.

Blank white strands, like the blank white sands of their wanderings, across the scrubby hills and desert dunes that formed at their bases, the rain coming but never enough. Every day the nation grew smaller at the edges, a trail of graves left behind them each night. The Queen, clad in her purple linens, presided over their graves, blessed their souls, and asked them to send help, for there were no longer priests, nor could they remember their religion. They were beneath the notice of even the most forsaken of the gods here, as the world crumbled behind them and the indefinite stretched before them.

Items/Abilities: The Queen had a scepter once, but only as a vague awareness that such things were expected of her, and a decaying, fraying print on the very end of the Weave, a royal personage holding aloft a pointer, a golden, faded outline of what might once have been but was, perhaps long taken away by battle or by travel or by raid or even by the simple expedient of having left it behind, in the sands and the scrub. The Queen had fine robes, once, but now only linen remains, dyed the royal purple, held in place by rusting safety pins, tight against her waist. The Queen had a retinue once, but now there are only corpses and the absences of things that should be done yet no longer were being done in the presence of a Queen who had barely presence at all.

The Queen tried to sing the Weave once, to try and take another role into herself that her nation could no longer supply, but the white strands of song balked at her voice, sweet as it was, and could not understand the future she sung of, and could not find a way to turn that future into fact. Instead of fanciful pictures of finding safety and shelter, a new land to live within - well, instead, a black mark appeared, from edge to edge, across the beginning of the weave, and none could remember the full week of days that had happened before. When this happened, the Queen placed the Weave back into its holder, and bade the Singer never to allow her to try that again. In penance, she carried the Weave and holder upon her back, roll to roll, yet her spine remained unbowed. How strong must the Queen be, to bear the weight of her nation so.

Biography: Now it came to pass that the scrubby hills became less scrubby, and the grass grew richer and more filling. The horizon from whence they came, where the world was ending, grew from its hateful oblivion-black to a baleful grey, then eventually to a mere smudge on the horizon, only visible through glasses or to those gifted with far sight. The people rejoiced when they came across a river of clean, fresh water, brimming with fish and crabs, and when they found, upstream, herds of wild animals grazing. The nation celebrated that day, when their tents found solid, unshifting ground, when the wanderers could rest their feet in the water, and when the nation found home once again.

But when they came to find the Queen, to praise her, to bring her thanks for leading her people from the brink of extinction to a new and peaceful world, it came to pass that they could not find her in her tent, or anywhere else for that matter. The last of her that could be found was the end of the Singer's Weave, torn from its beginning, and a crude image of her at the very first strands: drawing their idyll, it seemed, on the fabric itself. Yet after the rough tear, nothing of their - perhaps, their wiser citizens surmised, her - future remained. They could only assume she sacrificed herself to bring them to this place, and sacrificed the Weave to end their indefinite purgatory.

Spoiler :
We worship her eyes, who saw us through the sands
We admire her teeth, set against our adversities
We praise her taste, taking into her our bitter trials
We sanctify her everything.

Let me out Stay safe inside | You're not kind | Ethics are overrated | What is life | Men are pigs | I'm so drunk | EAT ME NOW | Click clack fuck | Is this right Only money matters | Change my clothes | Little sun rising | One cat's future | Wax and wane | Dark times ahead
----
So very British / But then again | People are machines Machines are people | Oh hai there | There's no time
----
Superhero 1920s noir | Multigenre Half-Life | Changing the future | Command line interface
Tu ventire felix? | Clockwork for eternity | Explosions in spacetime
06-23-2017 06:53 AM
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