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nothing but class

Posts: 167
Joined: Jul 2011
Current cast:

Pharmacy as Ruby Glitter
Agent1022 as Sam Wün
Ixcaliber as Nameless
Solaris as Chad Chaswell Charles
Lankie as Carlie Levenson
Sanzh as Lavi Lannon
Protractor Ninja as Hector
M_Sheep as Varljiv
Not The Author as a burial urn
Pick Yer Poison as Grotto
(This post was last modified: 07-17-2016, 10:26 AM by Hellfish.)
12-01-2011, 05:38 AM
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O toreador, l'amour, l'amour t'attend!

Posts: 782
Joined: Jul 2011
Originally posted on MSPA by Wojjan.

“And so it is done, correct? Good. Yes, but let me sign… mais où est ma plume? Ah, good, good. Yes, and here...


“…we are.”

“I believe this little show of force has gone on long enough, don’t you agree? This charade of yours is getting tedious.”

“Nonsense,” said the Haruspex. “You haven’t even half learned your lesson.”

The hummingbird perched on the augur’s bony finger regarded her with measured scrutiny. It was so delicate as to be nearly translucent, an artifice of bones and feathers of such fragility that it seemed at any moment it might collapse on itself into nothingness. Against the crystal walls of the palace it shone a subtle range of greens and blues that dissolved into grey when examined too closely, the edges of its feathers fading into the air. The illusion was only marred by the addition of a perfect miniature powdered wig, fixed on the crown of its crested head.

“Mademoiselle,” the bird said, “You must understand that a man such as I grows distracted by this tedium, without rest. I am accustomed to the Court. I am accustomed to more.”

“Now, Stephanoxis-“

Vox, Mademoiselle.”

Stephan,” she said. “Stephan, you must understand that you made a very serious mistake. You quite deserve this. You went behind my back, said terrible things about me-“

“Mademoiselle, my name is Vox Nihili, as I keep reminding you.”

“Hush, Stephan, it’s rude to interrupt. My back. My god,” she tittered. “What were you thinking in that empty head of yours?”

The hummingbird chirped indignantly. “That is an insulting term.”

“It’s in your name.”

“Speaker of the Void is a noble title,” the bird said. “You are a child.”

The Haruspex giggled and touched a lacquered nail to the tip of the hummingbird’s breast, who did not seem to notice. “Oh, it’s such fun having you here with all my little animals, Stephan. I’m so glad I killed you, you’re really quite the entertainment. Why would you ever want to leave?”

“I have duties, Mademoiselle. Some of us more established figures are bound that way.”

“Oh, hush,” she pouted. The arms of the crystal throne she was curled in rose to support her as she settled in more comfortably. “Well it’s all your fault anyway. I mean, I was very hurt! I hate it when people talk behind my back! Why didn’t you think I would find out? Did you think you could hide from me?”

“Mademoiselle,” the hummingbird said, “I don’t think anything at all.”

“Good,” she said, and smiled. “I hate it when you keep secrets.”


“Such a nasty habit.”

“Is it?” said the bird, sidling closer. Its feathers enveloped the tip of the Haruspex’s finger. “I understand it is something you substantiates do, when you have something to hide. It is such a tragedy when one sinks to such depths. But,” he sighed, “one supposes it’s futile. Trying to keep up with everything. It’s just not possible, is it? There is always more. Even when there’s nothing.”

The edge of the augur’s mouth stiffened. With exaggerated care she lifted her hand until the hummingbird’s beak was level with her nose and batted her eyes at the tiny creature. “Stephan,” she said sweetly, “Do you have something to tell me?”

“Are you accusing me, Mademoiselle?” lilted the bird. It tilted its fading head and fluttered its wings. “I would never. In a thousand years, never, yet… “ It shrugged. “Even a god forgets.”


“One has obligations.”



The Haruspex narrowed her eyes. “What obligations?”

“This and that.” The hummingbird seemed to be speaking to the atrium ceiling.

“What obligations, Stephan?”

“A contract,” he said. His diamond claws glittered where they gripped her skin. “Written and signed and sealed. All official. All set. La voix ne se tait jamais. With all your spies I have no doubt you knew.”

The Haruspex said nothing, only angling her hand to examine the bird perched on her finger like a fat jeweled ring. Where they caught the light its feathers dulled and faded into nothingness.

“No?” Stephan said loftily. “It was a game.” He lifted a tiny foot and scrutinized its nails. “A minor one. No concern. No reason for you to take notice, much, much before our little scandal, when I was still in Court. But papers were signed. An agreement was made. And there was such a little troublesome detail in there, as some might see it. A quibbling thing. Some very fine print, very, very fine.”

He gave a sidelong glance at the Haruspex before continuing. Her expression had not changed. “There is a consequence to disowning a body when a body is all one has. One mustn’t disappear or, sometimes, not entirely, not in some senses… Certain rules, they will not budge on these matters, you see. An arrangement must be honored. An inheritance, of some sorts. If my children were alive they would have sufficed, but…” The little bird shrugged. “I ate them. And thus it is you.”

“For your game?”

“For my game. Yes. Clever girl. I did have ideas-“

“It was very rude of you to keep this from me, Stephan,” the Haruspex said. Only the faintest movement of her lips gave any evidence that she spoke. “I’ll have to consider this. You’ve been very uncivil.”

“Have I?” he said, stretching his wings lazily. “Only you might wish to consider quickly.”

“And why is that?”

“Because it begins in fourteen minutes, Mademoiselle,” Vox Nihili said. “And a gentleman must always keep his word.”

__________________________________________________ __

Spoiler :
Your typical Grand Battle, re: Season Intermission. If you didn’t know by now this is something like a competitive RP, or a glorious type-based cockfight. There are eight character slots available and seven rounds in which to steadily kill them off. Posts are judged by a combination of writing skill, content, and contribution to the plot- a better technical writer may still lose to a less experienced one if the latter proves themselves more capable of carrying a story. That said, a few house rules:

1) If you intend to post, make a post stating something along the lines of “reserve”. This is what we call a “reserve”. It is what it sounds like. These last according to the judges’ discretion; a week is their absolute maximum, three days is a better rule of thumb.

2) Keep in contact with your fellow writers. Grand Battles are incredibly community-based and we’re always excited to see some fresh blood. Also, nothing ruins a good time faster than having to take down your post because you couldn’t be bothered to check whether character A would do it in the back of their dad’s Chevy with character B.

3) Don’t be an asshole. Don’t kill another character before they’re scheduled to die, don’t try to dominate the plot every round, don’t try to outbitch me because you will lose. I will end you, motherfucker. Play nice.

This is not a complicated affair. Expect the beginnings of rounds to move very quickly and slow down as the battle progresses and plan accordingly. If you are very new to this and require additional help, please, please introduce yourself to #grandbattle on Esper.net] or through an appropriate chat client. I want to see your face. I want to smell your fear.

Spoiler :
This is an entry form. These are standard-issue and they do not need to be elaborate or particularly over-the-top. Think of this as an interview for your character: we just need enough information to get a grasp on their personality and how they would function in a battle. IF YOU WRITE A TWENTY-PAGE PROFILE I AM NOT GOING TO READ IT. I DO NOT CARE HOW MANY PULITZERS YOU HAVE.

Name: +200 points! What are we going to call your character? Do they use a nickname? Standard English characters only, please. It’s not you, it’s us.

Gender: He/she/it/they/ other. For pronoun reference and shipping purposes only. Don’t pull a MrGuy.

Race: Species, specifically. Human? Bear? Alan Rickman? It is no longer possible to impress anyone with this section. You may give a brief description of your character’s race if it is not one we are likely to be familiar with. Legs are useful. So is a mouth.

Color: This is how we distinguish between who’s talking at a glance. You are free to use backgrounds and text modifiers if you wish, but use your discretion. You’ll pay for it later when you have six characters talking at once and you can’t find the inevitable dropped tag. Do not use the Grandmasters’, I will sulk.

Description: What does your character look like? How do they act? A brief physical shakedown and an idea of their personality is what you want to express here. If you absolutely must, you may include a picture, but it will not gain or lose you any favors.

Weapons and Abilities: Any neat shit your character has on them, any neat shit your character can do. It’s okay to leave things a little bit vague. Don’t give me a ten-page list of every gun your character has ever owned. No one gives a fuck. Sometimes this field overlaps with the one above it, and that is fine. NO BEARDED SWORDSMEN. NONE.

Biography: I hate this section and I usually just ignore it, but you probably won’t. Give us a brief (BRIEF) summary of your character’s life up until this point and include any major events that would have would shaped their personality so you can cryptically allude to them at a later point. A popular alternative is to write a brief scene featuring your character doing something interesting.

Theme Song: Optional. Joy Divison is an instant out.


1) Think versatility when designing a character. A technopath is well and good but you’re gonna be fucked if the round is a forest.

2) Think interaction. It’s cool that your Chaotic Neutral Stand-Alone Badass Dark Knight Wizard Demon Sonic Recolor is a million times smarter than the average human and doesn’t need anyone ever and is whatever you think a sociopath is after skimming the Wikipedia article but, wait, no, no it isn’t. The best characters are the ones who are most interesting when dealing with the others. Note that I said interesting. I did not say nice.

2) Original characters and universes only. Affectionate parodies of established canons are tried and true, but so help me god if I see so much as half a Strider I will find you and I will fill your fridge with ants. The same ants that got in your sleeping bag when you were twelve. I will do this because I hate you.

Spoiler :
Protractor Ninja as Hector
Agent1022 as Sam Wün
Ixcaliber as Nameless
Pick Yer Poison as Grotto
Solaris as Chad Chaswell Charles
M_Sheep as Varljiv
Not The Author as a burial urn
Lankie as Carlie Levenson

Any questions can be directed to Haruspex (Mademoiselle) ((myself)) or Vox Nihili (Stephan) ((XX)), hosts of this delightful cabal.

quidquid Latine dictum sit altum videtur.
03-04-2012, 06:00 PM
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Posts: 1,802
Joined: Jul 2011
The Frigid Northlands
Originally posted on MSPA by MrGuy.

Quote:Gender: He/she/it/they/ other. For pronoun reference and shipping purposes only. Don’t pull a MrGuy.
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA no new people will know what this means unless they read phenfrac

Spoiler :
Name: Jimmy Seong (James-A), James Seong (James-B), and Jim Seong (James-C)
Gender: Male
Species: Human
Color: Timeline A, Timeline B, Timeline C
Description: All three versions of James Seong look about the same. They all stand at about 5 feet 10 inches, have short black hair and brown eyes, and have a small burn on their left hand. Here the similarities end.

Jimmy wears black boots, a brown jacket and a matching brown hat. A patch covers his left eye, though considerable scarring is visible around it. He is very inquisitive, and writes down nearly all his conversations on a small notepad. He tends to be sociable, and frequently cracks jokes in even the darkest situations.

James wears polished black shoes and a dark blue police uniform. He has various scars across the left side of his body, from his cheek to his stomach. He is silent and somewhat gruff, but not confrontational; he goes out of his way to protect those he sees as helpless or weak, but lets the strong fend for themselves. He doesn't particularly enjoy helping others, however; he primarily does it because he feels obligated to.

Jim wears sandals, a green T-shirt, glasses and blue corduroy pants. His scar is from the back of his neck to about halfway down his back. He is very talkative and friendly, and generally finds it easy to get others to talk to him as well. That said, he tends to be rather manipulative, and frequently fails to consider others' needs.

Weapons/Abilities: Any version of James that exists within the context of the battle can switch places with any other at any given time; only these three have been entered, but more might spring up as time goes by. Alternate versions of James can only appear due to potential decisions of his; the independent actions of other contestants, bystanders, and the environment will remain the same throughout all accessible timestreams.

Jimmy is very observant. Generally speaking, he finds it easy to determine things about an area, and the reason things are as they are there; he also has a sort of "second sense" about important things.

James is very athletic, and has a high pain tolerance. He carries a pistol and a nightstick with him at all times.

Jim has the ability to drag one person at any given time into a conversation. While it goes on, they will find it difficult to change the subject, escape, or concentrate on any other activity; however, if he's to keep the conversation going, he has to concentrate mainly on the other person as well.

Biography: It was November 3rd when Jimmy Seong, working for the Grand Rue Gazette, visited the main pavillion in the center of town. On that day, research scientists from the local university were unveiling their prototype time machine. Jimmy had been interested in time travel from about seven, when he first started reading the Pirates of Temporus: Based On True Events! series of comics, so he was incredibly excited over the chance to report on it. Unfortunately, the story he brought back was one of failure: almost as soon as the machine had activated, it exploded in a violent burst of teal, spraying shrapnel across the gathered crowd. The scientists who worked on the project were disgraced, several conspiracy theories were hatched by various groups, and Seong ended up with a large metallic chunk embedded in his face. Surgery would eventually remove it, but his face would be permanently marred, and he was blinded in his left eye.

That same November 3rd, several timelines away, James Seong attended a similar conference as security detail. There was considerable fear that the device might be sabotaged, forcing the police to set up a 24/7 guard for nearly a week; James wasn't particularly enthusiastic about the assignment, as he was rather unconvinced that time travel was possible or desirable. It ended up a moot point; evidently, a saboteur had managed to do his work anyway, as this iteration of the machine exploded as well. James, standing by the device at its unveiling, was this time struck repeatedly in the side by the shrapnel, receiving severe cuts. By the time he reached the hospital, they had already seemed to fully heal, and he headed out and back to duty within three days.

And on yet another version of that very November 3rd, Jim Seong, visiting a third conference with an identical subject-- simply for fun, as he had a weekend to kill and was curious if time travel could really exist-- stood in the fifth row from the front at the unveiling. As in two other timelines, the machine exploded; and as he fled, he was once again struck by shrapnel. Just as had happened with James, his wounds had healed before he knew it, and he quickly forgot about the event.

And so, life passed on for a few years, until one day when Jim Seong was mugged. He had no method of defending himself; as he reached into his rear pants pocket to retrieve his wallet, the only thing he could think of was how greatly he wished he weren't in such a situation. And, in an instant, James took the place of Jim, and before they could even notice Mr. Seong's sudden change in appearance, the muggers had been beaten unconscious and left in the alley.
03-04-2012, 06:27 PM
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Posts: 3,283
Joined: Aug 2018
Originally posted on MSPA by Sylvetic.

03-04-2012, 07:00 PM
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Merchant Queen of the Space Consortium

Posts: 4,650
Joined: Jul 2011
hell world
Originally posted on MSPA by Ixcalibur.

Username: Ixcaliber
Name: She has no name. Let’s refer to her as Nameless.
Gender: Female
Race: Human
Text Colour: #659176
Spoiler :
[Image: Nameless.png]
Nameless has short, messy charcoal grey hair. Her skin is ashen white to the point where it is so pale it makes her look permanently ill. Bandages are wrapped around her face obscuring her left eye; they are slightly yellowing with age. Her visible eye is a pale greenish grey. She wears a loose full length robe resembling a toga. It is cheap, thin and very well worn. She is remarkably short (about four and a half feet tall) and flat-chested. Because of this it is easy to, at a cursory glance, mistake her for a child. Around her neck she wears a thick golden collar. The collar does not have any visible seams and is inscribed with occasionally altering symbols in pale green. Her limbs are long and spindly thin.

Nameless tends to distance herself from those who she interacts with. She is reasonably polite and well mannered in these interactions, but this is generally a front and she generally has good reason for behaving as she does. Nameless rarely, if ever gets excited about anything. She tends to assume the worst about people and is quite pessimistic. Some would say that she has little to no sense of self worth. She would beg to differ, she knows exactly what she is worth, she just does not value it personally.

Items/Abilities: Nameless sells aspects of herself. These aspects can be physical things like her left eye, mental things like her empathy, or even abstract things like her name. This is not an ability that she herself possesses, but the function of the collar she wears. Its purpose is to facilitate and enforce any agreements she makes. The collar can only be removed by her, or in the circumstances that she has died. It cannot be removed by force. Even if it was removed she would not regain any aspect that she has lost. The collar retains a connection to her home world; more specifically to her account with Raxucorp. It cannot be used as a method of communication.

The collar ensures a fair trade, or at the very least a trade which both parties agree to. It cannot remove an aspect of her against her will or take another persons aspects/money without their agreement. During the bargain it ensures that the terms of both sides are enforced, transferring the desired aspect of Nameless to its new owner, and simultaneously collecting the agreed price for that aspect. If the buyer paid in cash, that money, no matter what currency, is instantly transferred into her Raxucorp account. If the buyer traded an aspect of themself Nameless can choose to keep that aspect as part of her self, or sell it directly on to Raxucorp. Dependant upon the aspect there is a chance that Raxucorp may choose to decline the sale and Nameless will be stuck with this aspect.

Nameless has sold her name, her complexion, her hair colour, the majority of her hair, her figure, her stature, her left eye, her empathy and her voice. She carries around a notebook and pen to communicate with. The manner in which the loss of her name is enforced precludes her from carrying on using her old name, or from choosing a new name. It does not prevent people from calling her whatever they wish, but it does prevent any name from becoming associated with her.

Biography: It was her first time inside Raxucorp. Back then she was a different person, so to speak. Physically speaking she was unrecognisable, though emotionally she would alter very little over the following year and a half. Her hair was long and like gold, she was fair of skin and tall with a well rounded figure. She would resent being called beautiful, but perhaps she would concede she had been attractive, though there had always been a certain distance in her eyes, a hollowness that made it seem like part of her was already missing.

Without doubt this is the largest building she has ever been in. The lobby alone is massive and imposing, every surface is made from shining white marble. Everything from the enormous white pillars that flank her to the vaulted ceiling high above seem almost as if designed to make visitors to the company feel tiny; insignificant in comparison. There are a couple of people milling around here. They move with purpose, they are busy and well dressed. They barely acknowledge her existence. She does not fit in. She looks and feels completely out of place. The aesthetic of this building is so strange and different when compared to the industrial sprawl of the city at large that she almost feels like she has wandered into another world.

She makes her way up to the desk. Here she is greeted by a salesman, a friendly man with a smile and a warm handshake, who leads her off to a private office away from the busy ebb and flow of Raxucorp customers. He is wearing a golden collar with glittering red symbols dancing across it. Her attention is drawn to it as she follows him into the office. He notices her attention, but does not seem to mind. She figures he probably gets that a lot considering the line of work he is in. She notices that without thinking she has pressed her hand to her neck and corrects herself.

Their conversation is surprisingly brief. The salesman does not mess around with a sales pitch, perhaps he can see it in her eyes that she has already made her decision, or perhaps the fact that she has come this far has given that away. They talk terms and conditions, what her collar can and cannot do, the permanence of any transactions made with it. She accepts all of it without as much as a second thought. After the salesman takes her details to set up a Raxucorp account, the matter of payment is broached. She does not have much left in the world; hence why she is here. She offers her name eagerly. It is something she is happy to be rid of. It is part of an identity that she no longer wants a part of. Part of her had assumed she’d be able to pick a new name and use that instead. That would prove not to work.

Forms are produced. She signs her name for the very last time. And that simply the transaction is complete.

She loses her name and gains a collar.

She will make more than a couple of deals over the next year and a half, each one of them leaving her diminished, but none so much as this one. Maybe it was the loss of her name. Maybe it was that she had to pay in order to sell herself. They were both depressing, but perhaps the worst of it was that it was all her choice.

Spoiler :

fyck phytybyckyt
03-04-2012, 07:45 PM
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Pick Yer Poison

Posts: 1,084
Joined: Jul 2011
Originally posted on MSPA by Pick Yer Poison.

Theme song:
Spoiler :

Name: Grotto
Gender: Male
Color: #000099
Race: Unknown
Weapons: None

Abilities: Grotto possesses the ability to reshape his body, although it generally retains his physical characteristics regarding coloring and type of skin. He cannot shapeshift, however; he can only rearrange his body, growing new cells or removing them as required. The larger the transformation, the longer it takes, but this is not usually a problem. As a general marker, it would only take a few seconds to grow an extra arm. As a side effect, he has a nearly instant rate of regeneration; anything damaged can be replaced within a few seconds.

Description: No one knows Grotto’s original form. Those who did are long dead, and it’s impossible to tell if he ever takes it again, and if so, to recognize it when he does. However, his general appearance is that of a long and undulating snake, complete with scaly skin, a forked tongue, and lidless eyes. However, he also possesses arms and legs (as many as he requires), and usually stands upright.

Grotto is cold and calculating, rarely taking the route of direct attack. Despite his reformative abilities, he isn’t very strong, and killing a powerful foe in combat is beyond him…physically, that is. He is skilled at predicting an opponent’s next moves and countering them the instant they are taken, both in a fight and in a battle of wits.

Biography: Grotto was “born” in a lab. Genetically engineered from inception, he is a completely unique creature, like no other in the universe. It’s not known what the scientists were trying to achieve with his creation; all that is known is that they only reached an early grave. Predictably enough, Grotto broke out, slaughtering all the faculty on his way out. He receded from all knowledge for years, only coming out of hiding to make precision strikes on seemingly random targets. Finally, he vanished into the shadows, and was never seen again, probably because he was grabbed at about that point.

[Image: zjQ0y.gif][Image: vcGGy.gif]
03-04-2012, 08:24 PM
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Not The Author
Service with a smile

Posts: 911
Joined: Jul 2011
Out of Sight, Out of Mind
Originally posted on MSPA by Not The Author.

Vestigial Growth from a Bygone Era: Not The Author

Name: None

Gender: None

Race: Burial Urn

Color: Olive

Description: The urn is a tapering ceramic cylinder the color of sandstone about a foot tall and half that at its widest point. The body of the urn is nine inches tall, narrowing to four inches wide at the base and five inches at the top. The cap of the urn is shaped as a bowed crocodile’s head wearing a Nemes headdress. Additional shallow layers of clay on the body of the urn depict four arms, two legs, a tail and a simple kilt. The arms hold a pair of scales, a quill, a sheet of parchment, and a small satchel. The urn is securely sealed, and covered with a thick layer of dust, as though it has not been disturbed in some time.

Items: Usually, Rex.

Abilities: The urn has the incredible power of Looking Really Out-Of-Place. It also has a tendency to move around when nobody’s watching it.

Spoiler :
The urn’s known history begins in 112 PI, when it was discovered in the tomb of Queen Hatesh by the shortly-thereafter-renowned archaeologist and explorer Dr. Garfield Hayes. It was kept in Hayes’ personal collection until his unexpected death in 141 PI, at which point it was transferred to the Egyptian National Museum of Ancient History as stipulated in his will. Eight year later, the urn was stolen from the museum along with several other valuable artifacts – and here things get a bit fuzzy. Over the next three decades, the urn was rumored to have appeared in all sorts of unlikely places around the world, up to and including the coronation, assassination, and resurrection of Emperor of the Newer World John F. Kennedy. Despite these claims, and despite the number of people that make these claims, no evidence of its presence at these events has ever surfaced in official records. In 175 PI, a janitorial worker discovered the urn in the back of one of the ENMAH’s massive storage warehouses. It was misplaced about a month before it was scheduled to be put back on display, and hasn’t been seen since.

Theme Song: Encounter?? Burial Urn
03-05-2012, 01:34 AM
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Posts: 3,283
Joined: Aug 2018
Originally posted on MSPA by gloomyMoron.

Reserving, just give me a few days to post it. I work until Tuesday but Tuesday is also Mass Effect 3. >.> So I'll try to get it up after work tomorrow before Mass Effect 3 pulls me into another universe.
03-05-2012, 03:36 AM
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that escalated quickly

Posts: 4,328
Joined: Jul 2011
Sunshine, Lollipops and Diabetes
Originally posted on MSPA by Agent1022.

Username: Agenwün
Name: Sam Wün
Gender: Male
Race: Metahuman; Homo superior; Cladomorph
Colour: #93001C
Description: Sam normally is of reasonable height, standing at about six feet, with a medium build tending towards slim. His black hair is cut short, and never appears to get any longer. It contrasts his eyes, which have irises of a curious shade of red. He wears a brown trench coat which seems more ragged and worn than can be accounted for by simple age or neglect, and underneath that he wears, even in the coldest winter and hottest summer, a thin long-sleeved shirt and corduroy pants.

Sam’s an impassive person – in his line of work emotions don’t pay – but it’s also because his mind is a mess. He isn’t insane – he’s perfectly rational and a sensible person, but often he feels that many parts of his mind are disconnected from his consciousness, that they don’t fit with who he is – even his memories. Especially his memories. So he does what humanity has always been so good at, and ignores the incongruities completely, relegating them to subconscious obstacles to avoid. Which means it’s not that he can’t remember his past, but rather that to access those memories carries with it such a sense of absurdity that it unsettles him to think about it.

He’d like to say he’d prefer it that way, but for the curse of humanity that is curiosity.
Items/Abilities: <div style="margin-left:40px">“Clothes make the man.” – Mark Twain</div>
Sam is gifted with the power of cladomorphism – upon donning the clothing belonging to someone else, he takes on some of their characteristics – the more of the person’s clothing that he wears and the longer he wears it for, the more characteristics he takes on. They can be physical traits, like build or voice, or personality-related characteristics like mannerisms, attitudes and opinions. He can’t choose what traits he inherits, but physical changes are usually related to the article of clothing in question – for example a hat might change his hair style, length, color....or alter his intelligence or intuitiveness! Or all five!

There is a danger, though, in taking on another’s identity, and that is losing your own…
Biography: “decanting…”

White. Metal-white, a blur of motion and of blue, splash splash, liquid draining and that was the first minute of life for this child. No mother to hold her babe no soft crooning only doctorspeak “embryo, incubation” cold metal, latex, no warm arms no smell of mother only sterile, sterile, antiseptic clean air filtered air needles pain scissors cold fear

Sam woke up, hands wringing the sheets of the cold sweat they’d collected in the night. Slowly, he pulled himself from the threadbare mattress, planting both feet firmly into the carpet, curling his toes into the thick cloth in an effort to dispel the memory of the dream. Or the dream of a memory, came his own thought from the place in the back of his mind that he so often tried and failed to ignore. a past you secretly crave

Sam brushed his teeth thoroughly, with all the correct strokes, followed by a flossing. The floss came away slightly bloodied, and he made a mental note to call the dentist (a mundanity muffling the constant trickle of unwanted thought that was always uncomfortably there). At 7:20 AM, he placed bread in a toaster as an antiquated coffee machine whirred and produced slightly granular coffee that yet still seemed to thicken to the unpleasant consistency of tar. But it was caffeinated. It was fine.

At 7:30, he stood in front of his closet like a condemned man.

Pulling open the closet door revealed a tatty brown trench coat. Beside it hung a neatly pressed suit, one that screamed “business” and other formal epithets – even more so once Sam had ironed its edges sharp on a worn ironing board and folded it into a businesslike leather suitcase. With much less care, he took a tired pair of corduroys hanging over the bedstead, wore them over boxers that shouldn’t feel awkward nor unfamiliar and yet and yet, then donned the trench coat to complete his attire. Clutching the suitcase, Sam stepped out the door – and at 8:00, he boarded the citybound bus. It hummed pleasantly, trundling on its modular monorail, and the sound l u l l e d

Running down the corridors of burnished steel shouts behind, flimsy nightgown
“Get that kid!” run run run small feet banging on the floor, pattering footsteps janitor’s closet hide! “Damn! Where are you, you little…” Boots. Heavy boots with steel tipped toes, belonging to a man of bearing – “If you’re not out from wherever you are by the count of ten! It’s latrine duty for you, kid!” The child quaked, snuffled slightly despite effort “One! Two! Three!” The boots paced, and then stopped in front of the closet door - looking around, only tools, mops, brooms, not a uniform in sight “Four! Five! Six! Don’t think about it kid, I’m catching anyone coming out of that closet!” peering about, trying trying to be silent, breathing fast too fast out of control small hands toying with the hem of… Sam’s brow furrowed as he stared into space as the bus drove on “Seven! Eight! Nine!” Nowhere to go never anywhere to go no escape no escape - “Te-” The child forced the door open with as much strength as could be mustered ran again large hand grabbed collar lifted choking cruel face sneering “Oh no you don’t, kid. Back to drills for you.” Another meaty hand lifted to the face “WE FOUND H-”

“-artford Station!”

The bus driver’s voice cut through his reverie, and Sam was on the bus once more as it pulled into his stop. He rubbed the tiredness – yes, it must have been, just have been, a brief hallucination from being too tired – from his eyes as he descended on a well-rehearsed path, down a walkway as it entered a community tower stretching from the waters below to the skies above, corridors and hallways moving past as he stepped into the elevator, its pneumatic hiss a backdrop to its rapid ascent...

The apartment was chosen for its proximity to the targets’, obtained with an exorbitant offer that could not be refused by any superintendent, and renovated in a marginally illegal way, i.e. stripped of furniture and converted into a station resembling a missile launch bunker. And in what was clearly the command chair, situated in the center of the main chamber, sat a sternly suited man – “Where have you been, Wün? You’re late.”

“I was kept up, Mr. Caines.”

“Your sleep travails are of no interest to the agency. Get dressed.”

He stood in the tiny changing room, looking at the suit with distaste. A little woven patch on its sleeve declared its owner to be Arkadiy Dmitryevich, Executive Mission Planner, Entente Operative Corps. Sam knew that the real Arkadiy would be asleep, drugged in one of the apartments near this command center, and he would be expected to take his place. Silently, he cursed Caines and the agency and their mad goals of infiltrating the Entente, and his own inexplicable collusion with them... they didn’t understand at all how it worked, how utterly dangerous it was…

“It doesn’t pay to daydream.” The mantra echoed, kept in mind as strong leather shoes ran this time covering the grass outside outside no shouts no nothing the trench coat the corduroys were telling mind mine my mind no, not my mind! Escaping! Escaping that hellhole then get far away, ditch these damn clothes they’re too big for me but they aren’t arms fill out the shirt fine, the sleeves not tight but comfortable not baggy at all not familiar nothing was right too strong too straight, wander long hate hate no more oppression no more no more who am I? My name is my name is Sam sama it feels right more right must hold myself together my self to gether tether rope tie yourself keep yourself together get a grip keep moving forward forward away it was perfect, no one questioned the exit of Michael Michael this coat belonged to him these clothes are his my mind is mine my mind is mine my kale Michael my name is Sam, Sam I am, old books salvaged from the scrap heap education of the wrong sort they said why does it feel wrong why does it those are real memories those are mine those are Sam’s forget Michael Michael you’re still there and I’ve stolen your clothes I’ve got everything that is you but I don’t want it I want to be myself shouts! Shots! Not far enough, not far enough, can’t ditch the clothes hold it together hold it together who am I who am I who am I, I am Sam, what else is about me? I am…I am… Sam... I’m seventeen and I don’t want to stay there I’m not this body body has mind of its own its own identity I’m Sam I’m Sam how how old where what’s my favorite color just forget it just forget everything remember you’re not this body you’re Sam the same the…

who am I

He didn’t want to think about that it didn’t make sense nothing about that past made sense and nothing about the other did either the past was past was past…He clutched at the fabric of the suit – it calmed him, it calmed him...the past didn’t matter no matter how much he told himself that it never seemed to ring true and the present was what had to be lived and he’d had worse assignments yet that one time with the Danish debutante had gone oddly smoothly, don’t you think, Sam?

And then he disappeared.

03-05-2012, 04:32 AM
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Posts: 3,283
Joined: Aug 2018
Originally posted on MSPA by Pharmacy.

Name: Shin Kansen

Gender: Man/Null

Race: Ghost, Train, eh, Ghost Train

Color: about 440-990 nm (#19404F)

Description: Shin Kansen is essentially two entities.

The sapient of the two is the Shin Kansen the worker. He is the lone employee who drives the train, fixes up any system hiccups, provides the refreshments, and keeps the place very clean. He is the conductor, the janitor, the mechanic, and the snack-server. Other than his unnaturally stern stare, Shin Kansen the worker looks like he could pass for a homo sapiens, albeit in a meticulously clean-kept uniform.

Shin Kansen’s personality is rigid like corrugated metal. He is very order-oriented, law-worshipping, and to put lightly, “anal.” Shin Kansen cannot tolerate any slight against rules, especially his own. Usually, he is quiet, but hell had no fury like a train conductor who goes ballistic over errant debris and smoking passengers. If he had a stick up his ass, it would be a fully-grown tree.

Shin Kansen the vehicle is a wonderful piece of technology. It is an nonsentient bullet train but streamlined, sleek, and with its moniker proudly stamped on both sides. Sadly, it only consists of the power car (where Shin Kansen the worker drives and keeps his equipment) and a singular passenger cart (you know, for passengers) so we would never know the train in its former glory.

Weapons and Abilities:

Shin Kansen the worker is a decent jack-of-all-trades, as he is the only man who actually works in and drives this train sharing his namesake. Despite being a human-shaped well of vitriol, this misanthropic man is obligated to serve and accept all passengers into his train as the best he could. He caters refreshments, bandages wounds, and so-on. However, just because he serves others does not mean he cannot speak his mind. If a passenger were to incur his wrath, Shin Kansen will chew them out.

Shin Kansen the vehicle is quite strange. Like a conventional bullet train, it is capable of impressive speed. Unlike a conventional bullet train, it is capable of unnatural maneuvering (like turning sharp angles), and never runs out of energy or needed supplies. It can also accommodate passenger of any size and nature from a tiny speck to a titanic radioactive-breathing lizard. The vehicle can also fly.

Note, Shin Kansen the vehicle can be broken or worn down, and sufficient damage can eventually grind this tireless engine to a halt. However, Shin Kansen is also very physical and tangible. It is advisable not to be front of this train, especially when it is accelerating.


Accounting was a tedious job, but it could only earn you so much joy. That was what the liquor for! Giggling at that unhealthily true fact, the two drunkards stumbled out of the local bar – their faces red from their genetic dispositions.

“-so THEN,” Kenjiro stumbled on his feet as he made a dramatic swing of his arms. “I said SCREW YOU.” The mere connection of the two words made the businessman cackle like a drunken hyena.

“Oh man, that’s fresh.” His friend sighed. The co-worker could hold his liquor far beter than Kenjiro, but even those he did quite drank a lot. The portly Masao attempted to hold his friend against gravity and the alcohol-induced haze. “But how are you going to deal with that? I mean, he does have your job around his pinky.”

“Nahhh,” Kenjiro slurred in return. “This is totally worth everything. I can take it. I’m a man. Momma raised me right.” In a fit of confidence, he proudly tapped his chest in self-congratulation.

Masao did not reply.

“Wuh, what’s gotten into you, friend.” Kenjiro tripped on his own words.

Masao looked on as a bullet train streaked through the skies – silently, unknowingly, but definitely visibly. Masao was a businessman, he practically knew what a bullet train was like. Bullet trains were a normal part of daily life for him, but this. This was almost unnatural, terrifying, and perhaps even awe-inspiring. As the anomalous train cut through the night like a shining meteor, it just suddenly disappeared.

“Masao?” Kenjiro asked. “What’s going on?”

Masao adjusted his glasses, shocked at such a supernatural sight. He had heard rumors that a train was flying around, but he never believer that until he saw that with his very own eyes. Questions started to spill into his brain. How did this train came to be? Where did that train come from? Why was it there?

“I have no idea, Kenjiro.” Masao confessed. And that was the truth.
03-05-2012, 06:41 AM
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Posts: 3,283
Joined: Aug 2018
Originally posted on MSPA by Lankie.

Sure, I'll reserve spot. Assuming this is a choosey dealie and not a first come first serve dealie. If so feel free to ignore me forever.
03-05-2012, 03:21 PM
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Lonely Rolling Star

Posts: 2,005
Joined: Jul 2011
Imagine Cucumber
Originally posted on MSPA by Solaris.

yay lankie's back in the bapples
hi lankie

also wojj and XX i am going to have something here later i guess, now that i am here, but it might be a day or two~
03-05-2012, 04:40 PM
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The year was outer space.

Posts: 588
Joined: Jul 2011
The future.
Originally posted on MSPA by Godbot.

Lankie Wrote:Sure, I'll reserve spot. Assuming this is a choosey dealie and not a first come first serve dealie. If so feel free to ignore me forever.
It's a choosey dealie.

I'll reserve too.
03-05-2012, 05:09 PM
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Posts: 3,283
Joined: Aug 2018
Originally posted on MSPA by Lankie.

Name: Carlie Levenson

Gender: Female

Race: Human

Color: #800080


Spoiler :
[Image: Carlie.png]

Carlie, 25, stands about 5 foot 9 and is rather thin. She has medium, messy, blondey-browny hair that could probably break a hairbrush in half. She wears a drab, long sleeved t-shirt with purple sleeves, a pair of well worn, thin jeans and some trainers in a rather battered state.

Carlie is a person who never really matured out of her teenage years, she often procrastinates and lazes around any responsibilities she has. While in a more dangerous situation she is panicky, energetic and quick to flee from just about anything. She often uses sarcasm and humour in an attempt to calm herself in bad situations, it doesn’t usually work. Carlie has a bad habit of voicing her inner thought process despite no one being around, which often makes bystanders assume she’s a little crazy.

She also has the bad habit of getting drunk a lot and casual drug use, which more often than not increases her problems further.

Weapons and Abilities: Carlie has the very unique power of bringing people back from the dead.

When Carlie comes into the presence of a dead being her hands begin to produce a glow, often cycling through multiple colours and ebbing off her hands like fire. Should Carlie get close enough (about a foot or two) to the corpse, the glow will rush into and around the dead body, repairing any lethal damage and restoring all of the corpse functions to a living state. The process takes around 10 to 20 seconds, at which point the glow dissipates and the creature awakes to the world of the living, with a sharp gasp of air.

Of course that is a perfect example of Carlie’s power. In practice it is rarely this smooth.

Carlie in truth doesn’t know how to use her power at all, whether the process of bringing something back to life or not starts seems to depend on luck. Sometimes the glow doesn’t even appear in her hands at all. From what she can tell, there are rules to her power, many of which Carlie is not aware of. She doesn’t even know what happens if she dies.

Carlie barely speaks of her power and assures herself it doesn’t exist.


Spoiler :
It was a cold winter night, small specks of snow dropped lazily from the sky, bathing the streets in a reflective glow. One could say it was quite peaceful, but they would be ignoring the constant beat of earthshaking bass, radiating from a tiny student hovel.

On the edge of Victorian terraced street, one such accommodation pulsed with an array of gaudy glowing lights and terrible party music. Young people are found strung around like thrown laundry, while the distinct scent of sweat hangs in the air with the snow.

Inside is a hive of active people, dancing and shouting and singing and crying. In the midst of this cloud of people sits one Carlie Levenson, consuming a glass of questionable content and popping a small tablet of even further questionable content. She sits lazily in one of the rare available seats, her face not one or merry and enjoyment but one of boredom and apathy.

“CAAAAAAARLIEEEEEEE!” A shrill voice erupts into our heroes ear, she would of no doubt complained but shouting was the only form of communication in such an environment. The voice belonged to a lass named Jess, a friend of convenience, mostly, “What’s up? You look sort of crapped out.” Carlie let out a melodramatic sigh, the one which you do to when you want to grab as much attention as possible. “I don’t know man.” She punctuated her sentence with a mouthful of neon beverage, “I don’t think I’ve accomplished much in my life.”

“Oh, fuck no.” Jess rolled her eyes so hard she could have created a tornado. “You are NOT doing this, not now.” She pulled Carlie up from her chair, who simply flopped up with little resistance “It’s your 25th birthday! Lighten up!” Carlie gave her friend the mother of all death stares, “Yeah, I know, and look what I have to show for it!” She flopped her arms around like an angry ragdoll. “I dropped out of college, I have no job, I’m living off the charity of others, I’m basically a hobo.” Jess had proceeded to spent most of Carlie’s tirade ignoring her. “Duuuuude. I don’t care, just drink this and be merry, we’ll have time for your death lament tomorrow.” Jess handed her bitter friend another glass bubbling liquid and dashed off, consumed by the ultra compact crowd. Carlie shouted something incomprehensible to the horde, not before taking another healthy glug of beverage.

Fast forward to the early hours of the morning. A mightily inebriated Carlie and Jess wander the black, abandoned streets of some god forsaken neighbourhood. “You know Jess, maybe, maybe you’re right in slum regards” Carlie slurred her words and she struggled to string together a sentence “BUT! I still think that my life is a fart.” Jess stumbled and tripped, making a poor attempt to walk in a straight line. “Ms. Levenson my dear. You don’t need a fancy car or a 7 figure sum of moneys to be happy! You just need your friends and your li-“

And then Jess got hit by a car.

The poor girl flew into the air and landed with a sickening thud. The pair had wondered aimlessly into the road and into the path of a speeding blur of metal. The car swerved and sped off, clumsily turning a corner away from scene. Carlie just watched in complete disbelief, the colour in her skin rapidly depleting. “OH SHIT!” She finally reacted, a good 12 seconds after everything happened.

“Oh no, no, no, no, this is…this is, oh god, oh shitting god.” Carlie began pacing frantically, any feeling of drunken stupidity had been replaced with the cold reality she was facing, facing car accidents and death has a knack of sobering a person up. “Maybe she isn’t dead, I mean, that’s not a fact yet, people get hit by cars all the time, it’s cool.” Carlie slowly crept to her friend’s prone body. “Hey Jess…You…you’re fine, right?” On closer examination, Jess was not fine at all, she wasn’t breathing, a pool of blood was slowing ebbing from her head and her arm was twisted into an impossible shape. “No you are not fine you are very dead aahhheegghh.” Carlie backed away in fear of throwing up all over her recently deceased buddy, her mind slowly returning to a logical state. “Police, call the police, or ambulance or anything with a siren, just, ok Carlie, you got this.” Carlie reached for her phone, she began to shake violently from fear, but before she could call anything with a siren she couldn’t help but notice her hand was…glowing.

“Oh…god damnit it. Really? Really brain? You’re doing this right now?” Carlie seemed rather nonplussed; she assumed this was something she was making up, a combination of alcohol, drugs and witnessing the murder of her friend. She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead, wandering closer to the body of Jess “Ok, just…focus please. I don’t need this right now.” When she opened her eyes, her hands were glowing brighter and a lot more colourful. “What the fu-“ Light exploded out of Carlie’s hands, knocking her off her feet, with it came a harsh sound, something similar to hundred Gameboys malfunctioning. The light streamed around Jess’s body, enveloping her and causing her to hover off the ground. Carlie at this point could only stare in abject terror as she experienced what she assumed was her freakiest trip yet.

When the twister of light finally dissipated from Jess’ body, she bolted up, taking a massive breath of cold winter air. Her arm was fine, she wasn’t bleeding, and she was breathing again. She was alive. Jess stared at Carlie, mirroring her expression to a tee. “Did…Did I just die?”

Carlie’s expression was frozen, she simply nodded.

“And you…brought me…back?”

Carlie nodded again.

Spoiler :
Thanks Sol! Good to be back in the bapples! (assuming I get chosen (I won't get chosen))

And Thanks Gbot for clarifying for my derpy head.
03-05-2012, 07:24 PM
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Posts: 3,283
Joined: Aug 2018
Originally posted on MSPA by The Deleter.

Username: The Deleter

Name: Adrian Connor

Gender: Male

Race: Transhuman (which is basically human with some bells and whistles so don't get your hopes up)

Colour: #2F4F4F

Description: Arian resembles a twenty-one year old human both physically and biologically, but with key differences. His 6’ height makes his abnormally thin, lanky build even more noticeable. His eyes are far larger than a normal human’s, and his fingers are also an inch or two longer than average. His dark hair is shaved into a single vertical strip to keep the silver neural plugs in his temples free from obstruction. Facial features include a sharp chin, roman nose and thin eyebrows. He currently wears a casual t-shirt, sneakers and jeans (all of which have to be fitted for him), and various toolbelts thrown across his body like a bad anime character. Said pockets and toolbelts contain various tools and mechanical bits of all sizes, shapes and uselessness levels. There might be some half-eaten snack bars in there too.

Adrian, in his base state, is hyper-emotional – he feels emotions more strongly than a normal person does. He finds things funnier, grieves more, and is never just “scared”, but terrified. This is a normal trait of his subspecies, and he takes emotional suppression pills to dull these feelings at the cost of sometimes leaving him listless or dull. Outside of this, Adrian is filled with curiosity and a desire to experiment, and has an inventive approach to problems. These desires clash with indecision and a desire to return to the oppressive social norms of his world. He finds it difficult to make enemies, but harder to make friends. He daydreams often.

Adrian’s body has been modified to fulfil the role required of a spaceship technician on his world. His light weight and thin body allow him to manoeuvre in cramped service corridors and within the ship’s inner workings, and thin, long fingers compliment his dexterity. His eyes are larger than normal to allow better vision in low light, and have a polarised third eyelid to protect against glare from the tools he works with. His body is also more resilient to electric shocks and heat damage, although he is still vulnerable to being killed in this manner. The silver neural plugs would allow him to interface with the computers of his world, but in the battle they are pretty useless.

Adrian always carries an Atomic Forge, a miniature workshop that allows him to build tools and equipment by processing the atomic matter of surrounding materials in the environment. The more complex the result is, the more time and effort needs to be put into the process. For example, a simple screwdriver would take about ten minutes, whilst an explosive or bomb would take a few hours. When not in use, the forge folds into a small cube, three feet square in size, which he carries on his back like a backpack. The forge has powerful batteries that can recharge off ambient light, but take a full day to do so. These batteries last for seven hours continuous operation.

Spoiler :
Born in the Great Terran Federation of 4291 AD, Adrian was the son of dock worker Johnathan Cooper and secretary Samantha Wu. They moved to Samantha’s homeworld when Adrian was two years old and made a relatively peaceful life there.

The Great Terran Federation was in the beginnings of its Transhumanist phase, and as such a person’s life was slotted into their role via the use of not only their education, but by modifying their biology to suit them for their work. Ever since Adrian went to a starport at the age of six and saw the thin, spider-like figures crawling amongst the innards of a capital ship, he wanted to be a spaceship technician. He wanted to find out how the things flew. He wanted to be one of the graceful, wisp-like men and women who worked behind the scenes to make the behemoths and leviathans of the stars function without a hiccup. This meant modifying him from a relatively normal human child into one of those apparitions.

Adrian’s life remained relatively normal – he received the usual body modifications at four to help his school learning, and then the Initial Path Modifications at sixteen when he made his subject choices at college. His parents were supportive of his choice to become a starship technician, and his father used his own scant knowledge of electronics and wiring to aid his son’s progress whilst his mother encouraged his artistic side, which helped when he was given his Atomic Forge at eighteen years of age. Adrian passed his course with decent grades.

Then came the time for him to come of age, where his body would be transformed into the graceful form he had wanted as a child. He woke up that morning, took his emotional suppressants, had his regular breakfast, kissed his mother and father goodbye, went out the door, and took the bus to the city clinic…

…and vanished.

Theme Song for shits and giggles:
03-05-2012, 11:47 PM
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Lonely Rolling Star

Posts: 2,005
Joined: Jul 2011
Imagine Cucumber
Originally posted on MSPA by Solaris.

i'm greedy so i am gunning FOR TWO DIFFERENT SPOTS


Username: Sol, you know, like the fucking sun
Name: Chad Chaswell Charles
Gender: Male
Color: #t80_08t
Race: An asshole in human form.

Items/Abilities: WHERE DO WE BEGIN? He's ambidextrous. He is fast, athletic, and sort of unflappable. His right hand is covered with a small grey glove that with a snap, can turn into large metal gauntlet with a little clock insignia. This is the Sol.
The Sol is a lightweight, durable, and powerful gauntlet capable of emitting and controlling fire, giving the user far more strength than they should, and very limited time manipulation. How much time manipulation depends on the power that The Sol currently has access to; while the rest of the glove is solar powered, the time mechanisms need a much more direct power source and require a lot of energy for anything more than accelerating time around Chad for more than five seconds, and even then it uses siphons his biological energy, making him very hungry and very weak afterwards. But when he gets a lot of power, he can do quite a lot.

Description: Red hair (dyed), cut at medium length and kept oh-so perfect. Sunglasses, always. He has a fancy looking, red, collared shirt. Over that, he has a suit jacket, black, unbuttoned, with a blue tie around his neck. He's has jeans on, dark and baggy ones. He has sneakers too. He's 18 and has a few useless metal rings on his left hand and some rubber bands on his hand and a tattoo of the symbol on his glove on his left hand. His teeth are perfect.

He is a self centered person. He doesn’t really care about others people’s problems or the consequences of his actions, acting as he wants, when he wants. He loves the spotlight, and uses it to get what he wants. He is brash and calls things as he sees them and he sees other people's feelings as secondary to almost everything else (unless the feelings can be used to his benefit). He knows his limits, and he always makes sure not to do anything beyond them. If he sees an obstacle that he can’t overcome, he will just make someone else do it and then, at the last moment swipe in and take all the credit as his. The result is that he garners other people’s attention and trust by taking out that lesser than him, and then uses that to get whatever he wants. What a guy.


There was a large boom, as suddenly a large bear-like creature appeared behind him. It had a face of utmost seriousness, to the point that if it wasn't incredibly terrifying, it would be kind of hilarious. Chad, who was sitting at his computer, edged backwards on his seat, sweating.
What the hell is this? A bear... thing? But it has clothes!
He was able to only muster out a "He... hey there..."

It simply stared silently.
And Chad couldn’t do anything but stare back.

"You." The voice that broke the silence was scraggly but decidedly female.
"M... me?"

As she yelled Chad cowered further backwards. Thoughts raced as he tried to make some sort of logic out of this. His parents had left the house, could they have been behind this? Before he could contemplate this further, she drew a sword and began to walk toward him. With her free hand, the bear-lady grabbed Chad by the neck and continued to yell.
The poor teen was on the verge of tears, still unable to rationalize anything.
He let out a weak and almost silent "N...no", before he was thrown out his window into the backyard.


Another large boom ringed through his ears. There was a click and a shot rang out. The Bearish Woman yelled in agony. Another creature, seemingly human, with an odd rifle in his hand walked over and kicked her corpse, then shot it a few times before turning to the shocked and wet Chad. A male voice attempted to comfort him. "Are you okay?"

Chad was silent.

The man continued, claiming to be from the future, telling Chad not to worry or think about it, grabbing the fresh corpse, and then with another *POOOOM*, leaving, never to be seen by Chad again. But not without a parting gift. Lying in the grass, where his attack perished, was a gold totem. It shined as Chad edged closer to it. Without another thought, he touched it, changing his life forever.

If there was anyone else around, they would have heard one last *POOOOM*.

Theme Song: Katana Blaster (Constantly Playing Mix) from Impostor Nostalgia

Username: Solaris~~~
Name: Muna Vidam
Gender: Female
Race: Human
Colour: Heliotrope, #DF73FF

Biography: The people are the plaything of the gods. This is the prevalent mindset in the world, and while there are people who oppose this pecking order, the gods make sure they don't live very long.

For years, humans had been technologically stagnant, keeping to the power of the gods over any new discoveries in the realm or weapons or health or entertainment. After all, when all it takes is a lamb to cure your entire family, who needs doctors? In fact, one of the only things that have advanced significantly, are physical sciences, what makes body parts grow the way they do, muscles and their development, and exercises in general.

The gods usually keep their hands off unless really bored or asked to, but there are certain times that exceptions are made. Such was the case for Amos to a love struck artist.

The artist thought he had uncovered a hidden gem. He had seen her at the coliseum, each day, at the same time, never any less breathtaking. He was stricken immediately. The artist tried to find out who she was, where she lived, but no one else seemed to notice her the way he did. Eventually, the artist succeeded in his search, finding someone who knew her name. And that was all that he needed. Muna Vidam. It pained him that he knew nothing else.

The artist would create work after work of his beloved, slowly pouring his soul into each of his works. After countless ballads, poems, and paintings, so beautiful, but all hidden, as he was far too attached to them, he decided he would create something more than before. He would slowly create a doll, an exact wooden replica of his beloved, down to the glorious golden hair.

He would succeed, but at a cost. The artist had poured his soul into each of his works, and when he finished pouring it into the doll, he had none for himself. This did not go unlooked by the gods, or more specifically Amos, the god of love. Touched by the artist's love for Muna, he decided to let the soul live on as it wanted to, linked to his beloved.

The magic worked, and the artist's soul, now isolated into the doll and charged by Amos' magic, was connected with Muna's. And from that moment, her life would never be the same again.

Description: Muna is a young woman in her twenties. She wears a nice lavender tunic, with some pale red patterns, held by buttons on the shoulder and a grey ribbon belt around her waist. While she has very nice golden hair and green eyes, neither is emphasized, which she is okay with. She is thin, but not that thin, having developed some nice muscles from her cardio exercises.

She likes to smile, even when she isn't happy. While she will of out of her way to care for others, if she doesn't like you or something about you, she will do her best to keep away. She generally keeps away from the limelight, enjoying moments of solitude over public gatherings. Her favorite thing to do is to visit the coliseum and see the fights there, as exciting as they are, she wouldn't dream of going down there. All in all she enjoys her own company the most, but is usually willing to lend a hand. She is a bit flighty, often daydreaming, much to her own chagrin.

Items/Abilities: Muna frequently partakes in Cardio and Yoga, giving her great endurance, dexterity, and flexibility. Her only item of note is a doll, exactly her size and body shape and sharing her golden hair, wearing a spare set of clothing. Due to the interference of Amos, the doll is magically linked with her body. If her mind was to wander (if she daydreamed, slept, was knocked unconscious), then it could switch places with the doll, magically turning her regular body into the doll, and the doll into an almost exact replica of her body. She can also intentionally activate this switch.

The power of the god's magic does not end there. As the doll was made as a gift for one's true love, when unoccupied by Muna's mind, the doll emits the image of one's true love. People who see the doll will see the features of the one they love most and be inclined to carry and take the doll with them. Luckily for Muna, this trait does not carry on if her mind is in the doll, although it then moves into her now mindless body. When Muna is in the doll, she feels slightly more self-centered than normal, and she gains the knowledge of the dolls creator.

The ultimate nature of the link is unknown to her. As she fears that if the doll is destroyed, she loses her life as well. As a result she takes precaution to keep the doll safe. However, when you are teleported across the multiverse, that's easier said than done...

Theme Song: Heart of the Forest from Aquaria
03-06-2012, 12:00 AM
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it's gatr!

Posts: 2,602
Joined: Nov 2011
Originally posted on MSPA by ~ATH.

Username: ~ATH
Name: Auros and The Carriers
Race: Naked Singularity and Agrons
Gender: Genderless but uses male pronouns, and 2 male, 2 female
Color: Dark Gold

Description: Auros is an entity wrapped into a naked singularity, which is constantly emitting harsh light and increasing density of whatever gets too close to it. From a casual observer standing at a distance of 50 feet away, it appears to be 10 feet tall, but as one goes closer, it does not change size in relation to the observer. It nestles on (or rather, above) a peculiar cart, which appears to be a golden pedestal on top of two axles, and it is being carried by four Agrons, called the Carriers. The cart resembles an Aztec temple, and it is covered with ostentatious temple markings that actually mean very little. Auros commanded them to be carved on his pedestal upon the discovery of the ruins of the Ceztas (an ancient Agron civilization that bears striking resemblances to the Aztecs), caring little for the actual meaning. The pedestal is also covered with dainty flowers, large beads, and other sumptuously unnecessary daubles.

In contrast, Agrons are grotesque silver frog-like aliens who hail from their native planet of Araes, and they are a devoutly religious species. When Auros spoke to them for the first time, they were in awe, and immediately prostrated themselves. To this day, the Agrons have carried Auros on the pedestal all over Araes, going wherever Auros wanted to go. Typically, Auros desires to explore the furthest reaches of the Earth, and the Carriers used to protest against everything he wanted them to do, as he had little concern for their health and they would usually die afterwards. Their protests mean nothing to Auros, as he is a god and everybody knows it.

Auros is absolutely arrogant to the worst degree. He loves power, he thrives on power, and he desires power. Worst of all, because of his position in the Agrons' society, he is not even aware that he is being a huge stubborn jerk, because nobody ever calls him out for it. This has resulted in him being extremely smug, making the Agrons serve at his every whim. He is typically very demanding, sometimes to unreasonable extents such as ordering the water to rise up in the sky, to see what will happen. On this occasion, the Agrons desperately tried to throw the water upwards, but it always fell back down. The hapless party in question were ordered to be executed. The people couldn't disobey him, because he requires absolute control over his subjects at all times, and he goes crazy if there is even a snippet of disobedience mulling about him. And you do not want to be around him when he goes crazy. Many horrible things have happened. He believes himself to be a god, though he actually has little power that he can control. To live up to his godly status, he has resorted to being a large ham, and he acts as commanding and mighty as possible, constantly escalating himself above the Agrons.

The Carriers are a group of four Agrons handpicked by their society to serve as the ones who carry Auros' pedestal. The Carriers wear simple loose-fitting robes in gold-rimmed purple, and simple circlets, to honor their rank as Carriers. Honor, of course, being used only in the most hollow way possible, as Auros instantly draws all honor away from them and onto himself. This is why his pedestal is so obnoxiously furnished, and their outfit is humble and plain. They resemble frogs, but are slightly more bulkier and humanoid, their average height being 8 feet tall, and they have 4 horns on their heads. To be known as a Carrier is a very high honor, the highest in their society, akin to demigods, and only they are allowed to be near Auros. Naturally, they are also the only ones that can even stand being near Auros, as being a Carrier requires immense strength and endurance, as well as a massive amount of patience for the ordeals he forces his Carriers to undergo. They have to pass through rigorous testing to become a Carrier, and they also have to have a humble, stable mind, unbroken by the trials. A perfectly stable mind is usually impossible for a mind like theirs, which are naturally fueled by emotions, so they have to be brainwashed. Consequently, all of the Carriers in history have been rendered blindingly devoted to Auros, ready to serve at his whim without an instant of doubt, no matter how much they may dislike it, or think of him as being utterly ridiculous. It is this brainwashing that allows them to trudge on for days at end while bearing an unbelievable amount of pain and agony. They only receive the minimum amount of nourishment needed to keep them healthy and capable of carrying Auros, and no more. Unless, of course, Auros commands otherwise. But why would he? He cares very little for the people. They are mostly silent and will only reply in the most basic way possible to any questions that may be posed, the reason for them not making any small talk being that Auros will assume the wrong things and execute them. To sum things up, the Carriers are brutal warmongers who refuse to listen to common sense and will only do what Auros says.

Items/Abilities: Auros is constantly emitting light and increasing density. Its light emittance is so powerful, it cannot be directly looked at, and it illuminates a huge radius around it. This light is completely harmless, but it does become day wherever he goes. Its density control, on the other hand, increases the density of anything surrounding it. This makes everything heavier, and it also distorts time. Everything near him moves at a 10 times slower rate than the outside. This sphere of influence extends to around 5 feet away from the pedestal. Within this sphere of influence, he can magnify all his power onto one point, heavily increasing density in that point and effectively crushing whatever happens to be there. The density also has the unfortunate side effect of making the pedestal much heavier, as well as slowing down the Carriers. They are unbelievably powerful for their species, akin to bodybuilders, yet they struggle to carry Auros even a single step. They persevere, however, out of the sake of their religion, and blinding devotion to Auros.

The Carriers are all intensely powerful, capable of lifting 1000 pounds each, equipped with warhammers, and are also pretty fast despite their size, maxing out at 30 mph. This is pretty much irrelevant, however, because the sphere of influence usually slows them down.

Biography: Wind whistled over the desolate plains of Vragas, a small mining town in the middle of the desert of Araes. It was dark outside, and people were still working. The unreasonable amounts of gold Auros had demanded decorate his third castle was running them all ragged. Wives came out to coerce their husbands into coming inside, but they were simply too scared of Auros. They were nowhere near finished, and the moon was high in the sky. One Agron dropped his shovel and collapsed.

"No... I can't do it. I... can't. Ugh."

He looked up at the sky, into that endless range of midnight blue and the fluorescent pink moon. Auros, that is such a beautiful moon. The pink slowly filled his body, even going so far as to tickle at his sight. He could see pink around the north edge of the sky.

...Wait. His head jerked up, gazing at the north horizon.

"It can't be dawn so soon, can it?"
"No... Besides, the sun rises rises in the east, remember? That's clearly north."
"But... if that's not the sun..."

The panicking Agrons then ran around the village, frantically gesturing at their wives to hide inside and protect their children. Doors slammed closed across the town, and it quickly became a ghost town. They were accustomed to this practice, having been threatened many times in the past.

The north horizon slowly grew brighter and brighter. The workers continued working. After what seemed like ages, Auros finally came in view. The golden pedestal glistened with light, and the Carriers were struggling under the ridiculousy heavy weight.

Finally, he spoke. The booming voice of the Great and Majestic Auros nearly made the workers pass out, from sheer intensity.

"Um, we've only found a little bit... But wait! There's a large deposit further on, we should have around a ton ready in 3 days!"
"Oh Auros... I'm so sorry, please forgive me, it won't take much longer!"

The Carriers set the pedestal down and stepped forward with a glint in their eyes.

[Image: 6xGo4ab.png][Image: sig.gif]
03-06-2012, 02:12 AM
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breaking the law

Posts: 429
Joined: Aug 2011
west coast represent
Originally posted on MSPA by Sanzh.

Username: Sanzh
Name: Lavi Lannon
Sex: Female
Species: Human
Color: #722600
Description: Lavi is a young woman, somewhat shorter than average in height but otherwise medium in build. Her dark hair is long and somewhat unkempt, only kept out of the way by being tied behind her. She is marked by her long face, gray-irised eyes, gangly limbs, and a ruddy, sanguine complexion maintained by frequent time outdoors. In addition to this, she speaks with something of a soft brogue-- her accent tends to thicken when nervous or under stress, however.

While still appearing functionally identical to a human-- and she would be quick to contend that she is human-- a closer examination reveals some significant physiological differences. As a result of an esoteric ritual, Lavi has partially transformed to have some plant characteristics. In places, her skin gives way for a blue-tinged wood, and parts of her are comprised of thin layers of bark-like material. Where her feet are, root-like branches replace her toes, alongside nodules and occasional thin root tendrils across the flat of her feet. When cut, she heals by growing tendrils and expanding bark across the injury. While there is nothing as overt as having foliage for hair or leaves substituting for flesh, close enough observation would expose her as not being fully human.

Much of her clothing is well-worn-- and while sturdy enough to not be reduced to tatters, her attire is still somewhat ragged from a combination of age, neglect, and her active lifestyle. She tends to wear a brown, mud-stained robe that falls down to obscure her bare feet, along with a similarly-drab hood to partially cover her face. She has on her most of the accoutrements of a frequent traveler, from a bag of prepared rations to a collection of journals to an assortment of other oddities.

Lannon herself tends to be youthful in demeanor, marked by a vivacious attitude that has yet to be jaded and eroded by experience. Cruelty is something she finds actively painful and intolerable, and she works wherever possible to avoid contributing to an already ample supply of bloodshed and suffering. She is unaccustomed to physical violence, and behaves in a pacifistic manner-- the thought of grievously harming someone, let alone killing another living being, is beyond her. Despite her benevolent and deeply empathetic nature, she tends to shy away from taking credit for her actions-- Lavi ultimately prefers to avoid the interference heroism brings, and is more than happy to allow someone else glory if it allows her to continue her work.

Abilities: Lavi has a relatively sharp mind, honed by learning both theoretical and practical, and a body well-practiced in athleticism. She also has a fairly-well trained sense of survival, particularly when outdoors. While being transplanted to an alien environment may dampen her training, she still has some natural instincts when it comes to foraging and scavenging. Her magically-altered physiology provides some benefits, as well-- she tends to recover from injuries relatively easily, able to regrow from most varieties of injuries. The hardened wood and and bark that partially comprises her is noticeably sturdier than flesh, and allows her to cope with staggering blows more easily. While still nowhere equivalent to the defense that armor or other protective measures would bring, she still has a level of endurance past that of an average human.

As a product the transformation she participated in, Lannon is gifted in the magical art of golem-crafting-- she is capable of imbuing a non-living material with an activating spark to produce an animate construct. The constructs she can produce vary in lifespan and capabilities-- while she can hastily animate a collection of inanimate materials to produce a golem, it is unlikely to be reliable or particularly stable and would likely collapse after a short period of time. With more preparation of the vessel to be animated, and more time and focus spent properly channeling her magic into the vessel, she can produce more reliable and more intelligent golems, as well as ones that have significantly longer lifespans. While she has yet to fully know the possible materials and capacities of her creations, her experimentation thus far has yet to show any particular limits.

Biography: Lavi sat beside her campfire. The flames were oddly disquieting, she had realized. Where once fire was a comforting protector, it had transformed into something primal-- something to be feared. She reached out to prod the flickering conflagration with a stick, taking note of the wooden fibers that stretched across her body as she did. It had been a month since her transformation had occurred-- and she had expected nothing to come of it, certainly nothing as drastic as what had happened. She was partially undressed, her robe and cloak tossed aside as to let her fully examine herself. It was curious, seeing herself like this; her time in the taverns and outposts that marked civilization had not given her a chance to investigate her appearance as she now did. She noted the cerulean strips of bark that covered sections of her skin, the thin tangles of vines that emerged and re-entered, she took in that her appearance had shifted and grown otherworldly and fey.

Lavi realized that under any other circumstances she should have been frightened of her new state-- but she felt exhilarated, delighted in the knowledge that her hunt for this mystery had revealed itself this way. She had never expected chasing this rumor of pure fantasy to manifest itself in her transformation, in her new capabilities. Lavi had learned from a young age that the wilderness was not somewhere where boons were earned so much as it was an unrelenting darkness to be pushed back; that very real threats to civilization hid amongst the thickets and threatened to undo the tenuous grasp of the villages and strongholds humans enjoyed. If anyone discovered what she had done, she would be shunned as an abomination, but she relished her new state. Her attention turned away from the fire now-- there was another reason she had come out here, into the wilderness. As much as it was comforting to be away from others, to enjoy the solitude of the forest around her, she had another reason.

The wooden armature beside her was lifeless, nothing but a dead husk of broken branches and knotted-together twigs shaped into a human form. Her transformation had granted her extraordinary powers, she knew as much from her first awakening. She had seen trees sway unnaturally and rocks roll with nothing so much as her focus on them, and she intended to try her abilities on something designed for them.

Lavi extended her hand, watching the blue sparks of coruscating light dance and flicker around her fingers. She twitched her hand in a smooth motion, watching the sparks fly downward-- and the armature begin to move, begin to stand up as its crudely-affixed joints strained against its rough construction.

The first of Lavi's golems had been made.

And from an unfathomable void, an alien abomination took note-- his blank face already fixed into a grim, self-contented smile below its single eye as it watched the work of an insignificant mote below.

Spoiler :
This post is slightly different from what it originally was, and contains the late-arrival character I've had starting in Round 2.
03-06-2012, 03:14 AM
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Posts: 3,283
Joined: Aug 2018
Originally posted on MSPA by M_Sheep.

For a third time, I issue a declaration of glorious intent!

VIVA LAS EDIT:Unfortunate Nomenclature: M sheep

Name: The Keeper of Lies, also referred to as Varljiv

Gender: male, if only because that’s how he identifies himself

Race: Originally, he started out as a divine byproduct, seven non-sentient anomalies created by seven lies a being of divine power told as it constructed its world. A Rival being of the creator gathered up the seven flaws in the world and combined them into one. The being gave him sentience, a body, and a purpose and released him into his rival deity’s creation to wreak havoc. Things didn’t go quite as expected, and Varljiv was tasked with the station of Aspect of Lies.
An Aspect is a pseudo-immortal being tasked with the care of a concept or thing in creation. They generally tend to be abstract things such as silence, swears, and lost things. Varljiv is the only Aspect with two creators.

Color: #336600
Description: In a world where function fuels form, his current shape is most physically similar to an anaconda of monstrous proportions. He was quite a bit smaller initially, but lies tend to grow overtime if left unchecked. Now he’s of similar length as a semi truck and with coils as thick as one of its tires. Varljiv is a swampy green which he believes quite compliments his orange, lantern-like eyes. If one were to look closely at his scales, they might seem to shimmer or ripple. A side effect of being words turned to flesh. He has two fangs, though they’re almost entirely ornamental. They’re not particularly large or sharp, and he’s non-venomous. Not to mention that he’s really not inclined to biting in the first place. I mean he has no idea where you’ve been.

He’s snarky, sarcastic, rude, manipulative, and maybe just a little germophobic. An entire existence spent cataloguing every lie anyone of his world has ever told has left him thoroughly disillusioned and jaded in his views. While he is a self-admitted liar, a cheat, and a thoroughly selfish, manipulative bastard, he adamantly claims not to be a hypocrite and takes great pride in it.

Sometimes the patron Aspect to magistrates, ministers, magicians, and storytellers. When he can be bothered.

He doesn’t trust you.

Weapons and Abilities: As the Aspect of Lies, Varljiv can detect a lie no matter if it is said or written. This hardly ever covers statements of moral issue as there isn’t any particular “truth” to be determined. He wouldn’t be able to notice a lie in a mass murderer saying they were a good person if they did believe they were. He would though be able to find a lie in the same person saying that they have never killed a person before. All Aspects a have certain amount of natural resistance to mental influence from reality warping or otherwise.

Varljiv may not like people but he sure is good at talking to them. A stroke of the ego, a precise, crippling blow to ones trust; these can make for far deadlier weapons than a sword or dagger. Varljiv would much rather manipulate others to act than do so himself and risk his own neck.
His serpentine form makes him capable of impressive bursts of speed and agility. His coils contain a crushing strength that squeeze the truth and life from the average beast. His lack of any limbs often leads to frustration in settings where fine motor control is required.

He produces ink from his fangs instead of venom. He has yet to find a useful purpose for this talent.

Biography: The being known as Varljiv was originally seven separate holes in creation caused by seven untruths The Adversary, may his teeth turn yellow and his crops die, tricked our most holy and perfect Creator into speaking with his vile villainy. The Adversary, may his children grow humps, then gathered up the seven lies across the boundary of creation and corrupted it into one twisted and unholy mockery of our own great and exalted Creator’s creations, For The Adversary, may his face be blighted by boils and his hands with running sores, cannot create but only distort. The ever jealous Adversary, may his toes curl and his heels be crippled with bunions, gave the flaw in The Creator’s design a body, sentience, and a purpose to let it loose on The Creator’s world to destroy and undo Her creation. The jealous, hateful Adversary, may his liver rot into a black pudding, knew The Creator would have to come down Herself to slay the creature and end its rampage, and in doing so be devoured by Her own words.

But The Creator, in Her infinite mercy, chose instead to reason with the creature than destroy it. Though in part a creation of the jealous one, it was too a creation of Herself and so worthy of Her love. And through Her love the creature was liberated from the dark hold of the Adversary, may he be forever plagued by all insects that fly or crawl, and embraced as one of Her greatest children. The Aspects.

- End of The Second Chapter of The Book of Beginnings, Abridged Edition

03-08-2012, 12:27 AM
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Joined: Aug 2018
Originally posted on MSPA by gloomyMoron.

Okay. Beat Mass Effect 3. After my date tonight, I'll write up my profile. Date was cancelled but I got to pissy/tired/depressed to write. I'll do some now and the rest after work (if I need it).

Name: Ioryka Tl'weyalq (Iry for short)

Gender: None (she, he, it, and all their variations can be used. It is highly context sensitive.)

Race: Syn'taks (A race of bio-mechanic hybrids. As much machine as flesh, with their genetic code being an amalgam of genetic and machine codes.)

Color: #99CC66

Description: Humanoid (Mostly). Feminine attributes, a cool steel blue with yellow-green eyes and accents.
Spoiler :
[Image: CharSketch.png]

Items: Nano-responsive Light Armor, CCI (Command and Control Interface; a small information, communication and cyber-warfare device), personalized handgun, modified mid-long range Sub-Machine Gun.

Abilities: Like all of her race, Iry is able to modify her genetic code. This process can take time, energy and concentration, with aesthetic/structural changes being the most difficult. Iry is particularly gifted among her race at this ability but, as talented as she is, there are limits. Energy needs to be replenished after particularly difficult modifications or death is likely to occur. Making multiple alterations in relatively quick succession can be damaging both mentally and physically, especially if stressed. Although rarely, every so often a Syn'taksian's genetic makeup will 'reboot' to its default state. This happens most often in people with underlying and 'default' genetic disorders, who have had prolonged drug use, or experience some form of trauma. Finally, certain parts of the genetic code are entirely unalterable, specifically the parts that deal with the brain, energy intake (digestion), and power (cardiovascular). These systems can be stimulated, but not outright changed. Also, certain personality and aesthetic traits (coloration specifically) seem to be off limits as well, though it differs from person to person and there is no known reason as to why this is the case.

Outside of Iry's racial abilities, she is a trained and seasoned commando. She is specialized in linguistics, cyber-warfare, and stealth but is capable in firefights as well.


Theme Song: Here.
03-08-2012, 05:06 PM
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Posts: 3,283
Joined: Aug 2018
Originally posted on MSPA by Protractor Ninja.

Username: Protractor Ninja
Name: Hector. That’s it. Nobody knows the rest.
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Color: How about green?
Various agents of certain mattermancy bureaus have sought out regular visitors of the Harvest Fields Public Library, inquiring as to the name of “that man behind the desk.” Subsequent intelligence reports tend to consist merely of the word “Hector” and a brief summary of the subject’s appearance -- fairly tall and lanky, with long gray hair pulled into a ponytail. He has a fairly thin facial structure, angular but not extensively so, and most of the town’s residents are quick to recall what they remember best about him - sparkling green eyes behind a stereotypical set of librarian’s spectacles and a constant, calming smile. Usually, Hector wears a light brown long-sleeved shirt along with a deep-green argyle sweater vest that has a single pocket stitched into the inside above the heart region, along with a set of dark brown cargo pants.

Though Hector never mentions it to his customers, he absolutely loves fantasy books with heroes and princesses and evil monsters with happy endings for everybody (except the monsters, of course). Secretly, he’s wanted to embark on a grand quest for justice ever since he started reading regularly, and initially thought his newfound powers would allow him to do so, but later realized that heroes tended to be muscular, young, and outgoing, three things he wasn’t. Regardless, in the locked room in the corner of the library’s basement, there is a Papier-mâché dragon and a wooden sword.

Partially due to his occupation, Hector has read a ridiculous number of books and has retained a decent portion of the knowledge contained within, though due to his limited exposure to conversation he tends to assign pronunciation to certain words without actually knowing what they sound like. This has lead in the past, on a few occurrences, to a good deal of confusion.

Due to an unfortunate incident with an especially jumpy grimoire that took itself a tad too seriously (and its residual bookshelf, but more on that later), Hector lost the bottom half of his left leg, but in the process, became the world’s only practitioner of what could be called Bibliomancy.

Hector can summon any number of books or paper-based objects by drawing on the energy of the atmosphere around him, as long as he seeds the process with the primary ingredients of the item beforehand. As such, on his belt -- though not in public -- he carries a bag of wood pulp, a sack of cotton for covers, a small satchel of gold dust (for “that elegant touch”), an Amazonian Tree Squid named Gary, and a silkworm (for thread) aptly named Mr. Wiggles by one of the library’s younger visitors. Hector must also mentally provide the content of whatever he creates, so in most cases there are a few words at the beginning of each book but the rest is blank or nonsensical.

Hector can also rearrange already existent papery matter as much as he pleases, so long as he remains in relative contact with the subject of his mysticism.

In place of his missing leg, Hector wears a simple wooden peg leg. Inside it, there is a small compartment containing a pocketknife and a small amount of each required material -- except wood pulp, which explains the knife and the various nicks along his wooden leg -- for the creation of a single tome.

Biography (But it’s a writing example instead!):
It was another regular evening in the Harvest Fields library. Customers had come and gone, books were taken and returned (some were just taken), and obnoxious children screamed and messed with the shelves. Like children are apt to do.

Just like always, thought the man at the desk near the entrance, and sighed. He adjusted his handmade “Hello! My name is HECTOR” badge for the thirty-second time. There was so much to do, and he was the only one that would do it. The town was too poor to pay for a second librarian, and there were no willing volunteers save the little red-haired girl who was too short to see past the second shelf. Something squeaked.

He tidied up the desk and glanced around the library. Everything was normal, except... that’s odd. The basement door was open, yet he was sure he’d locked it. Some feeling, something very strange, stirred inside him, but he didn’t know what it was. He’d look it up later.

Hector crept down the stairs, took exactly two and a half steps to the left, and pulled the lamp string. He’d done this dozens of times, though not quite in this sort of context -- most of the time he was concerned about someone seeing him go down the stairs, not himself seeing something after going down the stairs. He was sure there was a name for that kind of thing, but something about rhetorical devices made him feel ill.

As the bulb flickered weakly above him, he looked around the basement. Everything seemed normal -- metal racks of cleaning supplies and old books decorated the walls, and a few ornate wooden shelves containing his personal adventure novel collection stood by themselves. Hector exhaled nervously -- and froze. On the end of the second row of Sir Dragonslay epics there was a large, elegant ebony tome that he had never seen before. The weak yellow light from overhead seemed to ooze into it, creating a miniature void of darkness around the visible portion of its spine. Trembling, but filled with wonder, he inched closer and picked it up, opened to the first page, and --

Something happened.

Neighboring residents, upon interrogation, recall hearing something like a scream and a crash that echoed through the night. Those who had been walking by the library at the time, however, remember a piercing howl that somehow seemed to remind them of the most terrible, horrifying book they’d ever read.

The Harvest Fields ER unit had never seen quite a case, and the hospital board elected unanimously to pretend it had never happened. There was one nurse, however, that would live to tell her grandchildren the librarian’s story. He arrived after a little red-haired girl had found him in the library’s basement underneath a bookshelf with a missing leg (which, by the way, was nowhere to be found), but when the doctors examined him they found the wound had already healed.

It looked a lot like paper.
03-08-2012, 11:43 PM
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Posts: 3,283
Joined: Aug 2018
Originally posted on MSPA by Flummox.

Alright this is a reserve
03-09-2012, 06:28 AM
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Posts: 3,283
Joined: Aug 2018
Originally posted on MSPA by ~|CptPorkins|~.

Oh hell yes i gotta try this.
Spoiler :
Name: Chase Perkins

Gender: Male

Race: Human, since i can't be bothered to drag out any of my pre-typed ones.

Color: Grey

Description: Chase looks normal, in all aspects of the word. He stands at an average-ish height of 5"4, isn't fat, but isn't under weight, and sports a very bland and boring head of middle-of-the-shade-chart brown hair, which could be considered the most interesting aspect about him. The reason is because no one in his family, not a single cousin, uncle or aunt, has brown hair. His Moms side of the family all sport very light colored hair, all ginger and blonde. His fathers relatives all sport jet black hair, every single on of them. Unlike both families, it curls at all angles, while theirs sit straight and flat. Chases eyes however, do take after a relative of his, although distant. He inherited heterochromia from an ancestor, one which neither side of his family talks about. While his left eye is the standard Grey found on his Moms side, his other eye is a dark hazel, like his Fathers side. Other then that, Chase shares no intersting traits, such as a high IQ (Again, Mothers side) Or great sporting ability (Father).

Like any normal, well adjusted child, he swaps his clothes as needed, adorning more stuff as required. It just so happens he is wearing a layered Tee, the long sleeves of which are a dark grey, while the rest a snow white. His jet black dress pants are crisp and free of creases, which is a rarity on the items Chase adorns, the folds of which almost entirely hide the fact he's only wearing a pair of thongs/flip flops/sand shoes. To finish of his ensamble, he adorns a simple 'Castro Cap', matching the color of his pants. Someone with little to no knowledge of him would say his outfit matches his personality: Simple, Easy-going and practical. They'd be horrible wrong however.

While he might seem quiet, and very much a calm, relaxed young man, they'd be wrong. Beneath his benelovent exterior Chase in fact holds a very serious disdain for many a person, those to which he is closest being exempt. With his eloquent mouth and aversion to foul language, it would seem unlikely, maybe even impossible for such a boy to feel this way. But he does. He hates everyone. And what will he do about this predicament? Naught, zero, zilch. It'll be kept inside, bottled up and hidden.

Weapons and Abilities: To be honest, none. Generally, Chase just uses whatever he has nearest, which usually serves his needs well (Able to improvise with uncommon weapons. Can't use standard weaponry such as swords or guns, only non-weapons). As for abilities, He's considerable lacking in that department. He isn't fast, strong or smart. That's not to say he is the opposite of these either. He is infact, Average in all uses of the word. There is one thing however. It most probably won't have an affect on anything at all. For Chase, time is not a factor. Even when he is taking his time at an activity, even if it seems as if hours had passed, it will in fact be only a handful of moments. (He has very, very loose control of time. He is unable to travel through it, stop it or rewind it, only slow it down. And by it, only time. Not people, not objects, only time.)

Biography: Chases parents met the usual way. They were out drinking, noticed each other, talked and eventually, dated. This went on for several years before they decided to seal the deal. They were married at age 29. Both sides of the family got along well, brilliantly in fact. All they needed now was a child. This is when Chase comes into the picture. After 2 years of being but a family of two, the couple decided to have a child, and 'created' Chase. It was a surprise for them when he was born, however. The doctors had all confidently said it would be a girl, even going so far to place bets on the fact. It was a shock when a beautiful baby boy popped out, quiet as sin. There was no screams, there was no bawling, only coughing as his lungs tasted fresh air for the first time.

Years passed, and it was eventually time for the boy to attend school. This proved, at first, to be difficult. He was ridiculed for his eyes and hair, which at this stage were already very pronounced. Chase was bullied, occasionally even beaten for his short comings. Through all of these situations, he never once raised a fist, nor his voice. He took his beatings, and left, passing the injuries off as him falling down. This stratedgy had two outcomes. The first, was that slowly but surely, people became bored with him. Where's the fun in teasing a boy who won't even respond? The second one pertained to Chase on a more psychological level. He developed a hate for everyone. Even those who hadn't done anything to him, he hated. Never once did he act on these thoughts.

Further on in his life and Chase is a fully functioning citizen. Currently in between jobs (Working as a barista didn't pan out), Chase is looking for something to put his energy towards.

Theme Song: Get Set Go- I Hate Everyone.
Spoiler :

03-09-2012, 07:56 AM
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Posts: 3,283
Joined: Aug 2018
Originally posted on MSPA by XX.

hey-yo losers

signups will last another two days so this is a final call for all of you little darlings who have decided to make full use of your time. I suggest you post quickly if you intend to post at all. You stand a much better chance of being selected if we don't have to account for you at the last second when the roster is already mostly complete.

you will hear from us again when signups have closed
03-09-2012, 12:46 PM
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The year was outer space.

Posts: 588
Joined: Jul 2011
The future.
Originally posted on MSPA by Godbot.

Name: Mysiddion
Gender: Male
Race: A motherfriggin’ dragon
Color: #5F00B9

Description: Myssidion’s a dragon. No bells and whistles. Not a Chinese dragon, or some kind of mystical river spirit, or anything pretentious like that – just your standard-issue fifty-foot golden death lizard that sits on piles of treasure, hands out riddles and torches peasants.

Straight-up dragon.

Mysiddion’s about a thousand years old, and he’s been doing the whole ‘invincible monster’ thing for a good long while now. It’s not like armies, other mythical beasts that 13-year-olds like to draw, and the occasional Chosen One don’t threaten his existence from time to time, but he gets by by being just a little smarter than you’d expect him to be. That whole Jack and the Beanstalk thing? That’s not gonna work. He’d like you to believe that it’s gonna work, but that’s just because it’ll be funnier when he stops pretending to sleep and eats you.

That’s not to say he’s not still into the whole treasure scene.

Treasure is still cool.

Weapons/Abilities: Teeth, claws, fire breath, inch-thick scales that are about as hard as iron and mildly resistant to magic, a coating of gold and gems on his underbelly (swag, not armor), and big enough wings to move it all. Also: being generally terrifying.

Spoiler :
So there was this guy once, right? ‘Cept he was a dragon.

And this dragon – his name was Mysiddion, the Scourge of Klangsbor, and all who spoke it swore and spat at the ground in the same breath – he was resting in his lair, after a long and uneventful day of pillaging villages and picking off stupid heroic adventurers, when the light from a hole he’d smashed in the ceiling of his vast abyssal cavern split open.

It was really more of a skylight, and the only reason he’d made it was because adventurers who thought they were clever would see it as an easy way in and try to climb down like little spiders with knives to steal his treasure and kill him while he slumbered.

All adventurers thought they were clever, so they always tried to climb in through the skylight, so Mysiddion always knew exactly where people were going to come in from, so they always got eaten.

It was a pretty good system.

Anyway, apparently this also applied to gods, because the light streaming down through the plumes of dust that stirred every time Myssie took a breath split open in a swirling inferno of red and gold and it was all really dramatic and held a strange otherworldly beauty. You know how it is. Anyway, Valthen, God of Fire, War and the Forge passed into the mortal plane with a goblet in one hand and a slightly lesser goddess in the other, and He was all like, “Mʏsɪᴅᴅɪᴏɴ, Bʀᴏ, ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ sᴇᴇɴ Cᴇᴅʀɪᴄ?”

“What?” rumbled Mysiddion as he sat up, blinking sleepily. “What’s a Cedric?”

“Hᴇ's ᴍʏ Cʜᴀᴍᴘɪᴏɴ.” spoke Valthen. “I ɢᴀᴠᴇ ʜɪᴍ ᴀ sᴡᴏʀᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇ ʀᴀɴ ᴏғғ ᴛᴏ ғɪɢʜᴛ ᴅʀᴀɢᴏɴs ᴀɴᴅ ᴘɪᴄᴋ ᴜᴘ ᴡᴇɴᴄʜᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ᴡᴇᴇᴋ ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ ʜᴇ's ɢᴏɴᴇ. Dᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ɪᴛ?”

“No, I don’t… I mean I don’t think so. What did he taste like?” asked Myssie, dragging a claw through his vast hoard of glittering treasure.

“Uʜ, ʜᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ᴀ ʙᴇᴀʀᴅ,” thundered Valthen, “ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛʜɪs ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ʙɪɢ sᴡᴏʀᴅ.”

“Well, that narrows it down.”

“Bʟᴏɴᴅᴇ ʜᴀɪʀ? Sᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴛʜᴇ sɪᴢᴇ ᴏғ ᴀ ʜᴏᴜsᴇ? Cᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴛʜʀᴏᴡ ғɪʀᴇʙᴀʟʟs? Kɪɴᴅ ᴏғ ᴀ ʙᴀᴅᴀss?”

“Uh, maybe? It’s pretty dark in here, but…”

“Hᴇ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴊᴜsᴛ ʀᴜɴ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ғʀᴏɴᴛ ᴅᴏᴏʀ.”

“Oh, then no,” confirmed Myssie, scooping up a fistful of coins and letting them fall between his vast claws. “You know, proba-“

And with that, he vanished in a flash of light. Coins spilled out of the air and clattered to the floor.

Huh, thought Valthen.

That was interesting.

Theme Song: Dragonforce. The whole band.
03-11-2012, 11:11 PM
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