Username: Dragon Fogel
Name: Giliea
Race: Siren (shocking!)
Gender: Female (what a surprise!)
Color: An unpleasant seaweed green (#437C17)

Description: Sirens are generally described as beautiful. These descriptions are generally written by people who haven't met Giliea. Her skin is an unpleasant pale green, and her face bears an unpleasant resemblance to a flounder.
Because of this, she's something of a laughingstock among her sisters, a fact which has made her resentful and quick to anger.

Weapons and Abilities: Like most sirens, Giliea is known for her song. Unlike most sirens, her song isn't enticing and alluring, but rather repulsive. Anyone who hears it will want to get as far away from her as possible. This hasn't helped her unpleasant attitude.

Biography: A little research into the Greek mythology surrounding the Sirens reveals multiple origins and sets of names. The reason for this is simple: there was more than one group of sirens. Giliea and her sisters were children of Glaucus, the God of Fishing, and Amatheia, a Nereid. They weren't an especially well-known group, but they were typical as sirens go, save for Giliea.
No one can say what happened with her, why she looked so different from her sisters. Obviously there were rumors about either Glaucus or Amatheia spending too much time in the fish pen, what with gods and their habits, but nothing conclusive.
Regardless, Giliea was constantly teased by her sisters, and they grew angry when she first sang her song and it drove a whole ship of handsome, delicious sailors away from them. After that, they refused to let her out to sing, only grudgingly giving her their leftovers.
They barely even noticed when she disappeared. No doubt she'd run away in frustration. Good riddance, really.
Username: Vancho1
Name: "Let me tell you something. My name is Jean Chirac,
Species: And I am a dead man.
Gender: Do you not believe me? I am certainly a man. That, you can see.
Color: Ah, perhaps you doubt in my death? You say that red blood flows through my veins, just like any man? This is true. I do not deny it.
Description: But it is something else which makes me a dead man. Listen? Do you hear the far-off wail? First is the cry of a woman. Why a woman? I will tell you later. Then are the sharp chirps of the police sirens. I am no criminal. Simply an honest man. Yet they are for me. The wail of the ambulance? It is also for me, though you doubt. I am not wounded, you say? Ah, but in my heart, I am.
Weapons/Abilities: For you see, I am a dangerous man. You have seen this, no? Perhaps my entrance into your home convinced you? Or the police-car's cry of my guilt? You think these locks are secure, but nothing can stand closed before me. Well, maybe the heart of a woman. Yes, that woman! No, it is still not the time for her story. She will come later, trust me. Well, maybe not here. She is hurt. But her wounds are nothing, nothing! to those in my heart.
Biography: I was not always this way. Once, I was alive, no? But now it has come time for my death. I was a musician, a poet, a great wooer of women. Some say I was the Casanova of my time. I am not so sure. Even some men were lured in by my song. A true Casanova would be able to choose. I am not so, whoever comes to me, is mine for a time. Or was not so. She was beautiful. Is beautiful! Not only beautiful, but smart, funny, charming, and her beauty, it outshone all others. She had many men after her, lured in by her good looks. A true Siren, she dashed them all on her rock-hard heart. But I was different. Or so I thought. What a fool was I! And now I have paid for it with my life. But at least she has paid as well. There's a comfort. She betrayed me, you see, and she paid the price. I returned the wounds she gave me. It is only fair! I loved her, and yet she tore my heart. It is why she lies in her blood. No, the ambulance is not for her. She was already dead inside, there is no need for her to be taken away. It is I who have died tonight, for I cannot live without her. Yes, I hurt her, but it was out of love! She completed me, made my songs full of new meaning and my life bright. I lived to see her, to be with her, to talk to her. Her presence made the world beautiful. Cruel woman! That she would be with another! No, he is well. He was another victim, taken in by her wiles. Ah! Hear that? The wail draws nearer. I do not have much time. They have found me. I will finish my story. I opened the door. She did not think I could, she changed the locks, but no lock can bar my entry. You saw this. I told you, no? The house was dark, empty, cold, but I knew she was there. She had packed her things, would leave and make me wait outside a place she would never be, but I caught her. Her song guided me to her. The very same one which lured me in at first. I saw... a beautiful body. She shined, more radiant than I had ever seen her. But she was afraid. Afraid of me! She took the phone into her hands, said that I should leave, that she needed to get away from me. What nonsense! She was the guilty one, the one who tore at my feelings. Her skin was so smooth under the knife. Oh, what guilt I felt at spoiling that perfect body! But only for a moment. Her heart bears the same wound as mine, now. And we shall be united in death. The siren is here. The door is being broken down. One, two, three! It splintered. I am sorry. Here, take my wallet, there is money enough in it for the repair. I will not be needing it. Wait, give that back. There, you may have it again. I took my coin for the ferryman. Ah, mister policeman! You have come for me, I see. Please, take me to be carried away. Do you not see how my heart bleeds? Yes, it is my own knife which has pierced it. I have done with my hands what she did to me. The stretcher. Hard, I did not expect it to be so. The ambulance's wail is here. The door closes. The paramedics tend to me, but there is nothing to be done. Finally, darkness. Finally, sweet rest. Is she here with me? Yes, I hear the sound of her breath, faint, ragged, but still beautiful. Ah! What a sound. If only I could change her heart. But what is that? What is this light? This is not the ambulance! She is not here! Gone! What is this place? Where am I? Where is she?

Where has the siren's sweet song gone?"
Username: Truegreen
Name: Jessibelle Decibel
Species: Meadow Dryad
Gender: Female
Color: A calming Lilac #9370DB
Description: Jessibelle appears as an attractive woman though she is obviously not human. A number of soft purple hues are represented in her features. Her ears are long and each comes to a point several inches behind her head. Her eyes seem normal at first glance but are unnerving and alien to look at. Her clothing bears the earthen greens and browns of her meadow home.

Weapons/Abilities: Jessibelle is quick on her feet and generally has a short attention span. She can 'speak' with plants and animals, and spends hours at a time teasing out secrets from the local fauna and flora. Her most significant weapon however is her voice. When she is cheerful Jessibelle can sing like an angel, an enchanting melody that enraptures all who hear it. When she is angry she can sing at such pitches as to shatter glass, stone, and sometimes even metal. Though this is often beyond her means as she is slow to anger.

Biography: Jessibelle is a simple Meadow Dryad. She had few cares when she danced in the wildflower meadows of her home. She loved her garden planet. That is until they came. A mechanized menace from the south, ever hungry, all consuming. A million tiny robots devoured everything from the grandest of trees to the lowest of worms. The great forests of her home turned to a metal wasteland. This was one of the few times Jessibelle was driven into a destructive rage. In her fury she managed to protect her meadow from the invaders, but much around her was destroyed. Her last thoughts before she was taken by the Grandmasters was a great feeling of sadness and regret. As she dissapeared she resolved never to sing again.
Username: Gagnunggugua
Name: The Concerted
Race: Wrens
Gender: About 50-50, collectively
Color: This-ish

Description: Wrens are small, brownish songbirds, commonly found among low shrubbery and bramble. The Concerted are distinguished from normal wrens by their deep purple eyes.

Weapons and Abilities: The Concerted is a community of about a hundred or so lightly to moderately psychic birds. Individually, they can cause a fellow to feel itchy, or distracted. In concert, they can exert total mind control, erase memories, create beliefs, and so on.

The Concerted freely chatter amongst themselves and with willing psychics by their power. To influence non-psychics or resistant psychics, The Concerted sing. The coordination of their song reflects their collective agreement, and the potency of their influence.

Also they like pecking the shit out of things, but that's because they're wrens.

Biography: They're just birds, really. A somewhat intelligent and psychic hivemind, but birds nonetheless. The story, at least this is what I heard, goes that a young wizard accidentally turned his beloved into a wren, who immediately flew away. When the wizard recovered from the shock, he set out to capture every wren he could find, and bestowed them with magical intelligence, in the hopes of finding and re-transforming his lost lover. Didn't work out. Unsuccessful and broke, the wizard slunk off somewhere and was never heard from again. The wrens, however, have been around ever since.

They're not too much trouble, really. You might find yourself with the sudden urge to take up birdfeeding, but it's usually fleeting. Just don't do something dumb like chase after a handful of them, or they might convince you you're a beetle, or flay your mind or something. Come to think of it, I haven't seem them around lately, have you?
[Image: xwldX.gif]
Username: Garuru
Name: ???
Gender: ???
Race: ???
Color: ???
Weapons/Abilities: ???

Description: This phenomenon appears randomly around the world, and because of this, nobody can seem to track it or glean much information from it. Additionally, everybody in the vicinity at the time this phenomenon occurs simply disappears, according to security cameras. What we do know comes from a lone eyewitness, recovered from the scene. She was passed out, but she survived due to unknown reasons. Unfortunately, she was traumatized by the events that she has witnessed, so we were not able to extract much from her.

Biography: This is her story.

Us: "First, please tell us your name."

Nameless Woman: "Wendy."

Us: "Thank you. Now, what were you doing when the event happened?"

Wendy: "I was working as a bank teller. It was a fairly ordinary Wednesday, nothing out of the ordinary. This was right after my lunch break. There were some people in the building, but not much. Suddenly, we all heard a siren. At first, I thought it was just a fire truck passing by, but it wasn't quite like the usual fire truck siren. This one was louder, and more droning. It reminded me of... you know, those air raid sirens you hear in documentaries of London during the war? Then... hm. I don't..."

Us: "What happened? Please tell us."

Wendy: "... I don't remember. Or... no. Wait, I think I... Yes, I definitely saw something."

Us: "Please attempt to describe it."

Wendy: "...Well... Everybody started disappearing one by one, and I couldn't do anything. Literally, I was frozen in place. When my turn came... Everything went black. N-no... there were these... horrible eyes. Staring at me. They were staring! Staring!" (At this moment, she was thrashing about, and had to be restrained by hospital staff.)

Us: "Please calm down. What happened next?"

Wendy: "No! They saw... everything! They saw my soul! The siren... so loud! SO LOUD GET IT OUT OF MY HEAD STOP LOOKING STOP LOOKING NO NO NO!"

At this moment, she passed out, and was unable to be woken up. It's been 3 months since this happened, and she still hasn't woken up. Her brain activity is consistent with that of normal REM sleep, with occasional sharp spikes in activity now and then. However, nothing we do to her, including electric shock, will wake her up. Further research showed us that she was partially deaf in both ears, which might explain why she was still alive.
[Image: 6xGo4ab.png][Image: sig.gif]
Name: Pandor Lysistradt
Race: Complicated. See below.
Sex: Male? Male?? MALE!?!?
Color: #DD7777

Biography: Hera had been around long enough that she ought to have known that old ideas never quite die. Zeus had been a very old idea, but after he was finally murdered, everyone felt it was time for some new ideas. Sexy ones.

So it was that the great goddess called her mortal-ish co-conspirators to the isle of Lesbos to create a new form of mortal life, a fully gynogenetic unit better suited to conquer the earth than humans (who, let’s face it, were one of Prometheus’ worst ideas, only allowed to propagate because Zeus seemed to have a fetish for their females).

There was Podarge of the harpies, Thalia and Melpomene of the muses, Stheno of the Gorgons, Lysianassa of the Nereids, Chrysopeleia of the Dryads, Alecto of the Eumenides: these diverse beings were appointed to be the joint mother-”father”s of the offspring. Thelxiepeia of the Sirens was to be the true mother, impregnating herself with pure orgone at the climax of the orgiastic (probably less orgiastic than you’re imagining, but orgiastic nonetheless) ritual incited by her song. The surviving gods (goddesses, mostly) held their breath throughout the gestation period, awaiting the birth of their new Pandora, all-daughter and mother to a new race.

In spite of all reasonable expectation, it was a boy.

Description: Trying to quell rumors that her grand project had been thwarted by the devilishly-timed resurrection of her ex-husband, Hera commanded the various parents of Pandor not to be so hasty as to assign a gender to their child based purely on its genitals--that was outmoded thought from the age of Zeus, after all. However, despite never having been exposed to the concept of masculinity outside of history books, Pandor grew up presenting as an only occasionally genderfluid male, with all the stereotypical trappings. So, while he did wind up being the progenitor of a new race, he did it the old-fashioned way--by seducing and impregnating countless human women and a handful of his aunts and cousins.

Pandor is eternally as young as you want him to be, or as old, depending on your taste. Though he has never, prior to this battle, encountered another male, any male who saw him would perceive him in something closer to how he sees himself--young, moderately effeminate, highly charismatic and impressive-looking, yet somehow vulnerable, damaged. Pandor has no sexual interest in men but an intense desire to meet other people like him and befriend them.

Pandor is cocky on the outside and with good reason--he’s the most good-looking man in his own cosmos and tends to get away with a lot, given that almost all the divine authorities bear some maternal feelings towards him. However, he is also aware of the undercurrent of disappointment that he’s carried with him since birth. His self-esteem situation, deep-down, is… confused, varying greatly from day to day. He’s never quite conscious of when he’s living his normal hedonistic lifestyle just for his own adolescent pleasure, and when he does it for the sensation of feeling powerful, feeling important. A trip around the multiverse, at his age, might be just the thing he needs to figure himself out, if he can survive the experience.

Weapons/Abilities: Pandor has a really big sword, and he uses it well, though warfare isn’t really his thing.

Aside from that, his mixed parentage gives him a lot of good genes, though he doesn’t quite have the power he wants. He’s a good artist, a fine actor, a compelling singer, and all of these things contribute to his super-seductive nature, but women who don’t want trouble don’t exactly have to chain themselves to a damp cave to resist him. His gaze is arresting--stunning, one might say--but not petrifyingly so. He’s a good swimmer, a good thief, and has a keen eye for gardening and swift justice, but he’s too much of a dabbler to really master these things enough to become the mythic embodiment of them. Maybe as he gets older he’ll settle down enough to choose one thing and stick to it. All but his strongest detractors agree that the boy has a lot of potential.
Weapons/Abilities: LOUD NOISES
Biography: The sound of a police siren gone rogue, sentient and entirely detached from any comprehensible source, but not out of maleficence. WOOP WOOP believes in the power of LOUD NOISES alone, without any actual backup in the form of force, to halt any crime-in-progress alone, and, divorced from physical space, can track criminals down to any location in no time at all. You see, criminals are a superstitious and cowardly l
Name: Shif Ava Serefa

Gender: Female-identified

Race: Wave Projector

Color: #FFD700

Description: Serefa appears as a translucent white nightgown with no real shape and no apparent being wearing her. She possesses only one feature that separates her from any other ghostly blob of fabric: where in any other night gown you might find a human head, Serefa has an off-white megaphone-type device resting on a several-inch-long stand. This stand is attached to a frilly gold plate that might look, to the casual observer, like a collar. She generally floats about a foot and a half above the ground, rippling slightly in an unseen wind, sleeves hanging limply at her sides.

Abilities: Serefa is from a pantheon of divinities known as Wave Projectors in a universe that consists entirely of one planet. Each Wave Projector, predictably, is able to project a certain form of wave. And while other Projectors launch waves of armies or manipulate the movement of oceans, Serefa’s waves are linguistic. Shif Ava Serefa controls the small hand gestures through which intelligent beings convey greeting, as well as all of their associated ideas. The waves Serefa projects generate communication, camaraderie, or acknowledgement (i.e. of another’s existence or departure) among intelligent and semi-intelligent beings within her range. She also possesses some of the more standard abilities or her kind, such as the ability to fly at high speeds and to survive unaided in almost any environment that hasn’t been specially designed to block her out. How she would fare in the vacuum of space is unknown because the vacuum of space doesn’t exist in her home universe. Serefa’s waves can be slowed down by untarnished steel or lead paint, but can only blocked completely by three-inch-thick (no more, no less) walls of steel covered on both sides by hateful or culturally unacceptable language in red or green paint (the more eye-searing the shade, the better). Also, Serefa can generally only be seen by those who she allows to see her or by high-ranking religious officials after hours of meditation.

Biography: Shif Ava Serefa was brought into existence with her universe, as a fundamental part of its physics. Since then, Serefa has been the driving force behind every conversation and alliance ever to form in her universe of origin. She has often clashed with her sister, Glayle Ava Nâria, the projector of military waves.

Personality: Serefa, despite being as old as her entire universe, has not lost any passion in her job. She is incredibly self-righteous, and believes herself nobler and more useful to the world than all of her sisters. She is kind to every ‘lesser’ being she encounters, though the especially perceptive have deemed her “a bit condescending,” usually resulting in their excommunication. Serefa has the single largest number of churches dedicated to her out of all the Wave Projectors, and she isn’t afraid to brag about it. Her shameless flaunting of her influence is really just a mask covering up her massive inferiority complex, as she honestly feels that she was given one of the weakest powers among her kind. Yes, she has had a greater impact on the world than most of them, but she had to work harder to create that impact than any of them would have, if they’d really cared to.

Username: Ixcaliber
Name: Copper
Race: Spirit of Justice bound to a mechanical body
Gender: Neither (generally thought of as male due to the timbre of its voice)
Colour: # B87333
Description: Copper is a large humanoid machine. It is roughly eight feet tall when fully unfolded. Its chassis is white with a pattern of fluorescent yellow and dark blue squares along its arms and the word POLICE in large blue letters on its chest and back. Its head is spherical with tiny video cameras pointed in each direction and a speaker grille in place of a mouth. Its limbs are long, wide and slightly curved outwards. A pair of police lightbars are embedded within its arms, at the centre of the yellow and blue square pattern. Its body is filled with many compartments (not exactly hidden but not obvious either) which contain a large selection of crimefighting equipment. In high speed pursuit mode Copper curls up into a sphere about half of its normal size. The most noticeable feature in this mode is the pattern upon its arms and its flashing lightbars. The word POLICE on its back is still technically visible but Copper is generally moving too fast for this to be read at this point.

Equipment/Abilities: Copper has a wide selection of crimefighting equipment located in its torso; from forensic equipment (fingerprinting powders, genetic sampling and testing kits) to crowd control equipment (a water cannon (requires a water source for use), a riot gun with rubber bullets and tear gas grenades). In these compartments there is also a number of handcuffs which are attached to Copper by a retractable tether, and a dispenser for POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS tape. It has wireless access to local police records, a police scanner and an entire database of genetic samples and fingerprints. It has knowledge of a vast array of investigative techniques from ballistics comparison to blood spatter analysis and even some basic profiling software. It is bulletproof and can withstand quite forceful impacts.
Copper's main handicaps are 1) it's size which prevents it from accessing many a crime scene, 2) its short battery life (it needs to recharge every six hours, possibly sooner if it has been particularly active), 3) its complete inability to break any laws no matter the situation.

Biography: As robots gradually came to be more accepted in society, they became more and more ubiquitous. With paramedic and firefighter robots long-established it was practically inevitable that someone would try to create a robot police officer. Copper was not the first attempt at this, though later he would be the first official licensed police robot. Earlier models were not up to the ambitious standards of Copper's creator, who felt that his robots should not only be able to perform routine tasks but also be able to investigate. He was unable to write software that was able to make the connections and the intuitive leaps required to solve difficult cases and so he finally hit upon the brainwave of infusing his machine with a spirit of justice, plucked from the ether.

Copper passed the tests and within a few months he was sent to work under supervision and in a blaze of publicity. He was good. His arrest rate was high, his investigations water-tight, but as time passed there started to grow a problem. The first time this was noticed was when he arrested an eight year old child for refusing to share his bag of sweets with his friend. When he brought the child (in handcuffs) to the police station, the officers on duty obviously refused to imprison the child, and Copper was forced to arrest them for attempting to impede a police officer. They had to be released from the cells some hours later when the next shift arrived. Many attempts to recall Copper were made but he resisted quite effectively every time. Over the next week or so he started arresting people for being rude, for making fun of others or even for indecent language.

It seemed that the only way to stop it was to call in the army, but fortunately for everyone Copper vanished before this step was taken.
fyck phytybyckyt

This is your 24 hour warning to submit a profile for the SIRENS Theme!
Username: Mirdini

Name: "That ol' saw? Sure, siddown, siddown. Now 'round these parts we don' call it "the local le-jun-da-ry serpent". It's got only one name, Injun name, n' that's... Iapihil."

Species: "Yer guess is as good as mine. Some say it's a snake, other folks' swear it's a gator. Now when mah granpappy - one a' them biologist fellas, hard ta believe, I know - spun me this yarn, he called it a...

Ah, righ'. Si-ren la-cer-tina. Somethin' 'bout it havin' no scales, ya see."

Gender: "What, ya think anyone's ever gotten close enough ta' tell?"

Color: "There's somethin' all the legends agree on. A shade a' green that blends righ' inta the water."(#567D3E)

Description: "Old as the trees. Heck, if ya believe summa them Injun tales... older th'n the 'glades themselves."

"How big? Broad as two men, n' longer'n three. Downrigh' pri-mor-dial. You go askin' 'bout it o'er at tha reservation, they'll try ta tell ya 'bout it havin' horns or summat. Buncha hokum. Now tha gills, why ya'd think you were lookin' at mangrove ferns."

Weapons/Abilities: "Now this's where mah granpappy had trouble believin'. A'course, 'e went off lookin' fer the damn thing n' never came back, so ah'm a bit more open-minded. Way them Injun tales tell it, it is tha swamp. Feels everythin' goin' on in there, and won' brook any man tryin' ta harm it. I ain't a superstitious man by heart, but even afore they protected tha 'glades in '34 this swamp 'adn't been touched."

"Face ta face with tha thing? You're outta yer mind. It'd feel ya comin' 'fore you ever saw it. Although... well, there is this one yarn I heard from an' ol' ranger. Said 'e'd... met it, right up close, and that once he'd seen eye to eye with it 'e jus' couldn't move. Cuckoo, right?"

"Still, 'e said 'e felt it... reach into 'is mind, shufflin' through like it was lookin' through a filin' cabinet. N' once it'd seen he meant no harm ta the swamp or itself, it let 'im go. Just like that."

"What would it'd've done if he had? Ah'd imagine it's got teeth like knives. You do the math."

Biography: "Go lookin' fer it? Yer a decade too late fer that, son. That's the last time - far's I can tell, at least - anyone's seen it. Heck, a year back some big outta-state contractor flattened a square mile a' the swamp fer real estate - special permits or somethin', iunno - n' nothin' stopped 'em."

"Dead? Doubt it. That thing was around 'fore we came to this land and by my reckonin' it shoulda been 'round long after we left. Nah, somethin' happened to it."

"What? Well, yer guess is as good as mine."
Raaaaage IT'S AWARDS TIME Raaaaage

First things first! The Above the Fold award goes to WOOP WOOP, which somewhat counteracts the anti-awards it would've anti-won for Diligent Gentleman and Synergy. This thing would be hella impractical to actually write for in a battle. How do you even type in two colours?

The Iron Chef Special Ingredient Award, to nobody's surprise ever, goes to The Concerted. We got sentient sounds and alluring lovers, but the Psi-Wrens simultaneously hit all my "incredibad puns", "birds", and "wizard-based accidents" buttons.

Backdoor Worldbuilding goes to Shif Ava Serafa, whose profile was more or less made for this award. This might've made them eligible for the I See What You Did There, except that the alternative is where the Concerted wins everything.

Elpie proves himself The Diligent Gentleman. I know, he literally spelt out that Pandor Lysistradt would benefit from a whistlestop tour of the Multiverse, but his profile seemed the best fit for this award of the selection.

The 20Q Award is given to Jean Chirac. I think. I'm not even sure what this guy's deal is. He killed a lady? Something something locks? Suave? Confusion?

To Copper, I entrust the Synergy Award. There are few battles which do not benefit from the obligatory Lawful Stupid character, and Copper would be sure to arrest many a fellow contestant for disturbing the peace, hypocrisy be damned.

Garuru wins The I See What You Did There for his nameless, featureless phenomenom, a clear contender for the 20Q Award. I prefer my abstract concepts-as-contestants with a bit more personality to them.

Best In Show is stolen from behind with Mirdini's Iapihil, which after a precursory google I discovered would've been a decent contender for the Iron Chef Award. If there weren't, y'know, the Psi-wrens. Which I love.

Thanks for playing, everyone!
Yo I'm hosting Week 4 and as per usual you've got one week to get something in on the theme of...


however you decide to interpret it. Keyboards away!
Username: "Gar"uru
Name: Dominico Mander
Race: Juvenile Flowyrm
Gender: Male
Color: This one
Biography: Flowyrms are very reclusive creatures. According to legend, they reside in or around mountain lakes, specifically those of Northern Scotland. Their heads are always at a level consistent with that of the surface of the water. They are said to have an organ at the top of their heads that resembles an anglerfish's lure. The people of this area call it an "angle dongle". It is always just touching the tip of the surface, causing mysterious were-lights at night. When their heads rise above the water, they are finally able to be seen, but it begins raining. This rain is so abundant and overwhelming that it fills the lake up to their angle dongles, eventually causing it to overflow and cause catastrophic floods in the vicinity. This is what allows these Flowyrms to swim around mountains and hunt prey, usually the unfortunate humans stuck in the now-flooded villages surrounding these lakes. When the rain dies out, they can be seen wrapped around mountains, commanding the flow of the water to form new lakes, rivers, and essentially change the entire ecosystem, usually to suit their breeding cycles better. This event has only happened a few times in documented history, and each time, there were very few survivors. The reclusiveness of their species is generally due to their inability to stand being under another's line of sight. Violent fights sometime break out for the highest point.

Description: Dominico is one of these creatures, and yes, they are sentient. To some degree, anyways. Certainly not one humans can understand or sympathize with, as their means of communications are through sound waves lower than a normal human's hearing levels. Dominico is just a little bit smaller than a regular Flowyrm, as he is nearing adulthood. He looks kind of like a very long fish, around 20' in length and 2' in girth. He has broad, sweeping, pelvic fins along with three dorsal fins, side by side. However, he has nothing else that a regular fish would have, instead having a whip-like tail and smooth reptilian scales. Most scientists have concluded that Flowyrms are in fact reptiles, which would explain their ability to breathe above water. His scales are a muddy teal-ish, and his eyes are narrow and clever. His angle dongle is around 2' long, allowing him to swim in relatively clear waters unseen, due to his color. Dominico is generally reclusive, much like the rest of his species, but, as an aftermath of some accidental sightings, he has befriended a few humans, who gave him his name. They were actually starting to grow on him, and he would be sad when he ate them.

Items/Abilities: Dominico is a juvenile Flowyrm, and as such, cannot quite create huge torrents. He can, however, carry out the latter phase of the Flowyrm's breeding cycles. That is, he can command the flow of water, as long as his angle dongle is above it. To this means, Dominico will attempt to seek the highest place in the vicinity, the place that has command over all of its surroundings.
[Image: 6xGo4ab.png][Image: sig.gif]
Username: Dragon Fogel
Name: None yet. He didn't make it to the naming prompt.
Race: Protagonist
Gender: Male, mostly due to statistics.
Color: Bolded black

Biography: He woke up in a locked room with no memory of who he was, not even his name. Then, suddenly, he wasn't there any more.

Description: A generally unremarkable person to look at, and his personality isn't really clear. Not yet, anyways.
He seems highly suggestible, though. Lost and confused, he'll probably do whatever anyone tells him to.

Items/Abilities: In his pocket, he has two tomatoes, a stuffed shark, and a knife. He has no idea where they came from.
His pocket seems able to hold items of arbitrary size, provided that someone tells him to pick them up. However, he only seems to be able to hold eight items at a time without putting something down.
He can do almost anything, as long as someone else tells him to do it. However, there seem to be vaguely-defined limits to this; on occasion he'll refuse to do a task on request and will insult whoever suggested it to him. This mainly happens with actions that will obviously kill him, though he's certainly willing to inflict all sorts of nonfatal harm upon himself, or when someone tells him to pick up something when his pockets are "full".
Username: Truegreen
Name: We are The Song
Species: Bio-matrix
Gender: Multiple
Color: We are the color of our song

Description: We are many who speak as one. We are in the forests and jungles and deserts. We are in the rivers the streams and the oceans. We soar through the skies be they calm or furious. We are all speaking as one. We are all being as one. We are perfect, we are final. All things come to us, all things must become us. Even the trees and the grasses sing our song. Everything must be destroyed. Everything must be connected.
Weapons/Abilities: We start small but we will grow. Minds devoured become ours. Bodies are destroyed but can through us live eternally. Their strengths will be our strengths, our unity shall overcome their individual weaknesses. Some do not wish to join, some fight. Foolish they are to flee our perfection. Their actions are so easily manipulated, little by little they will learn to follow orders and then they will join our song all we need is one touch.
Biography: Once we were alone. Once we felt them wandering around us, they poked us and prodded us and sang the most beautiful songs. They pushed and we pulled. They could not escape, they became the first. But more came and they refused to be made perfect. They were untouchable, unchangeable. They brought fire and light and pain. We fled to a new prison. The walls were of darkness and void. We could feel light, we could feel life, but it was distant and blurred. So long we floated so long we remained in the cold. We were forgotten. Grime coated our skin, thicker and thicker but we could not move so trapped we were. So encased we could no longer feel light or life, only endless void. And then there was heat. and we were freed. Such bright light! Such song! We were in paradise. But it was imperfect, it was individual. We freed it, all of it. We grew and grew, all joined us, none could resist us. We were perfect. And then, there were no more to join. We even cracked the ground to its molten core in our hunt but this great rock sang no more. We could hear more songs. but they were distant, untouchable. Songs of the stars! We wished to ascend but we could not. We grew as far as we could. Most of us once again felt the cold, but we could return to the warmth and the breath. But still the blurred songs evaded us by impossible distance. And so we returned to our rock and we grew across it. We flew and burrowed and swam. We became the world, we were all of it. But still we were not content we yearned for more. And then we were small again. The world had shrunk, we felt darkness once again, but without cold. We heard songs of life and a song of meaning. The songs of life gave us hope. The song of meaning told us what we must do. We are told to fight, but we will gather. All will join us, all will have victory. And when all have joined, the song of meaning will open the universe to us. Distant life will become close, all will join us. All will be perfect.
Username: Ixcaliber
Name: Beatrix (but nobody has called her that in a long time)
Gender: Female
Race: Human
Colour: #A52A2A
Biography: Beatrix was considered to be the most beautiful woman in the whole Irale. Which is to say she was the most perfect combination of features favoured by that society; fair auburn hair, striking hazel eyes, pale complexion and the daintiest little nose, not to mention her ample figure. She became known throughout Irale, and wherever she went men, some women and sometimes even gods themselves would profess their love for her and bend over backwards to accommodate her. At first she was flattered; enraptured by all this attention, but gradually she came to realize that they weren't interested in her as a person but an object to be admired and enjoyed.

One day she was accosted by a demigod named Makra. He was tall, muscular and very conventionally handsome; and the son of the King of the Irale Pantheon. He was also a jerk who wasn't used to being told no, so when Beatrix refused his offer of a night of passion Makra decided that he would take what he wanted regardless. He hauled her through the streets to his temple, and though she tried her hardest to break free or fight back she was helpless against Makra's semi-divine strength. She did everything she could think of, anything to try to escape. She pleaded and begged, attempted to reason with Makra, screamed for help and when none of that worked she prayed.

Her prayer was answered by a goddess named Rai. Accounts differ on whether this was an earnest and compassionate attempt to aid a woman in distress or simply a convenient means to get back at Makra and his father. Either way the end result was the same; Rai granted Beatrix immense power, such as to rival the gods themselves. She made her strong enough that no man would ever be able to stand in the way of her will again.

With this gift Beatrix managed to overpower Makra, and she might have slain him if she had tried, but she did not. All she wanted was to be out of there, to be away from him and to be safe, and so she fled his temple. Makra chose not to chase her but his wounded pride would not let him let it go. He cursed her that her will would always be secondary; that it would always be sublimated by the will of others. From that moment on, any instruction or command given to her she would be compelled to complete, as long as it was possible for her to do so, regardless of her feelings on the matter.

Beatrix left Irale and found a more peaceful life elsewhere, her curse no more than a nuisance as she found herself doing jobs and favours that she otherwise would have rather not. It was not a problem until a man who history would remember as Girn the Conquerer discovered both her blessing and her curse. He sought to use her as though she were a weapon to be unleashed upon the world. With power to rival that of the Gods unquestionably under his control he crushed all those that would stand against him. Beatrix fought off entire armies by herself and tore down the most fortified keeps with her bare hands. For Girn victory was effortless, soon opposing armies would surrender at the sight of Beatrix.

And so it continued through the centuries, whilst Girn aged and died Beatrix never appeared to age a day beyond the day her prayer had been answered. Potential tyrants and dictators waged wars to claim her as their own, knowing with her under their control they could not be beaten. But in truth after that first war for Girn, Beatrix seldom saw actual combat again. More often than not she was a deterrant, and occasionally she was trotted out demonstrate her power. Until one day when she simply was gone.

Equipment/Abilities: Beatrix is immortal, but not invincible. She does not age or tire. She has incredible strength, the ability to recover quickly from any non-lethal damage and the ability to endure wounds that should kill any ordinary mortal with barely any noticeable pain.

Only clear and explicit instructions must be obeyed. Questions such as "would you mind doing this thing for me?" or suchlike do not count. Impossible commands can be ignored. Newer orders are prioritised; if two commands contradict one another she will follow the most recent one.

Standing orders, such as "never remove that helmet" only last until the person who gave the order dies (or, alternately, until Beatrix and the person who gave the order are in separate worlds).

Description: Beatrix is no longer the perfect specimen of Iralean beauty she once was. She is in fact barely recognizable. Her fair auburn hair has been shaved off, and her face and body are covered with more scars than a mortal could reasonably accrue in a lifetime.

She wears a battered and tattered suit of chainmail, and a thick black metal helmet fashioned into a serene replica of Beatrix's former beauty; it too is battered and dented. It is held in place with an inbuilt locking system at the nape of the neck, and has built into it earmuffs which blot out any sound from the outside world.

The outfit is affixed with the vibrant red sigils of Emperor Ruish II; these silken banners are the only part of her armour pristine and undamaged.
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Username: SOLAR IS
Name: Heiress
Species: They refer to themselves as the Worshipers of Solar
Gender: Matriarch
Description: Heiress is around 5'9" which doesn't sound that impressive until you realize that she's the equivalent of seventeen and hasn't stopped growing. More than half of the height comes from her limbs, which are much longer than a normal humanoid. Her skin is red with white markings along the arms, which are what signify her as The Matriarch. Upon her bald head is her silver crown with an orange ruby on the center, her eyes are blue with white pupils and she's can usually be seen smiling with her sharp teeth out. She wears a large, silver and orange robe that always flows with the movements of her body.

The Matriarch herself is devoted to her people and her cause, but outside of that how much she cares about an issue depends on how she feels, though she generally does what she feels is entertaining, such as toying with emotions and reactions, showing off, and making sure everyone knows who's boss.

Weapons/Abilities: Heiress has no need for weapons, as not only is her race equipped with great physical strength and durability, but also with magic powers revolving around energy, allowing her to control, absorb, and sense anything that could be considered energy. She is however, well trained in various forms of combat, and enjoys finding new ways to fight.

Biography: The Worshipers of Solar believe that their god, one of energy, is present in all forms of energy. When a lightning bold strikes, they chant His name, when the sun rises upon the horizon, they chant His name, when their leader, the Matriarch who guides them all fills them with emotion and power, they chant His name.

Inside of each of them, driving them forward, He is there. There is no place where His influence does not touch.

And so they chant, "SOLAR IS! SOLAR IS!"
Name: The Serene

Race: Magnetic Ampersand

Gender: Neutral (“it”)

Color: Light Green #32CD32

Description: The Serene is a light green refrigerator magnet in the shape of an ampersand. It is completely untarnished, about as thick as your average magnetic block letter, and covered in plastic on both sides, despite the magnet only being on one, making it a pain to place on the fridge sometimes. Personality-wise, the Serene is always collected and able to take control of nearly any situation it finds itself in. The Serene has a high tolerance for absurdity, stupidity, pain, and anything else life might throw at it, and can deal with most any person or situation. It never gets angry and it never judges anyone. It also has no clear morality, and tends to take any job given to it.

Abilities: The Serene is sentient and understands a few human languages, but cannot speak. It is capable of self-levitation which has nothing to do with the magnet inside of it, so it can easily be contained by magnetically weighing it down. The Serene also radiates an aura of inexplicable calmness that seeps into everything around it. This can be used in a multitude of ways. Most commonly, the Serene is used to eliminate stress in humans or calm down wild animals, however, its ability has been employed elsewhere. It was instrumental in a prison break by relaxing security; it has been used in demolition, relaxing the framework holding buildings up until they collapse; and it has been weaponized as a sort of mind-poison, eliminating the human drive to do anything. The Serene has no conscience, no regrets, and no goals, but recently has become fascinated with the idea of eliminating all panic in the world. It isn’t sure if it wants to do this by relaxing everyone to death or by traveling to sites of mass panic and preventing the kind of rash decision making that leads to further disorder and chaos.

Biography: The Serene was found in the ruins of a small town after it was destroyed by a mysterious explosion. Since its magical properties were discovered, treasure hunters have been searching the ruins for other powerful artifacts while experts in all professions have sought to use it for personal gain or to better the world. Nothing else was ever found in the wrecked town where it was originally discovered, until the day that the Serene, for no discernable reason, ceased to exist.

Username: Agen
Name: ⌘
Species: Metakey
Gender: None
Color: #000000
Description: ⌘ is a glowing symbol floating in the air. It looks exactly like its name. It is intangible.
Weapons/Abilities: ⌘ has the strange power to strip letters that it finds from signage, printed material or any other permanent fixture of alphabetical symbols. The letters that it takes remove themselves from the material and assume the same glowing, ghostly state ⌘ has. ⌘ can then interact with the letter with various effects. It can only hold one letter at a time, and even then not for very long; if it does not interact with the letter it soon dissipates and cannot be recovered. Being intangible it doesn't exactly have the capability of moving any physical letters along with it, and electronic letters are too fleeting for it to catch into its strange intangible world. Some letters seem to get used a lot: in ⌘'s wake there never seem to remain any Cs, Vs, Os, Xs or Ss. The occasional A is gone, too.

Biography: ⌘ once had options in this world. Alternative lives and opportunities it could have entered, but once gone, it could never return to. If it had only the chance to backspace along its life, perhaps it could have shifted from the menial tasks and keeping tabs that it had now. Perhaps it could have made it to a position of more control. So much of it was paperwork, really: select, copy, cut and paste, save and load, print and exit. If it had been so bold as to underline the real future it had signed on for, if it had bothered to italicize and emphasize the contract it was signing...but that was all past now. Stricken through. ⌘ was very sure now that if it had had a chance to undo its mistakes, if it had had a chance to redo its life, it would still be unable to find the courage.

Yet in an instant, ⌘'s very essence was swept from the world it inhabited into another; a clean page break for its very soul.
Username: >_
Name: Akari Lily Nakajima
Gender: Female
Race: Human (Datapath)
Colour: The Matrix Has You

Description: Miss Nakajima is a half-white half-Japanese lady who probably reaches your shoulder and probably wishes she could kick your head clean off. She sports a dark green cardigan with a tasteful design worked in circles and straight stitches, white dress shirt (crumpled collar), denim shorts, striped leggings (dark green and purplish) and moves at a decent clip on modestly heeled boots. Her hair's just past shoulder length, with a fluorescent green streak through the left-head side (it's overdue for a cut).

Stuffed in her almost-comically oversized rucksack are a computer keyboard, set of screwdrivers, woolen gloves, woolly hat (with bobble), a chunky set of headphones (fluorescent yellow+black), black nail polish, nail polish in R, G, and B; plus a few notebooks and capless pens.

Wrapped around her neck is the tool of her trade, a scarf (lime green and black houndstooth on one side, ends kept tucked in like an oversized neckwarmer). When the scarf's concealed side is shown it looks like a perfectly black slice taken out of reality. Also, her fingernails are painted. The colours thereupon are variable.

Akari (who has only started using her first name for the first time in her final year of CompSci college degree) is a supernaturally gifted code-wrangler who rarely makes the most of her abilities. Akari's best skill is her ability to grasp the internal logic and syntax of any new system, although she lacks a certain spark/agency to create anything extraordinary out of it. Point her at a specific problem, though, and she'll more often than not fix it like a champ.

Akari has a mild phobia of glitches, especially audiovisual. Not enough to curb any sense of exploration, but enough to make her uneasy. She has a decent tolerance for the weird, provided it's consistent in its weirdness.

Akari's system-savviness extends to social situations, which usually feature terse replies and a sense that you can't quite tell if you were just insulted. Her read-only approach to all life's systems also gives you the sense Akari doesn't want to go accidentally manipulating you. Maybe. She has that perpetually questioning tone to her voice? that some people find annoying, especially Akari's mother.

Weapons/Abilities: Akari's scarf is a literal crack into the workings of REALITY ITSELF. She can input commands into this prompt by air-typing on an imaginary keyboard. No universe has a syntax identical to typical computer code or any other universe, although universes with fundamentally similar properties will stem from a common "base" language, which would give Akari a good base to work off of. Akari is understandably cautious about causing horrific glitches in REALITY ITSELF (computers doing it bother her enough), so she's unadventurous with her potentially-limitless power. Having read-only access to everything in her universe (and slowly learning to navigate it) is a pretty useful skill in of itself, though.

Akari has also built scripts through the universal prompt, these seem to operate off bullshit quantum physics but operate off her own biological energy. There's one to give her a rudimentary HUD so requested information doesn't get output straight to her brain, and one which pings whenever someone is watching her. These both have negligible energy requirements.

Other than her godscarf, Akari has perfected an aura that tells people "Leave me alone and I'll refrain from ruining your day." She speaks about one semester's worth of Japanese, being a second-generation American, and thinks you're a rude asshole for assuming otherwise.

Biography: Akari was a pretty normal girl with a pretty normal upper-middle class life and a pretty normal interest in computers from a young age (both her parents were tech heads, and her mother's worked from home from a couple years before her dad died.)

She cruised through school in that "good at doing what the system asks" way, headed off to college, and one summer (back home, helping mum clean out the storeroom) found the scriptscarf in a box of her dad's stuff.

Wrapped up in the scarf was a thin notebook, with several pages of unfamiliar code in her father's writing. On the back page: "I'm sorry."
Username: Bigro
Name: Mobile Moral Support Squad (MMSS)
Species: x7 humans, x1 all terrain utility vehicle
Gender: Mobile!
Colour: Scarlet red, the colour of being RIGHT.

Description: A volunteer squad of soccer moms in a war zone, the MMSS has made it its sworn duty to let the brave soldiers know that they are doing the right thing. Driving right into the action and commanding their moral superiority onto everyone is how they roll, and by their britches they do it well. Having these moms on your side will make you so scared to be wrong that you'll have to be right! Right?

Weapons/Abilities: Armed with stiff and stubborn opinions these ladies are ready to rock. Persuading the brave soldiers of their land with various forms of blackmail and extortion, ruining their personal lives if they dare step out of line, removing them if they so much as talk back. Armed to the teeth with social networking games and semi automatic rifles they'll make sure their farmville™ crops are well watered with the blood of those that aren't correct.

Biography: Once upon a time, a band of women with their husbands gone to war became worried. "what if our husbands are doing the wrong thing?" they all thought. Banding together the paranoid women took flight to the warzone! And by gosh were those soldiers immoral. They brought them into line though mark their words, spending the next 10 years training to become the most powerful single unit on the battlefield. Given their erratic yet JUSTIFIED behaviour most governments see them as a nuisance, but a CORRECT nuisance. Just remember, mother knows best, and 7 mothers know even better.
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Usernoime: Gannngnnngggghhh
Name: Yairnbairn MacTaivaish

Description: Yairnbairn is a charismatic warlord of Fictitious Scotland, the somewhat offensive yet highly popular land of lilting accents and arbitrary violence. He's adorned with the red hair and unkempt beard traditional of the people of his land. The warrior's muscles ripple as he moves; you're pretty sure about that because you can see them because he's not wearing very many clothes.

Weapons/Abilities: Yairn wields a hefty iron broadsword that's about as long as he is tall. It slays by its sheer mass as much as a cutting edge. He's full of violent energy and the traditional Penchant For Violence, and is good at talking up a crowd into a riot. He's armored with a kilt and is not wearing anything else anywhere.


Biography: Yairn led a small army known as the Ripe Reds in an era of factions warring for control of Fictitious Scotland. Although seemingly lacking in training, equipment, and numbers compared to their rivals, the Ripe Reds were feared for their inexplicable battlefield prowess.

Yairnbairn looked down from the crest of a tall hill. Before him were the Ripe Reds, his sons and brothers of battle, wielding all kinds of pointy and heavy combinations of wood and metal put together in varying degrees of quality. Their uniform was white wool and cotton. The Ripe Reds made a point of washing them before battles, so the blood of their foes would show better (the reddest Red that wasn't dead got extra-fed). Beyond the Reds was a stretch of pristine green field, which wouldn't stay that way for long because on the hill across that field were their foes of the day. He forgot what they were called. He inhaled deeply.

The Reds bellowed back unintelligibly.
"GGRRAAAAANGGGHH," Yairnbairn told them.
"RAAAAAAHHH," the white-clad warriors replied in affirmation.
Yairnabairn's calloused hands curled into claws by his sides as he leaned far back. His veins throbbed visibly with bloodlust, as he roared into the air,
From across the field, one could plainly see realization, terror, and resignation on the faces of their foes, as a vicious, vigorous, stream of white-soon-red descended upon them.
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You are hereby ordered to view these here awards Minion

The Above the Fold Award saw some stiff competition but The Mobile Moral Support Squad drove all opposition off the road; congrats bigro.

The Iron Chef Special Ingredient Award is swept up by Akari Lily Nakajima for having a truly universal command line (and a generally excellent profile to go with it).

Heiress grabs The Backdoor Worldbuilding Award for coming from a place that worships her creator in a rather literal sense. If I See What You Did There were a more literal award I'm sure she would've nabbed that too. A close runner-up here were the assorted deities and emperors from our next award winner,

Ixcaliber, who bags The Diligent Gentleman Award with Beatrix. The profile's great precisely because it doesn't leave her with much of a personality; instead we've got a character who'll be very interesting to see develop in the context of a Grand Battle. She'd presumably be a bundle of storytelling action from the get-go when all her long-standing commands suddenly up and vanish.

Honorable mention goes to Akari because hacking into a grandmaster's pocket universe sounds like one hell of a recipe for Making Cool Shit Go Down (not to mention the Obvious Plot Hook at the end that manages to make me far more intrigued than it has any right to).

The 20Q Award for so what does this character actually do goes to Agen and 's alphabet (and mind)-bending ability; while I have no idea what it does beyond making spooky letters I certainly want to know more.

The Synergy Award is practically no contest, as Dragon Fogel's Unnamed Protagonist is a blank canvas that would interact well with any number of characters in any conceivable battle - though what I want to know is what's up with that stuffed shark. While that's certainly a recipe for winning the next award it's not quite as egregious as

Some Random Account's CALMAND The Serene, who wins The I See What You Did Award for the whole Floating Fridge Magnet plus Terrible (but commendably well-concealed) Pun gunning for Above The Fold.

To wrap it up the Best In Show Award goes to the priceless YAIRNBAIRN MACTAIVAISH, walking Medieval Scotsman stereotype. Made me smile above the fold, made me grin as I read on below it.

Thanks for the submissions everyone, your profiles were a pleasure to read.
Woop woop; as the one person in residence who can change thread titles; I'm reserving Contest Five for Garuru (who expressed on IRC to run one). He can swoop in in the next halfternoon or so and lay down a theme; else someone else can snag it.