Name: Xonera
Race: Goddess of Forgiveness
Gender: Female
Text Color: A forgiving green glow
Biography: To err is human, to forgive divine.
Xonera sees all you have done. All the love you withheld, all the times you did nothing in the face of evil, all the temptations you succumbed to.
And Xonera forgives you, for Xonera knows you are human, flawed, weak, corruptible. Xonera knows why you did it. You stole that bread because you were hungry, you lay with your neighbor's wife because she was beautiful, you killed your neighbor because he angered you.
Xonera takes pity on you, and grants you the gift of her forgiveness. All you need do is accept it, and follow Xonera's path.
Reject her forgiveness, however, and you shall mark yourself as unrighteous, as her enemy. Xonera is love itself, but in her wrath she is terrifying.
Accept her forgiveness, or die.
Description: Like most goddesses, Xonera is excessively beautiful. She always has a smile on her face and kind words to everyone.
Or at least, she appears so to those who pledge their hearts to her. To those who reject her, she appears as a fearsome old crone, and her words are filled with anger. She seems as though she could lash out at anyone.
Which is the real Xonera? It depends on who you ask.
Weapons and Abilities: As mentioned, Xonera's appearance changes based on whether she's talking to someone who obeys her or not. To those who do not yet know her, she seems quite plain; to those who pledge loyalty, she seems more beautiful than any other woman; and those who reject her see a terrifying sight.
Xonera cannot intervene directly with the mortal world. She can only work through mortal agents. She can walk around, but to effect change she must persuade others to work on her behalf.
In general, she tells them to do two things: to spread the word of her infinite forgiveness, and to crush all who reject her perfect love. They have denied themselves forgiveness, and so they shall receive no mercy.
Followers of Xonera will describe her as wonderful and perfect and will be extremely distrustful of anyone who seems noncommital towards her. Of course, heretics who reject Xonera are outright unacceptable.
Mirdini would like to impart the following advice that you have 24 Hours Left to submit a profile.

I'm doing it in his stead as he is currently unavailable. It's me. I'm the vice-advisor.
Moniker: Vicycle.
Engendered Within: Evil
Race: Machine thing
Hue: A sinful, wine burgundy
Description: A strange, 2 wheeled machine with studded devil horns on the gears which scratch... and yet hedonistic faux-fur on the pedals. The bike is covered in white gold... no, it's too bright, gleaming in the sun. One thousand carat gold, there's no other way to describe it's quality. When I have tried to investigate further, its forces pulled me in and I almost never returned back again from that demonic joy ride. The water bottle screws seem perfectly capable of hosting a fine wine against the sleek metal. The hub is decorated with ornate pictures of people engaging in sexual acts that technically can't be done. The bike seems to balance itself, never falling. Replaces the need for a kickstand. No support required, self-sufficient and eager to do a devil's terrible bidding with you as its medium. There seems to be a voicebox on the brake hood which tells you of scandalous things, acts by the most wicked of them! The tires are made from 100% pure diamond wrapped in a nice, warm coat of human skin. Knives seem to jut out from the handlebars.

And they're detachable.

This is altogether, unsettling, yet attractive.

Biography: In the night, I hear the springs mocking me, angry that I have not rode upon it. We had only just bought it from a poor family who seemed to hold it quite dear, unable to sell it despite the unnecessary luxuries it presented. Surely, nourishment is of greater importance than panache!? It seemed like such a hideous thing when I look back 'pon it now. Why did my mother buy it? Why did she start smoking? Why did she spend long evenings in that garage?

I was merely a child back then, innocent, not knowing the difference between a good bike and an angry, hellish tricycle. And so, one day, I emerged from my bedroom with an inexplicable need to ride it. At such an age, how could a youth like myself manage such a feat? Leaving the comfort of my own home, my mother, my family for a vicious velocipede!

What happened in those four months, I could not recall. I had gained monetary assets exceeding 20 million, to a Swiss bank account which I am unable to ponder the password for... The news had reported at that same instance missing cash of that amount across multiple banks. Even Spain, an ocean away, had complained of missing money from its Treasury, the guards lacerated with tire tracks over their faces! Had I biked across the Atlantic? Had the bike cycled me across the ocean? One could not know which, for there are other matters which one such as myself would be thinking about. Like how I had torn down many roads on that contraption and left significant cracks in the sidewalk despite the fact that the thing which I had been riding upon was a tricycle. Which reminds me, it is now a bicycle. It had even emitted groaning sounds, like the hum of an engine for which it wanted to be grown upon it. How it had evolved while I had been riding upon it, I have nair the idea. But know this, even my skin had aged, and my physique had molded and shaped itself to the form of a modern Adonis! I also had multiple tattoos of... I'm not quite sure, really! Some are of the language of demons and others of terrible tragedies throughout history. Notable, one mutters religious blasphemies, the skin behind it gained vocal cords with which to mutter its strange protests against humanity. Sadly, the technology had not yet developed to remove the ink from my skin without scarring it terribly, although I did agree to have the talking, blasphemous one removed surgically. I had also left a long trail of dead bodies left in heart-wrenching positions. Bicycle tire tracks left in each crime scene. Other deeds had also been committed, too gruesome to describe. When the police had remanded me, I knew not what they were talking about! Accounts by witnesses were that it was a mere trike. Accounts by others were that it was a penny farthing, the spokes made with bloodied pennies. I could not respond, for I could barely form the words to describe what was running through my mind at that moment(some of the thoughts still lingered after being shot off of the bike by a man wielding a shotgun, and incurring no actual injury to myself) and what I had looked like by the end of it. I could not even come to terms with who I was at that point and they wanted a report? Foolhardy, all o' 'em. All I knew was that the infernal thing would never leave my sight and the police could not detain it without it trailing behind me once more.

So a provision was made. The local pastor showered me with crosses, read verses and sang hymns to me as I placed it in my garage, chained it, chained heavy cinderblocks to the cogs. All while resisting its obtuse desires for that which man was not meant to do! The bike seems to be in a different place from where I last left it. I would not be surprised if it left me altogether, with a will of its own.

And so it was, the next day, the bike was gone, leaving the cinderblocks and chains in heaps, like a pile of bones that a beast might pick its teeth with! It had also shed its human skin for the old man's, which it had taken in the night by unknown means.

Indeed, it needs a new coat with which to do splendid Battle. With other beings who cannot possibly match its prowess. Or its lustful urges to grip its handlebars, tear the knives off and go on a murdering spree, slashing people on the sidewalk and side streets while still managing to balance one's self on the bike seat, miraculously. Where it went? No one knows, its bike tracks seemed to have fade out of existence, almost an invisible force pedaling it someplace else! To some other world even!

Powers: Upon sight of it, a want for it. Upon laying your hands upon it, a want to ride upon it. Overpowering, as if there is a horrendous stench and riding upon it would leave that stench behind. Upon riding upon it however... one wishes to commit terrible crimes incomprehensible to all but the insane. Seems to evoke a want, greed, everything, and everything terrible. Why would one even contemplate the doing of such things? Intense boredom? Innate immorality? A failed sense of belonging with the lot of us? All of these things can be resolved, but don't, don't resort to the bloody Vicycle!
Username: Schaeterwater
Name: Right-Hand-Entire-Eight-Sapphires-Chevroned-And-Turquoise-Cabachon-Fourth-Knuckle
Race: Moralebranche
Gender/Text Color: Painted fingernails

Description: Before the Moralebranche, before First Fall, even, were the children of the god Law. The Marmoral. Standing eight meters tall with skin of marble stone inlaid replete with jewels, they lived quiet lives in city-fortresses carved from mountainsides. To their patron deity of Order and Organisation, He the Machinations, their faith was absolute and damning. Law bid his children record the events of the Praeterwater, and to the Catchers and the Vissel and the Merrfolk this role was accepted and these entities sought out for the more biological races to record their histories.

Come and go First Fall, and the Marmoral were wiped out by some insidious disease of the stone, splintering their bodies and lore-decked halls like pieces of a jigsaw too large for any mindful being left alive to lift. This much is known thanks to the last of the Marmoral, who recorded their race's extinction, faithful to the last.

Terrestrial ecological stability. New life. Moss on the walls, Liggins on the moss. A god amongst the Liggins, making a select few smarter, shifting them from the moss to the pieces of Marmoral that fell with gemstones still embedded. A new race on the Praeterwater.

Biography: Nobody trusts a Moralebranche at the best of times, but you especially shouldn't if one's styling itself as a wandering salesman. Cabochon doesn't seem to mind, but it's very hard to tell with these creatures. Ey, like other Moralebranche, resemble a rather feathery slug, about the size of a duck and with a similar shade of blue to the purely-decorative enamel ey got some painter to dealt to their marble mount's digits. Ey secrete a slime which burns and irritates eyes+mouths+more delicate patches of Seakin skin. Ey have psionic abilities that can only be used in conjunction with the gemstones embedded in the fragments of Marmoral that litter the catacomb-cities these creatures call home.

Cabochon is particularly pleased with their piece of stone-corpse; it's a mostly-intact Marmoral right hand. The eight sapphires in the palm provide a strong enough mental link that Cabochon can almost move the hand like the real thing (even if it does scuttle like a spider). Pieces with fewer gems often have to suffice with being rolled along the ground, or requiring the combined psionic push of multiple Moralebranches. The turquoise on the knuckle is where Cabochon stays suckered on most of the time, maximising eir control over the stone's movements.

The Moralebranche are unnerving to other races, especially the seakin: partly because they're trundling around on chunks of dead people, partly because they may or may not exhibit hive-mind properties or have otherwise-unseen ways of sharing information amongst themselves. It doesn't help that the individuals who do leave the tombhomes and interact with other races (like Cabochon) evade questions about their people, usually in a rather condescending manner. Their naming conventions also seem to place a greater emphasis on whatever hunk of rock you're riding, and they don't actually call each other by name, reserving that for the convenience of other races. The races who bother to seek audience with the gods, like the Tetraul, don't trust them either, seeing as the gods know for sure that Wootz made the Liggins but nobody's owning up to making a subset of them sapient. Popular money's on LamPrey, which is yet another reason to assume there's something duplicit about these folk.

Cabochon makes a living as a passable courier, an occasionally-useful information broker, and a surprisingly-efficient mercenary (the fist of an eight-metre stone giant can do considerable damage on its own, if simple crushing weight doesn't do the trick).
Thanks again to Schazer for passing on my advice.

My bony tenure as this week's judge comes to a close, but I'll endeavor to serve justice to the best of my ability.

The Best Of Show Award: Viceroy Victoria Voyse - sorry, I meant Princess Moondrop, your Highness, won't happen again - stands out for the holistic strength of her profile as well as her ability to spice up battle rounds with wrenching perspective shifts. I'm sure her First Minister is relieved that their novice viceroy is out of the way too.

The Above the Fold Award: The VICE PRESIDENT clamps down on this award. Good luck removing it when it's busy skating past constituents and kissing baby vices.

The Iron Chef Special Ingredient Award: Would I ride the Vicycle? Probably not, but then again, I'm already immortal. What it's certainly riding down is this award, which it takes in a blaze of iniquity.

The Backdoor Worldbuilding Award: While I'm sure Right-Hand Cabochon's services with the help of eir malebranch steed are unparalleled, the mystery behind eir crevice-dwelling nudibranch compatriots stands out as one I'd love to see solved.

The Damnable Gentleman Award: In any given battle Xonera's participation would prove a polarizing presence, and her necessarily manipulative battling style only adds to my conviction that she'd make an excellent contestant. She was also a strong contender for Iron Chef this week.

The Synergy Award: Voughs is already an excellently executed sack of eviscerated meat, but shines (rots?) even more in the presence of some of the other submissions. What would Princess Moondrop make (out) of it's grotesque form? What happens when it reverses her already inverted worldview? Does it accept Xonera's forgiveness, or swear vengeance upon her as it has upon so many others? Is it hateful enough to resist the Vicycle's temptations? CAN IT SQUEEZE THROUGH THE VICE PRESIDENT'S STEEL GRIP??!?!??!!

While not quite in the original spirit of this award, Namestnik had me asking enough questions to make me honor him with

The 20Q Award For Confusing Me:

At first Namestnik seems far from confusing: a military man, used to command, lord of a post-apocalyptic city-state. Then come the questions. Is his name actually Namestnik, or is that simply his title? If it's his title, does he even have a name? Does anyone in this New Russian Empire? Why is he so loyal to an Empire that seems unable or unwilling to support him?

The I See What You Did There Award:

For explicitly fishing for Above The Fold, Mr. Viceral has this trophy lobbed at his vice-laden head.

Thanks for your varied and excellent submissions!
Okay, I don't think anyone's lined up for this week, so I'm taking another shot at this. If I'm wrong, well, say so here and we're less likely to forget you next week.

The theme for Contest Twenty-One is trains.
Name: The Train from Trainwreck Mafia 2
Biography: Once there was a guy named Kíeros. Not K-i-e-r-o-s. but K-í-e-r-o-s. He decided to run a trainwreck game and it was going pretty well then everything fucked up and Trainwreck Mafia 2 Trainwrecked. The train from the mafia is now in a fight to the death.
Username: I ain't saying nothing.
Name(s): "Rule number one: no real namesss, and that goesss even for thossse of you who already know one another. Let me introdussse everybody," the lady in red points at the first of the gathered crew, "Thisss isss the Chariot." He's tall, kinda wiry, dressed in a scruffy seldom-worn suit. Like everyone else here his face is hidden behind a mask, it's cheap white plastic, plain and unremarkable, likely bought as part of a set (and indeed the rest of the set can be seen on the other crew members around the room). His hair is greasy, slicked back by hand. There's something kind of off about him. "Asssuming you don't make too much of a messs of thisss thing the Chariot'sss going to be getting usss out of there, ssstraight to a private little moon where we can hunker down until the heat diesss off."

The lady in red moves onto the next individual, a woman in a hoodie, jeans and boots. Her hands are jammed into her pockets; that combined with her mask and hood means nothing can be seen of her skin. Faint pink light seems to shine from behind the eyeholes. "Thisss isss The Tower. Ssshe hasss a natural aptitude for trainsss." That wasn't exactly the truth, but the lady in red didn't exactly want to announce the fact that they were working with a poltergeist. "Ssshe'sss going to be the one bringing the train from the ambusssh point to the loading point."

The next guy is an enormous wall of flesh in a tracksuit. His skin is a pale green, peeling and swollen wherever it's visible. He's so heavily muscled that one might suppose it can't be natural, and it isn't. "Thisss isss Ssstrength." The lady in red announces. "It kind of goesss without saying but, he's our mussscle."

The next person isn't actually a person but a small hovering drone. As if in mockery of the others it's wearing a mask as well, though unlike those of its co-conspirators its mask is fashioned into a cheap imitation of a popular children's wizard. "Thisss isss the Magician," she pauses and smiles, "or ssshould I sssay Magician's asssissstant. Thisss isss asss much as you'll sssee of him; the Magician doesssn't do that whole in perssson thing."

"How's that fair?" The Tower interrupts. "How does he get to sit at home while we go out there and risk our asses."

"When you can carry out your contribution to this caper remotely you'll be welcome to do ssso." The lady in red replies swiftly. "He'll be responsible for ssstopping the train in the first place, as well as ssshutting down all electronicsss within the vicinity and making sssure nobody can get into contact with the polissse." Another small untruth; it was a favour to the Magician itself to allow the others to believe that somewhere there was another being in control of the drone.

And finally there is a short stout woman in indigo robes and a pointed hat, unmistakably the robes of a wizard. Even despite the mask it's clear to see she was a little irate. "And finally thisss isss The Hermit." the lady in red concludes. "Ssshe's our Cursssebreaker. For those of you not familiar with modern anti-theft protocols, ssshe's the one making sssure we don't all wither away to nothingnesss the moment we try to ssspend our prissse."

"Excuse me but why am I not The Magician." The Hermit interrupts.

"Thisss isssn't a matter for dissscusssion." The lady in red tries to press on.

"I can actually do magic and hey it seems to me that technoboy over there all cocooned up in his home like a hermit would suit my alias a whole lot better'n me."

"ENOUGH." Everyone in the room is suddenly transfixed, vacantly staring into the lady in red's eyes. She clears her throat and continues. "And, of courssse, you can call me The Devil." She smiles a devilish grin.

Species: "If anything goes wrong, asss far asss the authoritiesss are concerned..." she pauses, "Well we're all humanoid, right? We're practically humansss. If anyone's caught we all sssay we're jussst boring humans right? No sssenssse in ruining everyone else'sss day jussst becaussse you fucked up." The group mumbled a vacant agreement.

Gender: "And I don't know about the rest of you but it sssure is hard to determine sssomeone'sss sssex under those masksss." Another round of silent nods. "Good. I'm glad you sssee it my way."

Text Colour: The Devil reaffirms how important it is to stick together and not try to stab one another in the back before releasing her psychic grip on the group. "Any quessstionsss...?"

"I'm still not sold on these aliases." The Hermit pipes up. "What about if we each chose a colour."

"Trussst me, that'sss a terrible idea."

Description: A group of highly androgynous boring humans, clearly.

Items/Abilities: Lots, but strictly on a need to know basis

Biography: They were all in place, waiting for the Express Train from Persephone when suddenly each and every one of them went inexplicably missing.
fyck phytybyckyt
Name: Roz Moccion & Vol Vone
Gender: Bro
Race: Human-looking & Not Human Looking At All
Color: this is a fighty color
Description: Both are pretty big and beefy looking dudes, Rafa is shorter but a bit beefier, wearing a cool dark red fighting gi with black bands and black boots. He's got brown skin, red eyes, black hair, and a big smile. Vol's got a gold gi on with white boots and white bands, and a white hat to hide his less human features. Said features include grey skin (Skin Condition), no ears (Accident), small horn-like protrusions on his head (Other Skin Condition), blue pupil-less eyes (Eye Condition), and white claws on his hand (Uhhhhhhhhhh). He's taller and faster.

Roz is happy and go-lucky, usually preferring to chill and have fun even in the most dire of situations while Vol has a much more pragmatic viewpoint. This usually leads to the two of them arguing about how to go about things, but usually in the end they figure out the best way to go about things.

Items/Abilities: Both of them are very well versed fighters, knowing quite a few fighting styles and figuring out some fun cool techniques via a combination of traveling around, getting into spars with random people, and by learning the limits of each others body through rigorous training sessions. Both of them have supernatural strength, incredible speed and durability, and know, and have had to use them to their fullest, in various situations.

Additionally, Roz's punches and kicks can send shockwaves, and he can tense up his body to temporarily power up even further. Vol on the other hand can stretch out his limbs and shoot out his claw nails if necessary. They usually don't have much material goods other than their clothes, which are obviously weighted, and can be taken off to maximize their prowess.

Biography: "So, Roz, did you hear about the train robbery that happened the other day?"

It was early in the morning and Roz and Vol were sitting in a friend's kitchen, getting ready for some more traveling and training.

"What? That sounds terrible," Roz said in between gargantuan bites, "A train got robbed, near here?"

"Yeah, it looks like it was planned, no one got hurt luckily, but the criminals are still at large."


"Look Roz, we've talked about this, we can't just go around stopping every crime that happens, besides, since when were either of us detectives?"

"We know some people, if they robbed the whole train then they can't have gone very far, they'd probably lay low for a bit."

"But what if they didn't? Don't you want to go to Shoku's by the end of this month?"

"Shoku would understand, they love hearing stories about us anyway! It would be another story about us traveling around town and finding some criminals, and then we give everyone their stuff back!"

"Ugh... you always get like this..."

"Exactly! I do! Which means, if you didn't want to do this, you wouldn't have brought up the robbery in the first place!"

Roz smiled radiantly, to which Vol rolled his eyes, "Don't be so smug, get dressed, I'll meet you outside."

Roz finished devouring his food before rushing back to change, happily yelling something about adventure. Vol motioned towards the door, and sighed, smiling as he left their friends home and waited for Roz to finish getting ready. "I suppose today's going to be a long day..."
Username: Not Affiliated With The Praeterwater
Name: Gunzelurge
Gender: Femme
Race: Warforged, though she prefers to be called an Iron Maiden
Color: Taste my cold steel

Description: Gunzelurge is a druid of the large metal persuasion, because in her homelands of the Ferrous Bulwark the animals are also large and metal. The connection doesn't seem to have diminished as she travelled out from her hometown, though she's had a few confusing encounters when asking after the stables in a new town. She keeps wondering why the fleshlings' horses have legs, are too small to ride, and why their word for stable sounds more like stajhin.

She's got a jaw like a steel trap, hands also like steel traps, and a chest which is made of steel and would be extremely hard to extricate yourself out of if you somehow ended up in there. Her mind is not like a steel trap, seeing as she's a little too brusque and forthright with people to be especially cunning, but Gunzelurge is by no means unintelligent. She's got collectionist tendencies and would really enjoy birdwatching if her general bigness and loudness didn't scare most wildlife off. Domesticated horses in the human territories fascinate her, especially if she sees one with an as-yet unrecorded design.

As mentioned, she's a druid, and boasts a special connection to the wild and majestic horses that scream across the Bulwark. Her body's slowly adapted to better-reflect the physical nature of her animal companion, by which I mean she had to use her own leg to beat up a monster and got it replaced with a cool naga-esque dealie instead.

Biography: Like most druids who took the traditional route and apprenticed under a more experienced adventurer, Gunzelurge's adventure properly began when her mentor bid her ready to set off into the wilds to find, impress, and spiritually connect with her future animal companion. Being the rather ambitious Warforged she was, she promptly headed straight for the Stables of Steel, where the biggest, baddest horses would take time off of wrestling each other for boxcars and breeding grounds to maul to death the next druid apprentice who showed up.

What happened next is best left to the imagination, but rest assured there were lots of sparks and yelling and punching. Gunzelurge decided against extracting the defeated horse from its environment and causing possible ecosystem chaos in the power vacuum left behind; this impressed the horse (Iore) so much it lent its spirit to her future endeavours before graciously giving her a ride to the edge of the Bulwark.

Up until her abduction, Gunzelurge mostly explored the non-Warforged lands as a mercenary, learning along the way about the smaller, domesticated cousins to the beasts of her homeland, and their relationship with humans.

Weapons/Abilities: Gunzelurge can punch with the power of a very large, very metal horse. She can compound this by invoking the spirit of her animal companion, punching you metaphysically as well as regular-physically. She can also wildshape into a horse, giving her ridiculous overland movement and carving a path of destruction with her cowcatcher helm. She can calm a runaway horse by putting herself in a firm stance in its path, and pushing firmly on its nose when it runs at her.

She's nine feet tall and mostly made of metal and may or may not be able to summon a whole, pissed-off train if it's been a while between summonings. Don't piss off Gunzelurge.
Name: THE PAIN TRAIN (real name: Vange Leval, formerly Mark Valor)
Race: THE PAIN TRAIN IS TEN TONS OF PURE POWER (Homo Sapiens, does not actually weigh ten tons)

Biography: Vange Leval, once known as Mark Valor on his home planet, is the infamous masked wrestler known as the Pain Train. Legendary in the intergalactic ring for his capability to defeat even wrestlers of species that generally should utterly annihilate him through sheer tenacity and a little ingenuity, the Pain Train continues to uphold his Intergalactic Midweight Champion title. However, a recent scandal has revealed the Pain Train has dissappeared from the known galaxy, with no definitive information on his wherabouts forthcoming.

Abilities: Vange possesses no abilities aside from peak physical strength for a 30 year old, 162 cm tall, 113 kg homo sapien. He is also quite crafty for someone who has taken multiple confirmed and often serious impacts to the head. Crafty, however, does not mean intelligence; and his only other capability is to be exceptionally obnoxious and a refusal to refer to himself in any way other than the third person and as THE PAIN TRAIN.
Just a reminder that there's only about two days left to submit an entry! So get them in, people!
Minor extension: Judging will begin in approximately twelve hours, due to the relatively few entries and the fact that I don't feel like judging right this minute. You may feel free to submit a profile before then.
Okay, finally got around to judging. I'm doubling up awards here due to relative lack of profiles.

The I See What You Did There award goes to the Trainwreck train. I think this is fairly self-explanatory.

Above the Fold goes to The Pain Train for a very consistent theme across all fields.

The Iron Chef Special Ingredient Award goes, somewhat appropriately, to the Iron Maiden Gunzelurge for a unique take on a robot that turns into a train. And the glimpses we see of the Ferrous Bulwark and its, um, "wildlife" are tantalizing enough to earn the Backdoor Worldbuilding award as well.

The 20Q Award for Confusing me goes to Roz Moccion and Vol Vone because I don't get what their deal is other than a joke on "training" which isn't actually that big a part of the profile. They also get the Distinguished Gentleman award, because two guys who argue with each other a lot and keep getting into trouble usually means lots of fun times in a battle.

Best of Show goes to the Tarot-themed train robbers for a solid and distinctive concept. They also receive the Synergy award for planning a train robbery when the other entrants include a train, a train-druid, and two guys looking to stop a train robbery. How can that not go wrong?

That's it for this week, looking forward to whatever gets suggested next!
nobody else said anything, so I'll be taking this week's theme, mates!

your theme this week is Exoskeletal. Have fun with bugs and armor and shit
I said something - multiple somethings over the duration of several weeks, but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I'll have something or another up for this week, but yeah if I could have next week that'd be peachy.
Species: Skeleton Man
Gender: Skeleton
Color: I've got a bone to pick with you!
Description: He is a skeleton!!!!!
Weapons/Abilities: As he is a skeleton, he feels no pain and doesn't bleed. He has all abilities of a skeleton.
Biography: Once there was a man. Then, he woke up one day to find out his outside was a skeleton! As was his inside. Being a skeleton and unable to feel pain, he fought crime as SKELEMAN, until he was whisked off to a battle.
my apologies then schaz! haven't been in IRC and fogel didn't know so
Username: IT DALM
Name: Delli Tareet
Species: Formerly Oum
Gender: Formerly Female
Color: Formerly Green

Description: Delli's face is the only part recognisable as oum any more. She has a soft brow and deep blue eyes. Her beak is thin and cracked, and the feathers barely grow any more, having regressed to a soft down. the whole face is located within a protective indentation in her shell-like polybone armour.

Delli stands a good twelve feet tall. What her original body inside the suit looks like now is anyone's guess; it hasn't seen the light of day in at least two years.
She has six legs, and a hunched body, coated in overlapping plates of polybone. She resembles nothing natural; an insectoid weapons platform with two clawed arms composed of the welded portions of a variety of bound magical weapons, two smaller manipulating arms and a variety of jutting barrels and pipes from her back. Twisted remnants of an eclectic mixture of old bound magical prosthetics knit into the organic looking mass. The useful parts knit in with her body, as if consciously enveloped in growing flesh to maintain performance.
To spirit seers, her own is only faintly visible amid the clamour and bustle of spirits from her form, the brightest appears as an enormous insect, illuminated in the core.

Upon her back are mounted a gatling cannon, a bound wands of various arcane spells, and a flame thrower. Her crablike claws contain a variety of magical blades and wands. Her manipulators usually hold her signature Spear of Light, more out of habit than necessity, as they are too short to be of much use, even with the spear's added reach.

Still, though. The armour has a way of surprising even her.

Biography: She knew what she was getting into.
She knew that the thing was cursed. The spirit too powerful, the armour too strong.
There was nothing left but this.
Nothing but war. Not for her.
The others had lives, they'd drifted away from the life somewhere between mercenary and nomad that adventurers usually revelled in. Settling down. Starting families or going into politics, trying to change the world.
But her?
What was there but busting through the doors, blasting the bad guy, getting gold and glory.
It was small at first. More comfort in the armour. Hidden blades she'd never weren't there before. All with hollow points. Tipped with that same poison that had nearly killed her years ago.
They'd saved the world, but she didn't want to leave the excitement behind.
It was part of her.
Slowly, she felt the sections knitting together. She'd clipped the feathers of her wings so that they didn't get in the way.
The only time she felt alive any more was when her cannon was revolving, when her sword-hands tasted flesh.
She could feel it, still changing.
At times, it felt it was closing up on her face, but slowly.
Giving her time.
She felt something pressing from behind her forehead.
She wasn't afraid. She knew what she was getting into.
She didn't question her feelings any more.
She'd killed a dragon with her bare hands. Not that her hands were ever bare any more. The screaming mass of metal and flesh had released a sigh of contentment as she cut its throat.
And then?
There was nothing.

The corpse fell to the floor, its hunter, gone.
Username: sols
Name: Cleo
Gender: Females
Race: Undead Bug Lady
Color: Necrotastic!
Description: Cleo is pretty big and heavyset beetle-type, various shells on shells with various bits not really falling off but obviously not held as tightly as they once were. Small head with a giant horn that has other various horns grafted on to it like any good necromancer type should. Various garish golds and purples and blacks adorn her and shes also has way more arms than you would think.

Cleo is a bit offputting at first, preferring to whimsically show people her collection of arms rather than talk about whatever thing any guest came to visit for (it is never about her arm collection). After getting to know her, you see that besides arm collecting, Cleo is into meeting unique people (they usually can get past arm collecting, you see), playing instruments, and figuring out what to do with the souls of the various deceased that make their way to her (they don't care about her arm collection much either, but sometimes they can help it grow if nothing else).

Items/Abilities: Besides her natural beetle person armor and toughness and her strong horn, Cleo has a collection of arms that she has grafted on to herself from various donors, most of which agreed to it. In agreeing to it, they have also made a place for themselves inside Cleo, with the arms housing a bit of their soul in order to make figuring out how the new appendage works easier on Cleo! Besides that though, she has pretty basic, if sometimes creatively applied, necromancy, raising bodies from the dead, moving around souls, bringing lifeless things to life, being functionally immortal, the works.

Biography: Cleo's been a necromancer for a pretty long time, first getting interested in the field out of curiosity more than anything else, when she noted that those human necromancers had the whole skeleton deal but no one really knew what bugkind transmorgified into.

After years and years of study and many an objection to it, Cleo magic'd up and eventually found out that surprisingly little changed when someone with an exoskelleton magically removes their soul. Her shell got a bit weird but nothing really gave The Look that all those humans got. So Cleo decided to gussy up a bit.

Initially just adding on to her body and altering bits to be a bit more imposing and creepy, but one day, one of her arms fell off trying to add more to her horn! Upon putting it back on, Cleo wondered if it was as easy to attach any limb back. As it turned out, it wasn't really, with the first arms being a bit of trouble and the difficulty curve being raised even higher when it wasn't a bugkind arm! After a few weeks of thought and research, Cleo eventually figured out that she could get help from the original owners! This resulted in her raising various unique souls, finding their bodies, and then settling on an agreement wherein she'd get the arms, and they'd get to matter a bit after death. Sometimes she needed to be a bit more persuasive, but it was all for the best, no, really.
Name: UPX-82 Stealth Series, Serial Number AB22
Species: United Positronics Advanced Combat Hardsuit
Color: This model has been printed in a practical and stylish Gunmetal Blue.
Technical Specification:
The new and improved United Positronics Advanced Stealth Series provides the ultimate in protection for a solo operative deep within enemy territory. Its top-of-the-line stealth suite can provide completely undetectable cloaking for days at a time, allowing perfect invisibility while fully mobile within up to an inch of a hostile combatant, while it's onboard AI ensures faster than thought reaction times in the unlikely event of discovery.

With extendable blades and silenced toxin delivery darts located in each of its four arms, not to mention the shoulder-mounted smoke and chemical grenade launchers (and onboard chemistry mixing unit), your operatives can be both silent and deadly, and with our new miniature fusion engine means they'll enjoy a battery life only slightly shorter than the projected remaining lifespan of our own dear sun.

Our products are built to last, and to ensure that their users do too! Ballistics stress testing demonstrates our patented alloy can maintain full integrity under sustained fire from up to five concurrent targets, and an onboard medical and life support suite ensures that for anything short of complete neural failure, our trusty AIs can deliver you back home to get patched up again.

Order now and get an extended hundred year warranty absolutely free, as well as a complimentary gift of a stylish United Positronics vacuum resistant stealth pen (available while stocks last).

This particular model is heavily combat scarred and the helmet appears to have been misplaced. Though the unit is otherwise in complete working order, the past impact sites of many projectiles are obvious as the self-repair facility's manufactured armour sealant is a notably different colour than the suit's original tinted chrome. The most notable discoloured areas form a web of symbols encircling the suit's waist, which occasionally flicker with blue light.

While still fully functional, this model's stealth suite is heavily impaired by the lack of its helmet as the suit's interior is entirely filled with brightly glowing, independently mobile wisps of cold blue light, which remain visible through the exposed neck hole even when the rest of the unit is fully obscured.

Donning the suit is currently impossible, as much of a set of ribs and spine are still screwed into the backplate and would need to be removed. Any other skeletal remains appear to have been reduced to bone powder by the wear of time and vibrations of the suit, which has collected within the suit's extremities. A full decontamination is recommended before this suit is returned to standard use.

Log File:
Name: Tic and Tac
Race: Playful Skeletons
Gender: Unclear, they've never specified.
Color: #340340

Description: Tic and Tac are the hosts of Tic And Tac's Play Hour! This popular kid's show is all about Tic and Tac playing various games. Can you guess their favorite? (It involves a three-by-three grid.)
But Tic and Tac love to play all sorts of games, and they'll happily play with anyone they can find! They're best pals and they hope you'll be their best pal too.
Tic and Tac are very similar humanoid skeletons, almost no one can tell them apart. Even their voices sound the same.

Weapons and Abilities: Tic and Tac have brought the Wheel of Games with them, an enormous wheel with countless games listed on it. In fact, it seems to have every game ever created, even ones newly made in the last few days. The wheel constantly generates new entries, so often Tic and Tac will spin it and not even recognize what pops up! Isn't that fun?
Once the wheel is spun, the surrounding area will change to fit the game being played. Anyone in the area will be caught up as a player, whether they want to be or not! But why would anyone not want to play games with Tic and Tac?
Other than that, Tic and Tac have all the standard abilities of humanoid skeletons of their size and shape. This includes being able to reassemble themselves if they fall apart, which happens whenever it would be funny. Obviously, this will always be accompanied by a goofy joke along the lines of "looks like I'm falling to pieces!"

Biography: Tic and Tac turned to face the camera. They'd done this hundreds of times before, and it was always just as exciting as the first day.
"Hello kids! It's time for Tic and Tac's Play Hour!"
Tac started waving.
"I'm Tac!"
"And I'm Tic! And today we're going to play a fun game! What game is it going to be today, Tac?"
"I don't know yet! We won't know until the Wheel of Games tells us!"
"Well, then let's give it a spin and see where it lands!"
Tic grabbed the wheel eagerly and began spinning it. It spun and spun and spun and spun.
For quite a bit longer than usual, actually.
"You must have spun that wheel pretty hard, Tic!"
"Really? I guess I don't know my own strength! But while we wait, why don't we try to guess what it's going to land on!"
"Oh, that sounds fun! It's like a game before the game! Let me think... Checkers? No, wait... Badminton! Oh, maybe Go Fish?"
"Those all sound like good guesses, Tac! But I think it's going to land on Solitaire!"
Tac stared at its co-host, although it was hard to tell given that it didn't have actual eyes.
"How would we both play Solitaire, Tic? It's a one-player game!"
"I don't know, but I guess we'll find out if the wheel lands on it!"
The wheel was still spinning. The cameraman was starting to look worried, but Tic and Tac were sure it would work out in the end.
"Anyway, I'm going to guess Snakes and Ladders! I think that's what the wheel is going to land on!"
"Ooh, that would be fun! Well, let's see which of us is right!"
They turned towards the wheel, which was still spinning.
"It's been spinning an awfully long time, Tac. Maybe we should stop it ourselves?"
"You know we can't stop the Wheel of Games, Tic! We have to wait for it to stop! Those are the rules, and without rules, what kind of a game would you have?"
As if to answer the question, the wheel started to slow, and then stopped, playing a loud chime so the kids at home would know it was done.
"It's stopped! Time to find out what game we're playing!"
"That's right, Tic! So let's see if we were right..."
Tac suddenly looked as if it was trying to blink despite lacking a number of anatomical structures required for that.
"What's the matter, Tac?"
"I've never heard of this game before, Tic. I have no idea what the rules are."
"Let me see!"
Tic scrambled past Tac to look at the space at the top of the wheel. It said, in large and strangely ominous letters, "INTERDIMENSIONAL BATTLE TO THE DEATH".
"That's an odd name for a game," Tic said. "I wonder how you play it?"
And then the two skeletons and the Wheel of Games disappeared, leaving the studio in a panic.
week's over, and I'll edit judging stuff into this post later because Im tired atm

feel free to throw your prompt out schaz

let it be known tho that no matter how much judging happens, fogel gets I see what you did there for that pun that literally destroyed me when i found out what it was

alright here we go

Best of Show Goes, without a doubt, to UPX-82 Stealth Series, Serial Number AB22, as well as Backdoor World Building - I was actually seriously a little scared reading that profile, because I could imagine exactly what was going on in that world...

the Iron Chef goes to Cleo and her um... unique... collection.

Above the Fold belongs to Delli Tareet and her intriguing armor.


20Q award of confusion is yours Skeleman, since Im not sure what else to give you and also how are you exoskeletal when you don't have anything for your skeleton to be outside
you're... all skeleton.....
Ok fuckin' finally thanks and sorry Red for reneging on bones-crafting.

Anyway, for Week 23 your theme is....... Angle.

I'm envisioning a few directions from which you might tackle this one, so hop to it!
Name: Thelst

Race: Disembodied Face

Gender: On a camera!

Color: Sensory overload

Abilities: Thelst is not properly anchored to whichever plane of existence it functions on. In this case, that means that it can be affected by solid objects, but not by wind, ocean currents, water, fire, or electricity. It doesn’t need any kind of food for sustenance, but it seems to need to move around. It levitates.

Thelst is capable of sight and hearing at near-human levels on its own, but it also possesses the ability to absorb sensory information from all living creatures within twenty feet of it, which it uses to gain a much clearer perspective of its surroundings.

Thelst has the power to ‘forget’ sensory information by compiling the unwanted information in its mind and launching it off in a short-range directional beam that transmits it into the minds of all living creatures for five to ten feet in front of it. In theory, this could be used offensively, overloading a creature's mind with massive amounts of sensory input, but because Thelst must permanently forget information in order to use this ability, it prefers not to.

Description: Thelst appears to be a pure-white androgynous face attached to the front of a large DSLR camera floating about four and a half feet above the ground. Its face fits cleanly into the uncanny valley, and it appears to flicker shades of blue and pink as it moves.

It has self-preservation instincts, and is apparently sentient, but has very little capacity for opinions and emotions because so much of its brain power is dedicated to processing all of the sensory information it is receiving and forming a usable picture of the world around it. This means that despite being able to understand people on a very deep and personal level, it is not usually capable of empathy. It could probably be reasoned and communicated with in a clean room or something similar.

Bio: The extraterrestrial colony of Indestructible II was determined to survive at all costs. That meant that when other-dimensional storms of fire came ripping through the fabric of space and time to wreck their city, they needed to be resourceful. Thus, they created the Construct, a sort of cap that covered all the dimensional rifts and didn’t have any real, physical infrastructure. The design was flawed, however, and disembodied faces formed on the edges of the Construct where it jutted out into the real world. People tolerated them because the alternative was jets of fire ripping through their streets and houses at inopportune moments. With Thelst gone, the Construct may be able to compensate, or it may collapse and let out years worth of contained firestorms on the people of Indestructible II.