Character Creation Chain

Haddington Wentworth III would have gone unremarked in history had it not been for one fateful eve, four hundred years ago, when the young, newly-commisioned captain led his patrol group of fourteen mounted sabres into four score of Gilmeshian screamers on their way to burn, pillage and otherwise cause miscellaneous havoc in the small border town of Glee. In what has variously been called a moment of sheer bravery, or sheer idiocy, young Wentworth drew his sabre, screamed, 'For King and Country, lads, have at them!', kicked his horse and charged the large, scarred and very mean looking Gilmeshians. His men, inspired by such a selfless act, embraced the distraction their captain had created and rode hell-for-leather for the safety of Glee's walls. They made it, raised the alarm, and the ready defenders of Glee saw off the attack with ease. The citizens of the small town honoured the memory of brave Captain Wentworth by naming a much-favoured sweet pastry the 'Haddington'.

Underscore
 
While it was amusing :D I don't think the one above counts so I am writing for both it and the one above it :rolleyes:

Underscore

She'd picked up the name about the same time she picked up that large brawler back on Buinto Three. She had attempted to underscore her point about hating arrogant men by throwing the arsewipe through the cantina wall. Took her three tries. They normally build out of concresteele there, just to avoid having to rebuild all the time. She did appologize to the owner of course, she liked drinking there even before the change.

It had been that spider bit... no the chemical accid... ahh, whatever it was, after the incident at the bar she had taken to wearing tights and a mask. She wore a tight t-shirt with the word Underscore written across it in capitals. She found that as a five foot nothing brown haired beauty wearing tight clothes gave her so many more chances to make and underscore her points...
----------------------------------------

The Flopsy Goblins

"Who are you calling flopsy, eyes white?" Said Graklic, leader of the band.
"Eyes white? Watch wat yer sayn, you shuldnt be takin to yer betters anyway!" Biff the blond giant shouted back.
Graklic didn't notice the rest of his band pulling back slightly. The morning had been good, why spoil it fighting over a short stretch of cold nasty road, they thought. Give it to the ignorant human in the metal suit. Even his horse looked mean.
"Your rudeness will get you nowhere!" said Graklic, looking up.
"Rudens? You ffending me horse too! His name not Rudens!" Biff shouted again, getting all red in the face.
By now, Graklic's band was safely off the road and had settled in to watch the excitement. They gasped slightly when Biff slid off his horse; Graklic stood almost as high as his knees. They looked back to Graklic, a handsome goblin, although they figured that might be about to change.
Biff stomped over and stared down at Graklic, "You pologize to me horse!" after a short pause, "An, me!" Biff said.
"Appologize? You appologize for your rudeness, human, and i may forgive your affront!" Yelled Graklic.
"Arrhhg!Not pologizing for my horse you lil flopsy goblin! An I don't wan you givn me nothin!" Biff then kicked Graklic in the stomach as hard as he could, he was so angry.
Graklic's band winced as one, it sounded like a tree falling over when Biff's foot connected with Graklic. He flew backwards off of the road to lie gurgling and moaning, flopping all over as he held his stomach tightly.
Biff, glared at the other goblins then turned again to Graklic and spit.
"Stupid flopsy goblins", he muttered as he got back on his horse.
"There, ther Bumbples." Biff said as he patted his horse, walking it on past the goblins.
"Theys jus stoopit goblins, they didn mean offen you."

Cander Steeldriver
 
Cander Steeldriver

I'm just checking the files, if you must know. If you didn't keep asking me about it, I wouldn't be still doing it. Sheesess!

Oh, hullo. You must be the new file clerk. Well, keep out of my way, stay out from under my feet and don't say anything, I'm too foxin busy to show anybody any goddam ropes. Sit there and read something and don't open your mouth to me except if you want to tell me how good I look in this new two-piece I've got on. Here, start with S. That's where the Steeldriver file is. That'll keep you quiet for a nonce or two. What a character, that Steeldriver. Used his false arm. Sharpened the tip. Put a glove on it to hide it. He used to, you won't believe this -- Hell, whathuhellmI telling you for? it's in the goddam file, now stop interrupting me, for chriseache. Just read the goddam file. It'll say all about in there, about how he, it's in there, he used to shiv people without anybody knowing, shiv 'em in public places, like ina queue or ona train or, once I think you'll find it near the back, once when he shivved this geezer, and you'll never believe where it happened. Right in the middle of the foxin--

Yeah, all right, I'm showing the goddam new kid the frequin ropes, for cryinoulou.


Prix Voluntas
 
Prix Voluntas

Prix Voluntas was a nickname, given to Vladimir by his squadron, typical low-brow attempt at latin. Prix was the commander, but his charity (especially with the lives of his men) had earned him the (slightly rude) vernacular. It was after he had volunteered all his men to face the Robotic Doom Mongers; currently laying seige to the hot side of Europa. Nobody wanted to face doom mongers and especially not the robotic type, but Vladimir Markov had volunteered them as he always did and now they had to go. On the return journey from Jupiter (or should that be saturn?) they complained to thier commanding officer about his penchant for volunteering them all for dangerous missions, he simply replied that their lives were his to do with want he wanted, so they called him a prick and it began to take hold from there.


Phallimus Consequence
 
Phallimus Consequence

Between the Arc of Strollia Phi and the Rings of Latrimtnik Eltoid, there's a doorway that leads to neither place, that separates both. This is the Door Of Consequences. If you find this doorway, this passageway betwixt and between the beyond and the behave, you will see all your life's choices in one maddening, brain-shredding instant. If you survive this experience, you will be wiser than God himself; than Goddess herself. You will be the master of your life's history and all your future journeys. And just as a single life can resonate and distort the paths of millions, so a single choice, once altered, can change an entire universe.

The Phallimi were the first to discover this gateway to forever. Instantly recognising its dangerous potential, they chose to destroy it for all time, thoughout all time. But before they did this, it was further decided that one among them must test its wares. But once the Phallimi had become a part of it, if only by the interaction of one among them, it became impossible to destroy. One Phallimus would always have control over the consequences of the actions of them all.

And this is what we now know as The Phallimus Consequence.


Ed Bishop
 
Ed Bishop

Ed Bishop was fat and sweaty, he smelt of mould and soggy wood, he was so unfit that it was rumoured the only time he didn't sweat from over exercise were the three weeks he spent in a Kentucky fried chicken induced coma. Ed was still adamant that they were the best three weeks of his life, closely followed by the lads holiday in Thailand when he was 18; the one and only time he had managed to get laid.
Ed didn't mind being obese but he didn't like being called very overweight, he felt it didn't do his rotundacy justice. When people commented that he was very overweight he would often knock them to the floor and sit on them until they admitted; through partially suffocated gasps of air, that he was supremely overweight.

Bazman Alfonso-Hoist
 
Bazman Alfonso-Hoist

No, before you ask. Never in history has there been another like The Bazman. Never has he had his fleckerls criticised, not once has his reverse turn been ill-executed nor his closed changes been cause for mirth. Remarkable? I'll say. Especially when you consider that The Bazman has never had a dance lesson in his life since he left the Pro Wrestling arena in ought-eight. Ah, such grace of movement across the floor, such footwork, such posture, such a wonder to behold.

Shame he never turned pro, really ....

Del "Strobe" Flashman
 
Been awhile since anybody has added to this;
Del "Strobe"Flashman
Made a fortune from producing light shows for stellar art events. Has a unique ability to manipulate the light and sound produced by the cosmos, refining and tuning them to suit the perceptions of any life form. At the dawn of the 21st Millenium several stars were depleted of their energy by one of the most staggering displays of radio wave symphonics in the history of the universe.
When interviewed by the Galactic press all he could say was; "Plenty more where that came from" at least that is how it translated into terran.

Alicia Farnsworth-Duckham 111
 
OK, no takers for Alicia Farnsworth-Duckham 111?

Communism is dull even for robots so an upper class was developed to add some colour to their drab existance when the human race was replaced 2000 years ago. The proles thought of them as figures of fun and Alicia was not about to spoil their party, but there was more to her kind than even the ministariat could know....they had plans....


How about;

'Tokyo' Joe Trent
 
You beat me to it, Adyc ;) Probably just as well, cos mine was going to be another loooong one along the lines of ...

She was ready. Always.

Five ...

Not always prepared, her father always said, but ...

Four

... ready. Now she had to draw on all her skills, all her ...

Three

Damn. She nearly had it, there. It was a matter of concentration, intense and deep. A matter of holding it ....

Two

In her mind and then just as firmly, just as intensely (if that wasn't a contradiction) ...

One

... relaxing. Letting -

One

... time swirl around her ...

One

within her.

One

She would hold this moment for as long as it took the others to defuse the device.

One


Now, "Tokyo" Joe Trent ...

An expert in his field, he had only once failed in any task he had been given. Well, twice if you included his divorce, which he almost never did. He had been the obvious choice, then, for this task, the simple task of destroying the last known planet to harbour and give refuge to The Defence Initiative. They'd all been wiped out, of course, the Director, his team of enhanced operatives. Or so it had seemed until that one time when he had failed. That time - time - those times that had seemed to repeat themselves and echo on each other until the moment just vanished. A moment of time that never was reached. A tick that was followed by no tock.

At least that was how it seemed when the device, which on examination had clearly detonated, failed.

Marlin Krasque
 
Love the way you have linked both characters, give yourself a gold star:)

Marlin Krasque

The latest in a long line of Krasques, only the best would do for this clan. Wealth and fame their only goal, finance, politics, Art and now sport. The first individual to win more than 33 platinum discs at the bicentennial games. At the very young age of 352 years of age Marlin Krasque had finally made his mark. And how he loved the taste of fish!

Doctor Glenrothes Culder
 
(Thanks, Adyc, I'll wear it with pride :) )

Doctor Glenrothes Culder

It was such a small town, so few people even lived there, and it was all such a big misunderstanding, but for some reason, there he was, moustache twitching nervously as sweat trickled through it from his upper lip, hand hovering shakily a few inches from the holster that felt so wrong as it hung from his hip, the weight of a Colt 45 bearing it awkwardly against his thigh.

"This town," the other was saying, the man who had chosen to be his opponent for no logical reason that Glenrothes could discern, "ain't big enough," he continued in his languid, casual manner, "fer both of us."

Glenrothes grimaced. He could see no way out of this situation, couldn't even understand how his life had brought him to it. Medicine. All he had ever wanted to be was a healer. And yet now, here, he was expected to draw out his gun and shoot the man before the man shot him. It was barbaric. Incomprehensible. Un-

The other man had moved. Glenrothes flinched. The gunman had his gun clear of its holster and aiming at his midriff before Glenrothes remembered what was expected of him. The bullet had ripped out half of his stomach before he'd had a chance to touch his own gun.

As he lay bleeding into the dust, he heard the other man and some bystanders gather around him.

"What now, Buck?" someone asked.

"Now, I guess I'd better fix him up," the gunman said. "This town ain't got but one doctor, and I'm it."

Hal Fermat
 
(Been a while since I took part in this thread:))

Hal Fermat

No-one could fix machines like Hal. He'd been likened to a genius when it came to anything mechanical: even from an early age, the townsfolk brought their broken electrical goods for him to fix, and he'd been able to do so with the minimum of time and effort. So no-one was really surprised when he opened his own shop, taking on anything and everything that needed fixing. He loved to tinker with just about anything mechanical, and had even turned up to his wedding late (not to mention attired in a very scruffy manner) because he had just "had to fix something."

Everyone knew about his project. After work, he'd lock himself in his garage for hours on end, building something, and gossiping about it was one of the townspeople's main pastimes. "It's a racing car," one would say, whilst another would say "No, we'd have heard him testing the engine if it was a car. I'll bet it's a new type of radio or something." Even his wife didn't know what her husband was making, although she would laugh good-naturedly and say, "Oh, don't mind him. Whatever it is, I'm sure it'll be useful. Hal never makes anything that doesn't have a use."

The gossip got worse, however, when two men in black suits came to the door one night and showed a piece of paper to him, saying that they wanted to requisition his new invention. Before he got into the car with them, though, he carefully handed one of the men a large black suitcase. His wife watched them go, and she wondered whether he'd be back for dinner.

Sophia Hyde
 
Sophia was not the prettiest girl in her class. The small piggy eyes, short stubby nose and hair that seemed to fall unnaturally over her face, no matter how long she spent brushing it front of a mirror. She hated mirrors anyway.
She sat at the back of the class, using the pencil to pick the remains of her lunch from between her snaggled teeth. Generally she was ignored by her teachers and her piers but she cared not. She was biding her time. She always hurried home, keen to get off the street and into the comfort of the one bedroomed flat she had shared with her father, dead some three years now, alone but content.
Tonight she had her night classes. Taking the small vial of of light green liquid from the medicine cabinet she sipped gingerly. The warm glow slipped down her throat and hit her stomach, there was a brief spasm of pain but it passed.
She looked in the mirror. That was much better. A beautiful, blond looked back at her. A smile played across her perfect features flashing equally perfect teeth.
"Thanks Dad" she thought.
Placing the vial carefully back on the shelf, she turned the label towards her.
"Property of Dr. Jekyll" it read.

Sylvian Detroit
 
Wit, dandy, raconteur and would-be pimp, Mista Detroit or Sly to his confidants (Ready Eddy) was a bread-white skinny kid from the Projects in an over-large fur coat, purple slouch hat and a terminal affection for 70's crime shows. Having stolen a small fortune in trading stamps during an insurance fire he parlayed this into a 1972 Chocolate Oldsmobile with customised flashing hubcaps. His greatest ambition was to appear on 'Most Wanted' brandishing a real .357 Magnum as opposed to the replica his mum got him last Christmas.

Marat Kern
 
To call Marat Kern reptilian is not simply a description. While he many have scaly skin, spiny hands and red fins ribbed all down his flanks, these are not the parts of him that strike one as the most lizard-like. No, that honour goes to his cold personality. It's probably not his fault. Work in the Diplomatic Corps is notorious for its ability to deaden the soul. Still, Marat's been retired for a long time. A baker of eight years standing, running his little village shop full of little village children. You'd think that'd be enough to thaw anybody out.
And you'd be right. This reptile is warm inside. But he devotes every ounce of his strregnth to creating the opposite impression.

Lional Rise.
 
Lional Rise

The day that Lional Turbridy was buried, two people cried. One was his mother, the other was Asta, his lover who dared not make her feelings known. When Lional's wife saw the girl, she suspected, of course. She had always suspected, but no one was able to confirm it.

The day they buried his coffin, then, fifteen people stood around his grave and while one wept, the remainder shuffled a little uncomfortably on their feet. Lionel's wife was first to leave the graveside with a curt, "Well, thank God that's over." Asta was still at home having sobbed incessantly since the sun woke her.

The night that followed the long day of crying, Asta heard a knock at her door. She dried her eyes and wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve and went to answer it.

She opened the door and fainted.

The day after Lional's coffin was buried, the villagers helped his wife to load all her belongings onto the buckboard and watched her leave town with her son, two brothers and her mother. Many of the townsfolk suppressed their cheers until after the buckboard had cleared the horizon, others waitied even longer than that.

Then with a resounding, "The witch has gone!" they brought Asta and Lionel from their seclusion and began to party.

His mother was the only one to look surprised. She could never have kept the secret.

It was during these celebrations that one reveller said to the Mayor, "We should rename this town Lional Rise" and the Mayor liked the idea very much.

So much that he even remembered it when he was sober.

Judge Tom Slap
 
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Judge Tom Slap

Judge Tom Slap of the Galactic Imperial Justice Department was a fair but hard man. He lived his life, travelling the Cosmos dealing out Justice to those who chose to fight against the Imperial Empire. But he was a man with a secret, a man who was constantly looking over his shoulder, for Judge Tom Slap, life was about to come full circle.
In a bar in an off world mining colony on the outer edges of the Imperial realm a women was giving birth to a child, not an ordinary child, but one who carried the mark of a seeker. There had not been a seeker in a thousand years and it had been fortold that such a person would lead the rebellion to victory. The childs name was Cornelius Slap!


Barbarosa Mugnavor
 
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