Character Creation Chain

[Interference]

Barbarosa Mugnavor

Barby don't like the letter E.

Everyone thought, "Tough guy" whenever they saw 'im eating mugs in the Carny side-show. He'd eat commemoration mugs, beer mugs, any kinda mugs the punters felt like bringin' along to test 'im with. The great, big, tough guy and his Mugnavor moniker. I still felt we needed the 'e' on his name to make sense, but Barby hated 'E's, like I was saying.

See, Barby was this big mug hisself, strong as ... well, you seen the muggins in the tent by the candy-floss stand. We calls 'im the Mighty Mordo, Strongest Man On Earth. Well, I seen Barby take Mighty Mordo one-handed one night after 'e catches 'im makin' colourful remarks about Eleanor.

Eleanor was 'is achilles 'eel, as you might say. She was this little half-pint, we billed 'er as Ellie Eel, cos of 'ow she could wriggle 'er way through the Glass Maze in fifteen seconds flat. And they was lovers, 'er and Barby, as unlikely as it might sound. We've all seen it, though. Big bruisers 'ooking up with miniatures. I just noticed. Elly Eel. She was 'is Achilles Eel. You gots to larf, aintchya?

It was weird the way it turned out. This rube 'ad brought 'im the biggest mug any'f us 'ad ever seen and Barby was meant to eat it. So 'e walks around it for a minute or two, sizing it up, it was that big, and 'e looks at it and there's this big glittering E on the side of it and you can see 'e's wondering if the glitter's going to give 'im indigestion or something. So anyway, 'e makes 'is decision and starts wolfing it down fast, like, as if, if 'e went slow, 'e might change 'is mind before 'e'd done.

Well, everyone was screaming, like, impressed and cheering 'im on, and he just loves when that 'appens, and eggs 'em on, like, with growls and the like. Next thing, we all sees the blood and stuff. And next thing everybody stops screaming an' stuff and you can just 'ear this little moan. And then nothing ...

Well, 'e wasn't to know it was all a great big prank, was 'e? And, like, 'ow was 'e to know Elly 'ad 'id 'erself in the bottom of the mug as a joke.

Barby don't eat mugs, anymore. Unless you count 'ow 'e's been eating 'imself up ever since.

No. Barby don't like the letter E. It's like a reminder, see ....

Awkward Lil Barchestor

 

[crimsontwilight]

Awkward Lil Barchestor

is a curious soul he darts in and out of alleys and doorways watching as the world passes by. His slender five foot frame creeping from shadow to shadow. He revels in moving things around just to see the confusion on others faces. His eyes are wide and gold, shining in the dark reflecting any and all light, his only give away he is there. Awkward Lil Barchestor loves to cause mischeif he sniggers to himself when he hears the words from those he irratates cursing his name.

Kalana Kitar

 

[reiver33]

Kalana Kitar (real name George) has re-invented himself, sorry, reconnected with his Nigerian roots, as part-owner of the 'Kalana Klub' - an Afro-Caribean music venue in Holborn with a neat line in draft rum. Sporting an impressive beehive hairdo and Hugo Boss two piece, he handles the 'meet and greet' for VIP's and anyone who looks willing to part with cash for his overpriced booze and suspect cuisine.

The fact that he has a 40-watt plasma rifle stashed in his office and hates hiding out in the 21st Century may yet come to light....


Captain Paul Vanner

 

[anthorn]

Captain Paul Vanner.

Since being a little boy living on New New Yorks streets he's wanted to be a Pilot in the Star fleet academy. At 23 he was the youngest ever graduate of the Academy and at 30 the youngest captain of a starship, something which caused great envy amongst class mates. His problem? The company who makes the SPaceships is going bust due to a universe wide recession and his ship it has been decided is to be the focal point of an "accident" so the company can reclaim the money.


Terin Delnoir

 

[Interference]

Terin Delnoir

"Something of the night about that guy," the jailer said as he turned the key and returned to his post.

"You read too much," the lawyer said, picking his coat and hat from the table before bidding the jailer a good evening.

"Words are knowledge," the jailer said after the door had closed and he was alone.

Alone.

Lone.

Lonely.

The jailer opened his book but didn't feel much like reading for once.

Terribly alone. Terribly lonely.

The thought came from nowhere and made a home in his mind, settling itself down with a wriggle and a squeak. And the jailer suddenly remembered, with disturbing clarity, the last words his wife had said to him as she threw her bags in the car and the children in the back seat.

"You bitter old man, you're going to die alone."

The jailer felt his mouth draw down at the corners and his forehead tensed with sadness.

Loneliness and loss.

A tear escaped the corner of his eye and a guttural sob crept stealthily through his larynx.

"You okay out there?" came the gentle, soft voice wafting from the cells.

"Shaddafakup," the jailer replied hoarsely as he sturggled to control the quavering of his throat, clenching his teeth against an explosion of despair. "Whaddafak's wrong wimme?" he simpered.

"You really aren't okay, are you?" the angellic tones consoled. "You poor, lonely old man."

"Yess," the jailer blurted, "yessss, ssso lonely ...."

"Come to me," the prisoner's voice urged, "and be comforted, my friend."

"Friend!?" the jailer screamed. "Frienddd??" as he rose and staggered down the corridor to where peace was promised and calm awaited.

****

Terin Delnoir was three hundred and seventy miles from the prison cell where they found the jailer weeping uncontrollably and screaming his lonely torment at sunrise the next morning. Terin Delnoir booked into a motel room and locked the door, closed the curtains, lay on the bed and cried himself to sleep.

And the jailer suddenly perked up saying, "God, I feel such a fool. But I'm much better, now. Where's the prisoner?"

This was the question his Inspector had been asking him already.

Opus Magnum

 

[Vargev]

Opus Magnum, was a tough streetwise career detective, he had been around the block, and knew most of the junkies, hussy's, and general crims around this part of town.

Except tonight he was after Jake Tannenberg, Opus had been watching him for weeks. shadowing his movements around town, one day this guy will slip up, and when he does i'll be there, he thought. The thought raised a sly smile, curling up his stubbly cheek, as he watched Jakes movements from the corner of a dank dark alleyway.

he took a puff from a cigarette he had lit a little earlier, silently watching, and waiting.

Jake had just finished a conversation with another man, and together they headed toward a parked Mercedes.

Kind of a flashy car for jake, thought Opus.

There was a flash inside the car, and the other man seemed to slump on the dash.

Opus stubbed out his cigarette, and thought bingo, your mine now.

Marianna De'Fontela

 

[Interference]

Marianna De'Fontela

Blood there was, and plenty.

She drank her drink and sat to think. Around her, revelry. Devlitry, she thought, and sought succour in her glass.

Sucker, she thought. Foolish head, foolish heart. Sucker.

A draft she took, a sip and more, her lip stinging, sore. A tooth loose, she thought and probed it lightly with a fingernail. Slightly loose.

She had fought like a demon, like a warrior in such a fight to put the mightiest foe to flight.

But so much blood was there. And not a little death. Brittle life to be so quickly quenched.

"Mummu," the child had said. "Mummu, don't kill, don't kill all."

The blood was warm as it splashed her face, she felt it now a living place on her cheek.

"Bestill yourself, I've havoc to wreak," she'd said and so it was.

"Mummu," the child had dashed to the door and flung it wide. "Leave us leave! Together, now. Forever, now."

The child had flung aside its pretense.

The dank surrounds and dancing buffoonery impaled her wearisome soul as she recalled the fight, appalled by what sooner she knew before she knew the thing she knew.

"Together, child? Forever, child?" she had said.

Beyond the door she had seen them come. Dream-demons in their hoardes approached. The child's dream-demons she had seen before and known. The child asleep presents them for his entertainment, for her task. Where was the child asleep?

The warmth of the blood as it touched her tongue, she spat it, spit! She heard it snore.

The child asleep and so much blood from it as she dispatched the demons in their prime, forever now. This time.

Blood there was, and plenty. And ale to wash it down ....

Margot Serenity

 

[zaelyel]

Margot Serenity, previously known as 'Serenity', is an angel who decided to join the hordes of Lucifer because it didn't like its name. After having pleaded with God and obtained a rejection, Serenity turned to hell believing Lucifer to be more gracious. However the only name Lucifer had left was 'Margot'.

Margot Serenity is currently stuck in hell with two ugly names, and wondering whether it would have a better name if it cut its wings and became a human...



Zig Tag-Tag

 

[Waziwig]

Zig Tag-Tag

The aforementioned criminal was sprouted in the marsh planet of Dailothen, as part of a spore attack of Sigynoth Canrifex. Somehow Zig outgrew his myconoid programming, and stopped massacring the populace, to escape to the first city he could find. There, he learnt language, commerce and violence, and eventually power.

Roughly seven foot tall, made of toughened mushroom pith, he smells as well as a dog, but has no eyes. He neither drinks, eats or sleeps, though does not like the cold. He runs a small gang on the wharfs of Gylnderbourne, using his muscle sparingly. This is a front for a much larger operation, as he is the ringleader of a local Wrecker's crew, drawing ships onto the rocks to loot their cargo.

He seeks others of his kind, for he has heard rumblings of rebellion among the myconoids, though he would only join it if there was something in it for him!

Rel'cignant eu Dofweerthir

 

[zaelyel]

Rel'cignant eu Dofweerthir

Of this being nothing is known, not even if it is a 'he' a 'she' or an 'it'. What is known however, is that the character definitely exists, as this name is found to occur in all parallel universes, thus pointing at the existence of a living being with a certain degree of intelligence.

Trackers (beings who track other beings ) have been able to locate the first moment of the name's appearance in time itself. The name was found to have been thought and written by a being called Waziwig whom the Trackers investigated further...Much is known about this being including the fact that it goes by a bodyless head whose preferred means of transport is floating. It was also found to be of an alien nature to the planet it resides in; but his' is another story...

Faarssi

 

[tangaloomababe]

Faarssi.

How he hated his name, as a child it had been so hard to remember those two "a" and then the two "s". He could never get it right. Both teachers and children mocked his name.
Everyone in his class had a normal name like Betty or Fred, William or Susan.
However nothing about Faarssi's life had been normal. He had been "found" as an infant on the doorstep of the local doctors surgery. Just a note with his name "Faarssi" No surname like other normal people. Perhaps Faarssi had been his surname but the doctor's wife in her infinate wisdom had declared he should be called Faarssi in memory of his unknown parents.
With no children of her own the doctor's wife brought Faarssi up, cradled in love and devotion she protected him from the dangers of the world until it was time for him to go to school, where all his problems began.
Faarssi did not look like the local children, his features were alien, his name unusual, and for these two things he would suffer a taunted childhood which would lead to the terrible events that would happen in Faarssi's future.

Matilda Maitland

 

[Granfalloon]

Matilda Maitland wasn't all she pretended to be. But then, who is? Outwardly she was cool as liquid nitrogen, as hard as galvanized nails, and even reasonably attractive. Inside, she was a storm of bitter and arduous battles. She loved nature, but hated people. She was a gifted artist in many ways - Music, Poetry, Drawing, etc. People either bored her or annoyed her for the most part. She was invariably left with the impression that people just didn't "get" her, and so she tended to isolate and spend hours with her hobbies. Men who tried any type of romantic advances were usually stunned by her flagrant rejection. A man once tried the humorous approach by asking "Do you live around here often?" She replied, "Anytime you're not around, yes." If a man chose to call her a B**ch, she usually just said "Thanks for the compliment". Once a guy said "Kiss my A**", and she simply replied, "No, thank you."

A computer programmer by profession, one of the best of course, she could write a driver for just about any piece of hardware in less than 2 hours. There were occasions when she would cry in solitude. The truth was that she wanted love badly but was terrified of opening her heart to anyone for fear of having it broken. It would take a clever and patient person to win her, and maybe someday it would happen.

Kradus Dalvillion

 

[Interference]

Kradus Dalvillion pushed open the lid of his coffin and, because he didn't know it was an impossible thing to do, was able to dislodge the six feet of soil that had been thrown on top. He climbed out of the grave and dusted off his blue serge suit and because he didn't think it through, a couple of pats with his hands was all it took. He smoothed down his slick black hair and, because he had no mirror, left it to chance whether it looked cool or not. It did.

He walked the half mile to town and straight to the Kettle and Pot where he sidled up to the bar and ordered a whiskey malt which he drank down in one gulp. He ordered another.

A few minutes after eleven, the barman poured another drink for everyone in the bar. The place had filled up by now so it was a lot of drinks. When PC Moldiron popped his head in and said something about licencing hours, Grainne Piryll bit his head off. She didn't know she shouldn't.

That's the damnedest thing about zombies. Unless they've been decaying a while, there's no way to spot 'em.

Juel Prudence

 

[zaelyel]

Juel Prudence, 13, male prostitute,
sat on the window ledge carefully watching the far end of the street, waiting. His client would come soon, or as he thought of him these days, his ‘lover’. In his hand, clutched tightly, was the stone Ela had stolen from one of her visitors. Having thought it worthless she had given it to Juel who had kept his mouth shut. He had been afraid she would take it back if he told her of its mind-reading properties before he had a chance to use it.
Up the dark street a cloaked figure appeared causing his heart to race. Over the weeks he had developed certain physical reactions to this man’s presence, which embarrassingly included blushing.
Although the only thing he knew about him was his face and body, Juel Prudence had somehow become emotionally attached to this stranger who was more gentle and perceptive than most men or women who came to his room… And with emotions had come a need to know more about the man who did not say much.

He hid the stone under his pillow and looked in the mirror, waiting. A blond boy looked back at him and as the door opened behind, a face, with long black hair, also stared back.

Andriel

 

[reiver33]

Andriel

Andriel the Dark, Andriel the Damned, Andriel the Fallen - all names to haunt his footsteps and trail behind him like a ribbon of despair. Wherever he went the past was there, waiting for him, poisoning the minds of honest citizens and leading, inevitably, to closed gates and curses. Only the Field Of Ashes accepted his tread without protest, only the Brotherhood beckoned.

Hawk Bellini

 

[Interference]

Zaelyel, I think you've started what could be a wonderfully moving, disturbing story there. Any chance of you finishing it, or is it finished?

Hawk Bellini

"Say that again without the second word."

"Ass."

"Without the second word, I said."

"Say wise-ass without the ass?"

"Never mind, the mood's gone, now."

We rode on a mile or so more without any more words at all, him moping, misering, like he does, me trying to think of a song I was taught once by a whore in Vantlesberg. Then he pulled his cycle into the dust that ran alongside the dust that had markings covered in dust that barely told you it was a road. I hove to.

"Dude, what's up?" I asked him.

"Let me get this straight," he said, so I cut my red-'n'-greens and the engines quietened. "You think I'm a wise-acre, a smarty-pants, a clever clogs, a-"

"I never said none of them things, Hawk," I reminded him reverting to the vernacular tongue that he felt most comfortable with.

"The jist, you paltroon, the figgin jist, okay?"

"The gist," I said pretending I could mis-spell a word, "was that you're the luckiest solus of a Bellini Breaker that ever walked this dust-pit. If'n them Carlotta Twins hadn't been so caught up being stupefied in the brain, you'd a' been dead by now and I'd be talking to myself."

"I tied their brains in knots, didn't I?" and the Bellini smile came back.

Then it vanished.

His mouth vanished, too.

And his neck.

The top of his head fell to the ground at his left foot and kicked up some dust.

Zwegger-shot, I knew straight away. Looks like the Carlotta Twins had caught up to him. I kinda shrugged, I guess, and fired up the reds. Engines kicked nicely and I laid a pretty cloud of dust all the way to where the sun was going down. Checking my mirrors, I saw Carlotta Boot setting a fire and Carlotta Froth cutting up the body.

Then I remembered the song:

Don't stop. Think about tomorrow (I think that was it).
Dont stop, it'll something something,
Something, something, something,
Yesterday's gone, yesterday's go-o-one.

Cole Curtin

 

[The Ace]

Cole Curtin:

A plumber with an interesting sideline, 'Casing,' likely properties for the notorious Blue Caps.

No-one knows how he came to be associated with this bunch of murderous thugs but he seems to do quite well out of it...allegedly.

There is, of course, no evidence to link a mediocre 30-hour plumber with a gang little more than a rumour in the archives of Grantane's corrupt and inefficient Watch.

Lissala Pertin.

 

[zaelyel]

Interference, that was a moment of inspiration. I guess I could finish it, I do have a storyline in mind (very dark, not something you would want to read) but somehow I don't think I write that well enough; the only story I ever started ended with the first paragraph and is currently stored where no one will see it...

 

[Interference]

Lissala Pertin

By Tuesday afternoon, the story was complete in her mind. Each nuance, every character (not including whatever support players her imagnation might present for her consideration), all relevant scenes and scenaria had been assessed and assigned. This story was going to be perfect, something that would fill the emptiest soul with a passion and a wonder never before experienced by man, woman or anything else.

So why was the cursor just sitting there, blinking at her from the otherwise vacant screen?

She typed: T - h - e; then she paused. No, she thought, shaking her head as she hit the delete key three times and the page was empty again.

A, she typed to the emptiness of the page, but the emptiness chose to swallow it up as well.

Once more the blankness before her taunted her.

****

On Wednesday, after mass, she went up to her room and, after a brief prayer, switched on her laptop again. It loaded her empty page which gazed blankly at her.

O - n - e ...

Damn it! Why couldn't she get past that first word? Surely, she thought, once I've got the first word, the rest are just going to fall into place. But what is that first word?

*****

When Lissala Pertin finally found her first word, it came as a surprise to everyone, not least herself. She had already abandoned the story altogether, for more than three years now, and was writing a series of tone poems for her local newspaper. It was while she was cashing her latest cheque that it came to her, like a bolt of lightning, reminding her not only of the story but also of the dire need that had been bubbling in her unconscious for so long.

She ran home and switched on her laptop immediately.

Then she typed:

E - m - p - t - y

and she continued

... the bins on Friday.

It may not have been perfect, but it was pertin-ent.

Lork Freewill

 

[Moonbat]

Lork Freewill

The lights were so intensely bright that they seemed to give off an audible hum. The hum was barely noticable beneath the holwing, the howling was practically drowned out by the sirens and the Sirens could only just be heard above the roar of the motor. Lork's right shoulder twitched pulling delicately on the handbar he gripped in his right hand. The scooter shifted and vectored away from the lights. The lights followed. Lork tried again, this time he drove his right shoulder foward whilst pulling back and down on his left, the scooter spun and raced away on another different vector. The speed that all this happened at is too great to give it number that would make any sense, but Lork considered it blurred speed. Everytime he looked at the ground, or even the distant trees on his left or right they were blurred. The only area that stayed in focus was fowards, and to the fore was the lights. They seems to seep out of whatever horizon he aimed at, they mottled the sky and the ground, bending it with pulsing circles. Lork thought of a tunnel, pulling him forward, no matter which way he turned the tunnel seemed to stretch onwards before him, he tried again. A fantastic blur of land and sky spun around him, the dampened g-forces pulling at his loose organs. He squirmed through the sensation and accelerated away on an entirely different vector once more. No sooner had the sky and ground come out of the blending spin he put it in than the tunnel rematerialised directly in front of him. He slowed. This wasn't right, how could he be in a multi-directional tunnel. He stopped and looked around him, there it was, stretching lazily off into the distance, no matter which way he turned, or faced, the tunnel bore down upon him. He looked up, he looked down and nearly fell over. What was this place?
Lork had heard about the tunnel traps, when a rider was moving in excess of the legal speeds, the authorities would bend the road round them, forcing them to go straight to jail. Lork hadn't chosen to go to jail, and he never would. He thought for a moment, then demounted his scooter and setup camp. If the fuzz were too lazy to come and get him, he would stay where he was, he wouldn't let them decide which way he rides. He was Lork Freewill, no one made his choices for him.

Except maybe him mum.

Fated Scome