Character Creation Chain

Tomith Pacheder Jr

Survival was easy for Tomith. He had survived a war and three marriages and was now facing something that would put even his stoicism, his innate confidence in himself, to the test.

The door stood before him, open and inviting. The sounds emanating from beyond it tantalised him, the scent of women and men, perfumed and sweating, wrinkled his nose. The lure was before him and his history might end once he stepped across the threshold.

He unsheathed his favoured blade and stepped closer to the door, peering into the darkness where shadows and silhouettes seemed to writhe and wiggle with abandon and self-serving joy. He could determine nothing of more significance than this from his position outside.

Another step.

Closer the sound, the noisome shroud swathing him inch by encroaching inch, the shadows drawing him, fascinated, to their leaden embrace.

He hitched his sword once more, turned and walked away -

He had survived again ....

Morkrich Phillanderlip
 
Morkrich Phillanderlip.


Legs like the trunks of giant red woods, arms alike to the pistons of some immense steam engine, the strength to crush a man's head like an over ripe pineapple between his dinner plate hands, no doorway high enough or wide enough for the body mass that would make even mister universe weep, he was a monster.

But it was always so hard to find a leotard that would fit!

He was the worst ballet dancer this side of the water.




Mickey Ringworm
 
Mickey Ringworm

Looking nothing like his namesake, Mickey Ringworm was a stunning man. He cut as imposing a figure as a man of the court could. His cerimonial sword hung in it's scabbard gently swaying on his hip. He could have changed his name once he moved up enough social rungs, but felt it kept him grounded. His blond hair hung long past his shoulders; a sharp contrast to the black ensemble he wore everyday since the passing of his wife.

Every day he went to the Regent and requested justice be sought against the man who killed his wife. And everyday he was denied. But he wouldn't be denied for much longer. The noose was tied and he knew where to find the right neck to fit it perfectly.

Jolie Hillmer
 
Jolie Hillmer

"This is a bad time. A really bad time." Jolie's light, high pitched voice trembled with emotion. She raised up one small shakey hand and stepped around the two strangely robed women.

"There is no other time, Jolie." One of the women said. You are now The Tarrot Keeper. You must take up the mantle." Jolie whipped her head back around to face the women. Dark chestnut hair flew free of the severe bun she had been wearing. Her big blue-green eyes brimmed with tears. Tiny hands now clenched, she stepped slowly towards the two women. Her small frame shaking from anger and anguish.

"I don't know who you are. Frankly I dont care. See that car there?" She pointed to a black herse slowly pulling out of the church lot. "My newly dead mother is lying in the back of it. And you really think its cool for you to stand here babbling about non sense? Get out of my face!" Jolie wailed, then collapsed into a fit of tears. She felt a gentle touch stroke her, now loose hair. Jolie snapped her head up ready for another tirade.

"I didn't believe them at first either, honey." It was her mother. Or at least her mothers ghost.

"Mom?! What? How?"

"Because, you, Jolie Hillmer are now The Tarrot Keeper."

>Vo Ni Lokiary
 
(It's been a while since my last attempt at this thread. This one turned out a little darker than some of my others.)

Vo Ni Lokiary

She sat there, turning the gem over and over in her hands. It had fallen as a teardrop, and had come to rest in her hand as a precious stone, only one with a faintly negative feel to it. It seemed to glow with pent up emotion: her emotions. Her negativity.

She remembered the reason she had been crying all too well. So what if she was plain, compared to the beauty of the other women at court? So what if her company was riveting, said in that plainly obvious manner? She couldn't help the way she looked, nor could she help the way she had been brought up. Tears threatened to fall at the memory - how could he say those things to her!

In her pale hands, the gem seemed to pulse brighter, as her anger and remembered misery grew. It shone. If everyone else could feel the negativity coming from it, perhaps it would affect them, too. Perhaps if she set it as a pendant? Maybe that would work. A nice gift for him.

Maybe then other people would know how she felt.

Celine Ferrars
 
Celine Ferrars

A lonely beautiful duchess of high status amongst the royal court.
She has long brown hair that is always tied up and her skin is of a soft smooth complexion. Her eyes are an amazing blue, but the life in them have dulled over the years.
Many men desire her but her heart belongs to a soldier that she meet as a young girl and who was killed in battle many years ago.
She keeps to herself most times unless she is performing duties for her King and Queen, and many say she is a hard woman to read.

Jack Peterson

(hope that was okay :) )
 
I don't know how I missed so many of these, they're all so good!!!! I'll be back later when I've taken my last "talent pill" :eek:

(Yes, Callylee, very okay :) - and lovely to see Talysia jumping back into the saddle so dazzlingly - I like "dark" :))
 
Thanks, Interference - I might try out a few more darker characters here. It'll be good practice for me.:)

And CallyLee: that's a very nice character - good start! Nice to see this old thread revived again.:)

Jack Peterson

The rain fell heavily, plastering his black hair to his skull. He hated the weather on these outer planets: in fact, the only reason he was out in the back-end of the galaxy was thanks to her. Here, he was the alien, and he felt more of an outcast than ever, but he had a job to do.

She was a killer. Earth had already issued a reward for her capture or death, and Jack had already decided that the money belonged to him. After all, his reputation was at stake. A bounty hunter of his calibre couldn't be seen to avoid this prime catch, even if she was an old flame.

He couldn't help but remember the time they'd spent in bars like this. He'd spend the time looking for leads, and she'd sing all the old songs he loved to the gathered regulars. She had such a sweet voice, too. What kind of twisted fate had brought her to this?

Loosening his weapon, he shrugged. It didn't really matter. At the sight of a familiar figure walking quickly toward the bar, he nodded to himself.

"I'm sorry, Astella," he muttered, following her inside.

Time to go to work.

Feliré Istarrez
 
Feliré Istarrez

The last in a long line of DeathWatchers. She had lived for just over two hundred years, travelling freely between this world and the next. Making sure that the dead stayed dead, and none of them strayed off course. She had fought in the great dimensional wars, and was the only remaining survivor to live to tell the tale.

The DeathWatchers had existed since the beginning of time, ferrying souls to the afterlife. But not all of them wanted to go. There were the ones who were desperate to avenge their own deaths, and would stop at nothing to exact their revenge.

Feliré Istarrez had fought with unsurmountable courage against such tormented souls. Even when the rebellion of the dead rose to stand against her, she stood firm, fighting them with every part of her being, until only she was left standing. The lone soldier of the damned. Her blade notched and battered from battle; her magics fizzling and spluttering as the last of them ebbed away from her. But she would live to fight another day, to protect the living from the onslaught of the dead.

Belador Conquistador Vertigus
 
Belador Conquistador Vertigus

Millions of varieties of life, all aliens to each other, scrutinized the figure at the base of the Elliptical Cone-drome from their perspective vantages. Eyes, and other sensory intake mechanisms processed the arching, twisting, veering, spiraling contortionist at his treacherous pursuit. Belador Vertigus shone among masters of the elite Shensha fighters, battling the most dexterous of MegaDragons known to the galaxy, having never lost in 70 Earth years of contests. The "Conquistador" title was of course conferred upon him in his twentieth year as an honorary title. Only a sparse few of the spectators could actually follow his every sprightly move. For common Earth humans, over half of his movements were a semi-transparent blur that they could only hope to decipher from a 2000 frame per second camera, post-battle. There were few who knew the man, the being of Belador. Those lucky few would find that he was as wise as he was quick.

Delphiquin Lightning Ezereth
 
Belador Conquistador Vertigus

Lorenzo Vertigus, the first governor of the province, ruled for eight months before the natives burst out of the trees and wrecked the town. They left the colonists' heads on stakes like ripe jungle flowers. Only a tenth of the townsfolk escaped the raid, and as they struggled towards the next settlement on the trail, their maps began to rot in the hot, endless damp and their numbers began to drop.

Among them was Lorenzo's daughter, Belador. She alone had escaped the slaughter of her family, and seemed almost unperturbed by the massacre. As the ragged column stumbled through the steaming forest, cursing God and the saints, Belador smiled and encouraged them to move on. When hardened soldiers fell to animals and disease, Belador put on their armour and led the way.

Or so the story goes. Ten miles from safety she disappeared. Cynics say that luck caught up with her, that the natives killed her with a poisoned dart or a quick axe-blow to the head, but pious travelers know better than that. As the vengeful armies push further into the New World, hungry for gold and revenge, lost soldiers sometimes glimpse an armoured maiden between the trees: pointing them towards safety, smiling all the while.

EDIT: Whoops, simultaneous post!
 
Delphiquin Lightning Ezereth

Coined Lightning for her cat-like reflexes and talent with a blade. Delphiquin, Della to her friends, is an amiable and caring young woman. She enrolled on the Queens Guard as a young teen and for the last ten years has spent her way working hard to get to the top. Now she is part of the Queen's private retinue, one of only four, and has personally saved the Queen on 7 occasions. That is by day....

Her alter ego has no friends. Her family going back 5 generations have been dormant spies and assassins, the very best that the Western lands could produce and bring together in order to breed the super assassin in Delphiquin. She was brought up with the best of instruction from the age of three and now that she has gotten herself to the posistion that she is in, her role is to assainate the Queen and bring down the East's kingdom from within.

She stands at 5' 7", has long auburn hair. Della is slim but muscular. Average in looks she keeps herself plain so as not to attract the attention of men. Her loyalty is without question and determination burns in her eyes, which are a deep sea green. she has a scar running from her right shoulder to her left hip down her front from a battle in the east in which she came up against her childhood tutor. Given that she was defending the Queen she had to take the duel and defeated him but it cost her dearly, in more ways than one.

Delphiquin carries and array of weapons although not all at the same time. her favoured blade is the rapier or mameluke, using speed as her ally. The other weapons in her arsenal include the flyss, spatha and an enchanted estoc which can be weilded as if it were light as a feather and cut through steel like butter. She is also apept with axes knives and blowpipes. her main weakness is a poor aim with a bow
 
Lazarenn Evenhand

Known to the town as the soft spoken cloth-maker, Lazarenn Evenhand keeps a low-profile at all times, making sure no one takes interest in her doings. She resembles a wisp of smoke, gently curving up from her feet to her subtle, light eyes. A patch of her white-blonde hair hangs permanently over her face, to avert the eyes of men from her entrancing features. In her heart, she wishes that she could greet the mail-carrier, the butcher and the cozy family that lives next door, but she knows that it is imperitive that she does not. An Evenhand is doomed to a life of loneliness.

For a century her family has been the bearer of great burden, the last of the Omonhai Dragons. At the end of the war, over 100 years ago now, it was believed that the last of the great serpents was destroyed. To some, this meant the tragic end of a noble race, to others it meant that peace was finally possible. Despite the cooperative demeanor of the Omonhai, human kind had found a way to bend them to their will, and a great war ensued. Now, it is Lazarenn’s duty to ensure that this never happens again.

Inside her unremarkable cottage home, directly beneath her clean wooden flooring, rests a four-foot tall egg. The last seed of the Dragon. It is her noble duty to keep the egg from hatching, to keep it cold and in shadow. It would only take a warm touch, or a beam of sunlight to crack the shell and unleash a tremendous power unto the world. So, the guardian of the Omanhai, Lazarenn Evenhand, is known to her small town as the wispy, soft spoken cloth-maker.


...first post.

Eurik Gormand
 
Eurik Gormand

A former 'Mr Strongest Man' contender in his native Sweden, Eurik's body-building career was ruined by an addiction to IKEA meatballs. Saved from eating himself into an early grave by Dr Wisemans weightloss program, which liquified his body fat, Eurik began a new life as a puffin farmer in the Faroe Islands. It was here that he was approached by a shadowy individual known as 'Mr Diamante', and life was never the same again...

Viktor Hanesh
 
Viktor Hanesh

"Hmm... is that you? Please come closer, let me see you in the light. Yes very nice, very nice indeed. Whats that? The stains? Nothing to worry about. A previous client, things get a little messy sometimes. Now now, don't flinch, my eyes are not what they used to be.

"You've brought the box yes? Hmm very good. Give it to me. Been a long time since I've seen one this old. You found it you say. How lucky, how very lucky indeed. What's that you say? Do I have the key? I'm afraid not, but I know someone who does, just sit back on the chair and... that's it. Lie back, close your eyes, I'll just stick these here and...

"Please, don't struggle. I know it hurts, but the pain will be over soon. Here, bite down on this, I'll just peel back here, and here...and here. That's better isn't it. What's that you say? Open the box. I told you I'm not the key holder. Just be patient, you'll meet him soon enough."

Derek Dek Dereksen
 
>Derek "Dek" Dereksen

Derek Dereksen, or Dek as called is often called, is an imposing young man. He stands perfectly straight at just over 6'3", with broad angular shoulders. His hair is glossy black and his eyes a cold steel gray. His massive hands are rarely seen unfisted. No one can recall ever seeing Dek smile. The earth might crack if he did. Dek never speaks, no one really knows if he can. Where he came from is anyone's guess.

Yet inside the prison of his own massive body and epic battle rages. Lucifer, the darkest of angels struggles and strains against his bounds. With only the strength of his will Derek keeps the king of demons caged. Sacrificing himself. His joy. His voice. His life. His chance to be loved. Everyday Dek saves the world from facing the Demon Lord. But it is he whom the world calls Dek the Monstrous.

>Labba Ikaryotyli
 
Labba Ikaryotyli

Labba Ikaryotyli is a tall, but slender woman. She is an artist of some sort, like her fellow asaryanoska. And like her fellow bards, she is a master in the art of assassination. She isn’t extremely beautiful; it wasn’t needed in her occupation. She needed to blend in and not be noticed in order to complete her work. Her eyes are a warm green, and her hair is dark brown. She is a master at controlling her facial expressions, and to a lesser extent, her emotions.

Inside her mind however, is a soul wishing to escape from the endless cycle of blood and blades. And she will do anything to escape, even kill herself if it were to come to that.

>Jimmy 'Slim Jim' Sweetwater
 
Jimmy 'Slim Jim' Sweetwater

“James Sweetwater?” She asked around, her tidy buttoned up white shirt stuck out like a sore thumb in the mass of people in the run down old town bar. “James Sweetwater?”

He twitched as he turned, with a finger stuck in his ear to clean out the wax. He hadn’t heard that name in quite some time. “Exx” He halted to hiccup and flick away the newly found wax from his ears. “Excuse me?” He frowned. The thin man, who looked as if he hadn’t eaten anything hearty for years, stood and looked at the female voice’s owner.

“Excuse me?” He hiccupped, “You say ‘James Sweetwater’?”
She shot over to where the thin man stood. “Yes I did…” She rummaged through her note pad to look over her scribbles. “James Sweetwater, often seen in Hangman’s Bar. Aged 66, tall, thin man of about 6, 4, dark haired… Mercurial.”
He blinked drunkenly at his description. “ Sounds like me. But no one ain’t called me ‘James’ in a long time.” He slurred.
She shivered and stood up straight, “You’re James Sweetwater?”
“That would be ‘Jimmy Sweetwater’.” He corrected.
She starred widely at him, “I’m Vin Lancatter, I’m writing a story about the great golden age of Piracy I had heard that you worked with the legend Raleigh Goldsmith… but you’re not exactly what I had expected.” She spoke softly, almost muttering.
“Ahhhhh Raleigh!” He broke into a loud chuckle. “That fool owes me 1000 credits!”
She starred at the ragged old man, whose clothes were obviously too big for him and hung over his small body. “Then you are the Mercurial Shipworker who made his Starcraft?”
“That would be me. No Starcrafter any better than yours truly!” He announced proudly as others in the bar sighed loudly, they’d heard the stories all before.
“Then you’ll tell me all about Goldsmith?” She asked hopefully.
“Indeedy I will!” He sat down and downed a drink. “Me and Rayleigh were old friends, that damned Pirate gave me some problems!”
“What can you tell me about him and yourself?” She unhooked her pen from the notepad and started making scribbled notes.
“Well first of all he used to call me ‘Slim Jim’.” He smiled.


>Fenley Ravencroft
 
Fenley Ravencroft

'The dark red Baron of Bloody Bleeding Horror,' as he was known in his native Transylvania, Ravencroft has been overlooked historically, largely because of the antics of a countryman and fellow noble-
Vlad Tepes, better known to the world as Dracula.
Ravencrofts' victims were reputedly all skinned and turned into high-quality papyrus and paper products, from which Ravencroft produced various manuscripts and popular tracts of the time, some of which were sold to the unknowing populace.
Featuring largely romance-based tales of medaeval violence, Ravencroft Press ran succesfully for 20 years, accepting sublissions in hand-written form only, single-spaced, name at top left. Payment is a smattering of alms. Rejected stories may earn the author a beating from palace guards. No vampire stories, please.
Ravencroft died in 1666, mysteriously, from thousands of paper cuts.

Psychic Detective - Kratz Frannanigan
 
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