Character Creation Chain

[alchemist]

Rancid John the Rat Man was (thankfully) the last of Prof. Animo A. Animus's doomed animal-human hybrid experiments. Public opinion had shifted perceptibly after the Brian Blessed (bear) and Piers Morgan (weasel) fiascoes, but the arrival of John was the tipping point.

It wouldn't have been so bad if he'd only had a tail and big ears -- he might have passed as a mangaroo -- but the genetically engineered smell of Limburger cheese meant that no self-respecting Daily Mail reader could bear to read about him, never mind be in the same room with him.

History doesn't record John's opinion of his creation -- he chewed through the power cable of the only recording device thrust in his pointy face, and that was the end. Prof Animus spent the remainder of his days developing bendier bananas at the behest of the UK Conservative-led government.


Siobhan Hashimoto

 

[Interference]

Siobhan Hashimoto

She hated the sound of snow. It was, to her, like the scream of a leaf or the whimper of a breeze or some combination of those two equally-hated things.

No, not equally.

Because it was only the sound of snow that reminded her, so clearly, of the loss she'd known, of the lives she'd abandoned, of the happiness she might have had.

Now, here she was, surrounded by those damned flakes with their screeching, crashing noise, in the only place left to her that would be safe. Safe and agonised, but safe.

"Come on, miss, it isn't like we have all day," the man said, a little irritably, she thought.

She handed him her passport and he looked at it and looked at her and looked at it again.

"I guess you look like your mother," he said and laughed.

She took the passport back and saw, for the first time, the name she'd been given to hide behind this time.

"Damn you, Marty," she whispered.

Marty Lisbon

 

[reiver33]

Marty Lisbon

"Marty, Marty, Marty! Jeez, give me a break why don't you." Sol Pitera sat back in his chair, feet up, flipping that damn silver dollar of his, the one with the bullet hole.

"It's the truth, Sol, I swear."

He laughed. "Some girl that you're sweet on, this Gabby-"

"Greta. Greta Young."

"Whatever. This sweetmeat steps between two mirrors, sees her reflection doing the whole multi-version thing, and drops dead? Well, I can sure see why the police want a taste. Why do you think I can help? I just find people, not bring them back from the underworld."

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. "Well, Sol, everyone knows how you don’t, ah, have a reflection, so I was thinking how the two might be connected.”

He kept smiling but his eyes turned hard. “Well, I can certainly make enquiries, if I was so inclined. “ He flipped his coin. “Call!”

“Ah, ah, tails!”

Sol snatched it from the air and slapped it down on his other wrist. “Tails it is. I’ll take the case. Where I go to for help, though, is another matter”. He sat up, flipped the coin again, and slapped it down on the desk between us.”

“Ah, you didn’t say ‘call’, Sol.”

He shook his head. “Random chance this time, bud. Heads or tails. Up or down. Above…” His eyes burned like a furnace behind glass.”…or below.”


Ulrich Snakehand

 

[Winter Lord]

Ulrich Snakehand, a name that sent shivers down the arms of honest men, and made goblins crap their pants. He was the fastest, meanest, and most nasty of the spellslingers. He was a queller, you have a problem that the regular law couldn't or wouldn't fix, you highered him. You paid him what he asked, and you didn't cheat him; a couple of towns learned this early on. No one knew the reason why he did this work, just that he was the best.

Morgan Shadowbourne

 

[David Evil Overlord]

Morgan Shadowbourne din’t make goblins crap der pants. She made dem wet der pants wiff laffter. ‘Cos Morgan Shadowbourne weren’t no proper goblin name. Too many of dem bowels and continents.
Her real name was Graach Dungbowl. Dat’s a proper goblin name. I know, ‘cos I gived it to her. But she don’t answer to dat name no more. Not since dat wizard cursed her.
Now she uses soap an’ water to ruin da dirt wot stops little demons wot bring disease gettin’ true her skin. Now she wants her meals all burnt and dead, not raw an’ bloody an’ movin’ an’ beggin’ for mercy.
Da tribe laffed at her. Den she tried to make us like her.
Now, I gots her tied to dis stake. Now, I gots to burn my little girl to deff. For da good of da tribe.
Den, we’s gonna find dat wizard wot magicked her inta finkin’ she’s a Dark Elf. Den, we’s gonna cut his tongue out, so’s he can’t do no more cursin’. Den we’s gonna kill him, slow and hurty.
I swears dis, by Snaargh*, Grackle** an’ Glop***

*Goblin God of Killin’ Fings

** Goblin God of Killin’ Fings Slow an’ Hurty

***Goblin God of Choppin’ Off da Bitz wot Make Babies

The next character -- Harrack Redbeard

 

[Kaladan]

Harrack Redbeard spat a chunk of beef gristle into the fire, much to the disgust of Jarrad, who didn't even look up from his book. He wasn't exactly sure what it was about his unruly companion that kept him in his company. The loud, boisterous and blood-thirsty man was the chalk to his cheese, and yet he found himself joining Harrack on another caravan contract that'd take them across the continent together.

Often the subject of ridicule, particularly in the eyes of prospective employers, they were an unusual pair of mercenaries. The bestial, hairy, tattoo'd monstrosity Harrack towered over Jarrad, the polite, fastidious, scholar.

A time passed. Jarrad noticed he could no longer hear his friend's chewing, cursing or smacking of lips. He looked up. Harrack hadn't budged, but appeared fixated on something tiny and delicate in his hands.

"What is it?"

"Nuthin'."

Jarrad said nothing, simply kept watching as Harrack turned over his hand and smiled. "No really, what have you got there?"

"Is one o' 'em ladybird things. Finks my hand's goin' on forever. Hah."

Sure enough, the tiny insect reached the end of Harrack's palm and he turned his hand over again. He held his hand up to his nose to get a better look at the creature. It reached the end of his hand once again and thoughtfully popped its wing case open, the giant ginger man watching carefully, in turn observed by Jarrad.

The ladybird flew into Harrack's huge beard and vanished.

"Agh! It's gone! It's in me beard!" he screamed, clawing at his beard with both hands.

It was at that exact moment that Jarrad remembered why he liked Harrack Redbeard so much.


Next name: Corvus Valarian

 

[reiver33]

“Invisible space pirates?” Major Haas of Naval Intelligence glared at me across the table. She was pretty enough, in a prim, well-scrubbed kind of way, but the harsh lighting of the interrogation room did her no favors.

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Pirates?”

“Correct.”

“Who boarded the Albion during interstellar flight?”

“You got it.”

“And once on board were invisible?”

I smiled, apologetically. “Only to the security cameras, Major. Everyone else could see them well enough.”

“That would be everyone else who is now dead, you being the sole survivor?”

“Just lucky I guess.”

The major flipped open the folder in front of her.“Second Lieutenant Corvus Valarian, of the Entertainment Division. We have an Entertainment Division?”

“We do our bit keeping the troops amused. It’s been a long war, Major.”

“Given the near total loss of the…” She consulted the file. “…twenty-third Combat Concert party, just how do you propose to do that?”

I gestured towards a seemingly random assortment of antique musical instruments piled in the corner. “Oh, I had to delve into the archives for this one, but I do believe I have it covered.”

Haas arched an eyebrow. “And what kind of show can you hope to put on alone?”

I spread my arms, grinning. “Tonight, Major, I’ll be the proverbial one-man-band!”


Raphael Stone

 

[Interference]

Raphael Stone

Was it a mission or just a bee he'd got in his bonnet? Did he go at it with a sense of Ultimate Purpose, or was it just a caprice?

Raphael Stone smiled on one side of his face while his other held a fixed eye on the telescopic sight. His finger tightened a little on the trigger, feeling it pressing back against the muscles of his index finger, a pressure so slight it might go unnoticed were he not so focussed.

Was he happy in his work, or content in his hobby?

The hat rose into view and the head under it was smiling, beaming, irritating. There was a cross on the President's forehead that only Raphael could see.

And then there was a deep red spot which everyone who wasn't hiding could see.

Raphael Stone packed away his rifle and laughed as he watched the President wiping the ink-spot from his forehead, swearing, grimacing, shouting irreverent abuses at his security men.

His foul oaths would lose him the election, Raphael was thinking as he drove back to the Chapel.

It's nice to have a purpose.

Smoky "Bacon" Baggins

 

[Jo Zebedee]

Smoky moved the pancake griddle, adroitly catching the food, the crowd in the cafe oohing as he did. It was hard to find a way to stay one step ahead in the road house chain; audiences were tough.

He pushed the pan down the line and readied the next one.

"Baggins." He heard the voice, and felt the fear rise in him, but didn't respond. "I'm talking to you, Baggins."

He looked up, saw the cold blue eyes looking at him from under their hat.

"Well," he drawled, "I'm not listening. I'm workin'."

His nemesis laughed. "That ain't workin'. When you get you can toss one with some melted cheese on, then you can tell me it's workin'"

Smoky smiled and slid the bacon slices onto the pancake and waited until the crowd had turned to him. He tossed it in the air, the pancake turning, landing in the pan, the bacon coming down one- the crowd counted - two - they oohed - three. The cheers were louder now than the last.

Smoky looked at Joe "the cheese" Tomkins and winked.

"Don't call me bacon for nothing, boy," he drawled. "Get practicin'"





Jonty Montague III

 

[Interference]

Jonty Montague III

"Damned dogs. They keep sniffing, snuffling, poking around, but I know-" Jonty stopped recording for a moment. Another sound had reached him through the three feet of rock and dirt that he'd surrounded himself with. He listened keenly. An engine? Had the weather front closed in, maybe? He snapped his machine back into record. "They have no way of knowing I'm in here. I've got three rounds and one stasernade left. I'm keeping them for the Seekers. Damned dogs. Wish I could just shoot one, but you-know-who would never let me hear the end of-"

"Jonty!"

Such a faint sound, so much background noise, he couldn't be sure he'd heard it as a voice, let alone as a voice calling his name.

"Jonty!"

Closer. Nearer? Certainly clearer, definitely a voice.

"Jon!!"

"Mandy," he whispered, recognising the voice, now, as it came closer and closer.

He cocked his pistol and levelled the muzzle at the door.

"I'm -" He hesitated, evaluating the wisdom of what he was about to do. "I'm here!" he shouted.

Dust fell around him and he heard the sound of digging.

"You in here, Jonty?" another voice asked, as familiar to him as his own.

"I'm here," he said. "In here!"

Sniffing. Snuffling.

Light shot at him from the left. He found shadow. A dog barked. He kept his aim steady.

Poking around.

Jonty Montague I and Jonty Montague II cleared an opening.

"Where's IV?" the scientist asked as she scratched behind her ear with one of her hind legs.

Damned dogs.


Lorie More

 

[Scott R. Forshaw]

I watched the girl with glee as she skipped along through the orchard below me, carefree and full of life, a beaming smile on her face.

In front of me, condensation from my breath formed on the window, the image of the girl becoming distorted and blurred. I frowned.

I remembered what it was like to be young - a free spirit with a long life ahead of me. I remembered when the name, Lorie More, meant something. But now, I felt nothing but sadness for what I'd become, at how my life had turned out.

The trees in the orchard began to sway wildly in the wind, their branches thrashing, clawing, each of them alive with rage. Dark clouds rolled across the sky, filled with menace and suffering. Thunder rolled. The drums of despair; a plague to my existence. Shadows everywhere, running, searching, their clawed hands reaching for the souls of the living.

I heard footsteps in the corridor, beyond the door behind me. It was her again. Why wouldn't she just leave me alone?

"This next one's a little easier to deal with." Her voice was as sharp and shrill as ever. I hated her. "Just be careful to avoid her gaze, dear."

The door opened. The footsteps drew nearer. She was hesitating - I could tell. She came to a halt at my left shoulder, her breathing fast and heavy. She reached around, and wiped spittle from my chin, her hand trembling.

"Lorie? ... Miss More? ... I've come to give you you're medication."

I looked at the girl through the bars on my window. She was lying on the grass, below, her body convulsing. Three men in white coats ran over, heaved her to her feet, and dragged her, kicking and screaming, back into the building. Playtime was over. I wish I could still play outside - be young and carefree, once more. But they say I cant; they say I'm dangerous. Well, I'm going to make them pay - each and every one of them.


Thadius Jones

 

[Simon Wells]

Thadius Jones

He wasn't much of a talker, wasn't much of anything according to the people who knew him...or thought they knew him. Always kept himself to himself, his family had come from a poor background to riches a generation before Thadius, explaining his common family name. His father was well known in the town as a joke, rich and friendly, especially to those that would share a drink with him, and also to anything in a skirt that showed him some attention.

However Thadius wasn't a joke, mainly because no one knew much about him. He had been raised in the mannor to the south of Belview, and he had been a squire as all young rich men started out, but he had suddenly vanished one evening. Ten years later, with news of his father's death he had returned with a few scars on his face and hands, and little to say about his travels. Back at the town he had kept quiet, invested in a few of the farms and buisnesses, and attended the expected parties and events. Yet no one knew anything about the man.

He sat back in the inn, an old book on his lap as he read in the dying light of an old latern in the corner of the room, glancing up as people entered and exited the inn. Those dark brown eyes looking everyone over, sizing them up in his head before returning to his read, no one the wiser that he carried three throwing knives up his sleeves ready for danger.

Boare Tamlyn

 

[littlebird]

Boare Tamlyn


A bookbinder by trade, Boare Tamlyn was as dry as the parchment he so lovingly bound. With hair like a feather duster and always a day's growth of stubble, no one expected that the reserved and simple Boare Tamlyn had a secret. But behind his yellow toothed smile were words he never dared utter except in his dreams. Not even his wife knew his real secret. She simply thought he liked dressing in her undergarments. The truth was, Boare Tamlyn was a murderer. His victim? Well, that is another story.


Rose Pierre

 

[David Evil Overlord]

Rose Pierre

Rose Pierre liked dressing in female undergarments. And female outer-garments. But she didn't. Not anymore.

Rose had cut her long blonde hair in the it-all-fits-inside-my-helmet-sir! style of the Imperial Army. She had bound her breasts tightly beneath her thickly padded tunic. She called herself Pierre, in a growling voice much deeper than her normal pleasant contralto.

Rose was one of those people who might be politely described by the Vagasian Empire as a "square peg in a round hole". The impolite description would involve burning at the stake, for there were laws against witchcraft. Laws written by men. Men who openly practiced magic themselves, because wizardry was legal and they were wizards, not witches.

If she was caught, she would burn. That was why she couldn't get caught.

Not until she had mastered her chosen Art.

Pyromancy.

Okiris Nightrunner

 

[mithril]

The Vagasian Empire denied the existence of Okiris Nightrunner. After all, if the Seven High Wizards couldn't scree her using water, mirror, or blood, she didn't exist. Yet the rumours only grew with every retelling. Okiris was a killer, a healer, a witch, a goddess. She was beautiful, plain, ugly; a young lass, an old hag... Okiris Nightrunner was a shadow. And everyone agreed she was heading to the Capital.

Wade Stormlight

 

[reiver33]

Wade Stormlight

I glared at my agent. “Seriously? Wade Stormlight?”

Lex spread his arms in a semi-apologetic manner, radiating insincerity like a brazier of hot coals. “You’re a hero now, Wade, the darling of the masses. They expect a certain image, a certain persona. Look, at least try on the coat.”

He held it out the grey frock coat and I slid into it. Immediately the colour began to change; mottled black stains, suggestive of storm clouds, slid across the cloth, as if it were a window onto some troubled sky.

My agent smirked as I turned this way and that, studying my reflection in the full-length mirror. “See how the shafts of sunlight occasionally break through the clouds? Notice how there’s a glow from the collar that highlights your cheekbones? Don’t work about the static build-up, I’ve got a hair wax sponsor already lined up.”

I struck a spread armed pose, fingers stretched out like talons, and was rewarded with a tracery of St. Elmo’s Fire over my hands. “OK, I like it. Yes, I definitely like it.”

He nodded. “Comes at a price, of course. In return for this you’ll owe one day’s service per month to Tesla, Lord of Storms. A mere bagatelle, really, when you get down to it. Can you imagine how you’ll look in the Power Haus? I’ll lay odds on you being appointed Captain-General of the Electric Host within the week, and you can piss on the Monk.”

A smile spread across my face. “Lex, you’re a heartless shyster but sometimes, just sometimes, I remember why I like you so much.”

He held out my copper cane. “You can’t fight an idea whose time has come, boy.”

I laughed. “Let’s go light up the world!”


Argon Sorbet

 

[Talysia]

Argon Sorbet

Notoriety came easily to some. It hadn't been her idea to become the most wanted criminal in the galaxy, although she was finding her newly-found status to be a lot of fun. It wasn't even as if she had had to work particularly hard for it. She'd even changed her name to something more fitting for her line of work. Argon Sorbet. The name of a cool customer, a mysterious beauty. A far cry from the girl she used to be,

Her crimes weren't that violent or dangerous; in fact, she prided herself on the fact that not one single person had ever been hurt by her actions. Both parties had enjoyed themselves immensely, and they had parted on good terms every time. It was only when she called her conquests back, asking for a little favour, that got her in trouble. Her paramours were always rich and influential men, and they all seemed to forget how much fun they'd had together, when she was asking for money in exchange for keeping quiet. Their secret nights together, they said, must never become public knowledge. Nor should the secrets that had been dropped in innocent pillow talk.

Blackmail was such an ugly word.

So now, with a fleet of bounty hunters on her trail and an office full of irate executives and leaders waiting for her arrest, she was having the time of her life staying ahead of them. Back home, no-one ever thought that that mousy little girl from such a quiet village would turn into such a provocative figure.

She absolutely loved it.

Andante Vicia

 

[James Coote]

Tell me everything you know about Andante Vicia

Andante? Yeah I remember the guy. Could never quite pin him down though. He seemed to blend into the social background as well as the battlefield. Gave me a fright more than once, emergin' out of the smoke right behind a man, then passing by again, like a ghost in the shadows. And he'd look right through you, like you were the ghost!

Commander used to go up to him and say "Hey Vic! Whatcha do that for? You disobeyin' my orders!?" and Andante would just stare him out, not hostile, not cold, just faceless, like your emotion was just a misshapen hunk of clay held in his hands, that he was slowly kneading back to formless homogeneity

Was one of the few that did well back in civvie life, at least last time I heard of him

Now your turn. I wanna know about Horatio Hopscotch

 

[silvermoon]

I remember Horatio Hopscotch from when we were at school together. He wasn't called Horatio Hopscotch back then, of course--his name was Vince Corrigan, and he used to sit at the desk behind me in class. He was always a comic, evn back then. It doesn't surprise me at all that he ended up joining the cvircus and becoming a clown. I've seen him in action--the circus was in town a few months ago, and I was able to catch up with him and talk over old times...

OK, yhour turn; Roxalann Trehanac

 

[ratsy]

Let's bring it back!!

Roxalann Trehanac

Things hadn't always been so bad for Roxalann. She thought about all of the places she had been and horrors she had seen while gazing into her reflection. Now she sat here on a distant planet in a glass box.

The alien creatures walked by and stared with what she figured must be this backwater planets version of cotton candy. Some sort of insect treat and it appeared to be crunchy. Often the waved their multiliple limbs to gain her attention or tapped on the glass to see if she was alive.

Across from her she could see what appeared to be a Dog like creature standing on two legs in a glass container identical to hers. He couldn't get rid of that sad puppy dog face even if he wasn't miserable, she thought. All she knew was she was alive and they fed her 3 meals a day. And somehow the food was some of the best she had ever eaten.

This is what became of Roxalann Trehanac, Princess of a world that no longer exists, the last in her race and a display piece at the GURTRA colonies Natural Museum.

Calahoo Dreamsniffer