Character Creation Chain

[Spiegal]

Mr. Orange, that was beautiful. Like a space Pink Floyd or something!

Manufactured in the blast furnaces, iron presses and assembly lines of Lord Havistock's Mechanical Sapients production mill in Lancaster, the first of these curios were produced in the great steamdroid revolution of 1876. Many of the buffed brass robots were produced for entertainment value or to take some of the drudgery out of everyday victorian life. Lord Havistock, however, had been using the funds from his other enterprises to present a new weapon to Her Majesty's Armed forces. With upset in the far east and conflict looming with Russia in the Russio-Turkish war, the Armed forces eagerly awaited what Havistock could provide them with.

On the morning of 13th July at Horseguard's Parade in central London the air was thick with a smokescreen of steam and coal dust. A roar of steam powered engines startled the crowd, as the hulking visage of a 20 foot iron brute lumbered into view. Slung over its right arm was a huge Howitzer cannon, and in the other was a bank of elephant guns loaded with buckshot.

Queen Victoria, Benjamin Disraeli and the highest ranking Generals in the Army were present for a rare live fire demonstration in St. James Park. After demolishing mock up buildings, artillery emplacements and infantry columns. A devastating display of force as such was enough to call for an immediate order of 2000 to be produced over the next 5 years all to be ready in time for the defense of the realm against the growing Russian threat.

War inevitably did break out and while not perfect, the Havistock Steam-driven Animatronic Sapien Machine was adopted as a symbol of might for the United Kingdom's domination of land, sea, air and now the mechanical interpretation of the human form.

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Father Annhi

 

[Victoria Silverwolf]

Father Annhi trudged through the snow, his environmental suit creaking with every step. After decades of terraforming, Mars was still a very cold place, with very thin air. He could have taken the crawler and been more comfortable, but walking was almost as fast, and he could use the exercise. Besides, the long hike to the Agricultural Planning Center (a highly optimistic name for a chaotic collection of buildings full of human beings and machines trying to make sense of things) would give him time to think. It wasn't every day that an AI wanted to convert to Christianity.

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Flet Vamon

 

[cgsmith]

Father Annhi trudged through the snow, his environmental suit creaking with every step. After decades of terraforming, Mars was still a very cold place, with very thin air. He could have taken the crawler and been more comfortable, but walking was almost as fast, and he could use the exercise. Besides, the long hike to the Agricultural Planning Center (a highly optimistic name for a chaotic collection of buildings full of human beings and machines trying to make sense of things) would give him time to think. It wasn't every day that an AI wanted to convert to Christianity.

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Flet Vamon

The AI converting to Christianity, I'd read that book.


Flet Vamon.

In the small hours of the morning a nervous cadet sat at the bar nursing a very stiff drink. Behind him, through the filtered window, a vista of unparalleled beauty was playing out. Sol hung big and beautiful in the middle, the particular hue of the glass showing off the boiling surface with its magnetic eddies and collosal fire storms. Mercury was rising slowly a mere speck next to the sun that demonstrated the magisty of the star.

It was all lost on Jameson though, matters were pressing on his mind. He shot back the contents of the glass then asked the bartender for another.

"Fifteen bucks," he said gruffly at first then he caught the expression on Jameson's face, "what's up, son"

Jameson didn't speak, he only shot the drink back and grimaced at the taste. He gestured for another and the bartender poured it.

"What can you tell me about Flet Vamon?" Jameson said, unable to hold his voice without it quivering.

The bartented seemed entirely unreactive to the name, he just kept his eye on the drink he'd poured out. After a moment spent rolling a second, empty, glass around his hands he simply said, "drink's on the house, kid."

The bartender pulled the shutter on the bar and a few minutes later Jameson heard the man leave through the back. He turned on the stool to take a look at the view, it had taken his breath away every time up until that point.

In one of the stalls Jameson spotted an older man and the man saw him, he got up and walked across that glorious view, he managed even to detract from it so hard was the expression on his wild face, a face that looked absurd sitting on top of the elegantly cut suit he wore. He reached into the breast pocket of his three peice and removed a pocket watch. He glanced at it and then spoke in a tamed voice.

"You owe me a favor, Jameson."

---

Sarks Severe

 

[TitaniumTi]

"Don't be mistaken," Augustine murmured, ushering him into the scented chamber. "She's more than she seems."

Despite himself, Jack paused on the threshold. He saw a profusion of flowers, woven and real, vivid in the light from the chandeliers. His own soberly suited image, reflected in a huge, gold-framed mirror, lurked like an intruder at the far end of the room.

Sarks Severe perched with school-girl primness among the cabbage roses adorning a plump sofa. The bracelets on her arm tinkled as she smoothed her silks.

To the uninformed, Jack thought, she must seem ludicrously ill-named. He knew better; the last time he'd seen Ms Severe, she had pointed an ornately chased, but extremely deadly, neural disruptor at him.

The Third Sister

 

[Victoria Silverwolf]

The Third Sister is the least often seen of the manifestations of the Goddess. More common are the appearances of the First Sister, that child of shining ebony whose eyes are deepest silver. Many are the villagers who claim to have seen her, dancing on snow or water. Such folk are mad and blissful. The Second Sister is also known to a double handful of people. Ivory she is, with hair of purest gold that flows behind her like a river of fire. Her song is so sweet that all who hear it go blind, and are glad of it. But the Third Sister! Not a soul in our village has encountered her. Tales from distant lands, where the people speak with strange accents, relate that she is of no color at all. Those rare occasions when she can be seen reveal her to be the phantom of an old crone, as if the figure of an elderly wise woman could be carved from soap bubbles. As to what becomes of those who have seen her, I cannot say, and I do not care to wonder.

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Director Fletter.

 

[TitaniumTi]

Satan, it seemed, had met his match. Vanity was Satan's greatest strength, gifting him with the understanding needed to craft lures capable of ensnaring bishops and philanthropists, mothers and teachers, men and women whose only weakness was a wish for recognition.

Vanity was also Satan's greatest weakness. Director Fletter had an equally exquisite understanding of vanity, honed by work with such cinematic greats as True Hobson and Paris Beringer. He used this perception to tame Satan. He was aided in his task by genuine ambivalence about the best choice of leading actor. Paris Beringer was an established name, certain to pull in the punters. Johnny Hobhill, although less well known to the public, had won respect in theatrical circles for his ability to establish character and mood without uttering even a word of dialogue.

One consideration made the choice inevitable; Satan was perfect for the leading role in a dramatisation of the fall of Lucifer.

The mythologist

 

[Spiegal]

The entire crew thought I was insane. I had sacrificed the cargo space for the eighth treasure hauling mule when I invited him along. It was pure greed, however, seven mules worth of treasure from the Alabastor Pyre would be more than enough for us all to live the life of kings.

When he arrived at the dock the crew were even less impressed. The Mythologist had carted a mountain of books along with him. The cramped confines irked even myself but still I knew he was essential for our plan to succeed. He weathered the sea storms and caustic attitude of the crew better than anyone I had seen before and soon we had arrived at our destination.

Without the mythologist in our midst Caraben would have lost his arm to the Towering Hound, we would have never known that wine would have turned the rock into a doorway or that Battalia had to coat his blade in the Harrow-mare's tears to cut it down.

On our return to the docks the crew started to distribute our wealth between the group. The mythologist, having brought only his books and nothing else, refused even a single coin.

"Knowledge is my fortune and my books are my Sword." He told us graciously.

With a slow meander he headed down the jetty toward another boat as it loaded up with fresh faced adventurers headed for some strange, distant isle.

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Cannon Jones

 

[TorontoJim]

I carefully pulled the cargo hatch open to see what was making that noise. Cannon Jones stood there with his blood splashed helmet under his arm, his weapon hanging from clips on his chest, black Kevlar environment suit cutting a crisp profile in the smoky atmosphere. The whispy sound I had heard must have been his lighting the cigar that was standing proud from his lips. Clamped firmly in his teeth, the cigar didn’t waggle at all as he said, “Pilot! There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

The bodies lay piled around like tossed refuse. His big meaty fist extended like a piston, shoving the door open and making me stumble backwards. He stepped into the small room, filling the available space with his bulk. He smelled of battle, death and a good Cuban smoke. He smiled, one tooth missing and a twinkle in his eye. He put one of those big meaty paws on the shoulder of my flight suit, pulled me closer and said in a quiet, strong voice, “Don’t give it any more worry son, I’m here.”

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Archael Rofdin

 

[BenSt]

Commander Archael Rofdin, rear-Admiral of the 34th Battalion surveyed the devestation of his battlegroup. His superiors, Admiral Jomatain and Commander Kaeron's bodies lay entombed in their dying battleships before him. Only five of the nineteen vessels remained and the enemy was surrounding them. Rofdin barked commands to his bridge staff, ordering a full retreat. The captains of the remaining vessels appeared before him on his holo-centre, some appearing to be injured. The time for fighting was done, and any survivors had to be left behind. The five ships inched their way through the debris, sending out flares of cover fire as the enemy cruisers rammed their way through the wreckage towards them. Within a minute, Rofdin's survivors were clear and the jump to lightspeed hailed a temporary safety. They regrouped in the orbit of Helium Tor where under Rofdin's guidance mounted a plan. Patching up their wounded hulls, the five ships returned to the battlesite and took on the enemy fleet head on. The enemy had already begun to harvest the bodies of the dead, and while they were preoccupied, Rofdin utilized his strategy. Knowing the alien vessels' shields would be lowered to allow salvage operation, the five survivors easily smashed their way through crippling the larger destroyers before they had time to react. It was at this time a relief force commanded by Admiral Traene arrived to help finish the job.

And so it was the Battle of Henos Korba that the struggle against the Porfari changed into our favour. The captured Porfari vessels allowed us to modify our weapons and shields, and a certain Porfari high official captured at this time unlocked the entire enemy offence plans. Without Read-Admiral Rofdin's brillient maneuvers and courage in taking his men and women back into battle, we may never won the war.

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Jantho

 

[Spiegal]

Jantho heard the wailing sirens building to a crescendo from the street below. Even this high up in the building he heard them well before seeing the strobing lights of the advancing MetroPol vehicles.

He had taken something they wanted back. To Jantho it was nothing, merely a few billion credits lifted from the digi-safe of the fatcat organisation. Pocket change, really.

With a power assisted kick he smashed a door in on its hinges and started for the rooftop stairwell. Another kick sent the final door exploding from the frame out into the fresh breeze of the night atop the roof of the skyscraper.

before him the route was clear. A short sprint would bring him to the protruding section of the landing pad beyond which was a sheer drop, 4000 feet to the ground. This would be his escape route and not before time either, he could hear the rumbling drone of a MetroPol gunship gaining volume over the sirens.

He vaulted machinery and vents until he reached the hard concrete of the landing pad. Searchlights swept across the rooftop as he got closer to the edge. Without fanfare or elaboration he placed his last step on solid ground and used it to propel himself straight over the edge and into the stomach churning drop.

A brief free fall got him up to speed before he flared open his wingsuit.
Weaving and twisting through the canopy of buildings and cranes he lost his pursuers in the smog and undergrowth of the urban jungle.

'Eco-Activism' He thought to himself as he splashed down into the rooftop cooling tank of a Bio-Reactor. 'Never thought it'd pay the bills!'

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The Crimson Corsair

 

[BenSt]

"A smirk, emerald eyes, and a flash of red." That is what most people remember when encountering that villain the Crimson Corsair. "Stand and Deliver, Squire!" He would say, sending a streak of plasma over the heads of bewildered coach drivers. On the Emperor's Highway, in the lonely sideroads, very few coaches of distinction were safe if their occupants were deemed to be corrupt by that devilishly handsome fellow. Wherever decadence misted over the eyes of man to the plight of his brothers, the Crimson Corsair was there to waft away the riches. Some say he was an economic rebel, others a disenfranchised gentlemen... but to the eyes of his victims he was a ruffian, nay a scoundrel! Seducing young men, charming young women... none could resist his wit, and very few of his targets left a meeting with him not having learned a lesson or been mocked for the fools they were. When enquired about his thoughts on the matter once, Emperor Frederick's green eyes seemed to twinkle, and trying not to smile... "well, one must take better precautions on these roads of mine."

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Jamal ibn-Harif ibn-Moussa Al'Musha

 

[Victoria Silverwolf]

Hear, o learned ones, of the tragic fate of Jamal ibn-Harif ibn-Moussa Al'Musha, a humble and devoted servant of the Almighty. Shabby and dusty were his robes, lean and bony were his limbs, large and hungry were his eyes. Never was there one so deserving of pity. Even the pariah dogs allowed him to share their scraps of offal without complaint. Yet within this beggar's body lived the heart of a scholar, one who would have gladly traded seven years of his miserable life for the chance to study the words of the Prophet (peace be upon him.) It came to pass that an afreet came to him in the guise of a maker of scrolls. Words were Jamal's solace and delight, and words were to be his doom.

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Warren Riley

 

[TitaniumTi]

Warren "Rabbit" Riley. He's as twisted as a rabbit warren and as apt to trip you up. No biocams for him - he prefers to touch palms with his targets, conning them that they're in safe space before opening them up to the ridicule of his galactic holoview network.

the Mirror Man

 

[Spiegal]

Also known as the Glassen Beyst and the Wallwalker, the Mirror Man was the cause of great panic in the wake of a series of sightings in Victorian London during the summer of 1866.

First sighted in the Strand area of London, the few descriptions from reliable witnesses all describe the creature as "having no discernible features" appearing merely as skin draped over bones and "crisscrossed with veins and arteries pulsing with life."

The initial sighting gave the creature it's name. After terrifying a passing pedestrian, a mob took chase down the alleyways and streets of Central London. At many times during the chase the creature would stop in its tracks and fade from sight against various objects and walls. Upon closer inspection the creature could not be found, save for a strange indecipherable jabbering that seemed to come from all around.

One of the vigilante group claimed "after we had the terrifying creature cornered it faded as if made from smoke. My cap was taken from atop my head as we saw it squatting on the ceiling above us before disappearing into the dark once more, all the while cackling with glee."

The sighting continued with the creature leaping out at people in the night, peering in through windows and spooking the horses of carriage men. Extra police were brought in to try and capture or kill the creature however the sightings continued unabated.

It was during a particularly stormy night that the creature famously scaled the Houses of Parliament and gained entry to a meeting of the House of Lords resulting in the deaths of two MPs by heart attack and inflicting many others with violent fits.

During this storm the sky was "alight with vibrant colour and subject to great movement of objects within the clouds" unusual sounds were heard akin to the shaking of bolts inside a metal can and with abruptness that baffled scientists ceased altogether.

The Mirrorman whose reign of terror had lasted 10 weeks of nonstop torment was never seen again and the mystery to this very day remains unsolved. The evidence long gone and testimonies consigned to history mean that it is unlikely there will ever be closure on the bizarre events of the sweltering summer of 1866
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The Straw Man of Nepal

 

[BenSt]

"Amma, Amma!" The Little boy shouted, staring out the window down the street.

"What is it my beloved?" Shanti asked, continuing to roll out the dough and place into the hot fat.

"He's here! The straw man is here!" The little boy could hardly contain his excitement.

"If you shout so loud Dev, he will pass over our house and go to the Khanji's next door." Shanti smiled, continuing her work. She took the last roti from the hot fat and played it onto the cooling rack. The evening meal was almost ready, and so she collected together some cold pieces of meat and cheese, some fruit and a fresh roti in a bag. A knock at the door caused Dev to jump about in excitement. Opening the door, she came face to face with the little wiry monk, the straw man. "Namaskar Bhikkhu." Shanti said, smiling.

"Namaskar Madame, I come selling straw from our fields. Will you buy some for your fire?"

Shanti always thought it remarkable the little ritual, for she like most on her street lived in a thoroughly modern home. But, the straw man and the monks of the monastary would never accept the major change in the country and preferred to maintain their meditational walks. "I shall take a bundle Bhikkhu, and would you do me the honour of accepting this gift of food for yourself and your fellows?"

The little monk did not smile, but a twinkle in his eye showed his gratitude. He pulled the large pack of straw down from his back and taking a bundle handed it to Dev, who stood silent watching the curious sight. The monk stared at Dev for a moment, and nodded in approval. Shanti gave a few rupees to the monk who bowed and blessed her with his right palm, and then bidding farewell continued on his way into the night. Dev took the bundle of straw in and Shanti returned to her cooking pot. "Are you going to turn that into a straw man, Dev?"

"Yes, Amma." He absently said, as he began weaving together bits. The straw dollies would be made in all the houses of the neighbourhood by children that night, all in preparation for the new year festival where they would all be ritually burned and the ash spread on the fields to nourish next year's crop.

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Manny Traddock

 

[TitaniumTi]

Manny is my friend and he's the best droneskater in the city. Like he's won heaps of arena comps including the big 8-level comp at the Centre. Course you don't become the best arena droneskater by droning arenas, so we was out droning south side when we saw this skyscraper and droned right up the side of it.
What we didn't know was it was full of old penguins who all thought how important they was. So they got us chased and Manny was caught and they said he's been espionaging or something and shut him away.
Now I'm the best droneskater in the city cause there's not much arena droning inside.

Gregaria Mudge

 

[Victoria Silverwolf]

Gregaria Mudge shuffled through the filthy corridors of the abandoned library. Her head was bent with fatigue. How many decades had it been since the Emptying? How many vermin-infested buildings had she wandered through, living on canned food, seeking for another human being? Her ragged sneakers raised clouds of dust as she walked. Keep moving, that was the thing. Stop for too long and you'll never get up again. Better to fight the rats and dogs than go to sleep forever.

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Casimir Vothek

 

[Remedy]

"Vothek," I speak clearly into the slit in the cellar's wooden door.
It is strange that my surname should grant me access to the den where my enemies plot my end.
"You wanna join our order?" sneers a bald brute behind a grubby desk. "You wanna see Casimir Vothek dead d'ya. What 'e do to you then, eh?"
I keep my head lowered beneath my cowl. "Murdered my whole crew 'e did." How I hate to speak like them. "'E put an end to our protection business in Kumpfree."
"Ere, Dun's from Kumpfree." The brute gestures to a man picking his ears with a yellow fingernail. "You know this man, Dun?"
My disguise is ruined faster than I anticipated, but I have reached the location in the cellar that I wished to be.
"Actually, my good fellows, you all know me," I uncover my handsome face and flash pearly teeth. Confident hands find their pistols before the wit-deficient group have fully dropped their jaws.
"Casimir Vothek, at your service."
Muzzles flash.
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Braelin Medowince

 

[Tywin]

I knocked three times on the miniature wooden door with the iron knocker, nervous that I might accidentally burst the thin oak slats.

"Is it me yer lookin' fer?" a high pitched voice drawled, and I turned to see Braelin Medowince himself. His red hat was perched on his bald scalp, and he leaned heavily on a twig so that his long white beard trailed on the ground. I couldn't tell if the expression on his pinched face was amusement or disapproval, but I swallowed heavily and steeled myself to beg for the boon that only he could give.
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Eli Lessing

 

[Westie]

Eli Lessing dived out of the engine room of the Mark IV Wanderer freighter just as the blast door dropped. Half a second later and the compact engineer would have been incinerated by the backwash from the archiac engines that were due for a replacement twenty years ago. He massaged what was left of his hair, stood and straightened his grease-stained boiler suit, then as the sirens started to blare in the recreational area, he slumped slightly before taking off at a sprint down the corridor to the safety of the survival module at the front end of the ship. As the last crew to make it to safety, he slammed his meaty hand over the emergency seal button leaving a bloody, oily stain on the wall.


Selena Mercury