Character Creation Chain

"After forty years of trial and error, I, Professor Griswold Schplechtenburger, have created ze first giant-size robot suit!" The goatee-toting Professor Schplechtenburger declared, his sharp German accent cutting through the air. As the assembled crowd began to cheer and clap, he closed his eyes and felt their praise wash over him. This was what he had been working for. This was his finest hour, and he savoured it.

"Observe as I move ze machine mit the control module!" he called once he opened his eyes. He picked up a brass-plated box covered with switches and buttons. He looked down at the control module, and flicked one of the switches.

And then his invention exploded.
---
Roth Mellan
 
"Roth Mellon?" The receptionist asked.
"MellAn", Roth said, stressing the letter in his surname. If he had an E-Dollar for every time...
"Mr Mellan, the director will see you now."
The receptionists on the Security Directorate Serious Crimes Unit main desk were not as good as they were in his day. Younger now, not as well schooled, but he put that down to the war and the lack of personnel.
"And it's Constable Mellan," he told the girl, who gave him a quizzical start. "Ahh, skip it," he added, realising that she was never going to believe him.
Mellan was two metres tall, broad shouldered and spoke with a gravelly voice that demanded respect. However, his image was somewhat tarnished by the dirty floor-length coat open at the front to reveal a food-stained shirt and scuffed trousers. His long hair was a greasy mousey blond colour instead of the white blond that it had been before his forced retirement, and he had a good five days stubble on his face. Not the image for the new directorate to put on it's recruitment posters.
The director greeted him in the briefing room. "We have a problem Mellan, Dayna Bregllioni is back on the planet. She needs removing, and I understand that the two of you have...History?"
Dayna, the very name brought back memories both good and bad.
"It will be my distinct pleasure sir," he said. "Now, I'll need the usual permits..."

-----------------------------

Dayna Bregllioni
 
Dayna Bregllioni lifted the 3V monocular and squinted through the lens. The image was blurry and nearly colorless through the thick fog. The guards surrounding the artifact might have been ghosts, doomed to wander this cold, wet planet for eternity. The alien treasure they watched over was smaller than she expected, not much bigger than an ostrich egg. Roughly spherical, mottled with bumps and dents, it didn't look like something worth a few million creds to the right people. Dayna grinned to herself. This was going to be fun.

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Venezia Bridges
 
Venezia Bridges always wanted to live in a shoe, like in a fairy tale, but she had to settle for the bridge behind the mattress factory on Oakwood Ave. She slept inside an old rusted-out potbelly stove and subsisted on stray morsels of food hurled off the bridge by passing motorists. One day, a handsome Prince wandered into the rubble-strewn area where Venezia lurked, and fell in love with her after she attempted to sap him with a length of 2X4. The rest is history.

Dargon Farroway
 
Dargon Farroway gazed wistfully from the foredeck of The Flying Halibut. The trim pleasure craft, its sails tinted like the pale green wings of a luna moth, glided through the sweet-smelling waters of Amber Bay silently. Dargon tried to enjoy the arabesques of seabirds dashing through the teal sky, the chatter of friendly dolphins teasing the ship with their antic play, the whisper of distant music from below decks. If only he could remember why he was here.

______________________________________________________________

Bry Thongor
 
Bry Thongor, professional Barbarian and leader of the dreaded Rabid Wolves
Viking horde, 27-time winner of the coveted 'most slaughtered' award. Thongor was noted for his huge red beard, which eventually brought about his downfall, when he tripped on it during a training mission on a high mountain pass. Bry's spirit is rumored to still haunt the deep canyons of his homeland, and many strangers and locals tend to disappear there each year.

Hamwick Filbertson
 
Hamwick Filbertson, a mild mannered, elderly Drone. Not particularly brave or clever, his main attribute is his lack of value. He is dispensable. That is why he is so often chosen for forlorn hope missions. However, despite the odds being stacked so heavily against him, Hamwick is still here, still alive. Because Hamwick has a secret. He once stole a sealed vial of Luck Gas, inhaling it in one deep gasp. Since then, although he is no braver and no cleverer, he has never failed in a mission.

Albin Farseer
 
The hut where Albin Farseer lived was a simple one, hardly more than sticks and mud. He survived on the gifts of food the villagers brought to him in return for his predictions. They seemed to respect him as much for his milk-white skin and sightless red eyes as for his visions. If only he dared to tell them what was really going to happen, instead of what they wanted to hear.

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Noah Crayler
 
Noah Crayler lived in a houseboat on the great river of mud that once linked the hamlets of Fenwiche and Gabblestone in the upper eastern corner of the
region that was once known as New Crabbingtonne. Here, he subsisted primarily on crayfish and other river varmints, caught in nets made from human hair; the hair of his victims. These poor souls were later found wandering in the swamp, hairless and bereft of intelligence, and many today reside at the local mad house, as does Noah. No-one knows what he was doing with the huge hairball, found in his houseboat, but it can be seen today at a local museum, and is the highlight of any trip this forgotten, cursed, damned, shunned and probably evil part of the world.

Farnley Badsaddle
 
Coming from the frontier world of New Texas had its drawbacks, Farnley would be the first to admit that. Here on Tigris he always felt the locals were sniggering at him behind his back, like he was some kind of hick rube. At least the barman in the Cottonfield Veranda was a synthetic and didn't give a damn.

"Bourbon, straight up."

"Certainly sir, right with you." The glass appeared on the counter. Instead of moving on to another customer the android lowered his voice. "They call you the Gunslinger?"

Farnley stared at the barman’s bland countenance. “You’re my contact? A goddam skin job? Shee-it. Well, I suppose even you boys make enemies. Okay dokey, who is it you want me to call out?” On Tigris public duelling was still legal, but not across the human/hybrid divide.

“His name is Sully Baker, a local businessman with links to organised crime. He recently obtained a batch lot of android lap dancers. One of whom-“

The Gunslinger tossed back his drink. “Yeah, yeah, spare me the details. You want this Baker dude out of the way so you and your lady friend can ride off into the sunset. Cost you, and then some.”

“In payment may I offer the antidote to the esoteric poison you’ve just imbibed?”

Farnley stared at the barman for a moment, then reached for his Stetson. “Man, we have made you boys way too human, and that’s a fact. You got a deal, but my drinks are one the house.”

“Certainly, sir. One for the road?”

* * *

Vernon Dax.
 
Synapses linked to the myriad sensors of Valhalla, Vernon Dax delighted in the endless joy of the galaxy. He tasted the sharp sweetness of white dwarves; felt the silken caress of nebulae; inhaled the heady aroma of gas giants; heard asteroids chattering to each other like tropical birds. He wondered why less fortunate persons pitied him for being blind.

_________________________________________

August van der Maas
 
The rickety saloon doors swung open with a creak and orange plains dust swirled in. The few people in the Outlaw's Arms squinted against the harsh moonlight. As the dust abated, a small figure shuffled in, his dust trilby hat and old coat completely covering his squat, rotund shape. He walked slowly, with a limp, to the bar. Eyes turned back to glasses and tables, and silence fell. The new barman sneered over the tall bar at the sad little figure.

"What'll you have shortstuff?"

The trilby hat tilted up to reveal baleful red eyes.

"I vill have vhisky. Venusian blue." A soft, hoarse voice broke through the nervous silence.

"Sure thing." Even the dumb off-worlder behind the bar seemed to realise the atmosphere had changed. "In a tall glass or a shor-"

There was a rustle and a whir and August van der Mass' infamous Platoniser appeared from beneath his dusty coat. A searing flash filled the bar. The bottle of Venusian Blue smashed on the floor and the ash that used to be a barman settled on top of it.

------------------------------------------------

The Great Shining Light
 
In a temple carved from a single block of jade, The Great Shining Light wandered through rooms decorated with silver and ivory. His bare feet whispered over floors lined with rose-scented rice paper. Nightingales fluttered over his head, singing his praises. As he approached the northwest meditation room, a moonbeam pierced the clouds and danced on the lacquered walls. It was a sign that his reign was almost over, and another would soon take his place. What a marvelous fifteen minutes it had been!

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

Guider RedBlue
 
Guider RedBlue entered the jungle warily, his blazing lasers swivelling rapidly as thousands of deadly poisonous creatures grudgingly made way for his bulky metal frame, or were incinerated. The humans trailing behind him chatted nervously as RedBlue blasted a trail through the dense foliage. The jungle had been Guider's home for the last half-century, but these weak fleshapoid humans had never been anywhere more dangerous than the Disney planet. Some of them would die during this visit to the lost city of Flagnarandandino, they always did, but RedBlue had no sympathetic circuits, so when a monster Croc-tiger slashed through the group, eviscerating several, he apologized briefly and informed the party that they could register any grievances with the company, if and when they made it back to base. But no-one ever complained.

Radicalico Dementicola
 
Radicalico Dementicola, pop star extraordinaire, was born plain old John Smith in the middle of the century. By the time he was a tweener, he taught himself to play synthwire upside down and lefthanded. After working with a few neometal bands, he formed the first important Renny Revival band, Gopher Baroque, in '67. Like most Rennies, he took a pseudo-Italian nom de musique and learned to play digitized versions of archaic instruments. GB's first major hit, "Valse Triste 3000," making use of Petrachan sonnets translated into Joycean polyglot, has become something of a cliche in VR RPG romance scenarios.

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Jonathan Filder
 
Jonathan Filder, 1777-1809, Lord of Fidler Manor, located in the mythical land of Fidlero, was a fine fiddler. It was unfortunate that nobody ever heard the music his flying fingers produced. For the land of Fidlero existed only in the mind of Jonathan, who preferred dreaming the days away to laboring in the leech-pits with his brothers. His music was transcribed by his imaginary friend Mubbins, and mounds of manuscripts mounted in Jonathan's mind until there was room for little else. Also rumored to be a vampire, Fidler may yet be out there somewhere, lurking and still looking for a record deal.

Juniper Jelinek
 
Often reffered to as Jelly Neck by her detractors, the late Juniper Jelinek is still regarded as the prima donna of Hadrigarian subliminal opera even a century after her tragic and untimely death during the Thandian civil war. Her ability to control the audiences emotions through subsonic manipulation has yet to be equaled though many try to emulate her performances to varying degrees of success.
......

Princess Iradalese of Little Yonda
 
Princess Iradalese of Little Yonda, heroine of the popular video game Go-Miko!, is rumored to be based on a schoolboy crush the designer had on a fellow schoolmate. The fact that it is literally impossible to rescue the Princess from the final level of the game, and that she is always doomed to fall into the clutches of Mighty Boss Sokuro and his legions of snake demons, is sometimes used to cast aspersions of the designer's mental health.

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Flo Bellamy
 
Flo Bellamy, minor actress in a series of 1940's B movies involving the misadventures of the Traveling Thompkins, a family of vaudeville performers. Bellamy portrayed Bitsy Thompkins, the youngest member of the clan, whose speciality was a tap dancing routine, usually ending in slapstick disaster. First introduced in the second film in the series, The Thompkins Tumble Back to Town (1941), Bitsy became a minor sensation among the more sentimental members of the auidence. She is possibly best remembered for her patriotic song "Uncle Sam Has Got 'Em on the Lam," introduced in The Thompkins Go Marching On (1943). An attempt to revive the series in the 1970's as a Saturday morning cartoon show, The Thompkins in Outer Space, was less than a success.

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Var Kan Staro
 
Var Kan Staro the famous fighter pilot worked his way through the ranks. Having started out as a street rat, kept alive by his quick reflexes, he was pressed into service in the Imperial Navy at the age of nine. His sharp wits won him scores in the simulators that raised eyebrows throughout the base. Within six months of his arrival on Dax 109 he had been promoted to squadron leader.

It would be good to be able to report a long and happy life for Kan Staro but sadly he fell victim to the plasma guns of the Erati and perished. His death bought life for the rest of mankind and so his name is still spoken with love and pride even after all these centuries.

Octo Rudolphu
 
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