Character Creation Chain

[Capricorn42]

Meikle Rahane

He's a powerful druid, at one with the trees and the rivers. He lives in a sacred grove ringed with watchful spirits and protected by the last of the Hibernian dragons.
He spends his days in a trance, sending his spirit into the cosmos.
He's wandered the Sea of Tranquility and watched the sunrise from atop Olympus Mons.
He knows what lies beneath the mists of Venus and he has seen what swims beneath the ice of Europa.
He bargained with those that live in the void, and it's thanks to him that our Earth was not touched.
He is nearing the end of his life and he needs to find someone who has the Gift, who can continue after he passes.
He's been searching for three hundred years but he's found no one.
Time is running out.

--------------------
Savoir Ordinaire

 

[Khaldun]

Savoir Ordinaire

A purveyor of passions and connoisseur of calamity. Belying his athletic appearance, he walks with a limp. Because of his penchant for tricks and impregnating a human female, the Godhood cast him aside and stripped him of his powers.



Ianacho Incantsio

 

[Provincial]

Ianacho Incantsio

Ianacho Incantsio, or Ian as he is known to his friends, is short, fat and bald. He is reputed to be the world’s greatest lover, and can show you testimonials to back this up, but his main claim to fame is his world record time for running the marathon - 1 hour 22 minutes, in the 2021 Tokyo Olympics. When asked to what he ascribed his success, he said it was due to his sparkling sense of humour, which got him into bed with anyone he fancied and thereby also ensured he had to run away fast from their partners. His eyes are brown and all sort of dreamy, his hands are soft and gentle and his voice sounds ... [edited]



Antoine de Santa Jello

 

[Capricorn42]

Antoine de Santa Jello

He's a short and chubby guy with a bald head and a big white beard. He lives in the North Pole and he has an army of elves who help him throughout the year to prepare for that one special day every December when all the people of the world join to sing and dance and celebrate Jello Day. Everyone gives presents made of jello. The old folk gather the youngsters around and tell them stories about jello while Ma and Pa work in the kitchen to produce the classic Jello Day lunch, comprised mainly of jello.
The highlight of the day for young and old, of course, is waking up to find that special jello gift beside the bed, delivered by Antoine and his magical team.
Yes, he's a shining example of good cheer and generosity, especially when it comes to jello. Just don't mention his brother who took off to live in an alternate planet Earth and who brought shame on the family with that whole turkey'n'tinsel crap, the traitor.

 

[Capricorn42]

Apologies, forgot to add a name to this, so here goes:

Edgar Lorenzo, the Bird Man of New South Wales

 

[Provincial]

Edgar Lorenzo, the Bird Man of New South Wales, grew his first feathers while spending the winter in a lonely clump of weeds. When a flock of swans swimming by his hideout suddenly turned and attacked him he decided that the life of a hermit was not for him, and applied to go on Strictly Come Dancing. They told him to become famous first, which is why you can find him on YouTube plucking out his feathers slowly, one by one, to a very familiar tune. Please subscribe to prevent more of this self abuse.



Moira Livingstone-I-Presume

 

[The Scribbling Man]

^^ Wasn't sure how to interpret the "-I-Presume" bit, or whether that was intended as part of the name, so I just went with:

Moira Livingstone

Moira Livingstone is Moira's favourite living stone, so named Livingstone for her anthropomorphic qualities and so named Moira after her self-proclaimed owner. Livingstone bears no resemblance or relation to the Scottish missionary; a common and inaccurate presumption. Although inanimacy has cursed Moira to be a somewhat passive character, she nonetheless dreams of a day when she might be transformed into a real girl and explore her surroundings independent of a pocket - at least, that's how Moira imagines Moira.


Jeremiah Terraclam

 

[Provincial]

Jeremiah Terraclam

Babs walked up to the reception desk and placed her application form down in front of the occupant, who sniffed but did not look up. All she could see of him was his balding, liver-spotted head with its threadbare comb-over, and his name badge: Jeremiah Terraclam. Then she noticed an odour of old sweat and unwashed underpants, which seemed to get stronger with every passing moment. She took a step back from the desk, but once smelt she couldn’t un-smell it, and she just couldn’t get far enough away from it without losing her place in the line. After her 30-minutes of queueing she wasn’t prepared to go to the back and start again at a different desk, so she stood her ground and tried to surreptitiously breathe through her mouth.

Several minutes ticked slowly by until Mr Terraclam finally decided to acknowledge Babs’ presence, and he looked up. His pale, puffy, public-schoolboy face, replete with crusted-over acne and a leering smirk, glimmered like a diseased moon in the poorly-lit cubicle. Then the bottom half split apart as he opened his mouth to reveal uneven, yellowing teeth with the remains of breakfast still packed in between them. A gale of halitosis hit Babs in the face as he grinned and enquired, “Did you want me?”




Percival Ponsonby-Smythe

 

[jd73]

Percival Ponsonby-Smythe was a absolute delight. A rake, to be sure, yet one much sought out by the Queen's court for his wit and company. In the seasonal progresses and tons*, PPS was never seen without the finest dandy-raiment, invariably spun by the nation's top tailoring houses out of silks that weren't accessible to the average citizen such as you or I**. Simply put, nothing else would do. It was oft remarked, of Ponsonby, that his social commentary was so machine-tuned, his putdowns so pitilessly distilled and acerbic, that they actually fed into their own metaphysical source. Many was the ball whose guests thrilled as their number one attraction invoked sorcery after sorcery using nothing but pure wordplay.

Naturally he had his detractors, chief among them the writings of Feisteroister's Chapbook Leanings. But admirers also, legions of imitators, and slowly but surely, trailing his unflinching upper-class aristo-example, they too began to master the sardonic arts.

Feisteroister wasn't happy in the remotest.


Next: JetStacey


* Yes, yes, I've been watching Bridgerton. What of it?
** But mostly you

 

[Capricorn42]

JetStacey scowled at the Police Commissioner. "I don't think this is a job for me. It's not my style."
"The people need you. I need you."
JetStacey looked up into the sky. "I may be a superhero," he said, "but I got standards. I don't get involved in no violent stuff. All I do is the jet aircraft related stuff. The clue's in the name."
"Alright, we would have asked ExtortionStacey or maybe DrugsStacey but they're busy, so we're desperate! You gotta help us!"
"What about BurglaryStacey?"
"He's outta town. We need you, my friend."


Knockald Knockerson

 

[Provincial]

Knockald Knockerson is a gentle soul. He meditates from dawn til dusk and from dusk til dawn he patrols the street of Gotham, looking for people who need a helping hand. He’s been involved in a lot of bank robberies as a result, but his cousin is the chief of police so he never seems to get caught. Tall, black hair, brown eyes and skin like 70% cocoa chocolate, he is the happiest man alive.


Ronald MacDonaldson Junior.

 

[therapist]

Ronald's dad always said: "Truth depends on perspective, a lawyer's job is to change people's perspectives." His dad also told him that "true success is settling down with a good woman"—Ronald dismissed that one to old age senility.

Ronald took the firm his father left him and built it into an empire. There was not a case he couldn't win; not a loophole he couldn't find. Macdonaldson Trust single handedly doubled the crime rate during Ronald Jr's ascension. Mass murderers and terrorists walked free. His dad would've been so proud!

The firm took the invention of the time machine in it's stride. But after clearing Hitler's name, the game started losing its appeal. It was too easy; no longer challenging or fulfilling.

He now lives alone, battling through a mid-life crisis. He should be happy, after all, he is a success isn't he? If only his dad was around to give him advice.


Londible Throatwater

 

[CupofJoe]

Londible Throatwater
A proud Toad Druid of the Wildland Marshes, Lilly Pad Clan, Throatwater has a wide range of spells of illusion and concealment that they are willing to hire out to the highest bidder.
Their only red lines are that there has to be a decent fight, a good chance of some decent loot, a half chance of a mate and a damp patch to spawn in. They have not been around for a while. Rumours say they were last seen headed out in to the Desiccated Desert looking of the fabled Sparkling Spawning Pools of Grunred.

Ranulf Twisledon

 

[therapist]

Ranulf Twisledon, a dark skinned boy with a cool temper and nimble fingers. The son of the famous weaver Pearik Twisledon. By the age of 9 he had learnt and mastered all of his father's skills and was selected to create the queens coronation dress—one of the greatest honours in the land.
But Ranulf doesn't care for his gifts. He would rather spend his time practicing with a bow or sword, than sit behind a loom. Ranulf believes anyone can create, but the true measure of a man is what he can destroy.

Listerino Trim

 

[R. I. Pawlowski]

Ranulf Twisledon, a dark skinned boy with a cool temper and nimble fingers. The son of the famous weaver Pearik Twisledon. By the age of 9 he had learnt and mastered all of his father's skills and was selected to create the queens coronation dress—one of the greatest honours in the land.
But Ranulf doesn't care for his gifts. He would rather spend his time practicing with a bow or sword, than sit behind a loom. Ranulf believes anyone can create, but the true measure of a man is what he can destroy.

Listerino Trim

Listerino Trim: Many want a settled life. A wife, maybe a few children. Not Listerino, not now. That's for the dullards. Thin, wiry, long fingered and dangerous with a pack of cards. Trim's hawkish black eyes never miss a beat, and he can tell what you're holding just by looking at your face. When those eyes pierce you from behind the curtain of his thick black fringe, playfully flicked aside when it's annoying him, legs turn to jelly and poker hands are lost.

Polydeuces Ramstote

 

[Elckerlyc]

Polydeuces Ramstote hated her names, first and last. Always had. Though it had influenced her and made her the person she had become, she never for a moment had considered changing it. Any person who would dare call her by anything else as by her full name ended up being badly hurt. That's who Polydeuces Ramstote was.
Fierce and tall, dark haired with big blue eyes which seemed somewhat misplaced on her. Bodyguard for hire, until she had to go in hiding, because still too many people had not learned soon enough to not call her Polly and lived to regret it (if they were lucky.)
No one knows were she currently resides.


Jamboulle Vernon Picard

 

[WatermelonPink]

A nobleman belonging to that of House Picard, Jamboulle could be considered the epitome of the term spoiled rotten. Once considered a good seed by those around him, he enters his first year of adulthood as a representation of what power alongside corruption can do to a person. Compassion was not something you would find being associated with this man who looked down on others and quite literally trampled on each and every one of them.

The passage of time allowed for others to see the joyful smile of a boy morph into that of a sinister smirk belonging to a greedy man. His long and ginger hair covered his eyes and yet his judgmental glare could be felt on everybody around him who dared lay eyes on his beautifully woven garbs.

Franky Beckman

 

[Mr Orange]

"Beckman, Franky?" The recruitment agent called out to the room of jobseekers. A small, amorphouse blob of... something shifted on one of the seats. Two slits appeared in the grey, gelatinous surface, becoming what appeared to be eyes. They blinked slowly. A small mouth formed below them and a rather obscene purple tongue licked what could be called lips.

"Yeah?"

"You're in luck!" Gushed the agent, "We've finally found the perfect role for you! The new production from Coca Cola Amatil Disney, 'The Little Amorphous Blob' is looking for a lead actor!"

"Actin'?" Translucent phlegm speckled the agents pants. "Why would I wanna actin' job? I'm a bleedin' plumber!"

_____________________________________________

Max Safe

 

[CupofJoe]

Max Safe
Mr Safe was unassuming to say the least when you met him. He was a prosperous and well respected gnome in the communities. In truth most people barely noticed he was there. Always polite and courteous, he paid his bills on time and never asked for credit. Generous to the needy and helpful to those less fortunate than himself, he was the epitome of a good civic citizen it was said.
He ran a successful key cutting and locksmiths shop, just off the Market Square. Most people, if they thought about it at all, thought his name was a publicity stunt. "Call yourself Max Safe and run a locksmiths! Inspire confidence from the out!" they would chuckle to themselves.
In reality it was the only hint of his alter ego. For the last dozen years, he played in the local underground Killer Death Roller Derby league as an enforcer. Behind the mask he was free to be Maximum Damage, Minimum Safety! Renowned and feared in a dozen cities for his brutality and effectiveness, in the last league year alone he had twenty three kill to him credit, nearly two hundred in total.

Crealla Winterborne

 

[Edoc'sil]

Crealla Winterborne

Crealla picked at her overly manicured fingernails, arms resting on her large mahogany desk, with just the right required amount of sidelong glances, at the grovelling man in front of her. With a heavy sigh she stopped inspecting her long, neat nails. She stood and flicked her snow-white fur over her shoulder. She trailed her hand over the desk as she stepped around to the pityfully whimpering man. From his kneeling position on the rich red carpet, he wrung his cap in his hands, and kept catching quick tearfilled glances, up to Ms. Winterborne.

"Please Ms, just one more week, that's all me and mine ask."

Another heavy sigh was the only reply he recieved. A quick slash of straight arm, and there was a dull thud on the floor, as the man's head parted neatly from his shoulders. Cruella blew on her fingernails, then softly pressed a large red button on her desk, as she walked back around to sit in her winged leather chair.

Ded Ned