The Great Belligerency [Round 4: Static]

Originally posted on MSPA by Aryogaton.

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So hey, another Grand Battle, and the eighth of Season 2. If you don't know what a Grand Battle is, the first one is a good example. I won't repeat the rules, just go check the link!

As with the eighth battle of Season One (another good one to read, too), this Grand Battle will be villain-only. Doesn't matter if they're Chaotic Neutral or Lawful Evil, but they must be a villain of some sort.

Also, throwing a minor second requirement in, all entrants should have at least decent writing skills. Don't think much of it, but if you have a habit of getting kicked out in the first couple rounds or going inactive, I may not approve your entry. Granted, if you've shown some improvement, you'll probably get in. This requirement is fairly loose, anyway.

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So here's the template, ready for your copypasting:

Username: Basically, look left.
Name: What is your character's name. If somehow this field is difficult to fill for your character, enter whatever other characters can refer to him/her/it as.
Gender: Your character's gender. If N/A, mention it and choose one so that your fellow writers can use some non-awkward pronouns. Chuck Norris is not a valid option.
Race: Your character's species. Should be self-explanatory. Otherwise, whatever term that can describe a group of your-characters.
Color: All entrants must write in a color. This should be fairly readable without eyesore, and fairly different from other entrees' colors. You may switch colors in a post to indicate perspective, but personally I find that to be an eyesore, especially if you use funky background colors. Please don't use fancy fonts, either.
Weapon: Anything that your character uses to dish out pain to another character. May or may not include "self".
Abilities: What is your character good at? Your character should not be some random dude with nothing special about him whatsoever. That said, keeping it vague and letting yourself develop the abilities later on is a good idea.
Description: Although people have gotten away with incredibly vague descriptions (namely, me), you should have at least some description for your fellow writers to go off. This includes physical descriptions, personalities, etc.
Biography: Backstory and all that. Keep in mind that this section has the most chronic tl;dr's.

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Contestants:
Dragon Fogel - Cole Aran - 804040
slipsicle - "Amy" - 4040FF
Pick Yer Poison - Phil Girnham - 006600
SleepingOrange - Ur - 339933
MalkyTop - Spirit of Fairy Tales - 26466D
Ixcalibur - Dove - 6600BB - DEAD
Captain Lhurgoyf - Vandrel Reinhardt - darkred - DEAD
Wojjan - Balance - Sienna - DEAD

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

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Name: Cole Aran
Gender: Male
Font colour: #804040
Race: Human, though no longer recognizable as such.
Weapon: His own body; see below.
Abilities: Any living being that touches Cole directly experiences a mild shock. Very small creatures (namely, insects) are immediately paralyzed by this shock and become stuck to his body. They remain alive, and their life energy sustains his form. Cole's rotting body also emits a strong smell that draws insects to him, so he rarely lacks nourishment.

Cole can also modify his body to mimic the natural abilities of insects. He needs to have an insect of the appropriate type among the masses covering him, but he's amassed quite a collection over the years, so this isn't usually a problem. Simpler changes, such as making his hands and feet cling to surfaces or modifying his legs to jump higher, can be done almost immediately. For a more complicated shift, such as giving himself wings or a scorpion tail, he needs more time.

Description: Cole's flesh is permanently rotten. He has few recognizable features other than the general shape of his limbs. Without any insects covering him, he looks more like a walking pile of rancid meat than a man. There are vague impression where his mouth and eyes would be. Of course, most of the time he is covered in insects, of a wide variety, and will generally use them to produce eyes and a mouth of some form at all times.

In terms of personality, Cole is very bitter about his form. He is quite intelligent, but quick to anger, and utterly despises insects in general. He hates being so dependent on them, but the fact that he causes so many to suffer at once provides him some small comfort.

Cole places a high value on intelligence, and a low tolerance for perceived stupidity. Any alliances he forms will largely center around these preferences. He originally believed that humanity was supreme, but this was solely due to his limited experience; he is willing to consider any sufficiently intelligent species his equal, possibly even his superior (though he has enough of an ego that this is unlikely). However, he has little tolerance for gods of any sort, for reasons that his biography will make clear. He is also easily annoyed by simple pranks.

Biography: Cole was once a famed biologist, who believed that humanity's intelligence made it the supreme life form on Earth. As his beliefs gained sway, they drew the attention of the Spider God, Anansi.

Anansi was not entertained by the foolish human's pride, and decided to make an example of him. At a major scientific conference, Cole was suddenly swarmed by a large number of insects. There was nothing left afterwards. Cole's theories about the supremacy of humanity were rarely repeated, his evident death frightening them away.

But Cole was not dead. Rather, Anansi had spirited him away.

Trapped in an enormous web, Cole stared at the spider god, terrified.

"So, you think humans are so special?" Anansi laughed. "But the insects of the world outnumber you. And we shall live on long after your species dies out."

"You're an arachnid," Cole corrected, reflexively. He regretted it as soon as he said it.

"You dare to tell a god where his domain lies?" the trickster laughed. "Your classification system is meaningless to me. Now, you should be punished for your hubris. And I know the perfect way."

Cole screamed as his body seemed to burn.

A moment later, the sensation passed, and he could not move.

"Humans are little more than a useless lump of flesh. And now, that is all you will be, without the help of my subjects."

A fly appeared out of nowhere, and buzzed its way over to Cole. As it landed on his body, Cole felt a small shock, then slowly stepped forward.

"The insects - and arachnids - of the world will be drawn to your delicious smell. And when they touch you, they will be paralyzed. They will feed you energy so you may move, and they will also grant you their power."

"But without them, you will be nothing."

Anansi laughed, and the mass of flesh that was Cole found itself in the middle of an African jungle. It was not long before insects swarmed around, and he could move once more.

Despising his new form, Cole swore to find a way to exact revenge on Anansi and prove himself more intelligent than the spider god. He quietly travelled the world, gathering myriad insects, arachnids, gastropods, and anything else he could hold on his body, as he sought out the means for his revenge.

And then one day, he simply vanished.

Originally posted on MSPA by slipsicle.

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Username: slipsicle
Character Name: "Amy"
Gender:Female
Race: Human
Post Colour: #4040FF

Weapon: See "Abilities".

Abilities: Numerous cybernetic augmentations, generally enhancing speed and strength, though the large portion of augmentations is spent towards powering a miniature graviton/Higgs field emitter, which gives her limited telekinetic-like abilities. She can lift and throw small objects, as well as decrease and increase her relative mass (which she uses extensively in her dancing to pull off moves normal humans would be unable to). Theoretically, she could use such limited telekinetic abilities to shred someone's brain, or squeeze someone's heart or lungs. Theoretically, she could also use her limited command of the Higgs Field in combination with her "telekinetic" abilities to fly, say, into difficult-to-reach places. But "Amy" is a sweet, innocent girl and would never do such things. She just loves to dance.

Description: Teenaged girl, somewhere between seventeen to nineteen, with strawberry golden hair; longish, down to just below her shoulders, worn straight. Blue eyes, narrow face. Currently wearing the style in vogue among the Outer Planets: loose orangeish cargo-like pants pants and plain black turtleneck, which flares out at the waist, sleeves, and neck. White, almost cowboy-like boots, with the cuffs of her pants overlaying their upper bits.

Biography: "Amy" is not her real name, and it won't be her last fake name, since she generally gives a different name to everyone she meets. Similarly, her past is unknown as "Amy" never gives the same answer to the same question twice. It's not that she's a habitual liar; she just appears to be very adverse to people knowing personal details.

She appeared on a refugee ship in the Allied Commonwealth, a group of worlds resting on and opposing the steadily-expanding borders of the Star Empire of Sol. Despite the neighborhoods she'd settle in reporting a sudden increase in cat burglary during her stay, people have always spoken positively of "Amy", or whatever name they knew her by. "A kind girl," they'd say. "Full of life," they'd say. "Going places," they'd say. And indeed, "Amy" went places. Hopping from world to world, getting jobs with random performance troupes, "Amy" certainly got around, never lacking a job, due to her incredible dancing skills. It never seemed to matter that the worlds she visited would fall into the Empire's grasp shortly after her departure. It never seemed to matter that persons of influence in opposition to the Empire's interests would mysteriously disappear around her. No, "Amy" was a good, kind young girl. Obviously she moved so much so she could stay ahead of the burgeoning and lively artistic atmosphere the Outer Worlds of the Allied Commonwealth nurtured. A person whom could produce such beautiful art in the form of dance could never be involved with such dealings. And so "Amy" continued her inter-galactic romp, building a new identity on each successive world. Rumors of her heavy artificial augmentations and seeming telekinetic abilities never advanced much beyond that: just rumor. And since every community she entered could access no records of her previous life, she was perpetually seventeen-to-nineteen; never giving an exact age, and never mentioning the fact that she'd been seventeen-to-nineteen since before the Empire existed. The only hint of her past she ever carried was an old, ancient, well-cared-for Polaroid; a technology forgotten to everyone she encountered, and never considered more than strange quirk. It was of two children: one, a toddler, presumably "Amy", giving a slobbery, sloppy kiss to, presumably, her older brother, a young boy, approximately seven years of age, with blue eyes and wild, dirty-blond hair.

Originally posted on MSPA by Pick Yer Poison.

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Username: Pick Yer Poison
Name: Phil Girnham
Gender: Male
Race: Terran
Font color: #006600

Weapons/Equipment: Phil possesses a prototype multiweapon, a unique gun capable of imitating a shotgun, an assault rifle, or a sniper rifle, depending on which setting it's set on. It contains a tiny nanobot-operated munitions factory inside of it, allowing it to create its own ammunition. However, it overheats at a faster rate than ordinary guns, so instead of pausing to reload, the operator must pause to let it cool off. It is sturdy and durable, so it can also function as an effective melee weapon against unarmored enemies. Phil also has a suit of high-tech body armor. It contains microcircuits that serve a dual purpose. They generate a forcefield around him that can absorb a number of small impacts, such as bullets. Given time, these microcircuits can also repair the suit and administer first aid to the wearer, ranging from simply applying pressure to injecting antibiotics. Anything more than the basics is impossible during combat, however, as most of the suit's energy is funneled into its shields. The entire suit can be turned into a contained system if necessary; an armored tank attached to the back functions as a tiny greenhouse and AC unit, ensuring a supply of fresh, cool air. His helmet also contains heat scanners, night vision, and a headlamp.

Abilities: Phil's physical modifications have given him superhuman reflexes and increased vitality.

Description: Phil is 6', but stands at 6'1" when fully geared up. His dark brown hair features a standard military crew cut, and he has bright yellow eyes. His face is heavily scarred from his revival, so he opts to keep his helmet on whenever possible. His suit is predominantly white, but it is crisscrossed with vivid navy blue lines leading to a crescent blue moon in the center. It is made out of a sturdy plastic alloy, although close examination reveals that the joints sport significantly less armor to allow more freedom of movement. The suit is shaped like a rounded cone, increasing in size as it travels up his body, and finishing with a small rim just above his shoulders. His helmet is teardrop-shaped and covers his whole head, with the large end being near the front, and the tip extending slightly beyond the back. It has a wraparound visor that allows full peripheral vision (one-way, of course), and automatically adjusts its tinting to compensate for lighting changes. Attached to the back of his suit is what looks like the bastard child of a jetpack and a propane tank.

Phil views combat as the only truly fulfilling thing in life—you either walk away with another kill on your record, or you tally them up right then and there. He has no objections towards killing, but he dislikes torture; he considers it a disgrace. A perfectly executed plan should leave all the victims dead before they even realize they’re really going to die.

Biography: Phil grew up in a world where war was the only constant factor. He was forced to fight for his survival since he was a child, and when his family was slaughtered during a raider attack when he was 18, he outfitted himself as best as he could and hunted down every one of the raiders involved in the attack, one by one. The task took him eight years, leaving him in his late twenties. He focused himself completely on it, and when it was done, he had no clue as to what to do next. Since the only thing he was good at was fighting, he tried hiring himself out as a freelance mercenary. This proved to be a great career choice, and within a few months he was one of the most famous mercenaries in the country, as well as one of the most feared ones, known for killing more than just what the job required.

It was then that he was offered a shadowy job within the military. Phil liked the prospect of a steady paycheck, and so he agreed. He was integrated into an elite group of military commandos that were kept secret from the general public, used only when things were at their most desperate. He and his team spent years expertly stabbing at the heart of whoever the country happened to be fighting at the time. Their tasks ranged from sabotage to assassination to reconnaissance, and Phil learned to use his wits just as much as he used his gun. Some of his missions involved slaughtering civilians. Phil and his squad enjoyed those ones; unarmed civilians presented a relaxing target practice session. Then, everything fell to pieces. One of their squad members turned traitor and sold Phil and his other squadmate out, leading them into a trap within an abandoned research facility. The loyal squadmate was quickly killed, but Phil tore the facility to pieces, leaving a trail of dead bodies in his wake. He chased the turncoat through the entire building, and when he reached him, they fought intensely. However, Phil's wounds proved to be too great, and he stumbled when one of his legs quit completely. The traitor took the opportunity to gun him down, and fled without making sure he had finished him off completely.

When the military found Phil, he was barely alive. They brought him to a high-tech lab and gave him the best care technology could offer. In order to keep him alive, they were forced to augment some of his vital systems with machinery, designed to run off of his own energy. It took them nearly a year, but when Phil finally regained consciousness, he was in even better shape than he had ever been in his life. While he was recovering enough to do more than stumble around his room, Phil devoted himself to tracking down his old teammate, fixating on it to the exclusion of all else. However, once he was up and moving, he discovered that the military had no such plans for him—they were simply going to put him back to work as usual. Phil played along with them until he was fully recovered, then stole the prototype weapon and the suit. He systematically murdered everyone in the building, gunning down guards, researchers, secretaries, and janitors, considering it an exercise to make sure his combat skills were still top-notch.

After escaping, he traveled abroad to his former teammate’s last known location. In just a few days, he was able to track down his old teammate and lure him into a trap within the abandoned research facility where he had first betrayed Phil. Although not usually the sentimental type, Phil liked the idea of having yet another reason to chuckle when he recalled this in the future. As the traitor strolled into Phil's sights, Phil fired a single shot—then inexplicably vanished. The traitor was killed instantly by the clean shot to the head, and when his bodyguards charged up to the catwalk where the shot had come from, they found nothing, save for a small index card with the words “IOU 1 COMMANDO” scrawled across it.

Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.

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Username: SleepingOrange

Name: Ur. She that Was Before. The Progenitress. Beginning and End and After. There's no real way to know what her name is or was, so she tends to accumulate names as different people or groups discover her. The simple Ur tends to be the most used.

Gender: Female, by and large.

Font color: 339933

Race: Dead goddess

Weapon: Ur doesn't typically use weapons, but she does carry an exquisite silver sickle at her belt. Its honed edge glows faintly blue, but the nature of its powers or lack thereof is unknown; it is entirely possible that Ur herself no longer has any idea of the function of her sickle and merely carries it because she always has and is no more capable of getting rid of it than she would be of being a large, bearded fire god.

Abilities: One of the few things that is known about Ur is that she was a goddess of life, and the creator of her universe. This once meant nigh- or full-blown omnipotence, but because she is no longer in the universe she was inextricably tied to (and it in fact no longer exists), her power is vastly diminished. She is still divine, though, and has a number of abilities tied to her primary domain: where she walks (when she walks, rather than hovering), flowers or grass or mushrooms spring up (and often more hostile plants if she wills it); she can create living things with a thought, and often uses it to create monsters which are then inhabited by the souls that haunt her (large or complex organisms tend to disintegrate shortly after their creation though); she can induce growth or reproduction in things that are already alive, from making house-sized pumpkins to turning floating spores in the air into fungal pestilences. She has little power over inanimate or dead things, but can occasionally return life to the dead if the whim takes her. In life, her powers were used to bring plenty and happiness to her followers, but in death they have become perversions of their original intentions, more often used to sow chaos and destruction than life and order. Additionally, due to the nature of her being, she is invulnerable to mental control or detection, and any attempt to pry into her thoughts or mind often leaves the unwise telepath a gibbering husk. It is probable she has a great capacity for healing, but her hateful and vengeful nature means it rarely if ever manifests.

Description: Ur is- or rather, was- a tall, slender humanoid woman; the race she populated her universe with was very much like humans, but slender, angular, and with a second opposable thumb opposite the one humans have. With the exception of their polydactyly, they could easily be mistaken for the elves of Earth folklore. Back when she was alive, she always wore a simple but clingy and low-cut spring green dress as well as the aforementioned sickle; her hair was long and golden, and usually kept up with an abalone clip. Her narrow-but-warm eyes lacked pupils and the irises were a reflective silver, complementing the rich olive tone of her skin. The overall effect was slightly-otherworldly beauty, but clean-cut and without the gaudiness many divine entities lean towards.

Now, her skin is an ashen grey and her eyes a uniformly milky white dotted with splotchy red. Her dress is tattered and hangs loosely from her desiccated frame, the bright and cheerful green at odds with the ashen tone of her skin. The elegant clip is dulled and spotted with grime, and the hair it once kept in an attractive but understated style is thinned, browned, and spilling out. Her lips are typically slightly parted and her head lolls slightly; a nauseatingly sweet smell of fermentation follows her everywhere. If you stand close enough to her while it is quiet, you can hear soft, hissing whispers with no apparent source. It is unlikely, however, that many people experience this; Ur rarely allows anything close to her for long.

Ur, for all that she was an overdeity of life and creation, now hates and seeks the destruction of all life, especially that that is sentient. Even undeath or machine intelligences are anathema to her: anything self-aware deserves destruction, followed by everything that grows regardless of whether it thinks. Given the fractured nature of her personality, though, she is not always actively pursuing the destruction of everything and may simply wallow in despair or grow magnificent jungles in some sort of nostalgia for her old existence, only to watch them decay as she succumbs again to her melancholy.

Aside from the intermittent hatred of the multiverse and everything that inhabits it, there is little consistent about her personality. It is dominated by negative emotions, but she is as likely to drift aimlessly in a state of crushing depression as she is to mercilessly slaughter everything around her. In fact, little if anything is actually left of the goddess: what remains is a sort of schizophrenic gestalt entity composed of the souls who inhabit her divine shell. Trying to pick one dominant persona out of millions of vengeful ghosts is impossible and pointless.

Biography: In the beginning, there was nothing.

Rather, there were millions of universes, each separate from each other and largely unaware of the others' existence. The vast emptiness that separates each bubble of reality, however, was full of nothing; as had happened countless times before, some spark of divinity spontaneously created itself, and unaware of the multiverse around it sought to create the world.

This particular spark became the being who would eventually call herself Ur. She created an infinite universe like so many had before, seeded it with planets and stars and life, and began the endless task of tending to her creation and creating and instructing followers. Eons passed; she was a loving, even doting goddess, and created others like herself to help tend to her flock. Peace and tranquility were the watchwords of her universe; it was an idyllic existence for all those she shepherded, and for the gods and goddesses she created under her.

Her universe was old when things changed; her followers had long since begun exploring the boundless expanses of their reality, had long since discovered faster than light travel, had long since discovered the other pockets of sentience she had placed there. Under her watchful guidance, the universe and its inhabitants thrived. It's uncertain what could have made her turn her back on her creation, but in the end, she did. Jaded and furious, she sought to unmake everything she had spawned in a blazing explosion of righteous destruction.

But she couldn't.

She was fundamentally a being of life and creation; her omnipotence wasn't quite the limitless power she thought it was. In trying to destroy her creation, she was unable to fully destroy herself, and she was unable to fully destroy those who followed her.

As reality collapsed, she and the souls of the faithful were shunted into another universe. Most of her true self was swallowed into the nothingness she had sought to turn her creation into, leaving an undirected divine shell; the fractured remains of countless beings were forced into it, angry and terrified and distraught bits of consciousness drowning out what remained of the progenitress. With barely the power of the lowest of demigods left and a mind that was not a mind in charge of it, she drifted through a world she had no idea existed, halfheartedly continuing her attempts to snuff out everything that was.

Those that encounter or learn of her often believe based on her appearance and wanton destruction that she is a goddess or monster of death and chaos, but she is still fundamentally a being of life, unable to truly accomplish the unmaking she relentlessly seeks. Those, who divination or divine consultation, find what little information remains about her are often torn between pity and fear; it is nigh-impossible to destroy or contain even what little power she has left, and her nature is the epitome of Sisyphean tragedy. Fortunately for those worlds she lands on, she frequently fades out and finds herself in another universe. Part of her suspects (and hopes) that she will one day disappear and fail to reappear in another reality; part of her doubts she will be able to cease being until everything else does.

When she was selected for this battle, she had recently landed in a young universe, on a planet inhabited by troglodytic crustaceans barely making the first forays into society. Her bizarre (to them) appearance and powers led them to believe she was a goddess, and in fact led to her being worshipped for the first time since she destroyed her own universe, albeit for very different reasons. The effect of the worship was... unusual. Belief has a very powerful effect on divine beings, and the stabilizing effect of worship may have drastically changed Ur, eventually turning her into the avatar of death they thought her to be. It is unknowable what the end result would have been, though, as she was plucked from that world to participate in the Great Belligerance.

Originally posted on MSPA by MalkyTop.

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Username: MalkyTop
Name: Spirit of Fairy Tales (or Soft for short...)
Gender: Fa-fa-fa-feeeeeeemale
Race: Uh....a Spirit. Like the Spirit of Christmases dudes. Fairy tales personified. Or at least the more gruesome aspects of them.
Color: Does Blue Spider look okay?
Weapon: Soft carries around a large axe. It's really nothing special. She dismembers people with it. Also of note is a giant book strapped to her back that she couldn't possibly carry around but somehow does anyways. She probably could whack people with it if she wanted to, but usually it stays on her back. Inside the book is pretty much the story of everybody in her world. Sometimes she uses it as a reference for precedent when carrying out 'justice.'
Abilities: The Spirit is definitely much stronger than she looks. The book on her back, once it's close to somebody, can start writing down their story as well and whatever is written in the book, Soft knows. She uses this knowledge to dole out proper punishment. (Or proper rewards.) If dismemberment is not fitting, then Soft can materialize objects that has to do with the punishment, such as red-hot shoes or a flock of birds eager to peck out eyes. Soft also can do some magic, usually curses, such as that 'snakes and toads out of your mouth' thing.
Description: The Spirit of Fairy Tales looks like a little, black-haired girl. She wears her hair in long braided pigtails and her skin is quite on the pale side. She sports a nice, clean winter dress that is covered by a rather ragged travelling cloak. By now, the cloak is so worn it is hard to tell what color it actually is, though most would say red. Though Soft looks quite young herself, she has a tendency to call everybody else 'kid' or 'boy' or something similar. She also has a tendency to be a little violent and looks a bit sadistic, but she feels it's for a good cause, seeing herself as a sort of cop who punishes bad little children. (For sucking your thumb, your fingers get cut off. For lying, your tongue. For playing with matches, you burn to death. So on and so forth.) She loves ironic punishment, but usually can't be bothered to think them up. She does have something in her besides a violent tendency, though. She shows sympathy towards those who had a step-mother and preference to those who are the third and youngest child. If somebody doesn't act the way she thinks they should (what? The step-mother isn't evil?) then she may get a little confused and just revert back to violent tendencies.
Biography: Soft was there ever since stories were used to scare children into behaving. She was never one to hang around with all the other spirits or small deities or gods (and frankly, they were a little thankful for it), instead busying herself with the daunting task of punishing every little child for every little misdeed they had done. Most of the gods didn't exactly like this. It's hard to like somebody dismembering your followers. So they created what amounted to a fairy tale world and placed her there where she pretty much became a god, omnipresent and omniscient, her job being to oversee everything and giving out punishment or reward whenever necessary. She liked the punishment aspect more. She became sort of a Boogeyman for fairy tale people, someone who caught you if you were being bad, the main difference being that none of them had a choice. Being representations of characters from fairy tales, they had to act out the story. And because many fairy tales are really just the same story with different names, Soft got a little bored and rather agitated. The toning down of fairy tales didn't help her agitation much, especially when this resulted in another Spirit of Fairy Tales who often got in the way of her justice system. They got into a lot of arguments, one of the biggest one over the Red Riding Hood story. Soft 1 got into a fit over how unrealistic Soft 2's version was and in her tantrum, cut off the woodcutter's head to prevent him from saving both Little Red and Grandma, then battled The Spirit of Watered-Down Fairy Tales. Soft 2 countered her destructive tendencies with healing magic, making right whatever she cut down, which just frustrated her all the more until she finally vanished. More creative stories would say she exploded in rage. In any case, Soft 2 now reigns over her old domain and the world quickly became a less bloodied place.

Also here are some random doodles if you really want to see 'em.

Originally posted on MSPA by Not The Author.

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Lurk.

Originally posted on MSPA by Ixcalibur.

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Username: Ixcalibur
Name: Dove
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Color: #6600BB
Weapon/Abilities: Can control nature itself. This typically means he takes control of any local plant life using it to murder his enemies, though it can also apply to animals.
Description: Dove is a man in his mid-twenties, with long brown hair down to about his shoulders. His eyes are green all the way through and he has a short brown beard. He typically dresses like someone going on a hike.
Dove is very environmentally conscious. He hates all humans, but more so anyone who flagrantly disrespects nature, by littering or polluting or whatever. He is quite direct in his dealings with others, often going straight to murder without a second thought.
Biography: Dove wasn’t always known as Dove, he took this name later in life when the planet spoke to him. Before that he went by a different, unimportant, name that he wouldn’t even respond to nowadays. Before then he was moderately conscious of being environmentally friendly; he recycled and turned off electrical appliances when not in use. However this all changed when a group of friends convinced him to go on a camping trip with them. While on a hike one day the planet began to speak to him, he could hear it’s voice, weak and ragged, coming from the trees and the grass and the animals. It practically surrounded him. It explained to him the full extent of humanity’s presence on the planet. How thoroughly it was being ravaged. He began to change, doing more and more to preserve the planet, but it was never enough. The planet was dying and Dove’s efforts were not even making a dent in the collective damage that mankind was doing. He abandoned his old life, his house and his name, moving into the countryside and campaigning fiercely to try to get people to be environmentally conscious. However it soon became clear that the planet was expecting more from him. No matter what Dove did it would always reprimand him fiercely for not doing enough. It would scream at him all night long its voice booming from every plant in the vicinity. Dove eventually broke down, demanding to know what more he could do for the planet. It responded telling him to eradicate the human race. It insisted that mankind were no more than pests, deadly fleas for which there was no easy cure. Ever since they had first evolved they had chopped down trees, murdered animals and dug into the planet itself as a matter of course. They were slowly killing the planet and though it would be foolish to assume that the harm they had done could be undone, they could be stopped from doing any further damage. Dove didn’t want to do this. He attempted to hold out, but the planet’s voice deafened him wherever he turned. Eventually he could take it no longer; he demanded to know how he was expected to destroy the human race. The planet in response gifted him with the power to control nature itself. His first kills he carried out merely to shut it up. To allow himself to get some rest. But with the planet’s power running through him it did not take him long before he started to get into it, before he began to share the opinion that humans were nothing more than a pest and that he was doing the right thing.
Eventually he was pulled away from the planet he had come to adore, snatched up into the Great Belligerency.

Originally posted on MSPA by Captain Lhurgoyf.

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One spot left? Call it. I've just read about the Grand Battle concept, and now I have a chance to join. Soooo....

Username: Captain Lhurgoyf

Name: Vandrel Reinhardt ("Lord Reinhardt")

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Color: Dark red

Weapon: A large sword, one that would be a two-hander for most people, but Reinhardt is able to use it with one hand thanks to his gauntlet. It is decorated with runes in a forgotten tongue. He also carries an oval-shaped shield with spikes on it so he can slam it into foes it they get too close.

Abilities: Reinhardt is a ruthless tyrant who will not tolerate disobedience and tries to always be ahead of the game to avoid being usurped. He is a cold, calculating thinker in addition to being a strong fighter. Although his homeworld is in the Middle Ages, he can stand up to more advanced technology due to his enchanted gauntlets, which increase his strength and endurance, so he can shrug off bullets (he's not completely immune, though - he can still die if shot enough) and wield a two-handed sword with a shield. His main weakness is that he isn't very fast or agile, but he can take damage and dish it out (basically, he's a Mighty Glacier). Also, he's quick to anger.

Description: Reinhardt is a stocky, muscular man in his early 40s, with a bald head but a thick beard, grey with black streaks. He has a scar down the side of his face from his days as a gladiator. To impose his power over his subjects, Reinhardt wears a suit of knight's armour painted black, worn with a fur-collared grey cape and an iron crown; in battle he wears a great helm with metal wings in place of the crown, but otherwise the same outfit. In personality, Reinhardt is a cold, calculating schemer most of the time, but he is quick to fly into an uncontrolled anger if provoked. As a dictator, he shows little mercy or kindness to those he considers inferior to him. Reinhardt is deeply racist and detests nonhumans and magic users, using the excuse that they threaten his power to send them into death-camps around his kingdom, and as such, he shows no respect for the nonhuman competitors of the battle. Despite his irredeemible cruelty, he is very poetic and has a tendency to recite speeches in sophisticated language. Pic, because why not (ugh crappy sorry)

Biography: Reinhardt hails from a fantasy world in the Dark Ages era, where he rules with an iron fist as a military dictator.

Vandrel Reinhardt was born into slavery in a kingdom then-ruled by a corrupt king. Because he proved to be disobident to his master, refusing to work and stealing from his master's estate, Reinhardt was deemed a criminal and sold off to an arena, where he spent his youth competing in gladiatorial pit-fights, owing to his strength. He soon became well-known for his fighting ability, becoming a champion.

Eventually, Reinhardt won his freedom, and soon after he was enlisted in the army, in recognition of his fighting ability. He rose through the ranks and was knighted, ultimately becoming a bodyguard to the king. However, one day, the king was assassinated by a band of revolutionaries, supposedly tired of the king's cruelty. Reinhardt, defending the kingdom, slew the assassins and took the throne.

Or at least, that's what they say.

The story of Reinhardt's ascent to power is largely propaganda, cleverly leaving out the fact that Reinhardt had framed the king and hired the assassins to do the deed, after which Reinhardt murdered his own co-conspirators to gain absolute power. Reinhardt, a racist, coveted the throne largely because he hated the king's tolerance of magic users and nonhumans. Among his first acts in gaining power was to break all treaties and policies of tolerance to these groups, and soon after, he established death-camps where magicians and nonhumans were gathered from their homes, imprisoned, and tortured to death, allegedly because their powers threatened the stability of the kingdom. Consequently, he ordered various magical artifacts to be siezed and given over to him, which he used to build up his power. Among these are his gauntlets, which enhance his strength. Over time, Reinhardt transformed the kingdom into a brutal dictatorship, where resistance was forbidden and suspected conspirators executed. His armies conquered new lands, and his empire grew. For twenty years, Lord Reinhardt sat on the throne, overseeing the empire he had built on the bodies of countless innocents.

Until one day, the throne was empty. The ruler had disappeared.

Or more aptly, he had been summoned.

Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.

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Awesome! I was afraid we wouldn't have any fresh blood this time around.

It is also awesome(?) that we have three green players and several overlapping themes/powers. Should make for an interesting one!

Originally posted on MSPA by Wojjan.

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I am so so so very sorry for disappearing like that and leaving you all behind. Thanks to all of you for putting up with my social life's attention-grabbing and especially to Fogel for placing my reserve here. I will have my entry up here in a minute, no more stalling!
EDIT:

SpoilerShow

Username: Wojjie!
Name: Balance. The god of balance in full, but Balance will suffice.
Gender: Male in the prayers and the mythology, but technically genderless.
Race: God. Please keep reading and don't burn my entry.
Colour: Justice. (Justice means sandy brown.)
Weapon: He carries a golden scale and hammer. They can probably both serve for a blunt weapon, but it doesn't really function as a weapon. It's an attribute used to wheigh souls that have passed away, judge their actions and decide their afterlife, respectively.
Abilities: Balance is an omnipotent god, meaning He can pretty much do anything. However, He is a god of neutrality, so anything He does must have a good and a bad. Every wall He builds will have some pressure point, every axe He flings can be flung back, and so forth. There will always be some way to counter what He does. It should be noted that the more powerful things He tries, the easier it will be to counter.
Description: Balance isn't that fancy when it comes to appearance: If one were to judge by looks alone He would appear rather as being a grandmaster instead of a contestant. His bleak, gray figure is only marked by His prying red eyes and a single white ring around His neck, resembling something like a fancy collar of sorts. He does however lug around His scale and hammer anywhere He goes, and those two items have always been His trademark on every altar or statue worshipping Him. His personality is His idea of righteous and just, but can appear to others as cold and ruthless. He thinks every crime should deserve a punishment.
Biography: Long ago, there existed three gods to rule all of the multiverse. Many different names they were given, and many religions flocked around them, but when it's boiled down to the core, you're left with these three: The god of evil, the goddess of temperance, and the god of balance. Basically, you pray to the first to tell Him to stop what He's doing, and pray to the second to thank Her for what She's doing. The third sees to it nothing gets out of hand. Of course this was a pretty lop-sided deal for Evil, so He killed Temperance out of sheer envy. This was very unsettling for the third god, because besides this event overthrowing the balance He held so dearly, He also saw His brother kill His sister. Any psychologist will concur that doesn't do anyone good. Balance tried to save Temperance by creating a galaxy in a far outback of a remote universe, and stored His sister's soul in one of the planets, hoping to revive Her once Evil had settled.
Once you have a goal, it's easy to lose track of anything else.
Balance was furious because of what Evil did to His sister, and decided to redo the favor. The balance would be reset if Evil would die aswell. But He soon came to regret He had done that. For the first time, the scales Balance proudly held in His right hand, tipped towards the left side - the side representing all things bad - revealing to everyone, but mostly Himself, His loss of neutrality. Balance soon came to realise His wrongdoing. He didn't just kill Evil, He usurped Him.
Sentient life is one of the most awe-inducing things that can happen to a planet. It's a blessing and a curse, so to say. However, if that sentient life starts breaking down a planet, and if that planet contains a god's dead sister, things can get going.
It took a while for the first fish in the endless seas of the blue planet to leave the comfy waters and tried to conquer land. Once it worked, however, a snowball effect of evolution was set in motion. Not long before that fish was digging holes in the ground and building towers vain enough to challenge deities. Such things, of course, have their effect on the planet. Temperance's soul awakened, but She was still trapped within the planet. Once Balance noticed the equality being again upset, this time to the other end, He sped to the safeguard of His sister and descended upon the planet.
Humanity didn't stand a chance against this god as He eradicated all human life. He had to, in order to break open the planet and free Temperance. Temperance saw Her brother, and the people around her, and wept. Truly saddened by the moral turn of Her brother She spoke to him: "Why did you do this, brother? Why would my life be worth more than the countless people on this world?" With those words, She ran away, never to speak with Balance again.
Balance was furious, and turned His anger towards himself. He became a more powerful god of evil than His former brother, and crushed those who dared oppose Him in the slightest. His torment made Him a better god of evil.
Meanwhile, Temperance was suffering from guilt, for having written off Balance's attempt at saving Her as murder. Broken by Her unnatural reject of Her very own brother, She vowed never to speak evil of anything, ever again. She became an improved goddess of temperance.
The balance returned.

Overlapping themes, you said?

Originally posted on MSPA by cyber95.

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Empy doesn't have any interest in the forums any more ever since the change, so he's unfortunately out.

Originally posted on MSPA by Pick Yer Poison.

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Wojjie, I don't mean to offend...but the text color you picked is eye-searing on the new forum's white background.

Originally posted on MSPA by Wojjan.

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Does sandy brown work any better?

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

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I can read the sandy brown text clearly if I look at it from a certain angle, but not otherwise.

Originally posted on MSPA by Pick Yer Poison.

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It's still eye-searing. Not as much as it was before, but still painfully so.

Originally posted on MSPA by Wojjan.

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Bah, curse my dark monitor. Sienna it shall be then?

Originally posted on MSPA by slipsicle.

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Bah, curse my dark monitor. Sienna it shall be then?

Parfait!

Originally posted on MSPA by Aryogaton.

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SpoilerShow

Awright, let's get this started! The first round takes place in the Rainy Place, the setting for Eddie. It starts off with the regular house, and, presumably, the crazy stuff will happen a bit later. I highly suggest you read Eddie if you haven't already to get a feel for this setting (it's a quick read, anyway).

And also, while Eddie, Leslie, and the other Seven aren't here, that doesn't necessarily mean that the Seven don't play a part. Go crazy.

Originally posted on MSPA by Wojjan.

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If no one has already by ninjaing me: Reserve!

Originally posted on MSPA by Captain Lhurgoyf.

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Reinhardt gazed out a window, looking at the rain outside him. His cape wrapped about him, the tyrant held his helmeted head low, deep in thought. Surely there must be some reason for this summoning, some significance. Either way, Reinhardt knew that he had to return to his kingdom by the end of this, for if he was gone for long, the lands would plunge into chaos, and Reinhardt would dare not let that happen. After working so long to conquer his kingdom, he could not imagine any other fool sitting in his throne, no less the decrees he would make.

Broodingly, Reinhardt contemplated what the suited being had said before. Innocents? Could one even claim that Lord Reinhardt would rule through the deaths of innocents? This would be slander and grounds for execution! Reinhardt strictly enforced his worldviews that his massacres were justified. Humankind, through its mastery and intelligence over beasts, was surely meant as the true rulers of the world. Other beings that claimed intelligence, feeling, had imposed themselves on the world - elves, dwarves, orcs, halflings - surely they were all animals to be slaughtered without regret. Reinhardt then turned to those who used magic - by their arts, they were clearly making a mockery of their supreme human nature by trying to transcend their already perfect boundaries. Such peoples were mere animals, Lord Reinhardt thought. His policies on them were clearly an improvement - no, doing service - to the world. To take the magician or the demihuman from their homes, to whip them and hang their dessicated forms from the trees, to snatch their babies from their wives' arms and burn them alive in the furnaces - this was justice.

Looking over what he had heard of the other contestants gathered, Reinhardt especially looked into the green-eyed man - the one named Dove. Had he truly heard that this wretch was to destroy humanity? Immediately, Reinhardt knew that he must be exterminated at all costs. The human who works actively against his own magnificent kind is a traitor of the worst order. Reinhardt knew that if all went right, he would be the one to purge this unworthy soul from the world. He would enjoy it.

Gathering himself, the tyrant's gloved hand gathered his great sword. Reinhardt turned around to face the room, ready for anything.

Originally posted on MSPA by Aryogaton.

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Hey, you're not supposed to do that-

To post, you need to first post a reserve, then when you're done writing, you can edit up your post. This is to prevent someone from posting as you're writing your post. So right now, Wojjan has a reserve, and you can't post until she's done. It looks like your post won't have any conflicts with Wojjan's, though, so I'll let this one pass.

Originally posted on MSPA by Captain Lhurgoyf.

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Sorry about that. I didn't know you absolutely HAD TO reserve first. It seemed like more of a suggestion than a rule when I read the rules in the first post. I'm new at this.

Originally posted on MSPA by Aryogaton.

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It's alright, pretty much everyone made that mistake in their first few posts.

Originally posted on MSPA by Wojjan.

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Something was wrong. Something was distressingly wrong.

Balance was just now judging the future of a poor swindling fraud who lost his life in a car accident, when from one moment on the other, he was instead delivering that man's punishment upon a gaudy living room table, which surprising no one didn't really react to the sentence. Within that instant, however, there were at least 20 minutes, even though an instant usually is instant. He remembered those minutes that weren't actually there, but with information and people actually here. From anyone's point of view except Balance's this would make a lot less sense. From within that moment, he also kept memories of a certain someone who called himself the Executor, who was not only able to subdue him, but also transporting him from one place to the other. He could move a god. He also was able to herd together seven other individuals, and intends to have them face off just for the hell of it. The order he so loved was nowhere to be found. He ground what could have been his teeth a bit, then shook the malaise of the situation off to get a better grasp on it. Balance figured getting everything straightened out would be easier out loud:
"The Executor could rip me away from my seat, and place me in a battle to the death. This man comes frightfully close to being a god, if he isn't already one. In a certain sense he is, since he seems to have complete control of this environment. But this place, it's not real, it's just a copy of the original. A pocket world. He's faking the power by putting us in his arena, under his rules. What to do..."
Balance tried and succeded at creating a small cube. It hovered in the air for however long it was being created, then fell to the ground with a soft thud. "He doesn't seem to control everything. We can all change and edit this world of his. This entire space was created to be thrown away after the fight."
For the first time since the start of his monologue, he tried to recall what the Executor mentioned about the place he was chucked in. The Rainy Place. He remembered it being a parasite on worlds, eating all in its path, but as far as he was concerned, it was an ordinary living room giving way towards the equally ordinary kitchen. Nothing about what he saw - barring the glimpse of a man covered in dead insects - struck him as being a leech on anything, much less this entire world.
Annoyed as to how many times he had used the word 'world' in different meanings already, and maybe even a bit confused on the matter he shifted his thoughts towards the contestants. The majority of the lineup would either have to be very brave, very deceiving, or very dumb to take on Balance. But there was one contestant that caught his eyes. The life goddess Ur. Her appearance, demeanor, title... everything was just fitting too perfectly. She was too much like him.
Pacing through the hallways of the far too ordinary house, he eventually crossed ways with someone who wasn't at all Ur and shouldn't be taking up his time. Giving Soft a cold shoulder she didn't like in the least, Balance continued. "You are a fool, girl. Only gods deliver judgement," he muttered while walking past her. The girl mumbled a curse because really what's his deal just rolling by like he owns the freaking place. Taking note of her relatively short temper, Balance soon arrived in the master bedroom, noticing Ur staring at nothing in particular. "M-Mother?"