SpoilerUsername: Pick Yer Poison
Name: Drake Aborith
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Colour: #999900
Biography: The call of destiny for Drake, a simple foot soldier in the king's army, came at a fortuitous moment. The tide of the rebellion was slowly but inexorably pressing the royal army back, and the relative casualties were becoming more and more one-sided. Drake, beaten and bruised, fighting a losing battle with all his might, had no illusions about his life expectancy. Others said he'd led a charmed life, having narrowly escaped several slaughters through a mix of ingenuity and sheer happenstance, but when a swing from his halberd clanged against the enemy's shield and threw him off his balance, he knew his time was up. The foe did as well, and brought his sword down for the killing blow.

Both were caught off guard when a golden shaft of sunlight enveloped Drake. His wounds vanished and divine strength flowed through his veins; acting involuntarily, he swatted the sword aside, ignoring the gash it left on his hand, and thrust his halberd at his foe. Miraculously, it slipped past his guard, and the point pierced his armor and punctured a vital organ somewhere, making him cry out in pain. Drake pressed his foot to the man's stomach and shoved him off, pulling his halberd free in a spray of blood. The fighting around them had ceased as those within view gaped in awe at the brilliant golden spotlight shining on Drake. The lull lasted only a few moments. Drake, acting on an instinct he hadn't had before, flowed smoothly to the next-nearest foe, slashing and stabbing in perfect rhythm, before moving on to the next, and the one after that, and so on, cutting a swath of deific fury through the battlefield, until every foe who had not fled was vanquished.

Before he had even begin wiping the sweat and blood from his face, a messenger from the king's temple to Efneroe, the god of prophecy, arrived and told him that he had been sent three days ago to deliver a summons to the temple. Mystified but hoping for answers, Drake rode back to the temple, and upon arrival was pushed into the altar alone and told to pray for a revelation. He was unsure how to ask for guidance, having prayed to the god of war for nearly a decade now, but fortunately for him, Efneroe was already waiting. Drake learned that the time of a great evil was coming, and Drake had been chosen as the righteous warrior to defeat it. To this end, Efneroe had granted him the use of his right arm, in the form of his now-divine halberd. As he rose back up to the heavens, Efneroe warned Drake that, while he was the only one who would be able to defeat the foreseen evil, to do so would come at a great cost. By the time Drake's thoughts caught up with the circumstances, Efneroe was beyond the reach of his questions.

Drake emerged from the temple a confused but determined man. He spent the next few years seeking out everything resembling a great evil that he could find, only to find himself one step behind each time. Every time he showed up on the scene, he was just a little too late, ranging from would-be necromancer having his own minions turn on him days before Drake even arrived at the tower, to reaching a dragon's lair just in time to see the final blow struck by a determined knight. Each time, he would doubt the prophecy's choice, only to find his determination renewed a few days later as word of a new threat reached his ears, sending him off on another wild goose chase. It was during one such wild goose chase, while he was on the trail of a reported dark lord, that he simply vanished off the face of the planet.

Description: Drake stands at just under six feet, with blue eyes and long, unkempt black hair. His face has a haggard appearance about it, and his eyes occasionally get a very distant look to them. To look at him, one would place him in his early thirties.

Items/Abilities: Drake wears a dark grey traveler's cloak on top of leather armor. However, this is more for comfort than it is for protection - as the chosen warrior of prophecy, Drake cannot die until the prophecy has been fulfilled. However, this does not mean he cannot be injured - just that he will always make a full recovery, regardless of physical possibility.

Drake's weapon of choice, the Arm of Efneroe, is a magic halberd imbued with power by the god of prophecy. In a fight, it generally takes the best of all possible paths - a strike will find the one chink in the enemy's armor, a stab will slip just past the foe's shield, an unlikely block will just barely hold. Many surviving foes have attested that, in the heat of battle, the blade appears surrounded by golden fire. Like most divine weapons, it is unbreakable and never wears out.

SpoilerUsername: Elize
Name: Lillian
Gender: Female
Race: Genetically modified posthuman
Colour: 36536f
Biography: After amazing breakthroughs in genetic research in the early 22nd century, designer organisms became something of a fad among the eccentric and fabulously wealthy. Lillian was one such organism. She was created by the esteemed rapper, jetski skydiving enthusiast, conservative news pundit, and two-time presidential nominee Kray Billington while he was in one of his psuedophilosophical moods. He intended to answer what he considered to be the foremost failings of human biology and psychology, though in truth she was the biggest crime he had committed against both since at least the week prior.
The designer organism fad was over within a year, and within another year Kray was wondering why he was still paying to keep the little eight-limbed freak fed instead of more important things his money could go to, like research into robots who were even better at sex than the robots he was already having sex with. Lillian was dumped into the Ke$ha Memorial School for Girls, where she grew to semi-adulthood. Like most smart, ugly girls, she channeled her immense mental prowess into learning how to surf the neuralink wireless web without teachers noticing and how to pretend she was too good for all the boys that thought she was too freaky to talk to.
Description: The first thing you'd probably notice about Lillian is that she's got about four too many limbs. Each limb is long and gangly, splayed from her body like a lizard's, and ends in a roughly human hand with calloused pads on the knuckles where she walks. The pair of arms in the front are a bit smaller and nimbler than the others, and are the ones she primarily uses to manipulate objects. While she can walk on two limbs about as easily as a human can, she typically walks on four, using more or less depending on whether she's going for speed or more manipulating appendages. Her body is about twice as long as an average human's torso, and is supported by a very flexible naturally-forming carbon nanotube spine. Her face is actually rather pretty, modeled after a famous actress from the time, but that fact only seems to accentuate the weirdness of the rest of her. She keeps her black hair cropped a bit above shoulder-length, short enough to access the neuralink computer she had grafted into the back of her neck, but long enough to hide the blowhole she breathes through.
Personality-wise, she's about what you'd expect from a teenaged girl who's too smart for her own good. She loves drama almost as much as she loves claiming she hates drama. She likes to play video games through her neuralink, but secretly resents the lack of sufficient customizability on most games' human avatars. Her attention span is criminally short and she has a hard time remembering names and faces, especially since she can just instantly look them up on the military-industrial-social-media conglomerates anyway. Breaking from her peers a bit, she's not a very big fan of Electrofuck, the current trendy musical genre among other teens in the 22nd century; she prefers century-old classical music, like David Guetta and Skrillex. But perhaps most importantly, she's got a human brain, which expects a human body. Sure, genetic tampering has unlocked the ability to perform complex mathematical operations in her head, but that's more of a hack of the existing hardware. She still looks out at her human compatriots and thinks, somewhere in a primal part of her, that she's supposed to be like them. She still looks out at the human boys around her school and finds them attractive. And, at the end of the day, she goes back home and looks in the mirror, and she still sees a monster.
Items/Abilities: Lillian's got a plethora of abilities that set her apart from normal humans. A high-density, high-efficiency muscular system gives her the strength to lift a car. A skeleton made of carbon nanostructures makes her exceptionally light and durable. Her immune system, digestive system, respiratory system, and everything else has been artificially overclocked, meaning she eats rarely, can hold her breath for extended periods, is more or less immune to disease, and can survive moderately high or low temperatures without harm. Minor cuts and bruises heal in a matter of minutes rather than days, but severe trauma is still life-threatening. Her eyesight and sense of hearing are phenomenal. She's quick and flexible, physically and mentally, but hasn't really made use of these qualities in any meaningful way yet in her life. Her brain is also wired directly to a computer at the back of her neck. This computer's functionality is severely limited in the absence of a compatible wireless signal, but still contains a few useful apps that function offline as well as some of her favorite games, music, and movies.

SpoilerAUTHOR: some blatherskite
CHARACTER: PROFESSOR ADA HANMARIAN
GENDER: Female
SPECIES: Human
COLOR:#006400

DESCRIPTION: Aside from her unlady-like physique and tousled brunette hair done in a sort of half-assed ponytail, she seems more or less like an average woman albeit with just enough self-esteem to disregard her personal image. It is true that she could hardly care less what others think of her, but to say she were average would be a terrible mistake.
As a female robotics professor in a society which finds that strange, she tends to hide her occupation and her intelligence behind a well-calculated veil of ignorance and profanity. Actually, to say it were well-calculated would also be a terrible mistake. She just kind of throws that shit together.
Dressed in the forest green coat and curdoroys that speak of her lack of fashion sense, she is ready to face the world.

ABILITIES: She has quite an impressive mind, though she'd never admit it and would probably deal you a more impressive verbal flogging for thinking so. Surprisingly, her denial of her own intelligence hasn't held her back in the field of robotics. Namely she has made landmark improvements in robotic equipment designed to be piloted in combat situations. In layman's terms, she's trying to make robot suits. At the moment her favorite invention is a hulking gauntlet equipped with some basic weaponry and with more than enough support for rough and tumble pugilism.
It also comes with a microphone and sound system, so if you see her talking in your direction, cover your ears.

BIO: PROFESSOR ADA HANMARIAN DID SCIENCE UNTIL SHE DIDN'T BECAUSE SHE WAS IN A BATTLE

yeah might change that later

SpoilerName: Murphy Roths
Gender: Male
Race: Human(???)
Color: #FFBF00 on #770000
Biography: "Oh come on now, don't cause any trouble."
"We're beyond trouble, I'm gunna pound this little smug shit's face in!"
"Oh come on, I was doin yer mum a favor, I can't imagine someone who birthed yer ugly mug gets alota visits of the sort."

The Barkeep knew that this was going to be it, he tried to diffuse the situation but it looked like once more he was going to clean blood as well as the usual bile, sweat, and tears. He sighed. It's times like these I wish that Murph would just keep his mouth shut. Can't blame him though, not after all that's been done to him.

Murphy, the shorter of the two combatants, and the dirtier of the two, was going on his typical 'drunken' rantings, holding a bottle of beer in one hand, and swinging the other wildly. The other patron, a large bald man, didn't take kindly to the formers laissez-faire attitude to his threats, and decided to take his first drunken swing.

The brute was surprised to see his fist miss, and more surprised to drop to the floor from his momentum. If the drunk had a better handle on his mental functions, he would have noted and questioned how someone who had to be drunker than he was somehow dodged his punch. Instead, he looked at the lazy eyed idiot, and upon seeing his smile, threw another punch.

In retrospect, Murphy should have seen that coming, but as hindsight is 20-20, rather than continue his teasing of the drunks, he was treated to a fist in his face that ended up going a bit farther than the puncher had expected.

As the brute's fist connected, he felt a tinge of satisfaction at an idiot successfully shown who's boss, that moment lasted as long as it took for him to realize that his fist hadn't stopped at Murphy's face. A flurry of emotions, ranging from fear to disgust, filled the brute as he realized that he had punched Murphy's face right off. Luckily, before he could process the scenario fully, someone broke a beer bottle over his head, knocking him out.

After the brute was seated with his face on the counter and a few more beers lying around, giving the impression of him having passed out, the barkeep looked around to make sure that no one saw that, then, upon confirming that the coast was clear, addressed the slightly headless Murphy, "Why do you even come here if you are just going to pick fights with my other patrons? Eventually someone's going to find out, and then where will you be?"

Murphy's head slowly grew back, returning to the ragged, smiling mug that had just been punched, "Hey, I pay my tab and I haven't been caught yet, so I dun see what yer so worried about."

After a few moments of silent glaring, he sighed, "Look, tanks fer all yer help, I really preciate it, I'll try not to be such a bother."

"That's all I ask."

Murphy took his bottle and raised it to the barkeep, "A toast?"

*clink*

Description: Murphy is a short man with black, long, wispy hair, that covers his dull, brown eyes. He's got a crooked smile and a small layer of facial hair on his chin. His ragged clothes are a white tee under a grey buttoned shirt under a large jacket and ripped jeans. He avoids wearing shoes if he can.

Murphy himself can be called a bit dulled, he isn't always the quickest to respond, and he prefers to think simple and passive. He's usually willing to turn the other cheek but sometimes he comes off as cocky or smug. He has some loose lips, but when he has to keep a secret, he keeps it. For the most part, Murphy is aimless, just getting by, but if he gets it in his head to do something, he will do it. If, god forbid, you get him angry, there is no saving you.

It is difficult to pinpoint Murphy's intelligence level, as he both acts dumber than he really is, and he periodically forgets things, as regenerating your brain all the time isn't very good for your mental capabilities.

Items/Abilities: Murphy can regenerate at an advanced rate, able to re-grow any part of his body almost instantaneously, with no apparent harm. As a result, he is immune to disease, poison, and to his dismay, alcohol. This regeneration comes with two other significant effects, the first being that Murphy can not easily feel pain, the second being that his body parts are physically weak and easy to take apart. In addition to his regeneration, he can continue to control some disconnected body parts by focusing on them.

Murphy has taken advantage of his lack of pain, hiding a few weapons inside his body, mostly in places he can easily take them out. His most often used of these is a small scythe that is lodged in his shoulder. Other than those, he has no worldly possessions, no identifications of any sort, and to be quite honest, he only has a small grasp on who he actually is. Despite this, he can get into virtually any bar anywhere.

Spoilerim thinking that in two or so posts (after anza introducifies) we can go and start the morning shift and stuff???