The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 29: UNINTELLIGIBLE!

Hello and welcome, to the second thread of.....

The Grand OC!

This here is a weekly contest to cook up a profile for a character you might enter into a Grand Battle, which is a molasses-paced longform OC some of us nerds on here do. They get abducted by trans-dimensional assholes, they fight to the death. Gripping stuff. You won't actually get to enter said contestants into a battle, but this thread is nonetheless a fun way to give your writing/character-building/worldscaping muscles a weekly flex.

Here's the orignal thread!

Here's the form you fill! To keep things shortish and sweetish, there's an 800-word limit, though nobody's going to get on anyone's case if you're a bit over.

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Username: Almost always a shitty pun.
Name: Slightly less likely to be a shitty pun, but not by much.
Species: Or race, if that works better.
Gender: Is a social construct
Color: In battles, POV/speaker is denoted by a unique text color. Pick out something nice!

Then, we have three more where the bulk of your word sword swords will go.

Description: A brief style guide to your character's appearance, personality, mindset, whatever.
Weapons/Abilities: Battle contestants are generally chosen for combat prowess, survival skills, or for otherwise being interesting. What your dude's deal?
Biography: We asked for your life story, now hand it over.

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And then, prizes! Brought to you by our generous sponsors. There are eight of them; distribution is entirely dependent on the host of the week. (That's right, we rotate! You too can demand people write about their OCs).

The awards are:

The Lucky VII All-Rounder Award, for a solid profile that for whatever reason didn't earn any of the other ones.

The First Five Eigthths Sportsball Award for whoever makes the most of the short-form part of the profile - everything except the biography, weapons/abilities, and description.

The Thomas Packston Elementalist Award, which is for the "best" incorporation of the weekly theme. Then, we have...

The Glere Award For Kitchen Sinkery (aka the Fishbowl) for an profile which throws me for a loop, either through its internal narrative leading me somewhere unexpected, or at how its assorted elements pull together.

Arnold Fogge's Actually Practical Award is for a character particularly suited to the Grand Battle format.

The GBS2 Award For Gratuitous Worldbuilding, for the entry which most blatantly wanted to talk more about their character's original setting than the character. My personal favourite.

The Convolution Teamfriendliness Cup, for synergy with the other entries for the week. If I can see your character being the most fun to watch interacting with the other entries, this one's for you! (Does not necessitate your character playing nice).

The only prize that could count as "losing" would be the Kracht Saw It Coming Award, for blatant/mediocre puns and really obvious attempts to fish for one of the other seven prizes.

Alrighty! You have one week from now to regale me with your profiles. The theme for this week is CROWN. Figure out how you can incorporate that to make a compelling character/terribad stealth pun.

Have at it!

Show Content

SpoilerT2: Judgment Day
01) Crown - Results
02) Product - Results
03) Failure - Results
04) Bun - Results
05) GREATER ARCANA - Results
06) Exacting - Results
07) Commute - Results
08) Shame -

Username: ALL HAIL SOL
Name: Gran Kalibur
Species: Kingdom Class Fortress
Gender: Imperialism
Color: Metallic Grey
Description: Gran Kalibur is a giant circular flying fortress armed with an excessive amount of weaponry both mechanical and magical, a versatile set of mechanisms, and maneuvers for any occasion. It is incredibly imposing, many if not all who have seen it land lose most of their moral. Inside the fortress is a sleek and minimalistic style. Everything needed is there, nothing more.
Weapons/Abilities: Missiles, guns, lasers, beams, mines, borbs, anchors, rockets, fire, water, earth, air, gravity, lightning, sonic waves, and it can move in between the sun and then turn into a magnifying glass. All this and more is powered by the myriad of energy crystals spread across the fortress. It is not sentient.
Biography: From the desk of Major Officer [ZZZ].

The Gran Kalibur is the first and possibly only Kingdom Class Fortress, a powerful, deadly, but necessary weapon made to replace the now defunct line of bipedal machines once used to defend the CO/IS. After reviewing the successes and failures in the bipedal machines, the Gran Kalibur was developed to push the positives while doing away with the negatives. Rather than relying on the whims of uncontrollable individuals, the Gran Kalibur relies on its crew and its captain. As it is powered by multiple energy crystals, the loss of it will not be such a set-back, and the crystals' negative properties will also be diluted. Finally, unlike the bipedal machines, the Gran Kalibur has no specialization, it is capable of virtually anything.

If there is a weakness to the Gran Kalibur, it is that it holds no equal, but while some of the more conservative types may think otherwise, it will ensure that CO/IS survives until the end of time, and grasps the destiny it deserves, much more efficiently than those robots and their pilots. Once completed, it will be a brightly shining jewel, a symbol that represents not only CO/IS' firm hold on our continent, but the world and universe at large. Gran Kalibur will be our answer to the call of the stars and bring about our glorious dawn. I trust our government will use it wisely.

Username: Nobody important

Name: Natalia Raven

Race: Bird-person

Gender: Female

Text Color: A dark purple

Biography: The nation of Aviarre was a turbulent place. While neighboring kingdoms tended to stick to one ruling family, the dominant clan in Aviarre could vary from year to year, and sometimes week to week.
Yet in all the fighting, one clan had never taken the throne for even an hour: the Ravens. Not once in the fourteen generations since Abigail Raven established the clan has a Raven held the Roost.
The reason for this was quite simple, and yet most of the other clans seemed blind to it. The Ravens realized that the throne is meaningless. Rather than invested themselves in the symbols of leadership, they dedicated themselves to actually governing. Over fourteen generations, agents of the Ravens worked to educate the young, to provide food to the poor, to quietly dispose of particularly unsuitable rulers, and to effectively keep Aviarre running from day to day.
Then Margaret Raven passed away suddenly, and leadership of the clan went to her eldest daughter, Natalia.
Natalia was the youngest leader the clan had ever had by ten years. The older Ravens were concerned about having such a young leader, but Natalia was approved without any real opposition. The Ravens had, after all, long ago learned how to operate effectively without much concern for who was actually in charge.
Perhaps it was frustration with this indifference to her that lead Natalia to make serious plans to claim the Roost, as opposed to the token efforts her predecessors had only made for the sake of appearances. For Natalia, the fourteenth Raven, it was not enough to govern from the shadows. She wanted the people to know who their true ruler was, and it would be her. Over the protests of her advisors, she began outfitting the Ravens with the finest armor and weapons of Aviarre. (It wasn't hard when you had access to all the smitheries.)
Of course, Natalia chose the best gear for herself, along with a selection of the Ravens' finest poisons, just in case. But moments before she gave the call for battle, she vanished in front of the assembled troops.
There was a brief council meeting following her disappearance, and it was decided that her cousin Olivia would be the new leader of the clan. Olivia was a much more sensible leader who promptly returned the Ravens to their more traditional ways, and Natalia the Fourteenth Raven was largely forgotten. In other minor news on that day, the Sparrow Clan defeated the Owl Clan for control of the Roost, only to be deposed by the Hawk Clan two hours later.

Description: Natalia is a bird-person. More specifically: she has the head of a raven, both arms and wings, talons for legs, and is mostly covered in black feathers. She's also wearing ceremonial armor with the Raven crest on it, and wielding a large halberd.
Natalia demands respect, but at heart she just wants attention. She considers herself leader of the Ravens, even if a lot of them don't care about this fact, and she will present herself as such to anyone she meets.

Weapons and abilities: As mentioned above, Natalia is wearing ceremonial plate armor and carrying a large halberd. According to clan lore, they're enchanted, but she doesn't actually know the details of how; she just knows they're strong.
She can also fly, but the armor is too heavy and constricting to do that. It's not something she's likely to do unless she needs to.
In addition, Natalia has a pouch containing a variety of toxins. Their effects and deadliness vary. Natalia knows what they all do, but if someone else were to get their hands on the pouch, they might not be so lucky.

Username: Garuru
Name: None yet
Species: Human newborn
Gender: Male
Color: Baby blue
Weapons/Abilities: Can only eat breast milk. Cries all the time. Has no control over bodily functions. Is completely naked. May or may not have the ability to control time and space.
Description: Has his mother's eyes, his father's nose, and an almost imperceivable wisp of blond hair.
Biography: On June 9, 1999, Marisa Buonanotte was rushed into the hospital by her husband, Roger. The emergency was, of course, her pregnancy. This was a joyous day for both of them, as they had been trying to conceive for about three years. Yet, Marisa was crushing her poor husband's hand, leaving him to wonder who was feeling the worse pain. It was Marisa, of course, and Roger knew that, but he was understandably nervous. Today had to go well. As the contractions got closer and closer, he got more and more nauseous. Finally, it was time. The doctor told him to leave, but he insisted on staying for his wife. He held her hand, and looked at her eyes. They were shut firmly tight in anguish, but Roger knew they would be sparkling with joy soon. The doctors finally spoke then. "The baby is crowning! You have to push, Marisa!" If Roger had known anything about childbirth, he would have known what to expect. But he didn't, so he made the mistake of looking underneath the gown. At around the same time that he fainted, the baby suddenly blipped out of existence while its head was only halfway out.

Username: yeah yeah yeah
Name: XYAHRT and Sir Vajrn Modaj
Species: XYAHRT and boring human
Gender: XYAHRT and male
Text Colour: Dark Green
Description: XYAHRT is a terrifying monstrosity beyond human comprehension; those unfortunate enough to gaze upon XYAHRT’s visage are doomed to fall into a gibbering madness from which they may never recover. To describe XYAHRT’s physical appearance as ‘a twisted mess of tentacles, teeth and claws’ is to downplay the sheer primal horror of XYAHRT’s appearance but also broadly correct. It is also of note that XYAHRT is only approximately half a metre tall, please note this does nothing to diminish the dread one feels upon laying their unworthy eyes upon XYAHRT.

Okay so technically XYAHRT is merely a fragment of a terrifying monstrosity beyond human comprehension and those unfortunate enough to gaze upon XYAHRT’s visage are probably only doomed to a particularly nasty headache but certainly if you were to gaze upon XYAHRT for long enough you would probably succumb to madness eventually.

Sir Vajrn is tall, thin and with the look of a man who hasn’t slept for a long time. His skin is sickly pale, his eyes are sunken, his hair greying and a perpetual mess. He wears heavily battered platemail onto which he has clumsily daubed the visage of his lord XYAHRT. He’s clearly done this a few times now, the previous efforts having faded or washed partially away. At this point it only barely looks like anything at all unless you are Sir Vajrn himself.

Items/Abilities: XYAHRT is a terrifying monstrosity from before time and space. Sir Vajrn has a big sword.

Biography: Sir Vajrn Modaj was one of the most respected and reliable knights of the Golden Court. When there were whispers of cabalists performing strange rites near the village of Beskotch it was Vajrn who was sent to deal with the matter.

From the moment he set foot in the cavern they had made their home Sir Vajrn could feel a terrifying presence; a sense of otherworldly dread so thick he could almost touch it. Terrified but with his resolve unshaken Sir Vajrn continued into the caves and disrupted a ritual already in progress.

Fighting to keep hold of himself and his mind Sir Vajrn slayed the cultists and in doing so forced the portal to God only knows where to snap shut. It should have been enough to save the day, and it would have been if part of XYAHRT had not already been through the portal when it had closed, leaving a fragment of that monstrosity behind.

Before he could destroy the remnant of that creature XYAHRT had seized control of him, XYAHRTs reserves of psychic power used up in one go to ensure that Vajrn would be XYAHRT’s unwaveringly loyal servant.

Sir Vajrn prostrated himself before the fragment of unfathomable horror. “My lord.” He rasped. “How may I serve you?” XYAHRT told his minion in no uncertain terms the manifold horrors they together would visit upon his world, and also that he would probably have to carry XYAHRT to do so.

They didn’t really make a lot of progress before one day they just disappeared.

Username: Majesdini

Name: Tulivor

Character Gender: Rock

Color: Also Rock

“Alright, take your seats, take your seats. I do realize last night was Midsummer’s Eve, but you’ll have to pay attention – today’s lecture will certainly be on the exam.”

As if on cue the class groans, whether in anticipation of their midterm examination for An Introduction to Arcane Phenomena in the Natural World or simply because they’d had one pint too many. Professor Vitkahn goes on regardless.

“Now, to the topic at hand. Among the so-called ‘sentient phenomena’ so far we’ve covered basic sprites, ‘spirits’ and elementals. Today it is the latter category in particular that interests us—Jost! Yes, you, Jost van Eliodor. Kindly lift your head from the desk and tell us what different etiologies have been derived over the centuries concerning elementals.”

Jost opens his mouth to answer, but his chosen reply of ‘a choice amount of vomit’ does little to satisfy the Professor’s exacting standards. She calls out to the corridor before continuing with the lecture.

“Cleanup in bench 3! …As Jost seems to be indisposed, the basic etiologies fall into the usual categories. Theological—the ‘Gods’ created them—Natural—the planet’s arcane energies reacting to its more mundane powers form them—and Anthropological—it is man’s meddling with those energies that inadvertently brings them into being. While the latter two theories are still hotly debated—a good term paper subject, I’ll note for those of you who somehow don’t have one yet—we do not need to settle on one to discuss this session’s topic, which is—yes, Erlich?”

(Species:) “Pinnacles, sir?”

“Very good. Pinnacles, for anyone who hasn’t encountered the myths about them, are rather unique as elementals go. Rather than lashing out at anyone seen to invade their territory, they have been known to tolerate and even encourage tribute from lesser races. These tributes vary from territory to territory, as Pinnacles can occur wherever a peak does – whether that is atop a mountain, a particularly ancient tree or even at the sources of large rivers. Now, can anyone tell me why Pinnacles are appeased rather than dealt with as we do most elementals?”

“Well, apart from the fact that they are much harder to placate due to the circumstances surrounding their creation, pinnacles generally have some amount of control over the landscape that birthed them—depending on their power—and as such can be directed to for instance limit floods, encourage the growth of nearby fields or prevent volcanic eruptions.”

“I see at least one of you’s been doing the readings. Correct on all points, Sitka. ((Biography:)) The most striking historical case of such appeasement concerns the Pinnacle perhaps most specifically cited in literature - Tulivor. Yes, the one that famously vanished a few days before Mount Istahn’s catastrophic eruption over a century ago. This followed two centuries of tribute by nearby settlements following the first ascent of Mount Istahn and the discovery of Tulivor by the famed explorer Hervik Banstrahl. These tributes seem to have ensured the fertile soils around the mountain remained so while preventing extraneous volcanic activity – with no real eruptions recorded through all those years. However, such a reliance on a pinnacle can have unfortunate consequences – as we saw following Tulivor’s disappearance. Anyone want to tell us why?”

“Well, by all accounts Tulivor did too good a job at reducing Mount Istahn’s natural volcanic activity, and when he mysteriously vanished all the pressure that had been building up was released in one massive explosion.”

((Weapons/Abilities:)) “Precisely, Keira. Tulivor was a massive and extremely powerful pinnacle—Mount Istahn being one of the largest in the Viriko mountains—by all accounts standing eleven feet tall, three feet broad and—while this is extrapolating from other volcanic Pinnacles we have examined—featuring a molten core to mirror his home. Considering Mt. Istahn’s relentless activity since his disappearance, his powers of manipulation over stone and magma were unparalleled by any other sentient force we’ve seen. All this in addition to the brute strength being a ten-ton walking boulder confers.”

((Description:)) “As we’ve seen throughout the course, while these abilities are impressive, it is Tulivor and other pinnacle’s intelligence that make them so intriguing. From the few tributary written records we have, Tulivor in particular was quite grave and methodical. So far, so rock elemental. However where it differed was in the kind of tribute it demanded. Rather than the stone or metal-based tributes requested by other mountainous pinnacles, Tulivor wanted stories. What exactly spurred an elemental to curiosity about the world beyond its home, and whether this had anything to do with its disappearance, is, yes, another great subject for further research in one of your term papers. As Professor Vastren’s recent paper following his journey to the Yanti Rainforest illustrates, an arboreal pinnacle has recently expressed similar sentiments…”

Username: Sains of Royalty

Name: Bob the Enfeoffing Skull

Race: Enchanted Skull. Well, most of a skull.

Text Color: Bone

Biography:
When the boss-man Necromancer Jiarlex kicked in the ‘eads of the former rulers of Valenda with his army of the dead, he got it into his ‘ead to actually try runnin’ things right. Now this was a problem, see, on account of the fact that Jiarlex wasn’t too good at lordin’ over livin’ folk. Still, he knew he had this shortcomin’ and he wasn’t the type to be put off by it, so he tried out a few idears for managin’ the folk that still liked breathin’ for some reason.

First thing he tried was animatin’ some of the best lords the land had ever seen. This didn’t work out too great. The people were all too used to ignorin’ ghosts, y’see, ‘cause usually they don’t have much interestin’ to say. The skeletons didn’t do too much better, on account of them bein’ too spooky for common folk to want to follow. As a sort of a work-around, Jiarlex appointed livin’ folk to be his counts in name and habit, but gave each of ‘em a skull that would work as, well, just about everythin’ that a meatbag needs to lord it over other meatbags effectively.

Most of us were right royalty once upon a time. Kings from their tombs and the like. Me, I was a clever sort. I figured out early that tombs weren't anythin' to be feared, just like the boss-man hisself. Oh, I knew all the richest spots to hit to grab loot both magic and mundane, which is how I wound up buried in a king's crypt. Kinda, uh, grabbed the wrong amulet I guess. Still, at least I wound up with a royal burial, and look at where that got me. Why, I'm a half a lord myself now!

Description:
Well, most of the time, we enfeoffin’ skulls don’t look like much. I mean, we just look any ordinary skull - most of us bein’ a bit yellow, actually, on account of our age. I mean, me? I’m missin’ just about all my teeth and more’n half my jaw to boot. Got a few cracks here and there from some rough handlin’ when I was bein’ dug up too. Still, it’s not all about the looks.

Weapons and Abilities:
What do we do? It’s in the name, innit? It’s a symbol of office, first off. You got an enfeoffin’ skull, it means you’ve been enfeoffed. Raise me on high and tell the other flesh sacks to listen up, why don’t ya. More importantly, though, we actually make you better at doin’ your duly appointed job.

Like any ol’ talkin’ skull, I’m a veritable monsoon of good advice, but unlike your run of the mill paper weight, I make for an ass-kickin’ bodyguard in a pinch. See, I usually stick to bein’ a skull for portability and the like, but I can grow a right proper body if I need to. Need an axeman? I’ll grow the skeleton of Oxin-Sonjur hisself, complete with ever fashionable bear pelts and twenty pounds of solid steel piss off. Need an archer? I’ll grow the bones of a long-dead Eagle Eye with the aim and arrows to match. The advice bit’s more important, I reckon. I mean, really, just listenin’ to my wily words o’ wisdom will solve most of your troubles. All in all, I’m just about the best number two you’ll ever find.

THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE AND APOLOGIES FOR MY TARDINESS I SHALL HAVE SOME AWARDMAJIGGERS UP IN SHORT ORDER

Can you tell me how to get, how to get to coronation street

With only six entries, we only get six awards for folks, so let's get straight to 'em!

XYAHRT and Sir Vajrn win the All-Rounder, mostly because I want to see Ix write for this impotent piece of eldritch abomination that mostly only gives people headaches.

While I saw the pun coming a mile off, Garuru's Regular Human Baby wins the Elementalist Award by dint of everyone else going with some variation of hats, or royalty, or a combination of the two.

I would've given Fogel the Kracht prize for blatant pandering, but seeing as I was doing this reasonably seriously for anyone else that's a bit harsh. Natalia Raven instead wins the Kitchen Sink award for a bunch of conceptually cool things mixed together.

Sollie comes charging in guns a-blazing to take the prize for Battle Practicality, because Gran Kalibur, a flying death fortress that probably isn't sentient is both a great potential setting and a lucrative prize for the many conquer-happy participants in this lineup.

Schazer's Problematic Fave Award aka the Worldbuilding goes to Tulivor, because hungover wizard college and chill mountain/treetop guardians are totally my jam.

The Teamfriendliness Cup, is awarded to Sai. Bob The Skull will be the friendliest and the teamliest of all the skulls the other contestants may meet.

As always, prizes may be refunded if I find out later that there was a really, really bad stealth pun I didn't notice on read or re-read. Thanks for playing!

I'll give it a day or two and if nobody tenders interest to do Week 2, I'll think up another theme.

If anybody missed it, mine was a pun.

It shouldn't be too hard to find when you know to look for it.

Your new theme is Product. Judgement will commence in seven days time.

Username: Fogel
Name: Venty
Race: Corporate Mascot
Gender: Male, because the focus group responded better to that
Text Color: A dull metal grey

Biography: "Hi! I'm Venty! Have you been having problems with your air ventilation? Well, don't worry! We here at BlowCo know the importance of letting air circulate properly through your home! If you have problems, just call one of our highly qualified service technicians to install our specially designed air-flow tubes for a real breath of fresh air!"
"But Venty!" said the overstressed housewife, who had no concerns at all about the talking floating tubing with eyes suddenly appearing in her home. "Can we really afford to replace all the ventilation on our tight budget?"
"Don't worry! Our pricing plans are very reasonable!" Venty said convincingly. "Call today and we'll throw in -"
But the overstressed housewife never knew what they would throw in, because Venty suddenly disappeared.

Description: Venty is a large, cartoonish pipe designed for airflow regulation, complete with an unsettling cartoonish face. Venty is eager to tell everyone nearby about the benefits of replacing their current ventilation systems with the improved, high-quality systems from BlowCo. Granted, BlowCo may not exist in the places he's visiting, or modern housing for that matter, but that's not going to stop Venty. He takes his job very seriously, because it's his entire existence. As Venty will gladly tell you, he's a professional.

Weapons and Abilities: Venty has the ability to hover to be roughly level with the head of whoever he's talking to about BlowCo's high-quality ventilation systems. If he's not talking to anyone, he can float about a foot off the ground. It's possible he could float higher, but he doesn't seem to want to.
Venty can also regulate air flow through himself. Theoretically he could probably integrate himself into any existing ventilation system, BlowCo or otherwise, but he'd probably only do this for demonstrative purposes.

Username: Sol Limited Ed.
Name: Hyper Destroya Destiny Together! (Or, Hyper DesDes TRI!)
Gender: Girls!!!
Race: Idol Group
Color: Corporate Approved Blue
Description: Hyper DesDes TRI! consists of three excellent girls, hand selected by MacroMegaMedia for their extreme talents in singing, dancing, posing, and athletics.

Jaye is the leader, with her outfits primary colors being red, secondary gold, and being the most showy of the three. She has red hair, is second tallest, and has a flowing red scarf. She is headstrong, courageous, and fights mostly with kicks and jumps.

Seline is the heart, with her outfits primary colors being blue, secondary green, and the most caring of the three. She has dark blue hair, is the tallest, and has two ribbon-bracelets. She is careful, perceptive, and fights mostly with projectiles and traps.

Dion is the lancer, with her outfits primary colors being yellow, secondary silver, and the most intelligent of the three. She has bright yellow hair, is the shortest, and has yellow glasses. She is reliable, shy, and fights with punches and accuracy.

Items/Abilities: Hyper DesDes TRI! has been bio-genetically enhanced to be incredibly powerful girls, each able to control an element through powerful "magic." Jaye uses fire, Seline uses ice, and Dion uses lightning. In addition, they can combine their efforts into more powerful attacks, usually doing so through song.

Hyper DesDes TRI! also have clothing that can change each show, or in some cases, songs, complete with makeup and everything. The clothes always match, follow their color schemes, and have their personal symbols as well as the group symbol.

Biography: Hyper Destroya Destiny Together! is the latest media endeavor by the MacroMegaMedia Business Conglomerate aka, the MMM Zaibatsu. Pooling together their resources, they selected three girls from around the world, forming a new breed of Idol Group, that could appeal to all masses.

Their shows consist of the various dancing and singing, but also involves fights against monsters and an overarching plotline on each tour. The girls have been trained to fight, and do enjoy the physical activity, but there is no true danger in these mock fights. That said, they do partake in simulations that are a tad less scripted, to make the show as real as possible.

Now, tossed into this battle, the three girls are fearful, but... it has to be a mistake, right? The MMM Zaibatsu wouldn't put them... in real danger... would it?

27.5 hour notice

Well, given only two entries it seems that I will need to pick which award is most suitable for each entry.

I think Fogel easily deserves The Elementalist Award for making his entry explicitly a product promotion pro duct production. Well done with making the theme nice and clear throughout the entry.

With a sheltered idol group that would be thrust into a decidedly lethal deathmatch, Solaris wins The Actually Practical Award for creating an entry well suited to combat, angst, and potential character growth.

It's been a month, I think it's safe for me to claim a round here.

This week's theme is Failure.

Username: To use the Man
Name: You're expecting 'em to just whip it out without provocation? What kind of deviant are you?
Species: Pixie? Kobold? Fairy? Why do you lot insist on names for every damned thing?
Gender: Neither lover nor fighter
Color: Suck my sparkle-shitting thorax, human

Biography: The culture of the fae folk is carved and warped by human interaction, and not in some quaint superstitious fashion like the mark they left on us. Pollution of their enchanted spaces was the main one, the draining of their magical wellsprings forcing them to collectively adapt into something a little less... glamorous.

The modern fairy troupe are pack hunters and scavengers, the veneer of mischief which gilded their malicious tendencies replated in testosterone and aggression. They still possess a link to the world's magic, chiefly around dominion over Names, but between macho posturing and resentment at changing times, most troupes relegate magic duties to one poor bastard, sealing them into servitude by extracting their Name out of them. Selection customs vary from region to region, but cage matches to the death between the weakest members of the troupe are common. The winner/survivor is borderline-drowned in the nearest source of magic until the desired phenotypes resurface.

These Casters (with a kay) play a vital role in the troupe, enticing unwary prey into ambushes by the pack. It's astounding how many people haven't gotten the memo that the classical fairy is pretty much extinct in the wild, though that's probably the glamers and the low-level mind control plastering over the gaps.

Description: True name Sil-a'*' Nyst-fane-del, though in the interests of fairness they'll probably only be introduced as Sil. The * is a thoracic thrum on the edge of mammalian hearing, in case you were wondering. About two thirds the height and a quarter the weight of their toddle-sized packmates, humanoid, of insectoid (vaguely mantid) biology, and pretty in that way you expect the magically augmented to be. Sports an ethereal glow that obscures most of their body's details, six gossamer wings to give them a dragonfly's grace in flight, and mouthparts better-suited for talking and smiling entrancingly than tearing flesh.

Sil, like many Casters, considers themselves a "temporarily embarassed warrior". They were never physically imposing to start with, but magical exposure's rendered their build even frailer, and their attitude toward most other creatures even nastier. They'll not spare much courtesy to anyone, not when you can poke around in their brain afterwards and render their general impression of the encounter as fuzzily pleasant.

Weapons/Abilities: Sil's exposure to a magic wellspring is responsible for the "classic fairy" look, which brings with it a bunch of spells, mostly of the illusory/sense-fucking variety. They're carnivorous, but can subsist on magic at the cost of a stable personality. Considering they're trying to clear the magic out of their system and become a violent paragon of modern fae society, that really is a last resort.

Their only physical weapon are two spurs at the base of each thumb, which can retract partway like a cat's claws. These are basically only good for forcibly making someone unhand them. Much to Sil's shame, their main arsenal is the magic. Like all fae, they hold dominion over Names and can exercise sway over anyone whose true name they know.

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess that lived on the top of a decommissioned Saturn V rocket. She was the ruler of all the lands she could survey, which she did with great enthusiasm; she owned her own theodolite and everything.

Then one day through the glass of a silver telescope repurposed from some PVC tubing and hand-ground lenses chipped from porthole glass, she saw in the distance a mighty dreadnought, a sprawling cold-fusion powered landship dragging its way across her kingdom, devouring her land and crops, belching black, acrid smoke into the air, and spewing out military encampments on the wasteland left behind. It was not very pleasant. She had suspected the neighboring warlike nation of Pyroclastia would strike them one day, and it now seemed to be that very hour.

So the princess sent out the call far and wide, broadcasting on all civilian channels, to rise up against the Pyroclastians and stop the mighty dreadnought from subsuming her kingdom. And lo, her call was heard by a brave farmhand, Areun by name, who hammered his plowshare into a F-22 Tomcat. Taking off into the sky in a roar of flame, he came soaring down towards the dreadnought's fragile command center/power plant in a blaze of missiles, lasers, and anti-aircraft fire. At the last moment, he ejected from his doomed plane, which plowed into the Pyroclastian high command and exploded them all. As he pulled his parachute, he discovered that plowshares do not have the spare linen to actually make parachutes, so he broke every bone in his body on landing and was, after a brief one-liner or two, very quickly dead.

The princess gave Areun many posthumous medals and, using technology stolen from the dreadnought, turned the kingdom into a paragon of efficiency and incidentally the dominant military power of the world, whereupon she turned evil and became the very thing she despised. Luckily, the ensuing revolution recommissioned her rocket tower and she was blasted into space, where she presumably landed on Alpha Centauri A.

Moral of the story: Wait, you mean this is for Grand OC?

Username: A man, a plan, a canal Sanzh
Name: Shaishanvalai
Species: Draichai
Gender: Someday we may see a woman king, bloodshot eye, thumb down and starting to weep
Color: #CD7F32

Description: Even after her exile, Shaishanvalai is an imposing figure. Her face is weather-beaten and her body is covered in scars and markings-- some were the product of ritual scarification, some were earned in battle, some mark the shame of her exile, but all of them indicate she is not to be interfered with lightly. Like all draichai, she has a mixture of draconic and humanoid attributes-- she is bipedal, but has a tail, digitigrade stance, and reptile-like head. The draich's digits end in sharp talons, and her bronze-scaled skin is a mess of crests, ridges, and horned protrusions. Shaishanvalai doesn't have wings, but doesn't look like she needs them. She wears a mixture of scavenged fabric and mismatched armor, a far cry from the gleaming metal she once armored herself with.

Personality-wise, Shaishanvalai is like most draichai and carries herself with an innate sense of superiority, coming off as imperious and arrogant to most other species. She leans towards action over discussion, and there is little that can break her confidence. While she has a measure of patience when it comes to military matters and understands the necessity of taking other views into consideration in that context, in nearly all other endeavors her martial upbringing dominates and renders her inflexible and commandeering.

Biography: Almost five centuries had passed since the old world was destroyed. The complex and sophisticated fusion of technology and magic of that time had long been lost, and the time of industrial civilization of old became a forgotten memory. The seas turned to poison and silt, and the land to desert as fertile soil became sterile wasteland.

The draichai were the first to rebuild their empire. While they had lost much during the twilight years, they had preserved some of the artifice of the old world and maintained their old laws and customs. Shaishanvalai was born into the military of the resurgent empire, and raised from its eyries to become one of the generals that would reunite the broken, squabbling principalities and petty kingdoms to reforge the empire of old.

In a world of magic, magic will be used in warfare. While the ancient magic of the old world had been forgotten-- the cataclysmic spells that boiled oceans and collapsed mountains-- the draichai still held onto scraps of arcane knowledge, reteaching and perfecting them to the best of their abilities. In one of Shaishanvalai's campaigns, she faced another kingdom that brought magic to the battlefield-- and unlike the draichai, they had managed to hold onto some of the ancient destructive magic of the old world. Finding her own army outmatched and outmaneuvered, the draich commander made a risky decision. She chose to use one of the few remaining ancient spells and summon an antimagic storm, in order to even the battlefield and allow her disciplined soldiers to achieve victory.

Shaishanvalai's gambit didn't work. The antimagic storm became a living spell, an immense tempest of destructive energy that wreaked havoc on the tortured land, spreading far and wide as it brought untold destruction. Forced to retreat with the tattered remnants of her army, the commander was branded and exiled from the empire for her disgrace.

She was never seen again after her exile. Some believe she'll return with an army of fellow exiles at her back, others think she went back to the antimagic storm to die, while others still believe she embarked on a quest for atonement in an attempt to regain her old position. Whatever the truth is has been lost.

Weapons/Abilities: Shaishanvalai's an experienced commander, albeit a reckless and aggressive one. A life spent conquering has honed her martial skills, both in terms of physical combat and in other realms of military expertise, like tactics and logistics and so forth. Her preferred weapon is a glaive of draichai design, which lacks the sort of ostentatious ornamentation of other cultures. She also has some degree of arcane knowledge, although this almost solely extends into knowledge regarding destructive magic and not into magical theory or any sort of refined arcana.

The draich's other ability is a by-product of the antimagic storm she helped summon, and that is that she has permanently severed her connection with magic, and cannot cast any sort of spells or be affected by magic. This magical suppression extends to a three-meter radius around her-- magical items become mundane, spells misfire and fizzle out, and so on.

Username: ess oh ell
Name: Scratches
Gender: Whatever
Race: Weird Disgusting Animal
Color: Green snoty
Description: Scratches is a disgusting amalgamation whose fur is made out of splotches of oscillating color (including a lack of color), and is sized in a similarly variable manner.

Descriptions in the facility imply that its larger than most small cats but smaller than most large cats, and is shaped similarly to them, only with more floppy, long ears. Others say the same thing, only replacing cats with dogs.

Scratches seems to only wish to steal food and misplace various things, leaving behind rainbow paw prints only on things its gotten its mischievous hands on, so you know that it did this and on purpose. Every attempt to oust the creature out of the facility has met in failure, traps made by people aren't ingenious enough for it, and any attempts involving other animals end in failure when Scratches makes friends with them.

Items/Abilities: The list of normal animal traps and mechanisms (and the less normal ones) that have failed imply that Scratches is much more intelligent than a normal animal, but it is unknown if it is to a human extent. Scratches is definitely more durable than most animals, and much more agile than animals of similar size and shape.

It is possible that it can control the color splotches, to blend in or turn invisible, or, as implied by its rainbow paw prints, leave rainbow prints. All attempts to discover any additional abilities have resulted in inconclusive results.

Biography: Scratches is the leftover results from a series of experiments in a remote facility to genetically engineer special animals. After the experiment's results were deemed unsatisfactory, and the project was shut down, the disposal unit made an error in cleaning up the failures. Due to an error in processing, they got all of the various failures together, and just... put them together in a bag. After the sloshing that resulted, the various genetic failures gooped up into Scratches, who proceeded to leave the bag and has been roaming around the facility ever since.

Oh, hey, I announced a theme about a week ago. Should probably do a last call, then.

You've got 48 hours, give or take a bit, to submit a failure of a profile. You can do it!

Posting a reserve for now because I'm terrible and sleep is important

won't be longer than a few hours past deadline though

can't tell if serious or metaprofile

Username: Me Dini
Name: Ellai
Species: Chronautomaton
Gender: Does Not Compute
Color: Creak

Biography: There’s no saving anything

Clank, stomp. Clank, stomp. Clank, stomp.

Lush fields. Scorched desert. Shattered wasteland.

Blue sky. Red supernova. Incandescent nebula.

Millions of years, blink of a mechanical eye. Once upon a time...


Once upon a time, a civilization of artificers considered their options. Automation had brought them utopia: hunger, disease, want and waste were are left behind. There is was a cost. There has always been a cost. Stars wink out of the night sky, shrouded by metal colossi. It wasn't isn't enough. It was never enough. Entropy and inertia. Basic concepts, somehow as insurmountable as when they were first conceived. Yet rather than accept such forces, they saw them as a humiliation. What right did an unthinking universe have to set their course through it, much less guarantee their eventual demise?

If three dimensions would not offer a solution, they would simply work with four. If their mortal vessels proved inadequate, they would simply create proxies. Chronautomatons. Magnetism and clockwork, fusion and computation, and much else besides: the crowning achievement of an era, sent off into the void to forestall the inevitable.

They were given a mind, of course. Such precise tools couldn't be steered remotely or mechanically, not at the physical distances involved. Much less the temporal distances. Ellai woke to find itself hurtling towards a distant system, instructions rattling around its brain. A body--no, bodies--a destination, and a task to perform. A purpose to fulfill.

It had to keep time.

The stellar mass it approached was collapsing. In a few millennia, it would begin to swallow all matter it came across. Eventually, that would include the Creators' home. An unacceptable situation, one to which there was no disproportionate response. Tinkering with the fundamental nature of space-time? Entirely acceptable.

Ellai measured, analyzed, calculated, plotted as it traversed the depths of space. By the time it reached the system, it had mapped out a flawless solution. Hundreds of chronautomatons engaged their boosters, maneuvering into position around the offending star. All the pieces were are in place. A millennium to plan, a century to assemble.

A blink of a mechanical eye.

Phase 1, Engage. One after another, chronautomatons light up, spinning in their frames. A radiant halo surrounds the sun, before...

Phase 2. Time to keep time. The star roils as its satellites steer against its temporal inertia. Its rate of fuel consumption approaches zero as millennia to come are redirected. Stored. The task is almost complete. The Creators will be safe.

The universe roils.

Screeches to a halt.


Now, now. This just won't do! You're going to spoil everyone's fun. Mine, in particular. So.

Stop.


A blink of a mechanical eye. The halo implodes. A hungering void remains.

The universe ticks back into motion.


Millions of years.

A black hole spits out an indigestible bit of debris. A lone, wrecked chronautomaton. Warnings flash wildly, briefly across Ellai's consciousness as it rockets back into existence. Useless. This one shell--its body--is all that remains. It attempts to reorient, to discover where when it is. Too late, it turns out. Far too late. The absence of light behind it is unmistakeable. In a desperate plea, it scans for signals. Something, anything. However long it takes.

Decades, as it turns out.

When the signal arrives, Ellai sets a course. It hopes. It really shouldn't have. When it returns to Homeworld, somehow intact, there's nothing left. The Creators, Homeworld, and all their creations are dust, wiped out ages ago by some catastrophe even they couldn't anticipate. The universe shifts, and it sees. They thrive, as their fields overflowing with crops. They die, as their fields are glassed by invaders. They waste away, as the planet flies ever onwards. Far off the predicted course. Far away from the black hole it sought to prevent.

Ellai's task, purpose, life: pointless. It despairs.

Then it blinks out of existence once again.



Description: Once ruined, baby you stay ruined

Ellai is a remarkable artificial intelligence, imbued with all the faculties of its Creators. This made it capable of reasoning, creative thinking and emotion. It also made it confident to the point of extreme arrogance, an attitude of which it has recently been nigh-fatally disabused. It remains cognizant, but now often fixated on what it sees as its mistakes (and finding some way to undo them, despite landing in an entirely different universe). The consideration that it made no mistakes and that its creators were at fault has not crossed its mind.

Ellai is not predisposed to violence, but will not hesitate to defend itself or go on the offense if it perceives a threat. It is currently housed in a twelve by five-foot magitech automaton, created to manipulate space-time. It sits in a smooth, spherical core, slotted into a bulky and at this point heavily damaged ambulatory clockwork and fusion-powered frame.


Weapons/Abilities: We got another thing coming undone

Ellai is currently a font of temporal energy and general weirdness due to the catastrophic collapse of its first voyage, heavily compromising its functioning.

As a result it is somewhat lost in time, and can catch glimpses of the past or future around its location. It cannot control these visions with any precision, however, and they are often too distant in either direction to be of much use. It will also automatically destabilize and attempt to absorb any strange temporal phenomena it comes in contact with.

The ability to mess with the temporal inertia of objects and shift their progress through space-time is similarly unreliable, and while it can still choose when to use it the speed of acceleration or deceleration is currently entirely out of its control.

Ellai is defenseless apart from being an extremely heavy and durable twelve-foot-tall robot.