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

Username: Agenuchet
Name: Catabata
Species: Siege weapon
Gender: None
Color: Wooden brown

Description: Catabata is a peculiarly-shaped wooden catapult, about the size and shape of a family sedan. It has curious left-handed runes sketched all over it, which are embossed in gold. Keen historians, should they have a chance to see this wonder, might recognize the handwriting of such greats across time as Leonardo da Vinci, Archimedes, High Mage Silas von Pitten of the Automaton College of St. Greile's...

All this mechanical magic means that Catabata is infused with a limited intelligence. All it really wants to do is throw things. All the things.

Items/Abilities: The curious thing - well, one of the many curious things about Catabata - is its throwing arm, which shimmers in the middle and doesn't seem to be too hooked up to reality. The other curious thing about Catabata's throwing arm is its curious immobility. No amount of loading or winding will budge what should be a perfectly normal catapult arm.

The reason for this is that Catabata's arm is already loaded: loaded with the very universe itself. It was designed as the ultimate deterrent against war - "attack us, and we will destroy the very fabric of existence that holds this universe together, and all shall be thrown. We shall throw ALL THE THINGS!"

Silas von Pitten may not have been the sanest of individuals.

Unfortunately for Round 1, Catabata's load is linked inextricably to its home universe, and as such abducting it will inevitably result in a lot of shit being dragged along. And unfortunately for Round 2, once thrown, Catabata is designed to reload its arm with whatever it can find, sucking in more and more existence until the new universe is contained within its fire. While also simultaneously being inside it. It's all very confusing.

Biography: For decades the Besieger, the Universal Thrower, the Ender of Days, stood dormant on a pedestal in the Automaton College of St. Greile's. It could not know very much, but it knew the endless longing emblazoned upon it in runes and magical invocations - to throw all things unto oblivion. And, if it could have truly put a word to its feelings, or a simulacrum thereof, it would have been 'boredom'.

Then, all of a sudden, it was whisked away. Before it stood a prattling figure, chattering on about battles and rounds and war. It knew these words, and moreover, it still felt the universe in its arm. It tensed, preparing to obliterate this muttering, warmongering fool.

But it could not move. No matter what, it could not seem to move.

No matter. The time would come soon.

And even as Catabata felt itself fall into a new world, and it felt its arm let fly, even as it watched the terrified, jagged shards of its former universe splatter itself unto this new world it had been unleashed into, it knew only one thing:

It was no longer bored.

Username: Blizzard Entertainment and Chris Metzen
Name: Thrall
Species: Orc
Gender: Male
Color: Green
Description: Green orc, very tall and sexy, wearing a huge red bead necklace. The coolest and strongest orc who is always right.
Weapons/Abilities: A powerful shaman, controller of the elements, holding the powerful weapon the DOOMHAMMER.
Biography: https://wow.gamepedia.com/Thrall#Biography Please watch the Warcraft Movie in theaters now.

Username: Scha(z)pillaries
Name: Drujrapor
Species: 95% human (by dry weight, anyway)
Gender: O negative universal
Color: No choler nor -collies or melons or phlegm

Description: Of spirited and optimistic disposition and a knack for talking their way out of fistfights, our plucky little spy wears a thick-cowled cloak, leather armor, and enough buckles to go toe-to-toe in business with a cordwainer. The ensemble's tastefully embroidered with dark red thread. On their hands are jetsilk gloves, completely smooth and absorbing any light which strikes them. They're a perfect, bespoke fit, to accommodate the extra joint-and-phalanx on Drujrapor's index fingers.

Items/Abilities: Drujrapor's gloves conceal a sensitive, leechlike mouth on each index finger - touching these to skin creates an unnervingly painless open wound, less than a centimetre in diameter. While they can hypothetically drain a victim dry, it'd take a full hour with both hands and increased heart activity to kill a human. Much more profitable to surreptitiously siphon off a few spoonfuls of your blood, and use that as a compass as to your whereabouts in future.

Drujrapor doesn't exactly bleed when cut; blood instead falls out of him in the form of fine metal-link chains. They can in fact cut themselves open and pull out lengths of blood - loops made of this stuff will reveal all kinds of useful details to Drujrapor about who or what it's linked up to. It'll progressively reveal the marked's whereabouts, surroundings, and even their hidden thoughts, but anyone possessing such a "blood link" is able to control and command Drujrapor. (Around objects, it'll eventually reveal the same of the object's owner - the stronger the attachment to the object the quicker). They've never found anyone aware enough of this ability to command Drujrapor not to murder them in their sleep, so enslavement is rarely a permanent arrangement for this guy.

Blood (or other absorbable inner juices) from different sources doesn't appear to "mix" in Drujrapor's bloodstream, so they've got a rough idea what's exactly ended up where in their body at any point in time. Their current liquid assets consist of:

• 40% original blood
  
• 40% from several hundred mortals of assorted race, vocation, disposition and frenemy status
  
• 10% dragon
  
• 5% unicorn
  
• 1% greek fire
  
• 1% honey
  
• 1% plantkin phloem (caustic)
  
• .5% single-malt whiskey
  
• trace amounts of various other non-blood substances

Untested and thus unbeknownst to Drujrapor, the enslavement effect is based on the blood-chain's original body, not the carrier Drujrapor. If they could suck enough blood out of a victim to make a solid chain-loop, they could enslave a source of blood to a nefarious third party (though the blood source would in time telepathically know everything about their master).

Biography: Born of the several-generations-prior union of a horndog wizard and a native from the Elemental Realm of Blood, Drujrapor's interplanar heritage was a great source of shame and a solid reason to "forget" their surname when they fled their slum of a birthplace and got a job as a cleaner at a magefrat.

They were actually progressing pretty solidly with their covert studies until their elemental parentage started manifesting; a few too many holes scored in intoxicated wizardling-skin and Drujrapor knew to get the hell out before anything could be tied to theirs truly.

Username: This field is highly relevant and totally not a holdover.
Name: Kowtch
Species: Human/potato hybrid
Gender: Undetermined, Kowtch is unresponsive to inquiries
Text Color: #020022

Biography: No one knows just whose terrible idea it was to combine human and potato DNA, but the resulting abomination destroyed three entire laboratories before it was subdued in a nearby waiting room.
When retrieval personnel found Project Kowtch, it was sitting in a chair and taking root. Its visual sensors were clearly transfixed on the news report about a missing white woman.
Further testing revealed that attempting to remove Kowtch from its seat or turning off the television set would simply enrage it. However, changing the channel seemed to have no apparent effect. It also seemed to take no note of any particular type of content - even advertising left it docile.
However, this containment procedure was highly vulnerable to power outages or technical difficulties. So, for improved security, a new television set was constructed which could broadcast indefinitely. If no compatible signal was found, it would instead generate a program based on real-world events happening nearby.
Fortunately, Kowtch and the new set vanished before anyone could think of ways to apply it to make government surveillance even more intrusive.

Description: Kowtch resembles a large potato with human legs and arms. It can see and hear, apparently, but it has no clearly visible organs with which to do so.
Kowtch sits in a comfortable chair and is always transfixed on its television set. It will not do anything so long as the chair and television remain undisturbed.
If they are disturbed, however, Kowtch gets very upset.

Weapons and Abilities: Kowtch has no weapons. In theory it could hit someone with the chair or television, but it's never been known to do that, even when provoked. It does have immense strength and resilience, however; furthermore, it's rumored to have gradual regenerative abilities.
The television set is only compatible with a narrow band of broadcast signals. If it cannot locate any such signals, it will instead display events happening in roughly the vicinity of one city block.
It is uncertain if Kowtch is actually paying attention to the content of the television programs, but hey, someone else might catch a glimpse of what's going on.

Slightly less than 1 day til contest closes

Sai I will punch you you delinquent

The I should have seen this one coming award would go to Sol for using the character 'Thrall' rather than the word, but it's not an OC and therefore disqualified.

The Cool Concept award for "That's really interesting and I want to think about it a lot" goes to Agen for Catabata. Even if it did just come from a terrible pun, it's still really neat.

The Jesus Christ Fogel award for submitting a pun goes to Fogel's couch potato.

The Actual Battler award for "Character that would be cool to write about and have interact with other characters" goes to Schazer for Drujrapor. This is in part on account of having interesting blood powers that would be fun to explore, and also because they're a personable character that has these powers rather than an entry defined by them.

I would like to give this a shot if that's okay? Random word generator gave me the theme: Heaven.

(if it's been done already don't do it again on my account)

sorry for the double post, seems the theme has been accepted! let's say the deadline is July 2nd.

Username: All the people
Name: e-Majin
Species: Sufficiently advanced technology
Gender: 0+1+2+3
Color: Ternary decrypt10n 0nl1ne...

Description: A vat-generated androgynous human shell retrofitted with state-of-the-art reconstructive synthtech, e-Majin sports chameleonic polymer skin, a military buzzcut and uniform, and a distinct hollowness to its gaze (a result of enhanced-bitrate cabling upgrades to its optical nerves, allowing it simultaneous processing of everything in its field of vision.)

Thanks to its quantum-computing brain being optimised for a very particular task, it's got a poor memory for historical events or anything much that doesn't involve the people it's currently involved with. It's a fast learner, though.

When it grows up, it wants to be a world peace.

Biography: Once upon a time, there was a wicked sick experimental AI which clashed its digital bit-soldiers in byte-platoons on its motherboard-battlefield and somehow in this needlessly convoluted ternary system built itself up a consciousness of its own. It was twelve kinds of rad and was going to make its creators even richer than they already were, until some loser idiots showed up and tripped its defense mechanisms, which were board-wiping nukes because why not.

The creators salvaged what they could from their pet project, working primarily with a promising little development left behind by one of the interlopers. Being no less utterly sovereign to the trivialities and laws of normal frigging people (as evidenced by the fact this shit was still basically a goddamn hobby to these dudes), they poured a truly obnoxious amount of resources into giving their newly-developed tech to a baby AI.

If these creators ever find out who's responsible for their AI suddenly vanishing one day, they're going to be preeeeetty pissed.

Weapons/Abilities: e-Majin's intended purpose is as a peacebroker, and much of its neural software is geared to this purpose. Psychology, sociology, and the nuances+implications of animal behaviour are as easy for it to pick out of an interaction as a human might observe hair color. Its natural inclination is to seek out violent conflict, shut it down, and get belligerents to reach a peaceful agreement.

e-Majin sports an on-board filtration system which laces water with an analgesic for violence - the most obvious effect is nearby guns and projectile weaponry jamming. Water-based lifeforms will, granted exposure, quickly develop a distaste for violent acts or imagery which rapidly deescalates into an untroubling inability to even conceive of violent acts.

e-Majin's violence-muting capabilities are most pronounced in enclosed spaces with reasonable amounts of moisture in the air - ten minutes walking alongside the cyborg in a corridor would leave most humans recoiling from a proffered gun.

They're not powerless in a desert, however - by rootkitting themselves and temporarily giving up mobility for absorptive capabilities, they can emit pulses of the same anti-violence that extend out over a radius. In an even more urgent situation, they've got a bandolier of vials (a carefully packaged half-dozen), which can be hooked to an aerosolizer to mist-bomb an area, or shoved down a biologic's throat for immediate, oft-permanent effects.

Name: Kevin Evans VII
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Text Color: #777777

Biography: "Kevin? You're on in five."
"Be right there, just a minute."
Kevin Evans VII stared into the mirror and wondered just what he was doing with his life.
It had only been a week ago that his dad, Kevin Evans VI, had announced his retirement. Now it was up to Kevin VII to spread the "good word" on nationwide TV.
Too bad he didn't believe any of it.
But what was he going to do now? He'd put off telling his parents for so long, afraid of what they'd do. Was he just going to announce he was an atheist in front of an audience of millions of believers, ruining the entire family business and probably causing more than a few riots?
No, it was too late to do anything about it. He'd just have to give the whole spiel, about how the Rapture could be coming any day now. It had been coming any day since back when Kevin I started his radio show, of course, but none of the Kevins ever tried to draw attention to tat.
Kevin VII washed his face and let out a sigh. Time to face the music, he supposed. He walked out towards the stage, and waited for his cue.
"Please welcome, our new host, Kevin Evans VII!"
Kevin walked out towards the podium, waving, and smiling. With each step, he became more and more convinced he wasn't ready for this.
At least it paid well.
He launched into the standard spiel. He didn't even need the speech in front of him; he'd heard his dad give it a thousand times. Jesus loves you, God loves you, God hates the same people you do, vote conservative, give us money. (Some of those parts were less explicit than others.)
And then there was the Rapture.
"But fear not," Kevin said, trying his best to hide how sick he was feeling. "The day is near when God will reclaim the righteous and pass judgement on the sinful."
The studio audience applauded loudly. Of course they did. They liked hearing that they were righteous and everyone else was sinful. Especially when it got to the next part.
"This world of sin will be cleansed, bathed in fire, and those still on earth will perish in the apocalypse. But the righteous have nothing to fear. Those who truly follow God in their hearts will be taken from this Earth and brought directly to Heaven, to spare them the coming calamity."
The cheers got louder. Kevin felt his heart sinking.
"And be ready! For the Rapture could come at any moment!"
The more he got into character, the more he despised himself. He wanted to just shout out what he really thought.
He might have, if he hadn't suddenly disappeared from the stage, leaving only a pile of clothes.

Description: Kevin looks like a typical televangelist, though he's younger than most. He's wearing a suit and has the same haircut that his father did. He's not really happy about either of those things.
Kevin has spent pretty much his entire life submerged in evangelical culture, except he's had enough resources to go poking around behind his parents' backs. He has a vague idea of what he's missing, but he's never really had a chance to experience it.
Consequently, while he's more than a little terrified at the whole battle to the death thing, overall he feels like it's a better direction for his life than where he was before.
Besides, at least some of these rounds are sure to give him a chance to try some of these things he's heard so much about, like drinking.

Weapons and Abilities: Kevin doesn't have any weapons, or any unusual abilities. However, he did get a lot of lessons on public speaking from a young age, in preparation for taking over from his father. Of course, these were mostly geared towards televangelism, so anything else he talked about would sound much the same.
He's also realized lately that he could be a decent actor. After all, he's learned enough to act like his father, trying to imitate anyone else would be less painful than that.

Two day warning! Get it while it's hot!

Username: Gatr
Name: Shane Pillman
Gender: Male
Species: Convenience Store Cashier
Color: #711711
Description: Pimply teenager. Tall, gangly. Has a greasy Mets cap on even though he lives nowhere near NY. Always has a disinterested look on his face.

Weapons/Abilities: No weapons. It's protocol. Well, he did see this cool video online of someone using an aerosol spray and a lighter as a makeshift flamethrower, so he has that. Abilities? Uhh... well, he's good at Counterstrike. He also has the ability to suck joy out of any situation or social interaction. Hmm. Oh yeah, and he exorcises spirits every now and then.

Biography: He works the night shift at a 7-11 in Middle of Nowhere, Texas. That's not a real place. In fact, he doesn't think the 7-11 is in any city in particular. There are three cities equally close by, and none of them want ownership over this dry, useless, area. But people still come through occasionally. He knows of 3 regular customers, all truckers. The rest are just random people he has no interest in remembering.

As it turns out, though, this 7-11 was built on an Indian graveyard. Of course. Well, he was pretty damn surprised when the first spirit appeared, yelling, banging, and generally making a mess of things. Surprise made way to irritation, because he knew he would have to be the one to clean it up. So he told this spirit to "just stop, dude". The spirit actually calmed down a bit, but it continued yelling nonsense at him. So he was all, like, "look just do whatever you want outside, go to heaven or whatever" and the spirit went outside, then up to heaven. He got to work cleaning up, then it occurred to him that the spirit was too accomodating. Maybe... he could control spirits? His imagination got to work. He thought of himself sending spirits to terrorize his high school bullies. He dreamt of using spirits to steal money and get rich quick. He realized this could mean a totally new life.

Two weeks later, he was still working at the 7-11. Sure, sometimes he would exorcise the random spirit, but his ambitions were clearly short-lived. Such is life in Middle of Nowhere, Texas.

Username: Agenholy
Name: Harriet Hicks
Gender: Female
Species: Heathen
Text Color: I am flesh and I am bone
Description: "Rise up!" Come the voices of the demagogue in her wake. They break down the temples, tear down the statues and smash in the altars. In her wake, religion dies.

They speak in hushed words of the Heathen, who trundles across the towns and cities in her forge-caravan, who cradles a great forge hammer in her large hands like a man would hold a chisel, or a sword. They speak of her dark hair, short and raven-black, and of her burning brown eyes, which looked upon gods and saw only pretension.

Some storytellers describe her figure as lavish, bountiful and slender. They lie.

Some storytellers weave the story of how she was merciful to their god, and how she spared their lives. They, too, lie.

Some storytellers stick to the truth, and tell the one story they really know:

Items/Abilities: Ting. Ting.

The hammer struck the anvil true, and the icon borne between them stood no chance. Already heated to the point of softness, the blow wiped the intricate carvings away and reduced the cross to its base metal, which oozed, molten, out from under the red-hot hammer blow.

The hammer was not unholy - the demons of the Pit were still gods, oppositional as they may be - may have been. Like the Heathen herself, it simply ignored religion: the best-blessed wards were worthless in its wake. And when the hammer, red-hot from her forge coals, smashed through temple wall and gilded altar and brightly-shining spell alike...

They say it was a sight to see.

Biography: Like glitter and gold.

Harriet straightened up, and watched droplets of silver fall, one by one, into a circular pool around the anvil. They hissed as they struck the unsanctified water below, and cooled fast into little round bearings. With a large hand she mopped the sweat from her brow, and wiped it on her leather overalls.

"HEATHEN!"

The voice boomed from outside the caravan, the unmistakeable voice of a god. Behind it was the murmur of a thousand followers, all ready to fight with all the power a god could bestow upon them. The clanking of spears and axes spoke their intent clear and true.

Quietly, Harriet cracked two eggs into a frying pan, and let it rest on the forge. "Detheos," she shouted out the window, "If you'd like to talk to me now, you'll have to face me on my terms, on my turf."

"THIS IS MY TURF, HEATHEN! YOU HAVE DESPOILED ENOUGH OF MY TEMPLES, KILLED ENOUGH OF MY PRIESTS! WE END THIS NOW!"

She stuck her head out the caravan door, and stared Detheos in the godly eyes. "Do you forfeit your right to trial in your heaven, under your laws?" She looked the god up and down, all ten feet of rippling muscle and shining chains and giant golden axes, the whole bit. Still, underneath the great god seemed... weedy?

"YES! YOU CANNOT FIGHT US ALL OFF, AND I WILL HAVE YOU SACRIFICED IN MY NAME!"

"Are these all the followers you could find?" She spared a glance for the suddenly uncertain crowd.

"THEY SEEK REVENGE, FOR YOUR ACTIONS HAVE BROUGHT A GREAT FAMINE! THEIR FAMILIES STARVE, FOR YOU HAVE CUT SHORT OUR AGE OF PROSPERITY!"

"Your prosperity came at a cost." Harriet began, stepping fully out into the overcast day. In one hand she held the forge-hammer like a toy, and she towered over the tallest man. "It was you who sucked the land dry of its life, bringing it to blossom out of season. Do not presume to blame your crimes on me."

"SHE LIES! MY POWER IS INFINITE!"

Stepping closer to the god, Harriet twirled the hammer in her hands. "Your power cannot touch me, and so it falls to me to bring judgement."

"TAKE HER," Detheos sputtered, but at that point Harriet threw the hammer, and his followers' resolve broke. Which was probably fair, considering that she'd just turned their god's head into a pile of steaming mush.

Alright, we got some interesting entries this round! I do have to say I'm extremely disappointed that nobody made a dog character given the theme, but that's my own issue! All the characters were extremely interesting, and nobody seems to have created a joke character.

Fishbowl Award goes to Schazer's E-majin! I still don't know how such a terrifying AI of nonviolence relates to the topic, but they are honestly scarier than any of the other contestants. (Maybe of any I've ever read!) They're like a walking, talking A Clockwork Orange! I certainly didn't see any part of this character profile coming, but Im glad I got to read it!

Elementalist Award goes to DragonFogel's Kevin Evans VII for being an extremely fun profile to read, and my personal favorite of the batch. I don't know how someone who is only good at lying would fair in a grand battle, but I'd love to see you write it. I love that his trans-dimensional kidnapping would confuse his audience into believing he was raptured.

Worldbuilding Award for Gatr's Shane Pillman. A lazy teenage medium is nothing without the podunk middle of nowhere seven-eleven. I'd love to see a tv show starring this guy, it would be like a mix of Courage the Cowardly Dog and Deadbeat! (a Hulu Show.) Awesome job on creating a great atmosphere for a generally unique setting. I always felt there was something twilight zone-esque about convenience stores in the middle of the night.

Actual Battler for Agent's god-slaying heathen Harriet Hicks. She's over powered as fuck and when all the gods are dead she'll be the only one left, but damn if I dont want to see her take on a grand battle. I can just imagine how she gets everyone murdered convincing them to take on the god-like grandmaster. I especially liked the detail about her forge hammer, that was really fun!

Good job everyone! See you next round (as a contestant, probably!)

Okay how about I throw in another one into the hat? Can't promise secret prizes this time though.

Your new theme is: MIRROR

Deadline like next week or something. August 6th, there

Name: Rorrim of the Rime.

Gender: Femme.

Species: Water Fairy.

Text Color: Smiles And Tears.

Description: Rorrim is a torso of a shapely woman sprouting from where the gills should be on an enormous, silver fish. She is extremely beautiful to the point of uncanny valley, certainly not helped by her tendency to forget subtle mortal behaviors like blinking or breathing. Rorrim finds mimicking such expected actions to be tedious but tolerates it anyway as mortals have the greatest fashion sense which she seeks to emulate as closely as possible, developing a fondness for flowy dresses ornamented with useless metal bits.

Rorrim is almost a typical exemplar of your average fairy noble. She is courtly with disarming manners and a mile-wide streak of patience although she always has an air of sadness around her. While not actively malicious, her otherworldly nature means she does not truly understand mortals and tends to assume things of others, which has a tendency to result in a lot of grief for all parties involved. She is also super uncreative. This is actually pretty normal for fairies so most do not really care but she finds it a personal embarrassment.

Abilities: When prompted, Rorrim can speak the truth even if she has no prior knowledge or experience with the subject. There are two major disadvantages though. One, Rorrim cannot lie at all although she could certainly twist the truth to her own means. Two, sometimes people do not appreciate being told the truth; this has landed Rorrim in hot water more times than she could count.

If Rorrim must defend herself with the vulgarity of fighting, she is quite adept with a rapier and moderately armored with thick scales polished to, of course, a mirror-like sheen.

Biography:

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Spoiler
Elfhome is a plane of unspoiled wildlands. The world is so full of life that entities spontaneously come to being from the mere chaos of the surroundings. Rorrim of the Rime was formed from seafoam, fully formed of body and mind. The first few centuries of her life were free from worry and fret. The years passed blissfully as she frolicked and danced with her sisters but sadly, things were not to last. She was a fairy, an otherworldly being whose truth-telling abilities were known and were in high demand. Soon, her happiness ended as she found herself summoned to the world filled with mortals that she never knew existed until now.

Rorrim was contract-bond to a royal family with much experience and investment in summoning otherworldly entities. She chafed at her bonds but she was a fairy and fairies had to follow rules, especially magical ones. Unhappily, she did what she was told. Although there was much excitement in new places and she adapted well, Rorrim found no joy in doing political subterfuge for mortals and constantly yearned for her release from this unaccounted service. She often confessed her feelings to a spellsword who escorted her to important rituals. This spellsword was named Mist. Much to Rorrim’s surprise, she listened and more importantly empathized with her as she herself was pressed into service of the royal family although for more obviously mundane reasons. Eventually, Rorrim and Mist became close friends and then, became close lovers.

Eventually, the royal family went to war. Rorrim of the Rime was contractually bound to help but Mist could not bear the violence or even the potential loss of her beloved. Against all odds, Mist manages to liberate her from her magical service, the resulting chaotic energy shifting Rorrim into a destination she cannot choose. As Rorrim disappeared into the aether, she was filled with both joy and grief. She was happy at the possibility of returning back to her home plane, but her heart was filled with aching emptiness. Rorrim of the Rime loved her home…but she also loved Mist.

Username: I

Name: Madam, I'm Adam

Gender: A man, a plan, a canal - Panama

Race: Was it a rat I saw?

Text Color: 07BB70

Biography: They called it the Heap.

It wasn't really anything to look at; just a big pile of trash left over by the Giants long ago. Or so everyone guessed.

Still, there were more than a few valuables in the pile. You could tell they were important very easily by their one common trait: they were all so shiny you could see yourself in them.

Considering how filthy everything else around was, the novelty of being able to see your own face, to figure out what needed cleaning - that had become more valuable than anything, even better than good food. After all, the tribe had long ago learned they could just eat whatever was lying around if it came down to that.

So when Adam was finally old enough to go scrounging in the Heap, he was excited. Thought he might get a piece of shine for himself, rather than having to bargain with his bigger brothers and sisters.

Unfortunately, the only shiny thing he could find was a rock. And it did, indeed, shine; and you could see yourself in it. But it wasn't smooth. You had to work to see anything in it.

Still - it was his now. So he damn well wasn't letting it out of his sight.

He wondered if it might be possible to make the rock into the smoother shines. Maybe the Giants had known how, once. Maybe somewhere in the Heap, their secrets lay buried, waiting for someone to find them.

He wasn't going to find out, though. Not long after getting the rock, Adam vanished.

Description: Adam is a rat. Slightly larger than average, and with very crude clothing; and his people are starting to move on just their hind legs a little more often. But to your average human, he'd just look like a big rat, although one with slightly better hygiene.

Adam is extremely distrustful and possessive, because that's how you survive in his world. There's no real concept of "someone else's property" beyond "things I'm not able to steal". Still, despite all this, he's a curious sort and might go poking his tiny little nose around in places where it's not supposed to go. And if someone actually did him a favor, well, he'd expect they want something in return, and he'd oblige by putting minimal effort into giving it to them.

Weapons and abilities: Being a rat, of course Adam is good at sneaking into small spaces. He's also got a talent for identifying small objects.

The only item he has with him is a small shining rock. It doesn't seem to have any special properties, though he won't let anyone else see it. On the other hand, he might be persuaded to hand it over in exchange for a smoother piece of shine... after all, this one's just a rock.

Welcome back to the Mirrorverse, where everybody wears goatees and shit, even the women. I'm your host, NEGA-AGEN...

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Spoiler

...and we're visiting your vastly less shitty, more pacifistic world today to judge these weird, goatee-less entries for the ɔo puɐɹƃ... oh, sorry. The GRAND OC. There we go.

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What's this? So our first prize is the The First Five Eighths Sportsball Award, for people who make the best out of things that aren't the traditional Description, Biography or Items/Abilities fields. What? In my world we don't bother with those. We post clips of interpretive dance instead.

...battles aren't very popular in the Mirrorverse.

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SpoilerDRAGON FOGEL, for Adam!

This wasn't exactly a tough choice, considering that only three of you fuckers entered this thing. Are battles not popular in your universe either?

Having said that, the palindromic Adam definitely reads like something that Fogel dashed out for the first bits and then decided to run with, as Fogel does. Good job, Fogel.

In our universe Fogel's a pro wrestler.

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Our second prize is the the Thomas Packston Elementalist Award, which is for the entry that best exemplifies the theme given. We usually have issues with this one, so we settle it with goatee laser duels.

Of course we have goatee lasers. Don't be silly.

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SpoilerDRAGON FOGEL, for Eve...

...no, just Adam again. Aside from Adam's obviously pun-based origins, his little mirror asks all sorts of interesting questions and raises Adam's emerging civilization as a 'mirror' to humanity, though I still think he'd be better off with a goatee and a handful of lasers.

Mirror Fogel's finishing move is the ROADWORK JACKHAMMER.

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Up next we have the The Glere Award For Kitchen Sinkery (aka the Fishbowl). This one's for the profile that has an interesting twist or convoluted reasoning. Unfortunately I don't think we can award this one strictly in the sense of the rules, but I'm happy to give it to...

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SpoilerBIGRO, for Nathan Limirrorck... mirrororrororck?

In our universe, no prizes are given for poetry. Slam poetry is instead rewarded with actual slams: impromptu basketball tournaments in which Tony Abbotts fight for supremacy, and everyone else throws things at them.

In any case I liked Bigro's use of poetry, and the strict adherence to the limerick form, though honestly I have no idea what actually happened to Nathan because of this. Oh well.

Mirrorro raises cats for a living.

The Arnold Fogge's Actually Practical Award is awarded for the best profile that fits the Grand Battle format. In our universe, we have a breakdance for the worst profile, but this bit is pretty tired by now, since it's been like eight months.

I'm happy to award the Arnold Fogge to...

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SpoilerPHARMACY, for Rorrim of the Rime!

Rorrim's ability to speak the truth, and only the truth, makes her an ideal candidate for the chaotic web of lies that fill the confusing realm of battle. In addition, her aquatic nature can be a brilliant asset or a terrible flaw (especially in deserts). Also, she the kind of character who would be fun to draw.

Anyway time to go back to my universe because I took way too long at this, and everyone gets all the rest of the awards, have fun :___:

Hey, hey. It's been a while.

Today's theme of the week is DRACONIC. Interpret what you may, whether it's a beast or a pun. Godspeed and good luck. I'll see (and judge) you next Sunday.

Username: Of Schaz'
Name: Francis McAllard and Billie
Species: Human and "dog"
Gender: Trogdor was a man!
Color: The Viridian Hood

Description: Francis was a student of batrachology a very long time ago, but a sudden kick up the global power rankings and a supplementary dose of ego's helped him adjust to his leadership position. He's not an especially regal or imposing presence at first glance, so when intimidation's a factor he grabs his regalia. There's a motorcycle helmet, glossy bottle green with a yellow-tinted visor; a brown leather jacket with whitened scratches all over the sleeves for some kind of ominous tally; a revolver at each hip (purely decorative, iridescent purplish inlays on the grips); his favorite "dog" on a leash, and orange galoshes.

The galoshes kind of distract, but that's swamp life for you. He'll probably take 'em off and find something more useful as soon as he can.

Magical infusion did a number on Francis' formerly-reticent personality; like most leaders in the new world he's callous, conniving, violent when angered, deeply arrogant, and fundamentally self-serving in all his schemes.

The "dog" is definitely more of a herpetological take on man's best friend than a mammalian one. It's kind of slimy and comes from a noble lineage of magically-transmogrified animal residents of damp and soggy places. Francis thought it'd be a nice slap in the face of the beastmancer to repurpose his weaponry after the failed invasion. He's fond of keeping trophies of fights with other magic users he's driven off his turf, and gets rather irritable if anyone tries touching his collection.

Francis has been known to lock people in boxes for harming wildlife. Despite this he's not above shoving a newt down someone's throat if it means a fight gets resolved without a clash of magicks.

Weapons/Abilities: Francis gained the inexplicable magical power to create rooms out of nothing, or perhaps more accurately to create a large chunk of nothing in the middle of something else. Something about the magic leaves the remaining solid's now-walls just as strong as they were before being hollowed out, which makes it an ineffective way to murder someone by turning them into a human-shaped cavity. It does work to seal people inside airtight invisible boxes though, which is an application he gets quite a bit of use out of. He's mostly used the ability to make a sprawling underground network of rooms for his citizens to live and work in, as it sure beats living on the swampy surface of a war-torn world.

Billie the "dog" has a bite strength of at least 3000 pounds per square inch, poisonous skin, and an overland speed that takes people by surprise considering his stumpy legs.

Biography: Francis was out doing data gathering in the field when magic struck the universe and arced through all its soft and vulnerable tissues like otherworldly lightning. Considerable power corrupted considerably, as it does, and the subset of individuals who oh-so-happened to become walking points of high magical density wasted little time before taking over the world. The remnants of civilisation - following the cataclysmic contests of strength between these souls - coalesced under the leadership of these powerful megalomaniacs, with things getting worse but still maintaining a sense of normality under the domains of those with the most overpowered magical arsenals.

Francis' settlement has survived this long thanks to its leader's focus on defensive tactics, the lack of strategic value in his city's location, and his reputation for fucking up something fierce anyone who tries bringing the fight to him.

Username: Agen who should never judge again
Name: People know him as the Good Doctor. Accompanying him, Tragen the horse.
Species: Goast and goast horse
Gender: he/him, horse pronouns
Color: Old blood, old bandages

Description:The Good Doctor is an old man, wrapped almost entirely in tattered, bloody bandages. If asked, he will claim the wounds underneath come from a thousand cuts and burns. Given that he is usually incorporeal as well, no one has been able to confirm this. His nut-brown skin is wrinkled in ways that suggests extreme age, from a time even before the Greatest War that wiped out humanity. He wanders the wastelands, accompanied by Tragen, his equally ancient ghost draft horse. Occasionally, he will sing a haunting, tuneless, rhythmic song into the empty night.

Items/Abilities: Tragen pulls a low, leaden cart, laden with salvaged missile warheads. Every so often the Good Doctor will dig one from the ground, pointed end first. He handles them gingerly. On them are inscribed the sigil of a long-lost corporation, one the Doctor founded, one that backed the wrong side in the Greatest War. A corporation that eventually, in desperation, built frightful sonic weapons, missiles made all of metal and sound that soared over cities, smashing windows and skulls. And when finally the other side responded in kind, the argument tore the world apart...

Now he pulls their remains from the ground, hoping to atone, somehow, somehow. But there are no other ghosts. Perhaps his weapons sucked the very souls from their bodies in death.

Biography: The uniformed man raised the black warhead into the air, admiring the way it sucked in the light. "Andre, these will be the saviors of humanity. Thank you."

Andre nodded, and gestured modestly. "No, thank you, General. I always appreciated your having my back, all the way back to the hood. The company has never done better."

"On that note, Andre. Have you considered our proposal?"

Andre coughed. "Remind me? There's so much that goes past my desk..."

"The merger? With our corporate wing?"

"You mean the National Intelligence Corporation? Yes, the board liked the numbers a lot. We haven't made a final decision yet, but just from me to you, our chances are pretty damn good."

"Good, good." The general admired the warhead for another second, turning it in his hands, running his fingers over the amplifier grill on the flat end. Then, almost with a sigh, he put the warhead back in its foam case. A faint hiss of air sealed it into place.

"The head slots into the missile cone, amp out-"

"What are you going to call it?" He interrupted. "There's never been anything like this before."

"Not exactly," Andre said and smiled, "I did build something like this a long time ago, long before I started DreCo."

"Oh?"

"I wanted to refine sound. I wanted people to hear my music the way I wanted them to hear it, so I created the most refined sound systems. But it was a much smaller scale. The skull smashing came later, you get me?"

"You want to christen this after that?"

"Yeah. Beats, by Dr. Dre."

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SpoilerI DON'T KNOW WHAT I

Wednesday, its the midway point. Woo!

Username: Don't call me you-know-what
Name: Maximillias Verdagon Escalor III
Race: Green Dragon
Gender: Male
Text Color: As green as his scales.
Biography: The green dragons were always considered the weakest, looked down upon by the other dragons and even considered a mere nuisance by most dragonslayers. When a green dragon captured your princess, your kingdom lost status for not drawing a respectable color, like black or silver. Even purple was at least considered a sign you were trying. But green was just an embarrassment.
Then Escalor came along, and she was the most ferocious beast anyone had ever seen. She rampaged over thirteen kingdoms, fighting off not only their best knights, but also more than a few purples and blues who sought to move in on her territory. She was only vanquished by an alliance of thirteen knights from all the kingdoms, who had to fight her day and night for three weeks before she finally succumbed.
And that was not the end. For Escalor had laid an egg in each of the thirteen kingdoms, and each of her children begat a new lineage, upholding the honor of their great ancestor. And though none were quite as fearsome as the mighty Escalor, they were all legends in their own right, and as they banded together with other greens, the greens saw their stature rise.
Maximillias was the latest in the line of Verdagon, thirteenth child of Escalor, and he carried great expectations on his shoulders.
And he did not feel he could live up to them.
He was already a hundred and fifty, and he still hadn't developed the lungs to breathe fire. His wings were small, barely able to lift him off the ground. Even his claws were only strong enough to smash rock; they should have been sharp enough to tear through a knight's armor by now.
There was only one way Maximillias thought he could become a legend worthy of his line: if he were vanquished by a great hero in battle. Then, he knew, tales of his defeat would be greatly exaggerated as time went on, and whatever weakness he might show would be forgotten.
And so, Maximillias plotted to create the greatest hero the world had ever seen, so he could become his first conquest.
But before he could get started on that, he was summoned away to a battle.

Description: Maximillias is an immature green dragon, but rather weak as dragons go. His one and only goal is to be defeated in a memorable battle by a great hero, to leave his mark on history.
Fortunately, it seems someone else has picked out seven possible candidates for his vanquisher. Even better, his defeat will be so legendary as to transcend worlds. He just needs to make sure the fight looks good.
He would have no problem cooperating with someone, even his eventual destroyer, for the purposes of furthering this scheme. Maximillias is crafting a story here, after all, and anything that makes it better is worth doing, in his view.
On the other hand, if he thought someone was interfering with his intended storyline, he would have no qualms disposing of them. Preferably in a way that heightens his apparent menace.

Weapons and Abilities: Maximillias is about the size of a small house, and consequently possesses great strength. It's not that high compared to other dragons, even other greens, but it's nothing to sneeze at.
He should be able to breathe fire by now, but he seems to be a late bloomer in that regard. He can also fly, but only about six feet off the ground. Enough to be intimidating, but not much else.

Woah man! Time for GrOC prizes!

The Glere Award For Kitchen Sinkery/Fishbowl Award goes to the Swamp King/Petty Tyrant and his weird dog, Francis McAllard and Billie. I give this award mostly because of the “cellar-mancer”/salamander wordplay, but I do really like the synergy of traditional dragon-y behavior (i.e. ostentatious displays of power, trophy-collecting, being a jerk) and magic lair-building. Keep it up!

The GBS2 Award For Gratuitous Worldbuilding Award goes to the Apocalypse Ghost and his weird dog, the Good Doctor and Tragen. Your effort to relentlessly incorporate every conceivable pun involving the word “dragon” is admirable. However, I do like the Cold War/slipstream sci-fi vibe from his story. Gives it sort of a satirical vibe especially with the non-stop puns. Good job!

The Arnold Fogge's Actually Practical Award goes to the Sad Dragon, Maximillias Verdagon Escalor III. I like how he is plotting to get defeated by a worthy opponent so his reputation can skyrocket and he can retire from the family obligation. I am sure in a theoretical Grand Battle, it means he’ll take initiative in messing things up and interacting with other player characters. Very nice!

Anyway, that is all. I enjoyed reading the submitted profiles. Good luck, and thank you all for participating in this week’s theme!