RE: The Grand OC! [CONTEST XXII: EXOSKELETAL!]
06-28-2014, 09:34 PM
Username: IT DALM
Name: Delli Tareet
Species: Formerly Oum
Gender: Formerly Female
Color: Formerly Green
Description: Delli's face is the only part recognisable as oum any more. She has a soft brow and deep blue eyes. Her beak is thin and cracked, and the feathers barely grow any more, having regressed to a soft down. the whole face is located within a protective indentation in her shell-like polybone armour.
Delli stands a good twelve feet tall. What her original body inside the suit looks like now is anyone's guess; it hasn't seen the light of day in at least two years.
She has six legs, and a hunched body, coated in overlapping plates of polybone. She resembles nothing natural; an insectoid weapons platform with two clawed arms composed of the welded portions of a variety of bound magical weapons, two smaller manipulating arms and a variety of jutting barrels and pipes from her back. Twisted remnants of an eclectic mixture of old bound magical prosthetics knit into the organic looking mass. The useful parts knit in with her body, as if consciously enveloped in growing flesh to maintain performance.
To spirit seers, her own is only faintly visible amid the clamour and bustle of spirits from her form, the brightest appears as an enormous insect, illuminated in the core.
Weapons/Abilities: Upon her back are mounted a gatling cannon, a bound wands of various arcane spells, and a flame thrower. Her crablike claws contain a variety of magical blades and wands. Her manipulators usually hold her signature Spear of Light, more out of habit than necessity, as they are too short to be of much use, even with the spear's added reach.
Still, though. The armour has a way of surprising even her.
Biography: She knew what she was getting into.
She knew that the thing was cursed. The spirit too powerful, the armour too strong.
There was nothing left but this.
Nothing but war. Not for her.
The others had lives, they'd drifted away from the life somewhere between mercenary and nomad that adventurers usually revelled in. Settling down. Starting families or going into politics, trying to change the world.
But her?
What was there but busting through the doors, blasting the bad guy, getting gold and glory.
It was small at first. More comfort in the armour. Hidden blades she'd never weren't there before. All with hollow points. Tipped with that same poison that had nearly killed her years ago.
They'd saved the world, but she didn't want to leave the excitement behind.
It was part of her.
Slowly, she felt the sections knitting together. She'd clipped the feathers of her wings so that they didn't get in the way.
The only time she felt alive any more was when her cannon was revolving, when her sword-hands tasted flesh.
She could feel it, still changing.
At times, it felt it was closing up on her face, but slowly.
Giving her time.
She felt something pressing from behind her forehead.
She wasn't afraid. She knew what she was getting into.
She didn't question her feelings any more.
She'd killed a dragon with her bare hands. Not that her hands were ever bare any more. The screaming mass of metal and flesh had released a sigh of contentment as she cut its throat.
And then?
There was nothing.
The corpse fell to the floor, its hunter, gone.
Name: Delli Tareet
Species: Formerly Oum
Gender: Formerly Female
Color: Formerly Green
Description: Delli's face is the only part recognisable as oum any more. She has a soft brow and deep blue eyes. Her beak is thin and cracked, and the feathers barely grow any more, having regressed to a soft down. the whole face is located within a protective indentation in her shell-like polybone armour.
Delli stands a good twelve feet tall. What her original body inside the suit looks like now is anyone's guess; it hasn't seen the light of day in at least two years.
She has six legs, and a hunched body, coated in overlapping plates of polybone. She resembles nothing natural; an insectoid weapons platform with two clawed arms composed of the welded portions of a variety of bound magical weapons, two smaller manipulating arms and a variety of jutting barrels and pipes from her back. Twisted remnants of an eclectic mixture of old bound magical prosthetics knit into the organic looking mass. The useful parts knit in with her body, as if consciously enveloped in growing flesh to maintain performance.
To spirit seers, her own is only faintly visible amid the clamour and bustle of spirits from her form, the brightest appears as an enormous insect, illuminated in the core.
Weapons/Abilities: Upon her back are mounted a gatling cannon, a bound wands of various arcane spells, and a flame thrower. Her crablike claws contain a variety of magical blades and wands. Her manipulators usually hold her signature Spear of Light, more out of habit than necessity, as they are too short to be of much use, even with the spear's added reach.
Still, though. The armour has a way of surprising even her.
Biography: She knew what she was getting into.
She knew that the thing was cursed. The spirit too powerful, the armour too strong.
There was nothing left but this.
Nothing but war. Not for her.
The others had lives, they'd drifted away from the life somewhere between mercenary and nomad that adventurers usually revelled in. Settling down. Starting families or going into politics, trying to change the world.
But her?
What was there but busting through the doors, blasting the bad guy, getting gold and glory.
It was small at first. More comfort in the armour. Hidden blades she'd never weren't there before. All with hollow points. Tipped with that same poison that had nearly killed her years ago.
They'd saved the world, but she didn't want to leave the excitement behind.
It was part of her.
Slowly, she felt the sections knitting together. She'd clipped the feathers of her wings so that they didn't get in the way.
The only time she felt alive any more was when her cannon was revolving, when her sword-hands tasted flesh.
She could feel it, still changing.
At times, it felt it was closing up on her face, but slowly.
Giving her time.
She felt something pressing from behind her forehead.
She wasn't afraid. She knew what she was getting into.
She didn't question her feelings any more.
She'd killed a dragon with her bare hands. Not that her hands were ever bare any more. The screaming mass of metal and flesh had released a sigh of contentment as she cut its throat.
And then?
There was nothing.
The corpse fell to the floor, its hunter, gone.