The Grand OC! [CONTEST XXX: HALLOWEEEEEEEEEEN]

bonus reserve

something will happen here in the next 12ish hours

Sorry Mirdini, your twelve hours are up and then some. Hopefully you can submit something for the next competition oh wait you can't you're judging it my evil plot finally comes to fruition

For the rest of you, let's get to awardsin'!

The Best Of Show Award: For a solid character concept, an interesting origin story, and a guy that would be interesting in a battle scenario, this one goes straight to Straight.

The Above the Fold Award At Law: Legally speaking, this award is under the sole jurisdiction Don Joe, and I'd like to see any of you pansies sue it out from under him.

The Iron Chef Special Ingredient Award: I'm awarding this week's Iron Chef to the character that used the most unexpected form of the theme, which suits Norepi-Ne just fine.

The Backdoor Worldbuilding Award: This one was the easiest award to hand out of all of them; sorry, Schazer, but Praeterwater's got to take a backseat to Cunnington and its Devilish Chimney Sweep.

The Diligent Gentleman Award: Usually it's hard to award the DGA to an inanimate object, but one that guarantees communiction between battlers as well as promising raised stakes throughout the battle and the potential for an apocalyptic endgame is a no-brainder. Congratulations to the Three of Wands!

The Synergy Award: He may not mesh too well with his peers, but this wheeler and dealer in Faustian bargains and rigged games could pair up with just about any and all other battlers in interesting and unexpected ways. And heaven forbid LamPrey get ahold of the Deck, or challenge Jack to a game of cards.

The I See What You Did Award: For attempting to synergize by leveraging his paradigms, we're proud to proactively recognize Stan for giving 110% and thinking outside the box. Brainstorm. Upcycle.

Business.

Thanks for playing, everyone!

I have been slain by too much family holiday time, alas.

Still, that won't keep my immortal skeleton from judging this week's competition!

Gimme all you got on.... Vice

Usermane: Agencive
Name: наме́стник, (romanized, 'Namestnik')
Gender: Male
Species: Russian
Color: #A30C00

Description: A tall, Aryan citizen of the New Russian Empire, proud and almost regal in stance and appearance. Clad in battle-dress uniform and with the insignia of his Empire at his shoulder. A drawn but not tired face, hard and cruel around the narrowed blue eyes and thin lips. A man used to power at the expense of others. A true Russian of the Empire.

Items/Abilities: A sword in good condition, and an ancient pistol from one of the wars. Ammunition is hard come by this far north, so he prefers the blade. He is a man used to responsibility and command, and understands how to gain respect. He would also would not be where he is without an understanding of survival in the wintry wastes.

Biography: The last word from Petrograd was seven years ago. Namestnik wondered, sometimes, if there would ever be. Moskova was protected, true, but distant from the rest of the Empire at best, completely isolated at worst, and even though he as namestnik held power in the Emperor's name, he yearned for the lessening of his administrative burden. At the end of the last war the city-state Moskova had shrunk from its radioactive outskirts, building walls and shields behind it, and had become, in its own way, a rebellious little upstart. It was all Namestnik could do to keep order as the long arm of the Empire remained conspicuously absent. Damned ill-bred peasants.

Name: Viceroy Victoria Voyse (but she will only answer to Princess Moondrop)
Species: No matter how much she protests otherwise she's still basically human
Gender: Princess is not a gender
Text Colour: The colour of the sky
Description: Princess Moondrop has glittering gold skin, shining silver eyes and waist length hair which swirls with all the colours of the rainbow. She is perfectly beautiful, just one glance is enough to make any man (or woman) fall head over heels with her. Her voice is soulfully melodic, like the strings of a harp, it infuses her every word with a sense of serene wonder and beauty. Her dress is unique, one of a kind, silken in texture and so so soft; it transforms in colour and shape to match her mood. Most typically when Princess Moondrop is at her most cheerful it is a deep cerulean blue ballgown with poofy shoulders and an obscene amount of ruffles.

However since Princess Moondrop is an elaborately maintained hallucination she is the only person who perceives herself in that way. Vicky Voyse on the other hand has deathly pale skin and hair just as long as her imaginary counterpart but black, unwashed, greasy and tangled. Her features are sunken and there are heavy black bags under her eyes. Her dress was once a beautiful white ballgown, but she's now not washed it or even taken it off for the best part of a year. It's filthy, stained with all manner of unpleasant substances and ripped ragged. It's obvious from a glance that she's malnourished and deep into Paradise addiction.

Items/Abilities: Even though Vicky is lodged deep in a hallucinatory world of her own design she seldom experiences hallucinations that have no basis in reality. She might perceive events wildly inaccurately but she is perceiving a form of reality.

Biography: Victoria is actually royalty. She's like the third cousin twice removed (or something) of the King of the Voysian Empire. When she was about four her father was appointed to the position of Viceroy of a small, recently conquered country called Garanega, and so she and her family moved into a newly built mansion built just outside the capital city. She wasn't allowed out much when she was young; the country was still too turbulent. She was schooled at home by a private tutor and her free time was spent whooshing around the house on fantastic flights of imagination. As she got older the political state in Garanega calmed down and by the time she was old enough to go out and get drunk and party she was doing just that. For a while that was her life, living it up day and night absent any worries or forms of responsibility. Though at the time she did dabble with some of the new designer hallucinogens that were popping up everywhere she was never really that impressed.

When her parents died in a car crash the title of Viceroy was passed down to her. It was a demanding position with a lot of responsibility and she really was not ready for it. She tried to stay on top of things but every day was a new disaster and she just couldn't cope. She got hold of a new drug by the name of Paradise; one that somehow catered to your every whim. It was supposed to be just a little break, a moment of respite to blow off some steam, but things didn't let up and she found herself using Paradise more and more. Eventually it got to the point where she spent more time in Paradise than she did in the real world. Her first minister essentially took over as the Viceroy in all but name and made a deal with local drug dealers for enough Paradise that Vicky wouldn't ever have to deal with the real world again.

This state of affairs persisted for the best part of a year. Though Vicky had been confined to her manor on, her minister claimed it was doctor's orders, Princess Moondrop did occasionally wish to emerge from her palace and meet her loving subjects, and well Vicky was still the Viceroy, it was difficult to refuse her. These meetings seldom went well, though that was okay Vicky never seemed to notice. Eventually one day Vicky just up and vanished.

Name: Voughs
Gender: things
Race: Monster, Centrall
Color: purps
Description: There is a robe, the robe is inside out with the seams visible and the various connections of different patches of cloth visible to all. Upon touching the robe however, what is felt is not cloth but flesh, flesh seemingly sown together but that is in reality a thing. This fleshy feely robe in the outline of a man relies on the "seams" to sense and interact with the world around it, and for the most part, it is not happy.

The robe creature known as Voughs is of average height and build with dark brown and black coloration, it has no visibly face and the robe drags on the floor behind it, covering any hands or feet that it may have. It is more intelligent than you would think, and if you were to listen to it, you would hear on about a lost position, a reversal of fate, and a desire for revenge.

Items/Abilities: In addition to the extreme durability of most Centrall monsters, Voughs can move into any space that a part of its robe can go through. It is difficult to obscure its senses, as that would require covering each and every seam along its body, and it has a reasonable amount of cunning when it comes to escape, revenge, avoidance, and entrapment.

The final ability that Voughs has is one that it cannot use very often, to flip the table. Voughs can temporarily turn itself inside out, causing anyone who witnesses the event to believe in the opposite of whatever they were thinking of. When Voughs inevitably turns back into its more used and comfortable state, the people affected by Voughs will turn back into their regular mindset, their memories of the reversed mindset varying from person to person.

Biography: "How how how how!!! Fall... fallen, why...."

Repeated phrases and whispers are heard through Central Centrall's disgusting alleyways, where only the most depraved monsters lie.

"Betrayal betrayal! Cast away and fallen fallen hate..."

A robed creature, its voice raspy and hated walks along, friendless and aimless, aware that its desire for revenge and power will never come to fruition...

"Why why why why... Hate... hate..."

It drags along the allies, its words ignored and avoided by all, no one sees it... except for One...

If a creature so pathetic and fallen were to be given a chance, a single chance, what would it do? Would it cling to its fragile desire for vengeance or would the journey change its mind? A question asked by One with power, who decided to put the robed creature to the test...

A test known as, a grand battle...

time to try and outdo bigro for once

Name: Mr. Viceral
Gender: Vice
Race: forumgoer
color: [color="#ff0000"]RED LIKE SCUM[/color]
Description: Literally Mr. Visceral, but with a vice on his head
abilities: being Mr Visceral, having a vice on head
Biography: VICE. VISCERAL. ON HEAD. VICERAL BORN

Name: Xonera
Race: Goddess of Forgiveness
Gender: Female
Text Color: A forgiving green glow
Biography: To err is human, to forgive divine.
Xonera sees all you have done. All the love you withheld, all the times you did nothing in the face of evil, all the temptations you succumbed to.
And Xonera forgives you, for Xonera knows you are human, flawed, weak, corruptible. Xonera knows why you did it. You stole that bread because you were hungry, you lay with your neighbor's wife because she was beautiful, you killed your neighbor because he angered you.
Xonera takes pity on you, and grants you the gift of her forgiveness. All you need do is accept it, and follow Xonera's path.
Reject her forgiveness, however, and you shall mark yourself as unrighteous, as her enemy. Xonera is love itself, but in her wrath she is terrifying.
Accept her forgiveness, or die.
Description: Like most goddesses, Xonera is excessively beautiful. She always has a smile on her face and kind words to everyone.
Or at least, she appears so to those who pledge their hearts to her. To those who reject her, she appears as a fearsome old crone, and her words are filled with anger. She seems as though she could lash out at anyone.
Which is the real Xonera? It depends on who you ask.
Weapons and Abilities: As mentioned, Xonera's appearance changes based on whether she's talking to someone who obeys her or not. To those who do not yet know her, she seems quite plain; to those who pledge loyalty, she seems more beautiful than any other woman; and those who reject her see a terrifying sight.
Xonera cannot intervene directly with the mortal world. She can only work through mortal agents. She can walk around, but to effect change she must persuade others to work on her behalf.
In general, she tells them to do two things: to spread the word of her infinite forgiveness, and to crush all who reject her perfect love. They have denied themselves forgiveness, and so they shall receive no mercy.
Followers of Xonera will describe her as wonderful and perfect and will be extremely distrustful of anyone who seems noncommital towards her. Of course, heretics who reject Xonera are outright unacceptable.

Mirdini would like to impart the following advice that you have 24 Hours Left to submit a profile.

I'm doing it in his stead as he is currently unavailable. It's me. I'm the vice-advisor.

Moniker: Vicycle.
Engendered Within: Evil
Race: Machine thing
Hue: A sinful, wine burgundy
Description: A strange, 2 wheeled machine with studded devil horns on the gears which scratch... and yet hedonistic faux-fur on the pedals. The bike is covered in white gold... no, it's too bright, gleaming in the sun. One thousand carat gold, there's no other way to describe it's quality. When I have tried to investigate further, its forces pulled me in and I almost never returned back again from that demonic joy ride. The water bottle screws seem perfectly capable of hosting a fine wine against the sleek metal. The hub is decorated with ornate pictures of people engaging in sexual acts that technically can't be done. The bike seems to balance itself, never falling. Replaces the need for a kickstand. No support required, self-sufficient and eager to do a devil's terrible bidding with you as its medium. There seems to be a voicebox on the brake hood which tells you of scandalous things, acts by the most wicked of them! The tires are made from 100% pure diamond wrapped in a nice, warm coat of human skin. Knives seem to jut out from the handlebars.

And they're detachable.

This is altogether, unsettling, yet attractive.

Biography: In the night, I hear the springs mocking me, angry that I have not rode upon it. We had only just bought it from a poor family who seemed to hold it quite dear, unable to sell it despite the unnecessary luxuries it presented. Surely, nourishment is of greater importance than panache!? It seemed like such a hideous thing when I look back 'pon it now. Why did my mother buy it? Why did she start smoking? Why did she spend long evenings in that garage?

I was merely a child back then, innocent, not knowing the difference between a good bike and an angry, hellish tricycle. And so, one day, I emerged from my bedroom with an inexplicable need to ride it. At such an age, how could a youth like myself manage such a feat? Leaving the comfort of my own home, my mother, my family for a vicious velocipede!

What happened in those four months, I could not recall. I had gained monetary assets exceeding 20 million, to a Swiss bank account which I am unable to ponder the password for... The news had reported at that same instance missing cash of that amount across multiple banks. Even Spain, an ocean away, had complained of missing money from its Treasury, the guards lacerated with tire tracks over their faces! Had I biked across the Atlantic? Had the bike cycled me across the ocean? One could not know which, for there are other matters which one such as myself would be thinking about. Like how I had torn down many roads on that contraption and left significant cracks in the sidewalk despite the fact that the thing which I had been riding upon was a tricycle. Which reminds me, it is now a bicycle. It had even emitted groaning sounds, like the hum of an engine for which it wanted to be grown upon it. How it had evolved while I had been riding upon it, I have nair the idea. But know this, even my skin had aged, and my physique had molded and shaped itself to the form of a modern Adonis! I also had multiple tattoos of... I'm not quite sure, really! Some are of the language of demons and others of terrible tragedies throughout history. Notable, one mutters religious blasphemies, the skin behind it gained vocal cords with which to mutter its strange protests against humanity. Sadly, the technology had not yet developed to remove the ink from my skin without scarring it terribly, although I did agree to have the talking, blasphemous one removed surgically. I had also left a long trail of dead bodies left in heart-wrenching positions. Bicycle tire tracks left in each crime scene. Other deeds had also been committed, too gruesome to describe. When the police had remanded me, I knew not what they were talking about! Accounts by witnesses were that it was a mere trike. Accounts by others were that it was a penny farthing, the spokes made with bloodied pennies. I could not respond, for I could barely form the words to describe what was running through my mind at that moment(some of the thoughts still lingered after being shot off of the bike by a man wielding a shotgun, and incurring no actual injury to myself) and what I had looked like by the end of it. I could not even come to terms with who I was at that point and they wanted a report? Foolhardy, all o' 'em. All I knew was that the infernal thing would never leave my sight and the police could not detain it without it trailing behind me once more.

So a provision was made. The local pastor showered me with crosses, read verses and sang hymns to me as I placed it in my garage, chained it, chained heavy cinderblocks to the cogs. All while resisting its obtuse desires for that which man was not meant to do! The bike seems to be in a different place from where I last left it. I would not be surprised if it left me altogether, with a will of its own.

And so it was, the next day, the bike was gone, leaving the cinderblocks and chains in heaps, like a pile of bones that a beast might pick its teeth with! It had also shed its human skin for the old man's, which it had taken in the night by unknown means.

Indeed, it needs a new coat with which to do splendid Battle. With other beings who cannot possibly match its prowess. Or its lustful urges to grip its handlebars, tear the knives off and go on a murdering spree, slashing people on the sidewalk and side streets while still managing to balance one's self on the bike seat, miraculously. Where it went? No one knows, its bike tracks seemed to have fade out of existence, almost an invisible force pedaling it someplace else! To some other world even!

Powers: Upon sight of it, a want for it. Upon laying your hands upon it, a want to ride upon it. Overpowering, as if there is a horrendous stench and riding upon it would leave that stench behind. Upon riding upon it however... one wishes to commit terrible crimes incomprehensible to all but the insane. Seems to evoke a want, greed, everything, and everything terrible. Why would one even contemplate the doing of such things? Intense boredom? Innate immorality? A failed sense of belonging with the lot of us? All of these things can be resolved, but don't, don't resort to the bloody Vicycle!

Username: Schaeterwater
Name: Right-Hand-Entire-Eight-Sapphires-Chevroned-And-Turquoise-Cabachon-Fourth-Knuckle
Race: Moralebranche
Gender/Text Color: Painted fingernails

Description: Before the Moralebranche, before First Fall, even, were the children of the god Law. The Marmoral. Standing eight meters tall with skin of marble stone inlaid replete with jewels, they lived quiet lives in city-fortresses carved from mountainsides. To their patron deity of Order and Organisation, He the Machinations, their faith was absolute and damning. Law bid his children record the events of the Praeterwater, and to the Catchers and the Vissel and the Merrfolk this role was accepted and these entities sought out for the more biological races to record their histories.

Come and go First Fall, and the Marmoral were wiped out by some insidious disease of the stone, splintering their bodies and lore-decked halls like pieces of a jigsaw too large for any mindful being left alive to lift. This much is known thanks to the last of the Marmoral, who recorded their race's extinction, faithful to the last.

Terrestrial ecological stability. New life. Moss on the walls, Liggins on the moss. A god amongst the Liggins, making a select few smarter, shifting them from the moss to the pieces of Marmoral that fell with gemstones still embedded. A new race on the Praeterwater.

Biography: Nobody trusts a Moralebranche at the best of times, but you especially shouldn't if one's styling itself as a wandering salesman. Cabochon doesn't seem to mind, but it's very hard to tell with these creatures. Ey, like other Moralebranche, resemble a rather feathery slug, about the size of a duck and with a similar shade of blue to the purely-decorative enamel ey got some painter to dealt to their marble mount's digits. Ey secrete a slime which burns and irritates eyes+mouths+more delicate patches of Seakin skin. Ey have psionic abilities that can only be used in conjunction with the gemstones embedded in the fragments of Marmoral that litter the catacomb-cities these creatures call home.

Cabochon is particularly pleased with their piece of stone-corpse; it's a mostly-intact Marmoral right hand. The eight sapphires in the palm provide a strong enough mental link that Cabochon can almost move the hand like the real thing (even if it does scuttle like a spider). Pieces with fewer gems often have to suffice with being rolled along the ground, or requiring the combined psionic push of multiple Moralebranches. The turquoise on the knuckle is where Cabochon stays suckered on most of the time, maximising eir control over the stone's movements.

The Moralebranche are unnerving to other races, especially the seakin: partly because they're trundling around on chunks of dead people, partly because they may or may not exhibit hive-mind properties or have otherwise-unseen ways of sharing information amongst themselves. It doesn't help that the individuals who do leave the tombhomes and interact with other races (like Cabochon) evade questions about their people, usually in a rather condescending manner. Their naming conventions also seem to place a greater emphasis on whatever hunk of rock you're riding, and they don't actually call each other by name, reserving that for the convenience of other races. The races who bother to seek audience with the gods, like the Tetraul, don't trust them either, seeing as the gods know for sure that Wootz made the Liggins but nobody's owning up to making a subset of them sapient. Popular money's on LamPrey, which is yet another reason to assume there's something duplicit about these folk.

Cabochon makes a living as a passable courier, an occasionally-useful information broker, and a surprisingly-efficient mercenary (the fist of an eight-metre stone giant can do considerable damage on its own, if simple crushing weight doesn't do the trick).

Thanks again to Schazer for passing on my advice.

My bony tenure as this week's judge comes to a close, but I'll endeavor to serve justice to the best of my ability.

The Best Of Show Award: Viceroy Victoria Voyse - sorry, I meant Princess Moondrop, your Highness, won't happen again - stands out for the holistic strength of her profile as well as her ability to spice up battle rounds with wrenching perspective shifts. I'm sure her First Minister is relieved that their novice viceroy is out of the way too.

The Above the Fold Award: The VICE PRESIDENT clamps down on this award. Good luck removing it when it's busy skating past constituents and kissing baby vices.

The Iron Chef Special Ingredient Award: Would I ride the Vicycle? Probably not, but then again, I'm already immortal. What it's certainly riding down is this award, which it takes in a blaze of iniquity.

The Backdoor Worldbuilding Award: While I'm sure Right-Hand Cabochon's services with the help of eir malebranch steed are unparalleled, the mystery behind eir crevice-dwelling nudibranch compatriots stands out as one I'd love to see solved.

The Damnable Gentleman Award: In any given battle Xonera's participation would prove a polarizing presence, and her necessarily manipulative battling style only adds to my conviction that she'd make an excellent contestant. She was also a strong contender for Iron Chef this week.

The Synergy Award: Voughs is already an excellently executed sack of eviscerated meat, but shines (rots?) even more in the presence of some of the other submissions. What would Princess Moondrop make (out) of it's grotesque form? What happens when it reverses her already inverted worldview? Does it accept Xonera's forgiveness, or swear vengeance upon her as it has upon so many others? Is it hateful enough to resist the Vicycle's temptations? CAN IT SQUEEZE THROUGH THE VICE PRESIDENT'S STEEL GRIP??!?!??!!

While not quite in the original spirit of this award, Namestnik had me asking enough questions to make me honor him with

The 20Q Award For Confusing Me:

At first Namestnik seems far from confusing: a military man, used to command, lord of a post-apocalyptic city-state. Then come the questions. Is his name actually Namestnik, or is that simply his title? If it's his title, does he even have a name? Does anyone in this New Russian Empire? Why is he so loyal to an Empire that seems unable or unwilling to support him?

The I See What You Did There Award:

For explicitly fishing for Above The Fold, Mr. Viceral has this trophy lobbed at his vice-laden head.

Thanks for your varied and excellent submissions!

Okay, I don't think anyone's lined up for this week, so I'm taking another shot at this. If I'm wrong, well, say so here and we're less likely to forget you next week.

The theme for Contest Twenty-One is trains.

Name: The Train from Trainwreck Mafia 2
Gender:Train
Race:Train
Color: TOWN GREEN
Description:Train
Biography: Once there was a guy named Kíeros. Not K-i-e-r-o-s. but K-í-e-r-o-s. He decided to run a trainwreck game and it was going pretty well then everything fucked up and Trainwreck Mafia 2 Trainwrecked. The train from the mafia is now in a fight to the death.

Username: I ain't saying nothing.
Name(s): "Rule number one: no real namesss, and that goesss even for thossse of you who already know one another. Let me introdussse everybody," the lady in red points at the first of the gathered crew, "Thisss isss the Chariot." He's tall, kinda wiry, dressed in a scruffy seldom-worn suit. Like everyone else here his face is hidden behind a mask, it's cheap white plastic, plain and unremarkable, likely bought as part of a set (and indeed the rest of the set can be seen on the other crew members around the room). His hair is greasy, slicked back by hand. There's something kind of off about him. "Asssuming you don't make too much of a messs of thisss thing the Chariot'sss going to be getting usss out of there, ssstraight to a private little moon where we can hunker down until the heat diesss off."

The lady in red moves onto the next individual, a woman in a hoodie, jeans and boots. Her hands are jammed into her pockets; that combined with her mask and hood means nothing can be seen of her skin. Faint pink light seems to shine from behind the eyeholes. "Thisss isss The Tower. Ssshe hasss a natural aptitude for trainsss." That wasn't exactly the truth, but the lady in red didn't exactly want to announce the fact that they were working with a poltergeist. "Ssshe'sss going to be the one bringing the train from the ambusssh point to the loading point."

The next guy is an enormous wall of flesh in a tracksuit. His skin is a pale green, peeling and swollen wherever it's visible. He's so heavily muscled that one might suppose it can't be natural, and it isn't. "Thisss isss Ssstrength." The lady in red announces. "It kind of goesss without saying but, he's our mussscle."

The next person isn't actually a person but a small hovering drone. As if in mockery of the others it's wearing a mask as well, though unlike those of its co-conspirators its mask is fashioned into a cheap imitation of a popular children's wizard. "Thisss isss the Magician," she pauses and smiles, "or ssshould I sssay Magician's asssissstant. Thisss isss asss much as you'll sssee of him; the Magician doesssn't do that whole in perssson thing."

"How's that fair?" The Tower interrupts. "How does he get to sit at home while we go out there and risk our asses."

"When you can carry out your contribution to this caper remotely you'll be welcome to do ssso." The lady in red replies swiftly. "He'll be responsible for ssstopping the train in the first place, as well as ssshutting down all electronicsss within the vicinity and making sssure nobody can get into contact with the polissse." Another small untruth; it was a favour to the Magician itself to allow the others to believe that somewhere there was another being in control of the drone.

And finally there is a short stout woman in indigo robes and a pointed hat, unmistakably the robes of a wizard. Even despite the mask it's clear to see she was a little irate. "And finally thisss isss The Hermit." the lady in red concludes. "Ssshe's our Cursssebreaker. For those of you not familiar with modern anti-theft protocols, ssshe's the one making sssure we don't all wither away to nothingnesss the moment we try to ssspend our prissse."

"Excuse me but why am I not The Magician." The Hermit interrupts.

"Thisss isssn't a matter for dissscusssion." The lady in red tries to press on.

"I can actually do magic and hey it seems to me that technoboy over there all cocooned up in his home like a hermit would suit my alias a whole lot better'n me."

"ENOUGH." Everyone in the room is suddenly transfixed, vacantly staring into the lady in red's eyes. She clears her throat and continues. "And, of courssse, you can call me The Devil." She smiles a devilish grin.

Species: "If anything goes wrong, asss far asss the authoritiesss are concerned..." she pauses, "Well we're all humanoid, right? We're practically humansss. If anyone's caught we all sssay we're jussst boring humans right? No sssenssse in ruining everyone else'sss day jussst becaussse you fucked up." The group mumbled a vacant agreement.

Gender: "And I don't know about the rest of you but it sssure is hard to determine sssomeone'sss sssex under those masksss." Another round of silent nods. "Good. I'm glad you sssee it my way."

Text Colour: The Devil reaffirms how important it is to stick together and not try to stab one another in the back before releasing her psychic grip on the group. "Any quessstionsss...?"

"I'm still not sold on these aliases." The Hermit pipes up. "What about if we each chose a colour."

"Trussst me, that'sss a terrible idea."

Description: A group of highly androgynous boring humans, clearly.

Items/Abilities: Lots, but strictly on a need to know basis

Biography: They were all in place, waiting for the Express Train from Persephone when suddenly each and every one of them went inexplicably missing.

Name: Roz Moccion & Vol Vone
Gender: Bro
Race: Human-looking & Not Human Looking At All
Color: this is a fighty color
Description: Both are pretty big and beefy looking dudes, Rafa is shorter but a bit beefier, wearing a cool dark red fighting gi with black bands and black boots. He's got brown skin, red eyes, black hair, and a big smile. Vol's got a gold gi on with white boots and white bands, and a white hat to hide his less human features. Said features include grey skin (Skin Condition), no ears (Accident), small horn-like protrusions on his head (Other Skin Condition), blue pupil-less eyes (Eye Condition), and white claws on his hand (Uhhhhhhhhhh). He's taller and faster.

Roz is happy and go-lucky, usually preferring to chill and have fun even in the most dire of situations while Vol has a much more pragmatic viewpoint. This usually leads to the two of them arguing about how to go about things, but usually in the end they figure out the best way to go about things.

Items/Abilities: Both of them are very well versed fighters, knowing quite a few fighting styles and figuring out some fun cool techniques via a combination of traveling around, getting into spars with random people, and by learning the limits of each others body through rigorous training sessions. Both of them have supernatural strength, incredible speed and durability, and know, and have had to use them to their fullest, in various situations.

Additionally, Roz's punches and kicks can send shockwaves, and he can tense up his body to temporarily power up even further. Vol on the other hand can stretch out his limbs and shoot out his claw nails if necessary. They usually don't have much material goods other than their clothes, which are obviously weighted, and can be taken off to maximize their prowess.

Biography: "So, Roz, did you hear about the train robbery that happened the other day?"

It was early in the morning and Roz and Vol were sitting in a friend's kitchen, getting ready for some more traveling and training.

"What? That sounds terrible," Roz said in between gargantuan bites, "A train got robbed, near here?"

"Yeah, it looks like it was planned, no one got hurt luckily, but the criminals are still at large."

"WE GOTTA GET THEM!"

"Look Roz, we've talked about this, we can't just go around stopping every crime that happens, besides, since when were either of us detectives?"

"We know some people, if they robbed the whole train then they can't have gone very far, they'd probably lay low for a bit."

"But what if they didn't? Don't you want to go to Shoku's by the end of this month?"

"Shoku would understand, they love hearing stories about us anyway! It would be another story about us traveling around town and finding some criminals, and then we give everyone their stuff back!"

"Ugh... you always get like this..."

"Exactly! I do! Which means, if you didn't want to do this, you wouldn't have brought up the robbery in the first place!"

Roz smiled radiantly, to which Vol rolled his eyes, "Don't be so smug, get dressed, I'll meet you outside."

Roz finished devouring his food before rushing back to change, happily yelling something about adventure. Vol motioned towards the door, and sighed, smiling as he left their friends home and waited for Roz to finish getting ready. "I suppose today's going to be a long day..."

Username: Not Affiliated With The Praeterwater
Name: Gunzelurge
Gender: Femme
Race: Warforged, though she prefers to be called an Iron Maiden
Color: Taste my cold steel

Description: Gunzelurge is a druid of the large metal persuasion, because in her homelands of the Ferrous Bulwark the animals are also large and metal. The connection doesn't seem to have diminished as she travelled out from her hometown, though she's had a few confusing encounters when asking after the stables in a new town. She keeps wondering why the fleshlings' horses have legs, are too small to ride, and why their word for stable sounds more like stajhin.

She's got a jaw like a steel trap, hands also like steel traps, and a chest which is made of steel and would be extremely hard to extricate yourself out of if you somehow ended up in there. Her mind is not like a steel trap, seeing as she's a little too brusque and forthright with people to be especially cunning, but Gunzelurge is by no means unintelligent. She's got collectionist tendencies and would really enjoy birdwatching if her general bigness and loudness didn't scare most wildlife off. Domesticated horses in the human territories fascinate her, especially if she sees one with an as-yet unrecorded design.

As mentioned, she's a druid, and boasts a special connection to the wild and majestic horses that scream across the Bulwark. Her body's slowly adapted to better-reflect the physical nature of her animal companion, by which I mean she had to use her own leg to beat up a monster and got it replaced with a cool naga-esque dealie instead.

Biography: Like most druids who took the traditional route and apprenticed under a more experienced adventurer, Gunzelurge's adventure properly began when her mentor bid her ready to set off into the wilds to find, impress, and spiritually connect with her future animal companion. Being the rather ambitious Warforged she was, she promptly headed straight for the Stables of Steel, where the biggest, baddest horses would take time off of wrestling each other for boxcars and breeding grounds to maul to death the next druid apprentice who showed up.

What happened next is best left to the imagination, but rest assured there were lots of sparks and yelling and punching. Gunzelurge decided against extracting the defeated horse from its environment and causing possible ecosystem chaos in the power vacuum left behind; this impressed the horse (Iore) so much it lent its spirit to her future endeavours before graciously giving her a ride to the edge of the Bulwark.

Up until her abduction, Gunzelurge mostly explored the non-Warforged lands as a mercenary, learning along the way about the smaller, domesticated cousins to the beasts of her homeland, and their relationship with humans.

Weapons/Abilities: Gunzelurge can punch with the power of a very large, very metal horse. She can compound this by invoking the spirit of her animal companion, punching you metaphysically as well as regular-physically. She can also wildshape into a horse, giving her ridiculous overland movement and carving a path of destruction with her cowcatcher helm. She can calm a runaway horse by putting herself in a firm stance in its path, and pushing firmly on its nose when it runs at her.

She's nine feet tall and mostly made of metal and may or may not be able to summon a whole, pissed-off train if it's been a while between summonings. Don't piss off Gunzelurge.

username: CHUGGA CHUGGA CHOO CHOO
Name: THE PAIN TRAIN (real name: Vange Leval, formerly Mark Valor)
Gender: THE PAIN TRAIN HAS NO NEED FOR GENDER (Male)
Race: THE PAIN TRAIN IS TEN TONS OF PURE POWER (Homo Sapiens, does not actually weigh ten tons)
color: THE PAIN TRAIN IS COMING, BETTER MOVE TO THE LEFT

Biography: Vange Leval, once known as Mark Valor on his home planet, is the infamous masked wrestler known as the Pain Train. Legendary in the intergalactic ring for his capability to defeat even wrestlers of species that generally should utterly annihilate him through sheer tenacity and a little ingenuity, the Pain Train continues to uphold his Intergalactic Midweight Champion title. However, a recent scandal has revealed the Pain Train has dissappeared from the known galaxy, with no definitive information on his wherabouts forthcoming.

Abilities: Vange possesses no abilities aside from peak physical strength for a 30 year old, 162 cm tall, 113 kg homo sapien. He is also quite crafty for someone who has taken multiple confirmed and often serious impacts to the head. Crafty, however, does not mean intelligence; and his only other capability is to be exceptionally obnoxious and a refusal to refer to himself in any way other than the third person and as THE PAIN TRAIN.

Just a reminder that there's only about two days left to submit an entry! So get them in, people!

Minor extension: Judging will begin in approximately twelve hours, due to the relatively few entries and the fact that I don't feel like judging right this minute. You may feel free to submit a profile before then.

Okay, finally got around to judging. I'm doubling up awards here due to relative lack of profiles.

The I See What You Did There award goes to the Trainwreck train. I think this is fairly self-explanatory.

Above the Fold goes to The Pain Train for a very consistent theme across all fields.

The Iron Chef Special Ingredient Award goes, somewhat appropriately, to the Iron Maiden Gunzelurge for a unique take on a robot that turns into a train. And the glimpses we see of the Ferrous Bulwark and its, um, "wildlife" are tantalizing enough to earn the Backdoor Worldbuilding award as well.

The 20Q Award for Confusing me goes to Roz Moccion and Vol Vone because I don't get what their deal is other than a joke on "training" which isn't actually that big a part of the profile. They also get the Distinguished Gentleman award, because two guys who argue with each other a lot and keep getting into trouble usually means lots of fun times in a battle.

Best of Show goes to the Tarot-themed train robbers for a solid and distinctive concept. They also receive the Synergy award for planning a train robbery when the other entrants include a train, a train-druid, and two guys looking to stop a train robbery. How can that not go wrong?

That's it for this week, looking forward to whatever gets suggested next!

nobody else said anything, so I'll be taking this week's theme, mates!

your theme this week is Exoskeletal. Have fun with bugs and armor and shit

I said something - multiple somethings over the duration of several weeks, but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I'll have something or another up for this week, but yeah if I could have next week that'd be peachy.

Username:donut
Name:SKELEMAN
Species: Skeleton Man
Gender: Skeleton
Color: I've got a bone to pick with you!
Description: He is a skeleton!!!!!
Weapons/Abilities: As he is a skeleton, he feels no pain and doesn't bleed. He has all abilities of a skeleton.
Biography: Once there was a man. Then, he woke up one day to find out his outside was a skeleton! As was his inside. Being a skeleton and unable to feel pain, he fought crime as SKELEMAN, until he was whisked off to a battle.

my apologies then schaz! haven't been in IRC and fogel didn't know so
ye