Subject name: Red
Race: Sapient lobster
Colour: The obvious choice.
Weapons/Abilities: Red has built himself a high-tech armored mech suit containing many cleverly concealed (and often highly destructive) weapons, ranging from miniature missiles to pinpoint lasers to high-pressure squirt guns refitted to spray acid. It is also a contained aquatic environment; if the suit were to be destroyed, Red would be left unable to breathe and would die within minutes. The bottom half is very spiderlike in appearance due to the eight legs stationed around a central platform; each has a stabilizing plate at the bottom that has three prongs pointing straight out from the center in a radial fashion. The top is more humanoid in appearance; a bulky, headless torso is attached to a pivoting platform on top of the center of the lower half. Two thick, telescoping arms, each capable of extending to about a yard, are attached roughly where one would expect the shoulders to be on the torso. Lower down on the torso are four spindly arms for fine manipulation, each with a delicate but firm eight-fingered mechanical hand at the end. These arms are normally folded up close and tucked away beneath metal panels to avoid being damaged by the movements of the upper arms, the legs, or anything else that might happen to be flying around in the near vicinity. A number of speakers in the torso allow him to communicate verbally.
Description: Red looks very much like a two-and-a-half foot long, tomato-red lobster. The only major difference (aside from being sapient and all) is that he has twice as many arms as an average lobster, most of which end in small three-fingered hands. His antenna are also more developed, and he somehow uses them to transmit his thoughts to his mech in order to control it. You could ask him how, but he'd probably just glare at you suspiciously.
As his mad scientist-esque nature would suggest, Red is very intelligent, and also very good with mechanics. Given a proper amount of time, a little working space, and an adequate incentive, he'd be quite capable of MacGyvering something crazy out of common materials. However, he is as obsessed with the aesthetics of his creations as he is with the design of them. He wouldn't consider for a single moment making a weapon out of random junk unless it were absolutely necessary, and even then he would dismantle the thing as soon as he possibly could. In Red's mind, an invention that doesn't look like it should do what it does might as well not function at all. He tends to apply this viewpoint to things regardless of whether or not they were built with the same philosophy in mind, which has lead to many problems in the past.
Red invents things for himself and nobody else, and has a number of paranoid tendencies. Usually this simply manifests as a suspicious look and a guarded manner of speaking, but when he feels that he is getting too much attention without reason (the exact amount of attention that qualifies as "too much" is known only to Red himself), he may resort to more extreme measures to ensure his ideas remain his own.
Also, for some reason, he hates classical music with a passion.
Mental diagnosis: Mild to extreme paranoia, self-centered attitude, associates form with function to an extreme degree
Biography: Red is a member of a group of genetically engineered lobsters created in a lab experiment. All but three members of the group died within a week. Two weeks later, only one was left, barely sentient and only half-grown. Although disappointed with the rapid loss of specimens, the scientists decided to go through with the next phase of the experiment, which involved attempting to enhance the lobster's mental functions (by way of a recently-developed chemical) to the point where it could perform rudimentary tasks at about the level of a toddler. However, a mixup occured, and the chemical, which was intended to be delivered only in small doses, ended up diffusing into the water of the lobster's tank overnight.
The researchers panicked when they came back the next morning to find their only remaining specimen swimming around lazily in the chemical-filled tank. They quickly switched him to a new one and hoped for the best, but it soon became apparent that the chemical overdose had destroyed any intelligence the lobster had beyond basic instincts. The scientists dejectedly called the experiment done, mourning the loss of the expensive chemical, which had to be mined from the rare deposits at the bottom of the ocean and purified for months before it was ready for use. They piled into a car, drove down to the nearby beach, and tossed the lobster into the ocean, where he quickly swam out of sight, eyes glimmering with an intelligence that he had been carefully hiding for the past few hours. It was then that Red, for he had named himself that after seeing his reflection on the side of the tank, was truly born.
Not only had the chemical expanded Red's mental capacity, but while he had been swimming in the polluted tank, it had inexplicably bolstered his antenna to the point where they were able to pick up radio and television. He had quickly absorbed a good deal of knowledge, but it was not enough; Red hungered for more. He spent years gathering it, learning at a pace far faster than an average human could have, even in far better conditions.
Red found himself fascinated with mechanics, and it wasn't long before he had learned everything he could from written and spoken mediums. Working underwater, cobbling together scrap metal into the shapes he desired, he fashioned his own brand of machinery, made to be built beneath the sea, and to be used both under and above its surface. In just a few short months, he had created his prototype; a year later, the frame underwent its last revision and his mech suit came into being. But among the first broadcasts Red had seen the very first night he became aware of himself was the old black-and-white Godzilla, and he had realized that what humans didn't and couldn't understand, they attacked. He would need to be able to attack back.
He scavenged whatever he could to build the weapons systems; these too underwent many revisions, although significantly fewer than the chassis had taken. Positioning himself within the mech suit, he rode it out onto the surface of a nearby beach. Momentarily dazzled by the sun and the screaming of the beachgoers, he was caught completely off guard when the mech suit, with him in it, was whisked away across the dimensional boundary, not that he could ever have expected it in the first place.
Okay no more reserves or anything because I have way too many already and I don't want to make it even harder to decide. Those who have already reserved are good to make an entry still but once they're done I decide and start.
Actually, I'm going to withdraw my reserve and let one of the new folks have at it instead.
Sorry Schazer >.>
HERE YOU GO
Subject name: Runt
Race: Kitsune (Magical Japanese fox person)
Color: Whatever works best for you, sir.
Weapons/Abilities: Primary weapon is a brass staff. Used to club people with his superior strength and stamina if he isn't using his magic powers. His magic powers include shape shifting and the ability to posses others. However the power and flexibility of these abilities, as well as his physical state, depend on his number of tails. At one tail he has no shape shifting or possession powers, and his physical state is weaker then a humans. At 9 tails, he can transform into just about anything, can posses all but the most strongest willed, and his physical state is far superhuman. As an added effect, his tails turn white when he has 9 tails.
Runt gains and loses tails very quickly. He gains a tail by absorbing the strength of another person, which can only be done through touch. The brass rod can channel this force though, meaning he can drain tiny amounts of your energy when he hits you. He loses tails whenever he uses his powers. He also loses tails if he takes a heavy amount of damage, becuase the tails automatically shield him from the blunt of the damage at the loss of his power.
Description: Runt is a sickly 5 foot tall shell of a man, who walks with a limp and appears weak. His shape is quiet "girly", and the way he moves is to be as quiet and conspicuous as possible. His hair is unsurprisingly orange, and covers his face. Instead of human ears, he has fox ears on the top of his head. He also has whiskers that get longer, whiter, and more pronounced as he gains more tails. He wears a elegant robe, complete with flowers and dragons in an Japanese style. Wears a simple belt to hold the robe together. Walks barefoot.
Mental diagnosis: Subservient, has no self direction. Does not have drive to make his opinions known, due to extremely low self-esteem. Has anger issues buried within his mind. This anger will come out if threatened or cornered, usually resulting in a crazed rampage.
Biography: Runt was born from a Kitsune/Human relationship. Abandoned immediately by his mother, he had to stay with his abusive father. This lead to him becoming extremely quiet and withdrawn, hoping that he wouldn't make his father angry. After he became just old enough to leave, he did. His freakish condition with his tails lead him to be outcasted by both humans and kitsune. Even when he could get close to somebody, his touch would drain the energy out of them, making him become abandoned once again. This string of failed relationships led him to become withdrawn and destroyed his hopes of becoming close to another person ever again.
Last edited by Rufus; 01-25-2011 at 10:13 PM.
Awwww. I'm really upset about that, I was excited to see what you would have come up with. I hope to see you in another battle, Ed.
If the big profiles from the veterans has scared you off, though, don't let them. If it's some other reason though, well, I'm sure it's good. Be sure to watch it if nothing else!
My reserve is filled!
Like I said in the post: I posted two profiles and want to know which one would be better for this battle. Thanks!
Well my statement of interest has evolved into a full-fledged application, hope it isn't absolutely terrible
I don't think it works like that!
Edit: Rufus has already done this, throwing a wrench in my "it doesn't work like that" theory
I VOTE AGAIN-
Wait no I vote for it. I know I'd be frustrated if that happened to me (on account of it happened to me in S3G1 and I was frustrated); I didn't reserve since the OP said "signups open for a day". It doesn't seem fair to close things before they were supposed to close and penalize people who just didn't want to clog the thread with reserves.
Alright sure, I'll wait. I only closed reserves early due to the amount of overflow.
Well that's good because GUESS WHAT STEALTH BIO HAHAHAHA
Subject name: Geppeto Morti
Colour: Olive. Yeah.
Weapons/Abilities: In terms of weaponry, the first thing one might notice on him would be the large manipulator - a controller of puppets - he usually carries in his left hand. Made of stainless steel, it resembles two crossesput together at the bottom, but much more circular. It's quite thin, and looks hard to weild, but he appears to have mastered it quite quickly. His less.. noticable weapons would be the one and a half feet long retractable steel claws in his wooden right arm, the circular saw ALSO in said arm, and the fact that not only is his right eye wooden, it is also a bomb. He also has a few carpentry knifes and other worktools strapped to his belt, but those are less weaponry and more actually used for what they're supposed to.
In terms of abilities, he is a fairly good craftsman of puppets and other things (unlike most his age), he's fairly strong, and oh did I mention SOULBRINGER. Er, what I mean, is, he can control the soul of any living thing to some extent; with most people, he can really only make them twitch, though. His own soul, however... well, he's implanted small pieces of his soul into a few of his puppets while working on them; he cannot implant his soul into something he did not create, however. In any case, he controls these puppets, even if he doesn't know it, though he can only do so when touching his manipulator. These puppets are quite dangerous sometimes, so I may as well list them here;
Mo is the size of a normal puppet, about, and usually rides around on Geppeto's shoulder. He's Geppeto's first puppet, and his proportions are a bit off, but he later 'modified himself' so that he could defend Geppeto. He has retractable claws, much like Geppeto's own, and a gun mechanism in his mouth/chest. He's normally pretty close to Geppeto, and doesn't wander away much.
Otto is, more or less, a perfect replica of Gepetto, who thinks he's his twin brother. He has more of a personality than that of Mo; he also seems aware that the others are puppets, though seemingly not that he himself is. He's much more rebellious, violent and reckless than Gepetto, though it's definite that he cares about people. Both his arms are full of machinery, and he can shoot bullets from his right arm's fingers, and his left has a shotgun-like palm, as well as a sword blade that can retract into his wrist. He has various other mechanical parts, but those are the ones most commonly used. He has his own copy of the manipulator, though his has small retractable blades at every end.
Jo is at least ten feet tall, resembling a wooden giant. He has a brown wig attatched to his scalp, and a three foot tall and wide steel ball attatched to his right palm, and though it can be detatched, it's still linked to it by a chain. His left palm has three shotgun barrels inside it, and his fingers on that hand have steel claws much smaller than Gepetto's and Mo's - comparatively, anyway. He's very quiet, seeming to prefer not to fight. though he will if provoked.
Description: Physically, Gepetto looks like the avarage fourteen year old; his black hair is a bit all over the place, his olive eyes are normally cheerful, and he's grinning like an idiot most of the time, but he seems pretty normal. But on closer inspection, his arm is wooden, so is one of his eyes and oh my are those scars riddling you under your shirt. He's more finely toned than avarage as well. His shirt is usually red or green, he wears brown pants most of the time, and a tool belt complete with tools is strapped to his waist. He also carries the avarage skin tone of an italian, what with him being one.
...And then there's his personality. He thinks he's happy, even though he isn't. He subconsciously knows everything he tells himself is a lie; Mo isn't real, Jo isn't real... Otto isn't real. Luckily this is purely subconscious, though it may surface if something drastic happens. Other than that, he's pretty cheerful when he's not around anybody, but when he's in a crowd he gets sorta scared. The reason? All living things subconsciously hate Souldbringers; their mere presence changes them, though only slightly, and the soul apparently doesn't like that. This has attracted some... violent reactions, thus his fear of large groups of people and the weaponization of his puppets. He can stand to be near people when Otto is with him, though.
He's about as cowardly as someone who everyone hates can get; just about as paranoid, if only subconsciously, as well. He needs his puppets there to feel any confidence at all, and if they're not he usually just ends up running away.
Mental diagnosis: He needs to be confident in himself, to get over his paranoia. The whole 'puppet' thing should be fixed, too. He needs to stop lying to himself.
Biography: The Soulbringers were created long ago, in secret. The only difference between a Soulbringer and a human was the shape of their right eyes' irsises, being almost flower-shaped. Unfortunately, they didn't stay secret very long, and pretty soon most of them had been burned at the stake. Not all of them, of course. But if they saw someone with a weird right eye, they were going to chase them down and kill them. So Gepetto's parents had the genius idea to gouge his left eye out when he was a baby. They managed to replace it with a much more normal looking wooden eye pretty soon, though. And then they went and got caught. They passed him onto a considerably less Soulbringer family with the manipulator, but when he was eight and the father hit him a few times while drunk, he ran away.
Soon he managed to steal a carving knife (and some food), and decided to start working on something in his spare time. Eight year olds have a lot of spare time, so Mo was created pretty quickly. He was young enough that the puppet beginning to move didn't really phase him, and he was considered a companion quite quickly. Soon enough, he managed to forget that he made him in the first place. So then he began crafting Jo. It was pretty difficult, though, walking along the path to new places with a huge cart behind you. And one day he made the mistake of taking a nap beside a road, and someone accidentally ran over his arm. He then got it amputated, and, possibly out of instinct, made a wooden one of his own. He was still young enough not to ask himself about these things.
Soon enough, Jo was made, and seeing as he already had Mo moving around, he didn't seem to mind is much. He didn't start making anything else for some time, or at least he doesn't think he did; truth be told, he was working on Otto in his sleep. Only recently he appeared, looking around for his twin brother for a few days before finding him and telling him a cliche story about him being his 'long-lost twin' and whatnot. Soon afterwards, he accidentally wandered into a bar by himself, and... let's just say that drunk people are very prone to letting their subconscious hate show. Very. The innocent bystanders, strangely enough, found that they didn't actually want to call for help or anything of the sort. Eventually, Jo, Mo and Otto stepped in, though. Since then, he's been finding a bit of weaponry in his arm and his friends, though... they've also been staying closer to him. Weird, huh?
Resigning as well. See, life can be easy!
[21:38] <MalkyTop> I'm not good at writing bad. | [13:12] <Shellghost> I can't tell if I'm crying or if my eyes came.
She made it very clear, just by opening her mouth to speak, that she was not a mere damsel, that she was a woman. And that she was a person above all.
She was what you would draw if someone asked you to draw a lady, but her bony cold hands were an old man's. Fists that were used to clenching.
I went home immediately after talking to her, and fell asleep soon after, concluding that if we were rain, I was drizzle and she was hurricane.
He puffed once, twice, from his cigar, and fluttered its ashes over the balcony railing. Still singeing, they danced around against the nightly cityscape.
Daang. So that's all the entries? Fourteen? Seven new fish; seven vets, three of whom are in S3G1? Who else is inordinately psyched for this? What's with all the query squiggles I'm using?
THIS IS GONNA BE HUGE
The roster is up. Everybody crowd around the bulletin board to find out if you made it onto the football team.
I'll write the intro post in a bit.
Whoo! Looking forward to seeing what kind of crazy things you guys do. Don't disappoint me.
The Counsellor flipped through the "patient" charts. She had everything she needed in order to start this off well, and a quick scrawl through a list of worlds in various universes gave her a good setting for the first round. There was an appointment of hers showing up soon, but it could be put off. Telling her assistant to hold her calls (because there's something fun about using cliched lines like that), she departed the universe to visit her gathered contestants.
The room was lavishly decorated, and the contestants had plenty of time to see each other. It had only been a few minutes since they were mysteriously brought to this doorless, windowless waiting room. Completely motionless, they were unable to do anything but look at the others, all arranged in a circle. Suddenly the silence was broken by the appearance of a lady in the middle of the contestant circle. The Counsellor had arrived to introduce her guests.
"Welcome everybody, I'm glad to know you all made it here successfully. You might be wondering what exactly this is. This is the Spectacular Exhibition! You are all to take place in a battle to the death! There will be up to seven rounds in different locations, where each of you will fight, forge friendships and rivalries, up until all but one of you has been killed. This isn't just a fight to the death, though, because whether you realize it or not, you've all got something wrong with you. I hope that through this ordeal you can overcome your mental issues. As an added incentive, the last one standing gets freedom, and an extra little prize from me. You can all me the Counsellor, and I suppose you should know who you'll be up against."
The Counsellor climbed up the thorny tree in the building rather casually, managing to not even rip her suit. From the higher vantage point, she pointed at a man wearing a suit. "This is Norman Pollet. He's got a silver tongue and a staff that possibly grants him divine powers. On the downside, he sees dead people."
After that description, she continued on to gesture at the pale, dark haired girl. "This is Tria, or Apparatus 27. Her arm contains a nuclear reactor and is very powerful, but she suffers from Post-Traumatic Stress, pyrophobia, and has some overall personality issues."
Next in the limelight was a ghostly piece of hardware. "That would be Brooklyn Taylor. She died and took up residence in a rocket powered chainsaw, but with death she brought mood swings and paranoia."
Another unlikely contestant was to be introduced. "This guy here is Red, a 'failed' experiment with giving a lobster human intelligence. This crustacean has a rather unhealthy fixation with aesthetics."
Next to the lobster was a man draped in a wolf skin. "Nemaeus here has a... certain way with animals. I'll just say that the only way to kill the creature that pelt comes from is with its own claw, but there's much more to it. He has a schizoid personality disorder."
Yet another animalistic creature followed in the lineup. "The aardvark's name is Blazaard, and he was a contestant on another competition, although unrelated to our little spar here. He can store and emit light, and that's more useful than you would imagine. Unfortunately due to the crystals growing in his brain, his anthropophobia and claustrophobias have been progressing quickly."
Interestingly, the Counsellor gestured to four people at once. "These guys are all together. The fleshy one is Gepetto, and the wooden ones are Mo, Jo, and Otto. Otto here lacks self-confidence which leads to our favourite disorder, paranoia."
"And that would be everybo- no wait, there's one more!" The Counsellor jumped off of the tree and faced it. "This is also a contestant! Everybody meet Crepitans Bloodbark. Treefolk are usually nice, but this one is spiny, angry, and his disorders take up a few pages of the DSM-IV. He'll be a tough one to crack. Figuratively or literally."
The Counsellor clapped her hands and looked around at everybody. "Well then, you'll all have a better chance to get acquainted soon, some later than others. I think it's time we got this show on the road. Have fun!"
With a flash of light, the contestants found themselves in a new location. The stylish carpet and wallpaper was replaced with desert for some, and frozen tundra for others. Something felt strange about this place, but nobody could quite put their appendages on it. The Counsellor could be heard once more.
"Four of you in one location, seven of you in another, thanks to Gepetto's gang. Be wary of what you do, because what you do in one place may not be entirely free of consequence in the other. Also be careful of anything pointy. There may be odd repercussions as long as you're here."
Last edited by cyber95; 01-27-2011 at 05:56 PM.
There was sand up in her grill (in almost every conceivable sense of the phrase), and an irritable sun glaring disapprovingly at her - as though asking what the hell she'd been doing in that misty, grey, British backwater for the past three years, forsaking her blazing majesty. Brooklyn was sure of it.
You tell me to fight a pack of I-don't-know-what, for god knows what reason, and you've got the nerve to tell me my mood will swing.
In the middle distance, one of Brooklyn's competitors might've heard a noise like an oversized cat being rhythmically choked.
How, good Counsellor, are you expecting a fight to the death when I'm already DEAD!? The ghost didn't have a voice to raise, but her abomination of a machine did the talking. It leapt from the sand with an indignant clacking, before the main rocket kicked in and shot Brooklyn into the sky, snarling blade raised like a finger stabbed in accusation at the gods. She continued in this fashion to about fifty metres, before she ran out of vitriolic steam and moseyed on down again on the auxillary jets, doing whatever the lungless spectral equivalent of taking deep breaths was.
Mood swings I'll show you mood swings... Anyway right. Fight to the death, though hell if I know how that works out for me... who was I fighting? Eh, they'll be the only ones that don't fit in this stupid desert. Good, her blowtorch was still attached, though all the greased and oily surfaces had an irksome sand-batter to them. Brooklyn sulked; the chainsaw hiccuped disconsolately.
Like hell I'm killing them, anyway. Well if you're not killing them, what's the plan then, Brooklyn? A voicebox wouldn't hurt, I guess - or some robot limbs or something, or - waitwaitwait. So now my plan's to win this? Well, I guess I can only lose if I'm killed, which those pricks already did a fine job of... so sure.
The main rocket roared to life again, as the contraption pointed in an arbitrary direction and shot off, leaving a cloud of smoke and sand.
But goddamnit, I'm not giving a single one a taste of me unless they deserve it. I'm not playing your game, Counsellor.
Were anybody listening to the ghost and not its smokily belligerent shell, they could've heard the way Brooklyn postively spat that last word. Brooklyn herself hadn't been in much of a position for a good while to have to spit anyone's name out.
To her surprise, it felt fantastic.
Red found himself dropped off in an icy tundra. Could the Counselor want my mech? Can't let her know I suspect. Have to play along with this charade until I see an opening. A panel in the right arm retracted, and a wicked-looking blade extended out of it, reaching four feet beyond the end of the arm. Red looked at it, smirking inwardly. Can take care of myself until then.
He paused for a moment to collect his bearings. Don't like the look of this ice. Too slippery for fast movement. The torso swiveled around slowly, panning over the horizon. Barren. Bitter. Lifeless, but there should be anywhere from three to six others here. A nearby bump in the landscape caught Red's attention. It was too high to be called a hill or a dune, and too low to be called a mountain. Possible vantage point.
The mech scuttled off, chipping bits of ice off the layer of permafrost as it made its way towards the bump. It paused at the peak, and Red took a good look at the surroundings. Must be careful. Competitors could be anywhere. As if to prove this point, he noticed a figure off in the distance. It was too far to make out more than a vague shape, even with the mech's highly enhanced vision. Perhaps an alliance could be made.
With a thought, Red had the mech begin clanking towards the figure at a steady clip, straining his vision to see which of the contestants it was.