The Ratings War V: Original Sin - Finals (Winner Announced)
- Thread starter Lord Krunk
- Start date
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Mergh... would it be possible to ask for two days off from this? The beginning date for this (September 9), I may not have a computer, for I will be traveling to see a relative of mine graduate from boot camp. I only ask that I don't get put into the first round of posting due to the fact that there's a high chance that I will not have a chance to get on until September 11.
Name: Dan freeman
Nickname: energy
Age: 18
Appearance:
Clothing: He wears an armoured shirt under the cloths seen above.
Weapons: An energy canon.
Powers: He can control gravity. He has an ultimate moved wich crushes his foes in mid-air, in between two beams of gravity.
Strengths: Very strong at ranged combat.
Weaknesses: He's bad at close range combat.
Personality: He is big headed, but sees the best in others as well. Although knid, he doesn't take pity on people.
Fear: Un clear water.
Vice: Wrath
Bio
an was born into a rich family that taught him martial arts. He was never good at it. He always got into fights with people, but was best at fighting from far away. After a while, he was outcast from everyone else and was forced to live alone. He changed his ways and became a kind person. He then discovered that he had the ability to control gravity. along with this, he built an energy canon to help fight people who did wrong.
Nickname: energy
Age: 18
Appearance:
Clothing: He wears an armoured shirt under the cloths seen above.
Weapons: An energy canon.
Powers: He can control gravity. He has an ultimate moved wich crushes his foes in mid-air, in between two beams of gravity.
Strengths: Very strong at ranged combat.
Weaknesses: He's bad at close range combat.
Personality: He is big headed, but sees the best in others as well. Although knid, he doesn't take pity on people.
Fear: Un clear water.
Vice: Wrath
Bio
an was born into a rich family that taught him martial arts. He was never good at it. He always got into fights with people, but was best at fighting from far away. After a while, he was outcast from everyone else and was forced to live alone. He changed his ways and became a kind person. He then discovered that he had the ability to control gravity. along with this, he built an energy canon to help fight people who did wrong.
TWO DAYS WILL NOT HINDER THE IRON WRATH OF THE SOULBENDER.Fraught said:
___________________________________________
CHARACTER SHEET
CHARACTER SHEET
"The blade itself incites to violence."
-Homer
I have slowly been refining the concept. It has turned from a wide interpretation into a narrow one--very narrow indeed, if you're working off physical measurements--and this process has, in a way, coalesced my purpose. This is one being, one item, one mind, entirely devoted to one idea. An ideal, if you will, though you might not want to look at it that way. Certainly most people would rather not. The very word incites against such thought: "ideal" means justice, or valor, or freedom, or anything good and right. Not this, this ideal of death, this concept of the end held up on such a high white pedestal. Death is black and veined and running with bile, but my death is clean and red and flush with blood. It is an angry death, for I do not believe you have any right to your life. Why should you, when I have no right to mine?
They think they can outrun, outmaneuver, or outfight me. They think I am insane. They are, of course, wrong. There was a man who once said that all the world is a stage, and all the people merely players--I would have to disagree, of course, as you would realize if you knew who I was. I pull the marionette strings, and all you little fuckers, you all dance.
I am a purveyor of death, and many are those who desire my wares.
There is a saying I once heard, a rather silly one. It goes, "Don't take life too seriously--no one gets out alive, anyway." What bullshit. You'd think, right, that this would be precisely why you'd take life so seriously. You only get one.
You only get one life. It is interesting, then, that some people call killing "taking a life." Is it? Is it really? This life is not mine now, now that I have taken it. I do not get an extra existence simply because I have removed you from yours. Or perhaps I do, and all the cults and priests and mythologies, they are all wrong? At my touch, flesh parts--at my presence, mortals draw back. You would think I would be immortal, all-powerful, with all the lives I have taken for my own. And yet I am not. I am dependent on this hulk of flesh and bone, this mind that works against my will, this tongueless beast who's hand I wield. I am that which has brought low king and peasant alike, and yet I am forced to work through this rotten thing.
It thinks it is patient. It believes it can outlast me, outfight me, retain control over this flesh. But I too am patient. Entropy will do the deed that I cannot. And when the old falls away, aye, then a new form shall rise, bloody and terrible.
I am Kliss, which means Cut. Cut the flesh, cut to the bone, cut away the mind and the soul. Cut to the heart of your enemy, hold the blade in your hand, and when you realize what you have done it will be too late, for I will be wielding you.
This thing, this construct, this Original Sin, this damned and doomed creature doesn't know what it's getting into.
I am the Soulbender.
I am That Which Compels.
I am the blade itself.
Cut.
-Homer
I have slowly been refining the concept. It has turned from a wide interpretation into a narrow one--very narrow indeed, if you're working off physical measurements--and this process has, in a way, coalesced my purpose. This is one being, one item, one mind, entirely devoted to one idea. An ideal, if you will, though you might not want to look at it that way. Certainly most people would rather not. The very word incites against such thought: "ideal" means justice, or valor, or freedom, or anything good and right. Not this, this ideal of death, this concept of the end held up on such a high white pedestal. Death is black and veined and running with bile, but my death is clean and red and flush with blood. It is an angry death, for I do not believe you have any right to your life. Why should you, when I have no right to mine?
They think they can outrun, outmaneuver, or outfight me. They think I am insane. They are, of course, wrong. There was a man who once said that all the world is a stage, and all the people merely players--I would have to disagree, of course, as you would realize if you knew who I was. I pull the marionette strings, and all you little fuckers, you all dance.
I am a purveyor of death, and many are those who desire my wares.
There is a saying I once heard, a rather silly one. It goes, "Don't take life too seriously--no one gets out alive, anyway." What bullshit. You'd think, right, that this would be precisely why you'd take life so seriously. You only get one.
You only get one life. It is interesting, then, that some people call killing "taking a life." Is it? Is it really? This life is not mine now, now that I have taken it. I do not get an extra existence simply because I have removed you from yours. Or perhaps I do, and all the cults and priests and mythologies, they are all wrong? At my touch, flesh parts--at my presence, mortals draw back. You would think I would be immortal, all-powerful, with all the lives I have taken for my own. And yet I am not. I am dependent on this hulk of flesh and bone, this mind that works against my will, this tongueless beast who's hand I wield. I am that which has brought low king and peasant alike, and yet I am forced to work through this rotten thing.
It thinks it is patient. It believes it can outlast me, outfight me, retain control over this flesh. But I too am patient. Entropy will do the deed that I cannot. And when the old falls away, aye, then a new form shall rise, bloody and terrible.
I am Kliss, which means Cut. Cut the flesh, cut to the bone, cut away the mind and the soul. Cut to the heart of your enemy, hold the blade in your hand, and when you realize what you have done it will be too late, for I will be wielding you.
This thing, this construct, this Original Sin, this damned and doomed creature doesn't know what it's getting into.
I am the Soulbender.
I am That Which Compels.
I am the blade itself.
Cut.
Name: Kliss
Nickname: The Soulbender, That Which Compels
Age: Very.
Appearance: Thin, about three and a half feet long, shining steel.
Clothing: Blood.
Weapons: Kliss is a weapon.
Powers: When the Soulbender speaks, all those who hear its voice are compelled to obey.
Strengths: Killing, control.
Weaknesses: Blinding rage, must work through others.
Personality: Vindictive, nihilistic, fervent, and enraged: or, depending on how you look at it, cold and calculating.
Fear: Destruction of itself, or losing its ability to affect the world.
Vice: Wrath/Pride
Bio: The Soulbender is, as you may have guessed, a sword. It was forged by a long-dead god in the depths of antiquity, and is one of seven swords of legendary stature. The blade takes control of whoever wields it, and by speaking through its puppet it may influence the actions of anyone within earshot. Its goal is very simple: the blade has been driven half-mad by extended periods where it was not being wielded / had no puppets to control, and as such it takes advantage of every time it's picked up by destroying everything it touches. It is a sword, after all--such is its nature.
The current wielder of the Soulbender is a nameless man of iron will. When he realized what was happening, what he had picked up, he cut out his own tongue rather than let the sword speak through him. His will is gone, now; nothing remains behind those eyes but the cold gleam of steel. That one act of defiance was enough to make Kliss despise his current host, though he knows enough not to abandon it.
The man holding the Soulbender appears to be a muscular, limber individual, rather tall, with ill-kept shoulder-length hair and many scars. He wears ragged clothing; trousers cut off at the knee, sandals, and a plain tattered shirt. His eyes gleam unnaturally in the light.
Minor background note: The Soulbender is a character/weapon from my D&D campaign, which (for those of you who know what I'm talking about) is the same world as The Unknown.
Nickname: The Soulbender, That Which Compels
Age: Very.
Appearance: Thin, about three and a half feet long, shining steel.
Clothing: Blood.
Weapons: Kliss is a weapon.
Powers: When the Soulbender speaks, all those who hear its voice are compelled to obey.
Strengths: Killing, control.
Weaknesses: Blinding rage, must work through others.
Personality: Vindictive, nihilistic, fervent, and enraged: or, depending on how you look at it, cold and calculating.
Fear: Destruction of itself, or losing its ability to affect the world.
Vice: Wrath/Pride
Bio: The Soulbender is, as you may have guessed, a sword. It was forged by a long-dead god in the depths of antiquity, and is one of seven swords of legendary stature. The blade takes control of whoever wields it, and by speaking through its puppet it may influence the actions of anyone within earshot. Its goal is very simple: the blade has been driven half-mad by extended periods where it was not being wielded / had no puppets to control, and as such it takes advantage of every time it's picked up by destroying everything it touches. It is a sword, after all--such is its nature.
The current wielder of the Soulbender is a nameless man of iron will. When he realized what was happening, what he had picked up, he cut out his own tongue rather than let the sword speak through him. His will is gone, now; nothing remains behind those eyes but the cold gleam of steel. That one act of defiance was enough to make Kliss despise his current host, though he knows enough not to abandon it.
The man holding the Soulbender appears to be a muscular, limber individual, rather tall, with ill-kept shoulder-length hair and many scars. He wears ragged clothing; trousers cut off at the knee, sandals, and a plain tattered shirt. His eyes gleam unnaturally in the light.
Minor background note: The Soulbender is a character/weapon from my D&D campaign, which (for those of you who know what I'm talking about) is the same world as The Unknown.
A few things to say...
Thingy #1, to Lord Krunk: Dragon's vice is Gluttony. I toyed around with Wrath, but it made the character less complex. Gluttony implies that he...partakes. It adds a layer of complexity. Wrath doesn't imply anything, it's just a header that says, "KILL, KILL, KILL, KILL" [sub]1[/sub]. Dragon doesn't just kill things, he destroys them entirely, and not just because he likes it.
Thingy #2, to venom 3135:
Of course, I could always be wrong, and Krunk, being the OP, could decide that it's cool. I'd allow it, it's original enough (more original that a chaotic good dual-scimitar-wielding Dark Elf, at least...), he has a neat power, and Kaneda was funny.
Thingy #3, to Soothsayer:
Thingy #4, to everyone (but mostly the new people): I've read a couple times about people being intimidated, and it worries me. I've always thought of this as being a friendly competition. There's nothing to lose here; more than one person (myself included) have written about characters even after they'd lost. Worst case scenario, you learn something. How is that a losing situation at all?
Apologies if I seem a little more agressive than usual. Ironic humor might not convey well over the internet.
Thingy #1, to Lord Krunk: Dragon's vice is Gluttony. I toyed around with Wrath, but it made the character less complex. Gluttony implies that he...partakes. It adds a layer of complexity. Wrath doesn't imply anything, it's just a header that says, "KILL, KILL, KILL, KILL" [sub]1[/sub]. Dragon doesn't just kill things, he destroys them entirely, and not just because he likes it.
I'm talking specifically about Dragon. Wrath doesn't mean "KILL KILL KILL", it means you're angry, angry enough to go on a homicidal rampage. A character can have Wrath as a vice and still be well rounded and memorable, it's just that Dragon is not that kind of character. Not only is it obvious and slightly obnoxious, but it borders on being offensive. "Hey, this guy is mean! Also, he's mean! Don't for get that he's mean, now. Also, his vice is Wrath. Why? Because he's friggin' mean!! Meaner than this guy! [http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oIyodg6yhZ0] And he's MEAN!." I want Dragon to be a monster, but I want him to be a complex (and eventually sympathetic) monster, but still be a monster.
Take that in for a moment. To give a comparison to the type of person I'm trying to write, I would compare him to Darth Vader or Kratos. There's a reason he's doing what he's doing, and it's tragic, but it doesn't make him any less evil.
Take that in for a moment. To give a comparison to the type of person I'm trying to write, I would compare him to Darth Vader or Kratos. There's a reason he's doing what he's doing, and it's tragic, but it doesn't make him any less evil.
Thingy #2, to venom 3135:
Did you really expect none of us to recognize Kaneda? Really? I'm not saying you've got a bad character, just that he's from one of the most famous Anime of all time. More than a few of us not only own the movie, but the manga. Some of us even own Steamboy.venom 3135 said:
Of course, I could always be wrong, and Krunk, being the OP, could decide that it's cool. I'd allow it, it's original enough (more original that a chaotic good dual-scimitar-wielding Dark Elf, at least...), he has a neat power, and Kaneda was funny.
Thingy #3, to Soothsayer:
Cool. Your post is first person, too. Is it because of me?Soothsayer said:
Thingy #4, to everyone (but mostly the new people): I've read a couple times about people being intimidated, and it worries me. I've always thought of this as being a friendly competition. There's nothing to lose here; more than one person (myself included) have written about characters even after they'd lost. Worst case scenario, you learn something. How is that a losing situation at all?
Apologies if I seem a little more agressive than usual. Ironic humor might not convey well over the internet.
A bit, but to be honest, I was on the fence about writing his sheet in first person. Seeing the Dragon's post simply cemented the idea in my head, so... don't feel like you forced me into it...? Or something? I dunno- regardless, your post helped me decide on what to do with mine. I'm glad I did so though, I felt that it captured my character's personality a bit more than just going "This is his name. This is his weapon. This is his bunghole".The_Logician19 said:
And it's not just you I fear... as a new guy, this whole thing is sort of overwhelming. It's a different form of RPing than I'm used to, and I hope I can perform admirably enough to at least compare to some of the Vets here (Rag showed me some posts from the old ones a long while back and I was astounded. Gold King was quite interesting, and I'm glad he's back for this one!). You guys are pretty phenomenal writers from what I have seen... So yeah, I think I have a right to be at least a bit worried?
venom 3135 said:
Thanks, Logician, for informing me of Kaneda. I thought I recognised him from somewhere.The_Logician19 said:
Venom, I'm sorry, but I'm sticking to my guns and not allowing your character in. I'd prefer it if you came up with a completely original character. Sorry for the inconvenience, but them's the rules.
The Cast So Far:
Fallen-Angel-Risen-Demon: Digaina (Pride)
RagnorakTres: That Which Bleeds (Wrath)
NewClassic: Harold (Sloth)
HSIAMetalKing: Eurania (Gluttony)
Jarsteen: Leviathan (Envy)
Sam G: The Gold King (Greed)
The_Logician19: Dragon (Gluttony)
Soothsayer: Beauxhart (Greed, Envy, Wrath)
Fraught: Chance Connie (Wrath)
Lost In The Void: Frederic (Wrath, Envy)
Shapsters: Ryan (Envy)
Zemalac: Kliss (Wrath/Pride)
pigeon_of_doom: Carl (Envy)
revolverwolf: Amelia and Henry (Greed)
Crowghast: Pending
Zombie_Fish: Pending
16 Contestants. Only @Crowghast and @Zombie_Fish need to send their sheets in now, with a day to go before The War begins. Also, if venom wishes to create another character then he is free to.
Thanks for your promptness, guys, this has made it much easier for me to manage. 16 is an excellent number for me to work with as well.
Fallen-Angel-Risen-Demon: Digaina (Pride)
RagnorakTres: That Which Bleeds (Wrath)
NewClassic: Harold (Sloth)
HSIAMetalKing: Eurania (Gluttony)
Jarsteen: Leviathan (Envy)
Sam G: The Gold King (Greed)
The_Logician19: Dragon (Gluttony)
Soothsayer: Beauxhart (Greed, Envy, Wrath)
Fraught: Chance Connie (Wrath)
Lost In The Void: Frederic (Wrath, Envy)
Shapsters: Ryan (Envy)
Zemalac: Kliss (Wrath/Pride)
pigeon_of_doom: Carl (Envy)
revolverwolf: Amelia and Henry (Greed)
Crowghast: Pending
Zombie_Fish: Pending
16 Contestants. Only @Crowghast and @Zombie_Fish need to send their sheets in now, with a day to go before The War begins. Also, if venom wishes to create another character then he is free to.
Thanks for your promptness, guys, this has made it much easier for me to manage. 16 is an excellent number for me to work with as well.
well in that case, i can't join. i always strugle to find deacent character pics. thanks anyway.Lord Krunk said:
2 days to go guys. I should be able to begin Round 1 immediately on the 10th, so you won't be waiting much longer.
You don't need pictures though. This is a short story kind of deal. You can still enter if you want.venom 3135 said:
Greed compelled Her to want infinite power.
Lust compelled Her to crave it.
Gluttony compelled Her to want more and more.
Envy compelled Her to kill for it.
Sloth compelled Her to build a dispensable soldier.
Wrath compelled Her to perfect it.
These vices, these Six Deadly Sins, drove her further. Into madness, perhaps. But also into Creation. She obsessed with Creation, building and perfecting, more and more until what was left was the enduring Pride in what She created.
She had created Life. A synthetic being nigh indestructible, capable of storing almost infinite amounts of data through a colossal supercomputer, a hive mind that had developed to grow itself. It was a warrior, a battlemaster, a strategist. The greatest any living being would exist to see.
And It was Hers. Never could She be more Proud, Proud of the Original Sin.
--------------
A flicker and the memory was gone. The Original Sin sat upon Its throne, the bane of a billion galaxies, and gazed out over its domain. Before it was a wall that spanned further than Its field of vision, as if It was hovering over a cybernetic planet.
But It knew better. They were still light years away from The Hive.
Its drones had retrieved several Champions, and more were on their way. An electric tingle ran through Its core, perhaps anticipation or another reminder of Its degrading frame.
It was not long before The War was to begin.
The Cast So Far:
Fallen-Angel-Risen-Demon: Digaina (Pride)
RagnorakTres: That Which Bleeds (Wrath)
NewClassic: Harold (Sloth)
HSIAMetalKing: Eurania (Gluttony)
Jarsteen: Leviathan (Envy)
Sam G: The Gold King (Greed)
The_Logician19: Dragon (Gluttony)
Soothsayer: Beauxhart (Greed, Envy, Wrath)
Fraught: Chance Connie (Wrath)
Lost In The Void: Frederic (Wrath, Envy)
Shapsters: Ryan (Envy)
Zemalac: Kliss (Wrath/Pride)
pigeon_of_doom: Carl (Envy)
revolverwolf: Amelia and Henry (Greed)
Crowghast: Pending
Zombie_Fish: Pending
Armitage Shanks: Pending
Ultrajoe: Pending
Fallen-Angel-Risen-Demon: Digaina (Pride)
RagnorakTres: That Which Bleeds (Wrath)
NewClassic: Harold (Sloth)
HSIAMetalKing: Eurania (Gluttony)
Jarsteen: Leviathan (Envy)
Sam G: The Gold King (Greed)
The_Logician19: Dragon (Gluttony)
Soothsayer: Beauxhart (Greed, Envy, Wrath)
Fraught: Chance Connie (Wrath)
Lost In The Void: Frederic (Wrath, Envy)
Shapsters: Ryan (Envy)
Zemalac: Kliss (Wrath/Pride)
pigeon_of_doom: Carl (Envy)
revolverwolf: Amelia and Henry (Greed)
Crowghast: Pending
Zombie_Fish: Pending
Armitage Shanks: Pending
Ultrajoe: Pending
Name: Shanks.
Nickname: Detective A. Shanks (Vice Squad)
Age: 35
Appearance: Few inches below 6 foot, more of a wiry athletic build than straight up muscular. Close cropped dark brown hair, unremarkable face, narrow features, hints of stubble round the cheeks.
Clothing: Suit, tie, fedora. Overcoat; weather permitting. Most often grey, dark brown, or black. Always a very dark green tie.
Weapons: Carries a concealed 38. Colt Detective Special and extra ammo, as well as a blackjack. Is familiar with the Thomson submachine gun and other department issue weapons.
Powers: None. Besides, observation, deduction, modesty... and natural charm o'course
Strengths: Fair decent shot, but prefers being fast on the draw. Very skilled working undercover, running informants and turning perps.
Weaknesses: Feels responsible for all problems around him. Almost too willing to sacrifice ideals for solutions. Overly secretive, unnecessarily so. Beginning to develop paranoia from time spent undercover.
Personality: Detective Shanks isn't your usual corrupt cop. He's just a man who isn't afraid to use the full range of tools available to him. So, if an unrepentant hitman escapes conviction, perhaps his enemies in a rival family will find themselves in possession of the address of his safe house, and the hitman will likely find himself plugged in the head. If that means a turf war over the port's racketeering is getting out of hand, a police task force might find some overly convenient evidence in a raid, allowing them to pull both gangs off the street.
Yes, he wines and dines with the some of the biggest names in organised crime, either as a detective who can provide them with 'solutions', or in a guise as part of their syndicates. Yes, the occasional envelope of squeaky clean bills finds its way into his hands, but its not a bribe, because he's just as likely to throw that money back into his one-man crusade. If clean, quiet, out of sight, non-violent crime is a hallmark of success, then Shanks is winning his battle.
The ends, however, will always justify the means; without this thought, the Detective would never sleep.
Fear: Seeing his work undone. Seeing his willingness to compromise with the bad guys turned against him by the really bad guys. Not being able to solve the problems, no matter what he does. Ultimately, failing, and knowing that he didn't fail with honour.
Vice: Pride. Shanks is immensely proud of the work he does. He isn't corrupt for the greed, (he doesn't even see himself as corrupt) its not for the money, the power, or the status. He's willing to work both sides of the law, because its the best way to keep everything controlled and orderly. And the situation he's created, where everything works, the pride he takes in that, is his vice.
Bio: Still coming
Nickname: Detective A. Shanks (Vice Squad)
Age: 35
Appearance: Few inches below 6 foot, more of a wiry athletic build than straight up muscular. Close cropped dark brown hair, unremarkable face, narrow features, hints of stubble round the cheeks.
Clothing: Suit, tie, fedora. Overcoat; weather permitting. Most often grey, dark brown, or black. Always a very dark green tie.
Weapons: Carries a concealed 38. Colt Detective Special and extra ammo, as well as a blackjack. Is familiar with the Thomson submachine gun and other department issue weapons.
Powers: None. Besides, observation, deduction, modesty... and natural charm o'course
Strengths: Fair decent shot, but prefers being fast on the draw. Very skilled working undercover, running informants and turning perps.
Weaknesses: Feels responsible for all problems around him. Almost too willing to sacrifice ideals for solutions. Overly secretive, unnecessarily so. Beginning to develop paranoia from time spent undercover.
Personality: Detective Shanks isn't your usual corrupt cop. He's just a man who isn't afraid to use the full range of tools available to him. So, if an unrepentant hitman escapes conviction, perhaps his enemies in a rival family will find themselves in possession of the address of his safe house, and the hitman will likely find himself plugged in the head. If that means a turf war over the port's racketeering is getting out of hand, a police task force might find some overly convenient evidence in a raid, allowing them to pull both gangs off the street.
Yes, he wines and dines with the some of the biggest names in organised crime, either as a detective who can provide them with 'solutions', or in a guise as part of their syndicates. Yes, the occasional envelope of squeaky clean bills finds its way into his hands, but its not a bribe, because he's just as likely to throw that money back into his one-man crusade. If clean, quiet, out of sight, non-violent crime is a hallmark of success, then Shanks is winning his battle.
The ends, however, will always justify the means; without this thought, the Detective would never sleep.
Fear: Seeing his work undone. Seeing his willingness to compromise with the bad guys turned against him by the really bad guys. Not being able to solve the problems, no matter what he does. Ultimately, failing, and knowing that he didn't fail with honour.
Vice: Pride. Shanks is immensely proud of the work he does. He isn't corrupt for the greed, (he doesn't even see himself as corrupt) its not for the money, the power, or the status. He's willing to work both sides of the law, because its the best way to keep everything controlled and orderly. And the situation he's created, where everything works, the pride he takes in that, is his vice.
Bio: Still coming
EDIT: Personality and appearance updated.
Wow, really? ...Thanks! I have a fan! God, that's a really good feeling! I wish you the best of luck in the competition, young man! (Now, wouldn't it be deliciously ironic if we were matched against each other? I kind of hope that doesn't happen, as the laws of dramatic effect state that I'd have to lose and be surpassed by you in such a situation...)Soothsayer said:
Yaay for last minute oh-shit-I-still-need-to-do-this-character-thingy stuff.
Apologies for such a late arrival, I do hope this is okay.
Apologies for length of intro, I have a tendency of over doing stuff like this, especially when there's dialogue involved (as soon as I start to use dialogue everything becomes dialogue and dialogue alone with a little bit more dialogue for the fun of it).
If anyone has any issues with his powers then tell me and I'll try and explain it better (I'm a bit skeptical about travelling through memories myself). If Krunk or enough other players have any major disagreements or issues over my character then I'll simply drop out of the competition, as I won't have the time to change it tomorrow.
Heh. Allllllll riiiiiight. [http://cory.iamftw.com/winningestfolder/quagmire.jpg]
Also, Krunk, quoting someone in a spoiler doesn't notify them. So venom 3135 won't have been notified of your quote [http://www.escapistmagazine.com/forums/read/362.228220-The-Ratings-War-V-Original-Sin-Entries-Close-September-9?page=3#8071532] about character pics. And take Ultrajoe off the list, he's not competing [http://www.escapistmagazine.com/forums/read/362.228220-The-Ratings-War-V-Original-Sin-Entries-Close-September-9#7868378].
And now for about five hours of sleep before getting up for College. Wooh.
Apologies for such a late arrival, I do hope this is okay.
Name: Charles Taylor
Nickname: The Drifter
Age: 941, or something along those lines. When you're more than five centuries old the years start to blur between each other.
Appearance: Taller than average, with a fairly impressive height of 6'5". A good word to describe him is 'lanky', with the combination of his height and the fact that he is slightly thinner on average going on thin. His build is more of an athletic one than a strong build, though that has started to worsen with age. Skin is Caucasian, though it's lost a lot of its creamy colour by now, slowly turning grey -- although there are surprisingly few wrinkles. If you get the chance to see his arms then do note the numerous, deep scars that transverse them. He has short, very dark brown hair which is usually very messy whenever people see it and brown eyes. To top it off, his head is average size, but with bony cheeks and chin.
Clothing: He is only ever seen wearing a white, long-sleeved shirt which seems to never ever get dirty if left for long enough, a black waistcoat and black, full-length trousers (like the ones you wear with a suit). Underneath the shirt and waistcoat is some light armour, consisting of a leather chest plate with thick, leather pads. His shoes are black, formal and as shiny as they would be if they were polished just yesterday. Finally, a black, 'Zorro-style [http://www.mattwardman.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/20070405-zorro-head.gif]' hat to cover up his head completes the picture.
Weapons: Charles has a silver samurai sword on him which is enchanted with magic of unknown origins or means of creation. The blade will never break regardless of what pressure is put on it, nor will it rust from salt, or lose its shine or edge from wear and use. Also, the blade can grow to any size Charles wishes it to, from unbelievable lengths to a short dagger or even a simple handle on its own. However, if anyone other than Charles were to try and use it in combat, they would find the blade shatter beyond their repair at the first blow they deliver with it.
Powers: This is where Charles' nickname 'The Drifter' comes in. He has an ability to travel between many worlds, be those realistic ones or fictional ones. He is able to travel into people's dreams, imaginations and memories, exist in them as if he was always a part of that world and interact with its inhabitants accordingly -- the exception to this rule is for memories, where by restraint he can't change anything beyond his existence there unless the person whose memories he is inhabiting willingly distorts what actually happened (what they remember as happening is different from what actually happened), at which point it becomes imagination and all's fair.
Strengths: Charles can run fast. Really, very fast. He is also an experienced swordfighter and has great reaction timings, which make close-up combat a major advantage for him. He also has a very powerful mind, and people who have tried to control his mind in the past have become lost or driven insane by the complexities of both his conscious and sub-conscious thoughts.
Weaknesses: Whilst age hasn't affected him visibly too much, his physical capabilities do have some limitations. Too much running or too much intense fighting can cause him to lose a lot of energy, as can using his sword when it's larger than most swords. He is also inexperienced with guns and long-ranged weaponry, always preferring melee weapons where possible. Although they're not too bad, his bones are also a bit weaker than those of the average human.
Personality: He is naturally indifferent or nihilistic towards the rest of the worlds. He never puts too much effort into caring about the creatures he meets simply because there would be far too many for even him to comprehend. However, chances are you'll never realise this unless he explains it to you himself. Most people just don't notice him, yet if people do put the effort in to not just notice but interact then he will in turn pretend to care enough to respond accordingly.
Fears: One of the closest things he has to a fear is that of boredom. He could never live a repetitive lifestyle; he would simply go insane and how inane and dull his world would become from that. Similarly, his biggest fear is that of being trapped. The inability to move and roam freely as he so chooses whilst at the same time remaining conscious is a concept that he dislikes to the point that he would prefer death over such a thought.
Vice: Probably wrath. Such a vice comes with a heartless character.
Bio: Charles was a creature created by an extraordinarily talented mage, initially as a test to create a superior type of human being. However, after the test proved a success, the mage wasn't given much of a chance to develop on his masterpiece as he was found and killed for using magic in such controversial and inhumane ways. Sadly, all the notes and equipment the mage had ever so much as used or created were destroyed and his laboratory was burned down for the benefit of humanity, Charles and the sword were the only things that survived the fire.
In order to avoid being caught, Charles Taylor changed what other people knew him as to The Drifter and started to travel. Refusing to settle down, he became a bit of a common occurrence and a legend in his own right. Villagers often told the story of 'The Drifter': a man in his early twenties appearing around the globe and visiting their own town, sometimes whole decades between sightings, yet looking the same all the time. There were occasionally extreme people, who would try and follow him wherever he went, but those were few and easily taken care of; typically people just never noticed him in the crowd until it was too late to double-check.
It wasn't too long before he grew tired of just this one world; that was when he discovered his ability to drift through worlds in both a physical sense and a mental sense. It wasn't long before he started knowing which minds to go for: Children's minds were full of imagination which was good for a laugh or two, whilst adults were best for the memories. Memories were always the riskiest, though. Memories can leave an impact and persuade people to think otherwise, which is why you typically won't notice him in your memories unless you put enough effort in -- Maybe he's the weird distant relative you remember seeing at your cousin's wedding, whom despite almost definitely attending the event appears in no photos of the ceremony or the reception afterwards. Or maybe he was the person out of the corner of your eye, who you distinctly remember sitting in your aunt's favourite armchair at the family reunion.
Centuries passed, and people started to lose interest in him beyond a few conspiracy theorists. Whoever this Drifter was, they weren't going to make themselves clear to the public, so the public grew tired of trying to find him. What started off as a legend became a crack theory, people lost faith and sightings severely dropped as a result.
Saying that, however, he is still around. He has changed his sense in fashion over time, but his general appearance hasn't changed for almost 930 years, beyond his skin losing a bit of its colour and the various scars across his arms from thousands of fights. According to various blog sites dedicated to the phenomenon that is The Drifter, he was last ever spotted in Southern Florida, but there is a very high chance that he has moved on to different places since then.
Nickname: The Drifter
Age: 941, or something along those lines. When you're more than five centuries old the years start to blur between each other.
Appearance: Taller than average, with a fairly impressive height of 6'5". A good word to describe him is 'lanky', with the combination of his height and the fact that he is slightly thinner on average going on thin. His build is more of an athletic one than a strong build, though that has started to worsen with age. Skin is Caucasian, though it's lost a lot of its creamy colour by now, slowly turning grey -- although there are surprisingly few wrinkles. If you get the chance to see his arms then do note the numerous, deep scars that transverse them. He has short, very dark brown hair which is usually very messy whenever people see it and brown eyes. To top it off, his head is average size, but with bony cheeks and chin.
Clothing: He is only ever seen wearing a white, long-sleeved shirt which seems to never ever get dirty if left for long enough, a black waistcoat and black, full-length trousers (like the ones you wear with a suit). Underneath the shirt and waistcoat is some light armour, consisting of a leather chest plate with thick, leather pads. His shoes are black, formal and as shiny as they would be if they were polished just yesterday. Finally, a black, 'Zorro-style [http://www.mattwardman.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/20070405-zorro-head.gif]' hat to cover up his head completes the picture.
Weapons: Charles has a silver samurai sword on him which is enchanted with magic of unknown origins or means of creation. The blade will never break regardless of what pressure is put on it, nor will it rust from salt, or lose its shine or edge from wear and use. Also, the blade can grow to any size Charles wishes it to, from unbelievable lengths to a short dagger or even a simple handle on its own. However, if anyone other than Charles were to try and use it in combat, they would find the blade shatter beyond their repair at the first blow they deliver with it.
Powers: This is where Charles' nickname 'The Drifter' comes in. He has an ability to travel between many worlds, be those realistic ones or fictional ones. He is able to travel into people's dreams, imaginations and memories, exist in them as if he was always a part of that world and interact with its inhabitants accordingly -- the exception to this rule is for memories, where by restraint he can't change anything beyond his existence there unless the person whose memories he is inhabiting willingly distorts what actually happened (what they remember as happening is different from what actually happened), at which point it becomes imagination and all's fair.
Strengths: Charles can run fast. Really, very fast. He is also an experienced swordfighter and has great reaction timings, which make close-up combat a major advantage for him. He also has a very powerful mind, and people who have tried to control his mind in the past have become lost or driven insane by the complexities of both his conscious and sub-conscious thoughts.
Weaknesses: Whilst age hasn't affected him visibly too much, his physical capabilities do have some limitations. Too much running or too much intense fighting can cause him to lose a lot of energy, as can using his sword when it's larger than most swords. He is also inexperienced with guns and long-ranged weaponry, always preferring melee weapons where possible. Although they're not too bad, his bones are also a bit weaker than those of the average human.
Personality: He is naturally indifferent or nihilistic towards the rest of the worlds. He never puts too much effort into caring about the creatures he meets simply because there would be far too many for even him to comprehend. However, chances are you'll never realise this unless he explains it to you himself. Most people just don't notice him, yet if people do put the effort in to not just notice but interact then he will in turn pretend to care enough to respond accordingly.
Fears: One of the closest things he has to a fear is that of boredom. He could never live a repetitive lifestyle; he would simply go insane and how inane and dull his world would become from that. Similarly, his biggest fear is that of being trapped. The inability to move and roam freely as he so chooses whilst at the same time remaining conscious is a concept that he dislikes to the point that he would prefer death over such a thought.
Vice: Probably wrath. Such a vice comes with a heartless character.
Bio: Charles was a creature created by an extraordinarily talented mage, initially as a test to create a superior type of human being. However, after the test proved a success, the mage wasn't given much of a chance to develop on his masterpiece as he was found and killed for using magic in such controversial and inhumane ways. Sadly, all the notes and equipment the mage had ever so much as used or created were destroyed and his laboratory was burned down for the benefit of humanity, Charles and the sword were the only things that survived the fire.
In order to avoid being caught, Charles Taylor changed what other people knew him as to The Drifter and started to travel. Refusing to settle down, he became a bit of a common occurrence and a legend in his own right. Villagers often told the story of 'The Drifter': a man in his early twenties appearing around the globe and visiting their own town, sometimes whole decades between sightings, yet looking the same all the time. There were occasionally extreme people, who would try and follow him wherever he went, but those were few and easily taken care of; typically people just never noticed him in the crowd until it was too late to double-check.
It wasn't too long before he grew tired of just this one world; that was when he discovered his ability to drift through worlds in both a physical sense and a mental sense. It wasn't long before he started knowing which minds to go for: Children's minds were full of imagination which was good for a laugh or two, whilst adults were best for the memories. Memories were always the riskiest, though. Memories can leave an impact and persuade people to think otherwise, which is why you typically won't notice him in your memories unless you put enough effort in -- Maybe he's the weird distant relative you remember seeing at your cousin's wedding, whom despite almost definitely attending the event appears in no photos of the ceremony or the reception afterwards. Or maybe he was the person out of the corner of your eye, who you distinctly remember sitting in your aunt's favourite armchair at the family reunion.
Centuries passed, and people started to lose interest in him beyond a few conspiracy theorists. Whoever this Drifter was, they weren't going to make themselves clear to the public, so the public grew tired of trying to find him. What started off as a legend became a crack theory, people lost faith and sightings severely dropped as a result.
Saying that, however, he is still around. He has changed his sense in fashion over time, but his general appearance hasn't changed for almost 930 years, beyond his skin losing a bit of its colour and the various scars across his arms from thousands of fights. According to various blog sites dedicated to the phenomenon that is The Drifter, he was last ever spotted in Southern Florida, but there is a very high chance that he has moved on to different places since then.
A cold sea wind blew across the beach this night. Tiny fragments of light scattered the sky overhead like glitter, images of blazing orbs from years, even centuries ago. To many people such a grand measurement of time to see such a small image is astonishing, but to the single entity standing by the waves crest on this particular night, it was a length he could easily believe, what with having lived for almost a millennium. The moon was very enticing this night: taking the shape of a Waxing Gibbous, it almost became a spotlight for The Drifter's bony face, exaggerating the paleness of his skin and complimenting the brown colour of his eyes. A welcoming site, the sky was always beautiful out here when all the old people and tourists have disappeared back to their rest homes and holiday inns; it's the main reason why he's stayed in Florida for so long.
A very sudden burst of air blew up the shore and, in accordance with the laws of Physics, The Drifter's hat attempted to take off before the string round his neck caused it to simply fall down onto his back. As usual, his two inch long, dark hair stuck up in all directions as it revealed itself to the world. He glanced down at his shoes, before looking forward to the retracting tide. He planted his hat correctly again and turned away from the coast; it was time to move on to different places for the night.
Climbing onto the sidewalk, he noted how this was actually the calmest of the nights he had been staying here. Hell, if it wasn't for the Information Points at regular intervals, he wouldn't have been surprised to realise that he had unconsciously entered another world. Turning a right into a small alleyway, this was about to change entirely.
A young man of no more than twenty was walking the other way, wearing enough branded clothing that it was surprising to discover that the man wasn't being paid to wear it. However, it ended up being the young man who sniggered instead. The Drifter looked the boy in the eyes.
"What are you laughing at exactly?"
"What do you think?" The young man in combat trousers and a T-Shirt walked up to The Drifter and looked back. "You. Do you still think it's 1940 or something?"
The Drifter had a look of confusion on his face. "Well, no-"
"Hey, careful what you say." The Drifter caught the flash of a pistol in the man's pocket. "I don't want you getting hurt now."
"Well, to be honest, I doubt you could even try and harm me." The Drifter reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out the hilt of a samurai sword. At this point footsteps could be heard round the building, but this detail was ignored in favour of focus on on the twenty year old, who was now having fits of laughter at the sight of just the hilt of a sword.
"I'm sorry, but what the fuck is up with your sword?! Did you break it?" He was almost bent over in tears, whilst The Drifter remained as still as a statue, the hilt of the sword still pointing at the young man. The footsteps were getting louder.
"I wouldn't laugh, if I were you."
"Yeah?" He wiped a few tears from his eyes. "And what are you gonna do, stab me with tha-"
Unfortunately, he could never finish his sentence, as what he said was cut short by a five feet long blade erupting from the hilt of The Drifter's sword and going straight through the man's gut. "Actually, that was exactly what I was going to do." Bringing the in an upwards motion, he sliced through the neck of this passerby and blood spilled out of the main artery all over the street. A slow clap started coming from around the corner, as well as the footsteps.
"Well done. That was some impressive use of your weapon, I must say, Mr. Taylor." The Drifter span around. He faced a black man of average height and large build, wearing a blue suit and tie, with an insanely optimistic facial expression completed by joyous, round glasses.
"Who are you? What are you doing here? How do you know my name?"
The stranger carried on walking towards The Drifter. "None of that is of any relevance for now, Mr. Taylor. All we ask is that you come with us and we can get this all over and done with."
The Drifter wasn't satisfied. "...we?"
"Ah, yeah. You see, when I said 'ask', what I meant was, well..." Another, smaller, much more athletic black man wearing only jeans and a vest appeared from round the corner again, this time with a gun in his hands. The Drifter didn't need any more of an incentive to leave. Running into the network of alleys, he kept his eyes open for ways out, and his ears open for gun shots. Eventually, he turned a corner into a small gap between two buildings where a dumpster and drainpipe were left next to an open window. Through the open window he could already sense a portal into another world.
Perfect! Taking two rungs at a time, he scaled the drainpipe in a matter of seconds, before looking into the window. The window led to a bedroom, with a variety of posters covering the walls and the bed absolutely flooded with toys -- most notably, a giant, soft lion and cuddly giraffe underneath the blanket, by the little girl. And in the bed was a sleeping girl, no more than six years old, sleeping away, dreaming of another world. It was by far the best solution available.
"Oh come now, Mr. Taylor. Don't force us to do something we regret-" The two black men looked up to see The Drifter standing outside an open window. "Quick! Shoot him before he enters!" But alas, it was too late: The Drifter had transformed into a dark purple image of himself, from that image into a violet-coloured gas and in that gas form entered the room and world of the girl's dream.
"Damn it!" The larger of the men reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. "Hello? Boss? Yeah. Yeah, we're on it. Yeah, look, he's just entered another world. Yeah. Yeah, okay. Okay, yeah. I know. Look, we'll do our best, okay? Alright." He hung up the phone and turned to his partner. "Okay, Johnny? Here's what we're going to do."
[hr]
There was sunlight. That was the first thing The Drifter noticed about this new world. Saying that, it was a child's dream; sunlight is a common characteristic of them. He appeared to be standing in a green field, with forest trees surrounding the edges and flowers of all shapes and colours scattered amongst the grass.
It was then that he noticed something pulling on his trouser leg. Turning around, he glanced down at a girl, approximately 3' tall with long brown hair and big blues eyes, wearing a pink dress staring up with astonishment at the stranger.
"What's your name?" The girl asked, curiously.
"My name, you say?" The Drifter looked around, then back down at the girl. "My name is Charles. And you are...?"
"Hello, Charles." The girl stuck out her hand. "My name is Alice."
Charles shook the hand and forced a smile out. "Alice, huh? Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Alice.
There was a short period of silence. "Soooo, you wanna play?" Alice pointed towards a table a few metres away from where they were standing.
"Play?" Charles mumbled to himself. He laughed. "Sure. Why not?" And with that, Alice guided him towards where she was playing with her favourite toys.
[hr]
The lock to the apartment was easy enough to break -- a good, solid kick managed to wreak that thing beyond use, not that a lock that weak would've been much use anyway. However, when a parent wakes up to the sound of her door's lock viciously breaking in a crash of splintering metal, it took a lot of reasoning and eventually pure force for the two men to make their way to the little girl's bedroom.
Slamming the bedroom door to create as much noise as possible, the little girl arose to see two strangers armed with guns pointing at her head. This just became a situation of distress for two people.
"Put your guns away from my daughter."
"Ma'am, please don't move. We've got this all under control-"
"Get your guns away from my daughter!" At this point the girl, sat up in her bed started crying and calling for her mother to be by her side. The mother's face turned to sympathy.
"Don't worry, sweetie, everything will be just right." She went back to her stern face. "Get your guns away from her right now before I call the cops and have you arrested!"
"Ma'am, please. We don't want to shoot your daughter; we just need to be ready."
The mother started to become curious. "...Ready for what?"
[hr]
Charles joined Alice at the table in the field where she was having tea and biscuits with her toy lion and her toy giraffe. They drank delicious tea out of very small, plastic tea-cups and talked about things. Charles mostly listened to Alice's anecdotes on her life in the real world, and she laughed at some of the brilliant jokes Mr. Lion would occasionally tell. Charles didn't feel like contributing much to the conversation, though. He didn't want to depress someone so young with his thoughts.
Everything was going well until Alice decided to do another round on the tea, at which point the tea-pot dropped to the floor, spilling tea everywhere as Alice suddenly disappeared. Charles' face became concerned.
The girl must have regained consciousness. But why so suddenly? The thought struck him. Oh no. He looked around the table and thought back to the real world. Those guys. Could they be... threatening her to force me out? He didn't have much concern for Alice's life, but if she died then he would be killed off with this world. I need to escape, but she conscious. Escaping now would frighten the living daylights out of her. He finally stood up. Oh well, it's not as if I have any other choice.
[hr]
"...Ready for what?-"
Alice's mouth suddenly locked itself wide open, and her eyes became giant, white balls of light. A few tears started to fall from her cheek onto her pink and white pyjamas. Her mother was in an even worse state, starting to lash out on the larger of the two men in the room. "What have you done to my daughter!?"
"Ma'am, please! Calm down, this will all be over in a minute." Restraining the mother from doing anything crazy, the watched as a violet gas appeared out of Alice's nostrils and mouth, before forming above her head into a much more solid shape. Details started to appear of a body, then an image of a lanky man wearing a dinner suit and hat took over. And at last, Charles Taylor, The Drifter, appeared in mid-air. He immediately recognised the two men in the room, and then saw the guns each of them were holding.
Shit!
The guns fired. Metal tranquiliser pellets soared through the air and straight into The Drifter's arms. The force of the pellets sent him backwards, smashing through the window to land unconscious on the dumpster below. The two men looked out the window, and the larger one with the glasses reached for his phone.
"Boss? Yeah, we've got him. We've got the legendary Charles 'The Drifter' Taylor."
[hr]
Charles eventually woke up tied up in a wooden chair with a painful amount of splinters in the armrests, stuck in the middle of some warehouse. Sweat and fish dominated his senses of smell, polluting the air around him and the heat was unbearable. This was made worse by Charles' restraint; he was getting close to panicking over his imprisonment. Worst of all, there was a feeling of something missing from his trouser pocket. "My sword!" He screamed at the top of his voice: "Where the Hell is my Sword!?"
A voice that he didn't seem to recognise came from the shadows. "Your sword is safe, Charles Taylor." Three people appeared from the darkness: Two of them were the people who had been chasing him a few hours back, but this third person he couldn't recognise at all. He was, by far the tallest of the group, and wore a blue suit and tie like one of his associates. However, where there was joy and optimism in the face of the largely built man, there was only a serious tone in this man's face.
"Who are you? And why have you brought me here?" Charles asked, trying to be threatening towards them even though he was at a severe disadvantage. The trio weren't fooled by his aggression.
"You don't need to know who we are. As for why we've kidnapped you, that we can answer." This third man was obviously the leader of the group, and started to walk round the chair Charles was stuck in. "We've heard a lot of stories about you. Charles Taylor, The Drifter. A man who can travel not just in this world, but in people's minds; A man who has slain many a creature without a care in the world, and only armed with one sword; A man who has lived for over 900 years. You are quite the celebrity, you know."
After completing a full circle of the seat, the leader faced Charles directly. "Anyway, the reason why we have taken you against your will, is that we want to use your skills. There is a fighting tournament going on soon, with creatures from many a world coming along to fight. If you win this tournament, you could be argued as being the greatest fighter in the World. If we become your manager, all of us could make a lot of money if you win this, and you can be proud of your title as the greatest fighter in the Universe."
"And what if I refuse? What if I decide to escape?"
"Well, you don't really have an option to refuse, Mr. Taylor." The man in the vest and jeans reached into his pocket and pointed a steel pistol at Charles' head. "If you refuse, we shoot. If you try to escape, we will track you down again. And in neither of these situations do we plan on using tranquilisers again, Mr. Taylor."
Placing his palms on the armrests, the leader stared at Charles. "Well? Do we have a deal, 'The Drifter'?"
Charles desperately tried pulling at the ropes around his wrists, but the only effect that had was for the man in jeans to ready the pistol. Regrettably, he nodded his head in compliancy. It's not as if there was anything else he could do.
A very sudden burst of air blew up the shore and, in accordance with the laws of Physics, The Drifter's hat attempted to take off before the string round his neck caused it to simply fall down onto his back. As usual, his two inch long, dark hair stuck up in all directions as it revealed itself to the world. He glanced down at his shoes, before looking forward to the retracting tide. He planted his hat correctly again and turned away from the coast; it was time to move on to different places for the night.
Climbing onto the sidewalk, he noted how this was actually the calmest of the nights he had been staying here. Hell, if it wasn't for the Information Points at regular intervals, he wouldn't have been surprised to realise that he had unconsciously entered another world. Turning a right into a small alleyway, this was about to change entirely.
A young man of no more than twenty was walking the other way, wearing enough branded clothing that it was surprising to discover that the man wasn't being paid to wear it. However, it ended up being the young man who sniggered instead. The Drifter looked the boy in the eyes.
"What are you laughing at exactly?"
"What do you think?" The young man in combat trousers and a T-Shirt walked up to The Drifter and looked back. "You. Do you still think it's 1940 or something?"
The Drifter had a look of confusion on his face. "Well, no-"
"Hey, careful what you say." The Drifter caught the flash of a pistol in the man's pocket. "I don't want you getting hurt now."
"Well, to be honest, I doubt you could even try and harm me." The Drifter reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out the hilt of a samurai sword. At this point footsteps could be heard round the building, but this detail was ignored in favour of focus on on the twenty year old, who was now having fits of laughter at the sight of just the hilt of a sword.
"I'm sorry, but what the fuck is up with your sword?! Did you break it?" He was almost bent over in tears, whilst The Drifter remained as still as a statue, the hilt of the sword still pointing at the young man. The footsteps were getting louder.
"I wouldn't laugh, if I were you."
"Yeah?" He wiped a few tears from his eyes. "And what are you gonna do, stab me with tha-"
Unfortunately, he could never finish his sentence, as what he said was cut short by a five feet long blade erupting from the hilt of The Drifter's sword and going straight through the man's gut. "Actually, that was exactly what I was going to do." Bringing the in an upwards motion, he sliced through the neck of this passerby and blood spilled out of the main artery all over the street. A slow clap started coming from around the corner, as well as the footsteps.
"Well done. That was some impressive use of your weapon, I must say, Mr. Taylor." The Drifter span around. He faced a black man of average height and large build, wearing a blue suit and tie, with an insanely optimistic facial expression completed by joyous, round glasses.
"Who are you? What are you doing here? How do you know my name?"
The stranger carried on walking towards The Drifter. "None of that is of any relevance for now, Mr. Taylor. All we ask is that you come with us and we can get this all over and done with."
The Drifter wasn't satisfied. "...we?"
"Ah, yeah. You see, when I said 'ask', what I meant was, well..." Another, smaller, much more athletic black man wearing only jeans and a vest appeared from round the corner again, this time with a gun in his hands. The Drifter didn't need any more of an incentive to leave. Running into the network of alleys, he kept his eyes open for ways out, and his ears open for gun shots. Eventually, he turned a corner into a small gap between two buildings where a dumpster and drainpipe were left next to an open window. Through the open window he could already sense a portal into another world.
Perfect! Taking two rungs at a time, he scaled the drainpipe in a matter of seconds, before looking into the window. The window led to a bedroom, with a variety of posters covering the walls and the bed absolutely flooded with toys -- most notably, a giant, soft lion and cuddly giraffe underneath the blanket, by the little girl. And in the bed was a sleeping girl, no more than six years old, sleeping away, dreaming of another world. It was by far the best solution available.
"Oh come now, Mr. Taylor. Don't force us to do something we regret-" The two black men looked up to see The Drifter standing outside an open window. "Quick! Shoot him before he enters!" But alas, it was too late: The Drifter had transformed into a dark purple image of himself, from that image into a violet-coloured gas and in that gas form entered the room and world of the girl's dream.
"Damn it!" The larger of the men reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. "Hello? Boss? Yeah. Yeah, we're on it. Yeah, look, he's just entered another world. Yeah. Yeah, okay. Okay, yeah. I know. Look, we'll do our best, okay? Alright." He hung up the phone and turned to his partner. "Okay, Johnny? Here's what we're going to do."
[hr]
There was sunlight. That was the first thing The Drifter noticed about this new world. Saying that, it was a child's dream; sunlight is a common characteristic of them. He appeared to be standing in a green field, with forest trees surrounding the edges and flowers of all shapes and colours scattered amongst the grass.
It was then that he noticed something pulling on his trouser leg. Turning around, he glanced down at a girl, approximately 3' tall with long brown hair and big blues eyes, wearing a pink dress staring up with astonishment at the stranger.
"What's your name?" The girl asked, curiously.
"My name, you say?" The Drifter looked around, then back down at the girl. "My name is Charles. And you are...?"
"Hello, Charles." The girl stuck out her hand. "My name is Alice."
Charles shook the hand and forced a smile out. "Alice, huh? Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Alice.
There was a short period of silence. "Soooo, you wanna play?" Alice pointed towards a table a few metres away from where they were standing.
"Play?" Charles mumbled to himself. He laughed. "Sure. Why not?" And with that, Alice guided him towards where she was playing with her favourite toys.
[hr]
The lock to the apartment was easy enough to break -- a good, solid kick managed to wreak that thing beyond use, not that a lock that weak would've been much use anyway. However, when a parent wakes up to the sound of her door's lock viciously breaking in a crash of splintering metal, it took a lot of reasoning and eventually pure force for the two men to make their way to the little girl's bedroom.
Slamming the bedroom door to create as much noise as possible, the little girl arose to see two strangers armed with guns pointing at her head. This just became a situation of distress for two people.
"Put your guns away from my daughter."
"Ma'am, please don't move. We've got this all under control-"
"Get your guns away from my daughter!" At this point the girl, sat up in her bed started crying and calling for her mother to be by her side. The mother's face turned to sympathy.
"Don't worry, sweetie, everything will be just right." She went back to her stern face. "Get your guns away from her right now before I call the cops and have you arrested!"
"Ma'am, please. We don't want to shoot your daughter; we just need to be ready."
The mother started to become curious. "...Ready for what?"
[hr]
Charles joined Alice at the table in the field where she was having tea and biscuits with her toy lion and her toy giraffe. They drank delicious tea out of very small, plastic tea-cups and talked about things. Charles mostly listened to Alice's anecdotes on her life in the real world, and she laughed at some of the brilliant jokes Mr. Lion would occasionally tell. Charles didn't feel like contributing much to the conversation, though. He didn't want to depress someone so young with his thoughts.
Everything was going well until Alice decided to do another round on the tea, at which point the tea-pot dropped to the floor, spilling tea everywhere as Alice suddenly disappeared. Charles' face became concerned.
The girl must have regained consciousness. But why so suddenly? The thought struck him. Oh no. He looked around the table and thought back to the real world. Those guys. Could they be... threatening her to force me out? He didn't have much concern for Alice's life, but if she died then he would be killed off with this world. I need to escape, but she conscious. Escaping now would frighten the living daylights out of her. He finally stood up. Oh well, it's not as if I have any other choice.
[hr]
"...Ready for what?-"
Alice's mouth suddenly locked itself wide open, and her eyes became giant, white balls of light. A few tears started to fall from her cheek onto her pink and white pyjamas. Her mother was in an even worse state, starting to lash out on the larger of the two men in the room. "What have you done to my daughter!?"
"Ma'am, please! Calm down, this will all be over in a minute." Restraining the mother from doing anything crazy, the watched as a violet gas appeared out of Alice's nostrils and mouth, before forming above her head into a much more solid shape. Details started to appear of a body, then an image of a lanky man wearing a dinner suit and hat took over. And at last, Charles Taylor, The Drifter, appeared in mid-air. He immediately recognised the two men in the room, and then saw the guns each of them were holding.
Shit!
The guns fired. Metal tranquiliser pellets soared through the air and straight into The Drifter's arms. The force of the pellets sent him backwards, smashing through the window to land unconscious on the dumpster below. The two men looked out the window, and the larger one with the glasses reached for his phone.
"Boss? Yeah, we've got him. We've got the legendary Charles 'The Drifter' Taylor."
[hr]
Charles eventually woke up tied up in a wooden chair with a painful amount of splinters in the armrests, stuck in the middle of some warehouse. Sweat and fish dominated his senses of smell, polluting the air around him and the heat was unbearable. This was made worse by Charles' restraint; he was getting close to panicking over his imprisonment. Worst of all, there was a feeling of something missing from his trouser pocket. "My sword!" He screamed at the top of his voice: "Where the Hell is my Sword!?"
A voice that he didn't seem to recognise came from the shadows. "Your sword is safe, Charles Taylor." Three people appeared from the darkness: Two of them were the people who had been chasing him a few hours back, but this third person he couldn't recognise at all. He was, by far the tallest of the group, and wore a blue suit and tie like one of his associates. However, where there was joy and optimism in the face of the largely built man, there was only a serious tone in this man's face.
"Who are you? And why have you brought me here?" Charles asked, trying to be threatening towards them even though he was at a severe disadvantage. The trio weren't fooled by his aggression.
"You don't need to know who we are. As for why we've kidnapped you, that we can answer." This third man was obviously the leader of the group, and started to walk round the chair Charles was stuck in. "We've heard a lot of stories about you. Charles Taylor, The Drifter. A man who can travel not just in this world, but in people's minds; A man who has slain many a creature without a care in the world, and only armed with one sword; A man who has lived for over 900 years. You are quite the celebrity, you know."
After completing a full circle of the seat, the leader faced Charles directly. "Anyway, the reason why we have taken you against your will, is that we want to use your skills. There is a fighting tournament going on soon, with creatures from many a world coming along to fight. If you win this tournament, you could be argued as being the greatest fighter in the World. If we become your manager, all of us could make a lot of money if you win this, and you can be proud of your title as the greatest fighter in the Universe."
"And what if I refuse? What if I decide to escape?"
"Well, you don't really have an option to refuse, Mr. Taylor." The man in the vest and jeans reached into his pocket and pointed a steel pistol at Charles' head. "If you refuse, we shoot. If you try to escape, we will track you down again. And in neither of these situations do we plan on using tranquilisers again, Mr. Taylor."
Placing his palms on the armrests, the leader stared at Charles. "Well? Do we have a deal, 'The Drifter'?"
Charles desperately tried pulling at the ropes around his wrists, but the only effect that had was for the man in jeans to ready the pistol. Regrettably, he nodded his head in compliancy. It's not as if there was anything else he could do.
Apologies for length of intro, I have a tendency of over doing stuff like this, especially when there's dialogue involved (as soon as I start to use dialogue everything becomes dialogue and dialogue alone with a little bit more dialogue for the fun of it).
Heh. Allllllll riiiiiight. [http://cory.iamftw.com/winningestfolder/quagmire.jpg]
Also, Krunk, quoting someone in a spoiler doesn't notify them. So venom 3135 won't have been notified of your quote [http://www.escapistmagazine.com/forums/read/362.228220-The-Ratings-War-V-Original-Sin-Entries-Close-September-9?page=3#8071532] about character pics. And take Ultrajoe off the list, he's not competing [http://www.escapistmagazine.com/forums/read/362.228220-The-Ratings-War-V-Original-Sin-Entries-Close-September-9#7868378].
And now for about five hours of sleep before getting up for College. Wooh.
Duly noted, I'll send him a PM.Zombie_Fish said:
Way ahead of ya. Ultrajoe might have some surprises in store for us yet.
I've just remembered how crafty [http://www.escapistmagazine.com/forums/read/18.108007-Escapism-Sydney-09-Labyrinths-Tale-The-Second#1809019] the Ultrajoe is. You may be onto something here.Lord Krunk said:
I'm sorry if me saying that came off in a different tone than I planned it to. I was also going for a more humour than serious tone to that message. First of all I've watched the last few Ratings Wars on and off and was blown away by the writings, this is the first one that I've actually wanted to participate with. When I see this thread I think quality and me being nervous I broke the ice by trying to make that joke. In short I'm not, like scared shitless in the corner, I just know that this contest so to speak, has traditionally had a lot of high quality writing and I'd rather not be the exception to that rule.The_Logician19 said:
Less than a day to go, guys. 16 confirmed with 2 pending. The cast so far:
Fallen-Angel-Risen-Demon: Digaina (Pride)
RagnorakTres: That Which Bleeds (Wrath)
NewClassic: Harold (Sloth)
HSIAMetalKing: Eurania (Gluttony)
Jarsteen: Leviathan (Envy)
Sam G: The Gold King (Greed)
The_Logician19: Dragon (Gluttony)
Soothsayer: Beauxhart (Greed, Envy, Wrath)
Fraught: Chance Connie (Wrath)
Lost In The Void: Frederic (Wrath, Envy)
Shapsters: Ryan (Envy)
Zemalac: Kliss (Wrath/Pride)
pigeon_of_doom: Carl (Envy)
revolverwolf: Amelia and Henry (Greed)
Zombie_Fish: Charles (Wrath)
Armitage Shanks: Shanks (Pride)
Crowghast: Pending
Ultrajoe: Pending
If @Crowghast can get his in ASAP that would be great, but I'm closing the entrances and beginning the main event tomorrow.
And @Zombie_Fish: After reading your entry I can drduce that it's fine. There should be no problems with your character.
Fallen-Angel-Risen-Demon: Digaina (Pride)
RagnorakTres: That Which Bleeds (Wrath)
NewClassic: Harold (Sloth)
HSIAMetalKing: Eurania (Gluttony)
Jarsteen: Leviathan (Envy)
Sam G: The Gold King (Greed)
The_Logician19: Dragon (Gluttony)
Soothsayer: Beauxhart (Greed, Envy, Wrath)
Fraught: Chance Connie (Wrath)
Lost In The Void: Frederic (Wrath, Envy)
Shapsters: Ryan (Envy)
Zemalac: Kliss (Wrath/Pride)
pigeon_of_doom: Carl (Envy)
revolverwolf: Amelia and Henry (Greed)
Zombie_Fish: Charles (Wrath)
Armitage Shanks: Shanks (Pride)
Crowghast: Pending
Ultrajoe: Pending
If @Crowghast can get his in ASAP that would be great, but I'm closing the entrances and beginning the main event tomorrow.
And @Zombie_Fish: After reading your entry I can drduce that it's fine. There should be no problems with your character.
Name: Dan freeman
Nickname: energy
Age: 18
Appearance: Dark brown hair, black eyes, medium body build.
Clothing: He wears an armoured shirt under the cloths seen above.
Weapons: An energy canon.
Powers: He can control gravity. He has an ultimate moved wich crushes his foes in mid-air, in between two beams of gravity.
Strengths: Very strong at ranged combat.
Weaknesses: He's bad at close range combat.
Personality: He is big headed, but sees the best in others as well. Although knid, he doesn't take pity on people.
Fear: Un clear water.
Vice: Wrath
Bioan was born into a rich family that taught him martial arts. He was never good at it. He always got into fights with people, but was best at fighting from far away. After a while, he was outcast from everyone else and was forced to live alone. He changed his ways and became a kind person. He then discovered that he had the ability to control gravity. along with this, he built an energy canon to help fight people who did wrong.
Well, here it is for the second time, with no kaneda.
Although, i'm still not sure why he was turned down. He wasn't a "Fan" character...anyway, there it is.
Nickname: energy
Age: 18
Appearance: Dark brown hair, black eyes, medium body build.
Clothing: He wears an armoured shirt under the cloths seen above.
Weapons: An energy canon.
Powers: He can control gravity. He has an ultimate moved wich crushes his foes in mid-air, in between two beams of gravity.
Strengths: Very strong at ranged combat.
Weaknesses: He's bad at close range combat.
Personality: He is big headed, but sees the best in others as well. Although knid, he doesn't take pity on people.
Fear: Un clear water.
Vice: Wrath
Bio
an was born into a rich family that taught him martial arts. He was never good at it. He always got into fights with people, but was best at fighting from far away. After a while, he was outcast from everyone else and was forced to live alone. He changed his ways and became a kind person. He then discovered that he had the ability to control gravity. along with this, he built an energy canon to help fight people who did wrong.Well, here it is for the second time, with no kaneda.
Although, i'm still not sure why he was turned down. He wasn't a "Fan" character...anyway, there it is.