Time flows strangely for those who can cross the boundaries between universes.
For Arnold Fogge, it had been a few hours since his selected combatant had won the Grand Battle. It had also been five months and sixteen days. It had also been a thousand years.
Regardless of how he chose to measure the time, there was one constant - he was bored now.
Oh, granted, more battles had popped up since the first had begun - or possibly before then, depending on temporal perspective. But those hadn't been the same. He wasn't involved in them. It wasn't even the fact that he had a stake in the outcome; it was his ability to influence the battle, even if only by selecting the most unorthodox contestant.
The fact that said contestant had won the battle was simply the icing on the cake.
Then Fogge's perpetual smile grew slightly wider.
What if he selected eight combatants?
For the course of the Grand Battle, his ability to manipulate the dimensions had been held in check by the Director. But the battle had ended. The restrictions were no longer in place. He was entirely capable of locating fighters for a battle of his own.
Ah, but he would need a suitable identity, wouldn't he? The Director, the Observer, the Composer... for them, it was always about the title. He couldn't simply present himself as Arnold Fogge. No, he would have to be The Something. But what?
He got up from his chair, and by the time he turned around, it had been replaced with a chest. He opened it, and found precisely what he was looking for.
A colorful outfit, a mask, a deck of Tarot cards, and a scepter.
In the space of a moment, he donned them.
The man who was once Arnold Fogge was now The Fool. At least while it suited him to be so.
With that critical task done, he turned his attention to the multiverse, looking for contestants.
And while he was at it, he sought out other beings like himself. After all, he thought, where's the fun in only starting one battle?
Welcome to The Grand Battle Season 3. Thanks to gloomyMoron for the logo!
Most of you with some interest in this are probably aware of the basics by now, and you can check numerous topics (particularly the first battle) for the rules, but I'll go over them again in case anybody's new. There are also a few new points to be covered while we're at it.
There will be eight players. Each of the players submits a character. Those characters will be thrust into a battle to the death, with no advance knowledge. (Unless you can work said advance knowledge into your character concept and I accept it. It has happened before.)
One of the things that makes this game distinctive is that you can write for another player's character if you want them to do something. Just make sure you can justify why they'd do it. ("Because it would be cool!" may work as a justification, but not if they're acting seriously out of character.)
Every round, one character dies, possibly two in the case of severe inactivity or resignations. Ideally this won't happen and we will have seven rounds.
At the end of each round, whichever player has the worst writing will have their character eliminated. As host of this battle, I have the final say in who goes, but I will be looking for opinions from the other players and the readers to guide my decision.
Avoid godmodding, watch out for plot holes, and keep an eye on your spelling and grammar - we aren't total sticklers about that, but we do appreciate polished writing.
Also - you may not kill another character until they have been marked for death. The writer of the respective character gets the first shot at writing their death scene; if they pass it up or take too long, I will either write it myself or pass the duty on to another player.
Related to the above is a new rule, which we have generally been following but I am now going to make explicit. Do not inflict permanent damage to another character without the permission of their player. This doesn't apply to characters who are marked for elimination, but for the rest of the round, contact another player if you want to make their character lose an eye or break their legendary sword. If they aren't up for playing the game that way, then don't try to make them do it.
The most important rule is, make the story interesting. To this end, feel free to plot and scheme with your fellow players, either over PMs or by hopping into #grandbattle on EsperNet. This may technically be a competition, but we tend to play it cooperatively for the sake of getting a better story out of it.
Some tips: Take opportunities to interact with other characters, and even more importantly, take risks with your own character. Passing up chances to get your character in the thick of things can really hurt you in the long run.
Also, we have a lot of characters die due to lack of commitment. Please please PLEASE try to stay active.
And now, the signup sheet!
Username: Yes I know it's on the side of your post, stick it in anyways. It is a tradition, shut up.
Name: Your character's name, obviously.
Gender: Gender. If unusual or not applicable, note this here.
Race: Your species. This can be pretty much anything, and we mean anything. The very first battle was won by an undead vacuum cleaner, and we've had much weirder entrants since. Or you can be a human, that's cool too.
Color: Pick a color that you'll post in, and your character speaks in. Helps differentiate the posts and dialogue. 0034DF is reserved for my use, so make sure it's distinct from that at a glance.
Weapons/Abilities: What crazy things can your character do? What weapons do they have? Maybe the weapons and ability are the same thing, who knows! Basically, here is where you explain how they fight.
Description: Here we want a physical description of your character, as well as an outline of their personality. This is important in helping other characters figure out how to work with yours.
Biography: What did your character do before joining this battle? This is an important section to fill out, because it will give me an idea of how you intend to run the character. I am going to be picking out the characters I find the most interesting after leaving signups open for a day or so, and this section is probably your best chance to sell me on them and give me a sense of how well you'll be writing.
One last thing. There will be eight battles this season. No player may enter more than three battles in this season. As wonderful as all of Malky's characters in S2 were, we want to have a chance at getting some new players involved.
There will also be a championship battle for the winners of the eight regular battles, but that is aaages away.
That's pretty much it! Now, swarm me with characters. I know you've all been waiting for this to start up.
1. Anomaly - Dr. Tengeri Nyoka - #00FF98, background #0070FF - profile
2. Lankie - Murdoch Miles - #000066 - profile
3. Schazer - Benjamin Jetsam - #4B647D - profile
4. Pinary - Tor Kajan - #702020 - profile
5. Lord Paradise - Saint Scofflaw - #003300 - profile
6. Valter - Kerak - #337014 - profile
7. Solaris - Velobo Calidad (aka 2106062) - #9A0000 - profile
8. SleepingOrange - TinTen Naamxe and Huebert Henderson - #333399 - profile
Last edited by Dragon Fogel; 12-19-2011 at 02:58 AM.
Re: Grand Battle Season 3 Game 1! Signups are open!
NERAMIS SCIENCE COALITION
PERSONNEL PROFILE: DR. TENGERI NYOKA
RACE: LEVIATH (See Species Profile A-S-0001)
PERSONNEL BACKGROUND: Tengeri Nyoka was born in Neramis Standard Cycle 2714; Levian Cycle 3826. Typically excelled in education through adolescence, nothing incredibly remarkable until beginning research on basic cybernetic implants in 2733 N.S., shortly after leaving Levian higher education facilities. Designs were heavily modified from various Neramis Alliance designs suited to non-aquatic life, and early prototypes were enough for Ms. Nyoka's acceptance into the NSC. Working with a small team within the Levian branch of the NSC, Dr. Nyoka greatly improved her designs (see Technology Infodoc Le-C-0017 through Le-C-0024), which were released to Levian medical facilities in 2734 N.S. Dr. Nyoka was subsequently placed in charge of her own Cybernetics team (see Infodoc NSC-Le-0074). Further improved designs over the next few cycles advanced Levian cybernetics technology greatly (see Tech. Infodoc Le-C-0025 through Le-C-0051). During development stages of possible Level 7 cybernetic augments in 2739 N.S., Dr. Nyoka was severely injured (see Incident Report I-Le-0389). Dr. Nyoka was deemed fit to return to work within a decicycle due to installation of cybernetic systems (see Infodoc Le-C7-0001), but mysteriously disappeared shortly thereafter (see Incident Report I-Le-0392).
INCIDENT REPORT I-Le-0389
On centicycle 3, decicycle 9 of 2739 N.S., Dr. Nyoka received critical burns from a burst plasma coil of NSC Reactor Le-037. Failure attributed to faulty maintenance; several members of maintenance team assigned to reactor Le-037 discharged immediately. Several parts of Dr. Nyoka's body were entirely vaporized; others were simply severely burned. Dr. Nyoka was immediately brought to on-site medical facility; medical teams were unable to fully stabilize the doctor's condition. One of her hearts had been completely vaporized, the other sustained damage. Subject also sustained critical injuries to respiratory tract as well as less critical structural damage. Only remaining option was to use cybernetic system Le-C-0034, effectively replacing her destroyed heart with a prototypic, though stable power core. Other cybernetic systems were also installed in order to completely stabilize Dr. Nyoka's condition. The doctor temporarily lost ability to speak, and had almost regained speech prior to Incident Le-0389/
Following incident I-Le-0389, Dr. Tengeri Nyoka requested via writing that she personally test experimental cybernetic systems, as follows:
* Telekinetic Enhancement Node: greatly augments Dr. Nyoka's natural telekinesis, allowing her to carry a "bubble" of water with her at all times, ranging from an inch to several feet in its "depth". This effectively allows her to carry a water supply with her above land, in addition to allowing her "flight" up to three meters above the ground. This water can be taken in from virtually any source, and can be freely manipulated. Cybernetic system will likely allow Leviaths to leave their planet and join the NSC proper despite the lack of water.
* Power Core: Powerful energy core which acts as a replacement for Dr. Nyoka's destroyed heart. Additionally supplies power to augmented cybernetic systems; encased in powerful tetra-plated durasteel alloy. System projected to last 500+ cycles without needing replacement, though this is double the lifespan of the average Leviath.
* Cybernetic Eyes: Dr. Nyoka's right eyes were replaced with much more powerful cybernetic ones, enabling her extremely acute vision in multiple emission spectra as well as an advanced HUD which can actively scan the environment and store information.
* [REDACTED - LEVEL 8 CLEARANCE REQUIRED FOR REMAINING ITEMS]
All subsystems seemed in perfect working order after installation, very few faults. Dr. Nyoka was deemed fit for work.
(Or, in traditional format)
Name: Dr. Tengeri Nyoka
Color: #00FF78 on #0080FF
Abilities: Tengeri has the ability to telekinetically carry a "bubble" of water with her at all times, allowing her to survive on land as long as the supply lasts. She can manipulate this water at will, allowing her to "fly" through the air, as well as using it offensively. Use of this water is typically kept to a minimum unless it can be easily reclaimed. She can take in water from any sources within three meters, including, if necessary, the air itself. Her cybernetics facilitate most of this water manipulation; average Leviaths have significantly less telekinetic ability. Tengeri is able to survive no longer than ten minutes without at least a small supply of water. Her cybernetic eyes grant an HUD as well as other simple tasks such as active scans and viewing of multiple emission spectra (visible, infrared, etc.).
Tengeri is a Leviath, essentially a race of sea serpents. About two and a half meters in length, Tengeri possesses various fins but lacks arms. Her species' telekinetic abilities make up for this fact. She has six eyes, though the three on the right side are artificial. Her mouth is full of small, sharp teeth, but due to not-fully-recovered structural damage she is at least temporarily incapable of speech. Much of her body has been destroyed by burns and subsequently replaced by various cybernetics, the power source of which is a small core in the front. She is green-blue in color, with light blue (or, in the case of the cybernetics, red) eyes. Tengeri is surrounded at all times by a field of water, ranging anywhere from an inch to several feet in "depth". Tengeri is usually very amicable, using force only if absolutely necessary.
Colour: This fetching colour right here will do, yes.
Weapon/Abilities: Beth uses the last remaining part of her bounty hunter career as a weapon, something she keeps on her and visable at all time, a Shotgun. The shotgun is always loaded up to 12 shells, but Beth also keeps three shells in her right trouser pocket. Beth has that survival instinct that many animals have in order to survive in the face of utter defeat. She also has a excellent shot with her shotgun. She also has the strength of a troll in order to survive. Beth is also someone who can kill in cold blood, as most of her life was killing someone else.
Beth's mind is focused on one thing since fleeing Figaro, and that is Survival. Whilst she'll try to make sure she's not a huge target in anything, she will often do very unethical things in order to survive, such as pushing a child in front of her to stop a bullet. When she does tal
Biography: The first thing to note about Beth, or Beth, is that she was never “born” as such. Probably, she shouldn't of been born at all. The King Family, going back twenty years, had a daughter, a red head by the name of Megan. Megan was nine twenty years ago, born to Ale King and Dia King néé Shepard. Both had jobs that gave them a sizeable income. Ale was a scientist, a bioligist and Dia was a Bounty hunter, not famous but she got the job done. In the countryside, they owned a rather large estate property.
Then Ale King stumbled onto Cloning, perfect copies. The Scientific community in the dimension considered this to be unethical, and despite threats from some of the most serious members of the scientific community, he carried on with the cloning resarch. This was his one and only mistake, as he found out one march night. Coming home, he found that his house had police tape around it. Dia and Megan were dead.
Ale, unable to be alone, used DNA From various sources, to create a daughter that he could love. However, on seeing the end result, he knew he had gone mad with Grief. He dumped Beth in the hands of a man know by his codename of Figaro.
Officially Joining at the age of 7, she was given no special treatment what's so ever, apart from a shot leg. To start, Beth was no better than the average bounty hunter. But because she was one of the few bounty hunters to survive for more than ten missons, she began to learn more and became a quick cold harsh hunter. By the time she reached the age of 17, she had an impressive total of 368 missions completed.
The age of 19, Beth tried to uprise against Figaro. Through out her career he had been trying to kill her by sending her on what should have been suicide missons, but by sheer luck rather than skill, Beth survived all of them. So when the call came for her to perform a bounty on an exploding ship, she point blanked refused. Beth promptly started a brawl with Figaro, a brawl which was for the future of Beth's life. After four hours of straight fighting, Figaro received help in the fight from another bounty, which heavily turned the fight in his favour. Beth, rather than dying, fled off world in order to stay safe.
After a five month period of stealing in order to survive, Beth found mercy at the hands of a new scientist in the field of physics. After proving herself as viable fighter and assistant, Beth began a new career as a scientist.
Re: Grand Battle Season 3 Game 1! Signups are open!
Name: Murdoch Miles
Font color: #000066
Race: Varalica (It’s explained in the description)
Weapon: A traditional magician’s wand (small black rod with white tips) the main difference being this wand is legitimately magical.
Abilities: Murdoch is a master magician; as such he has a massive array of spells at his disposal. Due to his self applied moral code (more detail below) he refuses to utilise his more ‘deadly’ spells.
Murdoch Miles’ profile is that of a glowing man, pure white and constantly giving off light. The only details on him are two massive black eyes and a mouth. His body is shape of a standard human, with the exception of sharp claw shaped fingers. Murdoch wears a sort of dark blue clock/jacket, sporting coat tails at the back; it is very weathered and battered. Underneath he wears a white shirt sporting a bow tie. On top of his head lies a traditional top hat, not unlike an archetypal magician.
Murdoch is a Varalica, demi-gods that live underneath the ‘veil between life and death’, which is situated on Earth. They used to be human, before they are tricked into becoming one of them by another Varalica. All Varalica look wildly different to one another, Murdoch just so happened to keep a (mostly) human profile. The Varalica live biologically immortal lives, they cannot age to death, but they can be killed just as easily as a human. Most Varalica are cold, callous tricksters, playing with the human’s emotions and minds like puppets.
Murdoch Miles however is an exception; he is quite a polite and well worded individual (particularly to women), always preferring conversation to violence. He is a natural optimist, always trying to see the better side to things despite how grim they may be. Murdoch holds a self applied moral code that ‘he will never kill a man again.’ He has kept true to this over his long, long life.
Biography: Once upon a time there was a man named Murdoch Miles, a magician travelling with a circus across the country. He travelled with his wife and assistant, Emily Miles and performed in front of hundreds of audiences in hundreds of places. For a while, Murdoch was happy, except…
Murdoch felt empty, he knew deep down he was a fraud. He wasn’t just interested in magic; he was obsessed by it, and the occult that is often connected to it. He tore himself apart over his perceived failings, none of his magic was real, they were just smoke and mirrors, illusions.
Then, one night, under the light of a full moon, the broken silhouette of a woman heard Murdoch Miles anguish and simply said:
“I can give you power.”
Murdoch heard the Varilica’s words and was so effortlessly seduced by them. He was willing to do anything for such power. In secret, Miles began sacrificing people to his new ‘god’. At first it started with the homeless and prostitutes, people Murdoch believed no one would miss, but it soon escalated to members of the circus, even some of his friends, all the blind pursuit of power.
But the Broken Lady still wasn’t interested in such things, the Magician dropped to his knees and pleaded to the Varalica, what did she want? The Broken Lady saw the grovelling man and smiled a cruel smile: “Sacrifice your beloved to me, and the power you so desperately crave shall be yours.”
Murdoch didn’t even think. He simply returned to his wife and prepared her for her imminent death. Her screams and pleading for him to stop seemed muffled and distant, the Magician fought back the tears as he rose a dagger above her. “Forgive me.”
With the ill deed done, Murdoch Miles felt every fibre of his being shift and change, an intense pain ripped through him as he exploded in light. He gazed into the mirror and saw his metamorphosis, he had done it. The power he so longed for was now his own, no tricks, no sleight of hand, true magic was now under his command and it felt good.
Then he looked at his bloodied hands, no, his claws, he looked at his wife, now perfectly still and quiet, he looked at the Broken Lady, who cackled cruelly into the cold of the night. He asked himself: Was it worth it?
No. It wasn’t.
Murdoch Miles, the man no more, was cast under the veil and for what seemed an eternity did nothing. The guilt of his crimes had crippled him, he couldn’t even cry, he just stayed still, for 15 years.
A grand explosion ripped the veil to shreds, amongst it The Broken Lady laughs. “This world is too small to contain me. I shall rule not just the word but the very Cosmos itself!” The Broken Lady escaped through the rupture she had created, into the vast oceans of the Multiverse.
And Murdoch Miles followed her before the Varalica could close off the rupture, in the place he stood (which of sort of become a bizarre statuesque centrepiece for the veil) a letter remained:
I would be lying if I said I wasn’t so ashamed with what I have done. I have taken so many lives away, including the life of my beloved. Never again. No one deserves the pain of death, not even us.
I have mourned the lives I have taken and I know I will never be forgiven by anyone in the world. It is only natural that I take my leave to new worlds.
I have spent so long in a sad, sad way. I say no more, it is time to move on with my infinite life.
It’s time to have some fun.
P.S: If you are reading this Broken Lady, prepare yourself!
Because Mr. Magic Miles is coming for you!
Murdoch Miles has spent the last couple of centuries travelling to different worlds, finally moving on from his past and hunting down The Broken Lady. He was in the middle a rather intense game of ‘Extreme Dominoes’ with King Keaton of Siriak before being whisked away for battle.
Last edited by Lankie; 12-27-2010 at 03:54 PM.
Reason: Format fixing
Re: Grand Battle Season 3 Game 1! Signups are open!
Username: Schazmander the third, esquire Name: Benjamin Jetsam Gender: Male Font color: #4B647D Race: NA/Shapeshifter? Weapon: He’s learnt to use a wide variety in his travels, but he’s no soldier – though he’s not liable to get himself hurt using a weapon, it’s often so long ago that he’s lost any proficiency. Not to mention muscle memory. As for what he carries, none.
Abilities: Benjamin is a man who has spent more natural lifetimes than he cares to recall being dragged from universe to universe, at the whim of a sadistic oppressor. The trauma of a corporeal being launched into an incorporeal universe (what we might refer to as a “spirit plane”), multiple times in fact, left enough psychological scarring that he can no longer maintain his form between worlds. Upon departure, his form disintegrates, only to reform itself from the matter present in the next universe he’s tossed in. One aspect of this local rebuilding is that the matter can guide his new shape, more often than not so it resembles the local sentient species. He's not a ghost or a spirit or anything even vaguely tangible before he reforms, he's just... there.
Other than this quirk, he's got a quick mind and is a fast thinker. His forms tend toward atheltic for whatever race whose shape he assumes, but even then he aims for conformity - otherwise he'd just be jumping through dimensions with a human form.
Description: Benjamin's outward appearance changes from world to world (although there are the two constants of being male, and his hair (when black) being flecked with grey), but within, he's reasonably consistent. Through his journey, he goes through a near-predictable cycle of ferocious determination to find an escape, to going at it more covertly (in the hopes of catching his tormentor unawares), to just getting plain miserable about his predicament and giving up. On first impressions, he's curt, courteous, and never asks for trouble. On occasion, he'll get reckless knowing his personal overlord demon has never let him die, but generally tends toward not making a big impression. Unless he's feeling particularly destructive.
He's lost count of how long he's been travelling, and his memory isn't anything that excellent either - but he's seen a lot, lived more lives than any man could or should, and can recall quite a few moments when he acted rashly or unscrupulously. He knows he's never going back to those places, and that rationale can, if he's got it forefront, let him do things he'd otherwise regret.
The sheer number of people he's had to meet as a matter of course means Benjamin certainly couldn't remember them all by name or face, and it's also left him rather detached. He'll be polite to you whether you help him or harm him, he'll even risk his life for you if you've shown him significant kindness, but he won't ever get attached.
Biography: This guy's got a backstory, and I solemnly swear to share it with you over the course of the battle. In the interim, though, I'd like to lfill this gap with this excerpt someone found in an archive somewhere:
Extracting “Jetsam Engima” file 02023…
File 02023 successfully translated.
Porter, S. (1213, approx. 1000 s.y.a). The Journeyman. Unexplained Mysteries of Katreporu, (2245, approx 60 s.y.a)
The demon was identical, in all superficial appearance, to Reilen on the day of his disappearance, yet it was nothing like the smirking, unscrupulous predators of the wood folk stories had warned me of. When it first arrived, my brother wrapped around its apologetic husk of a soul, I could not believe what I was seeing.
I believed it even less, after having heard the demon’s fantastical tales. I never truly did accept the man’s stories, until the otherwise unremarkable day he vanished without a trace. Just as he had warned me.
We met the evening he staggered onto the property, trembling, smoking at the edges, and doing his utmost to hide his terror at the latter fact; close to five days after my brother disappeared on one of his numerous hunting trips. Seeing only a doppelganger coiled in my brother’s visage, I was, understandably, horrified. The demon, grimacing with obvious discomfort, repeated the word stuttering repeatedly from my mouth:
Before exploding in a burst of flame. It occurs to me only later, that unused to our repeated regeneration, that he fought the impulse for five painful days. His screams lessened as the process reached completion, until he rose from the ash, older than my brother, black hair flecked with steel mined from his eyes.
The demon gave me one wary glance from his crouched position on the ground, before standing and lowering his gaze.
“I’m deeply sorry, sir-Serral. Your brother is dead.”
The words were handled awkwardly, as though he struggled to place the unwieldy things where they belonged. I looked him up and down, grappling with the wrongness of this creature, his quiet honesty that forced me to believe his words. I considered accepting the loss of my brother, and sending the demon that had borrowed his form to carry the message on its way.
I let him in. He said his thanks, followed me to my brother’s room, and collapsed on the bed without a further word. I did not hear him again until dawn, when I awoke to begin the day’s work. The demon said nothing as he watched me wander the house, but nodded when I told him to get ready. He was a capable worker, his inexperience atoned for by his ability to learn. Exceptionally fast. Other than a tacit request for clarification, and replying to every order of mine with a quiet “understood,” he said little else. He never asked anything of me, save to borrow my few books, but never a request to spare him my inevitable questions. I sensed given time enough, he’d tell me, so I waited.
Despite the fact he caused no harm to anyone, the demon was strange indeed. Most unnerving was the way, new life to new life, within, he was the same, silent, steely-eyed man. I never saw him different, and sensing he’d understand even less than I would, did not press him.
Fall came, the cart was loaded with the summer’s produce, and we embarked on the annual three-day trip to Tanika. Reilen would’ve joked about this being the year he’d bring a nice lady back to the farm, like he always did. If the demon was apprehensive about meeting others, he did not show it. The first night was spent in our usual silence, but on the second I offered him a leather pouch full of his wages. He shook his head (that day, he had green eyes and softer features, though his hair was flecked with silver like it always did when it burnt black) and told me to keep it. I have noted what he said, as clearly as I can remember.
“I won’t be staying long,” he said. There was a long silence, during which he watched me from the corner of his eye. “I’ve appreciated the last few months… they’ve been peaceful. Just… please let me stay for however much longer – there’s no need to pay me if you simply give me a place to sleep.”
It was the most I’d ever heard him say at once, and it must have been obvious how I wanted, but did not expect more; because he nodded, sighed, and stared into the darkened woods while he gathered his thoughts.
“You thought of me as some demon, when your brother reappeared?”
“No, it was understandable. I shouldn’t have done that – I didn’t understand regeneration then.
As you probably guessed, Serral, I’m not from here. I’m not even from this world.” The demon was silent for another while, and continued when I had nothing to say.
“A long… very long time ago, Serral, I angered an- I angered a demon. It punished me by tearing me from my home, and casting me in another world. And another, and another, and another after that. Some worlds, he would wait until I had almost forgotten my tormentor, before he-” here, the demon paused, teeth gritted in anger “-plucked me out of that life and moved me on. In others, I grew so dispirited I thought I’d end it, but he watched over me and carried me off again.”
He stops again, this time to raise his gaze to meet mine.
“Even now, more than anything, I still want to return home – if only so I can die there.” He quells my protest at this defeatism with a wave of a hand, a tired expression. “I’m waiting for the demon to make a mistake, send me somewhere with the magic or technology to escape him.” The demon smirked. “Before this began, I didn’t believe the former was real. But I’ve been proven wrong. So many times.”
“Perhaps the Elder in Tanika-“
“No, Serral. I doubt she could help me at all – and if she could, I’d be gone before I stepped through her door. Like I said, this world’s nice. I needed the break.” The demon smiled for the first time, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I appreciate your concern though, Serral. Thank you.”
Something occurred to me in that moment. “But… if you weren’t Telpori-Han, why do you… you-“
“look like one? My body didn’t last long getting dragged through time and-“ he seemed to search for a word here, and settled for “-across worlds. A little scrap of a ghost is all that’s left, but I can draw from the world I’m dropped in and rebuild myself each time. I… I appeared near your brother, and I suppose I took his form. Until I regenerated.”
The demon appeared to be considering continuing, but on seeing the look of disbelief on my face, shrugged a little. “I’ll just vanish, one of these days. I’ll look back fondly on this time, though. Good night, Serral.”
After that one night, the demon retreated into his usual tacit ways again, until the midwinter night when I returned to a deserted homestead. True to his word, the demon was gone – and the only thing on my mind was the realisation I had never asked for a name.
Re: Grand Battle Season 3 Game 1! Signups are open!
Username: Pinary Name: Tor Kajan Gender: Male Race: Telpori-Hal
(Grammar note: One Telpori-Hal, several Telpori-Han.) Colour: #702020
Weapons/Abilities: The Telpori-Han are relatively unique among species, delineated primarily by their "rebirths". Over time, their metabolism generates a toxic, combustible chemical that builds up in their bodies. After a certain amount of time (usually a ten-minute absolute minimum), they begin to be capable of igniting the compound, which causes their entire body to burst into flame. It then reforms, resulting in the healing of minor or moderate injuries and an overall changed appearance. As the concentration of the chemical rises, its toxic effects become more pronounced. The instinctual urge to combust rises as well, making it difficult for a Telpori-Hal to go over an hour and a half without regenerating their form. (The official record for maintaining a single form is, as of Tor's abduction, three days. Certain tales and legends refer to Telpori-Han resisting the change for five or six days, but such claims are unverifiable.)
Because their physical forms are unreliable for recognition, the Telpori-Han developed the ability to identify others based on their hal. (Both hal and ganel translate to "a person". The distinction becomes clear when considering the question "Are you the same person you were when you were twelve?" You are the same continuous life form, the same hal- you are still attached to the same name, you still have the same family, that sort of thing. But your motivations are different, you have new memories, and you are physically different- you are a different ganel.) Most species interpret this as an ability to see one's soul, but it does no more than a physical look would, just operating on what some would term a "spiritual" plane- a Telpori-Han can identify a person, get a general feel for their emotional state, or perhaps see the general shape of some emotional scars, but it doesn't extend to the typical "mind-reading and past-probing" that most outsiders assume.
Description: As a Telpori-Hal, Tor's appearance is always changing. Generally, though, the Telpori-Han are humanoid. Due to a high overall iron content, they possess a brownish, rusty skin tone. It also leaves their hair stiff and wiry, common colours ranging from silver to a near-black brown.
Tor's clothing are typical Telpori-Hal fare. The fabrics themselves are composed of finely woven strands of metal, smooth and sleek but extremely cold to the touch. His steel-fabric overjacket, which hangs down to just above his knees, has three straps that buckle across the front to secure it shut. Underneath, he wears a standard shirt and slacks, both standard steel-fabric as well.
At the moment of entry into the competition, Tor's face is sharp, angular, and vaguely hawkish. He stands at about 5'10" but is thin enough that he appears taller. His silver-flecked light-brown hair sweeps straight back from his face, developing a few waves before ending mid-neck, and his skin is a shade darker than usual, falling definitively into the "rusty red" category.
Tor Kajan, age 53, was born July 3rd, 2382 aboard the Niri-Duntul Nulhu, a diplomatic vessel en route to Bertrand City, the second largest city-ship in the Human Federation and the closest to Telpori-Hal space. His mother was one of a dozen diplomats sent to negotiate a permanent agreement between the Telpori-Hal and the Inter-Species Confederation, and his family was one of the first to make their homes on a human city-ship.
Tor and the few other young Telpori-Han were taught well enough by the tutor brought by the diplomats, but their differences in age meant that they had to do most of their studying on their own. Tor did well enough in the assigned curriculum, but he found himself especially drawn to his parents' fields- his mother, the diplomat, was always happy to help him develop his skills working with other people and cultures, and his father, the engineer, would let Tor join him in the engine room and show him the ins and outs of their ship whenever they went on trips to other cities.
In his late teens, Tor got a job at a store fairly near his home, but was soon fired because his employer didn't like him taking breaks every 45 minutes or so to regenerate, simply telling him to "tough it out a while longer." The official justification was entirely fabricated, and had it not been for the risk to the delicate diplomatic process of joining the Inter-Species Confederation, his family might have launched an equality lawsuit. Similar things happened several more times until, in his mid-twenties, he was fed up. He'd had it with uncaring bosses telling him to just "suck it up", he'd had it with explaining his species over and over to every person he dealt with for any significant period of time, and he'd had it with having to always check that there was a fireproof place within a few minutes of wherever he was. He wasn't going to deal with it any more, and he had just the plan to manage it.
After a fair amount of research, he eventually found an opportunity on a small shipping company- a single ship, a crew of about 10 or so, and no more than four people of the same species. The captain, a Hattallan by the name of Glenn Ternell, valued inter-species cooperation quite highly, and when Tor approached him about the opening as the assistant engineer, his situation endeared him to him just as much as his skill with a wrench.
After about five years, the ship's primary engineer left, leaving Tor the sole person responsible for the ship's upkeep. As the years went on, the crew changed and grew, Tor eventually moving his way up to second-in-command.
When Captain Ternell passed away in 2419, the crew broke up. Tor hadn't spent much on luxuries over his career up to that point, and he had a fair amount of money saved up. Taking out a loan, he bought a ship of his own, and on August 15, 2419, the Phoenix was launched. Several of Ternell's old contacts immediately took up contracts with him, and that was enough to get him started.
He never stopped studying human culture, but he never really forgave them either. He'd met very few humans who had been open and accommodating to his species, and he never stopped having to explain things, and he could always see that momentary expression of "whoa, that's freaky" cross their face. He learned more about their history and culture so that he could conduct business better, but he always preferred doing his business with other nonhumans.
It was 2436 by the time he was abducted, and he'd made a decent life of it. He'd done a few things he regretted and a few that weren't quite legal, but he'd made his life as best he could.
Re: Grand Battle Season 3 Game 1! Signups are open!
Name: Atra Frost
Race: Proceran, or in other words Arctic Giant
Color: A light blue works for her, which is #88eeff.
Weapons/Abilities: Atra wields a long and heavy bladed whip. The whip itself is like a barbed wire, but at the tip of the whip is a large and heavy obsidian bulb that can split and splay into a flower with bladed petals. Her weapon is meant more for mutilation than for killing. For close combat, she uses martial arts as well as dual serrated daggers. The daggers have intricate designs that traces back to her history.
Her abilities include
• Hardened Skin --> Living in the frost/arctic frequently.
• Night Vision --> It was due to her crimson eyes, not that it's unfortunate.
• Meat Stack --> Is able to lift heavy objects and lob them easily, including logs and sledgehammers.
• Earthquake --> Atra can cause small ground shakes that can immobilize the foe. Uses this skill barely since she thinks she might destroy the earth or something related to it.
A fierce-looking female guard that defends their homeland. Almost reaching seven-foot tall. Layered long ravenous black hair. She’s muscular for a human, but pretty scrawny as a Giant. She wears a large heavy cloak made out of many animal skins that climbs to her nose and then reaches down to her knees. Under her cloak, she wears light body armor and tough leather pants. Her heavy-plated boots reaches up to her knees.
She was a prideful, loud, strong-willed, and strong woman back in her homeland, and had a wide ego. Away from her land, she is always cautious, shy, never-trusting, and tries to be very aloof. She is constantly having contradicting thoughts, thus can be indecisive sometimes. However, she tries to keep a close relationship with her allies.
Atra is a part of the race Proceran, which is a race of large, muscular giants. They are two times stronger than humans, and is about two feet taller than average humans. Their continent is well known for their black snow and dark constantly clouded lands. They often wear animal skins to wade off the cold in their land. Their shade of eyes differ from humans, being either a fiery red or a jade green due to having to see well in the night. Due to the harsh weather, they have hardened skin which makes their defenses higher. Although slow, they can pack large punches. They also developed a hate for humans, and is very hostile.
Biography: Atra used to be just a little civilian, or at least a slacker. She would come home everyday from hunting, eat, sleep, more hunting, and then sleep. The giant was actually used to this kind of life, so there was no problem for her, and pay her taxes. Sooner or later, this conflict began getting in her way. So then she applied to be a guard of the Arctic, being suspicious of every passersby. However, she was sent away to islands, she's been feeling insecure and nervous because she didn't even know WHY she was even sent there. Atra always had thought that she was the weakest among all of the other Proceran Female Guards.
Last edited by Temperencia; 12-27-2010 at 04:45 PM.
here, i found warmth, comfort, and my life's true purpose.
Re: Grand Battle Season 3 Game 1! Signups are open!
Username: Pick Yer Poison
Gender: Technically none, but identifies as a male
Color: White on dimgray
Weapons/Abilities: Titan is a weapon in and of himself.
Description: Titan is 8'4" at his full height. His legs are large, metal poles, as are his arms. They are quite thick and very sturdy. His torso is similar to a rounded rectangle, but it slopes inwards near the bottom. His head is another rounded rectangle, with the back sloping sharply down. The front features his eyes, two round circles of light. They serve a dual purpose, acting as both sensory input ports and, when required, flashlights. The bottoms of his legs end in flat plates, but he has hands with opposable thumbs on the ends of his arms that are flexible enough for rudimentary actions. They are oversized, however, so fine manipulation of anything smaller than a bread box is difficult at best. They also contain strong magnets, allowing him to pick up magnetic objects with ease whenever he turns on the current to them.
Titan packs a lot of force behind his punches, and is capable of easily crushing a human's bones (or a solid steel wall) with a single solid hit. Precision booster jets on his back are used for providing extra force while pushing objects, an invaluable thing while moving extremely heavy cargo. Titan's body is in remarkable condition, largely free from rust or wear and tear. Evidence of on-spot repair jobs can be seen in a few places, but they have been patched up expertly, rendering Titan an almost literal iron giant.
Titan is, arguably, sentient. He rarely speaks, and when he does, he usually expresses himself with short one or two word answers. He shows no emotion, speaking with the bare minimum of voice inflections, but he is capable of logical decisions, which tend to favor calculation over emotion. He often takes a "don't fuck with me and I won't fuck with you" mentality, leaving things that don't interfere with or concern him alone.
Biography: Titan's creator was a highly skilled engineer with a lovely wife and two baby girls. He constructed the automaton over a period of several years, and then put him to work shifting cargo. Capable of lifting hundred-pound crates with ease, he soon became well-known, and someone inevitably attempted to steal him. In the morning, the thief was found dead next to Titan, with his skull caved in and his blood on Titan's fist. Titan was deactivated and shunned after a public scandal which ruined the shipping company's publicity for the next several months, left to rust away in an abandoned warehouse.
Fast-forward about three millenia.
Having destroyed itself several times over through nuclear warfare, mankind is now a nomadic species wandering barren deserts and wastelands, trying to survive as best they can. As was bound to happen, tribes occasionally wandered across pre-apocalyptic tech, or purposefully searched and uncovered him. Titan was discovered lying dead and motionless in a pile of discarded junk by some scavgengers from a tribe that was passing through the area. The scavengers cleaned him up and turned him on, and Titan rose again for the first time in 3000 years. He gazed down emotionlessly at his finders. "Functional."
With Titan's help, the nomadic tribe the scavengers belonged to thrived. None dared attack them with their iron watchdog keeping a sleepless guard on their camp, not after he had calmly strode through the gunfire of three combined gatling guns, ripping the mobile platforms up from the ground as he reached them and throwing them at each other, coming out no worse for the wear. Eventually, the tribe accumulated large numbers of enemies, who banded together and tricked the tribe's metal guardian, leading Titan into a trap (all members of which were killed), while the main force slaughtered the villagers. Titan returned to find the village in ruins, and the enemy leader standing triumphant before it as he lit a torch to the lead hut, setting it aflame. His forces quailed when they saw Titan's form on the horizon, but Titan took no action against them. He paused as he reached the village for a few moments, then calmly continued walking, passing through the enemy formation like Moses through the Red Sea. The story goes that he is still walking to this day; however, Titan was simply abducted several days later, vanishing from that world, possibly forever.
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Screw it I'm signin' up
Username: Lord Paradise
Name: Saint Scofflaw
Weapons/Abilities: Saint Scofflaw is a textbook evil genius. You can basically check off all the boxes on the form: In the pros column, manipulative charismatic scientific genius surprisingly spry dabbling in the occult natural leader; in the cons column, unfortunately loquacious petty revenge-driven short-sighted impatient sociopathic quirky likes to wear costumes. All of his technology runs on PSEUDOS, the Principle of Scientific Extravagance through Unproven Devices that Operate Somehow. PSEUDOS is a concept that only Scofflaw seems to be able to wrap his head around, and allows him to hack together something revolutionary or dangerous from spare parts in a matter of minutes. Currently he has on him a concealed ornate dagger that further conceals a number of PSEUDOS-scientific secondary functions; anybody who knows him well would be wise to suspect that lasers are involved somehow. It would be unsurprising if he had more than that up his sleeve, but it’ll serve him well to get out of a few scrapes until it inevitably breaks and he has to replace it with something similarly silly.
Description: Scoffles tends to reinvent himself every few major defeats, although the only alias that seemed to stick to him was “Saint Scofflaw” from his days leading the Crime Clergy. Currently he is going for sort of a Victorian-era villain look, an identity he’d wanted to refer to as “Baron Wasteland” until he learned, to his great disappointment, that that was already the name of a villain from Where in Time is Carmen San Diego. He’s rocking a cape, "trousers," and a puffy shirt, both in a color uncomfortably wedged between grey and green. Somewhat awkward as this getup is, it’s great for concealing weapons and in his over-the-hill years Scofflaw has become a bit too self-conscious for the skintight look, so the Abominable Aristocrat look suits him a bit better than, say, Scofflaw the Mime of Crime, or Strongman Scofflaw. (Note: he has chosen to eschew the monocle, because his vision is just fine and it’s stupid.)
More generically, Scofflaw is a short man at about 5’4,” and the line between what is muscle and fat on his body is blurred enough that you might be inclined to use the term “stocky” to describe him. His hair, depending on what angle you look at it from, is always either thinning or graying, but never both. His face is unusually expressive in what might be an endearing way, depending on who’s observing. He takes good care of his fingernails, always.
Personality-wise, this varies as much as the rest, since the Pernicious Pope exhibits the sort of casual bipolarity one might expect from someone who has spent the better part of thirty years playing the world domination game. He is fond of wordplay, has never been observed listening to music, lies even when he’s telling the absolute truth, has no strong religious convictions one way or another, and is distrustful of every form of transportation quicker than a light jog and slower than teleportation. Synthesizing a general impression of the man from these unhelpful details, he is a bastard.
Biography: Saint Scofflaw claimed to have been born with a very peculiar form of synaesthesia that caused him to hear the law as music. His life, or so he says, though this seems very unlikely, is a constant battle to drown out the oppressively Top 40 grating autotune hackjob that is civilization. This is his excuse for turning to a life of crime from an early (probably single-digit) age.
In his youth, seeking a viable alternative to “pop” society, Scofflaw (obviously he wasn’t calling himself that yet; his real name was some bullshit or whatever who cares) experimented with more classical and ambient forms, studying the laws that dictate the universe, the Beyond, the human brain, and Mac OS X. Through what he considered to be leisurely headbanging along to some tunes that “actually come together” as he put it to some henchmen one uncomfortable evening, the lad found himself becoming a genius. So that would help, later.
Like all hipsters, Sir Scoffsalot eventually began to work with the delusion that his good taste was a sign of genuine latent talent talent latent, and thus he started to experiment with his own compositions: he had ideas for “like democracy but self-aware” and “socialist anarchy with a feudal twist.” These are new world orders that you probably haven’t heard of, no big deal. Unfortunately, Scofflaw found himself without the means to get his laws out there on a large scale, so he resolved to get big by, you know, conquering the world.
Enemies of Scofflaw (and there were many, though he tends to outlive them) have claimed that this purported synaesthesia works both ways: that when music is playing, the villain cannot hear it but simply perceives a set of codified guidelines for how to behave, and is compelled to obey. Like the entirety of this biography, this is probably bullshit, although some smartass scholars have noted that this is not dissimilar to the effect that music has on most teenagers.
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Into the thick of it.
Name: Captain Rodney Unitt
Race: Standard issue human
Weapons/Abilities: A swashbuckling saber and dual flintlock pistols. Navy training has him with decent skill in many historic firearms and also with blades, although he's really quite rusty with the sword, using it mostly to threaten these days.
Description: Pirate. A slightly tall, moderately broad man in a black longcoat trimmed with silver thread. He's all about style, you know. He lives by it. He's got a black tricorne hat trimmed with gold and even a beard. In fact, it almost looks as if he's trying too hard to fit into the pirate captain stereotype. The beard doesn't suit him at all, somehow. It's a small miracle he isn't wearing an eye-patch.
Biography: A pirate from the glorious past, at least from our perspective. Ever since he was a kid, Rodney wanted to become a sailor. He was, for a while, a crewman aboard a navy sailing ship, and strove to be an exemplary crewman. However, he was captured by pirates at some point in the past, and decided to side with them to escape being thrown overboard with his legs tied.He fitted in much better, as a pirate, as well.
He soon got ahold of his own small ship and crew, and began to mildly terrorize a small section of the seas. he loves being a pirate, and as such does his best to look the part. This has often led to remarks from his crew, but he has a short temper and keeps tight discipline. However, before he could become truly notorious, he was snatched from his ship and into the Grand Battle.
With his own brand of raw, slightly terrifying charisma and decent weapons skill, he's not the sort one would expect to see in a Grand Battle. However, he thinks fast enough to survive, and will not usually back down unless it's clear that he's outnumbered and outgunned. One of his biggest flaws is his temper, which has been shortened by constant remarks by various crew members at his focus on his appearance. Said crew members often found themselves at the bottom of the sea if they were not quick to change their stance on his outfit. He also sees every being as equal, at least as far as threat goes. Just because someone doesn't appear to be of earthly origin, it doesn't mean he'll have a different opinion about sticking lead shot into their brain.
Weapons/Abilities: Kerak has sharp claws and teeth, legs capable of very high speeds, and something of an insatiable appetite. He also carries a staff with him whenever possible, although it actually reduces his combat effectiveness.
Description: Green and blue plumage covers Kerak's body in various patterns. He stands at about three feet tall, although lengthwise he is almost three times that amount (if you count his long tail, that is, and he would prefer that you do).
He keeps his teeth and claws rigorously clean, even though they do not see all that much use; as the shaman of his Deinonychus pack, he does not take part in hunting expeditions.
Though he may lack the pure force of his comrades, Kerak is especially bright and inquisitive (for a carnivorous dinosaur,at least), and he has a wide berth of knowledge on the uses of plants, for remedies or other utilities.
(Shamanism is pure crock and he is well aware of the fact, although it would be unwise to speak of this directly to him. He uses its mystical roots and the gullibility of his comrades as an excuse for one of his favorite hobbies: storytelling.)
Do you know of The Moon? It shines on us each night, sometimes brightly and sometimes with only a sliver of its surface. Do you know where it found its light?
I'll tell you, boys, The Moon found its light through thievery! For you see, The Moon is the finest sneak in all the cosmos. One day, He grew bored and decided to steal from the most challenging mark of all: The All-Seeing Sentinel. The Sun!
The Moon caught The Sun while it was focused on other things, and stole away Her most prized possession, light! The Sun was furious to have been caught unawares, and so from that day forth She resolved to find The Moon and return Her light to Herself.
We see Her trek across the sky everyday, searching in vain. It is only when She is not present that The Moon reveals Himself, and displays His stolen treasure for all to see.
"That was a wonderful story! But why does the light of the moon change shape each night?"
"Oh! That must be because part of The Moon is away to continue His thievery! If The Moon is not fully lit, boys, keep your eyes on your valuables, boys, because the finest sneak in the cosmos is prowling!"
"Really? Then what about the stars? Did they steal from the sun too?
"Uh." Kerak blinked. "I... I don't know that."
"What?" the deinonychus youth asked even more loudly than usual. "There's something you don't know?!"
"I'll uh, ask the totems about stars tonight," Kerak said, now doing his best to shoo away the youngster. "Isn't your first hunt today? Shouldn't you be preparing for that?"
The pack chieftain approached Kerak as the child scampered off. "Looks like the sun's not the only one who's been caught unaware."
Kerak let out a short sigh. "He's never satisfied! For every answer I give, he has another question, until I have run out of answers, and he is still asking questions."
"Why do you indulge him, then?"
"Because," Kerak said with a smile, "perhaps the moon's not the only one who wants a challenge. Besides, I like his inquisitiveness. He will be a fine shaman, someday."
"Another shaman? You're a handful enough to deal with on your own, Kerak!"
"You wound me, Orlok! And I will not relinquish my craft until I have passed on, of course."
Orlok gave a deep laugh. "I was only pulling your leg, Kerak. You are our finest asset. There is no shaman as talented as you, and that gives us an edge at home and in the fields."
"The flattery is appreciated," Kerak said, twitching his nose slightly, "but I must request that you leave off the insults entirely."
"Hopefully your ego will be mended in time to see off the new hunters. Speaking of which, don't you have preparations to make? The hunt is not so far off, now."
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Username: Siber Ninefife
Name: None/Gene Rasdon
Race: Cordyceps Mammalis, a strange and dangerous variation on the cordyceps fungi that infects humans and other mammals. This particular strain of Cordyceps has been known to infect other creatures, but it has a particular draw towards mammalian creatures, especially humans. In an almost sick twist of fate, as it takes over the body of its host, it keeps it alive. The host is in constant pain, and completely aware of what is going on around it, but is unable to do anything about it.
Gene Rasdon was just a normal human being before becoming infected.
Color: MapleStory Mushroom Orange perhaps?
Weapons/Abilities: Despite Gene's muscles having atrophied terribly, the Cordyceps is still capable of getting him to pull a mean punch when it needs to. It's also capable of releasing spores, either planting them directly, or just letting them drift along the wind. The spores can then begin to take over a living being, and depending on the size and complexity of the creature, it can take anywhere between a few minutes to a few days for the infection to completely take them over. An average human takes a few hours to be put under control. Despite it's simple thought processes, it has demonstrated unusually adept abilities in movement and dexterity, able to have it's host wield weapons, and scale obstacles. Also it doesn't actually come up a lot, but the mushrooms that grow are actually hallucinogenic. Mildly poisonous, but you will be high as a kite upon ingestion.
Gene is a tall, sickly looking guy. His muscles are atrophied from so many months without any use, he's clearly been suffering from malnutrition, and he's got one hell of a slouch. This has a certain something to do with the many mushrooms growing out of him. From an eye socket, all over his body, large ones on his back and head, out of his mouth, everywhere. His remaining eye is drooped and blank, yet still functioning just enough to let Gene see what's happening.
Before the pandemic, Gene was a pretty easy going guy. He liked to play sports, where his height gave him somewhat of an advantage. Once the Pandemic started, he quickly got into action... planning an escape route. A hero he was not, and his number one priority in danger is to flee. Now, having been infected, the things on his mind consist of "Make the pain stop" and "Please just let it end."
The Cordyceps doesn't particularly think that much. Its priorities are to either kill or infect. If it can't be infected by spores, then it will do what it can to destroy it.
Biography: Nobody knows how it showed up, but the first incident was in Peru. From the spore initially hitting the man to complete takeover was three weeks, but each subsequent fungi infection from then on was faster and faster. It starts out with a terrible itching, then you start losing hair. A fuzz starts growing on some parts of your body as the mental symptoms start kicking in. You'll lose all sense of balance, and find it difficult to even move your body. Soon you won't be able to speak, and will before long be stuck in a seemingly vegative state, disgusting fungus growing out of your body. This is what happened to Gene Rasdon in the span of two and a half hours.
He was just trying to get out of the city. The Cordyceps infestation was growing quickly, and he had been told about somewhere that it hadn't hit. Now, that place would have been infected by the time he had gotten there, but that didn't matter, because when he hit that guy, he decided to get out to see if he was alright. He wasn't. The suddenly dead Cordyceps victim's last act was to spore Gene, but he was too freaked out to notice. He was halfway down the highway when he changed.
It's been six months since his infection, and Gene, unable to do anything but suffer this eternal pain and watch as everything around him turns to ruin, wants nothing more than the sweet release of death.