Character Profiles - Please Comment/Criticize

I know there are none yet, but this is a reminder to myself because I keep forgetting. Expect them later tonight, maybe 5 hours or so.

Wow, 40 views and not even a profile yet. Awesome. >.>

Sorry for the delay, meant to post earlier but was busy.

Nisse is a young woman, just shy of her 2st birthday. Unusually short, even for women of her time, she stands at n even four foot. Her green eyes, usually narrowed in suspicion, has a hypnotic quality to them. Her long, red (I need a better word, it’s a dark red) was kept short, usually under a hat. Her clothing consists of smooth leather leggings, a simple white shirt, and a tight leather vest. Even though she looks and acts like a man at first glance, a closer inspection reveals petite breasts, a slight flaring of the hips, and her voice would slip into a higher note.

She usually holds a dark countenance about her. She’s almost always wearing a scowl and a distrustful stare. Her past wasn’t particularly dark and mysterious, more of a misty grey with dark splotches and the rare bright spot. She doesn’t speak to many of her past, and she almost never tells the whole story.

I’ll have more to come soon, at least 4, probably maybe 6 or 8.

Could you go a bit more into detail about those petite breasts and flaring hips? Just a little?

Looks interesting. Someone ate her hair… and… elbows Val Hehehehe!

I dare say, at age 2. ::dekar!::

Anyhow, is this for a story of yours?

Cala, how’s crimson? Crimson’s always a good word.

This Nisse sounds pretty hot. Though, she isn’t really my type. That whole ‘suspicious and broody’ subset doesn’t work for me. Cherry, on the other hand… (long-winded praise of Cherry removed)

But, anyway, I’m curious to see who else you’ve thought up.

Yea, 2st. I keep forgetting my one key doesn’t work. >.> I meant 21st. And yes, crimson. Thank you.

Fil is a young man, somewhere around the age 16 or 17. He couldn’t tell you because he never went to school, and he’s been living on the streets all his life. Despite this, he schooled himself well enough so he can read and write, and his speech is that of a well-educated person. He’s tall and slender, but fending for himself all the years has turned it into a wiry strength, and he’s surprised quite a few muggers (and police) in his “work.” Technically unemployed, he manages a good enough living by “borrowing with no intention of returning” items, as he likes to put it. Several times caught, but never held. Despite his shady work and rather poor lifestyle (he lives in a park), Fil is usually pretty cheery, especially after he “buys” himself some new clothes. His sky blue eyes and tousled brown hair usually earn a grin from those passing by, and they’ve charmed more than a few girls.

Angie is a young girl, though very wise beyond her eighteen years of life. Of average height, she stands at four feet, eight inches; ten if she’s wearing tall shoes. Her brown eyes and black hair reaching to her waist make many think of her as just another girl, one of many, but Angie is far and above the rest of the girls of her age in almost every aspect. Her eyes are often glazed over, staring off into space, earning her the title of stupidest - sometimes craziest - woman in town, but she doesn’t mind; only she knows what she’s spending that time thinking about, and if she told anyone, she doubt they’d be able to follow her thought. She wanders around town, often dressed in a simple silk blouse and leather pants cut short at the knees, held up by a leather thong around her waist, both well suited for her business. She knew, despite the mutterings stemming from her vacant look, that the men in town found her quite desirable, so she teased them all the more by pushing her full breasts out more and swaying her hips seductively in wide arcs as she walked, even to the most innocent passerby, and she once dared to do so to the minister himself! Even though well-schooled, Angie is often looked down upon by the well-to-do folk of the town because of her profession, even though it is the only one available to unwedded women: prostitution. Many are in the opinion that she should stop flirting and sleeping around town, marry a sensible man and settle down and raise children. She didn’t mind the work, in fact she came to love it over the three years since she’s started, but now she sees it as working in her advantage. In recent months, she has taken several other whores from the street and started her own brothel, with her getting a good portion of the money the prostitutes earn. Soon enough, she hopes that she can get out of the shithole of a town she lives in and leave, preferably with the man she’s been sleeping with, Fil. She’s come to liking him quite a bit, and she wants to take him with her when she leaves, although Fil would rather stay in the comfortable streets he knows so well.

Hmm… what exactly are you planning to use these characters in? Their bios seem quite detailed, and they’re more than enough to give those characters a life of their own. I’ve already been able to picture them in my mind with this data. Interesting, although a bit disheartening.

Writing a story, based loosely on a StarCraft map and influenced by Steven King’s “The Dark Tower” series. I want the characters done first, with locations coming shortly thereafter. There’ll be at least 3 more bios to do, then I’ll start hitting up the locations.

As for the disheartening bit, c’mon. Fil’s happy as a pig in mud.

I guess you can’t argue with that. He seems happy right where he is. It’s like someone once told me when I was raging against forced marriages in some parts of the world: “You’re here, in the light, and you can’t just walk up to them and say it’s all a pile of shit.”

Rased from the dead, with several profiles. Most are pretty short, as the characters aren’t developed, but one’s very, very developed.

Idira stands at 4’6", and she’s very lightly built, but she has a slight layer of muscle to compliment her speed and agility. She had coal black eyes that matches her short fur perfectly, along with the hooded robes she wears. Because of her small size, she’s specialized in stealth and disguise, and used them perfectly. She also honed the art of seduction to a fine point, and that’s served her very well indeed.

Idira grew up within the tight-knit Creimere community, but she soon left when she couldn’t stand the closeness of everyone there. She also rejected the rigidness of the social structure as well as the spiritual aspect of the community, causing her to be shunned. She soon found a single person to replace the entire community: Iloai, another Ninja. Together, they trained and became lovers, their fates intertwined.

Iliara edges just over 4’, and despite the voluminous robes she wears, she’s really quite lithe and flexible. The robes are a special, lightweight material only Creimire can make, and although it was made by her mother, Iliara customized it to have many interal pockets. These are highly useful, because even though Creimire tend to look down on thieving, Iliara did just that, although never from her own community. Publicly, she danced for her pay, but she always got a bit of play money from gullible people. With grey fur and black eyes, she looks like any other Creimire, at least to outsiders. Very agile, she’s constantly moving about, never content to sit still in one place. Even though Iliara was raised as a dancer and performer, she didn’t like the fact that she was often so defenseless. Because of this, she affected the robes she wears today, along with a rifle hidden among them. It was the only way she felt safe.

Iliara grew up in her tightknit community. She lived a pretty normal life, outside of the thievery at least, until one fateful day when a Labayu stumbled into their little mini-town, frozen almost to death. Quickly banding together, the Creimire community helped take care of their giant, but it was mostly Iliara, who felt a special affinity with the lioness, as she was the first to find her there. As Iliara nursed the Labayu - Isoke - back to health, they talked a lot, exchanging life stories, and they soon became best of friends. Soon after Isoke was fully healed, the Creimire society decided to include their new giantess friend in their extended community, and as a gift, gave her a flute so she could make a living. Iliara never left her new best friend’s side, and they were soon inseparable. In fact, they moved in together, and it was shortly thereafter that they became lovers, forever content to be with each other.

Ryla stands at a very petite 4’6" and well under 100 pounds. She has short black fur that compliments her coal-black eyes. She’s very small, even for a Creimire. She wears a midnight-black robe that’s several sizes too big and patched, not always with the same colors, but with many pockets so she can hold various items so she can have them at a moment’s notice if she needs to mix a potion. Her cloak can cover as a means of hiding, as she’s so small she can lie under the cloak and make it look like a pile of rags.

Ryla grew up in Raivan, living most of her life in a level comfortably above poverty. She was never pampered per se, but she did receive lavish gifts for her accomplishments, mostly educational, as her parents wished for her to become a world-reknowned scientist. Unfortunately for them, one of the kits she got was a chemistry set, and she promptly blew up their house. Her parents, ashamed and shocked at this, disowned her and she wandered the slums of the city she once lived so comfortably in, now fighting for survival. While you’d think she’d be very angry and pessimistic, she’s actually pretty well-off, mostly due to her best friend, Reisma. The two met shortly after she was given the boot, and they’ve been pretty inseparable since then - that is, if they weren’t “working” by themselves. With that income and money generated from using chemistry to make alchemy possible, Ryla is living a pretty good life for a bum. Even though she could move into upper society, she’d much rather stay in the slums with Reisma, whom she’d never part with, no matter the reason. In fact, she’s become so obsessed with Reisma in her love, she’s become addicted, and will even stop in the middle of a fight to start some foreplay with her.

Soon after the expulsion from upper-class society and before she met Reisma, Ryla had found another friend: alcohol. While very small amounts she could handle, anything more than a few drinks - especially strong drinks - would immediately cause her to become drunk, and she’d pass out. She would wake up shortly thereafter, with the effects of alcohol mostly worn off. After several of these binges, however, she started losing recollection of when she was drunk and a variable amount of time beforehand. She wasn’t so addicted to the stuff that she needed it, but she took it if she could, although she stopped shortly before she met Reisma.

With Saylin in the picture now, however, drinking has come back in her life. While staying at his place for the night with Reisma and Rooko, she drank half a bottle of wine herself and promptly crashed a very romantic dinner. What with Saylin taking her lover away and Gale making moves on her and Reisma, Ryla is very distraught and the drink is calling to her very strongly, and more often she will answer the call under the stress. She’s pretty content while drunk, but when she sobers up after passing out, she’s offer bitter and confused at her life and the current circumstances, and she’s often angry with herself for falling back to drink, especially since Reisma’s now in her life, but less so now that she’s with Saylin.

Aphetamog, a wandering Moogle, has made his living in the wild, by himself with nobody else’s help. As a young child, he was always active, but was a runt for his age, and he never grew past 4 foot and he never grew fat, like many of his family. He attributed this leanness to his rough lifestyle and sparse food, but it seemed he was always munching on some kind of food. As he grew older, he didn’t grow taller, and he wasn’t very pleased about it.

When Aphetamog was in his early 20s - nobody knew his true age, not even him, as he lived in the wilderness with no sense of the years - traveling through a new group of trees he had found, and he of course had to investigate it, as he thought he knew every bit of the terrain he was traversing. As he entered the grove, a light humming grew more intense the further he walked in, but he couldn’t leave, even though his ears started to bleed from the intense pain. As he walked in to the center of the trees, the sky above him darkened until he could barely see, squinting because of the pain. He couldn’t see anyone - or anything - else in the clearing, but a voice spoke inside his head, taunting Aphetamog, cursing him, and eventually commanding him to submit to the will of the speaker. Aphetamog refused, crying out inside his head, but the voice only grew louder and he thought he could take no more and his skull would crack from the intensity of the voice. He still refused to submit to the voice, to submit to the evil he knew it would lead him to. He fell to the ground, not moving except for an ocassional twitch as the voice boomed in his head, going on for what seemed like weeks. He never gave in, and the dark spirit must’ve realized this, for it left the grove, leaving Aphetamog shaking on the ground, half-dead.

Aphetamog nursed himself back to partial health, enough to crawl to a nearby town, where he could receive further help. He stayed there for a year, uneventful until the day he left. Aphetamog was fully healed at this point, able to walk around town on his own, but he didn’t trust himself to go back out in the wilderness yet, in fear of encountering the dark spirit again. He didn’t tell anyone of the encounter, for he feared they’d take him for an insane man and leave him to die. Although he didn’t know it, his day to leave the town - and all of civilization - had come at last. He woke one morning, and he was instantly terrified: the voice was back in his head, whispering him to maim, kill, destroy the town and its inhabitants. Horrified that it had returned, Aphetamog lost control of his body, and the demon seized control of it. Using the Moogle’s body, the demon wielded the awesome power of Geomancy, and used it to horrible effect against the town, uprooting trees and sending them through houses, ripping apart humans just as easily as the houses, and with as little regard. The insanity lasted all day, until Aphetamog’s body was exhausted to the bone, and as it was of no current use to the demon, he vacated it, and Aphetamog promptly collapsed where he stood.

When Aphetamog awoke sometime next week, he checked himself for wounds, but he only found one on his forehead: a large black scar which would pulse at seemingly random intervals, although he came to learn it pulsed when the voice spoke to him. The scar was shaped loosely like a ragged X, although the bottom half made a horizontal line and a vertical line split the design cleanly in two.

Some of the townsfolk must have survived, for the terrible tale spread like wildfire, and soon Aphetamog grew to be feared by all, and he was thrown out of every town he visited thereafter. Aphetamog soon tired of this, and went back to living by himself in the wilderness. Although the voice never took control of his body, he did hear its whisper, often more than once a month, and especially when he was hunting for food. Although he did not like the voice for obvious reasons, it did have its perks: he was a keener hunter while the voice whispered in his mind, and he could harness the power of Geomancy himself. After a long time - Aphetamog was now no more than a legend to most people, a horrible tale to tell misbehaved children, for his tale of horrendous rage was now long in the past - he grew to be able to hone his skills and Geomancy without the aid of the voice, and while it still never went away, Aphetamog kept it firmly under check. Another effect of his encounter with the demon was more gradual and took a very long time to notice, but it was only until some of the trees in the forests which he frequented started to die from old age did he realize he was still as young as when he first encountered the demon. While he did not know if he was immune to death or just forever young, he did know he could use it to his advantage, and did.

Aphetamog had to keep making new clothes for himself, as he usually tore through a set of cloaks in a short amount of time because of his constant traveling, but he had an idea one night, and he set back to the grove where the demon first entered him so long ago. He was relieved to see it still standing - as it would until he died, was Aphetamog’s guess - and he plucked the trees of all their leaves. He sat there for several weeks, slowly unraveling the leaves, making miniscule knots in the ends of each to make a massively long thread. He tested it thoroughly to make sure it didn’t break, and when he was sure it would last, he spent the next few years in that grove, weaving a new cloak, and he had enough of the thread to make several spare ones, so he did, dying each one a different color so he could blend in with his surroundings. He eventually emerged again, newly clad with a large pouch he had made from left-over leaf thread that closed with a drawstring on the top. In it, he carried his many hunting supplies and his additional cloaks, adding whatever trinkets he found interesting along the way.

Although Aphetamog traveled far and wide, there were two general rules he had to follow, one by instinct and one dictated by the demon that spoke to him. The instinctive one was to avoid civilization, for although he was pretty sure they couldn’t kill him - he could wipe out towns without them even knowing he was there - he didn’t need for them to know he was still roaming the wilderness. The demon’s rule was he was to travel back to the grove on a semi-regular basis at the very least, and as this was the only thing the voice dictated after he mastered Geomancy and no harm had come of it yet, Aphetamog put up no resistance. In fact, it was because of this rule that he found some of the best finds of his life.

The first time he visited the clearing after making his cloaks and bag, Aphetamog encountered a small Rabbit, as white as his scar was black, with the exception of its paws, which were an ash grey. Aphetamog’s first instinct was to kill it, and although he released an arrow straight at it, the rabbit didn’t move, but the arrow seemed to go right through it. Puzzled by this, it dawned on him that perhaps the demon was behind this, and so he let the voice swamp him and explain to him about the rabbit. The rabbit, the voice said, was to be his companion, and it would aid him in his travels to come. Aphetamog was a bit puzzled by the last part, as he had always been fine by himself, but he was not going to doubt the voice in this matter. So he left with the rabbit, and they traveled together.

He returned a year later, and this time an impressive array of armor was presented to him. It seemed to fit him perfectly, and so he tried it on, and indeed it did. He surmised that it was the demon’s doing, and he was right on the matter. Only two pieces gave him a bit of surprise, and he was reluctant to wear them, as one was a Ribbon meant for a girl’s head, but he was not to deny the demon, and so he tied it around his wrist. The other was a Coronet, also clearly meant for a female, but again, he was not one to argue with the demon, and so he put it on, thinking perhaps we could make a cap out of it instead. No sooner had he thought it was it so, and the metal was now a malleable threaded cap, although it still felt the same power-wise to Aphetamog. He thought he could do the same with the Ribbon, but it seemed the time had passed, and no matter how hard he concentrated, it would not change. He also noticed a small sheath of clear material, and it felt silky as he picked it up, when he noticed that it had several holes in it. He instantly saw it was sized perfectly for his companion, and so he fitted it on the rabbit, which gave no fight as he did so. In fact, the rabbit seemed hardly changed.

Another six months passed by in civilized time, although Aphetamog barely noted it, but he felt compelled to return to the grove once again. This time, only a sing item was present, but it was perhaps the most beautiful thing the Moogle had ever seen: a shining sword which seemed to resonate its own beautiful hum. He hesitated, but picked it up and gave it a few swings. While clumsy at first, he quickly caught on, and it was flashing in the dark of the grove, singing a sweet song of death.

He never heard the voice’s command to return to the grove again, and so he took this as a good sign. As he had recieved his rabbit companion first, he named it Elt, which in his mind translated to “First.” He had recieved the blade last, and since it was his last visit to the grove, he named it “Iut Buelt,” which roughly translates to “Last Letter” in the common tongue.

Now fully armored, Aphetamog traveled back through the wilderness, but it had changed now. The landscape had changed; trees were burned down, bogs had appeared, deserts instead of lakes. Aphetamog wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, but he quickly found the source: a roving group of demonic monsters had decided to make home in his area, and remade it to their liking. He grew very angry, and the demon’s voice came back, and he let himself be swallowed by it again, going into a murderous rage against the invaders. He had a few lucid moments, but over the course of the years that it took him to rid him of the monsters, he never stopped hunting them down. At the end, all were gone save one. Before he found it, the demon left him, and after a day’s rest, Aphetamog hunted down the remaining monster, only to find a shocking revelation: it was himself. He had caused the landscape to change through his constant contact with the demon, and he had caused further devestation through his warpath. Outraged, Aphetamog rushed his mirror image and they battled for months on end before he could finally push the dark image of himself on its back, with Iut Buelt at the side of its neck. With a look of utter disgust and loathing, he flicked the blade, and the head went flying, where Elt caught it mid-air and started to eat it. Tired of it all, Aphetamog sat down on the spot and simply watched Elt eat the head, making loud crunching noises as it cracked the skull. Eventually, Aphetamog went back to his travels, but he hasn’t heard the voice since, and he hopefully won’t again, nor does he hope it will call for its equipment back, and Aphetamog will fight to the death for it. However, his travels haven’t been peaceful as he’s come upon more and more monsters, but he’s cleared them all the same, but the toll is starting to wear on him, and he tires of all the death, but he won’t rest until the world’s rid of them. And so he wanders the world, Elt and Iut Buelt at his side.

So this is what you were working on these guys for.

Your writing is definately decent, and I look forward to seeing how well you can weave a story.

These are definitely interesting. I look forward to seeing what you can do as well.