Characters for Original Character Tournaments I want to Do

Csilla is a waitress. She's leaving work when she's 'recruited.' She's got her purse, her apron and her car keys out. Under her arm is a circular serving tray that she managed to forget she was carrying and then just settled on bringing it back the next shift. Her purse has a granola bar, a bottle of water, a taser, and a can of mace. Her apron has a Server Book and a pen, maybe some coins and a little lint. She is wearing her work uniform, including fancy flats. This her inventory when she picks up the envelope. (http://fav.me/da7zvsg) The star sticker is already peeling, so out of curiosity she pulls it open and thumbs a postcard out of its confines. After reading it, she remarks on its oddity, looks up to continue walking to her car and realizes she's in the Woods. She only has a single class of self-defense training under her belt from college. She was just starting to date this pretty girl, too. She's not white.





Name: Azar Ziba, answers to Azar. Ziba is a middle name. She knows she had a surname, but has no idea what it was, so doesn’t worry about it.
Gender:  Female
Age: 17
Species: Human, Iranian

Hair: Black, short, very short (think Samantha Wright’s hair)

Eyes: Brown

Height: Not terribly tall, about 155cm. 
Weight/Body Structure: She’s a waif, in more ways than one. She’s scrawny, very little muscle. She can run and lift things in general, but she’s mostly a weakling. She can’t even pull herself up onto a ledge without immense difficulty. She leaves heavy lifting to others.

Unusual Features: Goggles, wears them when capturing spirits or mixing them together. Also when she’s running around junk yards, makes her feel cooler. They’re mostly decorative, but have their uses.
She also has a nasty (she thinks it’s cool looking, but most disagree) scar on her left shoulder. It’s just a mass of scarred flesh in a more or less perfect circle. She was blasted by her first merged Life Spirit when she tried to force it to stay after it had grown strong enough to leave her. Not a mistake she would make again in a hurry. She was lucky the incident had taken place near a large meeting place of those in the magical community and aid was quick in coming. It took her three months before she could use her left arm again, due to lingering elemental energy messing with recovery. Other minor scars pockmark her body, just leftovers from scuffles and tumbles she doesn’t remember.
Gait/Posture: She’s kind of hyperactive, and likes to run, and resents having to move slowly. She runs by leaning forward and swinging her arms loosely as her whimsy strikes her. She leans on walls or tables whenever possible, hating to stand up straight. She slouches forward when sitting, arms on her knees.
Voice/Speech Patterns: (Any accents? Do they Mumble?) Her accent is a strange combination of Iranian and Chinese accents speaking English.

You are a: Salvage Elementalist (a term she is <i>very<i> proud of coming up with on her own, thank you very much)
Clothing of Choice: (What your character is wearing.) Headscarf, Black tank top, cargo pants, men’s hiking boots about two sizes too big, she stuffs her extra socks in the toes. She gets nearly everything from thrift stores, can’t afford anything more.
Your Inventory: (What items does your character carry into battle?) Carries a patched up messenger bag. One strap goes over her shoulder and she’s affixed another strap to hug the bag to her waist so it doesn’t go far when she runs or jumps. Inside are three big mason jars. They look empty to anyone without magical sight. To anyone with said sight, two of them still look empty. But the third has swirling energy with difficult to define color.
She wears her goggles, which are actually safety glasses she adopted after they’d been abandoned at a bus stop. She calls them goggles, because she’s seen Steampunk cosplayers traipsing through the city every now and then and thinks goggles are cool.
She also carries a kard knife. An Islamic knife given to her by her mother before she died, this weapon is peacebound with wire wrapped tightly from hilt to tip of the sheath. Inside she can hear broken pieces rattle. It’s the last thing her mother gave her, so she keeps it hidden and rarely brings it out.
Personality: (What type of person is your character?) Generally a happy go lucky person and rather friendly, Azar doesn’t tend to be very open. She’ll chat with you for a while, but likes to keep her feelings and opinions to herself.

Special Skills: (Does your character know kung-fu? Spells? Can they shoot mind bullets?) http://longshotlink.tumblr.com/post/96826355959/salvage-elementalist

You Really Like: (Interests, friends, etc.)
You Really Hate: (Phobias, personal issues, enemies, etc.)
Romantic Choices: No one is her type. Completely asexual and aromantic. Absolutely no interest.

How did you arrive?: (How has your character entered Rendell's Mansion)
Your Personal Record: (The history of your character before arriving at Rendell's Mansion)
Goals: She used to say to find her family, but she realized a long time ago that any family for her, she’ll have to make herself. ‘Literally’ has not been ruled out.
More than anything, she’d like to be able to explore, leave her home city and just see what’s out there. Maybe see her birth country, though the politics there sound terrible. Getting swept away to a creepy mansion is close, but she’d love nothing more than to earn enough money to escape.

Notes: Tech could be as loosely defined as a hoe or an axe or even…a sword. Azar finds a shattered sword in its sheath. The pieces are held in place only by the hilt being peace bound. She can feel the broken elemental spirit within. Instead of deteriorating over time like most elemental spirits, this one seems to have gained in potency. The reason for this is an opposing elemental barrier created by the bonding. Azar has no idea what the elements are. She’s never experienced them before in an elemental form and cannot recognize them. This sword is a shamshir, an old Persian sword.

An elemental spirit, when put into a container with an opposing elemental barrier, has only one reaction. Escape. Push back. This is what has caused the spirit in the sword to gain in strength. It has been pushing for a long time. Trying to escape ever since it was sealed within. Sealed evil within a can. The element is Destruction and the opposing barrier is one of Creation. Since Azar claimed the sword, the Creation element has regained strength and is beating Destruction back, since the opposing element now has a magical source of ‘food.’ Before it had barely been able to hold back the destruction as it laid unclaimed. Since the girl picked it up, the sheath and hilt have become more ostentatious and detailed. Artwork of its sealing has appeared on the sheath along with complicated designs that deepen with the day.

Azar, through her traditional magic learning, was taught an unlocking spell. An opening spell. Most casters simply find it useful if they forgot their keys, used for locks on doors, cars, chests. But Azar found another use, it’s been helpful ever since she found she could manipulate elemental spirits into her mason jars and seal them in with opposing elements. This spell allows her to open those sealed jars back up and manipulate the elements within. She can feel the bonding on the sword, and while it would take a lot of magic, she could certainly open it. She’s hesitant (and she won’t realize that’s secondary charms on the bonding doing that) to open it, however, she doesn’t want to waste something so powerful on something so temporary. So she saves it. Until she gets desperate enough. Another thing she’ll never notice is that with the Creation elemental barrier feeding off her, it also influences her. Many of her recent spirit creations have been more artful, more stylized, rather than groupings of clumped together elements.

Just another note, thanks to a mary sue quiz. It asked if animals are unnaturally drawn to her, and I realized that thanks to the company she tends to keep, of the elemental variety, animals are actually repulsed by her and she rarely has contact with animals of any kind.

Just some creative writing exercises.

One

1.      Who is coming around the corner?

I can barely see her through the night vision goggles, but she comes around the corner with a massive dog. I t might be a mastiff, brownish sweater patterned fur. Sort of that damaged by sun blonde hair past her shoulders. She’s wearing a heavier jacket, it’s cold out, but not so cold that she has to zip the jacket up. As she rounds the corner she pulls back, the reaction when you almost ran into someone. She wasn’t expecting me to be there either.

2.      What is their secret?

She stammers apologetically for almost running into me, but I think there’s more to it than that.  She shyly tells me she comes here to snoop around, visit the abandoned places in the state. She tells me her favorite times feeling like she’s the most alive are when she’s spooked herself badly. She brings her massive dog in case she runs into any actually threats. Just like me, she’s not supposed to be here, I’m guessing that’s why she feels comfortable telling me this at all. The only way she’d get in trouble is if I ended up in the hot water too.

3.      What are they carrying?

She’s only got the leash for her dog in her hand, who really doesn’t seem all that unfriendly, as he shoves his nose into my crotch and leaves slobber stains down my pants. I pat his head as she explains, and I can hear worry in her voice. It seems no matter how I reassure her I won’t cause her any trouble, she’s rather used to exploring these places alone, alone-ish. The look of worry on her face becomes so pronounced I have to make a hasty exit to stop freaking her out.

Two

1.      Why did Peter lose his temper with Joanna?

“You lost them? How could you lose something like them? They reflect light blindingly!”

“That’s exactly how I lost them, Peter! They were so bright that when I put them down and walked away so I could see again, I don’t know where I put them. I think, I think someone took them.”

Peter ran his hands through his hair as he paced around. “Someone? Just someone? It could have been anyone and now they have some of the most powerful items in their hands and they have no idea. That’s just great. Of course now the League could pick them up easily. ‘Someone’ doesn’t have the ability to protect them.”

“I’m sorry, Peter. I – “

“You’re sorry?” Peter shouted in her face. “You’re sorry? The enemy could have their hands on them right now, and that’s all you’ve got? You’re sorry. Gah! I just, I can’t take this right now. I’m going looking for them.”

“I’ll come too.”

“No, Joanna, you stay here. You’ve done enough for today, thanks.” Without a word, but with a very loud slam, he left.

2.      Where did he go after he stormed out?

Peter spent the next few hours storming known warehouses of their enemies, the League. Many times it had been asked, “The League of what?” But there had never been an answer. It was just the League. Often they would seem disorganized and clumsy, but this was commonly a front to hide their true competence. For example, on this particular day all but one of the warehouses in the city were completely empty. The last one held a single table in the center of the very empty room, two chairs, and a hanging lamp directly over the table. At the table sat a communication droid that beckoned Peter to sit down after he’d dramatically smashed the door open.

3.      What happened to him when he got there?

Peter approached the table silently. He sat down silently, and waited silently for the droid to speak. When it did, he groaned inwardly in recognition of the voice coming from the mechanical mouth. Samantha was actually one of the most competent members of the League, but she conversed as the complete opposite. Her annoying voice and manner of speech were an act to put someone off their guard, and even though Peter knew all about the tactic, it worked on him too.

“Hi, Petey! I heard you’ve been raiding all of our warehouses today, heehee. I wonder why you would be doing something silly like that.”

“I know you’ve got them Samantha, and I’m going to get them back.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. The only thing we seem to have is a bunch of big old empty buildings. But then, you knew that part.” This was followed by an obnoxious amount of giggling. There was no chance this was as funny as that incessant tittering suggested. Her laugh quickly reached a high enough pitch to bore right into the headache that had been building all day.

“Samantha, I’m giving you one chance to return the tools before I come find them by force. I won’t be nice about this.” Now the robot was miming doubling over with laughter as Samantha’s shrill voice continued its cackling.

Well beyond his ability to put up with this harassment, Peter stood up suddenly, flipping the table and smashing it into the droid. His super strength made quick work of flattening the droid into the concrete floor. Then out of sheer annoyance he broke through the table, then the droid, and left a palm sized crater in the ground. He stood up, let out a sigh, and clapped the dust from his hands. As he walked to the smashed-in exit, he gave thought to reconsidering his position on not murdering his enemies.

These prompts were found here: Practical Creative Writing

She died for war, which everyone expected.

Writing Prompt For Thursday September 11th, 2014

theseventhsanctum:

She died for war, which everyone expected

Falling in love with one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse? Not exactly one of the expected repercussions of the end of the world. Neither was throwing herself in the way of the attack that might have actually killed the harbinger. But there she was, lying in an ever growing pool of her own blood, not really sure what was going to happen next. Dying during the apocalypse was expected for sure. The wars stampeding across the world had left millions dead and anyone could be the next victim. But dying to protect the very living symbol of War itself? No one saw it happening like that.
Why had she done that? He had hardly noticed her before this, and yet she had followed him across the country, just outside the wake of conflict he trailed behind. She really hoped she hadn’t fallen in love because of his looks. He was handsome, but he was sometimes barely corporeal. That couldn’t have been the reason. Perhaps she enjoyed what he represented. Though she didn’t feel full of blood lust or desire the division of all peoples. She supposed it could just be the resigned and defeated look on his face. This was a task he was created for, but he took no joy in it. The idea that he could feel sorrow for the humans who gladly tore each other apart, yes, that could quite definitely be it.
Whatever the reason, she looked up at War one last time. The few who had resisted his call to fight and built a weapon to kill him were already dead. War had dispatched them quickly and he now looked down on her with sad and confused eyes. ‘He looks as confused as I am. I wonder what he’ll do now?' She let out her last breath in a long sad sigh and moved no more.