Rating wars II: Electric boogaloo (Finals)

[PSychotic]

I am in and currently working on a Michael Weston-esque character.

[vidius]

Fear, you think you know fear? Maybe you know how to be nervous, to be trepid. But fear? You donÔÇÖt know fear, but you will. Fear is the sound of the Rasping Suit.

Character sheet
Name: The Rasping Suit
Nicknames/aliases: The Iron Suit, The Metal Monster, The Harbinger of Fear, Knightmare
Eye color: All of The Rasping Suits features are hidden behind the suit of armour that incloses it.
Hair color: All The Rasping Suits features are hidden behind the suit of armour that incloses it.
Age: As old as Fear
Race: Armour
Appearance: dark grey sabatons, ending in long menacing knife like points cover the feet. Dark grey greaves and a dark grey cuisse, decorated with intricate engravings of suffering creatures, adorn the legs. A dark grey breast plate rests over a hauberk of dark bronze. Dark grey pauldronÔÇÖs cover the shoulders, ending in dark grey spaulders and vambrace, all engraved with similar images of horror to the leg armour. Lobster gauntlets of dark grey metal cover the hands. Grasped between them is a wicked two handed sword, Paranoia. The blade is dark as midnight, the edge as sharp as sin. In contrast to the oily depths of the blade, the swords cross guard hilt is made of dragon bone, bleached white by an eternity of exposure.
Carved up the width of the blade are words, written in a language long since lost.
Sitting atop the knightmare suit of armour is a dark grey great helm, adorning the top of which are three demonic horns. From within the consuming darkness that comprises the depths of the helm something looks out; something dark, cold, and inhuman. Something that doesnÔÇÖt just see you, but sees through you, sees into you.
Something which doesnÔÇÖt just know you, but understands you.
Something which doesnÔÇÖt just hate you, but abhors you.
Something which wants you dead.

Weapons/powers:
Paranoia: The Rasping Suits great sword is the physical manifestation of the worldÔÇÖs nightmares. The blade is dark like ink, sharp like wit, and merciful like a hungry wolf.
Walking terror: where the Rasping Suit goes, darkness seems to follow, darkness that induces terror, darkness that cuts to the core, darkness which lets the Rasping Suit see the greatest fears of all the creatures of the world.
The Rasping Suit: The Rasping Suit is essentially a walking suit of full plate mail armour; however despite the fact that The Rasping Suit is made entirely of armour, it is capable of moving fast, and striking hard. Centuries of practice have let it develop and refine incredible martial prowess.

Biography:
Story the first:- It Begins at the End.

► Show Spoiler

They had first seen the smoke just after breaking their fast. Initially Hale and his companions had hoped that the thick black smog was the starting of a forest fire, but as the day progressed and the unmistakable stench of rotting burning flesh had filled the air; ripe and pungent, their worst fears had been confirmed.

Wellshore was a small village, not even marked on some maps, yet it was a village of the Duchy of Shorefine, or at least, it had been up until that morning. Now it was an abattoir. The villagers had been slaughtered where they stood. Men, women, even children. Some looked like they had attempted to defend themselves, but to no avail. Here a rusty scythe lay snapped like a twig, still in the hands of the frail old man that had tried to wield it. There a make shift shield lay splintered, shorn in twain by a mighty blow, the arm that had grasped it still attached like a grizzly trophy. At first Hale and his companions had assumed it was brigands, yet the slaughter showed nothing of the usual razing brigands would do. Valuables where left in houses, women lay dead, but not molested. And the children. It took a certain type of evil to kill children. But it wasnÔÇÖt just the death that haunted Hale and his men. The whole hunt was tainted with darkness. Men swore they saw shadows dancing out the last moments of death, and heard whispered voices in there heads; voices begging for release. But the worst was at night, when Hale, and his comrades dreams were haunted by ceaseless nightmares. They no longer suspected brigands, but rather some sort of fanatical cult. As a knight of Shorefine, Hale would be more then happy to dig the cult out and kill them to the last man in the name of the Dukes justice. Wellshore had only been murdered this morning. They where getting close.
***

Adam was a lover of adventure. He had a longing for freedom, a desire to see more, a desire bred from his simple provincial life in a small backwater village in the duchy of Shorefine. Day to day he helped his dad tan leather for armour, dress, and furniture. But as soon as his chores were finished, he was Adam the tanner apprentice no longer. He became Adam the Great, sworn Knight of the Duchy of Shorefine. Or Adam the Magnificent, first wizard to the Duke. He slew brigands, battled dragons, smote trolls. He did it in the deep forest of Darkshore, atop the highest peaks of Farshore, and the murky bogs of the Shorelest.
***

Hale held up a hand to stay his men. They numbered fifty five all together; twenty four swords, eighteen bows, twelve pole arms, and himself to lead the command. Just ahead lay a small farmstead, the last scream had pierced the air only moments ago. They had found their quarry.
ÔÇ£What ever monsters are doing this, today weÔÇÖll bring them justice.ÔÇØ Hale swore to his men, his deep voice matching his impressively large figure, and well oiled moustache.
ÔÇ£Aye sire.ÔÇØ Chorused the soldiers. Though many looked tired from another sleepless night, the adrenaline of battle had gripped them. They where ready to carry out the Dukes justice.
ÔÇ£For the Duke!ÔÇØ Screamed Hale, and he and his men charged upon the farmstead even as the first of there opponents emerged from within. A monstrously sized demon coated head to toe in dark full plate mail, clutched between its hands, a mighty sword as black as night.
***

It was on one of these adventures that Adam found himself stumbling upon a battlefield. Or at least, it looked like a battle field. Bodies littered the ground around the old farmstead, the shinning armour that had adorned the soldiers bodies now dulled with dark red stains of blood. The site stank of death and defiled bowels. AdamÔÇÖs first instinct was to run, that was until his eyes fell upon the helm at the centre of the carnage. It was a hideous thing really, a dark grey great helm, with three horns of a demonic nature protruding from its cap. Yet for all its repulsiveness, the helm was also hauntingly beautiful. The dark metal didnÔÇÖt hold light, yet in the deeply polished surface Adam could see his reflection, could see what heÔÇÖd look like with the helm on. He could see himself as the Knight heÔÇÖd always dreamt of being. The helmet was set at the very centre of the slaughtered, as if all the death had spiralled away from it, and it drew Adam in like a mirror.
Adam Adam.. Adam..
***

There is no dignity in death. No one tells you that. As your body quivers and your life blood leaves you in thick red rivers you soil your armour. The sludge of brown joins the torrents of red, and you learn that the smell of death is also the smell of shit.
Death surrounded Hale at that moment.
They had been fifty five, and there enemy only one. And yet now he was all that was left.
The creatures sword ÔÇô for he was sure it was no man ÔÇô had carved through breast plate and bone with equal ease. Arrows had shattered on the demonic armour. Pole arms had been intercepted and snapped where they were thrusted. Limbs where severed, shields splintered. In one mighty blow the creature had taken apart three men, the ink black sword swirling around the monstrosities body in a brutal cleaving arc, coming out of the last mans innards as clean as it had been before the slaughter started. The blade was so haunting it was as if even gore feared to cling to its surface. Hale had still had half his men then. They still might have had a chance. But then the terror has settled amongst his ranks, starting with the archers then rippling through the others like a wave lapping up the beach.
ÔÇ£There are more of them. They are everywhere.ÔÇØ The arrows had fallen amongst their own ranks like rain, taking men in the back, through vulnerable back plates. Madness had descended, and the attack on the monster had degraded into a frenzy of hacking and slashing. Hale could only watch as his men lopped at each others limbs with manic grins, laughing even as they where cut apart.
They had hacked and slashed with abandoned until Hale was alone.
***

Adam picked up the helm, rotated it in his hands, and lost himself in its savage beauty. Then naturally, almost involuntarily, he placed the helm over his head.
***

ÔÇ£What are you..ÔÇØ Hale gasped as he stumbled back from another arcing blow.
ÔÇ£Why are you doing this!ÔÇØ He screamed, rasing his blade in time to deflect a thrust.
ÔÇ£Why?ÔÇØ He sobbed, stumbling to the sodden ground.
ÔÇ£You people, have no imagination.ÔÇØ The sound was deep, dark, grating. Like the dragging of a sword over broken stone. Yet the sound formed itself into words. They revibrated through HaleÔÇÖs head like a bell, then they where gone. Had the words even existed? Had they been spoken, or was he just hallucinating again? Would he succumb to the madness like his men and die from that? Or would he die by that nightmare blade?
ÔÇ£What..ÔÇØ If madness it be. Then who was he to fight it. He couldnÔÇÖt fight anymore. Fifty four men all dead. What difference would he make.
ÔÇ£You people, the people of Shorefine. You have no imagination. Think of this as enlightenment.ÔÇØ Words, definitely words. But did they come from the creatureÔÇÖs mouth? Did the creature even have a mouth? Hale starred into the void of darkness that was the great helm, trying to find the truth that he was sure he would die with.
ÔÇ£What?ÔÇØ
ÔÇ£Wellshore. Shorewest. Northshore. They are no more. Maybe they will be named something else. Something better. A lack of imagination is a waste of the mind.ÔÇØ
ÔÇ£What are you?ÔÇØ Hale breathed, even as a gauntlet of dark grey closed around the hem of his armour and he was hefted into the air with an ease that sent a chill down his spine. He was now helm to helm with the demon, his eyes starring into the void that was the creatures mask. They searched for something, anything. Yet all they found was feeling of uneasiness, paranoia, and dread.
ÔÇ£I am fear Hale Shore, of Shorefine, but you may know me as The Rasping Suit; at least, for the last moments of your life.ÔÇØ Tales from Hales childhood game back to him then. Tales of monsters, and demons, tales of terror and death. Tales told to scare children into behaving. Yet tales like that didnÔÇÖt really exist did they? But if they didnÔÇÖt exist, then they couldnÔÇÖt slaughter his men, they couldnÔÇÖt murder villages to the last, they couldnÔÇÖt crush him by his throat even through his armour.
ÔÇ£Life isnÔÇÖt a fairy tale Hale. ItÔÇÖs a nightmare. And IÔÇÖm the teller.ÔÇØ The words were like a shattering chime in the back of his mind. The creature was killing him. He was about to fail. White spots exploded in front of HaleÔÇÖs eyes as he felt his armour compressing into his larynx, suffocating him. He was a knight of Shorefine, and he was about to die. But he was a knight of Shorefine, if he was going to die, he would still do his duty.
ÔÇ£I may die, but that does not mean you will live.ÔÇØ Gasped Hale, and with a last ditch effort of will; even as he felt the gauntlet crushing his armour into his throat, Hale grabbed at his dagger and lunged into the eye guard of the helm, the blade disappearing into the darkness.

There was a second of resistance, than a high pitched hissing sound filled the air. The hands dropped him and Hale hit the ground hard. He felt a cold trickle of warmth down his neck where he knew his own armour had been shattered into his skin, he would die here. But he would die happy.

He watched with an almost unnatural feeling of joy as the armour staggered back a few steps, then one piece at a time started falling apart. First the gauntlets; then the spaulders and pauldrons, the vambrace and the graves, the sabatons, the cuisse, the breast plate, the hauberk, and finally the helm. And as it all collapsed Hale was sure he saw a shadow of darkness vanish into the skies, accompanied by a childÔÇÖs laughter.
It would take Hale three days to die, and he would never stop laughing, even his last death rattle would be a starved, maddened, giggle.
***

A spark of light filled AdamÔÇÖs eyes for the briefest of moments, and in that moment he knew what was to come, he understood the sentence he had just purchased for himself, he understood the true meaning of fear. Then all he could see was darkness; darkness so thick it suffocated him. And although he tried to screamed, the noise was lost inside the constraints of his mind, trapped to forever echo through the armour which was already beginning to take shape again. Armour that was dark grey, and covered in carvings depicting creatures stuck in throes of terror.

With an ominous screech The Rasping Suit reached a hand down to reclaim Paranoia, the great sword was still as dark as the depths of fear, and as sharp as sin. As unchanged as it had been from the days it was first forged in the nightmare fires in the pits of the earth. Unchanged that was, aside from the one new name inscribed on its blade.

The suit of armour looked to the North, flexed its gauntleted fingers in a chilling metallic squeal. Then accompanied by the sound of metal grating on metal, the suit started North, in search of its next victim.

Reason for wanting the Stone: To end this existence.

[PSychotic]

Name: Donovan
Nicknames/aliases: Lots, probably. He doesn't really heed them any mind though.
Eye color: Black
Hair color: Brown
Age: 28
Race: Human
Appearance: He has short hair, military cut. Black sunglasses to block his animated and quite telling eyes. Besides that, Donovan also cycles through a variety of clothes that usually mask his physique and strength.
Weapons/powers: Donovan is a decent hand to hand fighter with a heavy reliance on mind games. The man's got no magical abilities or weapon training whatsoever. When in combat, he often fights dirty, utilizes a lot of traps and tricks, and tries to destablize enemies by pushing their buttons however he can.
Biography: Five years ago, the Domeer and Almari kingdoms were at war. They had been at war for three generations and both sides of royalty felt that it was time to end the bloodshed. So, a peace treaty was held on neutral ground and the two leaders met to hash out the terms. The two sides weren't seeing eye-to-eye however, and couldn't agree about a thing. It quickly degenerated into what surely would be open combat when a man quite literally dropped from the ceiling and then proceeded to murder both the Domeer king and Almari queen. And then, quick as he appeared, he disappeared.
So goes the tale of Donovan's first job, which the amoral mercenary always claims he wasn't paid for and just did to get his name out in the open. Since then Donovan has gained a reputation as the go-to guy if you have the money for him and don't mind a big mouth. He's done it all by now: murder, kidnapping, arson, blackmail, theft, protection; you name it, Donovan has had a client hire him to do it. And he had a steady stream of them too. Until last year, when he announced that the 'Old Asshole' was going to retire for a while and try his hand at finding the legendary Stone. Since then, Donovan has been traveling and searching. He hasn't found the Stone yet, but he will.
Personality: Donovan's true persona is very calm and snarky. He like to take pot shots at people, and only gets mad when his plans and tricks and provocations do nothing. Often, Donovan will put on a face, a false personality, to trick people and gain information. Sometimes he does it when fighting.
Reason for wanting the Stone: Many a reason has been given by Donovan, but which if any of them is true is almost impossible to tell.

[M0rtimer]

Added both of you.

Also, if anyone would be interested, I'm still looking for at least one more judge. If your interested just send me a PM, and thank you.

[Ramsa]

Well, here goes nothing I guess. I'll change him if people say he is too unoriginal.

Name: Konur Durai

Nicknames/aliases: The peasant king, Warrior from hell

Eye color: His left eye is blue with a scar over it his right eye is glass with a white iris

Hair color: Dark brown strait hair that ends just above his waist

Age: 47
Race: Human

Appearance: He is 5' 7" with ochre skin color (between bronze and brown) heavy build, very heavily scarred

Weapons/powers: He carries a hand a half sword, is inhabited by 3 lesser demons (giving him added strength and some magical ability if it amuses them)

► Show Spoiler

Biography: Young Konur never really knew his parents. Jengal Durai was a soldier killed fighting Domeerites who had invaded the border town of Kashwuk when Konur was 2. 4 months later Kalein, his mother, died giving birth to her daughter Kinel. They were raised by their brother Jungal who was a blacksmith in the capitol city Almar.

When Konur was 15, as he was returning home to tell Kinel he had been recruited into the army, he saw 5 figures in black cloaks carrying a brown bag out of the smithy. He rushed inside to see his brother lying in pieces on the floor, his right arm grasping a sword, his mouth screaming a mute cry. Dashing back out into the street, he caught a glimpse of the cloaked figures rounding the corner. Not knowing what else to do he chased after them. Konur caught up to them they were entering the catacombs. As he reached out to grab one of them it turned and slashed him with its hand sending him reeling to the ground as the world went black.

It was night when Konur woke up gasping for breath, he had nearly drowned in a pool of his own blood. Then the realization set in, His brother was dead and his sister, oh not his sister anything but that. He ran into the tunnels praying he wasn't too late. After half an hour of wandering through the intensely dark sewers he saw a dull red light that didn't flicker or even glow, it just was. It was a summoning circle and in the center, Kinel! He charged into the center of the room and grabbed her. As he stepped into the summoning circle his mind opened up into an amazing world, a world gone wild. His mind was assaulted by great creatures of the underworld who tormented the soul of his being. After what seemed like an eternity he could take it no longer, his mind snapped. In his insanity he fought back his assailants, pushing them out of his mind. Light suddenly filled his eye as he was hit in the back and fell forward out of the circle and his mind closed like a trap shutting the remaining demons in his head. The figure looming over him wielded a saber that was arcing down at his neck. Reaching out with his right arm Konur deflected the blade but it dug into his flesh. He kicked his opponents legs out from under it and grappled for the saber. After wrenching it from the figure he felt unnatural power flow through his hot blood, and he lost consciousness.

27 years later

"I can't ever remember seeing trees so full of life, can you General?" Why must these fools pester me so? Because you are dead. What you want peace? You have seen too much you will never have it. Back to the hell hole you were spawned from. It's no use, Konur knows they wont leave him be, so he ignores them, "You call that life? they look to be dying from thirst to me, not that it makes sense they have drunk enough blood to be green for many a year." "Don't be that way General the royal family is making peace talks now this war will be over soon and then we will be able to return home." "I don't have a home Ragul this war made sure of that. I wish both families dead so I could end this war without anyone getting in the way." As the colonel tries to gather his thoughts and reply a messenger arrives with news that the Queen has been killed. Seems wishes do come true "A curse upon the damned Domeerians, Rally the soldiers we will have their blood tonight."

Present day

Konur rules the combined kingdoms of Domeer and Almari but he takes no joy in the ruling, he often throws himself into the arena wishing for death but knowing he won't find it. Upon hearing of the stone that grants the wielder whatever they want he leaves the kingdom in the hands of Ragul he leaves to join the battle for death or peace.

Reason for wanting the Stone: To unmake his past so he can save his sister

@PSychotic I hope you don't mind me using your cities/conveniently murdered royal families in my background I thought it would help the continuity of the world if not every character had their own entirely different kingdoms/wars/etc. (I mean seriously how big is this world?)

Do you guys want more backstory? (how he became a general, where he got his eyepiece, observe the battles leading to his rule, anything else that comes to mind) critique away.

[vidius]

Do you guys want more backstory? (how he became a general, where he got his eyepiece, observe the battles leading to his rule, anything else that comes to mind) critique away.

Put in more fluff if you think it is relevant to what your opponents/judges will need to know about the character. The better everyone else understands your character, the better he will be able to be understood as a character.

only critic, this is a writing competition, not a formatting competition. Give the three difference voices in his head different lines for there dialogue instead of color coding them (you can still color code if you want, but make sure each new voice starts with a new line, it will actually help to make it feel more disjointed and hectic in my opinion.)

[M0rtimer]

Well, we will start with an practice round first. This will get all the players some potentially critical advice from the judges,as well as giving all the players an idea of their opponents writing style.

That being said, yes, it's generally unadvised to use color codes. It is hardly you'd find something in a book , after all.

[Ramsa]

The reason I used colors is because I saw it in the keenspot game on at least 1 occasion for dialogue between characters, I don't think anyone was as demented as my character.

[PSychotic]

@PSychotic I hope you don't mind me using your cities/conveniently murdered royal families in my background I thought it would help the continuity of the world if not every character had their own entirely different kingdoms/wars/etc. (I mean seriously how big is this world?)

No, I don't mind! In fact, I love the sense of inner-connectedness it gives to the characters. There's a link now between Konur and Donovan now, even if neither of them know it. And I love that, it's awesome and.... it's just awesome!

[lingrem]

Psychotic, I love your response to Ramsa!

[PSychotic]

Thanks! And I... love your response to my response? Errr... yeah, that seem right.

[vidius]

Thanks! And I... love your response to my response? Errr... yeah, that seem right.

I love your new DP.

RIP Scarghh.

[PSychotic]

Thanks vid! It's an old picture I had, way back when EFB was running and before I had something to scan it. I remember drawing a Kritanta picture too, and thinking it was real sloppy. If I see it, I'll probably upload it.

[vidius]

Thanks vid! It's an old picture I had, way back when EFB was running and before I had something to scan it. I remember drawing a Kritanta picture too, and thinking it was real sloppy. If I see it, I'll probably upload it.

That would make me happier then you would ever know :3

If i had the talent I would run a game with Krit and Scarghh coming back from the dead, resurrected by a necromancer, as undead blades for higher.

[Dusk9]

I'm still working on my character, in case anyone's wondering.

I'm considering scrapping my first idea, because he's ended up being a bit too similar to Si in terms of attitude and tactics - very direct, smashy-smashy, beat-them-til-they-can't-move stuff. Less potential for emotional growth too, though he does have some potential for interesting interactions thrown in there.
Plus, he's a bit OP too

Fortunately, I've got a backup lined up who's different, and may even be a bit more interesting to write. He's much more of an indirect fighter, who can't really do the straight combat thing very well. He has......other ways of taking down his foes.
Still OP, but in a different way to the other two

Anyway, ETA = no idea. Should have a finished character up by the deadline though, regardless of which I end up choosing.

[AccursedBiscuit]

Name: Tibiscu
Nicknames/aliases: None
Eye color: Soft white glow
Hair: Short, messy, light brown
Age: 37
Race: Human, but seems to have a touch of something supernatural
Appearance: About 5' 10", clean shaven, lightly tanned skin. He has small scars from previous battles, mainly on his hands, forearms, feet and shins. Wears a magically enhanced leather vest, the enchantment making it resilient to the elements, yet flexible as silk. He has a belt with pouches of various sizes containing mainly healing salves, and other useful compounds. The pants he wears are of pretty poor quality, just slightly better than burlap. The pants are burned away up to about an inch under the knees, as if he'd been standing in a fire. He is barefoot. He also wears a faded and worn grey headband. The most prominent of his features, besides his eyes, are the tattoos that wrap around his lower forearms and lower calves. There are three rings around each, which seem to resemble different elements. The rings closest to his wrists and ankles involve a lot of swirling and flickering, much like a fire. The tattoos above those are long and spiky, like icicles. The final rings look like electricity running in circles around his forearm, very jagged and taking sharp turns, following no particular pattern.
Weapons/powers: Tibiscu doesn't use weapons, and focuses primarily on hand-to-hand combat. He is a master of disarming techniques, and disrupting his opponents chakra points. He can pinpoint certain points on his opponent's bodies and when struck with precise pressure, can render that limb or organ useless and nonfunctioning. When the need arises, the aforementioned tattoos glow, giving him elemental abilities along with altering his fighting style slightly. When the fire rings glow, his hands and feet begin to heat up, almost to the point of catching on fire, and he begins to use rising attacks (uppercuts, rising kicks, etc.). When the ice rings glow, His hands and feet freeze solid, giving them greater impact. He can also freeze the moisture (if any) to create an ice coating on his extremities. His moves become more cool, calculated and punctuated. When the lightning ring activates, he can throw lightning bolts and electrocute his enemies. His moves become more sporadic and unpredictable, striking almost as fast as lightning itself.
Biography: Tibiscu was once a vagrant, stealing from anyone who had something he wanted from the age he started walking. He stole from anyone and everyone, but never carried a weapon, it only took up space. He had a natural talent for using his body as a weapon, which he never hesitated to use if he couldn't simply outrun whomever he'd stolen from. He'd never lost a barfight, and quickly learned to disarm anyone better equipped than he, to better the playing field in his favor. When he was in his mid-20's word on the street went around that there was a very powerful stone that could allow the wielder to do just about anything he or she desired. He soon discovered a lead that directed him to a nearby temple of flame monks. They had apparently been researching the stone, meditating on its secrets. So, Tibiscu set off the steal whatever information they had uncovered. But he had severely underestimated the monks. Their unarmed skills far surpassed his own, as they practiced constantly. Tibiscu managed to mortally wound one, however. The monk was Giratsu, a high ranking monk in the order. Giratsu admired Tibiscu's natural talent and ferocity, and desired to help Tibiscu. The monks then practiced an ancient art of soul mending, taking both Giratsu and Tibiscu's fading souls and merged them. Giratsu's soul filled in the "gaps" in Tibiscu's soul and morality. Tibiscu was suddenly filled with a lifetime's worth of experience and knowledge. Their souls were both whole enough that there was a slight overlap in souls, giving Tibiscu a supernatural air and glowing eyes. Tibiscu then realized his wrongs, and studied with the fire monks. They used magic ink give him his tattoos. Once he'd mastered his fire style, they sent him to study with the ice monks. There, he learned more about the Stone's abilities, and decided his goal. He was to claim the Stone, and separate his and Giratsu's souls, and give Giratsu back the life that was wrongly taken from him. Once he'd learned all he could from the ice monks, he ventured forth to the lightning temple. There he learned that there was to be a competition to decide the champion of the Stone. He still had more temples to visit, but wouldn't have time to study and participate in the competition. He set off to find his first opponent.
Reason for wanting the Stone: To separate his and Giratsu's souls, and return Giratsu to his body and life that were so wrongly taken from him. Afterwards take the Stone and make his own temple, and spend the rest of his life creating the Order of the Stone, to meditate and become closer to the Creator.

I'm new to these types of games and welcome to critique, and good luck to everyone!

[Ramsa]

Dusk there is no such thing as an op character in here. You know the whole spiel about it being more about creativity than character power. But moreover there are really powerful opponents in here. I don't see how a three-legged poodle thats blind in one eye is going to give you the leeway to write 4 wins.

[AccursedBiscuit]

Although I would love to read those stories!

[vidius]

Although I would love to read those stories!

Go read the original RW, there is a link in Morts opening post I think.

[Dusk9]

Dusk there is no such thing as an op character in here. You know the whole spiel about it being more about creativity than character power. But moreover there are really powerful opponents in here. I don't see how a three-legged poodle thats blind in one eye is going to give you the leeway to write 4 wins.

Pfft, you don't realise how OP my characters can be
The one I used in the last RW was literally immortal, pretty much immune to magic, and had a full-length sword built into his arm. And that was a dumbed down version of the original, who's basically all that plus hyper-advanced tech (super-computer intelligence, photon lazers, hydrogen-thruster feet, nanobots, plasma cannons, titanium-armoured skin, etc).
And he's one of the least powerful of the group, since his only real strength is not-dying - some of the others are on the planet-destroying scale of OP.

So yeah, I need to de-power them a lot for this

[vidius]

Dusk there is no such thing as an op character in here. You know the whole spiel about it being more about creativity than character power. But moreover there are really powerful opponents in here. I don't see how a three-legged poodle thats blind in one eye is going to give you the leeway to write 4 wins.

Pfft, you don't realise how OP my characters can be
The one I used in the last RW was literally immortal, pretty much immune to magic, and had a full-length sword built into his arm. And that was a dumbed down version of the original, who's basically all that plus hyper-advanced tech (super-computer intelligence, photon lazers, hydrogen-thruster feet, nanobots, plasma cannons, titanium-armoured skin, etc).
And he's one of the least powerful of the group, since his only real strength is not-dying - some of the others are on the planet-destroying scale of OP.

except.. you know.. its a writing competition.

[Dusk9]

Exactly! How far do you think I'd get if my entry for every round boiled down to "X snaps his fingers and teleports/throws Y into the Sun"? Cause that's the sort of OP they're capable of - half of them can do that without even breaking a sweat.

If I want to have something I can actually write about, I'll need my guy to face some challenges. And currently, they are all far too powerful for anything short of a planet-consuming Galactus style enemy to pose any sort of a threat.

Hence, I need to strip them of as much power as I can, and pull them sharply back down to Earth.

[AccursedBiscuit]

Mort did make a very good point that people typically root for the underdog. So I suppose having a super-mega-ultra-super powered guy might actually help your opponent get votes.

[M0rtimer]

In the end though, it really does come down just to who is the better writer. So while Dusk's character was OP, he still did a damn good job at writing his character, which brought him far in the contest. If he hadn't slacked ran out of time when he was pitted against me, he could possibly even have won.

[AccursedBiscuit]

By the way, I looked but couldn't find a link to the original RW. Anyone mind helping me out? I'd love to read the stories. Mainly for entertainment, but I think I could get a better sense of the game that way.