So, this is a thread where Trisphee members can post character sheets, talk about their OC's, and get advice from other Roleplayers & Writers on their characters. Also, if anyone wants to make art of the characters...
So consider this the Original Character Closet & Hangout
*Note, all original characters are the sole property of their writer.
Stealing another's work will get you banned/reported.
Age: 24
Height: 5’6”
Weight: 125 lbs.
Hair: Black
Eyes: Dichromatic – Green and Pink
Build: Athletic
Spiritual Presence: Average – She has maintained a belief in a balance – a Taoist set of beliefs, and thus can offer some spiritual assistance (healing) and wisdom.
Psychic Presence: Average – Telekinesis, can sense auras, and able to block mental attacks.
Combat Ability: High – She has been trained in the use of firearms and various Japanese martial arts weapons
Arcane Knowledge: Average - her whole childhood centered around this knowledge. However, she gets sloppy when she is at emotional extremes.
Mechanical Aptitude: Average/High – She is adept at chemical/fluid dynamics and modifies her weapons to fulfill such things.
Other:
Pet Robot Wolf: Rurik (Rebuildable, rideable, has metal claws and teeth)
Possessions:
Backpack
Healing/first aid supplies (not sure if an in game mechanic or not)
Spiked Poi balls
Shuriken ammo
2 Fire Wheels (Fire Wheel brought up to the modern age – imagine floating wheel of flame and metal)
Held outside
Experimental Diamond Eye (1) - A device that magnifies images 360 degrees around to assist vision. It also displays digital information and has wireless. However, it has lapses and overloads.
Staff-shield (Staff that can create a temporary two-person force field)
2 Hook Swords (with flammable fuel – like fire wheels)
Shuriken – wrist attachment/wrist gun
Shoe-daggers – has an electric power attached to them (Voltage at 200 Volts, 1mA - essentially deadly to a strong human)
Biography:
Born in Vöcklabruck, Austria, to a Japanese ex-veteran father and an Austrian scientist-mother, Kaida lived a childhood training to be her father’s dream – a warrior of the Apocalypse. Between drills with many martial arts weapons and forced courses of chemistry and physics, Kaida never really developed a sense of self. Her instruction focused on chemical and flame tactics, Japanese martial arts, the math and science behind both, and Taoist/New Age culture. She was isolated from the rest of the war-torn world, made to move often due to “the War” until she was 17. Then, the effects of the Calamity caught up with her family. A man, a thief, tried to rob a soldier of the False Prophet who had come to reclaim Salzburg Castle. In response, dark shapes carried through the town with black fires. Kaida, an insomniac, saw the figures. She slipped out with her twin hook swords, Frey and Freya, and slipped out, eager to test her abilities. Unaware, she was caught by a vagabond and raped. Though terrible, it was worse seeing black flames engulf her home…to hear her mother wake up screaming. Kadia blacked out, and woke to a half-destroyed town, an orphan with but two swords to her name. So, she set out.
For 4 years, Kadia lived wildly. She didn’t really know who she was, but she loved sex, gambling, and fighting. She worked with a gang, learning to patch them up when they got hurt. She was a wild flame who gave her all into the gang. She was an asset to a group of “normal humans” as she began exhibiting telekinetic powers and the ability to sense and deflect energies around her, though this rubbed some members the wrong way. Sadly, this, the prime of her life – her new family – did not care much for her. Her energy and enthusiasm, her help and creative strategies, even her body were tools for them. When she reached 21, her gang abandoned her to the threats of Eschalon.
At 22, battered and broken, Kadia stumbled into one of the few remaining monasteries. There, for two years she was healed and became a minor priestess. After bidding farewell to the monastery, hoping for it not to fall into the curse that now seemed to hang around her, Kadia left. Though not healed, she is once again part of the rogues gallery.
Kadia’s primary weapons are her two hooked swords, and two windwheels. She has modified both to essentially carry a controlled release of fuel and spark, makinf the wind wheel spinning disks that spit fire, and her swords able to either be superheated (able to slice clean through almost any metal or iron) or spout off a similar flame to the wheels.
From her time as a gang member, she keeps two gloves - wrist attachments that load disks, spinning them at a highly lethal rate and launching them. Those who see this in action swear she is shooting discs of light – they are likewise considered superheated.
Kadia knows Poi from her time dancing for her gang. This she can also bring to be a weapon-like style. From this and her martial arts, she can easily make up her height with high jumps and attacks in the air.
When she was abandoned, Kadia stumbled around until she ran into a man willing to pay for “experiments.” She volunteered, was drugged, and had a chip implanted in her brain connecting her to the Robo-wolf, Rurik. The wolf is her aid when she gets too depressed, as well as a strong deterrent from the common thief. Rurik has no eyes, nor nose, but a strong sense to wavelengths, so he can “sniff” things out.
Personality:
A mix of fire and water, Kaida is both a short tempered rage and a shifty, deep person. She embodies the duality, almost on the lines of Borderline Personality Disorder. At times, she can take anything and offer great wisdom as well as exhibit great idealism and energy, which can be great for those she tries to help – the hope is infectious. Other times, however, she’ll seem to snap – to give up – for many hours. However, even when in this state, she will fight for those around her, so they can continue even when she can not.
She is clever (or thinks she is), impulsive, and nimble. She is a dancer of light and shadow, hope and despair, fire and ice.
Don’t mention her dichromatic eyes. She was whipped as a child for having the weak albino-like eye that could not see well.
She is also hypersexual and steril.
Gwion ab'Arlnett
Name: Gwion “Morfran” ab Arnallt
Ethnicity: Welsh
Allegiance: Sorhaute
Profession: Bard/Assassin
Age: 29
Height: 5'10”
Weight: 146 lbs
Appearance: Gwion has a lanky and thoroughly calloused body, worn to survival beyond normal for his years. His build is akin to a mishmash of junk – strongly built arms surrounding a twig of a chest, followed down by thicker thighs…and tapering out at miniscule feet. Though the body appears ungainly, he is incredibly quick and fluid. His face is likely the only charming part about him – somewhat chiseled with a dark blond stubble. His emerald eyes are bright and captivating, and a frill of flicked blond hair hangs over his head unceremoniously. He holds a constant, if subtle, smirk, like some lord looking forward to the next hunt. Though seemingly odd at first, somewhat like a deformed beggar, closer examination would show the buildup of muscles built for evasion and indicating the strength of an accomplished archer. Even closer, metal ornaments only known to nobles shine under his hair and clothing. Gwion in battle covers his common clothes with a Jack-of-Plate vest and a bevor of articulated lames coming up around his neck, covering his smirk. Mail arms are attached to the vest, and hardened oiled leather cuisses are strapped to his legs.
Skill-at-Arms: 4 – He is a superb marksman, able to hit a running fox upon horseback at a distance of 100 yards and knows a form of sword fighting similar to that of the Italians, parrying to the benefit of his swordbreaker. However, in a war or battle, his skills are misplaced and would serve as clumsy. He is a grand horserider, perhaps due to his ability to shift into similar four-legged beasts.
Wisdom: 5 – As a child, Gwion poured over endless books about the mystical lands around. He learned the trade of minstrels playing for the court of Ceredigion, becoming skilled with the flute and lute, and listened to tacticians calculate the trajectory of ballistae. As an assassin and a bard, his bread relies on him furthering such knowledge.
Magic: 3 – Due to a pact with the Danann lady-fae, Cyrridven, sealed in blood over a cauldron, Gwion can shift into any beast less than or equal to his mass, limited by his health and anatomical knowledge, retaining his intelligence. He can communicate with ones he animals has been, however, he is cursed with perpetual illness. He has some lingering fear of the fey-lass who’d love to devour him as a delicious wren or succulent Gwion salmon. Actual Mechanic: Max Animal Size/Weight = (Gwion Weight-Gear Weight)/Sickness (Sickness on a scale of 1-4, 4 being current puking state)
Contract of the Cauldron Awenydd:
I am Awenyyd,
The magic of inspiration,
To be gifted to those in need,
----
Bid those who lost sight,
Give up their might,
And those with face horrid,
Sacrifice their hoard,
I will grant upon either thee,
An infinite voice of Beauty.
----
Bid thee fae-enmeshed,
Give to me a gift of flesh,
A hand, an eye, a leg, a head,
Or perhaps serve my fae her bread,
Seven years a servile steed,
With that, you may be freed.
----
Bid thee who flees,
And hides under bees,
To in open stir my belly,
And with three drops of jelly,
Will lose health yet hide the best,
In the shape of smaller beasts,
----
Thrice the blood spill in my chur,
Thrice a night sit and stir,
To sing in voice of pretty birds,
To live free from Sith herds,
To daily take two smaller shapes,
And escape this Cauldron’s mouth agape,
----
Beware ye take of me,
Only droplets three,
Or fast the hare ye widely run,
Over hill and under sun,
Stronger strength your magic will have,
If three nights you outrun the fey-lass.
Vitality: 2 – Though well-trained, Gwion is supernaturally weaker than most around him. Between poor conditions that beset a contracted landless Noble, his sacrificed health, and the unsavory works he has dealt with, there is many a night where the bard purges his last meal.
Wealth: 2 – Most of Gwion’s contracted money goes to pay off his gear, or ends up paying for his meager supplies. He ignores several needs for his gear. Most of the time, he steals or hunts and gathers for food, unable to afford much there. Perhaps if he sold the few trinkets…but they are all that is left of his family.
Other Notable Attributes: Lorekeeper, knows apothecary poisons and antidotes, knows the basic anatomy of wrens, cats, mice and dogs, decent entertainer/minstrel, knows how to mend and repair his armor (how to sew), what food is edible, how to make a fire, and is a good animal trainer. He knows French, Gaelic, Latin, and Welsh. He can read Greek, and speak a pidgin form of Cornish.
Possessions: Customized Jack-of-plates armor, with mail arms and a bevor face-guard. Hardened leather Cuisses, Vambraces, an Ear Dagger, a hatchet, flasks of oil and apothecary poisons, flint, two arrow bags of 24 arrows, a sword breaker (longsword style), a recurve yew longbow with a notched stabilizer, several meters of chord (rope), a bag of sand (for filtering), a lute, a reed wooden flute, a blank book, and a fishing knife, and a restiched rucksack.
Relationships: Arnallt (foster-father, lord, deceased), Malgo (former Captor, deceased), Rhianna (foster-mother, MIA), Servant’s Children (deceased or lost) Cyrridven (Enchantress of the Tuatha De Danann, Fey), Drudwen(Prostitute,Assassin,First Lover) Prince Morcant (Benefactor in Sorhaute)
Social Rank: Noble, Landless
Honor: Gwion holds a philosophy of “the ends justify the means,” but restrains that on certain accounts. Firstly, he will not kill children, and will go to greater lengths to minimize the trauma of death in the event of his target having children. Secondly, Gwion believes strongly in telling accounts as truthfully as possible, despite most favoring stories that paint prettier pictures. That does not make Gwion trustworthy – he’ll outright lie anytime the occasion calls for it…but when he tells the truth, it is the full, uncensored truth as he knows it.
Biography:
Gwion never knew either of his true parents, and was discovered abandoned by a Lord and his wife, who had lost their first child died years before. It filled an emptiness for them, even though, as a foster child, Gwion would not be a viable for lordship.
The lad was strong, and never did illness touch him. Even so, he spent much time indoors. Assisted by a tutor who taught him to read, Gwion spent much time in the library, pouring over the tomes. Cartography, alchemy, animal anatomy, business, and strategy were all overshadowed by the tales of the gods and the adventures of heroes. In the forests nearby, he may read of a frightful Bean Si. Or perhaps there was a mystery under the bridge waiting to be found. Oftentimes, he would sneak around the buildings, pretending that the cooks were some intelligent monster he would have to sneak by. Despite being caught, he was not allowed to be punished, and so was for the most part free to be roguish.
Many a time, Gwion saw foreigners enter, and using a quick charm, would befriend and learn from them. Basic fighting and archery from the knights, basic craftsmanship from the traders, and most importantly, he learned to play music from the bards. Though some instruments, like the harp and drum, fascinated him, he stuck to the flute and the lute. Oftentimes afterwards one could hear amateur music float around the halls.
Upon reaching his early teens, Gwion’s studies were more focused. A noble needed to know certain things, among them how to defend himself and his underlings. As he was not built for direct battle, training focused on strategy, archery, and parrying skills. During this time, Gwion spent time with his foster-father. He was a strong warrior and always jolly around children. His mother, on the other hand, was a relief from the stricture, and a mind that challenged Gwion. From her, he learned keen speech and horsemanship. Over the years, his mind became sharp as well as a creative. As for the servant’s children, Gwion learned to love showing them things, and would defend his little party when anyone tried to punish them. In turn, when he was ill, the children would help with pans for vomit or cloth for the nose.
During his mid-teens, a decent age to be looking forward to marriage and other things, relationships went foul with a neighboring lord. While hosting a celebration, a sadistic bigot of a knight maimed the horses and broke the swords of Lord Malgo, who in turn left with words of war. Gwion was sent to be an ambassador, accompanied by a small group of knights. Upon being received, Malgo had the guards slain, and Gwion tortured. Gwion saved his own life by fabricating stories in favor of Malgo, and was thus kept prisoner for a time. He hated the lies, but feared the pain more. Hatred grew for the lord, Gwion needed to live and escape.
He developed a relationship with a nearby prisoner, a female prostitute, though they were poorly matched. Perhaps that was why they were attracted to one another, perhaps it was because of their close quarters, or perhaps they were using one another. She taught him how to seduce others in exchange for his stories. She spoke of Redguard, and an illicit affair with a prince, Morcant. The guard would constantly heckle her, to which she responded hostilely. After a few bashed in faces and broken noses, she was moved to a cell, rather than behind bars.
A year in his imprisonment, the guard was low one night, and the jailor was deep in his cups. Gwion fashioned his clothing into a rough dress, styled his grown hair as the prostitute, and proceeded to call the drunk guard over. Through a lengthy number of words, seductive poses, and a knockout blow, Gwion was able to free himself, leaving the man passed out on the floor. Rapidly, the young noble slipped through the buildings, and flew into the woods. Running further, he encountered visions of a beautiful elven maiden, robed in red, purple, and black. They faded as smoke rose in the distance. Dying fires rose over the buildings that outlined his home. Ruin after ruin laid upon the besieged land. As Gwion sneaked towards his home, he saw stakes with the head of his foster father. To the side, he then spotted one of the younger servants, a child and friend, was on the ground, gasping as blood spurted out from a shaft in her chest. With fevered eyes, she held out two jewels, those of his foster-grandfather’s, and his foster-mother’s bronze necklace. He tried to save her, but little could be done for such a deep wound. Shouts rang outside, alerting men to his presence. Crying a silent oath over the girl, he took the jewels, and ran.
Deep into the forest he ran, dogged by men all around, until Gwion tripped over a pair of roots, and fell, knocking himself out. In a sort of dreamlike haze, the elfin appeared before him. Cyrridven, keeper of the Cauldron Awenydd, truly did reside in the forests, and had come across the young, weak man. The men would be chopping the forest soon to replenish their tools of war, and she required someone to watch her cauldron whilst she found a new forest. So, she promised Gwion three drops of her cauldron’s power, granting the ability to escape his imminent danger, in return for him guarding it three nights. Groggily, the young man agreed, and so for 3 nights he stirred, hid, and guarded the cauldron.
Eventually, the fae returned, and as promised, offered the power of the cauldron. Gwion had to first spill three drops of his blood into the magic basin, signing the contract. When it came time to imbibe the three droplets, however, a tired Gwion miscounted and took in more. Enraged, the fae enchantress took on a fell appearance and charged at the youth. Frightened, the new magic within Gwion triggered, and he became a wren, fleeing both fae and man from the lands of Rhegend. On that journey, she dogged him – aa a Cat-Sith his flight, Cu-Sith in his run, and only stopped when he was human again. Frightened by this chased, Gwion fled further as a human to the lands of Rhegend, losing the fey. There, he saw the prostitute again, in truth a spy for her prince and master saboteur. Through her recommendation, and his former noble status, Prince Morcant took “pity” on the now landless noble, and offered to be Gwion’s benefactor…for a price.
Gwion was ill many months, and gave away some of his family jewels in the hope of help. However, the clergy saw “a shadow” making him ill, and the medicinal men remained perplexed. So, Gwion just worked to get use to this stomach-churning, bowel-stabbing pain. He regained his youthful strength somewhat, and served Morcant’s missions. Gwion waited years before using his ability again, terrified of the fey he tricked, however he was forced to use his magic to escape during a mission.
Over years, Gwion learned more of stealth and methods to disable and kill other targets. He turned old books of alchemy into tools for poisons. With his temporary forms, he could sneak to areas no human could, to spy and kill. Archery went from well-trained to masterful skill, with some earlier trajectory assisting in killing targets behind walls or in hidden archways. Gradually, Gwion built a nickname, “Morfran,” or Black Crow, and acquired unique tools for his new trade. He has quietly killed over two dozen targets, from rallying rebels to high nobles, and with each his scorn has grown. What was a “saving” from the prince became more of a form of slavery to him, though he was provided unrestricted access to the princes library. Gwion leapt at the chance to go, undersupplied, in the name of the kingdom of Sorhaute to meet with a varied group of others on a quest.
Curiously also, in Gwion's travels, he has come across these strange runes. He keeps them recorded in the hopes of one day finding out what they mean.
Personality: Gwion is a young cynic, and holds most people in contempt at best. On the road, he will often sing of old battles and sorcerous places. Around others, he is silent and attentive, listening for useful rumors. He is a witty banterer, if crushing in his indecent knowledge of an opponent, and leaves most at a loss for words. He puts forth a mask of sensuality and control, However, this mask falls when he is given the opportunity to relay the tales of old, to share his knowledge. Then, eyes shine and he permits himself to laugh. He warms up to such people, like an instructor to their favored pupil. To them, even if he winds up killing them later, he shows patience and an almost forgotten kindness.
I have been a multitude of shapes,
Before I assumed a consistent form.
I have been a sword, narrow, variegated,
I have been a tear in the air,
I have been in the dullest of stars.
I have been a word among letters,
I have been a book in the origin.
Godia “Goliath” Maximus
Age: 42 Height: 5’ 8” Weight: 120 lbs Appearance:
A woman with dark olive skin and dark slightly greying hair, and always with a grin and a twinkle in her blue eyes, as if calculating and judging the area around her. Goliath is not imposing in presence, but in deed and arrogance. She carries Binoculars, a repeating rifle with a bayonet attached.
Goliath is dressed in a Navy Blue leather military coat, modified to carry a good deal of ammunition, and two pistols. She sold her military honors and covers the buttons – so as not to have them be caught.
Under it is an armor made of thick white silk, both for warmth and due to early reports of silken cloth deflecting bullets slightly. It comes down to act as a short skirt, and she has been able to wear that in “civilized” environments.
She carries an old cloak that acts as a sleeping bag. It has pockets that store food and other necessary supplies – from a compass to a computing sliderule. Though difficult to find, she wears blue leather jeans and thick combat boots.
Profession: Huntress/Forager, (Former) Military Espionage Agent Skills: Tactician, Information Gathering, Chemistry (poisons, toxins, and gunpowder), Mathematician (Ballistics), Ranged Weaponry (Rifle & Archery), Foraging, basic Close Combat abilities, Charismatic, Ruthless Flaws: Paranoia, Insensitivity, Fatalism (Excited to go into battle), Arthritis, God Complex Bio:
These people must know me if I am to be their conqueror. Like little savage badgers crawling across the ground, begging for an end to their struggles. Ha! As if a superior would waste the time. The beasts outside this city offer a greater challenge. Death takes all eventually, and as a dealer of destruction, that makes me an agent of Death.
Oh how I miss the early days, where I would squash the houses aligned against the Lords. The beauty of their children’s dead eyes as the Lords established power decades ago. Order to the chaotic world, or so they believed. We are all beings of chaos, but chaos is weak – easily domesticated under the shells of machines.
Oh, the artillery. Such an unrefined monster. I still remember my map of the city and wildlands. Region 12, 7 degrees south, 54 degrees west. Area shelled: 160 meters. At an estimated downward velocity of of 242.16 meters/second towards the Earth, the canister-shot would unleash hundreds of bullets shredding the area. And I was the one responsible for it’s target. Technology is truly a beautiful, obedient thing.
Sad that those days against other lands are over. The fools saw fit to betray those of us who gave them power. They tried to force us back into normal life. After the glory of seeing a building reduced to its base components? No. Better that I keep my standard weapons and work in these dredges, fulfilling my destiny.
These people see fit to pay me in what I need in exchange for meat and protection. It is a convenient deal, and all deities of old had their clients. I am an avatar of Death.
WANTED FOR QUESTIONING: Godia Maximus
Shortly after returning from war, Ballistics and Espionage division was under investigation for multiple mistaken targets. Investigations lead to questioning the mental stability of one Godia Maximus, whose intelligence resulted in unintended targets and casualties of friendly fire. It is possible that the latter was intentional. She has not been seen since the initial ceremony, and a fire in her apartment erased most other evidence. If you see her, be warned, she is well trained and in the words of those who worked with her, “In cunning, she is like a demonic machine. She once talked her way into and out of camp with a bare container of mustard gas.”
Rules
1) Here are the Trisphee Terms and Specific Rules for the RP section. Don't Break Them
2) Stealing of another's material will result in being barred from the thread.
3) Offer constructive criticism, but don't harass people over their work. Likewise, take criticism fairly.
...I will be slowly working through mine...One is giving me a block due to being a volatile character.
But feel free to post some of them, Espy. That's what this is fore :D
So I've always sort of wondered, why "OC?" What is the distinction between an "original character" and a "character?" If a character is mine, wouldn't that already imply that it is original, or at least belonging to me? Why not just say "my character?"
i don't know how it's always been, but i think now and days, calling them ocs helps distinguish them from au characters, which have gotten to be insanely popular. a lot of aus can have so many differences that they don't particularly look like their canon of origin anymore. some people like to have credit as the creator of a particular au, too.
also, when stuff is cool enough, there's always someone that asks "what's this from?"
so, maybe people like to think their junk is cool, lol.
We're well into the dissolution of creative media now, Quiet. The cross-contamination of the audience with the author's work has rendered plagiarized, bastardized, self-insert fan-fiction drivel more common than actual literature by orders of magnitude. Never underestimate the power of globalized intercommunication to render sordid the auspices of what was once art(1). By sheer statistics, it's indeed noteworthy that one has expended the intellectual energy to make a character of their own imagining, rather than imposing a cocktail of fetishes onto some hapless published figure in an abortion of creative thought.
1. I do not in any way concede the self-affirming value of art.
Cold silence has a tendency
to atrophy any sense of compassion
between supposed lovers.
Between supposed brothers.
Not quite in so negative terms...but mainly because there is a sliding scale between spin-off and rip-off with such characters, and that scale could lead to folk raging and all.
By the way, CharaHub is a nice little place to organize your OCs. If you guys want to sign up, feel free to use my referral link (https://charahub.com/refer/gmjj), since that gives me extra slots (it's capped at 100, and I have over 100 OCs...)
Trisphee
Posted 03-02-201606:37 PM 🖉
