Exhaustion and Madness OOC

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Leander, Jun 6, 2011.

  1. Summary
    Everyone was a Sleeper at one point. Every night, people would rest their heads; pull the veil of rationality and logic over their minds and eyes. The world was singular, and dull. In the morning, there would be work or school to attend, cars to avoid while crossing the street, food to buy. Maybe there were drugs to take. And then, there were those folks who had trouble resting their heads at night, who just couldn't sleep. Maybe they were over-caffeinated or maybe they had nightmares. But they all started out as insomniacs in the beginning, still able to sleep... just needing a little extra push to do it. Most people got help for it, or tried to sleep. But, some didn't. For some people, sleep became an option, like how anorexics saw food. They could, but they'd rather sit up all night counting the stars, robbing a bank... smoking or something. Finally, it just fell off the list entirely, an ex-girlfriend getting deleted from their phone.

    That's when sleep was ironically remembered, came back as their enemy. At first, it felt like they were hallucinating, those poor insomniacs. They began to see the Mad City appear, like extras in a movie scene they hadn't noticed before. It appeared as doorways, rimmed in red light, that people just pass on by or manholes that smell of candles and smoke. They grew Awake to the Mad City, to its constantly shifting landscapes, to the terrible yet exciting anachronisms in its depth. They all saw these extras, back when they were still considered strangers, paranoid and over-caffeinated freaks that were huddled at the edges of the Sleeper City, dark stains against its pristine rules and logic. They creep further and further from the Sleepers, towards the unseen alleyways more and more. Finally, they pass through.

    Eventually all of the Awake, all of those who hear the barely audible click of the Mad City adjoining to the rational Sleeper’s world, make it through. They all cross over, are pulled to it, exactly like how they all used to sleep once upon a time. It is this common thread that would eventually pull the Awake together, bind them in clusters and groups in the Mad City. And so these out-casts and drifters would find themselves banding together with the hopes of reaching their goal, of coming out alive and with perhaps less suffering than the next person. There are many ways of quitting in the Mad City, of trying to escape torment. But, just as it is in Hell, the only way of getting to the other side of the fire is by going through it.

    The Mad City may be fun at first, before you find the Nightmares. They are in a land of kin, of people who can’t sleep just like they can’t. It’s a land of oddities banding to make an Alice in Wonderland norm. There are marketplaces where you can buy children’s laughter or wineries that have brewed despair into a fine wine. People who have not aged since all walks and paths and times work together, harmoniously, other Awake who've permanently become a part of the Mad City, its Residents. There's lands that come and go according to the chime of clocks. It’s a playground that’s constantly shifting, and you might find yourself unwittingly moving from a plague-infested swamp to a subterranean kingdom. It’s a strange land, of tyrants and witches, of generals and shadowy men. It may sound fun at first, because you’ve yet to meet the Nightmares.

    The Nightmares were the things that make sleeping dangerous. They smell the Awake who get too close, perhaps are even drawn to is as moths are to flame. Worse of all about the Nightmares is that they all, at one point, were the Awake themselves, had once suffered as Sleepers and gone through the change everyone does. They have thoughts and emotions, can breathe and feel pain, but they are now far from humanity. No one’s quite sure what their function is in the Mad City, only that they’re there. There’s a great deal of mystery surrounding the beasts, but the fact is that they’re dangerous, and hideous. They make everyone, from Residents to Awake; suffer just as they had suffered. If the Awake Crash, which they surely will, the Nightmares will be there in droves to try and consume, to devour whatever it is they’re after. The Misogynists will have their gender, the Creeper their safety. Mister E will just have them. They are everyone’s nightmare now, whether or not they had bad dreams before.

    Once the Awake enter the Mad City, they become prey. Whatever their goal, whatever their wish, it can be found here – but dare they risk the Nightmares?


    Rules and Notes​


    Rules
    o1. Follow the board’s rules and ToS.
    o2. Listen to the GM.
    o3. Don’t make up your own Nightmares.
    o4. Read and check up on the original post when new content is posted.
    o5. Fill out the CS completely.
    o6. Write three paragraphs minimum per post.
    o7. There is no posting order, but be considerate with how often you post.
    o8. PM or post your character sheets, but wait for approval.
    o9. Have fun.

    Notes
    The Awake refers to people who had transcended insomnia and developed an awareness of the Mad City.
    Sleepers refer to people who still sleep at night, and are unaware of the Mad City.
    The Mad City is a parallel world without rules of physics and seems to defy natural laws.
    The Sleeper City is where Sleepers live and function. Awake may stay here, though it’s not their true place to be.

    Every player here will be an Awake. You may start as a Sleeper on the edge of becoming on, or someone who has recently become Awake. You do not start off knowing you have Exhaustion and Madness Talents (more on this later). Not everyone will know each other, or they could know each other. The Mad City connects to every point in the world, and draw in people of all ages and occupations.

    Talents are acquired in moments of particular stress and threat. In example, if a Nightmare was holding a new Awake by the throat, about to suck out their life, the Awake might have an epiphany. In that sudden enlightenment would be the Madness Talent, then able to be used to defend them. This would be considered a "fight" reaction. That same Awake would then develop their Exhaustion Talent as a “flight” response in a similar situation of desperation. Either Talent can be fight or flight, but both can’t be one.
    There are also consequences to using these Talents, similar to the three-strike system. After using the Exhaustion Talent three times without rest, they will Crash. Crashing is when the Awake falls asleep, virtually passing out, without being able to wake up. During this state, Nightmares are unfalteringly drawn in. If the Awake survives a Crash, they are returned to being a Sleeper. However, by using a Madness Talent three times without rest, the Awake will go Mad. In the state of being Mad, and in the case that their Madness Talent is of a fight response will go berserk and attack anything about them. Should it be flight, they will run from whatever comes near. Fear is a key emotion while being Mad, and if the Awake isn’t calmed or subdued, they will turn into a Nightmare.
    The way to avoid Crashing and Madness is by resting. This is simple. Relax or eat something, read a book. Finding peace in the Mad City is a difficult task, yet is key when using the Talents. Resting is commonly done in the Bizarre Bazaar, as this is a place where no one can be attacked.

    Time in the Mad City is different than that of the Sleeper City. It doesn’t seem to run at all. Residents exist from all eras of the human world, and the landscape seems to collect old relics that can still function. Since time is disjointed, it makes for an odd melting pot of modern and old, yet somehow the Mad City makes it work. When people come out of the Mad City and into the Sleeper City, they may find that hours or years have passed.

    More to be added.

    Character Sheets​


    For clarification: the game will be in third person. Character sheets may be in either third or first.
    Character Sheet:
    HTML:
    [b]My name is...[/b] 
    [B]And I am...[/B] 
    [B]What's been keeping you awake?[/B]
    
    [B]What just happened to you?[/B] 
    
    [B]What's on the surface?[/B] 
    
    [B]What lies beneath?[/B] 
    
    [B]What's your path?[/B] 
    
    [B]Talents.[/B] 
    [I]Exhaustion Talent[/I] 
    
    [I]Madness Talent[/I] 
    
    [B]Scars.[/B]
    C.S. Explained
    My name is... Easy. First "nickname, optional" last.
    And I am... Your occupation.
    What's been keeping you awake?
    The reason for your insomnia. Nightmares, caffeine... Whatever it is.
    What just happened to you?
    The most recent events. This is so that I can coordinate how everyone gets to the Mad City with ease.
    What's on the surface?
    How others see you, how you act around them. Your appearance and clothing.
    What lies beneath?
    How you truly feel. What're you motives, what are your most terrible and dark secrets? The deep you, whether it be good and bad. The ugly bundled bunch of history, inner turmoil and subconscious thoughts.
    What's your path?
    What's your goal? To get out of the Mad City? To stay alive? You can be trying to find someone, escape someone; you may look for lost memories or try to get over a gambling habit. These may be long-term or short-term goals.
    Talents.
    Exhaustion Talent
    Everyone is skilled in something in life, usually, one thing more than others. The Exhaustion Talent is that single skill you did exceptionally well at while a Sleeper, only expanded. It's more preternatural, still vaguely plausible, but also near superhuman. An example of an Exhaustion Talent would be if an Awake had been a track runner, and now can run as fast as a car. As its name implies, using this Talent will cause the Awake to become tired.
    Madness Talent
    Unlike Exhaustion Talents, the Madness Talent is not at all plausible. There's nothing remotely concrete in its existence. The ability to grow spikes through one's skin is a good example of a Madness Talent. The talent itself does not connect to the person at all, most of it being completely random. Similar to the Exhaustion Talent, when the Awake uses this skill, they quickly grow some insanity to their character.
    Scars.
    Scars are particularly horrid events that have happened in the game in relation to the character's path. Scars can be traded or bartered, as you'll see many insubstantial things can be, though these Scars are like gems amongst paper, particularly useful. However, if one loses all their Scars they will also lose their path.
     
  2. Setting
    Show Spoiler
    Sleeper City
    Commonly referred to as Earth. It is a land of logic and balance. It’s boring and dull, with lots of war and political figures claiming rights to others’ lives. Like in the Mad City, there’s drugs and gang violence, but they’re not nearly as interesting or fun. This is the place where everyone starts, the proverbial “Heaven” to the Mad City’s “Hell,” though people only go to the Mad City trying to escape this place. It has many continents and cities that don’t move, and stays on a geographic scale. It can be quantified and measured. The only nightmares here are in people’s head, though people themselves often seem bad enough to be Nightmares.

    Mad City
    It has no viable landscape. This place seems to be constantly shifting, changing, in a vortex of difference. It’s highly possible for an alleyway to change its locations within a matter of hours. Doorways have a tendency to move more than most, and a well-known market is only located there for fifty-nine minutes. This is a land where drugs can not only make you “trip out,” but give you enhanced strength or speed, where alcohol can smell like sunshine and you can sell your memories to others. A certain witch can give you lost hope, and the shadows honestly do have eyes. The Mad City is a place to be revered, if not feared, for it cannot be conquered or known. It is always changing, though it never ages. The Residents here may appear from the Dark Ages, for as long as man has not slept. But, the people there may also be lost quickly to the Nightmares. All fashions and paths of life lay here, as though frozen from the time they came.

    3 in the Morning
    This is a place that, like the 7 o'Clock Swamp, comes around only at a certain time. It stays until a minute before four in the morning, at which the entrance and exits of 3 in the Morning disappear. The land of 3 in the Morning is located right next to the Factoidaries and is a surprisingly busy place, a great hodge-podge of buildings crammed next to each other. Many centuries of architecture are crammed together, with Gothic cathedrals and spiraling modern glass towers making a great view of anachronism. Here is the place where a majority of the Residents live, where avoiding the Nightmares has become an art form. It is perhaps the most peaceful places within the Mad City.

    Amongst this hourly place is the Bizarre Bazaar, where one could sell and buy things like a baby's laughter and a fish's feather. The Bizarre Bazaar may not sound like much, but it's the only marketplace one can find. Because of this, it's sort of a neutral land, where no party -even warring- are able to hold up against one another. A sort of peace treaty exists invisibly, making it so while there are squabbles and fights, that death is not abounded. If someone has a grudge on you, they have to wait until both of you've left the Bizarre Bazaar to exact it. But, this does not mean people don't try. They send poisons and pose accidents in the stead of executioners. While it's safer, it's still not a haven.

    The Bizarre Bazaar looks much like one would expect it to. Gypsy traders and elaborate corporations are all somehow managing to create a cohesive picture. While the mash-up of cultures and timelines may seem strange at first, they’ve all somehow managed to melt into a singular and new sort of community. It’s possible to find anything here; especially if you know whom to ask The Sly Cats roam in the alleys of the market, and are commonly thought of as the sorts of dukes and duchesses of this place. It has many dark corners for the Lurklarks to hide in, and perhaps more doorways that leave to mysterious lands than all of the Mad City put together. The streets are generally clean, but there’s just something about the light that makes everything look grimy and wet.

    Factoidaries
    While the Bizarre Bazaar may be the market of the Mad City, the Factoidaries is the industrial heart. It’s no coincidence that they have similar backbones to this land, for when 3 in the Morning comes around, the industrial landscape is flush with it. The surface of the place is pristine. Bright lighting fills the main streets and lobbies, banishing all shadows, revealing the stainless surface. It seems perfect upon first appearances, with all the happy workers and the busy, productive pace. It’s loud, the sound of heavy machinery never failing to cease. The sky is clotted out with smog, pitching the Factoidaries into a constant nightscape. The Freshmeat constantly mill about, eager to help, but only at the consent of their superior. It’s a revoltingly clean place from the outsider’s perspective, so strange and normal in comparison to the rest of the Mad City.

    Behind, however, there is always a second face. Under the white-scrubbed skin is all the shadow and dirt one could ever desire. The streets, so filthy and littered, have a constant paste about them. The walls seem to absorb people, as if trying to integrate anything that touches them into their surface. While the sky in the main streets is just a dusty orange of smog, it’s a thick, pluming black that hangs low enough to conceal most of the building’s tops. The buildings themselves are black and withered from the acidic rain that slides down, their windows glowing a fierce, angry red. Figures can be seen scampering around in the deep shadows, the darkness and gloom that no amount of light and suppress. This is the honest face of the Factoidaries. The Rotten Forgotten lurk here, as well as any Sly Cats that dare. They have a grim desperation that seems to permeate through everything in the Factoidaries, a survival instinct that’s been swallowed whole.

    The main job, the reason for the Factoidaries, was originally to make facts. In a land of lies and deception such as the Mad City, sure things are hard to come by, and thus valuable. So they began to produce them, in various shapes and forms, factoids and solid theories alike. No one’s sure who began it, or who ran it in the beginning. But now, it’s being controlled by the Over Seer, and has turned more into a radical working-class cult. They still sell their product, but people are beginning to fear doing business with them, unsure if they’ll be asked to convert next or not. People are aware of the underbelly of the Factoidaries, and fear its depth.

    Candlewax Kingdom
    Unlike what its name implies, the Candlewax Kingdom is not made of wax. It is, actually, in the underground of all of the Mad City. Some doorways may lead here, but the sure-fire way of reaching this place is by accessing the extra manholes. Within the sewers rules the Candle King, with his diligent Wax Workers and ever-loyal Night-Knights. All of the run-off of the Mad City drains here, to this realm, where it’s then harvest and processed by the Wax Workers. All of the broken dreams and the forgotten trinkets manage to find their way down here, and are pressed into buttons and coins, into food and playing cards. Then it’s all sold back up to the Bizarre Bazaar. It’s perhaps a land more peaceful than the Factoidaries, but mostly that’s because all of the Candle King’s inhabitants are rather mindless.

    The sewers are lined with candles, their wax dripping everywhere. Some sections have become so full of wax that it’s impossible to get through. Fashioned after a labyrinth, the tunnels are near impossible to navigate for anyone who is not the King’s. They seem to have a mind of their own, though it wouldn’t be surprising considering they are part of the Mad City. Not many others come down into the Candlewax Kingdom unless seeking something for fear of being sucked into the King’s games, for he is a very well known politician. It’s not a very dangerous place, and not very hard to get in to. The reason people stray away is because it’s impossible to get out of.

    In the Everywhere is a place that is beyond the Candlewax Kingdom. Only a very few tunnels lead In the Everywhere, and these are the only ones that stay, so getting to them is more a chance of skill than luck. It’s sort of like a Camelot or Avalon, a Holy Grail to find. In the Everywhere isn’t exactly a place, or rather it was once long ago. Now, it is covered entirely in mists. Some people say they hear singing, others think they hear screaming. Either way, visits here seem to be a good thing, though no one’s honestly sure what happens to the people who go. They return, but the story varies so often that it’s difficult to tell what really happens.


    7 o'Clock Swamp
    Much like 3 in the Morning, this swampland only comes around at seven in the afternoon. It stays for fifty-nine minutes before its existence is wiped away again. The fact that it comes and goes might be a good thing, for its lands smell rather horrendously. Like a lot of rotting corpses in a pond filled with scummy seawater mixed with sulfuric acid. The area is not a beauty queen either, for while it seemed to once be a dense forest, the area’s now flooded with infested waters. The waterlogged trees have mostly rotted and fallen, and lichen hangs in thick drapes. Moss and mushrooms grow rampantly over the scarce dry places there are, the only clear indicators of solid land. Most of the water is coated in some sort of plant life, making it hard where to step or not. Though, one misstep could have you at the mercy of whatever lays beneath.

    Sly Cats that can’t find anywhere else to wander hang about in the trees or within random fallen shacks that scatter the landscape. Only one place is lit up, and it’s a rather suspicious-looking home of the Granny Greenteeth. From the ruins of what seems to have been a plantation house is a raised hut, one of the few places that’s not decrepit or falling over as it stands. It’s clear of moss and lichen, with lanterns that hang around the outside, lit up at night and shut during the day. However, bones of various animals hang about like daisy chains, decorating the roof and the windows. Mud cakes the walls, seeming to be the natural plaster of holding it all up. Earth bugs crawl all about, making the hut seem more like a hovel on the inside. The bones create frames for all the furniture in the main room, though the back rooms are always hidden from prying eyes.

    Asylum Island
    As the name implies, the majority of the Asylum is located on an island. Small sprinklings of rocks barely large enough to hold a few huts scatters around the backside, but is constantly drenched in water and are too barren to serve as any use. Upon the largest island is a building that was originally graceful and elegant. A great barrier that served as housing gently curved around the main building, serving as a buffet to the wind. Additions and renovations had contorted both these structures so they’re lost to the original construction, contorted both outward and upward. Now, when you arrive on the small shelf of sand as only means of port, you’re immediately greeted with crude doors of broken glass. A maze of materials of varying scale out above and on either side, making it not only seems dysfunctional and crude, but squat and mean. “The Asylum” is graffiti upon the walls, along with many other phrases, most not making any sense. While the outside might not look like much besides large, those that house it still manage to instill unconditional fear.

    Inside the single, enigmatic building, halls stretch in a sort of Wonderland maze. Holes in the floor and ceiling are constructed to look like hallways of their own, as if the people who live within manage to defy gravity. Piles of garbage litter the corners of the Asylum, giving the whole place an overripe and moldy smell. Within the many, many rooms that edge the twisting hallways the many inhabitants under Mister E’s reign dwell. They give it a slightly cleaner smell, though less than pretty. Few Residents reside here, and those that are hold the treatment of psychiatric patients in 1970. If you can find your way around, either by luck or managing to decipher the riddles on the wall, a person could make their way to the cafeteria, which always has a door to the Bizarre Bazaar. The garden has a similar attribute of owning a portal to the 7 o’Clock Swamp, though no one’s managed to find their way to Mister E’s office without being caught to find out what sort of things he holds there.



    Nightmares​


    Show Spoiler
    Sly Cats
    "Look what the cat dragged in!"
    "…What? Cat’s got your tongue?"
    "Hey baby, come here and make kitty purr."

    These Nightmares perhaps resemble Residents the most; though don’t let them trick you into thinking they are. Sly Cats look precisely like a person, though have many features that give them a sort of feline quality. All have a slender, unfilled form and upturned noses. Their eyes are slanted, the pupils very subtly slit. Some have strange tans that make their skin appear spotted or striped, and all seem to have slightly pointed ears, which can turn independently of each other. If not for these slight changes that are easily over-looked, a Sly Cat could physically be mistaken as a Resident. They wear the least amount of clothing as possible, preferring to display their sex rather liberally. Those that are under the protection of Granny Greenteeth often choose to wear no form of cloth, instead adorning their bodies with the reeds and mud of the swamp. Sly Cats, however, have affection for shiny accessories, and don them like ranks of power.

    Sly Cats are perhaps the most underestimated of all the Nightmares, as they usually don’t make trouble. However, they have a nymphomaniac streak, and are known to catch people who travel their alleys to sex them to death. It’s rather unpleasant, and often the Sly Cats will fight each other for such a "treasure." Besides this unfortunate quality, they don’t both many. They hang around the back ways of the Bizarre Bazaar, or hang from the trees in the 7 o'Clock Swamp. While independent by nature, they’ve grown accustomed to roaming around in packs, more akin to dogs than cats by this nature. While the singing of the Sly Cats may be horrendous – and they do it often – it serves as an indicator of peace. Whenever fights break out, Sly Cats will vacate the area beforehand.

    Over Seer
    "I will give you work, I will give you salvation; I will be your prophet."
    The Over Seer is a middle-aged man, gray streaking the temples of his dark brown hair. He’s of average height, though clearly and morbidly overweight. The fat of his stomach stretches his custom-cut suit. The light gray pinstripes on the dark gray material are stretched near to their steams, the buttons nigh popping from their holes. Above his suit, however, he wears a white cotton robe. There’s the single emblem of his religion upon the right breast, and the hems drag on the ground. The Over Seer’s skin is pale and blotchy, making a poor frame for his shrewd, gray eyes. They are sunken into their sockets, bruises under his eyes. The strangest piece of his attire, however, is the book chained to his wrist by shackles. It is a large, dusty tome made of white leather, the sigil of his beliefs upon the spine.

    He rules over the Factoidaries as a sort of prophet. His minions follow his word as though it were a god speaking through him. The tome in his arms is the rules of his factories, which are also the rules of his religion. While arrogant and elitist, don’t mistake the Over Seer as being illegitimate at what he does. He’s a cunning manipulator, skilled at turning emotions over against others. This self-named prophet says it’s a gift of his god, as he says everything he’s given. Though, it’s clear that he does not believe in God himself by the ruthless actions to get his means finished. Never does he get his own hands dirty, instead using those under his power to get his deeds done.
    Grimlin
    "…Didn’t you ever wonder why Freshmeat are so happy?”
    These nasty little Nightmares like to hide amongst the grime and grit that hides beneath the surface of the Factoidaries. Within the alleys, they linger, devouring the sewage that’s produced. Of roughly four-feet tall when standing straight, they mostly resemble children, for all that their hands and feet are too large for their limbs. With oversized heads and shriveled, shrunken bodies, watching Grimlins move is somewhat of a comedy, as they clamber about with heads bobbing and chests heaving. Within their wide, gaping mouths are two rows of razor-like teeth, stained beyond hope and rotten to the core. Still, though their bodies are the same color as the material they devour, the Grimlins enjoy clothing themselves in scraps of fabric, as though attempting a poor imitation of human life. Their large eyes somewhat are akin to Negative Nancies, though vary in hue.

    Even with their withered bodies, the Grimlins are a force to be reckoned with. They may not be able to sustain much damage, or deal out much either, yet the amount of these creatures is over-powering. They make it a game, as well, to try and feast upon the Scars of their victims as slowly as possible. The Grimlins devour all pain and sorrow, leaving people shells of mindless optimism. Those who are left become the Freshmeat of the Factoidaries, and the Grimlins scuttle back to their life of constantly eating whatever they find.
    Freshmeat
    "How may I help you!"
    Once the Grimlins had had their fun with a person, the hopeful husk of a person often wanders back into the bright, shining, public face of the Factoidaries. Here, they are found by the Over Seer. These people, grinning with no reason or wonder as to why, listen to his divine word. Like children, with nothing but naïveté on their side, they believe each and every syllable from his mouth. These Freshmeat are then outfitted in the customary, uniform robes of the workers. They are simple tunics, bound at the shoulders and waists by simple braids of leather, sleeveless and often falling to the knees or ankles. Happily, the Freshmeat make up the majority of the population within the Factoidaries. They are its backbone, each assigned a specific job and endlessly enthusiastic in doing it. These are the most helpless, and the least deadly, of all Nightmares. They do not fight, or struggle, and are more than happy to help as much as their tiny consciousness can.
    Rotten Forgotten
    "Wait, will you help? Just a moment of time – wait."
    There are two types of Rotten Forgotten. The first sort is a person whose Scars were not fully devoured. They were left, wounded and only half-empty of sorrow. For whatever reason, they weren’t able to escape the darker side of the Facoidaries. It corrupted this half-eaten soul, slowly turning its duality against it, until their mind snapped in a bipolar rage. The second sort, however, is far more common. A Freshmeat who worked away from the fresh, bright surface too long would become exposed to the corruption. Unable to defend themselves against it, the Nightmare would turn within itself. Every spark of joy moved into a hopeless despair. They would have no Scars, simply the endless wallow of unexplained mourning.

    Rotten Forgotten are, as their name implies, quite rotten. Their human bodies have begun to decay and rot even as they live. The corruption that touched their souls also turned their bodies, melding it with the landscape about them. Walls and floors may have distortions, or even bear the wailing shape of a face. They don’t die like this, just keep living; begging, pleading for help whenever it passes, speaking nonsense and confusion when it comes. Often times, the corruption of the land drives them mad, and they are able to turn it in anger towards those who are not alike them. Doors, windows, sometimes even the floor may bend at their will, making the insane creatures dangerous of their own like.

    King Candle
    "It is a borrowed light, given and taken and never keeping an owner.”
    The lord whole rules the sewers, King Candle sits upon a throne of wax. He seems, in fact, to be completely coated in the wax. It seals his body against the throne, high-backed and narrow, sliding down his arms and torso, leaving only the face and fingers to be seen. King Candle has the face of a withered old man, his skin cracked like leather with deep wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. It’s almost impossible to see his eyes, set deep in the shadows of his over-extended brow. Perched upon the top of the King’s head is a wick, from which a candle flame flickers, strangely brighter than the small bit of fire ought to be.

    While living underground in a land of smoke and candlesticks may have made King Candle a little mad, he still has the lucrative sense of a loan shark. What he takes from the sewers he sells back up to the Factoidaries, which then use the ingredients to make their products. Such products are sold into the Bizarre Bazaar, to people who eventually lose it or drop it, and all such things lost, dropped or spilled all find their way into the Candlewax Kingdom. Where, the cycle starts again. Each shipment is slowly being driven up in payment and King Candle truly owning enough wealth to have his own castle by now. Yet, he remains underground, running his business as well as his kingdom with his slowly degrading mind.
    Wax Workers
    "They’re not human. Never mistake them for being human.”
    Wax Workers were once people, both Awake and Residents that have succumbed to King Candle’s influence. They have tacky, flexible molds of their body encasing them with small holes for the nostrils and slits for the eyes. The Wax Workers seem to have an inability to speak, communicating through grunts and stiff gestures. Typically they are chained together around the ankle and guarded by the Night-Knights and none of them seem quite happy about it.

    The Wax Workers are exactly as their name implies. In the Candlewax Kingdom, they are the ones who do all the hard work. They gather the lost and discarded items in the sewage, the ones to carry and labor them. The Wax Workers are a large force, and while they are rather weak-willed and melancholy, they are incapable of feeling physical force. This makes them tough in a fight, though their placid and uncaring nature makes it very hard to instigate a fight with the Wax Workers.
    Night-Knights
    "There is no honor in mercy.”
    Night-Knights look like the cut-out silhouettes of a knight in full plate mail, their forms solid yet looking as if made from pieces of the night sky. This makes it hard to see how exactly they move or to predict their movements. Their swords are made of the same material they are and are capable of cutting though stone. When cut or wounded themselves, the Night-Knight bleeds drops of his substance; heavy, liquefied darkness studded with points of light like stars. They seem to move without sound, though always leave a cold chill in the air wherever they go, and their voices are muffled echoes, resounding out from within a helm-shaped head.

    The Night-Knights’ primary job is to guard King Candle. They do this with an unyielding devotion, blindly following his word and completely obsessed about his welfare. The knights will do anything to serve their king and if an Awake decides to test their loyalty or to threaten their king, they will pursue that man or woman without rest. The second job of a Night-Knight is to manage the Wax Workers, who have a tendency to wander off when left alone. They oversee these figures with the restlessness of a marine on guard duty, never quite content to just be. These figures seem to also have a hive mind capability, able to speak to one another telepathically and spread the knowledge almost instantaneously. This makes it hard to fight them as they unify in mind, but they also have strict sense of morals and a code of honor to abide by.


    Granny Greenteeth
    "Such a sad, lonely heart… don’t worry, Granny has just the thing. All we ask is just a small favor first."
    This Nightmare takes the appearance of an elderly lady. She was once tall, but age has withered her bones and caused her to hunch over, clinging to a gnarled, root-like cane to keep upright. Purple-black hair is tattered and unwashed, gray and white flecking throughout it randomly. Mud, twigs and other brackish items mat up her long hair, white bones, bells and beads twine about it, as though trying to keep the thick mass from being too raucous. Her clothing consists of simple, drab rags. They all used to be of vibrant colors, now muted and thin from ages of use. Beads and shiny bits of mirror hang from her neck and sewn to her clothing to create strange flashes of color. Her old, wizened face is tan and strangely merry-looking, though her narrow, tilted eyes are blacker than her swamp water. Granny Greenteeth’s teeth, at first glance, seem normal, though when angered they have the ability to become pointed like stakes, green staining the edges of her teeth. Her eyes fill black when angry as well, and her broken nails become long like claws.

    Granny Greenteeth rules the 7 o’clock Swamp, though this place is so putrid it’s hard to imagine why. She hardly ever leaves her shanty, and when she does, she’s never gone long. The old lady has a fondness for the Sly Cats, and sometimes even can take up their mannerisms. She deals with desires and emotions, and is said to be able to restore anything stolen by other Nightmares. Yet, ever a lucrative businesswoman, Greenteeth will always ask for a price in return. She isn’t very loyal – no Nightmare is – but she has a keener sense of allies than the others do. Her alliance with the Creeper is more beneficial to him than it is to her, yet Granny understands that her reach beyond the Swamp will need his influence. Likewise, she is cruel to those Nightmares who are not aligned to her. Her sense of justice is harsh, and she particularly begrudges those who embody masculinity, order and structure. Because of this, the old lady has made an ancient feud against Mister E and his companions. She despises him, and does everything in her power to vanquish his. Underestimate Granny Greenteeth for her age is a poor idea, for it’s widely claimed that the Granny chooses to appear the way she does, and may actually be able to change age and shapes. She also has the habit of talking in the plural.
    Negative Nancies
    "…Laugh? But… there’s nothing left to laugh about. Nothing left at all."
    These rather grim girls always run in packs of three. They have strangely similar appearances, as well, with dark hair and pale skin. Sometimes there are minor differences, such as one has bangs or the other braids her hair. Each has a tattered gown, once white and now murky brown, stained with blood and scathed by fights. Of ages six to fifteen, they’re all young and helpless looking. Inhumanly large eyes fit upon swollen cheekbones, their lids always half-closed in the impression of everything being boring or hopeless.

    These young females are under the employment of Granny Greenteeth. They have earned their name well enough, never owning anything kind or positive to say. Still, like every Nightmare, the Negative Nancies are deadly in their own way. The girls use their powerfully negative comments to physically attack their foes, the words often taking shape in a person’s greatest fear. When pushed to the ground, the Negative Nancies become completely different. Their long hair merges into their skin seamlessly, large eyes widening into full. The young ladies become wolf-like creatures, claws and teeth upon their young bodies. And they pin their foes to the ground, eating every hope and positive emotion from their foe’s soul, feasting upon anything that could give them the will to live. Yet, the girls never kill their prey, instead dragging the remnant of a person to Granny.

    The Creeper
    "I want a perfect body
    I want a perfect soul
    I want you to notice when I'm not around"
    -Radiohead,
    Creep.
    The Creeper himself is a mass of shifting, substantial shadows. He may change sizes, and has a foggy, almost ethereal shape to him. He takes the general form of a male, though sometimes appears more like a cloaked figure. Just like the Lurklarks, two flat, bulging eyes may flash from within the black mists of his form. They appear only when he desires, just as he may appear more solid or more incorporeal as he pleases. The Creeper hardly ever speaks, though when he does, his voice is low and rusted. Sometimes, it echoes or repeats words, making him all the harder to understand. This mass sticks to the darker areas of the Mad City, shy around large crowds, or even not showing up at all. He disobeys the laws of physics in that he is able to pass through solid objects as he wishes, or even blink out of existence.

    Because of his ghostly attributes, it’s all the harder to fight the Creeper. He does not have much strength, or endurance, but proving to hit him is a trial all in himself. And, even worse, the Creeper may be able to penetrate the thoughts of a weaker willed person. This gives him the advantage of, not only predicting their movements, but using their doubts against them. The Creeper may not seem as much as, say, a Misogynist, but his loyalty to Granny Greenteeth is fierce. It gives him a deep fire to fight those against her goals, where he would be otherwise disinterested or more preoccupied in gathering information elsewhere. It’s well-known that the Creeper has a curiosity as strong as his loyalty, as much a gift as a weakness.
    Lurklarks
    "Yea, they may not look like much trouble… but what they bring is."
    Much like anything related to the Creeper, these things have a constant shadow about them. Their bodies are dark, as if coated in soot, though have brilliant, gleaming eyes that seem to see all, yet somehow look bulging and dead all the same. These tiny creatures take the form of various birds, most commonly larks and finches; though sometimes undersized ravens as well. Lurklarks are very hard to spot, often hiding out in tiny niches or about the darkest corner, the only thing giving them away the reflective-like surface of their eyes. Strangely, these birds hang out alone, and have been seen to be unexplainably territorial. Sometimes, Lurklarks have been known to make nests out of trash and hair.

    The most notable ability of the Lurklarks is not their habit of vanishing into nothing – eerily as if they’d never been there – but that they’re the figurative eyes of the Creeper. Whenever a Lurklark’s dead eyes see you, so does he. Worst yet, like an alarm, this will summon him to the nearest place they saw you last. These birds are not strong, or fast, but can fly and are allies to the shadows. Good luck killing them before the Creeper gets there… good luck getting away, for that matter. It’s best to avoid these birds, unless you’re looking to be caught by his sentries.
    Creeper's Crawlies
    "Lurklarks might be his eyes, but these ugly fuckers are the body."
    Just as Lurklarks are seemingly covered in soot, so are Creeper’s Crawlies. They come in many different sizes, and take the form of a number of different insects. Each one has the same flat blackness, and turn into a soft puff of ash whenever stomped upon. Seeing them is a rather uncommon occurrence, as the Crawlies hide beneath items and within the grit of the Mad City. The only time one can predict their forth-coming is after a Lurklark spots their prey. Then, the Crawlies converge from every corner of the area. They amass and squirm together, taking the shape of their master. So much so, that when they seem to condense into a single entity, they are the Creeper. All of this takes a matter of seconds, so swift that it’s hard to tell what happened.

    Mister E
    "Child, stop praying; God can’t hear you when the Devil is near."
    Mister E cuts a mean, angular figure. He wears a black pea coat, the seams sewn and ironed to make impossibly sharp angles, the hem hanging down to his knees. He’s a tall, lean man, with a rectangular face. Drooping, hooded eyes are cast in a rectangular face, with high cheekbones and gaunt cheeks. With a large nose on his long face, Mister E seems to be more of a cartoon than a man. However, it’s often quite hard to make out the man’s features, as he often wears a large fedora, the brim casting shadows across his face. But if anyone were to see, pale scars, poorly healed and lined in angry red welts, criss-cross all about his face. His lips are dry and cracked, and his weathered face often appears haggard. This tall, worn leader is constantly clad in black, with the badges of rank pinned across his breasts and an air of authority hovering over his shoulders.

    As the leader of Asylum Island, Mister E fancies himself the Secretary of War for a tiny nation of its own. He idealizes order and strength, and greatly dislikes anything that disagrees with him. This Nightmare has ties to King Candles, often trading with him as well as the neutral-party Over Seer for supplies to man his army with. He has made a life-enemy out of Granny Greenteeth, as well as the Sly Cats, despising their chaotic and sexual existence. He hardly ever fights them himself, instead sending out his various soldiers or allies to do the battle. Yet, he does not make himself idle, and he is to be seen at every Bizarre Bazaar. Whatever he does, he makes a point of doing well, and is proud enough to take it personally when a goal fails. No one is quite sure how Mister E is in a fight, though by his manners of negotiation, one could expect it to be a predatory and cruel as his typical attitude to inferiors.
    Minutemen
    "May we have a minute of your time?"
    These Nightmares all seem to come from the Colonial times of America. They have the same uniform, and each carry muskets upon their backs. Aged from sixteen to thirty, they’re rather militaristic, though a lot looser in ranks than Misogynists. Despite all being rather average men, they have the appearance of death over them. With white skin and haunted-looking eyes, Minutemen all could be mistaken for ghosts at first appearance. They might even be on the brink of death, for their quiet and solemn attitude towards things. The Minutemen shuffle about, for all purposes appearing slow in body and mind.

    Appearances, while ironic, are deceiving in the Mad City. The Minutemen live to be the first on the battlefield. Because of this, they are the quickest to mobilize and while not the fastest, the most able to get to scenes before others. Their typical shuffling is just a guise, for when combat is about, the Minutemen are agile and swift. They have an accuracy too much to be human, especially with their ancient muskets. Yet, they are even better in melee combat. Just don’t let the militia look you in the eyes. For, they are able to steal time from others. Minutemen exist off of stolen time. Without taking the time of life from others, they eventually just fade out and cease existing. Like vampires, when freshly replenished with time, the Minutemen move quicker, hit harder, and are generally more of a threat to all.
    Nimble Jacks
    "Jacks be Nimble, Jacks be quick, Jacks jump over the candlestick."
    Nimble Jacks, upon first appearance, look like orphaned, uncared for boys. They have self-mended clothing, all of which just seem like old, castaway outfits from the Misogynists. Upon a closer look, one could notice these little boys have no gender at all –perhaps stolen by the same figures that clothe them, or perhaps just born so. Either way, the Nimble Jacks seem to have a wide, haunted look about their unanimously dark eyes. Their hair is generally worn long, and hats are a favorite decoration of status for these boys, as it makes it easier for them to hide shifty looks during poker (their favorite sport). The only thing that might look remotely new about these youngsters – despite the cigarettes hanging from their mouths – are their shoes. Knee-high cloth boots, pointed in the toes, in a sort of Wicked Witch-meets-Peter Pan look.

    Nimble Jacks are rarely seen alone. When milling about off-duty, they come in clumps of twos and threes, and are very easily overcome. This is because the Jacks are unbelievable weak. They don’t even carry any sort of weapon on their person. However, when they’re playing games, the Nimble Jacks can show up in the numbers of fifties and sixties, if not more. Worst of all, they’re not exactly the most trusted legion of Mister E, and so are always under one to three of the Misogynists’ cares or maybe even a Minuteman’s. These rascals make such good footmen because of their speed. They’re able to move at unprecedented records, and so while it’s easy to move on through them, it’s hard to escape the little buggers. A good note to remember is that the Nimble Jacks are scared of fire, and will run from the sight of it.
    Misogynists
    "You seem be a little gender confused. Let me fix that for you."
    These vaguely humanoid people are quite strange when first seen. Their appearance is downright androgynous, from their build to their hair and clothing style. While each may appear different, insinuating that at one point they’d all be people, they’re all uniformly unisex. The Misogynists’ clothes are vaguely militaristic, though have seen so many battles that they’re torn and stained red. The clothes have a dusty, grimy look that tells of going for many, many days without being washed. The people themselves, however, have a trimmed and pristine appearance, as if the gore that stains their clothes does not touch the skin. Misogynists are solitary figures, and don’t really enjoy being in other’s presence.

    As their name suggests, the Misogynists hate women more than anything. They target the unfortunate female gender above all, though it’d be fair to mention that these Nightmares hate gender in general. If there are no females to destroy, then they’ll target men as well. Beware a kiss or touch of the Misogynists, for within their palms is a deadly oil that, when mixed with your own, causes a body to become paralyzed. Their lips have some unexplained potential to suck the very gender from a person, to steal it with their mouths, upon any point of contact with a person. Wounds or the mouth works best, but it’s been known to have worked on wherever a Misogynist can get to. They also, when they’re not hunting down women, carry Uzi submachine guns to get the job done.

    Alone, Misogynists aren’t funny, and while it’s possible to take one down, they are Mister E’s left-hand men. They’re of about average speed and strength, but have an uncanny way of withstanding attacks. These androgynous folk are durable and with great stamina. Whittling them away would take a long time, and all-out attacks are just about useless. So, while one is to be feared, when they manage to work together in teams, it’s best just to run the opposite direction. Though, that might not even work, since Misogynists are smart, unlike the Nimble Jacks. They’re able to conceive and plant traps, but it’s no good trying to talk your way out. All of Mister E’s troops are aggressive, and won’t take mercy as an option.


    The Awake
    o1. Leander as "Alisa Thoreau"
    o2. Lunatic AI as "Natalie Lowell"
    o3. Vay as "Mathew Chase"
    o4. Christine as "Felicity Teabuae"
    o5. October Knight as "Arden Hall"
    o6. Grumpy as "John 'Sevens' Pritchard"
    o7. The Butterfly as "Elliot Ward."
     
  3. My name is... Alisa Thoreau.
    And I am... a student.
    What's been keeping you awake?
    My thoughts. I just can't stop them. When I lay down to sleep, I keep wondering and wondering. Momma says it's because I'm special, but I don't think she really understands. The doctors don't know what's wrong either. I just... think. Even if my body wants to stop, my mind won't stop going.
    What just happened to you?
    I was with Granny. She had an errand for me to run, and I was happy enough to do it. I got funny stories in return. This time, though, she gave me a strange thing to do, and I had to move quick to get it done!
    What's on the surface?
    A lot of people tell me I look like Alice from Lewis Carroll's stories, though I don't see it. They say we share the same inquisitive eyes, but how could eyes be inquisitive? That is, unless someone forgot to tell me inquisitiveness is the color green, pale and dulled by brown flecks. I have shoulder-length brown hair, naturally silky and smooth. People always think I'm younger than I actually am, probably because of my large face. It's round, and often seems startled or curious, but that's just me. I guess I could be seen as quiet or shy, and quite often I've been accused of being dreamy or space-headed. I know many older people think I'm slow of mind, and my peers often call me spoiled or bratty. I don't enjoy it when people say these things, yet I'm not exactly sure how else to act. I try to fit what they want me to be, to not disappoint them.
    What lies beneath?
    A very curious girl, should you ask me. I often fancy myself to be two people at once, for I certainly have enough imagination for two. One is often very sensible and gives good advice, while the other has a whimsy all her own. While I know I should follow the first, the latter has some very good and interesting ideas. I'll never disbelieve something until I see it is so. I like fairness and balance, and equal treatment upon all. Though, I know I am not strong enough to enforce my own ethics, and so am often left sullenly looking onward. Creating stories and intricate relations between inanimate objects or animals is one of my favorite hobbies, and I find refreshingly inspiring. It gives a dull world so much wonder and fancy to it. Lately my imagination has run off with me, and I can often find myself in elaborate lands of intermingling chaos and interest. I'm not sure in it's good to entertain these delusions, but they're fun regardless!
    What's your path?
    Whatever my Granny says! I don't really have much problem with my dualities. It's entertaining, if anything, and no one's said it's wrong. Granny helped me get away from these ugly little things once, and she's always been so nice. I love her.
    Talents.
    Exhaustion Talent.
    Words of Invention. I'm good at thinking, and equally good at sharing my thoughts. My words can ring more true than others, able to inspire emotions and new trains of logic. While they're rather hard to ignore, it doesn't have effect on those who can't hear, or who don't speak English.
    Madness Talent.
    Icy Veins. When something is splattered with my own blood, I'm able to turn it into a growing ice. It starts crystallizing from a spot of my choosing, eventually dying after a few minutes, unless joining with another blood splatter, which it then creates a chain effect and grows. I'm unable to stop it once it starts, and it may hurt friends as well as foes.
    Scars.
    Lonely Child. Being an only child, I grew up in a lower-upper class family, distanced from the rest of my classmates. My mother further took me from socializing when she was afraid I was mentally incapable, and home-schooled me.
    Fatherless. My dad died during my junior year of high school, from a fever that was too high. The doctors did their best, but it persisted and eventually claimed him.
     
  4. Let me know if there's anything needs tweaking!

    My name is... Natalie Lowell

    And I am... A Wife, soon to be a Mother

    What's been keeping you awake? Discontent. I could have been so much more than this! I had dreams once, I was brilliant and beautiful- I could have gone anywhere, done anything! And I married him. Love is a poison, it eats you from the inside out and you wouldn't trade the chains for anything. I hate him for loving him- in the dark hours with nothing to distract me I feel like it's boiling me alive.

    What just happened to you? I just broke sixty-seven hours awake... oh, it isn't the first time, but this time is different. I thought maybe I had fallen asleep and was dreaming- but I know the difference. My bedroom door lit up, and when I went out to turn the light off my house was different. Everything was in a different place and the door was gone behind me. I want to go home... But I don't.

    What's on the surface? I'm everything people think of when they say 'trophy wife', I can see it in their eyes, even when they don't say it to my face. I'm tall, poised, graceful; people frequently tell me how beautiful I am- I have long, curly blonde hair and blue eyes and not a single freckle- but I do believe beauty ought to be an internal thing... I just wish they could see my soul.

    What lies beneath? I am misery. I am ungratefulness and disgust and resentment and boredom. I hate my perfect life and I hate myself for hating it. I want to go home- I know I said that before, shut up, I'm saying it again, listen to me! But I don't- I can't. Oh I so desperately want to think maybe I can't. Then it would be okay to want to...

    What's your path? To find out if I can get back home to my family.

    Talents.
    Exhaustion Talent Weeping of Angels. I'm not a graceful crier, and I don't often break, but when I do- I don't know, maybe it's the sound, maybe it's the sight- it halts people in their tracks, completely brings the world to a screeching halt, only for a few precious moments though, and what can be done in a moment?

    Madness Talent Like a Woman Scorned. I've had trouble with my temper since I was a child. It has always felt like there was this monster inside me, screaming to... to what? I don't know. Take over, get out. Wreck and hurt and flail and destroy. I think of it like my own tiny dragon- a fickle, dog looking octopus creature with too many eyes (I must stop reading Lovecraft, I know, but it isn't as though I can sleep anyway)- curled up in my breast and gnawing on my heart and as long as I can keep it sleeping then I have succeeded in life. But it's getting bigger every day, I'm so afraid, I feel like I'm going to burst... Though that could be seven months of pregnancy talking.

    Scars. The perfect little girl, raised to be the perfect young lady. Perfect daughter, perfect wife. There was one summer I had a dog- an old stray mutt who lived in the neighbors field past a fence we used to crawl under. It didn't matter to him if my dress was torn or dirty or my hair was mess or I swore out loud or, inevitably, wound up smelling just as bad as he did. I'd come home dirty and come back the next day bruised and he was always there to play the pain and sadness away. The neighbor saw us and thought he was chasing me... well I suppose he was... and shot him. He was the only friend I'd ever had- I haven't had any since, not in... what? Will it be twenty years now? My prince charming; a dead dog twenty years now...
     
  5. OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

    Gmed more 'n a few o' these myself. I'm so down.... you took out the stats though.... *shrug*

    Copied the format and power level of the talent from the book of example powers >.> <.<



    My name is: Mathew Chase
    And I am: An unemployed shadow of a man whose turned to drugs.
    Whats been keeping you awake?
    The debt was due yesterday, but its been keeping me awake for weeks. These are not the kind of guys you keep waiting.
    What just happened to you?
    They came for the debt, or my blood. Don’t think they minded much either way.
    Whats on the surface?
    A wreck. The shadow of a man that never even was. In the middle of an involuntary purge as he can’t scrape together enough to fuel his addiction.
    What lies beneath?
    Where to start? Ex snitch, living in his dead mother’s apartment. Wanted by the cops, wanted by the mob. Sometimes i think my only friend just speaks to me out of pity.
    What is your path?
    I know I could be that better person if I tried, to get that girl I fancied in school, get a job and to not have to beg to get a hit and end my addiction.

    TALENTS:
    Exhaustion Talent:
    Always been a fast talker when hes been under threat and would able to talk his way out of Alcatraz if charges weren’t easier to avoid.

    Madness Talent:
    All the filth I’ve put into my veins, all the shit I’ve smoked, every drug I have ever taken bubbles beneath my fresh. It burns like acid and itches like a thousand insects. It begs to escape the prison of my body and sometimes I let it. My pores ooze black sludge, my veins open and it pours out so willing to do my bidding, or am I doing it’s.


    Minor use: Small amounts escape. I puke out enough to make a patch of floor slippery, or my arm slippery. I breath out enough smoke to make the person in front of em cough and blind for a second.

    Moderate use: It leaks out of every pore, my nose, my mouth, even around my eyes and.... I’ll just say diarrhea is nothing compared to this. It covers my entire body and hardens to armor, or stays fluid and becomes whips. It seeps into the poor cocksucker in front of me and be pops like a balloon, or it covers the entire room in sludge I control with my mind.

    Major use: I explode with the stuff becoming a 12 foot tall sludgemonster with an armored core that shoots rock hard gobs and drowns anyone foolish enough to get close. Cars are thrown, and houses filled with snaking tentacles of black ooze and eventually collapse as I tear apart the foundations. I can choke a man’s thoughts with the corruption in my veins and fill their soul with it’s blackness.

    Scars

    FUCK They came for me asking question, they had guns, knives.. shit.. I had to... they were going to kill me I BETRAYED BY FRIEND.
    My short pathetic life if near its end but god If I don't want something to live for. I KNOW I CAN BE BETTER IF I TRIED! But it seem too late now.

     
  6. Felicity Teabuae (open)
    My name is... Felicity Teabuae
    And I am... a student.
    What's been keeping you awake? A re-occurring dream that never seems to want to leave me alone. I keep trying to figure out what it means, what it's supposed to be, but I can't for the life of me.

    What just happened to you? I was having coffee with my father, and he sent me out do some errands afterwards.

    What's on the surface? I'm an in between. Some say I look like my father; others say I look like, Snow White. I don't know why they say that. I mean, my face isn't that pale. Though maybe it has been of late. I know the only other difference is; is that my face is smaller than hers. My hair is of course lighter than Snow White's. I don't know how anyone could have pitch black hair. Mine of course, just hangs above my shoulders, curled up at the ends, and is in between dark brown and black. I'm not sure exactly what you would call it. I daydream a lot. So I don't really pay attention to where I'm going much. I've run into people and then tried to tell them that I was sorry and they just grunt at me. I stand about 5'5" I'm not very tall, but I make the best out of it.

    What lies beneath? I'm a weakling. I'm not very strong. I can't lift anything over 30lbs. I know, it's horrible. I can't even believe it myself. I can't even fight for myself let alone hurting others.

    What's your path? To find my way back to my papa.

    Talents.

    Exhaustion Talent I don't talk when I'm supposed to. Maybe I should. I've been too afriad though. Ever since I was little. I've never spoken until I was told to speak. Those were the rules back in the day. The lady never speaks until spoken to. I tend to keep things to myself, more so then anyone else. (Basically, when she doesn't speak, it doesn't allow others to know what she's thinking. If she comes out and says what she is thinking, it might be a little different for others to understand properly.)
    Madness Talent I have a bad temper. One that can make people run if it comes down to it. I never want to see that side of me, but if I have to, I'll use it. I say things that I shouldn't say to get myself in trouble, but I can sweet talk myself back out of it. (The temper can be used against anyone. A temper more so that can retaliate with words, and be hurtful.)

    Scars. A small girl, raised by her momma and papa. Though one day, she woke up finding her momma dead on the floor in her bedroom. Screams of terror fled through her lips running down through the stair case yelling at her papa about her momma. Though, papa never believed the girl he shewed her away back up to her room, to watch her mother just lay there not moving; blood dripping down on the carpet as tear drops moved from her eyes down along her cheeks, staining them.
     
  7. LAI, no tweaking needed. You're accepted and your character brilliantly depressing!
    Vay, this is DRYH for a RP-setting, so I did take away stats. I also modified it a little so it'd be somewhat easier for people who haven't played the tabletop to play this. But the old-style profile is welcome, of course. Glad to have you on.
    Christine, I like your character. I'm not exactly sure what your Exhaustion and Madness Talents do, though. Try to clarify how those effect others if you would?

    Also, you guys are more than welcome to make more than one character in case the other dies. C: Or to make another character after the first dies and jump back in.
     
  8. I hope that it's all right with you. I put the explanation in brackets. If it needs to be changed, allow me to know.
     
  9. No that's better! Thanks, you're all ready to go.
     
  10. My name is: Arden Hall

    And I am: An unemployed carpenter

    What's been keeping you awake?: Stress. Stress over money, stress over a recently lost job, stress over what I am going to do with my life. There are some things that are just too much to deal with, period. Other things can be kept at bay during day time hours by staying busy. However, after dark when I lie awake in my bed the stress constricts my body like a vice. It slowly works it's way from my stomach, slithering like a snake, and makes it's way to my neck where it tightens it's grip until I'm writhing in pain. It has me up at all hours pacing the floor and chain smoking. Some nights, more often than not, I don't sleep at all.

    What just happened to you: In a moment of cloudy thinking I made a terrible decision. While in line at the bank, I attempted to rob it. It was foiled by a man in line who decided to play hero, but I did manage to escape at least for the time being.

    What's on the surface?: I am a crafts man, by trade, so while my skin is evenly tanned my hands are rough and calloused. When I am not wearing at least three band-aids, scabs and small lacerations are a constant. Not a bad exchange for doing the thing I love. Sometimes people mistake me for other people. Often times, I'll be introduced at a social gathering by a friend of a friend and they will be like "You look just like my friend so and so" or "You are the spitting image of my cousin", I guess I have a recognizable face. It doesn't bother me, really, but sometimes I get the urge to shave my head and get my ears pierced or something, maybe a tattoo on my skull, at least then I wouldn't remind people of someone they already knew. I am an outwardly nice and friendly person, not annoyingly so, but enough to get me by. I don't go out of my way to help people on a daily basis, but I do get satisfaction when helping those close to me.

    What lies beneath?: Distrust, disgust and dishonesty, fear and hatred. I have spent most of my life isolated, emotionally, from everyone. I have a secret fear of rejection that causes me to act in a way that I hate.

    What is your path?: More than anything I want to be self sufficient and mentally stable. I want to break the chains of fear and hate that have bound me for all my life. A decent job would be nice too, but gotta fix myself first.

    Talents

    Exhaustion talent
    I've always been good at building things, that and fighting. My heavy fists have won me more than a few bar room arguments (And my ability to fix things has been put to use after punching holes through dry wall)

    Madness talent
    The ability to turn my body to a gaseous/liquid form.

    Scars
    I have lived my life in remorse as long as I can remember, if it wasn't one thing it was another. The most prominent event, however, would have to be the loss of my child. I was in a car accident and he was killed, while I walked away without a scratch.
     
  11. Fufufu. Looks good, October. Welcome aboard the hand-basket to hell 8D
     
  12. *Giggles like an insane school-child and goes to dig out his list of custom madness powers*
     
  13. Pfft. Who'd have thought there'd be so many DRYH enthusiasts on Iwaku?
     
  14. I'm totally seeing a relationship between Vay's character and mine; perhaps Sevens was his dealer?


    My name is... John Pritchard, or 'Sevens' to my friends.
    And I am... a Drug Mule and occasional Dealer, a courier of hard drugs who moves such substances across the city and occasionally sells it on to the Users.
    What's been keeping you awake? Nerves. They're after me, I fucking know they are. Those fucks know what I did, and they're out looking for me. I can't sleep; what if they finally catch up to me?

    What just happened to you?
    Last week, I stole a massive shipment from my employers and went on the lam. Managed to sell the stuff for a pretty solid profit, but they're out for my blood know. I've been hiding out at my friend Guy's house since then, hoping for it all to die down a bit before I get the fuck out of town. I went out to pick up some munchies and more energy drinks, and I've just walked back through the door to find Guy ripped to pieces, his body parts displayed all across the goddamn room.

    What's on the surface?
    A young, nervous man, who has the body of an athlete. I dress simply, in light clothing that's easy to manouver in, and am rarely seen without my sports bag that I carry what I need in.

    What lies beneath?
    A nervous fucking wreck; I'm not cut out for the business of stealing from big-time drug dealers and selling their product under their noses. I'm jumpy, twitchy and paranoid, convinced that this whole thing is about to blow up on me.

    What's your path?
    I'm gonna find out who killed Guy, and get my revenge upon them; an eye for a fucking eye. From there, I want to leave this life I lead behind. No more running drugs and working for the scum of the earth; I want to do something good in my life for once.

    Talents.
    Exhaustion Talent
    Free-Running; I'm an athlete, and I know how to manouver myself through an urban landscape expertly.

    Madness Talent
    JUGGERNAUT (open)
    [size=+2]J is for Juggernaut[/size]
    [size=+1]An Unstoppable Force
    Just Start Moving
    None Can Stop Your Course[/size]

    What Can You Do?
    You're a living, breathing Juggernaut. When you start moving, there is pretty much nothing in both the City Slumbering or the Mad City that can stop you. You're able to charge through walls and buildings, knock aside people and other obstacles as if they weren't even there. When you really put your mind to it, you can start knocking through things like entire cities, or if you're feeling brave other dimensions.

    (1 – 2 dice) Start moving, and and knock aside a group of people or reasonably sized objects like cars and flimsy walls. This will last for only a minute or two, however.
    (3 – 4 dice) Start moving, and be able to smash through fortifications, walls, even a tank or even a large crowd of people. Make like Jesus and run across water, or even across lava without hurting yourself or sinking in. You can keep this up for up to five minutes.
    (5 – 6 dice) Start moving, and literally nothing can get in your way. Smash through whole city blocks, a convoy of armoured vehicles and tanks, or really fuck with the stasis-quo and charge into other dimensions; knock a way into Heaven or Hell, the Dreamlands or any number of other dimensions before bursting out into this dimension hundreds of miles away. Just be careful what you bring back with you.

    How Does It Break Me?
    FIGHT – People just keep getting in your fucking way. Clumping together like fucking bowling pins, thinking they can stop you. But you'll show them. They think their walls can hold you? That their toys are immovable? You'll show them just how wrong they are.
    FLIGHT – The need to run, to flee, to get the fuck out of here, becomes overwhelming, and you just can't help but to start running. Where, you don't know, just away from here.

    How Do I Change?
    You start to find that staying still, the lack of movement, doesn't exactly sit well with you. You want to keep moving for longer and longer, and little by little you find it harder to stop yourself from continuing onwards on your unstoppable charge.

    What Am I Becoming?
    The day finally comes when you just can't fucking stop; the urge to keep on trucking, keep on moving, is just too overwhelming. Your charge is ceaseless, and you never find yourself becoming tired. In your never-ending sprint you level whole city blocks, and knock aside anyone who dares get in your way, Awake or Nightmare alike. Your form is never truly seen again, the denizens seeing only a terrifying motion blur and the chaos it leaves in its wake. The whole of the Mad City learns to spot and fear your approach; you have become the WRECKING BALL.


    Scars
    THEY KILLED MY FUCKING FRIEND. I've always had a saying; have your friend's back and they'll have yours. When I needed him, Guy took me in, put a roof over my head and helped me lay low when the heat was at it's hottest. He had my back... and that got him killed. I will avenge him; I owe him that much.
    I WANT TO BE A BETTER PERSON. Looking back, I can't say I've lived a good life; when I try and think of a 'good thing' I've done in recent memory, my mind draws a blank. I'm done with moving drugs and selling it on to kids; I'm done fucking people's lives up. I want to be a better man, to atone for my sins; this guilt drives me onwards.
     
  15. XD I am so glad to have a Juggernaut on board, Grumpy. Also, I'm definitely seeing a character relation there lol.
     
  16. (Feels very embarassed to not know what DRYH stands for...)
     
  17. Don't Rest Your Head, the name of the system/setting.
     
  18. Ah yeah, it's a tabletop RPG. I used it to make the setting/plot for EaM.
     
  19. You got the Don't Lose Your Mind book?
     
  20. I don't personally have it. A friend does and we've played off it but I'm still mostly familiar with DRYH.