Rules are simple.
1. Go to TV Tropes.
2. Press random three times and use those three tropes to create a character description.
3. Post the description.
Easy-peasy, right?
Let's get started!
I never told you my name - Creepy Mortician -Ominous music box sound tune
Oh goodie (/sarcasm) This one is a little harder with "I never told you my name" as that implies a second character.
He stood in the nearly pitch-black room, turning his head from side to side with an odd tune. It sounded like it was coming from a music box, but there seemed to be no identifiable source. His hair was short and greased back. His skin was sallow and pale, but he didn't seem to care about his appearance. While he picked up intrument after instrument he kept time with the odd music playing.
He started to hum as he turned to face the only other occupant of the room. Under his eyes were dark bags. His face had a patchy growth of hair and his lips were chapped. He smiled, pulling back his lips to reveal a crooked, smile full of slimy teeth, "Hello John."
"But I didn't tell you my name!"
"It's right there on the toe tag, John."
1. Go to TV Tropes.
2. Press random three times and use those three tropes to create a character description.
3. Post the description.
Easy-peasy, right?
Let's get started!
I never told you my name - Creepy Mortician -Ominous music box sound tune
Oh goodie (/sarcasm) This one is a little harder with "I never told you my name" as that implies a second character.
He stood in the nearly pitch-black room, turning his head from side to side with an odd tune. It sounded like it was coming from a music box, but there seemed to be no identifiable source. His hair was short and greased back. His skin was sallow and pale, but he didn't seem to care about his appearance. While he picked up intrument after instrument he kept time with the odd music playing.
He started to hum as he turned to face the only other occupant of the room. Under his eyes were dark bags. His face had a patchy growth of hair and his lips were chapped. He smiled, pulling back his lips to reveal a crooked, smile full of slimy teeth, "Hello John."
"But I didn't tell you my name!"
"It's right there on the toe tag, John."
Omg this seems so fun. I will have to do it when I'm not on my iPod or when I get enough time to be patient and fight with it haha.
Ok I'll take part in this!
1.Spy Satellites 2. Stock Unsolved Mysteries 3. Necro cam
It was a murder case that had been unsolved for a decade. The murder of the vice president, of course almost no one knew that it was a murder case as it had been covered up as a suicide for national security.
He however had his own theory on what happened, an assassin from THAT country snuck into his hotel room and pressed the gun against his right temples before pulling the trigger. Then the assassin set up the body to make it look like it had been a suicide before escaping. He had a feeling that none of VIPS that had known about the murder had picked rooms with that feature since then.
Of course he had no way to prove his theory which is why he had broken into the most important government building of the suspected country. He had just managed to download all of the files from the correct time period when suddenly he got a message on his spywatch. "The guards on onto you and are swarming the premises. Get out now." His eye in the sky, a government satellite that he had been loaned use of had been very useful for this assignment, but the rest was now up to him.
His finger briefly grazed the suicide pill in his pocket. If capture was imminent, he knew what to do...of course after death he would be labeled as a traitorous rouge. Well let's hope it didn't come to that...
1.Spy Satellites 2. Stock Unsolved Mysteries 3. Necro cam
It was a murder case that had been unsolved for a decade. The murder of the vice president, of course almost no one knew that it was a murder case as it had been covered up as a suicide for national security.
He however had his own theory on what happened, an assassin from THAT country snuck into his hotel room and pressed the gun against his right temples before pulling the trigger. Then the assassin set up the body to make it look like it had been a suicide before escaping. He had a feeling that none of VIPS that had known about the murder had picked rooms with that feature since then.
Of course he had no way to prove his theory which is why he had broken into the most important government building of the suspected country. He had just managed to download all of the files from the correct time period when suddenly he got a message on his spywatch. "The guards on onto you and are swarming the premises. Get out now." His eye in the sky, a government satellite that he had been loaned use of had been very useful for this assignment, but the rest was now up to him.
His finger briefly grazed the suicide pill in his pocket. If capture was imminent, he knew what to do...of course after death he would be labeled as a traitorous rouge. Well let's hope it didn't come to that...
Oh. Oh dear.
Idle Rich - Orifice Evacuation - Summon Magic (edit: a bit of Orifice INVASION got in there as well, but trust me, the evacuation does happen at the end)
This can only possibly go one way, and it's not safe for kids at all.
WOW, that turned out to be less than a character description and more a short horror story. Sorry, hope it still counts!
Idle Rich - Orifice Evacuation - Summon Magic (edit: a bit of Orifice INVASION got in there as well, but trust me, the evacuation does happen at the end)
This can only possibly go one way, and it's not safe for kids at all.
WARNING: GRAPHIC SCENE AHEAD, READ WITH CAUTION, DON'T READ AT ALL IF YOU'RE A MINOR
The neighborhood's wealthiest family was wealthy, indeed. So much so that if they chose to, they could purchase the entire town for themselves fifty times over, and still have enough left for a private yacht or two. However, they didn't; the husband and wife that headed the family were simply too kind and gracious to ever consider upsetting the balance of the town by sweeping the mayor out of office...not so for the son, however.
Their son was a vile thing, truly. Never had a selfless thought crossed his mind at any point in his eighteen-year-old life, never had he considered using what his parents allowed him from the enormous family wealth for any reason other than his own shallow, pitiful needs. The only remotely respectable thing about him was his affinity for books, and he had a large personal library at his disposal, most of them tales of horror. He was so incredibly self-centered that he refused to believe anyone but himself and his family even existed at all, and often spat on anyone who even looked at him. The son's behavior with his money and towards others was cruel and mean-spirited to a fault, and he had been threatened many times with having all his monetary resources frozen and being sent off to boot camp to join the military, but his behavior only worsened every time. This was all exacerbated by his appearance; narrow, pale face with a nose he almost always kept upturned, beady green eyes with which he glared at his parents with envy whenever possible, and smooth blonde hair he often kept neatly combed over.
Eventually, realizing that despite their best efforts their son had developed into a tyrannical thing, they made true on their threats and gave the son only half a month's warning of his fate. Utterly indignant, the son turned to what he had heard of in the old horror stories he enjoyed reading so much, and began researching the dark arts. He had plans to harness the evil might of Hell to destroy his parents and increase his resulting wealth by untold amounts, all in one fell swoop. One night, two weeks later as he began packing for the soon-to-come trip to his fate, he applied this knowledge of the darkness and retreated to the backyard of the family estate, drawing a large pentagram in chalk upon the largest concrete surface he could find and sitting cross-legged in the middle of it. In his piercing, shrill voice he read aloud an ancient, malefic incantation that seemed for all the world to cause the shadows about him to thicken to the point where they appeared almost solid.
As the black incantation ceased, the shadows about the son drew towards him and forced themselves down his mouth in a large, seething vortex of chaos, a fierce reddish-purple light pouring forth from the center of the swirling tempest of darkness and eventually forcing it's way down into the young man's innards through his throat. He screams with abject terror as his body trembled violently, blood pouring forth incessantly from every orifice, until his eyes, nose, and mouth gave and the same darkness burst forth. The son had no chance in any world to survive this, this tangible evil power leaving his body as almost beam-like jets of shadow through where there were once organs or structures. The darkness came together and coalesced, the son's soul within the horrid mass as fuel to allow the thing to manifest, and an incomprehensible horror from Hell's deepest pit lurched forth, promptly devouring the lifeless corpse before it and taking the parents to meet their son in the next world...
There would be no word from that town after this incident. Not even the slightest whisper of it's existence.
The neighborhood's wealthiest family was wealthy, indeed. So much so that if they chose to, they could purchase the entire town for themselves fifty times over, and still have enough left for a private yacht or two. However, they didn't; the husband and wife that headed the family were simply too kind and gracious to ever consider upsetting the balance of the town by sweeping the mayor out of office...not so for the son, however.
Their son was a vile thing, truly. Never had a selfless thought crossed his mind at any point in his eighteen-year-old life, never had he considered using what his parents allowed him from the enormous family wealth for any reason other than his own shallow, pitiful needs. The only remotely respectable thing about him was his affinity for books, and he had a large personal library at his disposal, most of them tales of horror. He was so incredibly self-centered that he refused to believe anyone but himself and his family even existed at all, and often spat on anyone who even looked at him. The son's behavior with his money and towards others was cruel and mean-spirited to a fault, and he had been threatened many times with having all his monetary resources frozen and being sent off to boot camp to join the military, but his behavior only worsened every time. This was all exacerbated by his appearance; narrow, pale face with a nose he almost always kept upturned, beady green eyes with which he glared at his parents with envy whenever possible, and smooth blonde hair he often kept neatly combed over.
Eventually, realizing that despite their best efforts their son had developed into a tyrannical thing, they made true on their threats and gave the son only half a month's warning of his fate. Utterly indignant, the son turned to what he had heard of in the old horror stories he enjoyed reading so much, and began researching the dark arts. He had plans to harness the evil might of Hell to destroy his parents and increase his resulting wealth by untold amounts, all in one fell swoop. One night, two weeks later as he began packing for the soon-to-come trip to his fate, he applied this knowledge of the darkness and retreated to the backyard of the family estate, drawing a large pentagram in chalk upon the largest concrete surface he could find and sitting cross-legged in the middle of it. In his piercing, shrill voice he read aloud an ancient, malefic incantation that seemed for all the world to cause the shadows about him to thicken to the point where they appeared almost solid.
As the black incantation ceased, the shadows about the son drew towards him and forced themselves down his mouth in a large, seething vortex of chaos, a fierce reddish-purple light pouring forth from the center of the swirling tempest of darkness and eventually forcing it's way down into the young man's innards through his throat. He screams with abject terror as his body trembled violently, blood pouring forth incessantly from every orifice, until his eyes, nose, and mouth gave and the same darkness burst forth. The son had no chance in any world to survive this, this tangible evil power leaving his body as almost beam-like jets of shadow through where there were once organs or structures. The darkness came together and coalesced, the son's soul within the horrid mass as fuel to allow the thing to manifest, and an incomprehensible horror from Hell's deepest pit lurched forth, promptly devouring the lifeless corpse before it and taking the parents to meet their son in the next world...
There would be no word from that town after this incident. Not even the slightest whisper of it's existence.
WOW, that turned out to be less than a character description and more a short horror story. Sorry, hope it still counts!
Tailor-Made Prison - Not Quite Back To Normal - Her Boyfriend's Jacket
This is pretty long guys, I'm sorry. Heh.
Flourescent lighting was hard to ignore after a while of sleeping with one's face pointed toward the ceiling. Eventually, Gwen began to stir. Confusion painted itself very clearly on her face the moment she realized she wasn't where she was supposed to be. What time was it, even? This small room didn't have any windows. There was a series of long bulbs on the ceiling to offer light, the walls a sterile white color, but none of the brightness was comforting or natural.
Her breath hitched for a moment, catching in her throat before she exhaled a quivering sigh. Following this was a whimper, and then some panicked wheezing as she got up from the small bed. Or was it a cot? The mattress sure was thin, but at least it was a bed. In the corner of the room, she saw a toilet (it was surprisingly clean), and to the eastern-most wall, there was a slit at the bottom with no light coming from it. It was about two inches tall and a foot wide; large enough to peek out of, but not big enough to squeeze anything more than her hand out of.
Her fear gave way to an odd anger as she paced around the room, unhappily glancing down at her new shapeless outfit. It smelled like nothing. No detergent, no remnants of her deoderant or perfume broke through the fabric, nothing. Her hair was down and soft, obviously clean but again scentless. Her nostrils flared as she tried to figure out what that feeling was, the feeling of maybe forgetting something or missing something. As her hands rubbed at her upper arms in hopes of comforting herself, she noted at last that they were bare. This solved a good bit of her "I'm missing something" feeling, but there was something else.
"My jacket!" she cried a bit too dramatically. Gwen made a bee-line toward the slit at the bottom of the eastern wall, kneeling before it and pressing her face against it. "My jacket!" she repeated. "Give me my jacket!" But there was no light. She couldn't see. She couldn't smell. Was there anyone even out there? Gwen began to doubt it.
As if to make matters worse, her eyes began to water, collecting tears at the brim until she couldn't keep them held back anymore. She turned to seat herself beside the slit and brought her head into her hands, releasing those tears at last. That old, ratty cloth jacket belonged to her fiance when he was alive and was probably her favorite thing he gave her. Claws dug into her scalp as her hands moved behind her head, brushing over her pointed ears in the process. As if reminded suddenly of what she was, what she was capable, of, Gwen wheeled around and attempted to change. But her body did not twist and distort, her bones did not pop and set again and she did not grow fur.
The young woman tried to transform for around fifteen or twenty minutes before she determined she somehow couldn't anymore. She felt helpless. For once, she allowed herself to call upon that power knowing full well there may be people to see her do it somehow, but she couldn't. Normally she would be glad to be human again, but she enjoyed having a plan B for situations where she felt helpless and needed to call upon that wolf within her.
Days passed.
Gwen slept a great deal, ate only when plates were pushed through the slit (which consisted primarily of supplements and vegetarian dishes - water was given to her in a shallow bowl), and spoke only when someone was there to give her food. She wouldn't ever really get a response, as most of her words were threatening and unpleasant, but after another week, she began to spend a lot of time near that slit in the wall.
Poor thing. Her threats tapered off into softly-spoken questions of "How long am I going to be here?" and "Can I please have my jacket?" and "Will you please talk to me?"
One day the lights went out. This again reminded her of her returned-humanity when she couldn't see in the dark. Other than the lack of light, everything was as it had been. Naturally, she threw her fit at first, but it lasted a shorter period of time than when she first woke up.
Gwen no longer slept on the bed, but instead slept near the slit. Time was hard to tell, but it felt like she'd been in here for several weeks, and it would continue for several more. Food no longer came at one point, replaced with only supplements. She didn't throw a fit about this. She didn't throw a fit when even the supplements stopped coming and water was all she had. Hunger left her sleeping much more than before, and even if she had the energy, she wouldn't get angry and threaten her faceless "caregivers." Sure, she would whine at them, but that was all.
Warm lighting was hard to ignore after a while of sleeping with one's face pointed toward the window. Gwen woke with a start, bolting dizzily toward the window but unfortunately collapsing before she got there. On the bedside table was a bowl of oatmeal, a glass of orange juice, and a note. She wouldn't see this until she stood up again, but when she saw it, she went straight for the food.
This was her room.
She was home!
Her parents made her breakfast, her fiance's jacket was hugging her, and it was a nice, sunny day. That was one long dream, sure, but she was awake now and more than relieved for it. She finished her oatmeal quickly and reached for the orange juice, one hand grabbing the glass while the other snatched the folded note. On it was her name. She expected to open it up and find her mother softly scolding her for sleeping in until four in the evening, or perhaps her father telling her she needed to get her life together, that it had been six months and she needed to seek therapy and get over his death (he always was a bit on the cold side, but she knew it was because he cared).
Gwen dropped her glass, sending shards scattering about the floor, her fingers trembling as she held the paper.
Gwen.
Stay human. Don't let us find you again.
Flourescent lighting was hard to ignore after a while of sleeping with one's face pointed toward the ceiling. Eventually, Gwen began to stir. Confusion painted itself very clearly on her face the moment she realized she wasn't where she was supposed to be. What time was it, even? This small room didn't have any windows. There was a series of long bulbs on the ceiling to offer light, the walls a sterile white color, but none of the brightness was comforting or natural.
Her breath hitched for a moment, catching in her throat before she exhaled a quivering sigh. Following this was a whimper, and then some panicked wheezing as she got up from the small bed. Or was it a cot? The mattress sure was thin, but at least it was a bed. In the corner of the room, she saw a toilet (it was surprisingly clean), and to the eastern-most wall, there was a slit at the bottom with no light coming from it. It was about two inches tall and a foot wide; large enough to peek out of, but not big enough to squeeze anything more than her hand out of.
Her fear gave way to an odd anger as she paced around the room, unhappily glancing down at her new shapeless outfit. It smelled like nothing. No detergent, no remnants of her deoderant or perfume broke through the fabric, nothing. Her hair was down and soft, obviously clean but again scentless. Her nostrils flared as she tried to figure out what that feeling was, the feeling of maybe forgetting something or missing something. As her hands rubbed at her upper arms in hopes of comforting herself, she noted at last that they were bare. This solved a good bit of her "I'm missing something" feeling, but there was something else.
"My jacket!" she cried a bit too dramatically. Gwen made a bee-line toward the slit at the bottom of the eastern wall, kneeling before it and pressing her face against it. "My jacket!" she repeated. "Give me my jacket!" But there was no light. She couldn't see. She couldn't smell. Was there anyone even out there? Gwen began to doubt it.
As if to make matters worse, her eyes began to water, collecting tears at the brim until she couldn't keep them held back anymore. She turned to seat herself beside the slit and brought her head into her hands, releasing those tears at last. That old, ratty cloth jacket belonged to her fiance when he was alive and was probably her favorite thing he gave her. Claws dug into her scalp as her hands moved behind her head, brushing over her pointed ears in the process. As if reminded suddenly of what she was, what she was capable, of, Gwen wheeled around and attempted to change. But her body did not twist and distort, her bones did not pop and set again and she did not grow fur.
The young woman tried to transform for around fifteen or twenty minutes before she determined she somehow couldn't anymore. She felt helpless. For once, she allowed herself to call upon that power knowing full well there may be people to see her do it somehow, but she couldn't. Normally she would be glad to be human again, but she enjoyed having a plan B for situations where she felt helpless and needed to call upon that wolf within her.
Days passed.
Gwen slept a great deal, ate only when plates were pushed through the slit (which consisted primarily of supplements and vegetarian dishes - water was given to her in a shallow bowl), and spoke only when someone was there to give her food. She wouldn't ever really get a response, as most of her words were threatening and unpleasant, but after another week, she began to spend a lot of time near that slit in the wall.
Poor thing. Her threats tapered off into softly-spoken questions of "How long am I going to be here?" and "Can I please have my jacket?" and "Will you please talk to me?"
One day the lights went out. This again reminded her of her returned-humanity when she couldn't see in the dark. Other than the lack of light, everything was as it had been. Naturally, she threw her fit at first, but it lasted a shorter period of time than when she first woke up.
Gwen no longer slept on the bed, but instead slept near the slit. Time was hard to tell, but it felt like she'd been in here for several weeks, and it would continue for several more. Food no longer came at one point, replaced with only supplements. She didn't throw a fit about this. She didn't throw a fit when even the supplements stopped coming and water was all she had. Hunger left her sleeping much more than before, and even if she had the energy, she wouldn't get angry and threaten her faceless "caregivers." Sure, she would whine at them, but that was all.
Warm lighting was hard to ignore after a while of sleeping with one's face pointed toward the window. Gwen woke with a start, bolting dizzily toward the window but unfortunately collapsing before she got there. On the bedside table was a bowl of oatmeal, a glass of orange juice, and a note. She wouldn't see this until she stood up again, but when she saw it, she went straight for the food.
This was her room.
She was home!
Her parents made her breakfast, her fiance's jacket was hugging her, and it was a nice, sunny day. That was one long dream, sure, but she was awake now and more than relieved for it. She finished her oatmeal quickly and reached for the orange juice, one hand grabbing the glass while the other snatched the folded note. On it was her name. She expected to open it up and find her mother softly scolding her for sleeping in until four in the evening, or perhaps her father telling her she needed to get her life together, that it had been six months and she needed to seek therapy and get over his death (he always was a bit on the cold side, but she knew it was because he cared).
Gwen dropped her glass, sending shards scattering about the floor, her fingers trembling as she held the paper.
Gwen.
Stay human. Don't let us find you again.
Captain Ethnic-Go Look at the Distraction-Bribing Your Way to Victory
The year is 2017. Racism and stereotypes ran rampant in the streets ever since the police have been targeting those who weren't white, arresting them or worse. At that point, the white majority exiled those who weren't pure. Few members of the other races obeyed, while most of them stayed behind, facing the persecution and prejudice. But, out there in the distance, a glimmer of hope shines in the darkness of despair! He is...
The hero of our time, the savior of the people, defender of all that is ethnic! As a young boy of unidentifiable race, he too has been prejudiced in the year 2017. But now, he saves the day as a prejudice-fighting superhero. You may be wondering why is powers are. It's simple, he has none. Instead, he has the ability to make others distracted by giving them money. Yes, he bribes the racists into not being racist. And that distracts them. Truly, a hero of our time!
The year is 2017. Racism and stereotypes ran rampant in the streets ever since the police have been targeting those who weren't white, arresting them or worse. At that point, the white majority exiled those who weren't pure. Few members of the other races obeyed, while most of them stayed behind, facing the persecution and prejudice. But, out there in the distance, a glimmer of hope shines in the darkness of despair! He is...
Captain Ethnic!!
The hero of our time, the savior of the people, defender of all that is ethnic! As a young boy of unidentifiable race, he too has been prejudiced in the year 2017. But now, he saves the day as a prejudice-fighting superhero. You may be wondering why is powers are. It's simple, he has none. Instead, he has the ability to make others distracted by giving them money. Yes, he bribes the racists into not being racist. And that distracts them. Truly, a hero of our time!
I got Screw The Electric Bill!, Designated Victim and Dye Hard... ...oh boy.
Gonna keep this one short and sweet;
Eleanor was known for three things; a chronic inability to keep her natural hair color or stick to one color of dye, a crippling fear of the dark, and―apparently―an uncanny magnetism for villain-of-the-week kidnappings. Her life is essentially a never-ending cycle of getting kidnapped, getting rescued by the hero, dying her roots―and the whole mane while she was at it―the moment she got freed since she didn't have access to dye in the dungeon, and flip on every light in the castle on her way back in. Rinse. Repeat.
Gonna keep this one short and sweet;
Eleanor was known for three things; a chronic inability to keep her natural hair color or stick to one color of dye, a crippling fear of the dark, and―apparently―an uncanny magnetism for villain-of-the-week kidnappings. Her life is essentially a never-ending cycle of getting kidnapped, getting rescued by the hero, dying her roots―and the whole mane while she was at it―the moment she got freed since she didn't have access to dye in the dungeon, and flip on every light in the castle on her way back in. Rinse. Repeat.
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