XoXKieroBombXoX

Pilgrim's Caravan: An Open-Ended Fantasy (with Worldbuilding!)

@Tortoise Check my updates RQ and I'll move him over!

Machine from Times Before

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Scrapheap Metalmaster

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Credit: twitter.com/walkermasuda

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Race, Age, and Time:
Warforged, 2000+ years, Only a few weeks

Appearance:
Standing at a hulking 7' tall, Scrapheap finds difficulty making space in small areas. Along with his great height, Scraphead is also remarkably large, his Warforged frame being composed of thick metals and heavy materials. As his name describes, he dons a body of mostly scrap metals and moss, however, he is unsure how he ended up with such an oddly featured body. He's really insecure about it too, try not to bring it up. He speaks in a resonating tone that comes from his chest. His voice is created by the very magic that holds him together.

history

History:
Scrapheap's body was not always so poorly maintained, though he doesn't remember anything before it was. Back then, Scrapheap was a Warforged, a machine created for battle and adventures, bound together by magic and given life the exact same way. Unlike a construct or a robot, however, Warforgeds would be given to them by their masters, so in a way they are humans.

Scrapheap has no recollection of his past and that is perhaps a result of his body failing the tests of time. When he was picked up by a traveling mage just a few days before being sold to the caravan, he was rusted, torn apart, and in a sense, completely dead, but thanks to the efforts of the mage who sold him, Scrapheap was resurrected and able to freely serve the young man who saved him.

Before then, however, Scrapheap was a machine of war. He was created with the sole purpose of decimating waves of warriors for an old empire of man. Scrapheap was good at what he did, and every day he returned home from battle, gaining praise from his old master for a job well done. His master would clean the blood off of his body, and perform very minor damages to the Warforged, then Scrapheap was free to do what he wanted for the rest of his day.

Being essentially what was a human in a metal shell, Scrapheap fell in love as many other "normal" humans do, but was always too afraid to confess his feelings to the man he fell for. He was a soldier from another kingdom, a tale as old as time itself, whom he met at a tavern many nights before battle. They had been seeing one another for years, sharing tales on the battlefield before one unfortunate day.

There was no surrendering. It would have either been a victory or a defeat, but Scrapheap stared at the sky in disbelief as he lay, broken both mentally and physically. He couldn't find the courage to fight in himself and after the battle had been lost, he froze when he saw his love. Scrapheap lay, blinking slowly as the life began to slowly fade from his magical body of metal.

...

Over 2000 years later, Scrapheap woke up one day in a magical workshop, with no recollection of his previous life, and his hands and arms rusted. Something had happened to him, but he didn't know what. He met a short mage, clearly a student for some sort of academia for magick, wearing robes and a floppy hat. Scrapheap didn't know where he was or how he knew that, but he knew this person in succession was his new master and felt indebted to this young spellcaster.

And it wasn't very long before Scrapheap found himself fulfilling his debt by willingly letting himself get sold to a caravan shortly after getting cleaned and de-rusted. Now he had new masters, or would they be kind and befriend the Warforged?

Personality:
Scrapheap is very kind and considerate Warforged despite being built purely for war, which may be in part to his soul being incredibly sensitive and gentle. He is often seen as the Gentle Giant of the caravan as his skill in combat does not reflect his personality.

He is also incredibly hardworking, performing duties to the best of his abilities at all times, and fighting for causes he believes are just and right. Scrapheap is also naturally a fighting spirit. He prefers to resolve conflicts with combat rather than dragging matters out. The strongest man wins.

Scrapheap is a very flirtatious soul and will often compliment and flirt with those who find either attractive or that he likes. Quite odd for what many people would consider a machine.

Motivation:
Scrapheap believes his debt for being rescued has not been fully paid off despite letting the young traveling mage sell him for coin, so he serves the caravan as an indirect way to do so. Scrapheap also seeks answers for what happened to him before he woke up in debt to the mage.

Skills, Strengths and Weaknesses, and Tools:

skills

Skills:
- Scouting
- Translator
- Self-sustainable (can repair his own injuries)
- Can act as a taxi
- Heavy lifter
- Can break things easily
- Philosopher

strengths

Strengths:
- Master of many weapons
- Muscle of the group
- Incredibly charismatic
- Tank

weaknesses

Weaknesses:
- Water/Rain
- Cold weather
- Incredibly emotional
- Easily manipulated
- Slow
- Insecure

tools

- Very large steel axe
- Small magic repair kit
- Collection of books to keep him entertained
- Pouch of gold coins
- Giant bag of water for his friends

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optional details

Optional Details:

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What they want most:
Just to be happy and feel useful.

DnD Alignment
Neutral Good

Three Likes:
Flowers
Over-sized weaponry
A good book

Three Dislikes:
Spiders
People talking about his scrapped-body
Being repeated

Follow their mind or heart?
(Metaphorical) Heart

Worst Fear:
Forgetting his memories again.

Favorite color
Gray

Favorite time of day:
Midnight

How he Dresses
Doesn't wear any clothes, but is covered in moss.

Favorite Season:
Summer (His joints don't freeze up or rust as much)

God/Deity:
"If there is a God out there... I thank it for saving me."

Pilgrim's Caravan: An Open-Ended Fantasy (with Worldbuilding!)

@XoXKieroBombXoX

You know, your CS challenged me a bit. The whole 'cog for a head' initially made me feel like he's too steampunk for this medieval fantasy RP. But I do see that he is given life by magic, not science or technology, and it is a mage that brings him back as well. So, I think we can accept it under the grounds that he's essentially a machine man that is animated by mystic stuffs, and not a true robot.

I would ask, though, that we could remove the suit and bowler hat combo- again, it just feels too steampunk-y, and thus a little out-of-place in this genre.

@Tortoise

Both seem fine to me if the aesthetic doesn't fit 100% I'm fine changing his overall appearance, his personality and history were the driving factors for me

Edit: He's also technically a soul in a metal body rather than a robot. Warforgeds have feelings and conscious thoughts

Pilgrim's Caravan: An Open-Ended Fantasy (with Worldbuilding!)

Oh shoot I totally forgot to add Cogman’s gear

Edit: Fixed it!

Pilgrim's Caravan: An Open-Ended Fantasy (with Worldbuilding!)

BWOMP and done

Machine from Times Before

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Cogman Cogsworth

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Credit: twitter.com/KurakUraMamamA/status/134…

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Race, Age, and Time:
Warforged, 2000+ years, Only a few weeks

Appearance:
Standing at a hulking 7' tall, Cogman finds difficulty making space in small areas. Along with his great height, Cogman is also remarkably thin, his Warforged frame being composed of thin metals and minimal materials. As his name describes, he dons a head that contains the appearance of an industrial cog, however, he is unsure how he ended up with such an odd head upon his shoulders. He's really insecure about it too, try not to bring it up.

Cogman prefers to wear formal attire, though often finds it difficult to meet tailors who can meet his needs for thin and tall clothes. He also wears a small bowlers-style cap between the teeth in his cogs. He speaks in a resonating tone that comes from his chest. His voice is created by the very magic that holds him together.

history

History:
Cogman's head was not always a cog, though he doesn't remember anything before it was. Back then, Cogman was a Warforged, a machine created for battle and adventures, bound together by magic and given life the exact same way. Unlike a construct or a robot, however, Warforgeds would be given to them by their masters, so in a way they are humans.

Cogman has no recollection of his past and that is perhaps a result of his body failing the tests of time. When he was picked up by a traveling mage just a few days before being sold to the caravan, he was rusted, headless, and in a sense, completely dead, but thanks to the efforts of the mage who sold him, Cogman was resurrected and able to freely serve the young man who saved him.

Before then, however, Cogman was a machine of war. He was created with the sole purpose of decimating waves of warriors for an old empire of man. Cogman was good at what he did, and every day he returned home from battle, gaining praise from his old master for a job well done. His master would clean the blood off of his body, and perform very minor damages to the Warforged, then Cogman was free to do what he wanted for the rest of his day.

Being essentially what was a human in a metal shell, Cogman fell in love as many other "normal" humans do, but was always too afraid to confess his feelings to the man he fell for. He was a soldier from another kingdom, a tale as old as time itself, whom he met at a tavern many nights before battle. They had been seeing one another for years, sharing tales on the battlefield before one unfortunate day.

There was no surrendering. It would have either been a victory or a defeat, but Cogman stared at the sky in disbelief as he lay, broken both mentally and physically. He couldn't find the courage to fight in himself and after the battle had been lost, he froze when he saw his love. Cogman lay, blinking slowly as the life began to slowly fade from his magical body of metal.

...

Over 2000 years later, Cogman woke up one day in a magical workshop, with no recollection of his previous life, and his hands and arms rusted. Something had happened to him, but he didn't know what. He met a short mage, clearly a student for some sort of academia for magick, wearing robes and a floppy hat. Cogman didn't know where he was or how he knew that, but he knew this person in succession was his new master and felt indebted to this young spellcaster.

And it wasn't very long before Cogman found himself fulfilling his debt by willingly letting himself get sold to a caravan shortly after getting cleaned and de-rusted. Now he had new masters, or would they be kind and befriend the Warforged?

Personality:
Cogman is very kind and considerate Warforged despite being built purely for war, which may be in part to his soul being incredibly sensitive and gentle. He is often seen as the Gentle Giant of the caravan as his skill in combat does not reflect his personality.

He is also incredibly hardworking, performing duties to the best of his abilities at all times, and fighting for causes he believes are just and right. Cogman is also naturally a fighting spirit. He prefers to resolve conflicts with combat rather than dragging matters out. The strongest man wins.

Cogman is a very flirtatious soul and will often compliment and flirt with those who find either attractive or that he likes. Quite odd for what many people would consider a machine.

Motivation:
Cogman believes his debt for being rescued has not been fully paid off despite letting the young traveling mage sell him for coin, so he serves the caravan as an indirect way to do so. Cogman also seeks answers for what happened to him before he woke up in debt to the mage.

Skills, Strengths and Weaknesses, and Tools:

skills

Skills:
- Scouting
- Translator
- Self-sustainable (can repair his own injuries)
- Can act as a taxi
- Heavy lifter
- Can break things easily
- Philosopher

strengths

Strengths:
- Master of many weapons
- Muscle of the group
- Incredibly charismatic
- Tank

weaknesses

Weaknesses:
- Water/Rain
- Cold weather
- Incredibly emotional
- Easily manipulated
- Slow
- Has a cog for a head

tools

- Very large steel axe
- Small magic repair kit
- Collection of books to keep him entertained
- Pouch of gold coins
- Giant bag of water for his friends

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optional details

Optional Details:

⚙⚙⚙

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What they want most:
Just to be happy and feel useful.

DnD Alignment
Neutral Good

Three Likes:
Flowers
Suits and Ties
A good book

Three Dislikes:
Spiders
People talking about his head
Being repeated

Follow their mind or heart?
(Metaphorical) Heart

Worst Fear:
Forgetting his memories again.

Favorite color
Gray

Favorite time of day:
Midnight

How he Dresses
As stated in his appearance, very formal and Pish-posh

Favorite Season:
Summer (His joints don't freeze up or rust as much)

God/Deity:
"If there is a God out there... I thank it for saving me."

Pilgrim's Caravan: An Open-Ended Fantasy (with Worldbuilding!)

Expressing my interest for this RP. Will read the character sheet guidelines and decide from there if I'm a good fit!

World of Light

Level 4-
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Word Count: 1163
+3 EXP
SOU Hideout >>>>> Detroit

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The meeting was coming to a close, and Raiden knew this as many of the discussion participants had finished asking their questions. There were not a lot of discussions left that interested nor pertained to Raiden, yet he kept a careful and mindful ear to any additional information coming his way. As he thought, Susie's idea of creating her own company fell short due to many government regulations and along with the dangers infiltrating a private army HQ could pose, they were left with few options.

Raiden was however surprised that Goldlewis seemed on board with sending the group with Giovanna down to the lower sector of the city. "And here I was thinking you guys wouldn't be on board with me. I have a good advantage over machines with my High-Frequency Blade and a few explosives to top off." He added, boasting his skills as humbly as one could.

Each member of the group was expected to take photos for their new IDs titled GridLinks and Gridprints, forged for simplicity and safety reasons. Raiden didn't think much about disguising himself at first, but upon the suggestion, he couldn't agree more. Raiden was plated with armor and was the clear image of a mercenary, which definitely would not work in a city setting with strict government regulations. For both his ID and his disguised, he went to change. He decided it is best despite it not being fully functional to remove the patch covering his left eye to help him blend in, and afterward threw on his disguise: A black dress shirt, a golden tie, and a pair of shades. He was sure to look like an upstanding citizen in what he assumed was the slums of the city, but at least he fits in better. "Not too flashy, but it's a style that's familiar. That'll work." For safe measure, he put his swords and grenades into 2 separate cases for the time being.

Before his small friend could get too far into his repairs and maintenance with Poppi, Raiden popped into the small room they stationed themselves in and politely spoke to Tora. "Did you ever get a chance to look at those blades I bought back in the desert? I think now would be a good time to get those installed, especially seeing how having an ace up our sleeve couldn't hurt." After getting confirmation that he was ready, Raiden laid his arm on a wooden table, and let Tora do his business.

For his cover story, his Gridprint claimed he was a traveling businessman dealing in firearms. It wasn't entirely creative, but he fits the role well enough and knew a good deal about guns to play the part accurately. The Gridlink then was fashioned on his wrist after a bit of waiting in the rec room and he was as ready as he could be for the short time the group was given to prepare. "Let's get going then, eh?"

For Raiden

Mantis Blades- A hidden blade placed into each individual arm. Good for stealth and quick, light attacks. Raiden's arms now have a small hatch on each wrist to allow easy access to the blades.

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Detroit

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The city was closing in. Kust like America from his world, Detroit couldn't live up to its role as a "slum city" anymore if it does here. Smog as far as the eye can see, poverty around nearly every corner, and pickpockets and thieves roaming just as often as the rats and mice do. However, this Detroit was much more futuristic than where he came from, which was surprising considering a majority of the fancy technology was always given to the private militaries and government. There were a lot more bright signs and skylights than he remembered. As each of their Gridprints was checked, Raiden simply sat quietly, presented what he needed to, and let Giovanna do what she needed to.

Raiden couldn't be any more relieved to have been freed from the ridiculous-looking car he was paraded around in. He kept his yap shut about the car though. He had no idea who it belonged to, but he was not about to get into any more trouble with Giovanna, especially considering his snippiness earlier. Raiden kept an eye out for any danger as they left, heading Giovanna's words on thieves in Detroit. Not like anyone would be able to easily pickpocket suitcases from him, but the Gridlink did provide some incentive to keep watch. They then entered a train and eventually found themselves in the belly of the beast.

The cyborg noticed Tora looking out, seemingly longing for something, but found it rude that he was staring at the poor friend and looked back to the travel path. "Any more smoke or gas here and my robots might not be able to support my breathing." The cyborg joked to Tora, attempting to lighten his mood once he had caught up with the rest of the group.

Staring down into the pit, Raiden couldn't help but feel as though it was staring back at him as if all the dangers lurking within were collectively peering with their cold gazes. The idea was enough to make Raiden's spine quake... if he still had his biological spine. "There's always something worse." Raiden added to Giovanna who explained the quarantine zone as a sector of death and disease. He was more than happy to step away. As much as he wanted to help people, he's no help if he's endangering himself in the process. Hopefully, there was a way later down the line to help them. Would probably be easier if he learned more about Midgar before stepping foot into one of its most dangerous areas.

Raiden looked up to the abandoned railways that Giovanna pointed out, which she stated they'd need hooks to traverse most effectively. For a moment he just stared, not exactly knowing where could get such an item, until she mentioned "convincing" the local gangs. "I have a way with words. Lead me to them and hopefully, I can get what we need for a low cost." There was very little threatening tone in his voice, though it was kind of blatantly obvious what the mercenary meant and he hoped his tactics were in line with what Giovanna was thinking.

The streets and scenery were not foreign to Raiden, but he knew they were less than satisfactory. Trash, trash, and more trash as far as his functioning eye could see behind his pair of shades. If this was the lowest for Midgar, he couldn't imagine what the rest of the city looked like. Raiden almost wished he could return to the metro, just to feel a bit of excitement in the atmosphere, but everything was just gloomy, outside of the nearby clinic. He voiced his personal suggestion to Giovanna: "Personally, I'm fine with going wherever, but I wouldn't mind carving up a few robots. I say we could each take a dozen ourselves."

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World of Light

Level 4-
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Word Count: 771
+2 EXP
SOU Hideout

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The Cyborg grit his teeth, not in anger, but more in frustration with the situation. Goldlewis was right. He was at no terms to snap so bitterly at those who have made themselves allies. He rested back in his chair, breathed, and returned to the situation with a calm mind. "You're right. I shouldn't have said that. I hope you understand my concern hearing that name. They caused more than just business trouble in my home. Desperado, allies with Midgar or not, have a terrible history they won't show to the public, and I do think it'd be worth our time to investigate them ASAP." Raiden's hostility had just as quickly faded as quickly as it rose in the situation. Things were tense as is.

Raiden then pedaled back to his question regarding the operatives of Desperado as his suspicions confirmed true. Many of the Desperado VIPs were not only alive but were spirit fused to one another. The idea was foreign to the mercenary, however, he recalls the Seeker Joker doing something similar with the Guardian of the Sandswept Skies, but besides that his knowledge was limited to what was shared in conversation. Great... can't imagine how many screws they have loose... The cyborg thought to himself. He had his suspicion that Jetstream Sam was the host body, but he kept his comments to himself to avoid any more controversy.

It was the small robotic woman with pink hair, Susie, who gained Raiden's interest next. She posed a decent idea to join the ranks of Desperado in order to offer her assistance fighting the machines. He tagged on to Midna's opinion with his personal experience with the organization with a cross of his arms. "Desperado is a private military. If you wanna infiltrate their ranks in order to help with the machine situation, you're gonna have to either impress them or have an in of some kind, like an inside source or someone to advocate for you on the inside, and seeing as so little is known about this world's Desperado, that leaves you with very few options."

Many others had taken the liberty to introduce themselves to the new group, however many of the faces were familiar. "Raiden. I work for Maverick Security, though that name is probably foreign to you. Let's just say I'm a bodyguard." His secretiveness towards those native to Midgar was intentionally placed, as he hoped to later gain their trust to help his allies with the next guardian. Maybe he could even find Tora now that they had a moment of planning to discuss the mounted blades he purchased from the Gerudo Desert stalls.

He took a moment to assess his position helping the new team and where he'd be of best help. "I have a long history fighting lots of different groups, but I'd probably be best assisting one of the groups that deals with rebels or machines. I'm not one for fighting for the government, but if Midgar is in danger, I'm willing to help in any way possible." He took a brief moment of consideration. "Even if that means assisting Desperado at the end of it. As for the debate tomorrow, I think that it'd be important to use that as an opportunity to collect intel. Who knows, it might even give us a lead on where the hell we need to find the next Guardian."

The conversation began to come to a close as the princess named Peach asked about how the weather predicted attacks from the group of monsters named the "Others". Raiden was not familiar at all with their origins but was interested nonetheless. Perhaps he had something to gain in asking... "The Scarlet Guardians deal with Psychic abilities. That's lingo I know, though I must admit I may not be of help to their struggle if their only recruitment is specializing in mind-fuckery. Kinda shows the difficulty the Others would pose to those who can't keep their distance." Raiden tapered off the conversation after his spoken comments and then finally voiced his own opinion. "Personally, I think dealing with the hermits in a diplomatic way could save us some efforts and gain us some valuable allies. Maybe they'd be open to negotiating with outsiders. Either that or maybe Desperado has plans with the machines attacking we should find out about, whether that be a weapon of some kind or even as simple as a 'shortcut'. Don't get me wrong, the last thing I want to do is help Desperado, but if that's what it takes to get people some fresh-sliced justice, then to hell with it."

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World of Light

Level 4-
|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| (28/40)
Word Count: 870
+2 EXP
SOU Hideout

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Raiden was one of the very few members of the group that waited a moment or two before fully entering the room, performing a quick bout of maintenance on himself to ensure nothing had become damaged or maimed on his metallic exterior. Once he had assured himself that there was no external damage to himself, he quickly found himself following the others who had already begun resting or bombarding their mysterious new guides with questions relating to personal interest. There were new faces amongst the crowd of travelers, ones that he could care less about as he would always prefer to do work on his lonesome, but he was happy they were receiving more proper help, even if some of the new group didn't seem fit for fighting. Especially the princess that rode with them. He decided it would be best if he got introductions out of the way later.

The cyborg was glad to see many faces he did recognize before, even if some of the original group was now missing. Especially happy Tora had survived the ambush, he nodded in the tiny hairball's direction across the tight meeting room. He still had yet to get that upgrade programmed and installed into him and seeing Tora only reminded him of that surely after lending a helping hand in the dire situation on the highway, he was positive persuading the short, stocky fellow couldn't be too tricky.

Really, Raiden didn't have a whole lot to add about the situation at hand. Raiden was more of a self-bound solution type of guy and politics didn't really play into his forte. He always served better alongside a politician as a bodyguard rather than a diplomatic speaker. He was all ears to the current situation but had nothing to add, nor to ask, as all the pressing questions he had were already answered prior. He was beginning to see as well, that both Giovanna, Goldlewis, N, and M were all in a way attempting to convince them to help them with their efforts before seeing that they give them any information worth significance. Raiden, whether this assumption was true or not, heard their struggle and was all in for providing help.

That was until the name "Desperado" was mentioned, and was named in a very specific context. Feeling mixed emotions of confusion and concern, Raiden quickly inserted himself into the conversation, attempting to keep a calm and level head. "You said Desperado..." He was now standing, his voice clear yet quiet as he pondered the situation for a moment.

It was entirely possible that this new world Raiden was in was plucked specifically from a time before he had single-handedly dismantled Desperado Enforcement, or maybe it is possible it was a completely different group using the same name. Raiden doubted that. The fact the government that protected the land Raiden was currently presiding in was supporting them drew many red flags. "Do you know about any of the officials leading that branch?" Raiden wanted nothing more but to immediately claim ignorance at the group for setting foot into Midgar now that there was a threat. "I have a long list of names and could describe the people I'm looking for, but it'd be easier if I just showed this."

Raiden plucked the HF Murasama's sheath off of his side, the magnetic bond between his hip and the sheath severing. He'd set the weapon down softly on the table, the black and red color scheme iconic to Desperado's troops and weaponry. "There a chance there's been a Brazillian swordsman carrying a sword similar to this or had 'misplaced' it?" Raiden now seemed concerned with the release of more information about the groups. After hearing the words "private military" and "cyborg" Raiden was certain. Desperado was very well still intact and having heard a name he recognizes, he now took a special interest in the new information. He latched his sword back to his side, cautiously slid it through the armrest's hole, then sat back down.

It was revealed to the group that the location of Desperado's HQ was in a special sector of the mechanical city, specifically the bunker, to which Raiden made a mental note. Of course, the group's primary objective of defeating the guardian was the most important, but Raiden needed to know what this world's Desperado was capable of and more importantly, what they were planning to do. "Desperado is shady, and should be treated as a threat not only to Midgar but the world as well. I don't know what their objective is here, but back in my world, they planned on creating war worldwide to boost the war economy." The cyborg paused for a few moments to let the group absorb the information he just fed them. "They're terrorists." He added simply as he crossed his arms.

"I don't plan on going in killing or maiming, but I think it'd be worth our efforts to check out the bunker of this city to see what Desperado's goal's here are." He glared threateningly at M specifically. "And I'm not taking no as an answer, so I'd like to know how the hell to get to that part of the city."

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Level 2-
|||||||||||||||||||| (7/20)
Word Count: 248
+1 EXP
Edinburgh MagicaPolis - Spheal Show
Malaise Counter: ////////// (0/10)

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Bored. That's all the Prisoner could think. How bored he was, that is. For the past near day now, The Prisoner has done nothing but sit in an uncomfortable leather satchel for the past few hours. He would have appreciated it if the bag was see-through, but it was leather. So the entire time he sat idly, he had to numb out the squeaking of leather on leather as he jangled and bounced in Frisk's leather pouch. He got lucky Frisk decided to take part in something that'd keep her distracted for the next while, as he grew ever so tired of squeaking. He could kill a giant rat right about now just to vent his anger out on anything that squeaks. He was thankful Frisk was willing to carry his head around, but goddamn did he wish the squeaking would stop.

The Prisoner watched as Frisk and their new companion Ace playfully lead the Spheals in a playful arrangement. He watched for a moment, blissfully ignorant of everything except for the exciting performance, which he paid close attention to. His excitement was once again short-lived once he again realized there was nothing to do besides sit and watch like a friendly little blob. There was slowly becoming a realization that he may not return to a humanoid form for quite some time unless he did something about it. And in all honesty, he was in no condition to do anything about it.

He was stuck.

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World of Light

"It's ya boy!"

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Game Origin:
Pokemon: Sun/Moon, Ultra Sun/Ultra Moon

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Personality:

Guzma is the ambitious and charismatic leader of Team Skull, the local baddies in the Alola region. He leads his pack of cronies and vandalists who rather than threatening the fate of humanity and Pokemon-kind, created inconveniences for law enforcement, island captains, and Kahunas. Team Skull is much closer in similarity to a gang rather than an actual team. Team Skull is formed completely of young adults who failed the island challenge, similar in origin to their leader. The group is often mocked for its lack of direction, weird poses, and stereotypical gang behavior.

Guzma is an incredibly brash and erratic man, his emotions often resulting in mania or outbursts of anger. He is also known as a sore loser, often behaving irrationally at a loss. He is often the type of person to over-emphasize his plans, sharing details directly with his lackeys and enemies. Despite all of this, he is a great leader as he managed to unite hundreds under the simple ideology of creating chaos.

Guzma also exerts a lot of confidence in himself, however, under the surface, Guzma lacks that confidence and created Team Skull so that people would begin to treat him seriously as a trainer. Once a trainer himself, Guzma was overshadowed by Kuikui, who in their youth was his rival. How he speaks and carries himself also heavily represents a stereotypical gangster, like how he walks with a slouch, talks in slang, and uses childish language like "stupid" and "dumb" frequently.

Background

Background:

In the shady house located at the very north end of the Team-Skull-operated Po Town, clamboring and bustling could be overheard as many grunts worked diligently. Their infamous leader, Guzma sat in his "throne room" as Grunts moved in and out, sounds of partying and rap music heard in the main room. Guzma tapped his fingers irritatedly as one of his Grunts spoke. "I just dun understand boss, you had us searching for as much of these Z-Crystals as possible and now you want us to give them to that cop?"

"For the last time. He ain't a cop." Guzma seethed at the clueless Grunt who might as well have been scratching his head. "And yea, I'm keeping that little rat's end of the deal since he beat me fair n' square." He tapped his fingers impatiently as the grunt processed his logic. "Ugh, this one's too dumb. Has anyone seen Plumeria?! I need someone with some brain to do this for me." Guzma shouted at his punk-dressed lackeys in the room, who looked just as confused as the initial Grunt. "Ouch boss..." The Grunt muttered sadly as he slouched his shoulder at his boss's insult to his intelligence.

Just then, another one of the members walked in through the door, using their shirt as a sort of baggy, holding what was clearly more of the crystals Guzma was trying to get rid of. "Oh for the love of..." He whispered to himself as he slapped his forehead, dragging his hand down his face, pulling his eyelid downward. "Hey boss, I got some more of them Z-Crystals you asked for!" The Grunt said, clearly pleased with his work, unaware of the upset Guzma just a few feet away.

"No, no, NO!!" Guzma shouted as the Grunt stopped speaking. "We need to get rid of them, not get more!" He slammed his fist into his throne, clearly leaving a dent in the armrest of the purple cushioned chair, a loud thud moving around the room. He pointed at the new Grunt. "Go find Plumeria. I'll have her sort this whole disaster out." He said in a facepalm still, grouchily leaning on the chair as the Grunt embarrassingly poured the Z-Crystals into the small briefcase and left the room to find the admin, Plumeria.

"The rest of you get out before I throw something." He warned as the gangsters all piled out of the room in a sloppy single file line. In the silence, Guzma huffed to himself as he bounced his foot up and down, impatiently awaiting the arrival of his second-in-command, Plumeria. Upset with the irritating dumbness of his underlings and lose of a Pokemon battle, he waited in the dark room.

It took a decent while before the door flung open, revealing a thin and tan woman with pink and yellow strands of hair who entered the vandalized room. "What's going on boss?" She said simply. Hearing her speak seemed to simply cause Guzma to destress, able to now stand being in the room with someone. "I need you to have a grunt take this case to Nanu." Plumeria seemed to be understanding and immediately began picking up some of the loose crystals and placing them back in the case. "I take it you lost to the kid again?" She asked as she closed the case up, picking it up. Guzma seemed to huff slightly, displeased with the mention of his loss. "Yeah." Guzma grunted as Plumeria began to leave the room.

Just then, one of the grunts from downstairs burst suddenly into the room, seemingly panicked. "Oh, good. Hey, Numskull, take this to-" The Grunt cut her off. "Sorry Big Sis- But boss, you gotta come see this." Upset again, Guzma huffed as The Grunt clearly didn't elaborate enough to his liking. "See what?" He tapped his foot as the grunt now ran up to him and pulled on his arm. "There's no time! Something's happening!" Guzma slapped the Grunts hand off of him as he stood and followed the Grunt downstairs, stomping as he followed. "This better be good." He said as he opened the door.

As he looked outside, for once in his life, Po Town wasn't shrouded by clouds and fog, but instead, a bright yellow sky, with an entity that looked like an angel in the distance. Guzma stared dumbfounded at the beams of light that scattered across the skies, moving at rapid speeds. Unsure of what to do, Guzma stood still as the town of Grunts stared in horror. The light ravaged everything in its path. Just then, one of the beams hurdled towards Po Town. Continuing to stare, Guzma muttered a final "What the..." Before he fell prey to the light himself, along with the rest of his Grunts and town...

Specialty:
Pokemon Team Leader and Trainer

Level:
1

Powers:

• Pokemon Trainer: Whenever Guzma takes damage, it is dealt on behalf of his Pokemon if they are presently fighting. Trained Pokemon will always faint instead of dying. Effects of spirits are transferred to his Pokemon.

Strengths:

• Pokemon Trainer - Coming from the world of Pokemon, Guzma is naturally proficient in capturing, training, and commanding Pokemon.
• Strong Bond - Guzma grew up with his Pokemon, and as a result, has a strong bond with them, which naturally increases attack damage and precision.
• Charismatic - It usually doesn't take much for Guzma to rile people up or get them to do what he wants. There's a reason he kept his spot at the top of Team Skull.

Weaknesses:

• Bad Guy - Guzma is driven by the idea of creating chaos and confusion to those who oppose and mock him. Perhaps he can put this belief aside to free the world.
• Erratic Behavior - There is never a dull moment. Guzma experiences moments of extreme emotional pulls and as a result, is not the most rational person.
• Loud Mouthed - Always the first to spill the beans, Guzma is never one to entrust a secret or information with.
• Arrogant - Guzma is incredibly stuck in his ways. It's better to pretend to agree with him than to invest time into an argument.

Spirits:
N/A

"The New Squad"

• Loader- A heavy hitter and able to take to the skies with her grappling hook, the Loader is a mech-housed brawler with a modified body. Game of origin: Risk of Rain 2
• Etienne - A monkey engineer who fashioned dart turrets onto drones. Game of Origin: Bloons Tower Defense 6
• Cayde-6 - The Hunter sharpshooter with a heart of gold and jokes as dry as a desert. Game of Origin: Destiny

Inventory

Inventory:

• Z-Ring- A fancy stone ring that allows the trainer to command their pokemon to use Z-Moves. Guzma never learned how to use it
• Buginium Z- A Z Crystal which when held by a Pokemon can teach the Pokemon a once-per-battle powerful bug-type attack. For some reason he has a lot of it...
• PokeBalls- A Pokemon Trainer's staple item. Used to capture and summon Pokemon.
• 10,000 Pokedollars (currency)

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Pokemon Team

• Gollisopod - Ability: Emergency Exit Moveset: Swords Dance, Sucker Punch, Razor Shell, First Impression

World of Light

Level 2-
|||||||||||||||||||| (6/20)
Word Count: 1275
+3 EXP
Frozen Highlands - Dragonspire
Malaise Counter: ////////// (0/10)

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The Prisoner watched as the heavily injured group drained his newly reobtained Health Flask of all four charges. Frisk had taken two swigs of the viscous fluid in desperate need of its effects and was soon followed by Albedo who had taken the exact same amount himself. As Albedo returned the dirty, empty flask The Prisoner received it as he stared at the empty contents for a moment before giving the now drained bottle an annoyed glance and returning it to his waist, where his plethora of other tools and weapons lay still. He sighed as he continued his climb up the face of the mountain, making easy work of it has been in similar terrain previous, knowing his teammates were safe did give him some odd ease of mind, however.

Albedo had made mention of his multiple trips to Dragonspire Tower, The Prisoner nodded, able to understand his frustration. "I get it man. If there's anyone who understands being in one place for too long or too many times, it's me. I've been trapped on an island full of death for years with no way out. If it wasn't for my crippling need for social interaction, it might not have been all too bad. Unfortunately, most people either only want things provided to them, or helped me just long enough to wind up dead." He thought about the burly knight lady who wielded a broadsword. That all seemed like a fever dream now.

As they trekked the remainder of the mountain, The Prisoner was lucky to have Frisk shed some light on the situation of the new world they resided in and why everything seemed so stitched together. "That explains why coming across a dead body is so hard... Usually, I have to behead them myself and hop on before it's too late. When I was 'killed' back there-" He said using air quotations. "There was nothing for me to possess, otherwise I would've been completely fine." He'd sort of whip his scarf behind him as if he did a superhero pose. "People have a hard time trying to get rid of me.

It was the next portion of Frisk's explanation that really intrigued The Prisoner. The concept of spirits and souls in this world. "Oh... So, Melony's gone now? Inside of you?" He tried his best to seem genuinely curious while also shedding some empathy in his spooky voice. "That... That explains a bit." He eyed Frisk's new form for a moment as he continued to walk. He scratched his chin, questioning his freedom yet again. As Frisk befriended him with their friend heart, he realized this world had a puppet grasp. "AAAUUUGH, it's that fucking island all over again!" He grumpily kicked a pile of snow as they slowly approached their destination.

The Prisoner took a few moments to lazily brush about the flowers that they had come across, relishing himself in the idea of life replacing what was once rotting and dead in his life. With a guilty conscience of leaving his new team nearly to death earlier, The Prisoner took the liberty to slay many of the new weaker enemies that either flew, charged, or slid aimlessly around. One of the Li'l Brrs that got just a little too close to the Prisoner met the devastating wrath of the hack and slash of The Prisoner's Balanced Blade. With a few chops and cleaves, the icy foe was reduced to a small rock, then melted into ash, revealing a small translucent ball of life. Under normal circumstances, he would have mistaken this for a Dead Cell and collected it without a thought, however in this world, he knew it was a spirit. He gently reached out for a moment, collecting the small orb of life in his hands before allowing it to melt inside of his being, the effects of the once cold foe becoming incredibly present in The Prisoner's body, as he grew icicles on himself in front of his very eyes. "Woah." He exclaimed simply as he examined the subzero growths of cold.

Remembering Frisk's explanation of the world as well, The Prisoner charged directly into one of the Ice Bats with his elbow, freezing it completely and not immediately noticing how he naturally glid on the ground. He was now an unliving corpse with an ice-cold touch. He tried moving, only to slide wildly for a moment, then catching himself. He was slippery too. This seemed to be some of the effects of fusing with the creature's spirit. However...

Before the bat was able to thaw, The Prisoner sliced it into pieces with his sword, ripping its soul from its body as it faded to ash. He gripped the spirit, though this time with a colder demeanor, twisted with the idea of discovery. He held the spirit in his palm as he tightly squished it between his palms, creating a pale baseball bat with a sticker smacked dab on the face of it. "Cool." He said simply as he twisted the new weapon in his hands.

For Prisoner

Common Spirit Eaten:
Li'l Brr
The host's blob has turned ice blue and gained a texture like a slushy; cold and wet to the touch. It's a little stiffer and spikier, and the host's body has small outcroppings of ice scattered across, with the biggest one protruding from the back. This spirit confers the Power Freezing Touched, which can temporarily freeze living things solid that touch the Prisoner (but not when the Prisoner touches something else). It also confers the Weakness Slip and Slide, decreasing the host's traction somewhat on all surfaces and effectively increasing his inertia

You have acquired:
Ice Bat
A reasonably hard-hitting implement used for baseball, average in damage and durability, unremarkable except for the sticker on it that causes it to deal frost damage

With many of the weaker enemies dealt with and his twisted desires satiated, The Prisoner now assisted Albedo and Frisk with the looming elementals, which he smacked with the bat, using his new gliding moment to create a bit of acceleration in his swing as he whipped one of the monsters in the head with an audible BAM of his new bat, as he overshot and went crashing into the side of a rock. Once the threat had been dealt with, he gave Frisk a thumbs up as he stabilized himself from the new effect of the spirit he had consumed. "New upgrades!" he said simply, trying to be somewhat humorous. There wasn't really a place for him to rest his bat just yet so he opted to simply carry it for the moment.

As they entered the cave, Albedo suggested exploration as camps had become limited. "I second the idea of exploration." The Prisoner said as he raised his hand in agreeance. The looming wolf demons definitely were a cause of concern in their current position. If they got trapped in this cave, cornered by the threat, their hiking trip would be canceled early for the winter. Just then, a stroke of genius hit The Prisoner. On his hip of tools and weapons, a very clearly serrated bear trap rested, locked and compact. He looked back at Albedo and Frisk before whispering quietly. "I have an idea, but you two need to give me a few seconds." He stepped away for a few minutes, making his slippery steps as stable as he possibly could.

With the low visibility provided by the snow, the Prisoner slinked back outside of the cave and back into the snow. Hoping the drifts and flurries of the mountain were enough to provide him cover, he threw out his Wolf Trap, which popped open immediately as it hit the ground, making a silent snap noise. He was positive the wolves had heard it, but was more banking off of the fact the snow made the origin of the sound unidentifiable. He buried it in snow right at the mouth of the cave, creating both a trap and a diversion for the threat. "They're probably smart enough to know I dropped that trap, but with where I placed it, there are little options for them." He pointed to the hidden trap at the mouth of the cave. "I say we fight back and that's our diversion." If he had a mouth, there'd be the widest grin as he twirled his frosty bat in his hands for a moment.