Ghorroj

I have something that you might call a changeling. ...'cept he doesn't think he is one, and his origins are kind of odd. Tentative Title: None. (Unique creature) Natural Physical Traits: Exists as a mass of black 'flesh' that can mimic whatever he has eaten/absorbed. Cannot take on larger shapes without inflating himself and making his physical body lighter and more fragile as a consequence: taking the form of a full-sized tyrannosaur would leave him absurdly light and resembling something more like a parade balloon than an actual creature. Cannot make more flesh for himself, since he's made up entirely of a type of rare magical substance. Even if he found more of it, he'd have to recreate the doomed alchemical experiment that created him in the first place in order to make use of it. When unconscious (sleeping, for example), remains in the last shape he was inhabiting. Surrounded by aura of darkness when awake (1/2 inch from skin. Makes details nigh impossible to see, even when bright light is shone on him). Aura vanishes when asleep/unconscious. Type of Shapeshifting: Bodysculpting. Everything is exactly the same substance, but that substance can take on different textures and hardness to resemble skin, muscle, internal organs, bone, and blood, respectively. Shifting requires a conscious effort and a memorised template (all acquired from daily sacrifice). Biomass Requirements: One living creature once per day (size doesn't matter). Required as a sacrifice to sate whatever dark power animates him. Sacrifice is engulfed and destroyed utterly while within the confines of the changeling's black flesh. Sacrifice is subconsciously studied by changeling as it vanishes; form is stored as template for change if new) Location: Variable. Tends to hang around near jungles, oceans, and untamed wilderness with easy, non-sentient prey available. Religious/Spritual affiliation: None. Sentient/Nonsentient: Sentient. Believes self to be a human male named 'John Clay', who suffered an alchemical accident, of sorts, many centuries ago.

If nothing concrete turns up by the time Steam heads off, I'll have a go until he comes back. ...assuming that's okay with you, and that he wants the job back when he returns.

...did anyone express interest yet?

Are you allowed to take cameras into court? Because you might want a photo of her expression. Blow it up reeeal big and stick it on your wall with the 'offending' tax return in one corner of the frame.

The words of Just Barkeep @SteamWarden had Fiji flinch and look behind him at the man behind the bar. His slouch turned tense, his pointed ears flattened against his head and his glacier-blue eyes turned large and soulful. Somehow, his entirely submissive, guilty posture managed to make him look much smaller than his actual seven-foot size. He raised his hands in front of him, tangled his fingers together, and started his clawed thumbs chasing one another around and around. If he'd had a tail, no doubt it would have been firmly between his legs. "Iiii didn't want to break someone's hand accidentally, and that was the nearest thing to give a proper demonstration." His shiny black nose wobbled and somehow managed to look tearful all by itself. "All of the things I took to build snowmen is out there too. Nothing missing at all, I swear." It must have looked odd to Alrik @Currents to see such a large, apparently fearsome, creature turned into an apologetic bundle of blue fur by nothing more than a stern look from the bartender.

That is the exact reason for it. A joke that is, at exactly the same time, the kind of apocalyptic weapon that would stop someone in their tracks. It's why I'd recommend that there only ever be one, and when it's used with its one-shot power it's gone. It might also help with Lore a little if the Ocean drowns a kingdom, and treasure hunters have to battle kraken, whirlpools and a leviathan to get treasures from the crystal-clear, horribly tempting, oceanic depths. ...which may contain nuts.

A few steps was all it took for Fiji to reach the bar at the back of the main room. He looked at Just Barkeep @SteamWarden carefully, and nodded respectfully. "A few people may be missing pairs of trousers. I honestly blame gnomes myself; tricky little bastards, they are. They love putting things on snowmen that innocent parties have set up, too." He waited for some acknowledgement, before continuing; "Sooo... since it's about breakfast time, and I feel like I'm about halfway through the day already, is there any chance of... something? Meat is good. Vital organs are better." One of his ears swivelled as he heard footsteps, then he glanced behind him at his name being called. He turned around completely as the young man he'd been talking to approached and stuck out his hand. The beastman looked at the extended limb for a moment, and then looked up at Alrik's face. "Don't think I'm being unfriendly. It's just..." he looked around, and then delicately took a stoneware cup from a display. He held it in one hand without visibly straining, and the pottery started making little crackling noises. Cracks visibly appeared on the surface of the cup, spread rapidly to cover the surface in gradually thicker jagged, black lines, and then the entire thing shattered with a sharp 'PLINK'. The bottom of the cup clattered on the wooden floor, and the blue-furred beastman leaned down to pick it up with the claws of his index and forefingers. Carefully, he placed this and the larger shards on the counter he had been leaning against and brushed pottery dust off his hands. "...I'm having a few issues regulating my strength recently. I'm sure Just Barkeep will have a few choice words for me over that demonstration, too." His ears flattened suddenly against his head, and his nose twitched. "So, Alrik Alrik Holt @Currents, did I hear you correctly? Did you call this tavern 'strange'?" Those expressive ears of Fiji's rose up halfway from their flattened position. "When you say strange, do you mean that you were wandering, miles from any human habitation, then you got lost in a strange mist, and suddenly this tavern was there, right in front of you?" He paused, as if to give the question some dramatic spin. "Have you heard of the Fair Folk? Those strange beings, supposedly responsible for all disappearances? If what I think is true, then you may be the subject of such a legend among your own people since you likely stumbled through a Katrid Adtea; a Soft Place where realms touch." Fiji's nostrils flared briefly, making his black nose wobble a little. "I've been here for about a day, but time here isn't what it should be. Hours seem mere minutes here; look at a clock, and you'll find barely any time has passed no matter how much you spend doing something. The weather too; yesterday was very hot, and this morning I enjoyed playing in the snow. It may be a bubble realm; its physics subject to whims and flights of fancy. In fact, given the evidence so far, I'm sure of it." He paused significantly. "Besides, you smell a shade of paisley, and this place smells closer to a dandelion fractal. Sure sign of someone recently passing through a sifactdal membrane, that."

@Currents Hey. Are you still up for posting in the Tavern? No big if you aren't; I'll just add a bit to my post and move on. ^-^

"Wolfman? What're you-" Fiji blinked twice rapidly, then his mouth curled up at the corners in a non-threatening smile. "No. I'm not a wolfman. I'm a Ghor." He held his hand out, palm down and blue-furred back uppermost. "The trick to telling the difference is to look at the hands and the feet. Wolfmen generally have pads, like their animal counterparts. Ghor," he turned his hand over. Aside from a bit of thickened skin on his palm and the tips of his fingers, and the hooked grey claws on every digit, it looked almost entirely like a human hand. "Ghor, do not. It's the same with our feet; we leave footprints that can be mistaken for human by most trackers. The other main difference is that I was made in a laboratory by a science team funded by a mad emperor. It's hard to pull the trigger on a plasma-rifle unless you have human-ish fingers." He watched Alrik's @Currents expression, blue eyes searching carefully for any confusion over words like 'science' or 'plasma-rifle'. Only a very few planets in a vanishingly-small number of realities were advanced enough for plasma-based weaponry. Even fewer tended to have technology that could create and maintain portals or wormholes on a commercial basis, but hope sprang eternal. Abruptly, Fiji noticed that his nose was rapidly twitching and his saliva glands were in overdrive, and wiped his mouth with his furry forearm. "Excuse me, please. I'm going to get breakfast before I accidentally steal your food off your plate, run away with it and hide under a table to eat it. It's amazing how often that happens without me meaning it to." He stood, checked his hands, in case he was actually holding the plate without meaning to (he wasn't), and added; "My name's Fiji. Enjoy your stay, or whatever," and he turned away.

I have a suggestion: The Bottled Ocean. Literally a temporally-frozen ocean contained within a simple crystal bottle, about the size of a brandy decanter, that, once broken, releases its contents and undoes the time-stop shenanigans on them. Carved into the crystal bottle itself, in an unknown language that is nevertheless instantly translated within the reader's mind is the legend "Product contains: salt water, fish, corals, seaweeds, 1-whirlpool-creating seamonster, 1 breeding-pair of kraken, 1 Leviathan (you don't need more than one. Trust us). May contain peanuts or nut-related products. Check with your apothecary before use if pregnant or unable to swim." It'd be a single-use artifact, naturally, and might cause problems for whoever uses it if they don't have a rowboat at the very least. As a weapon, it'd be an army-stopping, last-resort kind of thing. It'd probably be in the 'Apocalyptic' category, going by the original thread... Edit: Another thought occurs. If the bottle itself was hard to break, then owners might be tempted to use it as an emergency bludgeoning weapon, especially if it had some advantages in doing so. The disadvantage being, of course, that if they manage to shatter it accidentally, then they have to deal with a sudden ocean and (potentially) sea monsters. If it shattered in a dungeon, or in a castle, with narrow corridors then it might even add to the scene a little and the Lore a lot...

Location: Outside, Near the front window. klik VMM! Fiji blinked and the all-too-brief panel of blue flame vanished. Instead of the razor-edged, nascent portal flicking off at a fraction of lightspeed and eviscerating the local wildlife, this one had stayed put. He thought about numbers a little more, leaned forward slightly, stuck his tongue out of his mouth a little and snapped his fingers again. VMM-- He stared, ears flat against his head, as the glowing panel, apparently full of blue flame and floating gently from side to side, wavered and wriggled as it tried its best to keep up with the multiple forces arrayed against it. His left eye twitched, and a few red capillaries traced their way across the white of his eyel, as the strain of holding and continually updating the calculations purely in his head started to creep up on him. Finally the panel shattered with a sad little noise. The pieces flickered, willy-nilly, finally faded into insignificant blue sparks and were gone. --MMpflegh "DAMN IT!" he roared, fists striking the table he was sitting on. The wood broke, splintering easily under its covering of snow, and catapulted the wolfman violently backwards into one of the fighting snowmen he'd built. He lay there for a time, breathing gently, while the snow sleeted silently down around the pile, and then finally sat up. He took a deep breath, regretted it instantly, and then looked at the chamberpot that had narrowly missed him. His muzzle crinkled slightly, to show the very tips of his fangs. "Whoever cleans those things should be sacked," he muttered, and levered himself onto all-fours. He shook, snow spraying out of his almost-grey fur, and then stood and trotted, apparently unharmed, to the door of the tavern. Behind him were a trail of almost-human footprints. Location: Inside the Tavern The door shut, leaving the seven-foot-tall, heavily muscled creature on the threshold. He looked around, and his black whiskers fanned as he spotted someone new @Currents. Casually, or at least as casually as someone who'd just been yelling outside, he wandered over and sat down at the newcomer's table. His wet, black nose twitched as he looked this newcomer over. "If you're planning any trouble, don't. I'll have to drop you outside and it's pretty cold out there." He paused. "Unless you want to help me play 'kick the snowman', anyway. That'd probably be fine, but I'd better ask Just Barkeep @SteamWarden first."

@EtherealWings Saitama is a completely normal human being who broke through his limit. Apparently, 100 pushups, 100 situps, 100 squats and a ten mile run every day, even when he didn't want to, made his hair fall out and turned him into something that can kill Galactic Level Threats (things that can blow up a planet) with one punch. He's pretty kind, somewhat bored because nothing he fights is ever worth it, and is obsessed with Bargain Day at the local supermarket. But I wouldn't ever think of playing him, because his true superpower is to make everything anticlimactic.

@EtherealWings Hoy! You really don't want Saitama turning up, or Ainz Ooal Gown for that matter. Both are really overpowered characters, but both are fun with their characterisations. Saitama, for example, doesn't notice half of the store he's in being demolished by a giant foot while he's counting out change for groceries, and only really panics when... well... watch this. You'll understand.

The night passed without much incident, aside from a minor scrap between two drunkards who were swiftly tossed bodily out of the front door. And so... Time: Morning Location: Outside Morning had brought snow. To be fair, Fiji had been awake for it and had already slept the full three hours that he required, followed by an hour lie-in. He was definitely getting lazy in his old-age, he'd decided, before his bladder forced him to get up properly. Just like an old person he'd thought, as he wandered outside of the building to mark his territory properly. He stood in the otherwise unremarkable and empty back lot, listening to the silent hiss of the snow as it fell around him and being careful not to let the stream hit his own limbs. He did not want the nickname 'Mister Pissy-Paws' again. Once was enough. He'd smirked at the thought and then spent some hours building snowmen on the front lawn, each complete with a chamberpot-helmet (stolen from multiple rooms), a broom spear (stolen from multiple closets, until they ran out) and various trouser-related capes (stolen from various taverngoers and staff while they slept). He was quite pleased with the resulting army of thirty or so snowmen, who stood with their trouser-capes flapping in the mild breeze and apparently fighting one another. Satisfied, he turned away, found a snow-covered table to sit on and, back to the snow-army, facing the tavern, snapped his fingers. There was a flicker of blue light, and two halves of a very surprised bird fell to the ground in a splash of steaming innards. The wolfman sighed, and snapped his fingers again, and again, and again... @SteamWarden

Noddendoddy is an excellent reason for being born someplace.