And strangely all of them were legitimate, no Charles Barkley's or parodies.

Are you sure? What's in a name? ;)

So, the winner of the grand prize of an FTL Steam code is...

Ragashingo

The development and detail already invested in characters was awesome, and putting in the extra credit of a whole fireteam along with their syngery as a team made me smile. I really like the idea of what it's like to be a child growing up in the last city on Earth.

Runner ups, who will get my humble bundle link and access to DRM free games therein are,

ncsuDuncan

truly the scum of the earth and a revisionist, I like to think these pirates of the skies riddle the world of destiny just as much as heroic defenders.

Xenos

The tireless war machines ever vigilant over the frontier holding grudges, no, extreme prejudice over Vex is an excellent character trait. I look forward to seeing Exo's explored in this manner.

Winners, please email me @ padraig08@live.com and I will give you your prizes.

And thank you everyone who participated, this was fun, and I'm hoping we can do it again in the future.

-Paddy

Meh.. that’s not enough. Maybe some description too… The image I saw was on of a woman in her twenties, dressed in Hunter gear sans helmet with her back up against a dark wall. There was some kind of partial roof over her head, though it was mostly out of view. To the sides were sizable bits of blowing, tattered cloth, her cape perhaps that she had taken off and suspended to block the wind and rain. The girl was sitting there soaked, wide eyed, and her face was filled with fear. Her right hand held her recently removed helmet on the ground beside her, while her left was raised to her face and was in the process of tracing a long, nasty scar. She was pretty once, and still is, but the scar is bad enough, and has cut through her features enough that you feel a bit uncomfortable and kinda want to turn away. The whole scene was fairly dark, with some sort of inky effect surrounding the girl, deemphasizing her surroundings a good bit though not totally obscuring them. The image spoke of the girl’s absolute terror at the memory she was remembering, and somehow also a little of the sadness of her situation…

You may not be happy with your own doodle, but this description filled out the image in my head perfectly.

Spending time creating is never a waste of time.

Also, exotic grenades?? I mean, you use them once and then what do you have?! :p

Oh, clouds of a deadly neurotoxin that makes your hair grow inward, chemicals that force your digestive system to run in reverse, nanobots that infiltrate your cell phone, gain access to your bank account, and make it impossible for you to buy internet access ever again. But before they do that, they E-mail your browser history to the first 100 people on your contacts list. Anybody listed as "Mom" or "Grandma" is prioritized.

You can pack a lot of fun stuff in an exotic grenade.

Indeed, Deaf-Beast Hurlings always provide a grim experience.

The rain was falling so hard that Jenn found it difficult to keep up her pace. Each of her steps had to be carefully placed. One step forward and her foot would sink into soft, boot sucking mud, and the next would connect with a semi-buried piece of slick, ankle twisting rock. Conditions were so bad she wondered if she’d be able to find anywhere to rest at all. Finally, in the distance, she spotted shelter through the rain and the darkness. It wasn't much, just a large piece of dark colored debris not much taller than she was, but it arched over itself forming a roof and side walls of sorts. Jenn detached her heavy, rain soaked cape and affixed it to the front of the "structure" so that it afforded her a small measure of cover. It blew some in the wind, but was better than nothing, and she was too exhausted to do more.

WIth her back up against the one real wall of her shelter Jenn unslung her sniper rifle and placed it on the ground in front of her, careful to angle it so that its barrel would stay out of any flooding. She then propped her scout rifle up against the wall to her right, so that it remained within easy reach. Only then did she take off her helmet and begin to relax. It wasn't easy though, letting go of the adrenaline that had been fueling her … Things weren't supposed to go like this… Being lost and separated from Philip… from her fire team… She began to breath more shallowly and shakily as her mind raced ahead without her consent.

No! She wasn't going to think about it! This wasn't like before… And yet, the same memory began playing out in front of her eyes. For thousandth time she turned and there was Captain, right in front of her. She had tried to bring her gun to bear but one of it's four sword arms knocked it from her hands as another stabbed straight for her. She rolled clear and puller her knife, slicing towards the Fallen Captain, but his third sword was there to block her. Her eyes had widened beneath her helmet as she saw the fourth arm tense and begin its rapid sweep towards her face. The electric shock from the blade caused all her muscles to spasm, sending her down in a heap. And the pain… She'd screamed the worst, most blood curtailing scream she had ever heard, sure she was already dead.

A clap of thunder brought Jenn back to the present. She found herself touching the scar again. Tracing her had down it, over her partially severed nose, across her split, disfigured lips. The next things she knew she had her arms around her chest, griping herself tightly. She could barely breath, and yet still paradoxically needed deep breaths to cry. She slid down to her side and rocked herself repeatedly, as the terror consumed all her thoughts once more. Somewhere along the way her shaking slowed, her crying ceased, and she mercifully drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Jenn woke slowly. Both the night and the rain had passed she saw as she pushed herself into a sitting position. Her thoughts, of course, returned to her relapse from the previous night. To how she was supposed to report to one of the Tower psychologist if she didn’t think she could handle… A sudden burst of static from her nearby helmet caused her to jump.

"…this is Philip calling Jenn on common frequency one-two-niner. If you're out there please respond!" came the voice of her fire team’s Titan.

Jenn slid her helmet back on, quickly readied her equipment, and scrambled back out into the open. A quick 360 degree turn assured her that no one was in sight, that no one had seen where she had hid… or… hopefully… had seen her during the night. Months of practice allowed her to force herself into a cocky smile. With it came her “usual” personality. Confident that she was ready she keyed her mic and said:

“That you Philip? I though you’d still be hiding out in some cave! You’ve got to learn that a little rain’s nothing to be afraid of!”

***

Meh.. that’s not enough. Maybe some description too… The image I saw was on of a woman in her twenties, dressed in Hunter gear sans helmet with her back up against a dark wall. There was some kind of partial roof over her head, though it was mostly out of view. To the sides were sizable bits of blowing, tattered cloth, her cape perhaps that she had taken off and suspended to block the wind and rain. The girl was sitting there soaked, wide eyed, and her face was filled with fear. Her right hand held her recently removed helmet on the ground beside her, while her left was raised to her face and was in the process of tracing a long, nasty scar. She was pretty once, and still is, but the scar is bad enough, and has cut through her features enough that you feel a bit uncomfortable and kinda want to turn away. The whole scene was fairly dark, with some sort of inky effect surrounding the girl, deemphasizing her surroundings a good bit though not totally obscuring them. The image spoke of the girl’s absolute terror at the memory she was remembering, and somehow also a little of the sadness of her situation…

I tell you, it’s amazing in my head… and yet my hands can only do this:

There’s so many things wrong there… it's so far from what I wish it could be… and yet it’s also better than I’ve done before. Well… it got me to write the story bit above, so maybe it wasn’t a total waste of time…

Also, exotic grenades?? I mean, you use them once and then what do you have?! :p

Oh, clouds of a deadly neurotoxin that makes your hair grow inward, chemicals that force your digestive system to run in reverse, nanobots that infiltrate your cell phone, gain access to your bank account, and make it impossible for you to buy internet access ever again. But before they do that, they E-mail your browser history to the first 100 people on your contacts list. Anybody listed as "Mom" or "Grandma" is prioritized.

You can pack a lot of fun stuff in an exotic grenade.

...he apparently has a contest for killing Vex with fellow Exos as they find their very existence appalling.

'they' being Exos, and 'their' being Vex, I presume? Just trying to clarify the pronouns in my head.

Yep! Thanks for pointing out my bad writing :)

...he apparently has a contest for killing Vex with fellow Exos as they find their very existence appalling.

'they' being Exos, and 'their' being Vex, I presume? Just trying to clarify the pronouns in my head.

I love the whole fireteam and and individual dynamics. Very well done.

---------------------------------
---------------------------------
-2----x-x-x-2-----x-x-x-2--------
-2----x-x-x-2-----x-x-x-2--------
-0----x-x-x-0-----x-x-x-0--------
---------------------------------

verse (play twice)

-----------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------
-2--x-5---x-7-5-7-5---2--x-5----x-2-2-2--------------------------
-2--x-5---x-7-5-7-5---2--x-5----x-2-2-2-let ring-----------------
-0--x-3---x-5-3-5-3---0--x-3----x-0-0-0----------then pick slide-
-----------------------------------------------------------------

rhythm 1

-------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------
-5---------5---------5---------5-----------
-5---------5---------5---------5-----------
-3-3-3-3-3-3-3-3-3-3-3-3-3-3-3-3-3-3-3-3---

------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------
-9---------9---------9---------9----------
-9---------9---------9---------9----------
-7-7-7-7-7-7-7-7-7-7-7-7-7-7-7-7-7-7-7-7--
------------------------------------------

chorus (play 4X)

---------------------------------
---------------------------------
-2---x-9-10----5----7-7---9-9----
-2---x-9-10----5----7-7---9-9----
-0---x-7--8----3----5-5---7-7----
---------------------------------

rhythm 2 end 1

------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------
-2-----------------x-10-10----7-----------------x-9-9-
-2-----------------x-10-10----7-----------------x-9-9-
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-x--8--8----5-5-5-5-5-5-5-5-5-x-7-7-
------------------------------------------------------

end 2

-------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------
-x-9-9-9-9-9-9-9-9------2------------------
-x-9-9-9-9-9-9-9-9------2--then pick slide-
-x-7-7-7-7-7-7-7-7------0------------------
-------------------------------------------

repeat verse

repeat rhythm 1

repeat chorus

repeat rhythm 2

rhythm 3

--------------------------------------------
--------------------------------------------
------------------------------------7--5--2-
------------------------------------7--5--2-
-19-19-19-19-18-17-17-17-17--14-13--5--3--0-
-17-17-17-17-16-15-15-15-15--12-11----------

repeat rhythm 1

repeat chorus

repeat rhythm 2

History is written by the whiners. Plenty survive, but only a few whine...

Also, exotic grenades?? I mean, you use them once and then what do you have?! :p

Or perhaps I'm just perverted.

Class/Race:
Hunted/Awoken

Weapons:
Faster Piggy (Rare Sniper)
Deaf-Beast Hurlings (Exotic Grenades)
The Clawed Aurora (Ancient Staff)

Description:
Every Guardian wishes to become legend, but only a few manage to venture beyond the walls of the city and return with tales of derring-do. Keenly aware of his shortcomings as a marksman, Bea-Yoe spends his days wandering from tavern to tavern, always careful to avoid the war's perilous front line. Pages upon pages of yellowed parchment serve as this Guardian's battlefield of choice, scraps of gossip and drunken yarns his ammunition. After all, history is written by the survivors - and legends are easily given new names.