Jack'man's World Updated Pic

Name: Grant, Digger, Stubby (Pet Name, call at own Risk)
Sex: Male
Age: Uh, late 20's early 30's?
Race: Orthoptenan (Gryllotalpidae - Mole Cricket)
Occupation: Digger, Sapper, Fighter, Singer of Tales (Former Job, taken by Apprentice)
Home:(Dunno Yet...)
Appearance:
Body is extremely stocky for purposes of digging; although not of the more 'sophisticated types' he can, and does fly amicably; as par for his race. Each upper forearm is thick, sinewy and ends with a hard, spade like, blade; though less than valuable for day to day activities one may do, they are excellent melee weapons as well as tools for what ever may need cutting, snapping, or forcing (He's quite strong for such a little guy.). He is also short; where as some of his race are near giant, he is around the margins of a midgit with his eight 'barely' reaching the five foot mark. Other than what he is designed for his species. His antennae are swept back against his skul; much needed for when he does do digging, however those are nothing compared to his actual sense of smell, which runs along the sides of his face much like mutton-chops; not that he minds at all, just; he'd rather not have his 'nose broken' when he fights and it seems to be an obvious, but ignored, weakness....
His coloration is rather bland, his body is a light tan, where as his upper carapace is usually a dark, to very dark, brown; hey, he might not be the most bright insect of the bunch but he's not one to complain. After all, the brighter you are, the more trouble that you bring with you. Of course this gets him into trouble with any mirad number of insects who'd like ti disagree to his usually loud, very innocuous remarks on their likings, though... that's only if he's had a shit day... And is drunk... Really, really drunk....
His voice is a gravely, almost Scottish sounding warble when he speaks, gruff, usually angry or terse; and given his penchant for drinking, slurred to hell and back. Just a fare warning. He is usually piss drunk, and that's because his job is to dig, and with few jobs that require his stamina and strength, he ends up out of work as quickly as he finds it because of how quickly it can be done.
Personality: Angry, terse, and very, very, very drunk; this is usually how, where, and what he's found as. The bug man isn't much of a talker when it comes to anyone, though just don't tell him that or he'll yell , "Ah'm nae talkin' coz I donnae FEEL like talkin' ya sparkley bummed faggot!", and this is to just about anyone, male, female, hermaphrodite, family dog; you name it, it talks, he's a mean bastard... Course that's unless he's with friends! Friends he can always buy a pint and will almost always sit down with and share his stories....
Oddly enough when sober it's not much of a change, he's just a bit more cordial and less shouty; given the fact he's not nice... most would assume it was because of family life or, something of the sort. However, his attitude comes from being a small bug in a big bug's world... Given his small height it's not too far to think that if he wasn't so fierce and angry sounding he'd be submissive...
If he fights, he favors just running into the fray, shrieking like a banshee. His cry is loud enough to likely piss off, or even hurt the hearing of anyone near him while he's doing it. Usually it's not even a word, it's just a scream, though, the only time anyone's ever heard a word amidst what he was screaming... was once, and even then it was a simple two letter word... It was 'No'...
He tries to be invulnerable, he's stereotypically masculine, and, far from being aloof; he shares his anger with everyone! The only time someone has seen him smile is when he's singing... And, even then it's a sad, sad smile; a lonely, lonely smile.
Likes: Singing, Beer, Ale, Wine, Whiskey, being with his group of old friends, oh, and yelling, lots and lots of yelling! Oh and fighting too!
Dislikes: It's a lot of things, but, mostly he dislikes being alone, his own temperment, having to keep larger bugs from stepping on him; I.E. being a threatening little fuck toward someone who can obviously kick his ass just because he doesn't believe in backing down, cowardice....
Extra: Doomsword - Steel of My Axe He sounds like the scream in this when he begins to wail, it's rather shocking to anyone hearing him for the first time.
Skiltron - Vision of Blind Harry He does sing, frenquently; usually not something so prideful as this; but it's just how he sounds... At least to an extent. :B (HEAVY METAL BAGPIPES!)
(Tell me if this is too, uh, 'not Kosher', I can always change it. Grant's just an angry, angry little man...) NEW PICTRAR!

Other character:

Name: Buck or Bumble... (Too many horrid pickup lines)
Sex: Male
Age: 'Just right'
Race: Hymenopterax (Carpenter Bee)
Occupation: Big, Fuzzy, Scary, Dude...
Home: Not in yours, thankfully...

Apperance: He's a big guy, oh, yeah, big is just about all he strives for; his body is massive (Thanks to fluff) and his for is swift and nimble; he's a rather tough, if not crass member of any build team and given his lack of a 'sting to back up his words' he's often quiet or just out of the way when the bigger, tougher, bastards or wasps, are around. is body, fuzzy, and even eyes are a pitch color that doesn't allow for much but lusterous blue to shine off his body. That being said; his wings are transparent and tough as a sheet of steel, they'd have to be to get his large arse off the ground.
Aside from that he looks, sounds, and is utterly, and completely friendly.

Attitude: Friendly, overly, freaking, friendly; on the creepy level of weird employee creepy.... Yeah....

Extra: He has no stinger, actually, his entire body is geared toward building and sexual reproduction allowing him both an intimate, and I mean intimate, stance with just about any carpenter based type of creature, ant, bee, wasp, or otherwise. But, given his lack of a Moral Sexual attitude and near inability to curb his attractions he's a less than ideal cadidate for anything but a solo job....

Much to his annoyance.

Buck's Theme, it's very fitting.

Name: Stalgrats
Sex: Male
Age: Can't really tell...
Race: Scarabian (Russian Stag Beetle)
Home: Grimm, formerly Grunn/Frozen Wastes(He doesn't really want to say.)

Appearance: If anything were to describe this pitted and scarred beast of a Scarabian it'd be the simplistic terms of 'big', he is wide, tall, and, if one bothers to look at the arms that he has; beyond the strength needed for simple 'iving'. He's meant to survive, his blackened carapace bearing marks of Mantids, Fearsom beasts, and of course Fights with his Own Kind. He isn't your average beast from the north; no, he is a survivor... Brutal, Unerring, Survival... The Rage runs deep within him; it shows when he is sullen and drunk...

Personality: Moody, is the best way to put it; not all that quick to anger, just easily annoyed with 'little things'; he's fought all his life to survive in his homelands, were winters could shatter the exeskeletal plating along one's arms, he often makes snide sounding comments to those of the lower climes complaining about how cold the island is during the winters. His catch phrase, "Haff hyoo been to zhey norf? Ha, ha... Then hyoo know nozink uv cold...", of course, the big lug is easily embarrassed by flashier, showier male insects, female insects make him smile while blushing if any 'sensual' attention is shown him. Shy and easily cowed by more agressive women; he is not, however, a roll over; women tend to be shied around but men must earn his friendship and respect. He also believes in what he's called 'The Good Fight' which can be anything under the sun....

Likes: Women, Drinking, Flashy Males, Good Food, Telling Stories, Doing Good by Others and Children (He won't admit to either)
Dislikes: Brutal Men, Evil Women, Most other Male Scarabians, The Rage, His Childhood

Extra: His mask along a good quater of his face, below his left eye is broken and shattered; the flesh beneath is a solid ebony and his features are handsome and masculine; truth be told; he tries to keep his face covered when he can by another mask; even if it's of another color... Often employing multiple half masks during a week.

Name: Zetula the Ancient, or Zetula the Mad Alcemist
Sex: Female
Age: Ancient isn't just a title.
Race: Old Blood Scarabin, very, old, blood.

Physical Description:
(Piccu by Peanut; I'll be making my own soon enough.)
Almost as big as she is old; her warped and twisted frame hidden under armor plates whilst 'manipulators' not even true hands scrounge not for food; but for reagents for her myriad 'potions' and 'brews'. Her body, tougher than some of the most vicious of her kind, is defensive; the segmented cowl keeping her face in near shadow at all times, for this she is thankful; as her eyes hurt in the light nowadays. Her carapace is often times covered in moss or fragments of bark from the 'Decayed Tree' in the middle of a sump-like area of the swamp.
She isn't afraid of what lays within the murky water. The dead, sundered armor of many a creature lays about her home; not her doing; but that of what is near...

Personality: Grim, she's seen death, life, and all of the connected 'truths' of the world around her; she fears nothing and is feared for this lack of fear. But, she loves a good story and is often one to sit attentively for hours if a traveler can provide a good enough story. Children are an alright thing, not her favorite but they get along... However, she believes herself ugly; in truth she isn't as ugly as she believes even if she is an Ancient Crone....
Likes: Any kind of Fruit, Stories, sleeping,'Casting the Bones', as well as Poetry and Alchemy...
Dislikes: ... Trust me, it's a big list; but it includes Rude Men, Loud Women, and idiots who attempt forcable Breeding upon her.

Name: Caliban
Age: He knows not.
Sex: Male
Race: Hemitian

Physical Description: Always slumbering, always waiting, his eyes are wide shut; never closing. He is a giant of a beast; easily the largest of his breed. His full height is uncertain; though the Old Blood who lives near his Squall is his equal in Stamina and Lust. Arms are thick as Irons, body tough as the hardest steel; he is known as Caliban the Ruthless, Blood Sucker, or simply a 'Monster'. Green hide is littered with scars and scraped over with rime and wounds of old. His carapace is but a t estimate to his continual survival.

His eyes hold no interest in those they look at; his mask, modified horridly to account for his piercing tongue is all but left out; a gap in his own jaw is meant to allow it to stay out; to taste the fear even as he attacks.

He has little use for cloth, clothing, weapons, or armor; his powerful hands and piercing fingertips do more than a good enough job. However, he takes particular delight in slowly draining Arachin's of their Bodily Fluids; usually going a body part at a time. His language is a burbling gurgle of native Speak; for which only the 'loving' Zetula can translate; though, ayone not in his respects is referred to as 'Food'.

He is also near silent and is often Sought by certain unnameable parties to train their covert and more insidiously stealthy characters in both water stealth and aquatic Combat; belaying his massive frame with a Grace of a Dancer while in water, and that of a Rogue whilst on land.

He also has a sister; strangely enough; that is often away enough for him to not worry about causing jealousy and what have you. After all; a male's job is to make sure Females don't fight. And he does that amicably enough. Even if one is a Crazy and the other is a Sadist after his own heart...

Life is... Complicated. -BURBLE-

Likes: Eating, Making Arachin's Squeal in Pain, The Physical Spasms of one's Last Breaths, Zetula, his Sister lover, of course A nice Nap on a Swampy Bottom, Children that Respect him as an Elder; his own Race.

Dislikes: Arachins, Idiot Adventurer's, Foolish Beasts that Dare Take advantage of his Females(even if his little sister can take care of herself nicely), and of course Noisy Kids; though he only eats adults; he will not harm children or any Insect That Appears like a Child.

Name: 'The Minstrel' (Real Name: Apexis)
Race: Ptyregon (Cicada)
Age: "Like a Fine Wine... Yes, like a Fine Wine..."
Occupation: Lore Singer, Dancer, Entertainer of Children and Adults alike.
Home: "My heart is no where, I am everywhere. Why should I call the world all but my Home?"

Physical Description: The Minstrel is a tall, if not gangly individual not in accordance to those of his same look and build's type; which tends toward muscular and stout, or stout and muscular. He is easily six feet tall, with a wide, sweeping 'cape' of wings that spread down and behind him; easily enough flexible when not in use to be confused as such; though obviously stiff and powerful for short flights. Like most of his kind he is a 'drinker'; meaning that his food must be liquid or better before ingestion. This being the case he prefers wine, cider, and ale as choice 'meals' (and as such is thin as a rail because of their lack of 'nutritional value')

His face is rather, interesting to look at the features are gauntly veiled in thin, almost rice paper like skin; while a rather short beard sprouts from his chin, and a thin mustachio of some length is produced from his upper lip; though, red as blood; his face is often times painted so one can actually see the features; his lips are often a lighter shade of grey, along with his cheeks and eyes; well, apparently it's painted; though, on closer inspection it's just his natural, strange, markings. Apparently nature was nice enough to give the poor bastard something so people didn't think him an evil apparition!

His body is obviously enough covered in a leathery 'armor' that moves with his movements easily enough; often getting a few men hurt for confusing him; from behind' as a female of another species altogether. This is not an odd case because his rather feminine body features are a product of constantly wearing clothing that is brightly colored in opposition for his own near ebony frame. Bright Red, Yellow, and Orange alight upon his body in wide spread garmets that are, for the most part; in accordance to what he does; often times he can be found on the roads; singing in a tuneless melody to himself; though, being this as it is... Bandits love to attempt to sequester the man...

This leads to our lovely blade attached to the belt of such a man is as thin and veiled in gaudy dress as he. Sheathed beside him is a length of metal called 'Slice', though when asked of it's name he only can shrug and take a stab in the dark to know what it meant. It was written on the blade in old words; the sheath, covered with the words 'Protect and Sing'. Obviously the minstrel's weapon was an entity after his own heart. It's casing was bright, ornate, red, and he? Well, he liked it enough to keep it at his side at almost all times. How's that for 'love thy sword'?

Likes: Women, Myrians, Children of all sorts, Pretty People, Pretty Men, Pretty Women; over all, just about any kind of good looking person, Scarabins, (Respects) Old Bloods, Hymes, and Any and All Alcohol.

Dislikes: Being left alone to brood, rape, torture, certain forms of Slavery (He doesn't care if it's a 'bad guy' in his book being punished), Grimm, Pirates, and of course 'That 'gritty' feeling in one's latch after a particularly long night of rumpousing and carousing after waking up with four women, six men, and a Traumatized Mousingbird.'.

Extra: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aX4WqFh6Rdg&feature=related <-- Song. :3

Name: Tally
Sex: Male
Age: 9
Race: Locun
Home: (I haven't Decided, but it'll be where Grant is from! Very Happy)
Appearance: (AMIGAWD HE'S TOO CUTE!)

His carapace is a dark dirty brown while his flesh; being almost glowingly bronze tan, is beautiful in light; much stranger it's not due to much else other than being in good health; it seems to dull if he's sick. Unlike most of those who dwell under the mountainous regions he is a a rather energetic, if sullen, child. Not because of any great tragedy or what have you; just, his Uncle is Away always, he's such fun. He loves hios parents but, one being a Diamond Quality Surveyor and the other being an Artistic Smith, he finds it hard to get any attention what so ever.
Personality: Quiet, Shy, Very Pleasent, Even Tempered.
Likes: Pretty Stones, Boys His Age, Girls His Age, Playing Pirate, those interesting Steam Thingies from the Termite City...
Dislikes: Cold, Wet, Weather; being sick, coughing, and the Man who wanted to 'Have Fun' in his house....

Name: Olekwo'l, Keeper of the Unwanted
Sex: Male
Race: Pygmy Arachin (Aelurillus v-insignitus male
piccu)
Location: The Hook! (Yarr Matey.)
Job: He Prepares the Dead, much like a mortician... No where near respected like the Shaman or Old Bloods however. Kinda feared really.
Appearance:

The poor little guy is almost monochrome in appearance! Greys and Whites blending into Blacks and dusky browns; his hair, unkempt and unclean is pulled back away from his face in a way that would allow him to work best. His hut, far away from everyone else's is pretty much where one would send the 'unwanted child' or the 'disliked deceased'... His form is spry, he is not old, actually, to be honest he is a young man! For no one mourns the death of the original, none-shall mourn him!

The missing limbs are a result of training; too close to a 'snagging fish' and it was taken away from him; the poison insured nothing could help the wound become but a scar; thus he learned respect. For his father before, and his father's father, and onward were men of ill repute and such maiming would only lessen their familial mystery; for they had always been, as his father explained to him...

Also, as a side note; his form under the furs and the fluff is thin and lean with muscle; not like many typified people of the tribe who are atheletic; his is from life of leaping and inability to use two of his legs. He is a good hunter and eats alone...

If he could eat with another he might not feel bad about himself...

His gear is meant to frighten away; though, truth be told he'd rather not be what he is now...

He's got a crush... but, like all others; he is feared, even though he too wears the Red Markings of the tribe, he is as much an outcast as any newcomer. And that, is why he is so far away...

Likes: The High Shamaness, the Girls who always giggle at him, Children, Rain, and Cloudy Days

Dislikes: His Job, Most of the 'Big Lander' Arachin, being made fun of, and not understanding his dreams

Name: Mozzilini Rasputin Kalisko the Fifth, call him Mozko for short.
Sex: Male
Age: mid 30's, without mask.
Race: Ptyregon (Russian Mosquito)
Home: Currently Based in Grimm
Appearance:



Thin, that's a word to describe his frame when he removes his rubberized coat; thin and strong. His muscles are lean, his bones dainty; and his body is that of a gymnist who attempted to become a porn star. He is quick, narrow hipped, and apparently built to fly. Though he rarely does seeing as the wind is as much a weapon against him as it is his foes!
Personality: He's not actually CRAZY, as much as anyone would like to say otherwise, the man is a perfectly sane person... He just doesn't care. He's a Scientist, he knows how to fight, and he will burn off your face with acid if you try to kill him.
Likes: Chubby women, cute boys, science, the feel of rubber against his scars... Oh and apparently Ghetto Booty.
Dislikes: Arachin's that are Rivals of his 'Company', most of his own men, ships, and something he calls Flan...

Extra: He's a chubby chaser, but this is because he's rather angular in build and thus needs something soft after sex.

Name: Sabak Nurr
Sex: Male (Hermaphroditic in Nature)
Age: 275
Race: Gastron (Giant Australian Leech)
Home: Northern Odrii Forest (Roams)

Appearance: This maleform leech is a near giant even amoungst his large compatriots; at but two feet short of twenty he dwarfs a few of his own people and is fully the most intimidating of the mostly humanoid Leeches that live in the forest. His face is angular and narrow; his 'hood' is thick and rubbery; much like a normal 'feral' leech. Though, his mouth is more sedate in nature he still has two rows of fanged teeth on both the upper jaw and lower mandible.. On the whole he looks rather unimpressive... Even if he's built out of solid muscle he appears to be thinner than he really is. It's just a fact of nature. Though, amusingly; his body when lain flat out appears to be an elephant trunk....

Personality: Slow to Anger, Patient, Disciplined, Semi-Sadistic with playful Masochistic tendencies.

Likes: The Blood of Others of His Kind, Feminine Males, Masculine Females, Fighting, and his 'Prey' Jason
Dislikes: Any and all who dare call him a coward, being afraid, killing victims.

Extra: He has a Vagina. OOooOoooOOoOoOoO. Genetic Irregularity and large size are also in his tree; you have a kid with him, it might be a mutant...

Name: 'Talon' the Golden
Sex: Male
Race: Lepidoran
Location: Currently Darpan
Job: Traveling Monk

Appearance: A cry of golden body, thin muscles, and a quick movement of kata being given; this man was a true to form monk, easily dwarfing a few of the species he belonged to. At almost six feet tall this Lepidoran was not to be trifled with, though, many would assume easy prey given his almost girlish physique. Muscles line his hardened abdomen, spikes alight on his shoulders; perhaps a by gone era's defense now adorned with spiraling dotted tattoos. His face was impassive, thin, and elfish jaw and tapered brow denoting a noble birth, even though it was a side-effect of the Queen Mind to make all her children beautiful. He walks with grace, though, his wings when flared are almost three times his body length in total, but, with ease create a cloak for him even in the most inopportune of weather.

He is a Gold Moth, he is a Monk, and, frankly, he's probably a bit off...

Personality: Very Curious, Chivalrous with a dash of Self Enjoyment, Peaceful, Playful.

Likes: The White Lepidoran's (their soft flesh makes him purr as he hugs them), children, sweets, and a woman's 'necter'.
Dislikes: Overly Masculine Men, the taste of beetle- uh, drippings, and sour foods.

Extra: He's a Contortionist!