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Futuristic The Hungering Worms: Character Sheet Repository



High Priest of Depravity



Gear/Items: [You don't need to list EVERYTHING here but just major things such as particular weapons and equipment that is "signature" to your character.]

Skills and Proficiencies:

Physical Appearance: [Images are handy but not necessary.]

Supernatural/Chasmic Abilities ("Magic"): [Note: focus not just on what it does but the general visible appearance.]

Augmented Physical Abilities: [Mostly an optional section for say, characters with heavy cybernetics, biological modifications, unearthly mutations, or some combination of these. Basically special things you can do baseline humans cannot.]

History: [Remember, this is not the "objective" history of the character but what they THINK they remember... and it can include the City.]



Worthless pleb
Name: MCPO Mikhail Maccormac;

Age: 47;

Gear/Items: A kukri with rubberised grips and a dark-blue sheath, Steiner AGU - a bullpup rifle designed to fire 300 BLK rounds with a great fire rate however is relegated to worst-case scenarios, a suppressed Zig P226, and a tactical body glove with pockets/pouches plus GPNVGs.

Skills and Proficiencies: Advanced Weapons Handling, Urban Sniping, Reconnaissance, Free-running, Dynamic Entries, Field Medicine, Extreme Environment Survival, et cetera.

Physical Appearance: Once a man of steel and toned musculature, now reduced in vitality by the City's chasmic influences. Hair, once blonde now bleached whiter than snow. Skin, freckled with cracks and scars. His eyes emitted the same sickening green from his panoramic night-vision goggles. Despite these degradations, his body's retention of lethality is not to be underestimated. 5'9" (175 cm) and weighing in at 169.25 lbs (77 kg).

Supernatural/Chasmic Abilities ("Magic"): There is a peculiar occurrence: when his foot/feet are not under him, he levitates noticeably off the ground. It is not a conscious ability, as it never goes away even when sleeping. Precautions must be taken during rest so that he does not float away. If he manages to put a foot or leg below him, he falls to the ground with his natural weight. Imagine a scenario where he leaps off a tall structure, if his feet were under him during the initial leap then he builds speed. If enough speed is accumulated then, his levitating will be superseded and he will plummet towards the ground until he crashes into a, seemingly, invisible surface an inch or two above the floor. If he never puts his foot down then he can slowly fall.

Augmented Physical Abilities: None;

A deadly force wanders this city of yore. His fury is lead, his tools are the shadows. Sent to this hellhole for an impossible mission, one that is mysterious even to the missionary. So why is he still here? Still alive? Most men become insane within the first few hours, so what keeps Maccormac going? A sense of duty, perhaps? Greed? Base survivalism? Abandoning the fool's errand would be an easy task, yet he prepares his barbs whenever others ask him to give up on his mission. Some see him touching his cloth-covered ear to speak. Speaking not to them, but another entity entirely. Perhaps, he is not saner than anyone else here. Otherwise, why would a man try to talk to thin air?

Others that dare ask questions are met with answers, but they are often more confusing than the questions. Telling tales of things that are long past or have not even existed. Often, the listener doesn't even know what Mikhail is talking about, unless they were cut from the same fabric as Mikhail. Whatever ordeal he (or someone else) has imparted on him, may he find it or less suffer a grim fate.

Before The City:

Born to an impoverished family, Mikhail chose to escape a life of crime by signing up with the military at a young age. His day to day struggles have already hardened him to the reality of basic training and he maintained an edge to his attitude that overshadowed his peers. He survived four, gruelling tours through various locales. From the dusty, deserts to the jumbled, jungles of the black market in the Southern Hemisphere. His commitment to duty and initiative earned him many favours. Eventually, an offer came his way to join special operations. The back-breaking training was more difficult than sitting under fire in a bombed-out house with a rabid pooch looking to make your family jewels its' next meal right beside you. But after hours upon hours, he managed it.

Personality: A man of action, even from a young age, Mikhail always preferred to do things with his fists rather than talk. But often, he does not use this mindset for selfless acts. He fought for himself first and foremost. Like when he stole another kid's money after school or threatened his high school mates when they didn't ditch school, and let's not forget that time, a smuggler in the platoon counted on Mikhail to save him-only to die a lonely death from sustained injuries. He possesses some admirable qualities: stoically clinging to fair treatment for all even in this hellhole, honour-bound to always complete his task (whatever it may be), and a tempered affinity for teamwork from years in the military. He allows himself few pleasures in this world, especially in the City. Rarely complains, even when he has a rusted pipe in his thigh.


Confirmed Memelord

  • Name: Richard Solberg
    Gender: Male
    Age: 43



Flightless Bird


I called to E. E called to me. "Come all in scarlet," said he, "Before the felled tree."
Name: Lethe

Age: 34

Physical Appearance: A small, curled frame in the corner stirs. Her hands look frail and much older than her face. Her long fingers knock and twitch with every word she speaks. All knobby joints and candor. The skin at her fingertips and temples have gone transparent - too smooth. The ivory shine of bone teases, fuzzy to focus on like a faded, film photograph. Her face is oval shaped with high cheekbones. Black eyes slightly upturned. Her dark-complexioned skin is heavily freckled. There are scarlet lines drawn over the line of her jaw, her eyelids, and vertical down the middle of her forehead. Her hair hangs long to her mid-back. A mass of black spirals -- matted in places. Her forearms are covered in deep, sprawling scars. She is dressed in scarlet materials. Not robes so much as layered, scavenged fabrics. Her slight frame drowns in them.


E'S DAGGER: A long dagger is hidden at her hip. It is ceremonial in appearance. A dagger used for ritualistic purposes, not for strict utility. It does not belong to her.

POUCH: Her bag contains the following items of note: an adequate array of small tools used for medical treatments, jars of various herbs and questionable substances, pigments, parchment, sprawled drawings which appear to resemble anatomical diagrams, etc.

MEDICAL TRAINING: Lethe has a wide basis of knowledge in medical treatments. It is clear that she has a background of semi-formal training paired with the knowledge she has acquired through her personal studies. She is an adequate surgeon. She is particularly interested in the effects the Chasm has wrought on the physiology of humans over time, and is not generally perturbed by altered physiologies. She is also skilled in utilizing the surrounding flora to craft medicinal substances.

SUPERNATURAL/CHASMIC ABILITIES ("MAGIC"): As may be observed by the extensive damage Lethe has taken from wrist to shoulder, her Chasmic abilities are somewhat sacrificial in nature. Lethe uses Eโ€™s dagger most often on her own flesh. She has a particular ritual in times of need, either in peril or in the aiding of another. Lethe will whisper a statement of intention and release a mysterious liquid by way of slicing open a gash with the ceremonial dagger. It is more vibrant than blood. The liquid moves as a living creature might, and has been known to take forms resembling animals. In this way, this ritual acts as a summons or the forming of a familiar.

AUGMENTED PHYSICAL ABILITIES: While in stable conditions, Lethe is able to heal minor wounds much faster than normal. She is also less susceptible to illness or poison. Severe wounds or effects are not applicable to this.


HISTORY (CURRENTLY KNOWN): Lethe was a child of physicians. She received her initial training from them. They were not long for this world, as they were survivors from before the Cataclysmic Birth.

She was taken into a group of cultists who were attempting to harness the power of the Oneiric Chasm. The cult was led by an individual known to all members as E. Lethe was soon taken as a favorite disciple of E. She was incredibly devoted to E, and took their teachings to heart. The two of them became increasingly close, and it is often unclear in the way in which Lethe recounts this relationship whether it was a strictly subservient role she played, or that of a lover.

E often preached about the inevitable assimilation of the old world and the new, pushing their disciples to shed their fears of the Chasm as well as shed any sentimental connection to their flesh. Members of this cult practiced harnessing the power of the Chasm, incorporating sacrificial rituals in order to do so. Seemingly at the height of Eโ€™s influence among these individuals, they vanished.

Lethe believes that she is still in communication with E. She left her communion behind in order to seek and retrieve them. She believes this was a mission especially left for her to carry out as an act of devotion and evidence of her undying faith.

PERSONALITY: Lethe can often oscillate from silence and resignation to frenetic terror or mania. While she is very convicted in her beliefs regarding the world around her and her own destiny, her inner nature is defined by curiosity and openness. She attempts to interact with the effects of the Chasm as part of it rather than an opposing force. Lethe also carries the characteristics of the caregiver archetype, and can be easily assuaged by a plea of desperation or sympathy. She is capable of engaging with high-concepts and is something of an intellectual. Her sympathies or interests are most often her ruling motivation, and she is not grounded by logical trains of thought.

an eye for E. To dine for thee.
coded by kaninchen


๐˜ด๐˜ต๐˜ณ๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜จ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ฅ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ฎ๐˜ด . . .

๐€๐†๐„: 32

๐‘€๐‘œ๐‘ ๐‘ ๐‘๐‘’๐‘Ÿ๐‘” 500 ๐‘‡๐‘Ž๐‘๐‘ก๐‘–๐‘๐‘Ž๐‘™ - a reliable shotgun for most situations, altrough it's pump-action makes gives it a slower reload time, even more so when time is steadily running out. It's power makes up for it, if he's fast enough.

๐น๐‘–๐‘”โ„Ž๐‘ก๐‘–๐‘›๐‘”-๐‘ข๐‘ก๐‘–๐‘™๐‘–๐‘ก๐‘ฆ ๐‘˜๐‘›๐‘–๐‘“๐‘’ - dual-purpose for both violence and cutting, altrough it's condition isn't what it used to be. It will stab just fine, but keeping your grip on the handle can be tricky.

๐‘‡๐‘Ž๐‘๐‘ก๐‘–๐‘๐‘Ž๐‘™ ๐‘”๐‘’๐‘Ž๐‘Ÿ - in better days, it might have belonged to a riot guard. Now it's to keep things out of Jacob and Jacob out of things. It's tough and lined with extra pouches, altrough some parts have been re-patched during it's rough journey.

๐’๐Š๐ˆ๐‹๐‹๐’ ๐€๐๐ƒ ๐๐‘๐Ž๐…๐ˆ๐‚๐ˆ๐„๐๐‚๐ˆ๐„๐’:
๐ถ๐‘™๐‘œ๐‘ ๐‘’ ๐‘๐‘œ๐‘š๐‘๐‘Ž๐‘ก - as mind numbingly terrifying as coming up close to beings of unearthly origin is, Jacob has gained himself enough skill to slash, stab or tear them with decent succees. Him not being eaten so far is literally living proof.

๐บ๐‘ข๐‘› โ„Ž๐‘Ž๐‘›๐‘‘๐‘™๐‘–๐‘›๐‘” - far from an expert, but with just enough skill to know what he's doing. Jacob knows how to shoot, maintain and work his way around most guns.

๐น๐‘–๐‘Ÿ๐‘ ๐‘ก ๐‘Ž๐‘–๐‘‘ - he's not going to be able to re-attach a guy's head, but Jacob has the nerve to patch up the light and slightly more alarming injuries.

๐‘…๐‘ข๐‘›๐‘›๐‘–๐‘›๐‘” - if everything else fails...

๐๐‡๐˜๐’๐ˆ๐‚๐€๐‹ ๐€๐๐๐„๐€๐‘๐€๐๐‚๐„: Plain. Forgettable. His face reflects off eyes like the surface of water, like a person in the corner of your eye passing by. A face, pale and listless, placed like the background character of a forgotten dream.

Under dark brown hair, just long enough to curl slightly behind his ears, are eyes of a nervous black. They never seem to rest for long, seeking out the next big danger hiding in friendly interaction and crumbling buildings alike. He stands at 5'10 with wide shoulders and is decently muscular, though not overly so. Scars dig into the deep brown skin, both deep and slight scratches. His smiles are crooked, too sharp, too much teeth in them to be genuine, his hands always twitching to go behind his neck when doesn't know what to say.

Jacob looks only like what a human is supposed go look like and not much more. A blink-and-you'll-miss-him type of man. About the only thing that draws attention are the pitch black, pulsing veins lurking beneath thin skin - and well, that's not Jacob to begin with.

His gear and clothes are looted and simple, comfort taking priority over any type of appearances.

๐‚๐‡๐€๐’๐Œ๐ˆ๐‚ ๐€๐๐ˆ๐‹๐ˆ๐“๐ˆ๐„๐’: Something's gotten into him, and not just mentally.

Something of an intelligence he couldn't hope to understand. Something that sits under his skin. It stretches in-between his cells, in the fluids and miniature spaces that make up the human body; it pumps thickly in his veins like bloated ink, turning them void black like the bird's eye of a dark highway system. It leaks out of open wounds, out of bullet holes - but it always crawls back to settle like a second layer.

A parasite? A symbiotic one, maybe, giving Jacob the ability to heal from damage that should have killed him a thousand times over. The pain is there, always - but he will recover. Regrow. Watch his wounds stitch together by darkness that never seems to reflect the light like it should. It is an intimate horror, to not be alone in your body; he dares not think about the fact that if he knocked on his skin, it might knock back.

It's alive, in some alien concept. And with that come whims, as unnatural and incomprehensible as they are to Jacob - but it seems content to let Jacob suffer if he angers it (is it anger? Offense? Does it have emotions he could contextualize, dissect to make sense?) It won't let him die, no; it always puts him back together at the last second. But suffering, it seems to not care about.

๐€๐”๐†๐„๐Œ๐„๐๐“๐„๐ƒ ๐๐‡๐˜๐’๐ˆ๐‚๐€๐‹ ๐€๐๐ˆ๐‹๐ˆ๐“๐ˆ๐„๐’: None.

๐‡๐ˆ๐’๐“๐Ž๐‘๐˜: (Jacob tries to recall the beginning and fails.)

He was born to a mother and father, who loved him very much. And he loved them back, because that's what children are supposed to do.

White picked fence. A beautiful lawn, an oak with a tire swing. Their house was built from pastel and wooden stairs, standing idly next to houses just like theirs - the neighbourhood was safe and clean, flickering like a TV screen. Nothing ever goes wrong there, and Jacob had the safest room of all. He could almost see the model airplanes again, drifting above his head on a breeze's sigh; the space under his bed, detective books on shelves, action figures, his closet, pop idols grinning from the walls, the blanket to hide under. Jacob would sit there for hours, safe, content, and wait for his mom to call him down for dinner.

He must have had a sister. She was. Giggling, pretty.

(Jacob tries to remember her face and fails.)

Love. He fell in love with -

They got married later on, after he got a job; his job was good. It paid well. He didn't hate it. And their house was beautiful, with a white picked fence and their children were healthy. A son and a daughter, he thinks. Jacob must love them very much, and he wishes to find them again once he finds his way out of -

The City. Yes. They have to live there, somewhere. When he thinks of his memories now, he thinks of Achilles and the tortoise.

They stretch into infinity.

๐๐„๐‘๐’๐Ž๐๐€๐‹๐ˆ๐“๐˜: Jacob is not a hero.

It is not bravery that keeps him going these days, nor any sort of hope; it is the slow, grinding gear animals enter at the face of survival. There is no place for hope. Cutting it away is cutting away a limb to save the body and Jacob is nothing if not ready to do anything to live. A man that shakes with primal fear, a man whose eyes hold distrust in a world that is not kind, but still just human enough to recognize the concepts. His humor is awkward, bitter, but it's a lighthouse he desperately looks on to. Affection, loyalty, light are distant shores, words he only vaguely knows the definition of; and yet he is not so hardened to become like the horrors that haunt their every waking moment. Jacob wants peace most of all. And does that not prove he is still human? That he wants? That he's still fighting, even when there is nowhere left for him to hide? Quick to despair, but slow to surrender, he is a man that is almost honest.

Jacob might have been a hero. But he is only just human enough. Looking a bit too closely at him, at the cracks and dark matter pacing around in humanity, and you will see whatever is human in him has been left to rot. To become worse.

(Thing is, jacob has been rotting for a long while.)

๐‘ฐ ๐‘ซ๐‘ถ ๐‘ต๐‘ถ๐‘ป ๐‘พ๐‘จ๐‘ป๐‘ช๐‘ฏ ๐‘ป๐‘ฏ๐‘ฌ ๐‘บ๐‘ฒ๐‘ฐ๐‘ฌ๐‘บ ๐‘จ๐‘ต๐’€๐‘ด๐‘ถ๐‘น๐‘ฌ.
๐‘ฐ ๐‘ซ๐‘ถ ๐‘ต๐‘ถ๐‘ป ๐‘ณ๐‘ถ๐‘ถ๐‘ฒ ๐‘ผ๐‘ท.



Baron of Bad Boys


Age: 32

  • Carbon fiber compound bow, along with a quiver of arrows.
  • Combat knives, for when he needs to be up close and personal - one at his side, and one hidden in his boot.
  • Beretta M9 9mm handgun, along with ammo.
  • Backpack full of various miscellany for his travels, including food, water, and a basic first aid kit.
Skills and Proficiencies: Stealth, climbing, marksmanship, basic first aid.

Physical Appearance: At first glance, Piotr appears rather typical of a human. Two legs, two arms, a torso, and a head - all still intact and at the right locations, thankfully. Lithe, average height, and slightly androgynous of form, heโ€™s built for speed and flexibility rather than brute power. He dresses in plain dark clothing, with sturdy leather boots and a long jacket, perfect for wandering. He keeps his hood up, shrouding his face in darkness.

Looking at him more closely, youโ€™ll start to notice the shadows, and how theyโ€™re all just wrong. His seemingly-normal form should create shadows once light falls on him, per the old laws of physics. However, that doesnโ€™t seem to happen. He casts no shadow, because he is the shadow. Light is either swallowed and extinguished, or it shines right through him as if he were not even there.

The outline of his form - what makes him solid, and physical, appears to waver. Staring at him, you find yourself questioning whether heโ€™s really there, and if he might be an inch or two to one side or the other of where youโ€™re looking. As he moves, wisps of blackness trail behind him, as if trying to keep up with the main mass of his body. Stand too close, and those wisps might just reach out and find purchase on your body instead.

Piotr does his best to hide his face - it seems almost an obsession to him to keep it concealed and not let any see underneath the hood, for reasons he does not share. One thing is starkly noticeable however: The eyes.


There are usually too many, or too few, glowing eyes visible beneath the hood. They glow brightly with a stark white light that burns if stared at for too long, with a slight flicker reminiscent of old neon lights that risk burning out if left unattended for much longer. The numbers shift and change, sometimes into unnerving clusters of inhuman shapes.


Supernatural/Chasmic Abilities ("Magic"): Umbrakinesis - the ability to manipulate darkness (and by extension, light). This power manifests itself around Piotr at all times, passively wrapping itself around his form and weaving itself through his very being. He may also actively use it as a weapon at will, lashing out at others with dangerous tendrils of darkness that coil, smother, and drain away the targetโ€™s life force - presuming they are not simply strangled first.

It has its practical uses as well - extinguishing light in a room, or causing himself to visually disappear in sufficiently dark areas. By gathering and withdrawing darkness, he can make room for light to fill a space.

Piotr has no difficulty seeing in darkness, for better or for worse, thanks to those strange eyes of his.

Augmented Physical Abilities: Despite appearances, Piotr is still fully corporeal - heโ€™s no ghost, and has a physical form that can be touched, felt, and injured. Whether a true gifted ability or just pure luck, heโ€™s a little difficult to shoot at with a projectile - it's sometimes hard to tell exactly where heโ€™s standing, so what might have been a graze to others simply misses him. A well-aimed shot to the center of mass will still hit - and hurt.

History: Much like his form, some of Piotrโ€™s memories are a bit of a haze. Bits and pieces are missing, like they are from so long ago theyโ€™ve faded into unimportance. He recalls growing up in a small rural town, poor and full of farmers. Life moved slowly there, and it was a happy time, playing among the trees and fields. His memories get confusing after that point, because he then recalls moving to a large, crowded city full of people who spoke a strange-sounding language that he didnโ€™t understand. It was loud, noisy, bright, and there were no trees. He had parents, of this he was certain. He recalls their faces - usually angry, or exhausted, but their names escape him. They fought all the time, usually about money. The noise of their arguments was often non-stop, just like the noises of the city outside. He hated his parents for dragging him away to a terrible place like that city, wherever it was.

Piotr often has dreams of laying in a grassy field of his first home, watching the sun set in the distance over the treeline - but just as the sun should disappear and darkness should set in, bright neon lights flicker on, filling a cramped dingy room with industrial light that flickers and buzzes. His second home. Something about the dream terrifies Piotr, but he canโ€™t explain why.

Personality: Piotr is a quiet, contemplative man often lost in his own mind a bit too much. He speaks in a soft voice, not one to interrupt others in normal conversation. This does not mean that Piotr is incapable of socializing or is a loner. Should he encounter others that donโ€™t try to harm him, heโ€™s likely to stick with them. He seems uncomfortable with being alone, even if heโ€™s not apt to open up to anyone quickly, and has been known to crack a joke here and there. His humor is, like the rest of him, quite dark. He often seems torn between wanting to show kindness and the desire to lash out.

He seems to be extremely aware and self-conscious of his odd appearance. The environment and its terrible creatures disturb and disgust him, and he has internalized the idea that he looks the way he does because of those terrible forces, somehow. He doesnโ€™t understand how or why, but who does understand anything, anymore? This makes him often apologetic to be near others in the event that he too is disturbing to look at.

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