Let's make a thread filled with descriptions of random people, creatures, aliens, talking animals-- whatever you want so long as it is something living that could be classified as a character. Make something up as you go or take something from what you've already written. You can even take a character description from a work that you love, so long as you credit whoever originally wrote it. The descriptions can be detailed or vague, it doesn't really matter, since both detailed descriptions and vague descriptions can be appropriate depending on the character and the situation where their features are being presented. Other than that, stick to the physical. Avoid dialogue, thoughts, or anything that can't be seen (though it's fine if you find it necessary). The purpose of this thread, as I'm sure you can guess, is to share different ways to describe characters to give people an idea of good ways to do so. (Including myself... hehe)
He plunged his face into the bowl of water, sending a few wisps of blond hair brown. He emerged with a green apple clasped between his pearly teeth and after taking a satisfying bite, he threw the apple to me. He lifted his threadbare jacket from the chair and dried his face, chuckling as I complained about not wanting his cold. He pulled me into his side, rubbing my shoulder and explained what each of the rare clouds in the sky meant. His eyes matched the summer sky perfectly, and I knew that's where he truly belonged. His raven black feathers bristled as a breeze went through the orchard and his wings twitched, wanting to join the soaring wind. I just made that up as I went along so I don't have a clue who this man is. I'll name him Bob for now.
She was a handsome woman, emanating a calm confidence. Standing under the shade of a carob tree, she rearranged her black robe, almost part of the shadow itself, and gazed into the distance. Her hair peeked out of the black veil draped loosely around her head. She noticed me approaching and her face lit up with a playful smile, softening her sharp, prominent nose. When she was not smiling, her nose commanded her face and she appeared to be concentrating intently on some problem or pondering a matter which required great attention. Her glance was intense and she greeted me without taking her eyes from mine. She made a quick gesture towards the path with a wiry hand, her many gold bracelets clinking beneath the loose, fluttering robe.
You could make nothing out but his eyes that burned a fire red hidden underneath the shadow of his fedora. The rest of him screamed black; a pair of leather boots, pants, gloves, a fedora, handkerchief that covered his face, and a trench coat. Who was this strange man who wore death as an outfit, and did so well as to hide his identity? Felix expected him to attack, but he just stood there calmly. A long silence persisted for a couple moments before he finally spoke. [Insert Dialogue/Spoilers] His voice was empty. He spoke with a deep monotone voice that would echo itself every so often. Standing in his presence caused Felix to shutter. Whoever this man was he was not like anyone Felix had ever faced before. No, this man was far beyond any challenge Felix had surpassed up to this point.
She was a dangerous thing. Not physically, no, far from it. Though there was something in those venomous green eyes. Not fire, no, fire was unfocused, wild and lacking direction. Nor was it ice, being too fervent for that. Instead, it was some mixture of the two that spoke of a determination unbound by codes of honor yet a strong sense of right and wrong. He could feel her eyes beginning to take him apart, dismantling him into pieces that could be easily shaped. He forced himself to stare back into them, an attempt to stop the dissection that seemed to work for the moment. Afterwards, she simply catalogued that aspect as well, her lips curving as she began to speak.
I will never forget this one face. The character of the man shone through, although he was perpetually squinting against the sun through his set, slitted eyes. Two deeply etched lines at each sides of his rather long face, running from the edges of his eyes all the way down to his jaw; the harsh mountains had also put their seal on him. Weathered skin like sanded ochre paper, crooked teeth which were used to biting bullets. His hands were steady and his steps were sure. He was not only a survivor but something much more precious - a godfather to his men. They should have listened. Huh. Sometimes I surprise even myself.
Frank stood still, shotgun in hand, surveying the sparsely wooded land. The stupid dog had chased the deer off his land and onto state property, but Frank didn't care. They had been following this deer for an hour and he refused to let it go. His arthritis creaked his bones as he staggered off after the dog, too drunk to follow quickly.
Ike and Obie went for groceries to a weird little General store that looked like it was flung out of a time machine. On the way back, Ike was loath to admit, “I don't recognize this road. ” A summer rain began. Obie unrolled his window to let it pelt him - first his palm, then his face. “You should've turned back there. Two lefts.” Obie said taking another bite of his peach. It's out of season and hard. Not much juice. His lips move nicely over the peach. He does everything deliberately as if drawing things out obtained more pleasure than the result. As if just to feel the peach fuzz, whisper-soft, like a first mustache, or those downy hairs on a ladies arm could be sweeter than the peach. Ike watched those lips quiver before Obie's teeth slowly sank in. “If you knew I was supposed to turn why didn't you tell me?” Ike said exasperated. “I wanted to see where this road went to,” Obie said without the slightest embarrassment. - This is from House of Cadre.
...This time they resembled skinned monkeys with white fluff at the bend of their knees and elbows, poking through like some external fat or tissue. The pink top of their heads looked perfectly polished. Pot bellies plopped over their waist despite their bone-outlined the skin elsewhere, reminding one of those pictures of starving African children. Their insect eyes were a solid dark blue, so you never knew exactly where they were looking.
He twitched as he ordered the coffee. He knew the girl had seen him do it because she wrinkled her nose as if the espresso milk were off. He would have to up the dose on his medication.
Witnessed another man close by, did we know each other? Appeared to be in costume: black punk boots, black zip-embellished cargo trousers, a matching long-sleeve shirt with cuffs that reached the knuckles. Garb held on a frame that itself held the natural stance of a gunslinger. Topped with a head that bore a lined Italian tan, hair shaved from the neck to lobe-line where above, what sprouted in raven and grey, was tortured back into a stub of a ponytail. Avoided eye-contact but glanced and saw them: eyelids peeled back, stimulants? Eyeball abysses thinly ringed by their whites—effusing some sorta soulless insanity and them themselves outlined by the broad dark circles of a being that cannot sleep. Avoided eye-contact some more, ambled nervily on...
It was an akward meeting for sure that befell the two, though Dashade simply found it amusing. No blood shed or shouting. Certainly not the usual meeting. A bottle already between his lips as he looked toward the gentleman behind the rotting bars of the cell, a breif thought of many questions running through his mind. Did the guards see this strange visitor like he did? Could they see past the pale blue top hat and diamond tipped cane and notice the finer details? Could they see the charred skin, the eyeless sockets, the void of any actual emotion in the man's body language? Without a word the door to Dashade's cage collapsed to the ground, leaving nothing to protect the two strangers from one another, leaving amber eyes to stare into the depths of an empty skull. With one last swig of whatever shitty alcahol Dashade picked off the floor, he croaked out through dirtied teeth. "So, you just gonna stand there? Or are you going to tell me how you got those scars?"
The door shot open as he entered the room. Ducking his head to avoid hitting the doorframe he towered over the other occupants. He had just finished a sparring session and the sweat glistened on the dark curves of his biceps. The grey vest stretched across his chest almost to bursting. His dark hair splayed across wide shoulders that filled the doorway. Striding into the room on legs like tree trunks he approached the long bar. In a deep booming voice he demanded a tankard of ale which was swallowed up in his large hands and then left, crushed and empty, and the bar room floor. Turning around, his face set in a permanent sneer, the result of an argument over a woman, he surveyed the room with eyes that swallowed the light. Every eye fixed on the dark, unshaven face that threatened to explode into a rage at the slightest movement.
Maddy left the wide path and stepped lightly onto the grass, pausing to look about her, alert for any signs of danger. Those she sought were there, behind the straight-safety. She could hear the noises they made, could smell their unique scents. She casually walked the path of flat grass between the two straight-safeties, trying with all her might to project the aloofness that was her special skill, to tell herself the outcome didn't matter that much. Yet she knew she was lying to herself. The outcome did matter, more than anything else. The long cold was coming, she could smell it in the air. She had nearly died during the last long cold, unable to find enough food or a warm safety. Feeling her uncertainty grow, she paused to sit in the path just out of sight of her targets. What if she was wrong about these, what if she was not welcomed? Many of this type hated Ones beyond all reason. What if she were yelled and kicked at, hit with stones or those bristle sticks this type always used? She must be careful in her approach. She must not make any mistakes.
He looked older, but in a good way. His hair was as black as ever, but cut short and tidy instead of curling down over his neck, and his perpetually tanned skin was showing just the beginnings of being weathered as it stretched over his high cheekbones. His grey eyes were as bottomless as they’d ever been. The boy had turned into a man, but hadn’t lost his beauty. Jericho had heard people call Wade oily, but that wasn’t the right word. Wade was iridescent, sure, but he was quicksilver, not oil. He was beautiful and fluid and impossible to hold onto. Fascinating but deadly. He was the only thing that had kept Jericho sane through far too many nights of desperation and rebellion, and he’d been the only thing that had seriously tempted him to stay in Mosely years before. But Jericho had left, and Wade had stayed behind. Now Wade was staring at him, assessing him, and Jericho had no idea what the man was seeing. He forced himself to wait, and finally Wade smiled. “Jay Crewe,” he said. He walked slowly toward Jericho but stayed behind the bar, sinuous grace apparent in even the simplest movements. He was wearing black jeans and a grey dress shirt, black work boots tying him in to the crowd at the mismatched tables even as something else, something indefinable, set him apart. “It’s been a long time.”
T— for a quick time out. The 'descriptions of' scores so far: Human Male = 12 Human Female = 4 Human Inderterminate gender (Ike) = 1 @peachalulu firm this one up Creatures (skinned monkeys) = 1 I've enjoyed reading these but want to selfishly say; WE need more descriptions of females, some aliens and a few whatevers (as requested by the OP) to round this thread.
As requested... The creature was still a couple blocks away, flying low over a strip-mall, but it was closing fast, and it was ugly. There were no physical laws that could explain how it was in the air, not unless its lumpy, toad-like body was filled with some sort of buoyant gas, and there was no clear explanation of how it was moving, either, without wings or visible means of propulsion, but none of that really mattered, not right then. The important part was that it was coming at them, moving fast, and they had no idea how it would attack, or how they could defend themselves against it. ... Connor pulled his sword out of its sheath, raised his shield, and then the creature was on them. It opened its mouth wider than Connor’s brain could really accept, showing row after row of pointed teeth. The creature had claws, too, but they didn’t look nearly as worrisome as the damned jaws. The claws were probably just for picking up the tidbits that were left over after the toad-thing bit its prey in two with a single chomp.
Dare I add... Us is me and the other straggler strangers that populate this backwater nightclub, some twenty I’d surmise if through this alcohol haze I could conjure the ability to count. One such stranger’s outline cuts across the glare, female in form, she stops, turns and surveys the room. Prey I wonder? Me her’s or she mine? From my sit-point the yellow spotlight’s glow radiates from behind her head, from the blue, the swell of her bosom, and the green—her hips. Some psychedelic angel of dark she is, come to pull me from the bottom of this glass. She’s focused on me, I think, she’s saying something and smiling. I cannot though detail her features nor hear any voice through the shadow and the sound. Her movement in time portrays her unheard words, she’s dancing now, flexing elegantly with the range of a gymnast. Her limbs and torso the bows and trunk of elastic trees in a gathering windstorm on a tremulous land. A flaunt of femininity I’m sure she’s practised many times alone to perfect her allure. And it works. E.T.A. cut and paste jobs—these descriptions, trimmed a little to knock out any irrelevant references.
I mis-read your instructions and didn't catch that the description should be physical. Sorry about that. Let's try this one. Unsure what to do next, she watched her new friend move about the area, air paws touching many things, until food and drink were placed before her. She ate hungrily, unaware of anything else for a time. Once her hunger was satisfied, Maddy found Firm Two-Paw and Special Two-Paw kneeling beside her with large clumps of not-fur held in their air paws. She remembered this not-fur from her beginning time with her Sweet Two-Paw. It was strange stuff, soft and warm, it provided the perfect texture for kneading before a nice nap. The two-paw types covered their skin with it instead of real fur, and many of their surfaces as well. The scent and feel of it brought back fond memories for Maddy, though she wasn't sure about the brisk rub-down she was receiving from it now. However, she tolerated it since her fur was becoming drier and she was feeling warmth again.
The raw silence made Audrey feel like the only soul in the valley...until a figure, more incomplete than whole, appeared in her peripheral vision. It formed from nothing, solidified, then stared at her through sunken, gray eyes. She felt a stinging hatred, as if the thing knew her and had a personal deed to settle. The creature towered with slick, blackish skin that shined unnaturally in the sun, looking mucousy wet. Instinct told Audrey to run, but curiosity held her a second. The thing's face in ways reminded her of a bat--upturned snout and beady black eyes with shard teeth. It took one step forward on a taloned foot, and Audrey kicked up loose dirt in a sprint and didn't look back until her legs cramped from exhaustion. Despite her determined speed, the thing stood directly behind her.
He no longer wore a uniform, and had not for many years, yet one could not but envision him in the dress of a gallant captain, sword in hand and word of command on his lips. Even in his advanced age, his once handsome face marred by deep creases, raven hair rendered a powdery grey, and virile strength replaced by a cool resilience, he had the bearing of a soldier. His dark blue eyes shone under the hat's brim, lips pulled downward into an apathetic frown. When he raised a cigarette to his lips, the ugly scar running the length of his forearm and rounding his shoulder became plainly visible. A souvenir of the Peninsular War. When he lifted the hat to better see the other, he revealed to the world one milky, ruined eye, taken by a Hussar's saber at Austerlitz. When he walked, he did so with great effort, though such was not immediately apparent. Four of his toes long ago fell prey to a Muscovite winter, and yet his pride smiled at canes. If he were to undo his shirt, he would bare the hideous collection of grievous wounds sustained over a quarter century of soldiering, marking his entire body like a grisly sort of map. Two ribs shattered by Savoyard musket balls. A Prussian bayonet's stamp upon his gut. The threaded imprint of an Austrian rope around his throat. A shattered hip where the Scots Greys had nearly ridden him down. Young men and women looked upon the angles of his face with something like awe, pity, and condescension all at once. They smiled at his stories and nodded at his memories, because to them that was all they were. They could not know or understand. The vibrant pride and shining glories of the past, with its dark despair and lurid horrors, would only ever be dead words to them. To them, he was as much a relic as the ancient steeple in the center of town or the rusting cannons keeping eternal watch upon the hill. All, himself included, knew that he would soon die, and yet he seemed an eternal fixture. None could imagine the town's fountain without his seated at its stony lip. None could imagine passing through the square without his yet mighty voice calling out in greeting and a wasted finger touching in deference to the brim of his moth-eaten cap. And when he was not there, he was instead found wandering the weathered faces of grave markers in the old valley cemetery, unshed tears in his eyes. He would refuse to go a day without a visit to the withering graves of those who'd fought for that which he had, those who had held in their hearts the same convictions and professed with their tongues the same creeds. And yet they were dead and he was alive. So many had seen home again only through dead eyes, and known its earth again only as they were interred. They were forgotten, becoming only epitaph engraved on stone, and even that would wash away with the rain and storm in time. So it fell to him to keep all that they had held sacred and that which they had died for alive in his heart, and to impart it to those who had never known the world he had. The others took him for granted. They only saw the old man, and not the last brittle link in a chain binding the present day to a thousand gone before. Only with the passage of decades, long after he'd joined his sword-stricken comrades in the world to come, as erudite scholars trudged through vine-ruled boneyards and bullet-scarred fields of battle to make a record of days gone by, might he at last be understood and revered in full.
Xanthe Gender: Female Position: Outcast Species: Elemental Race: Mixed Breed, Draigin, Descriptions: Height & Build: 5’7” athletic Eye Color: Yellow irises, Slit pupils; black sceleras Hair Color: Black-blue hair with wild braids mix with dozens of tiny beads made up of semi-precious, precious, and unconventional stones woven in; falls to her waist Body: Skin-Color: Ash grey, Scales: Silver, Black, Deep Navy, There are scales on her spine, forearms, calves up to her thighs, and on her sternum to down below her bellybutton, on the sides of her neck and jaw, and the sides and undersides of her breasts. Hands: Hands and feet have claws which are short hard and black. Lips are black; Sharp incisors, slightly forked coal-blue tongue (the fork is almost unnoticeable) Piercings: Has a small black quartz ball stud for her medusa piercing; nipples are pierced (kyanite rings); Left Ear is pierced with opalized wood (5 studs from large to small and 1 opal hoop); a tiny diamond stud in her right nostril; Belly button ring is pierced with a jade belly ring; Right Eyebrow is pierced with a Fluorite Stud; Right Ear has 1 opalized wood stud. Ears are gently pointed; Species Traits: Can scent the air with her tongue; When irritated her scales shift up and down slightly allowing you to see the fire/magma under her skin dancing just under each scale and her eyes start to glow; metal, fire, and sometimes gems are hers to command as a mixed breed (her particular mix of breed are known as The Draigin) Family: Father was an Incaedian (Fire Elemental- The fire/magma under her skin and the reason she has scales), Mother was an Aesryn (Metal Elemental-Kinship with metal or ability to use metal? Possibility of a special metal that bonds with them that is sentinent? )/Daichivian (Earth Elemental- Where she gets her instinct to hoard). Ability/Weapons: When in battle Xanthe can manipulate the rock and her lava to form a thin magma-like layer over her form for armor. Xanthe’s chains that she keeps wrapped around her right arm and left leg seem to be cognizant or alive during battle as she wields them in a whip like manner. Little blurb about Xanthe's personality: Temperamental; ‘Kill first ask questions later.’ Incident: When Cherry blandly answered, “I only stabbed you once, nothing get to your panties in a wad over.” Xanthe started to climb over the table to strangle the little twat before being grabbed by [a comrade]. “That hurt you fucking bitch!” Xanthe roared as she struggled to free herself so she could kill the little toe rag. “Well it’s not my fault that you can’t take a little pain.” Cherry stated calmly as she daintily sipped her tea.
The rustling of the high grass is the only sound as a gentle breeze passes by. Sweat drips over the blindfold. She strains her ears, whilst waiting. In a defensive stance she holds a firm grip on her wooden sword. With the weaving of the breeze a creature stalks, large brown eyes are locked on its prey. Ever so silently the creature closes in. His paws each follow the others footprints, but when close enough he, too, waits. Once more a breeze crosses their path and Gadock dashes forwards then leaps, with his claws extracted. Hiarra within a split second turns around swinging her wooden sword in the direction of the flickering air. The force upon the wooden sword shifts abruptly, making Hiarra use all of her strength. Gadocks claws are looking for any point to latch onto, but fail to do so. In his altered course Gadock manages to swing his tail to regain his balance midair, landing on all four. This is the first time that I wrote something like this. So I would like feedback but be gentle, please. :3
Wow this description is so good I can almost make up an entire story centered around just this description. (I won't of course but you have definitely sparked my imagination with this character.)
Not many Hobs were conventionally attractive, but there was a lot to be said for personality, grooming and style. Spike had none of these. He'd tried to dye his hair blonde, but it had come out just looking dingy. His eyes managed to be sunken and buggy at the same time, and were permanently shadowed. His cheeks were sunken, his skintone an unhealthy beige, and he had the withered build of someone who lived on chemicals and desperation. He'd tried to toughen up his image with piercings intended to resemble his namesake through his jug-handle ears, and a barbed-wire tattoo around his bicep, though there was only room for about three spurs. (Cut to Spike shifting to Goblin form) I smelled asphalt and tobacco smoke as Spike shifted into Goblin form, swearing and snarling. His skin turned moldy grey-green, his eyes a sulphurous yellow, and his ears and nose elongated into points. I could see his arms lengthening, and could imagine his fingers doing the same behind his back. Still all stringy sinew and no muscle, he strained against his bonds, though the red cord binding his wrists foiled his Goblin talent for escape. Realizing it was no good struggling, he settled into glaring and seething through clenched, needle-like teeth.
