Just freestyle some characters.

Digg, he's a young man in a bright red 19th century suit. He dances around in a tophat around umbrella, which he his holding in his hand, and you just KNOW that he's up to something incredibly evil, but his hugh-grant british charm makes you like him anyways.

Laura, she's a small girl with too-big eyes and a harelip. Her best friend is her hand-me-down teddybear that she got from her aunt. None of the other kids ever talk to her, but she lives halfway inside Faerië anyways. Timmy the changeling has told her where all the knives in the house are, but not why she needs to know.

Xian, she's a worker at the local sweatshop in some Chinese jean-factory. Whenever she works an long shift, she starts seeing things; She knows where the jeans will go, and the destinies of the people that are going to buy them.

You turn

Rada: A young, slim slave woman, she is 21 years old, but appears to be about 14. She's had a hard life, working the brothels of the docks. She desperately wants out, but knows that no decent man will have her. She is her owner's best source of income, her body what the men want, her age giving her skills that most girls don't have. She isn't quite right in the head, having learned to shut the misery of her world out by letting her mind wander for hours. Her owner beats her, and tells the customers she is simple-minded.

Geoffry: An old man of unknown history, he lives in the deep South. He has no true home, drifting from one place to the next. Riding an old sorrel nag, he uses grand airs and language. Claiming to have been disinherited from his family for being a sorcerer, no one has ever seen him perform magic. But wherever he goes, strange plagues and events happen if the townfolk are not kind to him. He has an old white cat with him, always riding on the sorrel's rump as they slowly meander through the trees and swamps of the trails he calls home.

Rebekkah: A six year old girl with twisted hands and feet, Rebekkah is a sweet little child, living in a small town. Her bright blond hair always in pig-tails, her bright paisly dresses and ribbons make her a recognized and loved figure throughout town. She is the only child in the town, the only one to survive an epidemic that wiped out all other children. Her grey-blue eyes are always a little sad, a little too old for her pixie-like face, as though she is looking at something far away that she wants, but knows she can never have.

Good stuff, especially the old guy

Eric, he's the local highschool geek. He is well-known for his huffing, asthmatic voice and his brightly red-rimmed glasses. He always says the wrong things at the wrong time, and he is so shy that he has trouble even speaking to other people. However, he is also something of a genius, and he sees patterns that noone else can see. He is about to break down the walls of reality, bringing his entire school with him.

John, he's a small-time crook. He makes his way through the criminal underworld robbing homes when the owners are away. He smokes marihuana and drinks too much. He is always sporting a crumbled white shirt and a pair of black jeans. At night he reads Kerouac and Nietzsche, and his only desire is to move to Paris, a town he has ridiculously high expectations of.

Chase is a young man of unknown origin, a skate rat and haunter of the local skateboarding hot spots. Wavy dirty-blonde hair flutters in the wind and eyes that shift from green to blue and back again. No-one knows where he came from or where he goes when the sun goes down, but he carries with him a worn black backpack, slung from his shoulders at all times. The contents of the satchel are as mysterious as the boy who carries them. The bag seems to burden him, though it appears very light and largely empty. In spite of this, he skates with immaculate balance and great skill, always humble and never boastful in his triumphs.

Wes is a dreamer, an impressionable young man with his head in the clouds. Gangly, quiet, and lacking in social graces, he thinks himself a character in a game, remote-controled and interactive. Others think him strange because of his often obscure or bizarre behavior, but their stinging words rarely harm him. Before his eyes a bare field or stark brick wall unfold into mystifying landscapes, worlds unseen and described in no story or tale. Races, stories, entire universes appear to him as readily as reality, co-mingling life into a miasma of true and imagined sights and sounds.

-sandragon13

Shiah: A young Dreamweaver, one of the Greater Nine. Born to abusive human parents, she escaped into the dream world, but was tricked into service by a greater being. Now she spends eternity weaving the tapestry of warrriors. The eight hags of the circle despise her for her youth and skill, and frequently turn her dreams into nightmares by slipping an extra thread into the weave. But she has a plan that will help her stop the weaving of dreams altogether.

Shoen: A quiet boy with black hair and brown eyes. Slender build and reasonably intelligent with little to no friends yet he absolutely loves Rya, the most beautiful girl in the school. Practices fencing daily and is going to a regional tournament in June that he is favored to win. But he tells no one of his accomplishments.

Tia: Long brown hair and green eyes Tia is not what you'd call beautiful. Wears loose black clothing and keeps to herself at school. Guys hardly even notice her. Very religious, she volunteers at local homeless shelters and soup-kitchens were she is a favorite worker due to her kindness.

Mr. Jack (or "Buddie"): An old man who is often seen in the park feeding pigeons. He wears a worn-out fedora upside down on his head which is full if bird seed, so the pigeons constantly perch on his shoulders and head. No one has ever seen Mr. Jack leave the park, but at night his hat can be found hanging off the pointing finger of a statue of a civil-war veteran known to the locals as "Buddie".

Renna-
An "average" sort of person. Average height, brown hair, brown eyes, nothing truely stands out in a crowd. She is intellegent, but rarely voices her opinions. She has many acquaintences, but few true friends. She is helpful and kind, always giving away things to others. But she has a secret. Her family is not ordinary family, they are the last of a long line of warriors. And they have plans for Renna....

Gran-
Bright and flashy, Gran spends his days trying to sell everything from books, to the shirt off his back. He lives a comfortable life, but wants more. He loves his family, but a business venture, turns into an adventure when a strange shows up at his door.

Sela: Small, skinny, she's a street urchin, and looks it. Her clothes are rags, patched together from many scraps of discarded material, tied together as best possible, often falling off in the street.

No one likes to meet her eyes, or even look at her, and so the blood staining her rags goes unnoticed. No one knows that she is a queen of another race, a bloodthirsty woman preying on the lost and helpless of the Moscow streets. Her only enemy, the only one stronger than she, is her mother, who cast her into the streets as soon as her bloodlust became apparent. Deserted, scared, she did what she needed to, and rose to lead the castoffs of her people. Plans are in the works to take her mother's throne for her own, and teach the glorious people behind the Doors what life in the streets teaches a little girl.

Saga:
A man whose skin is covered in tatoo writing: It changes all the time, and is in fact a narrative of his life.

She comes up here every day, to this isolated little island of steps, and looks out over her ruined kingdom. Her little boat moored to a railing, she sits on the tiny area she cleared of debris, and thinks of the past. Waves lap at the cracked steps, whispering of corpses hidden in the depths of the new sea. Rotting wood floats past, some with skeletons still lashed on, seagulls scavenging for flesh. Sometimes the waves bring her pretty treasures, things that once had value, whether personal or financial she doesn’t know, to their owners. She collects these, taking them to her little suite in an old tower, arranging them on the shelves, so that she has something to look at when the weather won’t let her go to her steps. She’s the last one of her people, an old woman as run-down and decrepit as the city, cursed to live as long as signs of the once-mighty kingdom exist.

Her only companion is a little girl, speechless and deaf, who washed up on her stairs one day. The girl is foreign, that is all the woman knows. That, and the fact that the child can call the sea creatures somehow, wordlessly, keeping them fed, making friends with the dolphins, sharks and other creatures too big for them to eat.

He's dressed in an all-white white suit, and sings like a wounded animal. His hair is white, but his face is not particularly old, though not young either. He has a tan. He hates the life he left behind, and he spends his days drinking and singing as he goes through the streets of Miami. He is content.

She is one of the most un-memorable people you could meet. Ten minutes after introductions, absolutely nothing, except the lack of impression, stays with you.

Lank dishwater-blond hair, slightly crooked teeth and skin spattered with acne put her in the league of a hundred thousand other high-school students that haven't come into their own yet. She wears thick-rimmed glasses, frumpy clothes, and owns a mutt. Not too popular in school, but the students don't hate her too much either. She's pretty much a shadow.

But make sure you swing by the Lamb of God Church tomorrow morning, because she's going to sing. And I'll tell you what, that girl's voice could make an angel cry in envy.

As he crouched at the top of the moonlit hill, his ears pricked up. Down below he could hear the faintest of sounds. Slowly, so as not to let his long silvery hair fall into his face and obscure his field of vision, he inclined his head.

Eyes gleaming through the shadow that shrouded his face he peered into the darkness. The enemy was close, close enough he could smell them on the breeze. Down wind as he was, though, it was doubtful that they could smell him. No, they just knew he would be here, like he was every full moon.

A wolfish grin cracked his lips, curling them upwards to reveal sharp, pointed teeth. Yes, there would be blood tonight.

The locals say he was carved from the skull of God, and that he is older than the heavens. But he looks like a child, except for the eyes, which look like the sky above the desert. He sits in his cave, and he waits. He waits, even as the storms pass by and whip up torrents of sand and bury him in it. He waits passively, even as the sand is blown away and reveals him again. He merely sits there, cross-legged and perfect.

You can hear the truths of the universe if you lean in close to his mouth. Every year, a young man from the local tribe is chosen to lean in close. The young men can only speak a single word before they die, and the village keeps a record of the words spoken. The elders of the village kept the words written in a book a thousand pages long; it was believed that the book would oneday make sense, when the word explaining it was said by one of the young men. The village thought of this book as their gift to the world.

Scrape: His cracked toenails are his most notable feature and the only part of him, except for his face, that's not covered in scraps of gray cloth. His walk is careful and hunched like he's balancing something very heavy and very precious on his back. Grating gasps of air are the only sounds most have heard from him which tends to be too much. Superstitions are spun on his one grey eye that pears out from under his soppy hat, glaring at passerbys, warning that he'll do something unexpected if they get too close.

Tall and razor-thin, the young Emperor is not the classical image of a warrior king, though his armies are spread across the world like a web and he himself is a veteran of many battles. Outside his castles, the masses cheer his name, and a thousand young boys sing his praise. He stands supreme as Emperor of the world, and yet he is worried. He knows that no victory is final, and now that the struggle is over he has become worried with his own mortality.

Flinging off his disguise in a dashing pose the silver-haired pirate, Klan, makes his dynamic entrance. As his lime-green eyes enchant his onlookers, his keen ears embrace the whispers of those around him. Indeed they had heard of him; tall and effeminate, black guns swaying from his sides, and a charming smile so breathtaking that the urbanites say he was able to swoon the moon goddess herself with it. He is one who sails the sand to survive, relying only on his skill with his gun - and luck - to live another day.

Klan steps forward, a dull thud reminiscing from his boots as they meet the ground. Ruffling his white shirt and adjusting his crimson bandanna, he scans the crowd and eagerly awaits his rival.

Though young, the prince Tel'ao has already turned to pacifism. From a young age, he was schooled in the ways of warfare and close combat, and he is the victor of a hundred battles. But now that the war is over, he has turned away from war, and has foresworn the harming of men. But with the shadow looming to the west, how will the young prince cope with the coming war? Will he stay true to his pacifist ways, and at what cost?

Thunder always makes her shiver, makes little tingles run down her spine. It makes her remember her lover, the old thunder-lord of the Massat Kings. It reminds her of his fury, the raging power of his anger and his terrible power in war. He did not only command the flashy but impotent power of thunder, his also was the slashing lightning, the wind and cloud of the vast hurricane, the tornadoes ripping across the plains. Thunder in his voice, lightning in his eyes, and the power of the storm at his fingertips.

She did not think she could ever forgive his leaving her to walk among the lightning.

Honestly, the man was well beyond "jerk" level in her opinion. Marching down the halls with his arrogant little swagger, acting as if he owned the place when it was her generosity that kept his designer-clad ass off the streets and away from the mafia. Heaven help her, some day she was going to drop a bible on that swelled, red head of his.

Jason leans in over his child, and you can tell that he is worried. He leans in closer, and a wave of fear sweeps over him as he notices the silence: He picks the baby up, and it is much too cold.