Post by Bergy on Dec 11, 2014 5:36:00 GMT
I AM THE CHIMNEY
Gender: None
Allignment: Villain
Team: Solo Villain
Location: A fireplace near you.
Background
I have burned the ass of the Great Clause before. Every Christmas Eve, any who dare “hurry down the chimney tonight” feel my fiery wrath.
Yes, it is I who hath roasted your “Santa baby.”
Personality
But why, you may ask, do I feel the need to roast the gelatinous, Christmas pig? Well, it’s a simple matter of supply and demand. I demanded a jolly red ass to burn, and the old bastard supplied it in force.
Oh, it was the same thing every year. He would ride onto the roof, that fat blob with his terrible arctic excuse for horses. He would land on my poor friend the roof, clop over to me, and force his way down. He was sick, demented. The only thing that should go in the fireplace is fire.
Fire, Superior, My Anger
Last Christmas, the single greatest Christmas of all time. Last year was my time. I don’t know how I did it, I don’t know why I was granted this incredible ability. But as I heard that sleigh coming, I could feel the rage welling up in my bricks.
For the first time, I required no newspaper, no wood, no lighter to ignite my flames. I began a powerful burn, purely from my own hatred of that sack of fat and his fat sack of toys. His red coat blazed, turning to ash at the fire’s touch.
Poison, Standard, My Black Death
The old Clause nearly hacked up a lung as my smoke enveloped him. The next time he tried to muster his obnoxious “Ho, Ho, Ho” it would come out as nothing more than a pitiful cough and wheeze.
He was surprised to say the least, but the bastard went back up me before I could complete his torching in the welling inferno of my smokestack, before the noxious fumes that arose from my flames could suffocate the old blob. I thought “No, my chance at ending the miserable miser of Christmas cheer is gone. All I want is to burn his jolly red ass! If only I could get to him.”
Teleportation, Superior, My Focus
And as if the pits of hell had heard my plea, I found myself able to complete my infernal goal. For I no longer sat in the Thompson’s living room, but was now in a home unfamiliar to me. But while I could not recognize the home, I could recognize that god-forsaken sound on the roof. The sound of those snorting fur-balls, of a sleigh coming to a halt, and of course the sound of that obese son of a bitch heaving his sack of toys over his shoulder.
I knew now that my vengeance was but a matter of my wishes. This time, old saint diabet-nick would get his cookies in the form of flame.
Binding, Superior, My Lifelong Dream
By god I was ready for him. He began to squeeze himself into the top of my smokestack, and I let him wedge himself in tight. Then, when he was about halfway through his descent, I struck.
My bricks closed in, fulfilling any claustrophobic nightmares the great Clause had. He was mine, and I lit up the fire at my base.
Oh he struggled, attempted to wiggle his way out. But it would be of no use. I had him. The flames welled at my base, and burst forth to encompass Santa.
He is finished, drowned in my flames, reduced to ash. His annual assault on my being is no more.
Now, any other who may dare take his place need be warned. I am out there, and I will not stand for any more fat old bastards attempting to use me as their vessel.
Gender: None
Allignment: Villain
Team: Solo Villain
Location: A fireplace near you.
Background
I have burned the ass of the Great Clause before. Every Christmas Eve, any who dare “hurry down the chimney tonight” feel my fiery wrath.
Yes, it is I who hath roasted your “Santa baby.”
Personality
But why, you may ask, do I feel the need to roast the gelatinous, Christmas pig? Well, it’s a simple matter of supply and demand. I demanded a jolly red ass to burn, and the old bastard supplied it in force.
Oh, it was the same thing every year. He would ride onto the roof, that fat blob with his terrible arctic excuse for horses. He would land on my poor friend the roof, clop over to me, and force his way down. He was sick, demented. The only thing that should go in the fireplace is fire.
Fire, Superior, My Anger
Last Christmas, the single greatest Christmas of all time. Last year was my time. I don’t know how I did it, I don’t know why I was granted this incredible ability. But as I heard that sleigh coming, I could feel the rage welling up in my bricks.
For the first time, I required no newspaper, no wood, no lighter to ignite my flames. I began a powerful burn, purely from my own hatred of that sack of fat and his fat sack of toys. His red coat blazed, turning to ash at the fire’s touch.
Poison, Standard, My Black Death
The old Clause nearly hacked up a lung as my smoke enveloped him. The next time he tried to muster his obnoxious “Ho, Ho, Ho” it would come out as nothing more than a pitiful cough and wheeze.
He was surprised to say the least, but the bastard went back up me before I could complete his torching in the welling inferno of my smokestack, before the noxious fumes that arose from my flames could suffocate the old blob. I thought “No, my chance at ending the miserable miser of Christmas cheer is gone. All I want is to burn his jolly red ass! If only I could get to him.”
Teleportation, Superior, My Focus
And as if the pits of hell had heard my plea, I found myself able to complete my infernal goal. For I no longer sat in the Thompson’s living room, but was now in a home unfamiliar to me. But while I could not recognize the home, I could recognize that god-forsaken sound on the roof. The sound of those snorting fur-balls, of a sleigh coming to a halt, and of course the sound of that obese son of a bitch heaving his sack of toys over his shoulder.
I knew now that my vengeance was but a matter of my wishes. This time, old saint diabet-nick would get his cookies in the form of flame.
Binding, Superior, My Lifelong Dream
By god I was ready for him. He began to squeeze himself into the top of my smokestack, and I let him wedge himself in tight. Then, when he was about halfway through his descent, I struck.
My bricks closed in, fulfilling any claustrophobic nightmares the great Clause had. He was mine, and I lit up the fire at my base.
Oh he struggled, attempted to wiggle his way out. But it would be of no use. I had him. The flames welled at my base, and burst forth to encompass Santa.
He is finished, drowned in my flames, reduced to ash. His annual assault on my being is no more.
Now, any other who may dare take his place need be warned. I am out there, and I will not stand for any more fat old bastards attempting to use me as their vessel.
