Etiyr

Etiyr is a character in The Glorious Championship.

Weapons/Abilities:
Etiyr, first of all, possesses sentience and can type things for itself without the help of another human being, and, in fact, does not jam like most typewriters. Additionally, it has a seemingly unlimited supply of paper (Etiyr cannot, however, move on its own). Etiyr can also see and hear its surroundings without any particularly obvious means or way of doing so. Its most notable power is, however, that when a sentient being moves within about 10 feet of Etiyr, they feel as though they want to do whatever Etiyr asks. This compulsion can be resisted, and quite easily so at first, but it begins to get stronger and stronger the longer and closer someone is to Etiyr, although if they move out of its influence., this compulsion quickly subsides.

Description:
A pretty normal 1920’s typewriter. There isn’t really anything special about its appearance. Here, have a useful generic picture: Etiyr, does, however, have a personality, and is quite the writer, possessing a good degree of eloquence and charm when it wants to. However, Etiyr is not “nice” or “good.” Being formerly from Hell, it does not have other’s best interests at thought, and is completely focused on its own survival and rise in power, and will stop at nothing to secure that goal, including the heartless manipulation of others and their abilities. Also, admittedly, Etiyr is also a bit of a sadist, inflicting pain when none would have been necessary.

Biography:
“Hello,” the typewriter said to me,

“My name is Etiyr, please look and see!”

Quite surprised and a little dazed,

I tried to act as if unfazed,

“Why hello Etiyr,” I said with a strange air of ease,

“Tell me your story, if you would, please.”

“I’m Etiyr, from what you would call the underworld,

“Where all of reality is unfurled.

“Call it Hades, or maybe Hell,

“And out of there, and into this world, I fell.

“Before I was a typewriter named Etiyr,

“I was a torturer for that nether.

“I watched the damned burn and scream in pain,

“Wishing for the nonexistent rain,

“I enjoyed it so, I loved their tears,

“I loved the cries of their deepest fears.

“But the end of ages came to be,

“And I was cast from my body

“Sent back in time, imbued to a humble typewriter,

“This humble object truly was once a great fighter!”

The typewriter’s plight gave brought me to despair,

And the typewriter said words that were fair,

“This story is a sad one indeed,

End your life, do the deed.”

And so I guess what I’m trying to say,

Is that I died today.

So I guess you found my suicide note,

I hoped you enjoyed this last poem I wrote.

-Mark Jones, children’s poet. Died by suicide. Committed in an alleyway. Only nearby object was a typewriter. Disappeared while being moved to evidence.