[CHAR] Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

[Hillan]

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T

T H E A L L B L A D E
T H E A L L B L A D E

^{"Your soul versus mine. Let's see who can walk out of here."}

---

Jason Todd, Qahir Al-Hamra ♦ Assassin Of The Supernatural♦ All Caste Headquarters.

O R I G I N S:

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^{"You guys wanna come at me all at once, or shall I kick your ass one at a time?"}

Jason Todd was never meant to be the boy wonder. The little soldier who could - the thug who got saved from a life of crime by a man in a bat-shaped cowl. He was never meant to be the young man who fought tooth and nail to save his own, and his mother's life from the hands of a madman. His destiny laid far beyond the grimy streets of Gotham. His identity was supposed to be more than the 'fucked up Robin'. This is fate, uninteruppted. Destiny as it was supposed to be. A Jason Todd who grew up as the great cosmic theatre had ordained him to. Growing up to an addict mother and a career criminal father, Jason lived mostly on the streets in Gotham, nothing but the ragged clothes on his back from his first steps. Always providing for himself, looking out for those close to him, but never getting that in return. At nine years old Jason was attacked by a monster out of this world. Something beyond even the madness of Gotham city's constant violence and fear. Som, Something that knew what he was, what he would become. He was saved by the ones who would show him his path, his destiny. He was brought before the All Caste, the secret order of warrior-monks and mystics who work in secret to keep the mortal realm safe from beings that would herald the great darkness, the end of all life as humans have known it. They believed this street-urchin was what they had been waiting on for millennia.

Jason's grew up being raised to become the chosen champion of this guild, their greatest warrior. Ducra, the leader of the All-Caste would raise him as her own. The entire guild were to see to it that he would prepare his entire life for a final battle against the Untitled foes. He's never been stoked on this idea, instead striking out as much as he can on his own, avoiding his responsibilities and pursuing his own ideals. Jason Todd always wanted to be set loose onto the world. Believing himself more than capable. Armed with his birthrights, half-finished training, magical power, the temperance of youth and his own moral codex. He's out to do what's right, save people now and bringing evil to justice. Not sitting around waiting to save the world in some prophesized showdown that's far beyond certain.

Out of the All Caste's overbearing protective nature of a nurturing chamber. He's rebirthed into the world at large. A teenage hero who's struggling with the expectations of his elders and the destiny ahead of him. Foreign to our mundane world he was once born into. Burning with desire for adventure and helping people. This is a tale of figuring out all the trials and tribulations the mortal and magical worlds offer the boy who could have been bat.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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"I'm not good, not bad. Just practical as hell." The dark haired boy said, as he entered the room through the window he had opened from the outside, removing the grey cloth hood that was secured over his face, tossing it back and letting it fall down to his shoulders, chucking the blowpipe and the pack of darts from his legs onto the makeshift bed in his side of the room. He pulled out the bloody knife from his other side, and started wiping it off. He walked towards the bathroom, as if he owned the place. The actual owner took notice.

"You keep saying that, but I disagree. You're real fuckin' bad at knocking, or respecting other people's privacy! I could've been masturbating, Jason! That's not very practical. I thought you said you were gonna blow town, by the way?! Gary cried out, as neurotic as always. Mr. Green was lying in his bed in his bedroom in his parents spacious apartment. Clearly unphased by Jason's behavior, beyond the rudeness of it all. Jason, cleaning himself off with a recently washed towel, which made Gary grit his teeth upon seeing such an expensive towel be wasted on washing away what he could only assume wasn't human blood.

"Ducra scried. Uh, sorry, called. Job's not done here. There's clearly still more magical influence left in this town, and she said 'it is of utmost importance young Qahir that you fulfill your promise to this life'. So you're stuck with me, bunk buddy. How did the thing go? Did your man win the duel?" Mimicking his guardian's ancient tongue as he chuckled, tossing his bag of things into the pullout-sofa on the other end of the room. Gary cracked a smile.

"Duel? No, it was a wrestling match. Josh got absolutely destroyed, though. His opponent was not normal, man, straight up built different, Josh had no chance." Gary caught his turn of phrase as he saw the look on his friends face change.
"Not normal you say? Did Josh's family prepare funerary rights after his destruction?" Jason pondered, turning towards his bag to start digging through his collection of magical trinkets.

"No, Jason. It's not all monsters, man. It's just a figure of speech. The dude, Devin, was surprisingly good at wrestling, was all. Josh is fine. Bruised, his ego mostly." Jason nodded and started putting his things back in place.
"Oh. I got you. Thanks, I'm still struggling with all of the modern slang. Teenagers used to say 'Schway' last I was in the states."
"Nobody has ever said 'Schway', Jason. Not even in backwaters Gotham, I refuse to believe that." They both laughed.

Jason finished changing out of his dirty clothes and emerged 15 minutes later in a normal outfit. a graphic Tee, a stonewashed pair of jeans and a pair of 'fun socks' that Gary insisted on were cool. Seeing his friend on his phone, he cleared his throat. "Wanna leave your digital oracle device behind? Come play The Nintendo with me dude." Gary laughed, life was never boring with Jason around, that's for sure.

Some time later.

Gary laid in the mud as the rain poured over him, scared witless, his palms facing down into the dirt. He was injured, surface level wounds. His eyes looked up, first seeing his own wounded knee and then higher yet. In front of him, the deformed body of an oversized teenage boy was kneeling, black goo oozing out of his mouth, ears and one eye. He was mumbling something in a language Gary did not comprehend. Above him, stood Jason, holding the awe-inspiring, flaming golden sword, the All-blade to the monsters throat with one hand. The twin of the blade was protruding through the monster's chest. Jason was panting, bleeding a little. His clothes worn, the rain felt heavy on his skin. His stare intense, focused. Despite being tired and hurt, Gary could clearly see that Jason was in complete focus and control. Nothing like the rather scatter-brained boy he usually saw. It was clear to him that this was what his best friend did, and he was not just good at it. He was terrifying.

Lightning cracked as the monstrous teenager tried to move, Jasonsteadied his grip on the blade through the boy's chest, locking his left shoulder in place. The blade flaring up in color, as did it's twin. The monster burst into one last attack.
"Devin's built different no more. Go in peace, lost soul." His tone was harsh, vengeful. As the monster tried to swpie at him with his claw like right hand Jason ended him. A clean swipe of the glowing sword. Using the power of Jason's own soul to vanquish the evil that possessed the long-dead teenager's vessel, ending his torture and sending the boy's soul onto the next life. The Allblades hungering for more wicked blood. Once Devin's body laid on the ground, his body started transforming back into a normal teenagers corpse, missing a head. The blades disappeared in a flash, and the boy's demeanor changed. Jason rushed over to check on his friend. Extending his hand to Gary while kneeling down.

"Thanks for helping me, sorry you got caught up in this. You okay?" Helping his shocked friend up from the muddy ground. Gary's life had gotten so much more complicated since he met Jason Todd.

S U P P O R T I N G C A S T:

---

Allies:

• Ducra [Adoptive Mother. Looks like she's mostly a tree.]
• Essence [Adopted Sister, heir to the All Caste. The original Goth GF.]
• S'aru the Proctor [Trauma-Holder. Gatekeeper. Pain in the ass instructor.]
• Gary Green [Best Friend, regular human with completely irregular loyalty]
  
  Enemies:
• Suzie Su [World's fattest mob boss]
• Ma'Gunn. [Shittiest babysitter]
• Akila [Pissed off Amazon. The warrior kind, not the package delivery kind.]
• The Untitled [Too ugly to have a real name]
• Underbelly [OK, you got me. Actually world's fattest mob boss.]
  
  God I wish I could have or someone would play:
• Illyana Rasputin, Magik. [New and improved Goth GF?!]
• Sorcerer Supreme [Hands, much?]
• Dr. Fate [Helm would look better in red.]
• Ra's Al-Ghul. [Oh, matching Arabic-name-thing.]

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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Redder they are, the harder they fall. #1 - 5
Dead, Dead, Oh, You're all Dead. #1 - 3.
Honey, I Revived the kids #1-2.
Jason Todd Versus Dick Grayson; Who the hell are you and why did you steal my shorts?! #1.
I'll be damned if my best friend is going to die because he was dumb enough to trust me #1-3
Mighty Gary Green and the Sorcerer Supreme; My Best Friend Is The Chosen One #1-4.
Hello home, hello bed #1.
Redder Deader Redemptioner; A sword cannot save the world. Bring two. Part 1 & 2.

[Pacifista]

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

T E E N T I T A N S
T E E N T I T A N S

^{"Saving the day, one stopped crime at a time. #TeenTitans #RoxxonRelief #LACrime #SuperheroWatch"}

^{_{S T A R F I R E ♦ C Y B O R G ♦ R E D X ♦ B E A S T B O Y ♦ R A V E N
L O S A N G E L E S , C A L I F O R N I A}}

O R I G I N S:

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An escaped alien prisoner stranded far away from home. A young genius stolen away to Apokolips and warped into an abomination before finding his way back. A mask without a name or face living as a corporate tool. A mutant having escaped the cult that still has his parents in their captivity. The progeny of an inter-dimensional tyrant who will herald in the Earth’s end. All under the thumb of a Roxxon Public Relations Manager who sees the opportunity to make all sorts of gains through taking advantage of these troubled youths. They are the Teen Titans.

Needless to say, these Titans are not a team, not yet. Right now they are stragglers who will come to find one another through circumstance, eventually being scooped up by their sponsor, Morgan Edge, in a bold publicity stunt. Under a public eye they’re meant to appeal too they’ll fight their battles and come to grow closer to one another and gradually work through their damage. A past that haunts them, they live in a present world of mounting chaos, and hold a future none could ever predict.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

The following is non-canonical and would be fleshed out if it were to be a part of the Titan’s story. As of now it’s merely a proof of concept to offer a picture of their general dynamic as a team.

An ear splitting groan creaked throughout the Los Angeles industrial district. The night was lit from many a small flames from all about the chemical refinery. News helicopters fluttered about like vultures, waiting for bodies to consume for their headlines. The groan echoed, the building buckled, then burst. A torrent of violet sludge erupted, first slipping, then shaping. It was joined by a glint of silver that plummeted with a reflexive scream, landing with a crash as asphalt broke away, the metal body unmarred.

“You good, buddy?” a voice came over his comm system.

As he let most of the ooze slop out of his mouth, the orifice tingling as his cleaning systems did their work to nullify any toxic or corrosive agents, Cyborg insisted, “Never been more glad to not have a sense of taste or smell, let’s say that.”

“Thaaaat’s the spirit.” There was a flash of green, a hawk shooting from the window. Beast Boy had a metal vial in his claws, and the purple mass lurched after him, forming a hand as if to pluck the bird from the sky. “Oh, so you do want this!”

“Ä̷̺͉́͑ź̷̮̻a̴̫̎͘r̸͓̺̕ǎ̷̲͝ẗ̷̼́͐ͅh̸̯̰̏̃ ̸͍̖͌̕M̸̫̆ě̴̫t̸̘̯̒r̴̬̙̈i̷̧̯͑̅o̷̻͋n̸̞̫̅͛ ̶̻̠̊Z̴̥͑ǐ̷̧̛n̶͙̊̆t̸͖͗h̶̝̐̊o̷͚͠s̸̪̗̋̈́!̸̢̡̤̘́͜” With words beyond the tongue of mortals, there was a rupture like a wave breaking against a shore, the purple mess splinting as a thin black mass like a spectral blade ripped through it. Beast Boy slowed down, flapping his wings as he hovered by Raven, who floated herself to his level. With a wave of her hand, the vial sunk into a blackness before being flung into the distance.

“Uh, did we need that?”

Purple mass of Plasmus shifting underneath them to follow, Raven murmured, “This place is set for demolition. There’s shouldn’t be anything important here.”

As the vial flew towards the edge of the compound, a black cape fluttered, the metal vial being plucked from the air. “Anything unusual should be investigated, especially if it can help us stop this monster.” Palm trained on the encroaching mass, Red X fired a few crimson crosses, the Xenothium meeting the muck before discharging energy, smoke billowing and a low scream rumbling. “Do we have signs of the main body? There must be a center.”

Raven opened her mouth, but a shrill battle cry came over the comms, then a burst of destruction and distortion. Another section of the complex erupted, green flashes piercing through the air, each blast blowing out the muck, each one piercing a bubble that looked like acid, the congregation on unlike the eyes of an insect. “Taste my fury, enemy of humanity!” Starfire jeered, smile wide as her bolts peppered the monster. The green bubbles of acid started to form throughout the whole body, fumes hissing from the building as its innards gradually began to melt.

“It mutated again?” X glanced down at the vial in his hands before stating, “I suspect we found the catalyst of this incident.”

Sonic cannon blasting back the mass, Cyborg growled, “Thank goodness for the diligence and integrity of our sponsors.”

“I can still hear you all!” their benefactor shouted from the safety of some office miles away. Morgan Edge grumbled, “Whatever, it’s not like you’re wrong. Just get in there and take the baddie out. Cy, set up some cameras and get a good team shot while you’re at it!”

Rolling his one humanoid eye, Cyborg cleared the area as the others came down, Beast Boy and Raven floating in moments before Starfire swooped by, Red X following suit and dropping down once he could as BB returned to his human form. Recognizing them as a threat, Plasmus gathered itself, the mass seeming to be endless at it continued to gurgle and spout its way out of the building, going higher and higher as it started to shape into a giant, its lower sections breaking down and reforming as it struggled to bear the weight of its own body.

“Have we decided a plan of attack, or shall we ‘go wild’, as it is said?”

“It-”

“Cyborg, can you use sonar or some other means of detection to find anything out of place in its makeup?”

“Th-”

“I’ve been trying, but no luck so far. It has too many dense areas, but if we start with those, then...”

“...”

“Can we let the lady speak, fellas?”

Mouths went shut, and all eyes turned to Raven. “I can detect exactly where its consciousness is coming from. I could ever since we got here.”

The group erupted into protest. “OH COME ON!” “And you failed to mention this until now?” “Wonderful job!” “Aw gee that’d have been great to know. “This mission has been underway for hours.” “We have hope even still!” “Before he slimed me!” “Actually, I take it back.” “Explain yourself.” “Peak comic timing.” “Hmm, yes, the delay is curious.”

Raven was completely unaffected, her face as placid as ever. When the four of them finally calmed down, she bit back, “No one asked.”

“UGH!”

_{“Disappointing.”}

The banter was cut down buy a growl. Proportionally it was like a low murmur, but it rumbled the chests of all five Titans. Plasmus’s form had stabilized. Two massive, hulking arms, two stubby legs, a wide mouth complete with the shape of teeth, a head crowned with pustules of acid like spots on a mushroom. Their brief moment of downtime had left them. They shifted to battle poses at Red X’s words.

“Alright. We follow Raven’s lead. Titans: move-”

_*click*

“Together!”

C A S T:

---

The Team:

• Red X: A presumed orphan taken in by the Roxxon Corporation, trained from birth to undergo missions of espionage. He’s never been given a lasting designation, his newest simply happens to be ‘Red X’.
• Starfire: Princess Koriand’r of the Planet Tamaran. A political upheaval led to her imprisonment at the hands of Gordanian slavers. In transit, a freak accident had all the prisoners marked and ejected for later retrieval. Landing on Earth, she’s enjoying all the freedom she can.
• Beast Boy: After undergoing a mutation allowing him to turn into any animal, Garfield Logan’s parents sought help, entering the fold of the H.I.V.E. After several years of cultish indoctrination, they attempted to leave when they discovered various dark deeds they were up to. Beast Boy escaped alone despite their best efforts.
• Cyborg: Incredibly talented and the joy of his parents, Victor Stone was well on track to become a brilliant scientist when cruel fate intervened. He was whisked away to Apokolips and presumed missing or dead while his body was restructured from the ground up. After a year in that literal hell, he was able to escape back to the world he no longer had a place in.
• Raven: Angela Roth was a practitioner of the magical arts on Earth before a ritual gone awry drew her into the fold of Trigon, who forcibly sired an heir. Angela was returned to Earth with a curse in her belly, and every time she reached out a hand it was beaten back. Alone with her daughter Rachel, she came to resent that half-monster, yet could not leave her be lest she suffer Trigon’s wrath. Rachel grew up under that hatred and neglect until her 13th birthday, June 6th, when her father reached out to her in her dreams with his mission. Finally having someone to accept her, she followed his directives without question. The worst that could happen was the destruction of a world she had no attachment for...
• Morgan Edge: Public Relations Manager of Roxxon Corporation and general scumbag with no integrity. After a bunch of weird kids fall into his lap, he sees the chance to get in good with the higher ups by leaning into this new ‘superhero’ craze.
  
  Notable Rogues:
• Trigon: Inter-dimensional tyrant who sows the seeds of his lineage to conquer where he cannot tread.
• Brother Blood and the Headhunters of Volunteer Exceptionals (H.I.V.E.): A cultish group aiming to gather various underprivileged talents to give them a better path in life. Currently under CIA investigation for suspicious activities.
• Dr. Bedlam: A scientist from Apokolips who kidnapped Victor from Earth and pumped him full of tech before he escaped.
• Blackfire: Queen Komand’r of Tamaran. Responsible for Koriand’r’s apparent disappearance.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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Titans, Together!

Part 1 - Discarded

1.01
1.02
1.03
1.04

Part 0 - Demons

0.01

Part 2 - No Leftovers

1.05
1.06
1.07
1.08

[rocketrobie2]

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

U S A G E N T

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^{”Witty Quote"}

^{_{J O H N W A L K E R ♦ G O V E R N M E N T A G E N T ♦ A M E R I C A}}

O R I G I N S:

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It’s hard to sum up the kind of man John Walker is. Born after a war-hero older brother, taken too soon from the world, John grew up in the shadow of Mike’s legacy (a position he gladly took, looking up to his brother a lot). As soon as he was old enough Joh enrolled in the army, hoping to live up to the Mike’s legend. As a result of this fixation on his older brother (one that his parents made no effort to curb), John never really grew into his own man. This was made especially evident after he was honourably discharged after an accident left him with one paralyzed leg, a stump where the other should have been and, a new void where his lofty goals once laid.
EMPTY VESSEL
Coming back home was a fate worse than death for John; his parents wouldn’t say it but the feeling of shame that their son had done so little in comparison to his brother was palpable. John spent his days in physio, going to church and listening to podcasts to drown out his internal dread. One of these church trips turned flipped John’s downward spiral as his parents got to chatting with another regular of the congregation. There had been an exponential uptick in strange events over the past couple months and, reading the writing on the wall, the woman had managed to get funding for a new government agency to investigate and tackle these possible issues outside the scope of conventional law enforcement. Handing John’s parents his card, Ms.Bordeaux expressed her interest in meeting with their son after hearing his story.
DEAL MADE
Skeptical at first, John wasn’t sure what he had to offer anymore but he wasn’t one to turn down a call from his country. Being flown out to Oregon, John was met with a dark and forboding building in the middle of the forest, Ms.Bordeaux for the first time and an offer; serve his country by become the point man for the fledgling group, becoming a symbol of law and order to those who thought themselves above the law due to their genetic quirk, perceived intellectual superiority or supernatural abilities. In return John would not only regain the use of his bad leg but be able to walk, run and endure more than he could have ever believed. John had stopped listening after the offer to serve his country. Still in it’s fledgling stages, John works as the USAgent; figurehead, heavy-hitter and mascot for the Abnormal Research Group of the United States.
PUPPET MADE WHOLE

S A M P L E P O S T:

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Recent events seemed to blur together for John Walker. He wasn’t sure whether it was because of his new position and promise of being able to walk again or if it was all the meds he’d been doped up with. The long hallway he was being wheeled down might have been scary or forbidding had it not been for the seemingly frantic and erratic actions of the construction crew. Apparently this whole facility hadn’t been here a week ago with an equal amount of pieces being built on site, getting brought in or, only acting as temporary housing for the crew being brought on to Ms.Bordeaux’s motley group. Despite the cacophony of noise John couldn’t tune into any one conversation only snippets like…

“…pod ready?”

“…real, contemporary Captain…”

“…any backups?”

In what felt like a blink of an eye, John was being helped out of his chair and into what looked like a copper coffin with a porthole. If he had to describe it more thoroughly, he’d say it looked like an old-timey diving bell but even if he did decide to share his thought with the class, John knew it would come out slurred and unintelligible. No, he’d keep his mouth shut and save some of his remaining dignity as nurses and doctors strapped him into the device that would supposedly help him walk again.

“Listen John” one of the doctors said, snapping their fingers in front of his face to draw his scattered attention “we’re putting you under. You might find yourself lucid dreaming. If you do, stay calm; too much panicking while you’re under might make you hurt yourself. Just count sheep till you wake up.”

John gave (what he thought was) a nod towards the doctor as everyone finally stepped away from him, closing the coffin’s lid on him. The porthole let ample light in but that did little to alleviate the growing fear. On the battlefield you at least had autonomy, control over yourself when faced with a threat but here drugged up, missing a leg and locked away; John felt terrified. This wasn’t helped any as his vision began to fade as gas was pumped in. He kept his composure, only just barely, until sleep finally took him…
WELCOME
…And then he was awake, or more precisely, conscious. He found himself in a void; not an overwhelming, all consuming blackness but just a lacking of anything worthy of note aside from John and the ground beneath him. The doctor’s word rang vividly through his mind and therefore around him in this place between consciousness. John sat himself down and began counting fluffy white sheep which seemed to now already be there, hopping an impossibly long fence. Sheep after sheep went by and pretty soon John found himself in the triple digits, beginning to get concerned.
TOO MUCH CLUTTER
”Should I be out this long? How long have I actually been out? Always feels like’a lifetime after you wake up but this still seems like too much.” John thought to himself, his thoughts being projected onto the landscape before him once more as growing unease crept in. Feeling himself slipping, he got back to his task at hand and began counting white fluffy shee-
ALL BETTER. HELLO
The sheep were gone save for one, black ram locking eyes with John as he gnawed away at a patch of grass, sprouted from just under the fence. John hadn’t tried imagining this one. It had just been there when it shouldn’t have. What made him switch pallets? How was he supposed to count just the one ram? And why couldn’t he stop thinking about it? None of these thoughts rang out around John, like he’d been cut off from whatever stream of consciousness that let him interact here. Instead he was now at the mercy of his own subconscious and this one sheep.
SEE YOU AGAIN SOON
”Baaaaa……aaand we’re done!”

John blinked the sleep away as the muffled voice of the doctor brought him back to the waking world. Immediately John felt off. He felt pumped, like he’d just finished a work out sans any tiredness and his legs felt like they were aslee-

Legs?

Even in the dim confines of the tube, John could just make out the shape of two legs underneath him, a view he would get a much better look at a moment later as the coffin popped open and light illuminated his wiggling toes and very pink, very much intact right leg. Stunned into silence, John couldn’t peel his eyes off his newly restored form until a familiar snapping brought his gaze back up to the doctor.

“I know you’re amazed and all, it’s a miracle after all, but boss lady wants you suited up and outta here. We’ve got some questionably credible intel about a…” the doctor pulled up a message on her phone “…quote, tall furry figure harassing hikers near the Canada-USA border end-quote.”

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed interactions and stories.

[Mintz]

~Squirrel Girl, Squirrel Girl! She's a human and also a squirrel! Can she climb up a tree? Yes, she can, easily!~

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

S Q U I R R E L G I R L

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^{"Surprise! I like talking to squirrels!"}

^{_{D O R E E N G R E E N ♦ P E N D I N G ♦ M A N H A T T A N , N E W Y O R K}}

O R I G I N S:

---

In a world full of caped crusaders just stepping out into the light, it's nice to have fledglings even among the fledglings, and that's where the "Unbeatable" Squirrel Girl squirrels her way in. While I'll be playing her a bit more straight than her proper iteration (not so unbeatable, and not so...Occasionally meta), it's still the Squirrel Girl we all know and love. A goofy, fun-loving gal who doesn't entirely take things seriously, but always has her heart in the right place. Her backstory will be kept mostly the same as well, with her origins as a mystery mutate (though I might tackle this more later) that never really grew up with problems involving her gift, with just two big differences. Firstly is that she starts her heroics much later in her lifetime, and more importantly, we're picking up with her as a high schooler; junior year. For absolutely not spider-related reasons.

Of course, beyond the intent of having her bounce off other heroes who are more veteran and professional, I also plan to show off just how much of a goof she can really be, especially this new into the superhero-ing stuff. She's fresh off the proverbial presses and fumbling around like a blind chipmunk, but that means we'll see her slowly develop into a truly Unbeatable Squirrel Girl.

....Slowly.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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"Doreen, how have you not had your secret identity busted?"

"Easy! Because Squirrel Girl has a tail and I don't. I just have a conspicuously big and awesome butt."

It was another day for Doreen Green. She was getting ready to go to school; another day of learning, like any other. After it, maybe she'd go and pick up some more nuts from a corner store. Probably spend some time in Central Park feeding the squirrels. Or, well...That's how she used to spend her time outside of school. Getting dressed, she couldn't help but side-eye her costume hanging ever-so-conspicuously in her closet. That fur-lined bomber jacket, complete with a utility belt...That was full of nuts. Her mom actually made it for her; she couldn't have hid this side of her even if she had wanted to. Her parents had been well aware of what she was since the beginning, given that she came out as a baby with a bushy little squirrel tail. They'd protected her their whole lives, helping to keep her gift safe. She couldn't help but smile thinking about it. It was a nice change of pace for her to protect someone instead. They were super supportive of her, too...Which, well, was pretty obvious when her own mom made a superhero outfit.

"Still, couldn't you wear...A helmet? Domino mask? Something?"

The one questioning Ms. Green was none other than a squirrel themselves, with fine silvery hair and a pretty bow tied around their neck. To anyone else, it was mindless chittering, but for Doreen, it was perfectly legible...If not a little antagonistic. Doreen pouted into the mirror as she stuffed herself into a set of pants, squeezing her massive tail to form her aforementioned 'conspicuously awesome butt'. "Tippy-Toe, it'll be fine! Even if Doreen Green and Squirrel Girl look the same, the tail's the giveaway. No one'd ever guess it was me!" She was confident in her rather poor disguise, though admittedly, she'd been given at least a bit of a reason to think so. It'd held together this long. Plus... "Aaand there's the headband, too! But no one knows it's a headband; all the news and stuff thinks I actually have squirrel ears, which would be awesome," She says, as if to assuage her dear squirrelfriend that the lack of such a feature wasn't something she was pleased about. "but it makes it even more foolproof! What's Doreen Green not have? Squirrel tail, squirrel ears. Simple as that!"

Tippy-Toe seemed wholly unconvinced, but had given up on trying to convince the persistently optimistic young girl. "Alright, if you say so. But I will say I told you so when someone finds out." "Pfft!" Doreen couldn't help the noise that escaped her mouth. "You won't need to! It's foolproof. No tail, no ears, no Squirrel Girl. Though honestly, if anyone paid any real attention, the teeth'd be the giveaway..." She inspected her mouth in the mirrors, dragging it open to a near comically-large extent, showing off her rather incisor-like two front teeth. They even worked like the real deals, too, always growing and growing...It was a lot easier when they used to be able to shorten themselves on wood, but nowadays, her teeth were even punching through steel. Maybe if they got a wheelsaw or something...?

Her impromptu molar inspection was cut short by a pinging noise at her bedside, to which her tail casually slipped its way free from the confines of her pants and scooped up her cellphone. Almost immediately, her rodent friend called it out. "Doreen. Tail." Doreen blinked a few times before she realized what limb had exactly gotten her cell, and she sheepishly scratched the back of her head. "Oh. Oops! Lemme just, uh..." It was another herculean feat from her to shove the rambunctious third arm of hers back into her bottom, but once it was done, she was free to check what the sound had been about. It was a message from Nancy Whitehead. They'd only met recently in her Computer Science classes, but they'd hit it off pretty well, she'd thought. Definitely considered her a friend. Smiling, she opened the text to something that instantly caused her to take a sharp breath through her teeth.

"Are you Squirrel Girl?"

Tippy-Toe, seeing the shell-shocked expression that hit Doreen's face, hopped onto her shoulders to get a better view, and didn't hesitate to speak her mind. "Told you so."

"....Aw, nuts."

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed interactions and stories.

[mickilennial]

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

---

^{"I still have doubts why I persist in this twisted shell. I just know the moon wills me to be so, and so will I for perpetuity."}

^{_{M A R C S P E C T O R ♦ V I G I L A N T E ♦ N E W Y O R K C I T Y}}

O R I G I N S:

---

The story of Marc Spector is a simple one.

Idiot kid endeavors to become something more than himself and joins the greatest institution for world peace, or so he was told. In the military arm of the United States he becomes a weapon for his country but loses his soul along the way and it ends up with him being shot in the back in the middle of the desert by someone he thought he trusted. An ancient entity that resembles the moon god of Khonsu resurrects him and molds his mind into a weapon of vengeance and a prophet of order. It splinters his brain into five million pieces. He survives the desert, but when he comes home to New York City things are not quite the same.

With his new responsibilities and a brain that is tooling between madness and virtue he does the only thing he has ever know how to do: fight for those who cannot.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

New York City.

It is a cancer, an irreversible rot of corruption, decay, and hopelessness. It’s also a beacon of hope, industry, and progress. It is like the crescent moon, both bright and swallowed in the coldness of the dusk. It is my home. It is my domain.

“You’ve been drinking too much again.”

Marlene’s voice is stern. Annoyed. She signed up for crazy, but not for stupid.

I can’t help but think she’s right, but for me it all helps. Khonshu has damned me with bleak, indiscerptible visions that point toward what must be done. Downing a few bottles of vodka is peace of mind.

“Can’t be helped. Makes the visions clearer.”

“Better or easier?”

“Yeah.”

A quick conciliation. Alcohol doesn’t make the visions easier to understand, it makes them easier to cope with. My brain is already twisted and broken, there’s nothing the alcohol will do that’s worse than cosmic magic or processing the tongue of a being that’s beyond human comprehension and wills.

“I will try.”

“To?”

“Go easier with it.”

She sighs before clasping the two bottles in front of her and tossing them in the bin next to her. “Marc… you’ve got to keep a clear head or you’ll make a mistake and–”

“Khonshu might not bail me out again. I know.”

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed interactions and stories.

[AndyC]

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

G H O S T R I D E R

---

^{"Time fer you to bite the ground."}

^{_{Jonah Hex ♦ Bounty Hunter from Hell ♦ Chihuahuan Desert, USA / Mexico}}

O R I G I N S:

---

There's a popular ghost story that makes the rounds in the stretches of desert between Fort Worth and Phoenix, as far north as Santa Fe and as far south as Durango. The story's about an old gunfighter by the name of Jonah, a man so ugly that the half of his face that was burned off by the Apaches was considered his 'pretty' side. A man so ornery that even cultists and child-killers called him a monster. A man that some folks say sold his soul to the Devil himself so his guns would never miss. The truth is, Jonah Hex's soul belonged to the Devil from the day he came into this world.

Born to a mother who died giving birth, raised by a drunken bastard with a black heart, sold to the Apaches for whiskey and used as a slave, then riding as a butchering marauder for the Confederates, Jonah's life was one that only knew suffering and sin, taking his share of hurt and learning how to deal some in return. It wasn't until his officers ordered him to burn a church filled with unarmed townsfolk that he'd felt any kind of shame or remorse for what he'd done, and Hex deserted in the wake of the massacre. He prayed for any kind of redemption, anything to clean the stains from his soul, and while Jonah never got his answer from on high, he got one from down below....

The stories say Jonah Hex made a deal with the Devil (or someone on the Devil's dime), to find souls in the world more wretched than his own and drag them down to Hell in order to pay off his debts and earn his salvation. They say he became the Ghost Rider, a spirit of vengeance, a bounty hunter of the damned, doomed forever to ride the length and breadth of the desert to burn away the wicked. And some folks say that for near on 160 years, a string of killings along the Rio Grande have all had a few interesting features in common: a smell of sulfur in the air, bullet holes without bullets, and tracks that look like horseshoes burned into the ground. Some say the wayward soul of Jonah Hex still rides across the West, carrying out his fool's errand, trying to kill his way to Heaven....

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

Stiletta's Bar
Outskirts of Truth or Consequences, New Mexico

"Get the fuck outta here, ugly," the bartender scowled at the stranger in a long black coat and wide hat who stepped through the front door, drawing the eyes of some twenty or so men. "This here establishment's private property."

The air stank of cigarette smoke and cheap liquor, and buzzy, blown-out speakers blared noise that some people called rock music. On a stage toward the back wall, a young lady wearing next to nothing listlessly gyrated, going through the opening acts of a degrading routine she had done a hundred times before.

Stiletta's was a dive bar of the worst kind, once a so-called gentleman's club where lonely and frustrated men could spend a few dollars to have some pretty young thing show some skin and make them forget about their problems for a while. When business began drying up, a crowd of even more unsavory souls had moved into town and claimed Stiletta's as their own.

They called themselves the Road Reapers, a gang of bikers who controlled the stretch of interstate between Albuquerque and El Paso. They were a small outfit compared to most clubs, but the Reapers were known for being especially vicious, using their connections with the southern cartels to run drugs, guns, and people across the border. They had a number of hangouts along their route, and Stiletta's had become a favorite.

"Just here fer a drink," the man said, looking up from under the brim of his wide-brimmed hat, giving the bartender a view of how truly hideous his face was, "An' fer a fella by the name a' Falcon Fleischer."

The two dozen bikers inside stared cold death at the stranger. A few even drew their guns on him. He looked back and forth, one good eye in a half-squint, the other lidless one staring wildly.

"Best not do anythin' stupid, boys," he warned them as he approached the bar, several of the bikers moving in behind him like predators circling their prey. "Ah ain't here fer any a' you...not yet, leastaways. Ah'm only here to see this Falcon fella."

"Right here, ugly," called out a man from the pool table in the far corner. The old man was powerfully built, his skin nut-brown and weathered from exposure to the sun and the open road, and covered in tattoos depicting salacious acts and blasphemous symbols. His long white beard was the only hair on his otherwise clean-shaven head, his eyes covered by a paid of mirrored sunglasses. Over his bare chest and back he wore a leather vest, on the shoulders of which he'd sewn in patches that looked like the talons of a bird of prey-- a falcon, the stranger reckoned. "Whatever it is you've got to say, you've got about ten seconds to say it 'fore my boys blow your fuckin' head off."

"Jess had one question fer ya 'fore you do that," he said, glancing to the dancer on the stage. As he turned, his long black duster shifted, showing the pistol on his hip. "That little thing up there...she even old enough to be dancin' like that?"

*BLAM!*

One of the Reapers had approached the stranger from behind, gun drawn, and fired point-blank. The bikers expected a spray of blood, bone, and brain matter, then they'd cut the man up and feed his remains to the dogs. Wouldn't have been the first person to walk into Stiletta's and not come out.

Instead, when the man's head cracked open, flames spewed out. The bar began to smell heavy with the stench of brimstone, as from the center of the blaze, the stranger's skull spoke.

"That's what I thought," the stranger said as his pistols came up.

The music swelled, and Stiletta's bar filled with screams.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

Coming soon.

[Roman]

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

S . T . A . K . E .

---

^{"Just when you think the world's getting boring again...something new happens."}

^{_{J A S P E R S I T W E L L ♦ S H I E L D I N T E R R O G A T O R ♦ N E W Y O R K}}

O R I G I N S:

---

The Sitwell's have generational history of service in the name of the United States of America; but you won't find them decorated in the annals of history, their names carved into memorial plaques, or even remembered at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. In his day, Jasper's grandfather - Jason Sitwell - was instrumental in the suppression of the mutant pandemic, working under the banner of a clandestine branch of the U.S. Government known as the Supreme Headquarters, International Espionage and Law-Enforcement Division. In Jasper's time, the organization has evolved, and so has its name, the branch referred to now as the Strategic Hazard Intervention Espionage Logistics Directorate.

Either way, the Sitwell's have always, and likely will always, work for SHIELD, and their family's legacy is a colorful story of dubious service in the name of the greater good of the nation.

But you'll never hear about that.

Just like you won't hear about what Jasper's going to start working on next.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

"Mornin' Sitwell."

Jasper lifted his sleep-heavy head and turned away from the droning buzz of the coffee machine to look at his colleague. The face was briefly familiar but he couldn't for the life of him place a name. How many people had he seen come through over the years? Between his father's and his own tenure, the numbers must have ranged in the thousands.

"Good morning, agent." He eventually replied, using a professional posture and brusque, authoritative tone to cover the fact that he had no idea who he was talking to. The coffee machine stopped buzzing and Jasper lifted the mug to his lips, taking a deep sniff of the steaming coffee before sipping gingerly. It burnt his tongue, but it tasted good, and held the promise of making him feel a bit more awake by the time he drained the cup.

"Much on your plate today?" The mystery agent asked as Jasper shuffled over and allowed him access to the coffee. Jasper sipped more from his mug, thinking on the stack of manila folders he'd walked away from yesterday, and was imminently about to walk into.

"The usual." He replied, to which the agent gave a solemn nod. ‘Sitwell’ was a familiar name to many in the organisation, and while Jasper’s official role was as one of their leading interrogation agents, in truth he was something of a general dog’s body; he had the breadth of knowledge to assist on nearly any assignment, and the network to navigate himself only to the ones he found interesting.

He’d been navigating himself less and less recently. SHIELD had become, for lack of a better word, boring.

“Well, have a good day.” Jasper said, after a lengthy pause between the two that had long become awkward. He retreated from the canteen back towards his office, wishing the front walls were made of something considerably more opaque than the partially-frosted glass that was currently in place. He’d already finished his coffee by the time he sat down, and wondered how many folders he’d peruse before boredom bid him to fetch a refill.

Not that many, as it would turn out.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

Issue #1.01
Issue #1.02
Issue #1.03
Issue #1.04
Issue #1.05

[Pirouette]

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

S I L K

---

^{"Silk, as in a spider's silk? _{Please don't call me Spider-Woman...}"}

^{_{C I N D Y M O O N ♦ S T U D E N T ♦ C H I N A T O W N , N E W Y O R K}}

O R I G I N S:

---

"Remember that spider that ate a genetically modified silkworm that went on to bite Peter Parker? Yeah, I got bit by the same one. It is the same but different, I swear..."
So cleared with Hound55, but I will play Cindy Moon without the weird bunker and later, pheromone thing. She'll be starting in roughly the same place as Peter but there will be differences and that will be the fun part of the challenge. How can I make her story different? To start with, Cindy has a stable upbringing. She lives with her biological parents, Albert and Nari Moon. She has a younger brother, Albert Jr. The goal is that she lacks the initial push that Peter has to be selfless because she has more to lose.

And in true Spider-Man trauma fashion, she will lose.

There will be a catalyst to make her realize that she could have prevented a tragedy. That, indeed, with great power comes great responsibility is worth living by. Peter should be happy, he won't have to go long looking after New York City all alone!

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

Cindy threw her head down. The dull thud of her forehead's impact was louder than she had intended, but her opened AP Chemistry book was not one to offer much cushion. "Ow." She muttered with a monotone sarcasm. Her head was in pain but not from smashing her forehead into her book, but the four hours of consecutive study she's been on. Maybe she had another hour, but she could feel her mind rotting away where practice problems seem to take five minutes for the first attempt, ten minutes to figure out what she did wrong. At this rate her hour would be stretched out to two or three.

She needed a break.

Scrapping her head off of her book, she leaned back into her chair and tossed her pencil aside. She didn't care where it went, only that it vanished from her sight. Turning to glance at the clock above her desk, it was a quarter past ten. Her parents were probably asleep or just about to drift off. Her mother had been relentless following her recovery from last week's illness. A bite to the ankle as she watched them take Peter Parker away on stretcher. The rest of the class left immediately after, but Cindy hardly remembered a thing, drifting in and out of a feverish sleep. She went home sick as soon as she could but that evening, she was fine. Well mostly fine because in her mother's mind, missing school was a sickness all on its own. As if the half day she missed would result in precious knowledge lost.

Whatever.

Her mother would normally play sentry, trapping Cindy in her room until it became too late to do anything. Thankfully, this was New York City. She cocked a scheming grin as she slipped quietly up to her feet and checked her door. It was locked. Tiptoeing back over to the closet, she grabbed a pair of sicks and her trainers. She spared a glance over to the balled up silk she still had in there. She’d have to find a way to get rid of that at some point before her mother found it. Doubt, she’d take the explanation of ‘Oh, I just produce silk from my fingers ever since I got sick last week.’. She still wasn’t sure how she did it, only that if she messed with her fingers too much she’d produce silk. Another day’s problem, for sure, because she just wanted to breathe that Friday night air.

Cindy grew excited as she fitted into her shoes and grabbed whatever allowance she had, stuffing it into her pocket before heading to her window. She opened it letting the sounds of New York’s nightlife flood in, the smells both rank and savory of the chinatown restaurants out on the street.. All inviting her out.

Leaning out, she glanced down at the four story drop that separated her from the alley below. Cindy bit her lip and tried to muster up the courage again. This was still rather new, but to the eldest child of a strict household, this was a godsend.

Turning around, she climbed slowly out of her window, her shoes sliding and failing to grip the masoned brick, dropping to instead hang from her hands that gripped the windowsill. Before that bite, she couldn’t even do double digits worth of push-ups but now, she casually hung with one arm as the other reached down and planted its five fingers into the brick. Her other hand released and she hung there by the mere five fingers as she lowered her other hand.

Down she climbed, making quick work of the four story climb. Cindy pushed off the wall for the last ten feet and landed gently on her feet, turning to glance up at the brickface she just effortlessly scaled.

A face was in the window next to hers. Her brother. Albert hastened to open the window causing Cindy to sigh as she threw her head back. She knew what he was going to ask.

“Can I come with?” Albert hollered causing Cindy to duck her head and wave her hands.

“Shut up! Do you want to get me in trouble?” She hastened in response, trying to keep her volume loud enough to call back.

“Oh, sorry.” He lowered his voice and climbed out of their living room window onto the fire escape. He closed the window and turned back. “You said last time you’d let me come with you.” Albert bashfully muttered at a lower volume. He had caught her earlier this week, sneaking out. He wanted to tag along since, a small cost to him keeping her sneaking out a secret, but right now she didn’t want to babysit her younger brother. She wanted to be free from it all for just a few hours.

“Tomorrow, Junior. I’ll help you get down from the fire escape and we can go out.” She waved an arm, shooing him back inside. “Now go back inside and cover for me. I’ll get you mochi or something tonight. Okay?”

“Boba tea. Pick a flavor I like, not one you always get.” He seemed placated, smiling. He was only two years younger, but still, she wasn’t about to let him slow her down tonight.

“Fine, fine.” She didn’t want to waste time. She still had an hour of studying left tonight but she could enjoy a few hours wandering the city and spend whatever money she had. Hurrying out of the alley, she ran off to let her stomach carry her to her first stop… whatever smelled best!

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed interactions and stories.

[Sep]

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

S T E V E R O G E R S

---

^{"I've knocked out Adolf Hitler over 200 times, but I should have aimed for Stalin."}

^{_{S T E V E R O G E R S ♦ P R I S O N E R O F W A R ♦ U N K N O W N}}

O R I G I N S:

---

Steve was a sickly child, had he been livestock he would have been considered a runt. Despite his small stature, growing up in Brooklyn the values that his parents instilled in him always had him trying to stand up to the bullies, which often resulted in him being beaten up. His best friend, Bucky Barnes, always saved him at the last minute.

This tradition continued into adulthood, until the outbreak of the Second World War... but you know this story. Ineligible, Bucky is in the army. Eventually, he gets chosen by Erskine becoming a Super Soldier and later Captain America.

The Justice Society of America were the propaganda piece, the Invaders were the boots on the ground. The Howling Commandos got the real work done, even members of their forces saw them to be little but myth. The war in Europe was winding down by 1945. As Captain America faced the Red Skull aboard his flying fortress, he was forced to bring the plane to the ground to prevent annihilation and a very different world. The Americans and their allies rallied to find the craft, but they never did. The Russians got there first and stripped the plane for all that it had, including the incapacitated Steve Rogers.

Ever since Steve has been living in a Russian Prison. The Super Soldier serum slowed his aging, and he was routinely beaten. Tortured, and experimented on. The Russians using him to fuel their Red Guardian project. A super serum that, less effective as Erskines but still potent nonetheless.

He has long since given hope of rescue.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

You would have to be completely ignorant not to pick up a foreign language after nearly eighty years of hearing it spoken. No, Steve Rogers didn't understand it enough to translate directly to english but when he heard boots approaching outside his cell he sighed as he sat himself up on his bed, swinging his legs down over the side. Rolling up the sleeves of his prison jumpsuit, wrists up. He knew the drill, looking over at the wall and all the various tally marks he had made over the years.

He had started it as a way to give himself hope, it soon became a way to track the time. Nowadays he just did it because that was something he did every morning. That was the routine. When you had nothing else to do, routine was all you had. The testing was part of the routine. There was a clunk as the cell door was unlocked. The Doctor entered the room. His accent heavy. "Captain Rogers. Organised as ever."

"Well, you're always on time." The man's hands were cold as he grabbed onto his wrist, tapping it rhythmically. Twice, in the same spot. There was a strange, comfort, in the routine. That was likely the point of it, the repetition. He hadn't attempted escape in over a decade now. That didn't mean he hadn't considered it, just the failed attempts had only made their defences stronger. Their responses quicker, their men better trained. Steve hadn't seen a crack in the armour in a long time. It would come, even the smallest stream could bore through a mountain given time.

The Doctor handed the vials of Steves blood to a nurse who placed them in a cooled suitcase before leaving the room. As she left the cell he could see the guards waiting outside. There only used to be one, that was the first lesson they had learned. To have as many guards in Steves proximity as possible at any one time, especially when doors were open. "Krylenko has taken to the serum well. His physical attributes-" The Doctor whistled to himself.

"-he is the most impressive yet."

"I'd be willing to help him practice." Steve kept his tone flat, and neutral.

The Doctor paused at the door, looking back at Steve with a soft smile on his face.

"That would be very informative, yes. Thankyou Captain." As the Doctor walked out the room there was a clunk as the door was locked behind him.

Steve just smiled, there it was. A crack.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

Prison Term:
Issue #1: Chow time
Issue #2: Gym time
Issue #3: Nose job
Issue #4: Free Falling

[Theyra]

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

DEATHSTROKE

---

^{"Do not mess with my family"}

^{_{SLADE JOSEPH WILSON ♦ MERCENARY/BOUNTY HUNTER ♦ UNITED STATES OF AMERICA}}

O R I G I N S:

---

Slade Wilson had a rough life growing up, abused by his father and abandoned by his mother. Slade, rather than endure this abuse any longer and having worked up the courage, he would run away from home and never look back. He would eventually end up in the care of an old couple who took him in after they discovered him near their home. There, rather than abuse him, they would treat him like their own child and would raise him well, and Slade vowed never to like his father. When he came of age, Slade decided to join the military.

Slade did very well in the army, proving to be a capable soldier, and would meet others and befriend other soldiers and even marry a fellow soldier, Adeline Kane. They would later have a son together named Grant. Slade would later be assigned to a covert team named Team 7, where they would first take the name Deathstroke from himself. However, the team would fail and be later disbanded after a mission gone wrong. Later, Slade would volunteer for an experimental procedure that the US hoped would make a supersoldier. Only he survived, and he would, after recovery, test his newfound limits and deal with criminals. When he was arrested a month later, Adeline gave him an ultimatum, continue this new behavior or his family, and Slade would choose his family. However, when he was approached by a member of his old team, William Walsh came to him about a job dealing with a scientist who if allowed to testify to Congress about the supersoldier experiment. It would place his family in the crosshairs, and he would be offered a million dollars for the job. He accepted and lied to Adeline about the true nature of his leaving. Slade would be given what would be his signature suit.

The job would succeed, and when Slade returned home, a suspicious Adeline questioned him about where he was. Which grew into an argument, and he would give in and tell Adeline the truth. This truth ended their marriage, which devastated Slade. This was made worse when he found out that William lied to him and that he and his family would have been fine despite the scientist's testimony. Now filled with guilt and remorse over his actions. Slade, after a long time of thinking, decided on a new path for himself. While he would support himself as a bounty hunter and mercenary. However, he would be selective and only choose jobs that aligned with his morals. Slade is committed to getting revenge on William and finding out who he was really working for. As Slade would discover, finding William and who he really works for is just the beginning.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

It has been a long day for Slade as he entered to his hideout, one of several. It was a dark and rainy night, and Slade could hear the rain fall on the old roof of his hideout. An old abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city, which Slade made sure was safe enough for him to operate from and out of view.

Another bounty, another job done. He thought to himself as he walked over to bed and sat down on it. Even if this bounty was a piece of trash and seemed like an easy jig. This bounty, Micheal Cole, was more of a problem than he thought. But, at the end of the day, Michael is behind bars, and he gets his payday. Still, at least now he can rest a bit and relax after a hard day's work.

As Slade slowly took off his armor and weapons, starting with his helmet. When his hand reached for his belt, Slade, for a moment, as if by instinct, reached for the hidden compartment in his armor and took out the photo of him with his family. At that moment, everything seemed to slow, and small tears started to form on his face. He messed up, that is clear, and he trusted the wrong person, and now the thing he cared for the most hates him. Slade's saddened voice spoke that single name, "Adeline," and then another, "Grant." Though he felt like crying, he knew he should not right now and calmed himself. However, his feelings remain the same. Slade does not know if he can reconcile with Adeline and be a family again, but that is something he will think about once he is done with William.

Anger slowly replaced sadness as Slade thought of that name. The man he thought he would trust ended up lying to him, and it cost him his family. Slade is not one to kill civilians or innocents, and he did so on a lie. He put the photo back in its hidden compartment and put his gear away. However, he kept his pistol and knife on his. Now in his civilian clothes, Slade walked over to his desk and accessed it in short order. Checking his bank account, and now, with his new funds, it is time to continue his mission. Find William Walsh and find out who he works for, and get revenge.

As Slade started his research, his encrypted phone rang, and it was someone he could trust. Someone who was also tricked by Walsh. Slade answered in a calm tone, "What is it, Wintergreen?"

Hearing that familiar British accent, "Slade, I have good news. I got a lead on Walsh."

Slade smiled in a way he had not done in a long time, "Wintergreen, tell me everything."

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

Hunt for Walsh:
Issue 1: The Port
Issue 2: New York City

[Bounce]

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

G A R T H

T H E S U B - M A R I N E R

---

---

"I won't stand here and do nothing!"

---

^{_{GARTH OF SHAYERIS ♦ PRINCE OF IDYLLS ♦ ATLANTIC OCEAN}}

O R I G I N S:

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The son of King Thar of Shayeris and Queen Berra of Crastinus, Garth represents the new hope that is the United Kingdom of Shayeris and Crastinus, one of the twelve undersea kingdoms that comprise Poseidonis. Under the tutelage of the High Mage, Vulko, Garth is coming of age in a realm of magic that stands in firm opposition to Venturia’s warmongering. This has thrust the boy into the midst of undersea politics he doesn’t yet understand, as his uncle, Slizzath, conspires to bring about events that will propel him to power at great cost to life both above and below the surface.

As the United States prepares to sink the aircraft carrier USS Trafalgar with the stated goal of creating an artificial reef, events are set into motion that will upend Garth’s royal life and ask the question of whether one boy alone can stop the tide of war with the surface.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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Sample Post

THE UNITED KINGDOM OF SHAYERIS & CRASTINUS
The Hamlet of Thierna na Oge

There was so much blood in the water.

At first, he’d thought that it was just sediment. The visibility around the tremendous impact sending hundreds of pounds up from the ocean floor to create a veritable fog in which the boy could no longer see the hand in front of his face.

It was a quick and sobering realization that debris was not the only thing floating around him. Luckily, the cold waters around him stole away his tears as quickly as they sprang.

Taking a deep breath, the youth steeled himself. Even without his sight, the boy’s sense of location could pick out each of the guards around him in turn. “What are you standing around me for?”

From the murky blackness the thoughts of the man-at-arms was quick to answer, “Your Highness, it isn’t safe!”

“Yes, and our people need your protection,”the boy charged

He could feel the guards checking in with one another. After an awkward silence, a voice finally offered, “I’ll stay with the prince.”

The boy gave a sigh of relief, releasing a breath he’d held in anticipation of being dragged back to Shayeris and thrown into a room. To wait around with tutors while others did the work that needed to be done.

Or worse, catered to him when that attention was needed elsewhere.

“With me,” the boy said, not wanting to yield for even a second when it seemed the hand had loosened on the reigns that sought to tether him to a throne that was not yet his.

N O T E S:

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• Tha-Korr is King of Atlantis, but I will make no references to Fen or Atlanna, so the royal family of Atlantis is free to be interpreted by anyone who may wish to pick up Arthur/Orin or Namor. Similarly, I will make no reference to Tom Curry, Amnesty Bay, Nereus, Mera, or Xebel.
• I have no plans to introduce Black Manta, so if anyone wants to use him and/or introduce a version of Khaldur'am/Jackson Hyde, they're free to do so.
• Planned Rogue Gallery is Slizzath and Attuma for the undersea side of the plot, and Dr. Dorcas and the Scavenger for the surface side of the plot. Future plots may also use Suma-Ket, the Dead King, and the Unforgiven Dead.
• Surface side plot involves Beachrock, Massachusetts.
• Support Cast: Deputy Wilson, McCaffey, Quisp (Silver Age version), Mar (Alpha Flight)
• "The Brine" people refers to Marvel's Plodex race in this merged undersea-verse.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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