Afro Samurai

California Love -- An L.A. 90's Crime RP

I would also like to join.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

happy born day youngin

Faux Skin

aight

Caravan: Resurrection

^{The Rise of Kul}

Smor’Gen’Blok

Za’Kul felt both a rush of adrenaline and then the terror of wonder. Safety, that was all he desired. Perhaps he would be seen as weak for it, but war was no way to live; the Lok’Sha had shown the world that when they had lost their own campaign against the other nations so many years ago--and they had lost it right in their home, right atop the mountain where their greatest achievement now stood in ruins. They could not bear another loss.

When Mai’Li and Kul’O came with the news, Za’Kul found his giddy killed. To his father he looked first, then to Ja’Kul; finally, he turned to Mai’Li and Kul’Lo.

“Wor do this?” how fickle a thing is optimism; clenched fists, Za’Kul stormed to where his battle axes were; he moved to grab them and then thought of the Wor he had just saved. Za’Kul had promised them things would be different with his tribe, that the Kul were nothing like the monger Wor… and now it came time to show them that the Kul were beasts of their word. He let his hands fall back to his sides.

“I will go to Low Jo. Bring message to Low Dahla, too--all Low tribe must meet. Cannot have war in Low Tunnels with Wor. Cannot have our home collapse.”

Heroes Reborn: Year Six (OPEN)

Concrete Lillies

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Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn
January 11, 2026
12:20 A.M.

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Rain in Brooklyn was seldom this time of year; gelid New York winter clasped the city. Snow hushed violent green grass and made the crush of shoe and boot into music, a music only a native could appreciate. The city was pulsating, melanoid sky be damned. On a bus stop sat Terrelle Pryor, 19. Black bubble goose jacket, fur hood pulled atop his head; a black skully rested atop his cranium. His hands were shaking inside his coat, the plated .357 was cold against his right thigh.

Pryor rubbed his hands together, attempts to bring warmth to his cupped hands as though it would suffice to heat the rest of his shivering body proved questionable as his presence on this bus stop in the middle of a city he barely knew. Nevermind it, he was supposed to wait until a black SUV picked him up. Headlights flashed twice and then pulled up to the bus stop. A door swung open; Terrell stood up and looked both ways before he was hurried to the car’s interior by the beckoning of a baritone voice,

“Hurry up, we ain’t got all gahtdamn day.”

Pryor stood, pulled up his sagging jeans, and got inside the vehicle after a skinny bald headed fellow exited the back left side so Pryor could get in. A low light emanated from the car’s interior lights and Pryor pulled the hood from his head, the only thing shielding his skull now was a black du-rag. Beside him sat one medium size man with rose colored aviators and a grey hoodie, a single gold tooth and a patchy beard were the most interesting things about his otherwise languid countenance. On Pryor’s opposite side sat a woman in a purple dress, hair kept up in long thick locs, she wore regular reading glasses. They looked to be prescription; a newspaper was unfolded and she was scanning its headline,

VIGILANTE SILENT, WHERE IS ‘THE TIGER’?

Pryor was still warming his hands frantically, the sound of skin and friction grated Lavelle Hammond’s ears. He pulled the rose aviator’s from his face and grabbed onto Pryor’s wrists,

“Boy if you don’t cut that shit out. I put on the AC for a reason!” Lavelle leaned forward and spoke to the woman who wore the purple dress,

“Cherry, baby, put down that damn paper! We got the mothafucka; his ass ain’ goin’ nowhere. We gon’ make sure dat. Well,” Lavelle’s eyes moved toward Pryor,

“You gon’ make sure of that, righ’? Big Lou tell me you the finest out of town help we can get and I payed ‘best-out-of-town-help’ money for your black ass, so he betta be good and right ‘bout it.” Hammond licked his gold tooth, a surly affirmation of his own gall and conceit. From the silence between the gross sloshing of Hammond’s tongue along his teeth, Cherry spoke up,

“Don’t ever call me ‘baby’ in front of the help again or I cut off your other finger, Lavelle.” Pryor’s eyes went wide; being licked with the flame of a tumultuous relationship was unsavory--being licked with the flame of a tumultuous metahuman relationship was deadly.

“Mr. Pryor,” Cherry began as the black SUV reached the abandoned steel mill on the other side of town in an inhuman amount of time, what felt like five minutes, “your friend Dupree tells us you are particularly skilled with dispatching gifted individuals.” for the first time, Pryor got to speak up,

“Yeah, yeah, som’ like it, fo’. Y’all tryn’ make me hit that Tiger nigga?” Pryor shook his head,

“‘Ono, fo’ be on heels. Ain’ really trynna turn pack.” a bit of a southern drawl, but the dialect was distinctly Midwestern. Cherry and Lavelle raised eyebrows in sync, both emitted a mocking laugh as they exited the vehicle; Cherry grabbed Pryor by the ear,

“Aye, fo’, fuh’y’doin’? AGH!” a snap of her fingers and the trio was inside the abandoned steel mill and inside of a dark room. It smelt of crimson and water. A man’s intensified breathing could be heard amongst the musk. A buzzing sound from a generator and then the whole room lit up. What Pryor saw before him was a man clinging to life, an assortment of needles breaching his body from the neck down; tubes lodged into his biceps and quads.

Marvin Hayes, reduced to a living science experiment. When the wounds would close, another injection of the anti-healing serum was given from each needle lodged into his skin, and an electrical shock to make sure each time he healed was slower than the last. Behind the trio that watched the dangling Hayes was a giant monitor which kept track of his vitals and gave a true percentage as to how fast he was currently healing. A small red bar teetered from one end of the color-coded chart all the way to the other side where a giant ALERT sounded loud to indicate that the patient was near death before it quickly bounced back to the other side to indicate that he was fine.

“Our problem, Mr. Pryor, is that our serum proves ineffective; the samples CADMUS sent are… missing something. You, Mr. Pryor, have just what we need to finish what CADMUS started.” Cherry gave a subtle grin, the dark lip gloss gleaned against the light and almost matched the ebony of her skin.

“You simply need to kill him.” it was more than that; Terrelle Pryor was walking venom, his blood corrosive to the touch, black and thick.

Hayes body was lowered on the fly machine until his bare feet touched the floor. The mechanical arms which held the some one hundred pins inside of Hayes yanked each one out of him at the same time, and as violent as possible. Hayes let out a curdling howl,

”GRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!” he had jolted to life; but in his writing, a current of electricity shocked him once more; one could smell the hair frying atop his head and in other more private parts of his person. Marvin’s head hung down, blood soaked the floor around him in near an instant; his vigilante’s suit had holes peppered across it, some twenty wounds open at once and Marvin was bleeding out profusely. And then, just as before, they would heal.

Hayes heart was beating fast; blurred eyes viewed three images in front of him. He could not tell who these people were, but he knew there were some hundred more of them in this place, conducting the same experiments on others of his ilk in the same fashion. Reinforced walls muffled the other some hundred screams from the metahumans hung, caged, and being experimented on in the expansive steel mill. All CADMUS approved.

And Hayes would free them all as he had planned… Pryor stepped up to Hayes; the .357 drawn from his jeans and pressed to Marvin’s head,

...If he didn’t die first.

DC Unlimited 2.0 (Titans / JLU / Open World RP)

Robotman

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From beneath the helmet, Fate saw Kobra’s cultists. The supreme sorcerer levitated and let his hands float to his side. Golden energies spawned from both of the similarly colored gloves. The helmeted hero pointed his glowing hands toward some of the cultists and spoke...

”’Ant falaleub bima la taerifuh.”

If successful, the cultists would find themselves frozen in place, a large Ankh forcing them still where they stood--nor could they speak. For the three or four snake soldiers in front of him, the spell worked flawlessly. However there was still much more going on around the outskirts of the city. Most of the civilians had fled the scene , with less than a half dozen still in cars or hiding around the outside areas of Slumville. Fate could feel it… the perverted supernatural energies of a man-made Lazarus Pit in the surrounding woodland areas. As some of the heroes focused on getting the rest of the civilians out of harm’s way, Knight had taken the fight straight to what appeared to be the leader. When another orange clad general in the Cult showed up baring fangs, it was proven not to be the case.

Robotman went into the fray a little slower than some of the others, but he had just as much fight in him. The other man of steel (and screws) couldn’t fly, or shoot bolts of energy, but he could beat up minions all day. Out of the corner of one of his robotic eyes he finally saw the King. Bare chested, sporting a crimson hood and cape, he and several DNA spliced minions were unearthing a Lazarus Pit from a failed experiment years earlier.

“Knew I should’ve made sure that pit was dried up…” Cliff Steele thought to himself fighting towards the woods and the caped leader of this group.

There was approximately three generals now in the fight clad in orange, as well as another two dozen or so snake-men, a couple brutes that looked more like their DNA was spliced with dinosaurs… and the hooded King who was currently overseeing his minions taking samples from the pit.

“That stuff’s not gonna make that face any less ugly, Cobra Commander!” Robotman yelled still smashing his way through a couple more minions.

The King finally turned to acknowledge the hero…

“I hate GI Joe as much as I hate YOU, Cliff Steele! Serpent men, BRING ME THE ROBOT’S HEAD!!” he screamed still focusing on the Lazarus Pit samples.

Fate could feel the tug of the pits; another had come and muscled his way through the King Kobra’s small army and was quite bodacious with his entrance. A calm glance was issued Robotman’s way, Fate spoke to the rest of those present,

”The way is seen. We must destroy the Kobra’s Lazarus Pits.”
The mystic Ankh beneath those four gathered Cultist henchman exploded into a swathe of engulfing energy, the force sufficient to send the quadruplet flying backwards into some of their brethren. Fate lowered himself to the pavement below. King Kobra had truly brought an army with him, but there was no might in the land which supplanted Order.

Fate strode forward. A wild feeling unearthed inside the sorcerer as his eyes veered toward the Kobra and the ever growing platoon of generals who fought at his whim. Around the untrained and the unaware there was always a boundary to be manipulated, a vulnerability to the machinations of energies from beyond. It was like strings, waiting to be pulled--like clay waiting to be shaped. With the Kobra and his generals, there was nothing. A little deduction, there was a protection spell. Smart. To all who were not preoccupied or who could hear him over their personal engagements with the Kobra’s henchman, he spoke...

”Make your way to the generals. I will deal with his kindred.” Fate faced both palms toward the growing and encroaching hoard of Snake cultist minions and formed an Ankh construct which he then pushed forward with both hands. Its aim was to part the horde down the middle and make a path for his allies to pass through unharmed--at least for the next ten seconds until the Cultists recovered from their daze.

”Move! It will not hold.” Fate yelled out as several of the snake-men grunts switched tactics and began using clawed weapons.

Afro / Omega

Stretchers, Stethoscopes, and Scalpels: First Year

might as well

DC Unlimited 2.0 (Titans / JLU / Open World RP)

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The Strings of Fate

^{Part I}

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There was solace; breaths cut gelid and close. Nabu in his ear: guiding him, directing him. The room around him was quiet, he sat in its black; arms folded, he was levitating atop an ankh inscription. He was reaching, searching for the beacon that was the JL tower and more importantly, the souls within. They all appeared as wisps; then in one flash of even dimmer energy, he could see them disappear. There was another disturbance that the group was rushing to, but he could not make out what.

Saban was yet no master of the helm, and in moments such as these--where he knew combat was imminent--he let Nabu nudge him in the right direction. Fate opened his mind to Nabu’s hidden knowledge; he looked for the right spell, blue glyphs flashed before his mind and scrolled along. He found the right set; the ankh found harmony with the picture in his mind’s eye and its golden energies shone bright,

”Fini alahi theuma!” and then those energies encircled him. Where he found himself next was transversing a plane of red, beside him people and places and time all moved compressed, like one congruous and large mirror--each compressed together and linear, but disjointed all the same. He heard words, voices, cries of joy, cries for help, birth, death. And then, mere seconds later, he was there at the tower.

He appeared in a flurry of golden light, his body levitating while vertical, arms at his side. From beneath the helm he saw a ladder and some stragglers from the group who had mostly gone out. To them, he offered his first words as Dr. Fate,

”Forgive the delay. I am Dr. Fate, and today, fate is at your side.”

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

Literature. Time to read the great Gatsby. Again. Yay...

@Liseran Thistle

I know your pain all too well.

The Young Avengers: Probation

M I L E S M O R A L E S

L O S A N G E LE S

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^{? ??, Present Day | 9:30 A.M. | California}

A familiar voice hit his ears and he moved his head toward its origin. Sarah! It had been a while since he had seen her last; it was no surprise she would be here, though. It had been a while since he had seen her last; wait, she was here… which meant she was… nice. Now maybe he wouldn’t feel so out of place. No matter how one spun it, having the proportionate powers of a spider was not exactly entertaining at parties and, if Miles was honest, if everyone could see the web shooters when you were trying to do a sneaky magic trick then the illusion was busted.

Gross as it was, the mystery of whether the webs actually came out of his wrists or were mechanical was still something he liked to keep people guessing about. Wait, back on topic; Miles matched Sarah’s perk,

“Sarah! You’re here, too? Nevermind, doesn’t matter--we’re both Avengers? S w e e t.” he shuffled about a little, the strap of the dufflebag was rubbing the flesh of his neck in manners quite uncomfortable,

“I don’t know--do you think they’re ready for us? Actually, no, better question: are you ready?” it sounded good and ominous when he thought about it. When it came out of his mouth, maybe not so much. Miles was searching for his usual confidence--and in the breadth of this fresh adventure, he was dumb.

“--Cause… cause I’m sure ready. I think.” that A was so intimidating. Starstruck wasn’t the phrase to encapsulate what he felt at all; it was something more like numinous.