Alfhedil

{Casual - High Casual} Welcome to Salem, Massachusetts

@Themerlinhawk Still good to go, just be aware that with the weekend I won't be online as much.

{Casual - High Casual} Welcome to Salem, Massachusetts

@Themerlinhawk The DC RP that's been active lately, took forever to get my CS up for that one, but I think it's going well so far.

{Casual - High Casual} Welcome to Salem, Massachusetts

@Themerlinhawk I got faith, figured this would be a more long term RP which is why I thought it would be worth investing a little more into the CS. My other active RP I'm in is turning out quite well and active, so still got things to do while we wait on Hushed.

Heroes Reborn - A DCAU Roleplay (Always open!)

Hey, hope you've room for one more villain. One of a more supernatural sort, if not exactly a wizard himself.

@Zero Hex

What kind of supernatural are you thinking of? Thing to note is that Ramman of Akkad is a pseudo-lich and sorcerer :v

{Casual - High Casual} Welcome to Salem, Massachusetts

@Themerlinhawk Watching and waiting :v

Heroes Reborn - A DCAU Roleplay (Always open!)

I thought I could get in on hero shenanigans as well.

Powerhouse Street

Daughter von Lüneburg

"What kind of father sends his beloved daughter off to assassin camp?"

Superhero/villain Name: The Arrow
Civilian Name: Marianna von Lüneburg
Origin city/Planet: Metropolis, Earth
Hometown: Subject to change, currently the Duanchang hideout in China
Sex: Female
Race: Homo Magi
Height: 5'9"
Weight: *slap*
Age: 19
Birth Date: November 1st, 2001

---

Civilian Appearance:

Much like her father, keeping a public appearance of sophistication is of the utmost importance for the eldest Lüneburg daughter. To that end she is often seen at formal events with conservative dress, elegant jewlery and tasteful application of makeup. Marianna does not always play the part of billionair heiress however, and will rather often choose something far more casual and liberal for going out on the town, much to the annoyance of her father.

Civilian Personality:

Even before being sent away at the age of twelve to "learn discipline", the eldest daughter of Raymond von Lüneburg had been possessed of a particularly rebellious temperament that has long been the bane of her father's patience. In many ways she represents exactly what people expect of a billionaire heiress, a spoiled and arrogant child who believes that her station and riches is all she needs to prove her right. Those of authority in her life see the worst of this, first her father and the near nightly rows over some misguided idea of hers or another, and then Ra's al-Ghul and the League of Assassins and their principles. Despite, or perhaps even because of, the insufferable arrogance and stubbornness she is possessed of, Marianna has a firm moral compass that drives her to correct perceived wrongs. Nevermind that she retains an attitude of superiority regardless the circumstances and who she speaks with. After seven years with the League one would think that perhaps some humility would have been instilled in her, but even after the rigorous training, she still an insufferable brat. The only difference is that now she knows how to kill people.

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-Skills

League Training - Marianna has spent the last seven years of her life among the assassins in the Taklamakan desert, learning of the ways in which life can be taken, and how to defend herself in close combat. To that end, she is a highly skilled combatant with or without a weapon, but even more so with a bow. In archery she is unparalleled even among some of the finest from the League, able to hit targets with pinpoint accuracy up to 200 meters away.

-Powers

Pyrokinesis - Owing to her bloodline, the ability to tap into the arcane is a natural gift for one such as her. The gift is a limited one however, and she is remarkably unskilled in many theaters of magic with one singular exception. Marianna has an affinity for fire, and with little practice has managed to spark flames from her fingertips without need for accelerant. Manifesting them from a distance is a tougher feat, though it's a skill she has been practicing much to the annoyance of literally everyone around her.

-Weapons

Custom Oneida Kestral bow - A somewhat recent item she acquired from the League, the bow has served her quite well in training and is fine tuned to her figure and stance. With carbon fiber folding limbs, compact pulleys and lightweight materials, it is an exceptionally light yet powerful weapon more than capable of handling both standard and custom arrows with its 27" draw length. Along with the bow, she usually carries a set of carbon-shaft arrows with tungsten carbide broad heads.

Civilian Occupation: Owing to her whereabouts over the last seven years, Marianna has no actual occupation civilian or otherwise. She does have access to a metric assload of capital due to being the eldest daughter of Raymond von Lüneburg, so it's not like having a job actually matters *laughs in billionaire*

---

Character History/Origin

Growing up, Marianna had been spoiled with the increasing fortunes of her family and for much of her early childhood was as normal as any other of the aristocracy. She was provided everything she could ever need or want, taught the basics of German and French before grade school, and easily formed bonds with others for a bright and happy life. Things began to shift ever so slightly only when she had been introduced to the family's business and their secrets. For most, it would be hard enough to come to terms that your father earns a living off other people dying, that everything you ever touched had the subtle stains of blood shed upon them. Most did not have Ramman of Akkad, the four-thousand year old pseudo-lich sorcerer of the darkest arts as their father.

After that rather touching revelation, her attitude slowly became more and more rebellious as the years passed. Ramman at first dismissed it as the early onset of teenage rebellion, and with her grades remaining firmly in the upper percentile it was never too much of a concern. It only became one when she began exercising her attitude on other people. An argument here and there, sassing her teachers, bullying a couple nerds, it started off small but everyone could see where it was going. The school tried to broach the subject carefully, well as carefully as one could discuss the topic of the daughter of a major contributor to a private school being an unholy bitch. Quite obviously Ramman did not consider their concerns. That changed when Marianna graduated from stuffing people in lockers for talking shit, to knocking their teeth out and "accidentally" setting a cheerleader on fire.

Being twelve at the time, her options were rather few in terms of sorting out her issues. Experts were called in, but a soft touch did nothing except waste retainer fees and time for everyone involved. She stayed a month at a summer camp that had boasted of being able to break anyone and instill manners and discipline in even the hardest cases. All that came of it was a couple hefty payments and Ramman shaking hands in public for years in order to keep them quiet about the camp counselor she tried to drown. In the end, he had one option left, and was finally forced to call in a favor from the one person he hated owing favors to.

Few people have a direct line to the League of Assassins, and fewer still have personal connections to their enigmatic leader. Since their founding, Ramman of Akkad has taken part in their activities, funded their rise when it suited him, and looked the other way when someone of importance met their end by their hand. As such, it was an easy ask of Ra's al-Ghul to take in his daughter and teach her some much needed discipline.

The first few years were simple, though rough all the same. Marianna found the assassins possessed of a singular purpose, and so were not swayed by threats or bribes. She went through countless days of physical training to at first get her into prime shape, and then to instill in her technique and finesse. Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. Months turned into four years of the same routine. Wake up, eat, run ten miles in the desert before sunrise, weapons training, eat, run ten more miles in the desert heat, meditation, eat, sleep. Her attitude did not once waver, giving sass to her instructors even though she would know it only ended with a slap across the face or more sets to do. It turned into a game before long, finding which buttons to push for who, and how to push them the hardest.

Back home in the states, her disappearance was cleverly covered by her father and those at his call. The school was informed of her withdrawal and gladly looked the other way when her records were sealed by the state. A couple reporters looking to find dirt on Raymond von Lüneburg followed those leads, asked their questions and got the answers that he wanted them to find. Those who pressed further found themselves with one of two options that all except one gladly chose to drop their investigations. The League took care of the man with principles, as anyone who dug that deeply into Marianna's sudden withdrawal from public life found things that they shouldn't have.

When she was sixteen, it was seen fit that she was finally ready to take on the black and become involved in the business. Knowing her attitude and the insufferable moral compass that she touted any chance she had, her superiors thought it best to give her something of a "justified" killing. She had been given the name, address and reasons for the man's death, sent out of the hideout with the means to enact it. At first she was conflicted over killing for hire, as she had always found time to speak out against it, but the more she looked over the portfolio for her contract, the more she found herself willing to compromise. With just a day left before the League sent out a team to collect her and deal with it themselves, she returned with proof of kill.

After her first it was much of the same for quite some time. She wasn't the best, but nor was she the worst either. Her skills were satisfactory, and as time went on her attitude even mellowed a bit as she found a slight bit of catharsis in removing those from the world she thought had no right to continue doing their misdeeds. Trouble came again at the hands of Nyssa al-Ghul, who she had formed a growing friendship with since coming to the League. Her ideas had been proving infectious in the so-called "daughter of the demon", and that was seen as incredibly problematic by those who ran the day to day affairs. Marianna had some bit of leeway when it came to speaking her feelings on killing questionably innocent people, but such could not be tolerated of the one who would one day inherit the League.

To that end they were gradually separated from each other, sent on opposing assignments and eventually different hideouts. Neither could be swayed so easily, and finally in March of 2020, Marianna had found the limit of Ra's al-Ghul's patience. She had completed a contract early, and though she had been instructed to return to the hideout in Ankara, she instead made way to the Tamaklan Desert refuge. It didn't take long for someone to discover the move and report it, though it was just long enough for Ra's to walk in on the two women engaged in some private sparring.

That had been the final straw, and on that night Marianna von Lüneburg was released from her oath to the League of Assassins, something very few ever accomplished, and put on a plane back to the US to be delivered to her father. With Ra's al-Ghul accompanying her, likely to make sure she doesn't find her way back, a "happy" reunion was looking less and less probable.

Heroes Reborn - A DCAU Roleplay (Always open!)

05:01 March 28th
Queens, New York

Click. Click. Whir.

It was a distinctive sound, one of an older model camera finding a subject and capturing it for all time. Yet it was not. That sound came from the square of compact technology held in the spaniard's hands, digitally rendering the images into data and sending them off with each little click. He prefered the older ways, but he had a duty that required such tools. Each click captured another still of the man in the middle of the street and sent it off via satellite uplink to a secured server.

Click. The truck came to a stop, metal folding around the man as if it was marshmallow and not rigid steel. Click, click. Men lifted from the vehicle as if they were toys, deposited on the ground with ease. Click. Without effort he lifted two into the air and depressed his foot onto the eldest of the brothers, pain etched across his face as his chest was slowly crushed underfoot. Yes, these would do marvelously. His employer would be pleased, especially considering what he had gathered from the scene of the prior attack. Phenomenal strength, flight, breath as cold as northern winds, and perhaps even some kind of heat vision if the man's eyes and words could be believed. The Agent continued to observe as he could hear the cries of the three gangsters, a smile on his face as he met Donovan's gaze and gave a simple nod.

---

Donovan coughed up blood as the pressure on his bruised chest increased, his brothers watching with barely concealed concern, though more so in the case of Angus. "You think you're hot shit?" Despite the pain and rather untenable circumstances, the eldest of the Breen brothers managed a derisive smirk as he spat on Superman's boot. "My name is Donovan Breen, and I'm the boss. Call yourself a New Yorker, and you don't even know the Irish Mafia when you trip over them. What a fool."

A few of the faces in the crowd confirmed he was telling the truth when they began whispering among each other.

"It's really him, that's Donovan Breen!"
"I heard he put a bunch of Russians at the bottom of the river last year, just because they looked at his crew funny…"
"Those must be the Breen brothers… Patrick Breen beat a friend of mine to death a month ago, he didn't even owe him anything…"
"Serves them right, Irish bastards. They think they run this neighborhood."
"Don't they know this is Triad territory?"

Even still, he found that little bit more of courage as he glared up defiantly at Superman. "Those Chinamen had it coming. Queens is our town, and they got no right to muscle in on us and think we won't hit them back. So go ahead Superman, have us arrested. You're still just a jumped-up freak with a costume, and one day you'll get yours too. When it happens, me and me brothers will still be on the street running this town."

@DragonofTheWest

Heroes Reborn - A DCAU Roleplay (Always open!)

04:55 March 28th
Queens, New York

Angus held on desperately to the launcher, watching the city streets speed behind their truck from the perspective of the open door. There were still a couple more rockets left, which meant only good things in the future for their heists especially if they made it back to the safehouse in time. "Cannae fukken believe we made it out boyos!" Donovan was beside himself with how pleased he was over the success of their hit, the image of burning money not one to leave any of them soon. The spirits of the three brothers were high, and very little could bring them down.

Except perhaps the only thing higher than their spirits, the Man of Steel himself. So consumed in his own hubris, the eldest Breen didn't notice the man standing in the street until he collided the truck brutally into him. Steel, fiberglass and aluminum crumpled against the immovable object, forming a man-shaped indentation and sending his brothers crashing against the back wall of the box truck. A sound crack echoed around the cabin as his own skull met the steering wheel, leaving a nasty gash across his face before the airbag deployed a full ten seconds after the vehicle came to a forced halt to add insult to injury.

None of the three were particularly quick to resist being dragged from the vehicle, though for equal parts Irish spirit and good alcohol, Donovan was the first to blearily open his eyes and look up at the one responsible for ending their good times.

"An jus who the fuck you be?" His words slurred dangerously, hinting at a concussion like the least subtle main street hooker. At the moment his cognizance was hampered by that head injury, and his brothers weren't much better as they both took a hefty hit in the accident. Patrick gathered his senses next, looking around in confusion and wondering why Donovan was yelling and why everything was ringing.

"Ey bruv, tell whoever's ringing the bloody bell to stop it. Damned thing is a right pain in the arse." Despite being the denser one of the three, he paused as he recognized Superman standing before them, and connected the dots with chilling swiftness. "Oh shite, you're that Superman bloke. Hey, we didn't do nuffin, and you can't prove it!"

Donovan chose that moment to regain some semblance of clear-headedness and glared up at the super-powered barricade, unsure whether to be more pissed at their getaway being ruined or his truck getting totaled. "Oi, listen up asshole. You just wrecked our truck, and you gotta pay for it. Took me and me brothers years to save up enough to have our own truck!" Of course he was playing it up for the onlookers, putting on as best a victimized face as he could and giving Patrick the look of "Play along Pat!"

Not very many were too convinced though, but he had said it loud enough to put in just a little bit of doubt and with the press Superman had gotten so far, all it took was to sell a story just good enough. A story that promptly died when Angus groggily grinned over at them and laughed through bloodied teeth. "Donny! Can't believe Jeremy's launcher worked! Those chinamen had no idea what hit them!"

Donovan could only stare in incredulous wonder at his idiot brother, never mind that Superman was right there. "Angus, Pat. Shut the hell up."

@DragonofTheWest

{Casual - High Casual} Welcome to Salem, Massachusetts

Hold on. The year is 1700, right?
The intro says both that it is 1700 now and that "many many years have passed". Which one is to be believed?

@Instigator

It is modern.

Heroes Reborn - A DCAU Roleplay (Always open!)

00:18 March 28th
Lundgrau Intelligence Services North American Headquarters, New York City

The midnight skies were lit with the flames of dying riots, sounds of sirens in the distance announcing the efforts of the authorities to bring some semblance of order back to the city. Yet his eyes were not on the intermittent flashes of blue and red, nor the dying oranges of fire, it was on the spark of light that flew between and across in a flash. It was obviously her from the slight touch of magic he could feel in the air about the city, though he had to wade through the lingering cloud of fel-magic from the Elysium. Arcane powers were at work in the world once more, and he was no longer one of the sole practitioners. Yes, it was entirely likely that no one could match his knowledge and skill, but there was little wonder that at least one had more raw power.

That vexed him in a way, but it did not carry the same sting as it may have done millennia ago when he was still young and angry. Now it merely amused him as he watched a child play at being a god, with so much power at her fingertips and no idea how to use it.

There were more important concerns at the moment however, and in the morning he would address his shareholders and the public with an interview. The criminal elements of New York were in disarray after the rampancy of Elysium, already several at the throats of their enemies and blaming them for the epidemic. He could make the call and reign them in, but this sounded more like an opportunity to draw out Superman and test his mettle. Raymond tapped a button on the wall of his personal office, a section sliding up to reveal a private sat-phone tied to an unregistered network. At once it connected to a predetermined number, a voice on the other end confirming their identity via code.

"My beloved daughter will be arriving in the city within the coming weeks with a very special guest. Clean up the aftermath of Elysium and move forward on the previously agreed upon plan."

A moment of silence passed, his instructions confirmed and his agent relaying information on the status of NYC back to him. It was concerning, but not untenable. In fact, it would work well to his advantage to have the police focusing on reorganizing and restoring order after the riots.

"Inform Donovan that he has my permission to engage war with the Triad. Xuanwu has been less than cooperative since we granted him land in Queens, and for that his protection is null. You may communicate that fact to the conclave when they meet."

Once more the confirmations and with that the call ended. Soon his agent would be on the street and ready to observe the Superman in the field. It would give him information he needed on the potential threat, and with the Irish Mafia taking the first move, he would see just how durable he was…

---

04:36 March 28th
Farmers Boulevard, Queens

"Westmeath Spirits, NYC" announced clearly across the side of the box truck the contents within to any prying eye, and sitting outside a liquor store it seemed merely as if it was a fair bit early. Farmers Boulevard Spirits wasn't quite open for business, and wouldn't be for a couple more hours, but still no one gave more than a passing glance at the truck and the driver sitting in the cab smoking a cigarette. Inside however, was not alcohol of any kind. All that occupied the cargo area were two Irishmen tinkering with a large machine and an argument that desperately needed some kind of alcohol to make any kind of sense out of it.

"Look, I'm telling you, she just looks like the type who would keep it nice and neat. Ya can't honestly tell me otherwise." That was Patrick Breen, a surly ginger that had a temper about as short as one thought upon first sight, and multiple armed robbery charges to his name. He was the muscle in this job, that much clear from how he stared at the object taking up much of the internal space of the truck, and how restless his hands were near his gun.

"Yeah? Well yer a fukken numpty. Guarantee you she's a freak in the sack. Bet she could crush a skull between them thighs, and probably would too." Angus Breen, likely the smartest Irishman many would meet, and brilliant with any kind of explosive. He was suspected of at least a dozen bank robberies over the last decade, all of which saw the use of thermite and high explosive ordnance that had put him at near the top of NYPD's most wanted list. This was why he had been brought along on this job, and why he was the one with the screwdriver that he was gesturing at Patrick's throat.

"Hey, shut the fuck up you wankers and get ready. Triad's coming up. Besides, neither of you have a chance with that Miss Magic or whoever the fuck sparkle-panties wants to call herself." Donovan Breen, the boss and driver. Since getting the call from The Agent as their contact/supplier was known, he had been itching to get this job underway. They had truthfully been planning something like this for months, watching Triad movements carefully and narrowing down where and when their money would be on any given day. Today had seen a predicted change in their activities, shuffling assets to safe houses to keep them away from the rioters. The dry cleaner down at the end of the street behind the truck was just such a place, and as his younger brothers argued in the back the Chinese were behind the store moving product.

They had to only wait for a few more minutes before one of the Triad enforcers came out of the alley and around the side of the building to light up a smoke. Big Bossman had said that the only condition to starting this war was to make a show of it, and he was damned sure going to show him why the Irish had been the scourge of New York for decades. "Oi! Angus get the fucking thing ready, and open the hatch Patrick!"

---

04:45 March 28th
Farmers Boulevard, Queens

Robert Mao lit up the cigarette in boredom, staring down the street and eying up each vehicle carefully. Xuanwu had been especially paranoid of late, owing largely to the fraying relationship between himself and their patron. It didn't matter much to him personally of course, as he was just muscle and when the chips were down he would disappear and find a job elsewhere. Maybe he would get an honest job when the boss went down, start a restaurant out west and bring his wife along with him. Yeah, that wouldn't be too bad. Wouldn't be Chinese food of course, he ironically couldn't stand it which was something he was teased relentlessly for.

His idle musings were interrupted by the box truck down the street, and just how odd it seemed the more his gaze lingered on it. There was a strangeness to the way it sat low to the ground, as if the cargo was significantly overweight, and it was far too early to be delivering.

Suddenly the back door of the truck opened, though at first all he could see was darkness. Then two men and a box-shaped machine were brightly illuminated by a fire that erupted against the back wall. Everything moved in slow motion as the cigarette dropped from his lips and he watched the projectile scream out from the truck on a trail of burning propellant. The yellow painted warhead streaked past him just inches from his face, shattering the glass storefront with the bow-wave of shock that knocked him off his feet. He had barely seconds to understand what had happened before the high-explosive ordnance detonated in the center of the dry cleaner, masking the shrieking whistle of three more launching from the truck.

Angus laughed in amazement as the Land Mattress launcher he had rigged to the floor of the box truck actually worked, sending 60 lb rockets down the street to pound the Chinese safe house into rubble. It kept firing it's payload as Donovan floored the accelerator to the truck, telling his brothers to hold on tight as they sped off from the devastation before the cops could show up.

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Tagging those who these events would be most relevant to.

@Afro Samurai - Tiger
@DragonofTheWest - Superman
@Blackstripe - Lady Arcana