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Opinionated nerd for hire.

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In DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All → 4 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


TARGET PLANET: M-CLASS, SPACE SECTOR 2814
GRAVITY: 0.62 TAMARANIAN STANDARD
ATMOSPHERE: 78% NITROGEN, 21% OXYGEN, REMAINING 1% ARGON, CARBON-DIOXIDE, AND TRACE ELEMENTS
DOMINANT SPECIES: BIPEDAL, OPPOSABLE THUMBS, ESTIMATED SIXTH-LEVEL INTELLECT ON AVERAGE
TECHNOLOGICAL LEVEL: 1. INTERPLANETARY CONTACT: MINIMAL TO NONE.

PROGNOSIS: MOSTLY HARMLESS

TARGET LANDING ZONE ACQUIRED. DECELERATING TO DESCENT SPEED. WILL BREACH ATMOSPHERE IN 30 MILLICYCLES.

ENGAGING STEALTH FIELD. DEPLOYING ELECTROMAGNETIC PULSE TO DISABLE DETECTION IN 3....2....1...





The lasers, strobes, and unbearable music suddenly cut off, and the park is plunged into darkness. There's a collective "AWWWWW" from the crowd, and people begin booing, as if the blackout was part of the show.

"Ohhhhh darn," I say amidst the din, "I guess I'll have to go home now without seeing the rest of the show. What a shame."

The cops and those burly HIVE security guards begin funneling people out of the park, some of the more colorfully-decorated kids in the crowd navigating with the glow-sticks they had been twirling with the music. I notice one person leading a group out with what looks like a plastic sword lined with LED lights-- that Alex kid from earlier. I should probably apologize for snapping at him, but now's not exactly the time for it. Besides, I heard what he said under his breath, so I'm hardly brimming with sympathy.

"Don't forget to keep your wrist-bands!" a pimply-faced member of the event staff shouts, his voice cracking several octaves in both directions. "So we can let you back in when we start again!"

"Don't worry about it," I tell him as I peel the wristband off and drop it into the trash can beside him.


TARGET LANDING AREA IS CLEAR.

BEGINNING FINAL APPROACH.


The walk home is only a few blocks, but with all of the lights out and the crowd seeming to disperse down every street but mine, it feels like miles.

What a complete waste of an evening. I could have spent that time reading, or going through some old notes, or.....hell, counting the cash register again just for the fun of it. Anything would have been a better time than--



I feel it. A powerful wave of feeling, surging as it gets closer. A hunger. Not hunger like you feel in the late afternoon well after lunch but before dinner. And not hunger like someone who's lost everything and doesn't know when or where their next meal will be. Hunger like a wolf that's closing in on a deer. An excited, predatory sort of hunger.

"Excuse me, Miss?"

An SUV slows down to roll alongside me, without its running lights on, engine barely making a sound. Leaning his head out of the driver's side window is an older man wearing shades, a black "tacti-cool" top, and a ball cap with the word HIVE embroidered on the front. "We'd like to have a word with you, can you stop for a moment?"

Why would some rent-a-cops want 'a word' with me? I didn't do anything illegal-- last I checked, there weren't any laws about hearing voices in your head. Or hating crappy music.

Whatever they want, it's not good. Keep walking, Rachel.

"Miss, we just want to--"

"Last I checked, the park was that way," I point behind me, "And that's where your jurisdiction ends. If I did something I wasn't supposed to, take it up with the actual cops."

Shades frowns. "We saw your 'episode' at the concert, Miss," he says, more authority in his voice. "The readings you were giving off were off the charts. We have some questions--"

"And I have an answer," I cut him off, not even looking as I raise my middle finger.

'Readings?' What kind of 'readings' are event security--

SKRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEECH!!!

The SUV heaves forward, then swerves to cut me off. Shades steps out of the driver's side, and three more big guys in tactical gear step out. Two of them have tasers, the other two have guns.

I start to take a few steps back. "B--....back off," I say, trying to keep a brave face. "You....you don't kn-know what y-you're dealing with."

The four of them start to laugh, but I'm telling the truth. They have no idea what I'm capable of.

And neither do I.

A month ago, Sebastian Blood tried to kill me. He and a few dozen followers had chained me to an altar in the bowels of his Hollywood mansion, and proceeded to do all sorts of obscene things to each other in the name of some entity they called "The Great Trigon." Sebastian said I was the "gateway to the infernal realm," and that sacrificing me to his great big evil master would get him honors and glory in the world to come. From what I gathered, the saying "there's a special place in Hell for you" wasn't a threat to him, but a promise.

Just as the dagger was coming down, all my fear, all my anger, all my confusion, just....erupted. I heard the cry of a bird, and then a shadow poured out of me, washing over the room like a geyser of ink. It tossed Sebastian aside like a ragdoll, broke my chains like strands of tissue paper, smashed tables, pounded holes in the walls, and left his band of cultists in heaps of broken limbs and spinal trauma. I don't think I killed any of them, but I won't shed too many tears if I did.

All well and good, but I don't know how the hell I did it. I was scared and confused then. But I'm scared and confused now, and I don't seem to be throwing these jerks into the river yet.

"Now I'm going to ask you to be a little more polite, young lady," says Shades with an eager sneer as he clicks the safety off of his pistol. "You've got until the count of three to apologize for being rude, and come with us, or else we'll have to show you some manners. One.......two........"

NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNYYYYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
EEEEEOOOOOOWWWWWWWWW---


BOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMM!!!!!




.......my senses reel. The world begins to spin as I stumble forward.

...the world?.....a world, perhaps. Not my world.

Strewn about me are bodies, knocked unconscious by the force of the landing. One of them, on the ground before me, begins to stir, and scrambles to its feet.

My head swims, as the creature speaks.



I do not know its language. It does sound like any variation of Interlac I have ever heard.

"Where am I?" I ask. "What is this place?"

The creature-- a female, by appearance, though I may be mistaken-- babbles an answer.



For a moment, I think of attempting to communicate with hand gestures, find something with which to scribe, starting with the universal language of mathematics.

Then I see the others begin to stir, and reach for what appear to be weapons.

"I apologize, but we have little time," I say, and approach to initiate a psychic meld through the most direct means I can manage.





My head hurts. My back hurts. My bones hurt. Everything hurts. So on the bright side, that means I'm not dead.

I open my eyes, and as I stagger to my feet, I see....something has crashed down on top of the HIVE goons' SUV. It's like a big, silver egg, encrusted with gems and lined with gold lace. It looks like something out of either a fairy tale, or a bad SyFy movie, I'm not sure which.

Stepping out of the egg-thing is a girl. Slender, with long flowing red hair, tanned skin, and bright green eyes-- bright as in literally, glowing green. She stumbles and staggers, and by instinct, I call out to her.

"Hey, are you.....okay? What.....what is that thing?"

I know what that thing looks like. It looks like a crashed UFO.

But it isn't. It can't be. Because that would be stupid.

The girl turns her eyes to me, and speaks.



It's pure gibberish, not even remotely sounding like any language I've ever heard.

"I'm sorry, I....don't know what you're saying."

There's a pained groan, and I see Shades and his friends are regaining consciousness....and going for their guns.

The girl from the sp---the whatever-that-thing-is, not an alien spaceship, that would be stupid-- sees it too, and walks toward me.



She cups a hand to my cheek....

"Hey, wait, what are you--?!"

Her lips press against mine, and my mind explodes.

Images of a lush tropical world, three vibrant colored moons hanging in the sky like ripe fruit.

Muscular men and statuesque women, all with bright red hair and luminescent green eyes, living lives of wonder and adventure.

A happy childhood. A loving mother and father. A sister who never opens up and says what's bothering her.

A betrayal.

A war.

A desperate escape.

Words, feelings, memories, slam into me with the force of a hurricane.

Then she pulls away, breaking the kiss, and I'm back in what passes for the real world.

Taking a few steps and a deep breath, I manage a .......what?!"

"I apologize for the sudden intrusion into personal space," she says, suddenly speaking fluent English, "But direct contact between high concentrations of nerve endings is the best way to achieve a psychic meld. And this was the best way I could make learning of the language occur with the most of fast."

.....well, fluent-ish.

".......WHAT?!"

"Nnnnngh," Shades pulls himself up, and puts a hand to his ear as he calls for backup. "Attention, attention, a second target has appeared. Inform Doctor Johnson. Requesting Class-3 backup."

"Come," the orange-haired girl says as she takes me by the wrist, "we must find a more defensible location if we are to be the victors in the combat!"

She snaps her fingers, and the giant silver egg sitting on the ruins of the SUV shrinks down into the size of an actual egg, then gently floats into the palm of her free hand. Then she begins to.....drift upwards, floating into the air.....taking me with her.

".........WHAT?!?!?!"
In Andy C's Trial Grounds, Drawing Board, and Graveyard of Ideas → 4 yrs ago Forum: The Gallery


T H E B E S T N I G H T O F M Y L I F E
CHAPTER TWO


".....removing their Title 238 protections, which will allow us to finally expand renovations into the Narrows," Mayor Hill explains to Mister Bruce over cocktails, while a string quartet in the far corner meanders through some Schubert. "We're predicting the new commercial center should bring in a half-billion in new business per quarter in the first year alone. Over time, well, the sky is the limit, and I believe Wayne Enterprises would do very well to get in on the ground floor, so to speak."

"Hm, it's definitely worth considering," Mister Bruce says, sipping his martini. Mayor Hill's "Gotham of Tomorrow" initiative sounds nice enough on paper-- renovate and rebuild the crumbling infrastructure and overcrowded housing projects in the Bowery, shaping Gotham to be closer to its 'Sister City' Metropolis. Mister Bruce has been skeptical about buying in, however-- too many questions about where the money is being spent. Or who is being contracted to carry out what project. Or what happens to all of the people whose homes would be demolished in the name of progress. "What do you think, Dick? A few new shopping centers, maybe a nice big WayneTech electronics store on Park Row?"

"....huh?" I glance up from my phone. "Oh, um, yeah, sounds.....sounds really neat."

It's a simple enough code. Mister Bruce chats it up with the Great and Good of Gotham while I break into their devices. After a few minutes, he asks for a progress report. If I say "neat," it means I've gotten the information I need and we can move on to the next target. If I say "cool," it means I need him to buy me some more time. If I say "interesting," it means I can't crack it, and I need to send it to our mysterious hacker friend, the elusive 'Oracle.'

So far, we've had four 'neats,' three 'cools,' and only one 'interesting' in Mister Cobblepot. It's honestly a little concerning how easy it is to get information off of these people; a more nefarious hacker with similar equipment could cripple the city's economy over an afternoon.

Mayor Hill gives me a disapproving frown, and Mister Bruce gives him a placating smile in return. "It's impossible to get him away from that phone. My fault, I'm afraid. I should be giving him stricter limits on screen time. Come on, Dick-- I know civics isn't the most exciting subject, but when you're older you'll appreciate its importance."

I roll my eyes, and Mister Bruce's gentle smile turns sour.

"Manners, Dick," he says, "what have I told you about acting up in public?"

I let out an irritated sigh. "That if I don't want to join in on society, I shouldn't be surprised if society doesn't want me."

"That's right," he says, a lesson we both agreed was appropriately stern-sounding and completely out of touch, the perfect thing for a spoiled rich socialite trying to play at being a parent. "Now why don't you go get some fresh air and think about that for a while. We'll talk on the ride home."

I slump my shoulders and walk away with a dejected look, while Mister Bruce turns back to Mayor Hill with an apologetic shrug. "Kids, right? Have to be fair but firm, like my old man...."

It's hard to keep from grinning. Now that I've been summarily dismissed and the norms of polite society dictate everyone shun me for a few minutes while I contemplate my faux pas, I can enact the second phase of our plan without anyone bothering me.

I step out onto the balcony, a rush of cool summer evening air tussling my hair and the echoes of passing cars resounding back and forth between the buildings from below. The street lights and gaudy neon signs wash the view beneath me in a thin orange haze, contrasted against the deep blue and purple of the night sky above. From up here, the city's almost beautiful.

No time for sight-seeing, though; I've got work to do. I open up the phone, and once I'm sure the coast is clear, I connect it to the WayneTech satellite in high orbit above the city. Furiously tapping and swiping at the screen, I navigate through the labyrinth of authentication codes, passwords, and fingerprint scans before Mister Bruce's computer network HARDAC lets me in. The security settings on HARDAC's internal AI are somewhere between 'vigilant' and 'paranoid delusional'-- if I so much as misplace a single digit or give it any indication that the line isn't secure, it will block me out permanently.

"Little John, Alan-A-Dale, Will Scarlet," I say, speaking the code words for today. It repeats back GUY OF GISBOURNE, ROBERT DE RAINAULT, PRINCE JOHN.

I speak the final code word, staring into the phone's camera to get a retinal scan. "Robin of Locksley."

ACCESS GRANTED. WELCOME, AGENT ROBIN.

I feel a swell of pride and excitement. My own code-name! I'm not just helping out on a job; I'm actually part of Mister Bruce's war now. Agent Robin. Helping Batman.

Batman and Robin.

INCOMING MESSAGE FROM AGENT ORACLE.

"Put it through," I say, like the Captain of a sci-fi starship answering the hail from an alien vessel. Maybe a bit silly for Dick Grayson to do. But Robin, well, who can blame him for being a little dramatic?

Welcome aboard, Robin. The Big Guy has been telling me about you. Your skill-set, anyway; your identity is still secure. Looking forward to seeing what you can do.

Thanks, I type back. Are you ready to bust this city open?

Easy there, cowboy, Oracle responds, This is just a milk run; HARDAC is going to be doing all the heavy lifting; we're just here to troubleshoot in case something comes up.

Right. Okay. So....what do I do?

Just keep the line open and don't get caught. This shouldn't take more than five minutes.

Acknowledged, I type, and then regret sending because it makes me sound like a space cadet again.

HARDAC begins downloading the information I've scanned from all of our targets, and I place the phone along the balcony rail. All I have to do is pass the next five minutes without incident, and I'll have completed my first mission.

"All right....no problem," I say to myself. "Just.....play it cool. Stay still. Stop fidgeting. It's only five minutes."

My nose itches.

I scratch it, then notice my tie is crooked. Without a mirror, getting it straight is tricky, but eventually I fix it.

Then I feel something stuck between my teeth. A string from a piece of celery, maybe? I start to work it away with my tongue, and then I feel that my boxers are starting to bunch up in the front, and begin trying to fix it without just sticking my hand in my crotch to pick them out.

It has to have been, what, three, four minutes now? I've got to be coming up on the finish line soon. Occasionally someone inside glances out at the balcony. Have I been found out? Did I blow it? Come on, just a little bit longer and--

I check the timer on the phone. It's only been fifteen seconds.

"Ohhh, come on," I groan. This is no good-- I need to do something with all this nervous energy.

On one of the unattended dining tables, I notice the cloth napkins are decorated with those unnecessary plastic ring things, each one round like a ball with a hole bored through to place the napkin. I pick one up, and I'm surprised by its weight, almost the weight of a baseball. Must be expensive-- an awful lot of effort for something that only exists to put an extra step before wiping your face. I pluck the napkin out of the holder and begin tossing the ring back and forth for a moment. After a few tosses, I grin to myself and pick up two more.

When I was traveling with Haly's Circus, we did a lot of easy street-performing acts before a show to get people's attention. Some of us would do sleight of hand, or freak-show tricks like hammering a nail into your nose. While my parents and I were acrobats, you can't exactly set up a trapeze set in the middle of the street, so we found other things to do to bring in customers. Myself, I learned how to juggle.

It's something I haven't done in a long while, not since coming to Gotham City. Juggling reminds people of clowns. And people in Gotham don't like clowns very much. But I've got to do something with my hands while waiting for the timer to run out.

I start with a simple three-ball cascade, which transitions easily enough into a 4-2-3 and a W-pattern, then I finish off that pattern with a Georgian Shuffle.

My feet need something to do, so I start walking back and forth as I go.

From there, I play a few passes of Juggler's Tennis, one ball arcing back and forth over the other two, which morphs into a Half Shower.

Still not enough. I step up onto a chair.

I go into the Columns, the Yo-Yo, and Al's Slide in quick order, and the Factory.

I walk forward, stepping up again. Now I'm feeling it.

A few rounds of Windmill, which I start alternating from side to another until it becomes the Mills Mess, then a high-arcing Full Shower. One more high toss, with a 360 spin to finish it off, aaaaand--

"What are you doing?"

My hand misses the napkin ring altogether, and it goes plummeting down to the streets below. It's only then that I realize I had stepped up onto the balcony railing, effectively tightrope walking thirty stories up.

"Oh! I'm uhhh," I stammer as I hop down from the railing. "I was just, y'know.....bored."

The girl who came out onto the balcony with me looks about my age, maybe a year or two older. She's slightly pale, which isn't unusual in Gotham, but has fiery red hair, a spatter of freckles across her cheeks and nose, and bright green eyes. She's....really pretty, but not pretty in the way that makes you feel dirty afterward, like Catwoman or that Poison Ivy lady. Pretty like the kind of girls in the crowd I would try to make laugh and smile as I winked at them from the trapeze.

"You were 'bored,'" she repeats, "so you decided to start juggling while balancing on the balcony railing of a skyscraper. You do realize how stupidly dangerous that is, don't you?"

My cheeks flush and a thin film of sweat beats on my forehead, but I try to play it cool. "I mean, it's only dangerous if I fall outward. If I fall in, it's just embarrassing. I mean, once you know how to do it, a balancing act is the same trick six inches off the ground as it is six hundred feet off the ground."

She gives me a skeptical look, then her eyebrows raise in realization. "Oh, that's right! You're Mister Wayne's ward, the one from the circus, right? My dad told me about what happened. I, erm.....I'm sorry about--"

"Don't be sorry, you didn't do it," I cut her off. "Sorry, I just...I don't really like to talk about it. It happened, and I just wanna, well...."

"Right, right," she says.

"So.....what were you doing out here?" I ask.

"Just checking something on my phone," she says, quickly pulling it out of her purse and glancing at it. I can't help but notice she's got the same model phone as mine. "It's nothing important."

"Ah, cool," I nod.

"Yup," she nods, and for a few seconds, neither of us really knows how to fill the gap in conversation. Finally, she pipes up again. "So you and Mister Wayne....is there....something weird on there? Because my dad's a cop, and he can--"

"What? No! No, no, it's nothing like that," I answer. "I think it's just, I dunno, he saw me going through what he went through and wanted to help me out. I mean, I know it's not exactly conventional, but no, there's nothing like what the tabloids were saying."

She turns to me and looks me dead in the eye. "You're absolutely positive. Hand to God, swear right now, there's nothing funny going on, and I'll drop it."

I can't really tell her that there's "nothing funny going on," because that would be a lie-- most people would probably consider a vigilante training a twelve-year-old to wage war on gangsters and terrorists to be 'something funny.' But I do look her in her eyes-- those piercing, emerald green eyes that I could just get lost in-- and I tell her the truth.

"Absolutely positive. Hand to God. Bruce Wayne is one of the good guys."

She returns the stare, like she's trying to search into my soul, then says "Okay, cool."

"Ummm, yeah," I say, finally having to pry myself away from her eyes. "So, uh, that was.....kinda personal. And we haven't really introduced ourselves yet. I'm, erm, Dick. Dick Grayson."

She gasps in embarrassment. "Oh! Oh God, I'm sorry, I'm just....I'm Barbara. Barbara Gordon."

She sticks out her hand, and I shake it. Her embarrassment gives way to a smile, one that I can't help but share. "Nice to meet you, Barbara Gordon."
In DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All → 4 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay




"Well," I say to myself as I'm herded toward the large stage in the middle of the park, my words completely drowned out by thumping bass that makes my intestines rumble, "So far everything about this is awful. So at the very least, I was right."

From what I've gathered on my very few trips outside in the month or so I've been in Jump City, it's that the people here are massive neophiles. This close to Silicon Valley, and with a few of the biggest video game developers in the world setting up headquarters here, they get first access to the latest gadgets, the newest games, the hottest toys before everyone else gets them. And they've been conditioned to eat it all up, kids and teenagers and young adults throwing billions of dollars at big tech corporations who lure them in with gaudy, flashy events like....well, like this one. Trained like a city full of Pavlov's dogs. Ring the bell, and watch them all salivate.

I'm here out of obligation, because Mister Abel more or less guilt-tripped me into trying to have "fun" with other people my age. Having grown up around cultists who think that melting their brains with psychotropic drugs is the same thing as contacting higher dimensions, and then having a completely different group of cultists kidnap and try to murder me, I'm not exactly jumping with excitement over the prospect of being surrounded by a bunch of....normal people. I'm just here to take a picture or two for photographic evidence and buy one piece of overpriced merchandise to prove to Mister Abel that I had a "good time."

For as much as I absolutely do not want to be here, just getting in was an ordeal. I was stopped at three different checkpoints: once by the event staff to make sure I didn't have any symptoms of the crud, a second by the JCPD to turn my backpack inside out to make sure I wasn't sneaking in a gun (or worse, food or water that isn't from the concession stands), and a third by some private security goons called HIVE who frisked me for reasons they didn't bother disclosing. Those last guys in particular seemed to take their time in patting people down, and even inside the event, they have guards patrolling around the stage like they're overseeing a maximum security prison.

Speaking of the stage, two massive screens show off the new Control Freaks console and a clip-show of what I assume are the upcoming games, while on the stage itself, some technicolored thing fumbles through the worst music I have ever heard. A throng of people-- most of whom look to be about my age, barely old enough to have a driver's license-- gyrate and dry-hump amidst a storm of seizure-inducing lasers, strobes, and fog. If they're not drunk or high, then they're doing a good job of pretending to be. For a second, I'm reminded of the degeneracy I saw at the party my "father" Sebastian took me to in Los Angeles the night he tried to put a knife through me.

And to think, this is all just to sell some crappy--

God, Allie is so hot in that dress. I've gotta--

--can't believe I let them talk me into this, but--


--see him around Jackie again, he's fucking dead, I'll--


--guess another drink couldn't hurt, as long as I don't--

--anyone actually like this guy's music? How do you--


--can't believe this is what my career has come to. I was Hamlet at Juliard, for God's sake! Now I'm up here peddling this puerile dreck for--

--best song I've ever heard! How can anyone not like--




"Nnngh! What....what the hell?!"

Voices, all around me, come crashing in. At first, I think it's just a part of the music. But I know better. I've had...'episodes' for the past few weeks, ever since Sebastian and his band of creeps first came for me. I'll think someone's talking to me, but they won't move their lips. I'll suddenly have picture-perfect recollection of places I've never been, people I've never met. Someone will start shouting down the block, and I'll be the one who starts to feel angry or afraid.

Internal monologues, half-formed prototypes of sentences, bits of songs, images of memories and fantasies and secret fears. It's pushed by a wave of emotions, raw and unchecked by rationality, strengthened by the hormones of a few thousand excitable, horny, angry, tortured, oblviously happy, and terminally insecure teenagers. A pure, unfiltered deluge of thought overwhelms me. It's all I can do to stay on my feet.



A voice that sounds like an avalanche roars over everything.

"....who.....what are you--"

"I, uhhhhh, I said my name's Alex," says the boy standing in front of me when I open my eyes. He's grotesquely overweight, with long stringy red hair done up in a top-knot, a patchy beard with bushy mutton-chops, a long black trenchcoat, and an ill-fitting T-shirt with the logo of something called 'Pretty Pretty Pegasus' on it. "But, erm, online I go by Count Del Freako."

"....uh-huh....," I nod, barely giving him any attention as I struggle to get my bearings.

"I, well, uh, I saw you looked like you could use some assistance," he says, "and I thought I could see if there's, uhhh, anything you need?"

I take a few deep breaths, then shake my head. Mister Abel said I should try to make friends.

"It's...fine," I say. "Just a migraine. So, um.....'Count Del Freako'......do you play video games?"

Even if I didn't just have another episode, I am still awful at small talk.

"Yeah, I mean, I'm a pretty big gamer, I guess," he says, trying to play it cool. "I've had all the Control Freak consoles since first-gen. I'm ranked number one on Freak Fest All-Stars Melee for the region, won a couple of big-money tournaments, so my mom lets me pretty much do whatever I want now. I mean, it's not a big deal or anything, I could teach you--"



There it is again. The voice like the ground splitting open. Like Hell opening up wide. It's in my head.

"--cus, like, All-Stars Custom Brawl was basically made for babies and casuals, the kind of losers who play with items on. But, I mean, if you like it, it's cool, I just like the more technical--"



Shut up......



.....shut up......

YOU ARE MINE




"SHUT UP!!!!"

"....okay, sorry. I'll.....I'll leave you alone," Alex shrinks away, before muttering to himself "....fuckin' bitch, why don't girls like nice guys like me?"

I stagger away, trying to find somewhere to clear my head. Everywhere around me, there's more brain-dead guys and vapid girls spewing their triteness into my thoughts. Those armed guards from HIVE patrolling around the stage keep staring at me. And that godawful music won't stop. It's too much.

Finally, I stagger into a bathroom, and splash some cold water on your face.

"....calm down," I say to myself, "You're going to be okay.....you're going to be okay....."



".....everything's going to be okay....."





Kathas and Palamar have fallen. Myrynnian has become a cauldron of nightmares. And now glorious Tamarus herself is in ruins.

Citadel drones strafe the city streets, disruptor bolts reducing warrior and innocent alike to dust.

Green-skinned stormtroopers from the Gordanian hordes kick down the doors of living quarters, dragging women and children away to be used as slaves and chattel.

Maltusian Psions send out blasts of despair and fear to demoralize and disrupt our lines, in order for them to be crushed and swept aside by hulking crag-faced Branx warriors.

Multi-limbed horrors from the Spider Guild climb across the city's broken towers, snatching up unlucky souls in their slavering acidic jaws.

Flames engulf the Royal Palace. The Floating Gardens where we had played as children, the Hall of Glory where we trained as warriors, the Temple of Knowledge where we had learned as scholars, and the Inner Home where we had grown as family. All now are shattered and burned, the people inside either dead or dying.

"I want you to know, dear sister," Komand'r says, a cruel smile on her face as she tightens the electro-leash around my neck, "that this is all your fault. You could have stopped any of this from happening. All you had to do was kill me when you had the chance."

"I showed you mercy," I spit, still full of futile defiance. "I am no monster."

"Oh?" She asks, chuckling as if the comment itself were absurd, before lacing her voice with venom. "And what would you call a creature who drains the love of her parents, so they have none left over for their other daughter? What would you call a being who sucks out the adoration of the masses, forcing her equal to be forgotten and left behind? What would you call a thing who has spent her entire life hoarding glories and honors and affection and attention for herself alone, while letting her sister rot in the shadows?! What, Kory, would you call that...if not a monster?"

She leads me out to the front steps of the palace, where the few surviving people of the city of Tamarus have been corralled by the Citadel soldiers.

"I have suffered the agony of humiliation all my life, sister," Komand'r scowls, as a pair of Citadel soldiers force me to my knees. The crowd looks on, hollow-eyed and defeated, as she retrieves a weapon from an eager-looking officer: a Neural Lash, a weapon that is considered a war-crime to even own, let alone wield. "It is well past time you knew what that was like."

She winds the lash back to strike.....

....and I wake, the escape shuttle still traveling at several orders of magnitude above the Speed of Light.

BE ADVISED, YOU HAVE EXITED HYPER-SLEEP DURING JUMP MANEUVERS, the navicomputer warns. PROLONGED CONSCIOUSNESS DURING HYPERSPACE TRAVEL CAN RESULT IN NEUROLOGICAL DISTORTION. YOU MAY EXPERIENCE DISORIENTATION AND MEMORY LOSS UPON RE-ENTERING PHYSICAL SPACE. ADMINISTERING ANESTHETIC....

"Just a dream," A sharp needle jabs into my arm, and I feel myself drifting back into unconsciousness. "Just a little further now....I will be okay......I will be okay...."



".....everything will be okay...."
In DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All → 4 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


”Well, I think that’s about all of the business we’re going to get today,” Mister Abel says, flipping the old “Come in, we’re OPEN” sign on the door to say “Sorry, we’re CLOSED.”

”One person who talked himself out of buying anything, a hipster couple who were ‘just looking around,’ and a homeless guy who needed to use the bathroom,” I say as I count down the register-- more of a ceremonial gesture than anything, since nobody actually bought anything all day. ”I don’t know how we’re ever going to keep up with all of this demand.”

Mister Abel chuckles. ”Oh, we’ll get by, I imagine. Which reminds me,” He roots around in his pockets, before producing a wallet that somehow looks even older than him, and plucks out a single fifty-dollar bill and two twenties. He hands them to me with an apologetic smile. ”I’ve already taken the liberty of deducting your rent and utilities, which I’m afraid doesn’t leave much left over.”

”It’s fine,” I sigh. The fact that it isn’t much doesn’t really bother me-- I’ve got a place to sleep and some groceries in the refrigerator, and I spend most of my free time reading the books in the shop anyway. What bothers me is how bad he feels about it not being much. ”It really is, Mister Abel. I appreciate you taking me in, giving me some honest work.”

And being discreet about the identity of his new tenant, so as not to draw the attention of people looking for me, of course, but that goes without saying. As far as I know, my “father” and his band of hooded weirdos are still tearing Southern California apart trying to find their sacrificial lamb. Lucky for me, it’s a big state, and I was able to put plenty of ground between them and me before going to ground.

I had alternated between walking, hitchhiking, and taking the bus from Los Angeles to Jump City, which was, as one might expect, a terrible idea. The open road has no shortage of creeps who would be all too happy to take advantage of a teenage girl traveling alone. I made it a point not to go straight to any one city, to sleep in rest stops that were well-lit and had 24-hour staff, and to tell anyone who looked a little too eager to ‘help out’ to go to hell. Even then, there was every chance I might have wound up buried in a ditch somewhere. Which, to be honest, wouldn’t have been that much worse than what I was running away from.

I’d wandered into the ‘House of Mystery’ just looking for a place to spend some time before finding a shelter for the night, and found myself striking up a conversation with Mister Abel. I’d never mentioned the fact that I was on the run, or that I had nowhere to go, but he seemed to sense it, and let me know he had a room for rent and was looking for someone to help watch the shop. I let him know I was armed and would stick him like a pig if he ever got any ideas. He chuckled, said I was hired, and a month later, I’ve more or less settled in to what might generously be called a ‘life’ here.

”Oh! I’d nearly forgotten!” Mister Abel once again fumbles about for his wallet. ”While I was out attending my afternoon errands, I couldn’t help but notice that in the park they are making preparations for some rather large event. I asked about, and saw that one of the larger video-game companies, the ‘Control Freaks,’ were launching some new device or another, and having a party to celebrate it.”

He pulls out a crisp new hundred-dollar bill and offers it to me. ”Your bonus for your first month of good work. Enjoy yourself.”

I look at the money, then back to my kindly old boss, and shake my head. ”Thanks, Mister Abel, but….I don’t really do parties. Or video games. Or going outside, for that matter.”

He chuckles. ”Or concerts, or plays, or art festivals, it seems. My dear Rachel, it seems as though you don’t really ‘do’ much of anything.”

”....I guess not.”

Mister Abel places the hundred in my hand, and closes my fingers around it.

”I insist. You’re a wonderful young woman, and I know it isn’t my business to ask what’s troubling you, but….well, making some friends might do you a world of good.”

I let out a sigh. ”I’ll give it a try. For your sake. But I wouldn’t get my hopes up…..”



”I don’t really do ‘friends,’ either.”




Long have I looked to the stars, the glittering points of light at play in the endless heavens, and saw beauty and infinite majesty. Now, looking through the viewscreen of my escape shuttle, those stars seem cold, the vast distances between them empty and uncaring. Am I to drift forever in the unending void?

”Sister….” I find myself asking, holding back my tears, ”How could you have done this?”

Far behind me, Tamaran is in ruins. Long we had fought against the Citadel, repelling their soldiers, burning their ships, bringing down their orbital bombardment platforms. I had taken up our father’s mantle, the Starfire, light of hope and champion of the innocent, to lead our people from the front. Komand’r, on the other hand, had coordinated the war effort from afar, controlling the logistics and communications that made our victories possible. Her work was vital, but she envied the glories heaped upon me.

And so, she had betrayed us. She had given the Citadel secret knowledge of the vulnerabilities in our defenses, and when we most needed to fight together, struck me from behind. I could not bring myself to kill my own sister, and she made me pay dearly for my mercy.

”There must be one,” I say to myself as I search through the navicomputer’s archives. ”Merciful X’haal, let there be one….”

Our world fell, and the Citadel made my treacherous sister nominal Queen of Tamaran in exchange for fealty to their greater empire. Our generals were executed, our monuments toppled, our palaces burned. I was paraded in chains through the streets by Komand’r-- the self-proclaimed ‘Queen Blackfire’ in mockery of my own title-- and was to be made the plaything of the brutal and salacious Lord Damyn.

I had fought like an animal to free myself, and stole one of the escape shuttles from my father’s-- now my sister’s-- flagship. After disabling the tracking signals to make sure I would not be followed, I began searching the stars for a safe haven, one where the Citadel and my sister could not find me.

Even if I do find one, though, what then? Hide away forever? I am a Champion of Tamaran; I would never dishonor myself with cowardice. Seek vengeance against my sister? I have no armies, no fleet, no weapons to wield. Perhaps once I find safety, I can then begin to gather allies. Perhaps the Lanterns, or the people of Rann....

ATTENTION, the navicomputer sounds, SEARCH PARAMETERS HAVE YIELDED ONE POSITIVE RESULT. M-CLASS PLANET, DOMINANT SPECIES A LEVEL-1 TECHNOLOGICAL SOCIETY. INTERSTELLAR CONTACT: MINIMAL TO NONE.

Viewing the data, it is a small planet, barely noticed by any of the great space-faring peoples. Its people are primitive, little more than savages, but by astronomical coincidence, happen to look like Tamaranians. It may be possible to seek asylum here, but finding allies is out of the question. They will be of no help to me when it comes to freeing my people.

Still, I have no other options. I set a course for the shuttle to jump…..and I finally allow myself to cry.

YOUR STRESS LEVELS ARE ELEVATED. WOULD YOU LIKE SOME SOOTHING MUSIC, OR A CHEMICAL RELAXANT?

”No,” I say, drying my eyes as the wormhole-drive begins to whir.



”What I need now….is a friend.”
In Andy C's Trial Grounds, Drawing Board, and Graveyard of Ideas → 4 yrs ago Forum: The Gallery


T H E B E S T N I G H T O F M Y L I F E
CHAPTER ONE


My name is Dick Grayson. I am twelve years old. And tonight is the best night of my life.

"All right," Mister Bruce says, straightening the cuffs on his jacket as we ride in the back seat of his Rolls Royce, "Just to make absolutely certain you have it straight, let's go over the plan one more time."

I roll my eyes, but even so, I'm fidgeting with excitement. This is my first mission, my first actual assignment in the field, working with Mister Br-- ....with Batman. I'm going to be helping Batman.

"We arrive to Mister Dent's fundraiser a fashionable thirty-five minutes late," I recite. "You'll begin making the rounds and shaking hands with the high-profile VIPs in attendance, while I act disinterested and bratty. While it will look like I'm ignoring them and texting with my friends, I'll actually be wirelessly breaking into their phones and smart-devices, in particular looking for passwords and login data. If it's encrypted, I send it to your hacker friend Oracle. Primary target is Rupert Thorne, along with Commissioner Loeb, Mayor Hill, Roland Daggett, and Doctor Jeremiah Arkham."

"And your secondary targets?"

"Captain Jim Gordon to make sure he can be trusted, Oz Cobblepot to see if he had anything to do with the phony insider-trading allegations facing Wayne Enterprises' board of directors, and Doctor Quinzell to see if we can access her files on the Joker."

"Very good," Bruce nods. "What happens then?"

I scratch my head, trying to recall the details of the next part.

"Then, I find an excuse to go out on the balcony," I remember. "No later than 8:35, because at 8:40, we'll have a five-minute window where a WayneTech satellite will be in orbit directly above the city. During that five-minute window, I give it the information of all the VIPs we have, and it starts blasting the private servers of Carmine Falcone with military-grade code that will crack any cyber-security countermeasures he might have. It runs the login information over and over of everyone I've collected until it gets a positive, and at that point we'll not only have access to Falcone's personal network, but we'll know the identities of the VIPs on his payroll. Then it does the same thing with Sal Maroni, Roman Sionis, Anatoli Knyazev....and Tony Zucco."

Four years ago, Tony Zucco murdered my mom and dad, and walked away without a slap on the wrist. Four years ago, Bruce Wayne took me in, gave me a life I could have only dreamed of. But more than that, he gave me the chance to set things right--he started giving me the education, the training, and the equipment to take Zucco down. Mister Bruce wants all of the 'Five Kings' of Gotham taken down in one night.

I can't fight in Mister Bruce's war, not yet. I can't dodge bullets and break limbs like he can. I can't jump across rooftops-- well, I can, but I'm not allowed to. But if dressing up in an uncomfortable suit and pretending to have a good time gets us one step closer to seeing Zucco behind bars, then I'll wear this stupid bow-tie and play nice with all the old rich people he wants.

"I can't wait til we pull this off," I say, my leg bouncing up and down with nervous energy. "We'll take them all down, and Tony Zucco won't ever know that I had a hand in ruining that son of a--"

"Dick," Bruce interrupts, "language."

".....sorry," I mutter. For a man who spends his nights cracking people's skulls, he's very insistent on keeping things as wholesome as possible.

"Here we are, Master Bruce, Master Richard," Alfred announces from the driver's seat as the Rolls pulls up to the Westward Hotel, an old art-deco monstrosity that the very rich and old-fashioned love to use for these sort of functions. "the best of luck, happy hunting, and most importantly....have a wonderful evening."

In Andy C's Trial Grounds, Drawing Board, and Graveyard of Ideas → 4 yrs ago Forum: The Gallery
This is going to effectively be my "laboratory," trying out character and story ideas in advance to see if I want to continue them in a later game somewhere. I don't expect anyone to read them, but if you do, I always appreciate a boost for my huge and fragile ego.
In DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All → 4 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
I'm honestly cool with either one, but I prefer sooner to later. If we've got two whole weeks to get in our first post before the cutoff, one day isn't a huge deal-breaker one way or the other.
In DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All → 4 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
S T A R F I R E / R A V E N

Princess Koriand’r/Rachel Roth ♦ Exiled Princess of Tamaran/Ex-Cultist and current Runaway ♦ Jump City, California, USA ♦ Independent


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

"Evil beware, for we are here to lick your anuses!"

"....it’s ‘kick,’ not ‘lick,’ we’re here to kick their--.....you know what, never mind, AZARATH METREON ZINTHOS!!!!"

Rachel Roth has been surrounded by the occult since the day she was born. Her mother Arella, a second-generation hippie quick to buy into whatever new-wave feel-good movement could hold her attention, was barely eighteen when she was inducted into the Children of Azaroth, a spiritual-science order who claimed to be connected to astral beings on a higher plane of existence. There, she fell in love with a handsome young man by the name of Sebastian Blood, an eccentric multi-millionaire who seduced her and lured Arella into his mansion in the Hollywood hills. While Arella didn’t remember much of that night, she would have nightmares for years about the man she made love to actually being a hulking giant with eyes of fire.

Arella’s daughter Rachel was disillusioned with the Children of Azaroth almost immediately, especially while watching her mother’s mental health deteriorate. Despite this, she found herself enamored with occult literature and history, perhaps determined to find the ‘real’ magic that the amateurish cult had so clearly failed to produce. Mature before her age, she developed an ever-present cynicism and biting sarcasm, as well as nearly impenetrable emotional walls to resist the Children’s conditioning.

On her sixteenth birthday, Rachel received the greatest surprise of her life-- and nearly her last as well. Her supposed father Sebastian Blood had returned to the compound, showering her with gifts and throwing a magnificent party, before attempting to drug and murder the young girl in a ritualistic sacrifice. Much to the surprise of everyone in the room, a pitch-black shadow erupted from Rachel’s body and hurled the cultists aside like ragdolls. Confused and terrified, yet seeing the opportunity to escape, Rachel fled the cult for good. After hitchhiking north, she found her way to Jump City, where she currently works as an assistant at an old book store, half her meager wages paying for the dingy loft apartment above the shop.

Several million light years away, the lush and vibrant world of Tamaran had enjoyed sixteen cycles of prosperity and happiness under the rule of the just and mighty King Myand’r. His twin daughters were beloved by the common people, though the cheerful and bright Koriand’r was favored ever so slightly more than her sister Komand’r. This slight favoritism, barely perceptible to those not paying close attention, would eat at Komand’r all her life, a jealousy that would become a deadly resentment over the years. This was only made worse due to the fact that only one of them could inherit the role of the planet’s protector and champion, the Starfire.

This would come to a head when, during a training exercise with the legendary Warlords of Okaara, Komand’r staged an “accident” with the intent of killing Kory, but instead killed her betrothed, the beloved General Phy’zzon. Thinking quickly, Komand’r was able to cover her own crime as a failed assassination attempt by Tamaran’s eternal enemies, the dreaded Citadel. King Myand’r responded to this by declaring open war upon the Citadel, and the years of prosperity and joy gave way to terror and bloodshed.

Koriand’r inherited the role of Starfire after their father was slain fighting the Citadel’s shock troopers, and with the help of the Warlords of Okaara, led her people on multiple successful campaigns, much to Komand’r’s disdain. Just as Tamaran was on the cusp of victory, Komand’r stunned her people by betraying them, siding with the Citadel during a key battle for the sake of facing her hated sister in combat. Koriand’r held the upper hand in their battle, but could not bring herself to kill her own sister, a mercy that Komand’r exploited ruthlessly to defeat her. With Tamaran conquered and her sister in chains, Komand’r declared herself Queen Blackfire, a mockery of the title she had coveted for so long.

Koriand’r’s captivity would not last, however, as she soon fought her way free and stole away in a single-use jump pod as Citadel troops bore down on her. Desperate for somewhere safe, the ship’s navicomputer located a primitive backwater planet, whose inhabitants happen to look similar to Tamaranians by an absolutely staggering coincidence, and jumped away.

The power in Jump City has gone out. Rachel Roth has climbed up to the roof of her ratty apartment to see if she can read by moonlight. And what was a pinpoint of light in the night sky seems to be getting larger, and brighter, and closer…...

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:
Raven and Starfire is a pairing that I firmly believe is one of DC’s biggest untapped gold mines. While they love playing up the whole “one’s bright and happy, the other is dark and dour” routine with Batman and Superman, and even went so far as to rewrite Poison Ivy’s entire personality just to do it again in the Harley Quinn cartoon, they have yet to do it with what IMO is one of the most obvious duos, from a cartoon that basically everyone loves.

While their origin stories do border on being Very Serious (™), I want Kory and Rachel to effectively be a superhero equivalent of a buddy-cop-movie or an Odd Couple sitcom. Just, instead of a by-the-book veteran and a loose-cannon rookie, or an uptight businessman and his slovenly roommate, it’s a bubbly alien space-princess and the literal actual Anti-christ. Lethal Weapon with space battles and spandex, Rush Hour with demons and teen-drama, or maybe Perfect Strangers with explosions and doomsday cults. It’s something I have wanted to write for ages, but always put off for the sake of chasing a bigger fish.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:









S A M P L E P O S T:
"So, that's two hardbacks, three paperbacks, and a first edition," Rachel recounted in a disinterested monotone as the customer waited impatiently for her to punch everything into the cash register. "After tax, that comes out to fifty-two dollars and seventy-three cents."

The customer made a face, and attempted to haggle. "You sure that thing didn't make a mistake? Like, a glitch in the programming?"

Rachel gave him a deadpan glare, glanced down at the old analog register for a moment, then said, "You're right, sir, this completely non-digital machine must have had a hiccup in the software. If you'll give me a moment, I can call tech support and--"

"No, no, it's.....here you go," he said, producing three crumpled twenties from his wallet. "Y'know, learning a little customer service couldn't hurt."

"I provide the exact quality of service appropriate to the customer," she said, handing him his change. "Have a day."

Working at the House of Mystery, a gaudy title for what was in fact a dusty hole-in-the-wall bookstore, was far from the worst experience Rachel Roth could ask for. The walls were packed with old tomes and albums full of all sorts of interesting subjects: histories of long-lost civilizations, macabre biographies of infamous figures of folklore, encyclopedic catalogs of spirits and daemons, texts of everything from ancient Sumerian divination to the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, to folk religions like voodoo and santeria, to new-age paganism and chaos magic, even parlor tricks like sleight-of-hand and cold reading. Mr. Abel was a nice enough manager, though he was rarely around and left Rachel to tend the store by herself more often than not. Fine by her; more opportunities to get some reading in. The only problem was with the customers.

And of course, her new roommate.

"Friend Rachel," Kory said, drifting down the staircase, oblivious to the fact that she was floating nearly a foot off the ground and would have caused a panic if anyone else had seen it, "I am having the difficulty interfacing with this data-storage device."

Rachel glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "You mean that book?"

"Yes, this 'boook,'" she replied, mispronouncing the 'oo' sound. "While I see the data runes inscribed, I cannot activate them to call upon its internal AI construct and begin the holo-feed."

Rachel blinked in confusion, then shook her head.

"Internal AI--? No, Kory, you just," Rachel took the book out of Kory's hands and opened it. "You just read the 'data runes,' and that's how you get the information. There's no holograms or AI or anything."

"....but this is an account of romantic interest," Kory said, confused. "Without a holo-feed, how will I see the techniques employed?"

"Just....use your imagination. Your mind will picture everything for you."

Kory gave uncertain glances back and forth between Rachel and the book.

"...so I am to stare at symbols on a slice of dead vegetable matter," she tried to put the pieces together, "until I begin to hallucinate images and sounds? And that is how information is shared on this world?"

"....well, when you put it like that--"

"That is wonderous!" Kory exclaimed. "Voluntary hallucinogens without chemical stimulation? Never have I heard of such a thing! But what, then, are the side effects of exposure to the booooks?"

"....you get smarter?"

Kory's eyes went wide, like the first time she had ever seen a star going nova.

Before this could continue, outside the store, a siren blared, an engine roaring as a large red shape blurred past the shop window.

"What was the purpose of the noise-making vehicle?"

"Huh? Oh, that's a fire engine," Rachel shrugged. "They're just on their way to put out a fire somewhere down the block."

"A fire?!" Kory gasped. "Then the innocents are imperiled! We must be quick to act!"

Dropping the book, Kory stripped off her shirt and began undoing her pants.

"Kory! What are you doing?!

"I am exchanging my civilian garb for my proper battle regalia," she answered, a purple tube-top and skirt appearing over her body like magic. "How else will the innocents know that a champion protector is here to assist them?" With a gasp of realization, Kory grabbed at the tail of Rachel's shirt. "Quickly, you must change into your battle regalia as well!"

Rachel sputtered, and swatted Kory's hands away. "Hey, that's--knock it off, I don't have 'battle regalia!'"

Kory stopped, staring at Rachel as though she had said she eats rocks.

"That is not acceptable," Kory shook her head, then grabbed Rachel by the wrist. "Come, we will assist with the fighting of fires, and then we shall locate a member of your merchant caste who can procure proper regalia for you! There is little of the time to be wasting!"

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


In A L I E N : Tales from the Frontier → 4 yrs ago Forum: Tabletop Interest Checks

T A L E S F R O M T H E F R O N T I E R



P R E M I S E:

It is the year 2182, and mankind is struggling to find its place among the stars. Having turned mother Earth into a polluted, overpopulated, miserable hive of the desperately poor living in the shadows of the unfathomably rich, humanity has sought out new opportunities in the Outer Veil. A web of colonies, mines, stations, and shipping lanes connect hundreds of planets, moons, and asteroids in the region of the galaxy that has come to be known as the Middle Heavens. The United Americas, the Three Worlds Empire, and the Union of Progressive Peoples have been locked in a perpetual three-way cold war for control over this web of sparsely-populated worlds, while all three line the pockets of the ambitious and utterly ruthless Weyland-Yutani Corporation and its competitors. For those who live in the far-off worlds of the Frontier, though, this politicking and intrigue doesn't mean much compared to the challenge of simply making it through the day in one piece.

That's where you come in. Maybe you're an Earther, who saw the chance to pull yourself out of the grime and misery and managed to take a job off-world. Maybe you're a freelancer, with a small ship of your own and big debts to pay for it. Maybe you're an agent for the Company, seeking new opportunities for revenue, as well as a chance to climb a few more rungs up that ladder. Or maybe you're a kid raised out here in the Frontier, more interested in exploring the nooks and crannies of the station than whatever dull grown-up business your parents are tending to. One way or another, you have found your way to the ass-end of space, and it's on you to figure out how to get by.

Bear in mind, 'getting by' is harder than most planet-bound folks would ever believe. Space itself is huge, cold, and utterly unforgiving. If it's not gamma bursts or neutrino fields cooking you alive, or black holes pulling you into oblivion, or an unexpected chunk of debris smashing your ship's hull at an inopportune moment, it's the unknowable light years of complete and utter nothing that will starve you and freeze you and drive you insane. Accidents happen, parts break down, people turn on each other, and lives are snuffed out.

And those are just the tragedies that have explanations. Every once in a while, a ship, a station, even an entire colony, will just...go dark. No explanation given, no story or excuse, the names and places will just vanish from the map, and from Company records, like they never existed. Such things are dismissed as the ramblings of conspiracy theorists, perhaps UPP propaganda or anti-Company fear-mongering.

Still, there are names that any aspiring corporate executive, government official, or military officer knows full well to avoid. Names like the Nostromo. Or Sevastapol Station. Or Hadley's Hope.

Rumors have circulated for years about ancient ruins on forgotten planets, "ghost ships" full of horrors best left undiscovered, and hostile creatures that are the very stuff of nightmares. Most seasoned spacers know bullshit when they hear it, but if even the smallest part of those rumors are true, then maybe mankind should have never left the confines of Earth in the first place.

Still, you're here in the far end of the Frontier, and you've got a job to do. Best to keep your head on a swivel, your reflexes sharp, and an eye on any dark corners. There are no grand heroes to save the day out here, only grunts and assholes and the occasional halfway decent human being, and a thousand horrible things lurking in the shadows.

As the old saying goes, in space, no one can hear you scream.



P R O P O S A L:

I would like to run a persistent roleplaying campaign set in the universe of the Alien movies, using the RPG system developed by Free League Games (the free Quickstart PDF hasn't come out yet, but it's based on the same mechanics as their older game Coriolis, the quick rules for which can be found here). Rather than a single ongoing plot, the idea is to have a series of interconnected one-shot adventures with lots of different things that can go badly. While the Aliens themselves are the headline attraction, they are far from the only danger players will encounter, both in terms of otherworldly horrors and just the regular dangers of space travel (think of movies like Sunshine or Europa Report for examples of 'mundane' space horror). If your character survives to the end of an encounter, they may return later as a recurring hero or villain.

However, that's a big 'if.' As this is a horror game, it is entirely possible (and very likely) that most if not all of a crew on any given mission will die in very nasty ways. While I do not intend to get overly explicit with things like sexual content (although that is definitely a part of it if you look at HR Giger's artwork), I am marking this game as 18+ due to the fact that the Alien series has its fair share of blood, gore, and grotesque body horror. As this game takes cues from the first movie rather than the second, trying to be a guns-blazing action hero will likely get you killed very quickly. Unless you're a squad of heavily armed Colonial Marines, trying to stand and fight with even a single Alien will almost always end poorly-- and even if you are a squad of heavily armed Colonial Marines, your odds aren't stellar.

Survival-horror is the name of the game, with players having to rely on teamwork, creative problem solving, and possibly self-sacrificing heroics to make it through increasingly awful situations. Stay alive, stay sane, and stay human.
In DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All → 4 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Sample post for Rave/Star is up. Also added character notes for the potential shenanigans they may get up to this season.
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