Barrett

Character Sheets, old and new!

Union Jack

Player Name:
Roosan

Character You Wish To Play:
Union Jack (Brian Falsworth)

Moral Alignment:
Walking the Line

Affiliation:
S.H.I.E.L.D.

Character Origin:

Backstory

Brian grew up on the many tales of Union Jack's exploits and missions against the threat of Hydra, thrilling to every comic, film or cartoon about his hero. Even as a young boy, Brian felt he knew what he wanted to do with his life, he wanted emulate his hero and serve his country. Fate had other plans, however, and Brian's start in life was nowhere near as privileged and wealthy as his hero's; Lord James Falsworth was the oldest son of one of Britain's oldest noble houses while Brian was just an orphan from east London. Still, he did his best in school and tried to fight for justice like Union Jack. By the age of thirteen, he had been arrested several times, twice for donning a mask and attacking criminals.

At this time in his life he came to the attention of Lord Falsworth, the secret identity of Union Jack. His lordship was alerted by some old contacts when Brian was threatened with a prison sentence if he didn't desist in his activities. Lord Falsworth took the young man under his wing, adopting him, training him to control his temper and to fight like Union Jack. After some years, he revealed his secret to Brian and asked if he would be willing to don the mask and continue the legacy. Brian gladly accepted and has been Union Jack and an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. since then, being deployed on clandestine operations to ensure the safety of the free world by doing things that might not be seen as particularly democratic by the general public. Sometimes he wondered whether the people of the UK would be accepting of him using the name and uniform of one of their iconic heroes in such a way.

While being imprisoned by A.I.M. after a mission gone wrong, Brian encountered a man named Professor Eric Schmitt. A Bio-Chemist who had spent his life trying to replicate the Super Soldier Serum used to turn Steve Rogers into Captain America, Schmitt had been kidnapped by A.I.M. who intended to force him to give up what he had developed so far. During his capture, the Professor had managed to conceal a single dose of the serum on his person. He feared to take it, not having done human trials yet, but told Brian all he needed to do for them to escape was drink the serum. Upon swallowing the formula, Brian underwent intense physical changes. When he recovered, he discovered his abilities to be greater than even that of a peak human athlete. His newfound abilities were immediately put to the test as he escaped the A.I.M. prison with Professor Schmitt in tow.

Although Schmitt died during the escape, Brian was able to return to S.H.I.E.L.D. with his new powers and offer himself up as an improved version of Union Jack. Director Fury was impressed with his abilities, as they compared favourably with those Captain Rogers possessed but was unwilling to allow Brian too much leeway inside the organisation. Fury worried that the power would go to his head and decided to keep him on more small scale operations for some time, under the eye of a famously disciplined S.H.I.E.L.D. agent named Smythe.

Powers and Abilities:

Super Soldier Serum Derivative

Brian gained enhanced speed, strength, endurance and durability granted from Professor Eric Schmitt's Super Soldier Serum derivative. He has not possessed theses powers long enough for it to be known whether this version of the SSS will affect the speed at which he ages. Schmitt's attempt to recreate Erskine's serum was not entirely successful, however, and Brian cannot match Steve Roger's physical abilities as recorded by those who saw him in action during WWII, putting him somewhere between the peak abilities of a normal human and Captain America.

Learned Abilities

Hand to Hand combat: Brian has received training in how to fight with his hands since the age of thirteen and had more than a little experience at brawling even then. Before his exposure to the formula, he was ranked as one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s foremost hand-to-hand combatants. With the addition of his serum given abilities, it is doubtful anyone not similarly enhanced could pose a threat to him in unarmed combat.

Ranged combat: Much like the original Union Jack, Brian is well versed in the use of firearms, particularly the modern military grade weapons used by S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in the field. Assault rifles and pistols are his speciality, there not being much call for heavier weapons during covert Ops. The abilities he gained from the serum augment his shooting with improved hand eye coordination and faster reflexes.

Gadgets: As an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., Union Jack has access to and has trained with the standard equipment for field agents, including smoke grenades, flash bangs and grenades that are all of an improved variety to those used by traditional armed forces.

Sample Story Arcs:

Samples

- Inheriting the mantle
As the second hero to bear the name and mantle of Union Jack, Brian Falsworth has big shoes to fill. Lord James Montgomery Falsworth, his father, was the first man to use the title, when he fought alongside Steve Rogers in WWII and helped defeat Hydra. He was just a man who chose to fight for what he saw as right, without special powers or enhanced abilities. For Lord Falsworth, the mask was a symbol of what he stood for and what he fought to protect. It meant a great deal to him and just as much to the men who fought alongside him. Brian must not only serve his country as best as he is able but also live up to the family name and the inherited title.

Same sort of themes as the second Captain America film, only using the different views consecutive generations have on doing the right thing rather than how the world has changed. I'd like to use Brian as a secretive agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. who goes on undercover OPs, rather than a frontline hero like Lord James Falsworth and see how the public would react to news that the mantle of a hero and veteran of WWII is being used by someone who participates in arguably illegal operations.

- The Return of Baron Blood
Legacy, it affects every hero. What you create, what lasts and what you leave behind. Unfortunately, many heroes leave villains behind them, villains that aren't content with their rivals retirement or death. Those villains return again and again, tearing down whatever the hero has built in an attempt to achieve a final victory over their opponent. The first Union Jack's greatest enemy was a vampire named Baron Blood, a vampire who seemingly perished with the third Reich. Should he return, it would be Brian's greatest test to date.

So Baron Blood is actually the original Union Jack's (James Falsworth) younger brother, John Falsworth because that's how Silver Age comics worked. He was 'killed' by Kraven the Hunter (sort of) at the end of WWII but was eventually resurrected by Dracula's servants in the 616 Universe. Having him return in this universe would be interesting, particularly if used in concert with the Red Skull or the return of Hydra.

Character Sheets, old and new!

J'ohn J'onzz, The Martian Manhunter

| Name |
J'ohn J'onzz

| Alias |
John Jones, the Martian Manhunter

| Alignment |
Neutral Good

| Affiliation |
Unaffiliated

| History |
■ 1900 ■
J'ohn J'onzz is born to an average Martian family. To their delight, he displays all the desirable traits that a young Martian could have; telepathy, mass shifting and spectrum shifting. His parents are so proud of their child they name him 'Light to the light' in their language, a name that proclaims honour and justice for all. As he grows into a young man, J'ohn masters the many uses of the complex Martian physiology. He can shapeshift, send his mind outside his own body to contact the minds of others, affect physical objects with his mind, change his density to pass through solid matter and alter his appearance in the visible spectrum of light to become invisible. Some of these abilities are common place within the Martian populace but great self discipline and talent are required to master so many. Members of the populace who cannot even shapeshift, the most common ability, are referred to as mutants and shunned.

■ 1930 ■
A child named Saul Erdel is born on earth and J'ohn J'onzz begins his training to become a Manhunter on Mars, the Martian equivalent of a police officer. His training goes at a fast pace and he is soon a fully fledged Manhunter, using his superior mastery of his natural abilities to great effect when tracking and apprehending criminals.

■ 1950 ■
A Martian project is announced called 'Firebird'. The project's aim is to create a craft capable of ferrying Martians to the other planets in the solar system. J'ohn is now recognised as one of Mar's foremost Manhunters and has been bonded to a Martian named M'yri'ah. Saul Erdel is now a young man, studying Astro-physics and Quantum theory.

■ 1980 ■
J'ohn now has a child named K'hym, who seems to have inherited his gift for the manipulation of her physical form, far outstripping her class-mates with her skills at shapeshifting. Project Firebird is still underway and predicts that it will be operational inside fifty years. Saul Erdel has been a scientist for most of his life but is ostracised by the scientific community after claiming he could build a device to instantaneously transport interstellar matter to earth. Even after many years working on this project, he has made almost no progress but refuses to focus on anything else.

■ 2000 ■
J'ohn was in hot pursuit of a fugitive when he felt the world fade away from him, air twist in his lungs and suddenly he was a new place. It looked wrong, smelled wrong and felt wrong to the many senses he possessed that humans do not. In front of him, a humanoid with pink skin seemed as shocked at his arrival as J'ohn was to have arrived. As he watched, the man collapsed backwards onto the floor. In his mind, J'ohn felt the other creatures life pass away in a flash of vindication, shock and fear. Saul Erdel has died moments after seeing his great invention finally succeed.

■ 2005 ■
J'ohn has spent the intervening years slowly learning about humans, first without leaving the lab and then by adopting a human shape and venturing forth. He learned from television, the internet and by talking to humans but mostly with his telepathic powers. After much consideration, he decided the only sensible course of action is to wait until Project Firebrid is advanced enough to reach earth, no sooner than 2030, and then contact the ship and its crew. Given the longevity of his race, he has the time to wait. Until that day, he will simply have to live the best he can on earth. He adopts the name John Jones and joins the Metropolis Police Department, the similarity between his new role and his old job bringing some comfort. He desperately misses his family.

■ 2013 ■
J'ohn is one of the many heroes that step forward and battle against Magneto in his attempt on President Kelly's life. He joins forces with Superman and is both surprised and pleased to learn of another alien, far from home, on planet earth. After the battle, he talks with Superman a great deal, eventually revealing his alter ego, John Jones and is honoured when Superman in turn tells him he's normally called Clark Kent. More than allies, the two have become fast friends and J'ohn follows his friend's lead when it comes to declining membership in the JLA.

■ 2016 ■
J'ohn continues to serve law and order as MPD detective John Jones and help protect the human race as the Martian Manhunter. Although he misses Mars, M'yri'ah and K'hym with all his heart, his desire to do good will not let him rest while injustice thrives.

| Supporting Cast |

Mars

M'yri'ah and K'hym - J'ohn's bond mate (Martian equivalent to spouse or significant other) and child back on Mars. M'yri'ah works as as a prosecutor for the Martian high courts and K'hym was in late adolescence when J'ohn was transported to earth. Now K'hym must be a fully grown Martian and has likely selected a career of their own but J'ohn has no way of knowing or even contacting his family.

Earth

Maggie Sawyer - Maggie is J'ohn's (or rather John's) partner in the MPD, both serving as homicide detectives. While he does his best to not let it show, J'ohn occasionally uses his Martian abilities to give their cases a push in one way or another. Being no slouch as a detective herself, Maggies knows there's something not entirely normal about her partner but she's no snitch and she can't argue with his results. She intends to work it out herself, something that J'ohn is conscious of but not sure how to respond to.

| Differences |
This version of J'ohn uses his original origin so the Martian race still exists but have not yet mastered space travel. I've also deliberately not mentioned White Martians and instead had the mutants on Mars be the ones with no special abilities, which will colour how J'ohn sees the situation on earth. He's also not a member of the Justice League or any other team and lives in Metropolis.

| Post References |
1: Stellar Sacrifice
2: Patriotic Discoveries
3: Magic in the Morning

Character Sheets, old and new!

The Riddler

Name:

Edward Nigma

Age:

Forty eight years old

Alias:

The Riddler

Appearance:

Edward is never seen without his signature green suit, purple tie and patronising grin, unless he's recently been apprehended by Batman, in which case he wears orange asylum overalls and a disgruntled scowl. Getting on a little in years, Nigma now likes to use a question mark cane as well. Some sources suggest it may contain concealed weapons, though Nigma rarely deigns to do something as thuggish as fight someone in hand-to-hand combat.

Skills/Abilities:

- Genius level intellect, particularly when presented with puzzles and riddles.
- Experienced planner and manipulator
- Many contact in the Gotham underworld and Supervillain circles, veteran baddie
- Independently wealthy, having stashed money from legal and illegal deeds for years.

Weaknesses:

- Obsessed with riddles and proving his intellectual superiority
- Compulsively leaves clues for others to figure out his motives, location and actions
- Physically weak and has little skill with personal combat

History:

As a young boy, Edward saw the tests and questions his teachers presented him with as nothing more than puzzles with solutions so obvious, it almost wasn't worth solving them. He did though and was rapidly advanced through different schooling systems and to more and more prestigious establishments. Although young Edward's success meant that he went to better schools on scholarships, his early success greatly frustrated his father, a man who hadn't achieved in his entire life a quarter of what his son had in less than ten years. The man could not accept that his son was gifted or intelligent, instead choosing to believe his son was somehow cheating on every test he took. Whenever Edward brought home a school card full of straight As, his father beat him and demanded that he reveal his method of deception.

His father's actions had a profound affect on Edward. Despite not being able to satisfactorily explain to his father how it was he had passed every test ever presented to him, the attacks quickly drummed a lesson into his mind; the truth must be told. Throughout his childhood, the young man was unflinchingly honest and often received still more trouble for it. We all know that sometimes it is better to lie than to tell the truth, whether it's to protect someone's feelings or to save ourselves answering some unnecessary questions. And so now Edward had two conflicting messages, one saying that lying was wrong and the other that the truth could get you into trouble.

By the time he was thirteen, the young Nigma had come upon a solution. He simply found ways to tell the truth that were not immediately obvious to a listener. He was say one thing while meaning another by shifting his tone or allow the other person to leap to conclusions by not finishing sentences. And yet this still felt a little too much like lying to him so, during a class trip to the carnival, he was delighted by his discovery of riddles. Here was a way to put the truth in front of someone's face and defy them to understand it. It was here that Edward began both an extensive study of the history and mythology of riddles and to amass a vast collection of esoteric facts to serve as props for his riddles.

Edward eventually left both school and his father behind, becoming first an investor, then a banker and finally a security advisor. While the stock market had been an interesting game, it was too chaotic for his tastes, too lacking in carefully constructed rules. In short, it wasn't puzzle like enough for him. That's not to say he didn't make an awful lot of money during his two previous careers though, he made an awful lot of cash that he carefully stashed away in different accounts and funds. But as a secuirty advisor, designing and manning advanced security systems, he felt he might have found his true calling. Edward was able to create puzzles and riddles for intruders (though he personally thought of them as contestants) that lead them one way or the other, depending on whether they guessed right. And watching through his CCTV cameras, Nigma had the time of his life.

It all got stale soon though, for the average thief or burglar isn't particularly interested in solving complex riddles, they'd rather just cut the power to the building, smash a window and grab whatever their desire is. Or, if the puzzles were too complex, simply give up and leave. Edward realised that the fun was going out of his games because his contestants were a) too stupid and b) had the ability to leave whenever they wanted to. If he really wanted full satisfaction, he'd have to create an environment where they couldn't leave and had to apply their full concentration to escape. Maybe he should make some of the traps deadly?

It was a fateful night that he began designing some more lethal riddles because one of the many buildings he was monitoring was being broken into. The thief, or should that be cat-burglar, was very carefully navigating around every single one of the Edward's riddles and traps, using the ceiling, floor, air ducts and whatever else she pleased. It so annoyed Nigma that he was about to trip the alarm himself when he saw another figure, a shadowy giant with pointed ears. Where the thief was going round the puzzles, the newcomer was solving them with almost contemptuous ease. If anything, he seemed to be gaining ground on the feline intruder! Edward could hardly believe his eyes as the two of them waltzed in through his meticulously designed security system without a care in the world, being rude enough to leave without even stealing anything, not that the cat-burglar didn't try.

Now Edward was both incensed and exhilarated. Someone had beaten his traps and without apparent effort, solving puzzles and riddles alike. This was the person to go through his newly designed, lethal maze, the perfect contestant to try it out. And what better way to show that pointy eared fool that he only got through Nigma's system because Nigma wasn't ready than to kill him! So Edward constructed, concealed and baited the trap, leaving out riddles all over Gotham for his foe and taking a hostage to provoke the other's heroic nature. When he finally arrived, the puzzle master was waiting and eager for the games to begin. But it happened again, the newly named Batman seemed completely unimpressed with these new challenges! And what was worse was that he found some small clues that might lead him straight to Nigma!

But Edward couldn't stop. He constructed a new set of traps in his own home, sure this time he would defeat the Bat. When he ended up in Arkham Asylum a week later, it was in a state of shock, confusion and despair. It took many months of rotting in a cell for Nigma to realise what must have happend; Batman must have cheated! The filthy rodent! Well Edward would show him! He'd show them all!

That was around the second year of Batman's dark crusade. Ever since, Nigma has been a constant thorn in the side of the Bat, testing his intellect again and again while convinced that he can never match the mental prowess of the king of questions without cheating. Early on in both their careers, the press labelled Edward 'The Riddler' and it appealed to him. He soon adopted it as his 'supervillain' name and got himself a matching outfit.

Character Sheets, old and new!

Sevrah

Name

Sevrah, the Horned Snake

Gender

Male

Homeworld

Scurn, Desert World

An immense planet, amongst the largest ever found by Imperial ships, Scurn is little more than a giant desert. It has not a single sea, few rivers and the vast bulk of all water on the planet runs deep under the ground. The humans present on Scurn survive by harvesting moisture from beneath the earth with vast moisture gathering machines, the owners of which represented the planet's ruling class. The operation of the ancient machines were closely guarded secrets within the ruling families, for their ability to retain control was entirely contingent on maintaining an aura of superiority and mysticism. Their monopoly on the only sources of water on Scurn allowed them to rule more completely than most kings ever have, so long as they made sure none but them knew how to work the machines.

Apart from its arid climate Scurn has one other feature that makes it less than inviting to settlers; aggressive native mega fauna. Most of the species of Scurn either have no need of water at all or have adapted to make small quantities last for vast amounts of time. The result of the planet's incredible size and comparatively low gravity is that the beasts that walk its surface are larger than those seen almost anywhere else in the galaxy though some of them bare remarkable similarities to Terran beasts. Many Imperial surveyors have remarked that the Skeltraks of Scurn could be mistaken for massively enlarged Terran Scorpions, for example. Almost all of Scurn's beasts display the same attitude to visitors as that of the planet itself. That is to say, one of unflinching hatred and resentment.

Appearance

Sevrah is both alike and different to his brother primarchs in appearance. He is every bit as huge and formidable looking as his siblings, being twelve feet tall without armour and possessing muscles seemingly carved from marble. But where most Astartes and Primarchs are broadly muscled and almost as wide as they are tall, Sevrah is comparatively slimly built and wiry. His build favours reach, speed, agility and dexterity over sheer force. The vicious sun of Scurn has left a visible mark on his skin, giving him a dark complexion to compliment his sable black hair. In the desert, he was careful to keep his hair cut close to his head, both to keep it from his eyes and to deprive enemies of something to grab. In his new surroundings of wealth, he has decided on a new look; his head is completely shaved saved for a long, forked goatee. As long as he keeps his helmet on during battles, Sevrah reasons, the goatee will never provide an enemy with a handhold. His eyes are a striking green and have unusual slitted pupils that do nothing to reduce the mental image of Sevrah as a snake that strikes most people.

His power armour, much like that of his legion, is coloured to blend into brown and yellow environs without any vegetation. The armour itself is a miracle of human construction, designed to evade detection and tracking systems of all levels of sophistication. For formal occasions, Sevrah offsets the dull tones of his armour with a crimson cloak made of a rare silk but in the field he prefers the same robes his Sons wear to battle; rough clothes that do nothing to make one look appealing and everything to make one hard to see. His spear, affectionately referred to as the Snake's Horns by his legion, is another masterwork, standing a little taller than he does with a power field encased short blade on one end, a weighted striking pommel on the other and storm bolter affixed under the blade.

Personality

Sevrah was raised on a world of scarcity, where all things had to be rationed, even the truth. As a boy, he learned never to wear his heart on his sleeve, lest his foes seek to tear it away and use it against him. He learned to lie under the sand and wait until the perfect moment to strike, whether it took one hour or twenty. But most of all, he learned how to lie, with his tongue, his eyes, his army or with his weapon. As an adult, he has never forgotten the lessons of the dry desert and uses them to great effect as commander of the IVth legion. Diplomats and strategists need to be able to lie quickly and convincingly, sometimes to lead an opponent into a trap, other times merely to make a potential ally feel more at ease. In whatever way Sevrah chooses to lie or deceive, he does it subtly and well, displaying a calculating cunning second only to that of the Emperor himself.

But in the desert, he learned other lessons too. Lessons of scarcity and independence, of wariness and distrust. When every person you meet for the first dozen years of your life is intent on taking what's yours for themselves, it becomes hard to work oneself into trusting others. Sevrah could count on the fingers of one hand all the people outside his own legion that he truly trusts. Trusts with his life, soul and the wellbeing of his legion. The main lessons he learned in the dune sea, however, were of pragmatism and realism. If you can't do something, no amount of bluster or protest will let you do it. If someone else can, let them. Sevrah sees no use or merit in the qualities of pride and ego, unless it is to manipulate them in others. He himself uses words to often as weapons and armour to ever feel their sting.

Despite, or perhaps because of, his use of lies as a protective shield, Sevrah is incredibly likeable. Upon meeting him, most men and Astartes find him agreeable and affable, especially his siblings. Whether they initially trust him or not, the other Primarchs find him a charming fellow and witty companion, whether at a ceremonial banquet or on a battlefield. Since meeting the Emperor and leaving the desert, Sevrah has been surrounded by his legion and human followers, so conversing with his siblings is a rare chance to talk to an equal.

Skills

Sevrah's greatest skill is his capacity for deception. Few can claim to really know when Sevrah is telling the truth and when he is lying to them, nor can many see through his subtle bluffs on the battlefield. This skill manifests itself in him as a commander in his fondness for ambushes, misdirection and hit-and-run techniques. He only pursues open warfare when it is the last thing his opponent will expect. Apart from that, Sevrah is a skilled at hunting, tracking and the use of stealth. His patience is nearly endless, allowing him to wait for precisely the right moment to strike from an unseen position without flinching or attacking too soon. He is extremely dangerous with his chosen weapon, a two handed spear, and can use it to devastating effect whether he's attacking or defending, whether his opponent knows he's coming or not. He would be assigned Kappa level psychic abilities if he ever took the test, due to a latent ability to force enemies to freeze by looking into their eyes. This ability only occurs in times of stress and seems to be a split between psychic ability and a hypnotic gaze.

Biography

When Sevrah came crashing down onto Scurn, it was inevitable he would awake surrounded by sand. The planet was little more than an immense desert, riddled with the occasional dry sea bed. When Sevrah did awake from his first sleep on the planet's surface however, it was not to see vast tracts of sand in every direction but look into the slitted eyes of an enormous serpent. One of Scurn's most powerful predators, Serasti are horned snakes of immense size and incredible cunning. Their life spans are several centuries long and they are famous for tricking travellers and other animals into traps and snares. Some Scurn legends tell that they have their own language but no Imperial scholars have been able to find evidence of this. But when the snake looked down upon Sevrah, tiny and alone in the sand, it did not strike. Perhaps because of pity or for a later snack, it lifted the infant Primarch in its mouth and carried him to its cave lair. It allowed him to drink from a small pool of water and eat from a freshly killed carcass, watching him guardedly as he did so.

Serastis

Whatever the reason that the Serastis saved Sevrah's life, it did not stop with giving him food and water. It nurtured him until he could walk and then it began to train him. Serasti need water in much the same way humans do and have evolved to prey on other animals that get their water from deep underground. Sevrah's new guardian showed him how to pierce the water sacks of burrowing beasts and to bite into the humps of desert mammals for sustenance. It helped him learn to hunt, showing him how to set a trap by concealing oneself in the sand near an attractive piece of shade. Serasti have no poison in their teeth but have not let that stop them from using attacks to weaken dangerous foes. In the desert, a small wound can quickly cause even the largest of beasts to slow, stumble and eventually fall. Serasti favour giving their prey wounds to their legs or mobility systems and simply waiting for them to stop moving before feasting.

Sevrah was an attentive student to the serpent and learned all the lessons it had to teach. He had no fangs or horns so he crafted himself a spear from the rib bones of one of their meals. He had no scales to keep him safe from the scorching rays of the sun so he used hide and fur to make a cloak. All that he lacked, he was able to cobble together from the wreckage of his guardian's prey. And for the Serastis's part, who can say what it gained? It was a truly ancient monster, having lived almost a millennia, so perhaps it wished to pass on its knowledge and skills. Without any others of its kind in the area, it settled for something else. Or maybe it was clever still than even Sevrah realised and used him as a tool to spread its influence beyond the atmosphere of Scurn, where it reigned as king of the beasts.

During this period of his life, Sevrah saw little of humans. Occasionally he spotted them in the distance but his protector found humans to be too much work for too little reward and tended to leave them be. Those humans that approached them invariably did so with the intention of stealing water or food. Most were lost and starving but Sevrah saw only invaders, come to pillage what he hd fought for and earned. Some were eaten by the serpent, some were slain by the boy but none ever got what they came for or escaped to tell the tale.

Nothing lasts forever though and, in time, even an ancient Serasti will make a mistake. Sevrah's mentor made his while fighting a younger snake for control of territory, misjudging the speed of his opponent and suffering a grievous wound. It still crushed the younger competitor and feasted upon the corpse but the injury sapped its strength and spilled its blood across the sands. The great beast dragged itself home to the lair where Sevrah awaited it. At first, the Primarch did his best to staunch its gaping wound and slow the ichor flowing from the breach. He was still a young man and had not yet even considered the possibility that his constant companion was mortal. He soon realised, however, that no amount of care would return his guardian to its former health. In its eyes, Sevrah saw a resignation and acceptance that scared him to the bone. But he knew what he must do and would not shy from the last lesson his protector had to teach. He took his spear and did what needed to be done.

In the days that followed, Sevrah made preparations to leave his erstwhile home forever. He gathered food and water along with all the accoutrements he had crafted over the years. His last act was to cave in the entrance of the lair, leaving the horned serpent's body to lie in peace and not be picked apart by the next Serasti to settle the area. The Primarch himself set off across the desert in search of something new and yet familiar. He had lost one family and left one home, he now sought a new one.

The years that followed were busy for Sevrah and full of adventures, war and learning. For the first time, he spoke Low Gothic and learned to make symbols upon paper. He learned the principles of trade, diplomacy and military tactics, though all seemed to him to be merely new ways of lying. His education in deception was already complete, his guardian's greatest gift. It seemed that lying made all things easier for him, from lying about where he came from to why he carried the horns of a Serasti with him at all times. The truth frightened or confused people and some went so far as to call his truth lies. His natural force of character and innate gifts soon brought him to command a motley gang of nomads and traders, however and they all asked what to call him. Sevrah had never had a name before and could not come up with a lie that suited him. The crowd were happy to choose for him though and soon word of the Horned Snake spread far and wide. A hero of the nomad, the greatest of hunters and walker of the sands! And here came his first true test; the masters of the moisture gatherers saw his popularity and feared.

Leaders of the wasteland's people always caused the families that controlled the great machines to worry over their security. They were few but controlled access to the greatest sources of water on the planet of Scurn and relied upon this monopoly to keep their privileged positions. They were well aware that a gathering of the desert tribes could spell the end of their precarious power structure and strove to strike preemptively. They decided, as it were, to cut the head off of the snake. Their assassins expected the reports of this Horned Snakes skills and attributes to be nothing but rumour and hearsay and where therefore surprised when he woke to the sound of their stealthy footfalls, rose, towered over them and ripped them limb from limb.

Sevrah knew the signs; this was the start of an incursion. His protector had fought off many ambitious Serasti in the past and had been forced to fend off their tentative advances for some time before they fully committed themselves to the attack. When Sevrah had watched, he had always thought it odd that the older serpent chose not to pursue his opponent, hunt it down and dispatch it outright rather than wait for it to come to him. He did not intend to make the same mistake and wasted no time in rallying his forces behind him. If the masters of machines would strike at him through the shadows, he would show them their folly. The shadows of the desert belonged to him and no one else. His fighting force, made mostly of dissatisfied mercenaries and ambitious youngsters, followed him through the vast tracts of sand that surrounded the machines on all sides. With the failure of their assassination attempt, the masters sent out a proper fighting force to finish the job but all they found was dust. Dust and the occasional ambush.

For some weeks, the master's fighting force were harried this way and that across the dunes. Whenever they thought they had a trail to follow or a trap set, their foes would explode out of the sand at their feet or from behind rocks above them. Every battle took a heavy toll on their numbers for paltry results and soon they wished only to return to the relative safety of their machine fortresses. The march took far longer than it should have done and every day cost blood and flesh. And when they finally arrived at the machine's gates, their eyes beheld a terrible sight; the corpses of their masters hung from the battlements. None were sure when or how but the Horned Snake had been among them and take his revenge without a single member of the guard being any the wiser. To the Primarch, it was all one; battle, stealthy, ambush, leadership, all were just different ways of lying.

Within a week, Sevrah had been pronounced the new master of the machine. Within two, he had begun to train his new army properly, promoting those who served with him during the long weeks of battle and those who showed promise. Within six months, he had formed a dangerous fighting force and set his sights on expansion. Scurn was an immense planet, its dune seas nearly endless and there were many, many, more moisture gathering machines. His force would expand and expand until his territory encompassed every grain of sand the desert had to offer.

It was near the climax of his grand campaign that the forces of the Emperor of Mankind arrived upon the planet. Their chariots of fire fell out of the sky and annihilated the forces battling against Sevrah. And when the corpses had been piled high, Sevrah met his maker for the first time. The year was 815.M30 and the Emperor observed what his son had done with the wastes of Scurn and deemed it good.. He even gave Sevrah what he lacked most; a name. And so he arose to the stars, leaving the sandy winds of Scurn behind him to pass ont he lessons of his guardian to his own sons, the IVth legion. The Desert Sons. But while you can take a Primarch out of the dust, you can't take the dust out of a Primarch. Sevrah was ever the liar, ever the cunning one, ever the snake.

His Sons waged war across the stars, massacring enemy forces with campaigns of calculated cunning and cold cowardice, or so it was deemed by some. Sevrah never felt the need that many of his brother's and sister's did to seek out pitched battles. He preferred traps, ambushes, skirmishes and hit-and-run attacks. He never sieged a castle that could be unlocked by sneaking over the wall and never fought an enemy that could be exhausted by a prolonged effort of harassment. As such, his Sons suffered far fewer casualties than most of Imperium's legions which served to further tighten the familial ties between the Primarch and his legion. To him, every marine was member of his family whose life could never be priced too dearly.

This philosophy found a fellow practitioner when the Vth legion was named the Blazing Sisters and commanded by their Primarch, Farah. She too valued the lives of her legionaries and fought battles according to that principle. The Sister's style of continuous advance paired extremely well with the Desert Sons use of traps and ambushes. When working in concert, the two legions could drive foes into the perfect positions for devastating strikes that would remove command sections and shatter enemy morale. The two legions shared many campaigns over the course of the great crusade and the two Primarchs became friends or, at the very least, the closest thing to a friend that Sevrah had ever had outside of his own geneseed.

The Meeting

The golden figure stood, haloed in an iridescent glow. All around him, a host of impressively armoured warriors stood to attention, their weapons still soaked in gore. By contrast, the men who followed the Horned Snake seemed dirty, ugly and ill equipped. Their weapons were competently forged and they wore the best armour that the desert would allow those that traversed its lengths to wear but beside the gleaming cohorts of the newcomers, they were shamed.

Their leader stepped forward, raising one hand. Instinctively, every member of both assembled armies dropped to their knees, save one. The Horned Snake stood tall, staring at this new figure with a mixture of acute suspicion and cautious curiosity. He had an aura, an unmistakable air of power and control. The very air seemed to part for him and the desert winds fell silent. It had been many years since the Horned Snake had felt such a swell of awe and respect for another being. It brought back memories of a cave, of blood in his teeth and the sight of prey fallen before him. He shook his head to clear it of such thoughts and stepped forward to greet this man.

Before the Horned Snake could utter a word, the magnificent being spoke with a voice of absolute authority. "Be at peace, my son, and know thyself. I am your father, come to reclaim you from the void. Do you know me?"

For a moment, the Horned Snake faltered. It seemed ludicrous, how could he know this man? He had descended from the skies with fire and wrath! He seemed as a god or avatar, not a father! And yet... something deep in the Snake's brain stirred and gave him a prompt.

"You... you are the Emperor."

The man smiled and his happiness lit up the world. "I am. And you, my son, are Sevrah."

The Snake rolled the name around on his tongue for a few moments. "Sevrah. Sevrah. Seeevvraah." He had never needed a name until he came amongst humans but this one felt right to him. And then he too smiled. "Yes, I am."

"My son, there are worlds beyond this one, beyond this endless sea of sand. I would take you to the stars so that you might take them in my name. I would have you stand as a champion of humanity, as a warrior supreme. I would have you take your rightful place as my son." The Emperor extended a gauntleted hand. "Will you accept?"

For a moment, Sevrah stood silent. When asked his plans and intentions, he normally deflected questions with a joke or a skilful lie. But with this man, his father, the Emperor, he felt that here was one who would see through even his deceptions. So he considered the question earnestly, his brow wrinkling and knotting. Then he looked into the face of the Emperor and spoke.

"Father, I would accept with all my heart. I must ask that you allow me to show you something first, however."

The Emperor seemed almost taken aback, just for a moment. Then a laugh that spoke of a rare intrigue in an age of repetition rang out through the air. "Yes, my son. You may show me whatever you will."

---

It took some time to travel to the cave and some more time to convince the Emperor's guards that the sight below was for him alone. Eventually Sevrah and his father stood at the entrance of the cave, once sealed by the young Primarch and now blasted open again by his father's weaponry. Together, they walked inside. Curled into coil in the centre of the cave was the colossal skeleton of Sevrah's guardian, the ancient Serasti that raised, taught and nurtured him in the early years of his life. In its withered eye socket, Sevrah's spear still stood.

It took some time for Sevrah to explain the significance of the beastly remains and even longer to relate how much he owed the old serpent. The Emperor took in everything said with steady interest and never once interrupted. At the end of Sevrah's explanation, he told of how his guardian perished.

"And when I looked into his eyes, I knew there was only one thing left I could do. Only one thing left it could teach me. So I took my spear and gave what help I could. Do you see, Father? I raised my hand against the first thing ever to show me affection, the being that taught me all I know. Can you still say you wish me to rise to the stars with you, knowing this?"

The Emperor's gaze was the patience of mountains, the depths of sea existed in his eyes. It seemed an eternity before he answered his son. "You say this Serasti made a mistake and it cost it its life?"

Sevrah nodded.

The Emperor laid a hand upon his son's shoulder. "Then you should not worry, my son, for I shall not make any such mistake. Our reclamation of the stars for humanity will be unmarred by failure, a perfect legacy for mankind. Now I ask you again; will you stand with me against the forces of the foe?"

Sevrah smiled, though his heart felt heavy. "I shall, father, I shall."

Desert Sons

Desert Sons:
Formerly the Dawn Vipers

Legion Number:
IV

Legion Strength
14,000 Marines strong

Armour Appearance:

Image

Due to preferring to fight covertly in deserts or arid areas, the Sons find it necessary to use cloth robes to keep the heat and light off of their armour, even if the ceramite itself has been treated to avoid glare or reflection. The vast majority of the Desert Son suits of plate are bleached into muddy, sandy colours, some by design and some by the elements themselves.

Warcry:
"Blood on the sand!"

Dramatis Personae

First Captain Ipsa

Captain of the first company, Ipsa is playfully known as the laughing shadow within the legion, both for his skills and his mirth. Save for the Primarch, there are none who can match his skill with camoflague and stealth tactics. Many an ork and eldar have died without ever knowing what it was that killed them and hearing only the dry, rasping chuckle of their murderer. Off the battlefield, there is no jest too foolish, no joke too simple and no situation too grave for Ipsa. In most other legions, he would likely be stripped of his rank for his exploits but the informal nature of the Desert Sons allows him not only to survive but to thrive. Much like Sevrah, Ipsa is skilled in deception and misdirection though he too uses it primarily to disguise his true nature to those not of the legion.

His face is far more coloured by the sun than most of his brothers, leaving him with dark brown skin and flashing white teeth constantly visible in a grin. His hair is shaved close to his head and he bears a single century service stud above his right eyebrow. Somewhat unusually among the Sons, Ipsa's favoured weapon is a plain power sword. Most strive to emulate the Primarch and use spears or short stabbing blades like gladiuses but he says that the elegant simplicity of the average power sword suits him well.

Second Captain Urromah

Famed throughout the legion and Imperium as a whole for using a unique set of weapons, Urromah revels in his moniker as Scorpion of the Second. While he decapitates or dismembers foes with his pincer wielding right hand, he left hand wields the Sting, a complicated metallic whip with a barbed blade on one end. It's unusual for a member of the sons to use any weapons more complicated than a power-sword or spear, their battle philosophies calling for pragmatism and efficiency over martial flair and skill. Urromah, however, has honed his abilities to such a killing edge that not even the Primarch can reasonably object to him wielding such strange weapons. The man himself is quiet and patient, preferring to spend time in the training cages than anywhere else. He enjoys his fame and the reputation he has through the ranks of the Astartes but would rather spar with a battlebrother than talk to them.

Like many of the Sons, he closely resembles his Primarch in skin tone, facial features build. Urromah came from a particularly barbaric part of Scurn (and Scurn was never civilised at the best of times) and still bears the tattoos inflicted on his as young as four. They twist black lines of clan membership down his arms and legs, designs he has copied onto the exterior of his armour. He maintains a small beard but otherwise eschews facial hair.

Third Captain Demruh

Of all the Sons, Demruh is the one that most resembles his gene-father, both inside and out. He has the same poison-honey tongue, the same darting eyes and the same priorities. Within the legion, he is known as a man of great jest and constant laughter. Outside the Desert Son's ranks, he is viewed as a cold, hard commander by humans and an aloof stick-in-the-mud by his fellow Astartes. Both facades are entirely intentional, one to instil discipline and one to allow other Sons to use quietly expressing distaste for him as an in with members of other legions.

Demruh's physical similarity to Sevrah was once almost perfect; same face, same smile, same eyes, same hair. But in a recent battle, an Eldar blades carved a neat scar down his left cheek and ruined his mirror image of the Primarch. In an act of devotion, Sevrah used an enemy blade to mark his own cheek but his superior biology healed the cut in moments. The act was not lost of Demruh, however, who is even more fervent in his loyalty to the Primarch than the rest of the legion.

Fourth Captain Castus

Most Desert Sons utilise close combat weapons that can hack, stab and mutilate enemies at close range. It allows them to burst from the terrain around their enemies and butcher them before any weapons can be readied. Sevrah himself finds this strategy most effective but some of his sons espouse a different way, using long ranged weapons such as Staker Bolters and Sniper Rifles to pick off their foes from afar. The Fourth company is home to many such Sons and Castus the Hawk is the best of them. His manner is as boisterous as any of the other company captains when within the confines of the legion but his manner is deadly cold and calm when on the battle field.

Taking his moniker very much to heart, Castus has had his face and body tattooed with various designs of feathers, wings and eyes. His armour is even drabber than the suits of his brothers, all the better to disguise with paint and powder for each new location. He ritually shaves his head before missions but lets his hair and facial hair regrow when off duty.

Fifth Captain Novrah

The Iron Fifth, Novrah is a traditional warrior through and through. He and his company's most skilled warriors wear the Desert Son's few suits of Terminator plate and act as the legion's vicious fist, hammering foes with tactics more commonly used by the other, less subtle legions. Novrah's ability to completely alter the shape of a battle with the arrival of his forces has earned him a fearsome reputation amongst the forces of the Imperium, one he lives up to. Despite his great name and intimidating stature, a fierce intelligence and quick wit hides behind his thick brow and gorse-bush beard.

Taller and broader than any other member of the Desert Sons, Novrah stands out as a giant even when not clad in Terminator plate. He has deliberately cultivated the air of a brutish oaf, growing a large beard and thick, bushy eyebrows to cement the image. When in the company of his own legion, he is quiet and thoughtful but quickly shifts to boisterous gaiety when in view of anyone else.

Sixth Captain Umah

Even First Captain Ipsa cannot claim to be as irrepressible as Umah, an Astartes who relishes every chance he gets to surprise or terrify the enemy with his arrival. Leading the legion's assault marines, the Sixth Captain is used to arriving in the midst of the foe within a cloud of smoke and roar of noise and that's just the way he likes it. His role suits him perfectly, allowing him to make the most grandiose entrances possible without deviating from or upsetting plans. Off of the battlefield, Umah allows himself to be a little more reserved but still gives the impression of a thunderstorm in a bottle; caged, eager and ready to be unleashed.

Umah feels the need to draw attention to himself on the battlefield, the better to absorb blows that would otherwise be directed at his battle brothers. As such, his armour is painted bright red and a stark white lightning bolt decorates his helm. His chosen weapons are a set of lightning claws and an assault pack.

Seventh Captain Nysho

Oft called the Seventh Son, Nysho is the oldest company captain and perhaps the one that least resembles his Primarch as a person. Brought up on Terra and originally a member of the Dawn Vipers (the Desert Son's legion namer before being rechristened by their Primarch), Nysho has a love and reverence for the concepts of honour and truth. Obviously, this does not square particularly well with his role as a member of the Desert Sons. He does his duty, leading his company through ambushes, strategic withdrawals and harassment campaigns with as much skill as any of the company captains but he often wonders whether what the Sons are doing is right. He studies literature on the nature of honour and Terran traditions, desperately searching for some excuse for the conduct of his legion and Primarch. Thus far he has found none but has managed to keep both his doubts and his search hidden from his brothers. He does not know whether Sevrah himself knows of it.

As he was born and raised on Terra, not Scurn, Nysho's skin is light and fair rather than tanned and wind beaten. He deliberately makes sure to wear his helmet at all times in the field, as not to remind his brothers how much he stands out from them. Also unlike his brothers, his hair is blonde and stretches down to his shoulders.

Chief Apothecary Mekroh

The sawbones is valuable in any army, because it's always better that the life expectancy of a fighting force is extended. But they are more vital in some armies than others; in a mechanised army, they have relatively few patients. The Desert Sons, however, treasure their medical marines, as many of their campaigns are fought for months at a time without resupply or relief. When you've been in a jungle for six weeks and haven't seen the inside of a ship in twice as long, you really appreciate the aid a good Apothecary can give you. And Mekroh is the best. His manner is reserved, careful and considerably more formal than most of his battle-brothers, a fact that is often used to tease him. He doesn't mind though, enjoying a good joke as much as anyone, though he rarely makes them. Mekroh feels that it is his solemn duty to safeguard each and every one of the Sons through battles and takes the loss of even a single patient very hard. The skill of Mekroh and his fellow Apothecaries is such that it is a rare event.

Mekroh has coffee coloured skin, a thin moustache and a tight lipped smile. His armour is painted white, as is the tradition, but he has carefully used powders and oils to robe it of its lustre, mute its colours and make it less obvious to anyone attempting to detect him.

Favored Tactics/Battlefield Role:
The Desert Sons fight in the same manner as their Primarch; luring the enemy into just the right spot and striking when they are at their most vulnerable. They specialise in melee and skirmish tactics, preferring to hit the foe hard before retreating with coordinated precision, only to attack again hours later. Wherever and whenever the enemy cannot afford the Sons to attack, attack they will. Ambushes are a favourite tactic, especially in desert environments. A favourite ploy is to conceal a number of the Sons under the sand and a different group to lure the enemy into the right spot. When the foe has been positioned correctly, the concealed Astartes explode out of the ground and wreak bloody chaos in the middle of an enemy formation, even as the other Sons attack from outside it.

Legion Characteristics/Ideology:
The Sons live by a pair of rules given to them by their Primarch; Trust your brothers and your father. Everything else is sand on the wind. These words are utterly sacred to them and are not to be spoken to those not of the legion, no matter how close they might be. It is perhaps telling that Sevrah, raised on a diet of distrust and starved of family, has not only built his legion to be a huge family tied together by bonds of trust but also isolated all those not of his legion. To Sevrah, one should have a circle of trusted, loved companions and all those outside that circle are secondary. His legion do their best to emulate this attitude though some find it difficult to reconcile an order to put everything outside the legion secondary with a deep set loyalty to the Emperor.

Character Sheets, old and new!

Timmy

_{Anything that gets your blood racing is probably worth doing.}

✯ Name ✯
Timmy, sometimes called the Tiger.

✯ Age ✯
22 years old.

✯ Gender ✯
Male

✯ Affiliation ✯
The 33rd Street Razors.

✯ Years With Gang ✯
Five years with the Razors.

✯ Appearance ✯
Scrawny and thin, Timmy looks like the exact opposite of a physical threat, apart, of course, from his snarling Tiger mask and agitated movements. His twitches, ticks and flicks would put you in mind of an athlete waiting for the match to begin or a warrior itching to get to the thick of it, except on a man more gristle than meat they look almost comical. It doesn't help that any clothes that Timmy chooses go from stylish to misshapen and tacky the second he puts them on, no matter how carefully the outfit is selected. He practically radiates an aura of 'unthreatening victim' to those people who look for such things and even those not so attentive are unlikely to be threatened or impressed by his lanky figure.

Right up until he hammers a glass bottle into a bouncer's face with a gleeful cackle. Then people tend to revaluate his threat level.

✯ Personality ✯
You know that feeling you get when you score the winning goal, beat the unbeatable game boss, or kiss that special someone? The thumping in your chest, the racing of your heart, the sudden power that fills you up and makes you want to scream? That's adrenaline, liquid energy naturally produced by the body to help us when we're in a tight spot. With it pumping through your veins, you can run faster, punch harder and survive more. Some people describe an adrenaline rush as the only time they feel truly alive.

Timmy is not just one of those people, he's their king. Ever since he first tasted the bitter tang of adrenaline on his tongue, the rest of the world was painted over in grey and beige. Every moment was a drag, every day without it an eternity. In the space of but a few weeks, he transformed from a mild mannered, middle class boy to a first class adrenaline junky. It didn't matter what he had to do to get his fix; glass a bouncer, head-butt a priest, dirtbike while drunk, tightrope walk while high, he'd do it and then do it again. His antics brought him to the attention of the 33rd Street Razors who saw a kindred spirit in a frail body and invited him to join their ranks.

Ever since then, Timmy has been benefitting from the perks of being a member of the infamous gang, from easy access to narcotics, fast cars and weapons to many opportunities to to sate his lust for excitement. While he might not initially seem like a natural recruit for the Razors, his single minded determinedness to obtain an adrenaline high at any cost, to himself or others, fits in just fine with them. Having fully abandoned his former life, Timmy is all in as a member of the Razors, living by their rules and embodying their philosophy to the best of his abilities. In return, the gang's name and infrastructure protect him for the worst consequences of his actions. Without them, Timmy would likely not last a day.

✯ Strengths ✯
Berserker - Timmy's addiction to adrenaline and general bloody mindedness makes him a vicious beast when set loose in close proximities to a potential opponent. Where other fighters seek to guard themselves and harm the enemy without taking too much damage themselves, Timmy is all whirlwind of fists, feet, teeth and knives that only cares about savouring the feeling of dancing on the edge of knife, not about defending himself or surviving the fight.

Driver - There are few ways to guarantee a spike in one's pulse than racing a fast car round a hair-pin bend or executing a Lazy Boy on a dirt bike. As such, Timmy has spent many, many hours behind the wheel and all that practise has gained him some skill. In all fairness, his driving abilities aren't based on speed, safety or efficiency but on how dangerous and exciting he can make any given action.

Survivor - Despite his wiry frame, Timmy is both surprisingly strong and shockingly tough. A combined addiction to adrenaline and drugs have wreaked merry hell with his nervous system, heart and body in general. Due to this, Timmy can take more punches than most men several times his weight and still get up to give out a few hits of his own.

✯ Weaknesses ✯
Untrained - Although he's been in uncountable scraps and fights during his membership of the Razors, Timmy has never received any formal training for any of his skills. He fights like a rabid beast because he's got the same amount of training as one and drives like a drunken toddler because he hasn't got a license. While he can blunder through with luck and belligerence, many tasks call for a level of technical skill that he simply doesn't have.

Unhealthy - Almost all addictions have negative affects on both the victim's social life and physiology and Timmy is no exception. His old life has almost been completely lost in a haze of drugs and death, leaving him no friends outside the Razors. And his body is a twitching, scarred wreck, no longer able to properly regulate its natural release of adrenaline or balance his humours.

Unstable - When you're obsessed with finding excitement at any cost, even if it is detrimental to yourself and others, you're bound to get hurt and to do some hurting. Finding methods of obtaining that elusive high that were previously effective now dull, Timmy has to work hard to experience new thrills. So far he has managed to avoid breaking the Razor's cardinal rule, to not betray one another, but one of days he may slip up.

✯ Likes ✯
✔ Almonds, Kale and healthy, organic foods that boost the body's adrenaline output.
✔ Going out at night on the main streets, where the city is all neon and concrete.
✔ Driving to the edge of the city to drive in the dust and drink in the dirt.
✔ Partying until he can't think, always seeking to one up everyone else.

✯ Dislikes ✯
✘ Fast food, salt and other things that clog up the body and slow down the mind.
✘ Slow Sundays, boring Wednesdays and times when nothing happens.
✘ Situations and places where no one is supposed to move or make noise, like Churches or Libraries.
✘ Waking up after a good night and suffering for it.

✯ Relationships ✯
Blank, for now.

✯ Other ✯
Blank, for now.

✯ Theme ✯
Ballroom Blitz - Sweet

Underwood Investigations

Gotta go fast!

Obviously we don't need to keep up this rate of posts but it's sort of nice to move the story along at a rigorous pace for a little while.

I feel like I'm dominating the scene a bit too much by having two characters present though, sorry about that. In future I'll try to make sure I only bring one.

Underwood Investigations

Jack's slip of the tongue, combined with losing his ash tray and being one upped by Bariel, were all visible hardships on Graham's face. The creased forehead, the flared nose, the gently twitching eyelid, all were signs of one his not irregular tantrums. They tended to involve shouting, drinking, swearing and cursing, which are not the same things, despite what you might think. Cursing is when you call the names of dusty gods and forgotten demons to bring down unthinkable revenge on those who have slighted you, though the effect is generally less impressive than that. Swearing is when you 'fuck' after dropping a tea cup. When the two come together under the learned tongue of Mr Greye, the ensuing tirade is more than most people (and most angels, vampires and fae) can stand to listen to.

Of the Underwood society, Dee was the only one who seemed able to diffuse these events properly, generally with a well timed compliment or surprise bottle of wine. Bariel and Jack generally just put on headphones or left the room, though the latter was preferable; some of Graham's obscenities would move around after he was done, humming like big ugly insects and bumping off the walls. Afterwards, even Graham tended to see how undignified such episodes were and would retreat to the attic to 'go and look for a particular book' for an hour or so. When he eventually returned, there'd normally be a halfhearted, mostly mumbled apology and normal service would resume.

But being asked for his expertise was almost always a reliable balm for the wounds inflicted upon Graham by the world. Nothing set him back into his normal state of grumpiness (as opposed to self pitying anger) quite like being reminded that he was the only one with a real understanding of the world of the supernatural. The others might be living breathing parts of it but it was clear that were no more informed about their realm than most humans were about the mysteries of the appendix or the clavicle.

Graham's voice and manner took on that of the professor about to give a lesson to the wayward dullard he called a student. "There are, of course, many ways to force a ghost to be visible Jack. Some are quite dramatic, similar to the pop culture concept of an exorcism, but many are more straightforward. For example, let's see if this ghost is or was particularly religious."

With a flourish, he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a strange device that looked something like a swiss army knife. After fiddling for a moment, Graham snapped out a small metal cross and waved it vaguely while shouting "reveal yourself!" in what sounded like an impression of Bariel's deep tones.

Nothing happened, apart from a lamp going over Graham's head and shattering on the wall.

"Well, yes, to be expected. Alright, let's try something with a little more kick, shall we." Graham muttered as he put away the multi-faith-tool and bent down. From one of the kitchen cupboards, he retrieved a cylinder of salt, still marked with 50p off sticker from ASDA. His other hand rummaged in his jacket for a moment before coming out with a dried sprig of something that had apparently been loose in one of his pockets. He blew off some of the fluff and lint, crushed it between his fingers and sprinkled the powder into the salt. Finally, he poured most of the salt into the palm of his hand.

All eyes were upon him now and even the ghost seemed to have stopped throwing things to watch. Gently, Graham started to blow the slat-and-herbs mixture off of his palm and across the caravan, moving slowly from one end of the place to the other. It had as much effect as his previous efforts until he reached the coffee table and tired looking sofa. Some of the grains seemed to stick to something in the air, causing Graham to give a "Ha!" of victory and throw the rest of the handful at the shape. At first it seemed like all he'd achieved was to make the ghost a bit messy but soon the shape behind the salt grains started to reverse fade, gradually becoming visible.

Graham's face could hardly have been more smug as he turned to his colleagues. "Hemlock and salt, a tried and tested method. It'll be visible for at least the next hour." With a gesture, he stepped aside and waved Jack towards the appearing figure, currently mostly a salty tracky suit top.

"I've done my bit, fanglord, I think it's your turn."

Written: A Fairytale RP

@Stitches
>Sophie Turner
>As red riding hood
Carry on, good sir or madam! I can't fault that choice!

But seriously, I've deliberately left what happened to Loup at the hands of little red and the Huntsman very vague so PM me if you have some specific ideas.

Written: A Fairytale RP

@McHaggis
I refute your entirely true claim based in factual evidence.

_{I do still have one slot left...}

Underwood Investigations

At the mention of an Ouija board, Graham scowled or, at least, scowled more. In all likelihood, he would've ratcheted up the intensity of his glare whatever had been mentioned, but Ouija boards were especially irksome to him. After a lifetime's study of the occult, Graham regarded entry level crutches like the boards, pendants and cards like a racing driver regards cruise control. But having previously snapped at Jack and been treated to such a sickeningly sweet set of puppy eyes that even Graham felt abashed, he contented himself with lighting a cigarette, selecting a mug to use as an ashtray and turning up the sarcasm.

"No, Jack, we don't get out an Ouija board. We don't need one, it's obviously a ghost."

Graham smugly tapped ash into the mug (which said World's Biggest Chav on it) and waited for Jack or Bariel to ask him to explain how exactly he knew. Bariel felt a very human desire to roll his eyes at Graham's preening but contented himself with closing them instead. He found that physical sensory input interfered with his being able to sense things on a spiritual level, like background interference or radio static. Instead, he allowed his spirit to relax its grip on his body and gently expand. Almost immediately, it began to press against something else, another unshackled soul.

A small, self satisfied grin spread across Bariel's face as he began to commune with the spirit. At first they shared emotion, the spirit sending waves of fear/loneliness/confusion while Bariel tried to transmit hope/comfort/strength back at it. But as it settled, things became distinctly more human and the spirit passed over information in the form of a cry for help. Opening his eyes, Bariel saw Jack staring wide eyed at him and Graham, of course, glaring. After a second, he realised why; he was floating a couple of inches from the ground.

Self consciously, he came back to earth and smoothed down the front of his shirt. Part of being human for him was making sure that he obeyed most of the laws of physics, which had a habit of letting a few things slide for those of a supernatural disposition. Bariel knew that he would scold him awfully if he found out (or at least fix Bariel with a disappointed, almost supercilious look) but even that didn't dampen the angel's feeling of truimph. He looked at Graham and inclined his head.

"You are, of course, right Graham. It is a ghost. His name is James and, if I'm not mistaken, he died violently."

Bariel turned to face Jack, pretending to ignore but in fact guiltily revelling in Graham's affronted expression at being outdone.

"And I believe he recognises you, Jack."

Graham grunted. "I know you say you're known to everyone, but I didn't think that included the dead."