The city-state of Ul’dah had a reputation that far preceded it.
How many times had he heard stories of Ul’dah? How many more had he read of Ul’dah? From within the cloistered walls of Stillglade Fane, the young Padjal had often tried to imagine what this gleaming jewel of Thanalan -- this city of the Lalafell -- must be like. Adventurers would fill the Carline Canopy and tell stories of it. When they did, they used words such as affluence, wealth, and prestige.
The sun sparkled overhead. It’s light blinding as it radiated across a cloudless sky. Being accustomed to the forest canopy overhead, the boy was certain that this was more sky than he had seen in his whole life. Aboard the airship, he had risen above the trees, riding among the clouds as the airship traveled from out of Gridania and across Thanalan.
There were no trees below them now.
Barren rock painted the land in varying hues of brown, gold, and red. The painted desert reflected the sunlight, creating a stifling environment quite unlike the humid forests of the Twelveswood. The air here was dry. The heat pervasive and oppressive, as the sun beat down without so much as a cloud for shelter, and the barren rock reflected it upward as well.
He saw the great city. And, as soon as he did, he knew that was the jewel of Thanalan of which so many adventurers had spoken.
He saw the walls. More than that, he saw what was outside the walls. Ghettos. Ad hoc encampments of tents, clustered together for shelter in the shadow of a sanctuary denied them.
Where legend spoke of wealth, the young Padjal saw desolation. Where soldiers of fortune spoke of prestige, he saw poverty. Where others had boasted of prestige, the boy saw the disenfranchised.
It gave him pause. As the airship passed over the walls of the city, the dark-haired boy peered from over the side of the railing, looked down at the inconvenient truths that were laid bare upon the earth, and he found that Ul’dah was not the same as the city that had so often been described to him by those who claimed to know it well.
Great pillars of white marble framed the grand archway through which the airship turned, it’s descend at last brought to a shuttering halt that caused the boy to hold fast to the railing until they had, at long last, come to a complete stop.
Through one small step for Padjal, he had done was no other had since the time of A-Towa-Cant. He had left the Twelveswood on a quest to understand the larger world. Now, departing the airship, the boy took his first steps apart from Gridania or the Twelveswood. A shaft of unfinished wood tapped against the cobblestone, as the child walked with a cane in hand.
The cane was formed at the end into a hook. Or, rather, a crook -- the familiar implement of the shepherd. The staff itself was just slightly taller than the boy, himself. A simple tunic dressed his frame, a pair of short pants jutting out from underneath the hem. His knees and shins were exposed, his feet tucked into a pair of soft leather boots. He seemed as casual as any Midlander child, save for one rather unusual feature about him.
He saw the heads turn as he passed from out of the airship landing. It was something that he’d expected. As usual as the Lalafell seemed to him, no doubt a Padjal was more so to those who may never have visited Gridania. And, even then, may still not have encountered one of the heralds of the forests.
The trip from the airship landing to the Adventurer’s Guild was short, but the experience matched what he had seen from above. Men and women displaying their material wealth for others to admire, while nearby a girl danced for whatever coin that one might spare, and an old man begged for scraps that he might have a meal to eat that day.
Surely, the gleaming jewel of Thanalan was pyrite in its purest form.
The specialty of the house was something known as a crumpet.
As Mother Mionne had warned him, it seemed that mun-tuy brew was not something that the people of Thanalan either knew of nor regarded well. As such, the boy decided that he would simply have to adapt to what the people of Ul’dah considered as cuisine.
The tea was bitter. It’s acrid bite a sharp contrast to the crumpet -- leavened bread that had been saturated in honey before being doused in butter. It was as excessive as it was overstated. The perfect foodstuff for Ul’dah.
As he sipped at his tea and nibbled at his bread, the child listened while Lyveva detailed the current state of the free company.
That there might not be fame or fortune to be had was hardly a problem for the boy. Neither were objects of his desire, nor the motivation for his excursion from Gridania. Still, it was not what he had expected. Rather than the boastful hubris of adventurer’s bold, instead a recruitment pitch hers was a call for aid.
One which seemed to resonate with some in attendance. The first was a Miqo’te, though rather different it seemed from the Keepers of the Moon who prowled the shadows of the Twelveswood. The second was a Lalafell. In both cases, the colorful language that they used brought to mind stories that he’d been told of Limsan taverns.
“It is difficult to render aid when one cannot appreciate the task,” the boy noted, speaking up after a brief pause. “You spoke of reclaiming something that was lost. Pray, what would you ask of us?”
Fifty years, he’d been living this double life. You would think that in all that time, he’d have been a natural at all the sleight of hand and subterfuge. Instead, Dick was a stumbling fool as he tried to get the semi-conscious automaton from out of the car and into the brownstone apartment.
At least he’d laid the foundation for the rumor mill to support the inevitability of someone seeing Dick and the child-like doll going in and out of the apartment, but if anyone saw the robot now they’d be likely to think that he was drunk or high. Or some combination of the two.
Fumbling with the door with one hand and trying to corral the drunken robot with the other, Dick finally managed to get Toyboy -- that is, Jason -- onto the couch in the living room. Like a rag doll, the boy just slumped forward as though a puppet that had all of its strings cut. Stooping low, Dick was able to prevent the child-like machine from spilling out onto the floor, instead steadying him into a seated position on the sofa.
Glancing up at the loft, Dick thought about the advice that Sarah had given him. Put him to bed. In the morning, he should be functional again.
He’d made a makeshift room for ToyboyJason there, but Dick had enough trouble wrestling the robot through the apartment. Getting him up into the loft was a feat more than Dick was prepared to undertake. At least, not now.
Right now, Dick was definitely feeling the notion of going to bed.
Taking another look at the lifelike robot -- vacant eyed stare peering out a thousand yards into nowhere -- Dick merely gave a shrug before making his way toward the back of the apartment where the master bedroom was located...
August 24, 2019. The last day of peace and quiet at 1013 Parkthorne Place.
Ooh woo, I'm a rebel just for kicks, now I been feeling it since 1966 now Might've had your fill, but you feel it still
A pair of boy’s briefs swung back and forth, as the underwear clad hero danced to the lyrical stylings of Portugal, the man. The music reverberated off the walls of the inner sanctum of the Blüdhaven vigilante known as Nightwing, the aptly named Man-Cave.
Standing in the doorway, Dick was confused about a great many things. He’d left ToyboyJason to get dressed for what was essentially a training day. A routine patrol through Blüdhaven in order to assess how the robot was holding up with the upgrades that S.T.A.R. Labs had installed. Instead, Dick returned to find that Jason had gotten onto the refurbished Batcomputer and tabbed out a series of YouTube videos. One, the music video for Feel It Still, which was currently rocking the casbah. Then there was a video game playthrough.
Was that Fortnight?
“So...” Dick began. He was going to say, So, you were getting dressed..? but he was cut off when a small robot suddenly turned and slam-hugged him. The force of the doll’s pounce not only winded him, it almost put Dick on his ass.
Instead, the man steadied himself and rested a hand on top of ToyboyJason’s head. “You were getting dressed?” Dick remarked finally, catching his breath.
“Can’t,” the boy remarked, turning his head up toward Dick as he added, “Not done hugging yet.”
He’d been like this ever since Dick had broken the news about the name. About the identity. Dick felt like it wasn’t much. If anything, it was only borrowed time. When Dick retired, in about two years, Jason Todd would need to disappear as well. Otherwise, people were apt to take notice of things that Jason couldn’t do, such as grow up.
Even still, the robot formerly known as Toyboy acted as though Dick had transformed water into wine and lead into gold at the same time. “All right. Hugs later,” Dick said, prying himself of Jason’s spindly arms. Picking up the dark red leggings, Dick tossed the pants over the dolls head. “For now, less Jason. More Robin.”
While Jason tugged on the pair of trousers, Dick bent down to pick up the red and black tunic. As the child-like doll straightened back up, he put his arms up over his head so that Dick could pull the tunic down over the boy’s head. While Jason fastened Dick’s old utility belt around his waist, the man picked up the short cape, fastening it to the Mandarin-style color.
Hopping back on one foot, Jason wrestled with tugging on a boot. “So you think this Clayface is back from the dead?” the boy-bot chirped, as he reached down to pick up the other shoe.
Collapsing into the chair that rested before the massive assortment of screens, Dick gave a grunt. “It’s only a hunch, but it feels right,” the former Boy Wonder opined flatly. “Hagen was an actor, so I wouldn’t put it past him to have faked his own death in the water, but it doesn’t add up. Where’s he been hiding for the last twenty odd years? And why come out now just to knock over pawn shops and jewelry stores?”
Tugging on his last boot, the spry doll hopped to his feet. Dick reached over, picking up the domino mask and then leaning forward. “Can I see the chemical analysis?” the robot asked, as Dick applied the mask to the child-like face.
Turning back toward the computer, Dick took a moment to access Bruce’s old files on Hagan. Finally, a chemical strand and associated notes populated across the screen.
“Matthew Hagan’s altered organic composition was soluble,” Jason noted aloud, scanning over the notes in less than a second. Turning his head toward Dick, the doll asked, “And you said that he fell into the ocean?”
“That’s my story anyway,” Dick stated, propping his elbows against the desk top as he explained, “I think Bruce was convinced that I threw Hagen in there.”
The nuance seemed lost on the pragmatic machine. “Either way, his survivability in an ocean environment seems improbable,” the robot noted simply.
“Well, you’ll just have to get out there and disprove my theory,” Dick remarked, turning back toward the costumed Toy Wonder.
With a firm nod, the child-like doll suddenly took off in a sprint around the inside of the Man-Cave. “Na na na na na na na...Robin! Away!” the boy-bot sang, hopping and skipping as he bounded toward the door, sounding for all the world like a stampede of elephants contained in the form of a child.
Slouching back in his chair, Dick felt the energy start to sap from out of his body as the prospect of peace and quiet in the apartment settled an appealing vision in his imagination.
Then the stampede came back in his direction. Throwing himself into the chair, ToyboyJason again slam-hugged the former Boy Wonder.
“Last hug,” the doll promised, before pouncing off into the night.
Loki Laufeyson, Ageless/Immortal Vigilante based in Asgard Active since 5 minutes ago (at least, that he remembers...)
Character Concept
He doesn't know where he came from.
He doesn't know how he got here.
He doesn't know where he's going, only that he has to keep moving. What is he running from? He doesn't know. He only knows that he can't stop. They call him Seurre. A pickpocket and thief traveling across Europe with only his wits and the shirt on his back.
The Bifrost is broken. Wars have broken out across the Nine Realms. Winter has come. But can what is written be changed? Or is all the world a stage, and Loki but a player in it?
This is intended as a fantasy epic, that will be largely self-contained in terms of the storytelling.
Book 1: When The Truth Hunts You Down. Guided by Mjolnir, Beta Ray Bill arrives on Midgard, where he discovers the god Loki reincarnated as a child named Seurre, with no memory of what happened. Seeking answers, the pair set out in search of Asgard.
Book 2: The Dark World. On a quest to retrieve one of the Norn Stones, in the hopes of repairing the Bifrost, Beta Ray Bill and Loki must voyage over the Nidafjoll Mountains and across Nastrond to the serpent's spring.
Book 3: Loki: Ragnarok.
Key Notes
Simplified Mythology (the Children of Odin)
By his wife, Frigga: Baldur, Tyr, and Hod
By Gaea: Thor
By Laufey: Loki (note: Laufey is changed back to the mytholical canon female)
By Grid: Vidar
Unknown: Hermod
Supporting Cast
Beta Ray Bill: The current Thor.
Heimdall: The All-Seeing Eye. Wielder of Hofund and formerly guardian of the Bifrost Bridge.
Leah: Handmaiden of Hela (literally).
Brunhilde: One of the surviving Valkyries.
Rogue's Gallery
Bloodstrike (Hogun the Grim): The last survivor of the Warriors Three, wielder of Bloodstrike on a quest for revenge.
Skurge the Executioner: An exiled Asgardian who now rules over the ruins of Asgard, leader of the Mauraders.
Kurse: Formerly one of the Light Elves, twisted and changed by the Dark Elves.
Nidhog: The great serpent at World's End.
The Nine Realms
Asgard: The realm of the AEsir, who became the Asgardians through intermarriage with the Vanir. Contains Valhalla and the spring Urdarbrunnr.
Vanaheim: The realm of the Vanir, who fought a war against the AEsir in ancient times. Contains the valley Folkvangr and Himinbjorg, where Heimdall safeguards the children of Asgard.
Midgard: The realm of the Humans.
Alfheim: The realm of the Light Elves. Klarn is located here, being similar to the Savage Land.
Svartalfheim: The realm of the Dark Elves. The island Lyngvi is located here, on the lake of Amsvartnir.
Utgard: Also known as Jotunheim, the realm of the Giants. Contains the spring Mimisbrunnr and the forest Galgvidr (gallows woods).
Nidavellir: The realm of the Dwarves.
Niflhel: The realm of Hel and Niflheim. Contains the valley Nastrond, the spring Hvergelmir, and the Nidafjoll Mountains.
Muspelheim: The realm of fire and priordial chaos.
References / Sample Post
RUE MONTORGUEIL Paris, France Thursday, January 4, 1968
The Rue Montorgueil was a street that crossed the first and second arrondissement, the neighborhoods of the ancient city. At the heart of which was the Louvre. Rue Montorgueil came off the Grand Avenue, running by Saint-Eustache and filled with cobblestones. Cars tended to avoid the area, allowing pedestrians to mill through the streets.
It had become a popular place for daily shopping. The street was lined with bakeries, fishmongers, cafes. The smells that would travel on the breeze could set the mind -- and the stomach -- alight.
Provided off course, that one wasn’t walking by the herring barrel outside the fish cart. That didn’t smell nearly as nice. It was, however, a good reminder of what the Seine smelled like.
The boy was dirty. He’d slept in these clothes for... well, to be honest, he wasn’t sure. He’d lost track of the days. The tweed jacket was too large, pock-marked with holes. He’d found it in the trash outside a home, and it had fit well enough to help keep warm. His fingers stuck out from the woolen gloves that managed to still cover most of his hands.
He moved through the crowd like a shadow. No one seemed to notice him, while he seemed to navigate the confines and cluster of bodies with a preternatural grace that belied a sense of ease.
Stepping off the street, the raven-haired waif approached where a trio of urchins huddled together for warmth in an alleyway. Reaching inside his coat, the boy produced two croissants, which he divided in two as he passed the morsels out for the four of them.
It wasn’t much. But it was breakfast. And a few moneyclips or wallets that had happened into his possession. Popping the half a pastry in his mouth, the boy put his back to the side of the building and slid down so that he was sitting on the ground as he started to go through what he’d collected.
He would need to be moving on soon.
That was always how it was. Always how it had been. He didn’t remember why, he’d just found himself on the road. And so he kept traveling. Kept moving.
He passed a few of the francs around. These kids had helped him to get his bearings in Paris. It was a busy city. With a lot of police who were either looking to grab them or shoo them away. Neither option was particularly appealing.
Gasps rose up from the street.
Turning his head, the boy was puzzled for a moment to discover the people standing still, their mouths agape and their heads pointed up at the sky.
As he craned his head back, he saw it.
It was something moving in the sky. Not a plane. Something... else. A knot started to form in the pit of his stomach. And, not from hunger this time.
In simplest terms, Beast Boy is a shapeshifter. He can adopt the form of any animal that he has either seen or is capable of visualizing (such as dinosaurs). Beast Boy's powers defy the law of conservation of mass, allowing him to transform from average human height and weight to that of a blue whale or an amoeba without difficulty. When transformed, he has all physical properties of that form. Thus, when a blue whale, Garfield's weight (displacement) is on a scale of 173 metric tonnes; however, when transformed to a hummingbird, he weighs mere ounces (a fraction of a pound). Garfield can go from one extreme to the next, changing forms consecutively without suffering any ill effects from the apparent expansion or compression of his mass. While in animal form, Beast Boy loses the ability to speak but retains his full mental faculties as well as all physical or physiological characteristics of that creature. As such, he can fly swiftly as a peregrine falcon, endure oceanic pressures as a whale, or go full Hulk smash as a full-sized gorilla.
Outside of his altered physiology, Garfield demonstrates a knack for languages. He speaks three languages fluently (English, Portuguese, and French), in addition to having some conversational familiarity with Arabic, Urdu, Swahili, and Lingana. Though an American citizen, his life abroad has resulted in his speaking English with a noticeable accent.
Finally, Garfield wears a suit composed of a matrix of unstable molecules. Devised for him by Mento and constructed by the Doom Patrol, the suit alters shape and mass in response to changess in Garfield's physical form. This most commonly takes the form of a collar around the next of his animal forms. This enables Garfield to maintain his modesty even while transforming between human and animal forms.
Character Synopsis
The son of paleontologist Mark Logan and biologist Marie Logan, "Gar" grew up in all corners of the world. After the death of his father in a boating accident, Marie Logan moved the family to a permanent home operating a wildlife sanctuary in the Republic of Qurac. At the age of eight, Gar contracted the Sakutia virus. Due to the isolation of the wildlife sanctuary and the rapid deterioration of Gar's condition, his mother was forced to treat him using an experimental vaccine developed for treating the virus in West African green monkeys. Though Gar made a full recovery from the illness, his body reacted to the vaccine.
In light of the aggressive, sometimes violent reactions, Marie Logan moved Gar to a pediatrics hospital in the United States. Tests revealed that Gar's genetic structure had undergone a mutation of unstable molecules within the rNA of his cells, thus allowing him to alter his shape and form. In particular, Gar was successful in changing shape and form into animals with which he was familiar. When treatments were unsuccessful in reversing the metabolic changes, Marie Logan again returned to her work in animal conversation with Gar in tow. As a result, Gar's nomadic childhood has been spent across the world; primarily Bialya, Brazil, and the Congo.
It was while operating an animal sanctuary Bialya, Marie Logan and Garfield were caught in the cross-fire between the outbreak of hostilities between Bialya and its neighboring country, Qurac. Though Garfield was rescued by the timely intervention of the superhero team known as Doom Patrol, he lost his mother in the attack. For a time, Garfield found a surrogate family in the Doom Patrol, though Mento's harsh treatment toward him eventually alienated Garfield from them. Returned to the United States in order to resume his education, Garfield has, on occasion, struck out on his own as the hero that social media knows as Beast Boy.
But for the horns, Brother E-Siri is an otherwise unremarkable Midlander youth. He has a tan complexion and darker hair than is typical of the children who serve as the oracles of the elemental forces. His eyes are a bright shade of blue that resemble a cloudless sky. Two gazelle-like horns protrude backward from either side of his head, being the distinctive characteristic of the Padjal. He appears as a mere boy of no more than 10 or 12 summers, wearing a short-sleeved tunic and shorts that mark him as casual as any child. He was often seen with a cane of unfinished wood, which served as the foci for weaving elemental magic into conjury.
ＰＥＲＳＯＮＡＬＩＴＹ
Curious, compassionate, and obstinate are three words that aptly describe this forest oracle. The lesson of his parents has remained the most significant force in shaping the quality of mercy and the character of Brother E-Siri. He is Stillglade Fane's most outspoken critic, believing the Conjurer's Guild to be stifled inside their den and the Seedseers more concerned with the voices of the elements than for the lamentations of the people that they claim to serve. At the core of E-Siri's belief, the task of protecting the Twelveswood requires a comprehension of the world in which the Twelveswood exists, including the people, elements, and threats facing it from beyond the borders of the forest.
ＢＩＯＧＲＡＰＨＹ
Not of the prestigious Senna or Yan families, Kosne Rai was born into both obscurity and poverty in the North Shroud hamlet of Hyrstmill. The son of simple subsistence farmers, the pregnancy complicated the already bleak financial outlook for the fledgling family. Without coin to pay a midwife, as a newborn babe, Kosne was brought into Eorzea without assistance, leading to his mother's death in childbirth. His widower father found work where he could in the mun-tuy cellars to pay a wet nurse for the suckling child, barely able to provide for himself and his child as the two struggled to survive under the shadow of E-Tatt's Spire.
It was around the time of his eighth summer, laboring in the mun-tuy cellars, picking beans alongside his father that a pair of odd bumps were first noticed on his head. The horns started coming in over the following year, at which point the child's obscurity was cast aside and the Order of the Twin Adder came for him. Under the oldest of Gridanian law, he was taken in the custody of Stillglade Fane, a prisoner in all but name as he learned that he was a Padjal, now and forevermore changed. Over the next several years, he stopped aging but his mind was expanded through literacy, through communion, through an education in the art of conjury.
It was a decade before he would emerge from out of Stillglade Fane, when the threat of the Calamity caused Stillglade Fane's doors to be open to him for the first time since he had been forcibly delivered there. No longer the humble pauper, he was now E-Siri-Rai. He was now Brother E-Siri. A new identiy, for a new life that had been chosen for him by powers beyond mortal imagining. As the fires Bahamut rained down over the Black Shroud, E-Siri raced back to the Hyrstmill of his youth in search of the man who had struggled through blood, sweat, and tears to raise him.
He arrived too late. His father, as penniless then as ever, had contracted an illness down in the damp, cold cellars from which he had never recovered. His disease treatable, his pain without succor, the father of the boy who had been Kosne Rai died mere yalms from Gridania without anyone from Stillglade Fane, from the Twin Adder, or the Wood Wailers even taking notice. The man who Brother E-Siri had raced to rescue was not waiting for him there. Instead, he had passed into obscurity.
In the five years since, Brother E-Siri has labored outside to bring mercy and healing to the elements and the impoverished throughout the Black Shroud. Though his trips away from Old Gridania are many, he is frequently recalled back to Stillglade Fane. There, each time, he labors to be the voice for both the plight of the elements and the people to a Seedseer Council that he fears has little concern for anything other than the trees nearest them.
ＯＴＨＥＲ
• His favorite dish is tomato pie. • His Padjali name translates to a seeker, illustrating his innate curiosity. • Related to his study of conjury, he is also a member of the Botanist's Guild in order to learn about the aetherial benefits of different types of wood (foci) and medicinal applications of various plants.
ＲＥＡＳＯＮ ＦＯＲ ＥＮＬＩＳＴＭＥＮＴ
"The Twelveswood does not dwell in isolation."
The underground vault brought to mind the many storied legends of Gelmorra. Roots descended along the walls, framing the subterranean round where two children debated back and forth.
The smaller of the pair was a boy possessed of blue eyes and short, raven dark hair that held a slight curl to it. He wore a short tunic, vibrantly colored in hues of violet and silver, with a caduceus symbol emblazoned on the front. "There are forces outside the Shroud that shape the dangers that we face," the boy offered, continuing to state his case even as he gestured toward the other youth before him. "Brother A-Towa..."
With a broad wave of one arm, the taller of the two cut him off there. "Brother A-Towa died alone in a kobold mine," the tow-headed boy countered sternly, adding, "I'll not see you track down that same path."
With a shake of his head, the dark-haired boy remarked, "There's naught more that we can do in the South Shroud. Whatever disturbs the elementals comes from somewhere in Thanalan, not our Twelveswood."
"Then we are at an impasse," the fair-haired youth answered flatly. "The Order of the Twin Adder cannot venture there without invitation from the Immortal Flames, and our Wood Wailers have no jurisdiction outside the forest."
In unison, the pair gave a sigh in frustration toward the other. This seemed to be the point at which all their conversations brought them. When he had looked up again, the raven-haired child said, "Then I shall seek another means."
The taller boy frowned. "If there was a third option, I would have tendered it," he stated in the same matter-of-fact tone as before. Then, softening his manner, stretched forward a hand as he added, "Do not challenge the Seedseer Council in this. Not again."
The smaller boy inclined his head in deference toward the other, yet his eyes shone with a hot-blooded hellfire that belied an obstinate resolve. "I will do what I must, Brother."
The fair haired youth turned away, a shake of his head demonstrating the level of ire that he held for intractable debate between them. After a moment, he turned back to the other boy and said, "Very well. As you will not be dissuaded in this," the youth intoned quietly. Folding his arms out before him, he bowed in the manner of Stillglade Fane and offered, "Nophica watch over you, Brother."
There was a certain warmth that radiated about the Roost. A quiet din of conversation over a bowl of pottage or cup of mun-tuy brew. No where else in Gridania was host to such a vibrant and eclectic group as could be found in the Carline Canopy. Soldiers of the Twin Adder, preparing to depart or returning from points far afield. The grizzled Wood Wailers. Adventurers bold, fresh-faced and veteran explorers, bounty hunters, and mercenaries. Merchants, men of coin and tradesmen plying their art for a living.
Every time that he walked in here, he felt as though he saw something that he had never seen before. He could sit near the door for hours, listening to the stories that were shared, and trying to imagine the places beyond the forest that were spoken of.
He found the matronly Elezen away from her usual bar, posting new aduyses along the wall. As he approached, he held up a satchel. "As I passed through Silent Arbor, I picked up the mun-tuy beans from the cellars as you'd asked," the boy said, holding the sack of beans out for the woman to take.
For her part, the Elezen looked at the horned child. Then down to the beans he held up toward her. Then, blinking, looked back at him and bluntly answered, "I didn't think that you'd actually do it." Cupping his hand with both of hers, the woman was gracious as she accepted the sack.
Turning away from her aduyses, she ventured across to her bar. As she walked, she half-heartedly laughed as she said, "The Wood Wailers might do me in if they knew that I'd used a Padjal as a delivery boy."
A ghost of a smile played across the youthful features of the oracle. His small size made apparent by the height of the bar relative to his stature. The touch of whimsy disappeared, however, as a look of obvious confusion took hold when she had pushed a few gil across the counter toward him. "What's this?"
Now it was her turn to look confused for a moment. "A meager reward," the lady answered, before her smile returned and she offered, "People don't generally do things for nothing."
The child gave a slight nod of his head, then bowed to demonstrate his gratitude before reaching toward the gil. "So, where are you off to next?" he heard the woman ask.
A good question. "I don't know," the boy answered honestly. Taking a step away, the child's eyes peered up along the wall, where a map of Eorzea was framed by all manner of time tables, weather predictions, notices, and wanted posters. "The direction that the elementals would point me toward is a direction that it seems I cannot travel," the boy opined aloud.
"Oh?" he heard the Elezen matron voice from behind him.
As the boy craned his head back and admired the map, framed by aduyses, his gaze fell upon one that stood out from the time tables and weather notices. It was a summons, a call to action ob behalf of one of the free companies.
The free companies. Brother E-Sumi's advice was correct. The Twin Adder and the Wood Wailers had limits to where they could go. But the free companies had no such restrictions placed on them, even to the degree to which some worked more closely with the various Grand Companies than others.
As he gazed upon the advertisement, he heard the woman remark, "Well, wherever you venture, full glad am I that you have the Wood Wailers or Adders with you. It's not safe to go alone."
Reaching up, the child pulled the notice from off the wall. It referred to its gathering as The Blessed Twelve, a rather auspicious name. "I suspect you're right," the boy noted aloud, even as he continued to regard the notice.
The call spoke of a meeting in Ul'dah, another auspicious coincidence.
The sound of a cup and saucer scraping over the top of the counter drew his attention from the paper. When he had looked up, he found the matron pushing a warm mug toward him. "The airship for Ul'dah won't be departing for another few hours," the Elezen noted simply, before adding, "And you'll not find a mun-tuy brew when you get there."
The main variable is in the ancestry, with the canon version being a stereotypical WASP archetype, with the Spanish nickname being an oddity. This version is a British national of Spanish ancestry on his mother's side, putting the diminutive more in line with the character's cultural identity. Aside from that, Toro's history is connected to World War I rather than World War II.
| Brief World Background |
Earth 47S | Edwardian Steampunk Reality Toro's home reality features the height of colonialism, with the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland being the predominant world superpower. This period of Edwardian colonialism has ushered in a second Industrial Revolution with the refinement of steam power, being the predominant basis for the eccentric technology of the era. Sociopolitical trends closely mirror the prime reality, with Europe dividing the continents of South America, Africa, and the Pacific Island nations into dominions of their empires. In the midst of a web of complicated political connections between the Empires and their many, varied colonies, the assassination of Franz Ferdinand has triggered the first World War. Plying the major colonial powers against one another, the battle lines are drawn up between those loyal to the Central Powers (Germany, Austria-Hungary, Bulgaria, and the Ottoman Empire) and those loyal to the Allied Powers (France, British Empire, and Russia).
| Brief Character Background |
Tomás is a young Briton, the son of a physicist named Fred Raymond. Fred worked with chemist Phineas Horton on a classified energy program that gave birth to the first android, Jim Hammond (the Human Torch). Exposure to the so-called Horton Cells caused illness in both Fred and his wife, leading to concern that she would lose their baby. Fred ceased his work with Horton, seeking out treatment for himself and his wife in London. Sadly, Nohemi "Nora" Raymond and her midwife both suffered severe burns during the labor, as the newborn infant appeared to spontaneously combust upon contact with air. From these and other complications, with her already failing health, Nora passed away, leaving Fred a widower with a healthy, if somewhat flammable, baby boy.
The child's healthy constitution gave rise to his father calling him Toro (little bull), though the two had only a few short years before Fred would succumb to radiation poisoning from exposure to the Horton cells. Regarded as an oddity for his immunity to fire, and occasional spontaneous combustion, young Tomás wound up in the care of a pair of circus performers named Tom and Allie Alexander, who wanted Toro, the Fire-Eating Boy as part of their act. Thus, his childhood was a nomadic existence. Until 1915, when the German bombing campaign over King's Lynn caught the circus while they performed there. As the circus burned down around them, Toro and his adopted family huddled together for protection... when he felt himself starting to break into flame.
Fleeing from his adopted parents to keep them from being hurt by him, Toro vanished that night. As though taken by some spectre of La Llorona. Whatever the case, Toro woke to find himself in a prison with a collar around his neck, on a world unlike anything he had seen before.
One thing that Dick had tried to avoid was delving into the morality of everything that the Batman had taught him as a boy. The classic moral imperative, can one uphold the rule of law if he does not hold himself to the law? It was a philosophical no man’s land that didn’t lead to any pleasant thoughts or memories.
Dwell on it too much, a man could easily become just as cynical and brooding as Bruce.
Like a good novelist, Dick was carefully crafting a narrative to support the identity of the character that he was creating. Like a detective, he was doing his research in order to make that story plausible. The character had to be identifiable. Personable. Relatable.
With a surgeon’s skill, he was stitching together the pieces. A trained eye contemplating all the ways in which the deception he was engaged in would need to stand up to scrutiny. Falsified public records were about attention to the details.
He had the Center for Missing and Exploited Children database up, running cross-comparisons with data in the New Jersey state records. Extracting names and details, almost like a fisherman casting a line out from the shore. Dick wasn’t certain just what he was looking to bite, but he figured that he’d know it when he saw it.
That was when he stumbled across Jackson Todd.
If there was a dead end in life, this kid seemed to have found it. His father was dead in a gang-related shooting in Chicago. His mother was serving two twenty year sentences related to robbery and drug-related charges, neither of which had been a first offense. He’d been in the custody of a grandmother, but she’d lost custody of him to the state CPS and the boy had run out from the foster home system multiple times. He’d racked up a slew of arrests by the time he was 12 years old, done time in both the New Jersey Training School and the state Juvenile Medium Security Facility, before getting paroled to a transition program that had attempted to place him back in a foster home.
He’d run off. This time, when the state caught up with him, he was dead. They’d found him along the train tracks. Possible suicide. Possible accident.
It was tragic, but it was also an opportunity. An identity that no one would be looking for. A means by which to craft a persona for Toyboy, with the theatrical byline that read based on the true story.
He kept the part about the time at the New Jersey Juvenile Medium Security Facility. That and the arrests in connection with a chop shop gang would give this identity some color. The father’s death in gang related activities dovetailed nicely with that narrative. But a mother in jail would be problematic for someone backtracking the origins of the problem foster child that Dick was carving out. Instead of being the child of Catherine Todd of New Jersey’s Edna Mahan Correctional Facility for Women, he would be the son of Shelia Haywood. An opioid addict who had died of an accidental fentanyl overdose.
Carefully, Dick duplicated the Jackson Todd file. The record of Jackson’s time at the Juvenile Medium Security Facility was expunged, keeping instead only the portion at the New Jersey Training School. When he had finished, the man looked at the copy file that he had manipulated using the data from the Medium Security Facility.
Jackson would have been one of the younger inmates, so it was possible that some of the staff might recall a kid named Todd. He’d need a similar name...
In his mind, Dick was running a list as his fingers drummed on the keyboard. James? Jacob? Joshua? Joseph?
Joseph Todd?
No, it would need to be close to Jack. Not Joseph. Jace? Jason. Plying his fingers to the keyboard, Dick at last deleted the name at the top of the file. In it’s place, he wrote JASON TODD.
Well, that was Toyboy’s juvenile arrest and foster care record for the state of New Jersey. Now, Dick just needed some fake insurance, birth, and school records. But, the hard part was behind him now.
It wasn’t exactly the kind of origin story that made people stand up and shout, God bless America -- momma was a crack whore and daddy was a gang banger -- but as far as the state of New Jersey was concerned, Jason Todd was a real, living human being. And that meant it was a chance for Toyboy to have some semblance of a life that he could call his own.
Not that there was really a lot of choice. Dick worked with cops. If he had to guess, there were at least three members of his department digging through public records trying to figure out what kid that he’d adopted.
He wondered what Chambers reaction would be when she read the file, but he figured that she’d make her feelings on the matter known. Probably sooner rather than later.
Compared to the last time that he’d seen him, Toyboy was looking intact.
Unfortunately, that seemed to be about as much as Dick could say on the matter. “He’s unpacking the software package,” Sarah Charles commented, as the man knelt down to inspect the doll’s face. The glassy eyes of the automaton stared vacantly ahead, as though utterly oblivious to Dick’s presence. “The operating system is in place, but his processor capacity is being consumed by the software suite installation.”
Straightening back up, Dick turned to glance back at the woman. “How long’s that going to take?”
Sarah just gave a shrug. “Take him home. Put him to bed. When you wake up, he should be fully functional again.”
With a heavy sigh, Dick held out both hands to steady the doll, guiding him from off the edge of the table. The automaton started to crumple to the ground and Dick found that he had to scramble to keep Toyboy upright. Pain shot up Dick’s back, as he bent to hoist the doll up and set him back on his feet.
Pointing Toyboy toward the door, Dick was a moment too late to stop the doll from walking into the doorframe instead.
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