Dead Cruiser

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

@Dead Cruiser some of your text isn't great colouring for the guild any chance for us colour handicapped people I could ask you to change some of the darker colours?

@Sep

I had a feeling my color-based in jokes weren't going to last long lol

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

#1

C O M I N G T O A M E R I C A

---

San Agustin, New Mexico

The Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence, commonly known as SETI, effectively died on the planet Earth in their year of 2010, as the Dominator mothership crashed flaming into the Atlantic Ocean for all the world to see. Up until that point, only a rare few on Earth knew the truth of life on other worlds. After that, it became common knowledge. The impact this revelation had on society would take multiple dissertations to fully encapsulate, but it had one unique, very measurable, social impact: every UFO watcher, crank "abductee," Roswell truther, and hopeful kid with a telescope were all now without a hobby (or for some, income stream). On the other hand, every astronomer and radio engineer that had spent months or years of their lives listening fruitlessly to the stars, or monitoring satellites for radio signals were now busier than ever. After the Dominators' attack, S.H.I.E.L.D. bought up every listening post, radio telescope, and satellite they could get their hands on, put their people in charge, and bent them all toward the preemptive detection of otherworldly threats.

Such was the case with S.H.I.E.L.D. Sentient World Observation and Response Monitoring Station 01, formerly known as the Karl G. Jansky Very Large Array, in the middle of the desert plains of New Mexico. As remote as one could get in the middle of the United States, it was three hours by car to the nearest town, and so most of the station's operators lived in the on-site quarters, rotating out every three months. Could be worse, most figured; could be at Station 06 in the South Pole. Sure, they didn't have the funding of the R&D department, the fancy toys of the Strategic Response Unit, nor the glitz and glamor of the Metahuman Relations Unit, but the Sentient World Observation and Response Division took pride in their work, knowing how important their job was to safeguarding humanity.

Dr. Erik Selvig was one such enthusiast-turned-guardian of world peace. Professor of Astrophysics at the University of Minnesota ten years before, it took him a long while to adjust to the New Mexico heat, but he endured it gladly. His enduring fascination- bordering on obsession- had been the concept of wormholes, both as natural phenomena and as a potential means of transport through or between universes. When word spread through the astronomical community of S.H.I.E.L.D. acquiring long-range sensory equipment used for SETI to detect alien attacks, he volunteered his expertise immediately. Since then it had been his enormous pleasure to serve as the foremost expert within S.H.I.E.L.D. on the inter-dimensional travel, wormholes, and related phenomenon. It was not long after he began working for S.H.I.E.L.D. that they placed him here, on watch for multi-universal aliens, dimensional travelers, and other such uninvited guests. He loved his work, and wouldn't give it up for the world. He even received special permission to buy some of the nearby land, had a house built, and decided to retire there. Just him, and the desert sky.

At the present moment, Dr. Selvig was in his "office," reading the newspaper. The cover of the Daily Planet was, as usual, split between the inspiring heroism of Superman, and the daring political machinations of Calvin Ellis, progressive America's newest golden boy. Erik scoffed at the young president's latest naive maneuver, "They'll never confirm Glastonberry." He sniffed, adjusted on the toilet seat, and folded the paper to read the piece on Superman. The Man of Steel was a long-enduring object of fascination for scientists of across many disciplines. Erik himself wondered if there was any truth to the rumor that Superman's power was drawn from the Sun, and why that might be the case. Some sort of advanced animal photosynthesis? It was a subject of much conjecture during coffee and lunch breaks.

A knock on his stall door broke him from reading the paper. "Professor, we need you in observation deck one." A tense, female voice told him.

There was only one of his colleagues that called him Professor. There was also only one that would barge into the men's room to get his attention. "Jane, I appreciate the personal touch, but could you give me a minute?"

"One minute. Hurry. I'm not kidding. This is big." She didn't sound like she was kidding. She practically ran out the door, and a minute later Dr. Selvig was following her.

She had lingered behind, but he was slow to catch up, hopping on one foot to kick off the toilet paper stuck to his heel. "What's going on, what's happening?"

"We had an in-atmosphere detection." Dr. Jane Foster told him as they hurried back to the station's main observation deck. Jane had been Erik's TA, and he had mentored her greatly through her doctoral program. She had then gone on to teach at Culver University. Where Erik had volunteered to join S.W.O.R.D., Jane had been headhunted.

"Christ, how did they get past the atmospheric sensors?" Erik was huffing and puffing to keep up with her. "Do we have a -hoof- heading they came from?"

"He's not from space. Well, not any space nearby us. Class K wormhole, spat him out right over San Fransisco. We got the whole thing on video."

"You're kidding." Erik pulled his glasses out of his shirt pocket and put them on as he entered the observation deck. It was a far grander name than the room deserved, as it was largely made up of banks of computers, monitors, and printouts, with a large monitor at the far end of the room. At the present moment it was playing a short video on loop. A surveillance feed of a city street, in the upper-right corner of the video an anomaly popped into existence in the sky. In the camera's grainy resolution, it just looked like an explosion of color punching out of the sky. Then a moment later, a distinctly humanoid silhouette descended in freefall from the anomaly, which vanishes from sight, as does the apparent visitor behind a building, out of sight of the camera. The video looped, and Erik watched it, mesmerized.

"Got it off a bank, you wouldn't believe our luck." Jane said, leading Erik over to some data feeds for him to look over. His head never turned away from the looping seven-second video. "At first we just got a gamma micro-burst on the satellite grid. Then as we're isolating the wavelength, atmosphere sensors go off, full Einstein-Rosen event horizon stabilizes, not even fifty meters off the ground. Only lasted two point eight seconds, you saw in the footage. Locals thought it was a firework. We tracked it down to San Fran and managed to get the video off of a bank five blocks away."

Erik stopped her, "Hang on a sec, locals? You're in touch with local law enforcement already?"

Jane was practically manic, she was so excited, barely stopping to breathe. "Yeah, we enhanced the video enough to get a basic description, and gave it to the SFPD. Male, Caucasian, twenties or thirties, between six-and-a-half and seven feet tall, at least three-hundred pounds, and long blond hair. We've got them on orders to find him, but just to observe, not approach."

"All that from about, what ten pixels?" Erik was incredulous. Jane smiled at him; winded, but exhilarated. "My question is: why haven't you initiated a Code R?"

"Dimensional Intruder alert?" Now Jane was incredulous. "Don't you think that's overkill?"

"It's protocol. We have an alien walking around San Fransisco. We don't know where he's from or why he's here."

"Alright." Jane conceded the point, and sat down at her console to type the emergency command into the system.

The effect was instantaneous. The lights turned from buzzing white florescent to danger-red, and an automated voice sounded on repeat, "Alert. Dimensional intruder detected. All duty personnel, report to your emergency station. Alert. Dimensional intruder detected. All duty-"

"Will someone shut that the hell off?" Shouted Major Abigail Brand, stamping into the room in a state of obvious agitation. The commander of S.W.O.R.D. was twenty-eight, a green-haired half-alien, and was hell on wheels. The security alarm was deactivated, silencing the automated message and returning the lights to normal. Abigail sighed in relief. "Thank you. You know when that alarm is tripped, the first person to know is Maria Hill. She's gonna be up my ass in sixty seconds, so we have that long to figure out what the hell is going on."

"We got a live one." Was the most Erik could offer, going over the data that he had been ignoring a moment before.

"I need a live feed on the main monitor now. Get me satellites 6A through 6J in position over San Fransisco. I want thermal, radiation sensors, and bio-scan." The S.W.O.R.D. commander wasted no time barking orders, before turning back to her teams of hurriedly-conferring scientists and technicians. "Okay people, what have you got for me?"

"Energy signature of the bridge doesn't have any matches on record. As far as we know, he's new in town." Erik said, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. "He might not be a total stranger though. A class K wormhole with these readings is something we've seen before, with some of Wonder Woman's enemies."

"You're telling me we're dealing with a Greek God?" Abigail seemed somehow discomforted by the idea. Meanwhile, the main monitor flashed between satellite imagery of San Fransisco and static. "Son of a- Who do I have to kill to get a decent connection around here? And where is my thermal?"

Shrinking back from the shouting soldier, Erik replied, "It's just a guess, we don't have enough data to cross reference to be sure." This was true, but not due to a lack of inter-dimensional travelers. In his "enthusiast" days, Erik estimated that Earth was host to over five-hundred cross-dimensional incursions in an average year. If that estimate was accurate, S.W.O.R.D. detected less than three percent of those incursions. "It's very probably magic, though."

"Magic, of course. Well, what is our magic man doing, does anyone have eyes on him? I saw the APB, he's a big boy, he ought to stand out in a crowd."

"Not yet," Jane answered, "But SFPD haven't picked up any unusual chatter. If he's doing anything, he's not making any waves."

Abigail sighed, rapping her knuckles against the nearest desk as she watched a fuzzy feed of the bird's eye view over the block that their visitor had been dropped into. "Shit, well, we don't want to leave him alone too long. Get whoever you can to head over and check it out. Scratch that, get someone competent. No repeats of last time, capiche? Besides that... If things are quiet, we can hope they'll stay quiet. Who knows, maybe he's just a tourist."

---

San Fransisco, California

Thor was hopelessly lost. Both in a spiritual, emotional sense as well as a very literal one. Thor had an excellent sense of direction, as befit an experienced hunter and sailor, but the directions his brother had given him were confusing, and seemingly contradictory. Additionally, Thor found that in city streets and buildings all tended to look alike, further exacerbating his confusion. He was able to generally orient himself based on a few landmarks, a large red bridge chief among them, but was otherwise having a miserable time trying to find his way around.

Midgard was very different to how Thor remembered it. That was what Loki had told him just after he had broken the news of his exile to his brother. He was right about that, it was indeed very different. Thor realized in retrospect that his brother had used the truth to lure him in, as he often did. Loki visited Midgard all the time, he had told Thor, surreptitiously, without father knowing. Thor would be eaten alive if he went down without his beloved elder brother's help, which Loki was all too happy to provide. And help he did indeed. He gave the exiled prince a glamour so that his manner of dress would fit in among the Midgardians, and to hide his axe from their sight. Thor had been so overjoyed to have the support of someone in his family after the ordeal he had just been through, that he didn't question his brother's motives. Not even as Loki handed him a thick wad of Midgardian paper currency, and directions to accommodations he recommended. Thor asked if he could still hunt and fight with the Norsemen, but Loki told him they were now called "Social Democrats" and weren't fun anymore, and Thor believed that too, though he didn't understand what it meant.

Thor found out very quickly that the money Loki had given him was actually a bunch of worthless, colorful paper. He had tried to give some as alms to a beggar, and the man had thrown the pink strips back at him, insulted. Thor found out immediately after that nothing was free on Midgard, not even directions, and so he continued to wander, lost in body and mind. A dark cloud hung over the exiled Prince Thor, almost literally; overcast skies began to roll in over the bay. He wasn't sure what was hurting him most at that moment: his father throwing him away, his mother letting it happen, or all of it being his own fault to begin with. The fact that his bother couldn't put aside his love of mischief long enough to help Thor in his hour of need wasn't sitting well with him, either.

Just as he was about to give up trying to find the probably imaginary hotel Loki had sent him to look for, something caught the corner of Thor's eye. He picked his head up and caught sight of a brilliant flag, emblazoned with the rainbow colors of the Bifrost . Had that been one of the infuriatingly vague landmarks Loki had told him to look for? Thor had forgotten. Still, he crossed the street to investigate further, leaping clear over the oncoming traffic. Thor found that buildings on both sides of the street were overflowing with rainbow flags, all in various designs and colors. Even the people on the street seemed particularly colorful, and was reminded for a homesick moment of the vibrancy of Asgard.

Just as he was about to slip back into his depression, he caught sight of something familiar. A ways up the street, stood in front of a building with yet another rainbow flag, were a pair of men smoking. However, they were both stout in build, arrayed in metal and leather, with heavy beards, and thick body hair. Thor recognized vikings anywhere, and picked up his pace to join them.

The vikings recognized Thor approaching, and waved as he came closer. One, smoking a cigarette, called out, "Why hello big fella, where's the fire?"

"No fire, just a fellow warrior in need of guidance. A-and maybe a little money." The smoking viking looked at Thor, looked at his companion, and then looked back at Thor, clearly looking him up and down suspiciously.

"Suit's too nice to be panhandling... Did you get robbed?"

"Sort of, yes. It's a long story." Thor said, with real weariness in his voice. The two vikings shared another glance.

"They take your phone, did you call the police?"

"Ah, well, I would rather not get involved with all of that today. Too much hassle. I just want to get back to my hotel."

The other man spoke up, "Oh, your hotel, of course! Are you a tourist? I should have known from your accent. No, no, let me guess. Sweden? No, wait, Iceland!"

Thor smiled nervously, "Something like that, yes."

"Why don't you come in, have a drink, and we can get you all sorted out. Sound alright friend?" The man stamped out his cigarette under a spurred, leather boot, and took Thor's arm, leading him back inside the establishment.

Thor sighed, and let them lead him inside. He could use the drink. "Give me the biggest horn you have, and fill it with mead 'til it's spilling over." Inside was predictably a bar; dark, smoky, loud, with thrumming music playing. The place was filled with men with similar appearances to the two Thor had met outside, dressed in various arrangements of leather, chains, and hirsute skin. Thor was beginning to think these vikings were a little on the odd side, but they were friendly and had libations, so he wasn't about to complain.

"We don't have craft beers, but I like where your head's at." The man he had been speaking to rounded the bar and washed his hands, before pulling out a heavy, glass mug from underneath.

Thor sat down at the bar, the steel stool creaking loudly under his weight. "Fine, give me whatever's on tap, and a lot of it."

"Pabst it is."

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

Probably SWORD if we have a SWORD

@Enarr

I don't want to have to be responsible for it, but I may fabricate it for my post if that doesn't cause too many problems.

Edit: I'm splitting the difference and creating SWORD's runty predecessor: EGOR.

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

What would be the first Earth-bound organization to pick up on readings of an inter-dimensional intrusion? SHIELD?

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

<Snipped quote by Dead Cruiser>

<Snipped quote>

*an

Sorry, this post has earned a demerit. I'm afraid I'll have to reject it.

@Retired

"An Roleplay"? Sorry, I only speak English.

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

@Retired These days whenever I notice a typo in one of my posts I remember a RP I applied to that counted a typo in my CS as a demerit against my application. The GM told me point blank that he wouldn't accept a CS with typos in it.

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

#02 The Secret Name (Part 2)

---

Earth, Manhattan

Stepping through a mystic doorway of light was Kent Nelson, the civilian guise of Doctor Fate, Sorcerer Supreme of Earth. Kent emerged from the portal into a small, tidy condominium. The doorway vanished as soon as Kent was through, and he was alone in the small apartment. While everything in it was clean and seemed like new, it was very clear that no one lived there, and that it had been that way for some time. The decor looked like something out of a homegoods catalog from the 70s, and with good reason: the brown carpet, brown drapes, brown furniture (kept pristine with spotless cellophane furniture covers), brown paneling, and orange-brown wallpaper had been copied wholesale from the 1971 Sears Spring Catalog. Doctor Fate was not much of an interior decorator, and saw no reason to change the furniture of a residence he only maintained as part of his civilian alter-ego. He had similar residences set up in London, Cairo, Lima, and Hong Kong. Each was shielded from magic surveillance, connected to Fate's personal teleportation nexus, and was enchanted to keep itself tidy, collect the mail, and keep the bills paid on time. Fate did not undervalue the advantage of having shielded safehouses like these; they helped enormously when he wanted to drop into the city without announcing his presence to every magician and metahuman in New York.

He departed his time-capsule apartment, looking much the part of someone that would live in such a place. Doctor Fate's wardrobe suffered similarly to his interior design, serving as a relic of the last time the he cared about such earthly endeavors. He wore an ultramarine pinstripe suit, brown oxfords, and had the matching navy hat and tan ox leather briefcase. Kent checked his wristwatch, a heavy, gold timepiece, and saw that he was right on time, as always. Time and Fate worked hand in hand.

Despite what Kent regarded to be the rapidly-worsening condition of his safehouse's neighborhood, Kent made it to the closest subway station without incident. He already knew what line to take, and when his train would arrive, and so he surprised himself by arriving early, and having to wait on the platform for the train like everyone else. Kent diverted himself by watching a street magician, who was busking on the platform by performing various simple tricks of misdirection, generally haranguing passerby in the process. Kent approached and watched a few coin tricks, and then volunteered to choose a card from a deck. The magician went through many seemingly complex maneuvers with the card Kent had picked, though the magician (and Kent of course) knew where it was the entire time. When asked to pick out his card, Kent did so, deftly sliding the card out of the deck with two fingers. Then, he crumpled the card into his hand, blew into the knot of his fist as though pantomiming blowing up a balloon, and as he opened his hand, a paper butterfly fluttered out. The street performer watched amazed as the animated origami landed in his outstretched hands, and then unfolded itself, revealing the kind eyes of Benjamin Franklin on the hundred-dollar-bill it had been folded from. As the performer looked up, they saw that Kent had boarded his train, and was pulling away from the station.

After a few more stops, transfers, and a hot dog, Kent managed to reach Tribeca and the office he had been on his way to reach; the New York branch of the American Institute of Archaeology. He had a lunch date with the chapter president, Mr. Carter Hall, known to Kent and a rapidly dwindling list of others as Hawkman. Kent stepped into the lobby, its air conditioning refreshingly cool in the late-summer Manhattan heat. He would take the dry heat of a desert over the sweltering stink of the city any day. He doffed his hat and fanned himself with it as he rode the elevator to Carter's office within the complex. The AIA chapter offices were merely a few rooms connected by a waiting room that boasted an impressive plaster casting of a slab of stone from the eighteenth dynasty, depicting the god Horus. There, the receptionist, Julie, was waiting for him.

"Good afternoon Dr. Nelson," she said, her North Jersey-Gotham accent broken up by the smacking of the gum in her mouth, "Dr. Hall will be with you in just a sec."

"Hello, Mrs. Sirrico," Kent said, easing himself into a chair to await his friend, "How is your baby, dear? I didn't expect to see you back so soon." He said, with a warm, grandfatherly affectation. Kent's carefully-maintained received pronunciation helped in making him seem genial and wise, as an elderly man should be.

"Don't call me 'Missus,' it makes me feel old," she mockingly chided him. Julie retrieved a few things from her desk and stepped over to show them to Kent. "Here she is," she said, offering a photo of a newborn baby, swaddled and with a pink bow in her thin infant hair, "Maria Josephine, six pounds twelve ounces. She's a dream, but I can't leave Carter alone too long or he'll miss me too much. I've got the husband at home looking after her."

Kent examined the photo, holding it out to feign farsightedness, and smiled with a parent's genuine affection. "She's breathtaking, absolutely beautiful, you must be very proud. I hope she enjoys my gift from the shower."

"Oh, the bassinet? It's gorgeous, where did you find an antique like that in such good condition?" Julie asked, accepting the photo back from Kent. "Actually, I have something for you, here." She handed him another photo.

"Well, it wasn't any trouble..." Kent started, before looking at the photo Julie handed him. He was then slightly startled to be looking at his own face. Much younger, of course, he was barely in his twenties when he had been shipped off to France to fight in the Great War. Cameras were uncommon things; Kent had not even known that his photo had been taken, but there he was in a muddy foxhole in France none the less. Kent smiled again, this time completely insincerely, and said, "This is quite a find, my dear, did you pull this from Carter's personal collection?" She nodded, and said she found it while digitizing his photo album. "You have an excellent eye. This is my grandfather, Kent Nelson Senior." It was a convenient lie for a man who was perpetually in his early sixties. Every time he started to look too young for the age he was supposed to be, he fabricated a new identity as his own son and continued the ruse. He had done it twice already, but the digital age was shrinking ground beneath his feet. If anything was evidence of that fact, it was his own face from a hundred years ago staring back at him at that moment.

"So you're Kent Nelson the Third? Is there a fourth?" Julie asked, innocently breaking Kent of his internal monologue.

"Er, that's correct," he said, feigning as though he had been mesmerized by the photograph. He gave a small, sad laugh before answering, "No, I didn't see the point in continuing the tradition. My son's name was Khalid."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Julie said, tensing suddenly, "I didn't know."

"It's quite alright," he said with a bittersweet smile, and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

It was then that Carter Hall emerged from his office into the reception area. While Kent was a tall, well-built man, in very good shape for his alleged age (supernaturally good shape for his actual age), Carter was comparatively a towering figure. He was a head taller than Kent, burly in the shoulders and huge, calloused hands. His hair was short and gone completely white, and he had a face like a bulldog, all wrinkles and jowls. Kent wondered if there was enough fabric in his suit to make a tent. Said suit was a terribly garish thing, forest green with golden accents, just like Carter's old costume, just without the wings, helmet, and mace.

"Carter, you mummy," Kent called out to his old friend as soon as he saw him, eager to break the tension in the room, "Have they been hiding you in the discount suit rack? You look like a lawyer for the Wizard of Oz." He rose to shake his comrade's hand.

Carter laughed boisterously, accepting his friend's handshake with his bearlike grip. "Me? You look like a Sinatra-themed bank robber." He returned Kent's jest, and the two shared a laugh that was long-needed by both.

The two old heroes quickly exchanged the routine of "Hi, how's your mother" and so on, before Carter suggested the two take their lunch at a hotel bar nearby that he was particularly fond of. While Kent wasn't eager to step back into the noonday heat, he agreed, and the two set out on foot, a striking pair on Manhattan's streets. Along the way they discussed matters that were relevant to their civilian identities, as they were each highly respected doctors of archaeology. The difference between them had been that Carter had retired and embraced his civilian persona wholly. For Kent it was still merely that, a persona. Still, they chatted like old friends and colleagues about the ongoing digs in southern India, about the damned extremists continuing to blow up Mesopotamian ruins in the Levant, and Carter swore up and down about how the British Museum's recent repatriation of many of its artifacts was merely pandering to "liberals and pinkos."

They reached their destination and ordered their lunch and martinis, sitting shoulder to shoulder with businessmen yammering into cell phones or tapping away at laptops. "So," Carter broke the ice between sips of his drink. "What brings the immortal Doctor Fate down to rub shoulders with we mere human beings?"

Kent could only give his old friend an annoyed glance. "Carter, you're a demigod, and you're older than I am." He said, taking a sip of his own drink. Gin martini, no ice, double olives. He looked back at his friend, their eyes meeting, and in that moment Carter knew why Kent had come to see him.

"God dammit." He said, exasperated. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands before sighing and asking, "Alright, who this time?"

"Sandy Hawkins." Kent said, momentarily feeling like some unwelcome visitor in the lives of his old comrades. Just like Carter had said a moment before, the immortal Doctor Fate descends to share the news of their dying friends. Carter didn't reply at first, so Kent continued, "He was Wesley's protege, and took over for-"

"Yes, I remember him, Kent." Carter cut him off, sounding more distraught than unkind. "He and Hector worked together, back when Hector was still the Silver Scarab. Christ, I'm gonna have to be the one to tell him. It's gonna break his heart." He sighed again, and ran his hands through his short, white hair. "Sandy was young, wasn't he? Well, maybe not young, but younger than us."

"Most people are." Kent said, sipping his martini.

"You know what I mean, smart-ass. When did this happen, what did him in? Is Wesley holding up alright?"

"A few days ago, if I understand correctly. His ex-wife called my New York house, I guess I was still in their address book. Police have ruled it a suicide so far, but the investigation is ongoing." He took another sip. "I was hoping to check in on Wesley while I was still in town."

Carter nodded approvingly, still clearly deep in thought. "Good, he needs the company. Loony old bastard." He caught himself and chuckled ruefully, "Heh, look who's talking though." He turned back to Kent. "You know that makes two this year." It was true, Alan Scott had died of a stroke at the beginning of the year. It had been a massive blow to the superhuman community as a whole, and his funeral was an international event, complete with media circus. Sandford Hawkins, Sandy the Golden Boy as they had best known him, was a comparatively obscure hero, and his death would likely go unremarked, save for those few that knew him.

"Death comes in threes." Kent remarked joylessly, understanding Carter's implication. The words hung ominously in the air between them, despite the noise and bustle of the bar at business lunch hour. The two shared another pregnant glance, each pondering the idea of the other's death. Carter had little to fear from death; he would simply reincarnate with the love of his life into the next iteration of Khufu, champion of Horus. A much different afterlife awaited Kent, as the soul of a sorcerer was a prized commodity in dark realms below the mortal world.

Before they could remark on the point, their food was served to them, and there was only one thing left to do. Together, the two heroes recited an ancient prayer in a long dead tongue, a humble plea to the Jackal-God of the Underworld to judge their departed friend with truth and wisdom, and to wish him luck in his journey to the Western Lands. Their task accomplished, the two enjoyed their meal, continuing to converse about the news of the world, and reminisce about old victories and long-lost friends.

Kent and Carter parted ways after their meal, as Kent had more errands to run while he was in New York. Still, as he walked through the congested Manhattan streets, he noticed something very peculiar going on. It was as though he was the only thing moving, and the world had gone as still as a photograph. Sure enough, people were stood like statues mid-stride around him. A bird hung in the air as though by a wire, and steam billowing out of a subway grate froze like a sculpture. Just as Kent was sensing his surroundings for signs of magic or other interference, he turned and came face to face with one of the most powerful entities in the known universe.

"Hello, Doctor Fate." Said a haggard old man in a filthy robe, carrying a heavy book, bound to him by thick, golden chains.

"Greetings, Destiny." Fate said warily, "It's funny to be running into you, I was just anticipating a visit from your sister."

"You'll see her. All you mortals inevitably do." Every one of his words felt like a grain of sand ticking down to the end of Kent's life. He tried to keep it from bothering him.

"In that case, to what do I owe the pleasure of a personal visit from one of the Endless?"

"I don't know. Not yet, anyway."

"That's unusual. You have the entire fate of the universe inscribed in your book."

"That's just the trouble." He sounded more exasperated than angered. "Something is tampering with fate. Who, or what, or to what end, I cannot say. It is difficult for me to know what exists outside the bounds of this universe's intended destiny. What I do know is that whenever I feel these... deviations, I'm always lead back to you, Doctor Fate."

"To me? Surely there must be some mistake." Kent hadn't been concerned before, but he was now. For something to be tampering with destiny at a level noticed by one of the Endless was one thing. The fact that he was being set up to take the fall for it was quite another.

"Maybe... Maybe not." Destiny pointed a withered finger at Kent. "Know this, so-called Fate: I will learn the truth of this aberration, and I will know what hand you have played in it, and then there will be penance extracted. Do not mistake me for some petty god or demon. I am Destiny, inescapable."

With that, he disappeared, as did the street Kent had been standing on. So he thought at first, but he realized after a moment that time had leaped several hours forward in an instant, leaving him in the middle of a darkened Manhattan street. Destiny, and all of the people that had been on the street when he had left his lunch with Carter were gone. Only the noise of the city and few assorted streetwalkers kept him company now. Kent rubbed his eyes the same way he had seen Carter do, hours before. Wesley would have to take care of himself for a while yet, Doctor Fate had pressing business to attend.

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

Preview of The Mighty Thor #1

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

#0

W O R T H Y

---

"WHOSOEVER HOLDS THIS HAMMER IF HE BE WORTHY SHALL POSSESS THE POWER OF THOR"

So read the inscription on the Mjölnir, inscribed in the runes of the World-Tree by the Allfather's own hand. Prince Thor stared at it, squatting in front of the plinth in the royal armory upon which the hammer rested. He frowned as he read the inscription again, for what was very likely the literal millionth time. He hated this hammer. It was ugly, for starters. A square, grey brick with a stunted handle, it bore no resemblance to the elegant golden spear Gungnir that the Dwarved had forged for his father, despite both being forged from precious uru. Furthermore, the inscription was ludicrous; "the power of Thor?" He already was Thor, and already had his own power. What would happen if someone else picked it up, would they get his power? It didn't make any sense.

Prince Thor rocked back on his haunches, taking up a sitting position as he continued to stare miserably at Mjölnir. He hated this hammer, he thought again. He didn't need it, but it had hung over him like impending doom since he was old enough to read. Its inscription was a challenge, he knew, and it was the only challenge that he had ever failed to measure up to. Whether it was hunting, fighting, wrestling, eating, drinking, wenching, sailing, or singing, there was only a single soul in all of Asgard that could hope to best Prince Thor. Somehow, despite all of that, he was still not "worthy." It felt almost like a joke, as though this were all a ruse meant to keep him unhappy. Thor snorted to himself mirthlessly, thinking that his brother Loki would struggle to come up with a more infuriating trick.

Pulling himself back onto his feet, Thor stared down at the hammer, this time with fury crackling in his eyes. "Who is unworthy?" He challenged Mjölnir. He grabbed its handle, wrapped in the tanned skins of star-drakes, and the hammer did not budge. He pulled, first with one hand, and then with both, straining fruitlessly against the infinite weight of Mjölnir's enchantment. He let go, pausing for a moment to rub his hands together, static electricity sparking between his palms, and grabbed Mjölnir's handle again in a fierce grip. He heaved with all of his strength, eyes and veins glowing furiously with all of his divine might. Against strength that could shatter mountains or bury civilizations, the hammer did not even tilt. Lightning arced across Prince Thor's body, leaping from him to Mjölnir, other weapons in the armory, and eventually the walls and floors as he willed the power of the storm into his body. As his power reached its peak, Prince Thor cried aloud in rage before his strength gave out, releasing the hammer's grip. In that instant he was flung across the room as though tossed by a giant, and smacked loudly against the far wall.

The young god groaned, rising back onto his feet, and after parting his golden hair from in front of his eyes, he saw that the hammer had not moved at all, still mocking him from its place on the plinth. He also saw that he was not alone. A raven was perched on a suit of armor, staring at Thor with its beady black eyes. The prince eyed the bird coldly; his father's envoy. The King of Asgard did not often send for his eldest natural son and heir, and when he did the tidings were usually not good.

"Well? Out with it." He commanded the raven.

"Prince Thor," the bird croaked, "Lord Odin summons you to Valhalla."

"Did my lord father give a reason for summoning me?" Thor attempted to inquire.

"Lord Odin summons you." The bird repeated.

Thor sighed, looking at the mess he made of the royal armory. Weapons had been flung about or burned with electricity, and lightning strikes had left huge singe-marks in the walls and floors. "I have a bit of goat meat I was saving. I'll give it to you if you don't tell my father about what I was doing in here."

"Meat! Meat!" The bird crowed, and Thor gave it the scrap of jerky he had in his pocket.

Thor emerged from the armory, the guards posted at the door saluting him as he exited. Drums were beating, not far off. War drums, the young god recognized them in an instant. Sól, the daystar of Asgard, shone brightly overhead, and Thor shielded his eyes to get a better look around. Everywhere he looked, men and women were scurrying, carrying weapons and provisions. Horses and goats carried huge carts loaded with supplies, and dozens of Valkyries flitted overhead, either overseeing whatever preparations were underway or carrying out some other errand for the Allfather. The prince began to have an idea for the reason his father had sent for him, and picked up his pace, running energetically to Valhalla.

---

The divine longhall of Valhalla loomed over all of Asgard from its perch atop the mountain Glaðsheimr. The hall was huge, golden, and imperious. Rather than shingles, its roof was shod with the shields of enemies the Allfather had slain, and its beams and rafters were carved from the spears of slain giants. Thor approached from the west, barreling up the winding mountain path that led to Valhalla's doors. It was easiest to reach the sacred hall when borne on a Valkyrie's wings, but Prince Thor made do. During his ascent he had seen the longships docked on the sea of stars, preparing to depart and wage war on Asgard's enemies. The sight had made Thor clench his fists with excitement, sparks dancing across his knuckles in anticipation of glorious battle.

Thor strode in through Valhalla's western doors, paying no mind to the carving of Fenris that hung over the doorway. Inside, the Einherjar, Odin's companions and warriors from across the Nine Realms, were not feasting and drinking as was their typical pursuit, but making ready for battle. Thor could hardly contain himself as he strode down the length of the massive hall toward his father's throne at the feasting table's head. Many of the Einherjar offered friendly greetings and other salutations to the God of Thunder as he passed, and Thor answered their regards warmly. Thor counted many friends and comrades among his father's army, and was eager to fight at their sides again.

Finally at the heart of Valhalla, there he waited. The Hooded God, the God of the Gallows, the Lord of Ravens, the Master of Runes, the Wise One, the King of Asgard and the Lord of the Aesir. Spear-Shaker, Lie-Teller, War-Maker, Hel-Binder, and countless other names, all of them and none of them true. Odin Allfather. He was dressed in his full panoply of war, his storm-grey beard hanging over his raiment of golden uru mail, the holy spear Gungnir clutched in his gnarled hand. At his heels two massive wolves sat attentively, staring at Prince Thor as he approached. Freki and Geri most commonly greeted Thor by pouncing on his chest and licking his face, and so he wondered what held them back. Ravens crowed overhead in the spear-rafters of Valhalla, occasionally swooping down to land on Odin's shoulder and whisper secrets in his ear. The two largest birds in the hall, a pair of grim-looking ravens with blood on their beaks and talons, perched on the back of the Allfather's throne. They too watched the approaching prince warily. Last of all did Odin himself turn to acknowledge his son, his single grey eye regarding him much the same way a wolf regards a deer.

As Odin continued to keep his silence as Thor stood before his throne, the prince bent down on one knee and greeted his father and king, "Hail, Lord Odin Allfather," said the smiling prince, loud enough for the Einherjar to hear, "I, your loyal son and vassal, have answered your summons."

Odin continued to stare down at his son where he knelt, his grim expression unchanging. Thor noticed only now that his mother, Frigga, Queen of the Aesir, stood at the side of Odin's throne. He was about to greet his lady mother, when he saw her face and noticed that she had been crying. Before Thor could ask what troubled her, Odin's voice boomed across the great hall. "Einherjar, leave us. I must take council with my son." The sound of his voice was like steel striking bone, the whisper of magic through the leaves of Yggdrasil, and the taut snap of a hangman's rope, all at once. At his command, the soldiers in the hall packed up their weapons and armor, and gradually shuffled out of Valhalla's many doors. Thor rose to his feet to watch them depart, turning back to his father once the last of them was gone.

"I hear you have been making trouble in my private armory, Prince Thor." These were the first words Odin spoke to his son once the hall was empty save for the Gods and their familiars.

"Do not believe all you hear from these birds, father." Thor replied, his roguish smile returned. "They are very easily bribed."

Odin ignored his son's jest, continuing, "That place is reserved for the relics and weapons of the mightiest heroes in Asgard. The crowns of my father, and his father before him rest there, and you think to make it your personal playpen."

Quickly realizing that this meeting was not going how he thought it would, Thor tried to plead his case, "Father, I-"

"You will be SILENT!" Odin cut him off, banging his spear against the floor. Outside the hall, thunder rumbled, and the sun seemed to momentarily dim. The brief flash of rage in his eye gave way to bitterness and resignation as Odin continued, "I have tolerated your childish antics for much too long. You play at war, and think of kingship as a game. You squander your birthright with frivolities, and fill your bed with whores, unworthy to carry the royal bloodline of Asgard." At that last criticism, Thor spared an embarrassed glance toward his mother, but she only looked back at him with tears welling in her eyes. Suddenly flushing with shame, Thor's attention returned to his father. "I am as much to blame as you, as I have failed you by not providing the firm hand that you clearly needed. No more. If you are to be my heir, you shall learn what makes a God, and what makes a King."

"I know these things, father!" Prince Thor retorted, angry tears in his eyes. "I shall prove it to you!"

Odin scoffed, a sound like the creak of a burdened tree branch. "You know many ways to make battle and slay foes, but not how to lead men with courage and honor. You know how to wield your strength and privilege to cow others, but not of the duty they confer upon you. You know of the might and majesty of our ancient kingdom, but not the sacrifice it took to build it. Until you learn these things... Until you are worthy of your birthright, you have no place in these halls, Prince Thor."

Thor could scarcely believe what he was hearing. Banishment? Exile? The idea seemed ludicrous; he felt like he was stuck in a bad dream that he couldn't wake up from. He looked to his mother with desperation in his eyes, only to see that she had turned away from him to sob quietly into her hands. Frigga would clearly be no help in this matter.

Looking back to his father, Thor asked, "Is that why all of Asgard prepares for war? Are you sending me to lead a war in your honor and prove my worth?"

"No, my son. You will have no part in the battle that is to come, but you will prove your worth all the same. I am sending you away to Midgard, the Middle-Earth. You have some affection for those people, as I recall. Go there, and learn to rule with justice and wisdom. You may return to us, Prince Thor, once you have proved you are worthy."

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

Also, just to put out some feelers: anybody got plans in the works for the Eternals? I know they’re not exactly a hot commodity in these games but I want to be absolutely sure before I dip my toe into anything.

@Cybermaxx

Only insofar as the ones posing as "gods" if that's your plan for them.

Incidentally, I really want to link up Thor and Superboy when the former lands earthside. I imagine the immature Thor would make a good contrast/foil to the maturing Superboy.