GARTH OF SHAYERIS ♦ PRINCE OF IDYLLS ♦ ATLANTIC OCEAN
O R I G I N S:
The son of King Thar of Shayeris and Queen Berra of Crastinus, Garth represents the new hope that is the United Kingdom of Shayeris and Crastinus, one of the twelve undersea kingdoms that comprise Poseidonis. Under the tutelage of the High Mage, Vulko, Garth is coming of age in a realm of magic that stands in firm opposition to Venturia’s warmongering. This has thrust the boy into the midst of undersea politics he doesn’t yet understand, as his uncle, Slizzath, conspires to bring about events that will propel him to power at great cost to life both above and below the surface.
As the United States prepares to sink the aircraft carrier USS Trafalgar with the stated goal of creating an artificial reef, events are set into motion that will upend Garth’s royal life and ask the question of whether one boy alone can stop the tide of war with the surface.
S A M P L E P O S T:
THE UNITED KINGDOM OF SHAYERIS & CRASTINUS The Hamlet of Thierna na Oge
There was so much blood in the water.
At first, he’d thought that it was just sediment. The visibility around the tremendous impact sending hundreds of pounds up from the ocean floor to create a veritable fog in which the boy could no longer see the hand in front of his face.
It was a quick and sobering realization that debris was not the only thing floating around him. Luckily, the cold waters around him stole away his tears as quickly as they sprang.
Taking a deep breath, the youth steeled himself. Even without his sight, the boy’s sense of location could pick out each of the guards around him in turn. “What are you standing around me for?”
From the murky blackness the thoughts of the man-at-arms was quick to answer, “Your Highness, it isn’t safe!”
“Yes, and our people need your protection,”the boy charged
He could feel the guards checking in with one another. After an awkward silence, a voice finally offered, “I’ll stay with the prince.”
The boy gave a sigh of relief, releasing a breath he’d held in anticipation of being dragged back to Shayeris and thrown into a room. To wait around with tutors while others did the work that needed to be done.
Or worse, catered to him when that attention was needed elsewhere.
“With me,” the boy said, not wanting to yield for even a second when it seemed the hand had loosened on the reigns that sought to tether him to a throne that was not yet his.
N O T E S:
Tha-Korr is King of Atlantis, but I will make no references to Fen or Atlanna, so the royal family of Atlantis is free to be interpreted by anyone who may wish to pick up Arthur/Orin or Namor. Similarly, I will make no reference to Tom Curry, Amnesty Bay, Nereus, Mera, or Xebel.
I have no plans to introduce Black Manta, so if anyone wants to use him and/or introduce a version of Khaldur'am/Jackson Hyde, they're free to do so.
Planned Rogue Gallery is Slizzath and Attuma for the undersea side of the plot, and Dr. Dorcas and the Scavenger for the surface side of the plot. Future plots may also use Suma-Ket, the Dead King, and the Unforgiven Dead.
Surface side plot involves Beachrock, Massachusetts.
Support Cast: Deputy Wilson, McCaffey, Quisp (Silver Age version), Mar (Alpha Flight)
"The Brine" people refers to Marvel's Plodex race in this merged undersea-verse.
P O S T C A T A L O G:
tbd
and with apologies to the magnanimous Bounce for the delays, Garth is accepted! Excited to see what you do with Atlantis and its kingdoms.
MB may swoop in and disagree, but Sep and I are feeling we can't take Danny Phantom at this juncture. There are still plenty of Marvel and DC characters up for grabs, and we have already denied a Power Rangers concept, so we'd both feel a little weird accepting this despite that. I do really like the sheet, though, and we may be willing to reconsider once the game's possibility space is filled out a little more Or failing that app this once I gather my courage and run a Fusionfall game.
“Judo is the way to the most effective use of both physical and spiritual strength.” - Jigoro Kano
Central Park at five AM blurred past in a rush of green foliage and dark pavement. The fresh dew filled Luke’s nostrils and the early morning chirps of the park’s critters filled his ears. That, and the dulcet tones of Danny Rand’s voice.
“I don’t need your wushu chinese bullshit right now, Danny,” Luke said. The roadwork was taking its toll on him. Since Danny had turned up at Luke’s door weeks ago, they’d taken to training together. It wasn’t a smooth thing, finding a place in your new life for your childhood friend -- one who was supposed to be dead. But training was the best thing for it, to work together in silence and adjust to each other’s presence. In theory it was silence.
“It’s not wushu, it’s parapsychology. Synchronicity.” Danny’s breathing was lighter than Luke’s, but he had about fifty fewer pounds of muscle to worry about. A mile back he had mentioned something about yogic breathing and it reminded Luke of the way Danny used to brag about all the techniques he knew, because he was just so good at martial arts. Never mind the fact that it was really his parents money getting him into all those classes and teaching him all those extra things.
“Parapsych is so much better,” Luke snorted and pressed harder. Every slam of his sneakers into the concrete path rocked up through his legs, and he tried to use the sensation to drown out Danny’s droning explanation.
“When things happen soon after one another, and have no discernable connection, yet appear meaningfully related. For most people, at most times, it’s little things. You think of a song and you hear it when you next turn on the radio. You think of an old friend and soon see them unexpectedly…”
Luke laughed, and his sides stabbed at him for his trouble. “You trying to convince me we have some special connection, Rand?”
“I’m not not suggesting it, but I’m thinking bigger actually. Put it to you this way: ten days ago, some kid wrestler in a spider mask floors a three hundred pound champion with one strike. A week ago, a streak of horizontal lightning blasted through Central City. Yesterday, people saw a man in Metropolis actually flying over the skyline.”
What was Danny trying to say? That the ‘rules’ had changed? Luke knew that better than anyone. He’d known it from the moment the needles broke his skin and filled his whole body with icy fire, so that he could never be broken again. It only took part way, the change was literally only skin deep. But that was enough to smash his way through guards, prisoners, and brick walls alike until he reached freedom. In his escape he’d taken handgun shots to the chest and they had actually bounced off. It was impossible.
But he knew, from the deep bruises and the joint pain, it was real. Every blow his unblemished skin had absorbed had certainly saved his life, but ravaged the muscles beneath. By the time the adrenaline wore out he collapsed two miles from the prison. Over the next six months he recovered and rebuilt his body from the ground up, making his way back to the city in small jumps, week by week. Here, now, back in the city with Danny was near the end of his training, putting on the finishing touches and achieving his final goals. But what did Danny know?
When Luke asked what had happened to him, Danny told some story about finding some place in the mountains where the ‘old masters’ lived. Luke took that to mean, ‘I don’t want to talk about it’. It figured. Kid probably had to watch his mom die out there. Mrs. Rand was one of the good ones, if there ever were good rich people. She always brought a smile and fancy lunches for all the kids at the dojo. There was always a little extra for Luke, she’d say it was for all the ‘trouble’ Danny was giving him. It figured that even the ‘good’ ones still couldn’t help but try to make all their kid’s messes go away. Mr. Rand was a spiteful bastard whose lip would curl in disgust every time it was his turn to collect his hellion from the dojo and from all the unwashed masses inside. Mr. Rand had the good fortune to not be on the plane that took his wife’s life, and had dropped out of Luke’s attention almost entirely since then, except for the man’s habit of investment in independent fight promotions. Rand had never spoken a word about finding his son in the aftermath of the disappearance, but Danny showing up now told Luke the whole story.
Most likely, Danny got recovered by his father’s people somewhere out in the mountains while his dad milked the ‘disappearance’ for what it was worth. Probably shipped the kid around the world to whatever dojos would take his donations. But there had to have been some kind of fallout between them, and recently. Kid probably made some indiscretion in a foreign land and got left out in the cold. Danny had come to Luke with a face covered in a scraggly beard that hid most of his features. He smelled like he hadn’t showered in a year. He’d since shaven and bathed, but he still had the look of a man that had lived on the road for some time.
The first thing you noticed about Danny were his hands. Luke remembered Danny having little twigs for fingers that young Luke hoped would snap every time he hit the bag. But now his fingers and palms were thick and rough, almost as big as Luke’s. It had to be the product of hundreds or thousands of hours striking a leather coated makiwara, or from living it rough out in the sticks... Maybe Danny had learned something out there. But he had a funny way of showing it, with his endless rants about eastern philosophy garbage. Luke was about to tell Danny to can it when he saw a man down along their path.
“Sweet Christmas,” Luke said. He saw Danny almost laugh at the expression before his eyes caught the figure approaching down the concrete paved path. Carl fucking Creel. The Crusher. You could tell it was Creel from a mile away, by the way his glistening bald head seemed to come to a fine point that caught the light of the early morning sky.
“Small city, Lucas,” Creel said. He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. He refused to break Luke’s gaze.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Luke asked. As far as he knew, Creel was still due another few years in lockup, back down in Georgia. Creel came to a stop a dozen paces away.
“A guy can’t visit the greatest city on earth?” Creel cocked his head at Luke. He laughed. “I’ll tell you this much -- your escape made a lot of opportunities for a lot of people. I just took advantage of one of them.”
Luke caught Danny gazing back and forth between them bemusedly. This was another one of the things about new Danny, the way he’d look at you like a greened out stoner who was sure he was well beyond whatever you had to say.
“So you’re not here for me?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that. Two fighters meet, and there’s no one around to object. What else is there to do?” Creel was right. In this part of the park, at this time of day, it was dead. The only thing around besides the three of them, the grass, and the pavement, was a bench a half dozen yards away. If Creel made this a fight, he could clobber them and get away without attracting too much attention.
Luke was gassed. They had been driving hard for the last two hours and he was about at the end of his stamina. But this was only Crusher Creel. He could have done a hundred times what Danny did for hand conditioning and it wouldn’t change the simple fact that an all out bare knuckle strike would break against Luke’s skin.
“You really want me to teach you this lesson again?” Luke said. He took a step forward and his calf tightened into a charley horse. Luke dug his fingernails into his palm and felt them crack against his skin.
“I was thinking I’d teach you one this time, actually. Six months is a long time,” Creel took a knee. Luke raised an eyebrow.
“A lesson in forgiveness, I hope,” Danny chimed in. He pulled a yellow bandana out of his pocket.
“This guy isn’t someone you wanna play with, Danny,” Luke said. Over the last few weeks, Danny had shown himself to be a huge proponent of light sparring. To his mind, you avoided injury and developed all the same skills. It told Luke all he needed to know, that Danny had only ever been in ‘matches’.
In prison, it was against the rules to teach any martial system, but that didn't stop the yard fights. Luke didn't get in many, but most of the ones he was in involved Creel. They were brawls where men laid their lives on the line, but Creel went harder than most anyone. The man was a savage striker, and had cracked Luke's skull more than once. On the outside the man had been a boxer with a powerful jab cross combo. But the last time Creel tried it on Luke, he shattered his hand on Luke’s new, unbreakable face.
“I don’t need to hear from the bench. But don’t worry -- I’ll show your friend here how to give a proper apology,” Creel said to Danny. He touched his right knuckle to the bare pavement. It was the same hand Luke had broken. Traces of gray appeared on the back of his hand and for an instant Luke thought Creel was going pale. It was the same shade and texture as the concrete, leaping up Creel’s arm and across his whole body. It was like he was absorbing the concrete straight out of the sidewalk, into the pores of his skin.
“Let’s see how tough you are in a real street fight, Carl Lucas.” Creel stood and grinned at him. Even his crooked smile, still missing the teeth Luke had taken from him, was the same gray pavement. Luke swallowed. There had to be stranger things in the world, Danny had just listed some of them, but it wasn’t often that an asshole from the clink turned himself into a jersey barrier that was ready to throw hands.
“Oh, Luke…” Danny had wrapped the bandana across his face so that it hid his eyes behind white lenses. He was smiling, “he really is someone I want to play with.” He stepped in front of Luke and threw his arms wide, presenting himself. “How about trying me on for size?”
The stone faced man laughed. “Oh yeah? Fucking try it, new meat. I’ll take the warm up. Hit me a hundred times -- a thousand times -- I won’t give an inch. That’s a boxer’s guarantee. I’m unbreakable.” He thumped a fist against his chest and it sounded like a sledgehammer.
“I don’t have to hit you. I just have to throw you. I’m going to beat you,” Danny said, “with only judo.” He swayed back, his challenge accepted, and brought his arms together, fist in hand.
“You’re funny, bandana,” Creel snickered.
Danny bowed to Creel.
“What the fuck was that?”
Luke’s chest tightened. Danny was serious. Only judo. But this wasn’t a spar anymore, like all the matches Luke and Danny had. Could he tell how serious Creel was? The stone smile was disappearing from his face, and he seemed to tighten across his whole body. It was like every facet of his concrete form, down to the black specs of his eyes hidden in the mass of his flesh, was a bull prepared to charge… and Danny insisted on waving the red cape.
“My name is Danny…” Danny assumed his pose, two open hands, one in front of the other, “Danny Rand, ninth dan black belt of the K’un Lun Kōdōkan. I’m thanking you for giving me the chance to improve my technique. I hope you will take this opportunity to improve yours.”
Luke knew the power in Creel’s hands. He could have cracked Danny’s head open like an egg before his change. A ninth dan black belt or not (which sounded like more Rand flavor bullshit), Luke had seen Creel drop guys with just as much fancy martial arts training. It didn’t compare. He was about to watch Danny kill himself on Creel’s superhuman fists, and he couldn’t coax his damn leg to move.
“Danny…” was all he was able to get out before Creel charged and Danny moved. It was over. One swipe from the concrete cudgels of Creel’s hands would crush through Danny’s bones. He heard the noise before he registered what happened, the thunderous crackling of his old friend having his body shattered. He couldn’t look. Only…
Creel had hit the ground. What? Luke did a double take. He hadn’t seen it, whatever Danny had done. There he was, standing over Creel, mugging like an idiot, none the worse for wear, while the big man recovered.
“Maybe you can tell me…” Danny hopped backwards, avoiding a swipe from Creel’s forearm. “Why are you here? In New York, I mean. Sure sounds like you’ve come a long way,” Danny sidestepped an uppercut as Creel launched himself to his feet. His dodges were crisp, but Creel’s moves were only half committed. Danny was way ahead of himself, to think he could just chat Creel up. He was on the knife’s edge.
“Same reason anybody who’s anybody is here, punk. Meta-Brawl.” Creel said. His composure hadn’t shaken one measure. He was already adapting, sidling just out of Danny’s effective reach. Danny had to have gotten lucky with his first move. Creel was a professional. Luke had seen Danny try crazy things in their spars before; cede an opening, drop a block, and go for something ‘cute’ when they least expect it. They were just the kinds of things men like Creel worked day and night to iron out of their routines, to easily defend against and crush upstarts without discipline. In the professional’s world, only truly practiced techniques and refined principles mattered. Yet here Danny was, pulling another crazy stunt.
“What’s a ‘Meta-Brawl’?” Danny tilted his head and lowered his shoulder. Danny was dangling his chin, his end-it-in-one button, in front of a boxer like a shank of meat.
“One audition with powers like these, and I’m a shoe in for the big leagues. Night after night, I’ll get to face real champions in real fights. Not half rate dorks like you two,” Creel said. He saw the opening and threw a cross. Danny bobbed under it by a centimeter, grabbing Creel’s leading shoulder and wrapping a hand around his waist. Danny turned and Creel tumbled over the smaller man’s hip and crashed to the ground. Luke realized Danny lied to Creel, in a sense. Danny was relying on judo’s speciality, and he was hitting Creel -- with the earth itself.
“You’re a man after my own heart, Creel,” Danny grinned at him while Creel brought himself to one knee. The concrete had cracked across Creel’s back and chest. A spider web of lines and tumbling pebbles defined his jaw. “You can’t stop chasing the next challenge, can you?”
“And you can’t stop sticking your nose into fights that ain’t yours, huh kid?” Creel stood and adjusted his guard, now presenting his shoulder first to Danny -- the Philly shell. Creel was on the backfoot and he knew it.
“I think I already get you… You’re not here for revenge on Luke. You need to prove to yourself you can beat him. I’ve been there.”
“Get this!” Creel stepped in and threw a combination. Flicker jab, cross, straight, flicker, flicker, uppercut, no matter which move Danny weaved between them. Creel might as well have been in slow motion. Somehow Danny the punk was moving like he’d fought Creel ten thousand times. Was Danny that familiar with boxing too? Where did he find the time?
But Creel saw it too. Danny knew boxing too well. Creel turned out of his defensive stance and flicked his knee up. It wasn’t a practiced motion, totally outside the scope of boxing, but it was enough to set off Danny’s reflexes.
Danny moved to dodge the surprise knee, but it was a feint. Creel’s real straight rocked into Danny’s cheek and he stumbled backwards. Danny spat out a mouthful of blood and Luke cringed for him. Danny smiled.
“Incredible. You’re just incredible, Creel,” Danny flowed back into his stance. Creel bellowed and the dance began again.
It hit Luke like one of Creel’s crosses, just what Danny meant about synchronicity. He wasn’t talking about something as small as the pair of them, or something so insignificant as unbreakable skin or a body made of concrete. He was already thinking farther ahead than Luke could have dreamed: he was thinking about a world where people could climb again.
Creel was the biggest guy on the prison yard by almost a full head, rippling with muscle and bristling with a decade of experience. He didn’t need to train any harder, he was already the best. Until Luke arrived, a man almost as large and with a mountain more technique. Formal martial instruction of any kind was banned, but that didn’t stop the muscle shearing workouts and the breathless, whispered discussions of anything that could give a man an edge. Soon it spread beyond Creel and Luke, even the inmates who had never seen their fights knew what was possible. The ceiling had been raised.
It was a truth well beyond the scope of one prison. In the world of sprinters it was the ten second barrier, in the history of high jumpers it was the two meter mark. One person achieves something thought impossible, and dozens come out of the woodwork with the talent to claim the same achievement. What would happen in a world where the ceiling wasn’t raised by a tenth of a second or a handful of centimeters, but to the dizzying height of a Superman?
Danny was living proof that a man, a lone judoka, could climb in that world, and knock on the ceiling alongside the titans. And he was climbing fast. Creel hit the pavement again and split the air with a sickening ‘CRUNCH’.
Creel had to be at his limit. He was actually dragging himself along the ground now, arms shaking. But his focus hadn’t dropped, his bullish brow stayed firm as he clawed across the concrete, hardened fingers leaving furrows in their wake. The man was beaten, but he didn’t know it yet. Danny just had to… The bench. Luke had forgotten about it, but now it was only a foot away from Creel, metallic surface gleaming in the early morning sun.
Luke couldn’t move. His legs wailed at him, but there was no way he could make it to the bench and heave it away before Creel could get there. If Creel could coat his body with metal, just like the pavement, the fight really would be over. But Danny saw it coming.
“No.” Danny grabbed Creel’s wrist an inch from the bench and twisted. Creel’s determination dropped and he scurried along like a panicked animal with Danny’s flowing motions, around and away from the bench.
Danny laughed and released him, the concrete beast flopped on the ground, rock on rock cracking together in a drum roll. “I’ll admit, Creel, you made me break my promise. You made me use aikido, and you surprised me again. You’re a clever guy! Most people who haven’t seen that move before would end up letting me break their arms. But let’s finish this, huh? I’ve got one last judo doozy for ya, I think you’ll like it.”
As Creel staggered to his feet for the last time, all Luke could think about was how small the big man was before Danny. Luke wasn’t looking at the brash boy from Pop’s anymore, he wasn’t a spoiled bullshido brat, and he wasn’t just a judoka. Judo, boxing, aikido, and more besides… He was a weapon.
Danny danced inside Creel’s guard and hooked his left leg around the concrete man’s right ankle. His left hand found its place under Creel’s chin, and he tripped the titan over his calf. Danny jerked and brought his whole weight up and through his palm as soon as Creel’s feet left the ground, the sheer impact shattered a whole slab of sidewalk as Creel’s head smashed into the dirt beneath.
Creel looked like his face had been in the oven too long, puffed up and cracked open all over to reveal the punished, bruised skin beneath. The man was out cold, and the concrete armor was beginning to fade away, dropping off from his skin in chunks.
“Yeah…” Danny nodded to himself, “he’d like to learn that one for sure. If he remembers it when he wakes up.” He wiped blood away from his mouth with the back of his hand, and then went fishing in his pocket. He pulled out a business card, one from Pop’s, and threw it onto Creel’s slowly rising and falling chest.
“Do you have a death wish? You’re giving our address to a guy who wants to kick both our asses?”
“I want to know more about this ‘Meta-Brawl’ thing…” Danny pointed at the card, “and that’s a way to find out.”
“There have got to be easier ways to find out than inviting this guy to our place.”
“Yeah. But our gym needs more students if we want to make rent. He has potential.”
“The potential to kill us both.”
“Or, the potential to be one of the best sparring partners we’ve ever had. With the proper application of will and kindness, a great enemy can become a great friend.”
“Okay, that sounds like wushu chinese bullshit.”
A bonus section, dear readers! I thought it would be neat to include these.
-My Luke swears. I know its not vanilla, but its just the voice I found for him. I tried a couple times to remove them but it never felt right. And anyway, I think it reflects his changed origin a touch better. He's still a pastor's son, but a born-and-raised Georgia boy he ain't.
-Danny’s initial synchronicity rant is in part a reference to the start of the 2018 Baki anime, but I thought it would also be a nice way to lampshade the emergence. The back half of it, Luke’s part, is also a bit of a reference to Kengan Omega.
-In both this post and my sample I’ve had Danny using Japanese martial arts. This is in part because I’m more familiar with those systems, and in part because I’m still thinking about what the precise components of the K’un Lun style are. I think Danny knows all kinds of martial arts, but I want to pin down what’s special stylistically about K’un Lun’s particular permutation of kung fu. Plus, its one of my goals to try and have this story show as many unique styles as possible.
-Judo nerds will know that the Kōdōkan is the name of the oldest Judo dojo, founded by Jigoro Kano, founder of Judo. In this case, I imagine several of his students (if not Kano himself) have wound up in K’un Lun over the years, and established their own branch of the Kōdōkan within.
-And martial arts nerds will also know that a 9th dan is kind of ridiculous, especially on a man cross training so many arts. A dan is typically only given after a fairly extreme amount of time once already at the black belt level, but I figured I could handwave and give Danny this achievement because he’s supposed to be a special martial arts wizard or whatever.
In which CLARK KENT extolls the virtues of his morning commute and gleans some details from passersby about the mysterious hacker known as the ‘TOYMAN’. After a heated all-hands meeting with PERRY WHITE, Clark joins fellow press LOIS LANE and JIMMY OLSEN in the field to investigate an explosion at a Luthorcorp facility.
In which a mister KEITH KINCAID struggles to service a communications array in the bitter Alaskan cold, seeming to lose his friend Wilford along the way, all while a mysterious voice croons from the radio. Meanwhile, THOR himself grapples with the cold and his exile, only to see his faithful hammer Mjolnir crash beside him -- and that he is no longer worthy to wield it.
In which FRANK CASTLE has a polite little interrogation with one Nicky Francesco. Francesco spills the beans on a club called The Stardust Lounge where Frank can find one of his targets, a capo called BILLY ‘THE BEAUT’ RUSSO. Francesco adds to Frank’s body count.
In which hotshot JOHNNY STORM gets (rightfully) chewed out by his sister SUSAN STORM. We get filled in on the Fantastic family’s particular and peculiar circumstances and hear about Johnny’s fiery night on the town that ends with him stark nude.
In which BARRY ALLEN gives IRIS WEST her brand new supersuit. Flirting is attempted by both, and understood by neither. Finally, Iris races off on her first adventure as The Flash!
In which THE QUESTION tries to use his position in the Hub City Gazette as a cudgel of justice against the new Mayor Fermin, and gets dumped and thrown out of his job on his ass for his trouble. He manages to find a new gig to keep his head above water, but time for VIC SAGE is running out. Every violent night as The Question brings him closer to his goal, and closer to his own funeral. A fateful encounter with the martial assassin LADY SHIVA finally brings him to his watery grave, but the butterfly’s wings still beat.
In which VIC SAGE remembers his first time watching a man die, and struggles in the darkness to grapple with the death of his own ego. Half dead and fished out from the deep by LADY SHIVA and TOT RODOR, Vic is placed into the care of the legendary martial artist RICHARD DRAGON. After a year of training, Vic reforms himself into a new man, one ready to ask all the right Questions.
In which Vic begins his journey to Hub City, and takes his first stop at the home of a kindly, queer old man. Charmed and heartened by stories of the man’s late husband, another Victor, Vic reflects on all the people he’s left behind, from Tot to his new boss, and most especially his ex-girlfriend Myra Fermin.
Have just caught up on the first page, and I want to congratulate everyone on their incredible work so far! It has been a real treat to read, in every corner of the game. I love seeing all the little details and the thought and care that each and every one of you apply to your characters, from Hound's brilliant use of Peter's tech savvy mind to the way MMG can lean on Hal's aviation experience. Great stuff all around, I'm excited to read the next page.
As well, I've worked on some post summaries for the first page in case anyone needs a refresher now or in the future. I imagine these might be added to the OP at some point, but here they are for convenience.
Superman #1: In which Clark Kent extolls the virtues of his morning commute and gleans some details from passersby about the mysterious hacker known as the ‘Toyman’. After a heated all-hands meeting with Perry White, Clark joins fellow press Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen in the field to investigate an explosion at a Luthorcorp facility.
Thor #1: In which a Mister Keith Kincaid struggles to service a communications array in the bitter Alaskan cold, seeming to lose his friend Wilford along the way, all while a mysterious voice croons from the radio. Meanwhile, Thor himself grapples with the cold and his exile, only to see his faithful hammer Mjolnir crash beside him -- and that he is no longer worthy to wield it.
The Punisher #1: In which Frank Castle has a polite little interrogation with one Nicky Francesco. Francesco spills the beans on a club called The Stardust Lounge where Frank can find one of his targets, a capo called Billy ‘The Beaut’ Russo. Francesco adds to Frank’s body count.
Fantastic Four #1: In which hotshot Johnny Storm gets (rightfully) chewed out by his sister Sue. We get filled in on the Fantastic family’s particular and peculiar circumstances and hear about Johnny’s fiery night on the town that ends with him stark nude.
The Flash #1: In which Barry gives Iris her brand new supersuit. Flirting is attempted by both, and understood by neither. Finally, Iris races off on her first adventure as The Flash!
The Question #-1: In which The Question tries to use his position in the Hub City Gazette as a cudgel of justice against the new Mayor Fermin, and gets dumped and thrown out of his job on his ass for his trouble. He manages to find a new gig to keep his head above water, but time for Vic Sage is running out. Every violent night as The Question brings him closer to his goal, and closer to his own funeral. A fateful encounter with the martial assassin Lady Shiva finally brings him to his watery grave, but the butterfly’s wings still beat.
The Question #0: In which Vic remembers his first time watching a man die, and struggles in the darkness to grapple with the death of his own ego. Half dead and fished out from the deep by Lady Shiva and Tot Rodor, Vic is placed into the care of the legendary martial artist Richard Dragon. After a year of training, Vic reforms himself into a new man, one ready to ask all the right Questions.
The Question #1: In which Vic begins his journey to Hub City, and takes his first stop at the home of a kindly, queer old man. Charmed and heartened by stories of the man’s late husband, another Victor, Vic reflects on all the people he’s left behind, from Tot to his new boss, and most especially his ex-girlfriend Myra Fermin.
The Question #2: In which skinhead agitators try to get the better of the old man, only to have their faces rearranged by a faceless man. Q steals their truck and hightails it for Hub City.
The Question #3: In which Q listens to the greatest hits of the skinhead’s music collection and ruminates on the enormity of the task before him, saving Hub City’s soul. Steeling himself, he takes off for Tot’s to begin his campaign.
Mister Terrific #1: In which Michael Holt has his first night out with his upgraded equipment. Mister Terrific is now fully online with nanogel and T-spheres operating in unison to great effect, complete with flight and combat modes. But Michael still isn’t perfect, and catches a thrown handgun to the back of the head for his trouble. He limps home and gets a state of the art compression wrap for his wounds. The power of science is amazing!
The Lanterns #1: Do Green Lanterns dream of electric cheeks? Hal Jordan does, and he scarcely manages to survive a high flying fighter jet test run and a near collision with a UFO. He finds himself chosen as the next bearer of the Green Lantern ring, and the new fate-chosen best friend of an angry looking red guy.
The Flash #2: The Flash streaks onto the scene of a bank robbery and foils four gunmen as flawlessly as a new superhero can, a handful of whizzing bullets notwithstanding. But now, Flash finds herself in the dill-icious court of the one and aioli Condiment King!
Iron Man #1: In which Tony Stark bursts onto the scene of the Walter E. Washington Convention Center in style as Iron Man. He denounces the mutant menace and announces a series of wargames to trial the latest and greatest prototypes of the War Machine project. It’s to be conducted by a sterling cast of test pilots, including Rhodey Rhodes, Carol Danvers, and the one and only Major Major Jordan.
Wolverine #1: In which a group of professional killers think they can get the drop on the Wolverine, their first mistake. Their second is that they want him alive, a courtesy Logan won’t extend to them. They’re dead well before Logan can learn that the next man gunning for his head is Colonel Flag, leader of Task Force X. But Logan does manage to figure out that the men were actually targeting the resident of a mysterious lighted cabin, just up the hill…
Hawksmoor #1: In which Jack Hawksmoor is in tune with the trills and timings of Tokyo, and comes upon gunmen engaging local police. The city yearns for their defeat, and as he tries to satisfy it, a katana wielding woman cuts one of the gunmen’s hands off. Named for her blade, the woman has the mark of a snake that brings back bad memories for Jack. Before he can ask her about it, a man named Sarge Steel comes bearing an offer.
Spider-Man #1: In which Peter Parker introduces us to the infinite array of spinning plates that is his life, from school to a mountain of extracurriculars and a pending internship with the brilliant Curt Conners. Mostly, Peter grapples with the bills that threaten to bring it all crumbling down, a total that’s just gotten a little higher thanks to a botched attempt at foiling a bodega robbery. It’s like old Bobby DeNiro says: always pay.
The Punisher #2: In which Frank Castle meets with his best friend David Lieberman and downloads details on Billy The Beaut from the NYPD database. Billy was a real cut up, and liked to prove it by carving puzzle pieces out of his victim’s faces. Frank leaves Liberman’s place to have a shootout in the Stardust Lounge. As good as Frank is with his handguns, Russo can more than keep up. Before long they’ve shot the weapons out of each other's hands and grappled across the floor of the bar. Frank gets the upper hand and destroys Russo’s prized face on one of the Lounge’s blackened windows.
The Lanterns #2: In which Hal introduces us to the target of his one sided hate boner, American Hero Major Major Jordan. Hal is released from SHIELD quarantine and his new pal Sinestro explains the intergalactic shitstorm that will erupt if space warlord Ronan The Executioner is allowed to get his hands on all seven Lantern Rings. Together, they set out for SHIELD HQ in the big apple.
Iron Man #2: In which Bolivar Trask takes AUSA’s stage to announce the Sentinel Program, a next generation solution to the mutant problem, and gives Tony inventor’s envy. On his way out of the venue, Tony picks up a smoking hot slavic reporter by the name of Ali Anovna.
Thor #2: In which the Thunderer mourns the loss of his Godhood. Voices and shadowed figures assail his mind from the frozen woods, and soon he’s attacked by a powerful beast with claws sharp enough to rend a god’s flesh. Before it can devour Thor, Keith Kincaid blasts it with his shotgun and finds, to his horror, the monster bears Wilford’s face. Before his old friend can claw Keith apart, Thor returns his favor and heaves the monster through the trunk of a mighty tree, and slays it with his bare hands.
The Question #4: In which Vic reunites with Tot, and his old friend gets Vic up to speed on Mayor Fermin’s activities in the Hub and sets him up with his old coat and pseudoderm for his mask, plus a new grappling gun. One of Vic’s old contacts gives him a lead on a heroin operation run by a gang known as the Gospel of Sinners, led by a mysterious Reverend. Knocking a few heads together and asking a few wise Questions gets Vic the name and address of one of the Rev’s top enforcers.
Wolverine #2: In which Logan approaches the cabin and steps inside to face its occupant, only to find it empty… Until a shadow leaps through a wall and he pounces at it. But the shadow wasn’t another killer, but an ordinary teenage girl. As ordinary as mutant like Logan can be, anyway. After a brief knife to knife-hand stand off, the pair have a heart to heart… and against his better judgment, Logan finds himself agreeing to take the girl, Kitty Pryde, cross country to New York City.
Also, I'm workin' on the character database I've heard some of you asking for. Let me know if I've gotten any of this stuff wrong, from the summaries to the character entries and I'd be happy to change it for you. Also, I'd love to hear from you if you want me to change the "clear for reuse" section on whether you'd like others to be able to reuse some of these characters in some capacity. And do note that so far the database is based on my progress in the IC, so I haven't filled in all characters mentioned in sheets and further along in the thread.
Thanks for a great page one, team. And, holy cannoli, we're already at page three! Here's to many more.
"Just when you think the world's getting boring again...something new happens."
J A S P E R S I T W E L L ♦ S H I E L D I N T E R R O G A T O R ♦ N E W Y O R K
O R I G I N S:
The Sitwell's have generational history of service in the name of the United States of America; but you won't find them decorated in the annals of history, their names carved into memorial plaques, or even remembered at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. In his day, Jasper's grandfather - Jason Sitwell - was instrumental in the suppression of the mutant pandemic, working under the banner of a clandestine branch of the U.S. Government known as the Supreme Headquarters, International Espionage and Law-Enforcement Division. In Jasper's time, the organization has evolved, and so has its name, the branch referred to now as the Strategic Hazard Intervention Espionage Logistics Directorate.
Either way, the Sitwell's have always, and likely will always, work for SHIELD, and their family's legacy is a colorful story of dubious service in the name of the greater good of the nation.
But you'll never hear about that.
Just like you won't hear about what Jasper's going to start working on next.
S A M P L E P O S T:
"Mornin' Sitwell."
Jasper lifted his sleep-heavy head and turned away from the droning buzz of the coffee machine to look at his colleague. The face was briefly familiar but he couldn't for the life of him place a name. How many people had he seen come through over the years? Between his father's and his own tenure, the numbers must have ranged in the thousands.
"Good morning, agent." He eventually replied, using a professional posture and brusque, authoritative tone to cover the fact that he had no idea who he was talking to. The coffee machine stopped buzzing and Jasper lifted the mug to his lips, taking a deep sniff of the steaming coffee before sipping gingerly. It burnt his tongue, but it tasted good, and held the promise of making him feel a bit more awake by the time he drained the cup.
"Much on your plate today?" The mystery agent asked as Jasper shuffled over and allowed him access to the coffee. Jasper sipped more from his mug, thinking on the stack of manila folders he'd walked away from yesterday, and was imminently about to walk into.
"The usual." He replied, to which the agent gave a solemn nod. ‘Sitwell’ was a familiar name to many in the organisation, and while Jasper’s official role was as one of their leading interrogation agents, in truth he was something of a general dog’s body; he had the breadth of knowledge to assist on nearly any assignment, and the network to navigate himself only to the ones he found interesting.
He’d been navigating himself less and less recently. SHIELD had become, for lack of a better word, boring.
“Well, have a good day.” Jasper said, after a lengthy pause between the two that had long become awkward. He retreated from the canteen back towards his office, wishing the front walls were made of something considerably more opaque than the partially-frosted glass that was currently in place. He’d already finished his coffee by the time he sat down, and wondered how many folders he’d peruse before boredom bid him to fetch a refill.
Not that many, as it would turn out.
P O S T C A T A L O G:
A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed interactions and stories.
No promises.
To apologize for taking so long to approve this, you're double approved!
That's because it is 100% a reskinned Overwatch in every single way.
I wouldn't go that far. I'm kind of an Overwatch hater but I found the gameplay actually fun, and I felt they were really able to deliver on the core fantasy of each character really well. They've put in a whole bunch of abilities that are hugely interesting to me from a game design perspective (like Loki has a zone he can put down that causes all enemy damage to heal his team instead), and they're distributed them across some very tightly designed characters. But yeah, as Uni said, the story is unfortunately extremely lacking.
"There is no limit to technique. There is always room for improvement.” - Takehiko Inoue, Vagabond
D A N N Y R A N D ♦ L U K E C A G E ♦ H E R O E S F O R H I R E ♦ N E W Y O R K C I T Y
O R I G I N S:
Danny Rand and Carl Lucas met as children on the sweat soaked mats of Pop’s Dojo in Harlem, and have been fighting in some way or another ever since. At first it was always each other. Whether Misty or Willis or even an itinerant prodigy like Colleen were prepared for them, they unerringly paired up and went to it. They never failed to keep pace with one another; even as Danny sought outside lessons, Luke’s dedication to karate would redouble, and each would find the other an agonizingly close match.
As young adults, they had no choice but to wrestle with their memories. Lucas believed Danny was dead, in the same plane crash that took the life of his mother somewhere out in the Himalayan mountains. Danny knew all too well Lucas was alive, one of his few connections to the world outside of K’un Lun, his new home. His new path had been chosen, shaping him from a martial prodigy into the Immortal Iron Fist, Protector of K’un Lun, sworn enemy of the Hand and the Shadows. But all through his training he could not help but wonder -- Has my rival kept up? Lucas too, had a question. Would anything have changed if Danny was still here? It only takes a handful of bad choices to separate a man from his path, but Willis Stryker was always available to help Luke make those choices in just the wrong way. Stryker was from Pop’s, too, a dedicated boxer who had been thrown out once old man Pop discovered his gang connections. Lucas’s loyalty to the boy held fast, and it was that loyalty that landed him in Georgia’s beautiful, historic Seagate Prison.
Lucas’s fights for survival in prison and Danny’s trials with the upper echelons of K’un Lun’s Masters would come to define them. Behind the four walls of Seagate, Carl Lucas was selected as the first subject of an experimental super soldier serum. Lucas was able to narrowly escape the prison with his newfound, indestructible skin, and redefine himself on the outside as Luke Cage, the mysterious new owner of Pop’s Dojo. Danny was able to overcome the last of K’un Lun’s challenges with his defeat of Shou-Lao, and emerge as the latest heritor of the Iron Fist. Now, training completed, Danny returns to New York, to seek the aid of his old mentor…
S A M P L E P O S T:
You can learn a lot about a man in one five minute round of sparring. That was one of the things Pop had taught Danny, before the cavalcade of K’un Lun’s esoteric masters had tried to dress the same concept up in thousands of years of martial history: that in a fight, the eye is the most important thing.
He saw now that Luke was only testing his guard, throwing half committed moves and waiting for Danny to set the pace. He learned fast -- their first spar after Danny arrived ended with Luke in a guillotine hold, after he tried to rush at Danny and overwhelm him with size. Luke said Danny got lucky, and he was right. If Luke hadn’t gone for the takedown, Danny would have started with his seiken. A cheeky and practically useless strike from their days at Pop’s dojo. The punch was mostly ceremonial, to train the arm’s muscles and center the mind. He only liked to use it to set the tone of a spar, but against Luke, he’d have shattered his hand.
It was only right that they set to sparring immediately, not bothering to explain the intricacies of their individual situations. It was much simpler than that: Danny wasn’t dead anymore, and that meant he could step back into the ring with Luke. On Danny’s first day back, Pop’s was his first stop. He expected to find it a shell of itself, hollowed out and turned into one of a dozen brightly colored twenty four hour fitness lifestyle places that signaled the death knell of the local gym. Instead of a prim secretary and video screens on every wall, he was greeted by the Pop’s he remembered. Every wall plastered with the yellowing posters of bygone fight promotions, with the same scrap of note paper that held Pop’s exercise routine pinned to a decaying corkboard. It still smelled like Pop’s, the old sweat mixing with the new against the strained fabric of the mats. The only thing missing from the place was Pop himself -- instead he found Carl Lucas, already gloved up and hammering away at a heavy bag.
Lucas went by Luke, now, and Danny was pretty sure Luke had come to master at least two other combat systems in their time apart. The double he had thrown in their first round was wrestling, and the blocks he presented to Danny’s probing jabs was pure Jailhouse Rock. JHR wasn’t often taught, especially not by the Masters of K’un Lun, but Danny made it a point to be aware of as many unique martial arts as possible, and JHR’s fifty two blocks were some of the most singular in all Danny’s awareness. The two styles alone were a powerful combination, and the man had untold experience in classic karate on top. Though, Danny couldn’t judge just how far Luke had gotten in Pop’s kenpo. When Danny left, they had been preparing for their black belt exams, and there was no telling how high Luke could have risen from there. With dedication, he’d have had time to get to the Fifth or even Sixth degree… but you couldn’t tell by the way he moved.
Lucas used to be a stout, immovable block of a boy who could overcome anything Danny threw at him with a little heart and a mammoth dedication to karate above all else. It didn’t matter what Danny brought: from his judo sweeps to his aikido joint locks, Luke could always get around it and slam him with a huge, audacious karate classic. Pop would always smile and call him “a karateka’s karateka.” But he wasn't that kid anymore.
Now Luke was a street fighter, through and through. Danny could tell from the way he moved his head. Over ninety percent of street fights involve head punches exclusively, and your ability to protect your head was often the only thing separating you from a brutal death on the pavement. Luke’s head movement was immaculate, and each of his guards seemed sharper than the last, absolutely denying the possibility of a headshot. The other thing about street fighters is that they, as a rule, never take fights to the ground. It was too easy for a controlling position to become a weak one in the tangle of a grapple, and you could easily wind up with your head splattered across the concrete. It was there Luke almost tricked him, with his double at the start of their matches, it was antithetical to the style. But Luke had an edge that meant a concrete concussion wasn't so much of a worry for him.
Luke hadn't gone and spelled it out for Danny, but the man had to be indestructible or something close to it. As they grappled, even the softest parts of Luke’s body felt dense, even the skin over his pressure points seemed to reject Danny’s attempts to manipulate them with steel rigidity. Danny was still managing, by centimeters, to squeeze Luke into the positions he needed for his holds to function. If the ordinary person was clay, Luke was made of iron. It was something beyond what body conditioning and partial training could give you, totally unique from the secrets of the old masters.
But Luke wasn’t stupid. He had to know Danny was holding something back, too. He told Luke about K’un Lun already in the broad strokes, a hidden society in the deepest mountains of Asia playing host to some of the greatest masters of our time. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make the unvarnished truth emerge: about K’un Lun, about the purpose of the Iron Fist, and the identity and responsibility of its inheritor… and Luke acted in kind. Danny didn’t think it was something an ordinary martial artist would notice, but he saw the flickers in Luke’s eyes. It was something he’d trained himself to look for in every fighter, it was the thing he loved about every fighter, their ability to seize their moments in the way that is just unique to them. Their build, their speed, their power, and above all their absolute unique application of their lifetime of techniques, in that one crystalline and perfect moment. But now, as they faced each other, Danny saw Luke pick out his moments, and let them pass by.
The round timer buzzed.
“Damn, already? Never got a good hit in,” Luke complained.
“Don’t sweat it. I have a feeling we have a lot of good hits ahead of us.”
mickilennial
Half Pint
Supermaxx
webboysurf
Simple Unicycle
Hillan
Hound55
Sep
