Dusty

The Supermen of America

@Omega Man Do they have an ulterior motive? What is Grodd attempting to accomplish with this attack? I imagine it is some sort of diversion or power play.

The Supermen of America

Two Weeks Earlier

The steady hum and occasional beep of medical equipment were the only sounds present in the small ICU room when Dick entered. The nurse who’d led him there gave him a sad understanding look, before turning away. Still wearing his police service blues Dick eased the door closed leaving the occupants a modicum of privacy. Besides the newest arrival three others filled the rooms small interior. The foremost and only conscious one among them, was a tall balding butler who approached Dick at once, grasping the younger man by his shoulders. Alfred Pennyworth, Wayne Manor’s sole servant, for once in his life seemed worse for wear. His normally pristine uniform and graying hair were disheveled, and dark bags under his eyes signified a lack of sleep. Normally the Englishman’s sense of propriety would demand a certain level of professionalism, but he did not resist when Dick wrapped him in a heartfelt embrace.

“Sorry it took so long for me to arrive Alfred, everything’s gotten worse, even in Bludhaven.” Dick reported, releasing the butler. It was a mess out there, and the PD departments were shouldering the increased burden. Perhaps emboldened by the sudden and heavy losses the JLA were reporting, criminals were slithering out from every dark corner imaginable less then fourteen hours after the incident and destabilizing the already shaken cities. Officer Grayson having worked an extended shift found himself called upon yet again, and again until he finally received permission call it a night. Instead of collapsing into bed, however much his exhausted body begged for the release of sleep he powered through. Dick made straight away for the Gotham Memorial Hospital where his former guardian Bruce Wayne had been admitted hours earlier after a particularly nasty vehicular accident. A mostly true story, but Dick knew the full truth. He, and half the world watched live as the Batmobile was folded like paper beneath the monster Doomsday’s hands, witnessing in horror as the Batman’s broken body was dragged away from the wreckage and disappeared back to the Justice League’s secret headquarters. “How’s he holding up?”

Despite having called ahead earlier, Dick did not have the time to get a full diagnosis over the phone. Deciding instead to come see for himself after being assured Bruce was alive and stable. Alfred led him over to the bedside, where Bruce lay comatose. Tubes and bandages enshrouded the billionaire’s body, and an oxygen mask obscured his face. If it were not for the steady ECG it would have be easy to assume his surrogate father had already died. Taking one of Bruce’s lifeless hands in his own Dick fought back the tears that threatened to fall, only half listening as Alfred spoke.

“…He entered a coma in route and has been unresponsive since. Whether there will be permanent damage remains to be seen.” The list of internal injuries, possible brain trauma, and irreparable spinal damage went on and on, it seemed Alfred had already memorized the lot, no doubt tortured by the condition his eldest charge was in.

“And Tim?” Dick indicated the youngest occupant in the room. The thirteen-year-old ward, sleeping fitfully in the corner chair. Alfred had draped blanket over him to apply some level of comfort, and Dick could see tiny streaks dirtying the child’s face from where he had cried himself to sleep. The newest member of their strange little family would no doubt be taking things hard. Two parents, one biological and one surrogate lost in less than a year.

“He’s been remarkably strong despite the circumstance. He was trying to stay awake until you arrived but considering the hour...” The Englishman checked his watch. “I would say he made a good effort, nonetheless. Should I wake the young master Drake?”

“No, let him sleep.” Dick decided after a moment. He would’ve liked to talk to his little brother, but there would be plenty of time for a long conversation another time. “He’ll need plenty of rest for what comes next.”

Alfred’s face fell, such words were unwelcome in this trying time when one of his charges were already devastatingly injured. “If you pardon my asking sir, what does come next?” Please do not say you intend to continue mission fight Master Wayne leaves in his absence. Alfred begged silently. I can hardly stand him being so broken, if you were to join him in such suffering, or young Timothy… I simply do not want to imagine such things.

Knowing the butler would disapprove Dick hesitated, wishing he could promise they would be safe, and no harm would befall them. But he could not hope to keep it, not with absolute certainty. “The fight goes on. Gotham needs its protectors. I cannot allow Robin to face these streets on his own, he is too inexperienced.”

“Are you sure master Grayson.” The Englishman pressed, squeezing the young man’s shoulder. “I know you have trepidations operating in the open and did your utmost to remain an unknown figure in Bludhaven. Defending Gotham full time, it would mean the world will be made aware about Nightwing, and no doubt who you were before. Are you absolutely certain this is what you want?” The words were familiar, all too familiar to those distant days’ eleven years ago when the first Robin joined Batman on the streets of Gotham. Alfred recalled asking if Dick was certain that his desire to fight alongside the caped crusader was indeed his own decision, and not pressed upon him.

Dick remembered that conversation as well and steeled himself up for the challenges that would come once he repeated his decision tonight. “It’s not what I want, but sometimes what we want, and what is required are two separate things. Maybe I can work around these limitations, maybe not. Nevertheless the mission goes on, and if not me, who?”

A defeated sigh escaped the butler and Dick felt him step away. He kept his eyes locked on Bruce’s face, a mixture of anger, fear, and doubt stirring in his gut. I will not let you down Bruce. I will keep Gotham safe for you. I promise.




Present Day



Dick glanced up from the file he had been reviewing. Something flashed on the computer screen begging to be noticed. A JLA request, Dick’s eyebrow rose. Why would the Justice League, newly branded the Supermen of America be sending a gathering notice to the Batcave? He was not a member, and neither were Robin or Oracle meaning the call must have been a mistake. Maybe they forgot to delete Batman’s contact information, he joked to himself hitting delete on his keyboard silencing the droning alarm. Bruce Wayne remained coma locked in Gotham Memorial, with no change to his condition, meanwhile the remainder of Gotham’s guardians fought tooth and nail just to protect their own city.

“What’s that?” Tim asked from the uneven bars, halting his routine mid swing.

“Nothing, probably a mistake by the JLA.” Dick waved the question away, refocusing on the paper document laid out before him, his brow furrowing in frustration. This case simply did not make sense. Two separate kidnappings, occurring almost simultaneously. The victims were a fourteen-year-old boy, and the other a ten-year-old girl. Both from affluent families, but now nearly a week later and no sign of either the children or a demand for ransom. They would not have been easy scores either, the boy even had a bodyguard who was found murdered on the scene which meant they were being targeted specifically. Dick thumbed through the gathered evidence, depressingly little though there was. Maybe the police could find a connection that he hadn’t noticed, but that would mean speaking to Commissioner Gordan, something Dick had been trying to put off for as long as possible. He was living with a foot in both worlds, or at least trying to. Maintaining his anonymity while protecting Gotham proved difficult, fighting from the shadows alone could not be accomplish forever. Eventually he would have to step into the light, and a meeting with Gordan seemed to be the catalyst for that next step. Already reports were spreading that Batman himself was back, and Nightwing was happy to allow those rumors to continue.

The tone sounded again, jerking him from his thoughts. “What the hell…?” The JLA were trying to contact the cave again? Curious this time Dick slipped on his mask and accepted the summons, Robin joining him at his side.

“Nightwing, Robin!” A relived face flickered into existence on the screen, his gaze switching between the two masked vigilantes. “I was worried you were unavailable after you declined my first call.”

“You were intending to contact the cave?” Nightwing asked, incredulous.

“I intended to contact you.” Black Lightning answered smoothly.

A moment of silence hung between the two of them, before Nightwing shook his head. “I already gave you my answer, I have no intention of joining the Superme-“

Black Lightning raised his gauntleted hand, silencing further protest. “No, not about that. My invitation remains, but this is more of a temporary arrangement. We’re spread too thin, and we are in desperate need of reinforcements.”

Beneath the white lenses Nightwing’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Its broad daylight, Lightning you know I can’t.”

“People are dying!” Came the passionate response. “I don’t care about your sensibilities right now, you need to get over it, and come help!” When no response was forthcoming from the stunned vigilante Black Lightning pressed on. “Get your gear and head for Central City, Gorilla Grodd is there, and as far as we know there are several League and civilian casualties. Black Lightning out.”

The computer screen went blank leaving Nightwing and Robin staring at where it had gone out, as if in a trance.

“So,” Robin said, breaking the spell. “Are we going?”

“We aren’t going anywhere. You’re staying here and working on the kidnapping case.” Nightwing corrected. “Don’t go out on patrol or attempt any field work. Oh, and let Alfred know where I’ve gone.”

Robin’s face fell. “What, wait why can’t I go? They need the manpower, Black Lightning said so.”

“Because I said no.” The masked hero punched in the final coordinates for the cave’s Zeta gate to reach Central City. Grimacing, he remembered how annoying Batman’s callous and unhelpful explanations for leaving him behind had always been. Tim deserved a better excuse that a barked no. “Also, there is no need to risk more exposure than necessary, I could probably get away with making an appearance. If people see Robin at my side though, the whole gig is over.” He left out that the inexperienced Robin might be more of a liability in the battle than a boon anyway. Considering who they were facing. As the lights around him grew, he cast one last glance over his shoulder as Robin’s disappointed face vanished from sight.

The Supermen of America

Kindred got it right! It was Doomsday that was responsible for Bruce's back in this timeline.

@Omega Man

Well I’ll get to rewriting my opener then.

The Supermen of America

@Omega Man for the sake of our RP, who was it that broke Batman’s back? Was it Doomsday, or Bane? Figured I’d ask cause it’s a big part of Nightwing’s opening post I’ve been working on, and I realized about halfway through I wasn’t entirely certain who’d done the deed. So far I’ve been working off the assumption it was Bane.

Also awesome work on those micros, they look great!

The Supermen of America

Nightwing

Archetype: Mostly Canon

Name: Richard “Dick” Grayson

Alias: Nightwing

Age: Twenty

Base of Operations: The Batcave: Gotham City

Powers: Although Nightwing lacks any proper superpowers he is still a world class acrobat, a formidable fighter, and a brilliant sleuth. He possesses a wide array of learned skills developed over the course of his entire life, both in training and field experience. Since the moment he could walk Dick began learning how to preform advanced acrobatics and contortions under his parent's guidance. Then, at the age of nine he began Bruce's rigorous training regimes in combat and other necessary field knowledge, and finally his own research and training in Bludhaven polished off his abilities. These skills include but are not limited to, stealth, strategy, hacking, and generally operating in the grey areas of the law.

Weaknesses: Unlike his former mentor Dick is not a naturally violent person, lacking the obsessive drive and brutality of the Batman. While his less abrasive personality worked for him in Bludhaven, Gotham’s current status quo requires a no-nonsense hardliner like Bruce Wayne, something Dick has never been, and something he prefers not to become. He cannot face the Bat Bane, or his venomous Robins head on, unless he wants to go the way of his teacher. Gotham is in peril, and Grayson is nearing his breaking point trying to keep it all together.

Personality: Driven, Charismatic, Cautious, Assertive, Blunt

Appearance: Dick Grayson stands at a roughly average height of five ten, with shoulder length dark hair tied back in a ponytail, and a pair of brilliant blue eyes. He sports the athletic build of an acrobat, toned yet lithe, a body well accustom to the unpredictable conditions necessary for crimefighting throughout large metropolises. Most these features are hidden beneath his mask when his in uniform, though the dark colors of the suit cannot conceal the natural grace with which he moves. The costume is largely unchanged besides the addition of the greyed out superman "S" emblazoned on his right shoulder, with the original blue symbol across his chest, along with an array of gadgets and equipment.

BRIEF Bio: Following the tragic Haley Circus double murders, and the sudden start to his new life as an unwanted orphan, Richard Grayson found himself awash in the unforgiving Gotham Foster care. Abandoned to be chewed up and spit out by the corrupted system. Dick's only hope was the kind man he met shortly after the horrible incident, who offered a few words and simple understanding of his pain. The child's fortunes took a slight turn for the better when he was offered a home by that same man, to be the ward of the mysterious playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne. The two formed a rather awkward relationship, many accused Bruce of adopting the nine-year-old merely as a publicity stunt, and Richard was inclined to believe these rumors at first. Bruce was a distant host, always out on late meetings and finding excuses and never having time to spend with the child he felt intricately linked too by their mutual loss. Subsequently Dick went on to discover his benefactor was none other than the urban legend Batman, who was mired in the investigation to solve the murder of Grayson’s own parents. Determined to help bring them down Dick snuck along after Batman and proved instrumental in taking down his parent’s killer Tony Zucco. Although the villain passed from a heart attack before he could be delivered justice Dick discovered a rare comfort in this victory. Having seen the young acrobat’s natural talent in the field, and feeling he deserved to be a better man than himself Bruce decided to take Dick on not just as a ward, but as his protégé Robin.

They worked together for several years after that, the dynamic duo, however master and apprentice drew apart over the years. They became opposed in their way of doing things, and the once wide eyed adoring youth grew up and became disillusioned with Batman’s brutalist methodology. Eventually Dick quit, leaving his overbearing mentor to make a life for himself in Bludhaven, adopting the persona of Nightwing. He spent several years on his own, blending back into the shadows wishing to remain largely unknown to the wider world. He made a genuine effort to reconnect with Bruce, while maintaining loose connections with his friends in the Justice League. Everything would change however when tragedy struck, and Batman was horrifically crippled in battle, leaving him paralyzed and broken. Without its guardian Gotham would fall into total disarray. Dick returned to Wayne Manor, to find a shattered family. Heartbroken that he may never get the chance to reconcile with his surrogate father, Dick vowed to avenge Bruce, and mentor Robin, young Timothy Drake in Batman's stead. Meanwhile a new protector would be forced to return from the shadows and challenge the darkness that has engulfed his city. For better or worse Nightwing must step up and take his place as Batman’s heir.

Potential Storylines: Dick’s story would be that of him attempting to regather his strength and wrest Gotham and the Bat symbol from Bane’s control, while also mentoring Tim as the third Robin. His main struggle will be his inability to reconcile with Bruce, and the necessity for him to take on the mantle as Batman. Something he is diametrically opposed to. He will also be working with other heroes, reemerging from his mostly unknown presence in Bludhaven and back into the spotlight.

Notes:

The Supermen of America

@Omega Man Would you like me to post the CS here, or send it via PM?

@King Kindred That'd be me, once I get approval I'll send a PM so we can work together.

Precipice Of War: The Reboot of a Reboot

FRANCE

French Imperial Territory

France's Recent History

Of all the Old Guard European powers, none were quite so shaken by the devastating Great War then mighty, mighty France. From the bloodstained Fields of Verdun, to the shattered trenches of Frontiers, and the disaster of Belleau Wood. Frenchmen blood spilled across Europe in her final stand against the Central Powers. The farmlands of Francia would prove the bleeding grounds for the kaisers. With more than four million dead, their unburied corpses strewn across battle torn France left a bitter hole in the nation’s heart. The war’s indecisive conclusion saw the end of an entire generation. The proud tricolor may not have lost territory, but her pride and back had been broken.

The uneasy peace would see the total reclamation of the lost mainland, hundreds of miles of devastated farms and towns, many of which were abandoned in the face of the oncoming Germans. Refugees from the war would filter back over the following years, rebuilding, and resowing their homes and fields, scratching a meager living from the rubble. French Northeastern provinces would never again be competitive against its somewhat less crippled competitor in the Southwest. President Wilsons economic aid would prove a tremendous boon for a debt riddled Paris. American dollars would bolster reinvestment and spur a small, but notable economic rise. French elections would be dominated by social-welfare and anti-German politicians who would usher in an era of revanchism. Multiple expensive pension and medical programs were introduced, alongside unappareled military expenditure. A spirit of French nationalism began to rise, spurred by ravenous anti-German sentiment. Paris determined to ensure that France would never again be invaded to the degree that the Central Powers managed in the Great War began the construction of a bulwark against further aggression. A theoretically impenetrable network of fortifications on France’s border with Germany, named for the current the French Minister of War, the Maginot Line stood ready.

Despite this unprecedented recovery, troubles would still arise within the greater empire. The growth of Japan and China bore witness to a new power dynamic in the far east. French Indochina became a hotspot in the Asian wars. Many within the Fatherland became rightfully concerned that evermore French blood would be spilt, defending the Empire abroad. Especially, since the greater danger lay her at home. The Great Depression, although milder in France than the wider world demonstrated clearly that the still recovering Tricolor did not have the economic, political, or military power to assert direct control of Indochina and Africa, and the Colonies were all but abandoned by Paris. The remaining French garrisons, made up mostly of untrained French officers, and Vietnamese conscripts would fold swiftly to the Japanese invasion in the summer of thirty-seven. The Japanese would prove vicious in their assault, inflicting unspeakable horrors on both native and colonist alike. Very few escaped, and those who managed to flee to friendly ports in Indonesia brought with them tales of massacres, mass rapes, and starvation.

Newspapers and jingoist politicians would be quick to jump upon the issue. Leaving no good tragedy to waste they bemoaned the lack of response from the government and demanded retribution for these crimes. For too long France had suffered one defeat and humiliation after another, and calls to retake Indochina and defend the Empire competed against demands that France not leave itself vulnerable against rival European powers on the Homefront. For the first time in nearly a decade the social party found themselves in bitter contest against the populists. The elections of thirty-nine would prove a major victory for the Parti Fopulaire Français, and usher in a new hegemony in France. Under the leadership of Populist President Belaire DeMont the French government cooperated with the Chinese, coordinating the French Navy and Army in resecuring French Indochina. France was still in the process of rebuilding and modernizing its military over the war period, and so French participation was kept mostly to that of support, providing material supply to the Chinese armies. However, several French legions did participate in the jungles, and more than one naval skirmish occurred in the South China Sea.

Initial successes in Indochina provided President Belaire the political sway needed to rapidly expand the French military and regarrisoned formerly abandoned colonies. Africa Algiers, Madagascar, and even the South American Guiana colonies were bolstered by reinvestment. Smartly clad French troops marched in military parades down the streets of Brest and Paris, flanked by heavy modern tanks. Drydocks pumped out shiny new ships, cruisers, and destroyers alike, with the tricolor flying high and proud above their bridges. At first the French fleets saw some success, capturing key islands and securing ports all throughout Indonesia. As the years dragged on however the conflict in Asia settled into a stalemated pattern. Without the capacity to support extensive invasions halfway around the globe, or outright defeat the Japanese navy the French operated under a doctrine of Fleet in Being, striking out on irregular sorties from the myriad allied bases in Indonesia. There was little hope of liberating Indochina, and the command staff were ever stretched on resources. Back home state news spoke of resounding victories and eventual total success, but even government propaganda couldn’t hide the truth of hundreds of returning coffins, and an ever-growing naval budget. Recently a tentative ceasefire was called as French public opinion began turning against the seemingly hopeless conflict, and the two governments opened discussions for a negotiated peace. The Japanese holding the stronger hand with their continued occupation of Indochina.

Meanwhile political exiles from America, greater Europe, Russia, and other states began to find themselves in France. These extremists spent much of their time in the Cafés of Paris, writing articles and agitating against their Imperial powers and oppressive governments. Their efforts over the years raised the tension within the Republic to a near boiling point as the elections between the populist right and the left wing LREM are set to begin. All the while, an ever-present threat of an untrustworthy Germany lies to the East, spreading its socialist tendrils worming their way into the liberal bastion of France. Political turmoil, multi front wars, communist revolutions, and economic recession threatens to bring France to her knees. Yet the proud Tricolor flies on, defiant against it all.

Precipice Of War: The Reboot of a Reboot

FRANCE

France's Recent History

Of the Old Guard European powers, none were quite so shaken by the devastating Great War then mighty, mighty France. From the bloodstained Fields of Verdun, to the shattered trenches of Frontiers, and the disaster of Belleau Wood. Frenchmen blood spilled across Europe in her final stand against the Central Powers. More than three million dead, their unburied corpses strewn across battle torn France, the war’s indecisive conclusion saw the end of an entire generation. The proud tricolor may not have lost territory, but her pride and back had been broken.

The uneasy peace would see the total reclamation of the lost mainland, hundreds of miles of devastated farms and towns, many of which were abandoned in the face of the oncoming Germans. Refugees from the war would filter back over the following years, rebuilding, and resowing their homes and fields, scratching a meager living from the rubble. French Northeastern provinces would never again be competitive against its less crippled competitor in the Southwest. President Wilsons economic aid would prove a tremendous boon for a debt riddled Paris. American dollars would bolster reinvestment and spur a small, but notable economic rise. French elections would be dominated by social and anti-war politicians leading to a massive decline in military spending, giving rise to a national spirit and a breath of fresh air. Multiple expensive pension and medical programs were introduced, and a spirit of French nationalism began to rise, spurred by anti-German sentiment. Paris determined to ensure that France would never again be invaded to the degree that the Central Powers managed in the Great War began the construction of a wall against German aggression. A theoretically impenetrable network of fortifications on France’s border with Germany, named for the current the French Minister of War, the Maginot Line stood ready.

Despite this unprecedented recovery, troubles would still arise within the greater empire. The growth of Japan and China bore witness to a new power dynamic in the far east. French Indochina became a hotspot in the Asian wars. Many within the Fatherland became rightfully concerned that evermore French blood would be spilt, defending the Empire abroad. The Great Depression, although milder in France than the wider world demonstrated clearly that the still recovering Tricolor did not have the economic, political, or military power to assert direct control of Indochina and Africa, and the Colonies were all but abandoned by Paris. The remaining French garrisons, made up mostly of untrained French officers, and Vietnamese conscripts would fold swiftly to the Japanese invasion in the summer of thirty-seven, and the massacres of ethnic French would only reach the ears of the people through the refugees, who managed to escape back to the Fatherland. One such man, a young naval officer named Captain Marce Le Pen managed to sneak his overloaded destroyer, packed to the rails with refugees past Japanese blockades through the Indonesian islands and into friendly waters. His wit and daring in the face of an overwhelming enemy would become an overnight sensation in France, and bring light to horrors occurring in Indochina, and consequently springboard Marce’s political career.

For the common folk, this disaster would be too much to take. For too long France had suffered one defeat and humiliation after another, and calls to retake Indochina and defend the Empire competed against the pacifists calls for peace and decolonization. For the first time in nearly a decade the social party found themselves in bitter contest against the populists. The elections of thirty-nine would prove a major victory for the Parti Fopulaire Français, and usher in a new hegemony in France. Under the leadership of Populist President Belaire DeMont the French government cooperated with the Chinese, coordinating the French Navy and Army in liberating French Indochina. France was still in the process of rebuilding and modernizing its military over the war period, and so French participation was kept mostly to that of support, providing material supply to the Chinese armies. However, several French legions did participate in the jungles, and more than one naval skirmish occurred in the South China Sea.

Initial successes in Indochina provided President Belaire the political sway needed to rapidly expand the French military and regarrisoned formerly abandoned colonies. Africa, Madagascar, and even South American colonies were bolstered by reinvestment. Smartly clad French troops marched in military parades down the streets of Brest and Paris, flanked by heavy modern tanks. Drydocks pumped out shiny new ships, aircraft carriers and cruisers, with the tricolor flying high and proud above their bridges. By the winter of forty-three politically embroiled DeMont felt confident he could take the battle to the Japanese navy, and win not only a decisive military engagement, but a revitalizing political one as well. High Command however advised caution against such a bold play. That far from France any damaged vessel would prove difficult to repair and resupply. Moreover, the Japanese navy was an experienced foe, and the French for all their modernized equipment were still green. DeMont had put himself in a corner however, having already publicly proclaimed his fleet would defend European interests in the Asian sphere. If they controlled the waters, British, Dutch, and Portuguese colonies would remain unthreatened by the encroaching foreign power.

Reluctant French officers crewed their ships and set sail south and east, and the full force of the French navy bore down upon the Japanese. The disaster that followed would end DeMont’s political career permanently. Paris, eager to bring the Japanese into a decisive battle ordered the defense of Borneo. The battle was initially a success, French aircraft managed several successful sorties, but damage to the fleet was severe and though the Japanese fell into a retreat to rearm and repair the French High Command proved accurate in their predictions that the fleet would be near impossible to resupply. Concerned that they would not survive a second onslaught the Admiral ordered a withdrawal from the area against High Command’s orders, leaving Borneo to Japan. The Japanese were not so easy to forgive however and pursued the limping French ships, sinking them one by one. Air attacks and dive bombers were a constant threat, and eventually every French plane against overwhelming odds was shot down leaving the fleet virtually defenseless. Three carriers were sunk, multiple support ships destroyed and the flagship, a mighty dreadnought who never even got the chance to fire her heavy guns was abandoned and skuttled by her own crew. Nearly ten thousand dead, hundreds of millions of francs in losses, and the election in jeopardy Belaire DeMont resigned from his office in disgrace, effectively giving his opponent the presidency. Parliament fell shortly after and once again the dynamic of power shifted in France, even as new threats began to take form.

Political exiles from America, Russia, and other totalitarian states began to find themselves in France. These socialist extremists spent much of their time in the Cafés of Paris, writing articles and agitating against their Imperial oppressors. Their efforts over the years raised the tension within the French Republic ever higher as two sides prepare for the upcoming elections. Meanwhile French Indochina stands alone, the legions stationed there cut off from the rest of the Empire as Paris works to settle tensions with the Japanese, even as revolutionaries begin organizing across the Empire. The ever-present threat of an untrustworthy Germany to the East, political turmoil, communist revolution, and economic recession threatens to bring France to her knees. Yet the proud Tricolor flies on, defiant against it all.

The Adventures of Caleb Crowsnest

Two days in the making preparations were finally complete. The departing journeyers gathered in the front lawn of the Nieve household saying their last goodbyes to those who would be remaining behind. Even the younger members made it out, despite the early hour, though John remained bedridden, his condition making it impossible for him to make even the short trip outside. Caleb and Edward and Rainbow stood a little apart from the main group, finishing up the final touches to their mode of transportation. Boy and hippocampus looked quite different from when the first arrived. The young equine was given a layer of dye coating, which changed his golden coloration into a more subtle bay. Strapped to the cart and shoed he looked very much the normal everyday horse. Caleb traded out his worn-down garments for some of John’s old ones which were meant to be passed to Jake when grew a little older. They fit surprisingly well for being hand me downs, if a bit tight in the waist and long in the legs, but Caleb appreciated them all the same. His old shirt was nearly torn to shreds and he hadn’t thought to bring extra when he snuck away from Eagletown all those weeks ago. Besides his new clothing Caleb carried John’s sword strapped across his back, the blade having been a too long to wear comfortably at his hip.

Edward shifted uncomfortably in his physical restraints, pushing a little closer to Caleb. “Are you alright Eddy?” The boy set a comforting hand on Edward’s flank, reassuring his friend.

“Tell you the truth…” Edward whispered. “I don’t like the idea of going further from the ocean. It feels so far away already. I guess I didn’t think of it until now, but we’re traveling inland away from the water. It just feels wrong I guess.”

Over the last two days when recuperation had been their main goal the original crew had gone back to the water’s edge partially for Edward’s benefit and to check on their boat. The vessel remained unharmed, though much of the hold had been pilfered. Luckily, they were not carrying anything of great value anyway. They secured the [i]Eagle’s Deliverance[\i] at a proper harbor and then just relaxed by the water’s edge letting Edward enjoy himself, swimming and healing. At the end of the day the hippocampus seemed reluctant to drag himself away from his aquatic home, but Caleb never got the feeling he was dreading the journey inland. He seemed quite excited, and eager to get underway. The change in mood must have been a recent occurrence. “Eddy, you know you don’t have to come. You could stay here-“

“No.” Edward said, with such force it almost made Caleb jump. “I’m going, it’s just scary. You know?”

Caleb thought back to all the times he had felt scared or uncertain during his adventure. How many occasions did he have to set his jaw and ask himself what the right thing to do was? They seemed almost countless and melded together in his mind. “Yeah, I do know. You’re being brave, and knightly.”

While the two friends were talking Sara finished up her goodbyes. Giving her children and grandchildren one last hung each Sara joined the crew at the cart. “Everyone ready?” She asked looking to each of her volunteers in turn. Caleb’s young and determined face, Rainbow’s more cautious nod, and Edward’s nervous but adventurous expression, all in unanimous agreement. Even Flower, the seagull looked fully prepared from her position perched on Caleb’s shoulder. They made an odd band, one that would certainly attract unwanted attention if seen by the wrong people, but they were willing to try their best no matter the danger. Sara felt a stab of guilt, putting them all into jeopardy for a mission she should be undertaking alone. Nevertheless they were determined to accompany her and save someone they did not know, at tremendous risk of their own lives and freedom.

“Are you?” Rainbow inquired quietly.

Sara took a deep breath, her head dipping in acknowledgement. “Yes, let us be off.”

Avatar - The Fall of Si Wong City

Earlier that morning…

Searing pain shocked up Jaan’s legs forcing the man to a sudden halt. The aging farmer tightened his grip on the rough sawn fence, all the air in his lungs escaping in a single pained gasp. Leaning against the sturdy lumber he relaxed his body, clenching his eyes shut and counting down the seconds. Every deep breath receded the swelling agony that threatened to beat him to his knees and wash over him like a tidal wave. He had been working too hard. Meilou cautioned him he was pushing himself to the brink, obstinately ignoring the warnings his body offered. She had been right, and he was too stubborn to admit it, even now when he could barely think, much less move lest he collapse. He waited impatiently, gritting his teeth, willing himself to outlasting his failing body. The worst of the ordeal was over quickly, barely lasting thirty seconds, but it was enough to leave a lasting impression. The pain did not recede entirely, but at least he could move again.

The past three weeks had been an unending haze of hard work. The back breaking, sweaty labor that most men would shy away from. The Si Wong desert, and her surrounding lands was an unforgiving mistress, and only the tough managed to force a living from the heat packed soil. It was difficult, yes, but rewarding for the strong willed who were not afraid to get their hands dirty. Already the fruits, or rather tubers of his efforts were stored within the line of thatched silos standing filled to the brim next to his barn ready to be carted into Si Wong for the merchants. The hardest part was finally over, and the rewards would soon be amassed for what surely accounted for a record harvest. That is, if his body did not continue its senseless rebellion against his will and cooperated.

Groaning his displeasure Jaan forced himself to move, his left leg viciously protesting as he limped into the barn, the bucket he carried slopping water. “Baou, here old girl, a drink an’ breakfast before our trip.”

A low squawk answered his beckoning call and an imposing creature stepped from the shadows, approaching the familiar figure who invaded her lair. She was an ostrich horse, and a bull of a specimen to boot. At her full height she stood taller than Jaan, her oak trunk like legs supporting her broad feathered chest and large angular head that bore two dark, intelligent eyes. She regarded Jaan as a friend and stood close by, head tilted in curious anticipation as he refilled her trough of both water and feed. Leaving her to sup Jaan inspected the large loaded cart parked in the corner, ensuring all the fastenings were in place and axles were greased to his expectations. Even his critical eye could find no shortcoming, and a begrudging huff escaped his dry lips. The boy did his evening chores the previous night well. If the first cartload proved a good example for the merchants and the payments were substantial Zhei deserved proper acknowledgement. For the first time Jaan had let Zhei select the crème of the crop and load it, curious to see how much he’d learned. His son had proved pivotal this year, working passionately to match his father in the fields, and his energetic efforts could not have been better timed, as Jaan felt the tremendous weight of years weigh down far worse than ever before.

His inspections done, and Baou happily eating from her trough, Jaan exited the barn made his way towards his house just as the sun began to peek its mighty gaze over the horizon. Another scorcher, Jaan predicted as he stopped to admire this natural beauty and rest his leg. He gave the moaning limb a few seconds to calm itself before beginning his ponderous journey once more, using the fence as a support. The smell of baking rice cakes urged him forward with greater haste, his stomach growling in anticipation. Meilou knew how to send them off properly baking his favorite meal. He quickened his pace, stomping up the wooden steps and instinctively dipping his head ever so slightly to avoid striking it on the low frame.

Soft brown eyes greeted him in the small interior of their humble home. Meilou was a slight woman, and still beautiful in his eyes despite her greying hair and plain features. She murmured a quiet greeting, casting her gaze roof-wards. “Should I wake him, the meal is almost ready, I know how you like to get going early, before the sun beats down.”

Having other plans Jaan shook his head. “Nay, I think not. Let him sleep an hour longer. He earned his rest. Besides, I must admit failure on my part, I slept in and the sun already rises. We could not hope to reach Si Wong before noon, even if we departed now.”

Meilou’s brow knitted momentarily, but the look vanished almost at once. “I shall pack extra water skins then.” She left her true concerns unvoiced. The roads were dangerous this time of year, with all the caravans traveling out of Si Wong. Brigands stalked the roads during the daylight hours awaiting easy prey. Jaan was a no-nonsense man who could handle himself and claimed no fear of highwaymen, but she had seen the way he hid his limp when he strode to the table and recognized the pain on his face. No matter how well he hid its presence Jaan could not fool her.

They broke their fast to pleasant, simple conversation. Keeping their voices low out of respect for Zhei until about an hour after Jaan’s return the boy dropped from his loft bedroom, landing barefoot and bleary-eyed in the kitchen space. “Awake at last! Thought you might sleep the day away.” Jaan snapped, abandoning his lighter tones for his more usual commanding bark. He reached over and tasseled the boy’s dark locks pulling him towards the table. “Get some food in your belly boy and dress. We need to leave soon if we hope to return home before dark. It’ll be a long day so be snappish about your business.”

“Yes sir.” Zhei yawned, accepting the wooden plate his mother pushed towards him. She brushed a gentle kiss over his forehead and smoothed down his ruffled hair before returning to her own seat. The child ate and finished quickly as he had been taught. Climbing the rope up to his small personal space in the roof he changed over, dropping back down to the ground floor dressed in dark green and dapple browns common amongst the local farming folk. Jaan gave him the briefest nods, rising and using the back of a chair for support. He could not keep the tiny twitch of his lip from revealing the pain his actions caused, but Zhei did not seem to notice. Meilou however fixed him a piercing stare, one even Jaan could not ignore.

“Go on then, hitch up Baou. Bring her and the cart around to the front. I’ll join you momentarily.” He ordered, recognizing the look Meilou was giving him. She wanted to talk, and Jaan could already tell they were going to disagree. Something about the way her nose crinkled, and her hands attached themselves to her hips. She was preparing herself for a battle of wills.

Waiting until Zhei had enough time to get out of earshot Jaan initiated their verbal duel. “Well?”

“You should rest a day.” Came the stubborn insistence, leaving no room for doubt that if she had her way he would be resting for a week or more. “You went too far, and now you’re killing yourself trying to keep up with, well, yourself! Jaan, please. See reason just this once.”

“I cannot, even if I was able to convince myself it was necessary.” Jaan countered, his mind already settled on the outcome of this particular debate.

“Why not? Is it worth putting yourself through needless agony?”

Closing his eyes Jaan released an impatient sigh. “Every year, on this month and day I deliver the best of my wares to Loh Ma, he inspects them and calculates the value of my total crops. It would be a failure of my contract with him to not respect his time and no doubt busy schedule. He is after all an especially important agricultural official. If I must suffer a few minor twinges I shall do so in silence as I always have done. This is not the work for men who whimper at a few cuts or bruises.” A memory flashed before his eyes as he uttered his final line. Bygone years when he trained in the best dojos in Harushima, his master of battle said those very words to him.

“Minor twinges…” Meilou muttered. “You need not lie to me Jaan, I see straight through them. Anyone with two eyes could see what you try to refuse to acknowledge.”

“Woman.” Jaan’s tone was steeped in warning. “This conversation is over. I go today.”

“If you must.” Meilou conceded defeat on this front, deciding her time could be better spent elsewhere. “At the very least use this.” She drew forth from a hidden part of the house a sturdy little cane, one carved in the likeness of a badgermole, an item Jaan thought destroyed.

His breath caught, and his eyes flashed. “You kept it!”

“You should use it, it will help keep your weight off your leg.”

“I told you to burn that… That thing ages ago!”

“It was a gift, Li worked awfully hard on it. You cannot burn a gift. And even you must admit it’s quite a good carving. You just do not like it because it proves that even a half blind eighty-year-old man can see what the rest of us know. You. Are. In. Pain Jaan.”

“Throw it away.”

“Li meant for you to use it to help walk, not to throw around and discard.” Meilou’s brow furrowed ready to die on this hill.

“Li can shove it up his boney-“

“Baou and the cart are ready to go father.” Zhei interrupted, peeking inside. He looked a bit disconcerted, as if he had overheard what had just transpired. Jaan bit his tongue and flashed one last glare at his wife.

“No Meilou, and this conversation is also over.” He put his full weight on his left leg, his teeth ground together against the discomfort but he held the position in a demonstration of his full capability. He could suffer in silence indefinitely; in the end his mind would always triumph over his body. A lesson he intended to instill in Zhei. A lesson that could not be learned if the boy’s lead role model hobbled around on a cane and took a day off because he was a little bit sore. He stalked from the house into the morning light grumbling under his breath. The sun had fully risen by now and cast long shadows across the ground, painting the desert sky in a mixture of orange and yellows. Already the coolness of the night was gone, replaced by the omnipresent heat that dominated the region year-round. He climbed aboard the large cart, throwing the sack containing their lunch and water supplies into the back. The wooden seat creaked under his bulk as he settled himself and took up the reins. Below the ostrich horse squawked and pawed at the thin grass underfoot, eager to get underway.

“Have a safe journey, and Zhei don’t you go getting into any trouble with those city kids. I know how they are.” She gave her son a firm hug and pressed the denied cane into his hands. “And be a dear and give this to your father.”

“Boy if you attempt to hand me that thing, I will break it over your back.” Jaan growled from his seat. He rarely uttered an empty threat, but even still Zhei had to hide his cheeky grin. “Now get a move on, we’ve burned enough daylight already.”

Zhei tucked the cane securely underneath the piled and tarped produce, cleverly hidden out of sight, but onboard nevertheless, a suitable compromise between his stubborn parents, for the time being, and clambered up next to his father. Jaan rolled his eyes skyward but said nothing more on the matter. Bending down he pressed a kiss onto his wife’s forehead and flicked the reins, clucking his tongue until Baou strained against her restraints pulling the heavy cart forward. The road to Si Wong was long, but they should make it by noon.