NeutralNexus

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

Raptorman said
To those who it may concern, Nexus and ded in particular. I've been trapped in final papers and exam hell for the last few weeks and barely had time to be online. School ends this friday and I have a month off so things will pick up a lot then. I'm really sorry about the long delay

Ah, it's fine. We've all been there, school's rough. You post when you're ready.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

Once everyone's done with their arcs, I think I'll really start giving them something with the Cowl's posts.

On that note, where the heck is Raptorman? War-Pulse has been searching that warehouse for a really long time....I think he got lost in there ._.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

Another long day had passed for a man named Julius Dorian, a City Councilman and wealthy entrepreneur who funded most of the development of the French Quarter, as he had spent most of his day helping the rest of the Council divert resources to fixing the damages done by the infamous 'D-Day'. For them, there was still much to do, even though the initial crisis had passed thanks to the intervention of the many colorful heroes of Lost Haven, including no other than the city's newest mascot, the hero known as Icon. Of course, Julius had his own opinions about superpowered unknowns flying around his city, breaking and smashing their way to what they considered 'justice' but at the moment he was being overruled on the subject as the Council decided not to look this gift horse in the mouth while their city was in dire need of enforcement and control.

As he unlocked his front door, he noticed something particularly odd about his home, mainly that all the lights were off and he did not hear the familiar footsteps of his housekeepers or his family. It was 9pm at this point, his family would have no business being in the city without him, and his housekeepers did not typically leave the home until midnight or later.

Something was definitely askew about the whole affair, moving to his Study, he called out into the darkness of his home.

"H...hello?" He called. "Sheryl, are you home?"

No answer, the proverbial silence allowing his voice to travel through the surrounding darkness. He reached the first light switch in his home, revealing the hallway to be barren and empty, almost untouched from when he left for his meeting this morning. He began to feel the cold sweat dripping down his spine as he continued towards his study, once again calling out into the darkness.

"Miguel? Bethany? Sara? Is anyone home?" He called out again, his eyes drifting now to outside to see if his bodyguards were at least in view of the household. Again, no answer, the house still entrenched in darkness and silence. He reached into his coat pocket, his fingers sliding along the .22 Revolver he keeps strapped to his torso, rounding a corner to reach for another light, hoping his study would be unmolested as the rest of the house was.

As the lights came on, he realized his hope was woefully unfulfilled. Sitting in his favorite chair, at his desk, sat a man dressed in black, a hood over his head and a mask hiding his face, calmly waiting for Issac to return home.

"Y-you!" Was all he managed to get out before he felt four large hands grab his arms and force him to his knees.

"Yes, me." The Cowl said, slowly rising from his chair and leaning onto the desk. "And you and I have some things to discuss."

"Where is my family!?" Julius asked, struggling as his two captors wrestled him to another nearby chair, their hands reaching into his coat and grabbing his pistol, tossing it to the ground before the desk.

"They're fine, no need to panic, my dear Mr. Dorian." The Cowl responded. "I managed to get your wife and children to enjoy themselves with a night on the town, and I told your housekeeper that he had the night off. You should really pay Miguel more, by the way, he keeps this place fairly spotless." He sighed, moving from the desk toward the center of the room in a calm, graceful stride. "You bodyguard, however...he was much harder to convince...unfortunately he had an 'accident' with the nearby cliffside of your manor...my condolences in advance."

"You...what do you want?" Julius huffed, trying to keep his composure. "The word was that you would be in Asia...I had been informed that as long as I stayed out of your way and kept quiet you wouldn't come back here anymore."

"Yes, that was the case when I left..." The Cowl mumbled, now pacing in front of Julius, reaching down as he passed to pick up the revolver. "But in my short absence, times have changed, haven't they? Last I checked, demons weren't walking the Earth when I was building my empire...which leads me to the reason I'm here..." The Cowl placed a finger under Julius' chin, lightly coercing the Councilman to look up at him "These new occurrences have changed the way we have to do business, and how you're going to help me keep this city under my thumb."

"Fuck you, you hooded thug!" Julius responded, breaking his composure at the mention of the new elements of the Lost Haven. "I did my part for you, we had a deal, you can't extort me like this again!"

"I can't?" The Cowl scoffed, walking a few steps forward, very friendly in tone as he extrapolated "Last I checked, I could do what I pleased in this town, because I'm the one that keeps the seedier parts of this city in check. Thanks to me, this city is not constantly embroiled in gang wars like it once was."

"Bullshit! You just say that because you unified most of them under your banner!" Julius retorted.

"Which I think is better, don't you? A city with only a few organized crime lords seems much more functional than the mass of gangs that once plagued lovely Lost Haven. Admit it, since you became much more lenient on us, The Shroud Syndicate has done you quite a service in terms of how crime is conducted." He gestured out the window, motioning to the city beyond Julius' manor. "I mean, your wife and children can go enjoy a night in the French Quarter without too much worry, am I right?"

"Even so, we...we don't need your kind of help anymore. Haven't you heard? The city is under new enforcement now, better enforcement, ones who wear capes and tights, people who could flatten your whole shadow regime in no time!"

"Oh?" The Cowl seemed genuinely curious about Councilman's speech, though hardly threatened. His shadow now circling the chair as Julius continued to berate him, his motions like a vulture waiting for the dying lion to quit roaring before it finally choked on its own blood. "This I need to hear, do go on."

"That's why you're back, isn't it? You slimy degenerate, you came back because you're afraid of losing power. These heroic types are going to rip everything you spent so much time building to the ground, they're going to bring a much-needed light to this dark city, and you're finally going to taste the receiving end of a beatdown. Your time is up, and you're just in denial. Face it, Cowl, the Shroud Syndicate is about to come tumbling down."

The Cowl paused in his circling, taking a direct b-line to Julius' chair. He leaned down, staring Julius directly in the face, the two steel blue pupils leering out from under the hood like two stars encompassed by the abyss, nearly glowing in the dim light of the room as he spoke in a direct, serious tone. "Your words are hollow, Mr. Dorian. Much like your marriage from what your wife said to my men. As much as you want to believe what you are saying, these 'heroes' as you call them have to do much more than punch out a few street thugs, and both you and I know this as fact. This new element is not the final nail in my coffin, it is simply a test of my structure. I will adapt and change to fit this new world, and I'm going to have your help to do it. You want me to step into the light? Sure, I could do that, but I'll drag you and half this city into the light with me, so what's it going to be? Are you going to help me, or am I going to tell this city how you really get funding for your business?"

A brief silence filled the room, the Councilman lowering his head and thinking about Cowl's threats, a sigh left his hips before he stated in a defeated whisper. "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to ask questions, ask the people of this city how comfortable they are with these masked vigilantes, what they really worry about when one of them comes crashing through their homes." He motioned to Julius. "Do not take a side yet, however. I just want the people of this city aware that having these new protectors should be debated, not willingly welcomed with no opposition."

"F...fine." Julius leaned back in the chair. "I'll start asking around..."

"Good, I'm glad this visit did not have to get too violent." The Cowl motioned to his men, ordering them to release the Councilmen and head for the door. "I'll have my people keep track of your progress, and we will let you know if your plans change." He chuckled as one of the men opened the front door for him, turning back to Julius before nodding. "Keep up the good work, and we may support you in your run for Mayor next year."

"Mayor?" Julius asked. "But I wasn't--oh..."

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

I was going to post last night, but the site was down, hopefully I'll get my post up tonight.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

I didn't see the site going down.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

There will be a cowl post coming soon.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

The rotting, putrid body of what was previously known as Mr. Shrike now lay at the feet of The Cowl, bubbling audibly as his muscle and bone degraded into a putrid mass of guts and liquid. He had barely made it into the doorway before this thing followed him, delivering his cryptic message before collapsing to the floor. The door guards gasped and tried not to vomit, a few of the guests who were near one of the factory doors were either shrieking in terror or had fainted. Of course, at this point nobody knew it was Mr. Shrike, or even anyone they could recognize, but the idea that someone infiltrated The Cowl's welcome home party and delivered a biohazard wrapped in a message was enough to cause panic to the guests who could either see it or hear it deeper into the factory.

However, The Cowl simply took a step towards the melting flesh, letting out a unsettling, amused chuckle at the sight, kneeling down to get a better look at it.

"Well, it's nice to know someone out there considers me enough of a threat to give me my first welcome home present." He mused, surveying the damage. "I haven't been forgotten, it seems." His gaze shifted to a few thugs nearby, collectively jumping at his glance. "Get the Hazmat Suits and get this cleaned up, this was a factory at one point, they should be nearby."

As he rose to his feet, Wesson stepped to his side, gun drawn and pointing at the flesh puddle now oozing onto the carpet. "The Cancer...the name sounds familiar."

"It should, dear Wesson." The Cowl responded, placing his hands behind his back and leaving the scene. "I suppose one could call him metahuman as well, though he predates this new metahuman crisis...and myself in terms of this city's criminal organizations. He leads a group called the Crew, while not as well-known in the underworld as our esteemed organization or groups like the Cyning Family, they are not the type of group to be underestimated."

"You've...met them before?"

"Hah, met them? Wesson, they were the first to reject my offers for partnership. I sent them a emissary, they sent me his body in pieces...they are a very paranoid bunch. They probably think I'm back in town to take them down...poor fool..."

"So...how do we respond?"

The Cowl paused for a moment at the question, halting in his tracks to consider the option laid before him. A few seconds passed, before The Cowl responded in a surprisingly delightful tone.

"Well, I suppose if they want a fight, we can oblige...for now, I want you to send The Cancer a fruit basket."

"A...what?"

"A fruit basket, apples, bananas, oranges, grapes...the works." The Cowl chuckled as he spoke, beginning to ascend a large series of staircases, moving through the scattered crowds of partygoers that parted as soon as his presence was known, their faces struck with awe. "Add a 'thank you' note to thank him for his generous warning."

"I...I'll get right on it..."

"Good," The Cowl stated, stopping short of the large office situated at the top of the factory, with windows looking into what used to be the production room. He gave the guards covering the room a look, and they scooted aside for him. The Cowl turned to Wesson one last time, finishing his sentence. "I have a Syndicate to address now, do you have any other questions?"

"A few." Wesson replied. "But we can talk more after."

"Very well." The Cowl said. "Then I will leave you to it."

And with that, he passed the mighty armored guards, gliding into the office to a few more guards inside, with Wesson trailing in behind. The Cowl passed by the desk, looking out the window to the party going on below, his eyes surveying the guests who had dared to make their appearance. The party itself was a mixture between a refined, graceful gathering and a rave, an odd amalgamation between those of the upper class and those of lesser fortune. There were all sorts of people attending, from millionare playboys, esteemed members of high society to common gangsters, pimps, and prostitutes. The sheer variety would astound most outsiders, but this was who the Cowl drew in, the people in this building owed the Cowl their very livelihoods, many of the public official's representatives attending knew they had to attend on risk of losing their funding, but many seemed to be enjoying the more risky activities offered at the party. There was music, dancing, drinks, drugs, a celebration of their current wealth and power, all thanks to the Cowl.

And yet everything came to a stop once The Cowl spoke into the microphone, carrying his smooth, charismatic voice to the ears below.

"My friends! It has been too long!" The Cowl spoke to a small cheer at his very voice. "Too long since I walked the streets of Lost Haven with you! Too long since I've enjoyed the sights and sounds of this little island on the coast of Maine. Too long since I have shared a drink with those I call our brothers and sisters!"

Another cheer from the crowd, pleased with the beginnings of The Cowl's speech.

"However, this is not a time for celebration, nor is it a time for reminiscence." His voice dropped to a baritone as he spoke, his original cheery voice fluctuating to a serious flat tone. "No, this is a time of far greater importance to our organization, as it is a time for action." As he spoke, he grabbed one of the papers from his desk, staring at it as he spoke into the microphone. "As many of you have become increasingly aware, Lost Haven is changing...altering under its own urban mantle, it no longer is a city of cops and gangsters...no, this city is changing to become a city of capes, a city of tights, a city of superpowers, demons, and forces many cannot comprehend."

At his speech, many below began to boo at the mention of superhumans and demons, many probably still sore from the events of 'D-Day'.

"No no no, calm yourselves, my brothers and sisters!" The Cowl assured them, his silky voice calming their ire. "This is not the end of our operations as we know it, nor is it the end of the Shroud Syndicate. This is merely...an alteration, a change, a test of our resolve. In order to exist in this new city, we must not remain stagnant in our approach, or we will risk loosing this city to men like The Cancer, who actually just gave me a very lovely welcome home present, as many of you are aware."

Another boo at the mention of The Crew's leader. It looked like a few were aware of this man.

"No, if The Shroud Syndicate is to continue its operations here in Lost Haven, then we must adapt, we must change and evolve for this new city. The superhuman intrusion is not a destroyer of our way of life...it is an opportunity for greatness! A new arms race, a new market that we, The Shroud Syndicate, should jump on without haste! After all, who are we if not opportunists? We are the whispers on the backs of politicans, we are the hands that feed the hungry and the poor with the goods we take from those in excess. In every shadowy alley on Earth, we exist, on every continent we sow the seeds of great network! We are the Shroud Syndicate, and we take what we want!"

A rousing cheer from the men below, approving of The Cowl's short speech.

"So we will take this superhuman market by storm, and we will show every metahuman in this city that The Shroud Syndicate is not a organization to be trifled with! So enojy this party! Enjoy the people, the food, the drink, the drugs, whatever you are into! For tonight is the last celebration we will be doing for a long, long time. We start tomorrow, and we will sink back into the shadows of this City, manipulating what needs to be done to secure out position. There is much work to be done, ladies and gentlemen, and I trust each and every one of you to pull through, as you trust me to lead you into a new tomorrow!"

And with another rousing cheer, The Cowl placed his microphone back on the desk and walked out of the office.

"Excellent speech, sir." Wesson said, trailing behind the Cowl's graceful pace once more as he passed by the door guards. "Will you be attending the party?"

"No, I won't." The Cowl responded. "I have no time for celebration, gather a handful of men and prepare to leave to a the compound. If that corpse made it here, The Cancer and Crew may know this party exists, and I'm not going to be caught with my pants down here."

"But the guests?"

"Are all very good at self-preservation, and the men here will be sure to give any intruders a hell of a fight, one not worth the resources if I'm not here to be killed." He then motioned to the building. "Also, once the party is over, destroy the factory."

"Sir?"

"I don't need it, and we don't need any outside forces thinking we use this thing as a base. Tomorrow the others may begin work, but we start tonight. On the fruit basket, I need you to give the Cancer a number."

"A what?"

"A phone number, I'd like to speak with him personally, see if he is dead set on this war between us." The Cowl hurried out of the building back to the nearby car. "Then I will begin preparations for giving these 'heroes' a taste of what this city can really offer."

"As you wish, boss."

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

My cowl post is like...halfway done, will be posting it soon.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

Okay, got a War-Pulse post up, I will be posting a Cowl post very soon, probably in the next 48 hours.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

War-Pulse placed a foot up to the ledge of the building he was on top of, peering over to a nearby warehouse in the abandoned projects of town, conveniently one of the locations that his target had been spotted in. Again he was attired in his signature attire, silver and black, light ceramic nanoweave with titanium layering, a well-made custom fit battlesuit for occasions just like this, given a dynamic flair with a longcoat blowing in the slight breeze of a warm autumn night in Lost Haven. He had this suit made for him so he could be distinguished on the battlefield, so those he encounted knew who they had been annihilated by, and the reputation this battlesuit carried was well known now at least in the criminal underworld, so on most accounts it served its purpose. Of course, now it would have an adverse affect to those in the city, as they all knew him very well as one of the heroes of D-Day, so he never really broke out the suit for interest in not being chased down by interpol.

And yet, today he wore it, because today he had a job to do, and he'd need every advantage he could get.

Before he had come to this warehouse, he had given Warden the vocal recording of what happened to the last team that had tried to bring in the target. As per his usual monotone, paranoid responses, Warden was able to offer him a few bits of advice. One was that this woman was prepared for intruders, if she was where the dossier said she was, she was probably somewhat fortified in her position, as well as wary of pursuers. The other was that she seems to have a superiority complex, by the way she chastised the bounty hunters before she killed them, she indeed thought she was at least a little better than her pursuers.

But she had not met Pulse yet.

Unfortunately, Warden's comforting assistance would not accompany him on this mission, after their conversation, Warden had told him he had some things to take care of, and would be unavailable for the mission. Of course, what originally went through War-Pulse's mind was what else a guy who was in permanent hiding had to do, but he quickly perished the thought from his mind. Warden had set the terms for their working relationship, and War-Pulse would oblige if he wanted the continuous stream of information and data from god-knows-where Warden gets it. He was not to ask about Warden's life or location, he never even met the guy in person. Warden contacted him a few years ago with a proposition, a small cut of War-Pulse's earnings in exchange for connecting him with more high-profile work to suit his needs, and the man had never disappointed him. However, the only real part of Warden that was ever given to War-Pulse was that Warden's mind was genetically-enhanced, and he was part of the U.S. government at some point, anything else Warden kept very close to his chest. He could not argue with results, and if Warden thought this girl was going to see him coming, he saw no reason to doubt the guy.

Hopping off his perch, he quietly glided though the air on energy emissions from his hands, hovering above where the cameras of an average warehouse would be looking, in an attempt to get some sort of element of surprise as he touched down on the roof of the building. The woman was smart, if she was here, she picked a very good spot to hide out. The nearby neighborhood was all but abandoned, this particular warehouse not being in use for a good few years. On top of that, as War-Pulse quietly crept along the dirty plastic scuffling, he noticed another key element to a good hiding spot, a very large lack of windows, be it on the roof, or on any of the walls when he surveyed the building on his way over. Nobody would be able to look in, making this place not only inconspicuous, but almost totally unnoticeable. For a minute, War-Pulse had to wonder if he was simply going to have to tear the roof open to drop in on her. Fortunately, this would not be the case, instead locating a doorway on the rooftop with a nearby plateau. Sliding up to the door, he tested it quickly to check if the door was locked, twisting the handle to hear the familiar click of denial. Undaunted, he simply continued to twist, snapping the handle from its hinges as if it was made out of tin foil. While the sound was indeed audible, it was far more subtle than simply kicking the door down, and War-Pulse figured that it would be drowned out by other strange noises in this part of town.

As he made his way down the steps, into the poorly-lit caverns that was this warehouse, his muscles began to tighten in anticipation, his body reacting to the tension of having no real clue what he was about to face. His hands clenched, eyes darting to and fro for signs of movement, his heart even began to jump a little bit. He had not been this excited for hunting in ages, and he was reveling in every second. There could only be two outcomes of what would happen in that warehouse, from War-Pulse's point of view. She either would not be here and he would have to check her next locations, or she would be waiting for him to put him down like the other mercenary rabble she'd encountered so far.

And he'd be ready and waiting.