Supermaxx

Pariah Online: A Voyage into the Intangible Aether

Location: City Streets, The City-State of Thorinn, Aetheria

---

Consciousness hit Graves like oncoming traffic. His eyes burst open only to be overwhelmed by the sun burning overhead. Pain sharpened and dulled like the coming and going of the tide. He wasn't quite sure where he was at first. Was he back in his apartment in Westwood? Had death disconnected him from Pariah? No. There was a person standing over him in the robes and armor of a cleric, their hands pressed against his battered form. Magic pulsed, stitching his wounds with impossible efficiency. Not home, then. And he wasn't back in the dungeon, either. The Laughing Worg loomed behind him- his home away from home ever since being trapped here.

People were standing around him, too. There was the new girl, Artemis, a comically large pile of weapons at her feet. Alex stood beside her as unwavering as ever. The hotheaded Siegfried was looking battered down and dejected. And then there was Seele. It all came back to Graves as he looked at her. The anger he'd felt at Sig for harsh words spoken without true malice. His own inability to back down; that need to not only to win but to destroy those that argued against him. And then the blade was drawn. Blood flowed, and he lost himself to the hunger. This wasn't the first time he'd let the blood lust take him. It was a useful tool for fighting through pain, fear and self-doubt. But this...he never thought...

"Christ," Graves coughed, grabbing Andrecille by the arm. "Don't. You shouldn't- its not-" the word caught in his throat. 'Its not safe for you to be near me.' Something stopped him before it could slip through his lips, however. He saw her uniform for the first time, as well as the pack of guards gathered around the street. Seele was in dialogue with a woman Graves vaguely recognized from before the glitch. 'Best to keep my mouth shut, I think.'

Graves let go. "Sorry. Just panicked. Thank you."

Superboy's Shitty Characters

_______________________________________________ Personal Data D A T A Full Name - Ravanor Kell Designation - Runt Species - Krogan Age - 150 (b. 2032) Origin - Tuchanka, Aralakh System Classification - Sentinel Unique Specialization - Bastion - Psyche Analysis P S Y C H E Warrior Scholar Kell was not raised as most Krogan children are. His mentor and father figure, Ghormund, drilled into him the value of knowledge- a warrior's best weapon is their mind. Tactics, strategy and military history were the primary curriculum. Philosophy and the sciences were taught where Ghormund deemed necessary, though as Kell grew older he developed his own fascination with the thinkers of the Milky Way's past. He has read extensively the writings of Asari Matriarchs, Valluvian Priests of Palaven, and enlightenment-era earth philosophers. A Joyous Heart Ravanor Kell is not the angry, violence-hungry monster most Krogan are painted as. He instead finds the joy in nearly all things: he loves the beauty of nature as much as a sporting fight between equals. He's quick to make friends, always offering a drink to a stranger before a closed fist. Honor Bound Another important lesson Ghormund beat into Runt's thick skull was the necessity of honor. Promises were ironclad and could not be bent, broken or 'amended' once agreed to. Kell has also developed his own strange version of chivalry: he will never harm an unarmed opponent, will always accept surrender, and prefers a duel to any other form of combat. Equipment E Q U I P M E N T M-300 Claymore Originally manufactured by FRM Technology, the M-300 Claymore is a rare weapon to find in the Milky Way. Its original designed lacked a sufficient kinetic dampening system, meaning every shot fired could break the arm of all but the toughest users- making it useless to nearly every race in the galaxy save the Korgan. Kell stole his off the corpse of a Blood Pack mercenary on Omega. He calls it 'Diplomacy.' M-6 Carnifex The Carnifex is a highly accurate hand cannon commonly used by mercenaries and some law enforcement. This M-6 is nearly as old as Kell himself and was gifted to him at a young age by his mentor, the battlemaster Ravanor Ghormund. Kell calls it his 'Lover's Kiss.' Polaris V The Polaris V is an older model of biotic amplifier produced by Kassa Fabrication. Kell's was bought off the black market on Tuchanka and requires regular maintenance to prevent excess fluid build-up in his spinal cord, but it offers a powerful biotic shield that has saved his life countless times. Record R E C O R D Battle in the Kraddack Wastes Kell's first significant engagement yet still one of the bloodiest battles he's seen. Hired by Clan Nakmor to drive off a band of raiders, Kell and Ghoramund found themselves entangled in a months-long feud. It was a grueling campaign of poisoned drinking water, midnight raids and civilian casualties. The horrors he saw there shaped much of Kell's worldview as he tried to leave those dark days behind him. The Skyllian Run In 2165 Kell played escort to an independent colonization effort in the Skyllian Verge. Beset on all sides by slavers, pirates and rival mercenary companies, he found himself knee-deep in blood for nearly eight years. This was Ravanor Kell's first time around humans and he found the young, upstart species so fascinating that he determined he'd visit their homeworld someday. The colony was eventually destroyed from orbit by a batarian warship, and Kell has yet to see earth. Ghoramund's End Ghoramund and Kell are hired in 2176 to protect a former Thessian government official from would-be assassins. These 'assassins' turned out to be a squad of Asari commandos that decimated the Turian's entire protection detail in minutes. The two Krogan fought a running battle against the commandos, barely reaching safety- though their employer was dead and Ghoramund was left crippled. Connections C O N N E C T I O N S Ravanor Ghoramund Ravanor Ghoramund is a battlemaster of some renown. Ancient even by Krogan standards, Ghoramund fought in the final years of the Krogan Rebellions and witnessed the genophage's deployment firsthand. He was immensely disappointed by the regression of his culture into senseless violence and decided he ought to do something about it. Thus he sought to rise as warlord of his clan, only to be tossed down and cast out. He claimed parentage of Ravanor Kell before leaving the clan behind, intent on raising the boy to follow in his footsteps. Five years past he suffered a debilitating wound that left him unable to walk. He now spends his days in a cushy retirement on the Citadel, content to provide his wisdom and stories to any who might seek them out. Yamora D'seeren One of Kell's oldest friends and a reliable information broker, Yamora is a relatively young Asari with a small network of contacts across the Milky Way. She acts as Kell's 'booking agent-' she finds jobs that fit his particular set of skills and personal quirks. She can also be relied upon to dig up any information Kell might need while on a particular mission, provided he has time to wait for her own agents to act. Van Borse Van is a volus weapons merchant and engineer based out of Omega. He's an ill-tempered prone to bouts of ineffectual violence, yet Kell comes to him for help all the same. There's no one else he'd want to turn to when his armor is damaged or he's in need of a new gun.

Physical Details ◢ Ravanor Kell never stopped being the runt of the litter. At only 6'8 and two hundred and eighty pounds, some might even consider him lithe for a Krogan. His skin is a shade paler than most, contrasting sharply against the dark coloration of his head crest. Old, crimson scars dot the crest and his face; the largest mark is a single, deep cut around his throat from ear to ear. His once shining armor of blue and black has been reduced to a dull, pock-marked hunk of metal after too many years of service. Personal History ◢ Ravanor Kell was born on Tuchanka in 2032. Despite being the smallest and weakest of his clutch Kell was one of only three to survivor past infancy. An old male of his clan, Ghoramund, claimed the right of parentage over him, adopting him from the female clan and taking Kell under his wing. That old Krogan saw the rest of his people as vainglorious, unambitious and doomed to extinction if they remained on their current path. As a battlemaster, Ghoramund was one of the most powerful biotics and skilled combatants in Clan Ravanor; he hoped to use that power and influence to take the warlord of Ravanor's seat for himself in the hopes that he could steer his people along a better path. He failed. The warlord cast him out instead of claiming Ghoramund's head. Beaten but not broken Ghoramund sought out the female clans and claimed Kell as his own. He hoped to raise the boy to someday become the leader he was not. Over the next century and half the two Krogan traveled Tunchanka and eventually the rest of the galaxy together. They worked as mercenaries for employers Ghoramund deemed worthy causes, and he used every job as an opportunity to teach Kell what it meant to be a true warrior. Every moment they were not fighting was time they spent in their studies, enriching their minds and bodies alike. It was a spiritual experience for the young Kell and he cherished every moment of it. Their travels brought them into contact with everything from the Blood Pack on Omega to Thresher Maws on distant worlds to Batarian pirates in the Skyllian Verge. Their adventures together came to an end when Ghoramund was crippled by an Asari commando in 2176, five years ago. The old man chose a quiet life of retirement on the Citadel, using the funds he'd earned over the centuries to live lavishly. He urged Kell to continue his travels throughout the galaxy so that he may gain the strength and allies needed to eventually return home to Ravanor to set the clan right. Kell was trepidatious about working on his own for the first time, but it seemed an exciting opportunity to grow beyond his mentor's shadow. Combat Analysis ◢ Ravanor Kell is a master of taking and holding ground. He uses his combination of biotic talents and technology to fortify particular areas and dig in, ready to drive back any threat that dares approach his zone of control. He works best in tandem with more offensive warriors who can take advantage of his protection to strike down their enemies. Kell prefers close ranged combat where he can use his Claymore to devastating affect, though he is arguably more proficient with his hand cannon, Lover's Kiss, as he's used the weapon since he was a boy. Reason for Vacating Previous Situation ◢ The wounding of his mentor and father figure drove Kell into striking out on his own. He's spent the last five years floating from job to job, taking any work that strikes him as interesting. The Exo-Geni offer was brought to his attention by an old friend of his, Yamora, an Asari information broker and one-time love of Ghoramund.

Age of Marvels - A Marvel Comics Roleplay [CLOSED]

_{AGE OF MARVELS: Wolverine}

ISSUE #1: Logan Goes to Washington

---

_{Lion's Head Pub ♦ Greenwich Village, New York City}

Logan sat alone at the bar counter as he nursed his eighteenth Rheingold beer. He had decided it was shit three sips into his first glass. When the big man behind the counter recommended it Logan had felt an itch at the back of his mind at the name, like hearing a long dead friend's name said for the first time in twenty years. Yet when he finally put the glass to his lips it tasted wrong, somehow. Funny, considering he couldn't remember what it used to taste like; all he knew was it was better than this piss water.

The Lion's Head Pub was obnoxious busy that night. Near half a hundred people were stuffed together like sardines on the main dining room floor. All the tables and chairs were gone so the crowd could better stand around and listen to some speech. Logan was doing his best to tune it out, enhanced hearing be damned. He'd been here first and he wasn't about to go wander the streets of Greenwich looking for a different middling bar to drink a different shitty beer in.

"What's that all 'bout, anyway?" Logan asked the bartender, motioning with his glass toward the crowd at the other end of the pub. There were posters up on tri-pod stands with some woman's face on them looking stern and defiant and bright, bold text beneath her picture declaring 'say no to hate.'

The man behind the bar turned around with a cloth in one hand and a clean glass in the other. Even with all these people around the bar itself was practically dead; everyone had either been served already or were only here for the rally. He was a tall man, broad as he was in the shoulder as he was in the gut. Logan was shorter, denser, and hairier, like the human embodiment of a badger.

"Congresswoman Cooper's an old friend of the owner. Seems like she's been here every other week since that bill hit the floor."

Logan had heard about the Mutant Control Act on the radio a few times, though it never much interested him. People being scared of his kind wasn't new. Ever since he woke up in the snow he'd been treated more like a wild animal than a man. What difference did it make if the government acknowledged what the rest of those pricks thought? "Sounds like a waste of oxygen." Logan admitted, finishing his glass.

The man behind the bar stopped to glare at Logan. "Its important, man. You can't ignore stuff like this just because it doesn't effect you. People are going to get hurt."

The grin Logan gave the man only seemed to agitate him more. He rolled his eyes and walked away to pretend to work somewhere else.

Unable to secure another drink and tired of brooding, Logan paid his tab and wandered over to the dining room side of the Lion's Head Pub. It was a bit larger than the bar portion, especially with the chairs, tables and other furniture removed. The place still felt cramped for a meeting of this size. There was a small stage up against the wall where a young woman in a suit stood giving an impassioned speech on the necessity of opposing bigotry in all its forms. Logan had to admit she was a compelling speaker. The subject seemed personal to her, and she was informative without getting lost in detail.

"We know what discriminatory legislation like the Mutant Control Act leads to because we've seen it happen before right here in our very own city. In the 80s the city government- citing baseless fears the 'Brotherhood of Mutants' had a foothold in our streets- cracked down on our mutant population. Any visible mutation was treated like a danger to the public. Innocent men and women were violently attacked by the police and imprisoned for the crime of being born wrong."

Her passion spread through the room like a wildfire. The crowd was visibly angry, many people shouting their agreements loud enough to drown Cooper herself out at times; but the woman had some pipes of her own, to her credit, and she never stayed unheard for long. Part of him wondered if all that fury was coming from self-preservation. Wouldn't be the first time a mutant tried to hide who they really were. 'What else could it be? S'not like there's money to be made defending dangerous freaks.'

Something caught Logan's attention, dragging his thoughts to his surroundings for the first time. He sniffed the air, sifting through the smell of sweat, cologne and alcohol. Gunpowder. There was armed security on either end of the stage so that shouldn't have been surprising. Still, even as he tried to watch Cooper, that scent nagged at him. Slowly, casually, he made his way through the crowd, sniffing like a blood hound on the trail of a downed bird. There were the two guns nearby on the hips of both bodyguards, and...something fainter. Further away.

Logan stopped at the window next to the door to peer outside. The street wasn't particularly busy tonight. There was a van from a local news station parked outside, and a small group of protesters on the sidewalk making sure they could be seen in the background of the news caster. But the scent was coming from further up, on the other side of the street. Police sniper? No, the NYPD used a specific finish on their rifles.

"Shit. Get down!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, turning on his heel to charge at the stage. The security man nearest him was caught off guard by the act and failed to draw his pistol. Clambering confusion turned to panicked screams as a bullet tore through the window and into Logan's back just as he reached Cooper, shoving her to ground to kneel over her.

Two more shots rang out, another into Logan's skull and a second into the bodyguard closest to the window, who dropped like a sack of potatoes. People ran for cover, and the door, or went nowhere at all and stood in stunned silence at the unexpected violence.

By now the other bodyguard had drawn his gun and returned fire, though he didn't seem to know what the hell he was shooting at. Logan grabbed the back of his bleeding head. "That's an apartment building, dumbass. Stop shooting." He managed to groan. He either went unheard or was outright ignored.

"Jesus, are you okay?" The congresswoman looked up at Logan with a mixture of fear and concern on her face. She attempted to grab him and push him out of the way of further gunfire, only to find it was harder to move Logan than a fully stocked fridge.

"Just peachy, bub, now stay down." He yelled over the din, trying to get an eye on the sniper. A flash came from the third window from the left on the top floor and something dinged against Logan's forehead. There was a metallic ding as metal collided with metal and a gout of blood poured down his face. He had his target.

Logan grabbed Cooper by the shoulders and all but dragged her across the stage to where her guard was taking cover. She offered a word of thanks as she crawled into safety, making sure to keep her head well away from the line of fire. Once he was sure she was good Logan took off at a sprint. He moved faster than a man of his weight had any right to, barreling across the pub and leaping through the pane glass window before the sniper had even adjusted from the recoil of their last shot.

"You picked the wrong bar, asshole!" Wolverine roared as his claws burst out of his flesh and he barreled through the building’s front door.

Age of Marvels - A Marvel Comics Roleplay [CLOSED]

LESSGOOOO

Mass Effect: Harpocrates

will work on mr. Krogan when I get home. Let’s break some shit

Mass Effect: Harpocrates

Let’s do this

Age of Marvels - A Marvel Comics Roleplay [CLOSED]

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

W O L V E R I N E

---

^{_{L O G A N H U D S O N ♦ N O N E ♦ M O B I L E ♦ I N D E P E N D E N T}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

---

^{"I'm the best there is at what I do."}

Logan Hudson is a man trying to escape a past he doesn't remember. Flashes of memory come to him in his dreams to tell him he is far older than most: the sound of nineteenth century shot and cannon soaring overhead, Logan sloshing through the water of the pacific ocean onto a beach assailed by machine gun fire, or a whip slashing long strips off his flesh in a prison camp deep in some hellish jungle. All those terrible memories his subconscious dregs up are of war, violence and death. His old life was not a pleasant one, Logan decided, and he's spent half a decade trying to leave it behind him.

No shortage of good people have helped him on his path: James and Heather Hudson of Alpha Flight gave him aid when he first awoke naked in the frozen Canadian wilderness, and Charles Xavier offered Logan a home at his institute whenever he was ready to return there. He spent some time there among Chuck and his pupils, yet the call of the road and the wood always seem to drag him away. Something in Logan's gut is calling to him, though why he couldn't possibly say. All he knows is that he'll never find it sitting around the mansion sipping martinis.

Wolverine as a character has an audaciously long history, both editorially and in-universe. There's such a well of material to draw from that its difficult to find a place to start. Part of me wanted to reinvent Logan in some way this go-around- give some new spin on an old character we've all seen a dozen times before. But as I revised and reworked the sheet I came to the conclusion that all my ideas were shit and there's a reason Wolverine is at his best in his classic gold-and-blues. So I'm returning Wolverine to his roots as an amnesiac on-and-off-again X-Man with a past he's afraid to confront. He's a violent bruiser trying to turn over a new leaf that continuously falls off the wagon, yet gets up to try again regardless.

My first arc with Logan will find him in the center of an assassination attempt on Congresswoman Valerie Cooper- a harsh opponent of the Mutant Control Act- by a Purifier-inspired terrorist group, the Mutant Response Division. Much as he's loathed to get involved in politics even Logan can't stand by and watch an innocent woman be murdered.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

---

The name 'Logan' was given to Wolverine by Charles Xavier. When asked about a surname he chose to adopt the name of the leaders of the Alpha Flight who had treated him with such warmth years ago. The Hudsons are unaware they've adopted a stray. Logan does not know his birth name.

As for the timeline: Logan lived as ‘James Howlett’ for nearly two centuries until he awoke without his prior memories in the wilderness in 2017. He spent three years in the care of Alpha Flight before coming to the states and meeting Charles Xavier. He was on an on-again-off-again associate, ally and member of the X-Men up til his departure ten months ago. He’s spent that time wandering around the northeastern United States without any particular goal or destination in mind, drinking himself into a stupor and finding a new shithole to sleep in every night.

I'm going to keep Logan's supporting cast small as we begin. It may grow larger as his story progresses, but I don't wish to claim too many mutant NPCs given how much interest there is in the X-Men and their many associates this game. I hope to work closely with those players and perhaps we may share a number of supporting characters in the future.

supporting cast

Valerie Cooper - Congresswoman representing the tenth district of New York. She's a young, progressive firebrand with strong national support and a wide-reaching network of allies and donors. Cooper is an outspoken opponent of Graydon Creed and Robert Kelly, and has spent every waking moment of Kelly's administration fighting him on mutant rights.

James and Heather Hudson - James and Heather Hudson are the leaders of Alpha Flight, a superhero team sponsored by the Canadian government. They, along with the rest of the team, found Logan wandering the Canadian wilderness stark naked and near feral. They nursed him back to health and gave him a place to stay for over two years as he recovered. Logan has struggled to remain in contact with them since leaving for the states, but he tries to call every couple months.

rogues gallery

Mutant Response Division - The MRD is a well-funded terrorist group targeting key politicians and public figures that support the mutant cause. Its sponsors and leadership remain unknown, though its top assassin is a professional hitman named Matthew Riseman, a former member of the Purifiers that escaped arrest in the 80s.

Victor Creed - Also known as Saberooth, Victor is an old enemy from Logan's past that has been stalking him since his return to the states. They have a shared history involving the Weapon Plus program.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

post

_{AGE OF MARVELS: Wolverine}

ISSUE #1: Logan Goes to Washington

---

_{Lion's Head Pub ♦ Greenwich Village, New York City}

Logan sat alone at the bar counter as he nursed his eighteenth Rheingold beer. He had decided it was shit three sips into his first glass. When the big man behind the counter recommended it Logan had felt an itch at the back of his mind at the name, like hearing a long dead friend's name said for the first time in twenty years. Yet when he finally put the glass to his lips it tasted wrong, somehow. Funny, considering he couldn't remember what it used to taste like; all he knew was it was better than this piss water.

The Lion's Head Pub was obnoxious busy that night. Near half a hundred people were stuffed together like sardines on the main dining room floor. All the tables and chairs were gone so the crowd could better stand around and listen to some speech. Logan was doing his best to tune it out, enhanced hearing be damned. He'd been here first and he wasn't about to go wander the streets of Greenwich looking for a different middling bar to drink a different shitty beer in.

"What's that all 'bout, anyway?" Logan asked the bartender, motioning with his glass toward the crowd at the other end of the pub. There were posters up on tri-pod stands with some woman's face on them looking stern and defiant and bright, bold text beneath her picture declaring 'say no to hate.'

The man behind the bar turned around with a cloth in one hand and a clean glass in the other. Even with all these people around the bar itself was practically dead; everyone had either been served already or were only here for the rally. He was a tall man, broad as he was in the shoulder as he was in the gut. Logan was shorter, denser, and hairier, like the human embodiment of a badger.

"Congresswoman Cooper's an old friend of the owner. Seems like she's been here every other week since that bill hit the floor."

Logan had heard about the Mutant Control Act on the radio a few times, though it never much interested him. People being scared of his kind wasn't new. Ever since he woke up in the snow he'd been treated more like a wild animal than a man. What difference did it make if the government acknowledged what the rest of those pricks thought? "Sounds like a waste of oxygen." Logan admitted, finishing his glass.

The man behind the bar stopped to glare at Logan. "Its important, man. You can't ignore stuff like this just because it doesn't effect you. People are going to get hurt."

The grin Logan gave the man only seemed to agitate him more. He rolled his eyes and walked away to pretend to work somewhere else.

Unable to secure another drink and tired of brooding, Logan paid his tab and wandered over to the dining room side of the Lion's Head Pub. It was a bit larger than the bar portion, especially with the chairs, tables and other furniture removed. The place still felt cramped for a meeting of this size. There was a small stage up against the wall where a young woman in a suit stood giving an impassioned speech on the necessity of opposing bigotry in all its forms. Logan had to admit she was a compelling speaker. The subject seemed personal to her, and she was informative without getting lost in detail.

"We know what discriminatory legislation like the Mutant Control Act leads to because we've seen it happen before right here in our very own city. In the 80s the city government- citing baseless fears the 'Brotherhood of Mutants' had a foothold in our streets- cracked down on our mutant population. Any visible mutation was treated like a danger to the public. Innocent men and women were violently attacked by the police and imprisoned for the crime of being born wrong."

Her passion spread through the room like a wildfire. The crowd was visibly angry, many people shouting their agreements loud enough to drown Cooper herself out at times; but the woman had some pipes of her own, to her credit, and she never stayed unheard for long. Part of him wondered if all that fury was coming from self-preservation. Wouldn't be the first time a mutant tried to hide who they really were. 'What else could it be? S'not like there's money to be made defending dangerous freaks.'

Something caught Logan's attention, dragging his thoughts to his surroundings for the first time. He sniffed the air, sifting through the smell of sweat, cologne and alcohol. Gunpowder. There was armed security on either end of the stage so that shouldn't have been surprising. Still, even as he tried to watch Cooper, that scent nagged at him. Slowly, casually, he made his way through the crowd, sniffing like a blood hound on the trail of a downed bird. There were the two guns nearby on the hips of both bodyguards, and...something fainter. Further away.

Logan stopped at the window next to the door to peer outside. The street wasn't particularly busy tonight. There was a van from a local news station parked outside, and a small group of protesters on the sidewalk making sure they could be seen in the background of the news caster. But the scent was coming from further up, on the other side of the street. Police sniper? No, the NYPD used a specific finish on their rifles.

"Shit. Get down!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, turning on his heel to charge at the stage. The security man nearest him was caught off guard by the act and failed to draw his pistol. Clambering confusion turned to panicked screams as a bullet tore through the window and into Logan's back just as he reached Cooper, shoving her to ground to kneel over her.

Two more shots rang out, another into Logan's skull and a second into the bodyguard closest to the window, who dropped like a sack of potatoes. People ran for cover, and the door, or went nowhere at all and stood in stunned silence at the unexpected violence.

By now the other bodyguard had drawn his gun and returned fire, though he didn't seem to know what the hell he was shooting at. Logan grabbed the back of his bleeding head. "That's an apartment building, dumbass. Stop shooting." He managed to groan. He either went unheard or was outright ignored.

"Jesus, are you okay?" The congresswoman looked up at Logan with a mixture of fear and concern on her face. She attempted to grab him and push him out of the way of further gunfire, only to find it was harder to move Logan than a fully stocked fridge.

"Just peachy, bub, now stay down." He yelled over the din, trying to get an eye on the sniper. A flash came from the third window from the left on the top floor and something dinged against Logan's forehead. There was a metallic ding as metal collided with metal and a gout of blood poured down his face. He had his target.

Logan grabbed Cooper by the shoulders and all but dragged her across the stage to where her guard was taking cover. She offered a word of thanks as she crawled into safety, making sure to keep her head well away from the line of fire. Once he was sure she was good Logan took off at a sprint. He moved faster than a man of his weight had any right to, barreling across the pub and leaping through the pane glass window before the sniper had even adjusted from the recoil of their last shot.

"You picked the wrong bar, asshole!" Wolverine roared as his claws burst out of his flesh and he barreled through the building’s front door.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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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 arcs and stories.

Age of Marvels - A Marvel Comics Roleplay [CLOSED]

Age of Marvels - A Marvel Comics Roleplay [CLOSED]

Don’t die!

Age of Marvels - A Marvel Comics Roleplay [CLOSED]

If anyone has any feedback on Nova let me know

@Sep

His name's Dick Rider. That is all