udonoodles

Age of Marvels - A Marvel Comics Roleplay [CLOSED]

currently throwing down with a mystery illness, but the bulk of my first victor post is done. i should have it posted early tomorrow, when my sinuses decide to depressurise themselves.

Age of Marvels - A Marvel Comics Roleplay [CLOSED]

i vastly overestimated the ability of my energy reserves to endure a christmas party, so my victor post will be somewhat delayed. if anyone was waiting on me to post first for the gm event, feel free to slide in now at your discretion—though i should be able to post tomorrow.

Age of Marvels - A Marvel Comics Roleplay [CLOSED]

in that case, i'll throw victor into the thick of things, and we can play by ear for beck and the others. should have a post up shortly!

Age of Marvels - A Marvel Comics Roleplay [CLOSED]

great! given that midtown manhattan is victor's base of operations, i think getting involved with the current event is the best course of action. assuming it hasn't hit capacity yet, i'll put forward my interest for it if anyone would like to make a plan of action.

@mintz dropping a mention, since you said you were interested in the event as well.

Age of Marvels - A Marvel Comics Roleplay [CLOSED]

Victor "The Vision"

S T A R K I N D U S T R I E S P R E S E N T S . . .

T H E V I S I O N

---

^{_{V I C T O R ♦ S U P E R H E R O ♦ S T A R K T O W E R ♦ S T A R K I N D U S T R I E S}}

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

---

^{"Personality module engaged. Victor online."}

In the 1940s, Howard Stark had a vision. Working closely with the United States government on various clandestine projects, he foresaw their true potential: Some only saw in present tense—their ideas were purely contemporary, focusing on the best ways to exploit their discoveries in their battle against the Axis Powers. But Howard looked ahead, and saw the true meaning of this discovery—the world, changing as they knew it. Technology evolving rapidly on a scale which hadn't been seen since the Industrial Revolution. With that change came an opportunity for harmony and evolution—and with harmony and evolution came the balancing forces of discord and desolation. Their discoveries could bring about a golden age of humanity, or allow terror and strife to run rampant and scorch the Earth. They could not hope to possibly understand the gravity of what they had uncovered—but they could still plan for its consequences. A solution had to be put in place now, to safeguard the future from uncertainty. In a world of great power, responsibility would be humanity's only hope of survival.

So began Project Vision. Howard's "vision" of a world enriched by technology, not unbalanced by it, would be made real. It began as a mere concept in the mid 40s, though the discovery of extra-terrestrial life encouraged Mr. Stark to expedite his development process. Howard threw himself into his work, devoting every second he could to crafting new ways to implement his vision.

As the years progressed, many concepts were explored: The first few years of the project were a dead-end, focused on an ultimately fruitless attempt to recreate the super-soldier serum. Weaponry was considered, but shelved after R&D failed to reverse engineer the salvaged Kree technology. In later years, A.I. was pursued, but soon after abandoned due to the limitations of technology at the time.
The project was a Sisyphean task, paused and abandoned and restarted time and time again, as responsibilities pulled Howard's attention elsewhere. It received a lifeline in the form of tentative interest from the SHIELD organisation. Intrigued, they assisted with funding and headhunting for top minds to assist Howard and lighten the burden. It was through this that Howard began to cultivate an inner circle of like-minded individuals, and Project Vision began to truly take shape.

The answer had always been right in front of him, as this circle helped him realise: The mutants that had kick-started his epiphany all those years ago. After decades of their now-public existence, it became clear that these mutants had extraordinary powers—powers that could be harnessed for the good of humanity. But the good of "humanity" was exactly what gave Mr. Stark pause: In the recent years, groups like the Brotherhood of Mutants had made it clear that there was a deep gulf between "humans" and "mutants". The ordinary populace was rife with distrust for the mutants, and many felt the same vice-versa. For this to truly be the answer to Project Vision's question, the power had to be divorced from the politics: An impartial being, neither human nor mutant, had to be the one to safeguard the world.

Cooperation between Howard and the inner circle led to the creation of a miniaturised Arc Reactor, intended to act as the metaphorical "heart" of their creation. Basic prototypes were constructed, creating artificial intelligences that could draw upon the immense power of the Reactor to enable real, human-like thoughts. They could respond to stimuli, imagine, dream, and even converse.
Soon, however, the concept the inner circle had envisioned began to seem unreachable. Their forward-thinking was their Achilles' Heel: Their ideal creation was too advanced, impossible to create with the technology of their time. Disagreements arose about the best course of action, the flames of discourse stoked by an increasingly paranoid Howard Stark. Soon, he began to shut others out of the project, fearful it would collapse when they had come so close. SHIELD's mothballing cut off a significant portion of funding, further limiting their prospects. Many collaborators dropped from the project, now without a source of income to justify their participation.

Then, rather abruptly, Howard's paranoia paid off: He and his wife were assassinated by agents of HYDRA, the crime scene carefully planned so as to resemble a car accident. With most collaborators either having quit or been shut out, Project Vision came to an indefinite end. All files relating to the project were shelved, stuffed away in the archives of Stark Industries. The technology developed was put to use elsewhere, provided it could be reverse-engineered.

Howard's vision proved prophetic. As he had foreseen, the planet needed defenders—the Chitauri Invasion was his nightmare, made real. Mercifully, the worst had been avoided, but the war nonetheless took a brutal toll on humanity. For the millions left behind with lasting psychological damage, they chose many different methods of coping with their collective trauma. Some lashed out at the world around them, forming militant groups reminiscent of those from the 80s. Some put their hope in the heroes that had saved them, and looked towards the future. Others, like Marianella Mancha, looked to the past.

Marianella Mancha, an employee at Stark Industries, was the one to uncover the plans for Project Vision. She, like Howard Stark, was resolute in the opinion that the world needed a saviour—and that technology would be that saviour. Rooting through the files to find answers to the questions that the Invasion posed, she happened upon Project Vision—available for all employees, but simply ignored until now.

With the backing of a rekindled partnership with SHIELD, Marianella was successful in pitching the revival of Project Vision to Stark Industries' board of directors and CEO. Now, with the technology that Howard lacked, she could see his vision made manifest.

After nearly thirteen years in development, the project had finally reached its completion. An Arc Reactor served as the heart of the creation, as intended. Though its body was built and not grown, DNA lived in its synthetic organs—Mancha's own, selectively edited to account for the absence of a father. Satisfying all five major characters of life, their creation was a new type of being, neither mutant nor human. They named their creations' species as Synthezoid, and named their creation themself as the Vision. It was the last in a long line of attempts, and thus was worthy of the moniker Howard had dreamed of bestowing. Later, however, he chose a name for himself: Victor.

However ethically dubious one may find it, Victor effectively lives as an employee of Stark Industries. He carries out his work defending humanity, and in return is provided with food and shelter. What exactly he is, and whether he is truly living, is up for debate—and that debate serves as a legal firestorm for the lawyers of Stark Industries to shield themselves from any potential ethics breaches. For better or for worse, the Vision is here to stay.

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

---

Necessary NPCs for Victor include Howard Stark (deceased) and Marianella Mancha. Other NPCS or player characters can be included in Project Vision's "inner circle" to allow connections if interest is expressed.

Marianella Mancha is Victor's supervisor, as the head of Project Vision. Work is ongoing to improve and develop upon him, though hampered by Ms. Mancha's ethical reservations.

As a Synthezoid, Victor's body functions very differently from that of a human.

Victor is powered by an Arc Reactor. Thus, he does not need food for the purposes of energy.
Victor's organs are made of a synthetic material designed to mimic organic tissue. Thus, by eating, he can immediately provide his body with the necessary materials to repair damage.
Rather than blood, a stream of microscopic nanites flow through Victor's veins. Though not as advanced as the likes of the Bleeding Edge nanites, they can break down food into raw materials to self-replicate and repair. Victor can control these nanites through thought, directing them in the process of repair. These nanites contain Victor's DNA.
Due to Victor's highly irregular anatomy, he is immune to diseases, drugs and poisons that afflict humans and animals. Theoretically, however, it may be possible to design a special synthetic virus capable of infecting his nanites. Likewise, most third-party healing abilities do not work on him, and he would be unable to gain any benefits from something like the Super-Soldier Serum.
Victor does not need to sleep. However, he can enter a hibernation phase akin to sleep. In this phase, all processes except repair are disabled, allowing it to be carried out at a greatly accelerated rate.

Victor's normal shape greatly resembles that of the standard, red-skinned Vision of Earth-616. However, his complete control over his body allows him to restructure and alter his appearance into the more human-like form he commonly takes. Theoretically, he could take on other forms, potentially even mimicking the appearance of others, however Victor refuses to do so on moral, as well as practical, grounds. It took tremendous work and concentration to even be able to shift between his human and "Vision" self: To take on another form would certainly be just as difficult. Victor's form can also revert to his original, red-skinned self entirely or in localised areas after sustaining enough damage.

Victor was designed to mimic the powers of mutants, and thus possesses "powers" of his own.

Victor's nanite blood can interface with and control technology. Most notably, they can pass data from a device into Victor's brain.
Via thrusters on his hands and feet, Victor can levitate and fly.
Due to his unique biology, Victor possesses greatly enhanced strength, durability and stamina.
Victor's fingers are capable of firing blasts of energy. Each finger can fire energy individually, can group up for a "shotgun" spread blast, or they can coalesce their blasts to form a concentrated beam.
Victor can detach limbs and allow them to function separately, by puppeteering them with his nanite blood.
Victor's brain is incredibly advanced, heightening his reaction times and making him highly intelligent.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

“Good evening, and welcome to Newsfront. I’m Christine Everheart, reporting live on the news that matters most to you. Now, coming up on our program, we’ll have more on the recent Vortex incident in New York, and we’ll be hearing more from the American ambassador to the UN on the future of the Sentinel program. But first, our top story tonight: Neither man nor mutant, but hero. Those are the words of Stark Industries CEO Obadiah Stane concerning the Vision, Stark’s answer to the Sentinels and a so-called new form of life. But just what sets a Synthezoid apart from humanity, and can they be trusted to protect us? Well, earlier today, we got our first look at the Vision, as…”
Reaching forward, a weathered hand took hold of the radio’s dial, cranking the volume down to total silence. He didn’t need to hear that, Marianella reasoned. And frankly, neither did she.

She smiled reassuringly across the stainless steel table. Victor met it with a curious gaze, his smile less reassured and more pleasantly puzzled.
“You’re smiling,” he noted cheerily. “That means you have bad news.”

Marianella sighed, the stifled chuckles of the researchers in the observatory not going unheard. Sometimes, she thought Victor was too clever for his own good.
“Well, not bad news, exactly. You remember Mr. Stane, don’t you?”

Victor nodded.
“Bald,” he described succinctly. “Oh, is this a memory test? I can recall further details, if you’d like. I distinctly remember detecting traces of Minoxidil—”

“No, Victor, that’s alright,” Marianella brought him to a stop with a raised hand. It was almost Pavlovian, at this point: A raised hand with straight fingers meant stop, and a thumbs up meant go. That was interesting—more demonstrated capacity to learn and adapt over the long-term.

“You’re calling me Victor,” he sounded pleased.

“That’s what you like to be called, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

The others didn’t warm to his insistence on personhood quite as quickly as Dr. Mancha. But then, she’d always had a special relationship with him—they did, after all, share the same blood.
“Okay, Victor. Today, you were on a mission. And it went well, but there were a few snags, weren’t there?”

“Snags,” he echoed. “Yes. My cape was snagged on several occasions. I find this…” He furrowed his brow. “...Inefficient design. Perhaps if it were prehensile—”

“Well, yes, but I meant snags in the more…Figurative sense. Remember, figures of speech?”

Victor “ahh”ed in understanding, nodding his head with a once again raised brow.
“Yes! I am as cool as a cucumber. By snags, you meant impediments to my combat performance?”

Marianella clapped her hands together, nodding.
“Exactly, yes. Well, as I said before, Mr. Stane thinks it would be worthwhile if we could download your memories to review.”

Victor’s expression hardened again, his tone more serious than before.
“I object,” he declared succinctly. “My memories are mine alone. Copying them would undermine my individuality.” Victor glared straight past Dr. Mancha, into the mirror that he knew was one-way. “I am a person. I have intellect.”
There was a silence. Awkward, uneasy.. Marianella’s eyes shifted around the room. Victor’s shoulders were tense.
Finally, he spoke.
“However,” he was lighter, now, the tension in his body dissipating. “I would not object to sharing them orally. That is how humans share, isn’t it?”

Marianella paused to consider the proposition. The higher-ups objected to anything that could solidify Victor’s claims to personhood: The more he saw himself as an individual, the more dangerous he became, the more difficult it was to justify his continued existence to the scrutinous UN.
“Well, yes,” Dr. Mancha reasoned, nodding slowly. “If…” She considered her words carefully. “...That would make you more comfortable, we can just talk about how you think things went.”

“Excellent,” Victor nodded, leaning back in his chair. “As you know, I was dispatched to deal with a supervillain threat in the Flatiron Public Plaza, as I recall…”

This was going to go down terribly at the next board meeting. The moment she walked out that door, her colleagues were going to rip into her as unprofessional and dangerous. Jeopardising Victor in an attempt to protect him.
But they could kiss her ass, frankly.

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

---

Accessing memory banks...
Parsing...

• TBA

Age of Marvels - A Marvel Comics Roleplay [CLOSED]

@Retired can i ask about how victor's sheet is looking? it's been 5 days since i added the sample post to it, though i understand if it might have flown under the radar given that a lot's happened OOC since then.

ʜᴀᴡᴛʜᴏʀɴᴇ ᴀᴄᴀᴅᴇᴍʏ

Elio and Hannah

_{feat. Teddy Douglas and Callen Warren}

---

Eli had the distinct feeling the big, lost look in his eyes was finally paying dividends when his personal space was suddenly intruded upon. Almost violently so.

Even as Hannah came within inches of a collision, Eli didn’t flinch. He’d seen her coming: Generally, crashing into someone wasn’t a split-second thing. In the moment, it was—but that neglected the usual buildup of missteps and poor path plotting that put one or both of the crashees on their collision course.
Which was a smart-sounding way of saying she very obviously, visually clearly, wasn’t looking where she was going.

“I noticed,” Eli replied softly, bluntly, not looking away from the dorm listings. From the mouth of someone else, it might have sounded like a snarky stab—But there wasn’t a hint of malice in his tone. It was the simple, honest truth, as he was compelled to tell it: He indeed had noticed she wasn’t paying attention. He would have moved, but he wasn’t finished reading the list until…Just about now, actually.

His introduction was far curter. He turned from the list, facing Hannah with a personable, but restrained smile. “Elio. Or Eli. Whichever you prefer.” Previously sounding English, the undertones of his accent now finally broke through: The “r”s in “whichever” and “prefer” rolled off the tongue in a distinctly Spanish sense, revealing a pleasant Anglo-Spanish linguistic fusion. He pointed to his name on the list, his nails painted a deep black.

“Hemlock?” He remarked, finally a note of intrigue creeping into his tone. “Mm. Werewolves.”
A man of few words, it seemed—but not for long.
“You’re lucky. I got the vampires. Apparently they’re supposed to be…” He narrowed his eyes. Eli chewed his words, tossing each possible descriptor around on his tongue to feel it out.
“...Assholes,” he finally landed on, succinctly. “...Allegedly.”
Allegedly was the operative word. His sources, in their hirsuteness, weren’t exactly unbiased spectators.

“Harmless? It’s twenty-five metres tall,” he furrowed his brow, seeming confused. “You could easily crush someone with that. It'd be a lot harder to treat than poisoning, too.”
Once again, it was clear he wasn’t trying to be snarky. He seemed to be genuinely convinced Hannah had failed to consider gravity in her judgement of deadliness.

Hadn’t she asked him something, actually?
“I guess we could take a look around. I dunno, I thought there would be a…tour, or something. For us,” Eli gestured between them, neophytes united. “But no,” he sighed, forlornly. “We have to figure it out ourselves. Which is a good way to excuse trespassing.”
Beckoning Hannah to follow, Eli strode off into the crowd, unflappable.

“I don’t get this whole supernatural thing just yet,” he mused idly as they went, heading in the opposite direction of anyone seeming in dire need of a suntan. “Why do they hate each other, again?” He cast a glance between a pale-looking young man, scowling up a flight of stairs, and a copper-haired woman, sat by the dormitory listings.
Oh. That was the tour-guide, wasn’t it?
That was intimidating. They had to go up and ask for help themselves? No thank you. At least if she’d went rounding them all up beforehand, he’d have nowhere to run. Besides, she was all the way over there, and they were all the way over here, and there were so many bodies between them.
That was a lot of effort for something that would expedite the process of discovery whilst simultaneously bureaucratising it.

“You’re not as clueless as me about all this, are you? The supernatural, I mean. I was trying to look lost in the hallway, back there, so someone who wasn’t would swoop in and let me interrogate them.”
He was awfully forthcoming about all of this.
“I’m not sure if it worked.”

---

@Olive Fontaine

Avengers: Unlimited

@udonoodles
Checking in if you guys are still interested in participating. If yes, please let me know when to expect a character sheet from you.

i'm still interested, though given the majority of my ideas have been overruled by the present cast, i might need some time to think over new ones. is there a deadline you had in mind for entries?

edit: on second thought, i don't think i have much to contribute here, so i'll be bowing out.

Age of Marvels - A Marvel Comics Roleplay [CLOSED]

after nine years in development, i've cleaned up victor's sheet formatting and added a sample post featuring himself and marianella. hopefully, everything is up to snuff.

ʜᴀᴡᴛʜᴏʀɴᴇ ᴀᴄᴀᴅᴇᴍʏ

---

Welcome to Japan

_{”If we don't watch the sun, it will rise.”}

---

Vincent teetered on the edge of the footpath with trepidation. He stared into the bottomless abyss of the chauffeur’s backseat, white-knuckled grip tightening into a stranglehold on the handle of his suitcase. The crisp, frosty air of the early September morning chilled him to the bone, nipped at his nose. He could feel the driver staring through the windows at him, searing a hole through what remained of his soul.
He was beginning to get the distinct feeling he’d forgotten to pack his charger.

A sudden hand pressing against his lower back jolted him out of his spiral, and nearly out of his skin.
“Jesus Christ,” he hissed, stumbling on his feet as he turned to see the source. “Stevie, we talked about this.”

“Vincent,” his sister addressed him with all the warmth of the exsanguinated which she resembled. Her skin was deathly pale, even by vampiric standards—anaemic, in a cruel twist of fate. “You’re doing the thing.”

“What thing?”

“The thing.” That didn’t clarify anything.

“What thing?”

”The thing.”

“Where do you get off?”

“You do it all the time,” Stevie mused, ignoring her brother’s protests. As usual. She had her lines, and she’d stick to them. “And every time, I’ve pointed it out. And I call it the thing. And I make sure you hear me calling it the thing.”

“Okay, then, repeat it.”

“You’re trying to make yourself sick. Or cry. You’re thinking about the worst things you can so you can make yourself do something worth going home over.”
Vincent paused. She was exactly right—it had been a strategy practised and perfected over the years, finely honed. He had weaponised his anxious thinking, his tendency to overload. It was one more tool in his arsenal to avoid responsibility.

“You’re a freak.”

Steive cocked her head. “I’m right, though. You did it on your very first day, when you were a first year. You threw up, and I had to drag you back inside out of the rain like a little drowned ferret.”
Vincent pursed his lips, chewing his words into something less spiky. Yeah, he supposed she was right.

“Okay. So?”

“So shit or get off the pot. I wanna see waterworks, or I want you to get your skinny butt in that car. Or I’m going to be late.”
Shit or get off the pot. They really were related.

Vincent sighed in defeat, casting a glance over his shoulder and into the backseat. He saw it stretch endlessly away from him, the gap between the curb and the car widening into a ravenous gulf that threatened to swallow him whole should he miss the mark.

“Alright, fine.”

He tossed his suitcase halfheartedly, and it slid along the seats to his side of the car.
“You could have put that in the boot,” Stevie chimed in, watching her brother clamber in out of the cold morning.
“If you don’t stop talking, I’m jumping in front of your stupid little train the moment we get to the station. And I’ll make sure I get splattered on your dress.”
“Fair deuce.”
Stepping over the sidewalk, she pulled her headphones up from her neck and around her ears. She ducked into the car and slammed the door behind her, casting one glance back at the family manor. The engine spluttered to life, wheels cracking the ice beneath them as they turned, and moved out.

---

Orientation proved more difficult to slip out of than Vincent had anticipated. He kept waiting for the perfect moment, but it never arose—a second didn’t pass where at least one teacher wasn’t eyeing him like a hawk. So he sat there, as his stomach did somersaults and he jittered his legs frenetically beneath the table.
At least he could empathise with the weather, he thought as a roll of thunder boomed outside.
No, that was pathetic. Empathising with the weather? What was he, a sickly young Victorian woman with a penchant for pretty boys and poetry? Christ, he needed a smoke.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait long. Just when orientation was threatening to become an inescapable quagmire of self-congratulatory, played-out platitudes, they were cut loose. Vincent bounded up for his chair and made for the halls immediately, slender frame sliding through the dregs of a crowd that was beginning to form. Hands in the pockets of his slacks, he pushed forward, speed-walking past the dorm list. Nightshade Commons this time? Really shaking things up. He hadn’t been assigned to the Commons since last year.

Vincent knew where he was going by instinct. He could close his eyes and still find his way there—but that would either look completely ridiculous or a little creepy, so he wasn’t eager to try either way. Instead, he turned on his heel and skipped towards the stairs, stepping up swiftly. He was eager to get where he was going. Very eager. Like, “oh my god, I can’t believe I roll my own cigarettes just because I think it looks cool, now I’m going to have to wait even longer before I can smoke one and I’ll be tantalised the whole time” eager.
Finally, after what felt like five seconds—because for all his faults, he had a surprisingly unflappable internal clock—he reached the crest of the stairs, hopping on his heel out onto the balcony.

Vincent slowed to a saunter, swaggering up to the edge of the balcony and casting a glance out across the academy grounds. Covered, mercifully, so he could stay up here and mope without getting wet. What had Stevie said? Drowned ferret?
Yeah. He wouldn’t end up like a drowned ferret.

With one arm, Vince leaned his elbow against the balcony rail, and with the other, he pulled his suit jacket away from his side. He dove a hand into his inner pocket, fishing around for his things. Papers, filters, tobacco—and his lighter. Gang’s all here.
He retrieved them one by one, setting them on the edge of the balcony. Putting it all together was muscle memory by now, so he could afford to look out further across the academy. Here, his stomach was settled, and he could finally ground himself. The soft noise of the rain coming down was some comfort, a pleasant white noise drowning out the distant din of student chatter. He spread the paper out, taking a pinch of tobacco and sprinkling it out. He dropped a filter in at the end, rolling it up tightly. With a lick across the paper, he folded it shut and scrunched up what remained of the skin, and it was done. His cigarette. The good stuff.

The shadows danced across his face as he struck a flame up from his lighter. He popped the end of the rollie into his mouth, bringing the fire up to ignite the business end. Deeply, Vincent inhaled, taking his first smoke-filled breath of the day. He exhaled coolly, sighing with pent-up relief.
He was here now. No getting around it. Might as well start acclimating.