C L I N T B A R T O N ♦ R E T I R E D ♦ B R O O K L Y N ♦ E X - A V E N G E R
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:
"I got a killshot with a single arrow on an armored space whale from five city blocks away. You think the god of thunder could do that?"
The basic premise of this iteration of Clint Barton taking on the Ronin identity is to focus on the archer becoming more than just a goofy Avengers mascot. This version of Clint Barton served in the FBI briefly, working as a special agent to bring down the Circus of Crime. His undercover work was interrupted by the Chitauri invasion, and Hawkeye was part of the strike team that took down the Mother ship. He became a symbol within the Avengers, and did a lot of PR work for the superhero team. But as anti-mutant sentiment rose, and Clint nearly died in the fight against Gravitron, Hawkeye formally retired. He put away the bow, took a serious cash payout, and retired to Brooklyn.
Of course, that's not where Clint's story ends. Crime is rising in New York and the surrounding area, and a death in the Maggia has smaller gangs crawling out from hiding. When ninja bikers and carney assassins come knocking, Clint has to answer the call.
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:
Allies
Lucky the Pizza Dog - The best damn Golden Retriever in NYC, if not the world.
Bobbi Morse (Agent 19) - Shield Agent, total badass, and Clint Barton's emergency contact.
Barney Barton - Former circus carney and criminal, currently on parole and working various odd jobs.
Enemies
The Claws - A small time biker gang operating around Brooklyn, led by a man called "Bobcat".
The Clown - A vicious mercenary, contracted to take out enemies of the Maggia. Seems to have a personal interest in the Bartons.
Crossfire - A mercenary working with the Maggia, but with connections to Cross Technologies
Dillon Zarro - Right hand man of the Claws with a rap sheet longer than a CVS receipt.
The Death Throws - The remnants of the Circus of Crime have fallen into an uneasy peace with the Maggia, but operate around Coney Island. They are now led by Jacques DuQuesne.
Jacques DuQuesne (Swordsman) - Former mentor to Barney and Clint Barton, and long time member of the Circus of Crime. Has always managed to just narrowly avoid getting implicated in any former crimes of the Circus.
Maynard Tidbolt (Ringmaster) - The imprisoned leader of the Circus of Crime. Known to be a mutant capable of hypnotizing others if they look into his eyes.
S A M P L E P O S T:
"Hey, Stop!" A man with messy blonde hair sprinted full speed down the street, expertly dodging between pedestrians. His eyes locked on his target, an older man nonchalantly blended into the crowd maybe 50 yards ahead. Clint Barton grit his teeth as he continued powering forward, reaching a hand into his winter pea coat pocket. His fingers dug and searched through pocket lint, a used napkin, a theater ticket stub, and a few loose coins. Settling on one of the coins, Barton pulled out a quarter and raised it up towards his ear. His eyes quickly scanned the crowd ahead, as years of training helped Clint to plot out their paths and trajectories. Within but a moment, the former Avenger smiled. He had his trajectory. All he needed was one good shot. And Hawkeye never missed.
Clint snapped his fingers as he flicked his wrist, launching the coin forward in a slight horizontal arc. The coin seemed to seamlessly weave through the gaps between people as they walked. And with expert precision, the coin bounced off the back of the old man's head. The man shook his head and turned around, rubbing the back of his skull and scanning the nearby surroundings. Clint, now only 15 yards away, waved his arms wildly towards the man. The man made eye contact, before noticing the old leather wallet firmly in Clint Barton's left palm. The old man quickly began pushing through the crowd to get towards Clint. Before the former Avenger could even open his mouth, the old man began shrieking and cursing in Romanian. The man snatched back his wallet, and quickly scurried away while yelling things that Clint could recall Natasha yelling at him once.
Clint sighed as he pulled up the edges of his coat to help shield his face from the chill breeze. He slipped into the local bodega, stocked up on some milk and bread, and slipped out the back to get back to his apartment. It was an unassuming building, the brick exterior blending into the various houses and apartment buildings nearby. Most of the building was vacant at this point, with no one left living in the apartment except those who owned their units outright. This was to Clint's liking, as the closest apartment was owned by an old woman who couldn't hear Clint staying up late watching Netflix and tinkering in his spare bedroom/workshop. Clint wasn't surprised to see a few men in leather jackets loitering outside the front of the building, large images of Bobcat heads embroidered on the back with the word "Claws" stitched above it. Another local gang of sorts, from what Clint could tell from the paper. A gang of bikers who have been loitering around Southwest Brooklyn, stirring up trouble in Coney Island and the surrounding area. Clint just ducked his head down, avoiding eye contact. He was retired. The last thing he needed to do was pick a fight. He reached the front door to his building, pulled out his keys, and unlocked his door to try and slip into the lobby. If he wasn't so paranoid, he wouldn't have noticed the bikers quickly following him in the reflection of the neighboring reflective window.
Barton barely had time to react before he felt a fist collide with the back right side of his head. He felt the crunch of the hearing aid looped on his ear snapping, and his blood pulsing around where he was struck. He stumbled in through the now open door, spinning around to face his attackers. Only four guys, none packing any serious heat besides some knives... this wouldn't be so bad. Clint kept his eyes forward as he reached into his pocket, grabbing onto another one of his quarters. One of the bikers reached for a knife on his belt, slowly removing it from its sheathe. Clint gave a small smile as he quickly pulled his hand from his pocket, flicking the quarter with speed directly into the closest biker's eye. The impact was strong enough to leave the target stunned for a moment. The two unarmed bikers swooped in to grapple with Clint, and Barton quickly bullrushed one of them in response. He had wrestled with strong men before. Clint ducked his shoulder underneath the grip of the biker he charged, planting his shoulder right into the man's waist. As soon as he made contact, Barton stood up and used his free hand to help topple the biker face up onto the ground. With a painful thud, the biker groaned.
Clint couldn't react fast enough and was tackled onto his back by the other unarmed biker. The biker got two solid punches in on Clint before the latter could raise his arms in defense. Blow after blow impacted into the archer's forearms, the biker straddling him to keep him down. Clint waited for a moment of pause in the onslaught to reach up for the collar of the biker's shirt. He pulled the man's face down towards him, and drove his forehead into the man's nose. This was enough to give Barton an opening to push the disoriented biker off. He reassessed the situation, and groaned as he saw the biker with a knife rushing towards him. Clint's eyes locked on to the gallon of milk he had dropped lying on the ground next to him, and quickly lifted it to intercept the knife being plunged down towards him. The knife plunged halfway into the plastic jug, and Clint quickly pulled it towards his right while kicking towards his opponent's knee. He felt his foot collide with something hard, and then push a bit too far as the combatant's leg began bending the wrong direction. This was good. One down.
Clint lifted his feet into the air and kipped up, holding the now-leaky jug of milk up as a weapon towards the other three bikers. One was still busy blinking away the pain in their eye, while the other two seemed winded. As everyone took a moment to pause, Clint felt blood trickle down his upper lip. Broken nose, again. He needed to end this fast. He turned his gaze towards the one with an injured eye. Clint reached for the knife impaled into the plastic of his jug and flicked it with grace at his left shoulder. The blade struck true, and yet another biker was down for the count. The last two bikers finally pushed forward, catching Clint before he could react. They slammed him back against the back wall of the lobby, old wallpaper flakes falling harshly to the ground beneath him. Clint used the jug of milk to punch up into the gut of the one on his left, but was met with the one on his right elbowing him in the jaw. Clint fell to the ground with the man on his left, and felt a boot kick into his kidneys. The biker kept kicking into his side, and Clint’s eyes began watering. His head was growing heavy as he looked down at the blood from his mouth and nose dripping down to the ground beneath him, intermingling with the milk pouring out of the jug next to him.
Clint quickly dropped down from his hands and knees position prone as the biker went for another strong kick. As the boot found nothing but air, the biker’s other foot began to slide forward on the pooling milk. Clint eyed the other biker coming near to finish what his friends had started, and reached into his coat pocket for more quarters. The former Avenger quickly launched a quarter up into the screaming maw of his adversary, causing the man to begin gagging and choking suddenly. With a quick kick, the man was on the ground. All of the bikers were groaning and wounded, rolling slightly on the ground. Clint slowly slid his way back to standing on the wall, breathing heavily and head swimming. He quickly fished his phone out of his pocket, dialed in a few numbers, and put the phone to his ear after a moment. ”Hi… I’d like to report a crime… yes, I’ll hold.”
P O S T C A T A L O G:
This section is not necessary, but a procedural listing of your linked posts will make it much easier and more convenient for all involved.
C L I N T B A R T O N ♦ R E T I R E D ♦ B R O O K L Y N ♦ E X - A V E N G E R
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:
"I got a killshot with a single arrow on an armored space whale from five city blocks away. You think the god of thunder could do that?"
The basic premise of this iteration of Clint Barton taking on the Ronin identity is to focus on the archer becoming more than just a goofy Avengers mascot. This version of Clint Barton served in the FBI briefly, working as a special agent to bring down the Circus of Crime. His undercover work was interrupted by the Chitauri invasion, and Hawkeye was part of the strike team that took down the Mother ship. He became a symbol within the Avengers, and did a lot of PR work for the superhero team. But as anti-mutant sentiment rose, and Clint nearly died in the fight against Gravitron, Hawkeye formally retired. He put away the bow, took a serious cash payout, and retired to Brooklyn.
Of course, that's not where Clint's story ends. Crime is rising in New York and the surrounding area, and a death in the Maggia has smaller gangs crawling out from hiding. When ninja bikers and carney assassins come knocking, Clint has to answer the call.
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:
Allies
Lucky the Pizza Dog - The best damn Golden Retriever in NYC, if not the world.
Bobbi Morse (Agent 19) - Shield Agent, total badass, and Clint Barton's emergency contact.
Barney Barton - Former circus carney and criminal, currently on parole and working various odd jobs.
Enemies
The Claws - A small time biker gang operating around Brooklyn, led by a man called "Bobcat".
The Clown - A vicious mercenary, contracted to take out enemies of the Maggia. Seems to have a personal interest in the Bartons.
Crossfire - A mercenary working with the Maggia, but with connections to Cross Technologies
Dillon Zarro - Right hand man of the Claws with a rap sheet longer than a CVS receipt.
The Death Throws - The remnants of the Circus of Crime have fallen into an uneasy peace with the Maggia, but operate around Coney Island. They are now led by Jacques DuQuesne.
Jacques DuQuesne (Swordsman) - Former mentor to Barney and Clint Barton, and long time member of the Circus of Crime. Has always managed to just narrowly avoid getting implicated in any former crimes of the Circus.
Maynard Tidbolt (Ringmaster) - The imprisoned leader of the Circus of Crime. Known to be a mutant capable of hypnotizing others if they look into his eyes.
S A M P L E P O S T:
"Hey, Stop!" A man with messy blonde hair sprinted full speed down the street, expertly dodging between pedestrians. His eyes locked on his target, an older man nonchalantly blended into the crowd maybe 50 yards ahead. Clint Barton grit his teeth as he continued powering forward, reaching a hand into his winter pea coat pocket. His fingers dug and searched through pocket lint, a used napkin, a theater ticket stub, and a few loose coins. Settling on one of the coins, Barton pulled out a quarter and raised it up towards his ear. His eyes quickly scanned the crowd ahead, as years of training helped Clint to plot out their paths and trajectories. Within but a moment, the former Avenger smiled. He had his trajectory. All he needed was one good shot. And Hawkeye never missed.
Clint snapped his fingers as he flicked his wrist, launching the coin forward in a slight horizontal arc. The coin seemed to seamlessly weave through the gaps between people as they walked. And with expert precision, the coin bounced off the back of the old man's head. The man shook his head and turned around, rubbing the back of his skull and scanning the nearby surroundings. Clint, now only 15 yards away, waved his arms wildly towards the man. The man made eye contact, before noticing the old leather wallet firmly in Clint Barton's left palm. The old man quickly began pushing through the crowd to get towards Clint. Before the former Avenger could even open his mouth, the old man began shrieking and cursing in Romanian. The man snatched back his wallet, and quickly scurried away while yelling things that Clint could recall Natasha yelling at him once.
Clint sighed as he pulled up the edges of his coat to help shield his face from the chill breeze. He slipped into the local bodega, stocked up on some milk and bread, and slipped out the back to get back to his apartment. It was an unassuming building, the brick exterior blending into the various houses and apartment buildings nearby. Most of the building was vacant at this point, with no one left living in the apartment except those who owned their units outright. This was to Clint's liking, as the closest apartment was owned by an old woman who couldn't hear Clint staying up late watching Netflix and tinkering in his spare bedroom/workshop. Clint wasn't surprised to see a few men in leather jackets loitering outside the front of the building, large images of Bobcat heads embroidered on the back with the word "Claws" stitched above it. Another local gang of sorts, from what Clint could tell from the paper. A gang of bikers who have been loitering around Southwest Brooklyn, stirring up trouble in Coney Island and the surrounding area. Clint just ducked his head down, avoiding eye contact. He was retired. The last thing he needed to do was pick a fight. He reached the front door to his building, pulled out his keys, and unlocked his door to try and slip into the lobby. If he wasn't so paranoid, he wouldn't have noticed the bikers quickly following him in the reflection of the neighboring reflective window.
Barton barely had time to react before he felt a fist collide with the back right side of his head. He felt the crunch of the hearing aid looped on his ear snapping, and his blood pulsing around where he was struck. He stumbled in through the now open door, spinning around to face his attackers. Only four guys, none packing any serious heat besides some knives... this wouldn't be so bad. Clint kept his eyes forward as he reached into his pocket, grabbing onto another one of his quarters. One of the bikers reached for a knife on his belt, slowly removing it from its sheathe. Clint gave a small smile as he quickly pulled his hand from his pocket, flicking the quarter with speed directly into the closest biker's eye. The impact was strong enough to leave the target stunned for a moment. The two unarmed bikers swooped in to grapple with Clint, and Barton quickly bullrushed one of them in response. He had wrestled with strong men before. Clint ducked his shoulder underneath the grip of the biker he charged, planting his shoulder right into the man's waist. As soon as he made contact, Barton stood up and used his free hand to help topple the biker face up onto the ground. With a painful thud, the biker groaned.
Clint couldn't react fast enough and was tackled onto his back by the other unarmed biker. The biker got two solid punches in on Clint before the latter could raise his arms in defense. Blow after blow impacted into the archer's forearms, the biker straddling him to keep him down. Clint waited for a moment of pause in the onslaught to reach up for the collar of the biker's shirt. He pulled the man's face down towards him, and drove his forehead into the man's nose. This was enough to give Barton an opening to push the disoriented biker off. He reassessed the situation, and groaned as he saw the biker with a knife rushing towards him. Clint's eyes locked on to the gallon of milk he had dropped lying on the ground next to him, and quickly lifted it to intercept the knife being plunged down towards him. The knife plunged halfway into the plastic jug, and Clint quickly pulled it towards his right while kicking towards his opponent's knee. He felt his foot collide with something hard, and then push a bit too far as the combatant's leg began bending the wrong direction. This was good. One down.
Clint lifted his feet into the air and kipped up, holding the now-leaky jug of milk up as a weapon towards the other three bikers. One was still busy blinking away the pain in their eye, while the other two seemed winded. As everyone took a moment to pause, Clint felt blood trickle down his upper lip. Broken nose, again. He needed to end this fast. He turned his gaze towards the one with an injured eye. Clint reached for the knife impaled into the plastic of his jug and flicked it with grace at his left shoulder. The blade struck true, and yet another biker was down for the count. The last two bikers finally pushed forward, catching Clint before he could react. They slammed him back against the back wall of the lobby, old wallpaper flakes falling harshly to the ground beneath him. Clint used the jug of milk to punch up into the gut of the one on his left, but was met with the one on his right elbowing him in the jaw. Clint fell to the ground with the man on his left, and felt a boot kick into his kidneys. The biker kept kicking into his side, and Clint’s eyes began watering. His head was growing heavy as he looked down at the blood from his mouth and nose dripping down to the ground beneath him, intermingling with the milk pouring out of the jug next to him.
Clint quickly dropped down from his hands and knees position prone as the biker went for another strong kick. As the boot found nothing but air, the biker’s other foot began to slide forward on the pooling milk. Clint eyed the other biker coming near to finish what his friends had started, and reached into his coat pocket for more quarters. The former Avenger quickly launched a quarter up into the screaming maw of his adversary, causing the man to begin gagging and choking suddenly. With a quick kick, the man was on the ground. All of the bikers were groaning and wounded, rolling slightly on the ground. Clint slowly slid his way back to standing on the wall, breathing heavily and head swimming. He quickly fished his phone out of his pocket, dialed in a few numbers, and put the phone to his ear after a moment. ”Hi… I’d like to report a crime… yes, I’ll hold.”
P O S T C A T A L O G:
This section is not necessary, but a procedural listing of your linked posts will make it much easier and more convenient for all involved.
@webboysurf Really like your post! But one thing has me confused. Tarot seems to know Wander and I thought we didn't know the members of the other team. And who is "blonde tyrant" referring to? Lillian or Aren? ^^
... ill have to update the post. Got who was in what group mixed up. Its been a hell of a week.
The moon was gently setting behind the imposing mountains to the West when Tarot left the inn. It wasn't an unusual habit, when his squad was resting within relatively safe territory, that they would awake to find him and his gear missing. The sheets of whatever dusty cot the bard rested in were neatly folded. Without the need to carefully keep watch for the latter half of the night when resting in an inn, Tarot opted to slip out of their accommodations and wander about the dark town. He was known enough by the guards, either by his own reputation or the reputation of the Red Wraiths as a whole, that he was hardly ever bothered on his nightly strolls. He was glad tonight was no exception.
Tarot made his way to a more secluded part of the city, in the western-most part of Solyanik. He dipped into an alleyway that showed marks of significant damage. He traced the claw marks etched into the alley's stone walls. The Shadar Kai bard lowered a knee and slipped a candle from a holster on his belt, standing it on the ground in front of him. He closed his eyes, and spoke softly in the language of Devils. "(Infernal) Gracious spirits, I call to you. Tell me your story.*"
This next instant was always the unsettling part. The candle wobbled slightly, before a faint green flame engulfed the wick on its own. Discordant whispers in a number of languages, a few notably in more common tongues the bard was unfamiliar with, filled the air around him like falling sand. The temperature dropped a few degrees, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. But soon, a single voice emerged. A harsh voice, weathered with time and age. The words almost sounded like they were being swallowed, though Tarot had been doing this long enough to recognize the voice of a man choking on his own blood. It was very common among those who met violent ends, and Red Wraiths weren't known for living long and peaceful lives. Of course, this isn't what Tarot dwelled on. He was far more interested in the ghostly tale.
"I was a guard, born on a farm near Barras Bay. Came to the city to become a butcher. This was my shop, and my home. My boy took over when he came of age, and I took up a sword when things got more dangerous. Was busy doing my duty, didn't realize one of those beasts had gotten past us. They took my world from me... so I cut until I could cut no more."
Tarot nodded, staring into the flickering light of the candle. It wasn't a particularly new story. He had heard tales like these before, but he wasn't here to judge which stories should be shared. Tarot was merely there to preserve what memories and echoes he could. Besides... the alliteration of butcher and Barras Bay was too pleasing to pass up. "(Infernal) I will remember your story, spirit. You are welcome to join me a while."
The candle's pale, heatless flame dissipated as a cold breeze seemed to seep into the seams of Tarot's armor. His chest felt heavy, and saliva burned with the metallic taste of iron. He was right: the poor butcher had choked on his own blood. Nonetheless, Tarot holstered the candle once again and wandered the streets back in the direction of the inn. He could have sworn he caught a glimpse of a red scarf as the morning rays of dawn basked the city in a golden glow. Sen Rak was almost certainly appraising the city's defenses. So, Tarot slipped back into the Toremont Inn. He took a seat in the corner of the lobby bar, taking off his coat to reveal the blood red vest underneath. He unhooked the lute from its shoulder strap, and rested it in his lap as he faintly plucked a few strings to accompany his soft murmurs. "He cut through all in his way, the Butcher of Barras Bay... That works. Let's see, then next I could do something like... On those cracked streets did lay, the family of the Butcher...No, no, breaks the rhythm. Let's try...Right there his family lay, the Butcher of Barras Bay..."
For some time, Tarot tweaked his song in the corner. It wasn't particularly great work, but it passed the time. He kept his eyes tracing over the lobby, waiting to see any of his squad. When Sen finally entered, Tarot finished strumming his melody as he watched the shifter take their place at the bar. The elf swung the lute over his shoulder as he sauntered over to the bar, taking a seat next to the ranger. He made eye contact with the barkeep, tapping the bar once with a finger and nodding to one of the barrels of mead resting on the back counter. It was a silent, but simple order. As the barkeep was pouring the drink, Tarot looked to his squadmate with a smile. As per usual, Tarot spoke quickly and almost to the air around him rather than to Sen. "Seems like I wasn't the only one to take a morning stroll through the city. But I think you have the right idea, Sen. Best to leave this other group waiting a bit, and go for the more... dramatic entrance. Besides, we've still got to wait for the blonde tyrant and our handsome mage." The barkeep set down a full mug of mead, and Tarot picked it up swiftly. He gave the barkeep a nod, and savored his drink as the two waited.
*Tales from Beyond - Bonus Action, One use of Bardic Inspiration expended. Gained "Tale of the Avenger" on a roll of 5 until Tarot's next rest.
Qia
Master Bruce
PatientBean
wintersoldier
Mcmolly
Carlyle
mickilennial
Hound55
Roman
Festive