Hidden 4 mos ago Post by Sep
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You didn't even try that time.
Hidden 4 mos ago Post by Master Bruce
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You didn't even try that time.


Hey.

Shut up.
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Hidden 4 mos ago Post by Lord Wraith
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@AndyC Will you be bringing back Raven/Starfire as well?
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@AndyC Will you be bringing back the best ship as well?


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Hidden 4 mos ago 4 mos ago Post by Natty
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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 I C C A N / C H A N G E L I N G


Billy Kaplan/Teddy AltmanFuture Demiurge/Future King of SpaceNew York/Space
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:


"Truth. Justice." "And the homosexual way."

Billy and Teddy were inseparable during their time at school, and before long it was clear that this bond was more than just friendship. This bond was strengthened by the revelation of their abilities, with the two believing themselves to both be mutants. Given their obsession with superheroes and all things of that nature, it was only natural that the two decided to use their gifts in order to fight crime.

Little did they know, neither of the two were right about the origin of their abilities.

Galaxies away, a great war between the Kree and the Skrull Empire rages. Years ago during the conflict, a Kree warrior found himself imprisoned within the palace of Skrull Emperor Dorrek VII. There he met and fell in love with the emperor's daughter, Anelle, who gave birth to a Hatchling months later. Fearing for its life due to its parentage, she sent it away across the stars with a handmaiden, hoping to hide them from the war. Rumours of the half-breed echo across the battlefields, with many believing that the appearance of the long lost Prince Dorrek VIII could turn the tides of war.

Around this same time, the sentient life force of the universe itself, the Demiurge, began to prepare itself for its predestined host. A young baby was placed on the doorstep of an orphanage in the city of Manhattan. Neither the child, nor his adopted parents, had any idea what was in store for him.


C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

Wiccan and Hulkling (hereby renamed Changeling because the name Hulkling is dumb) are a pair of characters that I have loved for years, with the two of them being my favourite relationship in comics. I've always wanted to bring them to life, and given the recent Empyre event by Marvel Comics, I am now more encouraged than ever.

Billy and Teddy are both characters predestined for greatness; Billy is set to become the omnipotent Demiurge, a powerful entity which gave birth to the Elder Gods, while Teddy is the saviour who is meant to unite two species that have been warring against one another for aeons. Within the comics, they have been building up to these events for years. This won't be the same for my interpretation, as Billy and Teddy, despite only just starting out as superheroes, will find themselves thrust into their destinies. I want to explore how these changes will affect them, and their relationship.

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

When it comes to my supporting cast, I want to announce off the bat that I will NOT be making use of the Scarlet Witch, or that aspect of Billy's history. I will be absolutely happy if someone were to pick up the character and play as her, and if they did wish to collaborate in that scenario, I will be more than happy to talk.

Another talking point is the Young Avengers. While I currently do not have plans to make use of them as characters, they are a topic I may approach in the future. That being said, I'd be perfectly happy if someone else were to make use of them. This would definitely be something I'd be happy to collaborate with as well.

As for characters I am interested in, one aspect of my story will deal heavily with the Kree and Skrull Empire, and as such, I will be pulling a number of characters affiliated with them. This will also include a range of other Cosmic based characters from both DC and Marvel.

I am also planning on using aspects from DC's Sideways series, namely their use of Tempus Fuginaut.

S A M P L E P O S T:



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

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.
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Hidden 4 mos ago Post by Retired
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Retired "Hayao Miyazaki"

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<Snipped quote by Retired>

Thanks, man. You had a really good CS, so I'll do what I can to make sure my Spidey is worthy.


Appreciate that. The best app won for sure, as I knew it would. I wish you and everyone else a lot of fun. Kick some Goblin ass.
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Sample is all done for Billy and Teddy
Hidden 4 mos ago Post by Byrd Man
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Sample is all done for Billy and Teddy


Wait... is this the third Bill & Ted movie everyone has been talking about?
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<Snipped quote by Natty>

Wait... is this the third Bill & Ted movie everyone has been talking about?


Yeah, moving the franchise away from Alex Winter and Keanu Reeves and focusing on an unrelated pair of gay teenagers was an interesting choice on the director's part but I really feel it paid off.
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Yeah, moving the franchise away from Alex Winter and Keanu Reeves and focusing on an unrelated pair of gay teenagers was an interesting choice on the director's part but I really feel it paid off.


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Sample Post is done.
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I want to thank @DocTachyon for his sterling chivalry in allowing me an extension to getting my competing sheet in, despite my insistence he needn't bother. I also want to thank @Master Bruce, @HenryJonesJr, and @Hillan for allowing such an extension to pass.

Now, without further ado:

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


B R U C E W A Y N E ♦ V I G I L A N T E / P H I L A N T H R O P I S T ♦ G O T H A M C I T Y ♦ G O T H A M
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:


"Criminals are a cowardly and superstitious lot."

Bruce Wayne was born to two loving parents on a cold night in September, 1988. Bruce Wayne died beside his parents on a cold night in November, 1996. He was eight. He was never mourned.

The child is dead; what remains is a paracausal being of zealotry, rage, and willpower. This unnatural creature spends twelve years inhabiting the body of Bruce Wayne, seizing every new day as a fresh opportunity to push itself towards some as-yet-unknown goal. Alfred, the guardian, secretly fears this changeling child, in his worst moments pining for the bubbling, gleeful boy that left the manor with his parents that fateful November night, and never returned. At twenty-one years old, the skin-walker leaves Gotham, and Alfred allows some dark corner of himself to believe that the City has been spared an unknowable evil.

Gotham festered for three years. Corruption and crime, previously a slowly-growing problem, somehow rapidly became the new normal, infesting every corner of Gotham's infrastructure. The mayor, the police, the judges - all are mere tokens, figureheads to placate the public; the Gotham crime families - Falcone, Maroni, Gilzean, Cobblepot - are the new authority. Not a decision is made without their knowledge or involvement. The city loses hope, and with it, the citizens feel a light leave their lives.

On the sixteenth anniversary of his parent’s brutal, senseless murder, the prodigal Wayne son returns to his city, anger tamed and zealotry focused, and he brings with him a singular purpose: to rid his beloved Gotham of the corruption that threatens to swallow it whole. He dons a mantle of fear, and begins a war.

Bruce is now thirty-two; he has spent eight years pushing back the wave of filth that once washed through his home. His mind and body at the very brink of human potential, he has become a ruthless and effective weapon against those that would prey on the weak, and he has turned fear against the monsters that seek to inflict it upon the innocent. But the nature of the world is changing, and with it, the nature of evil; Gotham is plagued less by corruption and greed, and instead is ever-increasingly victim to sadism, megalomania, and terrorism. The war has never ceased, but it has shifted, and Bruce has amassed allies over the course of his long campaign. Now more than ever, he needs those allies: the face of his city is about to shift again.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

I’ve always loved Batman. I may not be as overt about it as others, but Batman, alongside Spider-Man and Sonic the Hedgehog, laid the foundation of my early youth, and to this day remains a core passion; it’s one of those things that gets in early, and immerses you completely, and then as you grow older and more aloof maybe you don’t shout it from the rooftops, but you still love the character and the story. Sure, as you grow up you encounter more and more stories and properties and you broaden your taste - hell, you learn what your taste is - and you start a growing list of franchises you hold in esteem; but that foundation is still there, those core characters that you latched onto inexplicably as a child, and undoubtedly will carry with you to the grave. Spider-Man. Sonic the Hedgehog. Batman.

My Batman here is nothing special, no wild reinvention or AU interpretation. He’s Bruce Wayne, and we all know Bruce Wayne’s story. At 32, he’s 8 years into his career: several of his protégés have already trained under him, become disillusioned, and left to pursue their own missions. The organised crime families of Gotham have been mostly disassembled, with the family heads still evading the law and attempting to claw back some of the empire they have had torn away from under them. Most of his Rogues Gallery are established, with a few exceptions, and have changed the face of Gotham forever.

I’m not looking to portray any revolutionary introspection of Bruce himself; what I am interested in is using Batman as a vehicle to explore his Rogues Gallery and the relationship each individual villain shares with Bruce. Batman’s enemies define him more so than any other hero, and these are the characters and dynamics that drew me to Batman in the first place; through them, a Batman that will be recognisably Mine will be carved out, and a new entry into the Mythos we all share and adore will be born.

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

//SUPPORTING CAST:
▼ ALLIES
DICK GRAYSON | Ex-Robin. Current Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.
JAMES 'JIM' GORDON | GCPD Commissioner
HARVEY BULLOCK | GCPD's most senior Detective
ALFRED PENNYWORTH | Wayne Manor Housekeeper. Appointed legal guardian to Bruce Wayne
HARVEY DENT | Gotham City District Attorney

S A M P L E P O S T:

Set the scene.

Gotham docks. Off-stage, yet his presence felt: ‘The Penguin’. Deposed heir to the Cobblepot crime family; now destitute, he grows desperate and ruthless in pursuit of the empire he’s lost.
The empire I have ripped away from him.

Tonight he brings drugs into my city, balaclava-clad men hauling wooden crates off of shipping containers and loading them into trucks. The cargo and containers are unmarked, but I have already seen the shipping manifesto; these crates may have come from overseas, but their purchase has been made through holding companies and shell corps that one can, when looking in the right places, trace back to a property development and construction contracting company based in New York City.
Fisk is attempting to purchase a stake of Gotham using Cobblepot as a figurehead. They will both be disappointed.

From my vantage point I can see eleven men.
Three loading crates; they are strong, but fatigued, and the hard work on a humid night has aggravated them; they demand help from the others, but are ignored. Tempers flare.
One in the truck cab; he is overweight and chain-smoking. His windows are closed and the stereo is loud.
Four dock workers, all paid off. Whether by Cobblepot or Fisk doesn't matter; what does is three of them are concealing light firearms, judging by their uneven gaits. The other is young and nervous, and wraps his hand around a single set of brass knuckles in his jacket pocket.
Two security guards, once again paid off. One guards the entrance to this pier - he's jumpy, and carries his hands together, awkwardly low and in front of him: he is holding what is likely to be a shotgun. The other is casually patrolling; he is openly carrying a pistol, with a heavy torch in the other hand. The patrolling guard is not jumpy, and he grips his pistol loosely. Carelessly.
The last man is the lookout; he is stationed atop the gantry crane assigned to this pier. He is holding an automatic rifle and has binoculars, an open-broadcast two-way radio, and has even been equipped with night-vision goggles, because he is here to look for me, and I operate from the dark.

He will not find me. I am above him. I was on this gantry crane first.

I begin tonight's work.


-


'Eyes' is a dumb nickname, Eyes thinks, but these are dumb men and it is simple and effective and makes his role in the operation clear. They are obviously expecting interference tonight - but that is why he is here. His radio crackles - the voice coming through is filled with static, and is loud and grating. Ten minute check-in.
"[WALKER TO EYES. CHECK IN]"
"Eyes to Walker. Eyes clear."
"[WALKER TO EYES. OARLESS CANOE.]"
"Eyes to Walker. Western Fjord."
The radio crackles again and falls silent. Check-in clear. Eyes thinks he'll take another walk around the crane; the lights of Gotham's business district over the dock-water on a clear night is oddly beautiful. There's a good view of Wayne Tower too, the imposing skyscraper with its iconic 'W' fascia nestled among bank and media logos. He can lean over the railing and gaze out over the pier for five minutes, then walk back around for the next check.

Eyes barely has time to register what little noise comes from behind him before his forehead hits the metal railing and he bounces back, reeling - but not before his leg is kicked into the lower set of railings and his kneecap shatters. He would scream in pain, but as he twists around in his fall, the jagged, black shape that towers above him lashes out with one of its uncountable limbs and strikes him across the throat, silencing him as he sinks to the floor. Eyes' has one last sight before he fades out; terrible, inhuman horns, sitting atop a snarling black face, blasphemously haloed by demonic wings.


-


I have nine minutes and forty seconds before the lookout fails to report at the next check-in and the men are alerted to my arrival. The guard at the entrance to the pier is sequestered in his booth, too far from the operation to be useful; the driver is not the fighting type. That leaves me a little over a minute to incapacitate each man.
Doable.
I leap from the crane, gliding softly towards the patrolman who has entered the furthest section of his route.


-


Walker’s name is actually Walker, although he hasn’t let anyone know - to do so would be to defy the point of the codenames in the first place. William Walker. William after his father; he knows that much of the man, but little else. He spent much of his youth fighting ‘Willy Junior’ as a nickname, but eventually, gracefully, Bill stuck. Bill’s trying to be a better dad to his kid than William Senior was - not hard, as Bill’s mere existence in his son’s life is a step above the standard the old man set.

Bill’s a security guard at the docks, has been for 4 years. He knew what kind of world he was stepping into when he took the job - record turnovers, Gotham Docks, for all manner of reasons both sinister and benign - but there was little else in his skill set he was suitable for, and the job paid well for what it demanded of him. Tonight was the first time he’d been involved in anything explicitly illicit. The first time he’d been actively involved, at least, approached by a man in a suit with a roll of bills that totalled 3 months wage. 3 months wage for one night protecting whatever was coming off those containers - cargo that would have been coming in anyway, Bill thought, cargo that’s probably come in unawares on many of his shifts over his career. A quarter-year of pay for one night’s overtime. He could pay off his son’s braces with some left over for a real knock-out birthday present with what he was earning tonight. He felt good. A little dirty, but good.

There was a noise in the shadows to his left and Bill snapped out of his ruminations and whipped around, torch held out first and his pistol low and close to his body. He’d not fired a gun once in his four years on the docks, and didn’t even own the one he was holding now.
“W-Who’s there? Show yourself!”

There was another sound, behind him. He whipped around again, swearing under his breath and shaking a little. Still nothing. He took a few steps forward.

A quiet, sharp little noise rushed through the air towards him and something pierced his hand, forcing him to drop the pistol. It clattered to the ground, but Bill paid no attention; even before he’d yelled out in shock, there had been another small noise and a gummy, viscous substance had splashed across his mouth and nose, muffling his shout and blocking his air. He slowly sunk to the ground, losing consciousness, back against a shipping container as his legs gave way beneath him.

Ten feet away, across the path, the shadows shift and split and some cursed figure melts into reality; Bill can recognise a head connected to shoulders, but the rest of the body is an inhuman mass that bleeds into the floor, no limbs or torso or recognisably human features to speak of.

Consciousness fades. The darkness descends. The figure envelopes him; and then Bill cannot keep his eyes open any longer.


-


The patrolman had been at odds with the job since the night began; I’d checked his record, and for a docks guard, it was as clean as they came. A little history, to be expected. But this was his first time being bought. He’d taken to it all too easily. They all do.

I lean over him and lightly wave a small bottle of solvent beneath his nose; the glue blocking his nostrils melts away, and I hear him subconsciously take a full breath, but he doesn’t wake up. He won’t for at least half-an-hour; the glue includes chloroform in its makeup to sedate the victim. I bind his hands behind his back, retrieving the batarang, and then head inwards towards the truck.

There are seven men left: the three loaders, and the four dock workers. The loaders are unarmed, but the workers aren’t, and the three with concealed pistols need to be tackled first. They’re mostly milling around, but one wanders away to urinate. I take him out first; emerging from the dark like a beast of the nine circles, enveloping him in terror’s embrace and smothering him until he stops struggling. I set him down and bind his hands, too, and then I take the pistol from the belt of his trousers. Well made. American. Probably Fisk again; Oswald’s no arms dealer, and doesn’t have the underworld clout to source firearms like these. I disassemble it easily enough, regardless of its manufacturer.

The pieces go clattering around the corner towards the remaining men; everyone ceases their tasks to watch as the sections of pistol slide in their direction from where their comrade had rounded the corner mere seconds ago. They all freeze; every single man on the pier tonight now knows their operation has ended, but none want to say it aloud. Instead, the two workers wielding pistols draw them and hold them tight and outstretched, and then heckle the worker with the dusters to investigate. He protests, meekly, then does what is demanded of him, slipping the brass knuckles over his fist as he approaches my corner.

He rounds it and see his colleague unconscious. He does not see me. I reach out and seize his wrist, bringing my elbow down across the top of his forearm, breaking his elbow sharply; he screams and I let him. I want them to hear his pain. I want them to fear the pain they are about to feel. I slip the dusters off his fingers as he whimpers, cradling his broken arm, and then deliver them to the side of his face; he slumps over, out cold, gums bleeding. I toss the dusters towards the remaining men too; now I hear them shouting. The shake and inflection in their voices indicates panic.

Five left. Two armed. Terror beginning to strangle their minds and cloud their judgement. Time to end things.

I launch a smoke capsule at the ground in front of me; gas explodes forth and lays down cover; I step into the fog, unseen, and then carefully approach the outer edge of the cloud, allowing the men to barely glimpse my form; I hear one shout and know I've been spotted, and immediately back away, invisible again, before dropping prone to the ground. Shots puncture the gas as bullets whip past above me. The two with pistols are aiming torso-level. They both miss; then they pause to reload. I stand and step forward again, in one smooth motion parting my cloak and flinging two batarangs out; they both find their marks, cutting across the hands of the workers as they're scrambling to load a second clip. Both pistols are dropped, and the men let their fear get the better of them. They turn and run. I throw out my other arm; bolos fly forth and ensnare their ankles. they hit the ground head-first and hard.

Three left. I step out of the smoke completely, letting my cloak cover me again. They stare; I wait. I let the tension build.

Finally, one snaps and charges me; he throws a wide fist, too much wind up, too slow to connect; I sidestep and jab the wrist, breaking it easily, and then drive my other arm into his ribs; he folds around my fist, winded, and a follow up to his kidney has him wheezing and stumbling. I spin and bring my leg around; my greaves connect with his ear and he goes flying.

Two left. They rush me at the same time.


-



Larry McCoy has driven nearly anything that’s been built with a wheel and two pedals. Never drove stick, but never needed to; never had a licence neither, but never needed one. With an auto all you needed was a foot for ‘go’, a foot for ‘stop’, and hand for ‘where’. Larry had all those, and he made do just swell. Tractors early on - ploughing fields and harvesting crops. Taxi for a while, tried buses too, although eventually he pined for the quiet solitude he’d enjoyed in the cab of heavy farming machinery; he’d long left corn behind him, but found long-haul lorry driving suited him just fine. There was something comforting about a long road in front of him and a radio that was just a fraction static, where the only things that existed were Larry, the cargo he was hauling, and the journey that took from where he came from and where he was going.

That’s why he hated nights and jobs like these; no mystique, no romance, no subtle beauty. Here, the ugliness was laid bare, and he had to dip his hands deep into the muck. After jobs like these, Larry didn’t feel clean for days. But Larry’s wife had cancer, and hospital bills don’t pay themselves. So he played the music loud and stayed in the cab. That was his condition; he’d drive, and he’d drive whatever they wanted, and he’d do it better and sometimes cheaper than most. But he stayed in the cab.

So when Larry saw The Batman, a creature he believed was just Gotham urban legend - fuck, to Larry, the Batman may as well have been the Jersey Devil - appear out of darkness and smog, having done some unseen, unspeakable horror to at least three men, more likely eight, and then proceed to effortlessly incapacitate three more, seemingly untouchable, ethereal, intangible...

Larry got out the cab and ran as fast as his legs could carry him.


-


The driver ran. I’d anticipated it; he didn’t have the look of a fighter. By the time he reached the guard booth at the entrance to the pier and pointed frantically down the way towards me, I’d already set the charges on the crates; as the last guard sprinted towards me, I melted back into the shadows of the docks, and triggered the explosives.

By the time the guard picked himself up off the floor, Fisk and Penguin’s budding enterprise was cinders, and I was gone; another story of the night.

The evening was yet young. There was much work to be done.

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

TBC.
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Hidden 4 mos ago Post by Master Bruce
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Hound55 Create-A-Hero RPG GM, Blue Bringer of BWAHAHA!

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Now you've done it...
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Added a sample post to my sheet. Not my best work but I'm hoping it's good enough.
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@AndyC Will you be bringing back Raven/Starfire as well?


Probably, I just haven't decided what their status quo will be just yet. I might pick them up where I left off at DCUG, or I might have them active for a while, I'm not sure. Gonna work on that this weekend.
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<Snipped quote by AndyC>





Oh, it's gonna happen.
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Oh, it's gonna happen.


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<Snipped quote by Lord Wraith>

Probably, I just haven't decided what their status quo will be just yet. I might pick them up where I left off at DCUG, or I might have them active for a while, I'm not sure. Gonna work on that this weekend.


Okay, good to know. Was debating on if 'Titans' might have happened given the revised timeline to correspond with Doc's Batman.
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