Bounce

Ultimate One Universe: Season Two

I have a beginning and events I'd like to build up to, but nothing concrete and rigid. It's like writing chapters out of order (or planning chapters) and just filling in the blanks.

@Inkarnate

This is pretty much what I have for the season. One arc, three chapters, with the major events driving them mapped out. But how they unfold, who all in involved, is all subject to whatever works.

Ultimate One Universe: Season Two

So are we allowed to bounce off ideas in the OOC thread? Or is that to be kept somewhere private?

@Witryso

I think that a couple of us expressed a desire for more collaborative arcs between characters this season, so sharing of ideas would be encouraged (I would think) so to enable greater cooperation.

Ultimate One Universe: Season Two

“The minstrel boy to the war is gone
In the ranks of death ye will find him
His father’s sword he hath girded on
And his wild harp slung behind him”
_{- Thomas Moore}

"Life Is But A Dream" [ Part II ] [ The Minstrel Boy ]

| GHOST CASTLE
| _{The Dream Dimension | Present Day}

The rooster's call came early.

The old man struggled to move from the bed, his joints stiff and body aching as he stirred about the small, monastic room that was shuttered away in the oft forgotten and rarely beheld part of the castle that contained the servant's quarters. In gown and robe, the bearded figure emerged to shuffle through the stone-hewn halls in the dawn's breaking light.

An imp suddenly leapt from out of the shadows, pouncing from the rafters above as though to give an old man a heart attack. A gruff harumph accompanied the patriarchal scowl. The hellspawn was awake and bounding through the inside of the castle with enough noise as though he were a stampede of elephants. A second harumph accompanied the motion of straightening his robe, as the man continued on toward the kitchen.

He found the side door open there. No doubt left by the same spring-heeled devil who had bounded from the walls. Grumbling to himself, the old man set out two loaves of brown bread atop the simple farm table that occupied one side of the kitchen for the servant's use. A tankard of beer was drawn, as the man settled his old bones atop the wooden bench. Letting go a heavy sigh, the man drew a long draw on the tankard, easing into the morning.

The imp returned. The harried form of a young Briton, breathless and bedraggled, his raven black hair plastered against his scalp. A knee-length shirt shifted about his wiry frame as he came through the door in his bedclothes, arms full of oranges plucked from the trees. As the man watched, sipping on his beer, the boy drew a knife and labored at juicing the ripe fruit.

Decanting the orange juice into a wooden cup, the child stumbled over to collapse atop the bench beside the old man. "Bore da," the happy hellion managed, in a breathless bit of greeting in a form of Gaelic that those today might yet recognize in Wales.

"Hmph" the old man guffawed, even as he lowered his tankard and broke bread. "Good morning, indeed," the old man uttered gruffly, before opening his mouth and tearing off a chunk of the dark bread. The two ate in silence after that, pulling apart their meal with their hands as chamberlain and page ate in the shadow of the castle lord's larder.

"Take the horses down to the river," the old man uttered finally, as he finished the bread and started the task of picking the crumbs from out of the matted beard. Leaning down closer to the boy, the man inhaled sharply and tacked on the seemingly obligatory, "And throw yourself in while you're there."

The boy's dark head turned up to give the man a look that was confused at first, then quickly sparked realization and shot a look at the chamberlain. Between chomping down his bread and slurping on the sweet fruit juice, the black-haired imp was shortly finished with his breakfast as well.

And then it was time to move again.

The chamberlain's voice spun the child around right as he'd reached the threshold. "Don't forget your chores here," the old man proclaimed.

The boy had tried to pivot, except that he still had too much momentum pulling him toward the door. Inartfully, the boy's bedgown twirled as he spun back on one foot -- only for the other to slide out from under him. Crashing to the floor, the child popped back up as though no worse for wear.

Which was when the magic happened.

Bringing his arms up, glowing mandala-like forms seemed to circle and weave around his hands. An auld, eldritch energy seemed to flicker in the air, as the child stretched forth one arm and waved his hand toward a collection of mops, brooms, and buckets in one corner.

"Etamina!"

It was a word, nothing more. Yet, the inanimate seemed suddenly imbued with life as the child spoke. Brooms sweeping on their own.

His father's legacy was that of a king.

...but his mother's blood made him capable of so much more.

Ultimate One Universe: Season Two

"Life Is But A Dream" [ Part I ] [ Mordred’s Lullaby ]

| THE HOUSE OF SECRETS
| _{The Dream Dimension | The Year of Our Lord 537}

It was late into the witching hour when there rose such a commotion as to rouse the dead.

Stirred to wake at this most uncivilized time of the night, the Caretaker harried from out of the bed chamber in a fright. A candle was held aloft, the flame flickering atop the fragile wick as the bedclothes-clad man padded in bare feet through the fortified manor house. The eldritch glow of the candle’s pale light was cast along the walls as the man hurried across the upper floor to the narrow stairwell.

As he arrived at the landing, the man held the candle above his head so that it’s light cast a pallor of illumination across the threshold. The door to the great hall hung off its hinges, as though thrown open by some inhuman force.

An ill wind seemed to pass through the room, sending gooseflesh crawling through his skin.

Turning, the shadows on the wall betrayed a small form lying atop the table in the banquet hall. As the Caretaker moved closer, the candle light shone on the prone form of a mere boy. A Briton by the look of him, clad in the colors of a patron. He was page, then. Or possibly just starting to squire.

Blood strained the white parts of his tabard, turning dark the red portions. All too soon, it became apparent that the child suffered from a grievous wound. The Caretaker’s hand stretched out toward the boy, as though to feel his flesh, but hesitated just a moment before.

The child was dead.

_{“Where did I go wrong?”}

Raising his head up, the Caretaker panned the candle around to sweep it’s light further down the length of the table. That was when he saw her. A woman with raven black hair. Gown torn, tattered, soiled, and bloodstained as though she had been through some horrific ordeal. She was brooding, pulling and twisting at her hair anxiously with one hand.

It was then that the Caretaker realized the resemblance between the woman and the boy. “Woman,” he uttered, addressing the wraith-like spectre in the chair. “Why are you come here?”

The hand stopped, still holding to the lock of hair, even as her eyes -- baleful, wrathful eyes, aglow with hellfire -- turned up toward the Caretaker. The man was taken aback a step by the sheer force of the lady’s gaze.

Then she spoke, her tongue sharper than a thousand daggers, each word tipped with sweet poison as she commanded, “I would speak with your master, servant.”

“Think twice, then Morgana.”

An odor like brimstone accompanied the sudden proclamation, as the Caretaker’s candle moved to shine a light on what appeared as a column of smoke, amid which an English Gentleman was seated in a smoking jacket and pipe in hand. Holding the smoking pipe out, the smoky figure seemed to indicate the prone form of the dead child as he said, “See you not the fruits of your labors?”

Pulling her fingers through her hair, the lady paused a moment to collect herself. When she had, the green-eyed monster stared down a being that many would have described as the Devil himself. “My labors have brought you the greatest story ever told,” the woman stated flatly.

For his part, the smoking spectre of Morpheus seemed to incline his head in some quiet acquiesce of the lady’s claim. “And what do you ask in return for this story?” the Lord of Dreams demanded in reply.

It was then that the lady cast down her eyes. Perhaps a trick of the candle light, or else it was a singular moment in which the woman appeared human. For a long, icy silence she merely stared over the body of the child that was laid atop the table as though awaiting the gravedigger. “My son’s wound is beyond my power to mend,” the lady remarked, glancing back up at the smoke-clad figure of the gentleman. More pointedly, she added, “But not yours.”

Morpheus brought the pipe to his lips, inhaling a long draw of smoke, which he savored for a moment before he spoke. “If this story of yours is as enamoring as you believe it to be,” the Lord of Dreams conceded, before he paused to make clear his point, “But only if, and the story will not favor him.”

The woman betrayed no singular emotion, yet her presence was that of a dragon’s that was embroiled in Perdition’s flames. “You would make Merlin the hero of my tale?” the lady tossed back haughtily.

Morpheus smiled. A twisted, beguiling gesture devoid of mirth. “Nay,” the Lord of Dreams spoke, saying only. “Arthur.”

The lady’s fingernails were drawn like talons across the table. Curls of wood carved up as she raked the surface in the only outward sign of petulant indignation. In the stillness, she seemed to be weighing her options. Or whether she had any. It was with regard to the latter that she seemed deflated of ego and asked only, “Have we a bargain?”

The Cheshire smile that the Lord of Dreams boasted only became an even more enigmatic gesture. “Always a pleasure doing business with a lady,” Morpheus declared, as the form of the English gentleman seemed to collapse into the column of smoke. As he disappeared, the smoke traveled forward to envelop the form of the boy, which seemed to disappear as the cloud passed over it. Until the smoke had cleared and both were gone.

Ultimate One Universe: Season Two

First post written, second post in progress.

X-Men: The New Era

[ Location: Courtyard ] [ Interacting With: @Draven @Damo021 @KatKook @BoyMom69035]

The woman named Cleo seemed amused at Syaoran's question about the sigh kick, though the boy was at a loss as to why this might be. Drake's efforts at elaborating on the meaning or definition of what a psychic was did little to alleviate that confusion. Apparently, they were people who spoke to heads. Or in heads.

No, that didn't make sense. Even to him. And he was ten.

When Drake asked what Syaoran's story was, the boy started to reply, but that was when a new person joined the group. The young woman introduced herself as Sally, and it seemed as though she was taken by Syaoran's ability to fly.

The boy's eyes darted off to the left for a moment, as he wasn't really certain how to respond. Genetic diversity was common among the Shi'ar, so no one had ever really complimented him on his ability. While not common, neither was it unheard of. There were even Shi'ar who had wings. "Uh... thanks?" the boy managed, glancing back at the Sally lady.

He really wasn't sure what else to say.

When he'd looked back at Drake, the man had gotten into a conversation with Khloe about the juice pouch that the man carried. A conversation that Sally joined.

Gliding away, Syaoran headed back into the school to finish working on his homework. And also see what was on Cartoon Network. The drama that had drawn him from out of his room had obviously passed, and the sooner that he finished his homework, the sooner that he could get back to playing.

Ultimate One Universe: Season Two

<Snipped quote by Inkarnate>

I'm a Batman.

Never specified which one, or whether or not I was one of the attentive ones.

@Master Bruce

MB's true identity revealed.

Hider

X-Men: The New Era

[ Location: Courtyard ] [ Interacting With: @Draven ]
[ Mentions: @KatKook @Damo021 ]

The Drake guy carried his own Capri Sun pouch with him?

Well, it didn't really look like a Capri Sun juice pouch, but it was about the right size, and he was drinking from it, so it seemed as though the concept was similar in function if not form.

Except he pulled it out of his pocket. Who carried a juice pouch in their pocket?

Drake, apparently. That's who.

"Before I forget, have any of you met any psychics this week?"

The question caught the child by surprise for how one word was lost in translation immediately. ""What's... like... wait," the young Shi'ar began, as the word psychic immediately manifested as a challenge for him to interpret or conceptualize. ""What's a sigh kick?" the boy blurted aloud finally.

Ultimate One Universe: Season Two

| M O R D R E D |

_{"Whatever else I am, I am your son - your most wretched son. If you do not hate me, try to love me a little, Mother; it is lonely never to have been loved, only devoured."}

| Character You're Applying For |

Mordred Pendragon

| Powers And Abilities |

Mordred is a homo magi, having an innate talent for accessing and manipulating the mystical energies which pass through the multiverse. These energies can be formed into spells through the application of will, or focus. More powerful magics may inhabit objects or words, but in both cases those merely serve as foci to off-set the physical toll on the body caused by channeling the mystica arcana. Mordred is both the wielder and the victim of magic, being under a spell cast by Morgan le Fey which grants him both eternal youth and eternal life.

| Origin And Backstory |

Mordred is the illegitimate son of King Arthur Pendragon, conceived by means of a liaison with his half-sister, Morgaine. Like Arthur, himself, Mordred's conception was the product of both magic and deception, as Morgaine wielded Merlin's own tricks against him in escalating political schemes aimed at ousting the magician from Camelot. Merlin saw the coming of a bastard born on May Day and convinced Arthur to put to death all infants who were born at that time. Morgaine knew that this royal command would seed division among the Knights of the Round Table, but safeguarded Mordred by entrusting him to Sir Brian of Kent, the Silent Knight. As he grew into a boy, Mordred served as page to Sir Brian and, for a brief period of time, Camelot was everything that people today believe it to have been.

Then it all went wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. Lancelot's betrayal of Arthur's trust shattered the unity of the Knights of the Round Table. The knights turned on one another, as Lancelot fled the kingdom and Arthur's rage set forth in a warpath that promised no peace for so long as either Lancelot or Arthur yet lived. It was at Camlann that all was revealed. Sir Brian's betrayal of his king's command. Mordred's true parentage. Morgaine's role in the fall of Camelot and Merlin's massacre of Sir Jason's family. Arthur moved to kill the bastard, but Sir Brian intervened. In the subsequent fight between them, Arthur slew the Silent Knight - the only father that Mordred had ever known - in front of the young squire's eyes. Taking up his knight's arming sword, Mordred dealt Arthur a mortal wound before being slain by the dying Arthur. Mordred died at the hands of his father, his body lying beside the Silent Knight, the man that he had loved as his dad.

But Mordred's story didn't end there. Instead, it had only begun. Morgaine made a deal with Morpheus, the primordial "Elder God" of the Dreaming, which enabled Mordred's spirit to retake corporeal form as his story was told and re-told. As part of Morgaine's plan, with each re-telling, the story changed with subtle nuance that shifted the roles of the people involved. Morgaine's duplicity was obfuscated as her character became confused, even divided into separate roles -- Morgause and Morgan -- while blame for Arthur's dead cast Mordred as the penultimate villain. Compared to Mordred, the villain who never was, Arthur became the magnanimous man, the once and future king. From Geoffrey of Monmouth to Cretien de Troyes to Thomas Mallory and E.B. White, the story of Sir Mordred became the story of Mordred the Evil, and Morgaine's role that of no more than a minor witch.

A thousand years later, a book is stolen from out of the House of Mystery. The Libellus Sanguinis, a tome of forbidden knowledge said to have been authored by Mary, Queen of Blood. As people start to go missing across Europe, it becomes clear that the Cult of the Blood Red Moon may be rising once more. The quest to recover it brings Mordred back to a reality that has forsaken him for the memory of a great king who never was.

| What Makes This Character 'Ultimate'? |

This version combines aspects of both the DCAU Mordred and Marvel Comics' Mordred, leveraging the varied storytelling of the Arthurian Legend to return to the heroic Sir Mordred of the earliest known accounts. This version of Mordred also combines magical elements of both Marvel's "Masters of the Mystical Arts" and DC's "Justice League Dark" in order to arrive at a narrative that combines aspects of both to create a story of British superheroes both old and new.

| SUPPORTING CAST |

Nina Skorzeny (Scream Queen)
A young Romanian girl kidnapped and turned into a vampire by the Tenth Circle.

Squire (Cyril Sheldrake)
A boy whose father was killed by Springheeled Jack. The Black Knight's squire.

Dane Whitman (Black Knight)
A descendant of Arthur Pendragon and the current champion of the Lady of the Lake. Wields the Sword of Light and the Shield of Night.

Jericho Drumm (Brother Voodoo)
A member of the Masters of the Mystical Arts, the protector of the London Sanctum.

| ROGUE’S GALLERY |

Lord Crucifer
A powerful and ancient vampire, Crucifer leads the sect of the vampire nation that has come to be known as the Tenth Circle.

Xarus
One of Vlad Dracul's children and Crucifer's lieutenant.

Springheeled Jack
A lesser demon from Limbo who has plagued London since at least 1837.

Klarion the Witch-Boy
A resident of Limbo Town.

Morgan le Fey
A mother's work is never done.

Thomas Cassidy (Black Tom)
A modern Irish highwayman, currently working with Morgan le Fey.

| Locations |

Jordan Tower (The London Sanctum)
Built upon the ruins of an ancient keep dating back to Roman London, the Jordan Tower lies at the intersection of ley lines crossing the Earth. Home to Brother Voodoo.

Limbo Town
A city on the edge of forever, founded by witches from Roanoke, and gateway to Limbo. Located underneath the city of New York.

The House of Mystery
A convergence where the physical realm and the Dreaming cross over.

| Post Catalogue |

"Life is But a Dream"
Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4

X-Men: The New Era

[ Location: Courtyard ] [ Interacting With: @Draven ]
[ Mentions: @webboysurf @BoyMom69035 @RumikoOhara @KatKook @Damo021 ]

There was a lot to keep pace with whenever teenagers were around.

Khloe spoke an Earth language that was not the strange linguistic formulation that most humans Syaoran encountered spoke. The sound of it instantly sparked a curiosity in the boy. Being Shi'ar, Syaoran had been learning several languages as part of his education on Chandilar. Shi'ar were expected to be literate in the languages of their enemies.

And one thing about the Shi'ar was that they had as many enemies as they did friends. And often regarded the two concepts as being one in the same.

A lady who introduced herself as Cleo talked about a fight that had broken out, which had apparently been the source of the noise from earlier. Syaoran really didn't know any of the names that she had mentioned, so he gradually shifted his attention away from either Cleo or Khloe and was instead looking at the various students who were starting to congregate around the courtyard area.

"So I gotta ask, bud. How old are you?"

Twisting around in the air, the feather-headed half-pint realized that the Drake person had returned, though Syaoran wasn't really all that certain just at what point that the man had left either. But he thought that he had. Just not now, because he was here now.

Did that even make sense?

Honestly, Syaoran had to think about this one for a moment. The intergalactic community's concept of time was based on sidereal measurements of common astronomical objects. The human notion, on the other hand, seemed to be relative to the rotation of their planet around the singular star that dominated their localized space environment. What was the human term? A year?

And don't even get him started on this concept of months.

"I'm ten," the young Shi'ar offered finally, pausing a moment to hold up his fingers as he did the comparative math in his head. "I think."

No, he wasn't sure.