As a longtime Superman fan, I can only be disappointed Cat Grant didn't make the list.
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Most Recent Posts
Since the cats out the bag. Risen from the ashes of Stark Industries Rhodey is...
@Sep
I know I'm late to the party, but catching up on the IC I have to say that your Rhodey and Iron Patriot posts are fantastic. You're always well written, but I thought the way you narrated Rhodey's panic at the armor taking over and being reduced to a bystander was some of the best you've done.
I know I'm late to the party, but catching up on the IC I have to say that your Rhodey and Iron Patriot posts are fantastic. You're always well written, but I thought the way you narrated Rhodey's panic at the armor taking over and being reduced to a bystander was some of the best you've done.
Glad I had a post ready to go, so Teth's already in the IC.
I'll be opening with the murder mystery, which is intended for world building before jumping to the more combative Mr. Atom plot (which I'm hoping to tie directly with what's going on in the US and the main story).
If anyone's interested in cross-over, one-shots, or what not, let me know as the murder investigation has the potential to take Teth anywhere. Otherwise I'll just be making Kahndaq great again.
I'll be opening with the murder mystery, which is intended for world building before jumping to the more combative Mr. Atom plot (which I'm hoping to tie directly with what's going on in the US and the main story).
If anyone's interested in cross-over, one-shots, or what not, let me know as the murder investigation has the potential to take Teth anywhere. Otherwise I'll just be making Kahndaq great again.
THE CITY-STATE OF KAHNDAQ
13th CENTURY BCE
The ball was a piece of animal skin stretched over husks of wheat, crudely bound by trappings of coarse rope.
It arced through the air, snatched by a small hand just before it hit the ground. Sand kicked in all directions as the boy who’d caught it stumbled forward before throwing it into the air again. And getting tackled. Which may, or may not, have been in the rules. They just seemed to enjoy any opportunity to pile on.
The group of boys passed the ball between two teams, laughing and shouting as they played under the desert sun. It was a scene that endured across countless centuries of human civilization. A varied troop, one thing that all shared in common was their hair. Heads shaved, but for a large, pleated braid of locked hair that hung from the right side. It was a hair style unique to the children of the era, a sign of youth.
As idyllic as the scene may have been, the game was but a moment’s respite. A temporary reward for earlier labors in the day. When it ended, the boys would have to return to the jobs that had been predetermined for them. Sons of farmers to the field, sons of craftsmen to their art, and slaves to their masters.
“TETH-ADAM.”
The escape of childhood was fleeting and ended too quickly.
A boy answered, his sidelock of youth bouncing against his shoulder as he emerged from under a pile of boys, walking unencumbered as more and more tried to pile atop in a vain effort to slow the scrawny youth or take him to the ground. He looked no different from the rest, caked in sand, but for his eyes.
They were green.
Calling out to the soldier who’d shouted his name, the dirty, disheveled youth spoke in a language now forgotten, gesturing to the other side of the children’s makeshift field as he protested that his team was about to win.
The soldier barked one word in reply, gesturing sharply for the boy to follow. With that, the man turned his back and started to walk away.
“-tch-” Teth spat, shoulders slumping in resignation as the other boys began to slide down. Expressions of good game and questions of playing again later circulating around as they each prepared to return to their work, even as Teth picked up his pace to catch up with the soldier
The gates of Kahndaq loomed ahead and, beyond them, an army had gathered.
The ancient world. Another day, another threat of invasion as petty tyrants popped up and fell in continuous cycle around the Mediterranean and Levant.
Standing before the waiting army, a large figure loomed with a wicked looking scimitar. He was a bear of a man, as wide as he was tall.
The soldier who had summoned Teth pulled a canteen of water from his belt, fashioned out of a gourd. Smacking the gourd against the child’s chest, Teth took it with both hands and drank a pull of water. As he handed it back, the child asked who this army belonged to.
Not an unreasonable question, but phrased rather poorly. Or, at least, in poor taste. And loud enough to be heard, as evidenced by those few who understood Kahndaqi bristling as their mother’s honor and the legitimacy of their births were called into question.
At least it wasn’t the Egyptians again. They seemed to have learned their lesson – at least for the moment. They didn’t look like Sandstormers. Perhaps these were the so-called Sea People that had been harassing the Egyptians and the Hittites, come to try their luck at Kahndaq.
The menacing figure leveled his scimitar at the gates, obviously impatient at waiting to face whoever the Kahndaqi would send as its greatest champion to answer the challenge that had been levied as a precursor to the battle to come. Or perhaps end it before it could begin.
The man’s face wavered with uncertainty, perplexed as it was the child who strode forward. Unarmed. Unarmored, wearing just a simple, hand-woven loincloth of spun cotton and the sand clinging to his body.
Finally, the imposing giant laughed.
Reaching out a hand, the man flicked the boy’s sidelock of hair as he turned back to the army behind him to mock that this was a child. The laughter spread through the army, as Kahndaq was made a joke.
After a moment, Teth began to laugh as well.
Turning back to face the child, the two shared a laugh – the giant and the boy – before Teth struck.
No one had even seen him start to move. The blow just seemed to land. An uppercut that hooked between the giant’s legs.
The giant gave an explosive gasp, as all the air seemed let of his lungs, before collapsing on his knees, clutching at his groin.
The laughter abruptly stopped, as boos and sounds of derision were hurled at the boy. Still smiling, the boy reached up to place his hands on either side of the giant’s head. There was a sickening snap of bone, and the body of the giant fell back onto the sand.
Digging into the sand with one foot, the boy hooked a toe under the giant’s dropped scimitar, kicking the sword up into the air. Catching it, he twirled it in his hands, passing it behind his back as he casually stepped onto the corpse. Then, leveling a glare out at the army before him, proceeded to grip the sword with both hands as he bent it into a circle before tossing it at them.
The soldiers stepped out of the way as the warped sword bounced along the ground, the entire army taking a collective step back from the demon child.
Kahndaq’s Black Adam.
It arced through the air, snatched by a small hand just before it hit the ground. Sand kicked in all directions as the boy who’d caught it stumbled forward before throwing it into the air again. And getting tackled. Which may, or may not, have been in the rules. They just seemed to enjoy any opportunity to pile on.
The group of boys passed the ball between two teams, laughing and shouting as they played under the desert sun. It was a scene that endured across countless centuries of human civilization. A varied troop, one thing that all shared in common was their hair. Heads shaved, but for a large, pleated braid of locked hair that hung from the right side. It was a hair style unique to the children of the era, a sign of youth.
As idyllic as the scene may have been, the game was but a moment’s respite. A temporary reward for earlier labors in the day. When it ended, the boys would have to return to the jobs that had been predetermined for them. Sons of farmers to the field, sons of craftsmen to their art, and slaves to their masters.
“TETH-ADAM.”
The escape of childhood was fleeting and ended too quickly.
A boy answered, his sidelock of youth bouncing against his shoulder as he emerged from under a pile of boys, walking unencumbered as more and more tried to pile atop in a vain effort to slow the scrawny youth or take him to the ground. He looked no different from the rest, caked in sand, but for his eyes.
They were green.
Calling out to the soldier who’d shouted his name, the dirty, disheveled youth spoke in a language now forgotten, gesturing to the other side of the children’s makeshift field as he protested that his team was about to win.
The soldier barked one word in reply, gesturing sharply for the boy to follow. With that, the man turned his back and started to walk away.
“-tch-” Teth spat, shoulders slumping in resignation as the other boys began to slide down. Expressions of good game and questions of playing again later circulating around as they each prepared to return to their work, even as Teth picked up his pace to catch up with the soldier
The gates of Kahndaq loomed ahead and, beyond them, an army had gathered.
The ancient world. Another day, another threat of invasion as petty tyrants popped up and fell in continuous cycle around the Mediterranean and Levant.
Standing before the waiting army, a large figure loomed with a wicked looking scimitar. He was a bear of a man, as wide as he was tall.
The soldier who had summoned Teth pulled a canteen of water from his belt, fashioned out of a gourd. Smacking the gourd against the child’s chest, Teth took it with both hands and drank a pull of water. As he handed it back, the child asked who this army belonged to.
Not an unreasonable question, but phrased rather poorly. Or, at least, in poor taste. And loud enough to be heard, as evidenced by those few who understood Kahndaqi bristling as their mother’s honor and the legitimacy of their births were called into question.
At least it wasn’t the Egyptians again. They seemed to have learned their lesson – at least for the moment. They didn’t look like Sandstormers. Perhaps these were the so-called Sea People that had been harassing the Egyptians and the Hittites, come to try their luck at Kahndaq.
The menacing figure leveled his scimitar at the gates, obviously impatient at waiting to face whoever the Kahndaqi would send as its greatest champion to answer the challenge that had been levied as a precursor to the battle to come. Or perhaps end it before it could begin.
The man’s face wavered with uncertainty, perplexed as it was the child who strode forward. Unarmed. Unarmored, wearing just a simple, hand-woven loincloth of spun cotton and the sand clinging to his body.
Finally, the imposing giant laughed.
Reaching out a hand, the man flicked the boy’s sidelock of hair as he turned back to the army behind him to mock that this was a child. The laughter spread through the army, as Kahndaq was made a joke.
After a moment, Teth began to laugh as well.
Turning back to face the child, the two shared a laugh – the giant and the boy – before Teth struck.
No one had even seen him start to move. The blow just seemed to land. An uppercut that hooked between the giant’s legs.
The giant gave an explosive gasp, as all the air seemed let of his lungs, before collapsing on his knees, clutching at his groin.
The laughter abruptly stopped, as boos and sounds of derision were hurled at the boy. Still smiling, the boy reached up to place his hands on either side of the giant’s head. There was a sickening snap of bone, and the body of the giant fell back onto the sand.
Digging into the sand with one foot, the boy hooked a toe under the giant’s dropped scimitar, kicking the sword up into the air. Catching it, he twirled it in his hands, passing it behind his back as he casually stepped onto the corpse. Then, leveling a glare out at the army before him, proceeded to grip the sword with both hands as he bent it into a circle before tossing it at them.
The soldiers stepped out of the way as the warped sword bounced along the ground, the entire army taking a collective step back from the demon child.
Kahndaq’s Black Adam.
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose
THE MORE THINGS CHANGE, THE MORE THEY TEND TO STAY THE SAME.
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose
THE MORE THINGS CHANGE, THE MORE THEY TEND TO STAY THE SAME.
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
ISLAMIC REPUBLIC OF KAHNDAQ
CURRENT DAY
The ball was made of synthetic materials, brightly colored with stitching that gave it an iconic hexagon pattern, inflated with air rather than wrapped around husks.
It was played by kicking with the foot, not with the hand, but the group of boys bathed in the dying light of day would have otherwise been indistinguishable from those of some three thousand years before save for the many and varied styles of hair – a full head of hair – and their clothing. Some in shoes, some in sandals. Trousers and short pants. Teams marked by those with shirts and those without.
They did not toil in the fields or work alongside their artisan fathers. None were slaves. Their play a respite still, but this one from having been at school during the day – once the exclusive privilege of the pharaoh's children.
A dirty, disheveled boy got the ball, playing it between both feet as his green eyes gleamed. His hair had grown out in these few years since he’d cut off his sidelock. And he was starting to get better at this game of soccer.
So confident was the Champion in his soccer awesomeness, that he attempted a trick pass with the ball... and promptly landed on his face when he tripped himself up.
Boyish laughter filled the air, as several called out to him. But their words were not Kahndaqi. The language of Teth’s people, the language that they had revived with Kahndaq’s founding, was dead now. Instead, they spoke Arabic. The Kahndaqi language having disappeared before the modern era, as Kahndaq had been shaped and re-shaped again and again through invasion.
The game played on. Picking himself up from the ground, Teth spit dirt from out of his mouth when something caught his attention.
A sound? No. A feeling? Not exactly. Green eyes scanned the horizon, cast in a direction for what reason he could not have said. Only that he had a reason.
...he just didn’t know what that reason was.
Sparks of electricity arced between the boy’s fingers. His hair stood on end. There was something... not right.
“TETH!”
Turning his head, the boy was met by a soccer ball to the face, triggering another round of boyish laughter.
“Ahbil,” a voice called in jest, lobbed at the green-eyed boy by the one who’d kicked the ball.
“-tch-” Teth uttered, turning his head to speak before he quipped back, crudely, “Ayreh feek,”
The cursing immediately sent the boys giggling like, well, a bunch of tweenage boys.
The setting sun heralded the Ahan, ending the impromptu game with the call for prayer. The boys dispersed, each heading for the mosque in their neighborhood, as the green-eyed youth was left standing amid lengthening shadows of a god he could barely recognize.
The Hebrew God he knew of, from his time in the brick making pits. But it seemed prophets had come and gone, re-shaping new religions from old ones, as monotheism had replaced the pantheons that had guided civilization through earlier times. Still, while he might not recognize the prayers, it seemed the temple remained a central part of life in Kahndaq.
As the streets emptied with people headed to prayers, the boy found himself alone with his thoughts in a place that was as familiar as not. The buildings and streets unlike anything he had known, though the damage left by the Reach and the struggle to liberate Earth from under invasion lingered in any number of scars that had left indelible marks upon the city.
Without even realizing it, the boy had wandered his way to Shiruta Square. Even traveling down unfamiliar streets, he could find himself here. Craning his head back, the child looked up to see a large statue of an imposing figure reaching toward the stars.
Bile rose in the back of his throat.
Standing at the base of the larger-than-life dedication to Shazam, the boy hiked his shirt up and tugged at the waist of his shorts. The sound of something splashing against the statue’s base trickled into the early evening, as the boy’s one true regret was that he was urinating on the statue rather than pissing on the man’s grave.
“As I understand it, urinating in public was frowned upon even in your time.”
“-tch-” Teth uttered with a click of his tongue, letting go of the shirt as he turned to face the red-and-blue emblazoned figure.
“The fuck you been?”
It was Teth for hello.
It was played by kicking with the foot, not with the hand, but the group of boys bathed in the dying light of day would have otherwise been indistinguishable from those of some three thousand years before save for the many and varied styles of hair – a full head of hair – and their clothing. Some in shoes, some in sandals. Trousers and short pants. Teams marked by those with shirts and those without.
They did not toil in the fields or work alongside their artisan fathers. None were slaves. Their play a respite still, but this one from having been at school during the day – once the exclusive privilege of the pharaoh's children.
A dirty, disheveled boy got the ball, playing it between both feet as his green eyes gleamed. His hair had grown out in these few years since he’d cut off his sidelock. And he was starting to get better at this game of soccer.
So confident was the Champion in his soccer awesomeness, that he attempted a trick pass with the ball... and promptly landed on his face when he tripped himself up.
Boyish laughter filled the air, as several called out to him. But their words were not Kahndaqi. The language of Teth’s people, the language that they had revived with Kahndaq’s founding, was dead now. Instead, they spoke Arabic. The Kahndaqi language having disappeared before the modern era, as Kahndaq had been shaped and re-shaped again and again through invasion.
The game played on. Picking himself up from the ground, Teth spit dirt from out of his mouth when something caught his attention.
A sound? No. A feeling? Not exactly. Green eyes scanned the horizon, cast in a direction for what reason he could not have said. Only that he had a reason.
...he just didn’t know what that reason was.
Sparks of electricity arced between the boy’s fingers. His hair stood on end. There was something... not right.
“TETH!”
Turning his head, the boy was met by a soccer ball to the face, triggering another round of boyish laughter.
“Ahbil,” a voice called in jest, lobbed at the green-eyed boy by the one who’d kicked the ball.
“-tch-” Teth uttered, turning his head to speak before he quipped back, crudely, “Ayreh feek,”
The cursing immediately sent the boys giggling like, well, a bunch of tweenage boys.
The setting sun heralded the Ahan, ending the impromptu game with the call for prayer. The boys dispersed, each heading for the mosque in their neighborhood, as the green-eyed youth was left standing amid lengthening shadows of a god he could barely recognize.
The Hebrew God he knew of, from his time in the brick making pits. But it seemed prophets had come and gone, re-shaping new religions from old ones, as monotheism had replaced the pantheons that had guided civilization through earlier times. Still, while he might not recognize the prayers, it seemed the temple remained a central part of life in Kahndaq.
As the streets emptied with people headed to prayers, the boy found himself alone with his thoughts in a place that was as familiar as not. The buildings and streets unlike anything he had known, though the damage left by the Reach and the struggle to liberate Earth from under invasion lingered in any number of scars that had left indelible marks upon the city.
Without even realizing it, the boy had wandered his way to Shiruta Square. Even traveling down unfamiliar streets, he could find himself here. Craning his head back, the child looked up to see a large statue of an imposing figure reaching toward the stars.
Bile rose in the back of his throat.
Standing at the base of the larger-than-life dedication to Shazam, the boy hiked his shirt up and tugged at the waist of his shorts. The sound of something splashing against the statue’s base trickled into the early evening, as the boy’s one true regret was that he was urinating on the statue rather than pissing on the man’s grave.
“As I understand it, urinating in public was frowned upon even in your time.”
“-tch-” Teth uttered with a click of his tongue, letting go of the shirt as he turned to face the red-and-blue emblazoned figure.
“The fuck you been?”
It was Teth for hello.
<Snipped quote by Bounce>
That's why I kind of encourage the competition. You seem like your concept is doing more of Dwayne "The Black Adam" Johnson meets the Old School Black Adam, and I'm going for more of the New 52 Billy Batson a-hole with superpowers and 3,000 years of daddy issues.
No, I just mean that I've been writing with MB in these games for a very long amount of time.
<Snipped quote by Bounce>
I see, so he’s a kid now. Lol.
Hi, I'm Bounce. It's what I do.
MB's been putting up with my shit for... a depressingly long amount of time now, if we stop to think about it.
All right, I've re-written this enough times now to say the hell with it and put it up.
@Master Bruce @mattmanganon
@Master Bruce @mattmanganon
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