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Graves

“The trouble with "now" is that no matter how much you wish it would, it doesn't last forever. But then... other than a grudge...what does?”
Phillip Graves 2/2/58 (59) Male Walking the Line


C O N C E P T A B S T R A C T:
Essentially, I'm doing a version of 100 Bullets. The early structure is, to wit "Graves approaching someone who has been a victim of a terrible wrong. Graves gives them the opportunity to take revenge by providing a handgun, 100 bullets, and documentation about the primary target responsible for their woes. He informs the candidate the bullets are completely untraceable by any law enforcement investigation, and as soon as they are found at any crime scene, investigations will immediately cease." Graves will serve as a catalyst, supporting character, and maybe even an antagonist to characters and stories that are loosely connected.

To quote wiki "Agent Graves was the leader of a group known as The Minutemen, a group of six men (plus one "Agent") who serve as the enforcers and police of a clandestine organization known as The Trust. The Trust was originally formed by the heads of 13 powerful European families who controlled much of the Old World's combined wealth and industry. The Trust made an offer to the kings of Europe by which they would leave the continent and their considerable influence and holdings, in exchange for complete autonomy in the still unclaimed portion of the New World. When England ignored this proposition and colonized the Roanoke Island late in the 16th century, the Minutemen were formed. The original Minutemen, seven vicious killers, eradicated the colony and all of its inhabitants, leaving behind only the cryptic message "Croatoan" as a warning, reclaiming the land for the Trust. Since this time, the Minutemen's charge has been to protect the 13 Houses of the Trust, serving as their force against outside threats and more frequently as police of the internal conflicts between the Trust families themselves. The groups' interactions are often facilitated by a person holding the title "Warlord" for the Trust, who serves as the Houses' liaison to the Minutemen.

Sometime in the early 21st century, the Minutemen were betrayed by the Trust and disbanded after Agent Graves refused a direct order. The Minutemen retaliated with the assassination of one of the heads of the Trust in Atlantic City, and they were then sent into hiding. Most of the Minutemen of that time were 'deactivated' by Graves. These former Minutemen had their memories repressed for their own protection and were returned to 'normal' lives."

Interwoven through Graves and these characters are a story of a secret society that lies at the heart of America. It is crime, it is politics, it is pulp, it is noir, it is espionage and intrigue, it is history, and it is all blended together to make something very much me.


N O T E S:
Cast of Characters:

Graves: Head of the Minutemen
Dashiell Bad Horse (The Indian): Former Minuteman and Graves' protegee.
The Colonel: Current Warlord for the Trust.
Ethan Roark: Head of the Roark Family, voting member of the Trust.
Augustus Medici: Head of the Medici Family, controlling member of the Trust.
Tracy Lawless (The Solider): Former Minuteman turned mob enforcer.
Quarry (The Hunter): Former Minuteman turned hitman.
The Op (The Bastard): Former Minuteman turned private investigator.
Parker (The Thief): Minuteman turned criminal.
William Roque: The Colonel's right hand man.
Forever Carlyle: Member of the Carlyle Family
Berta Tubbs (The Girl): Newest Minuteman initiate
<Snipped quote by Byrd Man>

Sounds good.
Keep in mind, you can also write in a different time period.


Spoiler it's just historical fan fiction.
<Snipped quote by Byrd Man>

If you're intending to come back and rejoin once you settle back into your new place/have internet a couple months from now, then I think this is a good idea. Allows you to still participate and contribute, as well as an outlet to write, and enables you an 'easy in' if/when you do return for good.

Is this idea related to any character you were playing beforehand, or something new?


Something new. It'd be off in its own corner of the world. I'd be doing it soon... like, have a few posts pre written already.
Byrd's stalking us.
Kinky.


I still get notifications from y'all. Also, I might be working on something. It'd be me writing a bunch of shit in advance and solo posting.
"I'm the best at what I do, but what I do isn't very nice, guvnor!"
<Snipped quote by Byrd Man>

I'll keep your seat warm.


You can void out my stuff. I dont want to hold anyone up who may have ideas.
<Snipped quote by Byrd Man>

Yes, sorry to hear this as well. Perhaps when you've acquired a new internet connection, we'll have the pleasure of having you back.


Sure. I'm moving at the end of next month. So look out for me in January
I've got to bow out. I turned off my internet service in preparation for moving so I can only use my phone at the moment, and I ain't about posting shit from my phone. I can use my phone's internet in a limited basis to tether, but I can't do it all the time so I'm doing triage and picking another game over this one. Scumbag move? Perhaps. But regardless, it's better to cut ties and let everyone know than to never post without reason.
MARVEL: KNIGHTS OF NEW YORK




Luke Cage



CHARACTER BIO:

Real Name: Carlton Lucas
Age: 30's
Gender: Male
Powers, Abilities, and Gear: Cage has steel hardened skin and super strength.
Origin:

The story of Luke Cage can be told in verse. The early days are when his life went from bad to worse. Carl Lucas, a would be gangster working around Harlem town, working as a strongarm lackey to that Willis Styrker clown. Styrker had Harlem tight in his grasp, strangling the community with his criminal clasp. Young Luke fell for Lenore, Stryker's sweetheart. Styrker went mad with jealousy, his sanity fell apart. One day Carl was headed home when he got stopped, ya dig? It was two NYPD uniforms and a detective pig. They ran Carl in because an eyeball witness, the man said Carl was around a murder scene the night before and acting suspicious. Carl's fingerprints matched the ones on a piece, so he was arrested for murder by the police. A swift trial commenced, so fast you couldn't blink. The end result was predictable, Carl sentenced to life in the clink. Carl's heart was tortured, his spirit maimed. He knew that he was framed.

Ten years in the slammer seemed to rapidly pass, all the while outside Stryker's kingdom gained mass. Losing hope on getting out and his prospects dim, Carl decided to volunteer for a project most grim. An experiment to create the durability of a famous super-soldier ended in disaster thanks to an evil poacher. Carl lay in a science chamber, his body resting, when a vindictive guard broke in to where they were testing. The guard smashed the console and dial. The chamber began sparking, its insides filling with bile. A massive explosion rocked the prison then, a force that was like a keg of dynamite times ten. The guard, the doctor, and the whole experiment were lost in the detonation, nothing could survive that great conflagration.

Out of the fiery rubble and debris a lone figure came crawling. It was a naked Carl Lucas who ran, his own ass he was hauling. He ran into the woods to avoid any guards. Through some odd happenstance he was now out behind bars. What's more his whole body seemed unreal. The explosion hadn't hurt him, his body tougher than steel. With new powers at his command and ten years spent spurned, he set his sights for Harlem and home he did return.

Once home he started a crusade for payback, Willis Stryker and his criminal rackets were prime for attack. A new life and fresh start he had acquired. Carl Lucas was dead, believed perished in that fire. Soon after coming home he sought out his former love Lenore. He was shattered when he discovered she was no more. She had died six years back, overdosing from mainlining pure smack. He made a promise that day, for letting her die Stryker would pay. Adopting the alias Luke Cage, he tore up Harlem fueled by his powers and rage. It didn't take long for Stryker to get mad. He put out a million dollar hit for Luke Cage, man he wanted that brother reaaal bad. Cage tore trough Styrker's men like butter, setting the residents of Harlem's hearts aflutter. For a long time now they had needed a defender to help them thrive, but Cage didn't want none of that jive! He wasn't a hero to speak for the masses, he just wanted to kick Styrker and his men's asses.

Cage dispatched Styrker's men at their nightclub without breaking a sweat. They were the bad mothers, but to him they proved to be no threat. Cage finally set his sights on Styrker, that villain. The two fought each other, both intent on killin'. Stryker tried his best to fight off his former friend, but the steel skinned man was too much to defend. Desperate to kill and half crazed, Stryker decided to kill both he and Cage in a massive blaze. Up went his nightclub in a red hot spire. Nobody was getting out of that fire. If you think that's the end of this story and Cage is dead, then what the hell's wrong with your head? Out of the fire came Cage choking, unharmed and unhurt but his body smoking. While he came out of the fire okay, Stryker had been consumed in the infero's fray.

Gathered around the blazing hulk were the people of Harlem so grateful, they were glad to be rid of the crime boss that was so hateful. In the embers of the building Cage watched it burn, while a feeling inside him did churn. His vengeance was complete now that Stryker had died, but he still felt hollow and empty inside. That day Cage made a solemn vow, he would change his life and his ways somehow. From that day forward he decided to work for the people as best he could, writing wrongs and injustices in the 'hood. If you need help and your situation is dire, then you can always call Luke Cage: Hero for Hire.

STORY INFO:


High Concept: I want to tell stories about Luke Cage, Harlem, and street heroic in the same vein of guys like Chester Himes, Walter Mosley, and Ross Macdonald.

Motivation and Conflict: Cage is in business to help people. He learned the hard way what happens when you lead a bad life and wants to atone for the sins of his pass by making up for it with good deed.

Notes:

Supporting cast:

Sgt. Alex Stone -- NYPD squad sergeant and occasional ally.
Sister Mercy -- Streetwise junkie and snitch for Cage.
Franklin "Foggy" Nelson -- Local defense attorney and routine employer of Cage.
Marcus Drayton -- Harlem community activist.

PLAYER INFO:


Player Name: Byrd Man.

Preferred Contact Method: PM

Why This Character?: Cage is one of my favorite Marvel heroes period, and especially a favorite among the street level. Been a while since I rocked him. So, Sweet Christmas!

What Can You Bring to the RPG?: A reliable player who has been writing this character off and on for ten years and knows how to write him, at least a version of him I guess.


Midtown Manhattan
11:10 AM


"'Justice personified is blind, and so is Injustice. More specifically, that personification is a blind lawyer. This blind lwayer sits by the phone day and night, waiting for the call from some of the city's most dangerous and corrupt individuals. This blind lawyer talks about the lofty ideals of justice in the courtroom and in the media, but one look at the names on his client's list -- Campisi, Manfredi, De La Rosa, Blackwood -- and you discover that Matt Murdock's deeds do not match his words...' It goes on and on like that for a while. Bunch of talk about the mistrial with Blackwood, then the stuff about De La Rosa... and then a last bit saying you should be disbarred."

"So, usual Daily Bugle boilerplate," I said to Karen. "Remind me to sue them for libel when I get the chance."

"Yes, sir."

That paper has attacked me so much over the past year that I barely noticed Karen's pulse rise anymore when she reads their editorials. They're not the only place that likes to attack me. Papers, websites, TV stations, even other lawyers and politicians all have an anti-Murdock stance of some sort... at least, the politicians and media organizations not in the pockets of my clients.

"That's all, Karen, you can go."

Karen Page, a paralegal and my only staff member quickly and quietly left the room while I leaned back in my chair. Karen was the gatekeeper when it came to any time with me. I only worked by referral, my card nothing but a phone number. That phone number rang here to Karen's desk. From there she would do the Murdock Test. Either you had enough cash to cover my fees, or your case was unique enough to grant me exposure. If you didn't have one of those two things, then Karen would refer to her rolodex full of other lawyers happy to take the case. If you did pass that test, then she passed you along to me and we would have a meeting either at my office or at whatever lockup you happened to find yourself in. Hopefully said meeting would be in my office, if only for the scenery.

My office sits on the fortieth floor of an impressive Midtown skyscraper. They say it has one hell of a view of Lower Manhattan. Guess I'll take their word for it. Someone once asked why I paid so much for this corner office when I could have gotten another one on the same floor without a view for a hundred thousand dollars cheaper. I didn't dignify them with a response. In this business, what I do on the books and off of them, you show strength by your decisions. A blind man wasting a hundred grand on a view he'll never see is part of my strength. It's part of my power. I bought the office because I could.

"Phone call for you," Karen's voice chirped out of the speaker on my desk. "It's... Uncle Angelo..."

---

Syosset, New York
1 PM


"Matt, my boy," Don Campisi said cheerfully.

His old and withered hands felt like sandpaper scrapping against the skin of my hands. He patted the back of my hand and put the other hand on my elbow to guide me across the lawn. He thought of it as a favor, but I could get around the yard better than he could. I've never laid eyes on the man but I can describe the old mob boss perfectly. Short, squat, with wisps of white hair on his pale scalp. Large eyeglasses so thick his eyes look alien. To the world at large, Angelo Campisi looks like a doddering old grandfather. To think that's what he is would be to sorely underestimate the man.

"I'm so glad you made it out," he said once we were both sitting in lawn chairs. "I know it's a hell of a drive out of the city, especially for you."

"Well, I didn't hear any moaning under the car when I stopped, so I guess I did alright."

"If you hit 'em just right, you won't hear any moaning at all!"

Campisi laughed at his own joke before moving on to small talk. He had to tell me all about his kids that I didn't care about. I nodded at the right times and said the right things. One of Campisi's men came out and dropped off two impossibly strong coffees. Just the smell of it gave me the jitters. Campisi picked one up with shaking hands and took a long sip. After that he finally got down to it.

"I want you advice on something, Matty. You know Joey Bags? Works with that crew out in Red Hook? He and Paulie got into some trouble last night on a deal."

"What kind of deal?"

"They were working out a plan with those biker guys you rep."

"The Crusaders?"

"Those are the guys. They were gonna use these Cruasder fucks to mule coke and dope across the country. They're always going on these cross country rides to Piss-ant, Florida or somewheres out in California. They don't go on the interstate, and they can make drops and deliveries to our people in Miami, Kansas City, or wherever. Instead of a fucking pick-up truck carrying two hundred pounds, fifty bikers carrying six pounds a piece make drops over the course of a week. "

"Good idea," I said. I knew all about the scheme, and the meet, from the Crusaders. "I'm a bit upset you didn't use me as a go-between."

"Doesn't matter now," Campisi said with a shrug. "As I said before, there was trouble. That cocksucker in the mask showed up, the one that dresses like the devil, and he kicked the shit out of them all before stealing the coke my guys had sent. Joey Bags is in the hospital and two fucking pounds of blow are in the wind!"

I knew that all too well. Campisi was exaggerating. It was actually a pound and a half of cocaine I stole last night. And it wasn't in the wind, it was down a storm drain eight blocks away from the meeting. The part about Joey Bags is probably true. I remembered breaking a few of his ribs.

Campisi took another sip from his coffee. "What do you know about this guy, Matty?"

"Just what you know, Uncle Angelo. I heard that he took over the rackets of the Puerto Rican Army back during the summer. He runs Washington Heights."

That's the rumor on the street, anyway. In truth, since I took out Martinez brothers, Washington Heights has never been safer. The Devil acts like an up and coming racketeer, except he doesn't fill the void when he eliminates the competition.

"Look into it for me, will ya?" Campisi put his dried up hand on the back of my hand. I had to bite my tongue to keep from screaming. "You got friends on the police force and the DA's office. They have to have a file on this guy. If he's trying to muscle in on our action, then he is in for one rude awakening. We ain't fucking Puerto Ricans, we know how to fight back."

"I'll see what I can do, Uncle Angelo. As long as you answer this: Why didn't you let me know about the deal going down between your guys and the bikers?"

Campisi shrugged again. "It's Paulie's show, you know how he is with you. Thinks cause you're a mick you can't be trusted."

I didn't say it, but I thought that maybe Paulie was on to something. Maybe he was the only member of the Campisi Family with any bit of sense.

---

Williamsburg, Brooklyn
2:15 PM


Yussel Goren had never seen so much blood in his life. It seemed to coat the floor and walls of the small Brooklyn apartment. It covered his hands and arms. The thighs of his navy blue pants were a deep crimson now due to the blood. Neta was face down in the carpet, her blood pooled out from the spot where she had fallen and oozing out through the rest of the room.

Yussel stumbled forward. He took his yarmulke off with his blood-stained hands and stuttered out some words in Yiddish. He fell to his knees and began to weep. His free hand found a bloody knife buried in the carpet. He held it up and looked at it just as the door to the apartment burst open.

"NYPD," the heavyset uniformed officer said, his gun out and aimed at Yussel. "Drop the weapon!"
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