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3 yrs ago
How much wood WOULD a woodchuck chuck? If a woodchuck could chuck wood? Maybe that dork Sally selling seashells down by the sea shore knows...
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4 yrs ago
Can everybody do me a huge solid and like this post: roleplayerguild.com/posts/5…
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5 yrs ago
Because asking the mods "gib power" is a much better bid than demonstrating a groundswell of supporters, right? #Wraith4Mod2K19
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5 yrs ago
WRAITH, WRAITH, HE'S OUR MAN, IF HE CAN'T DO IT, NO ONE CAN!
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5 yrs ago
@KingOfTheSkies but could you fix it with Flex Tape? I say nay-nay

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In Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game] → 3 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

S1- SENSATION & WONDER
WOLVERINE #1 - Make It Right

Salem Center, New York



Whole place smells like grease an’ old sweat, an’ I can tell ‘Sako can’t stand it. Her face is all twisted up into a half-scowl, her nose is scrunched so hard it looks like it’s trying to escape to her forehead. I can smell her sweat through the shimmerin’ psionic armor wrapped around her body, can see the pit stains running all the way down her shirt and the perspiration watercolor all over her face. I’ve been runnin’ her hard, the way she needs.

‘Sako goes by Armor, an’ the way she tells it, she wants to be an X-Man more than anything, just like damn near all the ankle biters livin’ in an’ around the ol’ X-Mansion. I figure most of ‘em don’t got what it takes -- for every little miss Power Pack there’s some meathead punk who thinks he can be an X-Man ‘cause he can punch good -- but ‘Sako always knew better.

She came in older n’ most kids on campus. In my book, she was the best older kid, the only one with more going on in her life than some cell-phone, and the only one who didn’t get any ideas about “borrowing” my beer. And she always put on one hell of a show in the Danger Room. When the rest were cryin’ over scraped knees and lettin’ everything I taught ‘em about fightin’ fall to the wayside, she was in the meat of it, smashin’ through hardlight constructs and workin’ her tail off to keep herself in tiptop, an’ to keep the rest of the munchkins around her from becomin’ Danger Room chow. She was good as anyone, even better n’ a few o’ the active X-Men at the time. But this was before Chuck got it in his dome that we could even consider young’ns as X-Men, so all she’d get for her efforts was a pat on the back n’ a reminder to study for whatever book learnin’ Charlie had in store for her.

Charlie wanted her to stay at the Institute for college, but me an’ Scotty sat her down ta’ tell her she deserves to see the world before she’s asked to protect it. We sent her off a few years ago, to some big money dump that made me roll my eyes, but made ‘Sako’s glimmer. Never heard much about it from her, though. Mosta’ the time her summers back here amounted to the same four words she’d say every time she walked through those doors: “You. Me. Danger Room.”

This is our third summer at it, an’ she’s really startin’ ta’ give me a run for my money. I leave for an Avengers joint for a week, an’ I come back to find out she’s been out-scorin’ me, on my Danger Room courses. Fer my money, that alone more’n makes her X-Man material, but Scotty, Cyclops, is still wafflin’ about it, in his infinite wisdom as glorious leader of the X-Men. Ol’ one-eye keeps givin’ me some rag about wantin’ her to finish school, or pump up her score in team exercises, but more n’ more I figure what’s botherin’ Cyke is the amount of time she spends with me. Doesn’t help that I started bringin’ her to my personal training room.

Y’see, while ago the Prof installed some fancy Shi’ar alien gizmos to ‘upgrade’ the Danger Room, tore most o’ the old one out. Now instead of cheesy robots, metal armatures, and surprise pits in the floor, it’s all virtual reality. Hardlight trainin’ dummies an’ photorealistic backgrounds, but for all that it never smelled right, never felt right. Gettin’ to slash through real metal, feelin’ the flecks of steel stab into your knuckles, tastin’ iron in the air, is a helluva lot better than wipin’ some dopey construct.

On account o’ that simple fact, me an’ Colossus dragged as much of the old Danger Room’s guts out inna’ woods to put Humpty Dumpty back together again. I figure it’s gotta be ten times as dangerous as the one under the mansion now, and ten times the fun.

Cyclops about exploded when he found out I’d been bringin’ her. Bad enough that I trained her, he says, bad enough that that I taught her how to maul her way through Danger Room trials, but God Forbid I get her used to doin’ real damage with her powers. Says if we keep goin’ like this, somebody’s gonna end up dead. I told him to tattle to Xavier if he had a problem, and ta’ remember to apply his asshole ointment. Why shouldn’t I teach her? I’m the best there is at what I do.

‘Sako’s in my Danger Room with me now, throttlin’ a lobster-clawed robot that’s lookin’ for purchase on her armor. My claws are popped an’ I’m making mincemeat out of as many bots as I can get my mitts on, but they’re just keeping me busy so I can’t bail her out. We’re both knee deep in cut ribbons of battle plate an’ oil but they just keep comin’, pourin’ out of the walls like fire ants.

‘Sako’s claws are popped, too. They’re new this summer, pinkish psychic protrusions comin’ from her armor’s knuckles. They ain’t near as sharp as mine, but I’m dead chuffed to watch ‘em slash through lobster bots like rice paper. She’s a fighter after my own heart. Tenacious, tough as nails, an’ -- she’s dancin’ through the crowd of bots now, gettin’ closer to me. Her claws are a flurry around her, cuttin’ open chest cavities and separatin’ robo heads from bodies with abandon, oil flowin’ over her claws like blood -- now that I reach for it, only word that comes to mind fer’ her is deadly. I’m the best there is at what I do, but I’m reminded that what I do best isn’t very nice.

But these are just robots. Rippin’ an’ tearin’ gears an’ wires don’t make you a killer any more n’ playin’ virtual NHL will make you Wayne Gretsky. I shove one bot aside and spear my claws through another’s eyesockets. Cyclops knows it don’t turn you into what I am… But I know it don’t hurt, neither.

|Logan, your attention is requested.| Chuck’s psychic presence flares in my head, callin’ out to me from beyond.

|What’s the sitch, baldie?| I think, watching ‘Sako leap backwards and slam an elbow drop into robot’s noggin.

|It appears an acquaintance of yours is back in town.| Charlie’s thought comes to me with more n’ just the words, but the feelin’s, the mem’ries. The lead smell o’ bullets minglin’ with the iron of blood, petroleum gun lubricant sticky on calloused fingers, a white symbol emblazoned in the minds of damn near every criminal in the city. Most of all, he touches on a promise in my head, an oath I swore long ago to an old friend, a man as determined as ‘Sako. An’ ‘Sako’s as vicious as him, I think with a shudder. I can’t help myself from sayin’ it as I think it:

”Frank Castle’s back?”
In Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game] → 3 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
In Doc's Chop Shop → 3 yrs ago Forum: Character Sheets
in which Doc posts a shitload of heavily WIP support options













In Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game] → 3 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

S1- SENSATION & WONDER
X-MEN #1 - Endorphinmachine

Unknown Region, Northern Atlantic Ocean



The complex’s entrance was belied by a single skiff, bobbing helplessly in the sea. To passersby, it would appear the consequence of high seas and drunken sailors, left to die in the most treacherous waters north of the Bermuda Triangle. Here, where the torrential tides of shore gave way to oceans ruled by the machinations of hurricanes, beyond the purview of even the sea gods of Atlantis. These were Cabal waters.

Sebastian Shaw had heard it called a cabal, anyway. They didn’t know the meaning of the word. By Shaw’s reckoning, his resources and cunning alone represented over half of the group’s measure. The rest were the dregs, nazi scientists, fool magicians. There was even a sallow fellow with a giant head that had not a drop of sense to fill it. All this jammed into a pressurized tub shaped -- infuriatingly -- like their leader’s head. At least the Dominators had gotten the color wrong.

Shaw approached on a vessel of his own, a white wedge of a submersible, sealed from the elements by way of a translucent dome affixed overhead, with a smart white leather and steel interior. Nothing to brag about at the yacht club, but sufficiently traceless and comfortable for Shaw’s purposes.

“Leland, take us down,” Shaw said, spotting the damned marker. Harold Leland was one of the few personal associates Shaw would dare allow near such enterprise. The rest of his entourage were too keen for advancement, and too sharp to miss the opportunity to throw him off balance. To bring them here tonight would be to hand them his Hellfire Club whole, and indeed, the world entire. Leland, by contrast, was as dull as he was rotund. He made a fine second, clever only the ways that were not of true threat to Shaw’s aims, limited in imagination and, against Shaw’s ability, sorely lacking in threat.

Leland gestured and the craft descended, sinking into the brine as if a stone. Wielding his mutancy, Leland could control any object’s mass, as he did now with the ship’s ballast, bringing them face to face with the sea’s grinning skull.

“Into the devil’s gullet, eh Shaw?” Leland said. They approached the base, diving to where the skull’s apparent teeth met the seabed, where Black Manta’s submersibles ferried themselves in and out of the dock.

“Were it so dignified,” said Shaw. Their craft settled in a cylindrical chamber of slick foreign material now covered in barnacles and the vestiges of wild seaweed. The skull around them moaned like a whale as its pneumatic systems worked to purge the water in preference to the oxygen that most of the crew favored. Shaw approached his craft’s airtight entrance as water voided the space.

“Leland,” he said, turning the door’s handle, “wait, and be prepared to beat a hasty retreat. The locals may object to our current interests.”

Leland nodded simply, and Shaw stepped out to seize his destiny.

---


The facility of today’s interest was one of the labs of Professor Ivo, a reed thin man in his sixth or seventh decade with an uncanny knack for being in two places at once, on account of his small army of robot duplicates. By this Ivo’s ten pound eye bags, and the orange scruff erupting from his chin, Shaw assumed this one was the genuine article.

Ivo worked at a gutted cyborg of an office desk, covered in oil and screws and other machine viscera. The room it inhabited had to be as large as Grand Central Station, ceiling swooping up and back down again in a flourish of alien architecture, but Ivo’s desk was almost imperceptible against the production line that whirred around it. The line was of decidedly human construction, with flat metal angles and rubberized conveyors carrying the parts of robotic homunculi that gleamed in the low light.

“Ivo,” Shaw greeted him.

“Sebastian,” he responded, his soldering iron flashed in the dimness, “come to finally stand amongst the rest of the freaks and geeks, have you?”

“I haven’t time for chit-chat, little man,” Shaw said, “I’ve come for a data core.”

“Select one at your leisure. Though I’m afraid you will find it quite useless without the entirety of the associated android.” Ivo held his work up to the light, a squat green motherboard speckled with gold flecks of computer intelligence, dioded in accordance with Zola’s research. The corners of his mouth turned down, dissatisfied.

“It was flagged for retrieval in your system hours ago,” the edge of Shaw’s voice slipped into annoyance.

“Aah,” Ivo said, bemusement in his tone, “that data core. The computer could hardly distinguish it from the others. A production error.”

Ivo turned to face him, with a crooked smile returned to his face. “What use has a mutant businessman in such a thing?” The question was surely a trap. Shaw thought for only a moment,

“It will make a suitable basis for the Hellfire Club’s supercomputer,” he lied, “once we’ve stripped it of your... quirks.” Ivo laughed, a cruel tutting sound that quickly gave way to a pained wheeze. From the insult, or his paltry lie, Shaw could not tell.

“There,” Ivo gestured with his chin at the other side of the lab, “you’ll keep me abreast of any developments, I’m sure. Computers are my speciality.” His smile was coy.

“Mmm,” Shaw grunted in half-response, content that Ivo wouldn’t get in his way for the time being. He walked across the lab, stepping over a section of belt that converged in an ‘x’ at the room’s center, passing robotic heads and torsos between one another. The opposite bench that Ivo indicated was relatively clear, spare a splotch of machine grease and a broken socket wrench laying impotent across it. But the core was nowhere to be found.

“Cold.” A voice out of the darkness. Shaw started. He craned his neck back at Ivo, who still toiled at his desk.

“Colder,” the voice said. Shaw whirled to it, his mind reaching out for his mutant power.

“Hot,” it said, and Shaw’s eyes settled on its holder. Out of the dark was Felix Faust, another of their cabal, dressed head to toe in dream colored robes that obscured everything but the malignant ‘v’ of his brow and the poison emeralds of his eyes beneath. In a gloved hand, he held Shaw’s core. It was a tight metallic framework wreathed about an imperceptibly detailed crystal lattice. It was the only medium that could sustain the amount of data they required, and the only thing durable enough to be expected to survive in an android’s core.

“The core is of no use to you, sorcerer,” Shaw growled.

“Perhaps,” said Faust, “and perhaps not. Don’t think the significance of it is lost on me, Shaw.”

Shaw rankled. Faust already knew it was no ordinary core. Ivo described it as a production error; this was true, if only partially. Shaw turned his hand over, presenting his palm to Faust.

“Give it. I won’t ask twice,” he said.

“Were it in your power to take,” said Faust. He turned the core in his hands, “need I underscore its significance?”

He didn’t need to. The core, this core, was a one-in-a-trillion chance, if the odds were even so favorable. The core was not a simple error, but a mutant. The Dominators, these Dominators, this ship, were themselves mutants from the core line of their species, hailing from an outworld conquered by their race long ago. As they mutated, so did their technology, as production errors were accepted over years as a part of their baseline. Then, with Ivo’s mutant intelligence in command of the ship’s facilities, he had the fortune to produce this: a mutant among mutants. It would be useless in Ivo’s hands, simply a broken datacore, useful for only the raw data inside. In Faust’s it was but a mystic trinket, but in Shaw’s?

“Name your price,” Shaw relented, folding his arms. A vulture’s grin spread across Faust’s face. He opened his opposite hand and starched parchment paper materialized from the ether.

“A contract,” Faust said, “one you will find quite unbreakable. It ensures my safety against your ends, whatever they may be.”

“And?” Shaw didn’t need to read the fine print to know there was a catch. Faust knew his way around a treacherous bargain.

“It entitles me to a favor, of whatever kind I desire. An… ‘IOU’, if you will.” A quill materialized in the air as Faust spoke. Shaw had always avoided ‘favors’, especially those that go undefined. It was an implicit upperhand, for the holder to use the cudgel of responsibility to hammer those that owe him into whatever shape he so desires. And with Faust, such a claim would be enforced by magic, that Shaw’s Hellfire Club had no way of countering… But Shaw wasn’t spoiled for choice. He signed and the contract disappeared in a hellish ‘BAMF’ of sulfur and brimstone.

“Chosen smartly, mortal,” Faust commented. His fingers waggled and the core took to the air, listing end over end as it wheeled lazily to Shaw’s grasp.

Snatching it from the air, the magical sheathe Faust used Shaw send it to him was dispelled and he held the raw weight of the object’s awesome might in his hands. Free of the sorcerer’s influence, the core melted to boiling, liquid metal, forever destroying the data within but unlocking the power inside. A mutant among mutants among mutants, a twist of fate daring to produce mutant destiny in a single object. The liquid took shape, drawing up and to a point, then fanning out as though a long arrowhead.

It resolved to the head of a broken spear in Shaw’s hands, its former texture of grayed steel replaced with gleaming gold. Shaw’s hands were upon its edge immediately, running his fingers along it until they ran red with blood and his mind erupted in newfound power.

It struck him instantly, lifting his soul out of his body and at once forcing it back inside, his new ability already burgeoning within his veins. He knew his new capabilities intuitively, the spear’s voice whispering in his ear. Spear or no, Shaw had become invincible. He allowed himself a thin smile, sealing his fingers about the spear’s shaft.

Terror was plain on Faust’s face. He had miscalculated just what Shaw would gain from interface with the thing. He had expected Shaw to grow more powerful, but he could not reconcile the man before him as a simple mutant, he had become a god.

“You cannot harm me,” Faust said, scurrying backward like the cockroach he was. So easily squashed.

“Aye, sorcerer,” Shaw said, “as you cannot stop me,” he turned on his heel, “as no one can.” It was not a boast, but a statement of simple fact.

“A new world approaches, Faust. Make ready for your new Black King.”
In Rogue Continuum: The Singularity Crisis (A DC and Marvel RP) → 3 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
The first death in Barry’s life was his mother, killed in contempt by the Reverse Flash. It was quick, brutal. Barry would always remember the way the Reverse Flash looked just after, not looking at Barry, but just past him, lips twisted into a cruel smile.

Barry saw death for the first time as a young man, as a sear of black scarcely visible through the lightning storm that crackled between his and Pietro’s footsteps. Both boys thought it a trick at the time -- surely it was only a madcap Mirror Master illusion, or some obscure machination of the Reverse Flash. Only a clue to a grander scheme, not a threat in itself.

The next was watching it approach and then fade into impossible distance, faster than Barry could hope. Death was a man, a black racer, unbound by his speed from the limitations of space or time, able to snatch Barry’s mentor’s soul and be gone, almost before he could notice.

Since, Death had lingered in Barry’s perception; a streak skating through those disasters he wasn’t quite fast enough to reach, even dogged on Death’s heels, blowing his lungs out with the effort. Over time, Barry could get closer, no longer a dozen meters behind, but half that. A quarter. An eighth. Soon he was close enough to see Death was not cloaked in ethereal robes, but a costume, like Barry’s. It was black and sleek and seemed to stretch on forever, encircling everything Barry loved.

Eventually, Barry grew to outpace even Death, able to grab Batman and run from his grasp until the caped crusader could be returned to proper life. For a time, Barry thought he could outrun Death altogether. At the height of his speed, he could stay one step ahead of the racer, maneuvering everyone and everything out of his reach, keeping Death just at bay. If he pushed himself, maybe there would be no death, not ever again.

Mojoworld proved otherwise. When Batman died, the other Batman, Barry hadn’t even gotten a chance to see the racer claim Batman’s soul, he could only feel the racer’s presence worming into the back of his mind as Batman lay dying.

It was like that here, too. He couldn’t see the death, but he could feel it, footprints burned into his mind. The Black Racer was near. Had he already collected? No: had he come for them?

He juggled the questions in his mind as he zoomed through the facility. Whatever had happened here, it started fast. Several rooms had shattered coffee pots, glass exploding from too much time on the burner unattended. Computer terminals, awoken from their slumber by lightning-fast inputs, showed an array of half-written research reports and emails. Some had stopped mid word. He would’ve stopped to read them, tried to get a greater understanding of the facility, if it wasn’t for the blood.

He had excused the first few droplets he saw. Maybe someone had slashed their thumb with a papercut, or let a drop of their bloody nose loose onto their desk. The deeper he drew in the facility, the deeper the blood became -- in one hallway, reinforced at either side with haphazardly lain office equipment, the blood stood in a pool just up past the soles of Flash’s boots. Its deep red stained his bright costume darker as he ran.

There had been a battle here, he could tell from the desperate, slipshod construction of each barricade he encountered, but there were almost no signs of a real fight. Just officeware stained crimson. He had searched easily hundreds of meters of facility, winding halls and all, but beyond the blood, he only had two signs of what had happened here.

The first was the cuts. In a whirlwind glance as he dashed past, he thought it was the trace of an attack, a wild slash by someone endowed with claws like Wolverine’s. There were four cuts, each so deep in the walls that they consigned themselves to darkness before Barry could see their ends. They were too accurateto have come from Wolverine, maybe too pristine to have been made by a man at all. They appeared to be of equal volume, each carefully inches apart. Too far for a clawed hand, too perfect for the random variation of biology. There bore inside was smooth to Barry’s touch, sanded down to precise, flat features. The concrete that should have been in the wall, be it dust, rubble, or thick slices of it simply removed, were nowhere to be found.

Then, deeper, there were the shell casings. Four, exactly, with matching bullet holes that traced up the facility’s walls and onto the ceiling. The shooter was unconfident, or injured, firing at a target larger than them. Much larger, if Barry had to guess. The cases laid in a puddle of blood, at least as big around as Cap’s shield. Maybe the gunman hit his target, shots blasting through whatever it was and leaving their marks in the walls… But the blood spatter didn’t support it. There would be clean arcs of blood slashed against the walls from the bullets exit, but instead the patterns seemed almost random. Like, all at once, the blood had been evacuated from the shooter’s body.

Odder still, the shots were the only sign of a fight. He expected a discarded magazine, a torn scrap of armor or clothing. He’d have settled for a post-it note that read “oh, no”, but there was nothing. Whatever was here, whatever presence Six sensed, it had covered its tracks well… Too well for them to see it coming if it came back.

“M’gann?” Barry tried to project his thoughts as he ran, feet pounding down the corridors to the security room, “I’m almost back to Steve and the others. I think we’re in trouble...”

Barry rounded the last corner before his destination and stopped flat in his tracks. Where he expected the familiar steel door, laying crumpled beside the entrance, was a featureless steel wall. Had he gotten turned around? He was The Flash! He could run circles around a facility like this… He used to run circles around facilities like this. He gulped, and thought again.

“... I might be in trouble.”
In Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game] → 3 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Hey, OOC discussion is cool. That in mind...

What are your unpopular superhero/superhero media opinions?

For instance, considering what's been said in this thread... I didn't think The Suicide Squad was that great. 6/10-ish. It's a vast improvement over the original of course, but from the hype I was expecting something mindblowing, instead I got something that felt like a low to mid MCU outing.
In Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game] → 3 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L
P R O F E S S O R X

C H A R L E S X A V I E R ♦ E D U C A T O R ♦ S A L E M C E N T E R , N E W Y O R K ♦
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

"Our heritage and ideals, our code and standards -- the things we live by and teach our children -- are preserved or diminished by how freely we exchange ideas and feelings." - Walt Disney

Charles Francis Xavier is one of the world's foremost experts on metabiology and metasociology, with a particular concentration on human mutancy. Xavier has dedicated his life to the pursuit of mutant rights in the United States, and indeed, the world abroad. After decades of effort, Xavier's dream of human and mutant harmony seems to finally be coming to fruition.

What started as a school for troubled mutant youths, running out of Charles' ancestral family home - Xavier's School For Gifted Youngsters - has evolved into a sprawling campus dedicated to the betterment of mutants worldwide -- The Xavier Institute. Through the Institute, Xavier and his team are able to personally feed, house, and educate over a thousand mutants in the surrounding Lehnsherr Village, and provide support for those mutants that choose to live elsewhere.

Since the early days of the school, Xavier has operated the X-Men, an all-volunteer team of the best and brightest mutants Xavier had ever encountered. Starting as a clandestine effort to shield persecuted mutants, The X-Men have evolved into a full-blown super-team, battling alongside the Justice League and Avengers. Now organized into a dozen sub-squads, many of which have chosen to take their own names (X-Factor, X-Force, etc.), the X-Men are one of the world's most recognizable names in superheroics.

It is this popularity that has allowed Xavier to expand his efforts. With help from the business acumen of fellow mutant and original X-Man Warren Worthington III, The Xavier Institute have launched lines of X-Men merchandise, including action figures, apparel, and graphic novels, all created by mutants, for mutants. The additional funding allows the Institute to grow each year, accepting more mutants and bolstering activism initiatives.

With this level of reach, Xavier's dreams have only grown. He imagines a world where the Xavier Institute can help not only mutants, but metahumanity as a whole -- much to Lehnsherr's chagrin. To this end, The Xaiver Institute maintains mutant liaisons within the Justice League, the UN, and even the Avengers -- though this leaves the Institute in a precarious position with regards to the US Government's meta registration initiatives.

P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ):
In terms of my motivations for this character, I'm interested in working with lots of people, and I think the set-up of a very far-along X-Men will help me to do just that. I don't have much experience with comic X-Men (most of my knowledge comes from the movies and cartoons), but I know they have an incredibly vast history and cast to work with. Given the extremely collaborative nature of this game, it seems like an unprecedented opportunity to really dive in on the X-Men. And, this way, rather than just one having all the X-Fun, the whole community can dive in!

The heart of the conflict here is the fundamental disagreement between Xavier and Lehnsherr. The details need not be exactly as described above; all I'm really looking for is classic X-Men stuff. At the end of the day, these men want the same thing, but disagree on the most ethical way to get there. I think in this instance I'd like to see an Erik Lehnsherr that starts from a more moderate position, but grows more extreme over time; but the Magneto is your oyster.

Overall I'd like to de-emphasize mutant persecution and oppression from exterior human forces. I'm much more interested in the interior of the mutant community, and the disagreements within it. Do all mutants think the existence of the X-Men is a good thing? How do they feel about the Institute's monetization of their team, their history, and their culture, even if that money is reinvested into mutant interests? Where is the line between meta and mutant?

As big as those themes are, I'd still love to tackle them in a very comic book way -- with super folks in silly outfits beating the absolute tar out of each other. I'm open to all kinds of stories for the X-Men, and in fact, I'd like to see as many supporting characters as possible! With the exception of Magneto, I think the idea overall is to have many supporting characters from many different writers, even if each can only stick around for a short arc or even a tiny handful of posts.


C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:
Working with me, you should know that I'm a planner, not a pantser. There's always room for improvisation, but it'd be mighty appreciated if we could talk on Discord or something and try to think ahead.

My ideal for writing partners is someone who'd be willing to work collaboratively in Google Docs with me rather than following traditional post-respond-post collaboration methods. I find it encourages communication and can make these stories feel a lot more cohesive and seamless, but I'm willing to pursue whatever way of collaboration you're most comfortable with.

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.
In Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game] → 3 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
<Snipped quote by John Table>

In the same vein:



Though, for what it's worth you are all terrible people for not mentioning this earlier.



Dinoman strikes again
In Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game] → 3 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

S1- SENSATION & WONDER
X-MEN #0 - Sole Survivor

New York City, New York -- 10 Years Ago



Tens of thousands of voices called out to Charles Xavier’s mind from the city and its chaos -- but the dread and wonder that percolated into his mind from the fading and awestruck below yielded to the psychic tenor permeating the alien vessel.

He felt it first beneath the mansion. When in tune with Cerebro, the X-Men’s pionic amplifier, Xavier is able to read minds and detect mutants the world over. And, it seems, able to catch alien whispers at the edge of space, raised as if in song and yet leadened with grief. He tried to do as he had done before, for countless new X-Men, to extend his mind and swaddle the precocious presence, assuring it that he was a friend. Yet, their spacecraft rebuffed every angle of his psychic approach; allowing thoughts to escape but never intrude… Perhaps he would have better luck reaching out on the inside.

As the invasion of the Dominators raged, the main body of Xavier’s X-Men met the enemy alongside Superman and Wonder Woman, cutting swathes out of their forces in laser bursts of mutant mastery. His students fighting alongside Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. On any other day, it was a dream come true; today, a means to get him in touch with something more.

The alien ship apparated around Charles in a purple crack of smoke and sulfur as Nightcrawler teleported him aboard alongside Wolverine. They were his X-Men, his students, his friends, and he had taken them into the belly of the beast.

The three X-Men stood in one of the open sores in the ship’s armor, exposed to the fading light by S.H.I.E.L.D’s artillery barrage. The hallway before them was moist and pliant underfoot, letting the wheels of Charles’ chair sink into it with a steady squelch. The walls were sheer, brutalist in their design, polished to a reflective sheen.

In them, Xavier’s occipital lobe stitches together the haphazard images of Dominator thought. Callous shadows honed to an edge seemed to jump across the wall, Dominators one and all polluting the mindscape with their foul dreams of conquest. Yet, shimmering in the darkness were splashes of green, in notation that Charles did not understand. His psyche leaped to it, as psychic noise filled him; a song. Xavier’s mind worked, untangling the script before him. No longer strange script, but emerald musical notes. It was low and sad, crooning jazz for an audience of one.

“Professor… Do you feel that?” Nightcrawler asked. Charles’ pupil returned him to the moment. Nightcrawler was a mass of blue fur, at present all standing on its end, “ach… it is like a weight in the air.”

“Feelin’ it too… lil’ like gettin’ a mind blast from Jeannie,” Wolverine reported. He stood fast, with a tension that started in his forearms and radiated up his whole body.

“Could it be the Dominators?”

“Not smelling any ‘nators in this section, Fuzzball...” Wolverine reported. Claws long as lawnmower blades leapt from his fists, “but there’s somethin’ else here. An’ close.”

It was closer than the other X-Men could understand. The music in Charles’ head was overpowering his X-Men’s voices, no longer truly a song but a wail. He pushed against it with a broadcast of his own, not of words, but feelings.

He sent how he felt aboard the Dominator’s ship -- the weight of their attack in his heart, and the spare hope of finding a kindred spirit in the darkness.

Then, it is his heart the day his marriage unfurled, without any of its circumstance or bitterness, but the loss. The knowledge that he could never look at her the same way again -- the thought that he wouldn’t see her again.

The song in Xavier’s head comes to a halt. There is no language shared between them, but the other makes themselves clear with feelings of their own. The loss of their world, the rust red sand and stones of a home in ruin, their own family dragged away by Dominators. Then, the fury of their vengeance, swimming incorporeal through the decks, the boil of Dominator minds beneath their psi-blasts. And finally, the knowledge that it was too late.

|We come in search of allies,| Xavier thinks, leaning into the other’s feelings, relying on their established psychic rapport to communicate his meaning. |You have lost much, friend.|

|I have lost as your world will lose,| the presence responded, |as countless others will.| The presence was calm as its word entered Charles’ head, flowing in like water, yet steeled and solid against all comers.

|They will be defeated,| Xavier thought, passing his memories from the ground -- Superman in a whirl of color around the ship, his X-Men meeting Dominator forces on the ground with abandon, and Batman’s plane hanging in the sky.

|And they will not stop.| The other’s thought booms in Xavier’s mind. Again Xavier was in the red sands of a place that felt like home, surrounded by droves of his green-skinned countrymen, satisfied with the knowledge the day was won. A smoldering Dominator ship has folded upon itself, lying a broken wreck some miles away from his settlement. But the sky darkens with each new ship leaping into the sky.

|Then we know what must be done.| Xavier’s expression darkened.

“You are needed below, Kurt. Go,” he said to Nightcrawler.

“It’s dangerous, mein freund. X-Men stick together. Perhaps I should-” Xavier only looked at the other X-Man for a second.

Nightcrawler shot straight up.

“Ja, Professor…” Kurt said, eyes glossed over. The air split with a ‘BAMF’ and he was gone.

“Chuck?” Wolverine’s eyes were on him instantly. The angle of his claws cast the sunlight against Charles. “What was that?”

Charles reached out to him, easing Wolverine’s repulsion with his intrusion into Kurt’s mind, massaging his consciousness into acceptance.

“Only what is necessary.” Charles said. Wolverine swayed and nodded dully.

From the wall, the presence in Charles’ mind took corporeal form. It was shaped like a man, sliding through the wall as naturally as a human might breathe. It was several heads taller than Charles or Wolverine, and as green as the Dominator’s blood. It’s head was almost insectoid, but flesh instead of chitin, trailing off into a point at its tip. Two glossed, red eyes stared at Wolverine.

|Your man hungers for violence.| He still does not speak, beaming his thoughts into Charles’ head.

|Is it not useful, in times like these?| Xavier thought. The alien’s acknowledgement of his statement flared in his mind.

|I would know your name, human.| The alien’s gaze shifted to Charles.

|Charles and Logan| Professor Xavier thought, |of Earth.|

|I am called J’onn J’onzz, of Mars.|

“What’s the play, Charlie?” Wolverine was coming around. His eyes and senses passed the martian without recognition.

There was no doubt in Xavier’s mind. Every Dominator he had scanned came up the same. Petulant, warlike animals with no will but to destroy and conquer… And J’onn’s experiences only confirmed it. No Dominators could be allowed to escape. If word of Earth reached their homeworld, it would only be a matter of time until they returned. Then, it was a simple calculus.

“Simple, Logan,” Charles said, “we’re going to exterminate the Dominators.”
In Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game] → 3 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


I also go out of my way to listen to this tune, though


Honestly, I always thought the JLU version was a straight upgrade from this one.


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