Eddie Brock

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

A GROWING PROBLEM – PART IV

A deft leap is all that prevents me from becoming a Mantis sized splatter on the bleachers. As I twist and turn in the air, I fire a barrage of stingers at Foliage’s vine. The darn thing’s too thick. It twitches as the little bursts of bio-electricity land, but I doubt I’m doing anything more than tickling it. I think I’ll have to adopt a different strategy.

I land somewhere in the nosebleed section of Conway-Kane Memorial Stadium. Down on the field, Foliage is standing atop an oversized leaf, a good twenty-five feet or more above the ground. I call down to him, “Come on, Foliage. It doesn’t have to be like this. You and me, we’re both guys who clearly have an appreciation for the color green… can’t we just talk this out?”

“What did talking ever get me?” Foliage scoffs. He motions to his prisoner, the barely conscious football player, still hanging from the field goal post by a web of vines. “Guys like him? They only respond to strength. Well, I’ll show them all just how strong I am!”

Foliage throws his hand in my direction, and a veritable swarm of leaves flies at me. I twist and turn as best I can, but there are too many leaves to dodge them all. The few that get through to me are thin and razor-sharp. They slice through the green spandex of my costume, cutting into the skin beneath just as easily. One of them catches me flush on the side, an inch or two below my armpit. I reach for the wound instinctually, and in that moment’s hesitation Foliage blindsides me with his vine.

The hit knocks me down from the bleachers and sends me hurtling towards the field below. Hitting the turf hard, I no longer envy football players. This surface has absolutely no give. I nearly dislocate my shoulder from the force of impact alone. I have no time to react before Foliage is on me again. He summons thorny branches up from the ground which wrap themselves my ankles. I wince as the thorns pierce my skin.

“You are seriously—ouch—making me rethink whether saving the environment is such a good idea,” I grimace. I fire stingers at the thorny branches, and this time it works. The branches recoil, freeing up my legs once more. Not a moment too soon, either, as Foliage was preparing to bring down his vine on me. I dart to the side, popping my exoskeletal blades once more. When the vine hits the turf, I throw myself blades first at it. The blades dig into the side of the vine, and Foliage lets out a cry.

“You shouldn’t have done that!”

I glance over my shoulder at him. “Oh? Then you’re really going to be upset about this!” I pull my arms apart, and the exoskeletal blades cleave the vine nearly in half along its diameter. The inside of the vine is fluorescent green and glistening. Retracting my blades, I fire charged stingers from each hand at the exposed core.

The vine recoils so violently that I’m thrown backwards through the air. I crash into the visitor team’s bench, knocking over an empty Gatorade cooler. Foliage, meanwhile, holds his hands to his head and shrieks as his vine withers. The dying plant collapses on the field lifelessly. Foliage lowers himself to the turf, mouth still agape. When he turns to me at last, his eyes are burning with rage. “You’ll pay for that, insect!” he seethes.

The ground begins to shake, and suddenly more than a dozen smaller vines burst through the turf. The vines whip through the air erratically, no doubt reflecting Foliage’s unstable mental state. He’s getting stronger as time goes on. It’s not enough for me to deal with his creations. If I want to bring this insanity to an end, I have to go for the guy pulling the strings. And it looks like that means fighting my way through a thicket of angry plants.

“I always did hate weeding,” I mutter to myself.

Foliage launches his vines at the same time that I begin charging for him. I duck under the first one, only to take a sharp slap across the face from another. A third vine catches my ankle and pulls my weight out from under me. As I’m falling, yet another vine wraps itself around my throat. I reach for it, but both my wrists are quickly tangled up as well. Foliage kneels down in front of me.

“You know what I admire most about plants?” he asks, a sinister gleam in his eyes. “Their resiliency. You see, long after we’re gone, the plants will reclaim the earth. And all this?” He motions to the stadium. “Everything mankind has built? It will all be forgotten.” He glares at me. “Not unlike you.”

As Foliage stands, a bright purple flower sprouts from the dirt in front of me. The flower slithers like a snake until it’s at eye level. The bud opens slowly, revealing an intricate pattern of yellow and white across the flower’s petals. Suddenly, the flower turns to face me. There’s a soft puff, and a cloud of yellow bursts from the center of the flower. As soon as the cloud reaches my nose and mouth, I begin coughing and gasping for air. The last thing I remember seeing is Foliage’s smug expression as more and more vines begin to envelop me…

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

Post'll definitely be up tomorrow.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

"Brewed Awakenings"? Is it wrong that I'm already looking forward to the inevitable Lyger/Mantis team-up?

In any case, I might start tinkering with my next post tonight. Don't know how much longer I'll be able to cognitively function, though. Didn't get an overabundance of sleep last night.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

A GROWING PROBLEM – PART III

“You know what the worst part about working here is?” Greg asks me. Greg Tanner is my coworker at Tons of Buns. It’s a fast food burger joint located inside the Duncan Commons. The Commons are where you go if you’re willing to pay money to avoid the dining hall food. There’s the aforementioned burger joint, a local coffee shop, a Subway, and even a pizza place in the basement. Students get a nice discount at all the eateries, which is nice. There’s also a convenience store and a bank, so it’s really one-stop shopping for all a college student’s needs.

And yes, I work part-time at a fast food place. Being a superhero is certainly rewarding, but it doesn’t exactly pay the bills.

I turn and look at Greg. “You mean other than having to put ‘Tons of Buns’ on our resumes?”

“Touche,” Greg concedes. He’s taller than I am. A little more broad-shouldered, too. His brown hair pokes out from underneath the regulation baseball cap that we have to wear. It’s either that or a hair net. He leans back against the counter. “Nah, man, it’s that damn employee discount. I get off work and just stuff my face with chicken fries.” He rubs his stomach disappointedly. “It’s killing me. I really need to get back to the gym.”

I look down at my own body. I was always in decent shape, but the serum in my blood has certainly been kind to me. An accelerated metabolism means I burn fat and build muscle faster. In the past few months since my transformation, I’ve gotten lean and mean. Still, I say, “Yeah, I hear ya.”

Greg nods in my direction. “What about you, Sean? You ever get to the gym?”

I look away and try to act nonchalant. “Uh, the gym? Not so much. I mean, I work out on my own.” Yeah, running across rooftops and dodging bullets. Hell of a workout.

“That so?” Greg asks. “Well, you should invite me along sometime. I’m always looking for new workouts.”

At this, I perk up. Gotta deflect somehow. “I, uh, don’t think you’d be interested in my workout,” I suggest. “It’s very… experimental.”

Nonetheless, he seems interested. “Huh. Well, that’s cool. Do you know what it’s called? I’ll look it up.”

“Um… I don’t think it has a name yet,” I answer evasively. “Like I said, it’s really experimental…”

Greg smiles unassumingly, and I’m happy to be in the clear. “Well, that’s awesome, man. You’ll have to let me know if it gets results.” He turns around and faces the food court. “Man, slow shift today, huh?”

Now that he mentions it, it has been quiet around here. “Yeah, usually this is about the time for the pre-dinner rush,” I reply. No sooner have these words left my lips than a group of panicked-looking students comes sprinting through the Commons. I arch an eyebrow and say, “Not exactly what I meant…”

Moments later, our manager Al appears from the kitchen. “We’re packing up early, boys,” he announces, and I can tell by his tone that something is up. “Apparently, there’s some kind of ‘superhuman’ incident going on down by the stadium. Campus police wants us all cleared out as a precaution.”

I feel my pulse immediately quicken. A superhuman incident? That can only spell bad news. I look at Greg. “Well, I guess you’ve been spared those chicken fries today at least. Catch you Thursday?” We exchange nods and head off in separate directions. I rush to the backroom where I keep my bag during the shift. A quick check confirms that my gloves, boots, and mask are still tucked away in the hidden compartment where I left them. I take the stairs to the roof, and then it’s time for a quick change.

Conway-Kane Memorial Stadium is a stone’s throw from the Duncan Commons. With seating for over sixty-five thousand screaming fans, it’s the second largest football stadium in New England. Students and alumni alike gather on Saturdays in the fall to cheer on the LHU Red Claws. The team rarely threatens to make a run for the ACC Championship, but they usually finish with a respectable record. LHU is more of a hockey school, anyway.

As I reach the stadium, I see a strange sight. One of the football players – a linebacker, I believe – is strung up from the field goal posts by some green ropes. Upon a second glance, I notice that the ropes are twisting and moving. That’s when I realize that they aren’t ropes at all. They’re… vines. How odd. I extend the exoskeleton from my wrists and shape it into blades with a thought. Leaping through the air, I effortlessly slash through the vines on one side of the snared player.

Upon landing, I spin on my heels and prepare for another pass to slash the other vines. Before I can jump, though, I’m blindsided by something moving incredibly fast. The force of the impact throws me into the stands. I crash into the wooden bleachers, snapping a row clean in half. I look up to see an even larger vine with the diameter of a small tree. As it retracts, I spot the source of all this weirdness.



“This doesn’t concern you,” the green-haired kid announces sternly.

I pull myself to my feet. “As a resident superhero and passionate Red Claw fan, I have to disagree,” I answer back.

The kid scowls. “You don’t understand.” He points to the barely conscious football player, still dangling from a vine. “This guy tormented me for years. He made my life a living hell! He deserves this!”

That’s what this is about? Payback for years of bullying? “I’m not absolving him of anything he may or may not have done,” I explain, “but look at yourself. Look at what you’re doing. Are you acting any better than he did?”

His expression hardens. “Don’t lecture me! You don’t know the first thing about what I’ve been through!” He thrusts his hand forward, and the giant vine from earlier obeys his command. This time, at least, I see it coming. I leap to the side moments before the vine crashes against the bleachers, splintering about twenty rows of seats. “Stay out of my way, or you’ll end up like him!”

“Sorry, chief, but I can’t do that.”

He grimaces. “Then you’ve made your choice. Prepare to die by Foliage’s hand!”

Oh, brother.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

Well, Sean Abbott and his supporting cast were going to appear in Part II (being the main cast 'n' all), but as I said Francis' backstory took on a life of its own, and I had to see it through to the end. I'll try to consolidate future villain origins better.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

A GROWING PROBLEM – PART II

“… Francis? Francis, can you hear me?”

Francis Marshall awakens to the sight of his mentor, Dr. Lawler, standing over him. Francis’ mind is hazy. It takes him a moment to orient himself. As his vision clears, Francis is also greeted by the sweet fragrance of flowers. The greenhouse, he thinks to himself. I’m still in the greenhouse. Groggily, Francis props himself up off the ground. The back of his head is throbbing, and his memory is foggy.

“Francis, what happened?” Dr. Lawler asks, concerned. “Why were you on the floor?”

Francis furrows his brow. “I… I don’t remember,” he admits. He scours his mind for an answer, even a clue, but his memory yields nothing. He must’ve fallen and hit his head. If he suffered a concussion, it might explain the memory loss. Of course, it would also beg the question of just how long he was unconscious…

Dr. Lawler kneels down to his student’s level. “You can’t remember anything?”

Francis shakes his head.

“Francis, this is very serious. You might have a concussion. We need to get you to the Student Health Center right away,” the professor insists.

Francis uses the side of one of the planters to pull himself to his feet. Across the row, he sees a large, orange flower. Much larger and brighter than the surrounding flowers. Instinctually, Francis grabs at his throat and rubs it softly. A single memory flits on the edge of conscious awareness. Coughing. Feeling his lungs coat with… dust? No, spores. The memory comes flooding back, and Francis remembers how he ended up on the ground.

“Come, grab your backpack. I’ll walk you to the Health Center,” Dr. Lawler offers.

Francis’ eyes remain transfixed on the flower. It’s an unnatural color, unlike any other orange flower Francis has ever seen. And the way the spores worked their way down his throat… almost as if they were sentient. Francis isn’t sure what any of it means, but he’s certain that the Student Health Center can’t help him. He doesn’t know if anyone can…

Francis breaks his gaze and turns to Dr. Lawler. “You don’t have to walk me,” he says. “I can get there by myself.”

Dr. Lawler frowns. “You’ve been passed out on the floor all night. I really don’t think it’s a good idea for you to—“

“Really, Dr. Lawler,” Francis cuts in. “I appreciate your concern, but I feel alright. Besides, don’t you have a class in twenty minutes, anyway?”

The professor checks his watch, then frowns again. Begrudgingly, he replies, “Alright, but I want to be updated as soon as you can.” He places a reassuring hand on Francis’ shoulder. “I need to know that my star pupil’s alright.”

Francis nods. “Yeah, absolutely. I’ll keep you in the loop.”

Once clear of the greenhouse, Francis checks over his shoulder to see if Dr. Lawler is watching. He appreciates his mentor’s concern, but Francis has no plans to go to the Student Health Center. Something happened last night, something strange. And somehow, Francis doesn’t believe that the under-qualified nurses at LHU are going to be able to help him with it. Moreover, he doesn’t feel bad at all. In fact, he’s never felt healthier, save for the throbbing headache and the foggy memory.

On his way back to his dorm, Francis spots a fellow classmate, Christina, from across the quad. Francis had always admired Christina from afar, dating back to their high school days together, but he barely registered as a blip on her radar. Christina was part of the “in” crowd, and Francis was decidedly not. However, he had hoped that college – and the absence of such a rigid social structure – would yield better results. As of yet, Christina had rejected his advances, but Francis held out hope.

“Christina!”

The blonde-haired girl stops and looks over her shoulder. She spots Francis hurrying to catch up to her, but she doesn’t break stride. In her eyes, he would always be that weird loner kid with the strange obsession with plants and flowers. She could tolerate it in high school, when he was too sheepish to even speak to her, but Francis had gotten bolder since coming to LHU. Christina thought she had made her opinion of him abundantly clear, but like a gnat he always seemed to be buzzing around when she least wanted him there.

“Hey, I almost didn’t see you,” Francis says, slightly out of breath from jogging to catch up to her.

Wish you hadn’t, Christina thinks to herself. “What do you want, Francis?” she says curtly.

“Nothing,” Francis replies, a little taken aback by her rudeness. He decides to brush it off and press onward. “So, are you on your way to class?”

Christina turns her head and gives Francis a cold stare. Her eyes look up at his hair briefly. “What the hell did you do to your hair?”

Francis furrows his brow. He pulls out his phone and checks his reflection in the glass. Sure enough, his shaggy hair is starting to turn from brown to green. He pulls at it, confused. “What the hell?” he mutters under his breath. Looking up from his phone, he sees that Christina is now a few paces ahead and speeds up accordingly.

Christina sighs. “Francis, I really don’t have time for this.”

“Time for what?”

“This,” she repeats, waving her hand dismissively. “You and your little high school crush. I’ve tried to make it clear to you that I am not interested, but you seem to be too dense to pick up on it, so I’ll spell it out for you.” She stops in her tracks and faces him. “I don’t like you, Francis. I have never liked you, and I will never like you. You’re just some weirdo who picks flowers and spends all his time with his mom.”

The words sting. Francis hangs his head as he endures the verbal beating.

“I have tried everything to get this across to you,” Christina says, exhausted. “I’ve tried ignoring you, I’ve tried being polite with you…”

At this, Francis raises his head. “Polite?” he spits back. “You think how you’ve treated me has been polite?” He clenches his fists. “What, because you never berated and belittled me like all your little popular friends in high school? You think I didn’t see you giggling when they harassed me?”

Christina rolls her eyes. “Whatever, Francis. Grow up already. I’m so not dealing with this.” She turns and begins walking away.

“Don’t you turn your back on me!” Francis barks. He points an accusing finger in her direction.

Suddenly, something strange happens. The ground beside the sidewalk starts to churn, and a thorny vine rises up from the dirt. The vine lashes out at Christina, wrapping itself around her neck. Christina begins to choke, and the thorns dig into her skin. Thin streams of blood start to slide slowly down her neck. It all happens so fast.

Francis looks down at his outstretched hand, fist still clenched, finger still pointing angrily at Christina. Somehow, he knows that he’s responsible for what’s happening to her. He relaxes, and the vine’s grip on her throat loosens. Francis is terrified. What is going on? What is he doing? Did he… summon this vine? Did he make it attack her? No, no, he couldn’t. He’s not like that. He never wanted to hurt anyone.

That’s not true, Francis reminds himself. He thinks back to all those long days of torment in high school. Turning the other cheek and hoping that the bullies eventually got bored enough to leave him alone. Wanting nothing more than to retaliate, to make them fear him the way that he feared them. There are plenty of people that Francis wanted to hurt. He just never had the means.

Until now.

Francis clenches his fist once more, and the vine constricts around Christina’s neck. The blood runs more quickly as the thorns push deeper. Christina flails and scratches at the vine, but ultimately she relents. Francis is already walking away from the scene when her body ultimately goes limp.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

Working on my next post now. This villain origin is kinda taking on a life of its own on me. I wasn't planning on it being this long.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

That is totally cool. Haha. I can't imagine there are that many superhero tailors in Lost Haven, but the demand is there, so who knows?

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

Post up as promised. Yay, progress!

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

A GROWING PROBLEM – PART I

“You don’t think it’s weird?”

Vince looks up from his tray. It’s sloppy joe night at North Dining Hall, with an emphasis on “sloppy.” I think he’s glad for the distraction from his meal. Look, we shouldn’t complain. The LHU meal plan is a steal for the amount of food you can get at the dining halls, but they often sacrifice quality for quantity. While it’s nice to have options, most of us would prefer four or five really good meals over a dozen mediocre ones.

Vince Daniels is one of my oldest friends. We go back to elementary school, to the old days of trading Pokemon cards on the playground at recess. Vince and I were never quite as close as, say, Jim and I were, but a lot of that had to do with Vince’s busy lifestyle. His father is a big shot attorney who always expected the best out of his son. As a result, Vince spent most of high school bouncing from one extracurricular activity to the next. Student government meetings, soccer practice, National Honors Society, and then back home for a long night of studying. Needless to say, I barely saw Vince in those four years. Since moving on to college, though, Vince has taken it a lot easier, and we’ve made time to see each other more often now.

“Think what is weird?” Vince repeats. “That you and Mary haven’t said, ‘I love you,’ yet?”

I poke absentmindedly at the green beans on my plate as I give a little shrug. “Well, yeah,” I admit.

“I mean, Sean, it’s not something to be taken lightly,” he reminds me. “It’s the kind of thing that you can’t take back when you say it, so you have to be sure you’re ready.”

At this, I sit up a bit. “That’s the thing, though. I think I am ready. But then, when the moment comes, it’s almost like something is… holding me back.”

Vince takes a bite of his sandwich, and half of it slides out of the bun and lands on his plate with a wet ‘plop.’ He frowns at his half-empty bun and sets it aside, deciding to tackle his bowl of macaroni and cheese instead. He asks me, “Do you think this has to do with Brooke?”

Truth is, that’s the only reason I can come up with. It took me a while to get over my breakup with Brooke, but I genuinely thought I had gotten over it. It’s not like I don’t still think about her from time to time, and we do send the occasional friendly text, but I’m not fixated on her like I was at the start of the fall semester.

Picking up on my silence, Vince says, “Look, no one’s blaming you for taking your time with this. You just got out of a long-term relationship, what, half a year ago? That kind of thing takes time to heal.” He reaches across the table and pats me on the arm. “You’re the master of beating yourself up over things, but I think you can let this one go.”

“Maybe you’re right,” I concede with a half-smile.

* * *

Francis Marshall was born with a green thumb. In the years after his father’s untimely death, he helped his mother, Anna, maintain a small garden in their front yard. In the spring, Francis would spend hours kneeling beside that patch of dirt, watching the flowers bloom. He knew each of them by name. As Anna fell prey to illness, she had less strength to spend gardening, so Francis shouldered the load for both of them. He would pick her the brightest and biggest flowers from the garden, which she kept in a vase next to her bed.

As the years passed, Anna’s health waned while Francis’ passion for gardening grew. Francis was often ostracized by his peers and mocked for being a “momma’s boy.” The endless taunting and torment hurt, but Francis knew he could always find tranquility in his garden. Eventually, Francis was accepted to LHU’s biological sciences program, an important first step towards his ultimate goal of becoming a world renowned botanist. He was reluctant to make the move to the big city and leave his ailing mother behind, but Anna insisted that he shouldn’t give up his dream for her sake. With a heavy heart, Francis packed his bags and made the forty minute trip from home to downtown Lost Haven.

Francis’ aptitude, work ethic, and passion quickly drew the attention of his biochemistry professor, Dr. Lawler. Francis was invited to join Dr. Lawler in a research project funded by Gene.Co in conjunction with the LHU biological sciences department. Gene.Co had long been developing a revolutionary fertilizer which would increase plant growth and vitality tenfold. The applications were virtually limitless. Such a fertilizer would increase the length of the harvesting season, more than double the size of an average crop, and even allow for farming on otherwise infertile soil. It was fascinating work, and Francis was thrilled to be a part of it.

“Well, I’m heading out for the day,” Dr. Lawler announces with a sense of finality. He removes his white coat, putting on a light jacket and draping his lab coat over his arm. Lawler is a middle-aged man, although the lightness of his blonde hair helps to hide the gray which is creeping across his temples. He wears a pair of glasses with thick, black frames.

Francis sits on a stool at the other end of the small greenhouse attached to the biological sciences building. He wears a set of brown overalls over a white, short-sleeve shirt. His medium-length, brown hair falls just below his eyebrows while completely covering his ears. He leans over a table, examining a clump of soil through a magnifying glass.

Dr. Lawler walks over to his pupil. “Are you staying?” he asks while sneaking a peek over Francis’ shoulder.

Finally aware that he is being spoken to, Francis looks up from the task at hand. He glances over his shoulder and sees Dr. Lawler standing there. “For a little longer,” Francis replies. “I just want to do a quick pH test of the soil first.”

Lawler nods. “You know, someone your age shouldn’t spend all their time working. You should get out of this place more. You’ve earned the break,” the professor assures his student with a gentle pat on the shoulder. As he’s walking away, Lawler adds, “Besides, shouldn’t you be out there with your friends, painting the town red?”

“Green was always my color,” Francis answers back.

After Dr. Lawler leaves, Francis gets up from his stool and makes his way over to the long, rectangular planters that run the length of the greenhouse. He brushes the dirt from handling the soil off his fingers. The planters are lined with row after row of vegetation and flowers. Francis checks on each one as though they were his children. Finally, he comes across a large, orange flower bud. It looks just about ready to bloom.

As Francis leans in close, the bud pops open, and a spray of yellow spores comes bursting out. The spores get in Francis’ eyes and mouth, and he feels a burning sensation. Coughing, Francis stumbles backwards. He backpedals into the planter behind him before losing his balance. Francis struggles for air as he feels the spores coating the inside of his mouth and throat. In his last few moments of consciousness, Francis feels his panic give way to darkness…