Ekreture
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@raleighallynn Thanks! Do you have any questions, or possibly want to check out the discord?
@The Spectre Sounds good! Make sure to ask any questions you might have on here or a PM :)
@Famotill I actually have a few ideas if you want to PM me or if you'd prefer I set up a discord
@Famotill I actually have a few ideas if you want to PM me or if you'd prefer I set up a discord
@FiroIV As I stated above, I'm a lot more interested in the specific characters and the dynamics between them than I am in making general rules. As far as theme goes, no matter what sort of character exists, I want their morals to be questioned constantly. In general I'd rather avoid someone as powerful as a say Superman or Doctor Manhattan, but if there's an interesting idea behind, I'm open to suggestion.
@FiroIV@Famotill As far as the way people got their powers, I was thinking about it, and while I'm open to a wide range, a central plot, and one of the reasons Esperanza has so many people with powers, is a series of tests with radiative therapy during WWII and the Cold War, which caused mutagens to be released into the Esperanza area.
@FiroIV@Famotill As far as the way people got their powers, I was thinking about it, and while I'm open to a wide range, a central plot, and one of the reasons Esperanza has so many people with powers, is a series of tests with radiative therapy during WWII and the Cold War, which caused mutagens to be released into the Esperanza area.
@Famotill No that works great. Do you have any ideas as to how they would have gotten their powers? I've been coming up with new information on the city of Esperanza as well if you needed any information on that.
@Famotill It's a mix, and I'd rather hear specific ideas and approve them on a case to case basis. For me, it's a lot less about the powers, and more how they're manifested in the character. Do I generally want to see a character who can level a city by raising their hand? Not really. That said, if there's a really interesting idea, or if it works with the general framework of the other characters, I'd be open. Does that help? I mostly just want people to get creative with their characters without me having to give them arbitrary limitations.
On the Pacific Coast of California, right between San Francisco and Los Angeles, with the city's downtown resting around Morro Bay, lies the bustling metropolis of Esperanza. Home to nine hundred thousand people and a metropolitan population of nearly four million, the Central California city boasts three universities (including one ivy league), a strong nightlife, a growing music scene, the proud Esperanza Gold Diggers, and world famous sea food.
This is, of course, in addition to the growing ghettos, organized crime, and a corrupt city government led by mayor Nicholas Hoffman, who's currently in the midst of a campaign for governor, one which he's expected to win. And, as the services provided by society to deal with these problems are clearly not doing their jobs, it is up to the citizens themselves to find a way to deal with them.
In this superhero RP, in addition to delving into the lives and struggles of every hero and every villain in the story, I want to make the city of Esperanza come to life. While I'm hoping to possibly make a map at some point, at the very least I will discuss districts and areas of the city, introduce local personalities, and talk about city history.
Because of this, I don't want every character to be a superhero or a villain; I want nurses, doctors, professors, newscasters, anything to help make the city feel more real. In addition, I don't want characters to simply be classified as heroes and villains; I want to see the lines of morality blurred, the concepts of good and evil to be consistently questioned and appraised.
If you're at all interested, please leave any comments or questions. I'm also looking for GMs if you're more interested in that.
Sraid, Kingdom of Talnoc
Beyond the Storm's End
As she placed her hand on the ruins of the house she once called home, Nadurtha felt a strange emptiness, a hole inside her others would fill with grief. She moved her caloused hands over the rubble, afraid to dig under it for fear of what memories may lay underneath. Behind her were two of the High King's men, her marines, standing at attention with shovels in hand. The admiral could smell a wetness lingering in the air, a tepid moisture tossed with a pinch of dust and wood. She stood up, and faced her men, giving them a nod, and they started digging.
"Nad-" A wooden basket clattered onto the floor. Looking up, Nadurtha saw the face of a distant memory, pale as a ghost and ghaunt from a lack of nourishment. Minnira's dress was speckled in mud, her eyes envious of the Admiral's sharp blue tunic and clean trousers. Were it not for the clouds in the sky, one could swear to see the welling of tears in both the womens' eyes.
The Girl
A bright and sunny sky hung high over the village of Sraid, and a young Nadurtha, only a child, ran to the main cluster of buildings in the village center, a deformed doll made of straw in her hand. Her mother insisted that she play with the girls of the village today, sewing together a doll and a dress for her so she could fit in. She didn't much understand her mother's reasoning, but the gifts made her happy, even if she did trip on her new dress, with spring soils splattered across the fabric by the time she came upon Minnira and the others.
"Hey Minni!" The children looked up from their toys to look up at the black-haired little girl who stood before them. The young Minnira grew bright red in her face, not responding at her addressal.
One of the other girls spoke up. "Why's your dress all dirty, Nadurtha?" Her face was filled with disgust, clutching her doll close to her chest to keep it away from the mongrel. Nadurtha clutched at the fabric embarrasedly.
"Oh...I tripped...sorry..." The girls started giggling as the blonde haired child looked away. Then they began to notice the doll in Nadurtha's hand.
"Ewww, what is that?" Another girl spoke up, disgusted by Nadurtha's choice in toys, and she instinctively hid it behind her back.
Nadurtha took a step back, sweating dripping down her face and tears beginning to well up in her eyes. She briefly locked eyes with Minnira, who shamefully and quickly broke her gaze, and the raven-haired girl darted away, followed by a cacophany of laughter.
The admiral swallowed hard. "Minni..." The ghost entered her face as well. "Hello." They stood awkwardly while words neither wished to say hung heavy in the air. Finally, Minnira broke the silence with her fingers running through her blond hair.
"I'm...sorry about your parents' house." Nadurtha nodded her thanks. The marines stood up from their work and faced the blond woman, but Nadurtha waved them off.
"I'm sorry about yours," the admiral replied, gesturing to the distant houses, fallen and flooded. "The rest of the king's men should arrive soon enough, help rebuild...how are your accomidations?" she asked, crossing her arms as the pale of her face slowly turned to a bright red. Some men who arrived ahead of Nadurtha had set up tents to house the villagers temporarily, the village having been wrecked, nearly at the eye of the storm.
Minnira averted her gaze, looking down at the wooden basket at her feet. "It's...we'll get by. Thank you." She looked up at the blade that hung on the admiral's hip, examining the wear and tear of the leather sheathe, while Nadurtha studied the lines of the villager's face. Sweat built up on her hands, and she chenched them into a fist.
"They had already passed," Minnira said, breaking the silence while she looked to the wreckage of the admiral's home.
"Hm?"
"Your...your parents. They had already passed, before the storm." Nadurtha nodded, grateful she didn't have to ask the question which had plagued her mind, and she turned, briskly walking away. "Wait...Nadi," the blonde woman called after her, but she didn't listen.
She went into the woods, waving off the marines who came after her, and went to where the dead of the village were layed to rest. Every family had a building where the urns of the dead were placed in order of the date of their death. A few new urns had been placed in many of these buildings, but Nadurtha ran to the one marked "Baile". Inside were the urns of her ancestors. the floor and walls dusty and the room dank. Finding the newest row of the deceased, she first looked to the urns of her parents. In between theirs and the ashes of her more distant ancestors lay a special urn, unique to those who died in combat. Kneeling down and rubbing of the dust, she saw the name of her brother: CURAD.
The Warrior
The child had changed out of the dress, now donning her usual trousers. She was standing by the creek, skipping stones on the babbling water while tears still leaked from her eyes, when suddenly she heard a voice behind her.
"You're getting better, kiddo," it spoke, the gruff voice immediately recognizable to the young girl. She flipped her head around and her face lit up, as she looked at the large figure of her older brother, whose heavy boots were stomping through the leaves of the forest floor.
"Curad!" She shouted. Nadurtha dropped her stones and rushed into his arms, and he squeezed her tight before he russled her hair.
"Haha, how's it going sis?" the Taisafir asked as he walked to the stream and began skipping stones with his younger sister. She didn't reply, and he could tell there was something off. "You know," he began, "You can skip them a lot farther if you didn't toss them so...angrily." She was still silent. "You want to talk about it?"
After a few moments of silence, the girl spoke up. "The girls...they were picking on me again."
"Ah," he responded, and he pursed his lips. He knew that she didn't get along with the other girls in the village, but their mother wanted her to wear dresses and such. Her doll was left laying on the floor, torn up in anger, and Curad frowned. "You want me to try talking to Ma?"
"No, she won't listen." They kept skipping stones in silence, before Nadurtha decided to speak up again. "Do you ever get picked on?" She asked her brother.
He chuckled, being reminded that his sister was only a child. It's hard to tell sometimes; she speaks with such authority and maturity, sometimes even he's been impressed by the girl's wisdom. "Nah, people tend to shut up when you've got a blade and you know how to use it," he responded, and he sat down, his wrists on his knees while the waters rushed by. Nadurtha sat next to him, and they watched the creek together.
"I wish I knew how to fight," she admitted, looking to the mercenary. He looked at her and smirked.
"You want me to teach you how?"
That night, while Nadurtha feigned slumber as children often do. Curad approached his father, busy carving a chunk of wood at a table under candlelight, and placed a bag of coins in front of him before taking a seat. The farmer looked at it and then to his son.
"What is this?"
"I was thinking you could fix up the fence...maybe even buy a new Karkadann." He smiled at his father, who held his frown tight as he returned to his carving.
"How'd you get the money?" the farmer asked, an eyebrow raised inquisitively but still not meeting his son's gaze. Curad groaned in frustration and ran his hand through his beard.
"You know how I got the money, Da." The two sat in silence a moment, the older man's carving quickening in its rhythm. Standing up and turning from the table, the mercenary leaned against the house's wall and smirked in his dissatisfaction. "Most fathers would be proud to have a son who's a Taisafir." His father only grunted in response, and the young man sighed and went to find his bed. Nadurtha, still awake, felt a strange feeling well up inside her. Usually Curad would think of something to say, some clever retort to get the old man angry. Now, he's quiet. Hopeless. She preferred it when they fought.
She felt bad that she preferred it when they fought.
A single tear fell onto the masoleum floor, stirring up the dust, and the admiral rose to her feet. It's been so long, she thought, why do I care that it's been so long?
She dusted herself off, exiting the resting place of her family, and sat on the moist and dewey grass of the burial ground. I should go back soon, the men'll be getting worried. Suddenly, she heard a pained bleating in the distance.
The Village
The week before, the Baile boy had been brought into the village with his body on a stretcher. There was an air of ceremony to it, one of the first men in a very long time to have died in the name of Serenity. His mother was the first to see the procession, and broke down in front of the whole village, weeping and cursing and collapsing and the such. With the impending war against Freishann, mothers should really be more prepared...or at least retain some composure, for the sake of everyone. Her hysteria was apparantly quite a scene, Curad's father having to hold his wife back. He didn't cry. What kind of father wouldn't cry at the death of their own son? He should at least be proud, although everyone knows he and the boy never got along.
His teenage sister, Nadurtha, had been riding the family's Karkadann when he came in, quite unladylike. She and him were quite close, so she didn't handle the news very well when she finally came back. Nobody had seen her for a week, but that wasn't unusual; she was always a bit of an outcast. The only other person in the village she was close to, Minnira, eventually sought her out.
Nadurtha sat alone by the creek. The crying had stopped yesterday, but she didn't feel any better. Sitting on a fallen log, her Karkadann softly nuzzled her hand while she mindlessly stroked its face, with Curad's sword laying in her lap. Her parents didn't want her to have the blade, saying it was dangerous, that they didn't want it to tempt her into following in his footsteps. There were a lot of things she hid from them. She noticed Minnira coming to sit next to her, putting a blanket under her dress as she did so, but she didn't care to look at her. They sat for a while, Minnira staring at Nadurtha while the darker haired girl stared at the creek.
"Why are you here?" Nadurtha eventually asked. The blonde sighed and rolled her eyes, turning and looking at the creek that Nadurtha seemed to find so interesting.
"I just wanted to make sure that you were okay, Nadi," Minnira responded as she softly kicked the pebbles of the riverbank, listening intently to hear them crumble under her foot. Nadurtha's petting began to slow, and her Karkadann moved away from her, with her petting hand now resting on the blade's sheath.
Nadurtha bit her lip, and felt a small frustration build inside her. "Minni, I didn't know you cared."
"Don't talk like that!" Minnira immediately felt bad at her outlash, and moved her hand over to touch Nadurtha's arm. "Nadi, I-"
"Don't touch me," Nadurtha responded, instinctively pulling away. Minnira moved back to her seat, and for a while they sat, listening to the babbling creek. An adolescent silence sat between them, an ocean of hormones neither of them wished to, or were allowed to, express. Minnira's face grew red as she fiddled with her dress, building up the courage to say what came next.
"I...Nadi I...I am to be wed." One could swear they heard the pit open up in Nadurtha's stomach.
Immediately, a swarm of thoughts began racing through her head. Why? Who? Does she love him? Does she love-who does she love? A panic ensued in her mind. She wanted to scream. She wanted to jump into the creek and swim away. She wanted to plunge the sword in her lap into her own heart and force Minnira to watch her die, so that she would know how it felt. How it felt to have your heart broken. How it felt to have your world destroyed. How it felt to be her.
"Oh," was all she said.
Minnira thought of the words she should say, but being so young, thought of nothing. Tears welling in her eyes, she picked up her blanket and walked away.
The black haired girl's home was broken a week ago. Her heart was broken just now. She began to sob, now feeling worse than before. The Karkadann began to nuzzle her hand again.
It was a Karkadann that had been making the noise. Probably got lost in the storm, was hunting for food when it got trapped under a falling log. This was why Olirians burned their dead instead of burying them. Nadurtha approached it slowly.
"Shhh, shh, it's alright now," she said soothingly, knees bent and one hand outreached. The beast began screeching louder, but the admiral knew how to handle them. As she stepped on the branches which riddled the forest floor, one of the broken pieces of wood reached up and cut her leg, but Nadurtha had to ignore the pain. She needed to keep the creature calm. "Now what'd you get yourself into?" she asked, reaching out her hand to feel its muzzle. It began to remember the feeling of human kindness, and rested on her hand.
For a bit, the admiral just stood there petting the creature, letting it build up some trust for her, even pulling out a piece of dried meat for it to eat. After a while, she asked, "Alright, you ready?" Though she obviously got no response, the Karkadann seemed to know what came next as Nadurtah moved behind it and lifted the log off its back legs.
Freedom
It was at the dead of night, and Nadurtha was behind her home with her Karkadann, Curad's sword, and a back of supplies she was tying to its saddle. Her hair was cut short, and as usual she wore no makeup, looking much like a man in the moonlight which illuminated the arms shown by her rolled up sleeves. As she readied to depart, she heard some familiar footsteps move behind her carrying a lantern.
"Nadi? What are you doing out this late?" Minnira whispered, her nightgown a stark contrast from the beauty of her usual dresses. She was really quite beautiful; it was no wonder that the richest man in the village asked to make her his bride. She didn't need to wait for Nadurtha's response when none came; the Karkadann and cut hair said it all. "Are you...where do you...are you leaving?" Finally, the girl stopped prepping the saddle, but still didn't turn around.
"They need sailors. I'm headed for Minhu."
"What? That's crazy, Nadurtha!" Minnira exclaimed, her voice growing louder, much to Nadurtha irritation. She turned around to face the blonde girl.
"It's Nadur now."
"So what, you think you're just going to masquerade as a man and live on a ship full of them? Have you even set foot on a boat before? Do you-" Nadurtha moved forward and placed her hand's on Minnira's shoulders.
"Minni, you have to be quiet." She only grew louder.
"What? I will not-"
"Minni."
"Don't-" she was finally silenced when she felt Nadurtha's lips on her own, the black-haired girl's hands clutching tight to her hips. Her eyes were wide with shock, and tried to push Nadurtha off of her, her lamp having fallen on the floor, but soon trepidation melted away, and for a while, the two kissed under the moonlight, years of built up tension now being soothed in the other girl's arms. Eventually, Nadurtha pulled away, and softly let her go, walked to the Karkadann.
"Nadi, wait, please-" but her mind had been set, and the mad-eyed girl of Sraid hopped atop her mount and rode off into the distance. Minnira fell to the ground in tears. Now she knew how it felt.
The admiral entered the village square with her marines helping to carry the injured Karkadann. She saw Minnira standing with her children, watching the procession of soldiers, nodded to them, and kept on keeping on. Like a galloping Karkadann. Like a bird in flight. Like a fish in a creek, tangled up in the blue water, swimming out to sea.
Unna Forest, Kingdom of Adhmadh
Rains fell hard and winds blew rough as the forces of the sea pummeled the land, but the Yara clung tight to a bending tree, for he had weathered storms before. His red body stood out in the dense moisture that had constricted his forest, while his large, suctioned hand reached up for the only fruit this tree had left to pluck, when through the howling wind and rain he could hear the shallow breathing and the beating heart of a human child.
Ignore it, he thought, it is a trap. He thought nothing of it as he clasped onto the dampened fruit, and, after picking his meal, he scuttled down the tree to the forest floor. He heard the heartbeat quicken and the child grunt as he struggled to survive. The child was alone and trapped, and out of sheer curiosity, he hid himself from human gaze, making his way towards where he could sense it was.
The child was stuck under a fallen log. Nearby lay the corpse of a young lamb, who the child was likely there trying to rescue. By now it had fallen unconscious, but the Yara could feel its heart beat, and moved closer, examining the young of his adversaries. Its hair was a sandy blond, and seemed to be a male. It looked like The Boy.
---
Mother gave him a grass-sewn sack of nuts and berries picked from the forest's highest trees, and slung it around Wadju's back, much like his younger brother was clasped tight to her own. "You will be safe, Wadjunei?" It was a hot and sunny day in the forest of the Unna, but the hollow base of the Sognu tree kept the young Yara sheltered from the sun's rays.
The child chucked with mischief illuminating his black eyes, the wide grin against his red, rounded head making him look like a tomato. "Yes, Annei, do not be worried, I shall be back before the sun has set." He moved for the tree's entrance when Mother held him back. "Wait, Wadju, your father is going with you."
Wadju stood shocked, as the elderly chief fell from the treetop and stood before his son. "Come, Agnei, we should move." Knowing he could not protest, Wadju and The Chief walked through the forest side by side towards the birch where he would meet The Boy. Walking silently until the Unna village had fallen behind them, Wadju spoke up.
"I do not understand why you are coming with me." The Chief remained silent to the ears of a child, but his posture and stoic features would have spoken clearly to someone of greater experience. "Could you not hear me Adnei? I usually meet him alone." Still without response, Wadju fixed his gaze to the forest ahead, frustration stirring inside of him, when the Chief spoke up.
"The Guoda have been attacked by humans."
---
Excited flames danced along the walls of the Sognu to a song that had been long forgotten. The Yara squatted near the fire with a stick in his hand as he carefully placed a root into the clay pot that was erected above it, when the human child coughed into consciousness. The Yara remained silent. The child sat up, and began to take note of his surroundings, when he saw the fiend sat before him.
"Y-you are the Old Yara of Unna Forest!" He remained silent to the child's realization, stirring the pot while carefully avoiding the flames licking its underside. The human sat bewildered, eyes affixed to the red legend while the storm still raged outside. "You know...I wouldn't taste good!" At this, the Yara briefly looked at the young boy, confused, before turning turning back to the pot. "I know you like to eat children...but I wouldn't taste good. Like...dirt, or-or vegetables!"
Herbs fell from the Yara's hand into the pot. One missed its marker, and fell into the fire below, filling the hollow with a bitter scent. The child layed back, dissatisfied with his captor's response, and looked at the walls of the tree. They were adorned with markings and artwork, going up as far as he could see. "Did you make these paintings?"
"No," The Yara responded. The child was bewildered by the response, as well as the deep croak emitted from the small creature's body, and turned to face him.
"Are there others like you here?" The child asked inquisitively.
"No." Sniffing the smoke of the pot, the Yara was satisfied, and took it by the handle, walking over to the human. As the red being grew closer, fear welled up in the human boy's eyes, when the pot was handed to him. "Eat," said the Yara, but the child held it hesitantly. Gesturing for him to drink it, the child slowly brought it to his face, taking a sip, when he grimaced at the acrid taste. "You must eat. You are getting sick." The child began consuming the concoction, but his face remained unchanged.
---
Wadju approached the Boy by the birch they always meet at, and unslung the sack from his back. "Hey Fean!" The boy responded with a wide grin, and sat up from the ground.
"Wadju!" He ran to his friend, and took the sack, placing it by the crate of eggs he brought with him, before he picked up a couple of wooden swords. "Look at what my Father got for us!" the little prince exclaimed, handing the young Yara one of the oaken blades. Wadju took it, and felt it in his hands. They had played with wooden swords before, which usually ended up broken by the day's end, but this time he felt the sword had a different weight. "What's wrong?" asked Fean.
"Nothing...my father is watching us today...I do not think we can play as long." Fean nodded, somewhat saddened, the knowledge that the Chief of the Unna was somewhere watching, hidden from human sight somewhat dampening their day. "He says some Yara Ma got hurt by humans, so he is being careful."
"Oh." An awkward silence hung in the air. "I wouldn't hurt you."
"I know!" The two of them sat down with the swords placed on the ground, and sat looking at the human settlement that stood beyond; Fean's home, and the place Wadju had been forbidden to go. As a strange understanding of things crept up on them, the Boy stood up and stopped it.
"Bet you can't catch me!" he shouted before bolting off towards the medow at the edge of the woods, and Wadju laughed as he chased after him.
---
The clay pot was half empty on the floor, the child having eaten as much as he was going to, and the Yara was sat watching the downpour outside, nibbling at the fruit he had picked. As the young human stood up, his fingers touching a Yara painting, Old Yara shouted, "Do not touch that!" The child pulled his hand back fearfully, shocked at the Yara's senses, and sat back down.
"You don't have to be so grumpy!" he retorted, to which the Yara only grunted. The sandy-haired child began tearing up, and lay down facing the tree wall. The Yara sighed.
"You should not say I eat children. It is not true." The human turned his body to face him, confused.
"But my papa said-"
"Your father is wrong." The child was silent, realizing he had been mean.
"Did you see a lamb when you found me? She's why I came into the forest," the child asked, looking at the Yara's back.
"She-" He stopped himself. "No. I did not see a lamb." They were silent for a little while longer, the Yara finishing his fruit and throwing the peel to the storm.
"My name is Albar," the child said. "What is yours?" The Yara sat quiet for a moment, contemplating how to respond.
"Wadju," He said. "I am Wadju."
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