Half Pint

Ultimate One Universe: Resistance

I've delayed getting a post up because I'm unsure of the status of things here. Are we still just plugging away individually, or will there eventually be another GM post moving the overall narrative forward, or?

@Retired

I've been a bit behind of schedule due to travelling to work. I'm more than happy to keep going with this, but I too am a bit concerned about the status of everything?

Ultimate One Universe: Resistance

<Snipped quote by Half Pint>

What does this mean? A decision must be made

@Sep

The post....remains

(also apologies I was travelling back home for the past 20 hours and couldn't add gifs on mobile)

Strange Academy: Journey into Mystery

---

_{Darragh Quinn
Darragh Quinn}

^{"One foot in the grave"}

---

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________

C H A R A C T E R P E R S O N A L I T Y C H A R A C T E R P E R S O N A L I T Y _________________________________________________________ | Guarded | Resilient | _________________________________________________________ | Resourceful | Sharp-witted | _________________________________________________________ | Loyal | Skeptical | C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Character Info Full Name: Darragh Michael Quinn Aliases: Daz, Dazza Birth Place: Limerick, Ireland Age: 21 Birthday: December 11th Gender: Male Pronouns: He/Him Sexuality: Heterosexual Build: Lean and wiry. Body Modifications: A pierced nostril, and a few ear piercings. Various doodled stick and pokes. The palms of his hands bear the shape and markings of an Obol. Habits: Getting drunk, listening to music, speaking to the dead Hobbies: Watching and parcticipating in any type of grappling (Judo, BJJ, Wrestling), Watching old movies, getting drunk Social Handle: LivingDeadman2018 Medical History: A few broken bones and sprains throughout his time on the street and grappling. Other than that nothing notable. ► Fears Ending up completely alone Being forgotten or left behind Becoming like his father ► Toxic Traits Emotionally avoidant Secretive ► Likes Old, weird movies David Lynch Grappling Grunge music Beer Urban Exploration ► Dislikes Being pitied People who talk through movies Being asked too many questions Pop Music (Except of course for a few classics) Those who make fun of others' accents Being woken up early without a reason - A B I L I T I E S A B I L I T I E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M A G I C & S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Magic Source: Seventh Son of a Seventh Son Type: Necromancy. Heavily centred around his connection to the underworld. ► Grimoire The Vision - Darragh has a constant direct link to the underworld and as a result is always able to see and speak to the dead. Whether he likes to or not. Death Rattle - He is able to call forth a shade or other low level being from the underworld at will. Whether this be to attack or to guide. Ashes to Ashes – Darragh slips through the veil and into the world of the dead, leaving behind only a pile of ashes. While in this state, he is invisible to the living eye and untouched by the physical world, but can be sensed by magic or other means. Summon Familiar - Darragh's familiar is a crow Charon's Toll - By offering a sacrifice using his obol, Callum can temporarily summon a more powerful being from the underworld to perform a task The stronger the being the greater the toll. Deadman's Switch - Temporarily swaps Darragh's position with that of a summoned spirit, ally, or marked object. Mortal Coil - Darragh can summon and control a pair of skeletal arms at will. Whether this be using them to attack in front of him or erupting a larger pair from the ground to trap an enemy. ► Skills -Grappling +3 -Streetwise +2 -Old movie buff +2 -Sleight of hand +2 -Stick and Poke tattoos +1 ► Languages English, some Irish Gaelic ► Possessions Obols - his casting focus summoned through his palms Phone A scuffed leather wallet with a children’s drawing folded into the note slot A Swiss Army knife (only the blade and bottle opener still work) A necklace with a pendant of St Christopher A silver Casio watch with a slightly cracked screen - P O S T C A T A L O G P O S T C A T A L O G _________________________________________________________ [+] - P O S T I N G N O T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Relationship Notes Note/Link Note/Link ► Important Posts Note/Link Note/Link -

---

C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y
C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y

Dead men tell no tales

It is said that the seventh sons of the seventh sons all sprout from one lineage. No matter the distance or complexity, each of them can trace their roots back to the first homunculus, Alraune, born of a hanged man and a witch.

Darragh's life was an omen from conception. He was the seventh son of a seventh son, and was born strangled by his own umblical chord. At birth he was already deceased, but shortly after being pronounced dead he miraculously began to cry again. The doctors said it was a medical miracle, that it defied science. They never knew how right they were.

He grew up shunned for reasons he could never explain. People took an instinctive dislike to him. They had the seem feeling around him as they do around rotting flowers or empty graveyards. Not quite danger, but a presence that felt like it didn't belong. Animals steered clear. Lightbulbs burst when he cried. He learned early on not to try too hard to make friends.

The only person he had to rely on for a lot of his early life was his mother. His father was a deadbeat who only appeared when it suited him, and even then Darragh could feel how uncomfortable he felt around him. All of his life all he wanted was his approval, an approval he never got.

His father was an avid fan of MMA, and after a huge amount of pestering his mother relented and began to send him to Judo lessons. This grew his love for all things grappling which he carried throughout his life, even after he grew up. By the time he was twelve, his father had a new family. A new partner, a better job, a nicer flat across town he never invited Darragh to, but then came Aoife.

His half-sister was the only light in his life that didn't flicker. A quiet, curious girl who shared his pale eyes and none of the unease others felt around him. She followed him like a duckling and Darragh was eternally thankful his father allowed her to be around him as much as he did, despite the fact he knew this was because he couldn't bother to take care of her himself. For the first time, he felt needed, important. Older brothers were meant to protect, he tried his best to.

Her death wasn't violent, just stupid. His father had left her at home alone to go to the pub and she had managed to eat something with nuts in it, despite her deathly allergy. She was too young to understand the risks, or understand how to use her epi-pen or phone an ambulance. His father didn't even bother to show up to the funeral. Darragh never forgave him.

Something in him broke wide open after that. He felt like he'd woken up for the first time in his life. He began to see things, pale figures in bus windows, shadow people among trees, women in hospital gowns wandering across motorways. He could see the dead, plain as day. Strangely, he never felt shocked or scared of this. It was like finally meeting the crowd he'd always felt staring right at him.

Over the next few weeks he got better and better at seeing the figures, at communicating with them. But he only ever had one question - where was his sister? He never got an answer. With a tearfully written note he had to leave home, it had too many bad memories and he'd searched high and low for his sister to no avail. It was time to take to greener pastures, Limerick had never accepted him anyway.

The next few years blurred. He wandered, slept in abandoned buildings, worked odd jobs, travelled with grifters and the homeless, all the while honing his skills in private. He was angry, not just at the world, but at himself. For being born this way, for being part of whatever this was, for not being there to save his sister.

The more time he spent among the dead, the more he understood, it wasn't just that he could see them, but that they recognized him. Some greeted him by name, others hissed and turned away. He was marked, born different, and no matter how hard he tried to disappear, the other side never let him forget who he was. Spells came to him in fragments, some taught to him by the seventh sons who came before him from the other sides. Others came to him in a dream, like he'd always known them. He collected and practiced what he could.

He wouldn't have even known about the strange academy had he not been found. One night he'd gone too far. He was tired, starved, desperate, and most importantly - stupid. He thought he could rip a soul out of the dirt and force it to talk, thought he could barter with something older, something meaner, something that might know where she was. But whatever he summoned wasn't a soul, at least not a human one. It was a hulking monstrosity, more teeth than face. It could only laugh at him when he made his demands.

The thing tore through the cemetery like it had been waiting for the chance. Darragh fought it with everything he had, but his magic was too young, wild, and untrained. When he finally fell, clawed and dripping with blood, his reserves were depleted. He had nothing to fight it with, not that anything he had could have helped.

That was when the ground split open again - not from his foolishness this time. He silently prayed that the thing hadn't brought friends. He was lucky his prayers were answered. Suddenly A sword cleaved the thing in half. Through half conscious eyes he caught the sight of her, portal still burning behind as she cleaned off her blade. Illyana Rasputin. Magik.

She took pity on the young necromancer, nursing him back to health in Limbo and teaching her what she could about the control of magic. She was no teacher though, and after pulling a few strings managed to get him a place at the Strange Academy.

Darragh doesn’t talk about the future. It's hard for someone stuck in the past to see anything passed what's directly in front of their face. But if pressed, he'll admit he wants to control his power. To understand it deeply enough that he might finally find his sister, or find out why he never has. And, maybe, once he's done what he needs to do, he hopes he might earn a little peace. Just enough to sleep without voices.

Ultimate One Universe: Resistance

<Snipped quote by Lord Wraith>

I'll leave it up to @Half Pint

@Sep

Strange Academy: Journey into Mystery

@Half PintFormatting looks fine from what I could tell (I do everything on here including coding by phone so I get it lol) Feel Free to remove the Hider for thr Sheet however

@Trainerblue192

Cheers! Removed the hider now.

Strange Academy: Journey into Mystery

@Morose@Achronum@Trainerblue192
Edited the new sections in using my phone so please let me know if the formatting is broken anywhere but otherwise this is complete!

---

_{Darragh Quinn
Darragh Quinn}

^{"One foot in the grave"}

---

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________

C H A R A C T E R P E R S O N A L I T Y C H A R A C T E R P E R S O N A L I T Y _________________________________________________________ | Guarded | Resilient | _________________________________________________________ | Resourceful | Sharp-witted | _________________________________________________________ | Loyal | Skeptical | C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Character Info Full Name: Darragh Michael Quinn Aliases: Daz, Dazza Birth Place: Limerick, Ireland Age: 21 Birthday: December 11th Gender: Male Pronouns: He/Him Sexuality: Heterosexual Build: Lean and wiry. Body Modifications: A pierced nostril, and a few ear piercings. Various doodled stick and pokes. The palms of his hands bear the shape and markings of an Obol. Habits: Getting drunk, listening to music, speaking to the dead Hobbies: Watching and parcticipating in any type of grappling (Judo, BJJ, Wrestling), Watching old movies, getting drunk Social Handle: LivingDeadman2018 Medical History: A few broken bones and sprains throughout his time on the street and grappling. Other than that nothing notable. ► Fears Ending up completely alone Being forgotten or left behind Becoming like his father ► Toxic Traits Emotionally avoidant Secretive ► Likes Old, weird movies David Lynch Grappling Grunge music Beer Urban Exploration ► Dislikes Being pitied People who talk through movies Being asked too many questions Pop Music (Except of course for a few classics) Those who make fun of others' accents Being woken up early without a reason - A B I L I T I E S A B I L I T I E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M A G I C & S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Magic Source: Seventh Son of a Seventh Son Type: Necromancy. Heavily centred around his connection to the underworld. ► Grimoire The Vision - Darragh has a constant direct link to the underworld and as a result is always able to see and speak to the dead. Whether he likes to or not. Death Rattle - He is able to call forth a shade or other low level being from the underworld at will. Whether this be to attack or to guide. Ashes to Ashes – Darragh slips through the veil and into the world of the dead, leaving behind only a pile of ashes. While in this state, he is invisible to the living eye and untouched by the physical world, but can be sensed by magic or other means. Summon Familiar - Darragh's familiar is a crow Charon's Toll - By offering a sacrifice using his obol, Callum can temporarily summon a more powerful being from the underworld to perform a task The stronger the being the greater the toll. Deadman's Switch - Temporarily swaps Darragh's position with that of a summoned spirit, ally, or marked object. Mortal Coil - Darragh can summon and control a pair of skeletal arms at will. Whether this be using them to attack in front of him or erupting a larger pair from the ground to trap an enemy. ► Skills -Grappling +3 -Streetwise +2 -Old movie buff +2 -Sleight of hand +2 -Stick and Poke tattoos +1 ► Languages English, some Irish Gaelic ► Possessions Obols - his casting focus summoned through his palms Phone A scuffed leather wallet with a children’s drawing folded into the note slot A Swiss Army knife (only the blade and bottle opener still work) A necklace with a pendant of St Christopher A silver Casio watch with a slightly cracked screen - P O S T C A T A L O G P O S T C A T A L O G _________________________________________________________ [+] - P O S T I N G N O T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Relationship Notes Note/Link Note/Link ► Important Posts Note/Link Note/Link -

---

C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y
C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y

Dead men tell no tales

It is said that the seventh sons of the seventh sons all sprout from one lineage. No matter the distance or complexity, each of them can trace their roots back to the first homunculus, Alraune, born of a hanged man and a witch.

Darragh's life was an omen from conception. He was the seventh son of a seventh son, and was born strangled by his own umblical chord. At birth he was already deceased, but shortly after being pronounced dead he miraculously began to cry again. The doctors said it was a medical miracle, that it defied science. They never knew how right they were.

He grew up shunned for reasons he could never explain. People took an instinctive dislike to him. They had the seem feeling around him as they do around rotting flowers or empty graveyards. Not quite danger, but a presence that felt like it didn't belong. Animals steered clear. Lightbulbs burst when he cried. He learned early on not to try too hard to make friends.

The only person he had to rely on for a lot of his early life was his mother. His father was a deadbeat who only appeared when it suited him, and even then Darragh could feel how uncomfortable he felt around him. All of his life all he wanted was his approval, an approval he never got.

His father was an avid fan of MMA, and after a huge amount of pestering his mother relented and began to send him to Judo lessons. This grew his love for all things grappling which he carried throughout his life, even after he grew up. By the time he was twelve, his father had a new family. A new partner, a better job, a nicer flat across town he never invited Darragh to, but then came Aoife.

His half-sister was the only light in his life that didn't flicker. A quiet, curious girl who shared his pale eyes and none of the unease others felt around him. She followed him like a duckling and Darragh was eternally thankful his father allowed her to be around him as much as he did, despite the fact he knew this was because he couldn't bother to take care of her himself. For the first time, he felt needed, important. Older brothers were meant to protect, he tried his best to.

Her death wasn't violent, just stupid. His father had left her at home alone to go to the pub and she had managed to eat something with nuts in it, despite her deathly allergy. She was too young to understand the risks, or understand how to use her epi-pen or phone an ambulance. His father didn't even bother to show up to the funeral. Darragh never forgave him.

Something in him broke wide open after that. He felt like he'd woken up for the first time in his life. He began to see things, pale figures in bus windows, shadow people among trees, women in hospital gowns wandering across motorways. He could see the dead, plain as day. Strangely, he never felt shocked or scared of this. It was like finally meeting the crowd he'd always felt staring right at him.

Over the next few weeks he got better and better at seeing the figures, at communicating with them. But he only ever had one question - where was his sister? He never got an answer. With a tearfully written note he had to leave home, it had too many bad memories and he'd searched high and low for his sister to no avail. It was time to take to greener pastures, Limerick had never accepted him anyway.

The next few years blurred. He wandered, slept in abandoned buildings, worked odd jobs, travelled with grifters and the homeless, all the while honing his skills in private. He was angry, not just at the world, but at himself. For being born this way, for being part of whatever this was, for not being there to save his sister.

The more time he spent among the dead, the more he understood, it wasn't just that he could see them, but that they recognized him. Some greeted him by name, others hissed and turned away. He was marked, born different, and no matter how hard he tried to disappear, the other side never let him forget who he was. Spells came to him in fragments, some taught to him by the seventh sons who came before him from the other sides. Others came to him in a dream, like he'd always known them. He collected and practiced what he could.

He wouldn't have even known about the strange academy had he not been found. One night he'd gone too far. He was tired, starved, desperate, and most importantly - stupid. He thought he could rip a soul out of the dirt and force it to talk, thought he could barter with something older, something meaner, something that might know where she was. But whatever he summoned wasn't a soul, at least not a human one. It was a hulking monstrosity, more teeth than face. It could only laugh at him when he made his demands.

The thing tore through the cemetery like it had been waiting for the chance. Darragh fought it with everything he had, but his magic was too young, wild, and untrained. When he finally fell, clawed and dripping with blood, his reserves were depleted. He had nothing to fight it with, not that anything he had could have helped.

That was when the ground split open again - not from his foolishness this time. He silently prayed that the thing hadn't brought friends. He was lucky his prayers were answered. Suddenly A sword cleaved the thing in half. Through half conscious eyes he caught the sight of her, portal still burning behind as she cleaned off her blade. Illyana Rasputin. Magik.

She took pity on the young necromancer, nursing him back to health in Limbo and teaching her what she could about the control of magic. She was no teacher though, and after pulling a few strings managed to get him a place at the Strange Academy. He's been there a year now and has slowly opened up to the others at the Academy, but a lot of him still remains a mystery to the other students.

Darragh doesn’t talk about the future. It's hard for someone stuck in the past to see anything passed what's directly in front of their face. But if pressed, he'll admit he wants to control his power. To understand it deeply enough that he might finally find his sister, or find out why he never has. And, maybe, once he's done what he needs to do, he hopes he might earn a little peace. Just enough to sleep without voices.

Strange Academy: Journey into Mystery

That's my application finished unless I've missed anything!

Strange Academy: Journey into Mystery

Deadman

---

_{Darragh Quinn
Darragh Quinn}

^{"One foot in the grave"}

---

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________

C H A R A C T E R P E R S O N A L I T Y C H A R A C T E R P E R S O N A L I T Y _________________________________________________________ | Guarded | Resilient | _________________________________________________________ | Resourceful | Sharp-witted | _________________________________________________________ | Loyal | Skeptical | C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Character Info Aliases: Daz, Dazza Birth Place: Limerick, Ireland Age: 21 Birthday: December 11th Gender: Male Pronouns: He/Him Sexuality: Heterosexual Build: Lean and wiry. Body Modifications: A pierced nostril, and a few ear piercings. A faded stick and poke protective rune tattooed onto his left forearm, done during his time on the run. He's never said what it was meant to do, or whether it worked. Other various doodled stick and pokes, much less notable than the rune. Habits: Getting drunk, listening to music, speaking to the dead Hobbies: Watching and parcticipating in any type of grappling (Judo, BJJ, Wrestling), Watching old movies, getting drunk Social Handle: LivingDeadman2018 Medical History: A few broken bones and sprains throughout his time on the street and grappling. Other than that nothing notable. ► Fears Ending up completely alone Being forgotten or left behind Becoming like his father ► Toxic Traits Emotionally avoidant Secretive ► Likes Old, weird movies David Lynch Grappling Grunge music Beer Urban Exploration ► Dislikes Being pitied People who talk through movies Being asked too many questions Pop Music (Except of course for a few classics) Those who make fun of others' accents Being woken up early without a reason - A B I L I T I E S A B I L I T I E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M A G I C & S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Magic Source: Seventh Son of a Seventh Son Type: Necromancy. Heavily centred around his connection to the underworld. ► Grimoire The Vision - Darragh has a constant direct link to the underworld and as a result is always able to see and speak to the dead. Whether he likes to or not. Death Rattle - He is able to call forth a shade or other low level being from the underworld at will. Whether this be to attack or to guide. Ashes to Ashes – Darragh slips through the veil and into the world of the dead, leaving behind only a pile of ashes. While in this state, he is invisible to the living eye and untouched by the physical world, but can be sensed by magic or other means. Summon Familiar - Darragh's familiar is a crow Charon's Toll - By offering a sacrifice using his obol, Callum can temporarily summon a more powerful being from the underworld to perform a task The stronger the being the greater the toll. Deadman's Switch - Temporarily swaps Darragh's position with that of a summoned spirit, ally, or marked object. Mortal Coil - Darragh can summon and control a pair of skeletal arms at will. Whether this be using them to attack in front of him or erupting a larger pair from the ground to trap an enemy. ► Skills -Grappling +3 -Streetwise +2 -Old movie buff +2 -Sleight of hand +2 -Stick and Poke tattoos +1 ► Languages English, Some Irish Gaelic - P O S T C A T A L O G P O S T C A T A L O G _________________________________________________________ [+] - P O S T I N G N O T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Relationship Notes Note/Link Note/Link ► Important Posts Note/Link Note/Link -

---

C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y
C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y

Dead men tell no tales

It is said that the seventh sons of the seventh sons all sprout from one lineage. No matter the distance or complexity, each of them can trace their roots back to the first homunculus, Alraune, born of a hanged man and a witch.

Darragh's life was an omen from conception. He was the seventh son of a seventh son, and was born strangled by his own umblical chord. At birth he was already deceased, but shortly after being pronounced dead he miraculously began to cry again. The doctors said it was a medical miracle, that it defied science. They never knew how right they were.

He grew up shunned for reasons he could never explain. People took an instinctive dislike to him. They had the seem feeling around him as they do around rotting flowers or empty graveyards. Not quite danger, but a presence that felt like it didn't belong. Animals steered clear. Lightbulbs burst when he cried. He learned early on not to try too hard to make friends.

The only person he had to rely on for a lot of his early life was his mother. His father was a deadbeat who only appeared when it suited him, and even then Darragh could feel how uncomfortable he felt around him. All of his life all he wanted was his approval, an approval he never got.

His father was an avid fan of MMA, and after a huge amount of pestering his mother relented and began to send him to Judo lessons. This grew his love for all things grappling which he carried throughout his life, even after he grew up. By the time he was twelve, his father had a new family. A new partner, a better job, a nicer flat across town he never invited Darragh to, but then came Aoife.

His half-sister was the only light in his life that didn't flicker. A quiet, curious girl who shared his pale eyes and none of the unease others felt around him. She followed him like a duckling and Darragh was eternally thankful his father allowed her to be around him as much as he did, despite the fact he knew this was because he couldn't bother to take care of her himself. For the first time, he felt needed, important. Older brothers were meant to protect, he tried his best to.

Her death wasn't violent, just stupid. His father had left her at home alone to go to the pub and she had managed to eat something with nuts in it, despite her deathly allergy. She was too young to understand the risks, or understand how to use her epi-pen or phone an ambulance. His father didn't even bother to show up to the funeral. Darragh never forgave him.

Something in him broke wide open after that. He felt like he'd woken up for the first time in his life. He began to see things, pale figures in bus windows, shadow people among trees, women in hospital gowns wandering across motorways. He could see the dead, plain as day. Strangely, he never felt shocked or scared of this. It was like finally meeting the crowd he'd always felt staring right at him.

Over the next few weeks he got better and better at seeing the figures, at communicating with them. But he only ever had one question - where was his sister? He never got an answer. With a tearfully written note he had to leave home, it had too many bad memories and he'd searched high and low for his sister to no avail. It was time to take to greener pastures, Limerick had never accepted him anyway.

The next few years blurred. He wandered, slept in abandoned buildings, worked odd jobs, travelled with grifters and the homeless, all the while honing his skills in private. He was angry, not just at the world, but at himself. For being born this way, for being part of whatever this was, for not being there to save his sister.

The more time he spent among the dead, the more he understood, it wasn't just that he could see them, but that they recognized him. Some greeted him by name, others hissed and turned away. He was marked, born different, and no matter how hard he tried to disappear, the other side never let him forget who he was. Spells came to him in fragments, some taught to him by the seventh sons who came before him from the other sides. Others came to him in a dream, like he'd always known them. He collected and practiced what he could.

He wouldn't have even known about the strange academy had he not been found. One night he'd gone too far. He was tired, starved, desperate, and most importantly - stupid. He thought he could rip a soul out of the dirt and force it to talk, thought he could barter with something older, something meaner, something that might know where she was. But whatever he summoned wasn't a soul, at least not a human one. It was a hulking monstrosity, more teeth than face. It could only laugh at him when he made his demands.

The thing tore through the cemetery like it had been waiting for the chance. Darragh fought it with everything he had, but his magic was too young, wild, and untrained. When he finally fell, clawed and dripping with blood, his reserves were depleted. He had nothing to fight it with, not that anything he had could have helped.

That was when the ground split open again - not from his foolishness this time. He silently prayed that the thing hadn't brought friends. He was lucky his prayers were answered. Suddenly A sword cleaved the thing in half. Through half conscious eyes he caught the sight of her, portal still burning behind as she cleaned off her blade. Illyana Rasputin. Magik.

She took pity on the young necromancer, nursing him back to health in Limbo and teaching her what she could about the control of magic. She was no teacher though, and after pulling a few strings managed to get him a place at the Strange Academy. He's been there a year now and has slowly opened up to the others at the Academy, but a lot of him still remains a mystery to the other students.

Darragh doesn’t talk about the future. It's hard for someone stuck in the past to see anything passed what's directly in front of their face. But if pressed, he'll admit he wants to control his power. To understand it deeply enough that he might finally find his sister, or find out why he never has. And, maybe, once he's done what he needs to do, he hopes he might earn a little peace. Just enough to sleep without voices.

Strange Academy: Journey into Mystery

The Fantastic Four act as the Future Foundation, their ranks swelling with the addition of others such as Franklin and Valeria who share their noble mission: solve everything.

@Morose

Definitely interested espcially after this line!

Ultimate One Universe: Resistance

Had an associate put in their resignation during a large military project

@Lord Wraith

This feels like it could be spoilers for @Sep‘s next few posts