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"El amor es como el fuego. Suelen ver el humo los que están fuera antes que las llamas los que están dentro."



Hex | Stuck in the hell that is Academia | Too old for this shit | Writer of pretentious walls of text | He/Him

Most Recent Posts

Wanted to just confirm that I'm still here. The computer has been experiencing some overheating problems (core temps are hovering around 90C at idle). So I can't really get a post out without everything crashing on me. Been trying to work out the post on the tablet, but that's been a bit of a struggle. In good news, the new fans and thermal paste are coming tomorrow so hopefully, I can finish the post up real soon!


January 1st 1968
M16 Safehouse, Norrland, Sweden

Janet van Dyne looked down at the corpse of Grigor Ivanovich Pchelintsov. An almost comical expression of surprise was frozen on the dead Ukrainian’s face, his slightly parted lips making a deflated O-shape. He was wearing a thick winter robe of traditional Norrland-make, the quilted fabric stained red with blood from where a bullet had entered underneath his chin. In his right hand, he still clutched the Tokarev semi-automatic pistol that Janet could only assume he used to commit the deed.

“Don’t recognize you,” a voice called out to Janet in a thick Geordie accent. “A new hire on the photography unit?”

Janet sighed and turned around.

The voice belonged to a stocky middle-aged man dressed in a heavy winter coat. The thick curls of his blonde beard caked with snow from the flurries that had started this morning. Janet had worked long enough to know when someone was analyzing her, and she could feel the man’s emotionless grey eyes take all of her in. His left hand was clenched around what Janet could reasonably guess was his service weapon, and those grey eyes were just waiting for her to give him an excuse to shoot. Slow and deliberate, Janet pulled her SHIELD credentials from her own jacket pocket and handed them over.

“SHIELD,” the man snorted. “I didn’t know they were hiring girlies with legs.”

“My people should have told you I was coming.” Janet replied curtly as she ignored the urge to kick her new conversation mate in the balls.

“Mike Selwyn, MI6 Station Chief. Apologies that we didn’t meet you with the red-carpet Princess, but as you can see, we have our hands full.” Selwyn explained dismissively gesturing to Pchelintsov’s corpse.

Janet had worked with men like Mike Selwyn her entire life. The hyper-masculine thunderer whose entire way of life was intimately threatened by women like Janet entering the workforce. The SHIELD training camp was full of them, but Janet was the one on special assignment and not toiling away at some no-name post somewhere. The secret Janet had found was to handle things like two bucks, you had to smash your antlers together as soon as possible.

“All I see Selwyn,” countered Janet making sure that every syllable dripped with venom. “Is that the asset I was supposed to interrogate is dead, and that you let it happen.”

Janet watched as the muscles in Selwyn’s face twitched behind his beard. The barb was cruel, Selwyn was undoubtedly already feeling the heat from his superiors over this fuckup. You let a recently flipped asset like Pchelintsov die, and sooner then you could blink there would already be a committee looking to get you demoted to bathroom attendant. Janet in turn could lean on that fear to remind Selwyn that he needed more friends than enemies right now.

“And what,” Selwyn asked as he straightened his posture and took on a much more professional tone. “Would you have me do to remedy this inconvenience.”

“Let me help you find out what happened to Pchelintsov.”

Selwyn looked between Pchelintsov’s body and Janet three times before nodding his head in agreement.

“How much do you know?” He asked.

“Only as much as your people have told us.”

Janet went on to explain how SHIELD had received notification from their MI6 contacts about a recently flipped Pchelintsov. The Ukrainian had been tucked away in a safehouse in Norrland awaiting debriefing and further transportation, and that due to prior services rendered that SHIELD, through Janet, would have the first pass at extraction of any information.

“You privileged to tell what you SHIELD folks wanted him for?” Selwyn asked as he slipped on a pair of gloves and crouched down next to the corpse.

“Agent went AWOL. He was our only lead,” replied Janet as she crouched down next to Selwyn.

She chose not to tell Selwyn that the Agent in question was Doctor Hank Pym, one of the world’s smartest men and her sometimes lover. SHIELD had managed to keep the fact that the “Ant-Man” was currently missing from almost everyone including most of their own organization. As the war pulled ahead in Vietnam, keeping morale up was the priority and vanishing superheroes did the opposite. It only took a few whispers in the wrong place for the rumor mill to start, and soon after something ridiculous like “Government superhero joins the Vietcong” would be on the front page of every tabloid in the West.

If Selwyn noticed Janet’s reservations, he did not comment on them. The MI6 agent gingerly took the dead Ukrainian’s head in his massive pawlike hands and tilted it forward so that he could get a better look at the entrance wound. He squinted down and gestured with a thumb towards a patch of pinkish skin near the wound.

“Burn marks,” Selwyn observed. “Either from the muzzle flash or from touching the barrel right after firing, either way that only happens with intimate contact.”

Janet nodded as she looked further down at Pchelintsov’s hands.

“No obvious bruising around the wrists either,” Janet added as she gestured with her head. “And no broken fingers. Nothing to suggest that somebody forced him to pull the trigger.”

“So,” Selwyn shook his head. “the perpetrator either shoved the barrel right up against his throat and fired, or the son of a bitch really did shoot himself.”

“You don’t think he could’ve done it?”

“I’ve seen Pchelinstov’s type. The Poor bastard made a lot of bad decisions in life. He did not just want out, but he wanted a way to redeem himself. Men like that do not just shoot themselves before they have a chance to repent.”

“Maybe he already did.”

“Not like we sent a priest his way. Besides, we sure as hell didn’t leave a Torkarev with him.”

Despite Selwyn’s confidence, Janet still was not sure she was not looking at a suicide. She took a breath and looked away from Pchelintsov’s body at the entirety of the crime scene.

The cabin looked like a mess: a wooden table flipped over, a toppled bookshelf with its various contents scattered across the place, the blankets had been ripped off Pchelintsov’s bed, and ashes from the central fireplace were scattered across the floor. The wooden wall directly behind Pchelintsov splintered, the final resting place of the killing bullet after it left the Ukrainian’s skull. The chaos around the cabin looked like a convincing simulacrum of a struggle. However, the lack of obvious non-fatal wounds on Pchelintsov made Janet doubt that any of it happened until after he died, but why would somebody want to make it look like they had killed a man? None of it made sense.

“Did you have eyes on the cabin? When it happened?” Janet asked Selwyn who was still looking over the body.

“Two officers in an overwatch position on the hill. They would have had eyes on all entrances and exits.”

Would have?”

“They were unresponsive at the time,” Selwyn explained sighing. “Both were injected with a nerve agent. Non-lethal thankfully, but there still at the local hospital getting back their faculties.”

Non-lethal? That was another question to add to the growing list. If an enemy agent had eyes on potentially dangerous targets, why did they not just take them out instead of risking a non-lethal approach. Nerve agents were effective, but there was no guarantee that the person you just dosed was not going to get up earlier than expected.

“Care to show me the way up there?”

“Don’t want to spend more time in the snow than I need to… but sure.”

You picked a wrong place to be station chief then, Janet thought but did not say out loud. Since their initial truce Selwyn had been nothing but cooperative and she wanted to keep him that way. No need to potentially bruise any fragile egos.

Selwyn trudged out the backdoor of the cabin and into the January chill. The snowfall was getting thicker now, and Janet could not see much further than the wide frame of Selwyn’s back. The snow did a good job covering up any tracks that the intruder may have left, but Janet still wanted to look at the overwatch point.

Selwyn’s labored breathing was visible on the air and only grew with the hill’s incline. The fact that Selwyn could have been involved somehow had not escaped Janet’s mind. Anyone working out of MI6’s Sweden Station could be involved, and the Soviets were infamous for their usage of double and even triple agents. For all she knew, Selwyn could be leading her out into the woods to shoot her.

However, watching Selwyn pant his way up the hill, Janet was not particularly scared, Selwyn was a bureaucrat, a spy’s spy, not an assassin, and that much was obvious.

Eventually, Selwyn stopped at a large Norwegian spruce about halfway up the incline. Her eyes followed Selwyn’s hand his finger directing her gaze towards the edge of a platform expertly hidden amongst the branches.

“Branches probably can’t hold my weight,” Selwyn said grabbing at his generous midsection. “So, I’ll wait here at the bottom until you are done.”

“Just get ready to catch me if I fall...”

The only way up was the old fashion way, as there were no handholds or ropes that Janet could make out. It was slow going, the snow made getting any traction hard and the extra weight made the branches sag dangerously. After she finally managed to hoist herself up to the platform, she stayed on her knees, grateful for a surface that did not move beneath her.

“You okay up there?” Selwyn called up; his voice distant.

“Yeah!” Janet yelled back.

Still on all fours, Janet looked out on the forest below her. She could easily see why Selwyn’s people had chosen this vantage point. It provided a clear view of Pchelintsov’s cabin and the surrounding clearing, and therefore someone would have a hard time breaking the tree line without an observer spotting them. In turn, the surrounding forest made it highly unlikely that anyone could spot the platform except up close like she and Selwyn had.

This told Janet two things about their would-be intruder. The first was that they most likely came from behind the observers from up and over the hill. This either meant that they had guessed well or that they already knew where the platform was, and that made it more likely that Sweden Station had a mole, or at least someone with loose lips.

The second fact was the one that Janet found more personally interesting. She was in exceptionally good shape and even she found scaling the tree difficult. She figured that was by design, any person like her would be grunting their way up the climb and thus alert whomever was on duty that someone was trying to sneak up on them. The position of the platform and the tree cover also made it near impossible to get a clear shot that would be needed for a tranquilizer dart. Combine those factors together and that meant that their intruder had to have silently scaled the spruce to personally inject the MI6 agents. A feat which would have required elite level gymnastic ability.

Their intruder was not just some bumbling would-be hitman it seemed. At least the ascent was not for nothing.

“Alright I’m coming back down!”

Janet slowly rose to her feet, her right fist clenched with a pocket full of snow from fear of slipping. She needed to be able to feel her hands for the ascent down, so she shook the powder free from her gloved hand. As the snow fell away something caught her eye, and she froze. A wisp of a thing wrapped and flattened around her index finger: a strand of red hair that bled through the monochrome black and whites of the Swedish winter.

“Selwyn,” Janet called down trying to contain her excitement. “Do any of your people have red-hair?”

“No!” Selwyn called back clearly noticing the change in her voice.

“Then I might have just found something.”

Nadia Pym, Age 16 (b. 1952)
Based in The Red Room, Undisclosed Location, USSR
Active since approximately 24 Hours Ago

Character Concept

In the immediate aftermath of the Second World War, Dr. Henry "Hank" Pym became a spy for the USA, using his recently developed Pym particles to sneak beyond the Iron Curtain. One such mission saw Dr. Pym trying to flip a known KGB agent known as Maria Trovaya, a known member of the Soviet's secretive Black Widow Program. The two quickly fell for each other and it was perhaps those feelings that made them sloppy. On the night that the pair was bound for Constantinople via a cargo ship in Odessa, they were caught by Red Room agents. Pym was able to make it out alive using his Ant-Man technology, but Trovaya was captured. What neither of them knew at the time was that Trovaya was pregnant.

Head researcher at the Red Room Doctor Lyudmila Antonovna Kudrin was curious to see the effects of in utero exposure to her super serum as up to this point it was believed that the serum caused complete infertility and requested that the embryo inside Trovaya be extracted before her execution for treason. In time that Embryo would grow into Nadia.

Thus, from her "birth" onward, Nadia's home was the secretive compound that the Red Room ran its operations from. From a young age two things became apparent, Nadia was gifted with both her Father's superior intellect and had trace remnants of her mother's super serum in her blood. And so, like her mother before her Nadia was to be trained in the Black Widow program.

Nadia along with twenty other orphans including one Ava Orlova - who she quickly became friends with - were posed to be the next generation of Widow agents. The thinking under Khrushchev and later Brezhnev being that a modern cohort was needed to represent a Post-Stalin USSR that could truly position itself as a global superpower against the Capitalist West. Alongside her regular combat and espionage training, Nadia's handlers sought to fine-tune her intellect with Doctor Kudrin personally taking Nadia under her wing seeing Nadia as the only one worthy to inherit her position as head of the program.

A week ago, Nadia passed her last examinations and was declared fit for active duty having been given the codename: WASP. However, when her first mission leads her on the trail of Professor Grigor Ivanovich Pchelintsov, a former Red Room scientist and an associate of her Father. The past that the Red Room desperately tried to keep from her will finally catch up. And Nadia must then face the question of where do her loyalties lay?

Generally, my plan is to mix a Cold War spy drama mixed with some more classical super-heroics. I've always liked Ant-Man as a character and he and his supporting cast tend to get underutilized at times. Our Cold War setting though allows me to hopefully fix that problem by working from the perspective of Nadia. Her whole abducted by the Red Room and raised by the Russians fitting perfectly with the setting. Allowing for the moral quandaries of such classics as The Spy Who Came in from the Cold to hopefully shine through, though admittedly tonally I'm going much more for Snake Eater or an Atomic Blonde than I am le Carré.

After Nadia defects to America in search of answers at the end of her first arc. I hope to be able to get involved with other players especially the other young superheroes out there. As I feel that Nadia's position will make an interesting fish out of water dynamic compared to the Americans she will be running into.

Key Notes

Central Cast

Current Plot Threads

From Russia With Love
Nadia is sent to track down Professor Grigor Ivanovich Pchelintsov, a Professor with connections to her past.

References / Sample Post

@Simple Unicycle

I'm still trying to figure out how to incorporate a very large ladder into one of my plots.
Ended up scraping my original idea and came up with something a bit more interesting. [Wanted to push myself beyond street level again lol] Still need a sample post, but I'll try and get that up this weekend.

Oh and also since everyone is alluding to their prospective ideas. I have a conspiracy theory yarn in the works.

Almost a year late and knocking off a whole lot of rust after not having written anything in the better part of a year. But I can finally say that the thing is done.
“Glad to hear your voice Reath…” Chauri stated with a sigh of relief before shaking her head. “but that’s going negative on my departure. My people are alive but incapacitated and I will not just leave them for the Separatist. I’ll hold them off for as long as I can, but hopefully you and the welcoming party will get here before things get too rough.”

Placing Scratch’s helmet back on the ground, Chauri’s hackles rose as she heard the distinctive shriek of a Haor Chall Engineering Ion Engine as a droid starfighter made a flyby overhead. Chauri knew that the autonomous software piloting the Separatist craft would have already pinged the location of the crash and soon enough an extermination crew would be on top of her and her team to mop up any survivors. She only had a small window to prepare and she intended to make the most out of it.

She placed her outstretched palm on Scratch’s face. The Clone got the nickname after a Geonosian had nearly clawed out his eye during the rescue of Masters Skywalker and Kenobi, the Genosian had evidently missed his mark and left a deep and unpleasant looking gouge across the left side of his face. Clone humor always had an unmistakable element of morbidity to it. Chauri could not blame them, she would probably have some odd feelings about death if she was born to kill and be killed.

Chauri took a deep breath and pulled on the energy surrounding and inside of her. The Force was strong here there was no denying that and pulling on its power was easier than usual. The young Jedi wonder if it something was engrained into Ossus itself or if the sheer history of force users that had inhabited the place had changed it somehow. Either way, Chauri was not going to complain as the extra jolt to her system was doing wonders to clear her mind from the concussion that she probably had as she fixated and harnessed that energy and directed it into Scratch.

Chauri had always been a better healer than she was a fighter. Even before going to the Temple, Zulo’s pleasure palace was a rough place and Gren was always getting into fights and she had to figure out quick how to patch him up. Healing through the force was certainly a different experience than using some tape and a shirt sleeve as makeshift gauze. It was at the same time less extensive than actual medical work, but somehow more stressful because there was always that temptation to push yourself, to pull on more than you could handle, to step towards the dark. Thankfully at the current moment, Scratch’s injuries were nowhere severe enough to warrant any such temptations and a quick pulse of force energy was more than enough to awake him.

He let out a groan as his eyes flickered open.

“Are we dead Ma’am?”

“We won’t be throwing your retirement party just yet Soldier.” Chauri explained with a grin as she offered Scratch his helmet.
He nodded appreciatively and pulled it back over his head, a reassuring click sounding off as the magnetic seals on the helmet activated. Scratch pushed himself to his feet having to crutch in the lopsided space of the downed LATT.

“What’s the situation Ma’am?”

“Commander Reath and her team are on the way. Unluckily for us, we also have some clankers inbound as well.”

“Good thing the Kaminoans didn’t make us for easy days Ma’am. What do I need to do?”

“I’m going to try and wake up the rest of the team.” Chauri stated gesturing to the rest of their still unconscious comrades. “You have any bright ideas to shore up our defense while I do that, I’d love to here them.”

Scratch placed a gloved hand underneath the chin of his helmet as he thought for a moment.

“Torque was bringing the extra droid popper,” Scratch explained already moving towards his squamate’s body and carefully removing the satchel at his side. He opened the satchel up and showed it to Chauri who could just make out the shapes of several spherical objects in the red emergency lighting. “I could set them to proximity mode and lay them out around the wreck. Give us some sort of warning system.”
Chauri nodded appreciatively.

“Sounds like a plan. Just be careful out their soldier. I need all of you in fighting shape if we are going to make it through this.”


By the time Scratch had returned from perimeter setup, he could see that the rest of his team was up and moving. Torque was standing near the entrance of the crashed LATT pointing his Z-6 rotary blaster cannon out into the tree line. The monstrosity of a machine gun might as well of been a fifth limb for Torque consider how often he carried it around, the joke back at the Company was that he even broke into the armory so that he could cuddle with it.

Next to Torque scanning the tree line with his binoculars was Niner - the team’s communications officer. For somebody, whose job it was to communicate, Niner was not the talkative type, he was always just starring out into space somewhere with those binoculars. It didn’t bother Scratch much, Niner was a good soldier and the one that had gotten the ugly bugface on Genosis off of him before it could take his eye. So there was a sort of shared experience there between himself, Niner and Twoshoes, being the only survivors from that original team, the others had all come in overtime as their other brothers had fallen in the line of duty.

Torque gave a wave as Scratch jogged over.

“What’s our status Torque?” Scratch asked as he approached.

“Better than expected all things considering LT. I have two broken ribs but at least we have bacta to take down the swelling eh?”

“How about the rest of the team?”

“The pilots are KIA and it looks like Twoshoes blew something in his knee. Commander Rol and Bunks are trying to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself more as we speak.”

“Just a regular workday…” Scratch replied with a sigh. He had hoped that after Commader Rol had woken up that others that they could of followed Commander Reath’s instructions and evac to a better position, but a banged up leg complicated matters. The droids were bound to catch them if they were moving at a limp and it might be better to just hunker down where they were. At least the wreck provided good enough cover.

“Niner, how long until the Clankers make contact?”

“Any moment, I suggest that you get the others ready.” Niner stated in a matter-of-fact whisper.


Scratch moved past his two squad mates and entered back into the wreck.

Coming out of the cockpit door to his left was Twinkle carrying in his hands the dog tags of the dead pilots.

“…figured we should grab these. So that we can add them to the records.” Twinkle explained looking down at the floor. His armor still twinkled with the assembly line sheen of a fresh out of the tank recruit. The war had been going on for so long and the casualties had been so high that command did not have any clones with actual experience left. Instead they put the new guys through a gauntlet of sadistically programmed simulators back on Kamino to at least ensure a level of standard competence. Comptenece though never could replace experience, at least that was what Scratch had learned. His old drill sergeant told him that War was about “using what you had”, so that’s what they did new guys included.

Scratch clapped him on the shoulder reassuringly and nodded his head.

“Good call rookie, Niner says that we have company inbound shortly so get out there and follow whatever instructions Torque gives you.”
Twinkle nodded and made his way for the exist just as a grunt of pain echoed through the small space from the other side of the cabin. The grunt caused Scratch to shake his head as he moved through the crumpled space to the other side crouching down to pass through the middle section that had caved in when the LATT met the earth.

On the other side of the collapse was Commander Rol and Bunks both crouched over Twoshoes who was sitting propped against the far wall.

“Sir, I have to insist that you don’t move again, or you’ll just aggregate the wound more.” Bunks responded in the dry tone that he answered everything in. Everything seemed to bore the team’s medical officer, everything except the possibility of going to sleep.

“So, I’m just supposed to sit here and wait for the Clankers to shot me then?” asked Twoshoes with clear frustration.

Scratch sympathized with his captain. Even in basic training he was always assertive, always leading from the front, it made him a natural fit to run the squad. His injury was preventing him from doing all of that. Someone had removed to metallic knee pad on Twoshoes left knee and the thermal skintight synthetic fabric beneath did no favors for Twoshoes showing just how bad the swelling had already become.

Commander Rol shook her head and placed a hand affirmatively on Twoshoes’ good leg.

“You’re not much good to any of us Captain if Bunks has to amputate. So stay put and don’t make me have to say that as an order.”
Twoshoes hung his head solemnly and nodded.

“Understood Ma’am”

Scratch was continually surprised with Commander Rol. He knew that she was not trained to strictly be a warrior like some of the Jedi. Yet despite that, she was able to channel authority through her as well as any of the hardest drill sergeants back on Kamino. It was a skill that not many had, fighting was one thing, but being able to command even born leaders like Twoshoes was something else.

The Jedi must of heard Scratch approach and turned hear head to face him.

“Mission accomplished Scratch?”

“The poppers are all set.”

“Great,” Chauri responded with a smile “now we wait.”


The droids punctual as always came roughly three minutes later. A drop popper sounding off from somewhere deeper in the jungle right ahead of where Chauri’s clones had set up their defense perimeter around the LATT entrance.

Twinkle had been positioned inside the craft next to Twoshoes who they had propped up opposite the door with his blaster so if worst came to worst, he could go down fighting. The recruit took a deep breath as he could hear the barrels on Torque’s Z-6 begin to spin. The simulations had done a lot for him, but they couldn’t’ replace the real thing and unlike the others, Twinkle had only been in a handful of live-fire combat scenarios and nothing ever like this.

“Ease up recruit,” assured Twoshoes as he braced the butt of his rifle against the wall. “those clankers won’t know what hit them.”
One…two…three more pops fired off in the woods as the enemy force approached. And then the first beige form of a battle droid broke the tree line.



The hair on the back of Chauri’s neck rose reflexively as Scratch bellowed the order to the Squad. Almost immediately, Torque pulled the trigger on his pre-revved machine gun and sent a wave of bright blue blaster fire into the tree line. Scratch and Bunks popped up from their own foxholes to begin shooting down range as well. And somewhere above resting atop the roof of the wreck was Niner was his rifle configured into a long-range configuration to pick up those that he could.

Swallowing the knot of fear clogging her throat, Chauri rose from her own position and rushed forward igniting her lightsaber. The twin blades igniting with a fierce green flash as snapped into existence.

The battle droids were laying down their own fire in response. It come in precise and inhumanly coordinate volleys of death that seemed to leave no breathing room for response. A trained guardian like Natt might have weaved through the spaces like water flooding through the cracks, but Chauri completely out of her element managed as best as she could.

With sweeping strokes, the young Cathar twirled her double-bladed saber like a baton smacking away angry bolts of blaster fire that strayed too close. Using her lightsaber like a mop to clean her path forward to the nearest droids that managed to break through the tree line.
As she approached her first target, Chauri used the momentum from his latest forward parry with the right to pull her left side upward and cleanly bisect a battle droid. Sparks and oil spurted outwards as the collapsed wreck of metal and electronics crumpled to the ground. It’s cohort moved in from the rear swinging its rifle at her as an impromptu bludgeon, but a clean shot from Niner left a smoking hole through its head and it sputtered to the ground.

The Jedi had little time to celebrate as she heard the characteristic noise of a wrist-rocket being fired from the woods. She turned just in time to see the fast-moving shape strike across the air and slam into the wreck of LATT sending the clones scrambling for cover
Another angry roar of a rocket igniting filled the silence before she could think. This time though the rocket was directed at her. Running on pure instinct, Chauri threw one hand outward with an open palm and sent out a blast of directed energy. The resulting force push collided with the rock causing it to strike the jungle floor a few feet ahead of her rather than making impact. The resulting impact was still enough to blow Chauri off her feet as her ears began to ring harshly.

As she collided with the ground, she could taste blood in her mouth. Looking up from her prone position, Chauri could she the unmistakable shape of a B2 super battle droid breaching the tree line. It swung its hand down towards the young Jedi, but before either of them could react a stream of blue blaster fire slammed into its body as Torque unloaded a full blast from the Z-6 directly into it.
Chauri felt a hand on her shoulder pull her to her feet and she saw Scratch looking back at her.

“Snap out of it commander!” he shouted as he lead her stumbling back into safety.

As she collected her breath and Bunks quickly checked her vitals, Chauri hoped that Naat would get there soon.

But until then... the only thing she could do was make every inch as hard as possible for the droids.


Arthur Curry Protector of the Seven Seas Location Unknown The World
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

I know the oceans better than anyone, but they're still full of secrets, even to me.

Sometimes the oceans feels like void given breath. A restless mass of churning dark water that takes and takes and takes without stop. Arthur Curry knows this only too well, after all the ocean took both of his parents and it took his own son as well. For years, Arthur had been like Atlas holding the weight of all that water against his back, but the death of Arthur Jr was the thing that finally broke him. And when the flood comes bearing down on you, you have to left something go.

Arthur could no longer be a king. How was he to be the bulwark upon which the foes of Atlantis break if he could not even protect his own son? Arthur could no longer be a mere defender, he had to become the spear of Atlantis itself.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

Why do you want to play this character, what is the driving motivation behind both this desire and the character themselves. What do you hope to accomplish and where do you want the character's story/stories to go?

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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S A M P L E P O S T:

A sample post that can be used in the IC if you so desire upon acceptance. This post should provide an example of your vision for the desired character. This sample post should meet all standards outline in the rules and additionally include dialogue, mannerisms and other actions representative of your intended portrayal.

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.
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