Kingfisher

Ultimate Comics: DC - Shadows Among Us

Joker post #1 is up. If anyone has feedback positive or otherwise on either of my posts it'd be very much appreciated.

Ultimate Comics: DC - Shadows Among Us

His throat was dry, his vision blurred, and there was a dull ringing echoing in his ears. He ran his parched tongue over his cracked lips, but it yielded no moisture. On the inside he felt himself shaking violently, yet on the outside he remained completely still, gazing into nothingness with dead, emotionless eyes.

“Sir?

A thin layer of water obscured each eye, making everything turn blurred and glassy. He felt like he was an abstract being, watching someone else’s life unfold in front of him. He drifted aimlessly, caught up in his disembodied state, his grasp on the world broken and fragmented.
“Sir…?”

He slowly came around, blinking away salty tears, and looking the man who was addressing him straight in the eye. When he was younger they’d told him he was bad at making eye contact, something to do with his asperses, but right now he fixed the man with a cold, unwavering stare, his own eyes never once wandering astray, or seeking solace by burying themselves in some quiet, isolated corner of the room.
“Sir?!”

The sudden increase in volume tore him from his ethereal non-sleep, forcing him at last to re-join the realm of the living. Reality hit him like a fire truck, and he suddenly felt the whole of existence screaming around him.

“Sir…I’m so very sorry” There was a genuine sounds to the man’s tone, but neither his words nor the sympathy in his eyes did much to comfort him.
“If it’s any consolation it would’ve been fairly quick and…and painless. She…she wouldn’t have felt a thing.”

He still remembered the first time he’d laid his eyes upon her, the first time she’d graced by with her soft, sensual movements, the first time he had been blessed with the sweet, soothing sound of her voice. It had taken his everything to muster the courage to speak to her. He was so she’d be just another pretty face; that she’d turn out to be as hollow and lifeless as all the beautiful girls.

But she’d been everything he could have ever wished for. She had been so…perfect. They had been so happy together. And now she was gone.
“She wouldn’t have felt a thing.”

He wasn’t sure if he should laugh or cry or scream.

He felt sick.

'If you hurt inside get certified, and if life should treat you bad…Don’t get even, get mad!'

*

Doctor Sulivan sat across from her patient, her auburn hair tied back into a ponytail. Unnerving didn’t even begin to describe the maniacal look in his venomous eyes. His face was thin and angular, his flesh far paler than anything that wasn’t devoid of all life had any right to be. His hair was a mess of toxic green strands, his cheek bones chiselled in an almost feminine fashion. His nose was long and crooked, and there were deep laugh lines visible on the corners of his mouth. His lips were red like fresh blood seeping from a gaping wound, his teeth vicious and yellow. His body was lean and gaunt, making him seem almost skeletal in appearance. He wasn’t particularly well-built, but there was definitely some muscle on his frame.

The maniacal looking figure was bound in metal shackles, and clad in a strait-jacket, clearly meant to restrict his movements. Despite all of his constraints an aura of intimidation still radiated from him, making Sulivan shift uncomfortably in her seat.

“Doctor Sulivan, so lovely to see you! I do so enjoy our little chats” The Joker exclaimed, a vicious grin spreading across his porcelain features. A moment of elongated silence lingered between them, the Joker only speaking once more when it became evident that the Doctor was making no move to speak herself. “Did you by chance manage to read my little journal?” He queered in a sign-song voice, raising one toxic green eyebrow into an arch.

Sulivan gazed through her spectacles at the battered book that was laid out in front of her, resting comfortably on the room’s loan table. “I’m afraid I had some trouble actually managing to make it out, Mr…Joker.” She admitted with a slight laugh.

“Unfortunately, between my enthusiasm and my choice of ink, well…I may have sacrificed something’s, legibility being one of them.” Throughout the entirety of his sentence the same unsettling grin remained on his face, and it persisted even after he had finished speaking. “But that book is filled with every observation I have made in my special time on this earth. EVERYTHING. And I have observed soooo much, Doctor.”

“Would you like to walk through it with me?”

“That would be very much appreciated, Mister Joker.”

Sulivan opened the book, bound in what she assumed to be leather, turning to the first tarnished page. The Joker nodded to the page in question “This page is about something I did to a young man with a dog, and no sense of humour. And his dog.” He leered at her as he spoke, that smile of his ever-present, his noxious eyes catching the light and glistening venomously.

Sulivan could tell that he was trying to unnerve her; she’d had the same thing from several other patients in the past, so she didn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting in any discernable manner. She simply nodded at him, before turning to the next page.

“This page is about my little incident at the circus…” Sulivan had spoken to him about this particular topic matter in the past, so she simply turned to the next page, not wanting to discuss it further.

“Now THIS page really is special…” He begun, pausing for dramatic emphasis. “It’s what I’d do if I ever met an eight year old boy named Brian.”
Suddenly, Sulivan felt her blood run cold, an icy chill creeping up her spine.

“M-my son is eight…and his name is Brian.”

“My, my! Isn’t that a pleasant little coincidence?” His vicious grin spread further and further across his face, now spanning each corner of his likeness.
He leaned in towards her, coming as close to the doctor as his bonds would allow.

“Now, Doctor Sulivan, I want you to listen VERY closely…”

Ultimate Comics: DC - Shadows Among Us

Gowi said We've talked and everything checks out. Approved.

Gracias, Signor =)

First Duela IC post is up, if anyone fancies a read. Feedback, as always, is very much appreciated.

Ultimate Comics: DC - Shadows Among Us

"Duela, these results are appalling..." The massive figure infront of her scolded, broad muscles bulging through his checkered white shirt. He crossed his vast arms, glaring down at her with murky blue eyes, one coppery eyebrow curving expectantly as he awaited an answer.

"S-sorry, s-sir..." The young girl mumbled, slumped back in her shabby plastic chair. She moped miserably at the floor, unable to meet his gaze.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" He barked vociferously, belting the desk that stood between them with one bulky fist. Duela bolted upright, her ears ringing viciously from the sheer force with which the man's hand had struck the wooden surface of her desk, startled by the sudden outburst. Meekly raising her head to examine the individual who was addressing her, the teenager was greeted by a look that was brimming with aggression; his face discoloured by cheeks that were flared crimson, a vein visibly bulging in his creased forehead.

"S-sorry, sir..." She muttered softly, her tone of voice and flinching body language highlighting the obvious fact that she was intimidated.

She could hear snickering from all around her, echoing off of the classrooms uncostly plaster walls. The fact that her teacher was not even attempting to stop her peers from openly mocking her did little to bolster her already shaken confidence.

The hulking educator tore his eyes away from her, turning his attention to the crumpled sheet of A4 paper that was gripped firmly in his free hand.

"3(X+2Y) equals 24..." He read off of the sheet, the manner in which he spoke making it clear that he thought very poorly of the answer she had supplied him with. "Would you care to enlighten me as to how you came to that conclusion, Miss Dent?"

The entire room went silent for several short moments, Duela only speaking when she came to the unfortunate realization that it was highly unlikely some enchanting creature would appear and whisk her off to a magical realm where snide classmates and overly zealous math teachers didn't exist.

"I guessed..." she said softly, unease gripping every cell in her body, her cheeks turning purple with embarrassment as she became more and more flustered.

The humongous maths teacher bore down on her with searing rage abundant in his eyes. His gargantuan frame was shaking with a worrying amount of animosity, and for and agonizingly long moment Duela was practically certain that he was about to strike her. Fortunately, he simply scrunched up her homework, before placing it on the desk in-front of her, and then marching back to the front of the class to continue teaching.

The fact that he had simply and wordlessly abandon her was more wounding to the teenager than physically beating her ever would have been.

Duela could feel the eyes of everyone around her judging her, she could feel their intrusive stares, hear their derisive whispers as they ridiculed her under their breath. She felt like curling up into a ball and simply ceasing to exist.

The young teenager put her head on her desk, shut her eyes, and tried to force herself to fall asleep. All she could think about was how utterly useless she felt, and by the time the lesson had finished she was on the verge of tears.

*

The mass of scars that criss-crossed the surface of her wounded face throbbed with an un-yielding pain, not at all helped by the fact that she had managed to draw blood whilst trying to cull the agony that was infesting her likeness, by raking her own skin with her bestial nails, in a similar fashion to which an infant might scratch at their chicken pox, yet with the fiery strength and vigour of an enraged jungle cat.

Running her serpentine tongue over her fang-like teeth, Duela surveyed the situation before her with a hawk-like gaze.
There was an air of silence lingering throughout the establishment, yet the atmosphere was the farthest thing from calm; an unspoken hostility ever-present, visible in the patrons hunched body language, and the burning electricity in their squinting eyes.

Her long fingers scrapping over the blemished glass of her cup, Duela pulled back the woollen scarf that was covering her deformed visage, taking a lingering sip of bourbon, hoping that it would in some way contribute to numbing the blistering pain in her face. Pulling the scarf back into place, she gently placed the glass back on her booths table, letting her posture slip as she reclined backwards.

There were no more than a handful of people in the bar, which made it the perfect place for Duela to lay low, at least until the heat died down. Unfortunately for the young fugitive, a sudden gust of cold air from the world outside, blown in as the bars front door swung violently open, followed by the entrance of a rugged looking figure in a trench coat and weather beaten fedora, soon indicated that she was perhaps not as well hidden as she had previously believed.
She recognised him. She’d seen him before somewhere.

She’d first caught sight of him a few days after she’d hauled her ass out of the Nethers, catching a brief glimpse of a faint silhouette in an un-stylish hat, as he trailed her in his worn out hatchback, and he’d been tailing her ever since, never more than a few steps behind.

She wasn’t sure if he’d been hired privately or if he was ununiformed GCPD, but she was certain that he hadn’t been in the exact same place as her for the past week by sheer coincidence.

Duela watched as he slowly made his way over to the counter, presumably to question the barkeeper as to if he’d noticed any scarred faced young girls come in or out of the bar recently, his eyes darting back and forth from place to place, taking in everything around him. At this point in time Duela was particularly thankful that her booth was shrouded by the flickering shadow that was cast by the bars dimly glowing lights.

Her pulse was quickening, and her breathing was becoming increasingly rapid. Steadying her nerves, Duela downed what little of her bourbon remained, before cautiously making her way across the bar, setting her sights on the front door, all the while making sure to try and keep herself out of sight.

Her rudimentary combination of scarf and hoodie might work well enough against strangers, but she doubted it would do much to fool the prying eyes of someone who knew what they were looking, almost certain that her coat-wearing pursuer would be able to see right through her masquerade, should he catch sight of her.
She was contemplating making a mad dash for the door, but didn’t fancy running the risk of drawing any more unwanted attention and potentially ending up with her own personal stalker for the rest of God-knows-how-long, and so she took one careful step after the other, drawing ever closer to the door, and to freedom.
Reaching the foot of the bar, Duela made a special effort to shuffle past her trench-coat clad friend, watching cautiously from the shadows as he spoke to the barkeeper, whilst attempting to look as inconspicuous as possible.

A mere few steps from salvation, Duela could practically feel the outside breeze against her wound-ridden flesh, the beat of her black heart quickening tenfold inside her. Duela took a confident stride forwards, only to have her hopes suddenly and brutally crushed as she felt a firm hand clamp down on her lean shoulder.
Cursing under her breath, Duela reluctantly turned around, now face-to-face with her pursuer, catching a brief glimpse of the barkeeper out of the corner of her eye, noticing as he watched both of them from his station behind the counter, one eyebrow arched with curiosity.

The trench coat wearing man grinned through broken yellow teeth, dark stubble clinging to his beefy chin. Flaring his nostrils, the broad man recoiled slightly, even going so far as to make a slight gagging sound.

“You don’t ‘alf stink love…” He observed bluntly. She hadn’t had the chance to wash the stench of the sewers off of her. She wondered if that had tipped him off, or if he’d always know she was here.

“Mind taking off that pretty lil’ scarf and showin’ us what’s unda’neath?” He asked in a manner that clearly indicated his query was a demand and not a request.

By this point in time they were starting to draw the interest of more than a few of the bars patrons, and she could feel their iniquitous eyes bearing down on her, even without looking. It reminded her of her time back at Gotham High, when those pricks had intruded on her personal space with their indiscreet staring, thriving off of her humiliation. The resurfacing of old memories made her skin crawl, and she suddenly felt like vomiting.
Steadily raising one hand to her mouth, Duela slowly begun to unravel her scarf, her eyes franticly searching for a means of escape, her heart beating faster and faster. Trench coat man gawked at her with his piggy little eyes, an obnoxious smile that glowed unbearably with self-infatuation plastered across his pudgy face.
He thought he’d won. She’d show him otherwise.

Spying an empty beer bottle on the counter, Duela’s one free hand shot forwards, snatching the bottle up off of the counter, before smashing it into the side of trench coat man’s smug face. He let out a startled gasp as the brittle glass shattered on his ugly mug, causing him to stumble and lose his footing, momentarily losing his hold on her as he fell to the floor.

Tearing herself away from the man’s quaking grasp, Duela bolted towards the door, hearing the sugar sweet sound of her stalker loudly swear as he noticed the steady trail of blood that was oozing from a brand new hole in his stupid head, followed by the fairly amusing awkward yelp from the barkeeper as he instructed the pair of them to “take it outside”, stammering in a broken voice. At this point in time most of the other patrons were up and out of their seats, transfixed by the sight of the injured man scrambling uneasily to his feet, and of the young girl who was making a speedy escape.

During the ruckus Duela’s scarf had come loose, and as she burst out of the establishment, dashing forth into the grimy streets beyond, her warped face was exposed for all to see, her miss-matched eyes glistening in the pale moonlight, a mischievous grin gracing her plump lips. Leather boot clad feet pounding against the rock-hard pavement, Duela sprinted onwards, cold night air hitting her like a fist as she felt icy winds beat against skinny body, propelling herself forwards, trying to put as much distance between her and trench coat man as she could manage.

A thundering shout booming from somewhere behind her, Duela craned her scrawny neck, just about managing to catch site of trench coat man as he came barrelling out of the bar, powerful legs pumping vigorously as sprinted after her, one bloodied hand pressed up against his gore-stained forehead.

She tried her best to press onwards at full pelt, but soon found her dodgy leg giving out on her, causing her to slow to an awkward hobble. A few weeks ago she’d gotten into a scrap with some thugs, and it had cost her more than her dignity; leaving her with a crippled leg, several fractured ribs and a few missing teeth. Her time as empress of rock bottom had made her arrogant, and that arrogance has cost her dearly. Things weren’t the same without her girls; she couldn’t afford to play the role of queen bitch anymore.
Flinging herself into a nearby alleyway, Duela pressed her frail body up against a grubby brick wall, panting hysterically as she waited for trench coat man to come bursting around the corner. Reaching down the back of her jeans, one ragged hand reassuringly grabbed hold of her .45, long fingers coiling around the handgun.
By the time trench coat man came running full pelt into the back alley he found himself staring down the barrel of a fully loaded firearm.

The arrogance that once radiated from his face was gone in an instant, replaced by eyes wide with fear and trembling lips. He raised two hands above his head in surrender, looking at her with sheer terror seeping off of his very form.

“P-Please missus, I gotta wife ‘un kids…”

As he stood there, shaking uncontrollably, his rasped breathing making his broad muscles bulge visibly through his mucky t-shirt, he reminded her of a maths teacher she’d once known.

The noise of a bullet erupting from her gun sounded like a powerful fist beating against a wooden desk.
*
Duela awoke early the next morning, waking tirelessly for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. Thin rays of light broke through the cracks in her blinds, beaming down into the otherwise dark apartment.

Her back popped loudly as she stretched, a content yawn escaping from her mouth. Duela half climbed, half rolled out of bed, wadding through the piles of clothes that had been strewn across her floor as she made her way over to the lone full figure mirror in her apartment. She gazed wearily into the reflective glass, peeking through foggy eyes and strands of unkempt raven streaked hair at her naked form.

Her arms and legs were practically skin and bone, but she still retained some of her old thickness in her broad hips. Turning, she noted that her bum was bigger than she would have liked, and her belly was beginning to bulge like those malnourished children from the water-aid adverts. Her skin was warped and slight grey, although not quite to the extreme hue it had been around the time she’d stuck a needle in her arm every other night.

Scavenging what clothing she could find off of the floor, Duela slowly begun to get dressed. She’d once had to fight an uphill battle to fit into her fashionably torn jeans, but she now slipped into them easily, finding that she even needed to use a belt to stop them from falling off of her. Fitting a spotted purple bra into place, Duela was far happier than she’d admit that her quest to scourge traditional beauty from her body hadn’t cost her any cup sizes. Slipping into an oversized A7fold t-shirt, the young girl fished a set of keys off of the nearby table, before slowly making her way out of the cramped apartment, shutting the door behind her.

Game of Thrones: Daeron's Conquest

Sorry this took so damn long, life got in the way. I'm not 100% "with it" in terms of how the new sight works, so I apologies for any buggy images, weird paragraph breaks etc.

House Sigil:

House Name: House Reyne

House Words: Make haste when the lion wakes.

House Decription/General Information (optional):

House Reyne are vassals of House Lannister, and are second in wealth only to their liege lords. Throughout the Dance with Dragons House Reyne were supporters of Aegon II, and fought a costly battle in an attempt to support his ascension to the Iron Throne. Lord Domeric Reyne, the then Lord of Castamere, was a prominent player in the turbulent conflict, pouring large amounts of troops and resources into the war.

Lord Domeric was a part of a host that was sent eastwards to help reinforce Ser Criston Cole at Harrenhal, however they were intercepted by infantry under the command of several Lords of the Riverlands, ultimately resulting in a crushing defeat for the greens, and the death of Lord Domeric.
For a short while afterwards the House of Reyne was thrown into disarray, up until the point in time when a young Lord Darius managed to secure dominance over the fragmented house, quickly restoring his lineage back to its former affluence. While Lord Darius’ reign was one of prominence and prosperity, it was not long before his passing, due to a fatal affliction. Next in like came Abelar Reyne, the current lord of Castamere. While lacking in physical strength, Abelar’s game is one played best from the shadows, a battle of wits and intellect, using blackmail and bribery to ensure that House Reyne’s position of power is secured and undisputed.

Name: Abelar Reyne-The Sly lion.

Age: 35
Appearance:

Personality: His immense intelligence being his most deadly weapon, Abelar is cunning and calculating, his mind a vast mental bastion of knowledge. While in truth he is arrogant and has a complete disregard for social niceties, the Lord of Castamere is able to conjure an impeccable façade of grace and courtesy, should the situation demand it of him.

Abelar cares little and less for honour and duty, his only true care in the world being the preservation of his house, but more importantly his own survival. He has surrounded himself with an enormous network of spies and informants, operating on every level of society and walk of life, each one keeping him informed as to the movements of noble lords and ladies from houses great and small, and the lowly chatter of the seemingly unimportant smallfolk.

Name: Marik Reyne-The Dread lion.

Age: 19

Appearance:
Personality: A black-hearted killer, vicious, brutal and terrifyingly wily; The Dread lion of Castamere inspires fear in all but the hardest of men. Marik revels in inflicting pain upon others and has a dry, sadistic sense of humour. Incapable of empathy, he is even more uncaring and conceited than his lord father, the plights of others never even registering in his twisted mind. Marik has very few who he would considers friends, but often spends his time amongst the more barbaric of his father’s soldiers, caring little for the men and women of court.
The Dread lion is an accomplished fighter, being an expert with most forms of conventional weaponry. While not a tactical thinker, Marik can easily hold his own against multiple advisers; his fluid and fast swordsmanship the stuff of fables. In recent times hushed voices have begun to whisper of a towering figure roaming the Westerlands, stalking through grimy streets in the dead of night and preying on unfortunate passers-by, attacking seemingly at random, before vanishing into the darkness.

Marik wields Harbinger, the broadsword originally used by Domeric Reyne during the Dance with Dragons.

Name: Ravella Reyne-The Laughing lioness.

Age: 19
Appearance:
Personality: If one were to call Marik’s twin sister as inhumane and heartless she would most likely thank them for their kind compliments, before returning to whatever twisted corner of her warped consciousness she was currently seeking solace within.

So many stories and so much speculation surround the young women that it is almost impossible to tell the fact from the fiction. Some say that she bathes in the blood of young virgin girls to rejuvenate her pale skin, whilst others would claim that she cannibalises the flesh of fledgling servants, or feasts on the hearts of those who take her fancy.

Whether any of this is true is highly debatable, however those who have had the chance of encountering the Laughing lioness will vogue for the aura of unease that radiates off of her when she emits her shrill laughter or the horrific twitching in her feral, misshapen eyes.
No one is truly sure what dark thoughts plague her afflicted mind, but she has been known to be jubilant and joyous one moment, skittish and suspicious the next, and then frightfully ferocious soon after.

Name: Tytos Reyne-The Red lion.

Age: 17

Appearance:

Personality: Tytos is rather unlike the other members of house Reyne; he is chivalrous, courtly and kind. The young Reyne is admired by those at court and adored by the smallfolk, a shining example of heroism and gentility. Despite all of his gallant traits, Tytos possesses a lustful streak, having courted and deflowered many maidens.
While perhaps not quite as lethal with a sword as his brother, and not nearly as skilled with such a vast variety of weapons as Marik, Tytos would still be considered a fine swordsman by the standards of most; having practiced his expertise with the blade for the best part of his life.

His sword is Heartseeker; a skilfully forged blade that the young lord wields with the expertise of a master swordsman.

Name: Leonella Reyne-The Trickster lioness.

Age: 16

Appearance:
Personality: He father’s daughter; Leonella is as equally as intelligent and cunning as the Lord of Castamere. Even more skilled in the art of deception than Abelar, She uses every asset at her disposal to manipulate others into doing her bidding, and is not above stepping on others, even family, to get what she wants. Leonella has an immense mistrust of almost everyone around her, and keeps a watchful eye monitoring anyone/thing that might possibly be perceived as a threat.

Ultimate Comics: DC - Shadows Among Us

Gowi said
Curious how you are going to tie these in your Joker's IC. I'd love to see more in origin, but as it stands it looks pretty good to me.

Gracias, Signor Gowi.

Should my Joker be accepted, I'm sure it'll be an interesting and enjoyable challenge to play a Joker whose currently inside Arkham. I apologies for the briefness of the application; I was trying to go for an approach where a lot was left to be interpenetrated by the reader, I just hope it didn't come off as lazy writing :P

Ultimate Comics: DC - Shadows Among Us

| Identity | - The Joker

| Origin & Backstory | -“Something like that…Something like that happened to me, you know. I…I’m not exactly sure what it was. Sometimes I remember it one way, sometime another. If I’m going to have a past, I prefer it to be multiple choice! HA! HA! HA!”

Less than little is truly known about the Clown Prince of crime; the story of his life being shrouded in mystery, superstition, urban legends and guesswork. Detectives, physiological experts, authors and more have all tried their respective hands at trying to piece together what made the Joker the way he is, yet thus far no one has even come close to deciphering that particular conundrum. No records exist of anyone even vaguely resembling mister J. No specialist can genuinely claim to have even the faintest inkling as to what goes on behind those feral green eyes. The Joker’s existence is a complete enigma; and that is truly terrifying.

What hellish circumstances spawned this being? What warped society allowed such a fiend to come into existence? How did someone seemingly so deranged and vicious manage to slip unnoticed under the ever-watchful eye of those that keep us safe?

Some say he was a two-bit mobster whose lust for anarchy and destruction consumed him, moulding him into something that was more monster than man. Some say that he is the by-product of a civilisation built upon sin and corruption; that he has come to lay waste to a fragmented world order, and that he will not relent until nothing is left but smouldering ashes. Some say that he was once as normal as you or I, and that he simply had one really bad day.

| Powers & Abilities |-The Joker possesses no Metahuman abilities, but fights with a ferocious vigour, sneaks through the shadows with deathly grace, fires a gun with worryingly accurate precision and seems to have a competent knowledge of various explosives.

| How is this character different? |- This incarnation is a slightly more calculating version of mister J, being a tad less spontaneous and a tad more cunning. He relies more heavily upon his own skills, as opposed to those of his minions.

| What is your goal with this character? |- To try and replicate the unpredictable and terrifying essence of the Joker, whilst also trying to contribute to an atmosphere that others can find fun and enjoyable to roleplay in.
| Sample Post |

His throat was dry, his vision blurred, and there was a dull ringing echoing in his ears. He ran his parched tongue over his cracked lips, but it yielded no moisture. On the inside he felt himself shaking violently, yet on the outside he remained completely still, gazing into nothingness with dead, emotionless eyes.

“Sir?

A thin layer of water obscured each eye, making everything turn blurred and glassy. He felt like he was an abstract being, watching someone else’s life unfold in front of him. He drifted aimlessly, caught up in his disembodied state, his grasp on the world broken and fragmented.

“Sir…?”

He slowly came around, blinking away salty tears, and looking the man who was addressing him straight in the eye. When he was younger they’d told him he was bad at making eye contact, something to do with his asperses, but right now he fixed the man with a cold, unwavering stare, his own eyes never once wandering astray, or seeking solace by burying themselves in some quiet, isolated corner of the room.

“Sir?!”

The sudden increase in volume tore him from his ethereal non-sleep, forcing him at last to re-join the realm of the living. Reality hit him like a fire truck, and he suddenly felt the whole of existence screaming around him.

“Sir…I’m so very sorry” There was a genuine sounds to the man’s tone, but neither his words nor the sympathy in his eyes did much to comfort him.
“If it’s any consolation it would’ve been fairly quick and…and painless. She…she wouldn’t have felt a thing.”

He still remembered the first time he’d laid his eyes upon her, the first time she’d graced by with her soft, sensual movements, the first time he had been blessed with the sweet, soothing sound of her voice. It had taken his everything to muster the courage to speak to her. He was so she’d be just another pretty face; that she’d turn out to be as hollow and lifeless as all the beautiful girls.

But she’d been everything he could have ever wished for. She had been so…perfect. They had been so happy together. And now she was gone.

“She wouldn’t have felt a thing.”

He wasn’t sure if he should laugh or cry or scream.

He felt sick.

If you hurt inside get certified, and if life should treat you bad…Don’t get even, get mad!

*

Unnerving didn’t even begin to describe the maniacal look in his venomous eyes. His face was thin and angular, his flesh far paler than anything that wasn’t devoid of all life had any right to be. His hair was a mess of toxic green strands, his cheek bones chiselled in an almost feminine fashion. His nose was long and crooked, and there were deep laugh lines visible on the corners of his mouth. His lips were red like fresh blood seeping from a gaping wound, his teeth vicious and yellow. His body was lean and gaunt, making him seem almost skeletal in appearance. He wasn’t particularly well-built, but there was definitely some muscle on his frame.

However, in the end nothing else need matter; for when the Joker smiled, he promised death.

Ultimate Comics: DC - Shadows Among Us

Duela's sample post is now up, if anyone fancies a read.

Ultimate Comics: DC - Shadows Among Us

PEW! PEW!

| Identity | - Duela Dent

| Origin & Backstory |

=Early life/High School=

The Dent family is a lineage that has existed for as long as anyone can remember, however in the past few decades a great divide has formed, splinting the family into two separate entities. Whilst one adopts very liberal views, believing that all are equal, and taking a very positive outlook on humanity as a whole, the other half are extreme right wing perfectionists; believing in superiority for those who have earned it and taking social inequality to the extreme.

Not so long ago, a young Duela Dent was born into the borderline fascist half of the family.
Duela’s father was the leader of one of Gothams primary right wing political groups, and given the families perfectionist nature, she was pretty much raised to be a trophy bride; being taught lessons in etiquette and being made to value beauty above all else, whilst her parents tried their best to scrub out any signs of a unique personality that were manifesting within their child.
When Duela was diagnosed with dyslexia, and mild autism, her parents did their best to make sure it was hidden from the public eye; viewing her condition as a festering stain on what they believed to be a shining example of the best of the new generation.

Another issue occurred for the couple, when it became apparent to them that their daughter engaged in activities that they deemed unacceptable and inappropriate, for example; Trapping spiders inside light bulbs, luring in birds, and then breaking their necks, setting traps for rodents, and then breaking their necks, and sharpening sticks to use as weapons. However, after some –SEVRE- discouragement and scolding, Duela’s parents managed to “dissuade” their daughter from partaking in such activities again, continuing to mould their daughter as they wished, but oppressing some of her inner most emotions in the process.

For a while after that, everything seemed to be sailing smoothly, up until the point that Duela begun to dress in a very tomboyish manner, and was constantly getting into vicious scuff ups in the school playground, with both girls and boys up to twice her age.
Once again her parents clamped down on her erratic behaviour, forcing their daughter to conduct herself in the way that they wished, and once again Duela begun to develop more problems inwardly, and with no one to turn to, her issues begun to grow and fester, building up inside her.
By the time she reached High school, Duela had become painfully aware that she had very few friends, and those that she did have were far more to her parents liking than her own. The young girl attempted to branch out and make more friends by using humour, and becoming the class clown, however not only was she not particularly funny, but her parents quickly found out and put a stop to her apparent mischief.

As she started to progress through high school, she started to sway towards depression, and begun to express herself through dramatic arts and creative writing. She tried her hand at painting, but found that it was far from her forte.

Her scientific knowledge was lacking, and her mathematical skills were that of someone a good few years below her-which was the cause of most of the bullying she received throughout her school life-, but she did find some solace in the acting and writing she had grown to love so much, finding those skills to be that which she excelled at, grades wise.

More problems begun to arise for Duela when she started dating boys in her school, and it became apparent to the young teenager that she was only ever asked out based on her looks, and that no one particularly cared for her short stories, love of poetry, or constant jokes.
Deciding that she would never find a boy who loved her for who she was, Duela begun to swing more towards the female persuasion, but once word travelled back to her parents, they had her strictly disciplined; deciding that their daughter possibly having an interest in women could potentially weaken the strong support that traditionalist religious groups in Gotham gave her father’s political party.

As she begun to feel more and more isolated from everyone around her, Duela begun to self-harm; finding some sort of relief in cutting herself, as though she could simply forget all of her troubles, and escape from reality.

After a particularly unsuccessful string of dates, with boys she’d never even cared for in the first place, Duela started to believe that all of the ideals that her parents had clung to so strongly, were wrong, becoming obsessed with the idea that ugly was beautiful, and that repulsion was the strongest form of attraction.

She became anorexic, and through frequenting the more shady parts of Gotham, without her parents knowledge, begun to develop drug addictions, which begun to show on her withering body. When her parents tried to intervene she rebelled to the extreme, taking a box cutter and carving delicate scars into her now porcelain white skin, all the while believing that she was enhancing her beauty.

Her parents were horrified; immediately sending Duela to have surgery to fix her scarred face, however whilst she was under local anaesthetic, she struggled violently as the doctors were operating her, twisting her already damaged visage into something far more broken and warped, leaving one side of her face in a state of disrepair.

The young girl’s mother and father were driven over the edge by the sight of what their daughter had become. When the family returned home, Duela overheard her parents discussing plans to send her away to a specialist mental institute, and so she fled off into the night.
Upon discovering their daughter’s disappearance, her parents announced that she was dead, and to the public eye this was the day Duela Dent died.

=Life in the Nethers=

After fleeing her parents, Duela eventually made her way to the Nethers; Originally a small cave network that was home to a medium sized community of homeless clans, that lived together in relative peace and cooperated in times of hardship, before falling into a dire state when criminals begun to operate out of them as a way of avoiding detection by the law, before plummeting even further into chaos, when escaped Arkham Asylum inmates decided to build their homes within the Caves. After many years the Nether’s had been dug into a series of twisted underground passages, that ran beneath the entirety of Gotham city, inhabited by a whole mass of uncouth individuals, perverted scum and those who simply had nowhere else to turn to, having hit rock bottom in both the figurative and literal sense.

She carved out a life for herself within her new home; scavenging for food, and occasionally trafficking illegal substances to the surface-for some of the criminals who had decided to set up shop in the nethers, in order to avoid detection from the law-, in return for a chance to sample the wares, so that she could occasionally placate her drug addictions.

As time went on she began to learn where each and every tunnel led, and how to access them all. She utilized her knowledge well, and used the tunnels to remain hidden from others, so as to not draw unwanted attention to herself.

After spending a few months in her newfound place of residence, Duela found a sickly looking cat in an old, long abandoned tunnel, who she instantly felt drawn towards. The cat should similar affection towards the scarred girl, and soon the pair became inseparable; the ugly cat rarely leaving its new mistresses’ side, and always returning when it did.

When a small gang of two-bit criminals moved in on Duela’s plot of land and demanded that she start paying tax to them, she responded with extreme prejudice. Using her now considerable knowledge of the tunnel network to her advantage, she begun to disrupt their trade routes, and pick off a few of the bruisers they sent out into the Nethers, to try and intimidate others into working for them.

After a week or so of skirmishes, the group was significantly weakened, and so Duela took the opportunity to sneak into their encampment at night-time, and slit their leader’s throat.
By the time the gang members had awoken they found their leader dead and quickly fell into disarray. Duela took the opportunity to seize control of the small group, ordering them to resume their previous operations, now enhanced by Duela’s knowledge of the tunnel networks.
The next few years were an uphill struggle for Duela; As her gang begun to seize more and more land, they would attract the attention of larger and better equipped groups, who would try and either envelop or obliterate them, but eventually wind up being beaten by the young girls stealthily methods, and end becoming consumed by Duela’s own gang.

However every time they bested one threat, another would present itself, and Duela constantly found herself ending up in large and very costly conflicts.

It was becoming apparent that Duela’s position in the Nether’s was slipping, and so she devised a plan to ensure her survival. Noticing that each of the clans seemed to work in a patriarchal style, Duela would infiltrate the different group’s encampments before stirring up the female population, causing them to rebel against the oppressive males, and then calling upon what was left of her original tribe to come and bolster the various Coups that she had been the architect of, managing to overthrow the current leaders by force.

Duela continued to employ this system where ether she could, steadily starting to win over the Nether’s piece by piece, with her now matriarchal group becoming increasingly more powerful.
Through various different methods the young girl eventually ended up in a position where her group had grown into one of the largest and most influential within the Nethers, but rather than decide to try and wage war on the remaining factions, she instead turned her attention to the city above her.

Tempting many with promises of food, shelter, and even wealth, Duela managed to start a sort of call-to-arms; rallying as many individuals as she could, before leading a series of stealthily attacks on the world above; raiding supermarkets, gun stores, stock houses and even pharmacists, and gathering enough supplies to make her increasingly growing group sustainable, whilst still keeping her female hierarchy in place.

When Duela became a growing issue, the law started to try and crack down on her random attacks, but given the sheer spontaneity of them, and the way in which she utilized the tunnel networks to her advance, she had become near to impossible to detect.

The sudden influx of power and authority driving her even further into madness, Duela begun to set her sights on the city above, longing to cease control of Gotham, and to establish herself as the ruler of an empire that extend beyond underground caves and sewage tunnels.
Striking deals with everybody from the Falcone’s to private arms dealers-whilst keeping her motives a closely guarded secret-, the psychotic teenager manager to acquire a large quantity of high-powered weaponry, readying her cabal for an all-out siege on the surface world.

Unbenounced to the self-proclaimed empress of the Nether’s, an anonymous snitch had informed the authorities of the planned attack, prompting them to dispatch an anti-terrorist squad into the network of tunnels beneath Gotham, tasked with purging, or at the very least dispersing, Duela’s war band.

As soon as the first few shots were fired, the only recently established matriarchal society began to collapse into riotous disarray, forcing Duela’s fractured mind to realize how ultimately flawed her grand plan had been.

Using the ensuing confusion to slip away unnoticed, the scarred young girl fled the scene of her crumbling dystopia, cambering away into the darkness.


| Character Notes | -

| Powers & Abilities | - Duela possesses no powers, meta-human or otherwise, however she is apt at manipulating both people and situations to better suit her, using a large variety of different methods. While not intelligent perhaps in the traditional sense, her years in the nethers beneath Gotham have given her considerable street smarts. She is rather guile, and while she might not have any martial arts training she has learnt how to defend herself over the years.

| How is this character different? | -. I think the primary flaw with The Dark Knight #23.4 was that it had to try and tell a very complex origin story in a £2 comic, and so there wasn’t very much room for character building. I have tried to rectify that, by giving Duela’s backstory a bit more flavour, as well as perhaps making her easier to sympathise with as a character. I’ve also added a few twists and turns, to try and make the character my own.

| What is your goal with this character? | - To stir up abit of anarchy (ICly of course), and to try and build a villain from the bottom up, instead of starting the game with a miniature criminal empire.

| Sample Post |

The mass of scars that criss-crossed the surface of her wounded face throbbed with an un-yielding pain, not at all helped by the fact that she had managed to draw blood whilst trying to cull the agony that was infesting her likeness, by raking her own skin with her bestial nails, in a similar fashion to which an infant might scratch at their chicken pox, yet with the fiery strength and vigour of an enraged jungle cat.

Running her serpentine tongue over her fang-like teeth, Duela surveyed the situation before her with a hawk-like gaze.
There was an air of silence lingering throughout the establishment, yet the atmosphere was the farthest thing from calm; an unspoken hostility ever-present, visible in the patrons hunched body language, and the burning electricity in their squinting eyes.

Her long fingers scrapping over the blemished glass of her cup, Duela pulled back the woollen scarf that was covering her deformed visage, taking a lingering sip of bourbon, hoping that it would in some way contribute to numbing the blistering pain in her face. Pulling the scarf back into place, she gently placed the glass back on her booths table, letting her posture slip as she reclined backwards.
There were no more than a handful of people in the bar, which made it the perfect place for Duela to lay low, at least until the heat died down. Unfortunately for the young fugitive, a sudden gust of cold air from the world outside, blown in as the bars front door swung violently open, followed by the entrance of a rugged looking figure in a trench coat and weather beaten fedora, soon indicated that she was perhaps not as well hidden as she had previously believed.
She recognised him. She’d seen him before somewhere.

She’d first caught sight of him a few days after she’d hauled her ass out of the Nethers, catching a brief glimpse of a faint silhouette in an un-stylish hat, as he trailed her in his worn out hatchback, and he’d been tailing her ever since, never more than a few steps behind.
She wasn’t sure if he’d been hired privately or if he was ununiformed GCPD, but she was certain that he hadn’t been in the exact same place as her for the past week by sheer coincidence.

Duela watched as she slowly made his way over to the counter, presumably to question the barkeeper as to if he’d seen her, his eyes darting from place to place, taking in everything around him. At this point in time Duela was particularly thankful that her booth was shrouded by the flickering shadow that was cast by the bars dimly glowing lights.
Her pulse was quickening, and her breathing was becoming increasingly rapid. Steadying her nerves, Duela downed was little of her bourbon remained, before cautiously making her way across the bar, setting her sights on the front door, all the while making sure to try and keep herself out of sight.

Her rudimentary combination of scarf and hoodie might work well enough against strangers, but she doubted it would do much to fool the prying eyes of someone who knew what they were looking, almost certain that her coat-wearing pursuer would be able to see right through her masquerade, should he catch sight of her.
She was contemplating making a mad dash for the door, but didn’t fancy running the risk of drawing any more unwanted attention and potentially ending up with her own personal stalker for the rest of God-knows-how-long, and so she took one careful step after the other, drawing ever closer to the door, and to freedom.
Reaching the foot of the bar, Duela made a special effort to shuffle past her trench-coat clad friend, watching cautiously from the shadows as he spoke to the barkeeper, whilst attempting to look as inconspicuous as possible.

A mere few steps from salvation, Duela could practically feel the outside breeze against her wound-ridden flesh, the beat of her black heart quickening tenfold inside her. Duela took a confident stride forwards, only to have her hopes suddenly and brutally crushed as she felt a firm hand clamp down on her lean shoulder.
Cursing under her breath, Duela reluctantly turned around, now face-to-face with her pursuer, catching a brief glimpse of the barkeeper out of the corner of her eye, noticing as he watched both of them from his station behind the counter, one eyebrow arched with curiosity.
The trench coat wearing man grinned through broken yellow teeth, dark stubble clinging to his beefy chin. Flaring his nostrils, the broad man recoiled slightly, even going so far as to make a slight gagging sound.

“You don’t ‘alf stink love…” He observed bluntly. She hadn’t had the chance to wash the stench of the sewers off of her. She wondered if that had tipped him off, or if he’d always know she was here.

“Mind taking off that pretty lil’ scarf and showin’ us what’s unda’neath?” He asked in a manner that clearly indicated his query was a demand and not a request.
By this point in time they were starting to draw the interest of more than a few of the bars patrons, and she could feel their iniquitous eyes bearing down on her, even without looking. It reminded her of her time back at Gotham High, when those pricks had intruded on her personal space with their indiscreet staring, thriving off of her humiliation. The resurfacing of old memories made her skin crawl, and she suddenly felt like vomiting.

Steadily raising one hand to her mouth, Duela slowly begun to unravel her scarf, her eyes franticly searching for a means of escape, her heart beating faster and faster. Trench coat man gawked at her with his piggy little eyes, an obnoxious smile that glowed unbearably with self-infatuation plastered across his pudgy face.
He thought he’d won. She’d show him otherwise.

Spying an empty beer bottle on the counter, Duela’s one free hand shot forwards, snatching the bottle up off of the counter, before smashing it into the side of trench coat man’s smug face. He let out a startled gasp as the brittle glass shattered on his ugly mug, causing him to stumble and lose his footing, momentarily losing his hold on her as he fell to the floor.

Tearing herself away from the scene that was unfolding, Duela bolted towards the door, hearing the sugar sweet sound of her stalker loudly swear as he noticed the steady trail of blood that was oozing from a brand new hole in his stupid head, followed by the fairly amusing awkward yelp from the barkeeper as he instructed the pair of them to “take it outside”, stammering in a broken voice.

At this point in time most of the other patrons were up and out of their seats, transfixed by the sight of the injured man scrambling uneasily to his feet, and of the young girl who was making a speedy escape.

During the ruckus Duela’s scarf had come loose, and as she burst out of the establishment, dashing forth into the streets beyond, her warped face was exposed for all to see, her miss-matched eyes glistening in the pale moonlight, a mischievous grin gracing her plump lips.