And here I am (again)! Suppose I am still in time to join before the rodomontade begins?
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Eight Days Before
For days, the leaden sky which menacingly loomed over them, notwithstanding their steady motion - truth be told, at a velocity which would be deemed unacceptably low whence they had come, owing to the unfamiliar driving practices with which most visiting continentals were constrained to come to grips - across the rather bleak landscape, had failed to deliver upon its threat of precipitation, which might have prompted them to jot down a note concerning the matter of “dispelling popular misconceptions about...”, had they been ever so rash in making assumptions (which they were) and actually interested in such an endeavour (which they were not). Notwithstanding the lack of sociological aspirations, they had unanimously concluded that the much-reviled Albionic climate might be better, or at least could not be quite so much worse than the only one they had hitherto known.
“Weren’t you thinking the same?” Johannes inquired, without, however, turning to face his companion.
“What?” the latter listlessly replied, in a tone dulled by a lengthy period of sitting and gazing before himself. One could, of course, argue that he had not been effectively doing anything beyond that, but that would probably elicited little more than genuine incomprehension.
“I say, that it has rained the entire time we were in Germany since we left, and some days before that, but not for a single hour while we have been here.”
“And Belgium.”
“What?”
“It’s also rained in Belgium.”
“Not in France, though.”
“A bit after the border, it did. What were you saying there, again?”
“No, I was saying, it seems to rain less here than in Germany, doesn’t it?”
“Could be. I think it also depends on the season. Don’t you remember we had a completely dry summer in Thüringen?”
“But that’s Thüringen.”
Having thus apparently exhausted their stimulating conversational subject, the pair finally exchanged a weary glance, then simultaneously turned backwards for a brief moment and eyed the sleeping Nejat with a hint of envy. The third member of their diminutive party lay all but sprawled on the back seat of the slightly battered automobile, amid rucksacks and satchels of varying sizes and colours, leaning toward the less tasteful end of the spectrum, with his feet a mere few inches away from resting upon an already abundantly scratched suitcase. His fellow-travellers found this all the more outrageous as he had not in the least contributed to their progress through virtually half of the (semi)continent, nor to the journey from Dover to Southampton, and yet was able to blissfully slumber for a length of time which would have put a sloth to shame, whereas neither Johannes, who steered the unreasonably crammed vehicle, nor Turan, who attempted to navigate their way by cycling through a series of maps, with the predictable result of frequently driving them to meander in such parts as they would never have dreamt of visiting, were able to enjoy a night’s rest without spinning about and repeatedly rising to raise or lower the blinds for some two hours beforehand. The final pause before the ferry boarding could have finally allowed them some respite before nearly a week of struggling against sea-sickness, yet even now they seemed to be unable to do anything but trade inconsequential remarks concerning the weather. How else could it be? The topic of their preliminary plans was already spent, and it was as yet too early to begin actually pondering their execution.
All of a sudden, a rap against the glass by his head startled Johannes from the slumber he had been, in spite of all, drifting into. Not a little irritated, he lowered it and turned to face the whiskered countenance of the customs officer peering from beyond it.
“What is it, my good man?” he asked, not immediately realising that his impromptu usage of a rather colloquial expression had yielded a potentially offensive result. Not that it would have concerned him, but it was somewhat embarrassing for being unintended.
“Excuse me, sir,” the man began quite civilly, probably not being altogether inexperienced in interacting with foreigners, “Your vehicle looks like it might be exceeding the weight limit.” Was its crammed state quite so visible? Most likely. Meanwhile, the boarding queue was beginning to move forth - and they were being detained by this overly zealous, or thus it seemed to him, fellow.
“I assure you that we have passed all necessary controls. Here, we have these tickets they give there. Turan, do you...”
But Turan had drifted away into a tranquil slumber. Curse him, could he think of no better moment? Johannes began hastily rooting through the sheaf of various printed pages - mostly maps - in his lap. Where could he have buried them? Before them, the path onto the vessel was now empty. Ah, that was quite enough. No more of this nonsense.
“Sir, do you have the...”
Johannes abruptly turned toward the mustachioed intruder and, gazing fixedly into his eyes, which made him stagger back in surprise, theatrically raised his right hand, with the palm stretched outwards. This gesture was functionally unnecessary, but what was life without a little flavour? He focused his mental energies upon the figure before him and, almost envisioning the outline of its psychic nucleus, hurled at it a brief sequence of visions - nothing especially astounding, but enough to serve their purpose.
The man staggered, flailing his arms as though he had suddenly lost his sight and were attempting to clutch it before it flew away. Failing to grasp any solid object, he nearly collapsed, but was able to moderate his fall by crouching with what seemed to be a supreme effort. After about a minute, the expression of his eyes grew slightly less wild, and he saw that the potentially overloaded automobile had already vanished beyond the ascension ramp. Rising totteringly to his full height, he waved reassuringly at the other drivers, who were looking at him with some concern, and moved toward his position with quivering steps.
Aboard the ship, Johannes smiled to himself with a hint of triumph. Petty, admittedly, but was life not likewise composed of simple pleasures? His mouth still set in its twisted shape, he let his thoughts hasten forwards. Soon, he would have crossed the ocean, and then the true merriment would begin. A world of adventure lay ahead.
Present Time
Despite their resolution to set off as early as possible, which in itself was a definition vague enough to warrant a reasonable degree of abuse, it was almost noon when the trio finally drove out of Brooklyn. It was not that they had been detained by the city’s graces, as they had devoted the entire previous day to the exploration of the latter - or at least as large a section of them as could be covered within such a period - and decided they had had quite enough of them. Rather, it was a combination of their own natural disinclination to rise early, compounded by habit, and the issue of the time zone shift they had experienced, which, though gradual enough not to significantly disrupt their self-sustenance routine, was proving a slight nuisance. The sum of these afflictions caused Johannes to perceive himself as, yet again, fairly tired, despite having been on his feet for a mere hour; this last concessive factor was, for him, a source of vague background irritation, which he strove to quell as he squinted in a vain attempt not to be blinded by the radiance he would probably have to face for the best part of the journey.
Thus far, the New World had not yielded all the excitement it had seemed to promise. True, the city they had just departed from was far larger than anything they had ever hitherto encountered, even more than their hazy conceptions of it, based as they were largely upon the rare “conventional” motion picture, had led them to believe, and with internal variety to match; however, it was not all they had hoped it would be. It ought to have been the threshold of the prodigious new reality rendered accessible to them by Johannes’s unexpected, to say the least, “empowering” experience, yet it was nothing more than a city. An impressive specimen of the sort, certainly, but a mere city nonetheless, not quite, all things considered, so different from Berlin - a city where people struggled and rested, worked and loitered, slept and walked, loved and loathed, lived their more or less ordinary lives and (usually) died. In short, nothing interesting. If there was something markedly unusual afoot somewhere, they had neither seen nor heard of it. Then again, this was, after all, merely the beginning, and a beginning was not necessarily a sample of what the future held. A beginning could very well be ordinary and unassuming, and what would come would seem all the more striking after it.
Presently, the landscape seemed to be inclined to encourage the latter possibility. After nearly two hours of monotonous highway-side sights, a poorly maintained sign designating "New Sardis" had directed Johannes into a minor road, seemingly distinct from the main inlets into Rhode Island - presumably, a sort of sanctioned shortcut. The latter’s surroundings, having retained the previous uniformity for some miles, gradually developed into a region of gently sloping hills, whose grassy sides began, after a while, to bristle with increasingly dark thickets. Soon the road became similar to a lost path running amidst wooded eminences, beset by green tides and obtrusive bushes and flanked by the occasional stream. Johannes was mystified. He did not recall seeing such a verdant patch upon any map, no more than he had, up to that point, been aware of a deviation toward New Sardis specifically – which was strange in itself, as the city was by no means close to the highway he had just left. Judging by their subduedly surprised comments, his companions were no less puzzled than him. He began to experience some hints of apprehension. There was something subtly wrong, for want of a better word, with this place. The patches of darkness beneath the distant trees began to seem to him unaccountably large and deep, and the hills gave the imression of being about to quietly slither forth and bar their way, leaving them trapped in some encroaching demi-monde of creeping fright.
Just then, Nejat exclaimed from behind him, pointing at a rivulet which had grown to a respectable size as they progressed along its course: “Look there! How did that thing even get in? It’s got to be as broad as the steam itself!” “What’s that?” Johannes inquired, without averting his gaze from the road ahead. “There was one big beast – fish or something. There’s it again! Ey, looks like it’s following us.” Johannes cast a swift glance in the direction Nejat was indicating and saw that, beneath the running water’s surface, there appeared for an instant a shadow whose size he could, in that moment, only think of as monstrous. It was truly a wonder how the creature, if indeed it was not a log or other piece of woodland debris, not only contrived not to empty the stream merely by being contained in it, but was even able to remain submerged as it moved. This was anything but reassuring, and he frowned as he accelerated slightly, eager to be parted with this region as soon as he could.
Finally, the hills came to an end, and all those aboard the automobile breathed more or less audible sighs of relief. It was, however, not long before the landscape treated them to yet another unleasant surprise. While at one side of the road there stretched the customary fields, at the other there lay a sight of ghastly desolation. For as far as they could see the soil was arid and barren, of a hideous grayish-yellow hue. A light breeze raised small motes of dust from the blasted surface, and bore them swirling among the irregular mounds and discolored rocks, small fissures and the few, sparsely placed skeletal shrubs. It conveyed an impression of brooding hostility, as though the land were inhabited by a malevolent genius whose slumber threatened to be disrupted at any moment. Soon there arose upon the horizon in that direction a grim black structure, too distant to be properly discerned but visibly vast in size and menacing in appearance. Despite resembling an industrial construction of sorts, not a plume of smoke was to be seen above its sable ramparts. After a bend in the road, it vanished from sight, and they finally came in sight of their journey’s final objective.
At first, the city was but an indistinct gray stain upon their sight. As they approached, however, it progressively acquired distinct contours, coming to resemble a somewhat oddly-shaped crown. Over a mass of low, staid buildings there jutted a number of anachronistically shimmering spires, among whom, even surpassing the least ambitious of them in size, throned a pointed tower of stone, resembling the calcified tusk of some primeval leviathan. Over the scene there hung an indecisive ashen sky, upon whose canvas one could discern neither cloud nor sun. The sight was somewhat unwelcoming and eerie, not altogether unlike the hills, and Johannes once again began to feel subtly disquieted. This time, however, the sensation was but transitory, and entirely faded as they drove into the suburbs and began making their way through a diminutive maze of winding, occasionally shoddily paved streets.
This last phase of the voyage was, it was unanimously agreed, much too lengthy for everyone’s taste, but eventually the ingress to the street they were seeking, despite being concealed by some misplaced refuse bins, was discovered, and the crew pulled to a halt before the squat, rather ungainly contraption they would presently have to call home. As they were clambering out of the vehicle stretching their limbs to dissipate the stasis-induced numbness, the front door opened, and a portly, shabbily dressed man with receding hair and a ruddy countenance came forth to meet them. “Hullo, hullo” he greeted, in a tone perhaps too eager to be truly welcoming, “I take it you’re Mr. Shmit? I’m Harries, much pleased to meet you. You’ll be wanting the keys…” “Yes, of course. Might we have a look around first?” Johannes interrupted, perhaps somewhat curtly. Harries rapidly nodded and led his visitors through a sequence of dim, dusty and in places somewhat damp rooms, a few of them furnished with slightly decrepit wooden (or simil-wooden, it was quite difficult to discern) articles, all the while extolling the habitation’s not always immediate virtues. After some confabulation with Turan and Nejat, Johannes reassured him of their willingness to conclude the transaction, and, after some arrangements and a set of keys had been traded, the portly man hurried away with a distinctly relieved expression, which was, however, not heeded.
Johannes cast what he intended to be an appreciative glance about himself, moved a few steps back and forth and, turning to the nearest window, spoke words which, though known to all those present, struck him as appropriate in that circumstance. “Now, we wait.”
For days, the leaden sky which menacingly loomed over them, notwithstanding their steady motion - truth be told, at a velocity which would be deemed unacceptably low whence they had come, owing to the unfamiliar driving practices with which most visiting continentals were constrained to come to grips - across the rather bleak landscape, had failed to deliver upon its threat of precipitation, which might have prompted them to jot down a note concerning the matter of “dispelling popular misconceptions about...”, had they been ever so rash in making assumptions (which they were) and actually interested in such an endeavour (which they were not). Notwithstanding the lack of sociological aspirations, they had unanimously concluded that the much-reviled Albionic climate might be better, or at least could not be quite so much worse than the only one they had hitherto known.
“Weren’t you thinking the same?” Johannes inquired, without, however, turning to face his companion.
“What?” the latter listlessly replied, in a tone dulled by a lengthy period of sitting and gazing before himself. One could, of course, argue that he had not been effectively doing anything beyond that, but that would probably elicited little more than genuine incomprehension.
“I say, that it has rained the entire time we were in Germany since we left, and some days before that, but not for a single hour while we have been here.”
“And Belgium.”
“What?”
“It’s also rained in Belgium.”
“Not in France, though.”
“A bit after the border, it did. What were you saying there, again?”
“No, I was saying, it seems to rain less here than in Germany, doesn’t it?”
“Could be. I think it also depends on the season. Don’t you remember we had a completely dry summer in Thüringen?”
“But that’s Thüringen.”
Having thus apparently exhausted their stimulating conversational subject, the pair finally exchanged a weary glance, then simultaneously turned backwards for a brief moment and eyed the sleeping Nejat with a hint of envy. The third member of their diminutive party lay all but sprawled on the back seat of the slightly battered automobile, amid rucksacks and satchels of varying sizes and colours, leaning toward the less tasteful end of the spectrum, with his feet a mere few inches away from resting upon an already abundantly scratched suitcase. His fellow-travellers found this all the more outrageous as he had not in the least contributed to their progress through virtually half of the (semi)continent, nor to the journey from Dover to Southampton, and yet was able to blissfully slumber for a length of time which would have put a sloth to shame, whereas neither Johannes, who steered the unreasonably crammed vehicle, nor Turan, who attempted to navigate their way by cycling through a series of maps, with the predictable result of frequently driving them to meander in such parts as they would never have dreamt of visiting, were able to enjoy a night’s rest without spinning about and repeatedly rising to raise or lower the blinds for some two hours beforehand. The final pause before the ferry boarding could have finally allowed them some respite before nearly a week of struggling against sea-sickness, yet even now they seemed to be unable to do anything but trade inconsequential remarks concerning the weather. How else could it be? The topic of their preliminary plans was already spent, and it was as yet too early to begin actually pondering their execution.
All of a sudden, a rap against the glass by his head startled Johannes from the slumber he had been, in spite of all, drifting into. Not a little irritated, he lowered it and turned to face the whiskered countenance of the customs officer peering from beyond it.
“What is it, my good man?” he asked, not immediately realising that his impromptu usage of a rather colloquial expression had yielded a potentially offensive result. Not that it would have concerned him, but it was somewhat embarrassing for being unintended.
“Excuse me, sir,” the man began quite civilly, probably not being altogether inexperienced in interacting with foreigners, “Your vehicle looks like it might be exceeding the weight limit.” Was its crammed state quite so visible? Most likely. Meanwhile, the boarding queue was beginning to move forth - and they were being detained by this overly zealous, or thus it seemed to him, fellow.
“I assure you that we have passed all necessary controls. Here, we have these tickets they give there. Turan, do you...”
But Turan had drifted away into a tranquil slumber. Curse him, could he think of no better moment? Johannes began hastily rooting through the sheaf of various printed pages - mostly maps - in his lap. Where could he have buried them? Before them, the path onto the vessel was now empty. Ah, that was quite enough. No more of this nonsense.
“Sir, do you have the...”
Johannes abruptly turned toward the mustachioed intruder and, gazing fixedly into his eyes, which made him stagger back in surprise, theatrically raised his right hand, with the palm stretched outwards. This gesture was functionally unnecessary, but what was life without a little flavour? He focused his mental energies upon the figure before him and, almost envisioning the outline of its psychic nucleus, hurled at it a brief sequence of visions - nothing especially astounding, but enough to serve their purpose.
The man staggered, flailing his arms as though he had suddenly lost his sight and were attempting to clutch it before it flew away. Failing to grasp any solid object, he nearly collapsed, but was able to moderate his fall by crouching with what seemed to be a supreme effort. After about a minute, the expression of his eyes grew slightly less wild, and he saw that the potentially overloaded automobile had already vanished beyond the ascension ramp. Rising totteringly to his full height, he waved reassuringly at the other drivers, who were looking at him with some concern, and moved toward his position with quivering steps.
Aboard the ship, Johannes smiled to himself with a hint of triumph. Petty, admittedly, but was life not likewise composed of simple pleasures? His mouth still set in its twisted shape, he let his thoughts hasten forwards. Soon, he would have crossed the ocean, and then the true merriment would begin. A world of adventure lay ahead.
Present Time
Despite their resolution to set off as early as possible, which in itself was a definition vague enough to warrant a reasonable degree of abuse, it was almost noon when the trio finally drove out of Brooklyn. It was not that they had been detained by the city’s graces, as they had devoted the entire previous day to the exploration of the latter - or at least as large a section of them as could be covered within such a period - and decided they had had quite enough of them. Rather, it was a combination of their own natural disinclination to rise early, compounded by habit, and the issue of the time zone shift they had experienced, which, though gradual enough not to significantly disrupt their self-sustenance routine, was proving a slight nuisance. The sum of these afflictions caused Johannes to perceive himself as, yet again, fairly tired, despite having been on his feet for a mere hour; this last concessive factor was, for him, a source of vague background irritation, which he strove to quell as he squinted in a vain attempt not to be blinded by the radiance he would probably have to face for the best part of the journey.
Thus far, the New World had not yielded all the excitement it had seemed to promise. True, the city they had just departed from was far larger than anything they had ever hitherto encountered, even more than their hazy conceptions of it, based as they were largely upon the rare “conventional” motion picture, had led them to believe, and with internal variety to match; however, it was not all they had hoped it would be. It ought to have been the threshold of the prodigious new reality rendered accessible to them by Johannes’s unexpected, to say the least, “empowering” experience, yet it was nothing more than a city. An impressive specimen of the sort, certainly, but a mere city nonetheless, not quite, all things considered, so different from Berlin - a city where people struggled and rested, worked and loitered, slept and walked, loved and loathed, lived their more or less ordinary lives and (usually) died. In short, nothing interesting. If there was something markedly unusual afoot somewhere, they had neither seen nor heard of it. Then again, this was, after all, merely the beginning, and a beginning was not necessarily a sample of what the future held. A beginning could very well be ordinary and unassuming, and what would come would seem all the more striking after it.
Presently, the landscape seemed to be inclined to encourage the latter possibility. After nearly two hours of monotonous highway-side sights, a poorly maintained sign designating "New Sardis" had directed Johannes into a minor road, seemingly distinct from the main inlets into Rhode Island - presumably, a sort of sanctioned shortcut. The latter’s surroundings, having retained the previous uniformity for some miles, gradually developed into a region of gently sloping hills, whose grassy sides began, after a while, to bristle with increasingly dark thickets. Soon the road became similar to a lost path running amidst wooded eminences, beset by green tides and obtrusive bushes and flanked by the occasional stream. Johannes was mystified. He did not recall seeing such a verdant patch upon any map, no more than he had, up to that point, been aware of a deviation toward New Sardis specifically – which was strange in itself, as the city was by no means close to the highway he had just left. Judging by their subduedly surprised comments, his companions were no less puzzled than him. He began to experience some hints of apprehension. There was something subtly wrong, for want of a better word, with this place. The patches of darkness beneath the distant trees began to seem to him unaccountably large and deep, and the hills gave the imression of being about to quietly slither forth and bar their way, leaving them trapped in some encroaching demi-monde of creeping fright.
Just then, Nejat exclaimed from behind him, pointing at a rivulet which had grown to a respectable size as they progressed along its course: “Look there! How did that thing even get in? It’s got to be as broad as the steam itself!” “What’s that?” Johannes inquired, without averting his gaze from the road ahead. “There was one big beast – fish or something. There’s it again! Ey, looks like it’s following us.” Johannes cast a swift glance in the direction Nejat was indicating and saw that, beneath the running water’s surface, there appeared for an instant a shadow whose size he could, in that moment, only think of as monstrous. It was truly a wonder how the creature, if indeed it was not a log or other piece of woodland debris, not only contrived not to empty the stream merely by being contained in it, but was even able to remain submerged as it moved. This was anything but reassuring, and he frowned as he accelerated slightly, eager to be parted with this region as soon as he could.
Finally, the hills came to an end, and all those aboard the automobile breathed more or less audible sighs of relief. It was, however, not long before the landscape treated them to yet another unleasant surprise. While at one side of the road there stretched the customary fields, at the other there lay a sight of ghastly desolation. For as far as they could see the soil was arid and barren, of a hideous grayish-yellow hue. A light breeze raised small motes of dust from the blasted surface, and bore them swirling among the irregular mounds and discolored rocks, small fissures and the few, sparsely placed skeletal shrubs. It conveyed an impression of brooding hostility, as though the land were inhabited by a malevolent genius whose slumber threatened to be disrupted at any moment. Soon there arose upon the horizon in that direction a grim black structure, too distant to be properly discerned but visibly vast in size and menacing in appearance. Despite resembling an industrial construction of sorts, not a plume of smoke was to be seen above its sable ramparts. After a bend in the road, it vanished from sight, and they finally came in sight of their journey’s final objective.
At first, the city was but an indistinct gray stain upon their sight. As they approached, however, it progressively acquired distinct contours, coming to resemble a somewhat oddly-shaped crown. Over a mass of low, staid buildings there jutted a number of anachronistically shimmering spires, among whom, even surpassing the least ambitious of them in size, throned a pointed tower of stone, resembling the calcified tusk of some primeval leviathan. Over the scene there hung an indecisive ashen sky, upon whose canvas one could discern neither cloud nor sun. The sight was somewhat unwelcoming and eerie, not altogether unlike the hills, and Johannes once again began to feel subtly disquieted. This time, however, the sensation was but transitory, and entirely faded as they drove into the suburbs and began making their way through a diminutive maze of winding, occasionally shoddily paved streets.
This last phase of the voyage was, it was unanimously agreed, much too lengthy for everyone’s taste, but eventually the ingress to the street they were seeking, despite being concealed by some misplaced refuse bins, was discovered, and the crew pulled to a halt before the squat, rather ungainly contraption they would presently have to call home. As they were clambering out of the vehicle stretching their limbs to dissipate the stasis-induced numbness, the front door opened, and a portly, shabbily dressed man with receding hair and a ruddy countenance came forth to meet them. “Hullo, hullo” he greeted, in a tone perhaps too eager to be truly welcoming, “I take it you’re Mr. Shmit? I’m Harries, much pleased to meet you. You’ll be wanting the keys…” “Yes, of course. Might we have a look around first?” Johannes interrupted, perhaps somewhat curtly. Harries rapidly nodded and led his visitors through a sequence of dim, dusty and in places somewhat damp rooms, a few of them furnished with slightly decrepit wooden (or simil-wooden, it was quite difficult to discern) articles, all the while extolling the habitation’s not always immediate virtues. After some confabulation with Turan and Nejat, Johannes reassured him of their willingness to conclude the transaction, and, after some arrangements and a set of keys had been traded, the portly man hurried away with a distinctly relieved expression, which was, however, not heeded.
Johannes cast what he intended to be an appreciative glance about himself, moved a few steps back and forth and, turning to the nearest window, spoke words which, though known to all those present, struck him as appropriate in that circumstance. “Now, we wait.”
Posting an introductory sequence. My character shall probably remain stationary until the next season begins, so that there should be no issue with the transition despite his appearance.
'Ello dere! This role-play seems to be truly rather promising, and, seeing as my socius has already clambered in, I am fairly tempted to join myself. However, it is quite likely that I shall be absent for a while. Would it be possible for me to make my appearance once the story shall already have begun, if it should be necessary?
Character you have created: Johannes Schmidt
Alias: Türk Filmleri Adam
Speech Color: Saddle Brown(8B4513). (Note: italicised text from Türk Filmleri Adam and his companions is spoken in German in-universe).
Character Alignment: Walking the Line
Identity: Secret
Character Personality: It would perhaps not be entirely accurate to describe Johannes as a modern hedonist, were it only for the fact that he lacks most of the glaring traits and habits commonly associated with that archetype; however, upon deeper reflection, it becomes apparent that there is simply no better definition to be given of him. There is little he truly cares for beyond his own, unconditional enjoyment. That said, he is neither so egoistic as not to include those few who have attained the privilege of his friendship and esteem into this aspiration, nor so weak-willed as to let himself be entirely mastered by his lusts, or to allow himself any sorts of the latter beyond the tamest ones. He sets pleasure as foremost among his goals in life; yet he does not mindlessly crawl toward it as many other do, nor lash himself into a frenzy which he then strives to assuage at any cost, but is capable of constructing logical and sufficiently elaborate plans to reach that end.
His demeanour is, in spite of the latter trait, not quite affected. Honest to the point of bluntness, abhorring as he does misunderstandings and quid pro quos, Johannes shall never hesitate to face whatever situation he might find himself stumbling into, exhibiting a bravado bordering with foolhardiness and an often uncalled-for flair for the dramatic in any conceivable circumstances. Such perilous traits are compounded by an almost unnaturally unshakable indifference to stimuli which would normally cause fear or anguish, seemingly acquired by Johannes along with his powers.
Uniform/costume:
Johannes has adopted as his makeshift costume a horrendous patchwork of scraps, cardboard and adhesive tape, completed by what seems to be a repurposed curtain and a clumsily glued-on false beard, to reflect his favoured pastime. He usually wields a short wooden javelin wrapped in colourful paper and a golden cardboard sword:
When not donning his heroic paraphernalia, he appears as the very epitome of the average youthful Mitteleuropean type, with nondescriptly light-brown hair and vaguely greyish eyes; more often than not, he wears cheap, anonymous sport-style clothing.
Origin Info/Details:
Johannes Schmidt was born in Berlin as the neighbouring Deutsche Demokratische Republik was breathing its last, and the entire country whereof he was a citizen was clamouring for the long-awaited unification which was finally at hand. It might have been that these events occurred too early in his life to leave any lasting impression, or that he soon felt he had had quite enough of them; however it might be, never in his life would he display any measure of national pride, or any other feeling, for that matter, nor would he regard politics with anything but slightly amused bafflement at the importance attributed to such fundamentally abstract matters.
As the Schmidts were a moderately well-to-do family, their latest offspring lacked nothing in the way of basic necessities, and had the possibility to trudge his way through the education system up to graduating in History at the Freie Universität. Though he never displayed a particular aptitude for academic learning, he compensated for his lack of exceptional skills with a diligent, disciplined approach to study, fuelled by the belief that it would all pay off someday. Though such an opinion was not altogether unjustified, the reward for these years of application was not as swift in arriving as Johannes expected, and throughout his first autonomous years he found himself drifting from one clerk-level occupation to another, ever seeking a suitable opportunity to rise through the ranks and ever being met with an indefinitely long, blind routine which left him quite discontented with the world at large and the employment sector in particular. It was at that time that he met Nejat Gucli and Turan Ahmad, his peers in age and position, whose Turkish descent had grown largely diluted by generations of more or less steady integration, reaching, they averred, back to the times of Friedrich the Great himself. Sympathy, first comradely, then personal soon sprang up between Johannes and the pair, and it was not long ere they introduced him to the ruling passion which had first united them, and soon captured him as well - namely, the somewhat perverse enjoyment of turksploitation films. Sitting till late at night before a smudged screen in Nejat and Turan’s apartment, Johannes nearly laughed himself ill at the inconceivable gymnastics of clumsily costumed actors whose expressive repertoire consisted entirely of fearsome grimaces, and swore repeatedly that there never could be enough pictures of that sort in the world. This marked the beginning of an enduring friendship between the trio, who rapidly grew inseparable - a condition which, among other things, offered distinct economic advantages, as the rent was paid collectively.
Then, one night, the unexpected occurred. Upon returning from the last workplace he had established himself at, Johannes happened to be strolling through a park, which, fortunately enough, lay directly across his path. Catching sight of a small, glimmering object on the ground before him, he bent to retrieve what seemed to be a coin, and was surprised when the minute item proved unexpectedly heavy and unaccountably cold to the touch. Upon closer scrutiny, he saw what he had lifted was indeed a metallic disk of some sort, but certainly not a monetary unit of any sort he was familiar with. The shining surface was a of a cerulean-veiled white in colour, and bands of iridescent light ran across it without any regularity or, indeed, motive. At that moment, he became aware of a chilling numbness spreading through his arm, and had barely enough time to be afraid before a sudden electric shock enveloped his mind and senses with impenetrable darkness.
Of what followed Johannes has but a dim recollection. He recalls awakening and passing out again at brief intervals, almost intermittently, in an environment whose appearance he has described as vaguely resembling a grimy, long-abandoned airport in a severe state of disrepair. Large greyish-green shapes often flitted at the corners of his vision which he is almost certain were living creatures, and he could have sworn that he occasionally heard, among the humming, rasping and clattering of machinery, grunting sounds of distinctly organic origin. He frequently found himself strapped to flat surfaces (it was unclear whether they were horizontal or vertical) surrounded by spinning lamps of indescribable colours, or at the core of vast, thundering mechanical constructs of unclear functions. Finally, he awoke facing a screen whereupon there appeared, in a slow, laborious sequence, a series of sentences written in what appeared to be a curious form of semi-phonetic English. UMIN YUR OGGANIZMS MENTOTIC POTANSHUL AZ BIN ALTRT flared the letters before him, mingling monstrous spelling with outright nonexistent words, YU WL UZIT AN MEK UZ SI | YU KEN. Thereupon a shock identical to the one which had heralded his arrival into that nightmare shot through him again, and, when next he regained consciousness, he was in the park where he first had stumbled upon the fateful coin-like lure.
His return home was met with astonishment, and he was informed by Nejat and Turan that he had been missing for a full week. Having initially devised a feeble alibi involving a deceased uncle, he was soon constrained to disclose to his friends what had truly transpired upon beginning to manifest certain startling abilities. Although he did not perceive anything unusual even while doing so, he frequently found himself telekinetically manipulating distant items with a mere effort of will, often unconsciously and without being in the least surprised by it himself. Additionally, at times he uncontrollably blasted images he was mentally envisioning into the senses of others, with his companions being the first collateral victims of this nascent power. It was not long before Johannes, who had recovered from the shock of his experience in startlingly little time, discovered that, by exerting his will, he was able to harness these abilities and direct them coherently, as well as to modify their effects as he pleased. In particular, seeing as he had grown able to select what images he projected into the minds of his targets, he adopted the psychic display of his beloved Turkish abject-series films as the signature of the image he had been building for himself - Türk Filmleri Adam (roughly “Turkish Film Man”), Berlin’s first resident superhero.
As the city had heretofore never known the salutary influence of superhuman protection, this figure, zealously assisted by Nejat and Turan, who met the opportunity of becoming Türk Filmleri Adam’s sidekicks with nothing short of glee, was in no shortage of occupations. However, his intents were not so pure as to warrant his diving headfirst into action. Rather, his priority was to negotiate a deal with the authorities, by which he would track malfeasants and consign them to justice - for a reasonable price. Nor was this partnership exclusive: Johannes thought little of selling his services to the highest bidder, even when the latter was a company seeking to instil dread into trade unions or accomplish some similarly morally dubious goal. The treatment which had granted Johannes his abilities appeared to have made him strangely callous, insofar as even the deaths of his parents due to illness did not seem to affect him. His friends, already not being especially idealistic individuals themselves, took his new demeanour in stride, as it was not reflected upon their relations.
After a couple of years, however, business began to grow scarce, and the days dull. Those of the most significant criminals who had not been neutralised, such as the local cell of one Shroud Syndicate, had gone into hiding beyond Türk Filmleri Adam’s rather clumsy reach, and the discipline reigning in the private sector was exemplary. Johannes and his companions had grown accustomed to adventure, and, being deprived of it, they began to cast their gazes toward more promising lands. On the other side of the ocean they had often heard that superhumans abounded, and, when Turan discovered that the city of New Sardis was (roughly) quite close to the areas of highest interest and offered some of the cheapest real estate they had ever seen, all doubts concerning their plans for the immediate future were dissolved.
Hero Type: Psychic
Power Level: City Level
Powers:
Mental Projection
The favoured offensive ability of Türk Filmleri Adam, this application of his skills enables him to subject his targets to specially conjured mental images by psychically affecting their sensory reception neural nodes. Those in the grip of this power find themselves experiencing entirely life-like visions, perceived as though they were themselves an integrating part thereof. Projections do not render their subjects unconscious, but usually leave them unable to act due to severe mental and physical disorientation and a painful strain upon the neural network (not to mention shock at the horrid nonsense they are forced to witness); prolonged exposure may result in permanent neural and psychological damage. The visions' end is as abrupt as their beginning, provoking nausea and a reeling sensation. Türk Filmleri Adam may extend his projections upon any number of individuals within his field of vision; however, he must maintain concentration in order for the effect to last, and tampering with the senses larger quantities of targets demands a proportionally greater effort.
Rudimentary Telekinesis
With a mere exertion of his will, Türk Filmleri Adam is able to affect physical bodies at a distance, thrusting them away from himself, pulling them in his direction or lifting them from whatever surface they might be resting upon. While the raw potential of this capability is impressive, it is unsuited for any sort of fine manipulation or actions requiring a grip lasting longer than two or three seconds.
Kinetic Armament
Türk Filmleri Adam's costume and weapons, being composed of harmless household materials, are scarcely a combat asset in their own right. However, by surrounding them with a malleable telekinetic field of compressed force and air, their wielder can grant them lacerating edges and sufficient toughness to withstand impacts equivalent to medium-calibre gunfire, though without entirely suppressing the ensuing vibrations. These enhancements require a moderate effort to activate, and last for as long as their generator remains actively conscious of them (thus, rendering him unconscious or entirely distracting his attention would cause them to fade).
Dünyayi Kurtaran Adam
In critical circumstances where his powers should result insufficient to fend off danger, Türk Filmleri Adam may, with a potent application of willpower, temporarily refine his telekinetic capabilities, becoming able to alter matter at a sub-molecular level. While thus empowered, he can atomically translocate his body, effectively teleporting across brief distances, disrupt the structure of inorganic matter, causing items to violently explode, and even concentrate light into blinding flashes. Upholding such a state is tremendously exacting, and it is impossible for a human of average resilience to prolong its effects for more than ten minutes.
Attributes:
Resources: Average
Weaknesses:
Human, All Too Human
For all his modified “mentotic potential”, Johannes remains a human being, and not an extraordinarily strong or clever one at that. He is no more invulnerable to wounds, diseases and various mishaps than any other person off the street.
The Limits of Faith
A curious aspect of the powers Johannes has been endowed with is the fact that they are fuelled by his own belief in what they can accomplish. Thus, any application thereof of whose success he is not entirely assured will prove ineffectual, even though it might have been theoretically plausible.
Power Tends to Tire
As mentioned, activating Johannes's psychic abilities requires an effort of will. Although the fatigue toll may initially seem negligible, it gradually waxes increasingly draining, and lengthy usage will often leave him exhausted.
Supporting Characters:
Nejat Gucli and Turan Ahmad: Johannes's long-time friends and, more recently, assistants in super-heroic endeavour, Nejat and Turan's characters seem to be pre-ordinately congenial to him and each other alike, sharing the same enjoyment-driven inclinations and cinematographical preferences. The main difference between the two's personalities lies in their attitudes: while Turan is usually more proactive (though this is a comparative term), Nejat bears a pronounced antipathy toward the very concept of effort, though, when hard-pressed, he has demonstrated a certain aptitude for lateral thinking.
The Experimenters: The mysterious beings responsible for abducting Johannes and endowing him with superhuman powers as a result of a not better described process (or “fiddling”, if one is less than lenient). Johannes himself knows nothing regarding them, though he suspects they might be of extra-terrestrial origin, if for no other reason than the outlandish appearance of their machinery.
Locations:
New Sardis
Located across from Newport, Rhode Island, across Narragansett Bay, New Sardis was once one of the most relevant portual cities in the region. However, failure to modernise and a gradual decline in its position’s commercial importance have led to its progressive decay, moderated only lately by a number of service-providing companies taking an interest in its few, yet noteworthy investment opportunities. Nowadays, New Sardis is infamous for its dramatically under-staffed and ineffectual administration and police force; nonetheless, its legal infraction rate is astonishingly low for mysterious reasons, and organised criminality is limited to a negligible handful of street gangs within its boundaries (though the occasional disappearance tends to arouse suspicions on this matter).
Architecturally, the city reflects its recent erratic and almost haphazard development. Towers of glass and steel are often flanked by anachronistic pre-Edwardian houses, and the few piers still in use lie alongside numerous promontories of decaying wood.
Notable Features:
Saint Albertus Magnus Cathedral: A Catholic anomaly among New England’s sober Puritan temples, this imposing Gothic structure stands in the very centre of the city. Though both the Cathedral and the vast adjoining graveyard ought to be periodically restored by the urban authorities, the latter’s prolonged inactivity has enabled them to fall into such a state of sinister decrepitude that they tend to be fearfully shunned. Upon the Cathedral’s façade one can still barely discern the curious inscription “SOMNVS RATIONIS MONSTRA GENERAT”.
The Docklands: Once the city’s greatest hub of activity, the Docklands have long since degenerated into a veritable open-air slum, where New Sardis’s homeless population gathers in abandoned warehouses and it is deemed unsafe to pass with any valuables upon one’s person, lest these valuables unaccountably disappear. The few intact quays seem to be used solely for Aegis industrial shipments.
Istvan's Dragon: Since the end of World War II, the only enduring criminal element in New Sardis was that of outlaw biker clubs, ranging from free-spirited rebels to brutal thugs. Though local and small in size, they were numerous and, with the gradual decay of the city's police force, their influence became anything but invisible. Somewhere around the late 60's, the notorious drive bar known as Istvan's Dragon came to be, founded by an Eastern European immigrant. Located near in the Docklands, at the back of a small unimportant harbor, said establishment commonly served as a place for negotiations between different clubs, as well as a melting pot of all sorts of characters from the fringes of society over the years, until the eventual bloodbath that occurred in the early 90's. The Istvan Massacre was sparked by the rising tension between two rival clubs, leading to thirty casualties, seventeen of them being otherwise innocent patrons. The bar never recovered, and was left abandoned ever since. Along with the surrounding dock, it is now a sort of no man's land, as unwritten rules render it a sanctuary, prohibiting any sort of violence within it. Even law enforcement is wise enough to respect this condition. Despite its seemingly useful nature, the area remains abandoned, sparking urban legends of hauntings.
(Contribution by @Turbowraith)
“Atlantis” State Aquarium: New Sardis’s only possible tourist attraction, the Aquarium, built on local State funds with the backing of certain private bodies, is fitted with some of the most advanced equipment in its field. This has allowed for some daring experiments, such as the rare success of keeping giant cephalopods in captivity. The investment has proved fruitful, yielding large sums in the guise of admission fees and the sale of assorted merchandise.
Aegis Incorporated Complex: At some distance beyond the suburbs, surrounded by a stretch of forbidding wasteland, lies the ominous black citadel which serves simultaneously as headquarters, production plant and research establishment for the shadowy Aegis Inc. This comparatively young company, specialising in bellic and defensive technology, is said to have rapidly acquired a redoubtable power base, and, despite taking no interest in New Sardis itself, is almost universally dreaded by its inhabitants.
Do you know how to post pictures on RPG boards?:
Sample Post:
For days, the leaden sky which menacingly loomed over them, notwithstanding their steady motion - truth be told, at a velocity which would be deemed unacceptably low whence they had come, owing to the unfamiliar driving practices with which most visiting continentals were constrained to come to grips with - across the rather bleak landscape, had failed to deliver upon its threat of precipitation, which might have prompted them to jot down a note concerning the matter of “dispelling popular misconceptions about...”, had they been ever so rash in making assumptions (which they were) and actually interested in such an endeavour (which they were not). Notwithstanding the lack of sociological aspirations, they had unanimously concluded that the much-reviled Albionic climate might be better, or at least could not be quite so much worse than the only one they had hitherto known.
“Weren’t you thinking the same?” Johannes inquired, without, however, turning to face his companion.
“What?” the latter listlessly replied, in a tone dulled by a lengthy period of sitting and gazing before himself. One could, of course, argue that he had not been effectively doing anything beyond that, but that would probably elicited little more than genuine incomprehension.
“I say, that it has rained the entire time we were in Germany since we left, and some days before that, but not for a single hour while we have been here.”
“And Belgium.”
“What?”
“It’s also rained in Belgium.”
“Not in France, though.”
“A bit after the border, it did. What were you saying there, again?”
“No, I was saying, it seems to rain less here than in Germany, doesn’t it?”
“Could be. I think it also depends on the season. Don’t you remember we had a completely dry summer in Thüringen?”
“But that’s Thüringen.”
Having thus apparently exhausted their stimulating conversational subject, the pair finally exchanged a weary glance, then simultaneously turned backwards for a brief moment and eyed the sleeping Nejat with a hint of envy. The third member of their diminutive party lay all but sprawled on the back seat of the slightly battered automobile, amid rucksacks and satchels of varying sizes and colours, leaning toward the less tasteful end of the spectrum, with his feet a mere few inches away from resting upon an already abundantly scratched suitcase. His fellow-travellers found this all the more outrageous as he had not in the least contributed to their progress through virtually half of the (semi)continent, nor to the journey from Dover to Southampton, and yet was able to blissfully slumber for a length of time which would have put a sloth to shame, whereas neither Johannes, who steered the unreasonably crammed vehicle, nor Turan, who attempted to navigate their way by cycling through a series of maps, with the predictable result of frequently driving them to meander in such parts as they would never have dreamt of visiting, were able to enjoy a night’s rest without spinning about and repeatedly rising to raise or lower the blinds for some two hours beforehand. The final pause before the ferry boarding could have finally allowed them some respite before nearly a week of struggling against sea-sickness, yet even now they seemed to be unable to do anything but trade inconsequential remarks concerning the weather. How else could it be? The topic of their preliminary plans was already spent, and it was as yet too early to begin actually pondering their execution.
All of a sudden, a rap against the glass by his head startled Johannes from the slumber he had been, in spite of all, drifting into. Not a little irritated, he lowered it and turned to face the whiskered countenance of the customs officer peering from beyond it.
“What is it, my good man?” he asked, not immediately realising that his impromptu usage of a rather colloquial expression had yielded a potentially offensive result. Not that it would have concerned him, but it was somewhat embarrassing for being unintended.
“Excuse me, sir,” the man began quite civilly, probably not being altogether inexperienced in interacting with foreigners, “Your vehicle looks like it might be exceeding the weight limit.” Was its crammed state quite so visible? Most likely. Meanwhile, the boarding queue was beginning to move forth - and they were being detained by this overly zealous, or thus it seemed to him, fellow.
“I assure you that we have passed all necessary controls. Here, we have these tickets they give there. Turan, do you...”
But Turan had drifted away into a tranquil slumber. Curse him, could he think of no better moment? Johannes began hastily rooting through the sheaf of various printed pages - mostly maps - in his lap. Where could he have buried them? Before them, the path onto the vessel was now empty. Ah, that was quite enough. No more of this nonsense.
“Sir, do you have the...”
Johannes abruptly turned toward the mustachioed intruder and, gazing fixedly into his eyes, which made him stagger back in surprise, theatrically raised his right hand, with the palm stretched outwards. This gesture was functionally unnecessary, but what was life without a little flavour? He focused his mental energies upon the figure before him and, almost envisioning the outline of its psychic nucleus, hurled at it a brief sequence of visions - nothing especially astounding, but enough to serve their purpose.
The man staggered, flailing his arms as though he had suddenly lost his sight and were attempting to clutch it before it flew away. Failing to grasp any solid object, he nearly collapsed, but was able to moderate his fall by crouching with what seemed to be a supreme effort. After about a minute, the expression of his eyes grew slightly less wild, and he saw that the potentially overloaded automobile had already vanished beyond the ascension ramp. Rising totteringly to his full height, he waved reassuringly at the other drivers, who were looking at him with some concern, and moved toward his position with quivering steps.
Aboard the ship, Johannes smiled to himself with a hint of triumph. Petty, admittedly, but was life not likewise composed of simple pleasures? His mouth still set in its twisted shape, he let his thoughts hasten forwards. Soon, he would have crossed the ocean, and then the true merriment would begin. A world of adventure lay ahead.
Alias: Türk Filmleri Adam
Speech Color: Saddle Brown(8B4513). (Note: italicised text from Türk Filmleri Adam and his companions is spoken in German in-universe).
Character Alignment: Walking the Line
Identity: Secret
Character Personality: It would perhaps not be entirely accurate to describe Johannes as a modern hedonist, were it only for the fact that he lacks most of the glaring traits and habits commonly associated with that archetype; however, upon deeper reflection, it becomes apparent that there is simply no better definition to be given of him. There is little he truly cares for beyond his own, unconditional enjoyment. That said, he is neither so egoistic as not to include those few who have attained the privilege of his friendship and esteem into this aspiration, nor so weak-willed as to let himself be entirely mastered by his lusts, or to allow himself any sorts of the latter beyond the tamest ones. He sets pleasure as foremost among his goals in life; yet he does not mindlessly crawl toward it as many other do, nor lash himself into a frenzy which he then strives to assuage at any cost, but is capable of constructing logical and sufficiently elaborate plans to reach that end.
His demeanour is, in spite of the latter trait, not quite affected. Honest to the point of bluntness, abhorring as he does misunderstandings and quid pro quos, Johannes shall never hesitate to face whatever situation he might find himself stumbling into, exhibiting a bravado bordering with foolhardiness and an often uncalled-for flair for the dramatic in any conceivable circumstances. Such perilous traits are compounded by an almost unnaturally unshakable indifference to stimuli which would normally cause fear or anguish, seemingly acquired by Johannes along with his powers.
Uniform/costume:
Johannes has adopted as his makeshift costume a horrendous patchwork of scraps, cardboard and adhesive tape, completed by what seems to be a repurposed curtain and a clumsily glued-on false beard, to reflect his favoured pastime. He usually wields a short wooden javelin wrapped in colourful paper and a golden cardboard sword:
When not donning his heroic paraphernalia, he appears as the very epitome of the average youthful Mitteleuropean type, with nondescriptly light-brown hair and vaguely greyish eyes; more often than not, he wears cheap, anonymous sport-style clothing.
Origin Info/Details:
Johannes Schmidt was born in Berlin as the neighbouring Deutsche Demokratische Republik was breathing its last, and the entire country whereof he was a citizen was clamouring for the long-awaited unification which was finally at hand. It might have been that these events occurred too early in his life to leave any lasting impression, or that he soon felt he had had quite enough of them; however it might be, never in his life would he display any measure of national pride, or any other feeling, for that matter, nor would he regard politics with anything but slightly amused bafflement at the importance attributed to such fundamentally abstract matters.
As the Schmidts were a moderately well-to-do family, their latest offspring lacked nothing in the way of basic necessities, and had the possibility to trudge his way through the education system up to graduating in History at the Freie Universität. Though he never displayed a particular aptitude for academic learning, he compensated for his lack of exceptional skills with a diligent, disciplined approach to study, fuelled by the belief that it would all pay off someday. Though such an opinion was not altogether unjustified, the reward for these years of application was not as swift in arriving as Johannes expected, and throughout his first autonomous years he found himself drifting from one clerk-level occupation to another, ever seeking a suitable opportunity to rise through the ranks and ever being met with an indefinitely long, blind routine which left him quite discontented with the world at large and the employment sector in particular. It was at that time that he met Nejat Gucli and Turan Ahmad, his peers in age and position, whose Turkish descent had grown largely diluted by generations of more or less steady integration, reaching, they averred, back to the times of Friedrich the Great himself. Sympathy, first comradely, then personal soon sprang up between Johannes and the pair, and it was not long ere they introduced him to the ruling passion which had first united them, and soon captured him as well - namely, the somewhat perverse enjoyment of turksploitation films. Sitting till late at night before a smudged screen in Nejat and Turan’s apartment, Johannes nearly laughed himself ill at the inconceivable gymnastics of clumsily costumed actors whose expressive repertoire consisted entirely of fearsome grimaces, and swore repeatedly that there never could be enough pictures of that sort in the world. This marked the beginning of an enduring friendship between the trio, who rapidly grew inseparable - a condition which, among other things, offered distinct economic advantages, as the rent was paid collectively.
Then, one night, the unexpected occurred. Upon returning from the last workplace he had established himself at, Johannes happened to be strolling through a park, which, fortunately enough, lay directly across his path. Catching sight of a small, glimmering object on the ground before him, he bent to retrieve what seemed to be a coin, and was surprised when the minute item proved unexpectedly heavy and unaccountably cold to the touch. Upon closer scrutiny, he saw what he had lifted was indeed a metallic disk of some sort, but certainly not a monetary unit of any sort he was familiar with. The shining surface was a of a cerulean-veiled white in colour, and bands of iridescent light ran across it without any regularity or, indeed, motive. At that moment, he became aware of a chilling numbness spreading through his arm, and had barely enough time to be afraid before a sudden electric shock enveloped his mind and senses with impenetrable darkness.
Of what followed Johannes has but a dim recollection. He recalls awakening and passing out again at brief intervals, almost intermittently, in an environment whose appearance he has described as vaguely resembling a grimy, long-abandoned airport in a severe state of disrepair. Large greyish-green shapes often flitted at the corners of his vision which he is almost certain were living creatures, and he could have sworn that he occasionally heard, among the humming, rasping and clattering of machinery, grunting sounds of distinctly organic origin. He frequently found himself strapped to flat surfaces (it was unclear whether they were horizontal or vertical) surrounded by spinning lamps of indescribable colours, or at the core of vast, thundering mechanical constructs of unclear functions. Finally, he awoke facing a screen whereupon there appeared, in a slow, laborious sequence, a series of sentences written in what appeared to be a curious form of semi-phonetic English. UMIN YUR OGGANIZMS MENTOTIC POTANSHUL AZ BIN ALTRT flared the letters before him, mingling monstrous spelling with outright nonexistent words, YU WL UZIT AN MEK UZ SI | YU KEN. Thereupon a shock identical to the one which had heralded his arrival into that nightmare shot through him again, and, when next he regained consciousness, he was in the park where he first had stumbled upon the fateful coin-like lure.
His return home was met with astonishment, and he was informed by Nejat and Turan that he had been missing for a full week. Having initially devised a feeble alibi involving a deceased uncle, he was soon constrained to disclose to his friends what had truly transpired upon beginning to manifest certain startling abilities. Although he did not perceive anything unusual even while doing so, he frequently found himself telekinetically manipulating distant items with a mere effort of will, often unconsciously and without being in the least surprised by it himself. Additionally, at times he uncontrollably blasted images he was mentally envisioning into the senses of others, with his companions being the first collateral victims of this nascent power. It was not long before Johannes, who had recovered from the shock of his experience in startlingly little time, discovered that, by exerting his will, he was able to harness these abilities and direct them coherently, as well as to modify their effects as he pleased. In particular, seeing as he had grown able to select what images he projected into the minds of his targets, he adopted the psychic display of his beloved Turkish abject-series films as the signature of the image he had been building for himself - Türk Filmleri Adam (roughly “Turkish Film Man”), Berlin’s first resident superhero.
As the city had heretofore never known the salutary influence of superhuman protection, this figure, zealously assisted by Nejat and Turan, who met the opportunity of becoming Türk Filmleri Adam’s sidekicks with nothing short of glee, was in no shortage of occupations. However, his intents were not so pure as to warrant his diving headfirst into action. Rather, his priority was to negotiate a deal with the authorities, by which he would track malfeasants and consign them to justice - for a reasonable price. Nor was this partnership exclusive: Johannes thought little of selling his services to the highest bidder, even when the latter was a company seeking to instil dread into trade unions or accomplish some similarly morally dubious goal. The treatment which had granted Johannes his abilities appeared to have made him strangely callous, insofar as even the deaths of his parents due to illness did not seem to affect him. His friends, already not being especially idealistic individuals themselves, took his new demeanour in stride, as it was not reflected upon their relations.
After a couple of years, however, business began to grow scarce, and the days dull. Those of the most significant criminals who had not been neutralised, such as the local cell of one Shroud Syndicate, had gone into hiding beyond Türk Filmleri Adam’s rather clumsy reach, and the discipline reigning in the private sector was exemplary. Johannes and his companions had grown accustomed to adventure, and, being deprived of it, they began to cast their gazes toward more promising lands. On the other side of the ocean they had often heard that superhumans abounded, and, when Turan discovered that the city of New Sardis was (roughly) quite close to the areas of highest interest and offered some of the cheapest real estate they had ever seen, all doubts concerning their plans for the immediate future were dissolved.
Hero Type: Psychic
Power Level: City Level
Powers:
Mental Projection
The favoured offensive ability of Türk Filmleri Adam, this application of his skills enables him to subject his targets to specially conjured mental images by psychically affecting their sensory reception neural nodes. Those in the grip of this power find themselves experiencing entirely life-like visions, perceived as though they were themselves an integrating part thereof. Projections do not render their subjects unconscious, but usually leave them unable to act due to severe mental and physical disorientation and a painful strain upon the neural network (not to mention shock at the horrid nonsense they are forced to witness); prolonged exposure may result in permanent neural and psychological damage. The visions' end is as abrupt as their beginning, provoking nausea and a reeling sensation. Türk Filmleri Adam may extend his projections upon any number of individuals within his field of vision; however, he must maintain concentration in order for the effect to last, and tampering with the senses larger quantities of targets demands a proportionally greater effort.
Rudimentary Telekinesis
With a mere exertion of his will, Türk Filmleri Adam is able to affect physical bodies at a distance, thrusting them away from himself, pulling them in his direction or lifting them from whatever surface they might be resting upon. While the raw potential of this capability is impressive, it is unsuited for any sort of fine manipulation or actions requiring a grip lasting longer than two or three seconds.
Kinetic Armament
Türk Filmleri Adam's costume and weapons, being composed of harmless household materials, are scarcely a combat asset in their own right. However, by surrounding them with a malleable telekinetic field of compressed force and air, their wielder can grant them lacerating edges and sufficient toughness to withstand impacts equivalent to medium-calibre gunfire, though without entirely suppressing the ensuing vibrations. These enhancements require a moderate effort to activate, and last for as long as their generator remains actively conscious of them (thus, rendering him unconscious or entirely distracting his attention would cause them to fade).
Dünyayi Kurtaran Adam
In critical circumstances where his powers should result insufficient to fend off danger, Türk Filmleri Adam may, with a potent application of willpower, temporarily refine his telekinetic capabilities, becoming able to alter matter at a sub-molecular level. While thus empowered, he can atomically translocate his body, effectively teleporting across brief distances, disrupt the structure of inorganic matter, causing items to violently explode, and even concentrate light into blinding flashes. Upholding such a state is tremendously exacting, and it is impossible for a human of average resilience to prolong its effects for more than ten minutes.
Attributes:
Height: 5’7’’
Weight: 172 lb.
Strength Level: Normal Human / Up to about 5 tons with telekinesis
Speed/Reaction Timing Level: Normal Human
Endurance at MAXIMUM Effort: Normal Human
Agility: Normal Human
Intelligence: Average
Fighting Skill: Untrained
Weight: 172 lb.
Strength Level: Normal Human / Up to about 5 tons with telekinesis
Speed/Reaction Timing Level: Normal Human
Endurance at MAXIMUM Effort: Normal Human
Agility: Normal Human
Intelligence: Average
Fighting Skill: Untrained
Resources: Average
Weaknesses:
Human, All Too Human
For all his modified “mentotic potential”, Johannes remains a human being, and not an extraordinarily strong or clever one at that. He is no more invulnerable to wounds, diseases and various mishaps than any other person off the street.
The Limits of Faith
A curious aspect of the powers Johannes has been endowed with is the fact that they are fuelled by his own belief in what they can accomplish. Thus, any application thereof of whose success he is not entirely assured will prove ineffectual, even though it might have been theoretically plausible.
Power Tends to Tire
As mentioned, activating Johannes's psychic abilities requires an effort of will. Although the fatigue toll may initially seem negligible, it gradually waxes increasingly draining, and lengthy usage will often leave him exhausted.
Supporting Characters:
Nejat Gucli and Turan Ahmad: Johannes's long-time friends and, more recently, assistants in super-heroic endeavour, Nejat and Turan's characters seem to be pre-ordinately congenial to him and each other alike, sharing the same enjoyment-driven inclinations and cinematographical preferences. The main difference between the two's personalities lies in their attitudes: while Turan is usually more proactive (though this is a comparative term), Nejat bears a pronounced antipathy toward the very concept of effort, though, when hard-pressed, he has demonstrated a certain aptitude for lateral thinking.
The Experimenters: The mysterious beings responsible for abducting Johannes and endowing him with superhuman powers as a result of a not better described process (or “fiddling”, if one is less than lenient). Johannes himself knows nothing regarding them, though he suspects they might be of extra-terrestrial origin, if for no other reason than the outlandish appearance of their machinery.
Locations:
New Sardis
Located across from Newport, Rhode Island, across Narragansett Bay, New Sardis was once one of the most relevant portual cities in the region. However, failure to modernise and a gradual decline in its position’s commercial importance have led to its progressive decay, moderated only lately by a number of service-providing companies taking an interest in its few, yet noteworthy investment opportunities. Nowadays, New Sardis is infamous for its dramatically under-staffed and ineffectual administration and police force; nonetheless, its legal infraction rate is astonishingly low for mysterious reasons, and organised criminality is limited to a negligible handful of street gangs within its boundaries (though the occasional disappearance tends to arouse suspicions on this matter).
Architecturally, the city reflects its recent erratic and almost haphazard development. Towers of glass and steel are often flanked by anachronistic pre-Edwardian houses, and the few piers still in use lie alongside numerous promontories of decaying wood.
Notable Features:
Saint Albertus Magnus Cathedral: A Catholic anomaly among New England’s sober Puritan temples, this imposing Gothic structure stands in the very centre of the city. Though both the Cathedral and the vast adjoining graveyard ought to be periodically restored by the urban authorities, the latter’s prolonged inactivity has enabled them to fall into such a state of sinister decrepitude that they tend to be fearfully shunned. Upon the Cathedral’s façade one can still barely discern the curious inscription “SOMNVS RATIONIS MONSTRA GENERAT”.
The Docklands: Once the city’s greatest hub of activity, the Docklands have long since degenerated into a veritable open-air slum, where New Sardis’s homeless population gathers in abandoned warehouses and it is deemed unsafe to pass with any valuables upon one’s person, lest these valuables unaccountably disappear. The few intact quays seem to be used solely for Aegis industrial shipments.
Istvan's Dragon: Since the end of World War II, the only enduring criminal element in New Sardis was that of outlaw biker clubs, ranging from free-spirited rebels to brutal thugs. Though local and small in size, they were numerous and, with the gradual decay of the city's police force, their influence became anything but invisible. Somewhere around the late 60's, the notorious drive bar known as Istvan's Dragon came to be, founded by an Eastern European immigrant. Located near in the Docklands, at the back of a small unimportant harbor, said establishment commonly served as a place for negotiations between different clubs, as well as a melting pot of all sorts of characters from the fringes of society over the years, until the eventual bloodbath that occurred in the early 90's. The Istvan Massacre was sparked by the rising tension between two rival clubs, leading to thirty casualties, seventeen of them being otherwise innocent patrons. The bar never recovered, and was left abandoned ever since. Along with the surrounding dock, it is now a sort of no man's land, as unwritten rules render it a sanctuary, prohibiting any sort of violence within it. Even law enforcement is wise enough to respect this condition. Despite its seemingly useful nature, the area remains abandoned, sparking urban legends of hauntings.
(Contribution by @Turbowraith)
“Atlantis” State Aquarium: New Sardis’s only possible tourist attraction, the Aquarium, built on local State funds with the backing of certain private bodies, is fitted with some of the most advanced equipment in its field. This has allowed for some daring experiments, such as the rare success of keeping giant cephalopods in captivity. The investment has proved fruitful, yielding large sums in the guise of admission fees and the sale of assorted merchandise.
Aegis Incorporated Complex: At some distance beyond the suburbs, surrounded by a stretch of forbidding wasteland, lies the ominous black citadel which serves simultaneously as headquarters, production plant and research establishment for the shadowy Aegis Inc. This comparatively young company, specialising in bellic and defensive technology, is said to have rapidly acquired a redoubtable power base, and, despite taking no interest in New Sardis itself, is almost universally dreaded by its inhabitants.
Do you know how to post pictures on RPG boards?:
Sample Post:
For days, the leaden sky which menacingly loomed over them, notwithstanding their steady motion - truth be told, at a velocity which would be deemed unacceptably low whence they had come, owing to the unfamiliar driving practices with which most visiting continentals were constrained to come to grips with - across the rather bleak landscape, had failed to deliver upon its threat of precipitation, which might have prompted them to jot down a note concerning the matter of “dispelling popular misconceptions about...”, had they been ever so rash in making assumptions (which they were) and actually interested in such an endeavour (which they were not). Notwithstanding the lack of sociological aspirations, they had unanimously concluded that the much-reviled Albionic climate might be better, or at least could not be quite so much worse than the only one they had hitherto known.
“Weren’t you thinking the same?” Johannes inquired, without, however, turning to face his companion.
“What?” the latter listlessly replied, in a tone dulled by a lengthy period of sitting and gazing before himself. One could, of course, argue that he had not been effectively doing anything beyond that, but that would probably elicited little more than genuine incomprehension.
“I say, that it has rained the entire time we were in Germany since we left, and some days before that, but not for a single hour while we have been here.”
“And Belgium.”
“What?”
“It’s also rained in Belgium.”
“Not in France, though.”
“A bit after the border, it did. What were you saying there, again?”
“No, I was saying, it seems to rain less here than in Germany, doesn’t it?”
“Could be. I think it also depends on the season. Don’t you remember we had a completely dry summer in Thüringen?”
“But that’s Thüringen.”
Having thus apparently exhausted their stimulating conversational subject, the pair finally exchanged a weary glance, then simultaneously turned backwards for a brief moment and eyed the sleeping Nejat with a hint of envy. The third member of their diminutive party lay all but sprawled on the back seat of the slightly battered automobile, amid rucksacks and satchels of varying sizes and colours, leaning toward the less tasteful end of the spectrum, with his feet a mere few inches away from resting upon an already abundantly scratched suitcase. His fellow-travellers found this all the more outrageous as he had not in the least contributed to their progress through virtually half of the (semi)continent, nor to the journey from Dover to Southampton, and yet was able to blissfully slumber for a length of time which would have put a sloth to shame, whereas neither Johannes, who steered the unreasonably crammed vehicle, nor Turan, who attempted to navigate their way by cycling through a series of maps, with the predictable result of frequently driving them to meander in such parts as they would never have dreamt of visiting, were able to enjoy a night’s rest without spinning about and repeatedly rising to raise or lower the blinds for some two hours beforehand. The final pause before the ferry boarding could have finally allowed them some respite before nearly a week of struggling against sea-sickness, yet even now they seemed to be unable to do anything but trade inconsequential remarks concerning the weather. How else could it be? The topic of their preliminary plans was already spent, and it was as yet too early to begin actually pondering their execution.
All of a sudden, a rap against the glass by his head startled Johannes from the slumber he had been, in spite of all, drifting into. Not a little irritated, he lowered it and turned to face the whiskered countenance of the customs officer peering from beyond it.
“What is it, my good man?” he asked, not immediately realising that his impromptu usage of a rather colloquial expression had yielded a potentially offensive result. Not that it would have concerned him, but it was somewhat embarrassing for being unintended.
“Excuse me, sir,” the man began quite civilly, probably not being altogether inexperienced in interacting with foreigners, “Your vehicle looks like it might be exceeding the weight limit.” Was its crammed state quite so visible? Most likely. Meanwhile, the boarding queue was beginning to move forth - and they were being detained by this overly zealous, or thus it seemed to him, fellow.
“I assure you that we have passed all necessary controls. Here, we have these tickets they give there. Turan, do you...”
But Turan had drifted away into a tranquil slumber. Curse him, could he think of no better moment? Johannes began hastily rooting through the sheaf of various printed pages - mostly maps - in his lap. Where could he have buried them? Before them, the path onto the vessel was now empty. Ah, that was quite enough. No more of this nonsense.
“Sir, do you have the...”
Johannes abruptly turned toward the mustachioed intruder and, gazing fixedly into his eyes, which made him stagger back in surprise, theatrically raised his right hand, with the palm stretched outwards. This gesture was functionally unnecessary, but what was life without a little flavour? He focused his mental energies upon the figure before him and, almost envisioning the outline of its psychic nucleus, hurled at it a brief sequence of visions - nothing especially astounding, but enough to serve their purpose.
The man staggered, flailing his arms as though he had suddenly lost his sight and were attempting to clutch it before it flew away. Failing to grasp any solid object, he nearly collapsed, but was able to moderate his fall by crouching with what seemed to be a supreme effort. After about a minute, the expression of his eyes grew slightly less wild, and he saw that the potentially overloaded automobile had already vanished beyond the ascension ramp. Rising totteringly to his full height, he waved reassuringly at the other drivers, who were looking at him with some concern, and moved toward his position with quivering steps.
Aboard the ship, Johannes smiled to himself with a hint of triumph. Petty, admittedly, but was life not likewise composed of simple pleasures? His mouth still set in its twisted shape, he let his thoughts hasten forwards. Soon, he would have crossed the ocean, and then the true merriment would begin. A world of adventure lay ahead.
@nitemare shape @Dedonus
Hoping I am not overly intrusive, would my character be approved, or does he require further amendments?
Hoping I am not overly intrusive, would my character be approved, or does he require further amendments?
And here is, at long last, my character sheet.
Character you have created: Johannes Schmidt
Alias: Türk Filmleri Adam
Speech Color: Saddle Brown(8B4513). (Note: italicised text from Türk Filmleri Adam and his companions is spoken in German in-universe).
Character Alignment: Walking the Line
Identity: Secret
Character Personality: It would perhaps not be entirely accurate to describe Johannes as a modern hedonist, were it only for the fact that he lacks most of the glaring traits and habits commonly associated with that archetype; however, upon deeper reflection, it becomes apparent that there is simply no better definition to be given of him. There is little he truly cares for beyond his own, unconditional enjoyment. That said, he is neither so egoistic as not to include those few who have attained the privilege of his friendship and esteem into this aspiration, nor so weak-willed as to let himself be entirely mastered by his lusts, or to allow himself any sorts of the latter beyond the tamest ones. He sets pleasure as foremost among his goals in life; yet he does not mindlessly crawl toward it as many other do, nor lash himself into a frenzy which he then strives to assuage at any cost, but is capable of constructing logical and sufficiently elaborate plans to reach that end.
His demeanour is, in spite of the latter trait, not quite affected. Honest to the point of bluntness, abhorring as he does misunderstandings and quid pro quos, Johannes shall never hesitate to face whatever situation he might find himself stumbling into, exhibiting a bravado bordering with foolhardiness and an often uncalled-for flair for the dramatic in any conceivable circumstances. Such perilous traits are compounded by an almost unnaturally unshakable indifference to stimuli which would normally cause fear or anguish, seemingly acquired by Johannes along with his powers.
Uniform/costume:
Johannes has adopted as his makeshift costume a horrendous patchwork of scraps, cardboard and adhesive tape, completed by what seems to be a repurposed curtain and a clumsily glued-on false beard, to reflect his favoured pastime. He usually wields a short wooden javelin wrapped in colourful paper and a golden cardboard sword:
When not donning his heroic paraphernalia, he appears as the very epitome of the average youthful Mitteleuropean type, with nondescriptly light-brown hair and vaguely greyish eyes; more often than not, he wears cheap, anonymous sport-style clothing.
Origin Info/Details:
Johannes Schmidt was born in Berlin as the neighbouring Deutsche Demokratische Republik was breathing its last, and the entire country whereof he was a citizen was clamouring for the long-awaited unification which was finally at hand. It might have been that these events occurred too early in his life to leave any lasting impression, or that he soon felt he had had quite enough of them; however it might be, never in his life would he display any measure of national pride, or any other feeling, for that matter, nor would he regard politics with anything but slightly amused bafflement at the importance attributed to such fundamentally abstract matters.
As the Schmidts were a moderately well-to-do family, their latest offspring lacked nothing in the way of basic necessities, and had the possibility to trudge his way through the education system up to graduating in History at the Freie Universität. Though he never displayed a particular aptitude for academic learning, he compensated for his lack of exceptional skills with a diligent, disciplined approach to study, fuelled by the belief that it would all pay off someday. Though such an opinion was not altogether unjustified, the reward for these years of application was not as swift in arriving as Johannes expected, and throughout his first autonomous years he found himself drifting from one clerk-level occupation to another, ever seeking a suitable opportunity to rise through the ranks and ever being met with an indefinitely long, blind routine which left him quite discontented with the world at large and the employment sector in particular. It was at that time that he met Nejat Gucli and Turan Ahmad, his peers in age and position, whose Turkish descent had grown largely diluted by generations of more or less steady integration, reaching, they averred, back to the times of Friedrich the Great himself. Sympathy, first comradely, then personal soon sprang up between Johannes and the pair, and it was not long ere they introduced him to the ruling passion which had first united them, and soon captured him as well - namely, the somewhat perverse enjoyment of turksploitation films. Sitting till late at night before a smudged screen in Nejat and Turan’s apartment, Johannes nearly laughed himself ill at the inconceivable gymnastics of clumsily costumed actors whose expressive repertoire consisted entirely of fearsome grimaces, and swore repeatedly that there never could be enough pictures of that sort in the world. This marked the beginning of an enduring friendship between the trio, who rapidly grew inseparable - a condition which, among other things, offered distinct economic advantages, as the rent was paid collectively.
Then, one night, the unexpected occurred. Upon returning from the last workplace he had established himself at, Johannes happened to be strolling through a park, which, fortunately enough, lay directly across his path. Catching sight of a small, glimmering object on the ground before him, he bent to retrieve what seemed to be a coin, and was surprised when the minute item proved unexpectedly heavy and unaccountably cold to the touch. Upon closer scrutiny, he saw what he had lifted was indeed a metallic disk of some sort, but certainly not a monetary unit of any sort he was familiar with. The shining surface was a of a cerulean-veiled white in colour, and bands of iridescent light ran across it without any regularity or, indeed, motive. At that moment, he became aware of a chilling numbness spreading through his arm, and had barely enough time to be afraid before a sudden electric shock enveloped his mind and senses with impenetrable darkness.
Of what followed Johannes has but a dim recollection. He recalls awakening and passing out again at brief intervals, almost intermittently, in an environment whose appearance he has described as vaguely resembling a grimy, long-abandoned airport in a severe state of disrepair. Large greyish-green shapes often flitted at the corners of his vision which he is almost certain were living creatures, and he could have sworn that he occasionally heard, among the humming, rasping and clattering of machinery, grunting sounds of distinctly organic origin. He frequently found himself strapped to flat surfaces (it was unclear whether they were horizontal or vertical) surrounded by spinning lamps of indescribable colours, or at the core of vast, thundering mechanical constructs of unclear functions. Finally, he awoke facing a screen whereupon there appeared, in a slow, laborious sequence, a series of sentences written in what appeared to be a curious form of semi-phonetic English. UMIN YUR OGGANIZMS MENTOTIC POTANSHUL AZ BIN ALTRT flared the letters before him, mingling monstrous spelling with outright nonexistent words, YU WL UZIT AN MEK UZ SI | YU KEN. Thereupon a shock identical to the one which had heralded his arrival into that nightmare shot through him again, and, when next he regained consciousness, he was in the park where he first had stumbled upon the fateful coin-like lure.
His return home was met with astonishment, and he was informed by Nejat and Turan that he had been missing for a full week. Having initially devised a feeble alibi involving a deceased uncle, he was soon constrained to disclose to his friends what had truly transpired upon beginning to manifest certain startling abilities. Although he did not perceive anything unusual even while doing so, he frequently found himself telekinetically manipulating distant items with a mere effort of will, often unconsciously and without being in the least surprised by it himself. Additionally, at times he uncontrollably blasted images he was mentally envisioning into the senses of others, with his companions being the first collateral victims of this nascent power. It was not long before Johannes, who had recovered from the shock of his experience in startlingly little time, discovered that, by exerting his will, he was able to harness these abilities and direct them coherently, as well as to modify their effects as he pleased. In particular, seeing as he had grown able to select what images he projected into the minds of his targets, he adopted the psychic display of his beloved Turkish abject-series films as the signature of the image he had been building for himself - Türk Filmleri Adam (roughly “Turkish Film Man”), Berlin’s first resident superhero.
As the city had heretofore never known the salutary influence of superhuman protection, this figure, zealously assisted by Nejat and Turan, who met the opportunity of becoming Türk Filmleri Adam’s sidekicks with nothing short of glee, was in no shortage of occupations. However, his intents were not so pure as to warrant his diving headfirst into action. Rather, his priority was to negotiate a deal with the authorities, by which he would track malfeasants and consign them to justice - for a reasonable price. Nor was this partnership exclusive: Johannes thought little of selling his services to the highest bidder, even when the latter was a company seeking to instil dread into trade unions or accomplish some similarly morally dubious goal. The treatment which had granted Johannes his abilities appeared to have made him strangely callous, insofar as even the deaths of his parents due to illness did not seem to affect him. His friends, already not being especially idealistic individuals themselves, took his new demeanour in stride, as it was not reflected upon their relations.
After a couple of years, however, business began to grow scarce, and the days dull. Those of the most significant criminals who had not been neutralised, such as the local cell of one Shroud Syndicate, had gone into hiding beyond Türk Filmleri Adam’s rather clumsy reach, and the discipline reigning in the private sector was exemplary. Johannes and his companions had grown accustomed to adventure, and, being deprived of it, they began to cast their gazes toward more promising lands. On the other side of the ocean they had often heard that superhumans abounded, and, when Turan discovered that the city of New Sardis was (roughly) quite close to the areas of highest interest and offered some of the cheapest real estate they had ever seen, all doubts concerning their plans for the immediate future were dissolved.
Hero Type: Psychic
Power Level: City Level
Powers:
Mental Projection
The favoured offensive ability of Türk Filmleri Adam, this application of his skills enables him to subject his targets to specially conjured mental images by psychically affecting their sensory reception neural nodes. Those in the grip of this power find themselves experiencing entirely life-like visions, perceived as though they were themselves an integrating part thereof. Projections do not render their subjects unconscious, but usually leave them unable to act due to severe mental and physical disorientation and a painful strain upon the neural network (not to mention shock at the horrid nonsense they are forced to witness); prolonged exposure may result in permanent neural and psychological damage. The visions' end is as abrupt as their beginning, provoking nausea and a reeling sensation. Türk Filmleri Adam may extend his projections upon any number of individuals within his field of vision; however, he must maintain concentration in order for the effect to last, and tampering with the senses larger quantities of targets demands a proportionally greater effort.
Rudimentary Telekinesis
With a mere exertion of his will, Türk Filmleri Adam is able to affect physical bodies at a distance, thrusting them away from himself, pulling them in his direction or lifting them from whatever surface they might be resting upon. While the raw potential of this capability is impressive, it is unsuited for any sort of fine manipulation or actions requiring a grip lasting longer than two or three seconds.
Kinetic Armament
Türk Filmleri Adam's costume and weapons, being composed of harmless household materials, are scarcely a combat asset in their own right. However, by surrounding them with a malleable telekinetic field of compressed force and air, their wielder can grant them lacerating edges and sufficient toughness to withstand impacts equivalent to medium-calibre gunfire, though without entirely suppressing the ensuing vibrations. These enhancements require a moderate effort to activate, and last for as long as their generator remains actively conscious of them (thus, rendering him unconscious or entirely distracting his attention would cause them to fade).
Dünyayi Kurtaran Adam
In critical circumstances where his powers should result insufficient to fend off danger, Türk Filmleri Adam may, with a potent application of willpower, temporarily refine his telekinetic capabilities, becoming able to alter matter at a sub-molecular level. While thus empowered, he can atomically translocate his body, effectively teleporting across brief distances, disrupt the structure of inorganic matter, causing items to violently explode, and even concentrate light into blinding flashes. Upholding such a state is tremendously exacting, and it is impossible for a human of average resilience to prolong its effects for more than ten minutes.
Attributes:
Resources: Average
Weaknesses:
Human, All Too Human
For all his modified “mentotic potential”, Johannes remains a human being, and not an extraordinarily strong or clever one at that. He is no more invulnerable to wounds, diseases and various mishaps than any other person off the street.
The Limits of Faith
A curious aspect of the powers Johannes has been endowed with is the fact that they are fuelled by his own belief in what they can accomplish. Thus, any application thereof of whose success he is not entirely assured will prove ineffectual, even though it might have been theoretically plausible.
Power Tends to Tire
As mentioned, activating Johannes's psychic abilities requires an effort of will. Although the fatigue toll may initially seem negligible, it gradually waxes increasingly draining, and lengthy usage will often leave him exhausted.
Supporting Characters:
Nejat Gucli and Turan Ahmad: Johannes's long-time friends and, more recently, assistants in super-heroic endeavour, Nejat and Turan's characters seem to be pre-ordinately congenial to him and each other alike, sharing the same enjoyment-driven inclinations and cinematographical preferences. The main difference between the two's personalities lies in their attitudes: while Turan is usually more proactive (though this is a comparative term), Nejat bears a pronounced antipathy toward the very concept of effort, though, when hard-pressed, he has demonstrated a certain aptitude for lateral thinking.
The Experimenters: The mysterious beings responsible for abducting Johannes and endowing him with superhuman powers as a result of a not better described process (or “fiddling”, if one is less than lenient). Johannes himself knows nothing regarding them, though he suspects they might be of extra-terrestrial origin, if for no other reason than the outlandish appearance of their machinery.
Locations:
New Sardis
Located across from Newport, Rhode Island, across Narragansett Bay, New Sardis was once one of the most relevant portual cities in the region. However, failure to modernise and a gradual decline in its position’s commercial importance have led to its progressive decay, moderated only lately by a number of service-providing companies taking an interest in its few, yet noteworthy investment opportunities. Nowadays, New Sardis is infamous for its dramatically under-staffed and ineffectual administration and police force; nonetheless, its legal infraction rate is astonishingly low for mysterious reasons, and organised criminality is limited to a negligible handful of street gangs within its boundaries (though the occasional disappearance tends to arouse suspicions on this matter).
Architecturally, the city reflects its recent erratic and almost haphazard development. Towers of glass and steel are often flanked by anachronistic pre-Edwardian houses, and the few piers still in use lie alongside numerous promontories of decaying wood.
Notable Features:
Saint Albertus Magnus Cathedral: A Catholic anomaly among New England’s sober Puritan temples, this imposing Gothic structure stands in the very centre of the city. Though both the Cathedral and the vast adjoining graveyard ought to be periodically restored by the urban authorities, the latter’s prolonged inactivity has enabled them to fall into such a state of sinister decrepitude that they tend to be fearfully shunned. Upon the Cathedral’s façade one can still barely discern the curious inscription “SOMNVS RATIONIS MONSTRA GENERAT”.
The Docklands: Once the city’s greatest hub of activity, the Docklands have long since degenerated into a veritable open-air slum, where New Sardis’s homeless population gathers in abandoned warehouses and it is deemed unsafe to pass with any valuables upon one’s person, lest these valuables unaccountably disappear. The few intact quays seem to be used solely for Aegis industrial shipments.
Istvan's Dragon: Since the end of World War II, the only enduring criminal element in New Sardis was that of outlaw biker clubs, ranging from free-spirited rebels to brutal thugs. Though local and small in size, they were numerous and, with the gradual decay of the city's police force, their influence became anything but invisible. Somewhere around the late 60's, the notorious drive bar known as Istvan's Dragon came to be, founded by an Eastern European immigrant. Located near in the Docklands, at the back of a small unimportant harbor, said establishment commonly served as a place for negotiations between different clubs, as well as a melting pot of all sorts of characters from the fringes of society over the years, until the eventual bloodbath that occurred in the early 90's. The Istvan Massacre was sparked by the rising tension between two rival clubs, leading to thirty casualties, seventeen of them being otherwise innocent patrons. The bar never recovered, and was left abandoned ever since. Along with the surrounding dock, it is now a sort of no man's land, as unwritten rules render it a sanctuary, prohibiting any sort of violence within it. Even law enforcement is wise enough to respect this condition. Despite its seemingly useful nature, the area remains abandoned, sparking urban legends of hauntings.
(Contribution by @Turbowraith)
“Atlantis” State Aquarium: New Sardis’s only possible tourist attraction, the Aquarium, built on local State funds with the backing of certain private bodies, is fitted with some of the most advanced equipment in its field. This has allowed for some daring experiments, such as the rare success of keeping giant cephalopods in captivity. The investment has proved fruitful, yielding large sums in the guise of admission fees and the sale of assorted merchandise.
Aegis Incorporated Complex: At some distance beyond the suburbs, surrounded by a stretch of forbidding wasteland, lies the ominous black citadel which serves simultaneously as headquarters, production plant and research establishment for the shadowy Aegis Inc. This comparatively young company, specialising in bellic and defensive technology, is said to have rapidly acquired a redoubtable power base, and, despite taking no interest in New Sardis itself, is almost universally dreaded by its inhabitants.
Do you know how to post pictures on RPG boards?:
Sample Post:
For days, the leaden sky which menacingly loomed over them, notwithstanding their steady motion - truth be told, at a velocity which would be deemed unacceptably low whence they had come, owing to the unfamiliar driving practices with which most visiting continentals were constrained to come to grips with - across the rather bleak landscape, had failed to deliver upon its threat of precipitation, which might have prompted them to jot down a note concerning the matter of “dispelling popular misconceptions about...”, had they been ever so rash in making assumptions (which they were) and actually interested in such an endeavour (which they were not). Notwithstanding the lack of sociological aspirations, they had unanimously concluded that the much-reviled Albionic climate might be better, or at least could not be quite so much worse than the only one they had hitherto known.
“Weren’t you thinking the same?” Johannes inquired, without, however, turning to face his companion.
“What?” the latter listlessly replied, in a tone dulled by a lengthy period of sitting and gazing before himself. One could, of course, argue that he had not been effectively doing anything beyond that, but that would probably elicited little more than genuine incomprehension.
“I say, that it has rained the entire time we were in Germany since we left, and some days before that, but not for a single hour while we have been here.”
“And Belgium.”
“What?”
“It’s also rained in Belgium.”
“Not in France, though.”
“A bit after the border, it did. What were you saying there, again?”
“No, I was saying, it seems to rain less here than in Germany, doesn’t it?”
“Could be. I think it also depends on the season. Don’t you remember we had a completely dry summer in Thüringen?”
“But that’s Thüringen.”
Having thus apparently exhausted their stimulating conversational subject, the pair finally exchanged a weary glance, then simultaneously turned backwards for a brief moment and eyed the sleeping Nejat with a hint of envy. The third member of their diminutive party lay all but sprawled on the back seat of the slightly battered automobile, amid rucksacks and satchels of varying sizes and colours, leaning toward the less tasteful end of the spectrum, with his feet a mere few inches away from resting upon an already abundantly scratched suitcase. His fellow-travellers found this all the more outrageous as he had not in the least contributed to their progress through virtually half of the (semi)continent, nor to the journey from Dover to Southampton, and yet was able to blissfully slumber for a length of time which would have put a sloth to shame, whereas neither Johannes, who steered the unreasonably crammed vehicle, nor Turan, who attempted to navigate their way by cycling through a series of maps, with the predictable result of frequently driving them to meander in such parts as they would never have dreamt of visiting, were able to enjoy a night’s rest without spinning about and repeatedly rising to raise or lower the blinds for some two hours beforehand. The final pause before the ferry boarding could have finally allowed them some respite before nearly a week of struggling against sea-sickness, yet even now they seemed to be unable to do anything but trade inconsequential remarks concerning the weather. How else could it be? The topic of their preliminary plans was already spent, and it was as yet too early to begin actually pondering their execution.
All of a sudden, a rap against the glass by his head startled Johannes from the slumber he had been, in spite of all, drifting into. Not a little irritated, he lowered it and turned to face the whiskered countenance of the customs officer peering from beyond it.
“What is it, my good man?” he asked, not immediately realising that his impromptu usage of a rather colloquial expression had yielded a potentially offensive result. Not that it would have concerned him, but it was somewhat embarrassing for being unintended.
“Excuse me, sir,” the man began quite civilly, probably not being altogether inexperienced in interacting with foreigners, “Your vehicle looks like it might be exceeding the weight limit.” Was its crammed state quite so visible? Most likely. Meanwhile, the boarding queue was beginning to move forth - and they were being detained by this overly zealous, or thus it seemed to him, fellow.
“I assure you that we have passed all necessary controls. Here, we have these tickets they give there. Turan, do you...”
But Turan had drifted away into a tranquil slumber. Curse him, could he think of no better moment? Johannes began hastily rooting through the sheaf of various printed pages - mostly maps - in his lap. Where could he have buried them? Before them, the path onto the vessel was now empty. Ah, that was quite enough. No more of this nonsense.
“Sir, do you have the...”
Johannes abruptly turned toward the mustachioed intruder and, gazing fixedly into his eyes, which made him stagger back in surprise, theatrically raised his right hand, with the palm stretched outwards. This gesture was functionally unnecessary, but what was life without a little flavour? He focused his mental energies upon the figure before him and, almost envisioning the outline of its psychic nucleus, hurled at it a brief sequence of visions - nothing especially astounding, but enough to serve their purpose.
The man staggered, flailing his arms as though he had suddenly lost his sight and were attempting to clutch it before it flew away. Failing to grasp any solid object, he nearly collapsed, but was able to moderate his fall by crouching with what seemed to be a supreme effort. After about a minute, the expression of his eyes grew slightly less wild, and he saw that the potentially overloaded automobile had already vanished beyond the ascension ramp. Rising totteringly to his full height, he waved reassuringly at the other drivers, who were looking at him with some concern, and moved toward his position with quivering steps.
Aboard the ship, Johannes smiled to himself with a hint of triumph. Petty, admittedly, but was life not likewise composed of simple pleasures? His mouth still set in its twisted shape, he let his thoughts hasten forwards. Soon, he would have crossed the ocean, and then the true merriment would begin. A world of adventure lay ahead.
Character you have created: Johannes Schmidt
Alias: Türk Filmleri Adam
Speech Color: Saddle Brown(8B4513). (Note: italicised text from Türk Filmleri Adam and his companions is spoken in German in-universe).
Character Alignment: Walking the Line
Identity: Secret
Character Personality: It would perhaps not be entirely accurate to describe Johannes as a modern hedonist, were it only for the fact that he lacks most of the glaring traits and habits commonly associated with that archetype; however, upon deeper reflection, it becomes apparent that there is simply no better definition to be given of him. There is little he truly cares for beyond his own, unconditional enjoyment. That said, he is neither so egoistic as not to include those few who have attained the privilege of his friendship and esteem into this aspiration, nor so weak-willed as to let himself be entirely mastered by his lusts, or to allow himself any sorts of the latter beyond the tamest ones. He sets pleasure as foremost among his goals in life; yet he does not mindlessly crawl toward it as many other do, nor lash himself into a frenzy which he then strives to assuage at any cost, but is capable of constructing logical and sufficiently elaborate plans to reach that end.
His demeanour is, in spite of the latter trait, not quite affected. Honest to the point of bluntness, abhorring as he does misunderstandings and quid pro quos, Johannes shall never hesitate to face whatever situation he might find himself stumbling into, exhibiting a bravado bordering with foolhardiness and an often uncalled-for flair for the dramatic in any conceivable circumstances. Such perilous traits are compounded by an almost unnaturally unshakable indifference to stimuli which would normally cause fear or anguish, seemingly acquired by Johannes along with his powers.
Uniform/costume:
Johannes has adopted as his makeshift costume a horrendous patchwork of scraps, cardboard and adhesive tape, completed by what seems to be a repurposed curtain and a clumsily glued-on false beard, to reflect his favoured pastime. He usually wields a short wooden javelin wrapped in colourful paper and a golden cardboard sword:
When not donning his heroic paraphernalia, he appears as the very epitome of the average youthful Mitteleuropean type, with nondescriptly light-brown hair and vaguely greyish eyes; more often than not, he wears cheap, anonymous sport-style clothing.
Origin Info/Details:
Johannes Schmidt was born in Berlin as the neighbouring Deutsche Demokratische Republik was breathing its last, and the entire country whereof he was a citizen was clamouring for the long-awaited unification which was finally at hand. It might have been that these events occurred too early in his life to leave any lasting impression, or that he soon felt he had had quite enough of them; however it might be, never in his life would he display any measure of national pride, or any other feeling, for that matter, nor would he regard politics with anything but slightly amused bafflement at the importance attributed to such fundamentally abstract matters.
As the Schmidts were a moderately well-to-do family, their latest offspring lacked nothing in the way of basic necessities, and had the possibility to trudge his way through the education system up to graduating in History at the Freie Universität. Though he never displayed a particular aptitude for academic learning, he compensated for his lack of exceptional skills with a diligent, disciplined approach to study, fuelled by the belief that it would all pay off someday. Though such an opinion was not altogether unjustified, the reward for these years of application was not as swift in arriving as Johannes expected, and throughout his first autonomous years he found himself drifting from one clerk-level occupation to another, ever seeking a suitable opportunity to rise through the ranks and ever being met with an indefinitely long, blind routine which left him quite discontented with the world at large and the employment sector in particular. It was at that time that he met Nejat Gucli and Turan Ahmad, his peers in age and position, whose Turkish descent had grown largely diluted by generations of more or less steady integration, reaching, they averred, back to the times of Friedrich the Great himself. Sympathy, first comradely, then personal soon sprang up between Johannes and the pair, and it was not long ere they introduced him to the ruling passion which had first united them, and soon captured him as well - namely, the somewhat perverse enjoyment of turksploitation films. Sitting till late at night before a smudged screen in Nejat and Turan’s apartment, Johannes nearly laughed himself ill at the inconceivable gymnastics of clumsily costumed actors whose expressive repertoire consisted entirely of fearsome grimaces, and swore repeatedly that there never could be enough pictures of that sort in the world. This marked the beginning of an enduring friendship between the trio, who rapidly grew inseparable - a condition which, among other things, offered distinct economic advantages, as the rent was paid collectively.
Then, one night, the unexpected occurred. Upon returning from the last workplace he had established himself at, Johannes happened to be strolling through a park, which, fortunately enough, lay directly across his path. Catching sight of a small, glimmering object on the ground before him, he bent to retrieve what seemed to be a coin, and was surprised when the minute item proved unexpectedly heavy and unaccountably cold to the touch. Upon closer scrutiny, he saw what he had lifted was indeed a metallic disk of some sort, but certainly not a monetary unit of any sort he was familiar with. The shining surface was a of a cerulean-veiled white in colour, and bands of iridescent light ran across it without any regularity or, indeed, motive. At that moment, he became aware of a chilling numbness spreading through his arm, and had barely enough time to be afraid before a sudden electric shock enveloped his mind and senses with impenetrable darkness.
Of what followed Johannes has but a dim recollection. He recalls awakening and passing out again at brief intervals, almost intermittently, in an environment whose appearance he has described as vaguely resembling a grimy, long-abandoned airport in a severe state of disrepair. Large greyish-green shapes often flitted at the corners of his vision which he is almost certain were living creatures, and he could have sworn that he occasionally heard, among the humming, rasping and clattering of machinery, grunting sounds of distinctly organic origin. He frequently found himself strapped to flat surfaces (it was unclear whether they were horizontal or vertical) surrounded by spinning lamps of indescribable colours, or at the core of vast, thundering mechanical constructs of unclear functions. Finally, he awoke facing a screen whereupon there appeared, in a slow, laborious sequence, a series of sentences written in what appeared to be a curious form of semi-phonetic English. UMIN YUR OGGANIZMS MENTOTIC POTANSHUL AZ BIN ALTRT flared the letters before him, mingling monstrous spelling with outright nonexistent words, YU WL UZIT AN MEK UZ SI | YU KEN. Thereupon a shock identical to the one which had heralded his arrival into that nightmare shot through him again, and, when next he regained consciousness, he was in the park where he first had stumbled upon the fateful coin-like lure.
His return home was met with astonishment, and he was informed by Nejat and Turan that he had been missing for a full week. Having initially devised a feeble alibi involving a deceased uncle, he was soon constrained to disclose to his friends what had truly transpired upon beginning to manifest certain startling abilities. Although he did not perceive anything unusual even while doing so, he frequently found himself telekinetically manipulating distant items with a mere effort of will, often unconsciously and without being in the least surprised by it himself. Additionally, at times he uncontrollably blasted images he was mentally envisioning into the senses of others, with his companions being the first collateral victims of this nascent power. It was not long before Johannes, who had recovered from the shock of his experience in startlingly little time, discovered that, by exerting his will, he was able to harness these abilities and direct them coherently, as well as to modify their effects as he pleased. In particular, seeing as he had grown able to select what images he projected into the minds of his targets, he adopted the psychic display of his beloved Turkish abject-series films as the signature of the image he had been building for himself - Türk Filmleri Adam (roughly “Turkish Film Man”), Berlin’s first resident superhero.
As the city had heretofore never known the salutary influence of superhuman protection, this figure, zealously assisted by Nejat and Turan, who met the opportunity of becoming Türk Filmleri Adam’s sidekicks with nothing short of glee, was in no shortage of occupations. However, his intents were not so pure as to warrant his diving headfirst into action. Rather, his priority was to negotiate a deal with the authorities, by which he would track malfeasants and consign them to justice - for a reasonable price. Nor was this partnership exclusive: Johannes thought little of selling his services to the highest bidder, even when the latter was a company seeking to instil dread into trade unions or accomplish some similarly morally dubious goal. The treatment which had granted Johannes his abilities appeared to have made him strangely callous, insofar as even the deaths of his parents due to illness did not seem to affect him. His friends, already not being especially idealistic individuals themselves, took his new demeanour in stride, as it was not reflected upon their relations.
After a couple of years, however, business began to grow scarce, and the days dull. Those of the most significant criminals who had not been neutralised, such as the local cell of one Shroud Syndicate, had gone into hiding beyond Türk Filmleri Adam’s rather clumsy reach, and the discipline reigning in the private sector was exemplary. Johannes and his companions had grown accustomed to adventure, and, being deprived of it, they began to cast their gazes toward more promising lands. On the other side of the ocean they had often heard that superhumans abounded, and, when Turan discovered that the city of New Sardis was (roughly) quite close to the areas of highest interest and offered some of the cheapest real estate they had ever seen, all doubts concerning their plans for the immediate future were dissolved.
Hero Type: Psychic
Power Level: City Level
Powers:
Mental Projection
The favoured offensive ability of Türk Filmleri Adam, this application of his skills enables him to subject his targets to specially conjured mental images by psychically affecting their sensory reception neural nodes. Those in the grip of this power find themselves experiencing entirely life-like visions, perceived as though they were themselves an integrating part thereof. Projections do not render their subjects unconscious, but usually leave them unable to act due to severe mental and physical disorientation and a painful strain upon the neural network (not to mention shock at the horrid nonsense they are forced to witness); prolonged exposure may result in permanent neural and psychological damage. The visions' end is as abrupt as their beginning, provoking nausea and a reeling sensation. Türk Filmleri Adam may extend his projections upon any number of individuals within his field of vision; however, he must maintain concentration in order for the effect to last, and tampering with the senses larger quantities of targets demands a proportionally greater effort.
Rudimentary Telekinesis
With a mere exertion of his will, Türk Filmleri Adam is able to affect physical bodies at a distance, thrusting them away from himself, pulling them in his direction or lifting them from whatever surface they might be resting upon. While the raw potential of this capability is impressive, it is unsuited for any sort of fine manipulation or actions requiring a grip lasting longer than two or three seconds.
Kinetic Armament
Türk Filmleri Adam's costume and weapons, being composed of harmless household materials, are scarcely a combat asset in their own right. However, by surrounding them with a malleable telekinetic field of compressed force and air, their wielder can grant them lacerating edges and sufficient toughness to withstand impacts equivalent to medium-calibre gunfire, though without entirely suppressing the ensuing vibrations. These enhancements require a moderate effort to activate, and last for as long as their generator remains actively conscious of them (thus, rendering him unconscious or entirely distracting his attention would cause them to fade).
Dünyayi Kurtaran Adam
In critical circumstances where his powers should result insufficient to fend off danger, Türk Filmleri Adam may, with a potent application of willpower, temporarily refine his telekinetic capabilities, becoming able to alter matter at a sub-molecular level. While thus empowered, he can atomically translocate his body, effectively teleporting across brief distances, disrupt the structure of inorganic matter, causing items to violently explode, and even concentrate light into blinding flashes. Upholding such a state is tremendously exacting, and it is impossible for a human of average resilience to prolong its effects for more than ten minutes.
Attributes:
Height: 5’7’’
Weight: 172 lb.
Strength Level: Normal Human / Up to about 5 tons with telekinesis
Speed/Reaction Timing Level: Normal Human
Endurance at MAXIMUM Effort: Normal Human
Agility: Normal Human
Intelligence: Average
Fighting Skill: Untrained
Weight: 172 lb.
Strength Level: Normal Human / Up to about 5 tons with telekinesis
Speed/Reaction Timing Level: Normal Human
Endurance at MAXIMUM Effort: Normal Human
Agility: Normal Human
Intelligence: Average
Fighting Skill: Untrained
Resources: Average
Weaknesses:
Human, All Too Human
For all his modified “mentotic potential”, Johannes remains a human being, and not an extraordinarily strong or clever one at that. He is no more invulnerable to wounds, diseases and various mishaps than any other person off the street.
The Limits of Faith
A curious aspect of the powers Johannes has been endowed with is the fact that they are fuelled by his own belief in what they can accomplish. Thus, any application thereof of whose success he is not entirely assured will prove ineffectual, even though it might have been theoretically plausible.
Power Tends to Tire
As mentioned, activating Johannes's psychic abilities requires an effort of will. Although the fatigue toll may initially seem negligible, it gradually waxes increasingly draining, and lengthy usage will often leave him exhausted.
Supporting Characters:
Nejat Gucli and Turan Ahmad: Johannes's long-time friends and, more recently, assistants in super-heroic endeavour, Nejat and Turan's characters seem to be pre-ordinately congenial to him and each other alike, sharing the same enjoyment-driven inclinations and cinematographical preferences. The main difference between the two's personalities lies in their attitudes: while Turan is usually more proactive (though this is a comparative term), Nejat bears a pronounced antipathy toward the very concept of effort, though, when hard-pressed, he has demonstrated a certain aptitude for lateral thinking.
The Experimenters: The mysterious beings responsible for abducting Johannes and endowing him with superhuman powers as a result of a not better described process (or “fiddling”, if one is less than lenient). Johannes himself knows nothing regarding them, though he suspects they might be of extra-terrestrial origin, if for no other reason than the outlandish appearance of their machinery.
Locations:
New Sardis
Located across from Newport, Rhode Island, across Narragansett Bay, New Sardis was once one of the most relevant portual cities in the region. However, failure to modernise and a gradual decline in its position’s commercial importance have led to its progressive decay, moderated only lately by a number of service-providing companies taking an interest in its few, yet noteworthy investment opportunities. Nowadays, New Sardis is infamous for its dramatically under-staffed and ineffectual administration and police force; nonetheless, its legal infraction rate is astonishingly low for mysterious reasons, and organised criminality is limited to a negligible handful of street gangs within its boundaries (though the occasional disappearance tends to arouse suspicions on this matter).
Architecturally, the city reflects its recent erratic and almost haphazard development. Towers of glass and steel are often flanked by anachronistic pre-Edwardian houses, and the few piers still in use lie alongside numerous promontories of decaying wood.
Notable Features:
Saint Albertus Magnus Cathedral: A Catholic anomaly among New England’s sober Puritan temples, this imposing Gothic structure stands in the very centre of the city. Though both the Cathedral and the vast adjoining graveyard ought to be periodically restored by the urban authorities, the latter’s prolonged inactivity has enabled them to fall into such a state of sinister decrepitude that they tend to be fearfully shunned. Upon the Cathedral’s façade one can still barely discern the curious inscription “SOMNVS RATIONIS MONSTRA GENERAT”.
The Docklands: Once the city’s greatest hub of activity, the Docklands have long since degenerated into a veritable open-air slum, where New Sardis’s homeless population gathers in abandoned warehouses and it is deemed unsafe to pass with any valuables upon one’s person, lest these valuables unaccountably disappear. The few intact quays seem to be used solely for Aegis industrial shipments.
Istvan's Dragon: Since the end of World War II, the only enduring criminal element in New Sardis was that of outlaw biker clubs, ranging from free-spirited rebels to brutal thugs. Though local and small in size, they were numerous and, with the gradual decay of the city's police force, their influence became anything but invisible. Somewhere around the late 60's, the notorious drive bar known as Istvan's Dragon came to be, founded by an Eastern European immigrant. Located near in the Docklands, at the back of a small unimportant harbor, said establishment commonly served as a place for negotiations between different clubs, as well as a melting pot of all sorts of characters from the fringes of society over the years, until the eventual bloodbath that occurred in the early 90's. The Istvan Massacre was sparked by the rising tension between two rival clubs, leading to thirty casualties, seventeen of them being otherwise innocent patrons. The bar never recovered, and was left abandoned ever since. Along with the surrounding dock, it is now a sort of no man's land, as unwritten rules render it a sanctuary, prohibiting any sort of violence within it. Even law enforcement is wise enough to respect this condition. Despite its seemingly useful nature, the area remains abandoned, sparking urban legends of hauntings.
(Contribution by @Turbowraith)
“Atlantis” State Aquarium: New Sardis’s only possible tourist attraction, the Aquarium, built on local State funds with the backing of certain private bodies, is fitted with some of the most advanced equipment in its field. This has allowed for some daring experiments, such as the rare success of keeping giant cephalopods in captivity. The investment has proved fruitful, yielding large sums in the guise of admission fees and the sale of assorted merchandise.
Aegis Incorporated Complex: At some distance beyond the suburbs, surrounded by a stretch of forbidding wasteland, lies the ominous black citadel which serves simultaneously as headquarters, production plant and research establishment for the shadowy Aegis Inc. This comparatively young company, specialising in bellic and defensive technology, is said to have rapidly acquired a redoubtable power base, and, despite taking no interest in New Sardis itself, is almost universally dreaded by its inhabitants.
Do you know how to post pictures on RPG boards?:
Sample Post:
For days, the leaden sky which menacingly loomed over them, notwithstanding their steady motion - truth be told, at a velocity which would be deemed unacceptably low whence they had come, owing to the unfamiliar driving practices with which most visiting continentals were constrained to come to grips with - across the rather bleak landscape, had failed to deliver upon its threat of precipitation, which might have prompted them to jot down a note concerning the matter of “dispelling popular misconceptions about...”, had they been ever so rash in making assumptions (which they were) and actually interested in such an endeavour (which they were not). Notwithstanding the lack of sociological aspirations, they had unanimously concluded that the much-reviled Albionic climate might be better, or at least could not be quite so much worse than the only one they had hitherto known.
“Weren’t you thinking the same?” Johannes inquired, without, however, turning to face his companion.
“What?” the latter listlessly replied, in a tone dulled by a lengthy period of sitting and gazing before himself. One could, of course, argue that he had not been effectively doing anything beyond that, but that would probably elicited little more than genuine incomprehension.
“I say, that it has rained the entire time we were in Germany since we left, and some days before that, but not for a single hour while we have been here.”
“And Belgium.”
“What?”
“It’s also rained in Belgium.”
“Not in France, though.”
“A bit after the border, it did. What were you saying there, again?”
“No, I was saying, it seems to rain less here than in Germany, doesn’t it?”
“Could be. I think it also depends on the season. Don’t you remember we had a completely dry summer in Thüringen?”
“But that’s Thüringen.”
Having thus apparently exhausted their stimulating conversational subject, the pair finally exchanged a weary glance, then simultaneously turned backwards for a brief moment and eyed the sleeping Nejat with a hint of envy. The third member of their diminutive party lay all but sprawled on the back seat of the slightly battered automobile, amid rucksacks and satchels of varying sizes and colours, leaning toward the less tasteful end of the spectrum, with his feet a mere few inches away from resting upon an already abundantly scratched suitcase. His fellow-travellers found this all the more outrageous as he had not in the least contributed to their progress through virtually half of the (semi)continent, nor to the journey from Dover to Southampton, and yet was able to blissfully slumber for a length of time which would have put a sloth to shame, whereas neither Johannes, who steered the unreasonably crammed vehicle, nor Turan, who attempted to navigate their way by cycling through a series of maps, with the predictable result of frequently driving them to meander in such parts as they would never have dreamt of visiting, were able to enjoy a night’s rest without spinning about and repeatedly rising to raise or lower the blinds for some two hours beforehand. The final pause before the ferry boarding could have finally allowed them some respite before nearly a week of struggling against sea-sickness, yet even now they seemed to be unable to do anything but trade inconsequential remarks concerning the weather. How else could it be? The topic of their preliminary plans was already spent, and it was as yet too early to begin actually pondering their execution.
All of a sudden, a rap against the glass by his head startled Johannes from the slumber he had been, in spite of all, drifting into. Not a little irritated, he lowered it and turned to face the whiskered countenance of the customs officer peering from beyond it.
“What is it, my good man?” he asked, not immediately realising that his impromptu usage of a rather colloquial expression had yielded a potentially offensive result. Not that it would have concerned him, but it was somewhat embarrassing for being unintended.
“Excuse me, sir,” the man began quite civilly, probably not being altogether inexperienced in interacting with foreigners, “Your vehicle looks like it might be exceeding the weight limit.” Was its crammed state quite so visible? Most likely. Meanwhile, the boarding queue was beginning to move forth - and they were being detained by this overly zealous, or thus it seemed to him, fellow.
“I assure you that we have passed all necessary controls. Here, we have these tickets they give there. Turan, do you...”
But Turan had drifted away into a tranquil slumber. Curse him, could he think of no better moment? Johannes began hastily rooting through the sheaf of various printed pages - mostly maps - in his lap. Where could he have buried them? Before them, the path onto the vessel was now empty. Ah, that was quite enough. No more of this nonsense.
“Sir, do you have the...”
Johannes abruptly turned toward the mustachioed intruder and, gazing fixedly into his eyes, which made him stagger back in surprise, theatrically raised his right hand, with the palm stretched outwards. This gesture was functionally unnecessary, but what was life without a little flavour? He focused his mental energies upon the figure before him and, almost envisioning the outline of its psychic nucleus, hurled at it a brief sequence of visions - nothing especially astounding, but enough to serve their purpose.
The man staggered, flailing his arms as though he had suddenly lost his sight and were attempting to clutch it before it flew away. Failing to grasp any solid object, he nearly collapsed, but was able to moderate his fall by crouching with what seemed to be a supreme effort. After about a minute, the expression of his eyes grew slightly less wild, and he saw that the potentially overloaded automobile had already vanished beyond the ascension ramp. Rising totteringly to his full height, he waved reassuringly at the other drivers, who were looking at him with some concern, and moved toward his position with quivering steps.
Aboard the ship, Johannes smiled to himself with a hint of triumph. Petty, admittedly, but was life not likewise composed of simple pleasures? His mouth still set in its twisted shape, he let his thoughts hasten forwards. Soon, he would have crossed the ocean, and then the true merriment would begin. A world of adventure lay ahead.
He could not have pinpointed any particular transitional moment, yet the tavern seemed all of a sudden to have grown remarkably animated, considering the quantity of its tenants. Indistinct mutterings began to reach Ectemund's ear, and soon afterwards two of the figures rose from their seats without having so much as raised their kegs and made for the door. One of them cast a glance at him as it passed, and it seemed to him that her eyes, for the brief moment they were within his sight, harboured a somewhat unnatural - clumsy a definition as that was for an innate anatomical feature, he could not conceive any more fitting one - hue, of the sort common among the Fae. Mildly unnerving as the look might have been, he perceived himself safe - no self-respecting royal enforcer would probably have employed a Fae as an agent. Such a prejudice was not altogether comprehensible to Ectemund, in whose view, as far as he was aware, these creatures were in their current state neither far worse nor far better than the average human peasant, and would in fact have been indistinguishable from the latter were it not for their physiognomic peculiarities. Curious as it might have seemed, their potential academic value was likewise roughly equivalent to that of a farmer: their cultural wealth of occult lore, frequently, he suspected, of more than hearsay quality, was often offset by their a reserve as unnerving as it was stubborn, and most of those he had himself spoken with had responded to his queries by gazing at their feet and mumbling some unintelligible gibberish. Nevertheless, the presence of a Fae in that forsaken town at that conjuncture was mighty intriguing. What business could she have had here, seeing as many of her kin seemed to have no business anywhere throughout the land?
The second departing figure Ectemund believed he recognised as the young scoundrel who, some time before, had seemed to try and intimidate him by shewing him some firearm. These devilish contraptions were a truly fearsome thing; that they might be so easy to procure as to place one within the grasp of such an outwardly unassuming individual was slightly alarming. Yet the chief conundrum concerning that character was not her possessing a singularly destructive weapon, but rather the fact that, as the Fae had done, she had stridden away without quaffing from the mug the innkeeper had set down before her. To his knowledge, those of her ilk often left without paying for what they had drunken; yet he had never heard of one leaving without drinking what they had paid for. Whilst the yellowish orbs of the first departing patron had reassured him, the unusual demeanour of the following one engendered a new train of suspicious thoughts within his mind. Had this one been a hired agent - the hired agent dispatched to track him, and had she gone to report to her employers, who were mayhap expecting her without that very door? Then again, this conjecture was opposed to reasonable intuition. A spy of that sort would certainly have acted in a less conspicuously odd manner. Although the ensuing conclusion assuaged his apprehension somewhat, it yet did not explain the event he had witnessed.
Then again, was he truly certain she had paid for what she had not drunken? Ectemund himself had, after all, been served his beverage without a price being demanded of him, in what he had assumed was some sort of display of "courtesy of the house". Had the offering been spurned owing to its deplorable quality? It seemed improbable. Or was it that...? He glanced at the crudely inscribed napkin in his hand, then at the vacated corner, but the shadows prevented him from seeing anything definite. He was about to stand up and approach the spot, but at that moment the man who had been muttering when the commotion began rose from his seat and, dragging what seemed to be his bare feet across the grimy floor, walked toward the window and peered through it. Unwilling to attract unnecessary attention by appearing to follow his example, Ectemund remained still, and reverted to pondering the meaning of the unorthodox missive he had received - as far as he knew, he could have been the only one, or the only one whose message was "Stable". And what, pray, was stable? The liquid in the mug? Though he was no aspiring alchemist, he was fairly certain that it could not be restless as quicksilver, and its stability was not one to require a label. What else, then, could it be? The promise of the expedition? That it should be confirmedly stable was, of course, a relief; yet why would anyone send such a confirmation without further instructions to accompany it? He resolved he would, in spite of all, verify whether such a note had indeed been bestowed upon anyone else.
Slowly and cautiously, yet firmly enough, Ectemund rose from the bench, and his left knee snapped once again. With a soft, though slightly shuffling gait he stepped toward the corner with as neutral an expression as he could convey, and, as he passed behind the bare-footed man, he casually directed his eyes toward the window, and was somewhat surprised to glimpse the Fae who had departed from the tavern beyond it. For some reason she stood in the middle of the muddy street, rummaging through her satchel before the ill-kept wooden shack which passed for a- Hark, now. It was a stable - nay, a stable. Why, the prolonged parsing of formally-worded documents must have occluded his linguistic clarity! Why had he so insistently considered the word "stable" as an adjective? Had he truly forgotten that it could designate a structure such as that which he now saw? Verily, he could only hope it was not a sign of the approach of one of longevity's more pernicious companions - the fading of one's acuity and memory, followed by a dramatic weakening of the mind altogether. To be struck by such a condition when he had yet accomplished so little would have been aggravating beyond words' expressive capacity. However, he was not quite so aged yet, was he? Having sufficiently rebuked himself for his oversight, he concluded that the most logical course of action would be to see whether the message was effectively an invitation to betake himself to the stable, as there seemed to be nothing to gain by remaining further in the tavern - and seeking other napkins would now have been an unnecessary occupation at best. Conscious of the fact that he had remained in a spot for what was probably a suspiciously lengthy interval, Ectemund quietly strode toward the door and stepped out into the vesper air.
The street's yielding consistence was not improved by the palpably nondescript temperature of the mud beneath his feet, which conferred upon it an unpleasant oozing sensation, promptly transmitted into his feet. Yet he heeded it little as he virtually slid his way through the decaying hamlet, lifting his beaten leather soles to a barely visible height above the soil, his attention being altogether drawn to the mysterious errand at hand. It occurred to him that the stable might have been the ideal site for an ambush, had a scheme involving one effectively been set in motion by his hypothetical persecutors, and his steps grew slightly slower. Then he reflected that, whatever the case might be, he would surely not be so reckless as to simply blunder in there, and would devise a plan to probe the ground in all safety. His right hand slid to the handle of the dagger he had concealed at his belt beneath the folds of some inconspicuous rags. Although the weapon's sinister appearance and the ominous conjectures concerning how it might have been employed before somehow finding its way into his family's chests, there was, beside the ever-compelling lure of shadowy mysteries it evoked in him merely by virtue of its existence, in it a strange soothing power that never failed to fill him with a vaguely impersonal boldness, nay, even pride, which he perceived to be more than the mere sensation of carrying a potential instrument of death.
Having reached the street which ran before the stable, he paused, seeing that the Fae was, oddly enough, still standing where last he had seen her. The other receiver of an apparently unsolicited beverage was nowhere to be seen. Ectemund was initially vaguely irritated at perceiving what seemed to be an obstacle upon his way; then, reflecting that the Fae might very well prove to be the diversion he required, he decided it were better to observe her motions, preferably without being apprehended himself. He therefore slid into a patch of particularly deep shadow upon a nearby wall and stood still, gazing in the direction of the stable.
The second departing figure Ectemund believed he recognised as the young scoundrel who, some time before, had seemed to try and intimidate him by shewing him some firearm. These devilish contraptions were a truly fearsome thing; that they might be so easy to procure as to place one within the grasp of such an outwardly unassuming individual was slightly alarming. Yet the chief conundrum concerning that character was not her possessing a singularly destructive weapon, but rather the fact that, as the Fae had done, she had stridden away without quaffing from the mug the innkeeper had set down before her. To his knowledge, those of her ilk often left without paying for what they had drunken; yet he had never heard of one leaving without drinking what they had paid for. Whilst the yellowish orbs of the first departing patron had reassured him, the unusual demeanour of the following one engendered a new train of suspicious thoughts within his mind. Had this one been a hired agent - the hired agent dispatched to track him, and had she gone to report to her employers, who were mayhap expecting her without that very door? Then again, this conjecture was opposed to reasonable intuition. A spy of that sort would certainly have acted in a less conspicuously odd manner. Although the ensuing conclusion assuaged his apprehension somewhat, it yet did not explain the event he had witnessed.
Then again, was he truly certain she had paid for what she had not drunken? Ectemund himself had, after all, been served his beverage without a price being demanded of him, in what he had assumed was some sort of display of "courtesy of the house". Had the offering been spurned owing to its deplorable quality? It seemed improbable. Or was it that...? He glanced at the crudely inscribed napkin in his hand, then at the vacated corner, but the shadows prevented him from seeing anything definite. He was about to stand up and approach the spot, but at that moment the man who had been muttering when the commotion began rose from his seat and, dragging what seemed to be his bare feet across the grimy floor, walked toward the window and peered through it. Unwilling to attract unnecessary attention by appearing to follow his example, Ectemund remained still, and reverted to pondering the meaning of the unorthodox missive he had received - as far as he knew, he could have been the only one, or the only one whose message was "Stable". And what, pray, was stable? The liquid in the mug? Though he was no aspiring alchemist, he was fairly certain that it could not be restless as quicksilver, and its stability was not one to require a label. What else, then, could it be? The promise of the expedition? That it should be confirmedly stable was, of course, a relief; yet why would anyone send such a confirmation without further instructions to accompany it? He resolved he would, in spite of all, verify whether such a note had indeed been bestowed upon anyone else.
Slowly and cautiously, yet firmly enough, Ectemund rose from the bench, and his left knee snapped once again. With a soft, though slightly shuffling gait he stepped toward the corner with as neutral an expression as he could convey, and, as he passed behind the bare-footed man, he casually directed his eyes toward the window, and was somewhat surprised to glimpse the Fae who had departed from the tavern beyond it. For some reason she stood in the middle of the muddy street, rummaging through her satchel before the ill-kept wooden shack which passed for a- Hark, now. It was a stable - nay, a stable. Why, the prolonged parsing of formally-worded documents must have occluded his linguistic clarity! Why had he so insistently considered the word "stable" as an adjective? Had he truly forgotten that it could designate a structure such as that which he now saw? Verily, he could only hope it was not a sign of the approach of one of longevity's more pernicious companions - the fading of one's acuity and memory, followed by a dramatic weakening of the mind altogether. To be struck by such a condition when he had yet accomplished so little would have been aggravating beyond words' expressive capacity. However, he was not quite so aged yet, was he? Having sufficiently rebuked himself for his oversight, he concluded that the most logical course of action would be to see whether the message was effectively an invitation to betake himself to the stable, as there seemed to be nothing to gain by remaining further in the tavern - and seeking other napkins would now have been an unnecessary occupation at best. Conscious of the fact that he had remained in a spot for what was probably a suspiciously lengthy interval, Ectemund quietly strode toward the door and stepped out into the vesper air.
The street's yielding consistence was not improved by the palpably nondescript temperature of the mud beneath his feet, which conferred upon it an unpleasant oozing sensation, promptly transmitted into his feet. Yet he heeded it little as he virtually slid his way through the decaying hamlet, lifting his beaten leather soles to a barely visible height above the soil, his attention being altogether drawn to the mysterious errand at hand. It occurred to him that the stable might have been the ideal site for an ambush, had a scheme involving one effectively been set in motion by his hypothetical persecutors, and his steps grew slightly slower. Then he reflected that, whatever the case might be, he would surely not be so reckless as to simply blunder in there, and would devise a plan to probe the ground in all safety. His right hand slid to the handle of the dagger he had concealed at his belt beneath the folds of some inconspicuous rags. Although the weapon's sinister appearance and the ominous conjectures concerning how it might have been employed before somehow finding its way into his family's chests, there was, beside the ever-compelling lure of shadowy mysteries it evoked in him merely by virtue of its existence, in it a strange soothing power that never failed to fill him with a vaguely impersonal boldness, nay, even pride, which he perceived to be more than the mere sensation of carrying a potential instrument of death.
Having reached the street which ran before the stable, he paused, seeing that the Fae was, oddly enough, still standing where last he had seen her. The other receiver of an apparently unsolicited beverage was nowhere to be seen. Ectemund was initially vaguely irritated at perceiving what seemed to be an obstacle upon his way; then, reflecting that the Fae might very well prove to be the diversion he required, he decided it were better to observe her motions, preferably without being apprehended himself. He therefore slid into a patch of particularly deep shadow upon a nearby wall and stood still, gazing in the direction of the stable.
Thankee for the welcome. We shall then set to work upon our character sheets in short order.
I trust it is unnecessary to warn you to brace yourselves for the all the deranged antics to come...
I trust it is unnecessary to warn you to brace yourselves for the all the deranged antics to come...
Greetings to all!
I hope I am not disrupting the ongoing discussions too severely with my humble query.
Seeing as I and a second player are quite eager to join this verily rather excellent role-play, would it be possible for us to leap in now and establish our characters somewhat before the second season begins, or would it rather be preferable that we should await the latter event before doing thus?
I hope I am not disrupting the ongoing discussions too severely with my humble query.
Seeing as I and a second player are quite eager to join this verily rather excellent role-play, would it be possible for us to leap in now and establish our characters somewhat before the second season begins, or would it rather be preferable that we should await the latter event before doing thus?
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