Polyphemus

The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)

And we're up. Undercover work must be nerve-shattering, I was getting anxious just writing that.

The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)

SONJA SIMPSON, THE SPIRIT OF SAINT LOUIS

"Thomas, c'mon, don't go scaring the new kids," the tall, thin woman said from the corner, using her long fingers to shuffle a deck of tarot cards. She wore a smartly pressed pantsuit and, of course, her ever-present sunglasses. Some Leaguers speculated there was something horribly wrong with Sonja's eyes, while others joked that she just had a really bad hangover. The latter would not be an inaccurate assessment most Sunday mornings, but the truth was far more mundane- she just liked the way they looked. That, in essence, was a good portion of what you needed to know about Sonja Simpson.

She walked over, smiling brightly, laughter lines at the corners of her mouth, hand extended. "Welcome to our home. I don't know if you've been told, but this is considered a polite greeting." She demonstrated a handshake with Destiny. Extradimensional beings, bizarre creatures from other worlds- these weren't exactly new things to her. Sonja was considered fairly blue-collar among most sorcerers- no ermine robes, no thees and thous. Just talking plainly and openly. Of course, she wasn't the least bit taken aback when Light and MC wandered off to look around the building. Everything was new to them, of course they wanted to explore.

"Little ADD, aren't they?" she laughed to Thomas. The man had grown on her over the last six months, especially his crazy lab, which looked like the end result of a fight between a glassblower and a crocodile. She had helped him research a number of magical problems here, and even just come to shoot the shit. "Still nicer than some of the others. Remember a couple months back? That kid in Evanston somehow summoned Leraje into his basement? It took a week to get all the brimstone out of my hair." She laughed, before looking around to see if the lab was empty and leaning in closer.

"Listen, Thomas, I'm glad I got a chance to talk to you. I've been really worried. My power, it's been slipping lately, the last few weeks especially. My magic has become incrementally weaker. Not huge, but I can tell, you know? And it seems to be speeding up. I know exactly what it is- my people are losing faith in me. I've been helping you fight demons here in Chicago, I've been working with Olympia dismantling gangs in Cleveland and Milwaukee, I've been helping to train the newcomers. My sponsors at Barclay-Hoffmeyer are happy for national press, but I haven't been doing enough for home and it's bad juju, man." She realized she was pacing anxiously, stopped and looked sheepish as Thomas listened patiently. "I mean, I know there's a much larger picture. The Outfit, Legion, all of that. But I feel guilty, like I'm not doing enough." She realized she was babbling and shrugged. "I'm sorry to dump all this on you, Thomas, but I just really don't know what to do here."

---

SIXGUN

There was a piece of metal inside his skull.

It probably wasn't metal, but Ben Brady, better known as Sixgun, was still a little anxious. Unlike anyone else in the room, he remembered a time when surgery involved a shot of bourbon and a hacksaw, which had been on his mind when Pariah had informed him of the implant. Somehow, in some way far beyond the man's limited understanding of modern technology, it enabled his handlers to see and hear what he did. Christ, I hope they don't watch me take a piss, he thought, then wondered if they could hear his thoughts as well. Maybe? He had no idea what any given piece of machinery could do. So much had changed since his death, back in 1888.

With a start, he realized that Marconi was speaking directly to him. No surprise he had caught the man's eye- the white seersucker suit, Hawaiian shirt and chocolate-brown snakeskin boots saw to that. Not to mention the Panama hat. It had made sense to dress loudly and ostentatiously. One would expect an undercover agent to be muted and quiet, to do nothing to draw attention to himself. So naturally, he had decided to be as eye-catching and boisterous as possible.

"Fletcher Ross, sir," he said with a broad grin and a Southern drawl. He had worked very hard on the cover identity with Pariah and Strix and a few others. The seed of the idea had actually come from Father Ochoa, who suggested that coming across as a backwoods type might explain some of his difficulties with technology. Even without knowing of Sixgun's displacement in time, Pariah had liked the idea, reasoning that the South was far enough away to make him reasonable as an outsider while still close enough to be considered a possible ally. The identity had been painstakingly built up and all the documentation needed for the fictional Fletcher Ross to pass muster. A rap sheet from the Mississippi Attorney General. Records of a sentence at Parchman Farm. Driver's license. All the good stuff, if anyone cared enough to go digging.

"I done most of my previous work in Biloxi. The Vegas of the South, casinos, strip joints, all the good stuff. There were some good ole boys down there that called themselves the Dixie Mafia. And if anybody needed to get got, hell, they all knew: Fletcher Ross is your man." Sixgun tipped the Panama, chuckled to himself. "Then them goddamn supers showed up, and the goddamn liberal government sets to taking the whole thing apart, and all the sudden nobody knows who Fletcher Ross is anymore. So I decides I'd best be taking my iron up north way, cause I know you fellas are hurting and could use a hand." He gave a wave to the bikers he had arrived with- the Road Kings Motorcycle Club, founded and headquartered in Indianapolis. "Now, I had a good workin' relationship with the members of the Biloxi chapter of this fine in-stew-too-shin, so I figured they might see their way clear towards letting me tag along. Course, had to show 'em what I can do first," he said with a wink. He twitched open his jacket just enough to reveal the butt of the revolver holstered in there, a nickel-plated M1917. The .45 wheelgun was obsolete now, having been built in 1917, but to Ben it was another piece of incredible futuristic technology, picked because his preferred weapons were too distinctive. "See, down South, we have a hard time getting our hands on those fancy machine guns and rocket launchers. Every bullet counts, sir, so you gotta know how to shoot straight. And believe me, sir, ain't nobody shoots straighter than Fletcher Ross, these boys'll tell you," he said with a thumb jerked back towards the Road Kings. The bikers nodded mutely- the day before, Ben had thrown an entire deck of cards in the air and put six bullets through the ace of spades before it even hit the ground.

Brady finished his story, smiling broadly even as he tried to figure out if his story had been accepted. If they saw through it, Ben knew what he had to do. Six bullets in the M1917. Six important targets in this room- Marconi, Music, Fontana, Chunk, La Sombra, and of course the Witchfinder. If they moved on him, he'd try to take at least a couple of the head honchos out before inevitably going down to the dozens of armed men in the room. He'd prefer to go down shooting and bring a few folks to Hell with him. After all, he was pretty sure he was headed there, and it'd be nice to have company.

Sixgun smiled broadly, even as he tried to will anxious sweat to stay under his skin.

The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)

Dynamite start! I'll get something up shortly.

The Bureau of Unconventional Crime

"Oh, a roadtrip! How fun!" Crowley said excitedly. It was a blessing indeed- a chance to do some good in the world while at the same time getting to know his new teammates over the drive. Admittedly, it was only a two hour drive, but that'd be plenty of time, right? Cooper, Front, and Mendez. New friends sent by God.

Slathering lox onto a bagel and pouring a cup of tea, Father Crowley returned to his quarters, humming along to music only he heard. Grabbing his old Army duffel out of the closet, he tossed it onto the bed and began to pack. Choosing clothes was not terribly difficult for a member of the clergy- it was black with white collars the whole way. A pair of combat boots- by the sound of Smith's description, there'd be some outside work done. Toiletries, of course. With a sigh and shake of the head, he included a box of 9mm ammunition, a gun-cleaning kit, and the handgun he just been issued. They had offered him a wide selection of firearms, and he had gone for continuity after trying out several different sidearms at the range the night before. The Army had called it an M11. Civilians called it a SIG P228, so Father Crowley supposed he would call it that. This would be a bit of an adjustment.

With that, Crowley next packed his real weapons- a well-worn Bible, a crucifix, a vial of holy water, his Army-issued communion kit. Should he encounter whatever lay on the other side of reality, he felt more confident in these tools than any firearm.

Packed, Crowley made sure he had a few other necessities. His wallet, resplendent with the badge he had been given just last night. A Sony laptop computer, neatly tucked into a shoulder bag. And, of course, a handful of jazz CDs for the drive, unless his companions would prefer silence.

His bags packed, Crowley carefully shut off the lights and locked his door before taking the elevator down to the parking garage. There, he politely waited for his comrades to join him.

Project Misfit, Superpowered Battle Royale

I'd be willing to try this out.

The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)

Alright, honest question- is the Spirit of Saint Louis overpowered? I've been worried about this, because I feel "magic" is maybe a little too nebulous, not to mention drawing her power from her city. I've tried to limit her to doing just stage magic stuff, but even that feels like a bit much?

I'd be more than happy to rework the character if people have issues.

The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)

Krein said
Seriously, were like males the only people affected by the Awakening? OP says to have a blance of male and female characters, but literally every application is a male.

The very first character listed in this thread is female.

The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)

The Spirit of St. Louis

Name: Sonja Simpson

Codename: The Spirit of St. Louis (often abbreviated SSTL, pronounced "still")

Age: 31

Gender: Female

Place of Birth: Saint Louis, Missouri

Affiliations: Sonja is an honorary officer of both the Saint Louis City and Saint Louis County police forces, working closely with both. In addition, she enjoys a corporate sponsorship from the multi-industry conglomerate Barclay-Hoffmeyer.

Occupation: Superhero, corporate spokesperson

Appearance: Sonja is a very slender African-American woman, possessing something of a boyish figure. Her hands are especially delicate, with long, thin fingers. When "working" she tends to wear business attire- always with a good pair of sneakers, because in this line of work there's a lot of running.

Powers: Sonja is the living conduit of all the latent magical potential in the city of Saint Louis. She generally channels this magic in the way most familiar to her, stage magic, making her capable of such feats as creating fireballs in her palm, unlocking handcuffs, pulling candy from midair, or reading minds. However, given time to research and prepare, she can also channel it into other kinds of ritual magic, such as performing a rain dance. Her magical ability is dependent on the people of the city- they are making a more or less voluntary contribution to her, dependent on how much faith they have in her. More on this below.

Skills: Sonja's career as a stage magician has given her a solid grasp of the fundamentals of the art. She specializes in sleight of hand and escapology. The related skills of public speaking, misdirection, and social engineering also come into play- knowing how to work a crowd is always helpful. In addition, she has some limited training in hand-to-hand combat.

Equipment: As a primary weapon, Sonja carries the autographed baseball bat of legendary Cardinal Stan Musial. The bat is, like her, imbued with the admiration and faith of the good people of St Louis. In her hands, this simple Louisville Slugger is nigh unbreakable and hits many times above its weight. Aside from the bat, Sonja carries a deck of cards and some simple police gear- a walkie-talkie, handcuffs, a pen and notebook, a police-issue bulletproof vest, and a can of Mace.

Weaknesses: As noted above, Sonja's magical ability stems from her mystical link to her hometown. As such, the faith and confidence of St. Louisans greatly influences her power. When she enjoys high popularity, her abilities are at a peak. When St. Louisans lose faith in her, for instance due to a scandal or successful mudslinging, her power level plummets. She employs several PR consultants to keep her popular and visible, but of course there is only so much they can do with the hearts and minds of the fickle public. If Saint Louis were to be destroyed, her magical power would be permanently gone. In addition, her power is active, not passive- for instance, she would need to be aware of someone shooting at her before she could catch or deflect the bullet.

Psychological Profile: Sonja is an entertainer at heart, and is a bit of a showoff. She will forgo a simple solution in favor of a flashier one, and "giving the people their money's worth" is often a higher consideration than her safety or everyone's general welfare. Sonja is also concerned with her own financial success and is often looking for money-making opportunities. That's not to say she doesn't take her job seriously- she will gladly give up her time to help others and makes frequent donations to charity. In sum, she genuinely means well, but wants everyone to know it.

Biography: Born to two brewery workers and raised in the Tower Grove neighborhood of St. Louis, Sonja was very much a citizen of St. Louis. Square-cut pizza, the Cardinals, horrific mispronunciations of French and German words - she was a vocal proponent of all of these things. After her father took her to a Penn and Teller show at the age of eight, Sonja also became fascinated in stage magic. She immediately began to teach herself simple illusions, gradually moving on to more complex tricks and amassing a library of how-to books. She was a natural, her thin fingers and natural dexterity aiding her in picking locks, marking cards, and the like. She would often impress friends and was frequently invited to high school parties for the purpose of showing off her act. Upon graduation from Roosevelt High School, she was able to find a few bookings in local clubs, bars, and parties, initially under the name "Sonja the Stupendous" and later just "Sonja".

On the day of the Awakening, when her magic powers first manifested, Sonja was different in that she somehow knew, deep in her spinal cord, just how it worked. Saint Louis has always been a city on the edges of reality- Native Americans living in Cahokia built gigantic mounds to honor the occult significance of the place, ghosts and demons are often reported there. Sonja knew without knowing that everything that was just off about the place was being funneled into her. And suddenly her illusions were not illusions, but fact and reality.

Call it civic responsibility, call it Christian guilt, call it whatever you like, but Sonja knew that she represented the city, and drew strength from it. It stood to reason she should defend it. Her first major piece of public exposure came when she exposed systematic abuse in an Oakville nursing home, winning her a great deal of sympathetic press (and a significant power boost as a result). She began to tackle more serious crimes, such as racketeering, police corruption, and even armed robbery. As her fame grew within Saint Louis, she found her powers growing, as well as her ego. The governments of both the city and the outlying areas recognized that she was there to help, naming her an honorary police officer. The publicity greatly increased her demand as a magician, she used the proceeds to buy an autographed Stan Musial bat, reasoning (correctly) that owning a relic from one of the town's great heroes would concentrate her power further.

However, problems came when gunmen attacked a public performance at a local casino. While the attack was foiled with minimal injuries, it raised questions about her ability to protect the general public, giving her power something of a hit and her bank account a larger one.

Enter Barclay-Hoffmeyer.

The international company, with fingers in many pies, was looking for one of the new metahumans as a spokesperson for their products, as well as an ad hoc private contractor for thorny problems facing the company. While the more cynical said she had sold out, BH's expert team of publicists have managed to rebuild and cultivate her image, and Sonja was once more a darling of the local media. The formation of the League was viewed with great interest in particular, and Sonja feels they've helped to do a lot of good.

However, lately her powers have been slipping as she spends more time working with the League and less time protecting her hometown. Time spent fighting gangs in Chicago, Cleveland, Milwaukee, Kansas City, and Detroit has led some to question which city holds her loyalty.

Sixgun

Name: Benjamin Brady/ Black

Codename: Sixgun

Age: 34, or maybe 158, depending on how you keep track

Gender: Male

Place of Birth: Chino Valley, Arizona

Affiliations: Sixgun is mostly an independent operator, though he does have sympathetic contacts in the Phoenix PD and is cut some berth. His main partner/ confidant/ adviser is a Phoenix-area Catholic priest, Father Julio Ochoa

Occupation: Barback, part-time vigilante

Appearance: Ben Brady is a tall and rawboned white man, dried up and constantly looking sunburned. In his Sixgun persona, he wears a modernized version of the classic cowboy ensemble: brown leather cowboy boots, blue jeans, a pistol belt, work shirt, brown motorcycle jacket, and white Stetson. He protects his identity through the simple expedient of a bandanna tied around the lower half of his face and secured with spirit gum.

Powers: Sixgun is pretty sure he has no powers, though he is unsure of what might happen if he's killed a second time. He's in no hurry to find out.

Skills: Sixgun's main skill lies in his extraordinary skill with firearms, particularly single-action revolvers. Having honed an innate talent with countless hours of practice, he is able to draw and let off aimed shots in a very small amount of time, less than a second on a good day. In addition, he is also skilled with a lariat and a Bowie knife, though not nearly to the same degree. He is also a competent (though untrained) hand-to-hand combatant, depending on a rough and ready combination of boxing and wrestling fundamentals. Sixgun also has some proficiency in riding and tracking, though these skills have gotten rusty with disuse.

Equipment/Resources: Sixgun carries two Ruger Blackhawk revolvers (.357 Magnum) on his pistol belt. A 10-inch Bowie knife is tucked into his right boot, and a rope lariat is ready to go at the small of his back. He also wears light body armor underneath his jacket. He has confiscated money stockpiled as well, taken from criminals and used to cover his expenses.

Weaknesses: Sixgun possesses all the frailties of a normal human being. In addition, he is still struggling to adjust to modern times- not only technology, but also changes in values, attitudes, and language.

Psychological Profile: Sixgun used to be a very greedy, bitter, and hateful man. Those inherent traits have not vanished, but he is now making a constant effort to suppress them and behave in a more ethical fashion. He feels a great deal of guilt over his previous life and wishes to make amends, "break even" as he puts it. In a crisis, he often has to stop himself from going with a first instinct in order to do something responsible instead. That said, Sixgun loves adventure and the thrill of a good fight.

Biography: Benjamin Black was born in the Arizona Territory in 1859. His mother died giving birth, leaving him with just his father Arnold, the operator of a remote trading post. The two were close, operating the business together and supplementing their income by hunting game in the high desert. Young Ben discovered a talent for shooting on these hunting excursions, and took to taking game with a revolver as a self-imposed challenge.

His peaceful life was interrupted in 1876, when a few escaped fugitives came upon the Blacks' post. Not content with ransacking the store for valuables and supplies, the leader of the band callously shot Arnold Black dead. Ben flew into a berserk rage, beginning a gunfight that killed two of the gang and sent the others in flight. Benjamin Black discovered at that moment that he had rather a taste for violence. With no further income, he abandoned the trading post and drifted into a life of crime.

Several audacious armed robberies later, Ben "the Sixgun Kid" Black was the leader of his own band of cutthroats. However, he had become cold, greedy, and crueler over time. In 1888, after killing a sheriff's deputy for no real reason except to pick a fight with the county's lawmen, Ben's gang tired of his reckless antics and put two rounds of buckshot in his back outside of Phoenix. He was carted away and given an unmarked pauper's grave in a little Catholic mission.

Fast forward to 2012 and the chaos of the Awakening.

Unnoticed amidst the darkness, panic, and lawlessness, a naked man clawed his way out of a grave in a churchyard that was now the Laveen district of metropolitan Phoenix. Confused and frightened, thinking for sure he was dead, Ben Black stumbled to the nearest building and pounded on the door, asking for help. The building happened to be the rectory for a sparsely attended, almost forgotten little Catholic church. The priest, Father Julio Ochoa, took him in, assuming him to be yet another victim of the disaster. As news of the Awakening came out and Ben discovered to his horror it was now more than a hundred years after his death, Ochoa realized that this man had been brought back to life after certain death, restored to the body of a 29-year-old man. The priest listened sympathetically as Ben haltingly recounted his past life, all of his misdeeds and cruelties. Looking back on his life, Ben realized it had been a waste. Why, he wondered, would such an evil man be brought back to life?

Father Ochoa contemplated this, and then made the simple suggestion that this was his opportunity to correct his mistakes, to lead a good and worthy life.

Ben embraced the idea wholeheartedly, particularly once the news of costumed crimefighters came out. Working with the priest, he was able to use the parish records of a Benjamin Brady who died as an infant in 1982. Overworked civil servants assumed he was one of the thousands who lost paperwork in the Awakening and issued him everything he needed to start anew. Though the transition to modern times was a bit rocky, Ben was still able to get a job as a barback at a popular Phoenix cop bar. Eavesdropping on officers discussing casework, he used his combat skills and knowledge of criminal minds (unchanged after all these years) to help apprehend drug dealers, gangsters, and other criminals. Gaining confidence and understanding of the new world of Phoenix, Ben has been slowly but steadily moving up the ladder of crime, gearing up to take on the Cartel presence in Phoenix. He has gained contacts and informants on both sides of the law. As far as anyone knows, he's a modern man who assumed a cowboy theme, only Ochoa knows of his resurrection.

Having offered his services to the League, Sixgun now works as a street-level point man, gathering information and intelligence on gangs that can be used to build a plan of attack.

The Bureau of Unconventional Crime

I'll pass in the hopes that my writer's block will dissipate soon. Sorry if I've inconvenienced anyone.

The League - Superhero Sci Fi and Urban Fantasy RP

"Backup when I need it," Sonja said seriously. "I've got a pretty full plate back home of bad guys. Someone once said you measure a woman by her enemies, so I must be doing something right." She shrugged. "There's a few other superheroes in St. Louis. I'm not on speaking terms with one of them," she said with a grimace as she recalled her ugly falling-out with Red Scorpion. "The others are okay, but working with them is tough. They're either busy with their own caseload and agendas or they're not up for the kind of thing I need help with. Not to say they're bad at what they do, but the magical world isn't for everyone. But the talent pool we've got here," she said with a wave that generally encompassed the fortress. "With help from them, I feel confident I can handle the usual and unusual threats."

"Besides, let's not kid ourselves, it's good for publicity. Like when people come back from playing on the Olympic team." She took a delicate sip of her vodka tonic, and looked at her two companions. "But that's secondary. We can do a lot of good."