Pragia12

Dispatch: Heroes of Claremont

Tuesday
2:23 PM
The Skies Above Claremont

Fenom | Current Mood: Fenomanal!
The Fenom-Man was streaking through the sky (though not like that), the hero enjoying the light and clouds, until Ear-man spoke! Ear-man was quite powerful, he saw everything, he was even seeing him right now! Ear man told him that he needed to go to Frankie’s Pizza place, who needed help with his pizzas. This Frankie must be a great man to have a pizza place that aliens from another world would want to go to.

Ear-man even was giving him directions, but he didn’t go to Frankie’s first! Instead, he was brought before a pretty but sad lady. She looked like an old cartoon! Cartoon Lady was nice, even as she grew more legs and became a Cartoon Horse Lady, who was able to lead him to the place of Frankie.

Frankie did not impress Fenom-man, the shift manager not possessing much of the stature or charisma to impress aliens such as himself. “I hope the pizza is good.” He said, almost ominously. He would do as instructed, finding the largest uniform shirt they had and donning it as if it were his solar-energy-proof supersuit, just a couple sizes too small. He stood the counter, a blank expression on his face, watching Cartoon Horse Lady take to the kitchen.

The line would grow, and Fenom would be barking orders back, most of them nonsense, and his own injections of what he thought each customer would like. The phone would ring, unanswered as Fenom-man only accepted calls from people he knew the number of! This rolling disaster of upset customers and noise would begin to grate on the superman, and he would abruptly abandon the counter to look into the kitchen.

The sweltering heat buffeted his face, the kitchen had grown to hellish temperatures as the portal remained open and Aliens were marching about the place unimpeded. Cartoon Horse Lady seemed to have passed out from the overwhelming heat and the aggressive actions of the otherworldly pizza consumers. Fenomaman needed to save his fellow hero!

Jumping in through the order window and sending a tower of pizza boxes flying about the room, the next sensation hit him The smell of burning pizza. Fenom would pick up the Cartoon Horse Lady, and throw her back from where he had jumped, the impressive bulk of the ethereal creature pinning a customer to the floor before he managed to get out from under her. “Water the horse lady!” he proclaimed to the bewildered and angry customers.

He would save the day, the employees having abandoned their stations and the aliens now picking into the ingredients and taking their fill of the overcooked meatbread. It then flashed in his mind, the voice of the head-guy, which was very similar to the Ear-man ”The modified sequence is stabilized under heat and pressure, Alien physiology ideally forms under solar conditions, this will need to suffice.” Fenom didn’t know where that came from, but it wasn’t important right now.

He would push away an alien from one of the ovens, getting the charred pie out and putting it in a box. This seemed to not have the desired result, the chitinous creatures screeching and gnashing their mandibles. Fenom would get the pizza out onto the counter, and even begin putting ingredients together in an ad-hoc way. These were not pizzas that would honor Frankie, but they were the best a hero could make in the circumstances!

But the smell would fill his nose, pizzas cooking without the oven in the overwhelming heat, the bitter chatter of N’seth’s minions denied their worldly prize, and the complaints of people on the other side of the counter. It was all too much, and even the great Fenomaman would succumb, those pizzas no longer making it into their boxes as the clone indulged himself on piles of meats and cheeses.

By the time that the creatures retreated, the kitchen was a disaster area strewn with food, tools, boxes, and alien body parts. Fenomaman would emerge, triumphant! “Job’s done Ear Man! The Aliens are gone!” perhaps some day he would learn of his failure, but this seemed like a very successful mission.

---

Later...

After the shift, Fenom would arrive in the office, preferring to stand rather than fit in a chair only barely large enough for him. “Hello Ear Man!” he would proclaim with a smile. “I am doing Fe-nominal!” he says with a cheeky grin, one couldn’t be sure if he was aware of it being a gag or not. “I liked Cartoon Horse Lady, she was very nice, but not very heat-proof! She enjoyed the milkshakes afterward though.” He said with a smile. “I think most people seem nice, but they usually avoid me.” He says with some dejectedness in his tone.

“Do you like the team?” he asks bluntly, those dead eyes not giving enough of a spark to give away that he was reading the eye in the sky and the voice in his ear.

Paradise Lost

Virginia Sokolova

---

Ginny bobbed her head slowly side to side "Something like that, yeah." she says, a bit of defeat on her lips. "Even basic star charts will have some observatory spectrometry to work off of, give us a hint or two about what we're getting to." she explains. The discussion of the Metacer made her look down to her torn up pant leg, a nasty scar running down it where the pincer had torn flesh and biogel had sealed shut. "Yeah... I still don't like how that adds up, how they ended up here."

Dispatch: Heroes of Claremont

Tuesday
9:27 AM
Where in the World…

Fenom | Current Mood: Relaxed, Eager

It was a beautiful day on the beach, fine sand yielding beneath Fee's feet. The sun was just coming out, the palm trees waving in a slight breeze and near-naked beachgoers catching the morning surf. The feel of light on his skin was refreshing, but it wasn’t a Los Angeles Sun.

Hawaii was a fun place to enjoy the weekend. He loved following the birds and fish through the paradisical landscapes. But sunrise meant Fenom needed to get to work. He’d stretch out his back, taking one long view of the stretch of island before him before launching himself forward, snapping a couple of trees behind him and sending a couple towels blowing back into the treeline as he accelerated to supersonic speeds.

The open ocean was always pretty flying into the rising sun, a thousand gemlike gleams of wavy foam dancing over his eyes while he felt the sun’s power course through him, picking up velocity as he reached continent-dashing speeds. He flew low to keep the spray on his face and get distracted of the occasional dolphin or whale (he had only flown through one that jumped up one time!)

It took him maybe half an hour for the coast to come into view. LA was a big place, too big! Full of people, people who loved him -- who loved Phenomaman, not him. But he was Phenomaman, even if it was only on the ads, and they needed his help anyways! So many people did.

Crossing the skyline was easy, passing dangerously close to a morning news chopper, a quick apology went unheard through flight glass. The people at the office would always talk about getting a flight lie-sense, but heroes don’t lie, especially Phenomaman!

The Claremont SDN was his home for all intents and purposes: he was not trusted with his own finances, let alone his own home to take care of. The receptionist at the front door buzzed him in, it was after noon… it was also Tuesday, rather than Monday as he had thought. He wasn’t eager to explain that to Jamesy, missing days is not what a real hero does, after all, but sometimes the world is so much more interesting out there.

Walking down the hall towards the breakroom, people made space for him; they were familiar enough to know that the real Phenomaman wouldn’t show up here at the start of a shift, or often at all. Clearly all the people here were just in awe of Fenom’s own presence!

The bulky man would hunch over to peer into the breakroom, brushing through his windswept hair to try and tame some of it to poor effect. In the room though was his two co-workers: he recognized one

“Sparky!” he sounded like an enthusiastic child calling to Lightning Girl, who was physically imposing enough to match his Olympian stature. His eyes lock for a moment on her cup of tea and he seems to be thinking for a much longer moment “I forgot to bring you back some Mamaki!” Where he had heard about that was anyone’s guess, as was how he would have even purchased some.

Dispatch: Heroes of Claremont

Fenom-man!

"We can all be heroes now!"

Age: 2 Years Chronologically, Few Hundred Biologically, Mentally… complicated.

Appearance: You’re looking at the spitting image of Phenomaman, in all of his bulky mustached brilliance! His hair is less well maintained, and he has a little bit of blankness in the eyes, but boy it sure looks like him!

Role at SDN: Hero, though he’s a bit unproven

Background: A project of the supervillain Doctor Helix, Fenom, or Fee as most people call him, was an effort by the gene scientist to make a clone of the hero Phenomaman. While he was successful in (mostly) rebuilding the alien’s physiology, he was less capable when it came to shaping his mind, let alone all the problems of downloaded and hypno-suggested training. Ultimately, Fee was a fuck up, but not an unsalvageable one. Evil geniuses always have need for enforcers, after all, and he was one of the strongest people in the city.

Fenom had other ideas. A couple weeks after watching the lab, he decided to go out for a stroll on the city. His adventure was… eventful to say the least, facing off against some villains and bewildered looks from heroes who thought their friend was acting very strange… well more strange than usual. While Phenomaman’s speaking patterns were alien, he was more broken and childlike in his speaking with a very simple vocabulary.

Fenom took up work at SDN, wanting to follow in his “father’s” footsteps, and saw some success, though usually it was seen as better for him to function as a model for advertisements than take to the streets. That changes today, the clone finally getting to hit the streets and become the hero he really wants to be, or at least thinks he wants to be.

Hero/Villain (if applicable)

Appearance: He generally keeps the costume on, he's most comfortable in it.

Powers: Fenom has all the powers of Phenomaman, and can fly along with possessing incredible physical strength and endurance. He doesn’t need to breathe, and can even go to space without much issue. He can lift and throw cars without issue, and can take ungodly amounts of beating.

Crimes (If Villain): While it would be appropriate to call his debut a 'rampage' it really only amounted to (relative to what could have happened) minor property damage and unliscensed vigilantism. He wants to be a hero, but doesn't quite have the spark, let alone the horsepower in his head.

Likes:
-Cute things like flowers and bunnies, colorful things in general are exciting for someone who sees in the whole spectrum of light
-Good jokes, not that he really knows how to make them
-Dancing, he comes to it naturally, and loves the...
-Attention, he craves validation and approval, even if its from the wrong people.

Dislikes:
-Bad Guys! He wants to be a real superhero, after all
-Waiting Around, the first villain he knew made him wait around, thats how he knows its evil!
-Getting confused, be it from puzzles, riddles, or even just wordplay and complex instruction, thinking hard can hurt sometimes

Quirks:
-He can be surprisingly lucid and insightful at moments, but these are fleeting, and he likely wont be able to back them up
-He knows where his creator’s lair is, but has not yet told people where he came from.
-He may have some latent hypno-activated control phrases.

Stat Specialisations:

STAT ALLOCATION:
Combat: One of the strongest in the city, able to bend steel and punch through concrete-4
Vigor: Built to withstand punishment, like any good hero can-4
Mobility: Able to fly pretty fast, and can cruise long distance-4
Charisma: He's a goofball, once he starts talking things fall apart, easily frustrated-1
Intellect: Doesn't have a lot of book smarts, or street smarts-1

Dispatch: Heroes of Claremont

Fenom-man!

"We can all be heroes now!"

Age: 2 Years Chronologically, Few Hundred Biologically, Mentally… complicated.

Appearance: You’re looking at the spitting image of Phenomaman, in all of his bulky mustached brilliance! His hair is less well maintained, and he has a little bit of blankness in the eyes, but boy it sure looks like him!

Role at SDN: Hero, though he’s a bit unproven

Background: A project of the supervillain Doctor Helix, Fenom, or Fee as most people call him, was an effort by the gene scientist to make a clone of the hero Phenomaman. While he was successful in (mostly) rebuilding the alien’s physiology, he was less capable when it came to shaping his mind, let alone all the problems of downloaded and hypno-suggested training. Ultimately, Fee was a fuck up, but not an unsalvageable one. Evil geniuses always have need for enforcers, after all, and he was one of the strongest people in the city.

Fenom had other ideas. A couple weeks after watching the lab, he decided to go out for a stroll on the city. His adventure was… eventful to say the least, facing off against some villains and bewildered looks from heroes who thought their friend was acting very strange… well more strange than usual. While Phenomaman’s speaking patterns were alien, he was more broken and childlike in his speaking with a very simple vocabulary.

Fenom took up work at SDN, wanting to follow in his “father’s” footsteps, and saw some success, though usually it was seen as better for him to function as a model for advertisements than take to the streets. That changes today, the clone finally getting to hit the streets and become the hero he really wants to be, or at least thinks he wants to be.

Hero/Villain (if applicable)

Appearance: He generally keeps the costume on, he's most comfortable in it.

Powers: Fenom has all the powers of Phenomaman, and can fly along with possessing incredible physical strength and endurance. He doesn’t need to breathe, and can even go to space without much issue. He can lift and throw cars without issue, and can take ungodly amounts of beating.

Crimes (If Villain): While it would be appropriate to call his debut a 'rampage' it really only amounted to (relative to what could have happened) minor property damage and unliscensed vigilantism. He wants to be a hero, but doesn't quite have the spark, let alone the horsepower in his head.

Likes:
-Cute things like flowers and bunnies, colorful things in general are exciting for someone who sees in the whole spectrum of light
-Good jokes, not that he really knows how to make them
-Dancing, he comes to it naturally, and loves the...
-Attention, he craves validation and approval, even if its from the wrong people.

Dislikes:
-Bad Guys! He wants to be a real superhero, after all
-Waiting Around, the first villain he knew made him wait around, thats how he knows its evil!
-Getting confused, be it from puzzles, riddles, or even just wordplay and complex instruction, thinking hard can hurt sometimes

Quirks:
-He can be surprisingly lucid and insightful at moments, but these are fleeting, and he likely wont be able to back them up
-He knows where his creator’s lair is, but has not yet told people where he came from.
-He may have some latent hypno-activated control phrases.

Stat Specialisations:

STAT ALLOCATION:
Combat: One of the strongest in the city, able to bend steel and punch through concrete-4
Vigor: Built to withstand punishment, like any good hero can-4
Mobility: Able to fly pretty fast, and can cruise long distance-4
Charisma: He's a goofball, once he starts talking things fall apart, easily frustrated-1
Intellect: Doesn't have a lot of book smarts, or street smarts-1

Paradise Lost

Virginia Sokolova

---

Ginny’s head was still ringing when she got picked up, her vision swirling and the sound of blood flowing in her ears was overwhelming. She was concussed, but not unconscious as she listened passively. Once the shuttle had landed, she shuffled wordlessly out of it, nowhere near coherent enough to try and help in the landing bay. She lingered for a moment, trying and failing to recollect herself before she follows John. The layout of the ship was already more familiar to her than the shuttle pilot, but her pace was nowhere near enough to match.

Passing along the sleek walls, thankful that she could follow the power lines and piping. It was also nice that there wasn’t a need to use a ladder or lift to get to the bridge from the shuttle bay, a welcome piece of smart design work. It helped her refocus, her mind following the markings for panels. Her deactivated mag-boots still clacked on the grated floors, the rhythm of her pace bringing her back into the present instead of… wherever else her mind was wandering.

She would go into the maintenance cabinet she had stashed her duffel, and unzip it. While she was rummaging through it, the ship would hum to life, taking off. Even in her haze, her heart sank. There was no way that everyone had made it aboard, let alone much of the supplies to sustain them. She cursed to herself as she considered the situation, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. They were supposed to load up everyone and everything left, and…

And What? She had a plan, she may even have some credence after risking her life to buy time, but she was no leader, she was a hunting dog who got pointed in directions.

But now the direction is clear. She took the holoprojector from her pack, tapping it open in her hand, projecting a stellar map before her. It was the best lead anyone had ever gotten. The Eden colonists were the most direct Terran offshoots she had ever heard of, and old nav-charts in their archives gave her the best possible line. She had left a couple beacons, one on the planet which hopefully would last long enough for a rescue team to find it, and one on the now-dead station behind her.

But now, what was before her was more important, and the map was the best hope for this crew. She would take it with her, leaving the bag safe in the cabinet. That was when she looked down: she was still wearing her taped-up spacesuit, only the helmet bowl being removed. Her bottle of Vodka remained attached to her side, miraculously not shattered by the concussive force of the missile strike.

She made it up onto the bridge, catching the end of Velia bemoaning their lack of charts. Her eyes looked down for a moment, then across the other faces on the bridge. She locked eyes with the older Kiellar. She had a couple hours to come up with how she was going to pitch the idea.

“I’m a bit out of commission ‘ta be doing sweeps.” Her drawl was a little slurred still “Mark might be able to get some of those drones searching the place.” She offered uncertainly, unhelpfully. “I got some pathfinding experience, but these aren’t my usual parts.” She says “I can look at the maps you got, and give you all at least some directions.”

Chronicles of Minadra

Emanuil Fyodoreth, Star of the North

Character Description

Name: Emanuil Fyodoreth
Species: Human
Race/Nationality: Borearion (Ledosevertsy)
Gender: M
Age: 48
Languages: Ledoseveran, Central Valindorian, North Valindorian,Turakindian, Arventian, High Valindorian, Gundrukanian, Sidfirian

Appearance:

appearance

Personal Effects:
A journal and charcoal: Emanuil keeps a hefty book which he claims as a journal, packed with years of notes and stories. He is protective of it to a degree, and has a tendency to speak aloud when journaling. His penmanship is exceptional for one of the Ledosevertsy, betraying a high status.

A suit of gleaming plate armor: Intricately shaped and fitted for him, having runes of protection inscribed on the plates. The armor is clearly from the Valindorians, whether it was given, bought, found, or taken, it provides him a degree of protection that most armor cannot.

A longsword: A long three-foot blade made for a hand and a half. It seems to have an Treuring make with a full guard and notable taper towards the leading edge. Emanuil fights often with an open hand to adjust his grip.

A kite shield: It bears a white star streaking over a field of green, a testament to the land and the guiding light of the faithful. It marks him as a devout knight, sworn to belief rather than a nation or a lord.

---

Background:

Role: The Knight Who’s Been Everywhere
Backstory: Born the third son of a Sviatodruzhina companion knight, Emanuil was raised and trained in a secluded monastery as a warrior-monk, a highborn calling which he took to naturally as breathing. A zealot ready to take his sword up as his father had against the evil that encroaches, he was recognized as an impressive warrior and wisdom alike, proclaiming the truths of their Lord’s goodness as quickly as he was to curse the evil that lurked beyond the river.

His reputation and potential was such to attract the attention of the freeblade palatine Georgi, known as the Star of the Snow. After a short time, he would announce Emanuil as his squire. The pair would travel the lands of Ledosevertsy vanquishing dark corrupting forces through bitter frost, and it would not take long for their reputation to rise to the halls of nobles. When there was a call for a Bran into the wastes beyond the Strazhovitsa, both were eager to heed the call.

The Bran was called to destroy an army massing in the dominion of Vaurinth, under one of his lieutenants, a terrible Fomori known as Hwinion. It would be an arduous campaign, the land itself seemed allied to the dark one, and many righteous souls perished to sudden frost before blades could even be crossed. By the time that the Enemy had been found, the warriors were thinned, and their foe’s bloodlust was deep. In the battle, Georgi and Emanuil alongside other companions would fight through the twisted monsters to face Hwinion. Only Emanuil would survive this battle, his knight and ten more slain by the ancient evil. With their leader slain, the tide of battle would be turned and the beleaguered crusaders would prevail at grave cost.

When the Bran Hwinion returned to Ledosevertsy, they had perhaps only a quarter of the men they had set out with. The Noble Lords, upon seeing the head of the Fomori, held a great celebration to honor the fallen, and Emanuil was proclaimed the Star of the Snow. The now-knight would take the honor out of respect to his late master, but a Valindor observer from Caryandor would take his humility and provide him a new purpose. He would become itinerant, and do for the lands beyond what he had done for Ledosever.

This new purpose fuelled him for nearly 3 decades. A symbol of devotion and clarity who would travel the lands of Minarda. His travels first took him to the Treuring Kingdoms, where after years of service he unveiled a conspiracy among the nobles against the King of Drachenfels to install a friend of the darkness as lord. He then ascended the mountains and lived among the Skyborn, calming the wrath of a Djinn whose tempests threatened to destroy a mountain roost.

Following a brief consorting with the Valindorians of Thangolad he set off for the great plains of Tridanu and Morgador, learning the old tongues among the ruins of elf, man, and giant alike. Armed with this knowledge, he ventured into the Taurethil, living nearly a decade among the elves, convincing a Sidfir hermit to return to his lowborn counterparts in Elarion. Following this, he destroyed darkbound poachers seeking to stir hatred between the Regnum and the lowborn elves.

Some among the Arventians claim that he had ventured into the lands of the High Elves after living among them, others go so far as to say that he attempted to traverse the mists, but he has not spoken of such things openly. In recent years reappeared among the grey mountains and Strommark, studying the lore of the Dwarves and their Giant forebearers. Now, he has made himself present in Ealdormuda, eagerly lending his sword against the dark that lurks in the woods near the city. Despite his age, he is not yet graying, but he has sought out the business in the ruins, and new heroes to guide into the unknown.

Character Intro: The Kingdom of Eoham was a beautiful place, its pleasant rivers and rolling greens seemed to stretch into infinity. Compared to the more rugged land of Strommark on the other side of the mountains, it was cozy and a far cry from the brutal, sparse land of his upbringing. Even now, twenty-eight years into his quest, it was a blessing from Eruherion himself that this world held places that felt bathed in His light. There was little darkness here, the people reminded him of his home in a way, a joviality that was because of the land, not in spite of it.

Even as he told tales of his travels in the inn, he still considered the news he had heard: that a ruin of the Turakindi had been discovered. It would be only a matter of time before treasure-seekers would be scouring the Greymounts, seeking profit and fame and danger. He knew many such people, but he was lucky enough for one of them to have imparted a name: Aderynel. The name was one he had heard before in the Bodeira rather than the roosts of southern mountains.

The palatine knight would be seeking her at first light. With any luck, she would be able to lead him and anyone else she had found to the ruin before it could be defiled and looted. The secrets of the Giants are tantalizing to many, and the value that such knowledge from past times could bring cannot be allowed to fall to greed.

Paradise Lost

Ginny was exhausted, staring out into the void and that shuttle. When John called that it would need to be a catch, the spacewalker groaned into her helmet, glad that her comm wasn’t active… or was it? “Maglocks aren’t working?” she asked, seeming to assume he could land on the hull. Shaking her head as the ramp opened, the ranger would take out a cord from the engineering bag. Whipping out the line, she would spin it next to her before loosing it. The strong rope would be aimed true for the assistant pilot to grab and draw her in.

Chronicles of Minadra (High Fantasy RP Concept)

I'll tap down interest, would gladly play an older wandering knight folk hero-type

Paradise Lost

Virginia Sokolova

---

Ginny was already in motion after she made the call for the shot, silently praying that Lockman was smart enough to put together everything and willing enough to listen to the words of a stranger to fire on the last bastion of Eden. Her doubts and concerns would be put to rest as she stands atop the bulkhead, shielding herself and getting sturdy for what would come.

The missile would slam into the shielding, shaking the entire station with its impact, and a jet of molten metal would bore through it, a flash of white-hot material breaking into the compartment before a vast wooshing filled the maintenance shaft. The concussive force would push Ginny into the wall she was braced against, concussion ripping through her head as she struggled to remain conscious.

The explosive decompression of the reactor chamber would cause the few metacer chasing the Ranger to screech and be pulled from the walls, their chitinous bodies crunching loudly as they are forced through a pressure differential all too rapidly. The eggs and the queen would remain sturdy as air rapidly escaped from the chamber.

The louder reeling of the queen would become more quiet and distant as the air thinned. Metacer could not survive hard vacuum, nor could their eggs. Ginny looked down at herself, the hole in her soft-suit that was mended with copious amounts of duct tape was holding for now. In the moments after the air began to still, the lights in the shaft would go out for a few seconds. Sirens would echo throughout the station as emergency power came online, the halls being bathed in a dull red. The station which had been their sanctuary had only a couple hours until it became as lifeless as the world beneath them.

Ginny, for her part, would stay there for a long minute after that experience, the stillness of a lack of air giving a certain meditative quality to the contemplation How fucking stupid am I, they’re going to panic. her ears would be ringing for some time, and while her head was swimming some, she knew she wasn’t out of the woods yet.

A slurred “Good shot, Lockman.” would come from her comm. Another long pause “I’m gonna… go back to the ship, give me a ride?”

She would jump back into the dark husk of the reactor, toward the black streak of void visible between softly-glowing metal of the blown-away housing. She shined her comm’s light towards the dead core, the lifeless husk of the queen standing watch over her motionless brood. With any luck, they had bought everyone some time by disrupting the bugs.

She’d emerge from the side of the station, seeing the world below. She could only imagine the countless queens there she could never have hoped to stop. Using her magboots, she would click her heels along the hull, and flag the shuttle.