Roman

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

@Roman

As requested. Continuing from where I had left off after reviewing your first post.

I also want to just make sure you know that none of my comments are mocking you. I'm adding this in after I finished the review, and I make a few jokes about Matt here and there, but they're never meant to mock you as the writer. It's all just my thoughts as I go through each post. I also want to make clear that none of my critiques are against you as a writer.

Hopefully this doesn't come off as harsh

Second Post:

I think you have a slight error where you describe Matt as the "Assistant Defense Attorney" instead of "District."

I still like your use of Matt's abilities as a method for exposition. Both allows your readers to become better immersed in the setting, as well as continue to display his prowess in a casual manner, as well as his everyday existence. And this post has a lot of introspection that I really enjoy. It's always nice to get into the heads of the characters we're following along with.

I do, think, though, that you have a tendency to let your paragraphs run on for too long without a break. They aren't quite at wall-of-text levels, but they are fairly extensive, and it's a recurring thing. That being said, not saying you need to remove content at all, just find good points to separate the paragraphs. Just reading through I can spot a couple of natural breakpoints for each of these instances without you needing to edit the writing in any way.

As is usual with my reviews, I recommend proofreading out loud to yourself. I'm sure this gets annoying to read constantly, and it may seem like I'm just repeating myself ad nauseam, but there's a reason I keep giving this advice. Word choice, sentence structure, repetition, odd and broken flow, grammar and punctuation issues, etc.. These are all things that are mostly caught and avoidable with such a simple method. I proofread my own writing several times like this and it does wonders.

I'm interested to learn why your version of Matt is so angry all the time. Or, at least, has a short fuse and is quick to explode. Matt's always been a tightly wound individual capable of bursting with the right amount of pressure, but yours appears to be quite easily upset and I hope to find out why as I read more.

Third Post:

Very nice exposition in this post. I particularly liked your descriptions of the city almost being an extension of Matt, and how he felt every aspect of it.

Aw, man. Let the tragic love story of hero pushing away romantic interest begin. Damn these comic characters and their inabilities to communicate like mature, reasonable adults!

Fourth Post:

Don't really have many comments for this post, other than, again appreciating all of the introspection. And that you really like the word "heat."

Oh, and, also, wasting no time in just dropping that bomb. Here's to crossing my fingers that Karen isn't a secret pornstar with heroin addiction this time.

Fifth Post:

Hm. Have to admit, not where I thought Matt was going when the last post ended with him having already taken off. I figured he was instantly running to his friends, to ensure those threatened consequences were not their lives being forfeited. Not sure how I feel about Matt being so terrified and insecure that that wasn't his first instinct, especially since he ended up staying in his hideaway for twenty-four hours knowing they were possibly in grave danger. But, again, interested to see you explore why this Matt is different in these ways. He's clearly already more broken than he typically is when this early in his career.

I also won't lie, would have preferred to see more of Matt as Daredevil before near-instantly being introduced to an arc that just tears it all out from under him. Part of me feels like there was no real establishing plot before reaching this point, and so it feels sort of hollow, to me. I think, for me, at least, it would have hit much harder had we been with Matt in his Devil persona for a little longer, a couple of outings, perhaps, to demonstrate his confidence and show us the previous status quo. With just jumping straight into tearing it down without having first built up that foundation, it doesn't have the same effect I think that it would have otherwise. Like, as much as I appreciate the story you're trying to tell, this particular aspect of the plot is mostly flat to me as we barely got any time with him outside of the courtroom before his life was upended. I just can't find myself caring as much about the development because of that.

Sixth Post:

More well done exposition here.
The first half felt somewhat monotonous without breaks in the lengthier dialogue, but that's probably just me.

Seventh Post:

You keep mentioning this man in the other cell, giving him close attention in two or three different sections now, so something tells me he's not really a bum passed out. I'm guessing assassin sent by Fisk to 'suicide' Matt.

Hm. Now, having read the attack, I don't actually know if the ragged man was the one in the other cell or not. I don't think so? Guessing that was a red herring. Interesting that they sent an assassin with only one good arm, though. I guess the Hand take themselves seriously this incarnation: no plural 's' at the end of their name, so every operative only gets to use one single arm.

Would have liked to get just a moment's internal struggle on Matt's decision to go on the run now, after pledging he would stay and fight the charges. I mean, it's obvious why, but I'd still have liked to get Matt's perspective on it, maybe see him debate the choices and the cons of both.

Eighth Post:

Matt likes to live life on the edge, huh? Letting blood from unknown men seep into his orifices. And this is after he lost out on his medical benefits upon resigning. Dude really is the Man Without Fear.

Speaking again to his aforementioned anger issues, your Matt is quite brutal. Just slicing off a dude's finger without any semblance of a chance. And his index no less. So cruel, Matt, so cruel. Plus, this crazy motherfucker didn't even bandage and cut off the blood-flow after the guy went unconscious. Which, by the way, all those guys knocked unconscious would also be dead or have irreparable brain damage seeing as they didn't wake up after a few seconds. Matt Murdock: murdering menace. Forget Spider-Man, JJ needs to look at this red-suited vigilante.

Ninth Post:

Fisky-poo's monologue should probably be separated into a couple of paragraphs, especially as you intercede with exposition a bit.

As I've commented elsewhere, I'd avoid using capitalization to demonstrate annunciating or overstressing words. Italicize, preferably. Others may not feel this way due to this being a casual roleplay environment, but just, in general, that method is largely associated with being amateurish. I know you probably chose to do so here because Kingpin's text was already bolded, though.

Hm. So, I'll admit, I slightly spoiled myself on this moment due to Doc's awards mentioning this scene. So, maybe the surprise was tarnished for me as I was expecting it for the past eight posts. But, this didn't connect with me. Don't get me wrong, I completely appreciate the balls to off not only a major villain but one of the most prominent nemesis in comics. And to do so in such a public spectacle that there will be serious fallout. But the fight just felt off to me. Given how out of it, beat down, exhausted Matt already had been. Still coming off of being drugged. Given the brutal onslaught he had just received from Kingpin and how he could barely move, the sudden and immediate turn-around was offputting to me. Especially given there were two of Fisk's men there who didn't intervene to prevent their boss's murder. While I still really appreciate the end result, the journey didn't sell me.

Tenth Post:

<Snipped quote>
This comment from Stick definitely rings true with how I feel Matt's been operating this arc. Mostly just stumbling along a path everyone else paved for him.

I would have loved to get some exposition on Stick, who he is, what he did for Matt, etc. While I love seeing him introduced, without relying on comic knowledge, we have zero information as readers about him here other than he trained Matt at some point.

While I may not have always thought the path you took to get to this point was done the best, I do like where you leave things off. And it certainly manages to keep me interested to see what happens next season. The idea of Matt having an entire city, as well as different shadow organizations, against him is exciting. As is the power vacuum that will come of this.

---

I didn't want to continually say this for each post, so I'll just let you know that the comments I gave about flow, diction, syntax, repetition, and lengthy paragraphs persisted through all of them. The fourth post, in particular, suffered from the lack of breaks in paragraphs. Especially since that post was shorter in comparison.

Overall, I liked the opening post a lot. I enjoyed the exposition and introspective moments that filled the next couple posts. After that, though, I feel like everything was rushed. Especially for an arc as pivotal as the defeat of Kingpin and discrediting of Matt's civilian identity. And even more so for his complete outing. As I said before, there wasn't enough of a foundation built prior to it. The buildup wasn't there. And having all of these things happen in rapid sequences like this kind of stole what thunder there was from each preceding one.

Likewise, Elektra's betrayal. The moment didn't carry the same weight that it should have because we only ever got one previous scene with her, and then a brief phone call/audio message. If we're never really introduced to a character and don't get to spend time with them, then moments like these never have the full effect. I understand we're all comic fans here, and this moment was never going to be a complete surprise to us, but just because it's been explored in the comics doesn't mean we shouldn't still give these moments and events the full breadth of treatment that we would if they were original moments. It's all about making sure we build up and provide the proper amount of context and emotional leverage so that the big moments have the impact they deserve.

While I could still find enjoyment in pieces here and there, after the first few posts the rest of this arc just didn't land with me. Personally, I would have liked to see this be the second season arc after first experiencing more of Matt's regular life, and especially more of his Devil work. Especially with more of a tease for the conflict between Kingpin - as well as more exposition on him being Fisk - and DD being sprinkled throughout. Then, a story like the one you told here would have carried much more weight to it, I think.

I also felt like Matt didn't really achieve anything himself in this plot. Everything was pretty much handed to him. Even when he was going after Fisk's operation and interrogating his henchmen, it didn't really matter as Fisk/Silkworth gave Matt all the information themselves. It didn't feel like, to me, that he earned the 'victory.' There was no investigative work, no real following of clues, no steps taken between starting point and destination. I think that also affected how it felt rushed to me.

To me, it seemed like there was a place you really wanted Matt to be for you to write from, and you wrote an arc to quickly achieve that but didn't give enough attention to the journey along the way. So the payoff wasn't as substantial as it could have been. I think either more time should have been spent building up to everything, or the position you were setting Matt up for should have been where we started off.

That being said, solid exposition throughout the season. Quite a bit of interesting introspection. I want to stress how much I appreciate the effort you put into that.

And, I also have to give you a lot of credit for finishing the arc. I know you were very proud of this, and you should be. It's definitely an achievement in these games.

Given where things left off this season, I'm looking forward to seeing the transition into the next.
_{Lonnie Lincoln as new Kingpin, please?}

@Retired

Actually various bits of your review made me laugh, so no harm done whatsoever. It’s fun to poke at the logical fallacies and general unrealistic situations and actions we often allow ourselves as comic fans and writers. Plus being made fun of sometimes is healthy. God knows I need the ego check.

My first reaction to this is how incredibly fair nearly every point is, especially in regards to the pace and and constant bombshells on top of bombshells throughout my arc - both things I held insecurities about myself, but allowed to be a problem regardless. A lesson there somewhere.

Looking at my arc now with your review in mind it is painful to watch myself write a ‘Hero Loses Everything’ arc without setting up that ‘Everything’ first. Very schoolboy. I definitely feel like I leant too much on the assumed base knowledge of Murdock due to the nature of the game, and that wasn’t fair on my readers, who might not know DD but would like to, the other players of the game, who aren’t falling into such obvious traps, and myself, who I’m doing a disservice by not writing the most well-rounded and thoughtful story I can.

The man in the cell is indeed the assassin already in position. This is an issue where I have the knowledge as the writer so it seems obvious, but I don’t consider how it reads to an outside observer. It’s not the first time I’ve tripped on this particular hazard, and it’s domething to bear in mind for DD season 2 and Constantine season 1.

I am glad the brutality of this Matt came through, as that’s an aspect of the character I wanted from the start to really serve as a through-line. Anger, force of will, brutality, ultimately coming together for his last stand at the end of the arc to fuel an action he will regret over the course of the next arc.

Speaking of that decision, I’m a little disappointed that it wasn’t as impactful for you as it could have been, but it’s completely understandable why. As far as how jarring it was to suddenly have Matt gain the hoper hand, that was supposed to be the anger and force of will, as Matt in his source material is near superhuman in his sheer determination against his adversaries - but hey, there’s that old ‘well you guys know the comics’ problem again. Bad! Bad writer! Lazy!

All in all I’m glad you are at least still invested enough to want to read what I have coming. Without his civilian persona to fall back on season two should be a far more ‘fun’ arc, with a lot of vigilante shenanigans, appearances from DD’s extensive rogues gallery, and some good old-fashioned comic book books.

Perhaps I should have written the seasons in reverse order. Perhaps I should have lengthened the arc instead of giving myself artificial deadlines, or feverishly chasing a shock ending. Perhaps I should have proofread and edited my first four - which I wrote for a previous game - and then planned what felt natural from there, rather than where I wanted to go. Perhaps I shouldn’t have used the first four at all. Perhaps perhaps perhaps.

Thank you, though. I found your critique constructive, thoughtful, well-presented, and above all respectful. I can’t imagine the time all this work has taken you.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

John Constantine

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

T H E L A U G H I N G M A G I C I A N

---

^{_{J O H N A T H AN C O N S T A N T I N E ♦ U N E M P L O Y E D ♦ N E W C A S T L E ♦ I N D E P E N D E N T}}

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

---

^{"We are who we are. Eventually."}

Every time I've tried playing Constantine in the past, I've started slap-bang in the middle of his career as an occultist, exorcist, detective, magician, etc etc, and often include nearly every major event of his canon in the biography. And I usually end up directionless after 2/3 posts with no real plan or solid character development to pursue. No more!

This Constantine is young. He's just been released from Ravenscar after an eighteen-month incarceration, with no home, family, friends or life to return to. His sister is still disappeared; his mother is still dead; his father still may as well be. He's a blank slate to carve scars and stories into, and there's a clear vision to begin setting him up as the equally legendary and infamous mage we know from DC today.

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

---

I want to play Constantine because I fucking love the character. I love the morality (or lack thereof), I love the occultism, I love the magic, I love the mystery. I love the psychological horror that John brings to the genre. I want to do all of this with a blank Constantine, I want to inflict my own traumas onto John. I'll immediately start this by dealing with the mystery around John's sister and his unknown heritage, and then work on building Constantine's ability and reputation as a mage befitting his inherited title. Slowly John will build a network of allies and enemies and mixes of both, but I'll always try to keep it grounded in the occult crime-mystery roots I've always adored.

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

---

Ravenscar Psychiatric Hospital

A large mental health facility in the North of England, Ravenscar has existed in one form or another for hundred of years, and will exist for a hundred more. The 'treatment' used within is questionable and often outdated, and the staff are often negligent or outright cruel. It is not a place of dedicated healing, and most patients do not leave. John Constantine was one of the lucky few - but the fear that his fragile psyche will lead back to that shadowy building hangs over him eternally.

Cheryl Constantine

John's elder sister, who cared for John during their childhood and did her best to protect the both of them from their father. John and Cheryl enjoy a deep bond with each other via their shared childhood trauma, but also find it difficult to spend time together due to the memories that tend to resurface. Two years ago, Cheryl disappeared in mysterious circumstances, and shortly afterward John started experiencing horrific nightmares and strange visions. Coupled with his grief and the inability of all invovled to find her, he suffered a nervous break, and was committed to Ravenscar. Cheryl remains missing, and John refuses to believe she is dead.

Thomas Constantine

John and Cheryl's alcoholic, abusive, general degenerate father. still in Liverpool. With several misdemeanor crimes on his record, he works basic labour at the docks, and uses the money to drink himself to death. John reckons he's well over halfway there; with a bit of luck, he'll do himself in by the end of the year.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

<Snipped quote>

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

NA

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

END OF SEASON AWARDS:

@Lord Wraith

Do we make our votes publicly or privately or dealer’s choice?

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Hey everybody! Doc's back!

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

With Hexaflexagon's delightful news of an official release on John Constantine, there's no better time to submit my second character sheet for consideration.

John Constantine

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

T H E L A U G H I N G M A G I C I A N

---

^{_{J O H N A T H AN C O N S T A N T I N E ♦ U N E M P L O Y E D ♦ N E W C A S T L E ♦ I N D E P E N D E N T}}

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

---

^{"We are who we are. Eventually."}

Every time I've tried playing Constantine in the past, I've started slap-bang in the middle of his career as an occultist, exorcist, detective, magician, etc etc, and often include nearly every major event of his canon in the biography. And I usually end up directionless after 2/3 posts with no real plan or solid character development to pursue. No more!

This Constantine is young. He's just been released from Ravenscar after an eighteen-month incarceration, with no home, family, friends or life to return to. His sister is still disappeared; his mother is still dead; his father still may as well be. He's a blank slate to carve scars and stories into, and there's a clear vision to begin setting him up as the equally legendary and infamous mage we know from DC today.

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

---

I want to play Constantine because I fucking love the character. I love the morality (or lack thereof), I love the occultism, I love the magic, I love the mystery. I love the psychological horror that John brings to the genre. I want to do all of this with a blank Constantine, I want to inflict my own traumas onto John. I'll immediately start this by dealing with the mystery around John's sister and his unknown heritage, and then work on building Constantine's ability and reputation as a mage befitting his inherited title. Slowly John will build a network of allies and enemies and mixes of both, but I'll always try to keep it grounded in the occult crime-mystery roots I've always adored.

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

---

Ravenscar Psychiatric Hospital

A large mental health facility in the North of England, Ravenscar has existed in one form or another for hundred of years, and will exist for a hundred more. The 'treatment' used within is questionable and often outdated, and the staff are often negligent or outright cruel. It is not a place of dedicated healing, and most patients do not leave. John Constantine was one of the lucky few - but the fear that his fragile psyche will lead back to that shadowy building hangs over him eternally.

Cheryl Constantine

John's elder sister, who cared for John during their childhood and did her best to protect the both of them from their father. John and Cheryl enjoy a deep bond with each other via their shared childhood trauma, but also find it difficult to spend time together due to the memories that tend to resurface. Two years ago, Cheryl disappeared in mysterious circumstances, and shortly afterward John started experiencing horrific nightmares and strange visions. Coupled with his grief and the inability of all invovled to find her, he suffered a nervous break, and was committed to Ravenscar. Cheryl remains missing, and John refuses to believe she is dead.

Thomas Constantine

John and Cheryl's alcoholic, abusive, general degenerate father. still in Liverpool. With several misdemeanor crimes on his record, he works basic labour at the docks, and uses the money to drink himself to death. John reckons he's well over halfway there; with a bit of luck, he'll do himself in by the end of the year.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

"A dungeon horrible, on all sides round,
As one great furnace flamed, yet from those flames
No light, but darkness visible
Served only to discover sights of woe,

Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace
And rest can never dwell, hope never comes
That comes to all; but torture without end
Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed
With ever-burning sulphur unconsumed:

Such place Eternal Justice had prepared
For those rebellious, here their prison ordained
In utter darkness, and their portion set
As far removed from God and light of Heav'n
As from the centre thrice to th' utmost pole."
- John Milton, Paradise Lost.

"It's not always like it is in the books."
- John Constantine

---

Fire. Oh god, fire. Licking flames marred the horizon like the ridges of mountains, burning nothing and everything. It seemed to absorb light rather than emanate it, exuding a thick blackness that, nonetheless, still illuminated the twisted landscape in a way that made John feel nauseous. Far below him, pinpricks of agony went on in their suffering, skewered and crushed and lashed, their torture brazen and subtle and unending. Stronger souls put on airs of resistance, stifling their own screams, while in the distance the more wretched spirits simply writhed in dirt and scum, the pain and torment of this place etched into their very being by the eons. Others had been twisted into obscene parodies of Man, a mocking affront to God through the perversion of His most beloved creation. All was curated by devils, convicts of this prison who had made their cells their kingdoms, and overseen by their demonic generals. John conjured their names to mind, each flitting in and out of his consciousness like nymphs through the glen, their eagerness to be known and dreaded imprinted behind his eyes: Mammon, King of Worms and Wealth, eyes searching ever downwards for gold; Belial, the Impure Lord, destroying all that lies before and behind; Moloch, the False Idol, who feasts upon children; Mulciber, Mockery of the Creator, great architect of sorrows and sin; and Beelzebub, Lord of Flies, devourer of carcasses and mouthpiece of Satan. Ah, Satan, the Most Unclean, the Son of Perdition, the Father of Lies, the Dragon, the Beast, the Adversary; Lucifer, King of the Bottomless Pit. A story old as anything, and John had done his research in Ravenscar. He was here - he was always here - but John would escape his gaze for now.

Somewhere, off in the distance, a light blinked into life among the flames, a burning point of pure white that outshone the oozing darkness of the fire surrounding, piercing through all of Hell's great disgust to focus John's attention completely. He felt himself moving, no longer transfixed by the cavern's horror, and stumbled forwards, legs battling against the mire of dark, sickly discharge that seemed to ebb from the ground itself and coat the earth. His feet were drenched, and as he advanced - somehow passing over the void of agony that lay beneath him, apparently existing on a separate plane - the mire clung to him ever more tightly, climbing past his ankles to lap at his shins, then his knees, each step requiring twice the effort of the one preceding, until John was dragged onto his hands, crawling and dragging his body toward the white light that beckoned him, his journey taking him millenia, but the light never moving, never getting closer, but always reaching out to him, as if to say keep going, John. Keep crawling. Come for me. Just a little bit further...

He slumped into the mire, the mud overtaking him as exhaustion took hold. The ground enveloped him, swallowed John whole, and he could feel himself suffocating, drowning in the viscous, foul liquid for centuries before he was spat out below, the pinpricks he had looked upon so long ago growing larger and larger as he fell to join them. He craned his neck upwards, hoping for any sign of that light, the beautiful, pure shining star that had goaded him forth.
There was nothing but inky blackness.
Not even the flames.
But still, the voice echoed around him.

Save me, John. Come for me. Save me. You put me here, John Constantine. You put me here. Save me, John.

Save me, John.

Save me, John.

Save me, John.

"S A V E M E J O H N ."

---

"I CAN'T." He yelled back, startling himself awake with the forcefulness of his reply. There was a bubble of silence, and then John drew the first ragged, stale breath of the day, and it was broken; the sounds of traffic and the city filtered in through his window, and he could hear the creaking of floorboards above him, the faint sounds of strong, angry words floating down through his ceiling. The sun shone harshly outside, spilling onto his bed, and John threw off his covers, propping himself up as he wiped his face of sweat, his heart pounding in his chest. This was the fourth night of the same dream, and it had always played out the same way. Failure, accusation, and tortured pleading. John sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed as shaky hands fumbled around in the drawer of his bedside table to find the lighter and the nearly-empty pack of Silk Cut cigarettes that dwelled within, a fag quickly finding its way to his mouth in one hand as the other flipped the lighter open and lit the wick. He held the flame to the end of the cigarette and drew deeply as it caught alight, drawing the toxic smoke into his lungs and pushing it out in one motion. His heart began to calm itself, though his mind still raced. These were not mere nightmares, imagined illusions of horror born of external stress. These were deeper, more vivid - John would say premonitions were he not a cynic. But a cynic he was, and he was quite content to endure these dreams for as long as they would persist, a subconscious desire to be punished eager to inflict such lucid terror when John's waking mind was not there to suppress his inner demons.

^{"I am in his kingdom, John."}
John flinched, ducking sharply as he reacted to the vicious whisper that came from just behind his shoulder. He stood from his bed, cold air stinging his naked torso as the duvet fell from around his shoulders. Smoke from the lit cigarette drifted lazily upwards, ash falling to the ground and pooling around John's feet. The room was empty save for him, but the voice had been so clear and direct that even the deepest cynicism John could muster failed to dispell the belief that something - someone - had just spoken to him.
_{"Find the house of Nergal, John."}

"Fuck off." John said loudly, and then he heard a stomp on his ceiling as the 88-year-old lady above disapproved of his vulgarity. The room was still again, and John poised himself for a third intrusion, carefully sucking on his cigarette as he moved across the bedroom to his closet, fishing out a shirt and a pair of slacks, pulling the trousers over his legs and buttoning his collar as the keen silence of his apartment remained steadfastly unbroken. He didn't want to think about who was talking to him, delivering ominous, cryptic messages and pleading commands. Instead, he pushed his tie up to the top of his collar and walked out of the bedroom, leaving his dreams and spectral visitor behind him. In the kitchen, he stubbed his cigarette out on an ashtray that sat in the center of the small round table and snatched his coat from where it hung on the door, slinging it over his form while his free hand snatched the flask from the inside pocket, feverishly pulling and twisting at the cap before he swung it to his mouth, taking a large gulp. He stowed the flask again, and held a hand out, parallel to the ground. It twitched slightly, and Constantine drew it into a fist until his knuckles were white and his fingers ached with the pressure. Smoke rose from the cracks between his fingers and he opened them, fire bursting from his palm and smoldering painlessly. He watched the flames dance across his skin, lashing at his wrinkles and hopping the callouses at the base of each finger. The voice from his dream echoed in his head as the flames span round and round. The house of Nergal...

John's cigarette burnt to its last end in the ashtray as the door to his apartment slammed shut behind him, another already lit and hanging from his lips as he took the stairs two at a time down towards the building's lobby.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

NA

Cheers!

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

^{_{X. Alive - Epilogue}}

---

Matt woke up.

The first thing that hit him was the sudden and startling realization that he was alive. Shortly after that, he realized that being presently alive was no guarantee that such a state would continue into the immediate future. And after that came the crashing waves of excruciating pain, and Matt thought that perhaps death being potentially close wasn't quite so grave an idea after all.

He tried to sit up, only to find himself pushed back down onto the bed - he realized he was on a bed - by a thin rod. He heard the owner of the rod grumble quietly, and then move around Matt and his bed to take a seat next to him.

"Don't you dare move. Took me all night to re-set your bones and bandage you up. You've been damn reckless enough already."

Matt was incredulous. "Stick?"

He heard the old man chuckle dryly. The bubble of wry mirth burst across his face and illuminated the old mentor. There was no mistaking those long, weathered features.

"You thought that swollen bastard was the only one with hidden agents? Very entertaining, that brawl on Times Square. Very public, too."

"Yeah, well, I didn't get a plethora of venues to choose from." Matt shot back, coughing as he spoke. It hurt to breathe, but it hurt more to take Stick's tired old criticism in silence.

"You didn't get a choice, and that's your problem. All your choices have been made for you. You just watched it happen."

"I stopped Fisk."

There was a pause from both men. The statement hung in the air like hovering vermin, and the full weight of the implication hit Matthew harder than Kingpin ever could have.

"I...God forgive me. I killed him."

Stick leaned forwards. "Of all the farcical messes you have embroiled yourself in over the last two weeks, that is the single decision you have made yourself, and the one act I am proud of you for. You did what was necessary to remove evil from the world."

"I killed a man. Criminal or not, I am a murderer."

Stick leaned back, considering the statement, both hands resting on top of his cane.

"Because of what you did, Wilson Fisk will never come back, and his empire will crumble. People will not live their lives in fear. Because of you. The act is done. That is that."

Matt didn't answer. He rolled onto his side away from Stick, feeling something creaking inside him.

"How did you get me out?"

Stick laughed again. "The Hand aren't the only ones who can Hide. They got that from us. Everyone had men in that crowd - us, The Hand, Fisk. We got to you first, and I would think The Hand and Fisk's men thought we were either them or the other. They never considered a third party presence. You're safe, for now, but give everyone a couple days, and they'll realize who we actually were."

Matt frowned. "You say 'we', 'us'. Who are you talking about?"

"Did you really think you were my only pupil?"

Matt floundered. Stick laughed that dry laugh again.

"Son, looking at that shoulder wound, I don't even think you're my best pupil, despite what you accomplished tonight."
The realization hit Matt like a cheap body-blow, below the belt and ugly. He twisted inside.

"...Elektra..."

"Miss Natchios got you good, didn't she? She was always promising, always filled with potential. She represented so much to the Chaste...but that girl loves money and power. And we couldn't offer her either. It's not what we do."

"She knew who I was from the beginning."

"Oh, very likely. Clever and cunning, that one."

"And then when I became a problem for Fisk..."

"She sold her info. There's money."

"So the Hand assassins..."

"Fisk thought he'd hired them, but they always have their own plans. Tests, trials. Maneuvering you into position. Fisk didn't just stop people getting out - he stopped people getting in."

"They were banking on me stopping Fisk."

"And there's power."

Matt rolled back onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Neither of them said anything for a while.

"So now what." Matt asked flatly. Stick took a moment to consider.

"Fisk's empire is collapsing as we speak; no one wields the fear and respect necessary to replace him, so other players will step in to loot and divide what's left. The Hand just had their biggest obstacle removed for them; their Fingers will begin to lay claim to anything they can in the name of the clan. And Fisk's final gift, to you, is the terrible truth delivered: Matthew Murdock is Daredevil, the Man Without Fear. And Daredevil killed the Kingpin. People are going to want revenge. Or glory by proxy."

Matt nodded, and sat up. Stick put a hand on Matt's shoulder, but he pushed it off. With some effort, he rose from the bed, woozy on his feet at first but soon finding his balance. He walked across the room, one arm slung, the other clutching his bandaged ribs, towards a small table, upon which sat a dark cowl with red eyes that had been staring at Matt from the moment he'd woken up. Beneath the cowl were two new batons. Matt lifted the helmet in one hand, staring deep into the eyes of the Devil.

"Those were our gifts to you - a welcome."

Matt put the helmet on, and carefully sealed the clasps. "No."

"There is no refusal here, Murdock. There's us, or suicide. The Hand will find you. What's left of Fisk will break you. And every new name flooding into the city will kill you. Everyone wants your notch in their knife. You need the Chaste."

Matt picked up and sheathed each baton carefully, then turned around to face Stick. With the cowl on, he could feel an old fire sparking within him again, giving him strength."Thank you for the rescue, even if it was only to recruit me. But I am not the agent of some higher will."

"You'll be alone out there, Matthew. Just you, against the entire city."

Matt paused at the doorway. "Fisk was the city. And I've already killed him once."

"It will become chaos out there. Your city will need a saviour."

Matt smiled as he left, leaving Stick behind in a dark room, with an empty bed.

"My city doesn't need a saviour. It already has a Devil."

Roman's Scrapbin

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

T H E L A U G H I N G M A G I C I A N

---

^{_{J O H N A T H AN C O N S T A N T I N E ♦ U N E M P L O Y E D ♦ N E W C A S T L E ♦ I N D E P E N D E N T}}

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

---

^{"We are who we are. Eventually."}

Every time I've tried playing Constantine in the past, I've started slap-bang in the middle of his career as an occultist, exorcist, detective, magician, etc etc, and often include nearly every major event of his canon in the biography. And I usually end up directionless after 2/3 posts with no real plan or solid character development to pursue. No more!

This Constantine is young. He's just been released from Ravenscar after an eighteen-month incarceration, with no home, family, friends or life to return to. His sister is still disappeared; his mother is still dead; his father still may as well be. He's a blank slate to carve scars and stories into, and there's a clear vision to begin setting him up as the equally legendary and infamous mage we know from DC today.

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

---

I want to play Constantine because I fucking love the character. I love the morality (or lack thereof), I love the occultism, I love the magic, I love the mystery. I love the psychological horror that John brings to the genre. I want to do all of this with a blank Constantine, I want to inflict my own traumas onto John. I'll immediately start this by dealing with the mystery around John's sister and his unknown heritage, and then work on building Constantine's ability and reputation as a mage befitting his inherited title. Slowly John will build a network of allies and enemies and mixes of both, but I'll always try to keep it grounded in the occult crime-mystery roots I've always adored.

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

---

Ravenscar Psychiatric Hospital

A large mental health facility in the North of England, Ravenscar has existed in one form or another for hundred of years, and will exist for a hundred more. The 'treatment' used within is questionable and often outdated, and the staff are often negligent or outright cruel. It is not a place of dedicated healing, and most patients do not leave. John Constantine was one of the lucky few - but the fear that his fragile psyche will lead back to that shadowy building hangs over him eternally.

Cheryl Constantine

John's elder sister, who cared for John during their childhood and did her best to protect the both of them from their father. John and Cheryl enjoy a deep bond with each other via their shared childhood trauma, but also find it difficult to spend time together due to the memories that tend to resurface. Two years ago, Cheryl disappeared in mysterious circumstances, and shortly afterward John started experiencing horrific nightmares and strange visions. Coupled with his grief and the inability of all invovled to find her, he suffered a nervous break, and was committed to Ravenscar. Cheryl remains missing, and John refuses to believe she is dead.

Thomas Constantine

John and Cheryl's alcoholic, abusive, general degenerate father. still in Liverpool. With several misdemeanor crimes on his record, he works basic labour at the docks, and uses the money to drink himself to death. John reckons he's well over halfway there; with a bit of luck, he'll do himself in by the end of the year.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

"A dungeon horrible, on all sides round,
As one great furnace flamed, yet from those flames
No light, but darkness visible
Served only to discover sights of woe,

Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace
And rest can never dwell, hope never comes
That comes to all; but torture without end
Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed
With ever-burning sulphur unconsumed:

Such place Eternal Justice had prepared
For those rebellious, here their prison ordained
In utter darkness, and their portion set
As far removed from God and light of Heav'n
As from the centre thrice to th' utmost pole."
- John Milton, Paradise Lost.

"It's not always like it is in the books."
- John Constantine

---

Fire. Oh god, fire. Licking flames marred the horizon like the ridges of mountains, burning nothing and everything. It seemed to absorb light rather than emanate it, exuding a thick blackness that, nonetheless, still illuminated the twisted landscape in a way that made John feel nauseous. Far below him, pinpricks of agony went on in their suffering, skewered and crushed and lashed, their torture brazen and subtle and unending. Stronger souls put on airs of resistance, stifling their own screams, while in the distance the more wretched spirits simply writhed in dirt and scum, the pain and torment of this place etched into their very being by the eons. Others had been twisted into obscene parodies of Man, a mocking affront to God through the perversion of His most beloved creation. All was curated by devils, convicts of this prison who had made their cells their kingdoms, and overseen by their demonic generals. John conjured their names to mind, each flitting in and out of his consciousness like nymphs through the glen, their eagerness to be known and dreaded imprinted behind his eyes: Mammon, King of Worms and Wealth, eyes searching ever downwards for gold; Belial, the Impure Lord, destroying all that lies before and behind; Moloch, the False Idol, who feasts upon children; Mulciber, Mockery of the Creator, great architect of sorrows and sin; and Beelzebub, Lord of Flies, devourer of carcasses and mouthpiece of Satan. Ah, Satan, the Most Unclean, the Son of Perdition, the Father of Lies, the Dragon, the Beast, the Adversary; Lucifer, King of the Bottomless Pit. A story old as anything, and John had done his research in Ravenscar. He was here - he was always here - but John would escape his gaze for now.

Somewhere, off in the distance, a light blinked into life among the flames, a burning point of pure white that outshone the oozing darkness of the fire surrounding, piercing through all of Hell's great disgust to focus John's attention completely. He felt himself moving, no longer transfixed by the cavern's horror, and stumbled forwards, legs battling against the mire of dark, sickly discharge that seemed to ebb from the ground itself and coat the earth. His feet were drenched, and as he advanced - somehow passing over the void of agony that lay beneath him, apparently existing on a separate plane - the mire clung to him ever more tightly, climbing past his ankles to lap at his shins, then his knees, each step requiring twice the effort of the one preceding, until John was dragged onto his hands, crawling and dragging his body toward the white light that beckoned him, his journey taking him millenia, but the light never moving, never getting closer, but always reaching out to him, as if to say keep going, John. Keep crawling. Come for me. Just a little bit further...

He slumped into the mire, the mud overtaking him as exhaustion took hold. The ground enveloped him, swallowed John whole, and he could feel himself suffocating, drowning in the viscous, foul liquid for centuries before he was spat out below, the pinpricks he had looked upon so long ago growing larger and larger as he fell to join them. He craned his neck upwards, hoping for any sign of that light, the beautiful, pure shining star that had goaded him forth.
There was nothing but inky blackness.
Not even the flames.
But still, the voice echoed around him.

Save me, John. Come for me. Save me. You put me here, John Constantine. You put me here. Save me, John.

Save me, John.

Save me, John.

Save me, John.

"S A V E M E J O H N ."

---

"I CAN'T." He yelled back, startling himself awake with the forcefulness of his reply. There was a bubble of silence, and then John drew the first ragged, stale breath of the day, and it was broken; the sounds of traffic and the city filtered in through his window, and he could hear the creaking of floorboards above him, the faint sounds of strong, angry words floating down through his ceiling. The sun shone harshly outside, spilling onto his bed, and John threw off his covers, propping himself up as he wiped his face of sweat, his heart pounding in his chest. This was the fourth night of the same dream, and it had always played out the same way. Failure, accusation, and tortured pleading. John sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed as shaky hands fumbled around in the drawer of his bedside table to find the lighter and the nearly-empty pack of Silk Cut cigarettes that dwelled within, a fag quickly finding its way to his mouth in one hand as the other flipped the lighter open and lit the wick. He held the flame to the end of the cigarette and drew deeply as it caught alight, drawing the toxic smoke into his lungs and pushing it out in one motion. His heart began to calm itself, though his mind still raced. These were not mere nightmares, imagined illusions of horror born of external stress. These were deeper, more vivid - John would say premonitions were he not a cynic. But a cynic he was, and he was quite content to endure these dreams for as long as they would persist, a subconscious desire to be punished eager to inflict such lucid terror when John's waking mind was not there to suppress his inner demons.

^{"I am in his kingdom, John."}
John flinched, ducking sharply as he reacted to the vicious whisper that came from just behind his shoulder. He stood from his bed, cold air stinging his naked torso as the duvet fell from around his shoulders. Smoke from the lit cigarette drifted lazily upwards, ash falling to the ground and pooling around John's feet. The room was empty save for him, but the voice had been so clear and direct that even the deepest cynicism John could muster failed to dispell the belief that something - someone - had just spoken to him.
_{"Find the house of Nergal, John."}

"Fuck off." John said loudly, and then he heard a stomp on his ceiling as the 88-year-old lady above disapproved of his vulgarity. The room was still again, and John poised himself for a third intrusion, carefully sucking on his cigarette as he moved across the bedroom to his closet, fishing out a shirt and a pair of slacks, pulling the trousers over his legs and buttoning his collar as the keen silence of his apartment remained steadfastly unbroken. He didn't want to think about who was talking to him, delivering ominous, cryptic messages and pleading commands. Instead, he pushed his tie up to the top of his collar and walked out of the bedroom, leaving his dreams and spectral visitor behind him. In the kitchen, he stubbed his cigarette out on an ashtray that sat in the center of the small round table and snatched his coat from where it hung on the door, slinging it over his form while his free hand snatched the flask from the inside pocket, feverishly pulling and twisting at the cap before he swung it to his mouth, taking a large gulp. He stowed the flask again, and held a hand out, parallel to the ground. It twitched slightly, and Constantine drew it into a fist until his knuckles were white and his fingers ached with the pressure. Smoke rose from the cracks between his fingers and he opened them, fire bursting from his palm and smoldering painlessly. He watched the flames dance across his skin, lashing at his wrinkles and hopping the callouses at the base of each finger. The voice from his dream echoed in his head as the flames span round and round. The house of Nergal...

John's cigarette burnt to its last end in the ashtray as the door to his apartment slammed shut behind him, another already lit and hanging from his lips as he took the stairs two at a time down towards the building's lobby.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

NA

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

<Snipped quote by Roman>
Baal from the Wicked + Divine.

@Stein

My god...the possibilities.

My first thought is literal actual incarnations of ancient deities is too OP. But also we have Thor? So like...fuck yeah

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

<Snipped quote by Roman>

Stein's run a Justice League RP several times. Old Guild, New Guild, Iwaku.

I was Alfred Pennyworth who fell into a Lazarus Pit and then joined Bruce as Owlman.

Good times.

@Lord Wraith

Now that sounds like a party.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

<Snipped quote by Roman>
Didn't they GM a Justice League RP once upon a time?

@Inkarnate

God, not that I can remember? But I do take long spells of inactivity sometimes.