<Snipped quote by Colonel Sep>
Babs/Kara/Harley/Ivy
Edit: holy SHIT that’s a big image. But I’m on mobile so I’m not fixing it.
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Watch out.
The gap in the door... it's a separate reality.
The only me is me.
Are you sure the only you is you?
The gap in the door... it's a separate reality.
The only me is me.
Are you sure the only you is you?
DON'T TOUCH THAT DIAL NOW, WE'RE JUST GETTING STARTED
Most Recent Posts
Edit: holy SHIT that’s a big image. But I’m on mobile so I’m not fixing it.
While we're throwing down gauntlets for secondary sheets, here's something I drew up previously, that I've tweaked for this game and cooked up a new saga for that I'm quite excited about:
This is what my previous Jonathan Crane-shaped question was in relation to, as I want to use him as the story's major villain with some inspiration from the Absolute incarnation of the character. If this will get in the way of other's plans, it's flexible, I have options - just let me know. I don't want to hog him all to myself, but Scarecrow will be instrumental as the arc's antagonist.
This is what my previous Jonathan Crane-shaped question was in relation to, as I want to use him as the story's major villain with some inspiration from the Absolute incarnation of the character. If this will get in the way of other's plans, it's flexible, I have options - just let me know. I don't want to hog him all to myself, but Scarecrow will be instrumental as the arc's antagonist.
And the Questing Beast is a-go!
Thank you @Lord Wraith who very kindly put together a post banner that can be used for the event; if you're getting involved and you'd like to use it, the code can be pinched from the hider below:
There's also a larger alternative if you desire something a bit grander (or want to make your post look longer):
Looking forward to everyone getting involved and writing with you!
Thank you @Lord Wraith who very kindly put together a post banner that can be used for the event; if you're getting involved and you'd like to use it, the code can be pinched from the hider below:
There's also a larger alternative if you desire something a bit grander (or want to make your post look longer):
Looking forward to everyone getting involved and writing with you!
B L A C K K N I G H T
B L A C K K N I G H T
B L A C K K N I G H T
Location: New York
V
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The trail was not hard to follow. Whatever glamour the Beast had used to reach my apartment has clearly since been shed, and now as I half-walked, half-jogged along the New York streets following bent street signs and trampled cars and cracked asphalt, I also heard panicked chatter of some terrible chimera running amok, a snake-leopard-goat thing, a demon hybrid of nonsense fauna, a folklore monster from tales of yore. All descriptors congruent with the mish-mash of animal parts I'd cowered beneath in my kitchenette.
"The Beast is early this time. You only laid hands upon the blade yesterday."
The sword rattled in its scabbard against my hip, bouncing as I trotted along in search of my quarry. I kept one hand to the pommel, letting in the endless advice and anecdotes about each Knight's own time with the Questing Beast, their battle, their besting of it; most of which required at least cursory knowledge on how to hold and swing a sword. One lucky parry was not about to cut it.
"Well, I'm just so magnetic a personality, it was obviously in such a rush to meet me." I replied, trying to downplay both how nervous I was and how out-of-breath. The people that noticed me talking seemingly to myself also then noticed the blade dangling at my waist - apparently with the Beast on the loose, seeing one weird was a gateway into seeing two, no matter what Garrett had said about people not wanting to acknowledge the sword - and then quickly looked away, hurrying off in the opposite direction. Slowly but surely, the citizens travelling the same direction as me trickled away, and I began pushing through crowds coming toward me, fleeing from the very Beast I was in pursuit of. A rather loud part of my brain kept screaming about why I was so doggedly in pursuit, and not joining the retreating masses like any sensible person should, and to be frank I didn't have a good answer - just the buzz of my ancestors in my head, and the feel of the cool steel of the hilt in my palm.
"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Dane, but humour will serve you better than panic."
"Oh don't worry, I can do both."
The trail continued and after a few blocks I was able to just follow the shrieks; slowly but surely I was led forward, and it began to dawn on me exactly where I was headed.
"Oh my god, it said 'Square'. It can't have meant..."
It did mean. Times Square loomed ahead of me, billboards showing live coverage of the very carnage taking place beneath them, helicopters circling ahead. The Questing Beast in all its incongruous fury thrashed and roared atop the concrete, lashing its tail at passing cars and frightening the horses of the mounted police bold enough to approach; it reared up, towering over the NYPD steeds, and when its hooves hit the pavement again it struck a thunderous chord that reverberated off the buildings and shook my bones. It was so much bigger than it had been in my apartment, at least four storeys tall now, and the great serpentine head gnashed and spat and writhed far above me; when its eyes caught my form that awful not-smile spread across its anguine face again, and I shivered.
"And so you have sought me out, Knight, as is proper. Good. I did not believe you would come - even now, you cower before me, afraid to wield your blade, to do what you must. But you shall learn - or you shall be devoured. Come! Draw your sword, Knight, face me!"
Hesitantly, my hand slipped from the pommel and wrapped around the grip of the hilt. The leather felt pliant and unfamiliar in my grasp, but the blade slipped from its scabbard all-too-easily as I drew my sword and gripped it in both hands before me, outstretched and wavering. The Questing Beast regarded me with faint amusement, cut with latent curiosity, and seemingly to satisfy its own humours, bent its front legs and dipped its head in deference to me, whether mockingly or not I could not say; feeling awkward and uncertain, I found myself bowing back.
"That's a good start, lad. Always honour your opponent."
"For all the good honour will do me six feet underground..." I muttered back, rising to meet to foe.
"Worry not, son. The Beast is powerful, but we have a few tricks of our own. Nine-hundred years of Knights stand with you in the sword...we shall see you through this day yet."
I didn't have time to think of a snappy repartee in response to Garrett's assurances, his voice so bolstered by faith, unwavering and resilient; the Beast charged, and all of a sudden we were caught in a dance, jaws snapping, tail whipping, my own arms flailing to deflect blows and chop at scales with speed and strength I knew I did not possess - at first it felt as if they were acting of their own accord, summoning reactions from a forgotten pocket of my spirit, but it soon became clear; my arms were merely being led along the ballroom floor, following the elegant and well-practiced waltz of their partner. The sword itself guided me, my ancestors all at once rushing to my aid. I felt...hope.
And then encompassing pain as fangs found their way past my guard, and sank deep into my shoulder. I cried out in agony, felt my forefathers cry out with me; the Beast drew me up in its maw, and then with a terrible lash of its neck, flung me some forty feet through the air. I came crashing down on a cop cruiser, the siren petering out as the chassis was crushed beneath my impact, and all I could feel was a white-hot agony spreading forth from the wound to swallow up my body; my arm beneath where I had been bitten lay limp and lifeless, the sword heavy and loose in my fading grip. My ears rang out a shrill tinnitus tone, and black crawled in at the edges of my vision. I felt so stupid, lying here in a wreckage, dying from the very first blow I'd taken. I'd failed to carry the blade; I'd failed to honour the family name; I'd failed to make something of myself. I'd failed Dad.
"Thou shalt not go so easy into that good night, young squire."
Garrett...? Was all I could manage, strength fading too fast to even speak aloud.
"Nay, boy. Much older yet."
The pain receded, shrinking back into the bite wound, the flesh knitting itself back together; vigour surged through me, tensing my muscles, pulling air into my lungs. The ringing in my ears faded, my vision unclouded. My hand found the sword again, and gripped it fast, confident.
"Now stand, squire, and slay thy foe."
And I did stand; and I did face the Questing Beast; and strength that was not mine soared through every fibre of my body - and I and the Beast clashed once more.
"The Beast is early this time. You only laid hands upon the blade yesterday."
The sword rattled in its scabbard against my hip, bouncing as I trotted along in search of my quarry. I kept one hand to the pommel, letting in the endless advice and anecdotes about each Knight's own time with the Questing Beast, their battle, their besting of it; most of which required at least cursory knowledge on how to hold and swing a sword. One lucky parry was not about to cut it.
"Well, I'm just so magnetic a personality, it was obviously in such a rush to meet me." I replied, trying to downplay both how nervous I was and how out-of-breath. The people that noticed me talking seemingly to myself also then noticed the blade dangling at my waist - apparently with the Beast on the loose, seeing one weird was a gateway into seeing two, no matter what Garrett had said about people not wanting to acknowledge the sword - and then quickly looked away, hurrying off in the opposite direction. Slowly but surely, the citizens travelling the same direction as me trickled away, and I began pushing through crowds coming toward me, fleeing from the very Beast I was in pursuit of. A rather loud part of my brain kept screaming about why I was so doggedly in pursuit, and not joining the retreating masses like any sensible person should, and to be frank I didn't have a good answer - just the buzz of my ancestors in my head, and the feel of the cool steel of the hilt in my palm.
"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Dane, but humour will serve you better than panic."
"Oh don't worry, I can do both."
The trail continued and after a few blocks I was able to just follow the shrieks; slowly but surely I was led forward, and it began to dawn on me exactly where I was headed.
"Oh my god, it said 'Square'. It can't have meant..."
It did mean. Times Square loomed ahead of me, billboards showing live coverage of the very carnage taking place beneath them, helicopters circling ahead. The Questing Beast in all its incongruous fury thrashed and roared atop the concrete, lashing its tail at passing cars and frightening the horses of the mounted police bold enough to approach; it reared up, towering over the NYPD steeds, and when its hooves hit the pavement again it struck a thunderous chord that reverberated off the buildings and shook my bones. It was so much bigger than it had been in my apartment, at least four storeys tall now, and the great serpentine head gnashed and spat and writhed far above me; when its eyes caught my form that awful not-smile spread across its anguine face again, and I shivered.
"And so you have sought me out, Knight, as is proper. Good. I did not believe you would come - even now, you cower before me, afraid to wield your blade, to do what you must. But you shall learn - or you shall be devoured. Come! Draw your sword, Knight, face me!"
Hesitantly, my hand slipped from the pommel and wrapped around the grip of the hilt. The leather felt pliant and unfamiliar in my grasp, but the blade slipped from its scabbard all-too-easily as I drew my sword and gripped it in both hands before me, outstretched and wavering. The Questing Beast regarded me with faint amusement, cut with latent curiosity, and seemingly to satisfy its own humours, bent its front legs and dipped its head in deference to me, whether mockingly or not I could not say; feeling awkward and uncertain, I found myself bowing back.
"That's a good start, lad. Always honour your opponent."
"For all the good honour will do me six feet underground..." I muttered back, rising to meet to foe.
"Worry not, son. The Beast is powerful, but we have a few tricks of our own. Nine-hundred years of Knights stand with you in the sword...we shall see you through this day yet."
I didn't have time to think of a snappy repartee in response to Garrett's assurances, his voice so bolstered by faith, unwavering and resilient; the Beast charged, and all of a sudden we were caught in a dance, jaws snapping, tail whipping, my own arms flailing to deflect blows and chop at scales with speed and strength I knew I did not possess - at first it felt as if they were acting of their own accord, summoning reactions from a forgotten pocket of my spirit, but it soon became clear; my arms were merely being led along the ballroom floor, following the elegant and well-practiced waltz of their partner. The sword itself guided me, my ancestors all at once rushing to my aid. I felt...hope.
And then encompassing pain as fangs found their way past my guard, and sank deep into my shoulder. I cried out in agony, felt my forefathers cry out with me; the Beast drew me up in its maw, and then with a terrible lash of its neck, flung me some forty feet through the air. I came crashing down on a cop cruiser, the siren petering out as the chassis was crushed beneath my impact, and all I could feel was a white-hot agony spreading forth from the wound to swallow up my body; my arm beneath where I had been bitten lay limp and lifeless, the sword heavy and loose in my fading grip. My ears rang out a shrill tinnitus tone, and black crawled in at the edges of my vision. I felt so stupid, lying here in a wreckage, dying from the very first blow I'd taken. I'd failed to carry the blade; I'd failed to honour the family name; I'd failed to make something of myself. I'd failed Dad.
"Thou shalt not go so easy into that good night, young squire."
Garrett...? Was all I could manage, strength fading too fast to even speak aloud.
"Nay, boy. Much older yet."
The pain receded, shrinking back into the bite wound, the flesh knitting itself back together; vigour surged through me, tensing my muscles, pulling air into my lungs. The ringing in my ears faded, my vision unclouded. My hand found the sword again, and gripped it fast, confident.
"Now stand, squire, and slay thy foe."
And I did stand; and I did face the Questing Beast; and strength that was not mine soared through every fibre of my body - and I and the Beast clashed once more.
@Lord Wraith, @Ruby, @Cyberlad, as our resident Batfamily (congrats!!), can I ask if any of you have designs on Scarecrow? I'm cooking up some ideas.
Don't need to apologise - maybe we're being too purist? An interesting point was brought up in a discord chat that you could write a very Terminator-inspired story using characters like Ultron (as your megalomaniacal AI villain stand-in) and Bishop/Cable (as your time-travelling heroes preventing a bad future before it happens stand-ins). Maybe what we should be doing is less 'how can I bring in this off-the-wall media property' and more 'how can I use established comic canon to weld parts together into a story inspired by/similar to the media property I love'.
That said we've also had the most experimentation in this game of any iteration of these one-comic-universe games I've played, and I've been enjoying how much more flexible and daring everyone's been.
That said we've also had the most experimentation in this game of any iteration of these one-comic-universe games I've played, and I've been enjoying how much more flexible and daring everyone's been.
I'd have gone the complete opposite way, I can't see how Terminator and all the context surrounding it meshes with what we have here.
Fuck Moon Knight, I'm boutta make a Bastion sheet.
Jk
potg farmer boooooo
That's it. I'm bringing my second sheet to the board:
All this talk of Ben and Spider-Man in the same sentences got me sweating.
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