Sentinel Academy: Wildcard Challenge II presents:
Posted 15 July 2011 - 09:39 PM
Posted 15 July 2011 - 09:40 PM
Wanderlust, Wolves, and Whiskey
Location Signal Park West, Kits, Khazan
Everyone assumes old cowboys drink alone, which might be true somewhere- in movies, or maybe in prison, or movies about prison, or something. Honestly sometimes I think people get confused, like maybe they think what makes you a cowboy in the first place is the fact that you’re drinking alone. No, don’t listen, I don’t know nothing, it’s just I got a choice to make in the morning and I don’t know what I’m gonna do. If I say no they’re gonna find someone else to do it, someone not as good. If I say no, I’m killing those kids.
You gotta pick, every day you make a choice if you’re going to be the cowboy or the shepherd. Shout and slap leather, throw yourself in front of a charge, break them down and build them back up better- that’s the Cowboy way. The Shepherd leads from the front, rewards initiative, teaches group strategy, and always has an eye out for safety. There is no right answer, maybe, or both and neither is the right answer. Shit, can I really do this? In my heart I know I am the best man for the job. For this one job, anyway.
Powers and Abilities
Iron Will- Standard
I never tasted virgin wind
I’ll give credit where credit is due- Irene, Miss March, was totally honest on the phone. She’s got a daughter. To be honest, I’m not sure how that’s possible. I know Luther is still around somewhere. Blind Mike too. We are all old soldiers, those of us who are left, but the tree on the hill has too many plaques and some days there’s not enough Bourbon. If I go back, they’re going to want me sober, or mostly sober, and if I don’t go back there’s no point in drinking anyway. Tonight is it, then. Cheers. Bottoms up, Cowboy.
Iron Will- Standard
those whispered lies and
There were five of us, originally, the first time anyone thought of making a distinction between Sentinels and whatever it was we were supposed to be. Irene was there, in those days she could’ve actually modeled for a pinup calendar, and Blind Mike back when he was just Mike. The three of us, plus two more- three survivors and two plaques. Sollus got tapped by the Jupiter League and wound up dying in an asylum in Holland. Muriel, sweet immortal Muriel, left for the stars, never to return. God, I was so virile then, so dangerous, the perfect apex predator.
Iron Will- Standard
cross my hearts have known
Sometimes you think about your grandfather, wonder what he was like when he was my age, and you realize you were already six years old by then. My grandpa used to tell us stories- he was from the old country- who the hell knows what he thought he was teaching us, but we listened anyway. I’m going to do it. I mean, really, I decided the moment they asked me, I just didn’t want to feel like a pushover. I’m an old man, I can’t hurt anyone any more, but maybe I can keep those kids from hurting each other.
a thousand shores before
By the 1970’s we had become the Alpha Sentinels, then they decided to duplicate the formula. Irene stayed on as leader of the Alpha Sentinels, Blind Mike, Luther, and Muriel moved to a new public works team called Bravo Sentinels. I got picked to head up a third team- they wanted to call us Delta but someone, probably Karen Fairweather, pitched the name Stormriders and it caught on. Anyway I had a reputation as a bad-boy brawler in those days, so the Stormriders immediately got stuck with that image, but they were good kids who deserved better than they got.
Environmental Awareness- Standard
I never felt the cleansing rain
One of the old-country yarns my grandfather used to tell was Lady Vyras and the Silver Moon, which is the kind of cautionary our people are always spinning for no reason other than a tradition of folkloric superstition. I always thought my nose must be at least as good as hers, but who knows how much of that story was even true? I grew up on all that stuff- be vigilant, respect others’ territory, marry your own people, don’t *vulgarity* with gypsies, lessons culled from centuries of someone else’s experience. Every lesson worth teaching has to be learned first-hand anyway.
the gutters gag and
I wonder what they’ve heard about me? These kids- I know they’ve had rough time of it already. If it’s possible to be 100% Cowboy, it’s Knox. Now there’s a man who drank alone. The whole thing’s a bureaucracy now, pencil pushers and politicians running the show… shit, I don’t want to go back, not to that. I don’t really have a choice, though. I mean, Irene has autonomy, and Blind Mike to some extent, and I’ve been gone for years, and anyway isn’t just being old in and of itself a license to do whatever the hell you want?
Hyper Sense- Standard
blush to rust against
God I can picture it now- pulling up in my Jeep tomorrow, stepping out in my old Stormriders jacket, treating the Clacks like my own private VIP parking lot, pissing off whatever newbie they’ve got on security detail and later hearing him call me “sir,” hell maybe I’ll even get in a fight. Yeah, right. And then I’ll get dressed down by Miss March in front of everyone. Shit, actually, I wonder if anyone calls her Irene anymore? I’ll tell you one thing: I’m not calling any of them “recruits.” As far as I’m concerned, a Sentinel’s a Sentinel, period.
old rhythms- I ignore
They say archetypes, and I don’t really know what that means. We were just a bunch of weirdos- the sexy cyborg, the quiet god, the devout magician, the penitent beast, the wise child. My only hope is that these kids are like we were- confident, optimistic, and just a little reckless. Whatever they have or have not heard about me, I hope to convince them that it’s not what I am, but who I am that matters. Tonight, though, we drink. To the past, to the future, to absent friends and lost love, and the promise of a better tomorrow.
Posted 15 July 2011 - 09:45 PM
My name is short for Tree Anthropomorph. Can you guess why? I'm a walkin' f***in' tree. And I don't take crap from anyone. Not even that dog down the block. Nope. No crap. I am regarded as one of the more serious residents of Khazan, and people call me the Wooden Optimus. I wonder why?...
As I have told you before, I take NO crap. Now imagine a street thug throwing a defenseless citizen of Khazan against a tree and holding a gun to their head. Now imagine that tree moving in and grabbing the nameless thug and throwing him against the wall and into a dumpster below. Just like a movie, right?
Seismics- Standard- Ranged; Area Affect; Multi Attack:
When I move, I make the ground shake, my weight used to my advantage against anyone doing harm to any innocents. Imagine the aforementioned dumpster sinking into the ground with the unconscious nameless thug inside, never to be seen again. If the thug himself wants to see the light of day again, he'll have to dig his ass up.
Weapon Master- Standard:
The Life of a Tree is a Long One
I don't always use my size to my advantage, though I do usually. I have these weapons of mine called years. I am over two hundred years old in human years. I use any weapon I have ever seen to great use, equipping it to my anatomy and hiding it in my branches when I'm in tree form. These thugs don't and won't know what hit them.
Crushing Weapon- Standard:
For Personal Use Only
I have three tire swings from over the years that have helped me greatly, by either catching thugs, or crushing them, or by knocking them into the nearby ground or wall. Sometimes, I even give them the chance to fly!... But not land. Somehow they ALWAYS end up in orbit! I mean, really, is it so hard to stay in the damned atmosphere?!
The Life of a Tree is a Long One II
As I have said before, I am two hundred years old. I have a lot of free time on my hands, what with waiting, rooted into the ground for random mooks and thugs to pass by. At these times, I yawn and think over possible moves to use on these guys. That is, before he was recruited into the Sentinels.
Posted 15 July 2011 - 09:47 PM
Shannon Brown - Alias: Brickhouse
Location: Hunters Point
It’s funny how things seem to just go full circle. My life? I should write it down and make a couple bucks off a “based on a true story”, but the fact is, it’s already been done to death. You know? The good girl, gone bad, then back to good cliché? Nothing new.
Starting off young, I got locked up after trying to smuggle in some “necessities” to a home boy that was locked up in Hunters Point. By the time my quite competent lawyer bargained me a plea I had once choice. Come Fly With Me.
I became a “little sister”, but it felt more like I was on parole. They paired me up with up with Big Momma. An “old school” heroine she would call herself. She sure whipped me into shape, and when I say whipped. Oh boy she did. I remember I use to have a mouth on me! Good thing I learned quick, but of course that’s only because Big Momma was a great teacher. All the time I spent with her she became a real mother figure. She was something else, rest her soul.
The first thing Big Momma taught me was how to slow down and evaluate. A word I didn’t even recognize when I was younger, and that was my downfall. It eventually became apparent that I wasn’t a bad seed, but just didn’t make the right decisions some of the time. Big Momma slowed me down and helped me to see the big picture. Now when things are getting hot and shits hitting the fan… I stop. I think. I evaluate. Execute.
Improvising may be a backup plan, but being able to improvise is just as important as being able to plan. Any strategist, contriver, or schemer will tell you that things don’t always go according to plan. Sometimes there’s a hiccup and stress will only make it word. The key is to roll with the punches and take the hits. These hits, in turn, have to make you stronger, better. You have to rise to the task at hand.
Seismic(Superior, Super Area Effect):
…Or you could tear everything down with you.
The ability to bring down a house is something that had to be fine tuned. You must know the weak points and the strong points of the building, and that’s something you just have to have an eye for at times.
When I finished the program, I felt I owed something to the Sentinels and mostly Big Momma for saving me from the life I was about to take. In repayment, and in honor to Big Momma, I decided to become a mentor, a leader. This is my best shot.
Posted 15 July 2011 - 09:48 PM
Other Stats: Standard
That’s right folks, I just named myself after a controversial writer whom I admire. Kind of lame, I know, but it was either that or something preposterous like Writing Man, Captain Pen, Super Author etc; Isha would’ve dumped me instantly if I’d picked any of those. Vidal isn’t THAT bad a name, at the very least it has an enigmatic ring to it, right? And I am a scribe for heaven’s sake - a man whose abilities don’t stretch beyond what his writing evokes. What more appropriate pseudonym could I have chosen?
The pen is mightier than the sword is king among cliches for two reasons. The first is that cliches are primarily used by writers themselves, and being one that greatly flatters our craft, this particular one is employed by us time and again to stroke our own egos. The second ( and vital reason) is that no saying has ever been truer - you couldn’t imagine the sheer number of times I’ve brought enemies far greater than I to their knees with nothing more than VERY hostile journalism. As the real Vidal himself once said “You can’t shoot ink”.
The sole training for a Super Hero/Writer hybrid can be summed up with three mantras - observation, secrecy and expression. Observation, because our entire shtick depends on hitting them where it hurts; Secrecy, because lets face it, we would get destroyed if our real identity was ever revealed to some bad-ass Super Villain; and Expression, because you’ve got to know how to put your knowledge of his weaknesses and his lack of knowledge about yours, to good use through your words. If you haven’t got all three, just go back to the tabloids and save yourself.
Some pretentious f*cks might tell you that being a writer-hero is like playing a game of chess. They say that only because they don’t know what they’re talking about. What this is, is a fine game of high-stakes poker. Do you think I was worried about moves when I exposed all those corruption scandals in Khazan PD last year? Not a chance sir, the only thing that mattered was making someone with a better set of cards tap out to you. Observation, Secrecy, Expression. Stay ahead of the scum and you’ll be ok.
Mind Control: Superior
Isha once told me she fell for me only after reading my love letters for her. That's the “Expression” part of the equation folks. For your pen to be mightier than a sword, it better kick some serious ass. This isn’t an easy job you know, convincing people what is right and wrong. Nope, propaganda is never easy. You need to persuade people - plant ideas in their head and make them look at the world a certain way. I’m the best at it because I'm Gore f*cking Vidal. And you can try it too, ciao.
Posted 15 July 2011 - 09:51 PM
Most divorce cases are complicated. Then again, most divorce cases aren’t decided with Jehovah in the judge's box. My father pleaded, my mother screamed, meanwhile I sat in the gallery looking at the floor, just wishing I could go home.
But what was home? I had never ascended, I was not pure, had not been cleansed of natural sin; Angelic-Succubi cannot embody Grace. So I couldn’t go with my father, leaving only one option. She took me with her. She had beaten him. I was miserable, but at least she managed to win. I hope you’re happy, Mother.
Hell is not pleasant. That may sound redundant, but it isn’t what you’d expect either. The Dantean depiction is far too reliant on brimstone and medieval retribution to truly encompass the sinister imagination of Pandemonium. Pain, much like beauty, is objective. For Alighieri it was endless karmic torture; for me, it was being a sixteen year old girl, in a new town, going through weird body changes. My classmates ripped the feathers from my wings, abused me emotionally, spiritually, and physically. There are no consent laws in Hell. I was too corrupt for Heaven, too pure for Home.
“If you don’t hurt them back, they’ll just keep doing it.”
That’s all she said. I was bleeding, weeping, begging, and broken. That’s all she said. It disgusted her that a daughter could reflect so poorly on her mother.
Much like our own inflictions, the instruments that we inflict upon others are self-reflections. An angelic feather, torn from my back by enemies, a demonic tail severed by my own hand, brought into one form. A whip is designed to maximize pain; I named it Bliss. From that day, I was never touched again. I hope you’re proud of me, Mother.
Psychic Vampire: Standard
It was take your daughter to work day. She showed me what she loved most about her job.
“Make him feel it, daughter. Step on his throat. No, no, with the stilettos. Yes, that's it. He’ll ask you for more; make him beg for it. Oh, you love it here, don’t you? Isn’t his pain delicious, my darling little sadista? You're mommy’s little girl, but if you want mommy’s love, I need to hear screams. ”
I realized why I could never ascend. There was too much of her in me, because honestly, I didn’t like it. I loved it.
Emotion Control: Superior
I began by freelancing Mother's clients. When I started enticing victims of my own, it was time to move on; she was so proud. As Succubae we are designed to seduce mankind; womankind too, if they're into it. Mother liked to toy with their greed; I just wanted their lust.
I love turning their excruciation into ecstasy. They came to Mistress Whiplash’s dungeon beaten and groveling. Their Mistress had them hooked, and they couldn’t go a week without their fix. Then I'd cut them off. They’d give Mistress anything she wanted, even their souls. Weren’t you happy for me Mother?
Weapon Master: standard
Inevitably, the Sentinels eventually discovered my little enterprise. It seems one of Khazan’s most wholesome heroes enjoys my brand of punishment after he's been a "bad boy".
Their Divine Operations team came after me. The more the merrier. Bliss gleefully carved fat red notches into soft yielding flesh. Then there were those bloody crystals. I couldn’t move. I cursed their mothers, spat blood, but I couldn’t move.
I spent some weeks in a scripture lined holding cell. Then she came. She freed me. She smiled, said that around here, everyone called her Kabuki.
I immediately tried to eviscerate her.
She wouldn’t fight back. No matter how much pain I wanted her to feel, she just stood there taking the beating, telling me:
“It’s not your fault.”
I don’t know if she’d seen hell, but I can only guess how she knew how to help me. Somewhere inside, I was still half angel. I think that half of me finally broke back out when I was weeping on the floor.
I’ve been co-directing the Sentinels Divine Operations Team for two years now. We specialize in the banishment of my own darkling breed. I hope you’re happy, Mother. You're next.
Posted 15 July 2011 - 09:52 PM
Carlos Estévez Sanitarium
“You're new,” Faith said to the unannounced visitor to her cell. She couldn't see him, naturally; he was unusually quiet, but Faith had long learned to detect others' presences; everyone had their own minor magnetic field, and failing that, she could sense peoples' glasses, their fillings, the zippers on their clothes (her visitor had none of these) or even the iron in their blood.
“I am called Zero,” said the newcomer, “and the Sentinels want you back.”
Faith barked a single “Ha!” “Have they forgotten?” she asked, “I'm not in an asylum for nothing.”
“Don't play with me, Faith,” said Zero, “you're in here voluntarily. You can leave just by asking.”
“It's for the Academy thing, isn't it?” Faith asked, then smirked, responding to a unasked question. “The nurses read me newspapers. Sometimes I pick up radio signals, too. Are they really so desperate as to re-enlist someone straight out of Charlie's?”
“It's for publicity, yes,” said Zero simply, “but honestly, any publicity not revolving around multiple deaths is good publicity right now.”
“So I'm to just forget why I committed myself, then?”
Zero responded, “Yes.”
Ranged Superior Magnetism
Anger filled Faith's heart. “Let's go over why I'm here, shall we?!” she yelled. “Faith Anthony, superheroine. A yttriphalene baby. Valedictorian. In the Sentinels straight out of high school, as 'Polarity Girl.' One of the 'good ones.' Acceptable fighter, excellent mind, never made a mistake and accidentally killed bystanders or collapsed a freeway or anything stupid like that. And all this adds up to me getting put on the Mugwump baby kidnapping case, highest-profile in five years.
“Everything right so far?” Faith sarcastically yelled. Zero remained silent.
“I find the poor thing's body four days after it vanished from the playground, in the middle of the forest. But I don't tell anyone, I'm smarter than that. I wait, wait for the killer to come back to the scene of the crime, so to say. And with six hours, Senator Jack Mugwump himself arrives to look over his daughter's corpse.”
“I arrest him, the prosecutors assemble a case. I testify in a trial that gets international coverage. And Jack Mugwump was found not guilty by a jury of his peers of the murder of Kelsi Mugwump.”
Standard Emotion Control
“So,” says Zero, saying exactly what Faith knew he would, “a guilty man got off innocent. A reasonable--”
“NO!” screamed Faith, standing suddenly. “Everyone thinks that! That I drove myself crazy cause he got off and I...ripped out my own eyes or something! It's bullshit! I didn't care about Mugwump! The court said he was innocent and that was the truth!”
Faith paused to breathe. “But no one else cared! They thought the courts had failed and I had failed and justice wasn't done! BUT! IT! WAS!”
Standard Environmental Awareness
Faith paced her tiny cell. “Mugwump was tried in a court of law and a verdict was found. That's what justice is! But, suddenly, because some people thought he was guilty, it suddenly wasn't justice or truth! Why am I blind? Because one of the Mugwump Truth Warriors threw broken glass in my face!”
“And they were right. There's no such thing as truth. And justice is majority opinion. And with both of those being subjective? Life is pointless. That's why I'm here.
“Zero, you have one minute to convince me otherwise. 120 words, if you hurry.”
Standard Force Field
“You're right,” said Zero.
“Without truth and justice, life is pointless. Any intelligent atheist must admit that. But the question is, then, why do we live in the first place?”
Faith could feel the power of an accusing glare on her. “The only thing the meaning of life can be is to make others' lives easier. You are one of a few who can do that on a truly grand scale. Even blind. But...you sure as hell can't do it from inside a padded cell.”
With a thought, the clasps on Faith's straitjacket released. “Let's go.”
Posted 15 July 2011 - 09:53 PM
Connor "The Irish Fox" Jackson-Remington
LocationSouthern Hollywood, California
Connor entered the restaurant, noting the armed guards. The SLJ have had an eye on this place for the longest time. They needed someone to get inside. Given his, mostly unwarranted, celebrity reputation he was the perfect Sentinel to get undercover and close to the boss. He was sitting at a table, and would greet Connor.
“Mr. Jackson, the famous action star. Big fan.”
“Why wouldn’t you be…anyways, Jackson's my stage name. On...business, I go by Remington”
"I get that a lot, hence the stage name.” Connor interrupts. “So Mr. Cohen, let’s cut the crap and get started"
“Man of initiative.” Cohen remarks. Connor merely shrugs casually. Cohen continues, mixing small-talk with business. Connor acts naturally, running with his egotistical persona. As it went on, Cohen got into details that pissed Connor off. Cohen described things that’d turn regular people’s stomachs like it was average conversation. Connor knew beforehand, but Cohen’s attitude clinched it. Connor kept cool though. Even after Cohen said he knew Connor was a spy. Connor mentally cursed, his cover was blown. The joking personality finally faded when asked why he helped the Sentinels.
"Right after hearing what you sick sons of bitches are planning…"
Simple fight choreography
“Granted, I've been a Sentinel for quite awhile, I just agreed to head this job myself. So I could adapt plans on the fly…just in case of something like this.” Connor boasts. Cohen’s thugs close in, but Connor merely continues.” Smart, right? In about three minutes, those walls there, there and...there are coming down via some real powerhouses. I tell you this, because you wont be able to do much about it.”
“Too bad they will miss the show" Cohen smugly says, drawing for something.
"I agree." Connor smirks. He shifts himself where he needs to be. Then he acts.
Don't you know, all actors know karate?
Martial Arts: Standard
Before Cohen could raise the weapon, Connor rolled over the table, ending with a tornado-kick swiping Cohen across the face. Landing on said foot, he used the momentum to side-kick the closest thug. It couldnt've have looked better if it was choreographed. He turned to see one man point a gun at him, gangster style. It made it easier to grab him in a wrist-lock and toss him aside. Connor dispatches several more men with a flurry of strikes, grapples, and some Bruce Lee moves.
“Is this it?” Connor cockily asks, taking stance, before noticing 4 men draw knives. “Shit.”
Fighting dirty...like a gentleman
Piercing Weapon: Superior
Being outgunned, Connor dove back behind the table. He had been patted down before entering, but they let him keep his walking cane. Big mistake. In addition to hand-to-hand combat, Connor had taken extensive weapons training. It was his specialty. The first man gets swiped across the face with the end of the, weighted, cane another gets smacked on square on the crown of the head with it immediately after. A third assailant grabs the cane, but with a simple switch flip, Connor pulls back on the handle revealing a double-edged blade. Pressing it to his throat, Connor smirks.
Iron Will: Standard
Connor knocks out the man with a strike from the sword’s hilt, before swatting another away with the cane. Twirling the cane in his hand, he begins to showoff, he is suddenly struck in the back of the head with a baseball bat. Groaning in pain, Connor is down for a few seconds. They think he’s unconscious but after shaking off the pain he handsprings back to his feet, much to everyone’s surprise.
"You'll need to do better than that to bring down a Remington." Connor boasts, before seeing about twenty men, now facing him down. "That's a little better..."
Fur, fangs, and fine clothing don't mix
“You think you can take us all?”
“Allow me to answer that in the following way.” Connor says, holding up a finger to signal for them to wait. He then strips naked. “What? They’re my nice clothes.” Connor explains. Before anyone could question that, Connor had transformed from man to wolf-man. Collectively they lasted about five seconds.
"Pick em up whenever you want. I got a gig at six." Connor debriefs when all is said and done, fixing his tie before shutting off his SLJ comm. He exits the bar as the “powerhouses” break down the designated walls. “You’re late…”
Posted 15 July 2011 - 09:53 PM
Alignment: Hero, Sentinels
Location: Bethel Argentine, Spires, Khazan
The better part of a decade had passed with me on the force by the time the eighties arrived. Not long enough to become completely jaded and gifted enough to have made detective only a few months before. The changes that a year can thrust upon a woman are staggering. The Winter Olympics in Lake Placid used the first superpower generated snow. The Mad Gasser's came to Bethel Argentine after forty years of silence. Cook's Landing finished it's water park. Oh, and the power of the Nightgaunt came to me. Time makes fools of us all.
There are only a few who actually remember the events surrounding the New Eden disaster in so much that it shaped their lives. I remember it having an impact, but it was no more stirring than America's Challenger disaster would be ten years later. I was a beat cop and I had more important things to deal with. Now, of course, I'm a lot older and wiser. I look back on the ignorance of youth, my youth, and can only hope that much has changed. Hope is all any of us can do.
Powers and Abilities
The Observation of Trifles
Tactician - Superior
In my youth I wanted to be a musician. That was before it was discovered I was too clever for that. Too clever for a lot of things, but not nearly clever enough to think I was above risking my life day to day. I still don't, to be honest. It's risking others lives that I've always had a problem with and the Sentinels know that. I've made that clear time and again, through action more than anything else. Because you can think all day long but if you never act all is for naught.
Prospect of Danger
Danger Sense - Standard
The Mad Gasser case was my first and last as a detective. The mantle of Nightgaunt came to me while I was pursuing it and once it was concluded I resigned from the force to take up a commission with the Sentinels. Four years too late to be part of the Stormriders and not a Minority so when the call came around members to join Street Justice I was, thankfully, overlooked. I'd had a bad feeling about that one as soon as I'd heard about it. Live and learn.
Nothing So Unnatural
Reaction Speed - Standard
And live we did. Life is nothing if not emotional turmoil. Just like with the force there was as much camaraderie as there was strife. Different individuals, especially when they are as unique and diversified as those that hear the clarion call of Justice, will always be able find conflict amongst themselves. Success comes from quickly moving past these situations, using them to galvanize the cause rather than shatter it. Dealing with things swiftly, before true damage is done, is the key to many doors.
Teleportation - Standard
Time passes, people move on. Coming and going like the tide. There are still a small handful of faces I recognize at the heart of the organization. People I've come to think of as friends. People that I've stood by through countless near-misses through the years. People that I've stood by through even more losses. Suffered loss and celebrated gain. Faced down madness and driven back all manner of strangeness against the strongest urges to flee. Those that stand by you, even when you cannot stand yourself.
It Racks Itself To Pieces
Mind Blast - Standard, Multi
Some of us could not, cannot escape the touch of insanity. Sometimes there are prices to pay for power and challenging fate itself. Sometimes they are vast in scope and others seem inconsequential. Even the most minor things can add up, however. Despite that, even in defiance of that, this is what we do. We seek to do that which others cannot. No matter the years that pass there will always be those who need to be saved. That's what we do. No matter the price.
Posted 15 July 2011 - 09:54 PM
Alignment: Hero, Sentinels
Location: Dog Alley, Lowtown, Khazan
Look I know my beliefs are bullshit, okay? I think on some level, every believer does. Should that make faith obsolete? Is a life based on fiction less well lived? I don’t know. All I know is that my father raised me this way. It’s part of who I am – and I’m not about to change who I am for anyone. I’m a good person. I live my life with honour and purpose. How many of you can say the same?
And yes, I know my father is crazy. He dressed up in battle armour and a Santa hat and attacked toy stores. I’m not an idiot. I had the crazy part figured out by age 7. Still, he loved me. He still does. He taught me to fight. He taught me the Six Actions. He taught me what it means to be a family. I won’t dishonour him just because everything he taught me was a lie.
Powers and Abilities
Teach Your Children
Tactician – Standard
I don’t have children of my own to teach. Not yet anyhow. Don’t know if I ever will. I mean, how would I explain all this to a potential husband? “Hey, mind if we raise our children to kill a man at 50 paces while wearing a space helmet?” Maybe that’s why I like working with younger Sentinels. If I can reach them like father reached me, that’s a battle well won.
Defend Your Family
Concussive Weapon – Standard, ranged, multi
I mean, the Sentinels are kind of like my family now anyhow – and not just the trainees. They are warriors, beset on all sides by danger, mayhem and violence. That’s exactly what I need in my life right now. Honestly – it’s the perfect arrangement. I bleed for them, they bleed for me. I help them defend the planet, they help me defend the old neighbourhood. My blaster has never been happier.
Contribute To The Clan
Marksman - Standard
I’ve lived in Dog Alley my whole life. This isn’t just my home. These are my people. They are my clan. While father has been gone, I’ve tried to stay true to his teachings. I’ve kept my blaster at the ready – waiting to defend them. Waiting to fight for them. Sure, they think I’m a nutjob, but this neighbourhood needs me. I guess I need them too.
Wear The Armour
Armour – Standard
See, my beliefs aren’t like yours. I can’t hide who I am. Every day I wear the armour. It’s as much a part of me as my skin or my bones. So laugh if you want to. Poke fun. Call me crazy. You believe a god became his own son, who became a zombie and then flew up into the sky. At least I have the courage to wear my crazy beliefs where everyone can see them. *vulgarity* you and your cross necklace.
Rally When Called
Flight - Standard
People, this is just how the world is: two sides in constant battle. Right, wrong. Good, evil. Hero, villain. Which side is your God on? Who really gives a shit. Look, my father chose the wrong side – the one too distracted by their own goals to ever win the war. Victory is all that matters. The Sentinels are my family now and when they call, I’lll fight until the war is won. After that? We’ll see.
Posted 16 July 2011 - 09:04 PM
Somewhere in Lowtown
mental superior all other stats standard
A lone figure sits in the back of a meta-human night club, spandex, strobe lights, blaring music. Cecil sits in the midst of all this, playing a banjo worn and torn by time. He remembers a time when heroes weren't so cookie-cutter. Your powers didn’t matter, all you had to have was character. Cecil had his own team, filled with the most ragtag misfits he had ever seen, but these people were some his most loyal friends.
Cecil's team, The Dream Team. A team where every single person was unique. Their powers didn't matter, but they as people did. Their roster was like a revolving door, some people staying for years, others for barely an hour. There was Chicken Lady, the smartest gal to ever mentally control a chicken, and throughout every roster there was Cecil, the doctor who practiced necromancy, a beacon of light through every version of the Dream Team. As he remembered times long gone, a single memory resurfaced in his mind, the 10 Minute invasion.
When Venus Attacks!
It was a seemingly ordinary day in one of those Lowtown neighborhoods none know the name of. The sun was shining, workers were toiling at low paying jobs, but no one seemed to notice the tiny oblong spacecraft in the middle of the town, except for one, Dr.Cecil. An orange alien stepped out of the craft and spoke to him.
"We wish you earthlings no harm. We only require all your doctors as slaves."
"Um, I'm not sure if we doctors would like that, but I guess I could help maybe?."
The Good Ol' Days
Ah, those were the days, when it seemed the every week we faught the Five head Aliens from Dimension X, or when half our team suddenly turned into apes, but no longer. These days, I'm not on the front pages. This all goes through Cecil's head as he walks out of the club, banjo strumming away. A handful of flesh rotten people from all tracks of life, slowly walk behind him. These are no menaces, but Cecil's ever obedient undead servants, hated by most of fellow SLJ's, but loved by the Lowtown streets he patrols.
The Mighty Power of a P.H.D
The heroing business is not for me anymore. I may walk the dusty winding streets of Lowtown, but I'm no hero. I'm not faster than a speeding building and I can't jump higher than tall bullets. I'm a doctor, a healing man first, and a mediocre hero second. These days I heal more than I hurt, but I still know that somewhere, someday, I will find my place.
Posted 16 July 2011 - 09:05 PM
Mr. Dog quirked an eyebrow. It was an unusual display of body language to indicate inquisitiveness from a dog, but most seem to consider Mr. Dog to be an unusual display of dog. Which was totally unwarranted, as he was a perfectly fine specimen of canis lupus. But on to the matter at hand, Mr. Dog had to ask the fellow before him, “Why tell me?”
“Because you’re the only one I can trust” the man said.
“I thought you didn’t trust anyone?” said Mr. Dog.
“I don’t” the man responded, “but you’re not just anyone. You’re Mr. Dog”.
Mr. Dog mulled this over for a time, and could find no flaw in the statement. He shifted his position to make himself more comfortable and indicated for the man to go on.
The man took a deep breath as he ran his fingers through his hair. He steeled himself. It was time for someone else to know what he suspected, but knew to be the truth. He began... and when all was said and done, he looked Mr. Dog square in the eyes and saw, the truth was in good hands, well, paws.
Mr. Dog had much to mull.
Superior Tactician - 4
He’s trained a lot of youngin’ in his time. Most were aspiring Sentinels, many were not. A few were from “the other side”. It didn’t matter, Mr. Dog was not one to let the conceit of preconception mar his judgment.
The key was simply to keep them alive. The experience to survive and succeed came naturally to those who lived long enough to attain it. Simpler said than done, but to that end, his former life in the House of Alhazghul was invaluable in arming him with the tricks to do just that.
Mr. Dog’s wily like a coyote.
Superior Hyper Senses - 8
With a hearing frequency range of 40 Hz to 60,000 Hz, coupled with ear mobility to pinpoint the location of sounds four times the distance as a regular human would, you could say, Mr. Dog’s got pretty good hearing by human standards.
That’s before we get to his sense of smell, with over 250 MILLION smell receptors, he’s easily able to discriminate odor concentrations 100 millionth lower than humans can. Not to mention being able to tell where the smell’s from as well.
How is he able to do all this you ask?
Easy, he’s a DOG.
Standard Running - 10
Mr. Dog’s not nearly as spry as he used to be, but he’s still able to hit some pretty good numbers should the occasion arise. A lot of that has to do with an active and rather exciting life style. Much as he’d rather just spin around trice and lay down to a good book, duty sometimes dictates that he should walk the beat.
With running speeds as high as almost 30 mph on a good day, many a perpetrator have found themselves kiboshed by the fast and the furry combination of intellect and mobility that is one, Mr. Dog.
Superior Empathy - 14
In the not too near future, Paradox Smith was on his last legs. He was bleeding from a gunshot wound inflicted on him by Hexx.
Villains to the right of him, the Fallen, the Marauders, the Syndicate and the Cruel Kids were there for the kill.
Heroes to the left of him, the Angels of Mercy and the Sentinels were also out to end him for the greater good.
But he smiled. He pulled himself up and walked pass them to do what he had to do.
The killing blow was averted by four simple words... spoken by Mr. Dog.
Posted 17 July 2011 - 08:18 AM
Strength: Weak (-1)
Agility: Superior (1)
“If you’re a Sentinel, you’re either old and experienced, young and naive, or Archer.”
--My awesome Sentinel mentor dude, Tanin, who is awesome
I hate to brag about this, kiddies, but-- I love to brag. I’ve been at the hero game since you were sporting Underoos. Except I was sporting cooler Underoos at the same time. While you were wetting your lame SpaceRAD ‘roos, I was riding shotgun in a baby holster while my supermom Saint Sailor and my superdad Archer: The Prequel were whupping on Fallen tail.
And I did it wearing Sentinel Core ‘roos. Leader since birth, yo.
“She’d make a good Angel of Mercy, but when she says she’ll snipe your nads from half a mile away she’s just joking. Err-- usually.”
--My boyfriend, Ryo, doing a piss-poor job of complimenting me
Hey, sometimes a leader needs to make the right decisions to save the day. And sometimes that means you need to remotely neuter some guy holding someone hostage.
To be fair, I always refer him to my mom’s free Lowtown clinic after the fact.
Tactician: Standard (3)
“I’d say ‘Wyn’s less a leader so much as she’s really good at making her impulsive decisions carry weight. And yelling. She can yell really well.”
--My old bud Rez from my Battlemaster High days (who is a turbocomputernerd)
And the geek’s right. Dad always said leadership was one part quick wits and one part not being afraid to cuss people out to get the job done. Leadership’s all about the tactical bullying. Your teammate does what you say because he knows he’ll get chewed out if he doesn’t.
The Good Kind Of Arching
Marksman: Superior (7)
“It’s funny. When she was a kid Elwyn insisted that the bow was-- how’d she put it-- “bogus.” Said she wanted to use guns. Heck, I half-expect her to say she just uses a bow “ironically” or something.”
--My daddy, Archer Uno, who can kick your daddy’s butt
How can you fire a bow ironically? By only shooting Discriminals? That’s not ironic, especially when you rock as much as me. That’s just plain harsh.
Fire: Standard, Ranged, Long Ranged, Multi (12)
“We knew Elwyn would be just like us. I was hoping she’d be a little more like-- well-- me. Maybe some healing magicks or force field generation to cool her hotheaded nature. Not FIRE POWERS. Freshman year was NOT pleasant.”
--My mom, Saint Sailor, being a passive aggressive bitch
Remember that time when my dad ran out of arrows when trapped in a League of Assassins gauntlet? That’d happen if I had sissy force healing powers, MOM, but not when I can make my own awesome fire arrows.
And the Sentinels love how cost-effective it is. No ammo budget.
Flight: Standard (14)
“Seeing her flying while using a big bow? Isn’t that kinda awkward? Does she even NEED that bow? Can’t she just shoot fire from her hands?”
--Another old BMH buddy, Kip, who got kicked out of BMH when one of his robots pantsed the principal
Actually, I was flying around campus, racing a couple of other students, and I bumped into a KipBot. That triggered one of those funky sitcom-like spiraling sequence of events that led to said pantsing. And the destruction of two dorms.
I won that race. Made the coke I won taste that much better.
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