Alpha Sentinel: Lord Greenwood


Gender: None

Kit: Natural

Location: Storm City, Khazan


Alignment: Hero

Team: The Sentinels of Liberty and Justice


Strength: supreme (rank 3)

Agility: standard (rank 1)

Mind: standard (rank 1)

Body: standard (rank 1)

Spirit: (rank )

Charisma: (rank )


Fame Points: 0

Personal Wins: 5

Personal Losses: 2

Team Wins: 0

Team Losses: 0

Tourney Wins: 0

Tourney Losses: 0


Status: Active


"Alpha Sentinels, Deploy!"

The speakers disturb the tranquility of the greenhouse, and for a brief moment the only indication of change is a single fat beetle which skitters over the stones. The smell of clover hangs heavy in the humid air, warmed by the midday sun. A soft, subtle wind reaches across the greenhouse, leaves rustle, branches sway, and the world inside the dome leans toward the beetle, straining forward in remarkably un-plantlike anticipation. Creeping moss dusts the edges of a shadow, loitering at the border of the sunlight. The world holds its breath for a moment... and implodes. Vines twist, bees hum, bulbs swell, ants march, buds sprout, flies whine, pods open, and in the span of a brief second, the approximate form of a human being is grown in the center of the glass dome. He has been called many things in his long life- the Green Man, Wild One, The Last Druid. In 1866 he met a widow in the woods, and was given his current title: Lord Greenwood, Archduke of the Great Wild, Sovereign of the Lake District, Answerable to No Man, by Decree of Her Royal Highness, Queen Victoria. He is being pressed into service again, but it is a service he understands- a fight to preserve what is good and green in the world. He finishes drawing himself from the environment, opens his ochre eyes for one dramatic instant, and surveys the world inside the glass dome. A single wasp winds its way with deadly precision out the ventilation fan, across the roof, down three stories, and into an open balcony. There he finds rest of the Alpha Sentinels, awaiting instructions. His frame oozes, flutters, and bulges across the floor, the ceiling, the verve of life collected back into the shape of a man; a living, shifting mobius of plants and insects, body and biosphere as one. All men are made of pieces- eyes, skin, lungs, pieces that join together to complete a puzzle. His puzzle has different pieces. The man-shape is itself a piece in a larger puzzle; the Alpha Sentinels, which is, in turn, only one small piece of the Sentinels of Liberty and Justice. He stands with his teammates and Miss March, the team leader, briefs them on the situation. The instructions are given- stop the rampaging monstrosity, save lives, protect the innocent. There was once a time when those same instructions were given to the men of Exeter- a time when he himself was the monster. That was a long time ago. Today he stands beside the best of the best, a member of the most powerful global force for good on the planet. A bridled monster, maybe, but one afforded the respect due a hero. The young sorcerer, Sage, wraps the team in sheets of magic, and the floor beneath their feet becomes a rooftop across town. Immediately his partner- the esteemed psychic Dr. Raven, reaches out to the people below, gathering knowledge and pacifying the panicking citizenry. Doctor Raven forms a plan.

"This building's already taken a hit. See if you can stabilize the collapse. I'm going to talk to them."


Lord Greenwood stares, unblinking. It is issued as a command rather than a request, an order, not a suggestion. He is Answerable To No Man, but the vagaries of pride aren't appropriate to manifest at present. It is, after all, a solid plan, and even a kept monster must endure occasional disrespect. His reply is brief and emotionless.

"As You Say."


The Sum of the Parts

     Phasing: standard (rank 1)


His body erupts into ten thousand mosquitoes, each a piece of the puzzle, a part of the whole. As one they descend upon the building's roof, searching for a route to the trapped people below. He finds a series of radio antennae partially covering a grate connected to the ventilation system. The swarm moves together, unobstructed, through ductwork, traveling down into the building, splitting off into smaller swarms, searching from room to room for the source of the damage. The building's bewildered occupants pay him no mind- they are all enthralled by Dr. Raven's mental manipulations. On the fourth and fifth floors he finds severe structural damage. A critical support beam is groaning, and beginning to lilt dangerously inward. The cloud of insects dissipates around the crumbling structure, and the body of Lord Greenwood again grows, biomass writhing in upon itself. Dozens of workers blindly ignore the giant green man who has just instantiated inside their office- starry-eyed as Dr. Raven shows them carefully-constructed images of the Alpha Sentinels at work. He is not included in the mix... there are no pictures of monsters. It doesn't matter. Glory, in his experience, is always hard-earned and short-lived. Virtue is its own reward. It may be a thankless job, but that is what heroes do. He needs to work as fast as possible, to keep the floor from falling out from underneath these people... and onto other people below.


The Living World

     Transformation: supreme (rank 3)


His giant green frame expands around the edges, swells beyond the limits of human resemblance, and continues growing. The man-shape is gone now, there are no arms and legs, but rather a boiling mass of leaves and branches, deep roots finding and embracing steel and concrete, marrying Lord Greenwood to the very foundation of the structure. Around the gaping hole an arbor forms, and continues to grow into a strong supporting arch. Out on the street, tree trunks rise in a gentle curve up to the fourth floor. Armies of termites strip the bark and shape the wood even as it thrusts up from the earth. It is a truly wild sight: the natural world functioning in perfect harmony. Outside, the collapse has been halted: hardwood buttresses temporarily stabilize the building, softwood joints help relieve the groaning stress, and thousands of tiny spindle-fingers clutch the damaged areas, holding the pieces together. The strain of it is exhausting, but he must continue. His body continues to expand, forming pencil thin columns that quickly grow into thick trunks, forcing the crumbling floors to remain apart. In his mind, he's let Dr. Raven know. Even as he's reporting on the exit he's fashioned, Dr. Raven is informing him of the people trapped on the top floor. A second solution is needed.



     Wall Crawling: standard (rank 1)


He can form a bridge to the building across the alley, but he needs to get to the roof. A blanket of moss races up the side of the building: tiny spores find microscopic footholds, and swell to lock themselves into place. A column of carpenter ants marches unerringly up a drainpipe. It takes a sizable portion of his focus to hold everything he's just done in place, but he knows he's not finished. As people begin evacuating down the slides to the street below, he finds himself once again on the roof. Dr. Raven stands motionless, his body forgotten as his mind orchestrates several hundred evacuees simultaneously. Lord Greenwood looks at the building across the alley. If he currently had a mouth, he'd be gritting his teeth. It is a long way, but it is the only way. He gathers as much additional biomass as he can to the roof- a move that requires him to smash an underground water main and absorb its contents- and focuses his attention on the opposite rooftop. Out in the street, Spectrum's power skyrockets for a brief second- and the part of Lord Greenwood that is made of insects seizes and shudders as each one senses the wave of unnatural electromagnetic noise. It is intensely painful, but he doesn't let go of the building below. A monster, maybe, but one with a choice. With an icy resolve born of mounting desperation, he stretches an arm, reaching for the opposite rooftop.



     Elongation: superior (rank 2)


It is easier than he expected- a mere seventy feet or so. He feels his fingers close around the ornamental crenellation of the neighboring building, and immediately what was once his arm expands into a series of parallel vines- thick, strong, and taut. The office workers on the top floor step out onto his body, walking over him without noticing, just as the people in the street slid down his trunk without a second glance. Through a thousand pairs of segmented eyes, he monitors the battle out in the street, wary of Spectrum's temperamental power surges. His part of the plan is finished... there are no casualties, and all that's left is to make sure the building is clear. Miss March will then give the order to drop it. The last man across the bridge makes it to neighboring rooftop safely. He pats Lord Greenwood thankfully and whispers.

"Whoever or whatever you are... God Bless you."

Lord Greenwood does not respond. It is simple, earnest gratitude, and it is enough.



     Regeneration: supreme (rank 3)


On the com, Miss March gives the signal to drop the building. He hesitates for a brief second- enough time to allow Dr. Raven to make it to the bridge- and then he simply lets go. Wood splinters, leaves fall, insects scatter- without his will to hold it all together the wasps and trees are just wasps and trees. Two hundred tons of concrete and steel develop a sudden preference for gravity, and right angles suddenly aren't. Inside, wood splinters, vines snap, and a body that has served its purpose is rewarded with rest. Dust and rubble boil up over Lombard Street. The air is choked with a dirty haze, and a cloud of powdered concrete and memory is swept eastward by the prevailing wind. Out in the street, Miss March has lured the cornered monster away from the people, down Lombard toward a mountain of firepower. On a neighboring rooftop, several dozen recently rescued office workers cheer for Dr. Raven- Alpha Sentinel- hero. A team of paramedics arrives on nearby Duncan street, but there are no wounded to tend to- only a lady with an ankle brace, who is passing around a flask. The day is saved, and for a moment the world is calm.

In the middle of Lombard Street, a single fat beetle quietly climbs the pile of rubble.