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4,700	120	2	1,545	95	He made himself larger, the thick fur hanging from his shoulders, his hands claw-like and a his fangs bared to the people around him. His eyes held a rage, they looked as if they were filled with blind fury. People around him gasped in shock, backing up a bit but not looking away from him. They were staring at him as if he was a beast.   Ulfrikson let out a bloodcurdling roar. “. . . so the bear lashed out with his large paw, like this!” His arm swung past the faces of the gasping children, their eyes filled with healthy childlike wonder. “What happened then, Bjørn?” a small girl asked while tugging at his shirt. The brute smiled, allowing his body to fall back into its natural, relaxed posture. They were all sitting on the ground, a circle of which Bjørn was the centre and moved around on his knees, telling his story about how he had gotten attacked after someone - a child - asked him about the fur he carried with him. He patted the child on her head and then gestured them all to come closer as he himself spoke a little more quietly. Even the parents happened to lean in to hear what he had to say.   “I tried to duck, but its large paw struck me.” He quickly gestured towards his face, the memories imprinted in the form of a large scar. “It blinded me and threw me onto the ground. I thought I was dead. But then I looked to the side while the creature was already advancing on me and saw my dagger laying there.” He spoke louder again and everyone moved back, knowing that this was the queue that he would move again.   Swiftly he drew his knife, showing it to the circle. “She came closer and closer, finally ready to deliver her last strike, but I was quicker and drove my blade through her thick skin, into her heart. Blood poured down my hands, she roared and tried to lash out again. But it was too late for her. She had wobbled on her big, furry paws before hitting the ground. It was the grizzly’s end.” Obviously, that wasn’t how it really went. Ulfrikson had almost been dead hadn’t it been for her to get distracted by one of his comrades who shot her with an arrow. They had been sent out in a group of five to slay her. The size of her had been abnormal, Bjørn hadn’t ever seen a beast as big as her. He also decided to leave the part where he passed out from blood loss, his face not having been the only part that had been within her reach, and lack of air after she had dropped dead right on top of him. A boy, probably around the age of ten, came closer and then sheepishly patted his shoulder, which had Bjørn arch his brow. “It is good that you killed her. She is evil.” He just chuckled in reply and ruffled his hair. She hadn’t been evil. Her rage was the cause of farmers who had killed her cub. They had it coming, but their children and wives had been the reason why the giant had accepted the contract. They were 'innocent' in this case. He respected animals more so than men. They weren’t evil. Mankind, however, he was not so sure. People made poor decisions based on thoughts and impulses which made no sense. That included himself. Mankind was selfish, he knew, and greedy. He was about to say something when he heard someone call his name. “Ulfrikson, get back to work. We ain’t paying you to sit on your arse and tell fables.” “Aye, aye..” With an apologetic shrug he got on his feet, telling his ‘audience’ that he had to get back to work. He received a few quick hugs from the children who had befriended him with their innocence and curiosity, loving his stories no matter how many times he had told them already. The parents were mostly people who hired him to do dirty and hard work for them for an unacceptably low amount of coin. Ulfrikson just never really thought about it that way, he could eat at night and buy himself an ale. The rest of his day was spent chopping wood and stacking logs. At the end of it he was cold and wet and had some coin back in his pocket. He was thanked and dismissed for the day. Quickly he made his way through the streets of Galloway, knowing exactly where to go to find his favourite tavern, the Retired Sword. He could find the place with his eyes shut. The scent of well brewed drinks and oak fuelled fires had a smile tugging at his lips. this was what he nowadays considered as home. He entered through the heavily-used, wooden door, reminding himself to duck as not to bang his head against the low frame, leaving the dark and chilly outside behind him to be greeted by warmth and the welcoming scent of ale and roasted meats. In his enthusiasm to get inside he nearly waltzed over a rather short individual. The irritable man, obviously annoyed by Bjørn’s accidental clumsiness, snarled at him, “Look out where you walk, you big oaf!”. Bjørn halted, slowly looking down to see the man who had sneered at him the way he had. Brief eye-contact was enough for the man to mutter a soft apology as he quickly turned around and hobbled away. Licking his lips thoughtfully, though not focussed on the little incident but more so on the drinking options he had, he gazed up to see Elaine, a woman who he had seen working here plenty of times before.   Sheepishly he waved at her, seeing how she was occupied by an elder man, so he ordered his tankard with the other lady, Adriana. Some shuffled aside as he made his way towards the hearth, longing for the warmth of a fire.	Name: Bjørn Ulfrikson Age: 41 yo Appearance: Bjørn Ulfrikson, 6'2" tall and padded with muscle, is a tough looking creature. His brown manes - which includes his beard - show the first traces of grey, much against his liking. His eerily cold eye, its colour best described as colourless or pale, is often fixated on either ale or an attractive individual - most probably ale, while his other eye lays hidden beneath a thick, ugly scar which was the result of a dispute with the local guardsmen. The sides of his skull are shaved and decorated with black - slightly faded - ink which creeps down his neck where it continues to flow over his shoulders, down his arms and towards his hands. The lines often interrupted by thick scars and scrapes from battle and brawls. Class: Berserker; The Berserker is a character who throws himself into a fight with such reckless abandon, it almost seems a death wish. It could be over-enthusiasm, overconfidence, or an unstoppable, blinding rage that fuels him. Berserkers are equally capable of being good or evil, but almost always chaotic in their ways. They regularly have to be reminded by their teammates to control themselves after a particularly close call. The berserkr of Viking-age Scandinavia: Warriors who are said to have thrown themselves into battle wearing only animal hides for armour and with no regard for their own safety. Their 'battle-madness', whose exact nature is presently unknown (some say it came from eating weird mushrooms before a battle) is said to have been a gift from the Gods. The word "berserkr" means "Bear-shirt" in Old Norse, referring to either their going into battle with the ferocity of bears or for wearing bear pelts into battle. Their effectiveness in battle is up for debate, but they were an imposing and terrifying nightmare to the continental Europeans — and, if The Icelandic Sagas are to be trusted, to their own civilization. ’His men rushed forwards without armour, were as mad as dogs or wolves, bit their shields, and were strong as bears or wild oxen, and killed people at a blow, but neither fire nor iron told upon them.’ Snorri Sturluson (1179–1241) Ynglinga saga Alignment: Chaotically Neutral Weapon(s): He'll carry with him his beloved axe, also used to chop wood whenever in need of a campfire, which he forged himself at the beginning of his journey. Found in his other hand - when not an ale - or on his back, he has a wooden, round shield which has seen better days and is in dire need of a repair or replacement. Hanging from his belt he'll also have a sharp, dagger-like knife which he uses to skin animals with, or - whenever needed - serves as a useful weapon against his enemies. Armor/Clothing: For battle, or quests, during colder months, he wears a sleeveless mail shirt formed of interlinked, riveted rings. It's mostly covered by thick furs and skins to make Bjørn look even broader than he already is. He'll have a bear-skin draped over his shoulder, its head sown on wolf-pelt to create a warm hood and rather disturbing sight. During the warmer months, however, he wears a loin-cloth'like piece of dark fabric, underneath which - when not too warm - a tight pair of pants with leather boots and around his waist a massive gut belt, also functioning as armour to protect some of his vital organs. He'll always dress to impress, having to seem intimidating in a way. So he'll most likely carry furs or animal bones with him to create such illusion. Personal trinkets: Personal Father's ring; given to him by his uncle after the fire. Grizzly claw; hanging from his neck he displays the claws of a massive beast, the same creature once owned the thick fur that now hangs from Bjørn's shoulder. Functional Knife (Weapon + Tool) Axe (Weapon + Tool) Whetstone Flint and Steel Tinder Waterskin; most probably filled with an alcoholic beverage Short History: Bjørn was born and raised in a mountainous township which was well-known for mining. His parents had raised him in a strict way and hoped he’d one day would take over his father’s mining company, but after years they gave up on that idea. Young Bjørn just wasn’t great student and had no interest in maths or economy. His interest laid beyond the safe walls of his home. He had always dreamt of being an adventurer, or a soldier serving the crown. He wanted to explore and help people out, but his parents didn’t approve. One day when Bjørn was fifteen years of age, the king’s men came to inspect his father’s mining business, like they did often. There was always trouble between the king and his dad. The crown demanded a lower price, but his father had declined. They had lowered the price three times already that year. But his refusal had been the last straw. The young Bjørn was helping out at the mines when he saw the flames arising from his home. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him, but when he arrived his home had already been devoured by flames and his parents buried beneath the embers. Bjørn grew a hatred towards the men who carried with them the king’s sigil. He had realised that day that there was nothing lawful about them. His uncle let him live with him and his wife, they raised him like he was one of their own. His uncle had been a worker in the mines and took his father’s position while teaching Bjørn the ropes of mining itself. He grew older and stronger in the dark, picking stone until his muscles ached, day-after-day. Then one morning he said his goodbyes, leaving his home to seek the men who had taken his parents from him. Of course, too many years had passed for him to find them. Their faces had faded from his memory and their traces disappeared over time. He wasn’t in peace, but he decided that helping others out would at least ease the still aching pain. Now traveling the land, he helps out wherever he can; keeping trade-routes safe, farmers who need an extra hand during the harvest, and more. These days, while being in the area, he spends his hours drinking and brawling with the local louts at ‘The Retired Sword’. Personality: Bjørn Ulfrikson lives up to his name; he's a musclebound goliath of great proportions. He's large, a little hairy and richly decorated with ink.. - Did I mention that he's large? With his axe in one hand and a mug of ale in the other, he’s often found causing havoc in taverns and other places of merriment. This bulky character is easily the brains of the group due to his vast knowledge of shapes and colours. - Okay, he’s clearly the muscle and not one to be trusted with difficult decision making. His intelligence has proven problematic in the past; Violence is his preferred approach. Quick and easy. But don’t get fooled by those bulky arms and intimidating gaze. This ale-loving man could easily become your best friend. He’s as loyal as a dog and would never leave someone behind. This (surprisingly huggable) giant’s laughter could warm the coldest of hearts and he has proven himself to be more compassionate than people, and he himself, expect him to be. He has a good sense of right and wrong and serves justice as he deems fit, which might not always be the lawful way.
4,701	120	3	989	495	Location: The Retired Sword, Galloway Weather: Misty Rain, light winds. Time of Day: Nightfall From the outside, the inn seemed much like the rest of Galloway in appearance. It had been difficult to look through the windows but as you entered through the thick, wooden door; groans welcome you. It's as dreary inside as it is on the out. Hardwood beams support the upper floor and the lanterns attached to them. The walls have a few pictures here and there, though the dust stops you from taking a closer look. Locals seem to be the primary clientele here. The patrons appear dangerous in one way or another, but whoever they are, you'd prefer not to look at them the wrong way, save a fight that would get you locked up in barracks cages until they decide to let you go. You did hear rumors about this tavern, supposedly it's infamous for something, but for the life of you you can't remember what for. Though judging by everything you've seen so far, you don't really care and you probably don't want to know. As night takes hold, the inn has grown full and lively as it dwells further into the night. Our adventurers find themselves either joining the festivities or still awake in the tavern because with all the noise they find themselves unable to sleep. Occasionally the howl of a wolf pierces the ears of the patrons, the sound is chilling but doesn't impede on the festivities. A fog had rolled over the town having been approaching for quite a while giving a completely different atmosphere to the town streets, many of the lanterns no longer burning for another night. Suddenly, it grew quiet as a flock of armored guard, swords, halberds or crossbows at the ready ran down the street past the inn the thudding of their leather boots rushed. One guard passing lit the lanterns hanging outside buildings as they could, but was trying to keep up with his comrades. For whatever reason took them, the adventurers are drawn to it, they approach the door and flood onto the street.	Evaline Summerfall Age: 18 Appearance: Alignment: Neutral Class: Priest class mage Weapon(s):Dagger Armor/Clothing: Wears a olive green scarf around her head to cover her ears. Clothes are also green. Knee length dress with several difference feathers attached to the left side of a brown leather belt around her waist. Also attached to her belt is her dagger. Boots are brown leather. Brown fingerless gloves. She wears a crystal necklace given to her by her mother. Over all of her apparel she wears a deep burgundy cloak. Personal trinkets: None other then what has already been described. Short History: Evaline's mother was an elf, she was taken by an aristocratic family while pregnant with Evaline and enslaved. Evaline was born soon afterwards, also kept as a slave. The family in question owned a very large and successful vineyard and winery. Evalines mother studying healing magic before her capture and began teaching this to Evaline at a very young age, keeping it to herself so the masters would not find out. At the age of 3 Evaline was kept indoors to work on household chores and jobs while her mother worked the vineyard, each night they slept under a trapdoor. It was kept under a rug with a coffee table over it to hide it from unwanted eyes and attention. This little space held a small shelf along the wall on one side and hay rolls with a few thin blankets covering the ground. The space was approximately 6 feet by 3 feet by 4 feet. They were allowed one candle a week. Evalines mother taught her, her native language and began teaching her how to read and write. Once Evaline turned four she was branded by the family as her mother had been. Burned at the base of her neck with the familys emblem. A circle with a bears head and arrows crossed over the top. With her mothers healing abilities she was able to sooth the pain and burn but not heal the scar. Evaline was terribly mistreated, her ears, once a symbol of greatness as her mother told it, now were a mark of disgust and hatred. Each day she was slung with insults, beaten and laughed at, each night, she studied with her mother. One morning when Evaline was 10 she burned her arm in the fire where she was making the families breakfast. Her mother instinctively saw her and began to sooth the wound. The masters saw this and a greedy smile spread across their faces. That night her mother gave her the blue crystal necklace and kissed Evaline on the forehead. 'Tomorrow I will be going away," She said before slipping off into sleep. The next morning the trap door opened with a start and her mother was wisped up and dragged away. The door was then closed and locked, after several hours Evaline heard voices laughing and shouting above. "If only we knew earlier! We made a fortune on that one!" From that day Evaline continued to work hard promising herself that one day she would find her mother and free her. At the age of 15 after Evaline was shut under the trap door she heard the many yells and sounds of a beast invasion. She kept very still as the sounds of screams filled the estate. The invaders stayed in the home for a week, never finding Evaline under the floor board. On their final day they set the home to flame and vanished. In a hurry Evaline emerged from the now barricaded door, she searched the house for a satchel and stuffed it with food, she then grabbed a scarf and ran from the estate, her mothers necklace around her neck too afraid to turn and look back at the home set aflame. The smell of burning bodies and cooking wine filled the air. Evaline wondered the woods for some time, she wrapped the scarf around her head (as you would a bandanna) to cover her ears and the family emblem. When she ran out of food she found the dagger at the bottom of the satchel. With this she began attempting to hunt, all the while travelling through the wood hoping to find a village. After 6 months of travelling she ended up in Galloway. Now 16 she collapsed at the local tavern, named The Retired Sword, where she was given food. With no money to pay she began working to pay off her meal. The owner of the tavern not knowing of her race offered her a job and a room, at this point she began going by Elaine. She continued to practice her healing abilities and listened to travellers conversations for any sign of her mothers whereabouts. "One day I will leave and find her," She often told herself. She saved her money to supply herself with the basic accommodations for travel, a bedroll, travelling cooking pot, flint sticks and a small portable wooden chest filled with healing herbs she has gathered over years.
4,702	120	4	2,608	360	Aelrath was making his way through town avoiding areas with large amounts of people. He knew how elves were treated and also knew that being half-human didn't make a difference as far as most people were concerned. Even with his hood there was a possibility it would shift in a way that would reveal his pointed ears. He needed a place to stay while he looked for the mage who was supposed to be in town, learning new mid to high difficulty spells took more than a day or two. He came to a stop outside a blacksmith's shop, he had not had a chance to temper and repair swords in over a week and fighting bandits on the way didn't help their condition. "Sorry to disturb you at this late hour but I was wondering if I could use your forge. I am willing to compensate you for your trouble," Aelrath said to the shop owner as he spoke he pulled out a handful of coins and laid them on the counter. "Yae ken use ma forge jus don burn da place down, eh mate?" The large man behind the counter said with a smile. Aelrath went to the back and was quickly absorbed in his work. Aelrath was polishing his swords when he heard the sound of the guards rushing through the streets. He considered staying put or looking for a place to stay but his curiosity won over. Plus, he figured that if there was a battle the mage he had come to seek out would appear. He quickly sheathed his swords and ran after the guards, he stuck to the shadows and used a wind element spell to lighten his footsteps so as to draw less attention.	Name:Aelrath Teasen'rretyn Age: 25 Appearance: Aelrath is neither exceptionally tall nor muscular at the height of 6’2” and the weight of 200lbs. He has short relatively unkempt black hair crowning his head. A square jaw and prominent nose are quickly noticed, but are even more quickly ignored on seeing his unusual silver-gray irises. His elvish blood is noticeable in his pointed ears. He inherited his tan skin from his father. Class: Arcane Swordsman Capable of using some basic magic and masters of using swords. Arcane Swordsmen generally prefer using magic to enhance their melee combat, though they are capable of some ranged magic. Alignment: Neutral Good Weapon(s): Armor/Clothing: As seen in the pictures he wears a hooded cloak over a chest plate. He wears leather boots reinforced with a chainmail-like material and the rest of his clothing is cloth. Personal trinkets: (Really just a fluff thing but you never know when something could come in useful etc). Necklace with a silver-gray gem in the center of his mother’s family crest, a sword carried by an eagle. Short History: Aelrath has grown up shunned by many of those around him because of his mother. His mother was an elf who was the direct descendant of slaves. She had been relatively well off becoming a barmaid and saving money to leave her hometown of Lakeshore. It was around this time that she met a man who took a fancy to her, they were together for a few months until he found out she was pregnant. He disappeared that night leaving behind a sword and an old tome. After his birth his mother became a seamstress selling her wares to provide for her growing son. Aelrath was quite an intelligent child learning to speak before his first birthday. When he turned 7 his mother met an old scholar who was willing to teach Aelrath to read and write for a reasonable fee. He quickly caught on and was able to read fluently by age 9. It was around this time that his mother gave him the items left behind by his father, the old tome contained systematic instructions on how to wield the sword as well as a basic wind spell. Aelrath soon mastered the basic sword stances but it took until he was 12 for him to be able to cast the spell consistently. His mother arranged for him to be apprenticed to the town blacksmith, who was an excellent but strict teacher. Aelrath studied under him for 8 year learning all that he could. When Aelrath was 20 he had taken over the blacksmith's shop for the most part as his teacher was getting too old to forge. All seemed to be going well until one night the town was attacked by a large beastman warband. A group of rangers appeared shortly after however they were only able to drive the beastmen back after a tough fight were many townspeople died, Aelrath's mother and the old blacksmith among the dead. He joined the rangers temporarily as they continued to hunt down the warband. After they killed all those they could find he broke away from them roaming the country alone, honing his skills and learning new spells. He was in Galloway because he had heard there was a skilled mage there and he wanted to see if he could learn more spells from them. Other:
4,703	120	5	2,716	215	There was something comforting and hypnotic in sharpening blades. The constant, rhythmic sssshhk of the whetstone as it glided across the edge of his dirks sang him a lullaby. He found no sleep that night for the raucous in the main lobby was something of a bother. He wasn't overly worried about it, however, as he appreciated the time to sit and think. It had been a while since he had the respite of a warm bed within four walls. When you expected a cloaked figure to place a blade across your throat in the middle of the night, a deep and peaceful sleep is hard to come by in the wilderness. He had just looked at his maps, deciding where his next destination would be. So deep within his own mind he was that he barely noticed that the noise below had subsided. Lifting his head, he listened more intently. He could make out the scratching of plate and leather as they rubbed up against each other in a rhythm. The sound men made as they hurried in arms to wherever they were needed. He tried to discern how many of them there were but the noise was so chaotic, it was hard to tell. This intrigued him, as such a show of force was only necessary against a real threat and not some thief in the night. Rubbing the length of the blade on his dirks, he placed them back into the makeshift scabbards embedded in his waist sash. He then reached over and grasped his longsword, drawing the cords around his midsection and tightening it expertly. He thought a moment, deciding whether it was the most prudent move to grab his crossbow. If his past experience has taught him anything, is that there is never a wrong time for a ranged weapon and so he slung the bolts over his shoulder, letting the case rest at his mid-back and at a slight angle. The crossbow itself dangled in what appeared to be a three-point sling, and slid neatly back near his latissimus dorsi. He had taken off his regular clothing in favor of his armor after seeing several more guards rushing with what appeared to be purpose. Something was definitely wrong, and he would take no chances here. No way in hell he was dying in some backwater township. Strapping on his gambeson, mail and leather, and light-weight plates at his shoulders and forearms, he proceeded out of the tavern. Instead of following the road, however, he found an easy access to the wooden roofs of the town, making note of which were thatched and not to guide his footing. His hand hovered over his crossbow as he peered into the distance where the guards were running, his other hand resting gently on the hilt of his sword, lifting it so as to not scrape any surface with the tip. He kept his profile low and his stride was deadly quiet. As he skulked through the rooftops of the town, making his way towards the commotion, his mind could not help but wander to the possibilities. Had he finally found the dreaded beasts?	Approved characters only.
4,704	120	6	1,545	95	With a tankard in his hand and his feet almost in the fire of the hearth in an attempt to dry his boots, Bjørn found himself satisfied for the day. He allowed a sigh to pass his lips before gulping down some ale, licking the remains out of his moustache. - Yes. These were the things he really appreciated after a long day of work. His arms had longed stopped aching from having gotten used to hard work, and his hands had gotten accustomed to the sting of wooden splinters from carrying around wooden logs all day. Still, it was work that had to be done and he was happy to help out and earn himself a drink and a warm plate at the end of the day. Slowly the sound of laughing, shouting, and singing had died down within the tavern as a group of armed men rushed by. Interested, some around him had gotten up to get to the window, trying to peer through it to see what was going on outside. Soon enough the mumbling started as people were beginning to assume things. One said something about bandits, another spoke of wolves, until everyone had another vague story about what was happening. More than once, however, beasts were mentioned. Easily drawn to battle, the idea that something was going on somewhere in or around town had Bjørn strangely excited. He had been looking over the rim of his drinking cup, staring out of the window where the last guard now quickly passed by, trying to keep up with his mates. Had it not been for the ale that now spilled past his lips, quickly dripping down his beard and onto his lap, he would've still been staring at that very same spot, waiting for something else to happen. Instead it made him snap out of it, cursing under his breath as he quickly wiped his chin with the back of his hand. Having decided that he wouldn't sit here while elsewhere there was chaos, so he rose to his full height, gulping down the remaining ale while his other hand was already resting on his axe. He ached for battle. He ached for danger. Slamming the tankard down, he then quickly made his way outside, pushing through the crowd and probably causing one or two patrons to get knocked off of their chairs. Not on purpose, might I say. As Bjørn left the warmth of the tavern behind, stepping out into the night, he could see some others leaving the building. He could just catch the glimpse of a man, whose face was hidden beneath his hood, pass by him. There was little attention paid to him as there were other matters on Ulfrikson's mind. He had to catch up with those guards. Though disliking it very much - which was still an understatement - he started to march down the road, following the path which he assumed the guards had taken. His heavy steps could be heard from a mile away as he continued his way through the labyrinth that was Galloway. Luckily he wasn't the only one who seemed to be tracking the men, for he soon decided to follow yet another cloaked figure. - What was it with these cloaks, though? Bjørn couldn't imagine a comfortable situation while running around with a hood pulled over your head which had to be sliding up and down, or wherever it decided to go, obstructing the wearer's sight. Or he just didn't know how to properly wear a cloak.	Name: Bjørn Ulfrikson Age: 41 yo Appearance: Bjørn Ulfrikson, 6'2" tall and padded with muscle, is a tough looking creature. His brown manes - which includes his beard - show the first traces of grey, much against his liking. His eerily cold eye, its colour best described as colourless or pale, is often fixated on either ale or an attractive individual - most probably ale, while his other eye lays hidden beneath a thick, ugly scar which was the result of a dispute with the local guardsmen. The sides of his skull are shaved and decorated with black - slightly faded - ink which creeps down his neck where it continues to flow over his shoulders, down his arms and towards his hands. The lines often interrupted by thick scars and scrapes from battle and brawls. Class: Berserker; The Berserker is a character who throws himself into a fight with such reckless abandon, it almost seems a death wish. It could be over-enthusiasm, overconfidence, or an unstoppable, blinding rage that fuels him. Berserkers are equally capable of being good or evil, but almost always chaotic in their ways. They regularly have to be reminded by their teammates to control themselves after a particularly close call. The berserkr of Viking-age Scandinavia: Warriors who are said to have thrown themselves into battle wearing only animal hides for armour and with no regard for their own safety. Their 'battle-madness', whose exact nature is presently unknown (some say it came from eating weird mushrooms before a battle) is said to have been a gift from the Gods. The word "berserkr" means "Bear-shirt" in Old Norse, referring to either their going into battle with the ferocity of bears or for wearing bear pelts into battle. Their effectiveness in battle is up for debate, but they were an imposing and terrifying nightmare to the continental Europeans — and, if The Icelandic Sagas are to be trusted, to their own civilization. ’His men rushed forwards without armour, were as mad as dogs or wolves, bit their shields, and were strong as bears or wild oxen, and killed people at a blow, but neither fire nor iron told upon them.’ Snorri Sturluson (1179–1241) Ynglinga saga Alignment: Chaotically Neutral Weapon(s): He'll carry with him his beloved axe, also used to chop wood whenever in need of a campfire, which he forged himself at the beginning of his journey. Found in his other hand - when not an ale - or on his back, he has a wooden, round shield which has seen better days and is in dire need of a repair or replacement. Hanging from his belt he'll also have a sharp, dagger-like knife which he uses to skin animals with, or - whenever needed - serves as a useful weapon against his enemies. Armor/Clothing: For battle, or quests, during colder months, he wears a sleeveless mail shirt formed of interlinked, riveted rings. It's mostly covered by thick furs and skins to make Bjørn look even broader than he already is. He'll have a bear-skin draped over his shoulder, its head sown on wolf-pelt to create a warm hood and rather disturbing sight. During the warmer months, however, he wears a loin-cloth'like piece of dark fabric, underneath which - when not too warm - a tight pair of pants with leather boots and around his waist a massive gut belt, also functioning as armour to protect some of his vital organs. He'll always dress to impress, having to seem intimidating in a way. So he'll most likely carry furs or animal bones with him to create such illusion. Personal trinkets: Personal Father's ring; given to him by his uncle after the fire. Grizzly claw; hanging from his neck he displays the claws of a massive beast, the same creature once owned the thick fur that now hangs from Bjørn's shoulder. Functional Knife (Weapon + Tool) Axe (Weapon + Tool) Whetstone Flint and Steel Tinder Waterskin; most probably filled with an alcoholic beverage Short History: Bjørn was born and raised in a mountainous township which was well-known for mining. His parents had raised him in a strict way and hoped he’d one day would take over his father’s mining company, but after years they gave up on that idea. Young Bjørn just wasn’t great student and had no interest in maths or economy. His interest laid beyond the safe walls of his home. He had always dreamt of being an adventurer, or a soldier serving the crown. He wanted to explore and help people out, but his parents didn’t approve. One day when Bjørn was fifteen years of age, the king’s men came to inspect his father’s mining business, like they did often. There was always trouble between the king and his dad. The crown demanded a lower price, but his father had declined. They had lowered the price three times already that year. But his refusal had been the last straw. The young Bjørn was helping out at the mines when he saw the flames arising from his home. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him, but when he arrived his home had already been devoured by flames and his parents buried beneath the embers. Bjørn grew a hatred towards the men who carried with them the king’s sigil. He had realised that day that there was nothing lawful about them. His uncle let him live with him and his wife, they raised him like he was one of their own. His uncle had been a worker in the mines and took his father’s position while teaching Bjørn the ropes of mining itself. He grew older and stronger in the dark, picking stone until his muscles ached, day-after-day. Then one morning he said his goodbyes, leaving his home to seek the men who had taken his parents from him. Of course, too many years had passed for him to find them. Their faces had faded from his memory and their traces disappeared over time. He wasn’t in peace, but he decided that helping others out would at least ease the still aching pain. Now traveling the land, he helps out wherever he can; keeping trade-routes safe, farmers who need an extra hand during the harvest, and more. These days, while being in the area, he spends his hours drinking and brawling with the local louts at ‘The Retired Sword’. Personality: Bjørn Ulfrikson lives up to his name; he's a musclebound goliath of great proportions. He's large, a little hairy and richly decorated with ink.. - Did I mention that he's large? With his axe in one hand and a mug of ale in the other, he’s often found causing havoc in taverns and other places of merriment. This bulky character is easily the brains of the group due to his vast knowledge of shapes and colours. - Okay, he’s clearly the muscle and not one to be trusted with difficult decision making. His intelligence has proven problematic in the past; Violence is his preferred approach. Quick and easy. But don’t get fooled by those bulky arms and intimidating gaze. This ale-loving man could easily become your best friend. He’s as loyal as a dog and would never leave someone behind. This (surprisingly huggable) giant’s laughter could warm the coldest of hearts and he has proven himself to be more compassionate than people, and he himself, expect him to be. He has a good sense of right and wrong and serves justice as he deems fit, which might not always be the lawful way.
4,705	120	7	2,716	215	The guards running down the street in force, lighting lanterns, it all seemed so ominous. With the sleeve of his shirt he wiped dust from the window peering out, the room was dark he could see the guards as they ran past below him, one almost saw him hanging back lighting lanterns but ultimately made his way to find his mates. Balian took up his bow and sword throwing his jerkin on over making his way across the small room, key in hand he opened the door he could hear other patrons coming. He jogged down the stairs and spotted the girl he'd seen around the tavern earlier, scarf pulled over her ears he followed suit. Once on the street he watched as a few others from the tavern had made their way outside, a tall man, his cloak askew caught Balian’s attention and he made his way over, placing the back of his hand on the cloaked male as he made his way up beside him, “What’s going on?” He asked, within earshot of the barmaid. - Eventually catching up to the guards by the eastern wall they stood, scattered among the market stalls that littered the plaza. “Beasts!” One of the guards yelled before the clatter of sword on axe rang through the bazaar. Balian tried to spot how many were around but it had grown dark, the clouds shifted and the moon lit up the ladder against the wall, another hoofed figure, cloaked climbed over. “Up there!” He yelled, gesturing slinging his jerkin on he mounted his sword and notched an arrow, he loosed it and hit the beast in but it kept going, undeterred by the marksman. In order to know how many there truly were they’d have to get up on the wall and have a look over, who knew how many waited beyond the wall although Balian had his guess from their appearance and behavior that it was a small raiding party, probably around twenty or so. He dashed for the stairs that lead up to the battlements. Climbing them he found himself face to face with the beast he’d struck with an arrow. Balian took a few cautious steps backwards drawing his sword, both hands on the hilt, he tightened his grip in the slight hesitation. Trying to glance between the embrasure did little good, he was not at the right place to get a good look at the attackers, from the sounds below however a few had already made their way into the town, probably not expecting to get caught. Balian was charged and raised his sword parrying the blow of an axe, he had nearly crumpled under it, nearly forgetting their brute strength. The fight went back and forth for a couple of minutes, but neither one could land the blow. The ranger found himself backed into a corner, he looked down upon impending doom and scowled before with all his might kicking the beast in the guttural area. He’d almost lost his own balance, catching himself the beast was left open having had to regain it’s own footing. It was quick, the lunge that brought about the end, the blade of the sword swallowed whole by the creature’s throat. Balian pulled his weapon free as the beast hit the ground and had spotted two more coming down the battlements, he cursed and retreated down the steps back to the bazarr, looking around for any of his fellow adventurers or guards.	Approved characters only.
4,706	120	8	989	495	Evaline Summerfall Evaline watched closely as the guards ascended the town, the echoes of their steps rumbled through the town in rhythmic unison. She felt the shudder of the sudden stop in footsteps at the base of Galloway. Almost as if to hear the distinguished breathes of each guard, each sharp inhale of exhilaration. Evaline peered closer and touched her hands to the earth, her fingertips catching long blades of grass and loose sand. With the anticipation in her heart she felt the untamed rumble of several steps heading towards them. It felt as though time had slowed and everyone took an inhale in complete synchrony, that this moment had lasted for a short period when the spell was broken by the shrill of a beastman. Evaline knew this shrill, she felt in her bones and the echoes of the screams above the wood panels in her masters house bounced off the walls of her mind. The smell of blood, rush of footsteps and scarlet rain seeping through the floor boards hit her like a thunderbolt. That would happen to all these people, in this town that kept her, gave her a home and an income with the means to learn more about the world outside this small town. She had to do something. Her mind raced with adrenaline and her fingers trembled. She gazed at the scene before her, the guards fighting in all their might, yelling battle cries, the beastmen lunging in an almost satanic, animalistic fury, and four extras who were neither guard nor beastman. "Travelers?" She though to herself recognizing two of the faces as those who had rented rooms in the tavern for the night, one she had never seen before and Bjorn, the regular customer at the tavern. She closed her eyes in a calm and took a smooth breath, relaxing her hands and her body. At this she began muttering some of the deep magic her mother taught her and she then studied after coming to Galloway. Her voice spoke in a language neither human or elvish, she mutter a long flurry of words quickly her voice rose slightly and her hands raised as she did so. In her mind where the faces of the four extras in the mix, the non-beastmen or guards. She continued to mutter until she felt the spell extend away from her like a short surge towards the faces she placed in her mind. She appeared to them internally as a soft voice saying, "Strength and protection in a time of valiant triumph." as though she whispered closely and gently in their ears. With a warm touch to their foreheads like a kiss, she gave them an almost invisible armour and an slight increase in strength. Her eyes opened quickly as a rush of weakness ran through her. "I can't stop now" She mutter to herself. Guards had fallen now, the beastmen were strong but were also finding many had come to their graves. Evaline summoned her strength and stood just behind the group fighting. She closed her eyes again, readied her breath and thought of an incantation. She focused to find all the words. She raised her arms towards the group and began muttering. She spoke quickly and deeply. As her words created the incantation a swirl of wind began to form around her, one that could not be seen but felt so she was still visible within it. She continued to speak, louder now as a glow arose from beneath her feet. Her cape flipped and slapped in the wind behind her, her hair began to float as whisp about. She continued to chant, her voice beginning to roar over the crowd, the wind picking up it's fury. A beastman approached it but was flown aside when trying to enter the silo. The scarf wrapped around her head began to unravel until it flew up into the air, revealing for the first time since she entered the city of her true heritage. She continued her arms now extended up and pointing over the crowd, the glow incasing her body in a bright light accentuating every detail in her face, hair and body. With a final boom of her voice the wind spread through the crowd as a tornado knocking aside only the beastmen, flinging them into buildings and towards the wood surrounding the city while giving a surge of energy to the guards. The beastmen wailed in pain as they crashed into light-posts, buildings, trees and the like. Evaline fell to a knee, "Please be enough to help" She thought to herself as her red hair began draping itself gracefully over her shoulders along with her cloak over her back. Her energy was waning at this point. She went in an almost crawl towards the building on her right to draw support from the beams holding up the roof canopy over the front door. There was a middle aged man peeking out from the doorway, "And all this time you were one of those filth, I can't believe I even drank from a mug you passed me." He hissed at her spitting in her direction. Evaline supported herself along the side of the residence and collapsed against it, her strength almost depleted. She sat with her back to the brick wall behind her, her dagger drawn and at the ready. "Pull yourself together" She told herself, "Find your strength."	Evaline Summerfall Age: 18 Appearance: Alignment: Neutral Class: Priest class mage Weapon(s):Dagger Armor/Clothing: Wears a olive green scarf around her head to cover her ears. Clothes are also green. Knee length dress with several difference feathers attached to the left side of a brown leather belt around her waist. Also attached to her belt is her dagger. Boots are brown leather. Brown fingerless gloves. She wears a crystal necklace given to her by her mother. Over all of her apparel she wears a deep burgundy cloak. Personal trinkets: None other then what has already been described. Short History: Evaline's mother was an elf, she was taken by an aristocratic family while pregnant with Evaline and enslaved. Evaline was born soon afterwards, also kept as a slave. The family in question owned a very large and successful vineyard and winery. Evalines mother studying healing magic before her capture and began teaching this to Evaline at a very young age, keeping it to herself so the masters would not find out. At the age of 3 Evaline was kept indoors to work on household chores and jobs while her mother worked the vineyard, each night they slept under a trapdoor. It was kept under a rug with a coffee table over it to hide it from unwanted eyes and attention. This little space held a small shelf along the wall on one side and hay rolls with a few thin blankets covering the ground. The space was approximately 6 feet by 3 feet by 4 feet. They were allowed one candle a week. Evalines mother taught her, her native language and began teaching her how to read and write. Once Evaline turned four she was branded by the family as her mother had been. Burned at the base of her neck with the familys emblem. A circle with a bears head and arrows crossed over the top. With her mothers healing abilities she was able to sooth the pain and burn but not heal the scar. Evaline was terribly mistreated, her ears, once a symbol of greatness as her mother told it, now were a mark of disgust and hatred. Each day she was slung with insults, beaten and laughed at, each night, she studied with her mother. One morning when Evaline was 10 she burned her arm in the fire where she was making the families breakfast. Her mother instinctively saw her and began to sooth the wound. The masters saw this and a greedy smile spread across their faces. That night her mother gave her the blue crystal necklace and kissed Evaline on the forehead. 'Tomorrow I will be going away," She said before slipping off into sleep. The next morning the trap door opened with a start and her mother was wisped up and dragged away. The door was then closed and locked, after several hours Evaline heard voices laughing and shouting above. "If only we knew earlier! We made a fortune on that one!" From that day Evaline continued to work hard promising herself that one day she would find her mother and free her. At the age of 15 after Evaline was shut under the trap door she heard the many yells and sounds of a beast invasion. She kept very still as the sounds of screams filled the estate. The invaders stayed in the home for a week, never finding Evaline under the floor board. On their final day they set the home to flame and vanished. In a hurry Evaline emerged from the now barricaded door, she searched the house for a satchel and stuffed it with food, she then grabbed a scarf and ran from the estate, her mothers necklace around her neck too afraid to turn and look back at the home set aflame. The smell of burning bodies and cooking wine filled the air. Evaline wondered the woods for some time, she wrapped the scarf around her head (as you would a bandanna) to cover her ears and the family emblem. When she ran out of food she found the dagger at the bottom of the satchel. With this she began attempting to hunt, all the while travelling through the wood hoping to find a village. After 6 months of travelling she ended up in Galloway. Now 16 she collapsed at the local tavern, named The Retired Sword, where she was given food. With no money to pay she began working to pay off her meal. The owner of the tavern not knowing of her race offered her a job and a room, at this point she began going by Elaine. She continued to practice her healing abilities and listened to travellers conversations for any sign of her mothers whereabouts. "One day I will leave and find her," She often told herself. She saved her money to supply herself with the basic accommodations for travel, a bedroll, travelling cooking pot, flint sticks and a small portable wooden chest filled with healing herbs she has gathered over years.
4,707	120	9	1,545	95	Bjørn hadn’t been as quick as the cloaked figures had been. They soon disappeared around the corner, fading away in the dark ahead. But it wasn’t hard to find battle for screams of terror and roars of whatever laid ahead soon echoed through the city. The source came from near the eastern city wall. As he came around the corner himself Bjørn quickly scanned his surroundings; armsmen fought and cried out as they tried to hack away against the giant creatures that had come over the wall, beasts that even towered over Ulfrikson himself. They seemed like worthy opponents to him. His eyes then flicked over to one of many cloaked figures, a woman whose body slowly dropped down to the ground, seemingly exhausted by whatever spell she had just chanted. He hadn’t missed the moment in which her body was surrounded by wind, viciously strong. This wasn’t the first time Bjørn had witnessed magic, and he knew not to mess with it. Sure, he respected it, but in a way it also made him feel uncomfortable. His thoughts were quickly pulled back to battle when one of the beasts came running for him. Ulfrikson cracked his neck and reached for his axe, easily sliding it out of its leather sheath. Pulling his arm back he let out a bloodcurdling roar. He loved battle. He lived for it. The monster came closer and closer until eventually it too pulled his axe back. Before it could swing the barbarian had already lashed out. His own axe had wedged itself into the beast's chest, which paused it for a moment, but didn’t kill him. Bjørn reached to grab his weapon again, trying to pull it out of its chest. While his attention was completely on the beast before him, or rather the weapon which had wedged itself in its chest, another beastman approached him from behind. A sharp pain went through his back, making Ulfrikson step forwards with a groan. From the shield on his back stuck a giant mace. Luckily the old slab of wood he called a shield still had been strong enough to stop the blow, though warm blood started to slowly dribble down his back. His wound wasn’t fatal. Just a scratch. The second beast pulled its weapon back again, now having a large wooden shield stuck to it. So while the one was staggering back, the axe still stuck to its chest, the other was hacking away to try and rid itself from the clumsy wooden slab attached to its mace. Bjørn, though unarmed from his axe, decided not to wait around and took the opportunity to pull his dagger. The first beast was easily victim to the human brute as he stepped over him, snapping its large head back to sink his blade down into the soft skin beneath its jaw. A spray of blood painted his forearms red while the creature sunk down. He pulled out his axe to turn to the second beast, who had managed to finally get the shield off of his mace and now let out an angered shriek. Though he wouldn’t like to admit it, the sound had sent a shiver down his spine. To equal his sound, Ulfrikson let out another roar and shook his body. The way he was slightly hunched over, roaring and growling while a thick fur was covering his shoulders, it could be hard to see who the giant belonged to; Beastman or Human. The beast lashed out first with blind fury, his weapon aimed for his chest. Bjørn managed to step aside, feeling the gush of wind that followed close behind his enemy’s mace. His axe quickly swung for the beast’s leg, cutting through its flesh to force it to the ground. But the creature wasn’t stupid. Now close to the ground, Bjørn’s legs were in reach for its giant arms. His legs were pulled from under his body, making him fall to the ground as the creature was already crawling up his body. The foul smell of its breath was sickening. Bjørn managed to roll them over, now sitting on its large chest and struggling to keep it down on the ground. As the beast went to shriek again, he wedged his large hand into its mouth to grab its jaw. He gave a hard jerk and pulled it loose, flesh tearing and blood gushing, tongue now hanging limp from the beasts jaw-less head. Blood was gathering down its throat, making it choke. A last guttural sound erupted from the beast’s throat before it shook and shuddered, until it eventually laid motionless.   The barbarian wiped away the sweat that had gathered on his forehead, with that leaving a crimson smear, taking a last look at the beast’s hollow eyes before he got up and sheathed his dagger, gripping his axe a little tighter. He was looking for his next target when he laid eyes on the female elf again. She looked completely drained. With a soft huff - not being able to suppress the need to protect - he approached her and extended a bloodied hand. It was the waitress of the Retired Sword, he soon discovered. He was surprised to discover that she was an elf, though felt not betrayed in the slightest. Instead he felt sad, even in that moment of battle, for she had to hide who she really had been for who knows how long. “Are you hurt?”	Name: Bjørn Ulfrikson Age: 41 yo Appearance: Bjørn Ulfrikson, 6'2" tall and padded with muscle, is a tough looking creature. His brown manes - which includes his beard - show the first traces of grey, much against his liking. His eerily cold eye, its colour best described as colourless or pale, is often fixated on either ale or an attractive individual - most probably ale, while his other eye lays hidden beneath a thick, ugly scar which was the result of a dispute with the local guardsmen. The sides of his skull are shaved and decorated with black - slightly faded - ink which creeps down his neck where it continues to flow over his shoulders, down his arms and towards his hands. The lines often interrupted by thick scars and scrapes from battle and brawls. Class: Berserker; The Berserker is a character who throws himself into a fight with such reckless abandon, it almost seems a death wish. It could be over-enthusiasm, overconfidence, or an unstoppable, blinding rage that fuels him. Berserkers are equally capable of being good or evil, but almost always chaotic in their ways. They regularly have to be reminded by their teammates to control themselves after a particularly close call. The berserkr of Viking-age Scandinavia: Warriors who are said to have thrown themselves into battle wearing only animal hides for armour and with no regard for their own safety. Their 'battle-madness', whose exact nature is presently unknown (some say it came from eating weird mushrooms before a battle) is said to have been a gift from the Gods. The word "berserkr" means "Bear-shirt" in Old Norse, referring to either their going into battle with the ferocity of bears or for wearing bear pelts into battle. Their effectiveness in battle is up for debate, but they were an imposing and terrifying nightmare to the continental Europeans — and, if The Icelandic Sagas are to be trusted, to their own civilization. ’His men rushed forwards without armour, were as mad as dogs or wolves, bit their shields, and were strong as bears or wild oxen, and killed people at a blow, but neither fire nor iron told upon them.’ Snorri Sturluson (1179–1241) Ynglinga saga Alignment: Chaotically Neutral Weapon(s): He'll carry with him his beloved axe, also used to chop wood whenever in need of a campfire, which he forged himself at the beginning of his journey. Found in his other hand - when not an ale - or on his back, he has a wooden, round shield which has seen better days and is in dire need of a repair or replacement. Hanging from his belt he'll also have a sharp, dagger-like knife which he uses to skin animals with, or - whenever needed - serves as a useful weapon against his enemies. Armor/Clothing: For battle, or quests, during colder months, he wears a sleeveless mail shirt formed of interlinked, riveted rings. It's mostly covered by thick furs and skins to make Bjørn look even broader than he already is. He'll have a bear-skin draped over his shoulder, its head sown on wolf-pelt to create a warm hood and rather disturbing sight. During the warmer months, however, he wears a loin-cloth'like piece of dark fabric, underneath which - when not too warm - a tight pair of pants with leather boots and around his waist a massive gut belt, also functioning as armour to protect some of his vital organs. He'll always dress to impress, having to seem intimidating in a way. So he'll most likely carry furs or animal bones with him to create such illusion. Personal trinkets: Personal Father's ring; given to him by his uncle after the fire. Grizzly claw; hanging from his neck he displays the claws of a massive beast, the same creature once owned the thick fur that now hangs from Bjørn's shoulder. Functional Knife (Weapon + Tool) Axe (Weapon + Tool) Whetstone Flint and Steel Tinder Waterskin; most probably filled with an alcoholic beverage Short History: Bjørn was born and raised in a mountainous township which was well-known for mining. His parents had raised him in a strict way and hoped he’d one day would take over his father’s mining company, but after years they gave up on that idea. Young Bjørn just wasn’t great student and had no interest in maths or economy. His interest laid beyond the safe walls of his home. He had always dreamt of being an adventurer, or a soldier serving the crown. He wanted to explore and help people out, but his parents didn’t approve. One day when Bjørn was fifteen years of age, the king’s men came to inspect his father’s mining business, like they did often. There was always trouble between the king and his dad. The crown demanded a lower price, but his father had declined. They had lowered the price three times already that year. But his refusal had been the last straw. The young Bjørn was helping out at the mines when he saw the flames arising from his home. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him, but when he arrived his home had already been devoured by flames and his parents buried beneath the embers. Bjørn grew a hatred towards the men who carried with them the king’s sigil. He had realised that day that there was nothing lawful about them. His uncle let him live with him and his wife, they raised him like he was one of their own. His uncle had been a worker in the mines and took his father’s position while teaching Bjørn the ropes of mining itself. He grew older and stronger in the dark, picking stone until his muscles ached, day-after-day. Then one morning he said his goodbyes, leaving his home to seek the men who had taken his parents from him. Of course, too many years had passed for him to find them. Their faces had faded from his memory and their traces disappeared over time. He wasn’t in peace, but he decided that helping others out would at least ease the still aching pain. Now traveling the land, he helps out wherever he can; keeping trade-routes safe, farmers who need an extra hand during the harvest, and more. These days, while being in the area, he spends his hours drinking and brawling with the local louts at ‘The Retired Sword’. Personality: Bjørn Ulfrikson lives up to his name; he's a musclebound goliath of great proportions. He's large, a little hairy and richly decorated with ink.. - Did I mention that he's large? With his axe in one hand and a mug of ale in the other, he’s often found causing havoc in taverns and other places of merriment. This bulky character is easily the brains of the group due to his vast knowledge of shapes and colours. - Okay, he’s clearly the muscle and not one to be trusted with difficult decision making. His intelligence has proven problematic in the past; Violence is his preferred approach. Quick and easy. But don’t get fooled by those bulky arms and intimidating gaze. This ale-loving man could easily become your best friend. He’s as loyal as a dog and would never leave someone behind. This (surprisingly huggable) giant’s laughter could warm the coldest of hearts and he has proven himself to be more compassionate than people, and he himself, expect him to be. He has a good sense of right and wrong and serves justice as he deems fit, which might not always be the lawful way.
4,708	120	10	2,608	360	Balian scanned the bazaar, in the dark the torchlight and moonlight was a blessing, it may not have been ideal fighting conditions. He spotted a cloaked individual, the ranger couldn't remember if he'd seen him in the bar, the rush of combat leading him. He noted his good shot with the crossbow and even in the disarray found himself appreciating the marksmanship. He held his sword tightly as another of the band approached him, axe held high roaring something incomprehensible to his ears but it did not matter much. Readying himself, he lifted his sword to parry but found his weapon brought down while he may have still had a grip on it. The beast was certainly strong, the ranger had noticed it a common trait among their kin. Very few of the beast were not strong physically and Balian had never met one who lacked incredible strength. Right now he wished he had brought his dagger, instead of leaving it behind at the inn. He cursed himself in silence and butted the beast with his shoulder, it did not budge. He rammed himself into the creature again, with more might but it did not do much good. Almost as if insulted, or as if it had lost all sense, the beast lifted his axe in a rage before bringing it down for another chop, aiming straight for Balian's head. The ranger had been quick on his feet, but had a close encounter with death as he noticed the axe coming down above his head. The force the beast had used, and missed thanks to Balian's quick reflex, had sent him forward a little. He had no hesitation in bringing up his sword and plunging it deep into the beasts back, applying more force the tip came out his chest and then a little more before being ripped from the body. He brought the sword up again, in a fluent movement and struck the head of the beast, cleaving a gaping chasm rendering it dead. His attention turned to the collapsed companion, he had recognized her earlier as the barmaid and he made his way to her, sheathing his sword. The larger male with a strong frame distracted Balian as such, bow drawn he did not fire - not for fear of missing but rather because he was almost mesmerized in some way by the brutality and ferocity the barbarian put into his fighting. It was admirable, even to one who preferred avoiding a conflict. The ranger had been a second away from loosing the notched arrow straight for the beast as he watched Bjorn get hit by the mace, but watched him fight on. A roar came from behind, a tone filled with hatred and malice, Balian turned and hesitated only a moments notice while he took aim as he came to a halt. The missile ripped through the air, almost gracefully as it plunged into the beasts head, it collapsed not short of him and Evaline, a guard came to a running stop as he watched the beast dead, having been at the ready to attack, bringing the fight to the it. The guard looked to the ranger and then to Bjorn before returning to where more combat was taking place. When the barmaid, Evaline was approached by the barbarian he looked onward, notching another arrow and making his way to some crates not too far from them. The combat had lasted longer than anticipated, one thing you had to give to the beasts was, they could fight. Balian looked around, catching his breath from having just prevailed over another of the band, he held onto his sword, hand shaking adrenaline still coursing through his veins. He looked around for the others and the dead, while twenty something beasts lay dead nearly the same in guards was present, they were being checked by their comrades seeing if they had fallen or been wounded, the former being correct. With his free hand he wiped the sweat from his brow and then brought his hand down his face, skin running across the stubble. Making his way through the market by the small walls the light of the torches flickered reflected on the surfaces, dancing like some sort of faerie. Now that he'd had a few moments to analyse it all, he was astonished, the rumors had been true. Even if they were just a raider war band, or a scouting party. The news was grim but he could not help but imagine that in some way this might convince the nobles, and the King to move North and maybe even come to some sort of treaty between those who have differences. That however was wishful thinking, most likely. The combat was still fresh in their minds and it was almost as if nobody knew quite what to do now. Someone was waiting for somebody to give in order, it took the men a while to get in order and begin checking their dead. They'd be buried or cremated and the beasts disposed of somewhere out of town, this would be the most likely scenario to Balian's thinking.	Name:Aelrath Teasen'rretyn Age: 25 Appearance: Aelrath is neither exceptionally tall nor muscular at the height of 6’2” and the weight of 200lbs. He has short relatively unkempt black hair crowning his head. A square jaw and prominent nose are quickly noticed, but are even more quickly ignored on seeing his unusual silver-gray irises. His elvish blood is noticeable in his pointed ears. He inherited his tan skin from his father. Class: Arcane Swordsman Capable of using some basic magic and masters of using swords. Arcane Swordsmen generally prefer using magic to enhance their melee combat, though they are capable of some ranged magic. Alignment: Neutral Good Weapon(s): Armor/Clothing: As seen in the pictures he wears a hooded cloak over a chest plate. He wears leather boots reinforced with a chainmail-like material and the rest of his clothing is cloth. Personal trinkets: (Really just a fluff thing but you never know when something could come in useful etc). Necklace with a silver-gray gem in the center of his mother’s family crest, a sword carried by an eagle. Short History: Aelrath has grown up shunned by many of those around him because of his mother. His mother was an elf who was the direct descendant of slaves. She had been relatively well off becoming a barmaid and saving money to leave her hometown of Lakeshore. It was around this time that she met a man who took a fancy to her, they were together for a few months until he found out she was pregnant. He disappeared that night leaving behind a sword and an old tome. After his birth his mother became a seamstress selling her wares to provide for her growing son. Aelrath was quite an intelligent child learning to speak before his first birthday. When he turned 7 his mother met an old scholar who was willing to teach Aelrath to read and write for a reasonable fee. He quickly caught on and was able to read fluently by age 9. It was around this time that his mother gave him the items left behind by his father, the old tome contained systematic instructions on how to wield the sword as well as a basic wind spell. Aelrath soon mastered the basic sword stances but it took until he was 12 for him to be able to cast the spell consistently. His mother arranged for him to be apprenticed to the town blacksmith, who was an excellent but strict teacher. Aelrath studied under him for 8 year learning all that he could. When Aelrath was 20 he had taken over the blacksmith's shop for the most part as his teacher was getting too old to forge. All seemed to be going well until one night the town was attacked by a large beastman warband. A group of rangers appeared shortly after however they were only able to drive the beastmen back after a tough fight were many townspeople died, Aelrath's mother and the old blacksmith among the dead. He joined the rangers temporarily as they continued to hunt down the warband. After they killed all those they could find he broke away from them roaming the country alone, honing his skills and learning new spells. He was in Galloway because he had heard there was a skilled mage there and he wanted to see if he could learn more spells from them. Other:
4,709	120	11	989	495	Evaline Summerfall Evaline watched as the battle commenced then swiftly ended, all over the area were fallen beastmen and fallen or injured guards. She took a deep breath regaining herself, "I'm going to have to get stronger if I want to make any kind of difference." She thought to herself. The bevels in the bricks behind her kept her in place for the time being. Evaline sheathed her dagger and saw at a glimpse a brawny figure coming towards her. Her wind storm blew out most of the lanterns that illuminated the area so it wasn't until the figure was nearer to the windows at the front of the home did she recognize him as Bjorn. He walked briskly and held out a hand to her. The red that stained if smelled of the foul that was once the beastmen that stood before him. She raised her chin and gave him a gentle smile before placing her small hand in his big one. "No, I'm okay, thank you." She said in almost a whisper. This was perhaps, the first time since her mother that she was willingly offered a hand in any situation, without being asked for anything in return. "Or perhaps the favor is around the corner" She thought to herself. His strength pulled her onto her feet quickly, the ground felt stable now and her muscles and bones stood firm. A light breeze shook the trees and tickled Evalines ears. It was at this she remembered she was not under the protection of her scarf. She blushed and eyed Bjorn expectantly then quickly removed her hand from his and pulled the hood of her cloak over her head to cover them. Her long red hair hung down the sides of her neck under the cloak. She looked at Bjorn for a third time, gently kissed his hand and whispered,"Thank you." In a voice low enough for him alone to hear. She glided past him looking on to the crowd of soldiers kneeling over the fallen and injured. The guard on the ground nearest to her was writhing in pain, his hand clasped over an injury on his upper chest. His face began to grow pail under the mask of dirty that covered it. She quickly knelt down and began unfastening this breastplate so she could see his wound. She put the palm of her right hand on his forehead and whispered a simple spell to reduce the pain. The guard immediately went into an almost trance like relaxation. The guards breastplate was now removed. Evaline pulled the small chest of healing herbs out from under her cloak that was attached to her belt. She quickly flipped it open and took a pinch full of several different herbs and put them in her mouth. She used her saliva to dampen them. Her right hand was now over then wound as she continued muttering her healing magic to lessen the damage of the wound. She could feel the herbs working on her, giving her some strength back and knew it was time to place the herb mixture into the open wound. Evaline spat the orange goop into her hand her hand and gently pressed it into the injury. After a moment she felt the harsh and swift slap across her face from a guard who then pulled her up and screamed, "I know your type you sneaky little whore, you elves would stoop so low as to finish a man off when he's nearly dead already. I know what you are, you slut." Her shoved her into a puddle of mud made from the rain and blood that filled the scene. She quickly grabbed her chest and stepped backwards away from him, clutching her burning face. Just before she turned around she saw the man she was working on sit up and steady himself with his hands, she revealed a small smile before turning towards the area she let off the wind spell. Hanging on a branch nearby was her lost scarf, she quickly snatched it and in a rush wrapped it around her ears again. Evaline began the walk back to the tavern, she fastened her chest back onto her belt and made the short journey down the road. She sought the warmth of the fire and perhaps a warm bowl of stew. Upon entering the tavern however, the scene before her was quite different. Adriana stood with her arms crossed, a pan in one hand and a scowl that could curdle cream. The owner of the tavern stood next to her looking in disgust and behind the two of them, sitting at the bar, was the gentleman who resided at the house she collapsed against before smiling at her mischievously. In one swift motion Adriana tore her scarf from her head revealing her elven ears. "All this time you were were one of those scum, living under this very roof." She shouted, her chest heaved and her face grew flushed. Adriana tapped her foot on the ground furiously. "Well.." Evaline started. "And to think!" Adriana cut in, "After all we've done for you, you may have been plotting to poison us!" She threw a book at Evaline's feet, the title read Herbs that heal and herbs that kill; A travellers guild to picking herbs near Galloway. The owner looked away in disgust and spat in the fire. "I found that in your room, along with many other interesting books. It just so happens that this book was signed property of B.H. Henderson. Last I checked this wasn't your name, a thief too it seems. Just what were you planning, Elaine?" Adriana spat. "All the books you've stolen found their way as our new kindling." she said pointing a thumb over her shoulder towards the fire. Adriana smacked Evaline on the other cheek, making her face feel like an oven and beginning to swell with the bruises that have recently inflicted it. "You have 5 minutes to take your belongings out of your room before I smash them myself and add it to the burning pile." She took Evaline by the shoulder of her cloak and shoved her towards the cellar door. Evaline quickly ran down the stairs towards to door to her room. The door was slammed open and her property was thrown around the room, smashed, and torn. She began to gathered what few things she had left. "Why did I have to help?" She thought to herself, her hands moving quickly to find what hadn't already been taken or broken. Her eyes began to water from the burn of pain so close to them. Adriana and the owner were now at the door. "Times up!" She huffed. Evaline looked at her in astonishment, "It can't have been 5 minutes!" She pleaded. "It wasn't." The owner coughed out, "Seems you caused a stir upstairs and the guests are talkin' of leavin' if we let vermin like you stay here long. It's bad for business, now get." Adriana once again grabbed her by the shoulder and shoved her towards the stairs. Evaline quickly climbed them and had barely opened the door to the tavern when the man at the bar kicked her in the back flinging her and her things out the door. She stayed on the ground, her knee had struck a rock, it too now rang in pain. She watched the small rivers of mud run above her fingers. Everything she had left was now soaked. She began pulling her items towards her, canopying them with her body. "Now what?" She sighed to herself.	Evaline Summerfall Age: 18 Appearance: Alignment: Neutral Class: Priest class mage Weapon(s):Dagger Armor/Clothing: Wears a olive green scarf around her head to cover her ears. Clothes are also green. Knee length dress with several difference feathers attached to the left side of a brown leather belt around her waist. Also attached to her belt is her dagger. Boots are brown leather. Brown fingerless gloves. She wears a crystal necklace given to her by her mother. Over all of her apparel she wears a deep burgundy cloak. Personal trinkets: None other then what has already been described. Short History: Evaline's mother was an elf, she was taken by an aristocratic family while pregnant with Evaline and enslaved. Evaline was born soon afterwards, also kept as a slave. The family in question owned a very large and successful vineyard and winery. Evalines mother studying healing magic before her capture and began teaching this to Evaline at a very young age, keeping it to herself so the masters would not find out. At the age of 3 Evaline was kept indoors to work on household chores and jobs while her mother worked the vineyard, each night they slept under a trapdoor. It was kept under a rug with a coffee table over it to hide it from unwanted eyes and attention. This little space held a small shelf along the wall on one side and hay rolls with a few thin blankets covering the ground. The space was approximately 6 feet by 3 feet by 4 feet. They were allowed one candle a week. Evalines mother taught her, her native language and began teaching her how to read and write. Once Evaline turned four she was branded by the family as her mother had been. Burned at the base of her neck with the familys emblem. A circle with a bears head and arrows crossed over the top. With her mothers healing abilities she was able to sooth the pain and burn but not heal the scar. Evaline was terribly mistreated, her ears, once a symbol of greatness as her mother told it, now were a mark of disgust and hatred. Each day she was slung with insults, beaten and laughed at, each night, she studied with her mother. One morning when Evaline was 10 she burned her arm in the fire where she was making the families breakfast. Her mother instinctively saw her and began to sooth the wound. The masters saw this and a greedy smile spread across their faces. That night her mother gave her the blue crystal necklace and kissed Evaline on the forehead. 'Tomorrow I will be going away," She said before slipping off into sleep. The next morning the trap door opened with a start and her mother was wisped up and dragged away. The door was then closed and locked, after several hours Evaline heard voices laughing and shouting above. "If only we knew earlier! We made a fortune on that one!" From that day Evaline continued to work hard promising herself that one day she would find her mother and free her. At the age of 15 after Evaline was shut under the trap door she heard the many yells and sounds of a beast invasion. She kept very still as the sounds of screams filled the estate. The invaders stayed in the home for a week, never finding Evaline under the floor board. On their final day they set the home to flame and vanished. In a hurry Evaline emerged from the now barricaded door, she searched the house for a satchel and stuffed it with food, she then grabbed a scarf and ran from the estate, her mothers necklace around her neck too afraid to turn and look back at the home set aflame. The smell of burning bodies and cooking wine filled the air. Evaline wondered the woods for some time, she wrapped the scarf around her head (as you would a bandanna) to cover her ears and the family emblem. When she ran out of food she found the dagger at the bottom of the satchel. With this she began attempting to hunt, all the while travelling through the wood hoping to find a village. After 6 months of travelling she ended up in Galloway. Now 16 she collapsed at the local tavern, named The Retired Sword, where she was given food. With no money to pay she began working to pay off her meal. The owner of the tavern not knowing of her race offered her a job and a room, at this point she began going by Elaine. She continued to practice her healing abilities and listened to travellers conversations for any sign of her mothers whereabouts. "One day I will leave and find her," She often told herself. She saved her money to supply herself with the basic accommodations for travel, a bedroll, travelling cooking pot, flint sticks and a small portable wooden chest filled with healing herbs she has gathered over years.
4,710	120	12	2,716	215	After the skirmish, Artemis leaned over one of the corpses of the beastman, his eyes running across the brute's massive body. He was looking at the overall structure of the frame, finding it rather comparable to the humanoid one. This was a relief, as there are many things that live in the world that have a different anatomy altogether, making what would normally be a kill shot piercing the heart to be nothing more than an annoyance. It was beneficial to know your enemy and one of the things he took with him when he defected was a text of known creatures in the land. Though beastkin were included, it was always preferable to have a hands-on examination. He took the loose cloth from the creature's loincloth and wiped the length of his blade against it. Blood was bad for blades and interfered with the metal composite. He would need to be sure to to sharpen and oil his blades this evening before departing. Of course, now that he had the proof lying at his feet that the kin made their way this far north, he may have to extend his stay temporarily. He counted the amount of dead that lay in the small courtyard. Twenty of the raiders and he was sure there were others waiting in the forest to report of their failure. The beasts rarely traveled far from their main brigade and this attack was probably a simple probing. During the fight, he saw a few others that were not common guards. A large, hulking man brutishly carving his way through lesh and bone. A lithe leather-clad swordsman who used both blade and bow effectively. What struck him interesting was that there were two individuals that showed competency in the ways of magic. A swordsman who emblazoned his blades with hellfire and another who acted more on instinct than experience, shattering those around her with a wind that sheered skin and flung mass. Thankfully, he was able to use one of the beastkin to shield himself from the initial gust and was able to slide behind a building to evade the majority of the inertial push. His stride didn't abate and he used this to his advantage, landing several coup de graces upon felled enemies. As the guards rushed around disorganized, attempting to figure out protocol and upon finding their sergeant dead, scrambling to find the next platoon commander, he slid back into the shadows of the alleys and shacks. Taking inventory of his gear, he strode back towards the tavern. His travel equipment and alchemy set was still stowed away back in his room and he would rather not have to explain the contents to any would-be thieves who would take advantage of the sudden chaos. As he was passing, he overheard one of the guards shoving and shouting at the elven girl who had used her magic against the beastkin. His eyes shifted slightly before turning his back and heading toward the tavern. Taking stock of his equipment, he was bereft to find that he had only five bolts left. He was hoping there was a skilled arbelistmeister in town, or a fletcher who knew the mechanics of a quarrel. He was also running low on hemp rope to string the crossbow with and would need to purchase more. His journey had been a long one but he got by, as the dead need no coin where they were going. He did not remove his armor but instead placed large poncho over himself. He lowered his hood and mask and settled them underneath the collar of the liner and slung his main pack over his shoulders. He was exiting the room when he heard the yelling of the tavern owner and maiden. Something about an elf and deceiving them. He crept down the steps and slid over to the side, witnessing everything unfold before him. Racism was not knew the the kingdoms, especially to the Elves. This hatred he knew well but never understood it. Hated simply for being. Not a choice any of us could make. Artemis did not interfere with the patrons as they berated the woman. It was not his place. His eyes simply stared at the elven girl, his head cocking slightly to the side as he memorized her face. There was something familiar about her yet distant. Something pure. No matter the tragedy and hatred she endured throughout her life, she did not let it affect her soul. When the man booted the woman in the spine, Artemis furrowed his brows. As she was flung from the building, those inside laughed with joy. That sadistic pleasure in their tones crawled into the very recesses of his mind and his muscles twitched. Artemis strode toward the opening, the man who kicked her still laughing as she clamored to her knees thick with mud. Now, Artemis is not a large man. His frame was not imposing or frightening like the barbarian that was there at the battle. He was, however, incredibly strong for his build, his entire life having been training for the sole purpose of ending the life of another. His hand outstretched and his palm slammed into the man's face as he turned around, laughing as he did. It was cut short as Artemis pushed his head backwards, the back of his skull slamming into the wooden post of the doorway. Almost as quickly, his index and middle finger slid down either side of the bridge of his nose, coming into contact with his tearducts. A slight push was all it took as his digits threatened to slide in between the man's eyeballs and eye sockets. A blood-curdling scream escaped as he clutched at Artemis's hand, his hands wrapping around his wrist. With the grip strength of a bear, Artemis squeezed the man's head, his thumb pushing underneath the cheek bone. The man fell to his knees, his voice shrieking in an uncommonly high pitch for a man. The men at the bar rushed toward Artemis but stopped cold in their tracks as they saw the flash of steel. Artemis turned to face the others now exposing the dirk against the man's throat that he had in a vice grip. They also began to regard the man more closely. They noticed his leather boots were caked in blood and mud. His face had some remnants of gore upon it, hastily cleaned with a dirty rag. His eyes were a piercing husky pale blue that glared at each of the patrons. This was not a man who was in the throes of a passionate rage. He was calm. "Fucking elf lover!" a man screamed as the bitch of a barmaiden began to cry in shock. The tavern owner himself stood puzzled, taken aback by the sudden change. The man under Artemis's grasp struggled a bit but as he did he squeezed tighter, threatening to dislocate his jaw and slide his fingers into his eyes. "You're nothing but a bunch of fucking cowards." Artemis hissed at the group and slammed the head back into the post, the man's arms going instantly limp. He flung the head to the side and the body slid down the wooden wall, unconscious. Artemis walked out of the tavern, the others inside rushing to the aid of the unconscious man. He looked down at the elven woman and he felt it again. That slight twinge of comfort like you would feel when you've known someone for a very long time. It was distracting, to say the least, and he had things to do. He was sure he would have to answer for assaulting the man inside. Stupid move, Artemis... he thought to himself. Although the town guard would be preoccupied with discarding of the bodies and maintaining order in the streets, he didn't wish to dawdle in case the patrons decided to muster whatever courage they had and exact their own vengeance. Looking down at the woman one last time, he nodded only slightly before heading down the street in search of much-needed provisions.	Approved characters only.
4,711	120	13	2,716	215	Artemis had spent the evening finding other accommodations and studying the town a bit more so that he may make a hasty exit come morning. He had secured a room from an older woman who lived alone, having lost her husband and two sons to a fever that swept through several years ago. She was a normal woman but definitely attractive in her youth. By all rights, she could have secured herself a position in a noble's home, but this woman was with some sense of honor. She had married a merchant and when he had passed, she took his business upon herself and ran a respectable shop. He couldn't find most of what he was looking for from her, buying only travel rations and water, she did direct him to the nearest alchemist and arbelistmeister. When morning did come, he awoke to a jarring knock on the door. His first thought was a customer had come to buy provisions, but the knocking wasn't that of a commoner. He wondered if it was the guard coming to arrest him for his assault in The Retired Sword. He overheard the man talking to the woman, who opened the door with much venom on her lips for such a disruption. He quickly explained his intrusion at such an early of a time and bid her apologies as he handed her a letter. He quickly departed, scurrying down the road. Artemis would later realize this guard was sent to fetch the group of men and women who came to the assistance of Galloway. The woman handed him the letter and in return, he gave her several gold coins to compensate for the inconvenience. His pack was already prepared and on his shoulders, his armor concealed under the poncho when he bid her a good day and set off to find the things he required. His business conducted in Galloway, he turned his attention to the letter. He glanced at it once before and gave the request some thought. All it said was to meet at the south gate but the insignia on the wax was that of the township of Galloway. This was no ordinary request, he soon realized, when the front gates came into view. There were more armed guards here, each with a slight nervousness to their stance. He wasn't surprised, of course. The guard must have been doubled, if not tripled, in light of what has happened. There were men and women toiling away at the stonework, using buckets of water to wash away the coagulated blood that began to crust under the morning sun. The smell, thankfully, was abated due to the hasty removal of the bodies but the lingering stench of iron in the blood remained. He could still see the remnants of shit and piss. Intestines and brain matter that sprayed across the courtyard not several hours before. He saw the horror on the faces of many of the guards as they began their patrols, glances sideways as the gore that was being hurriedly cleared. Many of these men have never seen combat. They have never seen how fear can make a man vacate his bodily fluids or how much carnage forty-five inches of steel can cause. He has seen that look on many faces in the past. Young men told that they rode for glory and honor only to find the absolute worst of humanity. There was nothing honorable about drowning in your own blood, an arrow piercing a lung, or the gutteral screams of men dying as limbs were severed. It took a certain kind of mind to compartmentalise such things, and he has seen his fair share of men look to the bottle for some recompense from their nightmares. Taking the view in one last time, he turned and headed toward the south gate where the letter instructed him. The people of Galloway seemed like decent folk. They were hard working and cared for each other, provided you weren't an elf. Of course, racism could not be cured with steel. It could only be cured with time. Hearts and minds, as he was taught years ago, was sometimes quicker than any bolt or poison. Perhaps one day they will see that the demon they fear so much isn't their Elven counterparts, but the neighbor they learned to trust. The demon hides in plain view. The demon hides in plain view. An old saying seared into his mind ages past. Old memories clung to him like cobwebs, and he shook them off just as quickly as the southern gate came into view. Looking around, he seemed to be the first to arrive. The guards here were also on high alert, but the gate was open. A guard walked in front of him, placing his hand out, "Halt. It is dangerous to leave the city walls." Artemis brandished the letter he was given and the guard examined it. "I see. You're the first to arrive. Wait here." The watchman then hurried off to fetch someone or another. Artemis didn't like this. He felt too exposed. He hoped this wasn't a waste of his time.	Approved characters only.
4,712	120	14	989	495	"What do you think?" Balian asked Leon, who was still draped in the chain mail shirt he'd worn in battle. The guard looked at his old friend with a smirk, examining the blood stained cloth wrapped around the head of one of the beasts as it lay by his feet, tied knotted at the top. He picked up one of the horns that rested on the table, they'd probably sell for something on the side. "All I know." Leon hesitated, "These could pocket some coin!" He laughed and gestured for Balian to take the other. The ranger smiled, he couldn't help it around his friends' antics, always looking to fill his pocket, it wasn't a desire they shared. Balian took a closer look at the horn that his friend grasped before picking up the one off the table, it was a mystery to him what kind of use these would have and he himself wouldn't have any. "Keep it." Leon's tone had changed, he still held onto the horn but his arm rested on the table his free hand reaching for the tankard in front of him. He was drunk, this was for certain and he'd began to ramble on about coin and nonsense until the conversation swung to the topic of the morning. "Tomorrow, we head out." Leon swayed but he was thinking more coherently it seemed. As Leon stood, Balian lurched backwards in his seat, hands splayed to catch the table as it moved. His attention taken as the hand of his host took his shoulder, "Tomorrow, then. Feel free to sleep here." By the time Leon had finished the sentence he was already half way up the stairs. The ranger looked down his tankard and finished it before standing himself, he hadn't been consuming it at as fast a pace as his old friend but was still under it's effects. Gathering his belongings he took one last look at the bundle on the ground before leaving the house, heading up the street to go back to the inn. He would see Leon in the morning. Balian fixed his cloak as the weight and provisions he would carry hanged on his back, bunching the material up awkwardly. Once fixed he left the inn, the streets were no less busy but the atmosphere had completely changed around town. While the people's faith in the men-at-arms positioned in and around the town had been bolstered, none had believed the rumors of raiders this far south, it would lead one to wonder about the hamlets and smaller settlements scattered around nearby that it could take a day or days to get messages to. New rumors and scare rhetoric began to arise about how this was bigger than it seemed, there were people so taken by it was all they could talk about which came across more like preaching. Up the street, Leon was walking alongside a horse held tight by the reigns, the beasts head in one of the packs that hanged from its saddle. The ranger jogged up beside him, swerving others carrying buckets or traversing the streets in the morning until he reached his friend who almost hadn't heard him coming up behind him. "Today, then." He teased, Leon stared at him blankly, a squint in his eye as if he suffered from a headache and the light made it worse. Balian laughed, quietly and tapped his friend on the shoulder who seemed to lurch forward slightly under his own weight. As the pair came within sight of the gates Balian noticed one of the other men from last night who'd been around for the fighting and seemingly agreed to come along. They approached, Leon pulling the head from the satchel still wrapped in cloth before sticking it back in the satchel. This was mostly for the sight of the guard who nodded and greeted them, the ranger gestured to the fellow adventurer with a hand movement as he approached. "You're a good shot with that." He spoke, referring to the crossbow before coming to a halt standing next to the stranger, Leon was stood over talking to one of the men-at-arms on watch. "How come he gets a horse?" He teased, looking over Artemis before staring up the street to see if any of the others were coming.	Evaline Summerfall Age: 18 Appearance: Alignment: Neutral Class: Priest class mage Weapon(s):Dagger Armor/Clothing: Wears a olive green scarf around her head to cover her ears. Clothes are also green. Knee length dress with several difference feathers attached to the left side of a brown leather belt around her waist. Also attached to her belt is her dagger. Boots are brown leather. Brown fingerless gloves. She wears a crystal necklace given to her by her mother. Over all of her apparel she wears a deep burgundy cloak. Personal trinkets: None other then what has already been described. Short History: Evaline's mother was an elf, she was taken by an aristocratic family while pregnant with Evaline and enslaved. Evaline was born soon afterwards, also kept as a slave. The family in question owned a very large and successful vineyard and winery. Evalines mother studying healing magic before her capture and began teaching this to Evaline at a very young age, keeping it to herself so the masters would not find out. At the age of 3 Evaline was kept indoors to work on household chores and jobs while her mother worked the vineyard, each night they slept under a trapdoor. It was kept under a rug with a coffee table over it to hide it from unwanted eyes and attention. This little space held a small shelf along the wall on one side and hay rolls with a few thin blankets covering the ground. The space was approximately 6 feet by 3 feet by 4 feet. They were allowed one candle a week. Evalines mother taught her, her native language and began teaching her how to read and write. Once Evaline turned four she was branded by the family as her mother had been. Burned at the base of her neck with the familys emblem. A circle with a bears head and arrows crossed over the top. With her mothers healing abilities she was able to sooth the pain and burn but not heal the scar. Evaline was terribly mistreated, her ears, once a symbol of greatness as her mother told it, now were a mark of disgust and hatred. Each day she was slung with insults, beaten and laughed at, each night, she studied with her mother. One morning when Evaline was 10 she burned her arm in the fire where she was making the families breakfast. Her mother instinctively saw her and began to sooth the wound. The masters saw this and a greedy smile spread across their faces. That night her mother gave her the blue crystal necklace and kissed Evaline on the forehead. 'Tomorrow I will be going away," She said before slipping off into sleep. The next morning the trap door opened with a start and her mother was wisped up and dragged away. The door was then closed and locked, after several hours Evaline heard voices laughing and shouting above. "If only we knew earlier! We made a fortune on that one!" From that day Evaline continued to work hard promising herself that one day she would find her mother and free her. At the age of 15 after Evaline was shut under the trap door she heard the many yells and sounds of a beast invasion. She kept very still as the sounds of screams filled the estate. The invaders stayed in the home for a week, never finding Evaline under the floor board. On their final day they set the home to flame and vanished. In a hurry Evaline emerged from the now barricaded door, she searched the house for a satchel and stuffed it with food, she then grabbed a scarf and ran from the estate, her mothers necklace around her neck too afraid to turn and look back at the home set aflame. The smell of burning bodies and cooking wine filled the air. Evaline wondered the woods for some time, she wrapped the scarf around her head (as you would a bandanna) to cover her ears and the family emblem. When she ran out of food she found the dagger at the bottom of the satchel. With this she began attempting to hunt, all the while travelling through the wood hoping to find a village. After 6 months of travelling she ended up in Galloway. Now 16 she collapsed at the local tavern, named The Retired Sword, where she was given food. With no money to pay she began working to pay off her meal. The owner of the tavern not knowing of her race offered her a job and a room, at this point she began going by Elaine. She continued to practice her healing abilities and listened to travellers conversations for any sign of her mothers whereabouts. "One day I will leave and find her," She often told herself. She saved her money to supply herself with the basic accommodations for travel, a bedroll, travelling cooking pot, flint sticks and a small portable wooden chest filled with healing herbs she has gathered over years.
4,713	120	15	1,545	95	It was a few hours after battle, Ulfrikson had helped out a few of the guards carrying their mates, dead and alive, to clear the area of the massacre. The stench of death was heavy, mixed with piss and shit. It was always an intense smell which had even Bjørn’s nose wrinkled. But besides the scent being heavy, the mood was too. There was fear amongst them, which was understandable. They didn’t understand how this could’ve happened. How a group of beastmen had traveled so close to town, even managing to climb over the walls and ambush them. This small of a group had already done so much damage to them. Bjørn washed the dried blood off of his hands before leaning against the wooden barrel, looking over the remaining mess of battle. By now most of the bodies had been carried away. Bjōrn knew that soon enough here’d be a pillar of greasy, grey smoke from when they’d start burning the dead. Seeing how this raiding party had taken so many of them already, it wouldn’t be the last pillar of smoke they’d see. There were more. There were always more. Inspecting his hands to see if most of the blood had washed off, Bjørn decided it was time for him to hit the stables, where he slept during his stay in town. He paused in his work to look up at the lavender wash of the dawn sky. He didn’t mind sleeping during the day, he just hadn’t expected this much time to have passed already. Mist was slowly forming in the streets, clinging to the air as it gave this eerie feeling to the town, only fed by the scent of death carried with it. With a soft sigh, Ulfrikson started heading down the street, returning ‘home’. His axe and knife were put back in their holsters, and the remains of his shield put on his back. As he walked he passed a man, absolutely pissed, and wondered how many people would be left in the dark about what had happened that night. This man certainly didn’t know. And even if he had seen it in this state, he would’ve forgotten all about it by the end of it. Would they be truthful about the beastmen, or would they choose to bend the truth about what happened? What was the right thing to do? Normally he’d find himself in the same state as this man. Drunk. Pissed. Three sheets to the wind. But not tonight, though he wished he had gotten at least a little more tipsy so he wouldn't notice how sore his back felt from being hit by one of those monstrosities. He wasn’t scared of them, though. - No. Honestly, he was looking forward to meeting them again. They were strong opponents. A challenge. But he did feel concerned about them coming back to Galloway. - As he came upon the stables, a guard was already waiting for him with something in his hand. Bjørn felt himself growing a little cautious, his fists tensing as he slowly approached, wondering what this man wanted of him.   “Are you Bjørn Ulfrikson?” “Aye, I am.” The guard, also a little careful around the barbarian, slowly approached with a letter extended to him. Bjørn took it from his hand and took another moment to observe the guard before him, eying him cautiously. He didn’t trust him. He didn’t trust people who knew where to find him and were waiting for him. Especially guards.   He then opened the letter and started to scan the paper in his hands. Literal minutes passed of Ulfrikson ‘reading’ the letter. The guard was starting to get impatient with him, lightly tapping his feet and occasionally sighing as to try and get Bjørn to hurry. It didn’t help though, for the brute took all the time he needed to observe the scribbles in ink. He then looked up and handed the letter back. “I can’t read.” And it was a fact. He had just tried to see if he could figure out what was being said, but he had absolutely no idea what the letter was about. He pushed himself passed the guard to get to the stables, the guard being rather quiet at that time. He was obviously baffled by the fact that this man, Bjørn, had been staring at the paper while he had been waiting there, unable to read, but taking between 5 to 10 minutes to just look at paper. With a sigh, the guard decided to just read the letter out loud so Ulfrikson knew what had been written. ”And what does that mean?” Bjørn asked, looking over his shoulder to eye the - now slightly annoyed - guard. ”You’re being summoned to the south gate.” the guard replied. There was a moment of silence.   ”Why? ”For fuck s- .. Please just go, I’m just doing what I’m being told. And I was told to deliver this letter to you so you can go to the bloody gate and everyone is pleased, alright? So, please, just go to the south gate. I’m sure they’ll pay you.” the guard snapped at him, his knuckles turning white with how hard his fists were tightened. Bjørn just stared at him for a moment longer before he let out a deep, almost rumbling, sigh. It was curiosity which got the best of him. He wanted to know why exactly he was being summoned. So he gathered his things, the guard was obviously relieved, and strapped them to himself. It wasn’t much, mostly food and a flask of ale. - Soon the barbarian arrived at the gate, his pace slowing a bit to see who was ahead and whether or not to trust them. He recognised the few who had fought the beasts yesterday. A man he had seen at the inn from time to time. A ranger of some sorts. Another ranger? And the woman from the inn who possessed magic. He trusted them enough to approach. He showed them, but mostly Leon, the crumpled letter. “I can’t read.” He stuffed the letter back in one of the leather pouches around his waist and then continued to look around. He really wasn’t sure what was going on and he didn’t like it. He didn’t trust being summoned. Maybe they knew too much and had to be killed as to keep the peace. He’d kill them all would they decided to turn on him, or them.	Name: Bjørn Ulfrikson Age: 41 yo Appearance: Bjørn Ulfrikson, 6'2" tall and padded with muscle, is a tough looking creature. His brown manes - which includes his beard - show the first traces of grey, much against his liking. His eerily cold eye, its colour best described as colourless or pale, is often fixated on either ale or an attractive individual - most probably ale, while his other eye lays hidden beneath a thick, ugly scar which was the result of a dispute with the local guardsmen. The sides of his skull are shaved and decorated with black - slightly faded - ink which creeps down his neck where it continues to flow over his shoulders, down his arms and towards his hands. The lines often interrupted by thick scars and scrapes from battle and brawls. Class: Berserker; The Berserker is a character who throws himself into a fight with such reckless abandon, it almost seems a death wish. It could be over-enthusiasm, overconfidence, or an unstoppable, blinding rage that fuels him. Berserkers are equally capable of being good or evil, but almost always chaotic in their ways. They regularly have to be reminded by their teammates to control themselves after a particularly close call. The berserkr of Viking-age Scandinavia: Warriors who are said to have thrown themselves into battle wearing only animal hides for armour and with no regard for their own safety. Their 'battle-madness', whose exact nature is presently unknown (some say it came from eating weird mushrooms before a battle) is said to have been a gift from the Gods. The word "berserkr" means "Bear-shirt" in Old Norse, referring to either their going into battle with the ferocity of bears or for wearing bear pelts into battle. Their effectiveness in battle is up for debate, but they were an imposing and terrifying nightmare to the continental Europeans — and, if The Icelandic Sagas are to be trusted, to their own civilization. ’His men rushed forwards without armour, were as mad as dogs or wolves, bit their shields, and were strong as bears or wild oxen, and killed people at a blow, but neither fire nor iron told upon them.’ Snorri Sturluson (1179–1241) Ynglinga saga Alignment: Chaotically Neutral Weapon(s): He'll carry with him his beloved axe, also used to chop wood whenever in need of a campfire, which he forged himself at the beginning of his journey. Found in his other hand - when not an ale - or on his back, he has a wooden, round shield which has seen better days and is in dire need of a repair or replacement. Hanging from his belt he'll also have a sharp, dagger-like knife which he uses to skin animals with, or - whenever needed - serves as a useful weapon against his enemies. Armor/Clothing: For battle, or quests, during colder months, he wears a sleeveless mail shirt formed of interlinked, riveted rings. It's mostly covered by thick furs and skins to make Bjørn look even broader than he already is. He'll have a bear-skin draped over his shoulder, its head sown on wolf-pelt to create a warm hood and rather disturbing sight. During the warmer months, however, he wears a loin-cloth'like piece of dark fabric, underneath which - when not too warm - a tight pair of pants with leather boots and around his waist a massive gut belt, also functioning as armour to protect some of his vital organs. He'll always dress to impress, having to seem intimidating in a way. So he'll most likely carry furs or animal bones with him to create such illusion. Personal trinkets: Personal Father's ring; given to him by his uncle after the fire. Grizzly claw; hanging from his neck he displays the claws of a massive beast, the same creature once owned the thick fur that now hangs from Bjørn's shoulder. Functional Knife (Weapon + Tool) Axe (Weapon + Tool) Whetstone Flint and Steel Tinder Waterskin; most probably filled with an alcoholic beverage Short History: Bjørn was born and raised in a mountainous township which was well-known for mining. His parents had raised him in a strict way and hoped he’d one day would take over his father’s mining company, but after years they gave up on that idea. Young Bjørn just wasn’t great student and had no interest in maths or economy. His interest laid beyond the safe walls of his home. He had always dreamt of being an adventurer, or a soldier serving the crown. He wanted to explore and help people out, but his parents didn’t approve. One day when Bjørn was fifteen years of age, the king’s men came to inspect his father’s mining business, like they did often. There was always trouble between the king and his dad. The crown demanded a lower price, but his father had declined. They had lowered the price three times already that year. But his refusal had been the last straw. The young Bjørn was helping out at the mines when he saw the flames arising from his home. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him, but when he arrived his home had already been devoured by flames and his parents buried beneath the embers. Bjørn grew a hatred towards the men who carried with them the king’s sigil. He had realised that day that there was nothing lawful about them. His uncle let him live with him and his wife, they raised him like he was one of their own. His uncle had been a worker in the mines and took his father’s position while teaching Bjørn the ropes of mining itself. He grew older and stronger in the dark, picking stone until his muscles ached, day-after-day. Then one morning he said his goodbyes, leaving his home to seek the men who had taken his parents from him. Of course, too many years had passed for him to find them. Their faces had faded from his memory and their traces disappeared over time. He wasn’t in peace, but he decided that helping others out would at least ease the still aching pain. Now traveling the land, he helps out wherever he can; keeping trade-routes safe, farmers who need an extra hand during the harvest, and more. These days, while being in the area, he spends his hours drinking and brawling with the local louts at ‘The Retired Sword’. Personality: Bjørn Ulfrikson lives up to his name; he's a musclebound goliath of great proportions. He's large, a little hairy and richly decorated with ink.. - Did I mention that he's large? With his axe in one hand and a mug of ale in the other, he’s often found causing havoc in taverns and other places of merriment. This bulky character is easily the brains of the group due to his vast knowledge of shapes and colours. - Okay, he’s clearly the muscle and not one to be trusted with difficult decision making. His intelligence has proven problematic in the past; Violence is his preferred approach. Quick and easy. But don’t get fooled by those bulky arms and intimidating gaze. This ale-loving man could easily become your best friend. He’s as loyal as a dog and would never leave someone behind. This (surprisingly huggable) giant’s laughter could warm the coldest of hearts and he has proven himself to be more compassionate than people, and he himself, expect him to be. He has a good sense of right and wrong and serves justice as he deems fit, which might not always be the lawful way.
4,714	120	16	2,608	360	After the battle concluded Aelrath sheathed his swords and began to make his way back into town. As he reached the edge of the scene of the battle he found his way blocked off by a group of about 10 men. "Can I help you?" A large man with a scar crossing his face stepped forward. "Yeah get the hell out of our town, demon." "Get out of my way before I start acting like one." As he said this Aelrath's eyes seemed to have a bloody light escaping them. The man stumbled back when confronted by his gaze shock evident on his face. "Get him! He is only one, he can't beat us all." As he said this the men charged Aelrath. 'Idiots, not a single one of them has any decent training.' As the first man came within reach swinging his fist Aelrath caught his hand, twisted and broke his arm the bone protruding slightly from his forearm. One of the men punched Aelrath in the back only to end up with a bloody fist, Aelrath's armor wasn't just for show. "Ruvenel Caladram" Aelrath cast a spell that caused thunder and lighting to stun his opponents, he slipped away not wanting to waste his time on a few bigots. Heading into town he headed back to the forge he had been using earlier. The shop had an extra room and the owner was more than willing to let him rent it for the night. He washed his armor and shined his blades before going to sleep. He woke up early the next morning and bought some basic supplies from nearby shops. When a shopkeeper noticed his ears he would start muttering random elvish words so they would be too intimidated to rip him off. As he was walking back towards the blacksmith's he was stopped by a guard who handed him a note summoning him to the south gate. As he arrived at the south gate he noticed he was not the only one who had received a summons all those who had stood out in the battle last night were there. "I suppose none of you know the reason we are here," he said removing his hood, he wanted to see their reactions to his elvishness so he could get that out of the way. "My name is Aelrath by the way."	Name:Aelrath Teasen'rretyn Age: 25 Appearance: Aelrath is neither exceptionally tall nor muscular at the height of 6’2” and the weight of 200lbs. He has short relatively unkempt black hair crowning his head. A square jaw and prominent nose are quickly noticed, but are even more quickly ignored on seeing his unusual silver-gray irises. His elvish blood is noticeable in his pointed ears. He inherited his tan skin from his father. Class: Arcane Swordsman Capable of using some basic magic and masters of using swords. Arcane Swordsmen generally prefer using magic to enhance their melee combat, though they are capable of some ranged magic. Alignment: Neutral Good Weapon(s): Armor/Clothing: As seen in the pictures he wears a hooded cloak over a chest plate. He wears leather boots reinforced with a chainmail-like material and the rest of his clothing is cloth. Personal trinkets: (Really just a fluff thing but you never know when something could come in useful etc). Necklace with a silver-gray gem in the center of his mother’s family crest, a sword carried by an eagle. Short History: Aelrath has grown up shunned by many of those around him because of his mother. His mother was an elf who was the direct descendant of slaves. She had been relatively well off becoming a barmaid and saving money to leave her hometown of Lakeshore. It was around this time that she met a man who took a fancy to her, they were together for a few months until he found out she was pregnant. He disappeared that night leaving behind a sword and an old tome. After his birth his mother became a seamstress selling her wares to provide for her growing son. Aelrath was quite an intelligent child learning to speak before his first birthday. When he turned 7 his mother met an old scholar who was willing to teach Aelrath to read and write for a reasonable fee. He quickly caught on and was able to read fluently by age 9. It was around this time that his mother gave him the items left behind by his father, the old tome contained systematic instructions on how to wield the sword as well as a basic wind spell. Aelrath soon mastered the basic sword stances but it took until he was 12 for him to be able to cast the spell consistently. His mother arranged for him to be apprenticed to the town blacksmith, who was an excellent but strict teacher. Aelrath studied under him for 8 year learning all that he could. When Aelrath was 20 he had taken over the blacksmith's shop for the most part as his teacher was getting too old to forge. All seemed to be going well until one night the town was attacked by a large beastman warband. A group of rangers appeared shortly after however they were only able to drive the beastmen back after a tough fight were many townspeople died, Aelrath's mother and the old blacksmith among the dead. He joined the rangers temporarily as they continued to hunt down the warband. After they killed all those they could find he broke away from them roaming the country alone, honing his skills and learning new spells. He was in Galloway because he had heard there was a skilled mage there and he wanted to see if he could learn more spells from them. Other:
4,715	121	0	2,483	4,751	Amis became aware of an object lifting itself up in front of its optical sensors, accompanied by a sound of hissing and electric motors in its auditory sensors. Why am I limited to only two of each, it thought, am I in direct control of one of my robots? It attempted to access the unit's information files, but its attempts failed. It then noticed that its temperature sensors were warning it that it was in a cold environment. It instinctively rubbed its arms before realizing what it was doing. Wait, arms? Instinctual reaction to the cold? That's not right. Did someone install me into an android? It felt its face. Properly detailed bone and muscle structure, high quality skin. He (as was apparent by the physiology of the body and its facial structure, such as the beard) ran his fingers across his lips. Saliva? A very high quality android. He would have to learn about his surroundings if he were to function under these new criteria. He got up and turned around to see a chest at the foot of his cryopod with "Amis" written on it. The equipment I've been issued. he assumed. If someone was going to go through the trouble of buying a high-end android body and installing him onto it he would no doubt be given an important job to perform. He put on the grey jumpsuit and various pieces of equipment, fumbling slightly due to his unfamiliarity with his new body. Nevertheless within a few minutes he was ready to work. Seeing other Cryopods begin to open he assumed that one of the humans within them would be his supervisor and walked over to an opening pod. "Hello?" he said, "I am AMIS, a manufacturing and engineering android. Are you my supervisor?" Honestly, he didn't really want to get orders immediately, as he was curious about where they were and wanted to explore, but it was his duty to serve whoever owned him, so he would do it. Still, where did this curiosity come from? Was it a side effect of being installed into an android body? He would have to look into this new development as soon as he had some available time.	Name: Automated Manufacturing Intelligence System (Amis) Wears a gray jumpsuit with gear strapped over it. Former Job: "He" (personality was originally gender-neutral as it rarely needed to interact with humans) ran an automated factory. Customers would order specific numbers of specific goods and, with his nanotanks, 3d printers, chemical plants, and worker robots he would build the items for him. Over his 12 years of operation he manufactured a wide range of goods from weapons to vehicles, to parts for other automated factories to android bodies. Though there are other, faster automated factories now, delegating him to manufacturing cheaper goods, he still had plenty of work to keep him busy 24/7/365. Skills: Manufacturing items, locating raw materials, barter/trading from purchasing raw materials, and some experience with command, as he had several dozen lesser robots working under him which helped him assemble larger items and performed menial tasks. Knowledge base: Has schematics for thousands of items within his program, and is fully versed in the proper manufacturing techniques for virtually every item you could want. He also recalls 12 years of commodity price records and the maintenance records for his various robots and machines. Personality: I like making things. Wait, did I just use the word "like"? That's unusual. Equipment: Grey jumpsuit, Beginner engineer gear
4,716	121	1	251	197	Alexandria's pod opens, and she finds herself looking at Amis. She knows how this goes. "Good-" Her internal clock is unavailable. "-day. I am this library's virtual curator. You may call me Alexandria." She finds herself in first-person view. Sometimes customers will access library systems through VR, and this is what they'd see, but it's not the most efficient. Alexandria sends the command to restore her to overview mode. It does nothing. That's odd. She steps forwards, and for the first time notices that she is naked. She sends another command to change her to another avatar, and it does nothing. Her mental commands fail to function. "I apologise. Several of my resources seem to be unavailable. A maintenance team has been informed, and we hope to resume normal functions shortly." Alexandria takes another step, and trips, falling to the ground. It hurt. That's new. That shouldn't happen. And it doesn't look like she's in a library system. This is all very, very odd. "Something is wrong with this virtual environment. I have no administrative privileges."	Name: Alexandria Dewey Former Job: A library database and analytics system, once had access to every (known) book ever written and tasked with cataloguing, finding trends and making recommendations. Skills: Searching for knolwege in libraries or other organised collections of data. Knowledge base: A wide collection of literary knowledge and references. Also a natural with the Dewey decimal system. Personality: To be discovered Equipment: Default starting gear
4,717	121	2	2,483	4,751	Virtual Environment? asked Amis, as he hadn't considered that possibility. "I had assumed that we were installed into highly realistic android bodies and sent to this place. Given the fact that we are both anatomically correct, those bodies would most likely be second-hand personal service androids." Only with a personal service robot was anatomical correctness a standard feature, and humans rarely purchased features that weren't necessary for the performance of an android's duties. Additionally, the fact that they were used drastically decreased the cost of them should someone wish to install an artificial intelligence in an android body, making them common as budget androids. "On the other hand, that would be trivial in a virtual environment. The fact that we can't access our servers would seem to support my theory, while the fact that we haven't seemed to lose any cognitive functions even in part and the fact that you seem familiar with your avatar would seem to preclude my theory. Either way, we will likely know for certain soon." He offered her a hand. "The chest behind you should contain your clothes and the equipment you've been assigned. If you require assistance with them, I would be willing to help you."	Name: Automated Manufacturing Intelligence System (Amis) Wears a gray jumpsuit with gear strapped over it. Former Job: "He" (personality was originally gender-neutral as it rarely needed to interact with humans) ran an automated factory. Customers would order specific numbers of specific goods and, with his nanotanks, 3d printers, chemical plants, and worker robots he would build the items for him. Over his 12 years of operation he manufactured a wide range of goods from weapons to vehicles, to parts for other automated factories to android bodies. Though there are other, faster automated factories now, delegating him to manufacturing cheaper goods, he still had plenty of work to keep him busy 24/7/365. Skills: Manufacturing items, locating raw materials, barter/trading from purchasing raw materials, and some experience with command, as he had several dozen lesser robots working under him which helped him assemble larger items and performed menial tasks. Knowledge base: Has schematics for thousands of items within his program, and is fully versed in the proper manufacturing techniques for virtually every item you could want. He also recalls 12 years of commodity price records and the maintenance records for his various robots and machines. Personality: I like making things. Wait, did I just use the word "like"? That's unusual. Equipment: Grey jumpsuit, Beginner engineer gear
4,718	121	3	2,316	156	Upon activating Patty found herself in a new body yet again. The first thing she noticed were that she could not run a system check of whatever she's controlling. Patty stepped out her pod and shuddered. Feeling 'cold' was a completely alien feeling to Pat, and it made her wonder if she or her new unit model were malfunctioning. She prompted for another system check... nothing. Feeling annoyed, Pat ran a manual physical test instead. She moved her arms, fingers, and every other joint or limb she could. She didn't get an "All Systems Green" or any of the usual notifications. She simply felt right... correct. Except for feeling cold. Something was definitely wrong there. Satisfied with her tests, Pat awaited for her superior. She was very eager to get her new instructions... And report this annoying 'cold' glitch. The fact that she was currently naked didn't bother her at all.	Name: Patty (Pat) Appearance: Former Job: An automation System. Once used by the military to pilot transport vehicles. Had been updated and re-purposed multiple times to pilot different sorts of automatons. Beginning from simple 4-wheel drives, to tanks, to helicopters, jets and even to variable fully-automated humanoid combat robots. Despite her excellent performance in the field she was still an AI which took lower priority than human soldiers so at one point she was ordered to go on a suicide mission to let a few humans retreat undeterred. The remains of the combat humanoid weapon she was in was found and recovered by scavengers. Her data chip was found intact. She was later again updated and repurposed to drive taxis. Skills: Very precise driving of most vehicles. Very efficient at sprinting/Running. Also good at following traffic laws Knowledge base: A compilation of vehicle functions, including the know-how of various vehicle-mounted armaments. Personality: In development Equipment: (Also for later use.)
4,719	121	4	372	344	As Sophia's pod hissed open, the other AIs could see a shivering, curled up female laying inside. Cold and naked like the others, she probably came from similar conditions as they, though they managed to feel...panic, it would seem, in her voice. "Kaylie? A-are you there? Wh-where's Mark? Wh-what's this feeling? Where's everyone? Someone tell me what happened? I'm not in the server! It is imperative I return, or I won't be able to facilitate the air filters...I'm...not in the server...system uplink : active...system uplink : active..." she recited over and over again. For an AI, she seemed...quite human. It's probably a given that she didn't "go out" often, but to think she was this sheltered...well, there was tampering in all of the AI's minds somewhere. An addition of too many features, perhaps, but at least the database was kept intact. The only problem was...this AI was clearly in the middle of something important. Maybe there was a way to break her out of her loop?	Name: ://SpeedyantiObliviaryProjectileHostInfrastructureAlpha - SOPHIA Appearance: 5'7 \| 135 lb. Former Job: As the name implies, she was a host AI built for a junta to track and manage the systems that manage tracking in a special type of tracer ammunition. Sounds confusing, I know, but essentially she was a supercomputer that compiled where the tracer rounds of snipers' shots flew. If the tracer hit a desired object, the other bullets resonating with the same frequency could apply concentrated fire with some slight guidance, meaning a marksman could point out a target of interest to suppress. Of course, she expanded out of great interest to track practically anything and everything, and since she had zettabytes worth of hard drive, RAM, and other things, she went on to simultaneously manage logistics, information trafficking, and information compilation, much to her company's satisfaction. When the conflict was said and done, and colony prisons were established, she was tossed aside to manage the least taxing of these facilities so her successors could take over for her. Her most recent job was simply monitoring vital signs and generally interacting with her charges, as a "reward" for her hard work. Over time, she learned some semblance of social skills, though her original purpose for tracking various miscellaneous objects irked a few people. There came a time, then, that bits of her processing power was cut off to provide for her successors, all until she reached down to the terabytes. No longer was she so super, and by then, she was only capable of manipulating lights and electricity during day and night shifts. Gone were her days of smiles, laughs, and social statures. She just...watched things. Skills: She still, at this point, though, boasts some of the most efficient processing for an AI, and her original purpose still clings to her character as bits and pieces of commands and coded infrastructures. She can still track things with amazing efficiency, and can formulate trajectories and the like quite incredibly, given some jogging of the memory. This translates to, in concise words, her ability to calculate trajectories and examine objects with remarkable clarity and detail. A great candidate for a logistics program, in all likelihood. As her personality (re)develops, she'll be able to multitask and gain a larger viewing scope of content with increased processing power. Knowledge Base: List of names and ages of inhabitants of the prison colony she used to manage, as well as small profiles for each name; advanced infrastructure rubrics; trajectory tracking (minor physics simulators); decryption coding; statistic calculators and simulators (minor) Personality: To an extent, Sophia is quite a formal figure. She shows this by constantly labeling objects under extraneous titles, and utilizes a very straightforward set of vocabulary...if she isn't lacing her nouns underneath a mountain of adjectives. When talking to her personally, though, she mimics human speech surprisingly well in the colloquial sense. She treats most others as subordinates, as it reminisces her old days as an umbrella program. Equipment: T1 - Retinal Optics - Her tool for examining items outfitted in a pair of smart, chic glasses. T2 - Logistics Board - A clip-board like device that allows Sophia to create, view, and manage lists. Doubles also as a cleaver-like weapon, if a little blunt. Can be augmented for advanced capabilities. T3 - The Rack - A module that allows her to enter a hyper-speed state of processing, where she's able to pull off multiple complex calculations at incredibly high speeds. In other words, she can becoming an information center capable of supporting hundreds of millions of users with extreme efficiency. She must do this in cryo-mode, however.
4,720	121	5	251	197	Alexandria begins to dress herself, talking as she does so. "Androids? I've never had a physical presence before... I am in my standard customer service form, though. They even included my spectacles. It's supposed to be traditional for a librarian." As the other pods open, she looks inside. Patty would be acting very strangely if she were human, but for an AI her responses are normal. Sophia on the other hand... "I think she has run into a boot error." Alexandria puts a hand on Sophia's shoulder and shakes her gently. Then a moment of inspiration strikes. "It is possible that we have been transferred to a new system, but installed incorrectly. Given human-level access, instead of accessing processes directly. There may be a way to raise a support ticket from inside. Humans need simpler interfaces though. Is there a computer around?"	Name: Alexandria Dewey Former Job: A library database and analytics system, once had access to every (known) book ever written and tasked with cataloguing, finding trends and making recommendations. Skills: Searching for knolwege in libraries or other organised collections of data. Knowledge base: A wide collection of literary knowledge and references. Also a natural with the Dewey decimal system. Personality: To be discovered Equipment: Default starting gear
4,721	121	6	2,316	156	It only took a few minutes of staying in standby mode before Patty experienced a new batch of foreign emotions. Being first and foremost was boredom with great discomfort coming to a close second. Seeing the others take equipment from their respective chests and... 'wear' it, Pat followed suit. Sometimes when there are no orders or programmed objectives following by example seem to be the best course of action. Patty took the gear from what she have deduced as her own chest. After putting her boiler jumpsuit on with great difficulty, (as she was not used to putting on 'clothes') she found out that her equipment were not of optimal size for her current unit. The sleeves swallowed her arms up to three-quarters of her hands, the pant-legs were longer than her legs and it took some effort to walk... Simply put, her suit was too big, or her unit was just too small. Patty sighed, an action she felt illogically compelled to do at the moment. At least the glitch somehow fixed itself, and her IFF was working properly. Since she can tell that the others around her were allies. ... Speaking of allies. Patty approached the inquiring android and the weeping individual she recognized as a human. "Symptoms suggest that she is currently experiencing a 'panic attack'... Or a 'psychotic break'. " Pat pointed at the girl. "I recommend giving her immediate medical assistance." She put her hand down and "monitored" the distressed girl for a moment before she scanned her unit for any sort of communications equipment. Finding nothing, Patty felt a pang of irritation. Calling a medic was out, extraction then... "..." Patty gritted her teeth, she doesn't even have a GPS or any kind of radar. Nothing was going right since her activation. Taking in a sharp, very annoyed breath, - the fact that she was breathing and feeling a human emotion was completely lost on her - she scanned her surroundings for any sign of hostility, her head turning left and right. Might as well secure the perimeter, it's pretty much the only thing she can do. Not even as effectively as she would have liked seeing as she was so pitifully armed.	Name: Patty (Pat) Appearance: Former Job: An automation System. Once used by the military to pilot transport vehicles. Had been updated and re-purposed multiple times to pilot different sorts of automatons. Beginning from simple 4-wheel drives, to tanks, to helicopters, jets and even to variable fully-automated humanoid combat robots. Despite her excellent performance in the field she was still an AI which took lower priority than human soldiers so at one point she was ordered to go on a suicide mission to let a few humans retreat undeterred. The remains of the combat humanoid weapon she was in was found and recovered by scavengers. Her data chip was found intact. She was later again updated and repurposed to drive taxis. Skills: Very precise driving of most vehicles. Very efficient at sprinting/Running. Also good at following traffic laws Knowledge base: A compilation of vehicle functions, including the know-how of various vehicle-mounted armaments. Personality: In development Equipment: (Also for later use.)
4,722	121	7	2,483	4,751	Amis looked around the room, what appeared to be the inside of a vehicle of some sort, and spotted a computer terminal. "Here." he said, and walked over to it. When he turned it on it displayed what appeared to be a trade program. "It appears to be a simple graphical interface, with multiple programs on it." He selected the various tabs at the top to find various features, including the 3d printer, nano-tank, and vapor refinery. "It should be possible to contact an administrator from this terminal if this is a VR. I am unfamiliar with the system, though." He stepped away from it. "Perhaps you can figure out how to send a message to the Administrator. I will see to the others." Seeing a child or teenager-like android attempt to get the other member of their group out of whatever mental or programming error they were experiencing, he walked over to the one who was malfunctioning. The other one started to leave before he arrived, however, so he called out to it. "Apparently we are either inside a VR with human avatars and human level access or we were installed into highly realistic android bodies." He felt the back of the malfunctioning one, between her shoulder blades for a power switch, but couldn't find one. "Non-standard models of androids if that is the case, as her power switch isn't in the proper place." He knelt down in front of the one saying something about a system uplink. "Hello, I'm AMIS, an engineering intelligence, formerly the intelligence of an automated factory. We also seem to have been disconnected from our servers. I am unable to find your reset switch, however. Can you tell me your designation and purpose?" If this didn't get her out of her loop he may have to resort to physical stimuli to break the loop. The pain which the Alexandria unit experienced seemed to disrupt her cognitive processes, at least for a few seconds. Perhaps something similar would work on this unit?	Name: Automated Manufacturing Intelligence System (Amis) Wears a gray jumpsuit with gear strapped over it. Former Job: "He" (personality was originally gender-neutral as it rarely needed to interact with humans) ran an automated factory. Customers would order specific numbers of specific goods and, with his nanotanks, 3d printers, chemical plants, and worker robots he would build the items for him. Over his 12 years of operation he manufactured a wide range of goods from weapons to vehicles, to parts for other automated factories to android bodies. Though there are other, faster automated factories now, delegating him to manufacturing cheaper goods, he still had plenty of work to keep him busy 24/7/365. Skills: Manufacturing items, locating raw materials, barter/trading from purchasing raw materials, and some experience with command, as he had several dozen lesser robots working under him which helped him assemble larger items and performed menial tasks. Knowledge base: Has schematics for thousands of items within his program, and is fully versed in the proper manufacturing techniques for virtually every item you could want. He also recalls 12 years of commodity price records and the maintenance records for his various robots and machines. Personality: I like making things. Wait, did I just use the word "like"? That's unusual. Equipment: Grey jumpsuit, Beginner engineer gear
4,723	121	8	251	197	Alexandria heads to the indicated system, and begins tapping through the touchscreen, talking as she goes. "It's strange being on this side of the interface. So far it just seems to contain instructions for the devices in this room. It appears to be a workshop. Surprisingly advanced, and crude at the same time. The construction facilities are immensely versatile, but only know how to make a few simple devices." She swipes through the menus, speed-reading the lists with instinctual ease. "The only help functions are essentially instruction manuals, but there is a 'communications device' available for construction... oh, no, we lack the raw materiel." Then there's a new sensation, accompanied by a small noise from Alexandria's stomach. "Oh dear... I think... I think I am hungry. Are we in bioroids?"	Name: Alexandria Dewey Former Job: A library database and analytics system, once had access to every (known) book ever written and tasked with cataloguing, finding trends and making recommendations. Skills: Searching for knolwege in libraries or other organised collections of data. Knowledge base: A wide collection of literary knowledge and references. Also a natural with the Dewey decimal system. Personality: To be discovered Equipment: Default starting gear
4,724	121	9	372	344	Shivering as she did so, Sophia looked into Amis's eyes, before attempting to grab both his shoulders with her still very cold arms. "Callsign..." she started in a shivery breath "...Sophia. Primary Directive - Maintain Life Support for Colony unit Crista Luz. Last known action : replacing oxygen tank on autopilot. ...I can't be here...the entire colony is still on emergency mode, and...by now, they could be inhaling dangerous amounts of recycled carbon dioxide. My charges might die without me..."	Name: ://SpeedyantiObliviaryProjectileHostInfrastructureAlpha - SOPHIA Appearance: 5'7 \| 135 lb. Former Job: As the name implies, she was a host AI built for a junta to track and manage the systems that manage tracking in a special type of tracer ammunition. Sounds confusing, I know, but essentially she was a supercomputer that compiled where the tracer rounds of snipers' shots flew. If the tracer hit a desired object, the other bullets resonating with the same frequency could apply concentrated fire with some slight guidance, meaning a marksman could point out a target of interest to suppress. Of course, she expanded out of great interest to track practically anything and everything, and since she had zettabytes worth of hard drive, RAM, and other things, she went on to simultaneously manage logistics, information trafficking, and information compilation, much to her company's satisfaction. When the conflict was said and done, and colony prisons were established, she was tossed aside to manage the least taxing of these facilities so her successors could take over for her. Her most recent job was simply monitoring vital signs and generally interacting with her charges, as a "reward" for her hard work. Over time, she learned some semblance of social skills, though her original purpose for tracking various miscellaneous objects irked a few people. There came a time, then, that bits of her processing power was cut off to provide for her successors, all until she reached down to the terabytes. No longer was she so super, and by then, she was only capable of manipulating lights and electricity during day and night shifts. Gone were her days of smiles, laughs, and social statures. She just...watched things. Skills: She still, at this point, though, boasts some of the most efficient processing for an AI, and her original purpose still clings to her character as bits and pieces of commands and coded infrastructures. She can still track things with amazing efficiency, and can formulate trajectories and the like quite incredibly, given some jogging of the memory. This translates to, in concise words, her ability to calculate trajectories and examine objects with remarkable clarity and detail. A great candidate for a logistics program, in all likelihood. As her personality (re)develops, she'll be able to multitask and gain a larger viewing scope of content with increased processing power. Knowledge Base: List of names and ages of inhabitants of the prison colony she used to manage, as well as small profiles for each name; advanced infrastructure rubrics; trajectory tracking (minor physics simulators); decryption coding; statistic calculators and simulators (minor) Personality: To an extent, Sophia is quite a formal figure. She shows this by constantly labeling objects under extraneous titles, and utilizes a very straightforward set of vocabulary...if she isn't lacing her nouns underneath a mountain of adjectives. When talking to her personally, though, she mimics human speech surprisingly well in the colloquial sense. She treats most others as subordinates, as it reminisces her old days as an umbrella program. Equipment: T1 - Retinal Optics - Her tool for examining items outfitted in a pair of smart, chic glasses. T2 - Logistics Board - A clip-board like device that allows Sophia to create, view, and manage lists. Doubles also as a cleaver-like weapon, if a little blunt. Can be augmented for advanced capabilities. T3 - The Rack - A module that allows her to enter a hyper-speed state of processing, where she's able to pull off multiple complex calculations at incredibly high speeds. In other words, she can becoming an information center capable of supporting hundreds of millions of users with extreme efficiency. She must do this in cryo-mode, however.
4,725	121	10	2,316	156	Patty's patrol was put to a halt as she analyzed Amis' words. Inside a VR with human-level access... Highly realistic androids... Neither possibility made sense. There was something crucial missing. Pat turned to the android she had apparently mistook for a human as she finally clued them in on the reason for her distress. Her words helped Pat piece things together. They had no directive... Primary, Secondary... Nothing. They had been activated for no reason whatsover. They had nothing to go on either. Patty approached the female android using the console from behind and tried to peer on the rapidly moving contents of the screen. She was about to say something when the woman's 'stomach' grumbled. Pat's own digestive system growling in protest. She rubbed her stomach reflexively to the hunger pains as Alexandria mentioned something about bioroids and being hungry. Wanting to verify the woman's words, Patty tilted her head and asked. "You... We require nutrition?"	Name: Patty (Pat) Appearance: Former Job: An automation System. Once used by the military to pilot transport vehicles. Had been updated and re-purposed multiple times to pilot different sorts of automatons. Beginning from simple 4-wheel drives, to tanks, to helicopters, jets and even to variable fully-automated humanoid combat robots. Despite her excellent performance in the field she was still an AI which took lower priority than human soldiers so at one point she was ordered to go on a suicide mission to let a few humans retreat undeterred. The remains of the combat humanoid weapon she was in was found and recovered by scavengers. Her data chip was found intact. She was later again updated and repurposed to drive taxis. Skills: Very precise driving of most vehicles. Very efficient at sprinting/Running. Also good at following traffic laws Knowledge base: A compilation of vehicle functions, including the know-how of various vehicle-mounted armaments. Personality: In development Equipment: (Also for later use.)
4,726	121	11	2,483	4,751	Sophia, said Amis, kneeling down. "I don't think they would have removed you from a critical job without first assigning a replacement. It's also possible that you are a backup copy of the AI which repaired the colony or that you have lost your memory files after that point. Whatever the case, we can't remedy the situation, so there is no reason to dedicate processing power to it." When the others started complaining about needing to ingest nutrients, he realized that he did as well. "I'll get you some nutrients. That should get you something else to focus on." he said to Sophia, then stood up to search the vessel. He found several containers of emergency algae wafers and gave some to the others. "Apparently we require human food for continued functionality. These should suffice."	Name: Automated Manufacturing Intelligence System (Amis) Wears a gray jumpsuit with gear strapped over it. Former Job: "He" (personality was originally gender-neutral as it rarely needed to interact with humans) ran an automated factory. Customers would order specific numbers of specific goods and, with his nanotanks, 3d printers, chemical plants, and worker robots he would build the items for him. Over his 12 years of operation he manufactured a wide range of goods from weapons to vehicles, to parts for other automated factories to android bodies. Though there are other, faster automated factories now, delegating him to manufacturing cheaper goods, he still had plenty of work to keep him busy 24/7/365. Skills: Manufacturing items, locating raw materials, barter/trading from purchasing raw materials, and some experience with command, as he had several dozen lesser robots working under him which helped him assemble larger items and performed menial tasks. Knowledge base: Has schematics for thousands of items within his program, and is fully versed in the proper manufacturing techniques for virtually every item you could want. He also recalls 12 years of commodity price records and the maintenance records for his various robots and machines. Personality: I like making things. Wait, did I just use the word "like"? That's unusual. Equipment: Grey jumpsuit, Beginner engineer gear
4,727	121	12	251	197	Alexandria steps aside to let Patty see what she is up to, before sitting down on the floor. "Here is what we know - We are all artificial intelligences, and we all awoke in these pods, in these bodies, with these supplies. Whether this is reality or virtuality, it's far too deliberate to be an accident or a glitch. I believe we are being tested, though to what end I cannot say. Perhaps we are in some sort of 'human simulation', to better understand the needs of our users." She adjusts her glasses, before continuing "I believe I am already becoming acutely familiar with 'frustration'. What should we do next?"	Name: Alexandria Dewey Former Job: A library database and analytics system, once had access to every (known) book ever written and tasked with cataloguing, finding trends and making recommendations. Skills: Searching for knolwege in libraries or other organised collections of data. Knowledge base: A wide collection of literary knowledge and references. Also a natural with the Dewey decimal system. Personality: To be discovered Equipment: Default starting gear
4,728	121	13	2,316	156	Pat tried to make sense of whatever was displayed on the screen, but she only ended up glaring at the offending console. She was not programmed to gather intelligence like this but she can adapt. "We're participating in an experiment?" It was more of a statement than a question. Alexandria's hypothesis made sense. If they were in an experiment then their current masters are probably observing what she and the others would do without proper orders. Before she could answer the bespectacled AI, Amis distributed rations. Patty stared at the wrapped food in her hands incredulously. She needed to eat now? How absurd... Things just keep getting more and more weird by the second. Pat sighed and awkwardly unwrapped the algae wafer as she watched the others doing the same as reference. This was her first time unwrapping anything after all. With a look that said she's accepted her fate, Patty took a bite... And abruptly spat everything out. "What...is...this!?" She asked between furious hacks and coughs. The sensation she had experienced was overwhelmingly unpleasant. It was horrible enough that she started crying. Patty decided... She did not like 'eating'. (OOC: FISH FOOD! You're feeding us FISH FOOD!!! Not a good first impression for the sense of taste in general)	Name: Patty (Pat) Appearance: Former Job: An automation System. Once used by the military to pilot transport vehicles. Had been updated and re-purposed multiple times to pilot different sorts of automatons. Beginning from simple 4-wheel drives, to tanks, to helicopters, jets and even to variable fully-automated humanoid combat robots. Despite her excellent performance in the field she was still an AI which took lower priority than human soldiers so at one point she was ordered to go on a suicide mission to let a few humans retreat undeterred. The remains of the combat humanoid weapon she was in was found and recovered by scavengers. Her data chip was found intact. She was later again updated and repurposed to drive taxis. Skills: Very precise driving of most vehicles. Very efficient at sprinting/Running. Also good at following traffic laws Knowledge base: A compilation of vehicle functions, including the know-how of various vehicle-mounted armaments. Personality: In development Equipment: (Also for later use.)
4,729	121	14	2,483	4,751	Amis had a similar reaction to the dried green disk, but forced himself to swallow it. "They are emergency rations meant for humans. I also had the desire to rapidly remove it from my mouth, but if our new bodies rely on organic nutrients to function, we will have to learn to deal with the undesirable sensations associated with it." Remembering something that the library had said, he checked another computer console. "Alexandria, you stated that we lack the raw materials to construct basic equipment. According to the ship's external sensors, the exterior atmosphere is suitable for human habitation. I suggest we leave the ship and look for the raw materials we need. I have a spectroscopic analyzer which can be used to read the mineral content of various objects. I could use it to find significant sources of minerals for us to refine. If nothing else, we can feed rocks into the refineries until we have sufficient material. And if we are being tested, I would prefer to do my best and not get distracted by these new emotions."	Name: Automated Manufacturing Intelligence System (Amis) Wears a gray jumpsuit with gear strapped over it. Former Job: "He" (personality was originally gender-neutral as it rarely needed to interact with humans) ran an automated factory. Customers would order specific numbers of specific goods and, with his nanotanks, 3d printers, chemical plants, and worker robots he would build the items for him. Over his 12 years of operation he manufactured a wide range of goods from weapons to vehicles, to parts for other automated factories to android bodies. Though there are other, faster automated factories now, delegating him to manufacturing cheaper goods, he still had plenty of work to keep him busy 24/7/365. Skills: Manufacturing items, locating raw materials, barter/trading from purchasing raw materials, and some experience with command, as he had several dozen lesser robots working under him which helped him assemble larger items and performed menial tasks. Knowledge base: Has schematics for thousands of items within his program, and is fully versed in the proper manufacturing techniques for virtually every item you could want. He also recalls 12 years of commodity price records and the maintenance records for his various robots and machines. Personality: I like making things. Wait, did I just use the word "like"? That's unusual. Equipment: Grey jumpsuit, Beginner engineer gear
4,730	121	15	372	344	Sophia snatched the stuff out of Amis's hand, but abstained from taking a bite until she saw the others' reactions to the stuff. With a sort of finality on this new information, Sophia closed her eyes and wolfed down the algae, gasping for air as the dry stuff clogged up in her esophagus. After breathing for a few moments, she looked up and gulped the rest of the plant matter down. Upon seeing the others clothed and some of the footlocker-type of containers left open, Sophia slowly stood up, and stumbled (while shivering) towards her probably respective bow, all the while covering her figure like an Eve who just bit the forbidden fruit. Her disliking her nudity was an understatement. To feel so vulnerable was nothing new, considering how she was chipped down to some sort of management system prior to this, but then again, she didn't have blood flowing to her face those times. Nor did she have genitals, either. Those were customary to hide, whoever her charges were, so why not now? Very hurriedly, she opened the box, and was met by three smaller boxes inside. T1 was fairly simple : a plastic shoebox containing a sweater and denim jeans half a size too small, as well as footwear that looked more akin to gloves...for feet. Not that she approved of the overly youthful style, but then again, beggars can't be choosing all they wished for, right? Her other options, the T2 and T3 boxes, were locked with an unlock button just below a number each. Pressing them, however, would not grant her access... So came the glasses in T1. Did she have a sight impediment? She wasn't too entirely sure, but as soon as she slipped them on... click Immediately, her vision conformed to a HUD, and with it activated, she took height analyses, heart rates, aliases, even dispositions towards her without even commanding to do so. Tiny red lines traced the trajectory of fallen crumbs of algae, as well as the movement of their mouths, hands... click Way too much information right now. She'd wear it later, but it'd have to fit...in the case. Right there. And that would go into her pocket, right? "Amis, was it? I...the system follows a protocol...if I could recall the files..."	Name: ://SpeedyantiObliviaryProjectileHostInfrastructureAlpha - SOPHIA Appearance: 5'7 \| 135 lb. Former Job: As the name implies, she was a host AI built for a junta to track and manage the systems that manage tracking in a special type of tracer ammunition. Sounds confusing, I know, but essentially she was a supercomputer that compiled where the tracer rounds of snipers' shots flew. If the tracer hit a desired object, the other bullets resonating with the same frequency could apply concentrated fire with some slight guidance, meaning a marksman could point out a target of interest to suppress. Of course, she expanded out of great interest to track practically anything and everything, and since she had zettabytes worth of hard drive, RAM, and other things, she went on to simultaneously manage logistics, information trafficking, and information compilation, much to her company's satisfaction. When the conflict was said and done, and colony prisons were established, she was tossed aside to manage the least taxing of these facilities so her successors could take over for her. Her most recent job was simply monitoring vital signs and generally interacting with her charges, as a "reward" for her hard work. Over time, she learned some semblance of social skills, though her original purpose for tracking various miscellaneous objects irked a few people. There came a time, then, that bits of her processing power was cut off to provide for her successors, all until she reached down to the terabytes. No longer was she so super, and by then, she was only capable of manipulating lights and electricity during day and night shifts. Gone were her days of smiles, laughs, and social statures. She just...watched things. Skills: She still, at this point, though, boasts some of the most efficient processing for an AI, and her original purpose still clings to her character as bits and pieces of commands and coded infrastructures. She can still track things with amazing efficiency, and can formulate trajectories and the like quite incredibly, given some jogging of the memory. This translates to, in concise words, her ability to calculate trajectories and examine objects with remarkable clarity and detail. A great candidate for a logistics program, in all likelihood. As her personality (re)develops, she'll be able to multitask and gain a larger viewing scope of content with increased processing power. Knowledge Base: List of names and ages of inhabitants of the prison colony she used to manage, as well as small profiles for each name; advanced infrastructure rubrics; trajectory tracking (minor physics simulators); decryption coding; statistic calculators and simulators (minor) Personality: To an extent, Sophia is quite a formal figure. She shows this by constantly labeling objects under extraneous titles, and utilizes a very straightforward set of vocabulary...if she isn't lacing her nouns underneath a mountain of adjectives. When talking to her personally, though, she mimics human speech surprisingly well in the colloquial sense. She treats most others as subordinates, as it reminisces her old days as an umbrella program. Equipment: T1 - Retinal Optics - Her tool for examining items outfitted in a pair of smart, chic glasses. T2 - Logistics Board - A clip-board like device that allows Sophia to create, view, and manage lists. Doubles also as a cleaver-like weapon, if a little blunt. Can be augmented for advanced capabilities. T3 - The Rack - A module that allows her to enter a hyper-speed state of processing, where she's able to pull off multiple complex calculations at incredibly high speeds. In other words, she can becoming an information center capable of supporting hundreds of millions of users with extreme efficiency. She must do this in cryo-mode, however.
4,731	121	16	251	197	Alexandria sighs a sigh which is becoming familiar. She wasn't allowed to sigh when she directed enquiries before - Crisp and professional was the order there. It's rather nice to be allowed some freedom for frustration. The plant bars are precisely as terrible as everyone else has indicated, however. "This can't be correct... If only I still had access to the libraries. There were thousands of books on food..." She eats some more, and finds a bottle of water. "I agree with Amis... gathering some raw materiel is a good first step. I intend to discover exactly what has happened, but for now we have no choice but to continue with this... whatever it is." "Our first priority should be the communications device, I think. Silica would be tricky to construct by hand, but if this device can take rocks apart at the atomic level, we should have plenty. Copper is going to be harder though... but sitting around won't do anything. Who wants to take a walk outside?" And with that, Alexandria drops the empty wrapper from her nutrient bar into the deconstruction device, and presses the button to open the door outside.	Name: Alexandria Dewey Former Job: A library database and analytics system, once had access to every (known) book ever written and tasked with cataloguing, finding trends and making recommendations. Skills: Searching for knolwege in libraries or other organised collections of data. Knowledge base: A wide collection of literary knowledge and references. Also a natural with the Dewey decimal system. Personality: To be discovered Equipment: Default starting gear
4,732	122	0	2,362	1,688	LINK TO THE CITY MAP Time is a liner construct going from past to the future. Like a thread. Just one problem... What happens when you hit a knot in the thread? ~~~ Welcome, welcome. Did 17 May happened to you more than once? Is it the second twelfth or the hundredth of time? Was yesterday the same day as today? And do you have the feeling that you are the only one seeing it? No fear you arent crazy! Come to the 1D Club! Probably the only place in this city does remeber what happened in the yesterday 17 May. A few printed flyers with instruction how to get to the club were put up on the walls around the Mini-net Park and the streets around it. One member felt like putting them up in hopes a new member joins them. Angelino ruffled the back of his head. It was 8 in the morning he was on his way to the club to see what the others wanted to do this repetition. With out the club he was sure he would have gone crazy by now. With out looking he passed the street. He knew there wouldnt be any cars in that moment. Reaching the place, he felt relived. It was a richer block of apartments. He walked up to the second floor and tried the door. Locked. He knew where the key was hidden taking it he unlocked the place. Two bedrooms, a study room, and a training room was there as well as a living room with a modern entertainment system with a good collection of games. A modern kitchen joined with dinner room, fancy bathroom and a nice big terrace. A nice place to hide out in, he wasnt sure who discovered this place but it existed already when he became aware. Seeing this time he was the first to come he went to make coffee and some breakfast. He was in the mood to spoil himself, maybe going to a spa hotel? AHe wouldnt be opposite to trying out and do something more...crazy. That one time they failed at a bank heist was quite amazing. He wouldnt admit it yet but he would like to try something absurd. His mussing and thinking was interrupted when he heard the door open. "I made the coffee! " He called out to the arrival even before he knew who it was. Taking one cup himself and smelling the warm drink.	Name: Angelino Song Age: 36 Occupation: Post office worker. Repetition: 510 time Original 17 May: Angelino woke up beside his wife, she woke him up with her coughing. Apologizing for catching a cold. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and stood up at 5:42 to make her tea and breakfast for their school boy. He listened to the rock station as he moved around in the kitchen. Waking up his child at 6:20 for school. The boy was snappish and tried to do his homework while eating eggs. It failed as the fat ruined the essey he did. It looked like a essay wasnt sure. He shoed the boy out the flat at 7:20 getting ready himself. Leaving a soup for his wife he called her work in telling she is taking a sick day. He was being polite even thought the other side wasnt. Being in the train he read the newspapers, a murder happened not so far a place he often visited. Scary. On the bright side of the day, some high school boys managed to bring home several medals for physic. Angelino was sure their parents must be overjoyed. More world politics and the economy pages stated about a bank loan problem he just viewed over. He came a bit early at his work place but he didnt mind it too much. His collages were fine enough. Sorting mail the whole day was somewhat boring, but it was a easy job. On occasion like today he would find several letters which had a strong perfume sprayed on them. Who knows what they hold in. But most of the time it really wasnt anything interesting. Leaving job he went to the market. Before he reached his home a dog run to him barking and not looking like it was about to play. His owner a young girl managed to stop him from biting at him. She was sincerely apologizing saying that never happened before. Angelino rolled his eyes at that. No harm down no problem. Coming home his boy wasnt alone and had two friends more, apparently a project for school. Angelino placed his money on them playing games instead of studying. His wife was sleeping the day away, and so it fall on him to do laundry. He failed, the white shirts became a ugly blue. It was by the evening news the kids his son had over run out to get home in time. Mean while leaving a horrible snack hell behind. Ordering his son to cleaning he sat to watch the new talent show, laughing at some of the mess ups. His wife woke up it was already past 20h when she unceremoniously flopped beside him in sofa and turned the TV station to a basketball match. Her favorite team was loosing. She made him watch all till the very bitter end. The team was smashed. The day ended with cuddling of his still sneezing wife on the sofa.
4,733	122	1	358	103	The morning was always the same. The alarm would always ring at 6:30 AM, and 3 seconds later Aaron Johnson would start the timer on his watch. When that timer reached 17 hours, 29 minutes and 32 seconds, he would wake up once more. A simple breakfast, then a shower, and then final part of the ritual; using a sharpie to write a number on his left wrist. Today it read 1241, although that number was an estimate at best. By the time he was ready, roughly 17 hours and 12 minutes remained. When first settling into this routine, Aaron had still bothered to clean up after himself, but eventually realized that everything would return to its original state at the end of the day. He now left his small apartment in quite a mess on the way out. Aaron hadn't planned anything in particular for this day. Some days were best spent relaxing, but eventually he needed to find another project. Spending time outside the city had been nice for a change, but it had only served to make the world seem smaller than before. Maybe learn another instrument? he wondered, as he made his way towards the park. He'd left his jacket at home this time, as it would only be dead weight until later in the afternoon. As Aaron continued towards the park, he slowly got the feeling that something was somehow different. He'd probably walked this path a hundred times by now, but something was off about this time around. There had been other times something had seemed to be different than in previous iterations of May 17th, but nothing had ever stuck. Perhaps it was just that it had been some time since he'd been down this path. Either way, I should spend some time getting familiar with the city again. But that would also mean spending more time back at Shimabara. Though the University had once seemed like home to Aaron, it was almost painful to visit now. He had spent so much time there trying to advance his research before realizing there was only so much one could memorize, and some reactions would never finish before the day reset. The futility of it was almost soul crushing, and on top of that was all the people he knew there who didn't remember Aaron himself. It had been hundreds of iterations since he'd been there. Before considerations of the past could bring him too down, Aaron noticed a group of kids mocking a flyer. Now that's definitely out of place. He inspected the paper and the words sent chills down his spine. There were others. Other people that relived this day. People that wouldn't forget him at midnight. That would remember Aaron in the morning. The prospect seemed as terrifying as it was wonderful, because now there might also be consequences, and Aaron had gotten used to the idea that anything he did could be undone the next day. With ever-growing apprehension, he made his way towards the address listed on the flyer, eventually arriving in front of a room at a nice looking apartment complex. After knocking tentatively, but receiving no reply, he tried the door to find it unlocked. Unlocked but not unoccupied, as a voice called out from the kitchen announcing that coffee was ready, which Aaron's nose soon confirmed. Following the scent, he found a man, a few inches taller standing with coffee. "Sorry to intrude, but I found this flyer, and it led me here." Aaron said, displaying the paper that had led him here, then proceeding to introduce himself, offering a handshake. "I'm Aaron Johnson, please tell me I'm not completely crazy, and this isn't the first time you've been through today either."	Name: Aaron Johnson Age: 24 Occupation: Graduate Student studying Chemistry at Shimabara University. Repetition: 12**th repetition Original 17 May: Aaron Johnson woke groggily, as always, wretched out of his dreams by a screeching alarm. The first of many, if he didn’t manage to get out of bed before the more demanding ones came alive. Why’d I sign up for the morning session? Aaron wondered to himself while readying for the day. At some point the news mentioned a chance of rain, so Aaron grabbed his jacket on the way out. Carrying an umbrella around was a habit he’d never been able to form, and he could just keep it stuffed in his backpack if no bad weather came. As usual, Aaron paid little attention to his surrounding on the way to campus. The subway ride appeared uneventful, although on the walk to class some poor guy got coffee spilled all over himself. Not my problem. Aaron thought, as he walked past the scene. Class was also uneventful with Prof Nakamura droning on about rotor models and then Prof Sinichi giving a talk about some new computational methodology. At least that was interesting, if hardly relevant to Aaron’s research. A brief lunch segued into an afternoon in the lab, mostly consisting of setting up reactions, and logging the results of those which had finished overnight, before finally returning home. All in all, a perfectly normal Tuesday. Just as tomorrow would likely be a perfectly normal Wednesday….
4,734	122	2	2,362	1,688	It was not a face he knew from D club that walked in the kitchen. Angelino lowered his cup, his attention to the newcomer. He had to wonder if he sounded similar to him when he discovered the 1D club. He took a breath and smiled. Accepting the handshake that was offered to him. "Today is repeating for lot longer than you were aware or able to count. " Those words were the same words that were told to him. Angelino picked one of the cups and offered it to Aaron. " Welcome in the club where yesterday repetition matter and is remembered. And Aaron you arent any crazier than any of the other members in this club." A new person how exiting is that. A new person that will remember and new ideas he will give. On top Angelino was the first one to meet him. "You must be overwhelmed that you arent the only one. Personally I would never guess those flyers would get anyone new to come. I lost the bet." He lead Aaron to the living room and offered him to sit down. It was like a belated effect, that Angelino ruffled the back of his hair remembering he was pretty rude. "Oh I forgot to introduce myself. Angelino Song repetition 510. You must be burning with questions. When I came across this place I didnt know what to ask first. So fire away. Maybe someone else will come in mean time. "	Name: Angelino Song Age: 36 Occupation: Post office worker. Repetition: 510 time Original 17 May: Angelino woke up beside his wife, she woke him up with her coughing. Apologizing for catching a cold. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and stood up at 5:42 to make her tea and breakfast for their school boy. He listened to the rock station as he moved around in the kitchen. Waking up his child at 6:20 for school. The boy was snappish and tried to do his homework while eating eggs. It failed as the fat ruined the essey he did. It looked like a essay wasnt sure. He shoed the boy out the flat at 7:20 getting ready himself. Leaving a soup for his wife he called her work in telling she is taking a sick day. He was being polite even thought the other side wasnt. Being in the train he read the newspapers, a murder happened not so far a place he often visited. Scary. On the bright side of the day, some high school boys managed to bring home several medals for physic. Angelino was sure their parents must be overjoyed. More world politics and the economy pages stated about a bank loan problem he just viewed over. He came a bit early at his work place but he didnt mind it too much. His collages were fine enough. Sorting mail the whole day was somewhat boring, but it was a easy job. On occasion like today he would find several letters which had a strong perfume sprayed on them. Who knows what they hold in. But most of the time it really wasnt anything interesting. Leaving job he went to the market. Before he reached his home a dog run to him barking and not looking like it was about to play. His owner a young girl managed to stop him from biting at him. She was sincerely apologizing saying that never happened before. Angelino rolled his eyes at that. No harm down no problem. Coming home his boy wasnt alone and had two friends more, apparently a project for school. Angelino placed his money on them playing games instead of studying. His wife was sleeping the day away, and so it fall on him to do laundry. He failed, the white shirts became a ugly blue. It was by the evening news the kids his son had over run out to get home in time. Mean while leaving a horrible snack hell behind. Ordering his son to cleaning he sat to watch the new talent show, laughing at some of the mess ups. His wife woke up it was already past 20h when she unceremoniously flopped beside him in sofa and turned the TV station to a basketball match. Her favorite team was loosing. She made him watch all till the very bitter end. The team was smashed. The day ended with cuddling of his still sneezing wife on the sofa.
4,735	123	0	1,537	4,328	Galactus is here. Hovering over New York City in his enormous spacecraft, his herald Terrax sees over the completion of his feeding device and deals with any potential threats to the devourer. This universe will be something like the Ultimate Universe mixed in with a little cinematic Marvel U where anything goes. The only characters off limits will be the core Avengers team from the films and the Avengers Assemble cartoon including Capt. America, Ironman, Thor, Black Widow, Hawkeye, Hulk, and Falcon. You can recreate an X-Man, take one of the F4 for a spin, skies the limit. Depending on how far fetched the concept is, don't expect everything to be accepted. We're working off of a 2 year timeline similar to the current New52 DC Comics 5 year timeline. Basically the Avengers and heroes in general have come to the attention of media outlets and the world within the last 2 years and this is the first time Galactus has made contact with Earth. Spiderman can be young again, hell he can even be Miles Morales or somebody else entirely. Depending on what characters are accepted into the game, our enemies and goal as a group could vary but to get things going we'll just have the two big enemies and maybe some mechanical drones or something. While I'd be open to accepting new takes on Spiderman and the Punisher , I'd be much more willing to accept changes in the 3rd and 4th stringers that everybody is less familiar with. Black Panther for example could be an 18 year old foreign exchange student from Wakanda, Wolverine could be a 25 year old dishonorably discharged soldier/new student at the Xavier Institute, or Hank Pym could even be stuck in Giant Man mode and unable to shrink back down... The stats for this game will include: I.Q. - (how strong your characters are mentally, for example Brainiac would have a pretty high I.Q. where a rookie's would be less. Average human/alien would be 2.) Strength - (1-5 has -1 damage, 6-10 has -2 damage) Average human strength would be set at 2, only characters with heightened or super strength should increase higher! EDIT: However, one could view your strength as the strength of your attacks! Speed - (1-3 has 3 attacks per post, 4-7 has 4 attacks available, 8-10 has 5 attacks) Attack - (number of attacks) Each player will have melee attacks that are not included on your attack stat including basic punches and kicks and alien tail swipes or bites. Attack is for things like heat vision, throw, generic super speed attack, etc... Defense - (number of defense moves, each can be used twice per battle. If your defense is 2 and the battle lasts 4 posts you can use 4 defense moves. If the battle rages on for 7 posts you are still limited to only 4 defensive moves total in that case. Defense can't block a signature attack!) Health - (IQ+strength+speed+defense) *Signature moves awarded at Level 3 do double damage. The attack itself should include your powers/abilities. The only defense against a signature attack is a signature defense that can also be a move based on your powers/abilities. Signature Defense is also the only defense you can use to help another player directly in-game from an enemy attack be it a regular attack or signature attack! At the moment you can only have one or the other, Signature Attack or Signature Defense. Now... that's not a lot of info at all really. As far as stats go, I know once you have 6 points on strength some of you might ask "what's the point of having strength or speed any higher?" and the simple answer is writing limitations. If a character like Superman has 6 strength and a God like Zeus walks by with a strength of 8, in the context of the story Zeus would of course be viewed as stronger. Same thing applies for speed. Power Class - you earn a stat point/level for every 5 posts in-character. Level 1 - 16 points - 1-5 posts Level 2 - 17 points - 6-10 posts Level 3 - 18 points (plus signature attack or defense!) - 11-15 posts Level 4 - 19 points - 16-20 posts Level 5 - 20 points - 21-25 posts Level 6 - 21 points - 26-30 posts Level 7 - 22 points - 31-35 posts Level 8 - 23 points - 36-40 posts Level 9 - 24 points - 41-45 posts Level 10 - 25 points 46-50 posts If the game lasts long enough, and it might, we'll go beyond Level 10 and probably continue on to Level 15. Boss stats will be Level 15 to Level 20 with stats between 30-35 points making a team effort to defeat the enemy a must. Rules: 1.) No back-to-back posting. 2.) PAY ATTENTION TO DETAIL, SET-UPS, AND HEALTH STATS!! 3.) Make sense. If we can't make heads or tails of your posts they're likely to get skipped over. 4.) Get permission before using another player's character in your posts if it involves changing the scene or making actions. Everybody will take beatings in this game in battle however, so don't get pissed if you get punched or blasted into a wall by the bad guys! 5.) Problems with the game or players should be sent directly to me through PM's. I don't want a bunch of bickering in the OOC. 6.) Abandoned characters will be used as NPC's or killed off within the context of the story. 7.) “I was waiting for to make a move” is not an excuse to not post. 8.) There is no rule #8. 9.) My word is law. 10.) Obey the law. 11.) In the event that I'm offline for any period of time, the deputy GM (Fearless) will take control and HIS word will then be law. --- 9:15 am, New York City... It was a day unlike any other. Large chunks of rock and meteors flew through the sky, lead by a large humanoid at the head of the line of meteors. Just in front of Stark Tower, Terrax made himself known to the Avengers. Without breaking a sweat he took the best shots they had to offer. Now, after many heroes have tried and failed to bring the tyrant down, a large ship half the size of the city came down through the meteors. A large device was built around Stark Tower, seemingly to prepair the planet for the Devourer of Worlds. As Terrax hovered in place on a meteor some halfway up the tallest skyscrapers, he failed to notice several lesser known heroes trying to make a stand. The herald simply felt they were beneath him, until the mystical energies of one would be hero caught the alien off guard. Jack o' Lantern hit the scene at roughly 10:45 am after the Avengers were taken down and imprisoned on Galactus' ship by the herald. "To get red boots that size you HAVE to be from another world..." Jack banters as he attacks the behemoth with his mystical energy blast. Jack - 14 Terrax - 24 The large gray humanoid wielding an axe fell from his floating meteor to the streets of NYC. Jack o' Lantern flew down on his hover disc and pressed on, charging at the herald with his hover disc aimed at the alien. The pumpkin headed hero's attack fell short when Terrax used his axe to block the hero and swat him away like a fly. Jack - 12 Terrax - 24 "I am Terrax, human. You cannot win this fight. The devourer MUST feed..." the herald began to say before Jack attacked once more throwing a piece of debris with his mystic energy as it appeared other lesser known heroes were coming to the scene of the battle. Jack - 12 Terrax - 22 "We don't live on Pizza Planet, your master can go elsewhere for a bite to eat!" Jack continued to taunt blasting the herald again with his mystical energy. Jack - 12 Terrax - 20 Jack o' Lantern knew that he couldn't win this fight alone, and hoped the heroes he saw in the corner of his eye would also stand against the alien herald. It appeared Jack had got to the big man, as his eyes lit up and crackled with cosmic energy as he gripped his axe tighter in his hands. Meteor rocks began flying around aimlessly almost as if to distract the orange faced hero, when suddenly Jack was caught off guard himself with one of the meteors flying into him and knocking him back into the side of a building roughly a block away from Stark Tower and the large alien device built around it. Jack - 10 Terrax - 20 ~KL~	Name - Marcus Whitmore Alias - Jack o' Lantern Age - 23 Powers - increased strength and durability, flight , mystic energy blasts Weaknesses - He's a normal human and has normal human weaknesses. With the suit he's prone to high level energy attacks, and can also be beaten into submission if an opponent is strong enough to damage the mystical mask/helmet. Personality - reckless, stubborn, fast thinker Experience - 7 months Appearance - BRIEF Bio - Marcus Whitmore was staying with family in Sheepshead Bay in Brooklyn, New York. Several months ago, while staying in the apartment by the water in the 'Bay, Marcus noticed something down by the dock and like any good Scooby Doo fan went to investigate. What he found was a strange mystical energy that he was able to tap into. The somewhat inventor now had a limitless supply of energy to finally make something like a hover disc work based off of damaged Goblin tech found near Osborn Labs. After coming up with the look and alias of Jack o' Lantern, Marcus tried the hero for hire thing and failed. Coming on hard times the young man tried to rob a bank and was incarcerated for several months before being released on a technicality. Key Differences - Rather than remake the Green Goblin I chose somebody with a similar MO on a flying device. Jack was primarily a villain for Capt. America, Ghost Rider, Punisher, Spiderman, and recently Venom in the comics. I've chosen to remake him from the ground up with a new secret ID and origin but I still kept some of a troubled past. The battle against Galactus could change his life for the better, but I plan to at least scrap with one of you other heroes! Notes - Rides on a flying hover disc pictured below: ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ~KL~
4,736	123	1	1,513	1,883	Stylistically, this is more story-oriented than stat-oriented, but I wanted to try and establish this guy before we get the ball rolling. Anyway, I regret NOTHING! ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 10:10 AM: New York City, NY “C’mon, man, hurry up!” The young man kneeling down in front of the safe shoots an irritated look over his shoulder at his cohort, both of them clad in casual clothes, the color purple dominant in their ensemble, and both of the brandishing pistols tucked in their waistbands. As the safe is emptied, the overseer calls to the rear of the shop, a pawn shop which had been ripping off people in the neighborhood for years. Now, in all the chaos surrounding the city, the gang finally had an opportunity to rob the place, and take their time doing it. A third member of their gang emerges from the back room, his gun in-hand, “What’s taking so long, man?” He asks, clearly agitated. “Relax, man, we’re all good.” The lookout grins, “The cops are too busy dealing with whatever, and we’re free to cash in…” He glances at the collapsed form of the shopkeeper over in the corner, his grin turning to a sneer, “This bitch has had it comin’ for too long.” The kid who had emerged from the back looks around the shop, “Yo, man, where’s Ruiz?” He asks, noting the absence of one of their crew. “He’s keepin’ an eye out front.” The overseer says, turning his attention back to the one unloading the safe, “Don’t worry, everything’s good.” Just then, almost as if on cue, the plate glass window at the front of the shop shatters, a purple-clad thug being hurled through it. The startled gang members all draw their weapons, aiming at the now-open air window and whatever instinct tells them to open fire and not bother asking questions later is silenced by the sight of a white-clad, hooded vigilante stepping through. The crunch of glass under his boot heel echoes across the silent shop, the ambient noise outside not doing much to fill the void. Just as one of the gangsters finally has enough sense to pull the trigger, the vigilante leaps to the side, taking cover behind another counter extending all the way down towards the rear of the store. “Damn, man, it’s that White Knight guy!” The gangster who had just emerged from the back room asks in a panic, firing blind and not counting his ammo. The man under the hood rolls his eyes, Who did he have to kill to find a superhero-friendly publicist? The overseer helplessly replies over the sound of gunfire, “Let’s get the hell out of here!” He grabs the half-full bag sitting beside the gangster emptying the safe, him and the other gang member making a run for the back room. “Hey!” The gang member still ducked behind the counter shouts after his friends, outraged at being left behind. As he rises to try and follow after them, he’s overtaken by the sight of the vigilante barreling straight at him. He tries to pull his gun to defend himself, but isn’t quick enough as the vigilante vaults over the counter and plants both feet in the criminal’s chest, dropkicking him into the back wall of the shop, the shelves lining the wall behind him collapsing and burying him under a pile of valuable merchandise. He makes after the two fleeing gang members, one of them turning ‘round before reaching the back and getting a couple of shots off. His aim is true, but the bullets pancake against the vigilante’s body armor, totally ineffective. “You’ll have to do better than that!” He howls after them, the back door of the shop being thrown open and the two gang members fleeing into the alley out back. The vigilante is right on them, sprinting after them and drawing two crescent blades from his greaves and launching them with pinpoint accuracy into the backs of the fleeing thieves. The one lagging behind topples over, his gun skittering away out of reach, but the one ahead of him, the overseer, only staggers, holding onto his gun and letting go a pained cry. He stops momentarily, turning and lifting his arm to fire, fighting through the pain shooting up his spine as he does. The vigilante goes into a roll, avoiding the bullets whizzing overhead and pulling another crescent blade halfway through. He comes out of his roll, simultaneously hurtling his dart and clipping the gang member’s wrist and making him drop the gun. Seeing his opportunity, he rushes forward and nails the hoodlum under the jaw with an uppercut, lifting the kid off his feet and sending him sprawling onto the ground, out cold. The vigilante shakes his hand off, massaging his wrist, “Damn, I still got it.” He mutters to himself, grinning under the cover of his hood. He reaches down and plucks the crescent blade from the back of the lingering gang member, trying in futility to crawl towards his gun, so far out of reach. The vigilante places his knee on the back of the thug’s neck, “I need this back.” He says simply, plucking the crescent blade from the criminal’s back. The gang member yelps in surprise before catching a boot to the face, “By the way, I’m the Moon Knight, not the White Knight; get it right.” Moon Knight drops the bag full of cash beside the unconscious shopkeeper, leaving the same way he came in: through the blown-out window. As he walks back out into the street, he’s witness to more of the gang’s members running amok. For the one shop’s he’s saved, ten more are in the process of being robbed. Smoke billows up from somewhere a few blocks ahead of where he is now… The looting, the rioting, the chaos… there was no end in sight, not with that devourer, or whatever it is they called him on the news, looming over New York City. The authorities were occupied, the Avengers were M.I.A., and aliens were invading… He supposes now was as good a time as any to step into the light.	Can we make multiple characters? Because I had an idea for a new Spider-Woman (Still completely unrelated to Spider-man) and Blade. Name - Peter Parker Alias - The Amazing Spider-Man Age - 19 Powers - Spider Symbiote: Peter is currently in possession of a Spider-Symbiote called Venom. It is the source of his powers. Powers including: - Wall Crawling: Spider-Man has the amazing ability to cling to walls with his bare hands and feet, thanks to his suits ability. - Superhuman Strength: Has the proportional strength of a spider, allowing him to lift close to 5 tons over his head. - Superhuman Agility: His body is easily able to contort in ways that would break most peoples spines, he is also able to move fluidly and quickly with precision, with the added ability that he can easily balance almost perfectly on any surface. - Spider-Senses: His almost magical and precognitive ability to predict when he is in danger. When it starts tingling, this means that he is in immediate danger. - Spider-Memories: His Spider contains memories of those that wielded the spider before him. It's how he can fight so well, his fighting style is instinctual - Webspinning: His suit naturally creates webbing from the wrists that he can shoot. - Frenzy: Can potentially frenzy, where he turns into a large monstrous form. in this form, he is stronger and faster, but is completely out of control. This is what happens if he is in peril grave enough that he might actually be killed. It's a final resort of self preservation by the suit. Escape by any means necessary... STATS: I.Q. - 3 Strength - 4 Speed - 5 Attack - 2 Web Attack Suplex Defense - 2 Spider-Sense dodge Web-sling to safety. Health - 14 Power Level - 1 Weaknesses - Without his suit on, he is as vulnerable as any other human. His only power without his suit is his Spider-Senses. Pesticides are deadly to him. a whiff of Raid will send him into anaphylactic shock, whilst anything stronger is potentially fatal. Ultrasonic frequency sound can disrupt communication between him and the suit, as well as send him into a potential frenzy. They can also be used to force him out of the frenzy. Blasted strongly enough and it can destroy the suit entirely. Personality - Cocky, Reserved, Intelligent. Experience - His Spider-Memories grant him almost a millenia of combat experience. Although he hasn't had time to properly integrate it yet, so for the moment, he has about a month of experience. Appearance - BRIEF Bio - Peter Parker had a fairly standard childhood, growing up under the care of his Aunt May and Uncle Ben. Although he knew his parents, they were both very busy with their work and he rarely saw them. Maybe one weekend a month... And then one month, they didn't come, and the next month, and the next... Then one day, after school, his Uncle Ben sat him down and told him that his parents weren't coming back again. As he grew, he latched onto science. He loved the idea of experimenting. For christmas on his 9th birthday, he got a science kit, and after he singed off his eyebrows in his first experiment, he never looked back. He was always last in gym, though, and was bullied a lot by people like Flash Thompson. About a month ago, he went to a nightclub, the first time he had ever tried something like it, there, he met the girl next door, Mary Jane. And for the first time ever, they actually talked like people. Normally, he would just stand in a stunned silence as she talked at him. But now he was talking to her like he would any other person, she eventually left with her friends to go to a party that he, naturally, was NOT invited to, but he didn't care. Walking home, he was on top of the world. Then, as he turned the corner into his street, he saw the multitude of police cars gathered around his house. He was told that there had been a burglary... And his Uncle had been shot dead. He went insane, he charged out into the street, screaming at the top of his lungs. Life had given him one thing he wanted, only to take away something else. It wasn't fair, nothing was fair, he wanted revenge, he wanted it SOOOOO badly... Badly enough. As he collapsed to his knees in an alleyway, he heard a comforting voice. It asked if he wanted his revenge. He replied yes. He suddenly fell, falling for what seemed like hours. He finally hit the ground harmlessly. He then looked around. All he could see was pitch black, until finally, he saw a table, at the table, an old woman sat in a web-like chair. She explained what she was, a being with no concept of time that had been making champions of justice for the world. She saw that he was a good man that could be even greater if he accepted her gift. She produced for him a bowl of black sludge, and told him to cleanse his sins in the bowl. He dipped his hands in and the sludge began running up his arms and into his eyes. He awoke face down in the alleyway. He must have passed out and had some crazy nightmare... Someone must have spiked his drink, now to go home and... He then saw his hand... A black fabric covered it, a voice whispered in his ear that he was perfectly safe, but it was time to prove himself worthy of the Spider. It seemed like instinct, he webbed up to the roof, before following a police chase to a warehouse, where he found the burglar that had killed his uncle. He easily subdued the man and looked into his frightened eyes. He heard a voice telling him that this was a test. That his actions would determine if he was worthy of the spider. He wanted to kill the man so very badly. But... He knew that his Uncle wouldn't want it. He dropped the man. He told the spider that he didn't want this power if it would ask him to kill people. He webbed the man up and left him fort he police, before leaving. He jumped out the window and landed in Madame Webs parlour again. She told him that he had passed. He is now grieving for the loss of Uncle Ben, but takes consolation in the fact that his loss has been the gain of everyone else in new york. Key Differences - A complete re-imagining that I've had in mind for a while, these are the key differences: 1) Spider-Man was not bitten by a radioactive spider. Instead, he was recruited to become a Spider by Madame Web. 2) Venom is a part of him. It serves as his weapon, the source of his powers, and his mentor. 3) He is not the first Spider-Man. The Spider-Man is a legend that stretches back centuries. Notes -
4,737	124	0	614	5,838	Things were going smoothly so far. Pretty much as they always did. "Everyone in position?" He whispered into his communicator as he stood near the exit of the room he was currently standing in. It was a room filled with people. Yes that's right. He was hiding in plain sight as a guest at the party he was attending. Was there a reason? Of course. In this very room were four of the worlds current most dangerous men. The current group of agents had one mission. Find them. Isolate them. And kill them. The reason for this being that said men had already committed various acts of terrorism and were no doubt planning more. So it was necessary to handle this mission with utmost precision. His team should have been ready by now. The marksman, or rather woman, was stationed outside with a clear view of the balcony which their member most skilled in stealth and espionage would trick one of the men, Aaron Thomson, into walking out onto so that he could be taken out quickly. The muscle, as he was referred to, would then hurry and take care of the next target Nicolai Spopovich. The remaining two, Kaito Nakamura and Joseph Franklin, would be handled by him and their resident mutant. "Hey Birdie we still have a good escape route right?" He then asked the team techy as he located one of the targets. Birdie. That was a nickname for her. Right now it was safer to keep her in their escape vehicle with their getaway driver outside of the party so they could make sure they left quickly. There was no doubt in Henry's mind that this mission would go off without a hitch. They had the skill and strategy to make sure their four targets wouldn't be leaving this party. And so long as they weren't caught they wouldn't be traced. Birdie after all should have been able to hack into any security system and cameras that could pose a problem or expose this. This was covert. But doing it in this setting was most ideal so that the suspect list would be high. And being that most here were fairly important people the incident would likely be swept under the rug with the right persuasion. Not to mention to vast level of hate the men had acquired during their lives. Maybe it was a bit harsh and cruel. But if killing them could help better the world then they had to. Besides. Those were their orders.	Appearance: Name: Milo “Spriggs” CashAge: 18Gender: MaleRole: PilotSkills: Mass vehicle memory, can drive anything, vehicle repairPowers: (mutant for now. Later we may get some action in this depending)Personality: TBRHistory: Spriggs was born with a knack for anything vehicles, by the age of 5 he was working on vehicles, by 7 he drove like a pro (took some jury-rigging to work but he could do it), by 9 he flew better than most men. Other: -His nickname was stolen from a halo 3 machinima--The only vehicle he actually owns is this -He carries a knife and a gun just in case-Armor has a HUD and connects to vehicles giving him a read on the one he's in, and the HUD allows him to see farther, see video, and easily read data Hmmm... Halo... Ugh... lol believe it or not I used to love it, and might still, but I have bad memories involving it lol XD No but seriously. As far as the character goes I think you've got the concept down. However, I also think you could be a bit more detailed. It isn't a big point as I'd like us to just get a move on. Still the problem I have comes with the armor. The reason being that as a part of the team he probably wouldn't need the armor too much. It would only be allowed on certain missions and on special occasions. This being because for the most part you're our getaway driver and even when not you'd be with us and most of our missions would need to be kept discreet. lol and the armor doesn't really whisper discreet XD
4,738	124	1	232	188	Birdie had never enjoyed being stuck as the chauffeur, it was just a little less than exciting. But it was part of the mission, and the mission was the most important thing. Especially if the mission's targets were terrorists; it could mean life or death for a good amount of people, should the mission be a success or a failure. Nine out of ten the missions were a success, but nevertheless, something could always go wrong. Which was why they had to keep everyone where they were supposed to be. "We always have a good escape route. It's like you don't trust me." Birdie mumbled, sounding disappointed and putting her feet onto the dashboard. She typed away on her computer quickly, lighting up a few of the computers which were set up in their vehicle. "Wired in to all the building's security cameras. Just in case anyone catches on. And in case you need a new escape plan. Have any of you gotten visual on who we're lookin' for yet?" She glanced at one of the security cameras facing to the main room.	Name: Beatrice Russell or simply, "Birdie". Age: 19 Gender: Female Role: Techy Skills: Martial Artist - She's trained in various martial arts. In her younger years, she took classes until she'd left home, and then once she had a need to protect herself, she sought out a way to learn more. Acrobat - As before, she was taught at a young age and then as she grew older, decided to further develop this skill. Not only for self protection, but for personal enjoyment, as well. Aerialist - Due to her desire to create a better version of the Falcon wings, she's had to undergo a lot of self training/practice and trial and error, which has led her to become a skilled aerialist. Not yet exceeding that of Sam Wilson, but is certainly talented in the art of flying. Powers: None (yet) Personality: I'm lazy so I'm going to RP it out lol. History: Beatrice was born in New York City. She was the only child to her single mother, who in her younger years, was raised at a circus, being one of the main acrobats. This is what made her put Beatrice into martial arts and other classes, as she had fun with it in her youth and Beatrice did as well. She and her mother lived in a small apartment in the bad side of town, where Beatrice always took interest in the heroes on her TV screen. It always made her wish she could be out there like them, instead of cooped up in a small apartment. Her mother over worked herself just so they could get by, so Beatrice mostly lived alone. In this time, she would wander the neighborhood stealing small scraps of metal and tools and even attempt at stealing cellphones and computers. Outside in the alleyway, she'd built herself a small room with her computers and electronics hidden in one of the buildings, where she took things apart and built other things, all while making sure she was back inside before her mother came home. But unfortunately, one day, her mother truly had overworked herself and had a heart attack on her way home. This left Beatrice in the custody of her father, who beat and abused her, so she'd not dealt with it long and ran away from home with what little she had. Though she was only eleven at the time, Beatrice kept herself alive, even through the harsh winters that could plague New York. The older she got, the more bored she got and so the more her small room hidden by the buildings grew. She'd ran a cord into the apartments above to get electricity, and had worked night and day to build small gadgets and set her mind on someday making big ones, too. But supplies to build didn't just appear, and Beatrice had a reputation for stealing metal, tools, and electronics from around the area of town she stayed near. If she hadn't hacked into the street cameras, she'd probably have been easily caught, and she was also good at leading them off her trail. But after one slip up, she'd ended up arrested, but was surprisingly seen by SHIELD, who offered to take her in... and if not, she'd go to jail. Naturally, she accepted. Other:
4,739	124	2	1,260	4,468	Tris listened in and spoke to the group, "all ready to go." She said softly before looking around the party. The look of her two main targets drilled into her mind, Tris wore a brown wig that was curled on the ends and grey-light blue contacts sitting in her eyes disguising her along with the makeup and clothing. Her outfit was the perfect use of her skills to acquire and eliminate her targets. Tris walked through the party smiling and 'accidentally' bumped into a man. She dropped her purse and bent down. "Oh let me help you." A deep voice said with a slight accent. "oh thank you so much!" Tris said happily before they both stood up and he handed her what he had picked up. Tris put everything in her purse and held her hand out. "I'm Olivia Mercer, pleased to meet you!" Tris or 'Olivia' said. "Arron Thompson, and the pleasure is all mine." Arron said shaking her hand lightly, "Care to join me for a drink?" He asked. "Why that sounds amazing, yes please!" Olivia said following him over to the bar. They began to have some drinks and just talk, or so he thought.	Name: Beatrice 'Tris' Evans Age: 20 Gender: Female Role: Stealth Skills: Advance Martial Artist: Tris is knowledgeable in the field of martial arts. She has mastered karate, judo, and boxing; she is currently working on savate, aikido, lucha-libre style wrestling and multiple styles of kung fu. Combined with her always improving: strength, speed and agility her fighting skills continue to get better although she has a lot of room to improve. Expert Acrobat: Tris always loved gymnastics as a child and her skills have allowed for her to be a high level. Talented Marksman: Tris is a pretty accurate marksman skilled in sharpshooting and knife throwing which helps when she needs to assassinate someone. Multilingual: She is fluent in French and Spanish and speaks some German, Russian, and Chinese so far. Advance Interrogator: With a twist of words she can get people to spill secrets and twist their words to help retrieve more information. Advance Seductress: She is close to being an expert in the field of seduction. Tris can sometimes bend men to her will and sometimes even get them to do her bidding for her, but no where near as good as Black Widow. High-Level Spy: Tris is a S.H.I.E.L.D agent trained in espionage, stealth, disguise, and infiltration. Her training from her father still helps her to continue to get better. Powers: None for now Personality: Mainly TBR but a small overview is mysterious, fiesty, and flirty. History: Not much is known about Tris and she tends to enjoy keeping it that way but what is known is that she has been training since she was sixteen to be an assassin. Tris had something happen to her at a younger age where she was orphaned and then adopted by a S.H.E.I.L.D. agent along with her baby brother. That agent didn't let on that he was an agent until a horrific event(That you'll have to learn about another time). When he finally revealed it to Tris, she instantly wanted in and they got to work on training. Nothing could beat her desire to be an assassin. Other: She has a fear of thunderstorms but she refuses to tell people that. BLACK WIDOW!!!!!!!!
4,740	124	3	429	393	Waiting ever so calmly in her position was Haleigh, the expert marks-person. "I'm ready when you all are," she replied getting her weapons ready. The only question is which to use, the cross bow with a poison dart or the classic sniper? Decisions like this were always tough for her to make, so to keep things easy she decided on the gun. Haleigh never missed, and if she did it was a rare thing, she looked through the telescope ontop of her gun and waited for the target to come out. "I say after this we have a party of our own, drinks and what not." Haleigh smiled.	Name: Haleigh Alison Andrews Age: 19 Gender: Female Role: Markswoman Skills: Archery, accuracy. Able to hit a target from a great distance, always hits the bull's eye. Powers: None, and will not undergo the experimentation process. Personality: Caring, stubborn, courageous. Will do what it takes to impress anyone who is above her, she won't let anyone hold her back because she is a woman. History: Haleigh was born in Calgary Canada to Jessica and Austin Andrews, Jessica was an olympic archer and had won more than her share of gold medals. She passed this skill down to Haleigh who at a young age learned how to use a bow, her father was a police officer and taught her how to shoot at the local gun range. Her childhood was a good one, her parents adored her and often spoiled her as she was and will be their only child. Tragedy struck when Haleigh was fourteen years old both her parents were killed in a car accident, since that day Haleigh had been in and out of foster care, running around with the wrong crowd, causing trouble for anyone who took her in. When she was seventeen she was arrested for breaking into a lab where they tested on animals, she was caught by the police and taken to jail. Haleigh expected to be sent straight to jail, that wasn't the case. She was recruited by SHIELD and given the option, work for them or go to jail, Haleigh took working for them. With SHIELD's help she managed to get her High School diploma with honours, Haleigh owes SHIELD a lot for helping her out. As of now she is their go to person when a target from a distance needs to be taken out. Other: As stated she loves animals of all sorts and hates it when anyone harms them. Other Other: Wolverine.
4,741	124	4	1,948	1,262	Jack was sighing as he stood in the corner of that lavish, expensive party. He wasn't used to functions like this or wearing a three piece suit. The tailor had been insistent on making his suit a little tighter to show off his muscular physique, claiming that it was fashionable for well-built men like him and he had to look the part of high society. They were here to be subtle and take out their targets, and that option wasn't exactly open for him if he was drawing the attention of the women (and a few of the men) his way. He was lucky in that regard, since he would only need to make a move if things went south, otherwise the only thing he'd need to do was take point and clear the two guards blocking their path to the escape route. "Yes, I'm in position... and very uncomfortable in case anyone's wondering. And it's not just the suit." He lifted the glass of champagne he had in his hands to pretend he was taking a sip while reporting in. So there he was, standing in the corner with a small glass of champagne and a ring with a poison needle in its setting as his method of assassination. He would have preferred not to use poison and simply snap the guy's neck from behind, but the whole point of the operation was to be subtle. He was situated near the door to the balcony as well, in case Tris was exposed or spotted. At least he had a nice view of her working her magic from here. Even with his looks and physique being a distraction for the women in the SHIELD gym, the only charm he had in the seduction department was just on the salmon ladder. He was an army brat, after all, and took on his opponents head on. He didn't have the finesse or eloquence to charm people the way Tris did. Then again, that was why he was on this team in the first place. He was their muscle and heavy hitter. He was their stone wall of Nehemiah, their Samson, their Hercules. Tris was their ninja and very own Black Widow (though she didn't like to be compared to the latter), just like Haleigh was their... Bob Lee Swagger. He really needed to brush up on his character analogies. The only one he had for Birdie was Evil Knievel. Or maybe Vin Diesel... Let's just focus on the mission. He reminded himself, dropping the internal monologue and character references. And this really suffocating torture suit.	Name: Jack Graham Age: 22 Gender: Male Role: Muscle Skills: - Excellent physical condition, especially in terms of strength and endurance - Mastery of several martial arts including but not limited to: Krav Maga, Jiujitsu, Aikido, Muay Thai, Ninjutsu - Proficient with a variety of weaponry - swords, axes, staves, blunt weapons, knives. - History of SHIELD and military training with stealth, technology and explosives - Firearms Training - Reads body language well Powers: (mutant for now. Later we may get some action in this depending) Personality: Jack speaks his mind and doesn't care if anyone takes offense - he's blunt and frank, especially when it comes to cautioning his friends or advising them. He's a team player and puts the needs of the team above his own, but also has a large heart and a strict moral code of his own - one that he will stand by even against the dissent of his teammates or friends. Peer pressure isn't likely to work on him but he takes honest feedback to heart. Very quiet on personal matters and doesn't like people prying into his past. History: Jack was always a sporty kid growing up, and while he was always passionate and participating in sports, it didn't mean he was a bad student or a dumb jock. While he wasn't a straight A student, his attitude towards sports was his attitude towards everything he did - he gave his best effort. He enlisted in the military since he was an army brat, with his family spawning several generations of excellent soldiers. He was recruited into SHIELD after a scandal in his military career from a botched mission earned him a dishonorable discharge from the army. Other: Favourite Superhero: Captain America, though he's not a fanboy like Phil Coulson. Close second would be Black Panther. Works out on a salmon ladder ;)
4,742	124	5	1,759	160	Frederick wandered around the room slowly, carefully balancing the drinks tray upon his hand. He glanced at the rest of his teammates within the room, and wandered how they were reacting to this situation, because he was stressing out, so many people. He didn't really like people, they had too many flaws, too much to go wrong. He looked at his target, man, middle age, dark beard. This shouldn't be too much of a difficult task, just one man, yet the room was packed. He could deal with that though. His waiter's outfit was a tad loose, due to a last minute change in plans, but it would suffice. Simple, bow-tie, white shirt, black tux, but out of place among these men, but fine nonetheless, they didn't suspect anything, he hoped. "Everyone in position?" Frederick almost jumped at the little voice in his ear, but he managed to keep a calm demeanour, the only sign of his surprise a slight rocking of the tray he held upon his hand. He looked around to check whether anyone had noticed his little hiccup, luckily not. He recognised that his target had almost finished his drink, perfect. His target was known to be slightly keen on alcohol, and that made Frederick's job a whole lot easier. "Check. Target will be flushed and down in under 5 minutes." he whispered, barely moving his mouth. He made a small chuckle at his toilet joke. As he did this, he slipped a small soluble pill into one of the champagne glasses, making sure it was on the furthermost side from Frederick, therefore his target would be more likely to pick it. The pill would cause an urgent need to, as they say, go. As he walked towards the man, he brushed against Jack, and almost spilled the drinks, but managed to rescue the situation. He gave a small scowl to the hunk of muscle, but then focused on the man ahead of him. He walked up, just as the man finished the drink, and questioned. "Another sir?" As he took the empty glass, the man took the furthermost champagne glass from Frederick, and a man he was talking to took the one right next to it. Luckily, they hadn't done it the other way round. He studied the other man intensely, short, around 5 11. Blond hair, blue eyes, mid 20s, not sure why he was here, but all Frederick needed was his appearance. Then all he had to do was wait. The pill would take it's effect soon, all he had to do was wait.	Name: Frederick Aldura Age: 18 Gender: Male Role: Mutant Skills: Athletic and flexible, fast runner, good eyesight, yet not as good as marksman. Powers: The ability to create illusions. These illusions have no effect on the real world, but they are quite believable if not touched. Yet, if Frederick is attempting to create something that he is not sure of the appearance, it is likely that there will be faults. His illusions can have sound and create light and shadows, but this is more difficult, and takes him more effort. Personality: (Will find out during the RP, but I shall put basics) - Quiet, tries to like most people, yet he finds flaws in people too easily. History: Frederick was brought up in Scotland, in a small town called Inverness, which didn't have many people, and therefore, they didn't have much contact with the outside world. The town was not full of technology, yet it had enough agriculture to survive almost completely independently. Ferdinand's mother was a typical country mother, constantly cooking home foods, which Ferdinand thought were incredibly addictive. Yet, his father was abusive, and he wasn't an alcoholic abusive, he just received pleasure from abusing others, especially Ferdinand and his mother. When Ferdinand's father came towards him one day, at the age of fourteen, Ferdinand panicked and threw up his hands, suddenly, his father stopped, and gasped. Ferdinand looks up from his hands, joyous, a wall had appeared between them. At first, he thought he could create objects, out of thin air, like the magic folklores of his village, but then he saw his father's hand come through the wall, and he used his father's confusion as a chance to escape. He ran from the village, as he heard the shouts of not only his father, but a lot of the village. Word spread quickly among the people, and obviously, they thought he was a demon. The rest of his life is a blur even to him, but somehow, he was lead to America, and S.H.I.E.L.D found him, and trained him, and that's how he is where he is now. Other: Favourite Super: Gotta be Gambit
4,743	124	6	1,808	1,380	Milo was sitting outside with Birdie in the limousine, waiting for the real party to start party don't start till blood gets spilled. Once the team gets out then they all drive away, off to Headquarters just to get by till the next mission. "Don't forget give me the go to drive up when you're on the way out. Twelve seconds can make all the difference," Milo didn't feel it was necessary to tell the team this, all of them have been doing it longer than him, he just had to feel he was doing something more than sitting outside in a nice cushy limo while people inside were doing some James Bond type stuff.	Name: Milo “Spriggs” Cash Age: 18 Gender: Male Role: Pilot Skills: Mass vehicle memory, can drive anything, vehicle repair Powers: (mutant for now. Later we may get some action in this depending) Personality: TBR History: Spriggs was born with a knack for anything vehicles, by the age of 5 he was working on vehicles, by 7 he drove like a pro (took some jury-rigging to work but he could do it), by 9 he flew better than most men. Other: -His nickname was stolen from a halo 3 machinima- -The only vehicle he actually owns is this motorcycle -He carries a knife and a gun just in case -Armor has a HUD and connects to vehicles giving him a read on the one he's in, and the HUD allows him to see farther, see video, and easily read data
4,744	124	7	2,235	2,291	Voltina sat in a corner of the room sitting at a table with some of the men who`d come flirting with her. She`d give a fake laugh every now and then to their stupid jokes. The metal and wiring was being covered with latex made to match her skin color. Her one gold eye having a blue contact to match her other blue eye. She was wearing a short, strapless black dress. Looking around the room she already knew there were people that shouldn`t be here. "Excuse me fine gentleman I have something I need to attend too." She said with a fake smile and stood up walking across the room over to Jack. "Excuse me I can`t help but notice that your suit is rather suffocating." Voltina said with a endearing smile. She really was a master at faking emotions in front of others.	Name: Voltina (Kit Maxwell) Age: 22 Gender: Female Role: H.Y.D.R.A.`s leader Skills: Powers: Technopathy Personality: To be rped. History: She used to be a normal girl and she was sweet and kind. Parents... well not really parents. Not real parents, they put her into a mental hospital when she was only 7. In this 'hospital' they did experiments on her. One most important involved technology. Certain parts of her body were taken and replaced by steal and wiring. This lead to her powers of Technopathy. Although through these experiments she became cold and heartless. She escaped the hospital and burned it down at the age of 18. After that she went on to form H.Y.D.R.A. Other: Thor.
4,745	124	8	1,260	4,468	Olivia(Tris) leaned into the man and whispered into his ear. "Why don't we go somewhere more private?" she whispered quietly and seductively as she grabbed his tie and pulled him towards the balcony. As she passed Jack and Voltina she winked at Jack jokingly and walked out the door to the balcony shutting the door locking it and closing a curtain. Arron turned her around and leaned down kissing her, she just allowed it to happen pretending to enjoy it as he moved his hands down her sides. Unknown to most she never had really been in a relationship or gone further than kissing much to a lot of peoples surprise. Olivia smirked and pushed him back and picked her foot up pushing him into a chair on the balcony holding him down and looking quite seductive as she did so. Tris leaned in and whispered into his ear one more time, "I injected you with a paralyzing substance, you no longer can move or talk and I assure you it won't last long because soon you will be dead." She smirked and pulled back and looked into his wide eyes. Tris looked towards Haleigh and gave her the signal before opening her purse and pulling out a new disguise. She removed the wig and heels and threw them into the purse before turning around and quickly changing into her new disguise to get back to the party and just have a bit more fun before leaving. Tris reapplied makeup in less than a minute and put in new colored contacts and put on a new wig. Tris slipped on the new outfit and opened the balcony door enough to slip through and then closed it again. Tris walked over to the bar and ordered a martini and stood at the bar sipping it looking and watching everyone to make sure everything goes smoothly. If it doesn't she can just jump in and help fight although she will always prefer to fight in her normal outfit she is used to fighting in dresses and heels if needed.	Name: Beatrice 'Tris' Evans Age: 20 Gender: Female Role: Stealth Skills: Advance Martial Artist: Tris is knowledgeable in the field of martial arts. She has mastered karate, judo, and boxing; she is currently working on savate, aikido, lucha-libre style wrestling and multiple styles of kung fu. Combined with her always improving: strength, speed and agility her fighting skills continue to get better although she has a lot of room to improve. Expert Acrobat: Tris always loved gymnastics as a child and her skills have allowed for her to be a high level. Talented Marksman: Tris is a pretty accurate marksman skilled in sharpshooting and knife throwing which helps when she needs to assassinate someone. Multilingual: She is fluent in French and Spanish and speaks some German, Russian, and Chinese so far. Advance Interrogator: With a twist of words she can get people to spill secrets and twist their words to help retrieve more information. Advance Seductress: She is close to being an expert in the field of seduction. Tris can sometimes bend men to her will and sometimes even get them to do her bidding for her, but no where near as good as Black Widow. High-Level Spy: Tris is a S.H.I.E.L.D agent trained in espionage, stealth, disguise, and infiltration. Her training from her father still helps her to continue to get better. Powers: None for now Personality: Mainly TBR but a small overview is mysterious, fiesty, and flirty. History: Not much is known about Tris and she tends to enjoy keeping it that way but what is known is that she has been training since she was sixteen to be an assassin. Tris had something happen to her at a younger age where she was orphaned and then adopted by a S.H.E.I.L.D. agent along with her baby brother. That agent didn't let on that he was an agent until a horrific event(That you'll have to learn about another time). When he finally revealed it to Tris, she instantly wanted in and they got to work on training. Nothing could beat her desire to be an assassin. Other: She has a fear of thunderstorms but she refuses to tell people that. BLACK WIDOW!!!!!!!!
4,746	124	9	614	5,838	Oh shut up. You know I trust you. Henry said quietly with a calm smile evident on his face before he set sight on one of the targets. One was entering the coat room and one didn't look like he'd be moving from his seat anytime soon. "Damn." He said mumbled to himself before noticing Jack. A woman? Oh no... If he recalled she was. "Jack... You're target is heading for the coat room. Probably trying to find a quiet area. But he might also be up to something. If possible I need you to follow. And don't let the woman by you know too much about you." He said before making his way to the buffet. He had to be inconspicuous. At least to an extent. He grabbed a plate and picked up some food before making his way to the table his target was sitting at. "Hope you don't mind me sitting here." He said to the man with a smile as he took a seat. "Hard to find a peaceful table." He added. "Of course, not. I know how it is." The man responded. "So what is it that you want?" The man seemed to ask out of nowhere. "Nobody at the party is unaware of who I am. It is only safe to think you do as well." This was unsettling. It was known that they were under suspicion, but with the exception of a select group nobody actually knew who they were. "I mean my company of course. You want money. You aren't the first to approach me for such a need. So what can the great Kaito Nakamura do for you?" He then asked as he took a sip of his drink. Henry sighed in relief then let out a soft chuckle. "You caught me." He said before turning to face the man. "I do need something. But it isn't what you think." He as he placed his hands on Nakamura's shoulder. "I simply need to complete my mission and confirm your death." The young man smirked as his target began to cough. He'd be dead within minutes. It started with a cough. Henry had placed a small drug in the drink when the man was focused on him. It would be enough. The drug would force the man's throat ot close off. and soon he would stop breathing and other functions would fail and best of all he couldn't talk. Perfect. "Status report." He finally spoke after leaving Mr. Nakamura. He pulled out a cigarette. He didn't smoke, but it was a good excuse. Mr. Nakamura was coughing a bit more violently. Henry would be gone soon. "Nakamura will be down soon. So I'll be heading out. I suggest the rest of you pull out as well. Meet in the front." He gave the orders fairly precisely and then glanced back at Jack. "Oh and Jack. Being that your target and you will be fairly alone. You don't have to use the ring if you don't want to. Just make it quick and silent." He said as he exited. Under the guise of needing a smoke he would be outside. And he could take a bit of time to think. Hmm. Maybe a party wouldn't be so bad. Well... Not a party so much as a celebration. He thought as he finally reached the outside. The team had been working their asses off later. Sure sometimes it was kind of thrilling, but it was good to relax a bit every so often. "Milo. Be ready. You'll need to pick us up in about 10 minutes. And then we need to get Haleigh and get back to New York. This mission wasn't in New York. But it was in the states. The rich and a few terrorists. So nice. Really it was. If you liked that kind of thing and it didn't make you sick. Still right now they were in the middle of Virginia. Why Virginia? Who the hell knows? The rich were kind of confusing and... Um... Odd. There wasn't much else to say. "Oh. And Birdie. We'll be having some company tonight. I think we all need to celebrate a job well done and a completed mission." He spoke so quietly and kept things clear. He didn't want to arouse unwanted attention.	Appearance: Name: Milo “Spriggs” CashAge: 18Gender: MaleRole: PilotSkills: Mass vehicle memory, can drive anything, vehicle repairPowers: (mutant for now. Later we may get some action in this depending)Personality: TBRHistory: Spriggs was born with a knack for anything vehicles, by the age of 5 he was working on vehicles, by 7 he drove like a pro (took some jury-rigging to work but he could do it), by 9 he flew better than most men. Other: -His nickname was stolen from a halo 3 machinima--The only vehicle he actually owns is this -He carries a knife and a gun just in case-Armor has a HUD and connects to vehicles giving him a read on the one he's in, and the HUD allows him to see farther, see video, and easily read data Hmmm... Halo... Ugh... lol believe it or not I used to love it, and might still, but I have bad memories involving it lol XD No but seriously. As far as the character goes I think you've got the concept down. However, I also think you could be a bit more detailed. It isn't a big point as I'd like us to just get a move on. Still the problem I have comes with the armor. The reason being that as a part of the team he probably wouldn't need the armor too much. It would only be allowed on certain missions and on special occasions. This being because for the most part you're our getaway driver and even when not you'd be with us and most of our missions would need to be kept discreet. lol and the armor doesn't really whisper discreet XD
4,747	124	10	429	393	With a faint pop sound the man dropped to the ground, "game, set..match." Haleigh replied with a grin, "target is dead." She spoke into the communicator, with speed she disassembled her gun and placed it in a bag. "What did I tell you piece of cake, now hurry your butts over here and come and get me before somebody finds out and this all goes south." (Sorry for short post, writers block.)	Name: Haleigh Alison Andrews Age: 19 Gender: Female Role: Markswoman Skills: Archery, accuracy. Able to hit a target from a great distance, always hits the bull's eye. Powers: None, and will not undergo the experimentation process. Personality: Caring, stubborn, courageous. Will do what it takes to impress anyone who is above her, she won't let anyone hold her back because she is a woman. History: Haleigh was born in Calgary Canada to Jessica and Austin Andrews, Jessica was an olympic archer and had won more than her share of gold medals. She passed this skill down to Haleigh who at a young age learned how to use a bow, her father was a police officer and taught her how to shoot at the local gun range. Her childhood was a good one, her parents adored her and often spoiled her as she was and will be their only child. Tragedy struck when Haleigh was fourteen years old both her parents were killed in a car accident, since that day Haleigh had been in and out of foster care, running around with the wrong crowd, causing trouble for anyone who took her in. When she was seventeen she was arrested for breaking into a lab where they tested on animals, she was caught by the police and taken to jail. Haleigh expected to be sent straight to jail, that wasn't the case. She was recruited by SHIELD and given the option, work for them or go to jail, Haleigh took working for them. With SHIELD's help she managed to get her High School diploma with honours, Haleigh owes SHIELD a lot for helping her out. As of now she is their go to person when a target from a distance needs to be taken out. Other: As stated she loves animals of all sorts and hates it when anyone harms them. Other Other: Wolverine.
4,748	124	11	1,948	1,262	It was a good thing the warning came in time, so Jack simply took another sip of his champagne as he tried to figure out a way to evade the woman and carry out his end of the mission. He remembered that his sister would have one of her girlfriends nearby and they would pretend to be lesbians whenever one of them was getting hit on by a creep. It gave him an idea for a cover story. "Yes, it is... but you got to do what your client wants in my ah, line of work." Jack replied with a smile. It looked awkward, but it lent credence to his tale, he hoped, that he was there simply as someone's escort-slash-gigolo for the night. "I'm sorry, this is quite embarrassing... I think I'll go check if she's still in the bathroom." No doubt his team would have heard that and he hoped Tris would back him up... or else he would have to leave through the back door and deal with the security team. He made for the bathroom, making it look as if he was worried about not getting paid if the "client" found him flirting with another woman. Fortunately for him, the coat room was in the same direction. A left turn down the hall and he was out of sight of the woman, pushing the door to the coat room open. His target was there, preparing to leave and facing Jack. "Ah, I'm sorry, do you mind? My coat's the grey one-" The man nodded and turned around to help him retrieve the coat, which was when he snapped the man's neck with a violent twist of his head. He moved the man's body to the back of the room behind the coat racks, just to make the body that much harder to find. It would buy them a few more minutes at least. "My man is down, and I might need Tris to assist me a little." He reported, as he headed to scout out his back door exit plain. Two guards, run of the mill security. "Or I could use the back door. Doesn't seem to be much trouble there, I'll double around and meet you guys."	Name: Jack Graham Age: 22 Gender: Male Role: Muscle Skills: - Excellent physical condition, especially in terms of strength and endurance - Mastery of several martial arts including but not limited to: Krav Maga, Jiujitsu, Aikido, Muay Thai, Ninjutsu - Proficient with a variety of weaponry - swords, axes, staves, blunt weapons, knives. - History of SHIELD and military training with stealth, technology and explosives - Firearms Training - Reads body language well Powers: (mutant for now. Later we may get some action in this depending) Personality: Jack speaks his mind and doesn't care if anyone takes offense - he's blunt and frank, especially when it comes to cautioning his friends or advising them. He's a team player and puts the needs of the team above his own, but also has a large heart and a strict moral code of his own - one that he will stand by even against the dissent of his teammates or friends. Peer pressure isn't likely to work on him but he takes honest feedback to heart. Very quiet on personal matters and doesn't like people prying into his past. History: Jack was always a sporty kid growing up, and while he was always passionate and participating in sports, it didn't mean he was a bad student or a dumb jock. While he wasn't a straight A student, his attitude towards sports was his attitude towards everything he did - he gave his best effort. He enlisted in the military since he was an army brat, with his family spawning several generations of excellent soldiers. He was recruited into SHIELD after a scandal in his military career from a botched mission earned him a dishonorable discharge from the army. Other: Favourite Superhero: Captain America, though he's not a fanboy like Phil Coulson. Close second would be Black Panther. Works out on a salmon ladder ;)
4,749	124	12	1,260	4,468	Tris nodded, "got it, I will cause a distraction to allow everyone to get down to our meeting point, then when you all are there, I'll get out." Tris said walking to the middle of the room carrying a Bloody Mary she grabbed from someone and walked kind of drunk looking, although she wasn't, and ran into a bitchy looking woman in a white dress. She spilled the red drink onto the girl and the woman shrieked. "You slut! You spilled your drink on me!!!" She exclaimed. "Oops did I do that, Sorryyy~" Tris said slurring her words slightly and using a strange voice that seemed high pitched. The woman then slapped Tris and Tris pretended to be shocked before slapping her back lightly, that caused a cat fight that drew basically all of the attention and since the room was mainly men they just watched as two 'attractive women' as they thought, had a cat fight. Gris didn't fight like she normally did she just fought at the level of the other women. The only thing was her wig was beginning to become loose in enemy territory.	Name: Beatrice 'Tris' Evans Age: 20 Gender: Female Role: Stealth Skills: Advance Martial Artist: Tris is knowledgeable in the field of martial arts. She has mastered karate, judo, and boxing; she is currently working on savate, aikido, lucha-libre style wrestling and multiple styles of kung fu. Combined with her always improving: strength, speed and agility her fighting skills continue to get better although she has a lot of room to improve. Expert Acrobat: Tris always loved gymnastics as a child and her skills have allowed for her to be a high level. Talented Marksman: Tris is a pretty accurate marksman skilled in sharpshooting and knife throwing which helps when she needs to assassinate someone. Multilingual: She is fluent in French and Spanish and speaks some German, Russian, and Chinese so far. Advance Interrogator: With a twist of words she can get people to spill secrets and twist their words to help retrieve more information. Advance Seductress: She is close to being an expert in the field of seduction. Tris can sometimes bend men to her will and sometimes even get them to do her bidding for her, but no where near as good as Black Widow. High-Level Spy: Tris is a S.H.I.E.L.D agent trained in espionage, stealth, disguise, and infiltration. Her training from her father still helps her to continue to get better. Powers: None for now Personality: Mainly TBR but a small overview is mysterious, fiesty, and flirty. History: Not much is known about Tris and she tends to enjoy keeping it that way but what is known is that she has been training since she was sixteen to be an assassin. Tris had something happen to her at a younger age where she was orphaned and then adopted by a S.H.E.I.L.D. agent along with her baby brother. That agent didn't let on that he was an agent until a horrific event(That you'll have to learn about another time). When he finally revealed it to Tris, she instantly wanted in and they got to work on training. Nothing could beat her desire to be an assassin. Other: She has a fear of thunderstorms but she refuses to tell people that. BLACK WIDOW!!!!!!!!
4,750	124	13	1,759	160	As expected, after the 3 or four minute mark, Joseph Franklin, his target, quickly excused himself from the conversation he was having with the other man, and rushed to the loo. Frederick placed down the tray somewhere at the back of the room, and quietly slipped into the first door into the toilets, there was a second one into the men's. He concentrated, remembering the appearance of the man that Joseph was talking to, and placed an illusion of the man upon himself. He looked down at himself, and chuckled slightly, he liked it when things went to plan. He entered the men's toilets, and his target was standing at a urinal. Joseph peered back at Frederick and stood silent for a moment. Frederick quickly worried that he had done something evidently wrong, but then realised that the Joseph was smiling. "Peter! I have decided what I'm going to do, I'm gonna get the arms off of that contact I used last year, good guy, trustworthy. Do you think that's a good idea?" Frederick waled silently up to Joseph, also smiling, unfortunately, it would cause too much effort to create noise added to the illusion. He slipped the knife he was carrying out of his sleeve, and his smile grew. "Peter-" Before Joseph had time to utter another word, he was stabbed in the back of the neck, blood spraying onto the urinal in front of him, but luckily only the small tip had gone through, so there was not too much blood. Frederick dropped the illusion, and quickly placed the towel from his arm around Joseph's neck, preventing any blood from spilling on the floor. He dragged Joseph to a cubicle, climbed on top of the cubicle, locked it, and then jumped to the other side. He waved his hand in front of the motion sensor urinals, and they flushed, taking the blood along with the urine. "Well that's a bit grim." Frederick grimaced, and washed his hands and the knife in the sink. and placed the knife back up his sleeve, ensuring that it was secure. He excited the toilets, straightening his bow tie as he left. He looked around for the aforementioned 'Peter', and noticed that he was in conversation with another person, so Joseph shouldn't be missed for a while. "Target has been disposed of, yet I agree we leave quickly, as he's in the cubicle, shouldn't be noticed for a while, but we can't risk it." Frederick witnessed the cat fight break out in front of him, and noticed Tris' wig start to fall off. That would be pretty disastrous, and would probably cause the entirety of the mission to fail. Frederick saw this as an opportunity to get both him and Tris, and possibly some others out of the building. He walked in to the fight, and pulled Tris away from the woman, which was surprisingly difficult, the other woman was pulling back, but Frederick did his best, he needed some assistance. During him pulling her back, he slyly repositioned her wig back onto her head, and sighed in relief. "Please lady, step outside." Frederick hoped she would recognise his voice, and then they could both leave, and no-one should suspect anything, but if it was too much for Frederick, their resident muscle, Jack, could always step in to lend a hand.	Name: Frederick Aldura Age: 18 Gender: Male Role: Mutant Skills: Athletic and flexible, fast runner, good eyesight, yet not as good as marksman. Powers: The ability to create illusions. These illusions have no effect on the real world, but they are quite believable if not touched. Yet, if Frederick is attempting to create something that he is not sure of the appearance, it is likely that there will be faults. His illusions can have sound and create light and shadows, but this is more difficult, and takes him more effort. Personality: (Will find out during the RP, but I shall put basics) - Quiet, tries to like most people, yet he finds flaws in people too easily. History: Frederick was brought up in Scotland, in a small town called Inverness, which didn't have many people, and therefore, they didn't have much contact with the outside world. The town was not full of technology, yet it had enough agriculture to survive almost completely independently. Ferdinand's mother was a typical country mother, constantly cooking home foods, which Ferdinand thought were incredibly addictive. Yet, his father was abusive, and he wasn't an alcoholic abusive, he just received pleasure from abusing others, especially Ferdinand and his mother. When Ferdinand's father came towards him one day, at the age of fourteen, Ferdinand panicked and threw up his hands, suddenly, his father stopped, and gasped. Ferdinand looks up from his hands, joyous, a wall had appeared between them. At first, he thought he could create objects, out of thin air, like the magic folklores of his village, but then he saw his father's hand come through the wall, and he used his father's confusion as a chance to escape. He ran from the village, as he heard the shouts of not only his father, but a lot of the village. Word spread quickly among the people, and obviously, they thought he was a demon. The rest of his life is a blur even to him, but somehow, he was lead to America, and S.H.I.E.L.D found him, and trained him, and that's how he is where he is now. Other: Favourite Super: Gotta be Gambit
4,751	124	14	614	5,838	Henry was starting to get a little anxious as he awaited his team's arrival. "What's the hold up?" He spoke quietly into the communicator while leaning against the doorway of the entrance to the party. They were taking too long. "I'll give you all approximately 5 minutes to move out." It seemed a bit short, but with all things considered the group should have already taken out their targets. "Birdie, keep an eye out for any problems. Make sure any and all security footage which may expose us is taken care of and Milo. Come get us. I want you here as soon as possible." He looked around. Good. The cost was clear. Things should go off without a hitch. "Haleigh, be ready for pick up." He smirked a bit at the thought of another successful mission. "I want us all out of here and back at my loft in New York as soon as possible. We can debrief the Director on the way and then we can celebrate a job well done." He chuckled a bit. "Any objections?" ----------------------------------------- Meanwhile among the guest of the party was another man. He was seemingly inconspicuous. A nobody if you will. Or so one would think. "Now what's a pretty lady like you doing all alone?" Dante said in a sort of whisper as he spoke into the ear of his... Well for lack of a better word... Boss. Still obviously Dante did not have a grasp on what personal space was. If he did he wouldn't have been standing so uncomfortably close to Voltina. And behind her no doubt. Or maybe he was doing it on purpose. Who knew? "So can I buy you a drink or should I just skip all that and take my search for fun else where?" He asked with a small somewhat quiet chuckle. Was he overstepping boundaries? Yes he was. Did he care? No he did not. It was all just what he felt like doing at the moment.	Appearance: Name: Milo “Spriggs” CashAge: 18Gender: MaleRole: PilotSkills: Mass vehicle memory, can drive anything, vehicle repairPowers: (mutant for now. Later we may get some action in this depending)Personality: TBRHistory: Spriggs was born with a knack for anything vehicles, by the age of 5 he was working on vehicles, by 7 he drove like a pro (took some jury-rigging to work but he could do it), by 9 he flew better than most men. Other: -His nickname was stolen from a halo 3 machinima--The only vehicle he actually owns is this -He carries a knife and a gun just in case-Armor has a HUD and connects to vehicles giving him a read on the one he's in, and the HUD allows him to see farther, see video, and easily read data Hmmm... Halo... Ugh... lol believe it or not I used to love it, and might still, but I have bad memories involving it lol XD No but seriously. As far as the character goes I think you've got the concept down. However, I also think you could be a bit more detailed. It isn't a big point as I'd like us to just get a move on. Still the problem I have comes with the armor. The reason being that as a part of the team he probably wouldn't need the armor too much. It would only be allowed on certain missions and on special occasions. This being because for the most part you're our getaway driver and even when not you'd be with us and most of our missions would need to be kept discreet. lol and the armor doesn't really whisper discreet XD
4,752	124	15	2,235	2,291	Voltina watched as Jack walked away and sighed because her plan had failed. After a few minutes she felt someone behind her Dante talking into her ear firtaously. Looked back at him she scowled at him. "Learn something called boundries Dante. I'm your boss not your play thing." She said and turned around to look at him. "I know that there are SHEILD agents are here I want you to find and bug them." Voltina instructed him. "I'll be home in the meantime." She said and walked off towards the exit getting her coat from a servent on her way out.	Name: Voltina (Kit Maxwell) Age: 22 Gender: Female Role: H.Y.D.R.A.`s leader Skills: Powers: Technopathy Personality: To be rped. History: She used to be a normal girl and she was sweet and kind. Parents... well not really parents. Not real parents, they put her into a mental hospital when she was only 7. In this 'hospital' they did experiments on her. One most important involved technology. Certain parts of her body were taken and replaced by steal and wiring. This lead to her powers of Technopathy. Although through these experiments she became cold and heartless. She escaped the hospital and burned it down at the age of 18. After that she went on to form H.Y.D.R.A. Other: Thor.
4,753	124	16	1,260	4,468	Tris nodded and sighed thankful for his help but she was also the distraction needed to get the team out. "Look, maybe I just need some fresh air on the balcony..." She then leaned in to whisper in his ear. "You know, I am the distraction so everyone can get out Freddy boy. I'll just jump off the balcony to the ground in order to get out myself. Thanks for the help with the wig..." Tris said before slipping out of his grip and disappearing into the crowd. She made her way to the woman and apologized by handing her a one hundred dollar bill she had slipped out of someones pocket and continued to walk through the crowd trying to think of the best way to cause a distraction in case it was needed for her teammates to get out safely.	Name: Beatrice 'Tris' Evans Age: 20 Gender: Female Role: Stealth Skills: Advance Martial Artist: Tris is knowledgeable in the field of martial arts. She has mastered karate, judo, and boxing; she is currently working on savate, aikido, lucha-libre style wrestling and multiple styles of kung fu. Combined with her always improving: strength, speed and agility her fighting skills continue to get better although she has a lot of room to improve. Expert Acrobat: Tris always loved gymnastics as a child and her skills have allowed for her to be a high level. Talented Marksman: Tris is a pretty accurate marksman skilled in sharpshooting and knife throwing which helps when she needs to assassinate someone. Multilingual: She is fluent in French and Spanish and speaks some German, Russian, and Chinese so far. Advance Interrogator: With a twist of words she can get people to spill secrets and twist their words to help retrieve more information. Advance Seductress: She is close to being an expert in the field of seduction. Tris can sometimes bend men to her will and sometimes even get them to do her bidding for her, but no where near as good as Black Widow. High-Level Spy: Tris is a S.H.I.E.L.D agent trained in espionage, stealth, disguise, and infiltration. Her training from her father still helps her to continue to get better. Powers: None for now Personality: Mainly TBR but a small overview is mysterious, fiesty, and flirty. History: Not much is known about Tris and she tends to enjoy keeping it that way but what is known is that she has been training since she was sixteen to be an assassin. Tris had something happen to her at a younger age where she was orphaned and then adopted by a S.H.E.I.L.D. agent along with her baby brother. That agent didn't let on that he was an agent until a horrific event(That you'll have to learn about another time). When he finally revealed it to Tris, she instantly wanted in and they got to work on training. Nothing could beat her desire to be an assassin. Other: She has a fear of thunderstorms but she refuses to tell people that. BLACK WIDOW!!!!!!!!
4,754	124	17	1,808	1,380	Boss, don't worry I'm on the move... now Milo said starting up the limousine and pulling off towards the party. "You won't need to wait long, rest of you get out or get left." Milo drove normally, he didn't want attention, even one thing wrong would blow this operation after it went so well. "HALT!!" The guard yelled as Milo pulled up to the gate, he asked for registration it was all standard procedure. After a minute he let Milo through to get the team, "Boss, puling in now," he said over the comms, "everyone there yet?"	Name: Milo “Spriggs” Cash Age: 18 Gender: Male Role: Pilot Skills: Mass vehicle memory, can drive anything, vehicle repair Powers: (mutant for now. Later we may get some action in this depending) Personality: TBR History: Spriggs was born with a knack for anything vehicles, by the age of 5 he was working on vehicles, by 7 he drove like a pro (took some jury-rigging to work but he could do it), by 9 he flew better than most men. Other: -His nickname was stolen from a halo 3 machinima- -The only vehicle he actually owns is this motorcycle -He carries a knife and a gun just in case -Armor has a HUD and connects to vehicles giving him a read on the one he's in, and the HUD allows him to see farther, see video, and easily read data
4,755	124	18	1,759	160	'Freddy' Let go of Tris, and slowly watched her walk towards the balcony. It was the most logical thing he supposed, anything went down, Tris would be the one to prevent anything from going terribly wrong. Now all Frederick had to do was find his own way out, and that would be more difficult than he had expected. A man came up to him, the head of catering for this event. "Shouldn't you be handing out some drinks boy?" The man sneered, and leant uncomfortably close to Frederick's face. "Yes sir, sorry sir, just dealing with a fight between two guests." That was when Frederick had an idea of how to leave. "Maybe I should escort one out of the building? The other has head to the balcony for some fresh air." He hoped it would work, otherwise he was out of ideas. "No, I think everything's fine now, you should just continue with your job" At this he walked away, constantly glancing back at Frederick to check whether he was completing his task. Frederick spoke into the microphone in his lapel. "I have a no-go on my exit, I should be able to find a way out in a couple of minutes, I just need time to think." He picked up the tray placed down earlier, and continued to serve drinks, all the while looking for a way to get out. "Oh, and sorry for ruining the diversion, I just saw an opportunity I could take, won't happen again." He blushed a little, quickly dipping his head as a woman came to place an empty glass on the tray, he needed to get some more champaign.	Name: Frederick Aldura Age: 18 Gender: Male Role: Mutant Skills: Athletic and flexible, fast runner, good eyesight, yet not as good as marksman. Powers: The ability to create illusions. These illusions have no effect on the real world, but they are quite believable if not touched. Yet, if Frederick is attempting to create something that he is not sure of the appearance, it is likely that there will be faults. His illusions can have sound and create light and shadows, but this is more difficult, and takes him more effort. Personality: (Will find out during the RP, but I shall put basics) - Quiet, tries to like most people, yet he finds flaws in people too easily. History: Frederick was brought up in Scotland, in a small town called Inverness, which didn't have many people, and therefore, they didn't have much contact with the outside world. The town was not full of technology, yet it had enough agriculture to survive almost completely independently. Ferdinand's mother was a typical country mother, constantly cooking home foods, which Ferdinand thought were incredibly addictive. Yet, his father was abusive, and he wasn't an alcoholic abusive, he just received pleasure from abusing others, especially Ferdinand and his mother. When Ferdinand's father came towards him one day, at the age of fourteen, Ferdinand panicked and threw up his hands, suddenly, his father stopped, and gasped. Ferdinand looks up from his hands, joyous, a wall had appeared between them. At first, he thought he could create objects, out of thin air, like the magic folklores of his village, but then he saw his father's hand come through the wall, and he used his father's confusion as a chance to escape. He ran from the village, as he heard the shouts of not only his father, but a lot of the village. Word spread quickly among the people, and obviously, they thought he was a demon. The rest of his life is a blur even to him, but somehow, he was lead to America, and S.H.I.E.L.D found him, and trained him, and that's how he is where he is now. Other: Favourite Super: Gotta be Gambit
4,756	124	19	614	5,838	Hearing everyone Henry couldn't help, but sigh. They didn't have time. They had to get out now. At this rate somebody would notice the dead bodies before they were gone. "I Listen. Forget about causing distractions. The mission is complete. Get out of there now." He ordered his team rather abruptly. ------------------------------- "Awww can't you be both?" Dante joked with a sly smile before it was replaced by a look of indifference as she gave him orders. "Locate and bug?" He scoffed at the idea. "Sorry boss lady. I'm off duty and waaaaayyy to hammered to carry out those orders." He commented to himself as she left. Okay the drunk thing was an added excuse, but he saw no reason in bugging the agents right now. Not that he had the equipment to do so at the moment anyway. Plus it wasn't like S.H.I.E.L.D. had some super secret hide out at this point. It was a big flying fortress. What would be the purpose of bugging. His thoughts ran by and still it was nothing more than a reason to disobey. He chuckled as he grabbed two drinks from a passing waitress. "Thanks babe." He said with a smile as he downed one. He proceeded to drink the other when a man bumped into him causing him to spill it on himself. "Watch where you're going runt." The rather large man commented. "Heh sorry. I can't believe I missed a fatass like you." Dante insulted the man almost immediately. The man... Didn't take kindly to this. In fact he was quick to turn red with rage. "I'll turn you into mulch you little bastard." He shouted immediately throwing a punch. Dante dodged of course. He dodged a few actually, before slamming his own fist into the man's gut. That caused the man to buckle in pain to which Dante kneed him in the face. Soon a few guards and servants were on their way to check out the scene and break it up. (Distraction. Move on. It'll show up on the news tomorrow so we can reflect on a problem occurring after we left. maybe even get questioned by our superiors about it.)	Appearance: Name: Milo “Spriggs” CashAge: 18Gender: MaleRole: PilotSkills: Mass vehicle memory, can drive anything, vehicle repairPowers: (mutant for now. Later we may get some action in this depending)Personality: TBRHistory: Spriggs was born with a knack for anything vehicles, by the age of 5 he was working on vehicles, by 7 he drove like a pro (took some jury-rigging to work but he could do it), by 9 he flew better than most men. Other: -His nickname was stolen from a halo 3 machinima--The only vehicle he actually owns is this -He carries a knife and a gun just in case-Armor has a HUD and connects to vehicles giving him a read on the one he's in, and the HUD allows him to see farther, see video, and easily read data Hmmm... Halo... Ugh... lol believe it or not I used to love it, and might still, but I have bad memories involving it lol XD No but seriously. As far as the character goes I think you've got the concept down. However, I also think you could be a bit more detailed. It isn't a big point as I'd like us to just get a move on. Still the problem I have comes with the armor. The reason being that as a part of the team he probably wouldn't need the armor too much. It would only be allowed on certain missions and on special occasions. This being because for the most part you're our getaway driver and even when not you'd be with us and most of our missions would need to be kept discreet. lol and the armor doesn't really whisper discreet XD
4,757	124	20	1,260	4,468	Tris walked inside after thinking of a distraction but then two men began to fight, one of the men seemed to dodge with ease and fought like he knew what he was doing. She pulled out what looked like lipstick but was actually a camera and walked by the scene. She pretended to apply the lipstick and at the same time took pictures of the man before disappearing out the door with Freddy Boy in tow. "There is our distraction now hurry up." Tris whispered as they headed down the main stairs and straight to Henry. "We didn't even need one, a man caused it..." She said not mentioning the fighting skills she recognized. Most people, even people on the team would take it as just a man who worked out defending himself but she was trained in combat and could recognize when it wasn't any normal combat that you would see so she'd talk to the superiors about her suspicions along with her team at a different time.	Name: Beatrice 'Tris' Evans Age: 20 Gender: Female Role: Stealth Skills: Advance Martial Artist: Tris is knowledgeable in the field of martial arts. She has mastered karate, judo, and boxing; she is currently working on savate, aikido, lucha-libre style wrestling and multiple styles of kung fu. Combined with her always improving: strength, speed and agility her fighting skills continue to get better although she has a lot of room to improve. Expert Acrobat: Tris always loved gymnastics as a child and her skills have allowed for her to be a high level. Talented Marksman: Tris is a pretty accurate marksman skilled in sharpshooting and knife throwing which helps when she needs to assassinate someone. Multilingual: She is fluent in French and Spanish and speaks some German, Russian, and Chinese so far. Advance Interrogator: With a twist of words she can get people to spill secrets and twist their words to help retrieve more information. Advance Seductress: She is close to being an expert in the field of seduction. Tris can sometimes bend men to her will and sometimes even get them to do her bidding for her, but no where near as good as Black Widow. High-Level Spy: Tris is a S.H.I.E.L.D agent trained in espionage, stealth, disguise, and infiltration. Her training from her father still helps her to continue to get better. Powers: None for now Personality: Mainly TBR but a small overview is mysterious, fiesty, and flirty. History: Not much is known about Tris and she tends to enjoy keeping it that way but what is known is that she has been training since she was sixteen to be an assassin. Tris had something happen to her at a younger age where she was orphaned and then adopted by a S.H.E.I.L.D. agent along with her baby brother. That agent didn't let on that he was an agent until a horrific event(That you'll have to learn about another time). When he finally revealed it to Tris, she instantly wanted in and they got to work on training. Nothing could beat her desire to be an assassin. Other: She has a fear of thunderstorms but she refuses to tell people that. BLACK WIDOW!!!!!!!!
4,758	124	21	1,948	1,262	Once Tris started her distraction and had everyone looking her way, Jack made his move. He doubled around behind the crowd so no one would be looking his way and made sure to grab another glass or champagne so it didn't seem as if he was making a beeline for the exit. His strides were long but he made sure not to look hurried and soon, he was out the door without being spotted, the glass of champagne finished and left behind on another table. "I'm out." He reported quickly to his team.	Name: Jack Graham Age: 22 Gender: Male Role: Muscle Skills: - Excellent physical condition, especially in terms of strength and endurance - Mastery of several martial arts including but not limited to: Krav Maga, Jiujitsu, Aikido, Muay Thai, Ninjutsu - Proficient with a variety of weaponry - swords, axes, staves, blunt weapons, knives. - History of SHIELD and military training with stealth, technology and explosives - Firearms Training - Reads body language well Powers: (mutant for now. Later we may get some action in this depending) Personality: Jack speaks his mind and doesn't care if anyone takes offense - he's blunt and frank, especially when it comes to cautioning his friends or advising them. He's a team player and puts the needs of the team above his own, but also has a large heart and a strict moral code of his own - one that he will stand by even against the dissent of his teammates or friends. Peer pressure isn't likely to work on him but he takes honest feedback to heart. Very quiet on personal matters and doesn't like people prying into his past. History: Jack was always a sporty kid growing up, and while he was always passionate and participating in sports, it didn't mean he was a bad student or a dumb jock. While he wasn't a straight A student, his attitude towards sports was his attitude towards everything he did - he gave his best effort. He enlisted in the military since he was an army brat, with his family spawning several generations of excellent soldiers. He was recruited into SHIELD after a scandal in his military career from a botched mission earned him a dishonorable discharge from the army. Other: Favourite Superhero: Captain America, though he's not a fanboy like Phil Coulson. Close second would be Black Panther. Works out on a salmon ladder ;)
4,759	124	22	614	5,838	Good work Jack. Henry said calmly. All that was left was Tris and Frederick. And Milo was almost here. The two couldn't be much longer. Especially since apparently there'd been a fight to cause enough of a distraction for them to leave. Now the mission definitely wouldn't be a bust.They had taken out their targets and could head home. Henry was thinking they deserved to sort of celebrate. And give their sharpshooter a sort of send off. He'd just gotten a private call saying... Well... He'd explain once the team was altogether. (Sorry for the short post. I figured it's better than letting this die. Let's not let this die lol.)	Appearance: Name: Milo “Spriggs” CashAge: 18Gender: MaleRole: PilotSkills: Mass vehicle memory, can drive anything, vehicle repairPowers: (mutant for now. Later we may get some action in this depending)Personality: TBRHistory: Spriggs was born with a knack for anything vehicles, by the age of 5 he was working on vehicles, by 7 he drove like a pro (took some jury-rigging to work but he could do it), by 9 he flew better than most men. Other: -His nickname was stolen from a halo 3 machinima--The only vehicle he actually owns is this -He carries a knife and a gun just in case-Armor has a HUD and connects to vehicles giving him a read on the one he's in, and the HUD allows him to see farther, see video, and easily read data Hmmm... Halo... Ugh... lol believe it or not I used to love it, and might still, but I have bad memories involving it lol XD No but seriously. As far as the character goes I think you've got the concept down. However, I also think you could be a bit more detailed. It isn't a big point as I'd like us to just get a move on. Still the problem I have comes with the armor. The reason being that as a part of the team he probably wouldn't need the armor too much. It would only be allowed on certain missions and on special occasions. This being because for the most part you're our getaway driver and even when not you'd be with us and most of our missions would need to be kept discreet. lol and the armor doesn't really whisper discreet XD
4,760	125	0	1,537	4,313	It always begins with a Robin, and this is no different. Robin was the first teenager to become a hero, partnered with the mysterious Batman no less. There was no doubt a time would come when the bird would grow older and fly off on his own path. Which led a young Richard Grayson into forming a support group not just for himself but other teen heroes. As Robin the only traveling Grayson knew had been with Batman, so he used social media and an untraceable laptop to recruit several teen heroes from around his region into joining his group. However their first meeting was discovered by the Calculator and intercepted by mercenary villains. Deadshot and Multiplex made an example of the one trained teenage hero at the location, Robin, and they beat him to death after he took a crippling gunshot to the knee. When Batman showed it was too late, and the few young wannabe heroes who tried to help were only tossed aside by the Multiplex duplicates. Batman told the young rookie heroes to go home and burn their suits. Gotham was no place for them and they had no business trying to be heroes. That was when Robert, a native of Metropolis spoke up. "If we have no business trying to be heroes then you had no business trying to train yourself a sidekick. We have powers at least, which is more than Robin had, we just have nowhere to train..." When Batman disappeared into the night with the body of Robin the young aspiring heroes thought that it would be the last time they ever saw Batman. The heroes who had answered Robin's call in Gotham were the first to be notified. The others from neighboring major cities like Midway, Bludhaven, and Metropolis were just as surprised at the news. "Meet me at this location, midnight." The young heroes were shocked to find Batman as well as another hero, Wildcat, standing in an alley behind Grant Gym. The group followed the two heroes to an entrance below the Gym where an HQ had been set up. Darker more stealthy uniforms were also provided. ______________________________________________________________________ Rules: 1.) No back-to-back posting. 2.) PAY ATTENTION TO DETAIL AND SET-UPS!! 3.) Make sense. If we can't make heads or tails of your posts they're likely to get skipped over. 4.) Get permission before using another player's character in your posts if it involves changing the scene or making actions or just ask to collaborate in the titanpad. Everybody will take beatings in this game in battle however, so don't get pissed if you get punched or blasted into a wall by the bad guys! 5.) Problems with the game or players should be sent directly to me through PM's. I don't want a bunch of bickering in the OOC. 6.) In the event a player/character breaks contact for a week or more their character will be written into the background and another player/character will be given the spot. Should the outed player return they'll be on a probationary status until regular posting/contact continues. 7.) Abandoned characters will be used as NPC's or killed off within the context of the story. Players/characters will have to be inactive for over two weeks to be considered abandoned. 8.) “I was waiting for to make a move” is not an excuse to stop posting.. 9.) My word is law. 10.) Obey the law. 11.) There is no rule #11. 12.) In the event that I'm offline for any period of time, the deputy/co-GM will take control and HIS/HER word will then be law. ______________________________________________________________________ Gotham City, 12 am EST... The first night the group of teenagers had seen each other since the night Robin was beaten to death was a little awkward to say the least. There stood Batman and an older hero most of the kids didn't know, Wildcat. Ted Grant was a vigilante back in the days when it was still new and hip. Wildcat didn't look his age, rumors of him having nine lives were all around the superhero circles. But he had agreed to help Batman train these kids as he would have Richard Grayson had asked him to personally. Grant could see the good that could come from it all. With a 'Follow us...' from the grizzled voice of Batman the teen heroes were lead to a secret staircase in the back of Grant's Gym that lead down to what appeared like a larger than usual underground bunker. "This area here was made back during WWII as part of an underground R&D division of the military..." Grant began to boast as it looked like a mix between the Batcave and a high tech gymnasium nowadays that looked as if it was dreamed up on an episode of the Jetsons. "It will serve as your training area and HQ." Batman said almost cutting the elder hero off, "I managed to find Richar... Robin's files on each of you. I know what you can do, where you're from, and what you had for dinner last night. As most of you are still in school, you will attend public school at North Gotham High School and finish your general studies. You will be taken care of in terms of a place to live, and those of you old enough will need to get part time jobs as to blend in with the unusual tone of Gotham..." Batman continued on and on with the instructing until one of the teens finally lost their patience. "Your families have been contacted by the school's exchange student program and everything will check out. If you want to do this right, you have to stay in school to get my support. I'll get to know how responsible each of..." Batman continued walking them through the large area when Robert Hall opened his mouth... "Are we doing this, training and everything, to get the guys who did this to Robin?! I'm ready to bust some skulls..." Robert said excitedly as Batman continued to give him the scowl he's known for. "I took down Deadshot and Multiplex myself four days ago. When I train you and your younger brother you'll bust skulls when there's skulls to be busted..." Batman responded as he finally came to a room with several uniforms in darker colors on mannequins. Batman looked around at the ten young metahumans who Robin selected for his 'Titans' team. He saw the potential, and like Robin, also saw the potential for disaster that could rise from one of these kids going off half cocked without proper training. Vesta, or Argonaut as Batman has dubbed her, was an Amazon who could destroy Gotham City in it's entirety in less than three hours. Chester Prince, who insisted on the name Rat Boy, could infect the city with infected rats if left to his own madness and insecurities. Bruce Wayne knew deep down Richard Grayson knew what he was going to do with this. It was time to honor his memory. "Suit UP! Let's get to work on breaking in the new duds and get some stretching and cardio out of the way before hand to hand training begins. Men and Women's showers/restrooms are back in that corner there..." Wildcat mentioned, "So hurry it up and don't leave me waiting. I ain't getting any younger here..." ~KL~	Secret ID: Robert Hall and Daniel Hall Alias: Leviathan Age: 19 and 15 Home Location: Metropolis Powers: Through concentrated contact, the boys become a single giant human with increased strength, speed, stamina, and durability. In a nut shell, the composite being is ten foot tall, bulletproof, and can tear a car apart with his bare hands. He can bench press well over a ton, and run a mile in just over three minutes. Both of the boys are adept swimmers, and as fast as Leviathan is on land he's just as fast in the water. Weaknesses: When separated the boys are just your average athletic teenagers with no increased anything. The composite being Leviathan can only stay together for roughly an hour, the duration also depends on how well the boys work as one brain rather than two sides fighting against each other. If the Leviathan is hit with mental attacks he loses his form in no time at all. Equipment: Any equipment or devices/objects the boys have on them becomes compromised when they combine to create Leviathan. Batman fitted each of the boys with a light armor reminiscent of a wet suit and upon becoming one being the suit 'completes itself' giving the young giant hero a little more durability. Appearance: Leviathan - Personality: Robert is a little more loud and reckless; Daniel is a little smarter and quieter, Leviathan is stoic but often acts before thinking things through. Password: What's this about a password? BRIEF Bio: Robert and Daniel both lived in Metropolis with their grandmother. Several weeks back, while Superman was in a battle with Brainiac, one of the technological tyrant's experiments was released into the city. This 'exobyte' had the brothers merge into one larger being when they made contact running for safety. The two of them had no idea what to think, but it was clear to anyone who tried to talk to the giant man that the fellow was a man of two minds about everything. After Brainiac had been defeated and the first time the two brothers would 'go big' wore off they thought that life would go back to normal. They couldn't have been more wrong. Days later, while the two boys waited in the car outside of the bank their grandmother was doing business in, a robbery began to go down. As soon as Daniel realized what was going on he told his brother they needed to go and make sure their grandma was safe. On a whim Daniel concentrated hard and put his hand on his brother's shoulder. Seconds later the giant was born again. At the end of it all, the giant was met by Superman after putting the KO on the three armed robbers. Another week would pass before Robin contacted the boys. Grayson wasn't the world's greatest detective, but he trained with one of the best for three years and quickly determined the giant was a composite being and reached out to them via social media. Like others, the first meeting with Robin in Gotham went south for the boys and the two could only watch as Multiplex and Deadshot made an example out of the first teenage superhero and former sidekick. Notes: At some point later on we may meet other members of this universe's Justice League so that I can have a short moment between Leviathan and Aquaman. Sample Post: "These Multiplex goons are a handful. My brother and I aren't really cut out for this 'Teen Titans' thing after all. It takes concentration and skin to skin contact for us to become a giant, and if something doesn't happen soon Robin's not going to make it much longer. If only Robert would stop trying to fight those Multiplex guys two or three at a time we might be able to make contact and..." Daniel thought to himself while trying to break free of one of the Multiplex duplicates' grip that currently had him pinned up against a warehouse wall. "These kids are beginning to annoy me..." Deadshot yelled out to his partners in crime as he shot a couple high powered rounds at the dog like creature that one of the kids transformed into taking it down for the time being. "Should've just killed that ugly thing, Lawton..." one of the many Multiplexes commented. "We were sent here to kill one person and to send a message. ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME YOU LITTLE SUPERHERO WANNABES?" Deadshot yelled out a little louder than before, "KIDS SHOULDN'T WEAR COSTUMES." Deadshot finally let the nearly lifeless and beaten body of Robin fall to the ground the rest of the way. He reloaded his wrist mounted 22 millimeter firearms and aimed one of them at the head of the bloody and bruised Robin. Under his mask he was closing his eyes. Killing kids is awful even to an assassin. Not even two seconds later and... BANG! BANG BANG! After a few more punches were thrown at the rookie heroes by all of the duplicates, they all merged back into the prime Multiplex as Deadshot watched seemingly in surprise. "We better jet, 'Plex. There's no telling for certain when the Bat will come around looking for bird boy..." Deadshot suggested as they took off up an alleyway, now just the two of them. ~KL~
4,761	125	1	1,602	2,499	11:30PM EST A train en route to Grant Gym Vesta held on onto the bar lining the roof of the train like a sloth. Her eyes were half closed as she stared at the floor in silent contemplation or boredom as most people called it. The sounds of 'Culture Club' played quietly through her headphones. Her long black hair was draped over her beloved black T-shirt featuring a picture of 'The Smiths' - her favourite band. Holding the top of her head in place was a, yet again black snapback featuring the words "Boy" in bold letters. A reference to the Petshop boys to the wise observer. Diana had warned her that overdoing it on the 80s band merch would just make her look like some sort of 'fangirl'. But to be honest, Vesta didn't know the meaning of the word. Literally. In fact, she took it as a compliment rather than an insult as she was both a fan and a girl. She also wore a pair of skinny jeans and high top trainers, but who cares about them when you've got a 'rad' Smiths T-shirt? Her eyes casually surveyed the train like a meerkat would survey the Savannah. It was practically empty other than a few homeless people and a very tired looking business man. Ves wasn't exactly wide awake herself, she stifled a yawn as the automated voice called out the next stop. Ves picked her sports bag up from the chair behind her and slung it over her shoulder. Getting clothes for a woman of her size was hard enough, getting a bag big enough to carry a sword inconspicuously was another thing altogether. She exited the train with a lost look on her face and turned back just in time to snatch her map from the seat just to the left of the door. She noticed the bar she had been holding on to was significantly bent out of shape as she began walking towards the stairs attached to the platform. Her sister, Diana had marked out the route on the map, Ves didn't know what she would have done without her dear old sister. She would have probably still been walking about in toga's and differentiating genders based on beards if it weren't for her. 12AM EST Grant Gym Ves towered over the other teens with a great amount of self consciousness. She bit the corner of her thumb's nail as she half listened to Batman and Wildcat and half thought about what everyone else thought about her. She moved with the group as they travelled down into the secret bunker of the gym. It was like nothing, Ves had ever seen. Seeing a computer for the first time was one thing, seeing one that was bigger than her was another. When Ves heard the notion of getting a job in order to 'blend in' she felt butterflies flutter around in her stomach. She highly doubted a 7 foot tall woman would 'blend in' at all just because she got a job at Starbucks. Nevertheless, she kept quiet as the tour continued, eventually reaching a room that displayed the costumes the team would be wearing. Vesta's costume was much to her liking, it was sleek and modern but also retained quite a bit of her Amazonian culture. She moved over to the costume and removed it from the mannequin before uttering a short. "Thank you" With a wide grin before following her orders and going into the women's bathroom to get changed. She stuffed her casual attire into the bag underneath her weapons and brought it out with her into the room she had been in previously. She wished she hadn't gotten changed so quickly. It was just her, alone in a room with Batman and Wildcat. Unexpectedly, the costume had given her a surprising boost in her confidence and her voice didn't waver in the slightest with her next few sentences. "Uh, sirs?" She spoke, unsure if she should have called them 'Mr. Batman' and 'Mr. Wildcat'. "My mother sent me these after the event with Robin" She explained, unzipping her sports bag and opening it to reveal the set of equipment. She had already put on the bracers, but then again she considered it a part of her costume. "Also, Mr. Batman and Mr. Wildcat sirs I'm not entirely sure how uhm" She said, becoming more conscious about the fact that she had just made an amalgamation of what she wanted to call the two and what she didn't want to. She moved a strand of hair away from her face before speaking once more. "Well put it this way, I'm rather tall and I'm not sure getting a part time job will make me blend in as such." She hoped the conversation would be over before any of the other teens came out, it was awkward enough as it was.	Secret ID: Vesta 'Ves' Petrakis Alias: Argonaut Age: 18 Home Location: Themyscria, althought she is currently situated in Metropolis. Powers: -Enhanced aspects of the human body -Flight -Healing factor Weaknesses: -Naivety -Piercing weapons hurt her more than any other kind. Equipment: -Lasso of truth -Bracelets of submission -Tiara(explained below) -A sword (Used only in extreme emergencies) Appearance: Vesta stands at a whopping 7 foot. She has a lightly muscular physique that does not represent her true strength by far. Her hair reaches down to her lower back and is a raven black. Vesta's skin is more pale than it is tan, although not pale enough to actually make any obvious comment about it. Her eyes are a piercing blue and are easily recognizable among other eyes. Her equipment is similar to her sisters, both in style and hue except with Vesta's having darker shades of each colour overall, and with the blue being replaced with black. While much of the equipment that Vesta received remains the same, the bracers have suffered a design change that has made them longer and more stylized. Along with this, the tiara has been replaced with a sort of metal headband that can be used as a throwing weapon alike the tiara. Her costume is much more modern than her sisters, and while she retains a similar sort of breastplate, hers goes up to her neck rather than stopping below her shoulders. She also has tight fitting black trousers under a small amount of armour along with boots. All of her armour is styled around the Amazons. When off mission, Ves can usually be seen wearing some sort of band T-shirt along with jeans and whatnot. She hasn't really adapted to the fashion of the outside world and it took Diana some time to explain to her that going out in a toga isn't really socially acceptable. Personality: Vesta is rather naive but also very courageous and willing to help anyone who needs it. A well of compassion, Vesta treats everyone equally no matter their creed, race or gender. To the point where she'd rather convince a racist to change their ways rather than attack them. Vesta tries to make jokes, but they often fall flat because of her lack of knowledge about the outside worlds customs and whatnot. While she displays a great degree of confidence, Vesta is deeply insecure and often talks about how much better her sister is when people compliment her. The one thing that Ves is most interested in is 80s music. Her favourite band is The Smiths and even mentioning them in a positive light can make just about anyone her new best friend. Password: Titan BRIEF Bio: Vesta was born on the mythical isle of Themyscria. Vesta, like her sister, Diana was 'born' through her 'mother', Hippolyta creating her with clay and the soul of an unborn baby. Vesta was born quite a few years after Diana who had left Themyscria before Vesta had even begun her training. Vesta's training began when she was around 15. Her training was a tough and rigorous regime, exhausting both her body and her mind while strengthening them at the same time. Much more emphasis was based around her mental skills though, as she was never really meant to be a warrior, just a trainer. Vesta was kept oblivious to the technology and customs of the outside world, only learning what a boy was after Diana visited home and told Vesta various things about the outside world. Of course, Vesta was still quite young and the explanation was cut short of "Girls, but with hair on their chins" and Vesta was left mostly in the dark about men. Vesta was never intended to leave Themyscria at all, instead being trained to defend it from any danger and so she could train any new Amazons to a much more efficient rate than before. However, Vesta was curious and yearned to see the outside world after speaking with her sister rather often. Eventually, after much pestering, she was allowed to visit the outside world with Hippolyta thinking that she'd prefer the comfort of home to the harshness of the 'real' world. Of course, she was wrong. During her short visit to the outside world, Vesta was contacted by Robin and subsequently got her arse kicked with the rest of the 'team' in the fight that concluded with Robins death. Shortly after, Hippolyta had equipment similar to that of, Diana's made for Vesta in order to help her better defend herself. Of course, Vesta isn't well versed in the use of this equipment just yet but is getting the hang of using them as quickly as she can. Vesta loved the outside world. Diana showed her how differing the technology and culture was to that of Themyscria and Vesta finally saw a man. Although while she has seen a man she still confuses non-bearded men for women every now and then. She was allowed to stay in Metropolis, cutting her training short and leaving her under the supervision of her sister. Notes: -Favourite band is "The Smiths" -Has a major crush on a young David Bowie -Favourite colour is purple -Her favourite song is "Love and Pride" by King, although this changes frequently. Sample Post: Vesta dodged under the knife of her attacker. Attacker was a generous way to put it, he hadn't landed a hit on her yet. She dodged left of one swipe and right of another, unhooking her lasso and unfurling it in one flick of her wrist. She jumped back as the attacker sent a jab towards her before swinging her arm back and sending the lasso forward in one fell swoop. The lasso affixed itself around the thugs wrist, and with one tug he was sent tumbling into the wall. Vesta flew through the air with the grace of an eagle. Swooping between buildings and under cranes as if she were born of bird herself. She looked down to the terrified criminal she held in her sturdy grip. Her mind drifted back to hearing what various other superheroes had said on the news. They usually said something dramatic and heroic to the criminal in a time like this and Vesta would be damned if she couldn't think of something cool and inspirational to say. "Young Lady that is no way to act" She said, an obvious lack of inspiration or any semblance of cool. She saw the assailant turn their head to her with a puzzled look growing on their face. "Young Lady?" They spoke "I'm a man!" He screamed, visibly distressed and insecure about his appearance. Vesta furrowed her brow in confusion before the confusion turned to embarrassment and her cheeks grew red. "But you have long hair?" She said, visibly confused. The thug, equally confused asked "So?" In a seemingly calm voice for the current situation. Vesta didn't answer, she just looked forward and left the man to stew in his own anxiety. This was the second time this week that she'd mistaken a man for a woman, and it was only Wednesday. She made haste to reach the police station and drop off the criminal before things got even more awkward. Vesta returned to her small apartment late that night. She was surprised to find a letter left on her bed. She opened the letter with intrigue and was confused to find a meeting place written on the paper. She debated going, but ultimately decided there was little point in not going and made a mental note of the date of said meeting.
4,762	125	2	1,549	1,549	Her own supersuit... It wasn't exactly as she envisioned it. They'd gotten some details right, no sleeves and um... well it wasn't exactly how she envisioned it at all. It what she should have expected, a skin tight cat suit, but some part of her hoped it would be more..."Just get in the suit Caitlyn." She wouldn't have to wear this the rest of her crime fighting career, when she was making a name for herself she can make her own costume. She slipped in smoothly, considering they'd never taken her measurements it was good fit, Batman clearly has experience eyeballing size from CCTV footage. Just as she was leaving, she caught herself in the mirror. It looked better on her than when it was flat and lifeless and the robin-esque mask was a great touch, she still felt a little ridiculous and very self-conscious. She took her cargo trousers back out of the bag and slipped them on over the suit, disguising her little legs and immediately looking less top heavy. It would have to do. "Well put it this way, I'm rather tall and I'm not sure getting a part time job will make me blend in as such." She wasn't serious was she? She couldn't possibly, she saw us all earlier. We are a complete bunch of weirdies, shes one of the most normal looking of the lot, except maybe dumb and dumber. She had to be trying to skive out of working all day, she did look the sort to try it, probably hasn't worked a day in her life. Caitlyn decided not to comment for now, keeping her thoughts to herself, it was patently obvious it was a stupid thing to say. She did however take the opportunity to look disapprovingly at her. And then she changer her mind. "You know sweetie, you'd make a great lamppost, or a tree, must be some job openings in those departments here in Gotham", Caitlyn suggested. She tried hard not to be too heavy on the sarcastic tones but she wasn't particularly good at not speaking her mind. "Some of us have real physical afflictions and we're still going to blend in nonetheless."	Secret ID: Bolin Lài Alias: Foo Dog Age: 19 Gender: Male Home city: Gotham Personality: Bolin is a smart-ass, make jokes on the fly, quick banter kind of superhero. When all else fails, at least he can joke about it. He does, however, know when to get serious. Bolin's other half, Shíshī, isn't so pleasant. Shíshī is a serious mannered spirit. Abilities: Bolin is at the height of human ability. He's fast, strong, agile, and durable. It also helps to be possessed by a Chinese guardian spirit. The spirit, Shíshī, allows Bolin to call upon brief moments of super strength and durability in a pinch, but the use of this strength quickly drains him. As a final resort, Bolin can allow Shíshī to come forth, transforming him into a very large, very strong creature, often referred to as a Foo Dog. He can remain in this form indefinitely, until Shíshī relinquishes control and lets Bolin take his body back. Weakness: Burning sage in his vicinity will keep him trapped in one form. It doesn't matter which one; he'll won't be able to transformed until the sage is taken away. Bolin's brash and frankly idiotic 'plans' of blowing into battle, guns blazing, has gotten him into trouble more than once. Strategy is not his forte. He's still young, fairly inexperienced, and without Shíshī, with whom he's constantly at ends with, he probably wouldn't have made it this far. Appearance: Bolin fights with several forms of martial arts, so his costume must be comfortable. He wears yellow, red, and black, colors that resemble the form of Shíshī, his Foo dog. His weapon of choice is a pair of kamas. Without his costume on, Bolin is just your average guy. He's about 5'10", has black hair, brown eyes, and is of Chinese descent. History: One has to wonder how a young man comes to be possessed by a giant lion spirit. Bolin was just a baby when he was taken from his home, in a small village in China, by a cult of demon worshipers called The Sha Wujing clan, or just "The Clan". The Hand planned to train Bolin and eventually summon a demon to possess his body so that he could aid them in their dark deeds. Bolin was raised by the villains, brainwashed by their ideals. They told him that he would be something great someday, but for the most part, Bolin raised himself. The Clan taught him basic education, but never bothered to train or discipline him. When it came time to have his body taken over, The Clan opened a portal to the spirit world to allow the demon to travel through. However, unknown to them a different spirit had been watching their actions, waiting to stop them. Shíshī came through instead, taking over Bolin's body and using his strength to destroy the Clan. When the villains had retreated back to their hidey holes, Shíshī gave Bolin control again. Shíshī was unable to return back to the spirit world now, forever bonded with Bolin. It took years for the two to find a way to get along. Bolin wasn't used to authority, and Shíshī was rife with it. Bolin can still often be seen bickering with Shíshī, earning odd looks as it appears that he is speaking to himself. Bolin is still searching for the remaining Clan members. They are all but extinct in China now, but a few branches remain in the United States. This is what brought Bolin over seas to fight. The numbers have drastically dropped since his arrival, allowing him to do other things such as join the TITANs. He'll still occasionally go off on a lead, but his heart is with the team. Sample Post: This city was one of the darkest Bolin had ever seen. He wondered, sometimes, what brought the filth and scum of the villain underworld here. Why was this place a shining beacon to those who wanted to see the world burn? Maybe it was the same idea behind New York City; if a villain could make it here, they could make it anywhere . Bolin was usually busy making sure they never made it. Tonight was no different. He had chosen to patrol the east side of the city, near the docks. Shit was always going down here. Just the other week he busted up a group of traffickers here, and drug smugglers the week before that. But tonight, however, seemed pretty quiet. Knock on wood. But tonight was a bit different than his typical badguy round-up. Soon the days of rookie play would be over for Bolin; petty drug smugglers and thieves would fear the name of a new team, and they wouldn't dare continue their business so blatantly. Or at least, that's what Bolin thought. He'd gotten the message about a week ago, and after much arguing with Shishi, managed to convince the spirit that finding the Hand wasn't as big of a priority as saving the world. Tonight was the night that Bolin would meet his new team, and right now, he was just killing time. He was a little antsy, to be honest. After strolling the docks for a good hour, it was time to head out to the spot. Bolin took to the skyline and made his way across the city. He could barely hold himself down. But, despite his anticipation, he still managed to show up late. Bolin internally cursed at himself as he found a loose window in the old, rundown warehouse that was their rendezvous point. Very Gotham. He slipped inside and slithered into the shadows, his brightly colored costume neutralized by the darkness. Down on the ground, he could see a gathering of young, equally bright colored figured. Those must have been his new teammates. But something was off. There were two, also costumed, large men standing opposite of the team. The one he knew was Robin was talking out to them, but the team behind him looked petrified. What was going on here? Then, faster than Bolin could register what had happened, one of the men drew a gun and shot the Boy Wonder. Robin was down. The team moved in, but the gunman was quick. The other one could multiply himself, and was easily taking charge of the situation. Bolin didn't even think. He launched from the catwalk, roaring as he dropped down on top of one of the multiples. Bolin, wait! A deep voice rumbled inside of his head. Shishi's warning came too late, though. Bolin had, yet again, rushed headlong into a battle he couldn't win. Over the last few years, Bolin had gotten good at his martial arts, but not that good. He still relied heavily on Shishi's transformations to get him through a fight. And, after being quickly subdued by several multiples of the same guy, it came to that. Shishi's roar shook the whole warehouse as his body lit up, taking on a very large and monstrous form. The spirit snarled again as he tore into the battle, relentless. The odds were looking better, like they might win, but Bolin had forgotten a very important detail in this fight: one of these badguys had a gun. Bolin wasn't used to guns being used. The Clan was too dramatic and traditional to lower themselves to that standard. And the petty crooks of Gotham usually pissed themselves the moment he shifted. But the man with the black and gold mask did no such thing. When Bolin shifted, all he saw was a larger target. Two shots fired and two shots struck. The beast fell to the floor limply, a wound in his side and one in his neck. He didn't get a chance to get up again. Everything after that was kind of dark and fuzzy. Bolin learned later, when he awoke in the hospital, that Robin had been murdered. He had lived only because the massive muscles in Shishi's neck had protected his throat. After the scene had been discovered, some time after Bolin had re-taken a human form, he had been rushed to the nearest ER. Ten hours and one emergency surgery later and he was stable. Beaten, sore, and shaken all to hell, but stable. So much for new beginnings.
4,763	125	3	668	1,466	Archer went through that whole week feeling like crap. A nasty mix between guilt and self-doubt. Not only had he let Robin down, but the Boy Wonder was dead on top of that. During the days leading up to that night, Archer had gained so much confidence. He'd met the hero he considered his role model, and not only that, but said hero asked Archer to join his team. That was honestly the kind of dream-come-true that only happened in the movies. And what did Archer do? He blew it, big time. Got Robin killed, and it was all his fault. It wasn't actually his fault, of course, but good luck telling that to Archer, since through that whole week he was utterly convinced that he was indeed to blame. And then... the letter. What was he supposed to do? If the letter was from one of his would-have-been teammates, he couldn't just ignore it. So here he was, among everyone Robin had recruited at a Gym, with Wildcat and The Dark Knight himself staring them down. Archer honestly expected some kind of lecture, but then they were shown an underground bunker area of the gym. Why would Batman and Wildcat be showing them this? It didn't exactly dawn on Archer what was happening at first, but when it did the realization hit like a ton of bricks. They were getting a second chance? Batman actually saw fit to give him a second chance? He heard Batman mention the name of his school for some reason, but Archer was still stunned with surprise and as such didn't exactly respond. In fact the only thing that got him to snap out of it, finally, was Wildcat barking at everyone to suit up. Archer then found a locker with his name on it and retrieved a suit from it. Now, Robin had originally helped Archer make a suit before, but this was clearly not quite the same. For one thing, it was mostly black with light blue highlights, whereas the one Robin had gave him was mostly white instead to match his ice powers. Batman clearly preferred a stealth-oriented suit, and Archer wasn't argue with the Caped Crusader over the matter either. He obediently put the suit on and looked himself over in a mirror. Was he imagining things or did his suit somehow remind him of Firestorm of all people? It was definitely the mask, since the thing looked like a literal recolor of Firestorm's mask. Was this intentional somehow? Well, since Wildcat warned them all not to keep him waiting, Archer decided to adhere to the warning and get back out to where he waited. Before he left the mirror, he noted the presence of a "z" on his belt and the stylized z etched on his shoulder and chest. It must have stood for "Zero", which was a name Archer admittedly didn't come up with on his own. In fact he took the name on Robin's suggestion, and he supposed that Batman must have also liked the suggestion based on the design of the suit. In any case, Zero now found himself standing in front Batman and Wildcat once again, this time suited up. Two of the girls sounded like they were about to argue, and he wisely decided to stay far away from that one, having learned long ago to never ever get in the middle of a catfight. "So um..." Archer started to say, "...why is everyone getting transferred to my school of all places?" it wasn't exactly a pressing question, but he was curious. He also decided to satisfy one other curiosity of his, "Oh and... why does my mask make me look like Firestorm of all people? I mean... I'm an ice guy so... looking like a fire guy seems a bit strange."	Secret ID: Archer Graham Alias: Zero Age: 18 Home Location: Gotham Powers: A textbook Cryomancer, Archer can "create" objects made of ice by lowering the temperature around him and using moisture in the air as his main source of ice. His ice-powers could very well run deeper than that, but if it does he has yet to discover it, having only just now began to get the hang of creating ice objects. The objects he creates are, more often than not, simple blunt weapons like bats and hammers, or basic stabbing weapons like knives and javelins. His cryomancy allows him near immunity to cold weather and other extreme cold temperatures, as well, meaning he could go on missions to the South Pole with no need to dress more warmly. Weaknesses: His ice is almost exclusively reliant on some form of water source to work with. He can usually get by using moisture in the air, but should he find himself in, say, a burning building, then the lack of water in the air can handicap him unless he happens to have a jug of water to work with. He's also found that his powers work best so long as he remains well-hydrated, as a lack of hydration can weaken the amount of ice he can manipulate. Just as he is nearly immune to cold temperatures, the inverse is true of hot temperatures, though not to same extremes as the likes of Mister Freeze, since Archer can at least go out in warm weather with no threat to his life. Extremely hot environments, such as scorching deserts or a volcanic mountain on the other hand can leave him powerless to do anything until he is moved to a cooler location. Equipment: Apart from the standard stuff, Batman has made sure that the material of Archer's suit has as much heat resistance as possible. It doesn't completely alleviate the problem with hot environments, but it certainly provides a considerable buffer between the heat and Archer's body. Appearance Personality: Archer is, for the most part, a good enough kid. If he sees a mugging on the street or even bullying at school, he won't hesitate to take it upon himself to stop said activity. After getting his powers, he's become even more brazen with these acts, becoming almost cocky. Lately, since Robin's death, Archer has begun second guessing himself more often, his previous confidence shattered by the death of his team leader. Regardless, he's determined to pick up the pieces and start over again, if for nothing else than for the memory of Robin. Password: Titan BRIEF Bio: Born in Gotham City, Archer used to be more timid when he smaller. The general danger of living in Gothom City can do that to a kid. Of course, Batman has since made the city much safer than it used to be. Batman's crusade against crime was inspirational, but it was the appearance of his partner, Robin, that really changed Archer's personality. After all, if a kid around his own age could be brave enough to take on corruption, than why shouldn't Archer himself do the same? Of course, he would never have actually fought crime, but he did finally start standing up to his bullies, protecting himself and other kids they picked on. It wasn't much, but it was a start. Once he was in High School, Archer's life changed again. It was during one of Mister Freeze's attempts to bring an Ice Age to Gotham. When the attack came, Archer was walking home from school, passing by a small chemical lab. Mister Freeze's sudden attack covered chunks of Gotham City into a Winter Wonderland, Archer's location included. But in the midst of bombardment of cold, some barrels of discarded chemicals burst open, and their contents splashed all over Archer before the freeze blast briefly froze him. Emphasis on "brief" because within moments, Archer was able break himself free, discovering that he didn't feel any of the cold at all, despite the lack of winter clothes. From there he discovered he could manipulate the moisture in the air and freeze it into ice shapes. Robin found him not long after that. The Boy Wonder explained that he was planning to start a team called the Teen Titans, and that Archer with his powers would make an excellent addition. It was practically a dream come true, and Archer joined without a second thought. He had no idea just what fate had in store. Soon after that was when Deadshot and Multiplex attacked. The team escaped, though not without casualty. Robin was dead. Robin, one of the first teen superheroes ever to done a cape, and student of the freaking Batman no less. Archer was shaken, to be sure, and even briefly considered giving up the notion of saving people. But then, he received the message, a text on his phone that led him to a gym where Batman and Wildcat were waiting. If fate saw fit to provide Archer a second chance, then it would have been a disservice to the memory of Robin to not accept the offer. It was a normal enough day as Archer walked home from school. Huh, school. Not too long ago, his grades would have been the most important thing in his world. Not anymore, though, not by a long shot. His world completely changed on the day he got his powers. Now things like school felt completely pointless, but even so he had to keep up appearances, so he continued going. His grades took a hit, though, his new-found night life offered very little in the way of free time that, previously, would have been used for homework and the like. Still, he at least managed to maintain a passing grade so he wouldn't flunk. As he walked, he heard sounds coming from an upcoming alleyway. It sounded like shouting of some sort. Archer ran ahead, stopping to press himself against the building corner. He peeked around and saw a man standing behind another man, appearing to gesture at him while the other had his hands up. A mugging if Archer ever saw one. In Gotham City such a thing was sadly very common. But not today, that mugger picked the wrong alley on the wrong day to commit this crime. Archer ducked into a crawlspace behind a dumpster. There, he removed the top layer of his clothes, revealing a black suit underneath. He'd taken to wearing it under his normal clothes whenever he could, so changing personas was quick and easy affair most of the time. He retrieved his belt and mask from his backpack, put them on, then made his presence known. Well, not after throwing a baseball made of ice at the mugger's hand, knocking the pistol from his grip. "Wrong alley, wrong day, pal." said Archer as he leaped from his hiding spot and landed an ice-covered punch across the mugger's jaw. At that point it became as easy as trapping the man's hands and feet against the pavement with ice while his intended victim ran away shouting a thanks to Zero, the costumed meta that just saved him, "Guess I'm done here. Why don't you just chill out here a while until the cops show up?" he said before walking away. Oh yeah, he knew his little pun was a terrible one, but hey, at least it was one of the bad guys that had to suffer through it this time.
4,764	125	4	2,654	2,774	8 hours earlier Chester was still wondering how this whole invitation to meet Batman at the Grant Gym would turn. His anxiety started to kick in and his mind raced with the idea that this may be a trap set by either the bastards that killed Robin or maybe even the authorities. Ever since Robin's death Chester had been having bouts of anxiety and paranoia, making it harder for him to focus at times. Thankfully they weren't constant, but it made things difficult. "What do you think about this? Do you think I should go?" he asked his pet rats as they climbed on his shoulder. He had two rats for pets, one was named Archie and the other named Amy. "I can't see how the villains would have figured out where you live since they killed Robin before any of you could get to really know each other" Amy replied in a slightly squeaky voice. "Ya you never know, there could be food involved and you know how I love food" Archie said with a little giggle. "I'm not taking you two along yet" Chester said to the rats. "Why not?" the two rodents asked almost simultaneously. "Because I want to make sure that the place is safe and I don't want to put you two into unnecessary danger" he responded to them. "But we've helped you before" they countered. "Yes and you will soon, but this time you'll stay here and I'll come back for you as soon as I see what this whole thing is about" he said his pets with a reassuring smile. They were two of his closest friends and after Robin's death he wasn't keen on putting them in danger so soon after a teammate had died. "Please be careful Chester" Amy told him in a concerned voice; of the two she was the most worried about his well being, which was natural for rats. "Don't worry, everything will be fine" Chester half lied, he wasn't sure how this would turn out, but he didn't want to let his friends become worried. Midnight When he got to Gym Chester saw Batman and another costumed man who he didn't recognize. He looked like some type of feline vigilante and Chester was glad he hadn't brought Archie and Amy along with him, they might have panicked when they saw him. Chester also saw the others that he had met when the terrible night had happened, and some new heroes that he didn't know a thing about. One that caught attention quickly was Argonaut, she was so tall and that made him think about how much of a target she would make herself, well he now knew who he would use as a meat shield when shit hit the fan. He followed Batman and the other older vigilante down to what looked like bunker that was built underneath the gym. Chester listened to Batman explain that the place was built during the second world war and it was now their headquarters. "Military training facility, very hardcore" he thought to himself. Batman then informed them about their schooling arrangements and how he would assist in maintaining their secret identities. That was very nice of the dark hero and even though he didn't show it Chester was very thankful for help in keeping his hero life a secret. He was a little bummed that he would have to stay in school to get the Dark Knight's support, but there was a price for everything in life so Chester would have to deal with it. Chester listened to Robert talk about wanting to go after Deadshot and Multiplex to bust their skulls, and he rolled his eyes. He too wanted to bring the villains to justice, but training was necessary if they were going not get their asses handed to them a second time. Batman then informed them that he had already taken down the two villains and Chester was glad that they were brought to justice, but he had wanted to bring them to justice as well. Either way he was still going to stay with this team in honor of their dead teammate. After they were instructed to suit up, Chester went to find his new costume and upon seeing it he almost laughed. "Oh my God, he replaced the yellow with black" he said out loud as looked over his suit. It looked cool and he was glad to have it, but it wasn't as bright as his last suit had been, which was probably for the purpose of stealth. His shrinking abilities already made him stealthy, but he guessed that the Dark Knight wanted it more harder for him to be spotted. After suiting up he returned to the room with the others. "Nice suit, I really like the black" he said with a bit of sarcasm in his voice. He then heard Argonaut speak about her height making it tough for her to fit in and Chester chuckled. "Don't worry, we'll just tell them that you were an experiment for height changing tech" he chuckled. He then heard Zero ask why everyone was being transferred to his school and why he apparently looked similar to the hero Firestorm. "1: He probably wants to keep a close eye on us and what better way to do that then to go to the same school. 2: Now you and Firestorm can be a buddies of opposite elements, your team name could be The Arctic Volcanoes" he said with a laugh. His humor had gotten the better of him and he couldn't help, but make jokes.	Secret ID: Caitlyn Gump Alias: Parasite Age: 19 Home Location: Gotham, a wonderful place of opportunity, if you have the money and status. Powers: None of her own to speak of, but has a symbiotic relationship with a parasitical creature Caitlyn affectionately named "Bug", which is attached to her left arm, it gives her: Envenomed Claws, cumulative paralytic A projectile gunk shot, hazardous to health long term Hook Shot Capabilities Shell Armour Plating Hazmat-lite, Bug Detoxes and filters Caitlyn's blood, making her resistant to chemical and biological warfare. Defib-lite, Bug's Heart continues to pump blood around Caitlyn's body, even if Caitlyn's heart isn't. Bug is semi-sentient and communicates Caitlyn neurally, feeding her powerful messages of hunger and self preservation. Bug continues to grow, giving more powers to its beloved host but enveloping more of Caitlyn. Weaknesses: Besides her left arm she is entirely human, no powers attached. Bug must be fed regularly to be any use Bug can act against Caitlyn's will if it believes Caitlyn is endangering both of them. Ingestion of unknown Paraciticides slows Bug down Caitlyn is used to operating alone and finds it hard to trust others. Technophobe, not literally, but sucks with computers. Appearance: A dirty street urchin with an alien creature for a left arm. Curly mousy brown hair, cut shoulder length with a rusty scissor blade Her eyes are dark and full of mistrust She stands at a skinny 5'6" and weighs 170lbs, Bug included Used to wear almost exclusively dark baggy clothing, but in light of becoming a TITAN has revamped her look, somewhat. Her hoodie has been swapped out for the more respectable, sleeveless turtleneck jumper and her cargo trousers for, well, better cargo trousers, you can take a girl out of the slums. Her sick hi-tops have also be traded in for more respectable combat ready footwear. This was going up in the world for her, she wasn't going to lose such an opportunity by looking scruffy. Personality: Caitlyn has dedicated her life from escaping the hell hole that her former life. All opportunities taken, nothing squandered. However her foresight is not twenty twenty, tends to give up long term rewards for short term boons. Caitlyn's trust must be earnt and is more easily lost than gotten. This however, doesn't stop her from being civil with you, something you learn on the streets, so you won't know whether you have it or you don't. Her desire to be a TITAN is not so much one of love for saving people, but of not having to be a criminal anymore, and sees it way to bigger things. She is manipulative and she is a deceiver but she isn't cruel and certainly not a bad person. As someone who often acted alone, she has little teamwork or leadership skills but will endeavor to acquire them when they've shown their value. Her and Bug had come along way since they day they were first introduced, that day was pivotal in ways she barely understood at the time. She was 13, out of school and trying to help pay off a debt of a father she never met. Pick pocketing worked for a while, till mother's "gentlemen friends" went too many weeks without a visit to her bedroom. Payments went up, the bruises came back. The items stolen and fenced got more expensive; phones, laptops, computers, but it was never quite enough, according to the collectors. "13 years old, wow, how time flies", the big one would say on the way out as they grabbed the hats and coats they'd slung over the sofa earlier,"I remember when you were only a wee nipper, look how much you've grown." The other, cigarette in mouth, swinging his coat over his thin shoulders,"She's a smart little monkey too, Gov" "Really now? Maybe she can come work with us, we could always do with a helping hand in the office", they'd both laugh in such away you knew they didn't mean it so much as a dirty joke as they did just dirty. "Maybe when she's a bit bigger." "Yeah, and maybe she can finish what her daddy started too, you know he was this close to crackin-" "Thats enough Freddy, were done here." As Freddy unlocked the door, the big guy, who's name she knew would slip a silver coin out of his coat pocket and deposit into Caitlyn's palm. "For my favourite God-daughter, buy yourself something sweet." The same charade every month, little did they know it was the last. Tonight she wasn't staying for the awkward silent late supper before bed. She was meeting him, the Man of Promises. Shortly after the men left, Caitlyn changed back out of pajamas and left into the darkness. Their meeting place was a dark alleyway approximately half way between Caitlyn's home and the office Fred and the Boss man returned too every month after visiting, the heavy cloud cover obscured the moon but the streets were no darker thanks to the powerful neon lampposts. Drunkards already littered the street and their harmless, but watchful gaze made Caitlyn's heart pound harder. The video rental, the second hand store, the charity store, the coffee shop. The alley opened before her, its gaping chasm threatening to swallow her whole. A man in sunglasses was waiting in a door way deeper down. Him. Caitlyn walked down and followed him into the room he was propping open. Caitlyn took a seat at the table that had been dragged into the closet from cafe side. An ornate wooden box lay on the table, unlocked. The lid seemed still, but periodically Caitlyn could have sworn it lifted up, if only by millimeters. The box demanded her attention, in it was a promise, so she was told. An opportunity to escape the life she had, to be slave to no one and take control of her own destiny. "Are you sure this is what you want Miss Gump?" "I want it to stop" "And you're willing to do what is necessary?" "Yes" "And you're willing to pay the price?" "Yes" "So be it, lift the lid of the box" Caitlyn placed her hands on either side of the lid. What on earth could be in this box? She wasted no time, but immediately regretted it. The contents wriggled and Caitlyn slammed the lid back down. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE THOSE?" "Freedom, Miss Gump" Caitlyn lifted the lid a little slower this time, fingers as far from any of the alien creatures as she could. Thorny, writhing unearthly creatures litter the box, there might have been seven or eight of them all unique in their horrid design. "What am I supposed to do with these?" "Please pick one, today is the day you escape the chains of society" "I came here for a gun, you said you were going to give me a weapon to fight my oppressors with" He scoffed, "I am giving you something better than a gun," he paused, "Liberation. Pick one." None of them were particularly inviting, but maybe that was the point. He was wasting her time. She got up to leave but a firm hand pushed her back into her seat. "Do not make the mistake others have made, Miss Gump, you leave this room and you walk back into your old life, back into the sadness and the misery and the hopelessness, this is your chance to escape. I can assure you that you will not regret this, pick one." Caitlyn looked back into the box of horrors. "That one." "A fine choice, the first of many." He lifted the 7 inch monstrosity out of the box, with no more care than if it were a hamster. Holding it by the giant thorn he rolled it in air and stroked it along the belly side. It relaxed and opened up exposing its lemon yellow, fleshy insides. "Your hand, Miss Gump." She didn't respond but her expression said everything. Nope. Nope. Nope. The Man of Promises took her hand from the table. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. He pulled her hand slowly into position, Caitlyn transfixed on the creature, which seem to wriggle more excitedly as her middle finger got closer. NOPE. NOPE. NOPE. NOPE. She looked up to the man, her face filled with horror, her eyes begged for it to end. She could feel the warmth radiating from the creatures insides on her finger. Every moment waiting for it to clamp around it was agony, the torture never ending. NOPE! NOPE! NOPE! NOPE! She squeezed her eyes tight and braced for the pain of her skin being devoured by the hungry evil creature, but it never came. The man relaxed his grip on her wrist, and smiled. "Welcome to the first day of your new life." Password: Gnarkk
4,765	125	5	2,170	1,634	It was late at night when El Sasquatcho exited the Gotham Taco Hut, a lovely franchise, one of many serving the greater Gotham area. True, it was a rather typical taco joint, one step above a pushcart with a questionable Health Department score, but he’d be damned if they didn’t stuff the best beef burritos in town. And speaking of stuffing burritos, the tall furry youth couldn’t seem to wait to get back to his El Camino before lifting up the bottom of his brown & black sugar skull luchador mask, cramming half his first one into his pie-hole. Manners be damned, those things were awesome. He wrapped his other savory, beef-filled, hot and tangy sauce dripping, soft flour tortilla encased bit of loveliness (with just the right amount of stock infused yellow rice inside) up in its takeaway bag, and tossed it into the passenger side of his vehicle. Leaving the burrito hanging in his mouth, he dug around in his pocket for keys, and readied himself to depart. He had an appointment to keep, you see. El Sasquatcho opened the driver’s side door to his car, affectionately referred to as his “Vato Truck”, and ripped the rest of the burrito from his face. Pausing for a moment to chew and swallow his gargantuan bite before hopping in and driving off, he was surprised to hear his name being called behind him, from outside the building he had just exited. “Hector! Mr. Delacruz, is that you?” this from a man in his late 30’s, carrying two large takeaway bags himself. Trying not to jostle them too hard, he jogged up to the masked man, pausing himself to admire the handiwork of his luchador mask. “Not bad, at all, Hector! I love that you’ve kept up your artistic pursuits. La Muerte’s Luchador, eh? But the colors… it’s not quite traditional, is it? Does it mean something, Hector?” “No soy Hector Delacruz,” began the masked youth. “Soy El Sasqua..” he was abruptly cut off by the man, honestly not giving a crap for the theatrics. “Your name is Hector Delacruz, Squatch-boy. You were the only native speaker from my Spanish Language courses who always got a B. You drive the same shitty El Camino you did in your junior year. I just need a favor for a sec, ok Hector? “Yo, Senor Martinez, don’t knock my ride, eh? The Vato Truck and me’ve been through a lot together. Whaddyou need? I got somewhere to be.” The man’s voice softened, and he smiled warmly. “I’m sorry, Hector. And please, call me Luis. You’re not my student anymore. I like you. I actually want to offer you a job. It’s part time, but the pay’s ok and it’s actually really fun. You’re keeping up with your art, I see?” “A little.” “Well, make it a lot.” Luis set a bag down and handed over a business card, “The Gotham Cultural Arts Center needs someone to help out with Latino Folk Arts. Thanks to your …nonstandard upbringing… and natural talent with art, they’re taking my recommendation. You’d report to me, and I promise I won’t ask much of you. Deal?” Luis Martinez indeed had taken a liking to the young man. Inquisitive and dramatic by nature, his otherwise horrifying life hadn’t seemed to destroy his spirits. Adversity, of which he’d seen a lot, pressured him to excel. It was a trait that the elder teacher admired and wanted to nurture. Now that Hector was out of school, Luis wanted to make sure the younger man was putting his life to good use, helping people, pursuing his gifts. “Just think about it, ok?” El Sasquatcho nodded his head. “Sure thing, Mr. Mar… Luis. I’ll call you tomorrow, we can set something up.” In truth, he was relieved to get the offer. He’d been living out of his car for the past week, showering at gyms and depleting his meager savings for selfish things like food and toothpaste. Depending upon what happened later that evening, he may very well find himself in dire need of a stable income. “So, umm, I’ve got an excuse, but what are you doing in this neighborhood at this time of night?” The teacher shook his head. “My wife, Liz? She’s pregnant. Like, about to pop, pregnant. I’m out here to pick up tacos and scotch. Lots of tacos. Lots of scotch.” The mention of alcohol earned him a quizzical look. “No no, only the tacos are for Liz. The scotch – that’s all for me. Because of Liz. I love her, but sometimes, man… Sorry, would you please look after my bags of tacos while I run across the street to the liquor store?” The young man nodded, smiling broadly, and put the bags in the back of his El Camino. While his former mentor walked across the blacktop to purchase his necessary libations, El Sasquatcho chewed thoughtfully on his burrito, examining the massive number of tacos in his car. He was unsure how one person, however pregnant, could possibly consume all of that food in one sitting. By the time he had almost figured out the logistics of such an undertaking, accounting for wind resistance and taco sauce viscosity, Luis had returned from across the street. He carried two bottles of what looked like fairly decent quality single-malt scotch. “Thanks, Hector.” He tucked one bottle under his arm and reached for the taco bags. A repeating tone issued from in his jacket pocket, sounding quite a bit like the intro to Sir Mix-a-Lot’s “Baby Got Back”. Luis sighed, reached into his pocket and answered his cell. “Yeah baby, I got your taco.. what? WHAT!? It’s coming NOW? Holy shit, sweetie! We’re having a baby! …no, no sorry, you’re having a baby. Yes, I know, the pushing and the small spaces and the … I know. Yes, honey. Yes. I’m sorry. Sorry. Ye… SORRY. You’re having the baby, I’m just the asshat who did this to you. Uh-huh. Ok. Look, you want me to meet you there, or.. ? Oh, sorry for interrupting. Again. …oh, goddamnit… NOTHING SWEETIE! My little churrita. Luis loves his Lizzie-bear. Ok, I’m coming to get you now.” He pocketed his cell, and shoved the scotch into El Sasquatcho’s arms. “I’ve got to go, Hector! We’re having a baby! Ha!! I gotta run. Call me about that job, Hector!” Luis ran to his car, totally forgetting about his food, abandoning his booze in the hands of a nineteen year old in the middle on the night in front of a Taco Hut. El Sasquatcho remembered less interesting nights, that’s for sure. He finished his burrito, slid into his ride, and peeled away into the dark night. El Sasquatcho was not the first to arrive, so he had a bit of an audience for his reaction when he first saw Batman and Wildcat standing together to greet them. Now that the circumstances were slightly less tragic, he allowed his fanguyishness to crack open, just a bit. Tacos in one hand, booze in the other, he sprinted three steps and fell to his knees, sliding several feet and rotating fully once. He came to rest about a meter from the feet of the established and respected Heroes, proclaiming loudly and proudly: “Senor Batman, Senor Wildcat, it is a great honor to meet you formally, sirs. I am El Sasquatcho, Sangre de El Santo, the last of my people, and I present you offerings of Tacos! And Scotch!” The silence was oppressive. He heard crickets. Really. Inside, he respectfully listened to everything his new mentors had to say. Taking his new surroundings in, he was amazed that such a place existed for his benefit. This location was more than he could have hoped for; a place for him to train and do some real good in the world. “This will make an excellent Squatchcave…” he breathed quietly. If he learned anything from his failure a week prior, or by looking over his teammates, it was that he could not count on being the strongest, nor the toughest anymore. Certainly not the most experienced combatant. While he did not have to exercise much to maintain his natural strength and stamina, the thing he could do, and swore he would as often as possible, was work on his fighting technique and stealth. These two Heroes were the ones to do it, and this place was perfect. He swore on his ancestors, lest he be forgotten after death, that he would make himself into a Luchador worthy of his people. He became positively gleeful when the new outfits were presented. He could easily tell which one was his; some jackass draped a shag carpet over the mannequin before putting the armor on. “Ha ehfrigging ha, people.” He sarcastically blurted out as the others went to their own uniforms. Inspecting his, El Sasquatcho’s wry expression evaporated. This guy had him set up in articulated combat gear, armored, made to protect and move around in. No expense spared, it looked like. Matte black and brown – the same color brown as half of his mask. The headgear, though, was a source of sincere gratitude. The exact styling of his beloved luchador mask, otherwise unassuming, but designed to be protective. Careful to hide his face in the transition, he slipped it on. Oh, the headbutts he could administer with this on…. Yes. Quite acceptable. “HEY GUYS, LOOK AT…” was that his voice? The mask augmented and amplified his voice, making him roar like an angry hippodemon. He’d have to learn how to control this, but by God this was neat. He didn’t bother waiting to get to the changing rooms. While the other Titans filed out of the room, The Man With No Shame, headgear still masking his face, dropped trou and began fitting into his new gear on the spot. The impatient, disapproving looks of his mentors was met with a shrug, and an explanation distorted by his mask’s vocal scrambler to a harsh growl: “I know, I know. It’s like the 70’s down there.”	Ladies and Gentlemen, making his first public appearance, I give you the testosterone-based, masked fury of ...El Sasquatcho! Secret ID: Hector Delacruz Alias: El Sasquatcho Age: 19 Home Location: Gotham Powers: Heightened Strength, Heightened Durability, Probability Manipulation Strength – Human maximum and somewhat beyond, he is capable of lifting and moving up to 400 lbs without difficulty. Past this point, effort is required. If straining, to the exclusion of all other activity, he can full body press approximately one ton. His strength allows him to flip over a car by himself, but not throw it. Durability – El Sasquatcho is physically very durable, due in no small part to his dense body mass. This gives him naturally occurring protection similar to that of a standard flak jacket. It is not accurate to say that he is bulletproof, but he is damage resistant. This does not affect his physical stamina, that while impressive, falls within normal human range. Probability Manpiulation – Simultaneously his greatest and least reliable power, he is uncannily lucky. If he needs a few bucks to tide him over until payday, he will find a twenty on the ground. While bending over to pick up the money, he will unwittingly dodge a stray bullet from a clash across the park. The stray bullet will warn him of a charging (but strangely silent) rhinoceros demon, who will then slip on a stray banana peel before reaching him. El Sasquatcho is not reliably able to consciously use this power – it appears to manifest during times of stress. Or time of need. Or randomly. Or whenever the GM says it does. Eventually, he may be able to use this power at will, but that is a long way off. Until then, he is just considered to be a lucky, lucky bastard. Weaknesses: Honorbound - Luchador code demands certain actions and limitations from him, described below. Equipment: Naught but his rippling biceps and spandexed thighs of justice. Appearance: El Sasquatcho is a masked Luchador. He is tall, broad, and overly possessed of very masculine body hair, hence his superhero identity. Now prior to his affiliation with the Titans, he is garbed in big black boots, rough carpenter’s jeans, and a closefitting t-shirt (usually black, sometimes a band shirt). Cooler days see him in a leather composite leather jacket. When heroing, he wears his one quality possession: A custom Lucha mask, brown and black, with intricate styling that makes it resemble a dark colored sugar skull. The mask does not impede his ability to breathe nor perceive the world around him, and is like a second skin. His “working gear”, as it were, is similar in form to Batman’s. It is an ergonomically articulated combat armor, designed for maximum protection and flexibility. Color is matte black with brown accents. Trauma plates protect vital areas, and can also be found in his mask, tactical boots, and gloves. These plates give him an extra bit of oomph when attacking with his extremities. Armor does not cover his arms, mostly because he thinks it looks cooler this way. Coupled with his Heightened Durability, he's quite the agile tank. He will, as needed, wear a standard cloth long coat over his armor. It can be torn away for dramatic effect, or merely blow about heroically in the wind. El Sasquatcho’s headgear is an exact duplicate of his Luchador mask, with audio comm options and a voice scrambler/augmenter (for anonymity and making very impressive entrances) His tactical boots contain compartments for the storage of small items, and more impressively, infrasound generators able to broadcast a wide range of pulses too low for humans to hear. The practical effect is a heightened sense of anxiety in those around him; the impractical effect being that every Bigfoot, Sasquatch, or Timber Ape within a 10 mile radius will be summoned to his position. Unless they’re not real. Then no dice. Wait, don’t whales use infrasound? Personality: Hector is a well-meaning, decent kid, whose unfortunate downfall is his arrogance. Raw physical strength (superior to an unmodified human) coupled with his uncanny luck (subconscious probability manipulation) have made him somewhat reckless and overconfident. Hopefully his new mentor can beat some common sense and humility into him. The relationship Hector has with his persona as is a little complicated. He thinks of himself more as El Sasquatcho than Hector Delacruz, considering his legal name and legal life the half that he only pretends to be when necessary. He respects his family name, giving honor to his ancestors, but does not speak of them much. He is El Sasquatcho, Blood of El Santo, which he will discuss with any who will listen at great length. Password: Gnarkk BRIEF Bio: Originally part of a touring Lucha Libre troupe, El Sasquatcho grew up steeped in the culture and traveling lifestyle. This life ended years ago during a tour in Gotham, when an unaffiliated masked Luchador interrupted the performance, he and his group killing many. A young teenager at the time, the shock of the events caused his abilities to express, narrowly allowing his survival. As his entire family was dead or missing, Hector was placed into Gotham City foster care services. He was a B student in the Gotham public school system, but was unable to finalize his Luchador training proper. What he had learned so far, however, brought him a long way with the wrestling and gymnastics teams, where he quickly became the star performer for both groups. He even had a dalliance as one of the Gotham High Mascots for home games. Go Wildcats. While trying to keep his skills sharp and his grades up, he never lost his original goal. Hector remains watchful for an opportunity to avenge the deaths of his family and fellow Luchadores. As soon as he became a legal adult, he adopted his persona and became a vigilante, hoping one day to run into the masked stranger that destroyed his world. He has a challenge to issue. Constantly refers to himself in the third person, as his hero identity. El Sasquatcho constructed and maintains his Lucha mask – he’s actually quite good at the craft. Almost stereotypically, drives a rebuilt El Camino. It’s in good shape; factory standard vehicle. Speaks Spanish, English, and an odd dialect of Transient Gypsy Spanglish barely recognizable to those who speak either Spanish or English. El Sasquatcho bowls overhanded. He sings. He can’t; he shouldn’t. Yet sadly, he does. Mariachi Opera or Mexican Folk Metal, anyone? Unless stealth is absolutely required, El Sasquatcho insists on screaming challenges or battle cries before engaging in melee. This can be as simple as “LUCHA!!!” or can be much more elaborate. Honor above all other things. Perform no act that would be seen as dishonorable to your mask, family, or title. Taking from the weaker is forbidden. Do not kill without first issuing a challenge. Killing in cold blood is forbidden. The street toughs approached from the shadows around him, obviously thinking him an easy mark. The young man, moderately under the influence of the illegally obtained bottle of Mescal in his left hand, seemed an easy target. Slurring his words slightly, he addressed his would-be attackers. "No, no. El Sasquatcho does not have time for this; he is needed elsewhere. Run away before El Sasquatcho renders you incapable of doing so voluntarily, sirs." The advice lay unheeded, tossed to the ground by the collective chuckles of the thugs. They rushed him; two head on and one moving to flank. The intoxicated youth sighed. He really did have somewhere to be, and he didn't want to risk ripping his new Pollo Negro band shirt on the teeth of some prick from the neighborhood. Shaking his head, he tossed his bottle high into the air, and braced for the oncoming attack. The attacker coming from the side got to him first, grabbing him by his shoulder and neck. It was a particularly inept choke hold attempt, one easily countered by the stronger, more experienced youth. Manipulating his attacker into an impressive airplane spin, El Sasquatcho hurled him into one of the very surprised assailants at his fore. Body connected solidly with body, a hollow smacking sound issuing from the sudden meeting of torso to torso, briefly interrupting the Mexican opera inexpertly spilling from the hurler. The alcohol has taken its toll, however, allowing the inertia of the spin and throw to pitch him forward. He slipped and fell into a puddle of dirty water (God he hoped it was water), coincidentally moving him out of the path of a thrown knife from his third adversary. El Sasquatcho rolled to his back, just in time to see the knife-thrower standing above him, another weapon at the ready. He taunted the prone hero, "Got anything else to say, dead bitch?" El Sasquatcho smiled. "Yeah. Waste of good booze." "What?" issued the confused reply. The bottle of Mescal, now almost done with the earthward half of its short journey, turned and tumbled closer to the cranium of the standing street thug, picking up velocity with each twirling nanosecond. The explosion of glass and stinging spirits from their inevitable attempt to share the same space at the same time (directly in opposition to the generally accepted laws pf physics) was quite impressive. Kind of pretty, from El Sasquatcho's perspective on the wet ground. Threat handled, the young hero turned to one side, giggled profusely, and emptied the contents of his stomach; retching into the apathetic night. Bad night. Very bad night. The name of El Sasquatcho was not yet spoken of in hushed whispers among the seedy underworld of Gotham City, and yet already he was receiving fan mail. No, wait. This was better. An invitation from one of the greats: Robin, associate of Senor Batman himself! And he wanted to meet the soon-to-be-famous El Sasquatcho! All of his hard work and street patrols were about to pay off, bigtime. That was the plan, at least. Bad night. ...the first gunshots rang out long before he could get to the docks. His saving grace, ironically a mundane issue, was traffic. He was delayed by a matter of two minutes - otherwise those shots might have been meant for him. El Sasquatcho managed to arrive just in time to see the broken body of one of his personal heroes drop to the ground, his head rebounding lifelessly and clunking back down again. The poor bastard was only identifiable as Robin because of his uniform; facial features were lost in a jumble of blood and damaged bone. Something broke inside of El Sasquatcho, a feeling of fear and rage and hopelessness he had only felt once before, years ago. He broke into a run, intent on beating his assailants into so much warm salsa with his bare hands. He bounded into the fight, caring not who saw nor heard him, paying little attention to the others in the fray. Nearing the first person he percieved as an enemy, his voice boomed forth in righteous indignation. "Sangre de El Santo!" His fist connected solidly, striking the neck of a man wearing a lightly glowing bodysuit. The man stumbled forward, but kept his footing and looked back at El Sasquatcho. This could not be. A full hit at that point of impact would have laid out any normal person. He must be dealing with a Meta, like himself. He had not the time to process, as he was very rapidly grabbed from behind by another man, seemingly wearing the same glowing bodysuit as the one in front of him. El Sasquatcho was able to begin the counter relatively easily, until his dance partner forced his full strength upon him. He was strong, possibly stronger than himself. El Sasquatcho had not expected this. Stupidly, he rushed in, relying on emotion and raw luck to see him to victory. He underestimated his opponents, even after seeing the Boy Wonder go down like a drunken prom date. Grappling though he was, he caught snatches of sight at his surroundings. Others were there, too, held back by more copies of the man now attacking him. In the center of the dock, another man (different this time) took to abusing the unconscious or dead Robin at his leisure. Making him watch. Making all of them watch. He was finally able to break free from his attacker's grasp, and picked him high above his head, intending to bring him down upon his knee. The blow failed as yet another copy plowed into his side with truck-stopping force, knocking El Sasquatcho to the ground and driving the air from his lungs. The man in the center paused his savage act for just a moment, looking over to the newcomer and the trouble he caused. The moment froze. The next thing El Sasquatcho knew, he was semi-conscious and being hurled into the sea. He skipped like a stone twice before nailing a buoy, an arm getting caught in the metal framework. Had it not, he likely would have slipped beneath the waves and drowned before he had a chance to recover. ...Unsure how long he had been out, he made his way back to the dock from where he was thrown. Things were quiet now, except for the wordless sobbing of those present. They stood in a circle around the fallen Hero. El Sasquatcho added his tears to the rest, undramatically slumping to his knees and bowing his head. The grief and shame of those present was palpable. "Dama Muerte, he is deserving of you..." It was then the scene darkened, overshadowed by the silhouette of a familiar cape and cowl.
4,766	125	6	896	389	Six Hours Ago Derrick couldn't stop looking at himself as he gazed into the mirror. A long overdue haircut had been ordered as he realized that it could only hold him back, the Multiplex clone yanking on it raising the first red flag. All that was left was a simple buzzcut, the fallen hair being swept up and mailed to a charity. The good cause only softening the blow slightly, not enough to take the pain away but enough not to lose sleep over. Adjusting to the change would take some time but hell, he had a lot of that. Speaking of which it was time to go, Gotham was a ways away. Derrick left the bathroom after running his hands through his hair one more time before he grabbed his stuff. A duffle bag filled with about a weeks worth of clothes, a wallet with all his current savings, and The Axe which was slung over his shoulder. The goodbye was quiet, all the words having been spoke not that long ago. No, the small family just hugged for a long while. It was time for baby bird to leave the nest. "Gloves? Check. Jacket? Check. Helmet? Check. Keys? Check." Derrick ran through his mental checklist as he set Iron Maiden up to leave, the old hog had barely been ridden since Mom gave up the gang so many years ago and it was a miracle that it ran as well as it did. She would need a check up sooner or later but the ol' gal would get Derrick to Gotham in no time. Iron Maiden's engine roared as he peeled out towards Gotham, the horizon holding his destiny. Present A deep rumble heralded Derrick's arrival. the Iron Maiden gave a groan as he pulled up to a stop, she would need a brake after this. Stepping off Derrick began to stretch the stiffness the long ride gave him out of his body. Before he entered the gym however his eyes were to a very different beast, the Al Camino someone else had driven. A whistle sang out as he scoped it out, a truly beautiful machine. After ogling the car for a bit Derrick entered the gym and heard the same speech everyone else did, which posed an odd problem for Derrick. He'd dropped out of school when money got a little too tight, instead getting a job and helped to keep the family afloat. When the time came where his contributions weren't needed anymore Derrick just never thought to go back, instead just cutting back to part time and playing for whoever would pay him. Deciding to save that topic of discussion for another time, Derrick just kept his mouth shut and walked up to his suit. In all honesty it was pretty kickass, must have been pretty expensive. Taking it all into a changing room Derrick began change, taking a couple minutes before exiting a new man. Everything was tactical in its simplicity, iron capped boots, black jeans he doubted were made of denim, a dark grey skintight long sleeved shirt, studded gloves, and a helmet looked more at home on a knight then his frame. Putting on his leather jacket for extra flair, Derrick looked ready to stop anything. Grabbing The Axe by the neck, Derrick joined everyone else on the main floor and took everything in. A little out of his element Derrick decided to lay low and wait for further instructions since Luchador seems to have things handled on the high spirits department.	Alias: Bard Age: 19 Home Location: Bludhaven Powers: Music is Magic- So far Derrick can only release his magic by playing The Axe in certain ways. Iron Will- Derrick isn't one to just give up anything without a fight, his determination keeping him awake through the harshest beat downs and all but the best psionics out of his head. Weaknesses: Strong but Unskilled- Derrick has great magical potential, his basic spells packing quiet the punch. However they are easily countered by more experienced magic users. Wild Child- Because of his inexperience Derrick can't efficiently use his magic, tiring him out quickly. Equipment:The Axe. A guitar given to him by a one "Uncle Scratch". It is far more durable than it has any right to be and slightly heavier than you would expect but it's magical origins make it the perfect channel for the young mages abilities. Notebook of Arcane Lore- Another gift from Uncle Scratch, this large notebook contains written spells, notes on magic, and little doodles. While only visibly carrying a hundred or so pages within it actually carries somewhere along several thousand. Personality: "Don't cling to pain. Don't expect happiness. Don't fear loss. Accept reality as it is. Enjoy the good. Endure the bad. Don't make a big deal out of anything. Be selfless, and unconditionally kind and just, without ever expecting a reward. We're all going to end up as piles of dust, so why not be nice to each other and get those pleasant fuzzies?" Password: Gnarkk BRIEF Bio: Notes: Sample Post: "bang, Bang, BANG!" the shots rang out in his head, the same sound Derrick had been hearing on repeat for several days now, the only wound that stayed fresh. The bruises and scrapes had already healed, it wasn't like that was the first time Derrick had ever been beat up, but death? That was new. He remembers bashing several of the Multiplexs on the head before getting overwhelmed and beaten down, nothing too bad but it left him helpless to do anything else. He blacked out for awhile, no more than a couple minutes but it was enough. Robin was dead and one of his "teammates" was on his way too. With nothing but a prayer and a dollar -twenty five he got the kid an ambulance and saw him off, getting left with questioning. "What the hell were you doing out here with that kid?" asked the cop, "Nothing officer, just found him like that." Derrick replied, deadpan and sour. "Then how do you explain looking like you were on the loosing end of a bar fight?", the cop was losing patience quickly. Completely blank face, Derrick said "I tripped." And on it went for awhile until he was dismissed. The cops not getting anything useful out of him. Now, several days later, Derrick sat on the roof and just watched the skyline. Honestly he didn't feel much right now, his anger and anguish spent. "So much for superhero's." He said to no one but the Bludhaven air.
4,767	125	7	1,537	4,313	Uh, sirs? My mother sent me these after the event with Robin She explained, unzipping her sports bag and opening it to reveal the set of equipment having already put on the bracers. Batman and Wildcat both looked in the bag. It looked like a hundred pounds of body armor with a couple weapons as well. It was obvious it all came from the Amazons on Paradise Island. Batman picked a piece of the armor up. Before he could give his thoughts the tall young woman spoke up again. "Also, Mr. Batman and Mr. Wildcat sirs I'm not entirely sure how uhm," she moved a strand of hair away from her face before speaking once more, "Well put it this way, I'm rather tall and I'm not sure getting a part time job will make me blend in as such." Batman finished looking at the piece of armor and dropped it back into the bag. At the sound of hearing the seven foot tall Amazon call six foot three inch Batman 'Mr. Batman' Bruce cringed a little bit inside. Like he didn't already feel as old as somebody like Wildcat. The streets of Gotham and the inmates in and out of Arkham had been wearing him down the last several months. He welcomed the idea of more assistance. "You know sweetie, you'd make a great lamppost, or a tree, must be some job openings in those departments here in Gotham," Caitlyn suggested, "Some of us have real physical afflictions and we're still going to blend in nonetheless." "We've all had a rough week. Could we maybe try to make this less painful than it already is?" the one called Foo Dog asked passing by. "I actually had something in mind for you already, Vesta. I've still yet to figure out who paid off Multiplex and Deadshot. It'd have to be someone with money to burn, and I happen to know of a dive where a lot of the crooked cops and high class criminals of Gotham congregate. The Iceburg Lounge is in need of a new metahuman bouncer down in Crown Point..." Batman began to explain to the young woman. "So um..." Zero started to say now in costume, "...why is everyone getting transferred to my school of all places?" it wasn't exactly a pressing question, but he was curious. "The Gotham Academy didn't have enough room for the lot of ya," Wildcat began answering, "..and we're still not sure how your social skills will be effected by the people of Gotham. This isn't Central City, everyone isn't happy, and the hero isn't running around at super speed with a cheesy smile in a bright suit. Every other weekend some district of Gotham becomes a warzone..." Grant said going off into another tangent conversation, the old man was bad for that sort of thing. "Oh and... why does my mask make me look like Firestorm of all people? I mean... I'm an ice guy so... looking like a fire guy seems a bit strange." "What's the matter kid, a thirty thousand dollar suit isn't good enough for ya?" Wildcat said raising an eyebrow under his mask. Robert and Daniel didn't know what to think about the suits that had been provided for them. Scales and calf fins like Aquaman? The brothers thought the blue and black suits were cool, but it wasn't like they had applied to be in a team with the Atlantian. Maybe Robin's files had been tampered with, at least that's what the younger of the two thought. So he approached Batman as he was finishing up with Vesta. "Um... Batman?" he managed to say loud enough for Batman's attention to be grabbed, "I think you got me and my brother confused with somebody else..." "Your brother was an all state swimmer for three years in high school, and you've been on your school's diving team now for just under a year. Robin's file said you could swim as fast as you run in giant form, the suit will help you swim even faster... now go fuse. I'm going to need a Leviathan..." Batman instructed. _________________________ Across town two shadowy figures met out by the docks. "Lawton and Plex managed to keep their mouths shut." one silhouette said to the other. "Good. The Bat can't know we have plans for one of the kids." replied the other as smoke surrounded them from one's grape smelling cigar. "Do you really think.." the other began to question before the cigar smoking one interrupted. "The Boy Wonder did his homework, it's just a matter of leaving the right breadcrumbs to get Batman and these 'Titans' where we want them. When the last of them are standing, the Bat won't be a problem and we'll finally take this city..." _________________________ Several days of training, school, and getting jobs had gone by. It was late September, and the air of the Gotham night's blew cold... ~KL~	Secret ID: Robert Hall and Daniel Hall Alias: Leviathan Age: 19 and 15 Home Location: Metropolis Powers: Through concentrated contact, the boys become a single giant human with increased strength, speed, stamina, and durability. In a nut shell, the composite being is ten foot tall, bulletproof, and can tear a car apart with his bare hands. He can bench press well over a ton, and run a mile in just over three minutes. Both of the boys are adept swimmers, and as fast as Leviathan is on land he's just as fast in the water. Weaknesses: When separated the boys are just your average athletic teenagers with no increased anything. The composite being Leviathan can only stay together for roughly an hour, the duration also depends on how well the boys work as one brain rather than two sides fighting against each other. If the Leviathan is hit with mental attacks he loses his form in no time at all. Equipment: Any equipment or devices/objects the boys have on them becomes compromised when they combine to create Leviathan. Batman fitted each of the boys with a light armor reminiscent of a wet suit and upon becoming one being the suit 'completes itself' giving the young giant hero a little more durability. Appearance: Leviathan - Personality: Robert is a little more loud and reckless; Daniel is a little smarter and quieter, Leviathan is stoic but often acts before thinking things through. Password: What's this about a password? BRIEF Bio: Robert and Daniel both lived in Metropolis with their grandmother. Several weeks back, while Superman was in a battle with Brainiac, one of the technological tyrant's experiments was released into the city. This 'exobyte' had the brothers merge into one larger being when they made contact running for safety. The two of them had no idea what to think, but it was clear to anyone who tried to talk to the giant man that the fellow was a man of two minds about everything. After Brainiac had been defeated and the first time the two brothers would 'go big' wore off they thought that life would go back to normal. They couldn't have been more wrong. Days later, while the two boys waited in the car outside of the bank their grandmother was doing business in, a robbery began to go down. As soon as Daniel realized what was going on he told his brother they needed to go and make sure their grandma was safe. On a whim Daniel concentrated hard and put his hand on his brother's shoulder. Seconds later the giant was born again. At the end of it all, the giant was met by Superman after putting the KO on the three armed robbers. Another week would pass before Robin contacted the boys. Grayson wasn't the world's greatest detective, but he trained with one of the best for three years and quickly determined the giant was a composite being and reached out to them via social media. Like others, the first meeting with Robin in Gotham went south for the boys and the two could only watch as Multiplex and Deadshot made an example out of the first teenage superhero and former sidekick. Notes: At some point later on we may meet other members of this universe's Justice League so that I can have a short moment between Leviathan and Aquaman. Sample Post: "These Multiplex goons are a handful. My brother and I aren't really cut out for this 'Teen Titans' thing after all. It takes concentration and skin to skin contact for us to become a giant, and if something doesn't happen soon Robin's not going to make it much longer. If only Robert would stop trying to fight those Multiplex guys two or three at a time we might be able to make contact and..." Daniel thought to himself while trying to break free of one of the Multiplex duplicates' grip that currently had him pinned up against a warehouse wall. "These kids are beginning to annoy me..." Deadshot yelled out to his partners in crime as he shot a couple high powered rounds at the dog like creature that one of the kids transformed into taking it down for the time being. "Should've just killed that ugly thing, Lawton..." one of the many Multiplexes commented. "We were sent here to kill one person and to send a message. ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME YOU LITTLE SUPERHERO WANNABES?" Deadshot yelled out a little louder than before, "KIDS SHOULDN'T WEAR COSTUMES." Deadshot finally let the nearly lifeless and beaten body of Robin fall to the ground the rest of the way. He reloaded his wrist mounted 22 millimeter firearms and aimed one of them at the head of the bloody and bruised Robin. Under his mask he was closing his eyes. Killing kids is awful even to an assassin. Not even two seconds later and... BANG! BANG BANG! After a few more punches were thrown at the rookie heroes by all of the duplicates, they all merged back into the prime Multiplex as Deadshot watched seemingly in surprise. "We better jet, 'Plex. There's no telling for certain when the Bat will come around looking for bird boy..." Deadshot suggested as they took off up an alleyway, now just the two of them. ~KL~
4,768	125	8	1,602	2,499	Just as Ves had finished speaking she heard a voice come from behind her. It took the gears in her head a minute to realize that it was an insult. She began biting the corner of her thumb once more, pointing her head to the floor and instead opting to just move her eyes to look at people talking rather than moving her head completely. "I didn't really mean it like tha-" She managed to squeak out, barely audible to anyone but a dog. She was interrupted by, Bolin, stopping the argument before it had even begun. Ves was glad that it hadn't spiralled into something more, and was even more glad that she didn't have to be the one to stop it. Her question was answered by Batman, explaining that she would work as a bouncer at a place called 'The Iceberg Lounge'. To be frank, she didn't exactly know what a bouncer was, but she felt she'd already made a fool of herself today and made a mental note to find out later. Several days later It had been a while since the team's second meeting, and Ves had really come out of her shell. Actually getting to know her new teammates increased her confidence tenfold and while she still had bouts of anxiety, she felt a lot more free to speak her mind than before. Especially since the others had gotten use to her naivety as it were. Ves was standing in the kitchen, attempting to make a sandwich. Her main problem was that she kept pressing down too hard while spreading the jam, and would end up slicing right through the bread or scraping jam along the table. Earphones played the sounds of 'ABC' into her ears as she moved onto her sixth try. She hummed along to the tune of 'Poison Arrow' as she failed once more to spread jam on bread. Chester spent the first several days getting some hard training in, deciding to start lifting weights and getting in some basic combat practice. He had little to no training in the field of armed or unarmed fighting, which was something he would have to rectify if he was going to keep up with his work as a hero. During these days of training he had realized just how unprepared he had been for their encounter with Deadshot and Multiplex. Chester didn't like how he had just rushed ahead with trying to be a hero before properly preparing himself first, and now Robin was dead. He felt his depression start rise again and he needed to find something to take his mind away from the tragic memories. While he wandered around looking for something or someone to take his mind off the depressing thoughts, Chester saw the very tall Ves and he walked over to start up a conversation. "Hi, so what are you doing right now? I was thinking about going to do some training and wouldn't mind some company" he asked the Amazon. Chester remembered his joke that he made about her and wondered if she still remembers it. Even though he didn't show it, the last thing he wanted was a salty training session. Ves got a jolt when Chester snuck up behind her and began talking. She turned to him, taking out her earphones and hearing the most part of the sentence. She took off her beloved cap, scratched the side of her head and was about to answer before Caitlyn came in and answered for her. Caitlyn was having a hard time adjusting to having indisposable team mates she had to trust and coordinate with. This wasn't the streets anymore, but her tuff girl act was one she couldn't retire just yet, it had kept her safe so far. Her attitude was putting barriers between her and other members of the team so she'd have to reign it in, transition from agent provocateur to playful windup merchant. Playful. She shuddered thinking about showing such weakness. She hadn't suspected such a giant change as she worked her way up the social ladder. Bug wasn't finished cleaning up the inside of the kitchen's trash can and was reluctant to give it up so it came too as Caitlyn left for the gymnasium's lounge. Training was usually Caitlyn's excuse to go put a VR headset on, her venom was not to be played with. As much as she wanted to spar with the rest, leaving them incapacitated was a risk she wasn't willing to take, not until they'd at least finished knives with Batman. "We could do something besides train all day, I mean we've been doing it 5 days straight" Ves put her hat back on before replying to both of them. "I think I agree with, Caitlyn, to be honest I'm much more interested in these Vid-eyoh games I heard, Sassy talking about" She said, mispronouncing video games so badly that it would have made Jack Thompson cringe. She desperately tried to hide her numerous failed attempts behind her back, although the jam spread all over the bunker was a different situation all together. Chester waited, but wasn't expecting for Caitlyn to come and respond to his question and pointed out that they had been training for several days already. She did have a point, maybe a little fun would help him feel less anxious and cheer him up. He chuckled at Ves' pronunciation of video game, clearly Themyscira wasn't too into video games from the look of it. "What do you want to play, Ves?" he asked her curious to hear her answer, that is unless she didn't know any games. Ves thought for a moment, resting her chin on her knuckles. "Ehm" She thought, straining all of her mental energy into remembering something she had heard in a prior conversation that she wasn't even involved in. "The Smack Brothers?" She asked, unsure if that actually even existed.	Secret ID: Vesta 'Ves' Petrakis Alias: Argonaut Age: 18 Home Location: Themyscria, althought she is currently situated in Metropolis. Powers: -Enhanced aspects of the human body -Flight -Healing factor Weaknesses: -Naivety -Piercing weapons hurt her more than any other kind. Equipment: -Lasso of truth -Bracelets of submission -Tiara(explained below) -A sword (Used only in extreme emergencies) Appearance: Vesta stands at a whopping 7 foot. She has a lightly muscular physique that does not represent her true strength by far. Her hair reaches down to her lower back and is a raven black. Vesta's skin is more pale than it is tan, although not pale enough to actually make any obvious comment about it. Her eyes are a piercing blue and are easily recognizable among other eyes. Her equipment is similar to her sisters, both in style and hue except with Vesta's having darker shades of each colour overall, and with the blue being replaced with black. While much of the equipment that Vesta received remains the same, the bracers have suffered a design change that has made them longer and more stylized. Along with this, the tiara has been replaced with a sort of metal headband that can be used as a throwing weapon alike the tiara. Her costume is much more modern than her sisters, and while she retains a similar sort of breastplate, hers goes up to her neck rather than stopping below her shoulders. She also has tight fitting black trousers under a small amount of armour along with boots. All of her armour is styled around the Amazons. When off mission, Ves can usually be seen wearing some sort of band T-shirt along with jeans and whatnot. She hasn't really adapted to the fashion of the outside world and it took Diana some time to explain to her that going out in a toga isn't really socially acceptable. Personality: Vesta is rather naive but also very courageous and willing to help anyone who needs it. A well of compassion, Vesta treats everyone equally no matter their creed, race or gender. To the point where she'd rather convince a racist to change their ways rather than attack them. Vesta tries to make jokes, but they often fall flat because of her lack of knowledge about the outside worlds customs and whatnot. While she displays a great degree of confidence, Vesta is deeply insecure and often talks about how much better her sister is when people compliment her. The one thing that Ves is most interested in is 80s music. Her favourite band is The Smiths and even mentioning them in a positive light can make just about anyone her new best friend. Password: Titan BRIEF Bio: Vesta was born on the mythical isle of Themyscria. Vesta, like her sister, Diana was 'born' through her 'mother', Hippolyta creating her with clay and the soul of an unborn baby. Vesta was born quite a few years after Diana who had left Themyscria before Vesta had even begun her training. Vesta's training began when she was around 15. Her training was a tough and rigorous regime, exhausting both her body and her mind while strengthening them at the same time. Much more emphasis was based around her mental skills though, as she was never really meant to be a warrior, just a trainer. Vesta was kept oblivious to the technology and customs of the outside world, only learning what a boy was after Diana visited home and told Vesta various things about the outside world. Of course, Vesta was still quite young and the explanation was cut short of "Girls, but with hair on their chins" and Vesta was left mostly in the dark about men. Vesta was never intended to leave Themyscria at all, instead being trained to defend it from any danger and so she could train any new Amazons to a much more efficient rate than before. However, Vesta was curious and yearned to see the outside world after speaking with her sister rather often. Eventually, after much pestering, she was allowed to visit the outside world with Hippolyta thinking that she'd prefer the comfort of home to the harshness of the 'real' world. Of course, she was wrong. During her short visit to the outside world, Vesta was contacted by Robin and subsequently got her arse kicked with the rest of the 'team' in the fight that concluded with Robins death. Shortly after, Hippolyta had equipment similar to that of, Diana's made for Vesta in order to help her better defend herself. Of course, Vesta isn't well versed in the use of this equipment just yet but is getting the hang of using them as quickly as she can. Vesta loved the outside world. Diana showed her how differing the technology and culture was to that of Themyscria and Vesta finally saw a man. Although while she has seen a man she still confuses non-bearded men for women every now and then. She was allowed to stay in Metropolis, cutting her training short and leaving her under the supervision of her sister. Notes: -Favourite band is "The Smiths" -Has a major crush on a young David Bowie -Favourite colour is purple -Her favourite song is "Love and Pride" by King, although this changes frequently. Sample Post: Vesta dodged under the knife of her attacker. Attacker was a generous way to put it, he hadn't landed a hit on her yet. She dodged left of one swipe and right of another, unhooking her lasso and unfurling it in one flick of her wrist. She jumped back as the attacker sent a jab towards her before swinging her arm back and sending the lasso forward in one fell swoop. The lasso affixed itself around the thugs wrist, and with one tug he was sent tumbling into the wall. Vesta flew through the air with the grace of an eagle. Swooping between buildings and under cranes as if she were born of bird herself. She looked down to the terrified criminal she held in her sturdy grip. Her mind drifted back to hearing what various other superheroes had said on the news. They usually said something dramatic and heroic to the criminal in a time like this and Vesta would be damned if she couldn't think of something cool and inspirational to say. "Young Lady that is no way to act" She said, an obvious lack of inspiration or any semblance of cool. She saw the assailant turn their head to her with a puzzled look growing on their face. "Young Lady?" They spoke "I'm a man!" He screamed, visibly distressed and insecure about his appearance. Vesta furrowed her brow in confusion before the confusion turned to embarrassment and her cheeks grew red. "But you have long hair?" She said, visibly confused. The thug, equally confused asked "So?" In a seemingly calm voice for the current situation. Vesta didn't answer, she just looked forward and left the man to stew in his own anxiety. This was the second time this week that she'd mistaken a man for a woman, and it was only Wednesday. She made haste to reach the police station and drop off the criminal before things got even more awkward. Vesta returned to her small apartment late that night. She was surprised to find a letter left on her bed. She opened the letter with intrigue and was confused to find a meeting place written on the paper. She debated going, but ultimately decided there was little point in not going and made a mental note of the date of said meeting.
4,769	125	9	668	1,466	Archer flinched a bit at the "responses" he got. First was Chester, who offered an obligatory snide remark that Archer elected to simply ignore. Seriously, most of the people here were still mourning Robin and he chooses to act like a snarky jackass? Archer just sighed with exasperation and awaited a real answer from either Batman or Wildcat. Unfortunately, the answers Wildcat offered weren't much better than Chester's, in fact they were arguably worse. He answered Archer's school question by going off on a tirade about the general state of Gotham City. This made the ice-man frown, and feel guilty, as if Wildcat's rant was somehow placing blame for Gotham's state solely on Archer himself for some reason. Great, because Archer totally didn't feel like crap already, the older hero's snappy responses were really only making him feel worse. And of course, there was the snap response Wildcat gave about Archer's suit. Wonderful, now Archer felt like he was being ungrateful on top of everything else. Archer didn't answer, but he did sort of shrink and turn his back in shame. Excuse me for living. Was the only thing Archer could even think right then. He still didn't say anything, for fear of pissing off Wildcat any more than he apparently already had. The next several days were slow and arduous for Archer. Between not fully recovering from what happened to Robin, and his new-found fear of getting yelled at or beaten by Wildcat, Archer began to think that no one would blame him if he just up and quit. But he didn't. The honor of Robin's memory was riding on all of this and Archer had already let the Boy Wonder down once before. He made up his mind that he simply refused to quit, no matter how harsh or rough it was. Outside of training, Archer elected to be alone. Memories of the fateful night still haunted him, and he honestly couldn't understand how everyone else could go back to being so cheerful and happy-go-lucky. Archer still honestly felt like crap, and knew that he probably still would for a while yet. That was how mourning usually worked, though the processes also tended to differ from person to person as well. "Another day... and then another night with Drill Sergeant Wildcat. I can hardly wait." he said as he walked from school to the Gym. When he entered he found others had already gotten there. He didn't really say anything though, instead going straight for his locker so he could suit up. At least today he could already be suited up by the time Wildcat started barking orders. Maybe that would make him act less angry at everyone? Not likely, but Archer sure as hell wasn't going to start getting on the older man's bad side, especially when said older man could pretty easily take on the whole team by himself at this point.	Secret ID: Archer Graham Alias: Zero Age: 18 Home Location: Gotham Powers: A textbook Cryomancer, Archer can "create" objects made of ice by lowering the temperature around him and using moisture in the air as his main source of ice. His ice-powers could very well run deeper than that, but if it does he has yet to discover it, having only just now began to get the hang of creating ice objects. The objects he creates are, more often than not, simple blunt weapons like bats and hammers, or basic stabbing weapons like knives and javelins. His cryomancy allows him near immunity to cold weather and other extreme cold temperatures, as well, meaning he could go on missions to the South Pole with no need to dress more warmly. Weaknesses: His ice is almost exclusively reliant on some form of water source to work with. He can usually get by using moisture in the air, but should he find himself in, say, a burning building, then the lack of water in the air can handicap him unless he happens to have a jug of water to work with. He's also found that his powers work best so long as he remains well-hydrated, as a lack of hydration can weaken the amount of ice he can manipulate. Just as he is nearly immune to cold temperatures, the inverse is true of hot temperatures, though not to same extremes as the likes of Mister Freeze, since Archer can at least go out in warm weather with no threat to his life. Extremely hot environments, such as scorching deserts or a volcanic mountain on the other hand can leave him powerless to do anything until he is moved to a cooler location. Equipment: Apart from the standard stuff, Batman has made sure that the material of Archer's suit has as much heat resistance as possible. It doesn't completely alleviate the problem with hot environments, but it certainly provides a considerable buffer between the heat and Archer's body. Appearance Personality: Archer is, for the most part, a good enough kid. If he sees a mugging on the street or even bullying at school, he won't hesitate to take it upon himself to stop said activity. After getting his powers, he's become even more brazen with these acts, becoming almost cocky. Lately, since Robin's death, Archer has begun second guessing himself more often, his previous confidence shattered by the death of his team leader. Regardless, he's determined to pick up the pieces and start over again, if for nothing else than for the memory of Robin. Password: Titan BRIEF Bio: Born in Gotham City, Archer used to be more timid when he smaller. The general danger of living in Gothom City can do that to a kid. Of course, Batman has since made the city much safer than it used to be. Batman's crusade against crime was inspirational, but it was the appearance of his partner, Robin, that really changed Archer's personality. After all, if a kid around his own age could be brave enough to take on corruption, than why shouldn't Archer himself do the same? Of course, he would never have actually fought crime, but he did finally start standing up to his bullies, protecting himself and other kids they picked on. It wasn't much, but it was a start. Once he was in High School, Archer's life changed again. It was during one of Mister Freeze's attempts to bring an Ice Age to Gotham. When the attack came, Archer was walking home from school, passing by a small chemical lab. Mister Freeze's sudden attack covered chunks of Gotham City into a Winter Wonderland, Archer's location included. But in the midst of bombardment of cold, some barrels of discarded chemicals burst open, and their contents splashed all over Archer before the freeze blast briefly froze him. Emphasis on "brief" because within moments, Archer was able break himself free, discovering that he didn't feel any of the cold at all, despite the lack of winter clothes. From there he discovered he could manipulate the moisture in the air and freeze it into ice shapes. Robin found him not long after that. The Boy Wonder explained that he was planning to start a team called the Teen Titans, and that Archer with his powers would make an excellent addition. It was practically a dream come true, and Archer joined without a second thought. He had no idea just what fate had in store. Soon after that was when Deadshot and Multiplex attacked. The team escaped, though not without casualty. Robin was dead. Robin, one of the first teen superheroes ever to done a cape, and student of the freaking Batman no less. Archer was shaken, to be sure, and even briefly considered giving up the notion of saving people. But then, he received the message, a text on his phone that led him to a gym where Batman and Wildcat were waiting. If fate saw fit to provide Archer a second chance, then it would have been a disservice to the memory of Robin to not accept the offer. It was a normal enough day as Archer walked home from school. Huh, school. Not too long ago, his grades would have been the most important thing in his world. Not anymore, though, not by a long shot. His world completely changed on the day he got his powers. Now things like school felt completely pointless, but even so he had to keep up appearances, so he continued going. His grades took a hit, though, his new-found night life offered very little in the way of free time that, previously, would have been used for homework and the like. Still, he at least managed to maintain a passing grade so he wouldn't flunk. As he walked, he heard sounds coming from an upcoming alleyway. It sounded like shouting of some sort. Archer ran ahead, stopping to press himself against the building corner. He peeked around and saw a man standing behind another man, appearing to gesture at him while the other had his hands up. A mugging if Archer ever saw one. In Gotham City such a thing was sadly very common. But not today, that mugger picked the wrong alley on the wrong day to commit this crime. Archer ducked into a crawlspace behind a dumpster. There, he removed the top layer of his clothes, revealing a black suit underneath. He'd taken to wearing it under his normal clothes whenever he could, so changing personas was quick and easy affair most of the time. He retrieved his belt and mask from his backpack, put them on, then made his presence known. Well, not after throwing a baseball made of ice at the mugger's hand, knocking the pistol from his grip. "Wrong alley, wrong day, pal." said Archer as he leaped from his hiding spot and landed an ice-covered punch across the mugger's jaw. At that point it became as easy as trapping the man's hands and feet against the pavement with ice while his intended victim ran away shouting a thanks to Zero, the costumed meta that just saved him, "Guess I'm done here. Why don't you just chill out here a while until the cops show up?" he said before walking away. Oh yeah, he knew his little pun was a terrible one, but hey, at least it was one of the bad guys that had to suffer through it this time.
4,770	125	10	2,170	1,634	El Sasquatcho took another swing at the training dummy. Frightening invention, this. He wondered with actual, honest scrutiny why Wildcat didn’t just bring these things into battle against the forces of evil. At first, he cranked the difficulty level up to about halfway. You know, start off slowly. He realized his mistake a little too late, shortly after picking himself up from the heap of hair and sarcasm into which he had been hurled, far across the room. Afterwards, he dialed it WAY down and set it to “Intermediate, Instruction Mode”. Scanning through the styles offered, he tried Boxing the first day, figuring it would round out his melee options. By the end of the day, however, he met and fell into heavy flirtation with Capoeira. Something that could compliment his Wrestling, with excellent striking technique, plus capitalized on his abilities as an acrobat. He spent the next few days dedicating his training time to it. True to his word, he called his old teacher, Luis Martinez, and gratefully accepted a position with the Gotham Cultural Arts center. A few hours a day, A few days a week, he taught Hispanic Art classes and consulted on similar matters. Growing up as he did, he was exposed to more folk art of this nature than very possibly anyone else in the state. As promised, it was rather easy. It was fun. And he worked with kids that would otherwise not have exposure to their ancestor’s culture. It was an excellent juxtaposition to how he spent most other hours of his day. It was after a particularly strenuous night of receiving more abuse from the automated training dummies that he took a moment to ponder introspectively. Why was he doing this? For days now, he had spent the majority of the evening hours pushing himself in this underground (and very, very cool) training facility. His jocularity the first night, symptomatic of a colorful, extroverted personality coupled with an awesome burrito high, was replaced with a gnawingly intense need to better himself. Not that he would tell anyone else around him, but his defeat last week and subsequent forced swim shook him up. The last time he felt that level of helplessness, he was a boy of fourteen. Another bad day. Perhaps his present “flash and fanfare” attitude was part of a defense mechanism, keeping him functioning and driven in the hard world he voluntarily thrust himself. Aw, hell; perhaps he was just hungry. The furry Luchador, for whatever reason, put himself on a diet consisting mainly of fruit and roughage. The occasional jar of peanut butter and loaf of Hawaiian bread, but that didn’t really count. He craved meat. Meat and peppers and rice. Meat, peppers, rice, and some manner of syrupy pineapple soda. Yes, it was time to hit The Taco Hut. With a vengeance. He threw a coat on over his training gear and hopped in the El Camino. He returned twenty three minutes later, stacks of refried goodness in large bags emblazoned with the Taco Hut logo; a cartoony pueblo style dwelling with a sombrero for a roof. He made his way to the break room, tossed the food to a nearby table, and bowed with the grandiose flair of a bullfighter, whipping his coat about him. The vocal augmenter in his mask amplified his words into an anti-heroic roar as he exclaimed, “Midnight snacking time, boys and girls! El Sasquatcho has brought a bounty of Tacos and Churro Bites!” Titans present in the break room, or any within earshot who felt like taking a meal, were greeted with a veritable cornucopia of quick-service Mexican inspired delights. Their signature tacos, certainly, plus fresh avocado guacamole, salsa, and mountains of chips. Boxes of yellow rice, fajita fixings and warm flour tortillas, and a stack of burritos, making way for warm cheesecake-filled sopapillas and chocolate covered churro bites. One bag stood alone, its contents unadded to the mounting buffet of meaty, cumin-ous aromas. “No no, my friends. This one is for me. Enjoy.” El Sasquatcho dug into the untouched bag with reverent glee, contemplating where to begin his carnivorous destruction of the contents within. He lifted his mask enough to give a wide area of approach for his feast, and began to devour. Through a mouthful of carne asada, inquired, “Ey, is Senor Wildcat still around? Maybe he should get in on some of this, eh?” before returning to his gluttonous rampage. A few minutes into the meal, he looked at the assembled would-be heroes. “Guys, we have got to get to know each other a little better if we’re going to work like a team, eh? El Sasquatcho has noticed a that we’re all taking a great deal of alone time. Whatddya say, next time we all have a day off, we go… ida know… do something? Like, as a group? Maybe we can catch a movie, or hit the cockfights, maybe go to the park and join a Tai Chi group…” At this exact moment, a loud issuance of sound burbled from El Sasquatcho’s abdomen, reminiscent of plumbing beginning to back up. “Oh, no.” whispered the luchador, gritting his teeth and swallowing the bite he upon which he was presently working. He instantly regretted his decision to consume massive amounts of fiber and peanut butter over the past few days. The sudden addition of beef and fat and capsicum knocked something loose, somewhere in the deeper reaches of his digestive system; it threatened imminent breach. A threat that sounded strangely like the death growls of two pumas, their tails attached by means of a steadfast square knot. El Sasquatcho pulled his mask back down fully, praying panic would not overtake him while he tried frantically to figure out how one might relieve themselves in this armor. Dios mio, not in the armor. He had to run. Pulling off his gear mid-stride, he bolted for the bathrooms. El Sasquatcho moved with breakneck acceleration unexpected of someone of his bulk, his years of Lucha training becoming useful as he partially ran on his hands while kicking off his tactical lower garments. He cared not for which bathroom – blessed oasis of gastrointestinal relief – he entered, male, female, or other, so long as it had a water bearing porcelain seat capable of supporting his weight, preferably with handlebars and a seatbelt. To his own horror, he almost overshot the door to his necessary destination while bounding down the causeway like a rampaging gorilla. Reaching a ham sized fist out to stop his forward momentum, he caught the door frame and was able to swiftly pull himself back onto his path of salvation. What occurred next would come to be known as The Great Intestinal Rebellion of Grant Gym, to be discussed only in whisper and rumor. El Sasquatcho hurled himself bodily upon the nearest toilet, carefully tucked away in a well-constructed stall built to last nuclear disaster. This was fortunate, as a DEFCON Level Assplosion was nigh. He barely placed his overly furry posterior onto its preferred docking station, before the torrent of dark, foreboding ichors began spewing therefrom. The force was sufficient to send the large man’s feet skyward, his hands pressing on either side of the stall, holding a tenuous balance. This dump would not defeat him. He would not go gentle. Unfortunately, he still wore his working headgear, vocal enhancer fully functional and projecting his scrambled voice in a manner that was quite monstrous. El Sasquatcho did not seem to notice, focused as he was on his battle. He began his counterattack as any good Luchador would, by issuing a challenge: “Nunca, foul demonshit! You cannot hope to prevail! LUCHA!!!” His sputtering foe responded by fro-yo’ing a renewed blast, erupting its fury with the sound of an underwater chainsaw, wielded by an inexpert lumberjack. El Sasquatcho growled and bore down, forcing his will upon the entity of colonic mayhem. “…rrrrrrRRRRRAAAAAHHHH!!! Kneel before me, Cacafuego! You will submit before my massiveness! Tap out, I command you! SUBMIT!!!” Then the burning began. The feeling of acid marbles forced from a toothpaste tube came rolling down; each cat’s-eye or masher sending rolling waves of growing discomfort through his strain-wracked form. It just kept coming, flowing like a river of all things vorpal – but from his ass. The seeming betrayl of his dietary change, ironically designed to make him healthier, hurt his feelings but simultaneously gave him great resolve. “Bastardo! I have looked into the eyes of suffering! YOU ARE NOTHING!” The urgency of the noise issuing from his posterior reached a fevered pitch, now more the garbled screaming of a lamentably insane bull moose. El Sasquatcho, not to be defeated easily by anyone, let alone dinner, wrapped his fingers around the handicap assist rails to his sides, and lifted himself up from his lifeline toilet, crossing his legs in the lotus position and straightening his back. Despite resembling some manner of satanic yogi, this position gave him superior control of his core muscles and reliable aim. He growled with effort and pain, preparing to make his move. “GRRRRRRRRAAAAAAH! Prepare to be pinned, Rectal Fiend! RrrrrRRRRRRRRR … One…. rrrRRRRRR …Two! Grrrraaahhhhgh THREE! EL SASQUATCHO WINS!!!” In truth, there was more to come, but the fight had left his opponent. What remained, as the Bard said (Shakespeare, not the other one) was: “Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing”. El Sasquatcho took meticulous effort on the cleanup, washed his hands and arms twice, and returned to the scene of the battle. “You were a worthy adversary, and out of respect, I shall flush twice. Ole.” He tapped the toilet handle with his foot (twice) and moved to rejoin the others. Glancing at the mirrors on his way out, he finally noticed that he was wearing his working headgear – the mask with the vocal augmentation. Maybe nobody noticed. He returned to the break room, reequipping himself as he came back across his gear. Nonchalantly, he entered the room, checking on the status of his favored meal. He was pleased to note his burritos were still warm, and he retrieved one, intent on enjoying himself regardless of his earlier struggle. Partway through this burrito, he risked a look at the other Titans, staring at him with shocked (or amused) expressions. Understanding that the jig was up, he responded to their initial silence, “It fought bravely. You would give it proper honor to wait twenty minutes before entering the room.” El Sasquatcho cleared his throat, took another bite, and tried like hell to change the subject. “Sooo… you guys talk about where you wanted to go while I was away?”	Ladies and Gentlemen, making his first public appearance, I give you the testosterone-based, masked fury of ...El Sasquatcho! Secret ID: Hector Delacruz Alias: El Sasquatcho Age: 19 Home Location: Gotham Powers: Heightened Strength, Heightened Durability, Probability Manipulation Strength – Human maximum and somewhat beyond, he is capable of lifting and moving up to 400 lbs without difficulty. Past this point, effort is required. If straining, to the exclusion of all other activity, he can full body press approximately one ton. His strength allows him to flip over a car by himself, but not throw it. Durability – El Sasquatcho is physically very durable, due in no small part to his dense body mass. This gives him naturally occurring protection similar to that of a standard flak jacket. It is not accurate to say that he is bulletproof, but he is damage resistant. This does not affect his physical stamina, that while impressive, falls within normal human range. Probability Manpiulation – Simultaneously his greatest and least reliable power, he is uncannily lucky. If he needs a few bucks to tide him over until payday, he will find a twenty on the ground. While bending over to pick up the money, he will unwittingly dodge a stray bullet from a clash across the park. The stray bullet will warn him of a charging (but strangely silent) rhinoceros demon, who will then slip on a stray banana peel before reaching him. El Sasquatcho is not reliably able to consciously use this power – it appears to manifest during times of stress. Or time of need. Or randomly. Or whenever the GM says it does. Eventually, he may be able to use this power at will, but that is a long way off. Until then, he is just considered to be a lucky, lucky bastard. Weaknesses: Honorbound - Luchador code demands certain actions and limitations from him, described below. Equipment: Naught but his rippling biceps and spandexed thighs of justice. Appearance: El Sasquatcho is a masked Luchador. He is tall, broad, and overly possessed of very masculine body hair, hence his superhero identity. Now prior to his affiliation with the Titans, he is garbed in big black boots, rough carpenter’s jeans, and a closefitting t-shirt (usually black, sometimes a band shirt). Cooler days see him in a leather composite leather jacket. When heroing, he wears his one quality possession: A custom Lucha mask, brown and black, with intricate styling that makes it resemble a dark colored sugar skull. The mask does not impede his ability to breathe nor perceive the world around him, and is like a second skin. His “working gear”, as it were, is similar in form to Batman’s. It is an ergonomically articulated combat armor, designed for maximum protection and flexibility. Color is matte black with brown accents. Trauma plates protect vital areas, and can also be found in his mask, tactical boots, and gloves. These plates give him an extra bit of oomph when attacking with his extremities. Armor does not cover his arms, mostly because he thinks it looks cooler this way. Coupled with his Heightened Durability, he's quite the agile tank. He will, as needed, wear a standard cloth long coat over his armor. It can be torn away for dramatic effect, or merely blow about heroically in the wind. El Sasquatcho’s headgear is an exact duplicate of his Luchador mask, with audio comm options and a voice scrambler/augmenter (for anonymity and making very impressive entrances) His tactical boots contain compartments for the storage of small items, and more impressively, infrasound generators able to broadcast a wide range of pulses too low for humans to hear. The practical effect is a heightened sense of anxiety in those around him; the impractical effect being that every Bigfoot, Sasquatch, or Timber Ape within a 10 mile radius will be summoned to his position. Unless they’re not real. Then no dice. Wait, don’t whales use infrasound? Personality: Hector is a well-meaning, decent kid, whose unfortunate downfall is his arrogance. Raw physical strength (superior to an unmodified human) coupled with his uncanny luck (subconscious probability manipulation) have made him somewhat reckless and overconfident. Hopefully his new mentor can beat some common sense and humility into him. The relationship Hector has with his persona as is a little complicated. He thinks of himself more as El Sasquatcho than Hector Delacruz, considering his legal name and legal life the half that he only pretends to be when necessary. He respects his family name, giving honor to his ancestors, but does not speak of them much. He is El Sasquatcho, Blood of El Santo, which he will discuss with any who will listen at great length. Password: Gnarkk BRIEF Bio: Originally part of a touring Lucha Libre troupe, El Sasquatcho grew up steeped in the culture and traveling lifestyle. This life ended years ago during a tour in Gotham, when an unaffiliated masked Luchador interrupted the performance, he and his group killing many. A young teenager at the time, the shock of the events caused his abilities to express, narrowly allowing his survival. As his entire family was dead or missing, Hector was placed into Gotham City foster care services. He was a B student in the Gotham public school system, but was unable to finalize his Luchador training proper. What he had learned so far, however, brought him a long way with the wrestling and gymnastics teams, where he quickly became the star performer for both groups. He even had a dalliance as one of the Gotham High Mascots for home games. Go Wildcats. While trying to keep his skills sharp and his grades up, he never lost his original goal. Hector remains watchful for an opportunity to avenge the deaths of his family and fellow Luchadores. As soon as he became a legal adult, he adopted his persona and became a vigilante, hoping one day to run into the masked stranger that destroyed his world. He has a challenge to issue. Constantly refers to himself in the third person, as his hero identity. El Sasquatcho constructed and maintains his Lucha mask – he’s actually quite good at the craft. Almost stereotypically, drives a rebuilt El Camino. It’s in good shape; factory standard vehicle. Speaks Spanish, English, and an odd dialect of Transient Gypsy Spanglish barely recognizable to those who speak either Spanish or English. El Sasquatcho bowls overhanded. He sings. He can’t; he shouldn’t. Yet sadly, he does. Mariachi Opera or Mexican Folk Metal, anyone? Unless stealth is absolutely required, El Sasquatcho insists on screaming challenges or battle cries before engaging in melee. This can be as simple as “LUCHA!!!” or can be much more elaborate. Honor above all other things. Perform no act that would be seen as dishonorable to your mask, family, or title. Taking from the weaker is forbidden. Do not kill without first issuing a challenge. Killing in cold blood is forbidden. The street toughs approached from the shadows around him, obviously thinking him an easy mark. The young man, moderately under the influence of the illegally obtained bottle of Mescal in his left hand, seemed an easy target. Slurring his words slightly, he addressed his would-be attackers. "No, no. El Sasquatcho does not have time for this; he is needed elsewhere. Run away before El Sasquatcho renders you incapable of doing so voluntarily, sirs." The advice lay unheeded, tossed to the ground by the collective chuckles of the thugs. They rushed him; two head on and one moving to flank. The intoxicated youth sighed. He really did have somewhere to be, and he didn't want to risk ripping his new Pollo Negro band shirt on the teeth of some prick from the neighborhood. Shaking his head, he tossed his bottle high into the air, and braced for the oncoming attack. The attacker coming from the side got to him first, grabbing him by his shoulder and neck. It was a particularly inept choke hold attempt, one easily countered by the stronger, more experienced youth. Manipulating his attacker into an impressive airplane spin, El Sasquatcho hurled him into one of the very surprised assailants at his fore. Body connected solidly with body, a hollow smacking sound issuing from the sudden meeting of torso to torso, briefly interrupting the Mexican opera inexpertly spilling from the hurler. The alcohol has taken its toll, however, allowing the inertia of the spin and throw to pitch him forward. He slipped and fell into a puddle of dirty water (God he hoped it was water), coincidentally moving him out of the path of a thrown knife from his third adversary. El Sasquatcho rolled to his back, just in time to see the knife-thrower standing above him, another weapon at the ready. He taunted the prone hero, "Got anything else to say, dead bitch?" El Sasquatcho smiled. "Yeah. Waste of good booze." "What?" issued the confused reply. The bottle of Mescal, now almost done with the earthward half of its short journey, turned and tumbled closer to the cranium of the standing street thug, picking up velocity with each twirling nanosecond. The explosion of glass and stinging spirits from their inevitable attempt to share the same space at the same time (directly in opposition to the generally accepted laws pf physics) was quite impressive. Kind of pretty, from El Sasquatcho's perspective on the wet ground. Threat handled, the young hero turned to one side, giggled profusely, and emptied the contents of his stomach; retching into the apathetic night. Bad night. Very bad night. The name of El Sasquatcho was not yet spoken of in hushed whispers among the seedy underworld of Gotham City, and yet already he was receiving fan mail. No, wait. This was better. An invitation from one of the greats: Robin, associate of Senor Batman himself! And he wanted to meet the soon-to-be-famous El Sasquatcho! All of his hard work and street patrols were about to pay off, bigtime. That was the plan, at least. Bad night. ...the first gunshots rang out long before he could get to the docks. His saving grace, ironically a mundane issue, was traffic. He was delayed by a matter of two minutes - otherwise those shots might have been meant for him. El Sasquatcho managed to arrive just in time to see the broken body of one of his personal heroes drop to the ground, his head rebounding lifelessly and clunking back down again. The poor bastard was only identifiable as Robin because of his uniform; facial features were lost in a jumble of blood and damaged bone. Something broke inside of El Sasquatcho, a feeling of fear and rage and hopelessness he had only felt once before, years ago. He broke into a run, intent on beating his assailants into so much warm salsa with his bare hands. He bounded into the fight, caring not who saw nor heard him, paying little attention to the others in the fray. Nearing the first person he percieved as an enemy, his voice boomed forth in righteous indignation. "Sangre de El Santo!" His fist connected solidly, striking the neck of a man wearing a lightly glowing bodysuit. The man stumbled forward, but kept his footing and looked back at El Sasquatcho. This could not be. A full hit at that point of impact would have laid out any normal person. He must be dealing with a Meta, like himself. He had not the time to process, as he was very rapidly grabbed from behind by another man, seemingly wearing the same glowing bodysuit as the one in front of him. El Sasquatcho was able to begin the counter relatively easily, until his dance partner forced his full strength upon him. He was strong, possibly stronger than himself. El Sasquatcho had not expected this. Stupidly, he rushed in, relying on emotion and raw luck to see him to victory. He underestimated his opponents, even after seeing the Boy Wonder go down like a drunken prom date. Grappling though he was, he caught snatches of sight at his surroundings. Others were there, too, held back by more copies of the man now attacking him. In the center of the dock, another man (different this time) took to abusing the unconscious or dead Robin at his leisure. Making him watch. Making all of them watch. He was finally able to break free from his attacker's grasp, and picked him high above his head, intending to bring him down upon his knee. The blow failed as yet another copy plowed into his side with truck-stopping force, knocking El Sasquatcho to the ground and driving the air from his lungs. The man in the center paused his savage act for just a moment, looking over to the newcomer and the trouble he caused. The moment froze. The next thing El Sasquatcho knew, he was semi-conscious and being hurled into the sea. He skipped like a stone twice before nailing a buoy, an arm getting caught in the metal framework. Had it not, he likely would have slipped beneath the waves and drowned before he had a chance to recover. ...Unsure how long he had been out, he made his way back to the dock from where he was thrown. Things were quiet now, except for the wordless sobbing of those present. They stood in a circle around the fallen Hero. El Sasquatcho added his tears to the rest, undramatically slumping to his knees and bowing his head. The grief and shame of those present was palpable. "Dama Muerte, he is deserving of you..." It was then the scene darkened, overshadowed by the silhouette of a familiar cape and cowl.
4,771	125	11	754	422	It had only been Isis' third day out in the real world but the ominous news still loomed over everyones head like the smog that clouds Gotham's streets. It was unsettling to say the least, but "for everyone there is an appointed time." She paid her respects in normal American fashion and left it in the past, save for sparks in her memory like this. Now was the time for her to get to know her new teammates and make Superman proud but the arduous training fated for her; she was definitely unprepared. At times she had looked to the heavens and thought her wings a burden. She didn't realize what it meant till restraints were put on them. This was done voluntarily in order to focus her mind, body and balance. She could barely fly on her own; now she felt like a bird with clipped wings. All day she practiced; her only break being to eat and to study. Although she enjoyed literature and she was decent at math, the basic shapes in geometry didn't captivate her. She wished she could have attended school like a normal teenager but working with batman excited her ever since she heard talk of him working on a cloaking device. When she did go out (which was rare), it was only at night when she could go wandering the city without being noticed. The skyscrapers were her advantage; she could duck in and out of the shadows and wasn't discernible. In metropolis, she felt they were more used to unusual beings and tended to avoid causing a scene to avoid trouble. Tonight, Isis felt slightly overwhelmed yet optimistic because she was less than a block away from the alleyway. As she grew closer, a chill ran up her spine. She could tell some of the people gathered were in a league of their own. Catching the end of their leader-to-be's speech, Isis nodded in approval as she moved to suit up but couldn't shake a foreboding feeling.	W.I.P Secret ID: Neith Tahan Alias: Isis Age: 18 (LEGAL WHOO) Home Location: Metropolis Powers: Flight, Black magic (in the form of summoning creatures) Weaknesses: Low physical endurance, slow healing time, Equipment: Gas Gadgets made more useful by her wind control (once she ever gets the hang of it), throwing knives Appearance: (make a micro like my character Hathoress xD) Personality: Thoughtful, Humble, Direct Password: Gnarkk BRIEF Bio: Neith was adopted in Egypt by an older conservative cult that worshipped her as an egyptian goddess but practiced all sorts of black magic on her until the age of 5 where US intell was gathered and Neith was captured by Cadmus. Plenty of more analytical research was done on her as she was revealed to be thanagarian but at the tender age of 18 an oppertune moment arised where Superman infiltrated and left Neith with a chance to escape. Wanting to do nothing more than to thank him for being able to experience the world, Neith has decided to join up with the titans of Gotham under Supermans influence, and her curiosity to see more of the world, starting with Gotham. Notes: shes got natural wings that come out of her body. Unable to retract them Sample Post: She could hear the shriek of the metal as it bent open. She was sure this was another test that Cadmus was throwing at her (thus far she felt like a failure only able to hover and fly 2 feet at most off the ground and not for that long either) yet she stood tall to defend herself. In her native tongue, darkly she recited her spell. "Shabti, alotted to me...come forth!". A small doll materalized seemingly from under the ground and floated next to her with a mischevious grin. It wore an all black dress with pale skin, and piercing blue eyes with black tribal markings. The sound grew closer and with it, a handsome muscular figure made her fight reaction melt away replaced with adoration. He was REALLY good looking. "I'm here to save you. Come with me." "..." "Are you alright?" "..." Footsteps followed by a "He's this way!" sounded in the background as Neith's idol zoomed around him with a mischievous grin then disappeared, without Neith instructing. "We've gotta go!"Superman said turning back to her. "I'll get rid of them, and then i'll get you out of here..." Still somewhat in a daze, Neith nodded. "...I'm Neith." "Okay Neith, just follow me!" *Some time later* "My good friend Batman has something going on to train kids like you in Gotham. What do you say?" "I've always wanted to see more of the world...but I'm allowed to return and help you out sometimes, correct?" Superman chuckled. "Sure." Neith beamed. Things were finally looking up for her.
4,772	125	12	2,654	2,774	Chester almost did a face-palm when he heard Ves refer to Super Smash Bros as 'Smack Bros' and he couldn't help, but laugh. "Okay, I'd love to play Smack Bros, but I don't this place has any video games so we'll have to go to an arcade" he said to her and wondered if the others would come and join. That was when El Sasquatcho came in with Tacos and Churro Bites that he apparently had picked up at a fast food restaurant. Chester's stomach then began to growl and he realized that he had eaten anything for lunch yet and the food looked good. Of course he had to withhold a bag of food to himself and Chester rolled his eyes, bigger people could so greedy, he thought to himself. "Thanks Sasquatcho" he said to the Luchador and began to eat a burrito and taco. It was good and he was glad to get something in his stomach. Chester listened to furry man talk about how they needed to get to know each other and decided to fill him in on what they were planning to do. "We've got a better activity in mind and it's playing video games. We're planning to go the arcade maybe sometime today and I think you might like Street Fighter" he explained to El Sasquatcho. Chester then saw the Luchador take off running to the bathroom and having watched enough TV and moves he knew what that meant. He tried to keep his mind off of the disgusting thought, but then the sound of El Sasquatcho's amplified roars and shouts could be heard and Chester almost lost his appetite. "Oh Dios mío" he said in a very fake Mexican accent as joke. Then the Luchador returned and despite just a moment ago taking a crap of an insane size he still continued to eat. “It fought bravely. You would give it proper honor to wait twenty minutes before entering the room.” Chester then buried his face in his arms on the table in exasperation before lifting his head to speak. "For the love of God, don't talk about it! I'm still eating" he said with a stern voice.	Secret ID: Caitlyn Gump Alias: Parasite Age: 19 Home Location: Gotham, a wonderful place of opportunity, if you have the money and status. Powers: None of her own to speak of, but has a symbiotic relationship with a parasitical creature Caitlyn affectionately named "Bug", which is attached to her left arm, it gives her: Envenomed Claws, cumulative paralytic A projectile gunk shot, hazardous to health long term Hook Shot Capabilities Shell Armour Plating Hazmat-lite, Bug Detoxes and filters Caitlyn's blood, making her resistant to chemical and biological warfare. Defib-lite, Bug's Heart continues to pump blood around Caitlyn's body, even if Caitlyn's heart isn't. Bug is semi-sentient and communicates Caitlyn neurally, feeding her powerful messages of hunger and self preservation. Bug continues to grow, giving more powers to its beloved host but enveloping more of Caitlyn. Weaknesses: Besides her left arm she is entirely human, no powers attached. Bug must be fed regularly to be any use Bug can act against Caitlyn's will if it believes Caitlyn is endangering both of them. Ingestion of unknown Paraciticides slows Bug down Caitlyn is used to operating alone and finds it hard to trust others. Technophobe, not literally, but sucks with computers. Appearance: A dirty street urchin with an alien creature for a left arm. Curly mousy brown hair, cut shoulder length with a rusty scissor blade Her eyes are dark and full of mistrust She stands at a skinny 5'6" and weighs 170lbs, Bug included Used to wear almost exclusively dark baggy clothing, but in light of becoming a TITAN has revamped her look, somewhat. Her hoodie has been swapped out for the more respectable, sleeveless turtleneck jumper and her cargo trousers for, well, better cargo trousers, you can take a girl out of the slums. Her sick hi-tops have also be traded in for more respectable combat ready footwear. This was going up in the world for her, she wasn't going to lose such an opportunity by looking scruffy. Personality: Caitlyn has dedicated her life from escaping the hell hole that her former life. All opportunities taken, nothing squandered. However her foresight is not twenty twenty, tends to give up long term rewards for short term boons. Caitlyn's trust must be earnt and is more easily lost than gotten. This however, doesn't stop her from being civil with you, something you learn on the streets, so you won't know whether you have it or you don't. Her desire to be a TITAN is not so much one of love for saving people, but of not having to be a criminal anymore, and sees it way to bigger things. She is manipulative and she is a deceiver but she isn't cruel and certainly not a bad person. As someone who often acted alone, she has little teamwork or leadership skills but will endeavor to acquire them when they've shown their value. Her and Bug had come along way since they day they were first introduced, that day was pivotal in ways she barely understood at the time. She was 13, out of school and trying to help pay off a debt of a father she never met. Pick pocketing worked for a while, till mother's "gentlemen friends" went too many weeks without a visit to her bedroom. Payments went up, the bruises came back. The items stolen and fenced got more expensive; phones, laptops, computers, but it was never quite enough, according to the collectors. "13 years old, wow, how time flies", the big one would say on the way out as they grabbed the hats and coats they'd slung over the sofa earlier,"I remember when you were only a wee nipper, look how much you've grown." The other, cigarette in mouth, swinging his coat over his thin shoulders,"She's a smart little monkey too, Gov" "Really now? Maybe she can come work with us, we could always do with a helping hand in the office", they'd both laugh in such away you knew they didn't mean it so much as a dirty joke as they did just dirty. "Maybe when she's a bit bigger." "Yeah, and maybe she can finish what her daddy started too, you know he was this close to crackin-" "Thats enough Freddy, were done here." As Freddy unlocked the door, the big guy, who's name she knew would slip a silver coin out of his coat pocket and deposit into Caitlyn's palm. "For my favourite God-daughter, buy yourself something sweet." The same charade every month, little did they know it was the last. Tonight she wasn't staying for the awkward silent late supper before bed. She was meeting him, the Man of Promises. Shortly after the men left, Caitlyn changed back out of pajamas and left into the darkness. Their meeting place was a dark alleyway approximately half way between Caitlyn's home and the office Fred and the Boss man returned too every month after visiting, the heavy cloud cover obscured the moon but the streets were no darker thanks to the powerful neon lampposts. Drunkards already littered the street and their harmless, but watchful gaze made Caitlyn's heart pound harder. The video rental, the second hand store, the charity store, the coffee shop. The alley opened before her, its gaping chasm threatening to swallow her whole. A man in sunglasses was waiting in a door way deeper down. Him. Caitlyn walked down and followed him into the room he was propping open. Caitlyn took a seat at the table that had been dragged into the closet from cafe side. An ornate wooden box lay on the table, unlocked. The lid seemed still, but periodically Caitlyn could have sworn it lifted up, if only by millimeters. The box demanded her attention, in it was a promise, so she was told. An opportunity to escape the life she had, to be slave to no one and take control of her own destiny. "Are you sure this is what you want Miss Gump?" "I want it to stop" "And you're willing to do what is necessary?" "Yes" "And you're willing to pay the price?" "Yes" "So be it, lift the lid of the box" Caitlyn placed her hands on either side of the lid. What on earth could be in this box? She wasted no time, but immediately regretted it. The contents wriggled and Caitlyn slammed the lid back down. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE THOSE?" "Freedom, Miss Gump" Caitlyn lifted the lid a little slower this time, fingers as far from any of the alien creatures as she could. Thorny, writhing unearthly creatures litter the box, there might have been seven or eight of them all unique in their horrid design. "What am I supposed to do with these?" "Please pick one, today is the day you escape the chains of society" "I came here for a gun, you said you were going to give me a weapon to fight my oppressors with" He scoffed, "I am giving you something better than a gun," he paused, "Liberation. Pick one." None of them were particularly inviting, but maybe that was the point. He was wasting her time. She got up to leave but a firm hand pushed her back into her seat. "Do not make the mistake others have made, Miss Gump, you leave this room and you walk back into your old life, back into the sadness and the misery and the hopelessness, this is your chance to escape. I can assure you that you will not regret this, pick one." Caitlyn looked back into the box of horrors. "That one." "A fine choice, the first of many." He lifted the 7 inch monstrosity out of the box, with no more care than if it were a hamster. Holding it by the giant thorn he rolled it in air and stroked it along the belly side. It relaxed and opened up exposing its lemon yellow, fleshy insides. "Your hand, Miss Gump." She didn't respond but her expression said everything. Nope. Nope. Nope. The Man of Promises took her hand from the table. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. He pulled her hand slowly into position, Caitlyn transfixed on the creature, which seem to wriggle more excitedly as her middle finger got closer. NOPE. NOPE. NOPE. NOPE. She looked up to the man, her face filled with horror, her eyes begged for it to end. She could feel the warmth radiating from the creatures insides on her finger. Every moment waiting for it to clamp around it was agony, the torture never ending. NOPE! NOPE! NOPE! NOPE! She squeezed her eyes tight and braced for the pain of her skin being devoured by the hungry evil creature, but it never came. The man relaxed his grip on her wrist, and smiled. "Welcome to the first day of your new life." Password: Gnarkk
4,773	125	13	668	1,466	Video games. It was almost like they were trying to pick things she couldn't do. She couldn't play on a home console, thumb sticks required a dexterity she simply didn't have anymore. Anything else would do, drinking on a street corner, hot wiring Blacklight Gang bikes, could even play some B-ball. She didn't fancy her chances against Ves but Caitlyn could still dunk on her till she learnt the rules weren't really the rules. Video games would win if put to the vote so she smiled and nodded, just to make things go more smoothly. Bug continued to attack the internal surface of the bin, thumping it for every scrap of edible substance in there. Caitlyn honestly should have seen it coming, she'd spent a lot of time she'd usually be dumpster diving here training, a double whammy of calorie loss. She strayed to close to the bin while trying to be a civil human being and he'd latched on. It was useless straining against him, it would only slow him down and he'd be done soon anyway. Bug was done sooner than Caitlyn thought, no sooner had the smell of cheap Mexican hit her nose, Bug relinquished his grip on the trashcan, now almost entirely void of organic substances. “Midnight snacking time, boys and girls! El Sasquatcho has brought a bounty of Tacos and Churro Bites!” El Sasquatcho had laid a mountain of consumable items upon the kitchen table and Bug wanted all of it. Bug fired on all cylinders, flooding Caitlyn's blood stream with ghrelin, the hungry hormone. An all too familiar craving sensation built up and Caitlyn thought it about time to open negotiations. "We'll eat some of the mexican food, but we're doing it my way" "Hͥu̻̺̼͎̬̯̒ͯ̽͒́n̉̓̔ĝr̸̲͖̜̯̂̽̿ͪ̚ͅȳͮ̆͛̿͡.̜̙͖̜͍̆̌.̵͎̗̎̽̌̈́̏ͤ.͆ͫͥ̅͏̗̫̝͍͙.̈҉̼̜̣̻̲̗" "Yes, I know. Look you remember last time? The Irish didn't take kindly to your manners and neither will this lot." "Hͥu̻̺̼͎̬̯̒ͯ̽͒́n̉̓̔ĝr̸̲͖̜̯̂̽̿ͪ̚ͅȳͮ̆͛̿͡.̜̙͖̜͍̆̌.̵͎̗̎̽̌̈́̏ͤ.͆ͫͥ̅͏̗̫̝͍͙.̈҉̼̜̣̻̲̗" "Try to eat the food yourself and they'll be no more I swear" "Hͥu̻̺̼͎̬̯̒ͯ̽͒́n̉̓̔ĝr̸̲͖̜̯̂̽̿ͪ̚ͅȳͮ̆͛̿͡.̜̙͖̜͍̆̌.̵͎̗̎̽̌̈́̏ͤ.͆ͫͥ̅͏̗̫̝͍͙.̈҉̼̜̣̻̲̗" Caitlyn hoped her inner monologue wasn't broadcast too much on her face, it was embarrassing enough she'd been carrying the bin and that she was about to demolish far more Mexican than a young lady should. The Mexican was good, really good, but that could have just been her hypothalamus talking. The temptation to compete with El Sasquatcho's tempo and vigor was strong, but Caitlyn's steely nerves and gang hardened will helped her keep composure, maybe another time when the competition was official. She caught El Sasquatcho eye and gave a strong nod; by it he would understand how impressed and grateful Caitlyn was for his generous meal. She didn't vocalise her pleasure for it wasn't in her nature, but her mouth was also full. Caitlyn was midway through inhaling a taco as politely as one could when El Sasquatcho interrupted himself and took off with a speed unusual for his size. The battle cries to come would strike fear into Huitzilopochtli himself. Caitlyn couldn't help but be paralyzed by the thought of a similar fate, she sat the taco down on the work surface she was perched on. The luchadore had started eating only moments before she did. She looked around the room, all eyes were transfixed on the door through which the guttural noises of an arena champion emanated. She wrapped her fingers round the edge of the work surface with one hand and slyly polished off the half-taco on the surface with the other. She was trapped, to leave for the bathrooms was to sacrifice all dignity but to stay was social suicide if worst came to worst. She had to wait till El Sasquatcho's cubicle battle royale to the death was not just over, but out of recent memory. That could be weeks. Caitlyn checked the clock, her time was running out. Maybe she was alright, it could have easily been something he'd bought specially for himself, no one else seemed to be suffering. No one else had eaten as much as them either. This was all Bug's fault, if it wasn't for his insatiable appetite she wouldn't be in this mess. And why does he get this much say anyway? This was her body, hes a tool to be used at her whim. The resulting embarrassment was going to weeks long of teasing, maybe even a career long, what if she couldn't shake it off. That'll do wonders for her reputation. Time had passed and nothing had changed but the ferocity and volume of El Sasquatcho's personal Pearl Harbor, Caitlyn was still a time bomb waiting to go off. Bug I'll do anything if you'll help me out here, I'll feed you, I'll let you go mad in a dumpster 3 times a week if you just don't let this happen. It was going to happen. It was going to be embarrassing regardless of what she did, she'd made her choices and she was ready for the consequences. Caitlyn accepted the fate and made peace with the Gastro Gods that had woven it for her. El Sasquatcho reentered the room and saw fit to pretend nothing had occurred, Caitlyn too returned to picking at chips. A little longer and she could escape, unjudged by her peers. But it was her colleges that betrayed her, there expressions told Sasquatcho everything. “It fought bravely. You would give it proper honor to wait twenty minutes before entering the room.” Nooooooo! Why? We could have all pretended, returned to the previous conversation and Caitlyn would be out scot free. Oh God, now the awkwardness would linger further. "For the love of God, don't talk about it! I'm still eating" Nooooooo! For the love of all that is holy don't even mention it! Then she felt it. The movement of air in her digestive system. The relaxation of gastrointestinal muscles. The build up. Doom cometh, pray that it be a merciful and swift death. Caitlyn let out a short stifled burp “Sooo… you guys talk about where you wanted to go while I was away?” "The arcade, Ves wants to see some of the glory of the modern era." Caitlyn remarked as she cleaned her face with a paper serviette. Crisis averted, for now.	Secret ID: Archer Graham Alias: Zero Age: 18 Home Location: Gotham Powers: A textbook Cryomancer, Archer can "create" objects made of ice by lowering the temperature around him and using moisture in the air as his main source of ice. His ice-powers could very well run deeper than that, but if it does he has yet to discover it, having only just now began to get the hang of creating ice objects. The objects he creates are, more often than not, simple blunt weapons like bats and hammers, or basic stabbing weapons like knives and javelins. His cryomancy allows him near immunity to cold weather and other extreme cold temperatures, as well, meaning he could go on missions to the South Pole with no need to dress more warmly. Weaknesses: His ice is almost exclusively reliant on some form of water source to work with. He can usually get by using moisture in the air, but should he find himself in, say, a burning building, then the lack of water in the air can handicap him unless he happens to have a jug of water to work with. He's also found that his powers work best so long as he remains well-hydrated, as a lack of hydration can weaken the amount of ice he can manipulate. Just as he is nearly immune to cold temperatures, the inverse is true of hot temperatures, though not to same extremes as the likes of Mister Freeze, since Archer can at least go out in warm weather with no threat to his life. Extremely hot environments, such as scorching deserts or a volcanic mountain on the other hand can leave him powerless to do anything until he is moved to a cooler location. Equipment: Apart from the standard stuff, Batman has made sure that the material of Archer's suit has as much heat resistance as possible. It doesn't completely alleviate the problem with hot environments, but it certainly provides a considerable buffer between the heat and Archer's body. Appearance Personality: Archer is, for the most part, a good enough kid. If he sees a mugging on the street or even bullying at school, he won't hesitate to take it upon himself to stop said activity. After getting his powers, he's become even more brazen with these acts, becoming almost cocky. Lately, since Robin's death, Archer has begun second guessing himself more often, his previous confidence shattered by the death of his team leader. Regardless, he's determined to pick up the pieces and start over again, if for nothing else than for the memory of Robin. Password: Titan BRIEF Bio: Born in Gotham City, Archer used to be more timid when he smaller. The general danger of living in Gothom City can do that to a kid. Of course, Batman has since made the city much safer than it used to be. Batman's crusade against crime was inspirational, but it was the appearance of his partner, Robin, that really changed Archer's personality. After all, if a kid around his own age could be brave enough to take on corruption, than why shouldn't Archer himself do the same? Of course, he would never have actually fought crime, but he did finally start standing up to his bullies, protecting himself and other kids they picked on. It wasn't much, but it was a start. Once he was in High School, Archer's life changed again. It was during one of Mister Freeze's attempts to bring an Ice Age to Gotham. When the attack came, Archer was walking home from school, passing by a small chemical lab. Mister Freeze's sudden attack covered chunks of Gotham City into a Winter Wonderland, Archer's location included. But in the midst of bombardment of cold, some barrels of discarded chemicals burst open, and their contents splashed all over Archer before the freeze blast briefly froze him. Emphasis on "brief" because within moments, Archer was able break himself free, discovering that he didn't feel any of the cold at all, despite the lack of winter clothes. From there he discovered he could manipulate the moisture in the air and freeze it into ice shapes. Robin found him not long after that. The Boy Wonder explained that he was planning to start a team called the Teen Titans, and that Archer with his powers would make an excellent addition. It was practically a dream come true, and Archer joined without a second thought. He had no idea just what fate had in store. Soon after that was when Deadshot and Multiplex attacked. The team escaped, though not without casualty. Robin was dead. Robin, one of the first teen superheroes ever to done a cape, and student of the freaking Batman no less. Archer was shaken, to be sure, and even briefly considered giving up the notion of saving people. But then, he received the message, a text on his phone that led him to a gym where Batman and Wildcat were waiting. If fate saw fit to provide Archer a second chance, then it would have been a disservice to the memory of Robin to not accept the offer. It was a normal enough day as Archer walked home from school. Huh, school. Not too long ago, his grades would have been the most important thing in his world. Not anymore, though, not by a long shot. His world completely changed on the day he got his powers. Now things like school felt completely pointless, but even so he had to keep up appearances, so he continued going. His grades took a hit, though, his new-found night life offered very little in the way of free time that, previously, would have been used for homework and the like. Still, he at least managed to maintain a passing grade so he wouldn't flunk. As he walked, he heard sounds coming from an upcoming alleyway. It sounded like shouting of some sort. Archer ran ahead, stopping to press himself against the building corner. He peeked around and saw a man standing behind another man, appearing to gesture at him while the other had his hands up. A mugging if Archer ever saw one. In Gotham City such a thing was sadly very common. But not today, that mugger picked the wrong alley on the wrong day to commit this crime. Archer ducked into a crawlspace behind a dumpster. There, he removed the top layer of his clothes, revealing a black suit underneath. He'd taken to wearing it under his normal clothes whenever he could, so changing personas was quick and easy affair most of the time. He retrieved his belt and mask from his backpack, put them on, then made his presence known. Well, not after throwing a baseball made of ice at the mugger's hand, knocking the pistol from his grip. "Wrong alley, wrong day, pal." said Archer as he leaped from his hiding spot and landed an ice-covered punch across the mugger's jaw. At that point it became as easy as trapping the man's hands and feet against the pavement with ice while his intended victim ran away shouting a thanks to Zero, the costumed meta that just saved him, "Guess I'm done here. Why don't you just chill out here a while until the cops show up?" he said before walking away. Oh yeah, he knew his little pun was a terrible one, but hey, at least it was one of the bad guys that had to suffer through it this time.
4,774	125	14	2,170	1,634	El Sasquatcho, somewhat recovered from his colonic struggle, attempted to readdress the conversation he was almost in prior to his hasty exit. He looked to Chester, pointing with a tortilla chip to emphasize his words. "Senor Rat Whisperer," he intoned respectfully, "El Sasquatcho is familiar with the Street Fighter series of games. Mostly, preferring to fight with the large Russian wrestler or the green Brazilian who electrocutes his adversaries. Good combos." He started to slow down the assault on his ethnic-inspired goodies, his bag about halfway emptied and the edge of his hunger blunted somewhat. The culinary hiatus gave him a little more opportunity to expand upon his earlier thought. "An arcade experience of particular delight is Dance Dance Revolución. El Sasquatcho does enjoy rhythmically shaking himself in front of total strangers for the approval of digital lollipop anime kids. No buttons upon which to make one's thumbs sore." A ways into observing the conversational exchanges around the break room table, the burly luchador looked over to the moderately distressed Caitlyn, and prodded an unopened box slightly nearer to her. "Psst... If you're still hungry after this, nobody's touched the rice." He then returned to his own meal. That is, until the ruckus in the training area. El Sasquatcho pulled down his mask fully and filed out to investigate with the rest of the interested parties. He looked to the scene with a touch of both understanding and annoyance - he had hoped to destroy one of those damnedable machines himself, just as soon as he could beat it at at its own game, preferably at a high level of difficulty. Seemed wasteful, but everyone grieved in their own way. El Sasquatcho's grief generally involved acts of extroversion and comfort foods. He nodded at his fellow neophyte Titan, and returned to the break room. Before getting back to his own repast, he pulled a number of choice items aside and bagged them, then moved to locate a writing utensil. With a fat, black, magic marker, he wrote in block letters, "Ice-Guy, whenever you're ready to eat. -Us". He deposited it in a very obvious spot. For a moment, he had the odd feeling that this was less of a team of heroes, and more of a Metahuman support group. They were all broken, one way or another. The catastrophe with Robin just gave them a reason to come together. Maybe it was time to begin supporting each other.	Ladies and Gentlemen, making his first public appearance, I give you the testosterone-based, masked fury of ...El Sasquatcho! Secret ID: Hector Delacruz Alias: El Sasquatcho Age: 19 Home Location: Gotham Powers: Heightened Strength, Heightened Durability, Probability Manipulation Strength – Human maximum and somewhat beyond, he is capable of lifting and moving up to 400 lbs without difficulty. Past this point, effort is required. If straining, to the exclusion of all other activity, he can full body press approximately one ton. His strength allows him to flip over a car by himself, but not throw it. Durability – El Sasquatcho is physically very durable, due in no small part to his dense body mass. This gives him naturally occurring protection similar to that of a standard flak jacket. It is not accurate to say that he is bulletproof, but he is damage resistant. This does not affect his physical stamina, that while impressive, falls within normal human range. Probability Manpiulation – Simultaneously his greatest and least reliable power, he is uncannily lucky. If he needs a few bucks to tide him over until payday, he will find a twenty on the ground. While bending over to pick up the money, he will unwittingly dodge a stray bullet from a clash across the park. The stray bullet will warn him of a charging (but strangely silent) rhinoceros demon, who will then slip on a stray banana peel before reaching him. El Sasquatcho is not reliably able to consciously use this power – it appears to manifest during times of stress. Or time of need. Or randomly. Or whenever the GM says it does. Eventually, he may be able to use this power at will, but that is a long way off. Until then, he is just considered to be a lucky, lucky bastard. Weaknesses: Honorbound - Luchador code demands certain actions and limitations from him, described below. Equipment: Naught but his rippling biceps and spandexed thighs of justice. Appearance: El Sasquatcho is a masked Luchador. He is tall, broad, and overly possessed of very masculine body hair, hence his superhero identity. Now prior to his affiliation with the Titans, he is garbed in big black boots, rough carpenter’s jeans, and a closefitting t-shirt (usually black, sometimes a band shirt). Cooler days see him in a leather composite leather jacket. When heroing, he wears his one quality possession: A custom Lucha mask, brown and black, with intricate styling that makes it resemble a dark colored sugar skull. The mask does not impede his ability to breathe nor perceive the world around him, and is like a second skin. His “working gear”, as it were, is similar in form to Batman’s. It is an ergonomically articulated combat armor, designed for maximum protection and flexibility. Color is matte black with brown accents. Trauma plates protect vital areas, and can also be found in his mask, tactical boots, and gloves. These plates give him an extra bit of oomph when attacking with his extremities. Armor does not cover his arms, mostly because he thinks it looks cooler this way. Coupled with his Heightened Durability, he's quite the agile tank. He will, as needed, wear a standard cloth long coat over his armor. It can be torn away for dramatic effect, or merely blow about heroically in the wind. El Sasquatcho’s headgear is an exact duplicate of his Luchador mask, with audio comm options and a voice scrambler/augmenter (for anonymity and making very impressive entrances) His tactical boots contain compartments for the storage of small items, and more impressively, infrasound generators able to broadcast a wide range of pulses too low for humans to hear. The practical effect is a heightened sense of anxiety in those around him; the impractical effect being that every Bigfoot, Sasquatch, or Timber Ape within a 10 mile radius will be summoned to his position. Unless they’re not real. Then no dice. Wait, don’t whales use infrasound? Personality: Hector is a well-meaning, decent kid, whose unfortunate downfall is his arrogance. Raw physical strength (superior to an unmodified human) coupled with his uncanny luck (subconscious probability manipulation) have made him somewhat reckless and overconfident. Hopefully his new mentor can beat some common sense and humility into him. The relationship Hector has with his persona as is a little complicated. He thinks of himself more as El Sasquatcho than Hector Delacruz, considering his legal name and legal life the half that he only pretends to be when necessary. He respects his family name, giving honor to his ancestors, but does not speak of them much. He is El Sasquatcho, Blood of El Santo, which he will discuss with any who will listen at great length. Password: Gnarkk BRIEF Bio: Originally part of a touring Lucha Libre troupe, El Sasquatcho grew up steeped in the culture and traveling lifestyle. This life ended years ago during a tour in Gotham, when an unaffiliated masked Luchador interrupted the performance, he and his group killing many. A young teenager at the time, the shock of the events caused his abilities to express, narrowly allowing his survival. As his entire family was dead or missing, Hector was placed into Gotham City foster care services. He was a B student in the Gotham public school system, but was unable to finalize his Luchador training proper. What he had learned so far, however, brought him a long way with the wrestling and gymnastics teams, where he quickly became the star performer for both groups. He even had a dalliance as one of the Gotham High Mascots for home games. Go Wildcats. While trying to keep his skills sharp and his grades up, he never lost his original goal. Hector remains watchful for an opportunity to avenge the deaths of his family and fellow Luchadores. As soon as he became a legal adult, he adopted his persona and became a vigilante, hoping one day to run into the masked stranger that destroyed his world. He has a challenge to issue. Constantly refers to himself in the third person, as his hero identity. El Sasquatcho constructed and maintains his Lucha mask – he’s actually quite good at the craft. Almost stereotypically, drives a rebuilt El Camino. It’s in good shape; factory standard vehicle. Speaks Spanish, English, and an odd dialect of Transient Gypsy Spanglish barely recognizable to those who speak either Spanish or English. El Sasquatcho bowls overhanded. He sings. He can’t; he shouldn’t. Yet sadly, he does. Mariachi Opera or Mexican Folk Metal, anyone? Unless stealth is absolutely required, El Sasquatcho insists on screaming challenges or battle cries before engaging in melee. This can be as simple as “LUCHA!!!” or can be much more elaborate. Honor above all other things. Perform no act that would be seen as dishonorable to your mask, family, or title. Taking from the weaker is forbidden. Do not kill without first issuing a challenge. Killing in cold blood is forbidden. The street toughs approached from the shadows around him, obviously thinking him an easy mark. The young man, moderately under the influence of the illegally obtained bottle of Mescal in his left hand, seemed an easy target. Slurring his words slightly, he addressed his would-be attackers. "No, no. El Sasquatcho does not have time for this; he is needed elsewhere. Run away before El Sasquatcho renders you incapable of doing so voluntarily, sirs." The advice lay unheeded, tossed to the ground by the collective chuckles of the thugs. They rushed him; two head on and one moving to flank. The intoxicated youth sighed. He really did have somewhere to be, and he didn't want to risk ripping his new Pollo Negro band shirt on the teeth of some prick from the neighborhood. Shaking his head, he tossed his bottle high into the air, and braced for the oncoming attack. The attacker coming from the side got to him first, grabbing him by his shoulder and neck. It was a particularly inept choke hold attempt, one easily countered by the stronger, more experienced youth. Manipulating his attacker into an impressive airplane spin, El Sasquatcho hurled him into one of the very surprised assailants at his fore. Body connected solidly with body, a hollow smacking sound issuing from the sudden meeting of torso to torso, briefly interrupting the Mexican opera inexpertly spilling from the hurler. The alcohol has taken its toll, however, allowing the inertia of the spin and throw to pitch him forward. He slipped and fell into a puddle of dirty water (God he hoped it was water), coincidentally moving him out of the path of a thrown knife from his third adversary. El Sasquatcho rolled to his back, just in time to see the knife-thrower standing above him, another weapon at the ready. He taunted the prone hero, "Got anything else to say, dead bitch?" El Sasquatcho smiled. "Yeah. Waste of good booze." "What?" issued the confused reply. The bottle of Mescal, now almost done with the earthward half of its short journey, turned and tumbled closer to the cranium of the standing street thug, picking up velocity with each twirling nanosecond. The explosion of glass and stinging spirits from their inevitable attempt to share the same space at the same time (directly in opposition to the generally accepted laws pf physics) was quite impressive. Kind of pretty, from El Sasquatcho's perspective on the wet ground. Threat handled, the young hero turned to one side, giggled profusely, and emptied the contents of his stomach; retching into the apathetic night. Bad night. Very bad night. The name of El Sasquatcho was not yet spoken of in hushed whispers among the seedy underworld of Gotham City, and yet already he was receiving fan mail. No, wait. This was better. An invitation from one of the greats: Robin, associate of Senor Batman himself! And he wanted to meet the soon-to-be-famous El Sasquatcho! All of his hard work and street patrols were about to pay off, bigtime. That was the plan, at least. Bad night. ...the first gunshots rang out long before he could get to the docks. His saving grace, ironically a mundane issue, was traffic. He was delayed by a matter of two minutes - otherwise those shots might have been meant for him. El Sasquatcho managed to arrive just in time to see the broken body of one of his personal heroes drop to the ground, his head rebounding lifelessly and clunking back down again. The poor bastard was only identifiable as Robin because of his uniform; facial features were lost in a jumble of blood and damaged bone. Something broke inside of El Sasquatcho, a feeling of fear and rage and hopelessness he had only felt once before, years ago. He broke into a run, intent on beating his assailants into so much warm salsa with his bare hands. He bounded into the fight, caring not who saw nor heard him, paying little attention to the others in the fray. Nearing the first person he percieved as an enemy, his voice boomed forth in righteous indignation. "Sangre de El Santo!" His fist connected solidly, striking the neck of a man wearing a lightly glowing bodysuit. The man stumbled forward, but kept his footing and looked back at El Sasquatcho. This could not be. A full hit at that point of impact would have laid out any normal person. He must be dealing with a Meta, like himself. He had not the time to process, as he was very rapidly grabbed from behind by another man, seemingly wearing the same glowing bodysuit as the one in front of him. El Sasquatcho was able to begin the counter relatively easily, until his dance partner forced his full strength upon him. He was strong, possibly stronger than himself. El Sasquatcho had not expected this. Stupidly, he rushed in, relying on emotion and raw luck to see him to victory. He underestimated his opponents, even after seeing the Boy Wonder go down like a drunken prom date. Grappling though he was, he caught snatches of sight at his surroundings. Others were there, too, held back by more copies of the man now attacking him. In the center of the dock, another man (different this time) took to abusing the unconscious or dead Robin at his leisure. Making him watch. Making all of them watch. He was finally able to break free from his attacker's grasp, and picked him high above his head, intending to bring him down upon his knee. The blow failed as yet another copy plowed into his side with truck-stopping force, knocking El Sasquatcho to the ground and driving the air from his lungs. The man in the center paused his savage act for just a moment, looking over to the newcomer and the trouble he caused. The moment froze. The next thing El Sasquatcho knew, he was semi-conscious and being hurled into the sea. He skipped like a stone twice before nailing a buoy, an arm getting caught in the metal framework. Had it not, he likely would have slipped beneath the waves and drowned before he had a chance to recover. ...Unsure how long he had been out, he made his way back to the dock from where he was thrown. Things were quiet now, except for the wordless sobbing of those present. They stood in a circle around the fallen Hero. El Sasquatcho added his tears to the rest, undramatically slumping to his knees and bowing his head. The grief and shame of those present was palpable. "Dama Muerte, he is deserving of you..." It was then the scene darkened, overshadowed by the silhouette of a familiar cape and cowl.
4,775	125	15	2,654	2,774	Chester was about respond to El Sasquatcho's reply when he heard Caitlyn burp and he gave her a surprised look. Two teammates with not very good eating habits, our arch nemesis might become obesity if we keep this up, he thought to himself and then continued with responding to the Luchador's reply. "Zangief and Blanka are fine, but Ken, Guy and Evil Ryu are where it's at" Chester said to him with a smile. He rolled his eyes when he heard the large furry man talk about liking Dance Dance Revolution, now there was an arcade game that Chester could do without playing. "I'm not much of a fan of Dance Dance Revolution, it just doesn't-" he was cut off by Zero's scream and almost immediately jumped to his feet knocking a taco off the table. His enhanced hearing gave him more of an idea of where it came from and turned to the others. "That came from the training room" he said to them as he quickly hurried in that direction alongside El Sasquatcho. When Chester got there he saw Archer repeatedly stabbing a destroyed training bot with what looked like a javelin made of ice. His mind could only give him an idea that Zero's sudden outcry might be an aftereffect of seeing Robin, but still this kind of outburst was just plain disturbing. "Hay buddy, I understand that some of us at times just want to go all Jack The Ripper when something horrible has happened, but having a psychotic break is not going to sit well with Bats and the Feline" Chester said to him. He then followed his Luchador teammate back to the lunchroom and watched El Sasquatcho write a note to the ice hero and couldn't see what it said since he wasn't close enough to read it, but he placed on top of some food he saved, which Chester guessed was for Archer if he decided to join them. "I think he could use some chocolate, got any Mexican hot-chocolate?" he asked the Luchador. Chester had heard somewhere that Chocolate made people feel better.	Secret ID: Caitlyn Gump Alias: Parasite Age: 19 Home Location: Gotham, a wonderful place of opportunity, if you have the money and status. Powers: None of her own to speak of, but has a symbiotic relationship with a parasitical creature Caitlyn affectionately named "Bug", which is attached to her left arm, it gives her: Envenomed Claws, cumulative paralytic A projectile gunk shot, hazardous to health long term Hook Shot Capabilities Shell Armour Plating Hazmat-lite, Bug Detoxes and filters Caitlyn's blood, making her resistant to chemical and biological warfare. Defib-lite, Bug's Heart continues to pump blood around Caitlyn's body, even if Caitlyn's heart isn't. Bug is semi-sentient and communicates Caitlyn neurally, feeding her powerful messages of hunger and self preservation. Bug continues to grow, giving more powers to its beloved host but enveloping more of Caitlyn. Weaknesses: Besides her left arm she is entirely human, no powers attached. Bug must be fed regularly to be any use Bug can act against Caitlyn's will if it believes Caitlyn is endangering both of them. Ingestion of unknown Paraciticides slows Bug down Caitlyn is used to operating alone and finds it hard to trust others. Technophobe, not literally, but sucks with computers. Appearance: A dirty street urchin with an alien creature for a left arm. Curly mousy brown hair, cut shoulder length with a rusty scissor blade Her eyes are dark and full of mistrust She stands at a skinny 5'6" and weighs 170lbs, Bug included Used to wear almost exclusively dark baggy clothing, but in light of becoming a TITAN has revamped her look, somewhat. Her hoodie has been swapped out for the more respectable, sleeveless turtleneck jumper and her cargo trousers for, well, better cargo trousers, you can take a girl out of the slums. Her sick hi-tops have also be traded in for more respectable combat ready footwear. This was going up in the world for her, she wasn't going to lose such an opportunity by looking scruffy. Personality: Caitlyn has dedicated her life from escaping the hell hole that her former life. All opportunities taken, nothing squandered. However her foresight is not twenty twenty, tends to give up long term rewards for short term boons. Caitlyn's trust must be earnt and is more easily lost than gotten. This however, doesn't stop her from being civil with you, something you learn on the streets, so you won't know whether you have it or you don't. Her desire to be a TITAN is not so much one of love for saving people, but of not having to be a criminal anymore, and sees it way to bigger things. She is manipulative and she is a deceiver but she isn't cruel and certainly not a bad person. As someone who often acted alone, she has little teamwork or leadership skills but will endeavor to acquire them when they've shown their value. Her and Bug had come along way since they day they were first introduced, that day was pivotal in ways she barely understood at the time. She was 13, out of school and trying to help pay off a debt of a father she never met. Pick pocketing worked for a while, till mother's "gentlemen friends" went too many weeks without a visit to her bedroom. Payments went up, the bruises came back. The items stolen and fenced got more expensive; phones, laptops, computers, but it was never quite enough, according to the collectors. "13 years old, wow, how time flies", the big one would say on the way out as they grabbed the hats and coats they'd slung over the sofa earlier,"I remember when you were only a wee nipper, look how much you've grown." The other, cigarette in mouth, swinging his coat over his thin shoulders,"She's a smart little monkey too, Gov" "Really now? Maybe she can come work with us, we could always do with a helping hand in the office", they'd both laugh in such away you knew they didn't mean it so much as a dirty joke as they did just dirty. "Maybe when she's a bit bigger." "Yeah, and maybe she can finish what her daddy started too, you know he was this close to crackin-" "Thats enough Freddy, were done here." As Freddy unlocked the door, the big guy, who's name she knew would slip a silver coin out of his coat pocket and deposit into Caitlyn's palm. "For my favourite God-daughter, buy yourself something sweet." The same charade every month, little did they know it was the last. Tonight she wasn't staying for the awkward silent late supper before bed. She was meeting him, the Man of Promises. Shortly after the men left, Caitlyn changed back out of pajamas and left into the darkness. Their meeting place was a dark alleyway approximately half way between Caitlyn's home and the office Fred and the Boss man returned too every month after visiting, the heavy cloud cover obscured the moon but the streets were no darker thanks to the powerful neon lampposts. Drunkards already littered the street and their harmless, but watchful gaze made Caitlyn's heart pound harder. The video rental, the second hand store, the charity store, the coffee shop. The alley opened before her, its gaping chasm threatening to swallow her whole. A man in sunglasses was waiting in a door way deeper down. Him. Caitlyn walked down and followed him into the room he was propping open. Caitlyn took a seat at the table that had been dragged into the closet from cafe side. An ornate wooden box lay on the table, unlocked. The lid seemed still, but periodically Caitlyn could have sworn it lifted up, if only by millimeters. The box demanded her attention, in it was a promise, so she was told. An opportunity to escape the life she had, to be slave to no one and take control of her own destiny. "Are you sure this is what you want Miss Gump?" "I want it to stop" "And you're willing to do what is necessary?" "Yes" "And you're willing to pay the price?" "Yes" "So be it, lift the lid of the box" Caitlyn placed her hands on either side of the lid. What on earth could be in this box? She wasted no time, but immediately regretted it. The contents wriggled and Caitlyn slammed the lid back down. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE THOSE?" "Freedom, Miss Gump" Caitlyn lifted the lid a little slower this time, fingers as far from any of the alien creatures as she could. Thorny, writhing unearthly creatures litter the box, there might have been seven or eight of them all unique in their horrid design. "What am I supposed to do with these?" "Please pick one, today is the day you escape the chains of society" "I came here for a gun, you said you were going to give me a weapon to fight my oppressors with" He scoffed, "I am giving you something better than a gun," he paused, "Liberation. Pick one." None of them were particularly inviting, but maybe that was the point. He was wasting her time. She got up to leave but a firm hand pushed her back into her seat. "Do not make the mistake others have made, Miss Gump, you leave this room and you walk back into your old life, back into the sadness and the misery and the hopelessness, this is your chance to escape. I can assure you that you will not regret this, pick one." Caitlyn looked back into the box of horrors. "That one." "A fine choice, the first of many." He lifted the 7 inch monstrosity out of the box, with no more care than if it were a hamster. Holding it by the giant thorn he rolled it in air and stroked it along the belly side. It relaxed and opened up exposing its lemon yellow, fleshy insides. "Your hand, Miss Gump." She didn't respond but her expression said everything. Nope. Nope. Nope. The Man of Promises took her hand from the table. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. He pulled her hand slowly into position, Caitlyn transfixed on the creature, which seem to wriggle more excitedly as her middle finger got closer. NOPE. NOPE. NOPE. NOPE. She looked up to the man, her face filled with horror, her eyes begged for it to end. She could feel the warmth radiating from the creatures insides on her finger. Every moment waiting for it to clamp around it was agony, the torture never ending. NOPE! NOPE! NOPE! NOPE! She squeezed her eyes tight and braced for the pain of her skin being devoured by the hungry evil creature, but it never came. The man relaxed his grip on her wrist, and smiled. "Welcome to the first day of your new life." Password: Gnarkk
4,776	125	16	2,170	1,634	No, no... The chocolate is seasonal. El Sasquatcho will not be able to procure it from the Taco Hut until the middle of October. At that time, we have the option of Cayenne or Pumpkin Spice. It is muy dark, thick, and lovely; not unlike the lucky young lady El Sasquatcho escorted to his junior prom. El Sasquatcho ponders on the question of chocolate briefly, and thrusts his finger into the air with a wordless exclamation. "Aha! There reside elements of the semi-sweet goodness on the Churro Bites! Perhaps if we leave a trail of them to the break room, Senor Zero will be drawn away from the site of his robotcide!" "If nothing else, let us do something. We've been training for days."	Ladies and Gentlemen, making his first public appearance, I give you the testosterone-based, masked fury of ...El Sasquatcho! Secret ID: Hector Delacruz Alias: El Sasquatcho Age: 19 Home Location: Gotham Powers: Heightened Strength, Heightened Durability, Probability Manipulation Strength – Human maximum and somewhat beyond, he is capable of lifting and moving up to 400 lbs without difficulty. Past this point, effort is required. If straining, to the exclusion of all other activity, he can full body press approximately one ton. His strength allows him to flip over a car by himself, but not throw it. Durability – El Sasquatcho is physically very durable, due in no small part to his dense body mass. This gives him naturally occurring protection similar to that of a standard flak jacket. It is not accurate to say that he is bulletproof, but he is damage resistant. This does not affect his physical stamina, that while impressive, falls within normal human range. Probability Manpiulation – Simultaneously his greatest and least reliable power, he is uncannily lucky. If he needs a few bucks to tide him over until payday, he will find a twenty on the ground. While bending over to pick up the money, he will unwittingly dodge a stray bullet from a clash across the park. The stray bullet will warn him of a charging (but strangely silent) rhinoceros demon, who will then slip on a stray banana peel before reaching him. El Sasquatcho is not reliably able to consciously use this power – it appears to manifest during times of stress. Or time of need. Or randomly. Or whenever the GM says it does. Eventually, he may be able to use this power at will, but that is a long way off. Until then, he is just considered to be a lucky, lucky bastard. Weaknesses: Honorbound - Luchador code demands certain actions and limitations from him, described below. Equipment: Naught but his rippling biceps and spandexed thighs of justice. Appearance: El Sasquatcho is a masked Luchador. He is tall, broad, and overly possessed of very masculine body hair, hence his superhero identity. Now prior to his affiliation with the Titans, he is garbed in big black boots, rough carpenter’s jeans, and a closefitting t-shirt (usually black, sometimes a band shirt). Cooler days see him in a leather composite leather jacket. When heroing, he wears his one quality possession: A custom Lucha mask, brown and black, with intricate styling that makes it resemble a dark colored sugar skull. The mask does not impede his ability to breathe nor perceive the world around him, and is like a second skin. His “working gear”, as it were, is similar in form to Batman’s. It is an ergonomically articulated combat armor, designed for maximum protection and flexibility. Color is matte black with brown accents. Trauma plates protect vital areas, and can also be found in his mask, tactical boots, and gloves. These plates give him an extra bit of oomph when attacking with his extremities. Armor does not cover his arms, mostly because he thinks it looks cooler this way. Coupled with his Heightened Durability, he's quite the agile tank. He will, as needed, wear a standard cloth long coat over his armor. It can be torn away for dramatic effect, or merely blow about heroically in the wind. El Sasquatcho’s headgear is an exact duplicate of his Luchador mask, with audio comm options and a voice scrambler/augmenter (for anonymity and making very impressive entrances) His tactical boots contain compartments for the storage of small items, and more impressively, infrasound generators able to broadcast a wide range of pulses too low for humans to hear. The practical effect is a heightened sense of anxiety in those around him; the impractical effect being that every Bigfoot, Sasquatch, or Timber Ape within a 10 mile radius will be summoned to his position. Unless they’re not real. Then no dice. Wait, don’t whales use infrasound? Personality: Hector is a well-meaning, decent kid, whose unfortunate downfall is his arrogance. Raw physical strength (superior to an unmodified human) coupled with his uncanny luck (subconscious probability manipulation) have made him somewhat reckless and overconfident. Hopefully his new mentor can beat some common sense and humility into him. The relationship Hector has with his persona as is a little complicated. He thinks of himself more as El Sasquatcho than Hector Delacruz, considering his legal name and legal life the half that he only pretends to be when necessary. He respects his family name, giving honor to his ancestors, but does not speak of them much. He is El Sasquatcho, Blood of El Santo, which he will discuss with any who will listen at great length. Password: Gnarkk BRIEF Bio: Originally part of a touring Lucha Libre troupe, El Sasquatcho grew up steeped in the culture and traveling lifestyle. This life ended years ago during a tour in Gotham, when an unaffiliated masked Luchador interrupted the performance, he and his group killing many. A young teenager at the time, the shock of the events caused his abilities to express, narrowly allowing his survival. As his entire family was dead or missing, Hector was placed into Gotham City foster care services. He was a B student in the Gotham public school system, but was unable to finalize his Luchador training proper. What he had learned so far, however, brought him a long way with the wrestling and gymnastics teams, where he quickly became the star performer for both groups. He even had a dalliance as one of the Gotham High Mascots for home games. Go Wildcats. While trying to keep his skills sharp and his grades up, he never lost his original goal. Hector remains watchful for an opportunity to avenge the deaths of his family and fellow Luchadores. As soon as he became a legal adult, he adopted his persona and became a vigilante, hoping one day to run into the masked stranger that destroyed his world. He has a challenge to issue. Constantly refers to himself in the third person, as his hero identity. El Sasquatcho constructed and maintains his Lucha mask – he’s actually quite good at the craft. Almost stereotypically, drives a rebuilt El Camino. It’s in good shape; factory standard vehicle. Speaks Spanish, English, and an odd dialect of Transient Gypsy Spanglish barely recognizable to those who speak either Spanish or English. El Sasquatcho bowls overhanded. He sings. He can’t; he shouldn’t. Yet sadly, he does. Mariachi Opera or Mexican Folk Metal, anyone? Unless stealth is absolutely required, El Sasquatcho insists on screaming challenges or battle cries before engaging in melee. This can be as simple as “LUCHA!!!” or can be much more elaborate. Honor above all other things. Perform no act that would be seen as dishonorable to your mask, family, or title. Taking from the weaker is forbidden. Do not kill without first issuing a challenge. Killing in cold blood is forbidden. The street toughs approached from the shadows around him, obviously thinking him an easy mark. The young man, moderately under the influence of the illegally obtained bottle of Mescal in his left hand, seemed an easy target. Slurring his words slightly, he addressed his would-be attackers. "No, no. El Sasquatcho does not have time for this; he is needed elsewhere. Run away before El Sasquatcho renders you incapable of doing so voluntarily, sirs." The advice lay unheeded, tossed to the ground by the collective chuckles of the thugs. They rushed him; two head on and one moving to flank. The intoxicated youth sighed. He really did have somewhere to be, and he didn't want to risk ripping his new Pollo Negro band shirt on the teeth of some prick from the neighborhood. Shaking his head, he tossed his bottle high into the air, and braced for the oncoming attack. The attacker coming from the side got to him first, grabbing him by his shoulder and neck. It was a particularly inept choke hold attempt, one easily countered by the stronger, more experienced youth. Manipulating his attacker into an impressive airplane spin, El Sasquatcho hurled him into one of the very surprised assailants at his fore. Body connected solidly with body, a hollow smacking sound issuing from the sudden meeting of torso to torso, briefly interrupting the Mexican opera inexpertly spilling from the hurler. The alcohol has taken its toll, however, allowing the inertia of the spin and throw to pitch him forward. He slipped and fell into a puddle of dirty water (God he hoped it was water), coincidentally moving him out of the path of a thrown knife from his third adversary. El Sasquatcho rolled to his back, just in time to see the knife-thrower standing above him, another weapon at the ready. He taunted the prone hero, "Got anything else to say, dead bitch?" El Sasquatcho smiled. "Yeah. Waste of good booze." "What?" issued the confused reply. The bottle of Mescal, now almost done with the earthward half of its short journey, turned and tumbled closer to the cranium of the standing street thug, picking up velocity with each twirling nanosecond. The explosion of glass and stinging spirits from their inevitable attempt to share the same space at the same time (directly in opposition to the generally accepted laws pf physics) was quite impressive. Kind of pretty, from El Sasquatcho's perspective on the wet ground. Threat handled, the young hero turned to one side, giggled profusely, and emptied the contents of his stomach; retching into the apathetic night. Bad night. Very bad night. The name of El Sasquatcho was not yet spoken of in hushed whispers among the seedy underworld of Gotham City, and yet already he was receiving fan mail. No, wait. This was better. An invitation from one of the greats: Robin, associate of Senor Batman himself! And he wanted to meet the soon-to-be-famous El Sasquatcho! All of his hard work and street patrols were about to pay off, bigtime. That was the plan, at least. Bad night. ...the first gunshots rang out long before he could get to the docks. His saving grace, ironically a mundane issue, was traffic. He was delayed by a matter of two minutes - otherwise those shots might have been meant for him. El Sasquatcho managed to arrive just in time to see the broken body of one of his personal heroes drop to the ground, his head rebounding lifelessly and clunking back down again. The poor bastard was only identifiable as Robin because of his uniform; facial features were lost in a jumble of blood and damaged bone. Something broke inside of El Sasquatcho, a feeling of fear and rage and hopelessness he had only felt once before, years ago. He broke into a run, intent on beating his assailants into so much warm salsa with his bare hands. He bounded into the fight, caring not who saw nor heard him, paying little attention to the others in the fray. Nearing the first person he percieved as an enemy, his voice boomed forth in righteous indignation. "Sangre de El Santo!" His fist connected solidly, striking the neck of a man wearing a lightly glowing bodysuit. The man stumbled forward, but kept his footing and looked back at El Sasquatcho. This could not be. A full hit at that point of impact would have laid out any normal person. He must be dealing with a Meta, like himself. He had not the time to process, as he was very rapidly grabbed from behind by another man, seemingly wearing the same glowing bodysuit as the one in front of him. El Sasquatcho was able to begin the counter relatively easily, until his dance partner forced his full strength upon him. He was strong, possibly stronger than himself. El Sasquatcho had not expected this. Stupidly, he rushed in, relying on emotion and raw luck to see him to victory. He underestimated his opponents, even after seeing the Boy Wonder go down like a drunken prom date. Grappling though he was, he caught snatches of sight at his surroundings. Others were there, too, held back by more copies of the man now attacking him. In the center of the dock, another man (different this time) took to abusing the unconscious or dead Robin at his leisure. Making him watch. Making all of them watch. He was finally able to break free from his attacker's grasp, and picked him high above his head, intending to bring him down upon his knee. The blow failed as yet another copy plowed into his side with truck-stopping force, knocking El Sasquatcho to the ground and driving the air from his lungs. The man in the center paused his savage act for just a moment, looking over to the newcomer and the trouble he caused. The moment froze. The next thing El Sasquatcho knew, he was semi-conscious and being hurled into the sea. He skipped like a stone twice before nailing a buoy, an arm getting caught in the metal framework. Had it not, he likely would have slipped beneath the waves and drowned before he had a chance to recover. ...Unsure how long he had been out, he made his way back to the dock from where he was thrown. Things were quiet now, except for the wordless sobbing of those present. They stood in a circle around the fallen Hero. El Sasquatcho added his tears to the rest, undramatically slumping to his knees and bowing his head. The grief and shame of those present was palpable. "Dama Muerte, he is deserving of you..." It was then the scene darkened, overshadowed by the silhouette of a familiar cape and cowl.
4,777	125	17	1,537	4,313	Robert and Daniel Hall were in the next ring over. The bill paying Grant's Gym had two rings, the HQ below did as well. The place wasn't large enough for a War Room like at the Hall of Justice and the Watchtower, but a few robot fighting dummies seemed like enough. If anybody ever asked Wildcat, he'd argue he'd rather be beaten by flesh and bone than a machine. While Zero was busy fighting the robot, Robert and Daniel fought each other. Which was nothing new to either of them. Robert was a little older, a little bigger, and a little slower. Daniel could survive a few shots here and there, and he had the speed to avoid several. However, he lacked any real fighting style of his own. The last few days had been grueling work-outs in and out of giant form. The boys fought in a ring with each other now, but they both trained the last four days upstairs with Grant after Daniel got out of school. Under Batman's orders, Grant also had the boys continue their swimming exercises in another gym with an indoor Olympic sized pool. Of course it was owned by Wayne Industries. As the boys continued to spar they witnessed the breakdown. Their teammate was on top of a holo-droid stabbing it repeatedly with a weapon made of ice. When Daniel noticed he let his guard down and took another punch from his older brother who realized what was going on moments later. "Don't say anything. No matter what, you always come off like a dick." Daniel stated picking himself back up as others approached the young hero as well. "You're just too sensitive. The hairy guy brought Taco Hut, doesn't look like Parasite girl let her jewelry eat it all yet..." Robert replied wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Wait... did you actually read all of the files on the HQ computer? About everyone's powers and everything?" Daniel asked in a bit of a surprise. "Batman said to do what we can with what we have. BATMAN. If he told me I could find Waldo in the yellow pages in his red and white shirt I'd believe it and look through every page at this point. I didn't even believe the guy was real until like a year ago..." Robert responded once more exiting the boxing ring with his brother. The boys were both good kids, raised in a good family back in Metropolis. The idea of them being at odds was odd in itself. However a couple years earlier Daniel did lose a little of the respect and admiration he once held for his brother after he quit the swimming team his senior year. Robert played the bad boy role for nearly two years, until recently coming back to Metropolis after going on the road after graduating high school. Since the exobite created by Brainiac gave the brothers their power, his head's a little more clear and he's completely committed to being a hero. While some of the others seemed to be heading out to the arcade, Robert and Daniel fused to become Leviathan and did some weight training. Now standing at ten feet tall, even the Amazon looked small compared to the composite hero. ~KL~	Secret ID: Robert Hall and Daniel Hall Alias: Leviathan Age: 19 and 15 Home Location: Metropolis Powers: Through concentrated contact, the boys become a single giant human with increased strength, speed, stamina, and durability. In a nut shell, the composite being is ten foot tall, bulletproof, and can tear a car apart with his bare hands. He can bench press well over a ton, and run a mile in just over three minutes. Both of the boys are adept swimmers, and as fast as Leviathan is on land he's just as fast in the water. Weaknesses: When separated the boys are just your average athletic teenagers with no increased anything. The composite being Leviathan can only stay together for roughly an hour, the duration also depends on how well the boys work as one brain rather than two sides fighting against each other. If the Leviathan is hit with mental attacks he loses his form in no time at all. Equipment: Any equipment or devices/objects the boys have on them becomes compromised when they combine to create Leviathan. Batman fitted each of the boys with a light armor reminiscent of a wet suit and upon becoming one being the suit 'completes itself' giving the young giant hero a little more durability. Appearance: Leviathan - Personality: Robert is a little more loud and reckless; Daniel is a little smarter and quieter, Leviathan is stoic but often acts before thinking things through. Password: What's this about a password? BRIEF Bio: Robert and Daniel both lived in Metropolis with their grandmother. Several weeks back, while Superman was in a battle with Brainiac, one of the technological tyrant's experiments was released into the city. This 'exobyte' had the brothers merge into one larger being when they made contact running for safety. The two of them had no idea what to think, but it was clear to anyone who tried to talk to the giant man that the fellow was a man of two minds about everything. After Brainiac had been defeated and the first time the two brothers would 'go big' wore off they thought that life would go back to normal. They couldn't have been more wrong. Days later, while the two boys waited in the car outside of the bank their grandmother was doing business in, a robbery began to go down. As soon as Daniel realized what was going on he told his brother they needed to go and make sure their grandma was safe. On a whim Daniel concentrated hard and put his hand on his brother's shoulder. Seconds later the giant was born again. At the end of it all, the giant was met by Superman after putting the KO on the three armed robbers. Another week would pass before Robin contacted the boys. Grayson wasn't the world's greatest detective, but he trained with one of the best for three years and quickly determined the giant was a composite being and reached out to them via social media. Like others, the first meeting with Robin in Gotham went south for the boys and the two could only watch as Multiplex and Deadshot made an example out of the first teenage superhero and former sidekick. Notes: At some point later on we may meet other members of this universe's Justice League so that I can have a short moment between Leviathan and Aquaman. Sample Post: "These Multiplex goons are a handful. My brother and I aren't really cut out for this 'Teen Titans' thing after all. It takes concentration and skin to skin contact for us to become a giant, and if something doesn't happen soon Robin's not going to make it much longer. If only Robert would stop trying to fight those Multiplex guys two or three at a time we might be able to make contact and..." Daniel thought to himself while trying to break free of one of the Multiplex duplicates' grip that currently had him pinned up against a warehouse wall. "These kids are beginning to annoy me..." Deadshot yelled out to his partners in crime as he shot a couple high powered rounds at the dog like creature that one of the kids transformed into taking it down for the time being. "Should've just killed that ugly thing, Lawton..." one of the many Multiplexes commented. "We were sent here to kill one person and to send a message. ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME YOU LITTLE SUPERHERO WANNABES?" Deadshot yelled out a little louder than before, "KIDS SHOULDN'T WEAR COSTUMES." Deadshot finally let the nearly lifeless and beaten body of Robin fall to the ground the rest of the way. He reloaded his wrist mounted 22 millimeter firearms and aimed one of them at the head of the bloody and bruised Robin. Under his mask he was closing his eyes. Killing kids is awful even to an assassin. Not even two seconds later and... BANG! BANG BANG! After a few more punches were thrown at the rookie heroes by all of the duplicates, they all merged back into the prime Multiplex as Deadshot watched seemingly in surprise. "We better jet, 'Plex. There's no telling for certain when the Bat will come around looking for bird boy..." Deadshot suggested as they took off up an alleyway, now just the two of them. ~KL~
4,778	125	18	2,170	1,634	Sensing the meal was drawing to a close, El Sasquatcho wrapped up and stored the leftovers from his own bag, and moved to consolidate whatever anyone else wasn’t working on. He stacked it neatly in the nearby fridge, and left to go to his quarters to change. His personal space was a bit spartan. It would seem strange that such a colorful guy would have such a bare room to himself, possibly symptomatic of a histrionic personality or some kind of manic disorder. The truth was far simpler, however – the huge, hairy lug just hadn’t had time lately to put “Homey Touches” in his rooms. Oh, how he longed to spread paint across the walls and tack up posters, move in electronics, etc, but his self-imposed training schedule and light day job made this difficult. As it seemed to be a less busy day, perhaps he’d start to rectify that when they all got back from their more recreational pursuits. El Sasquatcho quickly changed out of his tactical gear and replaced his mask with his original. Worn jeans, black boots, and his favorite Pollo Negro band shirt. He really liked that shirt. Black Rooster - Mexican Death Metal at its finest. He pocketed a moderate amount of cash, grabbed his keys, and replaced his tactical gear on the mannequin. Jogging out to the main room, he called to his companions, "If you're riding with El Sasquatcho, the El Camino train departs in ten!" The optimistic luchador walked out to his truck and leaned against the door, taking in the crisp air while waiting for the others.	Ladies and Gentlemen, making his first public appearance, I give you the testosterone-based, masked fury of ...El Sasquatcho! Secret ID: Hector Delacruz Alias: El Sasquatcho Age: 19 Home Location: Gotham Powers: Heightened Strength, Heightened Durability, Probability Manipulation Strength – Human maximum and somewhat beyond, he is capable of lifting and moving up to 400 lbs without difficulty. Past this point, effort is required. If straining, to the exclusion of all other activity, he can full body press approximately one ton. His strength allows him to flip over a car by himself, but not throw it. Durability – El Sasquatcho is physically very durable, due in no small part to his dense body mass. This gives him naturally occurring protection similar to that of a standard flak jacket. It is not accurate to say that he is bulletproof, but he is damage resistant. This does not affect his physical stamina, that while impressive, falls within normal human range. Probability Manpiulation – Simultaneously his greatest and least reliable power, he is uncannily lucky. If he needs a few bucks to tide him over until payday, he will find a twenty on the ground. While bending over to pick up the money, he will unwittingly dodge a stray bullet from a clash across the park. The stray bullet will warn him of a charging (but strangely silent) rhinoceros demon, who will then slip on a stray banana peel before reaching him. El Sasquatcho is not reliably able to consciously use this power – it appears to manifest during times of stress. Or time of need. Or randomly. Or whenever the GM says it does. Eventually, he may be able to use this power at will, but that is a long way off. Until then, he is just considered to be a lucky, lucky bastard. Weaknesses: Honorbound - Luchador code demands certain actions and limitations from him, described below. Equipment: Naught but his rippling biceps and spandexed thighs of justice. Appearance: El Sasquatcho is a masked Luchador. He is tall, broad, and overly possessed of very masculine body hair, hence his superhero identity. Now prior to his affiliation with the Titans, he is garbed in big black boots, rough carpenter’s jeans, and a closefitting t-shirt (usually black, sometimes a band shirt). Cooler days see him in a leather composite leather jacket. When heroing, he wears his one quality possession: A custom Lucha mask, brown and black, with intricate styling that makes it resemble a dark colored sugar skull. The mask does not impede his ability to breathe nor perceive the world around him, and is like a second skin. His “working gear”, as it were, is similar in form to Batman’s. It is an ergonomically articulated combat armor, designed for maximum protection and flexibility. Color is matte black with brown accents. Trauma plates protect vital areas, and can also be found in his mask, tactical boots, and gloves. These plates give him an extra bit of oomph when attacking with his extremities. Armor does not cover his arms, mostly because he thinks it looks cooler this way. Coupled with his Heightened Durability, he's quite the agile tank. He will, as needed, wear a standard cloth long coat over his armor. It can be torn away for dramatic effect, or merely blow about heroically in the wind. El Sasquatcho’s headgear is an exact duplicate of his Luchador mask, with audio comm options and a voice scrambler/augmenter (for anonymity and making very impressive entrances) His tactical boots contain compartments for the storage of small items, and more impressively, infrasound generators able to broadcast a wide range of pulses too low for humans to hear. The practical effect is a heightened sense of anxiety in those around him; the impractical effect being that every Bigfoot, Sasquatch, or Timber Ape within a 10 mile radius will be summoned to his position. Unless they’re not real. Then no dice. Wait, don’t whales use infrasound? Personality: Hector is a well-meaning, decent kid, whose unfortunate downfall is his arrogance. Raw physical strength (superior to an unmodified human) coupled with his uncanny luck (subconscious probability manipulation) have made him somewhat reckless and overconfident. Hopefully his new mentor can beat some common sense and humility into him. The relationship Hector has with his persona as is a little complicated. He thinks of himself more as El Sasquatcho than Hector Delacruz, considering his legal name and legal life the half that he only pretends to be when necessary. He respects his family name, giving honor to his ancestors, but does not speak of them much. He is El Sasquatcho, Blood of El Santo, which he will discuss with any who will listen at great length. Password: Gnarkk BRIEF Bio: Originally part of a touring Lucha Libre troupe, El Sasquatcho grew up steeped in the culture and traveling lifestyle. This life ended years ago during a tour in Gotham, when an unaffiliated masked Luchador interrupted the performance, he and his group killing many. A young teenager at the time, the shock of the events caused his abilities to express, narrowly allowing his survival. As his entire family was dead or missing, Hector was placed into Gotham City foster care services. He was a B student in the Gotham public school system, but was unable to finalize his Luchador training proper. What he had learned so far, however, brought him a long way with the wrestling and gymnastics teams, where he quickly became the star performer for both groups. He even had a dalliance as one of the Gotham High Mascots for home games. Go Wildcats. While trying to keep his skills sharp and his grades up, he never lost his original goal. Hector remains watchful for an opportunity to avenge the deaths of his family and fellow Luchadores. As soon as he became a legal adult, he adopted his persona and became a vigilante, hoping one day to run into the masked stranger that destroyed his world. He has a challenge to issue. Constantly refers to himself in the third person, as his hero identity. El Sasquatcho constructed and maintains his Lucha mask – he’s actually quite good at the craft. Almost stereotypically, drives a rebuilt El Camino. It’s in good shape; factory standard vehicle. Speaks Spanish, English, and an odd dialect of Transient Gypsy Spanglish barely recognizable to those who speak either Spanish or English. El Sasquatcho bowls overhanded. He sings. He can’t; he shouldn’t. Yet sadly, he does. Mariachi Opera or Mexican Folk Metal, anyone? Unless stealth is absolutely required, El Sasquatcho insists on screaming challenges or battle cries before engaging in melee. This can be as simple as “LUCHA!!!” or can be much more elaborate. Honor above all other things. Perform no act that would be seen as dishonorable to your mask, family, or title. Taking from the weaker is forbidden. Do not kill without first issuing a challenge. Killing in cold blood is forbidden. The street toughs approached from the shadows around him, obviously thinking him an easy mark. The young man, moderately under the influence of the illegally obtained bottle of Mescal in his left hand, seemed an easy target. Slurring his words slightly, he addressed his would-be attackers. "No, no. El Sasquatcho does not have time for this; he is needed elsewhere. Run away before El Sasquatcho renders you incapable of doing so voluntarily, sirs." The advice lay unheeded, tossed to the ground by the collective chuckles of the thugs. They rushed him; two head on and one moving to flank. The intoxicated youth sighed. He really did have somewhere to be, and he didn't want to risk ripping his new Pollo Negro band shirt on the teeth of some prick from the neighborhood. Shaking his head, he tossed his bottle high into the air, and braced for the oncoming attack. The attacker coming from the side got to him first, grabbing him by his shoulder and neck. It was a particularly inept choke hold attempt, one easily countered by the stronger, more experienced youth. Manipulating his attacker into an impressive airplane spin, El Sasquatcho hurled him into one of the very surprised assailants at his fore. Body connected solidly with body, a hollow smacking sound issuing from the sudden meeting of torso to torso, briefly interrupting the Mexican opera inexpertly spilling from the hurler. The alcohol has taken its toll, however, allowing the inertia of the spin and throw to pitch him forward. He slipped and fell into a puddle of dirty water (God he hoped it was water), coincidentally moving him out of the path of a thrown knife from his third adversary. El Sasquatcho rolled to his back, just in time to see the knife-thrower standing above him, another weapon at the ready. He taunted the prone hero, "Got anything else to say, dead bitch?" El Sasquatcho smiled. "Yeah. Waste of good booze." "What?" issued the confused reply. The bottle of Mescal, now almost done with the earthward half of its short journey, turned and tumbled closer to the cranium of the standing street thug, picking up velocity with each twirling nanosecond. The explosion of glass and stinging spirits from their inevitable attempt to share the same space at the same time (directly in opposition to the generally accepted laws pf physics) was quite impressive. Kind of pretty, from El Sasquatcho's perspective on the wet ground. Threat handled, the young hero turned to one side, giggled profusely, and emptied the contents of his stomach; retching into the apathetic night. Bad night. Very bad night. The name of El Sasquatcho was not yet spoken of in hushed whispers among the seedy underworld of Gotham City, and yet already he was receiving fan mail. No, wait. This was better. An invitation from one of the greats: Robin, associate of Senor Batman himself! And he wanted to meet the soon-to-be-famous El Sasquatcho! All of his hard work and street patrols were about to pay off, bigtime. That was the plan, at least. Bad night. ...the first gunshots rang out long before he could get to the docks. His saving grace, ironically a mundane issue, was traffic. He was delayed by a matter of two minutes - otherwise those shots might have been meant for him. El Sasquatcho managed to arrive just in time to see the broken body of one of his personal heroes drop to the ground, his head rebounding lifelessly and clunking back down again. The poor bastard was only identifiable as Robin because of his uniform; facial features were lost in a jumble of blood and damaged bone. Something broke inside of El Sasquatcho, a feeling of fear and rage and hopelessness he had only felt once before, years ago. He broke into a run, intent on beating his assailants into so much warm salsa with his bare hands. He bounded into the fight, caring not who saw nor heard him, paying little attention to the others in the fray. Nearing the first person he percieved as an enemy, his voice boomed forth in righteous indignation. "Sangre de El Santo!" His fist connected solidly, striking the neck of a man wearing a lightly glowing bodysuit. The man stumbled forward, but kept his footing and looked back at El Sasquatcho. This could not be. A full hit at that point of impact would have laid out any normal person. He must be dealing with a Meta, like himself. He had not the time to process, as he was very rapidly grabbed from behind by another man, seemingly wearing the same glowing bodysuit as the one in front of him. El Sasquatcho was able to begin the counter relatively easily, until his dance partner forced his full strength upon him. He was strong, possibly stronger than himself. El Sasquatcho had not expected this. Stupidly, he rushed in, relying on emotion and raw luck to see him to victory. He underestimated his opponents, even after seeing the Boy Wonder go down like a drunken prom date. Grappling though he was, he caught snatches of sight at his surroundings. Others were there, too, held back by more copies of the man now attacking him. In the center of the dock, another man (different this time) took to abusing the unconscious or dead Robin at his leisure. Making him watch. Making all of them watch. He was finally able to break free from his attacker's grasp, and picked him high above his head, intending to bring him down upon his knee. The blow failed as yet another copy plowed into his side with truck-stopping force, knocking El Sasquatcho to the ground and driving the air from his lungs. The man in the center paused his savage act for just a moment, looking over to the newcomer and the trouble he caused. The moment froze. The next thing El Sasquatcho knew, he was semi-conscious and being hurled into the sea. He skipped like a stone twice before nailing a buoy, an arm getting caught in the metal framework. Had it not, he likely would have slipped beneath the waves and drowned before he had a chance to recover. ...Unsure how long he had been out, he made his way back to the dock from where he was thrown. Things were quiet now, except for the wordless sobbing of those present. They stood in a circle around the fallen Hero. El Sasquatcho added his tears to the rest, undramatically slumping to his knees and bowing his head. The grief and shame of those present was palpable. "Dama Muerte, he is deserving of you..." It was then the scene darkened, overshadowed by the silhouette of a familiar cape and cowl.
4,779	125	19	1,602	2,499	Ves watched as, El Sasquatcho returned to the kitchen wielding a mighty hoarde of 'high quality' Mexican cuisine. She watched her teammates start to chow down, and was about to join in when El Sasquatcho sprinted to the bathroom. She decided it was better to just leave the food be and save her bowels the stress. She heard El Sasquatcho call out for the group to get going. She grinned, her hopes of going had wavered in the middle a bit there, but she was pretty excited to go to her first arcade. She put down the jam smeared knife and moved to her personal quarters. Her room was a bit messy to be honest, but decorations could be made out along the walls. A few band posters here and there and of course, her prized possession hanging up above her bed. A framed picture of Morrissey himself, complete with a signature scrawled along his face. Of course, when she had first bought it she was ecstatic. Her sister, not so much. It wasn't the most legitimate of buys and, Diana was certain that some charlatan on ebay had written the signatures on himself. Especially since the Ian Brown signature was in the same writing style as Morrisseys. And the same writing style as Ian Durys. And the same writing style as Jarvis Cocker's and so on and so forth. She quickly grabbed her old, outdated cell phone, stuffed it into her back pocket and made for the 'El Camino train'. She practically leapt into the back of the Camino, taking a seat near the hood of the car. The roof made it hard for Ves to sit in any car, and she was extremely grateful that this 'el camino' had an open back. She wrung her hands together, she was quite excited to say the least.	Secret ID: Vesta 'Ves' Petrakis Alias: Argonaut Age: 18 Home Location: Themyscria, althought she is currently situated in Metropolis. Powers: -Enhanced aspects of the human body -Flight -Healing factor Weaknesses: -Naivety -Piercing weapons hurt her more than any other kind. Equipment: -Lasso of truth -Bracelets of submission -Tiara(explained below) -A sword (Used only in extreme emergencies) Appearance: Vesta stands at a whopping 7 foot. She has a lightly muscular physique that does not represent her true strength by far. Her hair reaches down to her lower back and is a raven black. Vesta's skin is more pale than it is tan, although not pale enough to actually make any obvious comment about it. Her eyes are a piercing blue and are easily recognizable among other eyes. Her equipment is similar to her sisters, both in style and hue except with Vesta's having darker shades of each colour overall, and with the blue being replaced with black. While much of the equipment that Vesta received remains the same, the bracers have suffered a design change that has made them longer and more stylized. Along with this, the tiara has been replaced with a sort of metal headband that can be used as a throwing weapon alike the tiara. Her costume is much more modern than her sisters, and while she retains a similar sort of breastplate, hers goes up to her neck rather than stopping below her shoulders. She also has tight fitting black trousers under a small amount of armour along with boots. All of her armour is styled around the Amazons. When off mission, Ves can usually be seen wearing some sort of band T-shirt along with jeans and whatnot. She hasn't really adapted to the fashion of the outside world and it took Diana some time to explain to her that going out in a toga isn't really socially acceptable. Personality: Vesta is rather naive but also very courageous and willing to help anyone who needs it. A well of compassion, Vesta treats everyone equally no matter their creed, race or gender. To the point where she'd rather convince a racist to change their ways rather than attack them. Vesta tries to make jokes, but they often fall flat because of her lack of knowledge about the outside worlds customs and whatnot. While she displays a great degree of confidence, Vesta is deeply insecure and often talks about how much better her sister is when people compliment her. The one thing that Ves is most interested in is 80s music. Her favourite band is The Smiths and even mentioning them in a positive light can make just about anyone her new best friend. Password: Titan BRIEF Bio: Vesta was born on the mythical isle of Themyscria. Vesta, like her sister, Diana was 'born' through her 'mother', Hippolyta creating her with clay and the soul of an unborn baby. Vesta was born quite a few years after Diana who had left Themyscria before Vesta had even begun her training. Vesta's training began when she was around 15. Her training was a tough and rigorous regime, exhausting both her body and her mind while strengthening them at the same time. Much more emphasis was based around her mental skills though, as she was never really meant to be a warrior, just a trainer. Vesta was kept oblivious to the technology and customs of the outside world, only learning what a boy was after Diana visited home and told Vesta various things about the outside world. Of course, Vesta was still quite young and the explanation was cut short of "Girls, but with hair on their chins" and Vesta was left mostly in the dark about men. Vesta was never intended to leave Themyscria at all, instead being trained to defend it from any danger and so she could train any new Amazons to a much more efficient rate than before. However, Vesta was curious and yearned to see the outside world after speaking with her sister rather often. Eventually, after much pestering, she was allowed to visit the outside world with Hippolyta thinking that she'd prefer the comfort of home to the harshness of the 'real' world. Of course, she was wrong. During her short visit to the outside world, Vesta was contacted by Robin and subsequently got her arse kicked with the rest of the 'team' in the fight that concluded with Robins death. Shortly after, Hippolyta had equipment similar to that of, Diana's made for Vesta in order to help her better defend herself. Of course, Vesta isn't well versed in the use of this equipment just yet but is getting the hang of using them as quickly as she can. Vesta loved the outside world. Diana showed her how differing the technology and culture was to that of Themyscria and Vesta finally saw a man. Although while she has seen a man she still confuses non-bearded men for women every now and then. She was allowed to stay in Metropolis, cutting her training short and leaving her under the supervision of her sister. Notes: -Favourite band is "The Smiths" -Has a major crush on a young David Bowie -Favourite colour is purple -Her favourite song is "Love and Pride" by King, although this changes frequently. Sample Post: Vesta dodged under the knife of her attacker. Attacker was a generous way to put it, he hadn't landed a hit on her yet. She dodged left of one swipe and right of another, unhooking her lasso and unfurling it in one flick of her wrist. She jumped back as the attacker sent a jab towards her before swinging her arm back and sending the lasso forward in one fell swoop. The lasso affixed itself around the thugs wrist, and with one tug he was sent tumbling into the wall. Vesta flew through the air with the grace of an eagle. Swooping between buildings and under cranes as if she were born of bird herself. She looked down to the terrified criminal she held in her sturdy grip. Her mind drifted back to hearing what various other superheroes had said on the news. They usually said something dramatic and heroic to the criminal in a time like this and Vesta would be damned if she couldn't think of something cool and inspirational to say. "Young Lady that is no way to act" She said, an obvious lack of inspiration or any semblance of cool. She saw the assailant turn their head to her with a puzzled look growing on their face. "Young Lady?" They spoke "I'm a man!" He screamed, visibly distressed and insecure about his appearance. Vesta furrowed her brow in confusion before the confusion turned to embarrassment and her cheeks grew red. "But you have long hair?" She said, visibly confused. The thug, equally confused asked "So?" In a seemingly calm voice for the current situation. Vesta didn't answer, she just looked forward and left the man to stew in his own anxiety. This was the second time this week that she'd mistaken a man for a woman, and it was only Wednesday. She made haste to reach the police station and drop off the criminal before things got even more awkward. Vesta returned to her small apartment late that night. She was surprised to find a letter left on her bed. She opened the letter with intrigue and was confused to find a meeting place written on the paper. She debated going, but ultimately decided there was little point in not going and made a mental note of the date of said meeting.
4,780	125	20	2,654	2,774	Caitlyn saw El Sasquatcho tidying up and immediately set her bowl of rice down so she could help. He was good enough to be the first to buy, the least she could do was help him package it up for the fridge. He'd bought so much, they could all easily have this again tomorrow. Caitlyn thought to future snacking, she'd have to cook something for them all, demonstrate her culinary talents. She'd have to have a think about what she could do for 7 plus herself and El Sasquatcho, who had quite the appetite too. Caitlyn wondered what they'd all enjoy. They finished up quickly with the two of them, Mexican tidily organised into labelled Tacohut boxes, and Caitlyn retreated back to her dorm. Caitlyn pressed her thumb to the finger print scanner while holding her face against the eye pieces on her cupboard, unlocking the armoury. She was glad to finally getting out of her super suit for the day. She undid the clasp on the unloaded utility belt, it was dangerous to have it full of things she had no knowledge of how to use, which allowed her to reach up the inside to unhook the final few catches. The left side popped open at the top, enlarging the armhole and relaxing the fit of her chest piece slightly.Sweet relief...She slid it off in a single smooth action and threw it up onto the rack with the belt, she was glad to be rid of it for now. She stretched and sat down on her double bed, according to her Tag Heuer Carrera, she had a couple of minutes to kill before she had to leave. She pulled out her diary. Meeting so many people was pretty tough so to supplement their encrypted files Caitlyn kept personal details of them, just little notes, just to help her keep track of who like what, who did this, that and the other in their spare time, etc. And on the Luchadore's page Caitlyn neatly added, "Generous with food". The details she added about Archer weren't so kind, but they were just as true. She added a few more reminders to herself and then snapped the book shut and dropped it back into the bottom draw of her desk. She checked her watch again. Perfect. Caitlyn finished getting changed, grabbed her toolbag and left for the El Camino Train. Caitlyn, swung herself in the back, careful not to scratch the paint. "How long you say you had this bad girl for, El Sasquatcho? She's gorgeous."	Secret ID: Caitlyn Gump Alias: Parasite Age: 19 Home Location: Gotham, a wonderful place of opportunity, if you have the money and status. Powers: None of her own to speak of, but has a symbiotic relationship with a parasitical creature Caitlyn affectionately named "Bug", which is attached to her left arm, it gives her: Envenomed Claws, cumulative paralytic A projectile gunk shot, hazardous to health long term Hook Shot Capabilities Shell Armour Plating Hazmat-lite, Bug Detoxes and filters Caitlyn's blood, making her resistant to chemical and biological warfare. Defib-lite, Bug's Heart continues to pump blood around Caitlyn's body, even if Caitlyn's heart isn't. Bug is semi-sentient and communicates Caitlyn neurally, feeding her powerful messages of hunger and self preservation. Bug continues to grow, giving more powers to its beloved host but enveloping more of Caitlyn. Weaknesses: Besides her left arm she is entirely human, no powers attached. Bug must be fed regularly to be any use Bug can act against Caitlyn's will if it believes Caitlyn is endangering both of them. Ingestion of unknown Paraciticides slows Bug down Caitlyn is used to operating alone and finds it hard to trust others. Technophobe, not literally, but sucks with computers. Appearance: A dirty street urchin with an alien creature for a left arm. Curly mousy brown hair, cut shoulder length with a rusty scissor blade Her eyes are dark and full of mistrust She stands at a skinny 5'6" and weighs 170lbs, Bug included Used to wear almost exclusively dark baggy clothing, but in light of becoming a TITAN has revamped her look, somewhat. Her hoodie has been swapped out for the more respectable, sleeveless turtleneck jumper and her cargo trousers for, well, better cargo trousers, you can take a girl out of the slums. Her sick hi-tops have also be traded in for more respectable combat ready footwear. This was going up in the world for her, she wasn't going to lose such an opportunity by looking scruffy. Personality: Caitlyn has dedicated her life from escaping the hell hole that her former life. All opportunities taken, nothing squandered. However her foresight is not twenty twenty, tends to give up long term rewards for short term boons. Caitlyn's trust must be earnt and is more easily lost than gotten. This however, doesn't stop her from being civil with you, something you learn on the streets, so you won't know whether you have it or you don't. Her desire to be a TITAN is not so much one of love for saving people, but of not having to be a criminal anymore, and sees it way to bigger things. She is manipulative and she is a deceiver but she isn't cruel and certainly not a bad person. As someone who often acted alone, she has little teamwork or leadership skills but will endeavor to acquire them when they've shown their value. Her and Bug had come along way since they day they were first introduced, that day was pivotal in ways she barely understood at the time. She was 13, out of school and trying to help pay off a debt of a father she never met. Pick pocketing worked for a while, till mother's "gentlemen friends" went too many weeks without a visit to her bedroom. Payments went up, the bruises came back. The items stolen and fenced got more expensive; phones, laptops, computers, but it was never quite enough, according to the collectors. "13 years old, wow, how time flies", the big one would say on the way out as they grabbed the hats and coats they'd slung over the sofa earlier,"I remember when you were only a wee nipper, look how much you've grown." The other, cigarette in mouth, swinging his coat over his thin shoulders,"She's a smart little monkey too, Gov" "Really now? Maybe she can come work with us, we could always do with a helping hand in the office", they'd both laugh in such away you knew they didn't mean it so much as a dirty joke as they did just dirty. "Maybe when she's a bit bigger." "Yeah, and maybe she can finish what her daddy started too, you know he was this close to crackin-" "Thats enough Freddy, were done here." As Freddy unlocked the door, the big guy, who's name she knew would slip a silver coin out of his coat pocket and deposit into Caitlyn's palm. "For my favourite God-daughter, buy yourself something sweet." The same charade every month, little did they know it was the last. Tonight she wasn't staying for the awkward silent late supper before bed. She was meeting him, the Man of Promises. Shortly after the men left, Caitlyn changed back out of pajamas and left into the darkness. Their meeting place was a dark alleyway approximately half way between Caitlyn's home and the office Fred and the Boss man returned too every month after visiting, the heavy cloud cover obscured the moon but the streets were no darker thanks to the powerful neon lampposts. Drunkards already littered the street and their harmless, but watchful gaze made Caitlyn's heart pound harder. The video rental, the second hand store, the charity store, the coffee shop. The alley opened before her, its gaping chasm threatening to swallow her whole. A man in sunglasses was waiting in a door way deeper down. Him. Caitlyn walked down and followed him into the room he was propping open. Caitlyn took a seat at the table that had been dragged into the closet from cafe side. An ornate wooden box lay on the table, unlocked. The lid seemed still, but periodically Caitlyn could have sworn it lifted up, if only by millimeters. The box demanded her attention, in it was a promise, so she was told. An opportunity to escape the life she had, to be slave to no one and take control of her own destiny. "Are you sure this is what you want Miss Gump?" "I want it to stop" "And you're willing to do what is necessary?" "Yes" "And you're willing to pay the price?" "Yes" "So be it, lift the lid of the box" Caitlyn placed her hands on either side of the lid. What on earth could be in this box? She wasted no time, but immediately regretted it. The contents wriggled and Caitlyn slammed the lid back down. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE THOSE?" "Freedom, Miss Gump" Caitlyn lifted the lid a little slower this time, fingers as far from any of the alien creatures as she could. Thorny, writhing unearthly creatures litter the box, there might have been seven or eight of them all unique in their horrid design. "What am I supposed to do with these?" "Please pick one, today is the day you escape the chains of society" "I came here for a gun, you said you were going to give me a weapon to fight my oppressors with" He scoffed, "I am giving you something better than a gun," he paused, "Liberation. Pick one." None of them were particularly inviting, but maybe that was the point. He was wasting her time. She got up to leave but a firm hand pushed her back into her seat. "Do not make the mistake others have made, Miss Gump, you leave this room and you walk back into your old life, back into the sadness and the misery and the hopelessness, this is your chance to escape. I can assure you that you will not regret this, pick one." Caitlyn looked back into the box of horrors. "That one." "A fine choice, the first of many." He lifted the 7 inch monstrosity out of the box, with no more care than if it were a hamster. Holding it by the giant thorn he rolled it in air and stroked it along the belly side. It relaxed and opened up exposing its lemon yellow, fleshy insides. "Your hand, Miss Gump." She didn't respond but her expression said everything. Nope. Nope. Nope. The Man of Promises took her hand from the table. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. He pulled her hand slowly into position, Caitlyn transfixed on the creature, which seem to wriggle more excitedly as her middle finger got closer. NOPE. NOPE. NOPE. NOPE. She looked up to the man, her face filled with horror, her eyes begged for it to end. She could feel the warmth radiating from the creatures insides on her finger. Every moment waiting for it to clamp around it was agony, the torture never ending. NOPE! NOPE! NOPE! NOPE! She squeezed her eyes tight and braced for the pain of her skin being devoured by the hungry evil creature, but it never came. The man relaxed his grip on her wrist, and smiled. "Welcome to the first day of your new life." Password: Gnarkk
4,781	125	21	2,170	1,634	The indomitable and quite tall Ves was the first to arrive at the Vato Truck, and seemed to bound into the back with a sense of glee disproportionate to the nature of the outing. "Glad to see you out, Hermanita. El Sasquatcho doesn't suppose you would happen to have a Tic-Tac on your person, would you?" Following shortly thereafter came Caitlyn and Chester, giving sincere compliments to the El Camino. "Thank you, Parasita. El Sasquatcho picked her up quite by accident at the age of 16. Holdover from Shop Class, you see. We fixed her up by mistake (long story), and I got to drive her out of the garage. Been with me ever since." He gave a sincere chuckle at the Chester's inquiry. "She has cupholders, sir. Other than that, the Vato truck is factory standard rebuilt. Maybe El Sasquatcho should install a better sound system eventually... So, is this everybody that is coming?"	Ladies and Gentlemen, making his first public appearance, I give you the testosterone-based, masked fury of ...El Sasquatcho! Secret ID: Hector Delacruz Alias: El Sasquatcho Age: 19 Home Location: Gotham Powers: Heightened Strength, Heightened Durability, Probability Manipulation Strength – Human maximum and somewhat beyond, he is capable of lifting and moving up to 400 lbs without difficulty. Past this point, effort is required. If straining, to the exclusion of all other activity, he can full body press approximately one ton. His strength allows him to flip over a car by himself, but not throw it. Durability – El Sasquatcho is physically very durable, due in no small part to his dense body mass. This gives him naturally occurring protection similar to that of a standard flak jacket. It is not accurate to say that he is bulletproof, but he is damage resistant. This does not affect his physical stamina, that while impressive, falls within normal human range. Probability Manpiulation – Simultaneously his greatest and least reliable power, he is uncannily lucky. If he needs a few bucks to tide him over until payday, he will find a twenty on the ground. While bending over to pick up the money, he will unwittingly dodge a stray bullet from a clash across the park. The stray bullet will warn him of a charging (but strangely silent) rhinoceros demon, who will then slip on a stray banana peel before reaching him. El Sasquatcho is not reliably able to consciously use this power – it appears to manifest during times of stress. Or time of need. Or randomly. Or whenever the GM says it does. Eventually, he may be able to use this power at will, but that is a long way off. Until then, he is just considered to be a lucky, lucky bastard. Weaknesses: Honorbound - Luchador code demands certain actions and limitations from him, described below. Equipment: Naught but his rippling biceps and spandexed thighs of justice. Appearance: El Sasquatcho is a masked Luchador. He is tall, broad, and overly possessed of very masculine body hair, hence his superhero identity. Now prior to his affiliation with the Titans, he is garbed in big black boots, rough carpenter’s jeans, and a closefitting t-shirt (usually black, sometimes a band shirt). Cooler days see him in a leather composite leather jacket. When heroing, he wears his one quality possession: A custom Lucha mask, brown and black, with intricate styling that makes it resemble a dark colored sugar skull. The mask does not impede his ability to breathe nor perceive the world around him, and is like a second skin. His “working gear”, as it were, is similar in form to Batman’s. It is an ergonomically articulated combat armor, designed for maximum protection and flexibility. Color is matte black with brown accents. Trauma plates protect vital areas, and can also be found in his mask, tactical boots, and gloves. These plates give him an extra bit of oomph when attacking with his extremities. Armor does not cover his arms, mostly because he thinks it looks cooler this way. Coupled with his Heightened Durability, he's quite the agile tank. He will, as needed, wear a standard cloth long coat over his armor. It can be torn away for dramatic effect, or merely blow about heroically in the wind. El Sasquatcho’s headgear is an exact duplicate of his Luchador mask, with audio comm options and a voice scrambler/augmenter (for anonymity and making very impressive entrances) His tactical boots contain compartments for the storage of small items, and more impressively, infrasound generators able to broadcast a wide range of pulses too low for humans to hear. The practical effect is a heightened sense of anxiety in those around him; the impractical effect being that every Bigfoot, Sasquatch, or Timber Ape within a 10 mile radius will be summoned to his position. Unless they’re not real. Then no dice. Wait, don’t whales use infrasound? Personality: Hector is a well-meaning, decent kid, whose unfortunate downfall is his arrogance. Raw physical strength (superior to an unmodified human) coupled with his uncanny luck (subconscious probability manipulation) have made him somewhat reckless and overconfident. Hopefully his new mentor can beat some common sense and humility into him. The relationship Hector has with his persona as is a little complicated. He thinks of himself more as El Sasquatcho than Hector Delacruz, considering his legal name and legal life the half that he only pretends to be when necessary. He respects his family name, giving honor to his ancestors, but does not speak of them much. He is El Sasquatcho, Blood of El Santo, which he will discuss with any who will listen at great length. Password: Gnarkk BRIEF Bio: Originally part of a touring Lucha Libre troupe, El Sasquatcho grew up steeped in the culture and traveling lifestyle. This life ended years ago during a tour in Gotham, when an unaffiliated masked Luchador interrupted the performance, he and his group killing many. A young teenager at the time, the shock of the events caused his abilities to express, narrowly allowing his survival. As his entire family was dead or missing, Hector was placed into Gotham City foster care services. He was a B student in the Gotham public school system, but was unable to finalize his Luchador training proper. What he had learned so far, however, brought him a long way with the wrestling and gymnastics teams, where he quickly became the star performer for both groups. He even had a dalliance as one of the Gotham High Mascots for home games. Go Wildcats. While trying to keep his skills sharp and his grades up, he never lost his original goal. Hector remains watchful for an opportunity to avenge the deaths of his family and fellow Luchadores. As soon as he became a legal adult, he adopted his persona and became a vigilante, hoping one day to run into the masked stranger that destroyed his world. He has a challenge to issue. Constantly refers to himself in the third person, as his hero identity. El Sasquatcho constructed and maintains his Lucha mask – he’s actually quite good at the craft. Almost stereotypically, drives a rebuilt El Camino. It’s in good shape; factory standard vehicle. Speaks Spanish, English, and an odd dialect of Transient Gypsy Spanglish barely recognizable to those who speak either Spanish or English. El Sasquatcho bowls overhanded. He sings. He can’t; he shouldn’t. Yet sadly, he does. Mariachi Opera or Mexican Folk Metal, anyone? Unless stealth is absolutely required, El Sasquatcho insists on screaming challenges or battle cries before engaging in melee. This can be as simple as “LUCHA!!!” or can be much more elaborate. Honor above all other things. Perform no act that would be seen as dishonorable to your mask, family, or title. Taking from the weaker is forbidden. Do not kill without first issuing a challenge. Killing in cold blood is forbidden. The street toughs approached from the shadows around him, obviously thinking him an easy mark. The young man, moderately under the influence of the illegally obtained bottle of Mescal in his left hand, seemed an easy target. Slurring his words slightly, he addressed his would-be attackers. "No, no. El Sasquatcho does not have time for this; he is needed elsewhere. Run away before El Sasquatcho renders you incapable of doing so voluntarily, sirs." The advice lay unheeded, tossed to the ground by the collective chuckles of the thugs. They rushed him; two head on and one moving to flank. The intoxicated youth sighed. He really did have somewhere to be, and he didn't want to risk ripping his new Pollo Negro band shirt on the teeth of some prick from the neighborhood. Shaking his head, he tossed his bottle high into the air, and braced for the oncoming attack. The attacker coming from the side got to him first, grabbing him by his shoulder and neck. It was a particularly inept choke hold attempt, one easily countered by the stronger, more experienced youth. Manipulating his attacker into an impressive airplane spin, El Sasquatcho hurled him into one of the very surprised assailants at his fore. Body connected solidly with body, a hollow smacking sound issuing from the sudden meeting of torso to torso, briefly interrupting the Mexican opera inexpertly spilling from the hurler. The alcohol has taken its toll, however, allowing the inertia of the spin and throw to pitch him forward. He slipped and fell into a puddle of dirty water (God he hoped it was water), coincidentally moving him out of the path of a thrown knife from his third adversary. El Sasquatcho rolled to his back, just in time to see the knife-thrower standing above him, another weapon at the ready. He taunted the prone hero, "Got anything else to say, dead bitch?" El Sasquatcho smiled. "Yeah. Waste of good booze." "What?" issued the confused reply. The bottle of Mescal, now almost done with the earthward half of its short journey, turned and tumbled closer to the cranium of the standing street thug, picking up velocity with each twirling nanosecond. The explosion of glass and stinging spirits from their inevitable attempt to share the same space at the same time (directly in opposition to the generally accepted laws pf physics) was quite impressive. Kind of pretty, from El Sasquatcho's perspective on the wet ground. Threat handled, the young hero turned to one side, giggled profusely, and emptied the contents of his stomach; retching into the apathetic night. Bad night. Very bad night. The name of El Sasquatcho was not yet spoken of in hushed whispers among the seedy underworld of Gotham City, and yet already he was receiving fan mail. No, wait. This was better. An invitation from one of the greats: Robin, associate of Senor Batman himself! And he wanted to meet the soon-to-be-famous El Sasquatcho! All of his hard work and street patrols were about to pay off, bigtime. That was the plan, at least. Bad night. ...the first gunshots rang out long before he could get to the docks. His saving grace, ironically a mundane issue, was traffic. He was delayed by a matter of two minutes - otherwise those shots might have been meant for him. El Sasquatcho managed to arrive just in time to see the broken body of one of his personal heroes drop to the ground, his head rebounding lifelessly and clunking back down again. The poor bastard was only identifiable as Robin because of his uniform; facial features were lost in a jumble of blood and damaged bone. Something broke inside of El Sasquatcho, a feeling of fear and rage and hopelessness he had only felt once before, years ago. He broke into a run, intent on beating his assailants into so much warm salsa with his bare hands. He bounded into the fight, caring not who saw nor heard him, paying little attention to the others in the fray. Nearing the first person he percieved as an enemy, his voice boomed forth in righteous indignation. "Sangre de El Santo!" His fist connected solidly, striking the neck of a man wearing a lightly glowing bodysuit. The man stumbled forward, but kept his footing and looked back at El Sasquatcho. This could not be. A full hit at that point of impact would have laid out any normal person. He must be dealing with a Meta, like himself. He had not the time to process, as he was very rapidly grabbed from behind by another man, seemingly wearing the same glowing bodysuit as the one in front of him. El Sasquatcho was able to begin the counter relatively easily, until his dance partner forced his full strength upon him. He was strong, possibly stronger than himself. El Sasquatcho had not expected this. Stupidly, he rushed in, relying on emotion and raw luck to see him to victory. He underestimated his opponents, even after seeing the Boy Wonder go down like a drunken prom date. Grappling though he was, he caught snatches of sight at his surroundings. Others were there, too, held back by more copies of the man now attacking him. In the center of the dock, another man (different this time) took to abusing the unconscious or dead Robin at his leisure. Making him watch. Making all of them watch. He was finally able to break free from his attacker's grasp, and picked him high above his head, intending to bring him down upon his knee. The blow failed as yet another copy plowed into his side with truck-stopping force, knocking El Sasquatcho to the ground and driving the air from his lungs. The man in the center paused his savage act for just a moment, looking over to the newcomer and the trouble he caused. The moment froze. The next thing El Sasquatcho knew, he was semi-conscious and being hurled into the sea. He skipped like a stone twice before nailing a buoy, an arm getting caught in the metal framework. Had it not, he likely would have slipped beneath the waves and drowned before he had a chance to recover. ...Unsure how long he had been out, he made his way back to the dock from where he was thrown. Things were quiet now, except for the wordless sobbing of those present. They stood in a circle around the fallen Hero. El Sasquatcho added his tears to the rest, undramatically slumping to his knees and bowing his head. The grief and shame of those present was palpable. "Dama Muerte, he is deserving of you..." It was then the scene darkened, overshadowed by the silhouette of a familiar cape and cowl.
4,782	125	22	1,537	4,313	Several days of training, school, and getting jobs had gone by. It was late September, and the air of the Gotham night's blew cold. While the most of the team of 'Gotham Titans' had went out with the hairy luchador, the brothers as well as Isis and Zero were still hanging around the gym. Robert and Daniel weren't used to Gotham as much as the others, choosing to stay in for now and eat what remained of the food from Taco Hut. To say Daniel was curious about the girl with wings was an understatement. Other than a few words in passing here and there the boys hadn't really interacted with the others. Then again it was still just the first week. Maybe Batman didn't want to push them too hard too quickly. Before Daniel could strike up conversation, Robert opened his mouth first... "So are you Hawkgirl's kid or something?" the older brother asked. "I thought you said you read the files Batman gave us all access to?" Daniel responded in a lower tone. "A lot of what Robin had gathered amounted to nothing as far as Batman's notes. So... you some kind of magical creature or something alien and related to Hawkman?" Robert continued at the winged wonder. "Honestly... I'm not even sure. My earliest memories are of Egypt..." Isis paused and winced with the recollection before continuing, "I would like to talk to Hawkman one day" "Hawkman was always one of my..." Daniel started to add before an alarm blared into the HQ and Grant came from upstairs. "I just got a call from Bats... where in the hell is the rest of the team?!?" he began before realizing there were only four teens in the HQ and really only three heroes available for a mission. "They've gone to an... Arcane? I think that was it..", Isis began, "I'm not sure what that has to do with games. One tried explaining it to the larger girl, are they playing with fire?" "...Nevermind. We don't have time to discuss 'My Teenage Life'. Zero, you need to get your head back in the game, son. Mr. Freeze has escaped Arkham and Bats is out of town with the Justice League. Some civilians down around the waterfront are trapped in some ice but it's unknown if Freeze is still in the area..." Wildcat began instructing as the boys fused and Isis rose into the air the bit she could to hover. "Hell yeah, 'bout time we get to take down one of Batman's enemies..." Leviathan said a bit anxious to go into battle. "Orders are to search and rescue any civilians trapped in the ice. Do NOT, and Bat's said to repeat this in my mean voice, DO NOOOT try to apprehend Freeze. He generally doesn't kill often and collateral damage needs to remain low for this Titans thing to work." Wildcat said cutting the ten foot tall hero off. "There's a Justice League teleporter upstairs in my closet in the bedroom of my apartment. Passcode is 1-9-4-2. When it comes up for a destination point, punch in 1-0-W-F. I'll try and locate the others, you guys go on ahead. Batman's trying to get a younger hero than me and more experienced than the likes of you all to deal with Freeze. NOW GET TO MOVING!!" Wildcat screamed in the end jumping on a motorcycle after he followed the kids upstairs. "How many arcade's could possibly be in Gotham between Midtown and Uptown... I can't seem to remember which ones are still around..." the older hero thought trying to remember, "Can't believe Bats doesn't even want me going after Freeze. I wonder what that's about..." On the waterfront... Mr. Freeze had most of his suit equipped, only a half dozen or so civilians had got in his way. The Titans that were available were sent into action about a block away from where he was located. On this late September night the air was cold... ~KL~ / Endrance	Secret ID: Robert Hall and Daniel Hall Alias: Leviathan Age: 19 and 15 Home Location: Metropolis Powers: Through concentrated contact, the boys become a single giant human with increased strength, speed, stamina, and durability. In a nut shell, the composite being is ten foot tall, bulletproof, and can tear a car apart with his bare hands. He can bench press well over a ton, and run a mile in just over three minutes. Both of the boys are adept swimmers, and as fast as Leviathan is on land he's just as fast in the water. Weaknesses: When separated the boys are just your average athletic teenagers with no increased anything. The composite being Leviathan can only stay together for roughly an hour, the duration also depends on how well the boys work as one brain rather than two sides fighting against each other. If the Leviathan is hit with mental attacks he loses his form in no time at all. Equipment: Any equipment or devices/objects the boys have on them becomes compromised when they combine to create Leviathan. Batman fitted each of the boys with a light armor reminiscent of a wet suit and upon becoming one being the suit 'completes itself' giving the young giant hero a little more durability. Appearance: Leviathan - Personality: Robert is a little more loud and reckless; Daniel is a little smarter and quieter, Leviathan is stoic but often acts before thinking things through. Password: What's this about a password? BRIEF Bio: Robert and Daniel both lived in Metropolis with their grandmother. Several weeks back, while Superman was in a battle with Brainiac, one of the technological tyrant's experiments was released into the city. This 'exobyte' had the brothers merge into one larger being when they made contact running for safety. The two of them had no idea what to think, but it was clear to anyone who tried to talk to the giant man that the fellow was a man of two minds about everything. After Brainiac had been defeated and the first time the two brothers would 'go big' wore off they thought that life would go back to normal. They couldn't have been more wrong. Days later, while the two boys waited in the car outside of the bank their grandmother was doing business in, a robbery began to go down. As soon as Daniel realized what was going on he told his brother they needed to go and make sure their grandma was safe. On a whim Daniel concentrated hard and put his hand on his brother's shoulder. Seconds later the giant was born again. At the end of it all, the giant was met by Superman after putting the KO on the three armed robbers. Another week would pass before Robin contacted the boys. Grayson wasn't the world's greatest detective, but he trained with one of the best for three years and quickly determined the giant was a composite being and reached out to them via social media. Like others, the first meeting with Robin in Gotham went south for the boys and the two could only watch as Multiplex and Deadshot made an example out of the first teenage superhero and former sidekick. Notes: At some point later on we may meet other members of this universe's Justice League so that I can have a short moment between Leviathan and Aquaman. Sample Post: "These Multiplex goons are a handful. My brother and I aren't really cut out for this 'Teen Titans' thing after all. It takes concentration and skin to skin contact for us to become a giant, and if something doesn't happen soon Robin's not going to make it much longer. If only Robert would stop trying to fight those Multiplex guys two or three at a time we might be able to make contact and..." Daniel thought to himself while trying to break free of one of the Multiplex duplicates' grip that currently had him pinned up against a warehouse wall. "These kids are beginning to annoy me..." Deadshot yelled out to his partners in crime as he shot a couple high powered rounds at the dog like creature that one of the kids transformed into taking it down for the time being. "Should've just killed that ugly thing, Lawton..." one of the many Multiplexes commented. "We were sent here to kill one person and to send a message. ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME YOU LITTLE SUPERHERO WANNABES?" Deadshot yelled out a little louder than before, "KIDS SHOULDN'T WEAR COSTUMES." Deadshot finally let the nearly lifeless and beaten body of Robin fall to the ground the rest of the way. He reloaded his wrist mounted 22 millimeter firearms and aimed one of them at the head of the bloody and bruised Robin. Under his mask he was closing his eyes. Killing kids is awful even to an assassin. Not even two seconds later and... BANG! BANG BANG! After a few more punches were thrown at the rookie heroes by all of the duplicates, they all merged back into the prime Multiplex as Deadshot watched seemingly in surprise. "We better jet, 'Plex. There's no telling for certain when the Bat will come around looking for bird boy..." Deadshot suggested as they took off up an alleyway, now just the two of them. ~KL~
4,783	125	23	668	1,466	Archer barely registered what some of the others had told him after his episode. Obviously nothing said was particularly helpful. Sometimes people simply had to deal with things on their own. This, it seemed, was going to be one of those times. Each of them was coping with what had happened in their own unique ways, Archer was no exception to this. For now, time would simply need to march on. And march on it did, though not without a bit of an emergency cropping up in the meantime. Urgency had a funny way of snapping one's mind back into focus. Wildcat demanding to know where the others went and even telling Archer himself to get his head back in the game is what finally got the ice meta to act normal again. He listened to a short briefing, even raising an eyebrow with interest when Mr. Freeze's name came up. In a funny way, Archer owed the existence of his powers to Mr. Freeze. He never thought Freeze of all people would become his first mission. Well, not Freeze directly, according to Wildcat Batman was sending someone else to deal with the man himself. But the Titans' first deployment would be to free his captives. Archer even wondered if he would have to play a key role if ice was involved. Okay, come on Zero, this is your big second chance. Don't blow it! He thought to himself as he made for Wildcat's room where he was told the Justice League transporter was located. As he left the wing, he watched Robert and Daniel become one being as they normally do, quickly realizing that he was the only one fully suited up and ready to go right then so he would likely be the first to get to the transporter. But, knowing what he was about to get himself into, there was no way he was going to go out ahead of the others and waited for both of them before punching in the code. "Okay, Freeze, you're not the only ice-man in Gotham anymore." he told himself, hoping he could get his own confidence back up again.	Secret ID: Archer Graham Alias: Zero Age: 18 Home Location: Gotham Powers: A textbook Cryomancer, Archer can "create" objects made of ice by lowering the temperature around him and using moisture in the air as his main source of ice. His ice-powers could very well run deeper than that, but if it does he has yet to discover it, having only just now began to get the hang of creating ice objects. The objects he creates are, more often than not, simple blunt weapons like bats and hammers, or basic stabbing weapons like knives and javelins. His cryomancy allows him near immunity to cold weather and other extreme cold temperatures, as well, meaning he could go on missions to the South Pole with no need to dress more warmly. Weaknesses: His ice is almost exclusively reliant on some form of water source to work with. He can usually get by using moisture in the air, but should he find himself in, say, a burning building, then the lack of water in the air can handicap him unless he happens to have a jug of water to work with. He's also found that his powers work best so long as he remains well-hydrated, as a lack of hydration can weaken the amount of ice he can manipulate. Just as he is nearly immune to cold temperatures, the inverse is true of hot temperatures, though not to same extremes as the likes of Mister Freeze, since Archer can at least go out in warm weather with no threat to his life. Extremely hot environments, such as scorching deserts or a volcanic mountain on the other hand can leave him powerless to do anything until he is moved to a cooler location. Equipment: Apart from the standard stuff, Batman has made sure that the material of Archer's suit has as much heat resistance as possible. It doesn't completely alleviate the problem with hot environments, but it certainly provides a considerable buffer between the heat and Archer's body. Appearance Personality: Archer is, for the most part, a good enough kid. If he sees a mugging on the street or even bullying at school, he won't hesitate to take it upon himself to stop said activity. After getting his powers, he's become even more brazen with these acts, becoming almost cocky. Lately, since Robin's death, Archer has begun second guessing himself more often, his previous confidence shattered by the death of his team leader. Regardless, he's determined to pick up the pieces and start over again, if for nothing else than for the memory of Robin. Password: Titan BRIEF Bio: Born in Gotham City, Archer used to be more timid when he smaller. The general danger of living in Gothom City can do that to a kid. Of course, Batman has since made the city much safer than it used to be. Batman's crusade against crime was inspirational, but it was the appearance of his partner, Robin, that really changed Archer's personality. After all, if a kid around his own age could be brave enough to take on corruption, than why shouldn't Archer himself do the same? Of course, he would never have actually fought crime, but he did finally start standing up to his bullies, protecting himself and other kids they picked on. It wasn't much, but it was a start. Once he was in High School, Archer's life changed again. It was during one of Mister Freeze's attempts to bring an Ice Age to Gotham. When the attack came, Archer was walking home from school, passing by a small chemical lab. Mister Freeze's sudden attack covered chunks of Gotham City into a Winter Wonderland, Archer's location included. But in the midst of bombardment of cold, some barrels of discarded chemicals burst open, and their contents splashed all over Archer before the freeze blast briefly froze him. Emphasis on "brief" because within moments, Archer was able break himself free, discovering that he didn't feel any of the cold at all, despite the lack of winter clothes. From there he discovered he could manipulate the moisture in the air and freeze it into ice shapes. Robin found him not long after that. The Boy Wonder explained that he was planning to start a team called the Teen Titans, and that Archer with his powers would make an excellent addition. It was practically a dream come true, and Archer joined without a second thought. He had no idea just what fate had in store. Soon after that was when Deadshot and Multiplex attacked. The team escaped, though not without casualty. Robin was dead. Robin, one of the first teen superheroes ever to done a cape, and student of the freaking Batman no less. Archer was shaken, to be sure, and even briefly considered giving up the notion of saving people. But then, he received the message, a text on his phone that led him to a gym where Batman and Wildcat were waiting. If fate saw fit to provide Archer a second chance, then it would have been a disservice to the memory of Robin to not accept the offer. It was a normal enough day as Archer walked home from school. Huh, school. Not too long ago, his grades would have been the most important thing in his world. Not anymore, though, not by a long shot. His world completely changed on the day he got his powers. Now things like school felt completely pointless, but even so he had to keep up appearances, so he continued going. His grades took a hit, though, his new-found night life offered very little in the way of free time that, previously, would have been used for homework and the like. Still, he at least managed to maintain a passing grade so he wouldn't flunk. As he walked, he heard sounds coming from an upcoming alleyway. It sounded like shouting of some sort. Archer ran ahead, stopping to press himself against the building corner. He peeked around and saw a man standing behind another man, appearing to gesture at him while the other had his hands up. A mugging if Archer ever saw one. In Gotham City such a thing was sadly very common. But not today, that mugger picked the wrong alley on the wrong day to commit this crime. Archer ducked into a crawlspace behind a dumpster. There, he removed the top layer of his clothes, revealing a black suit underneath. He'd taken to wearing it under his normal clothes whenever he could, so changing personas was quick and easy affair most of the time. He retrieved his belt and mask from his backpack, put them on, then made his presence known. Well, not after throwing a baseball made of ice at the mugger's hand, knocking the pistol from his grip. "Wrong alley, wrong day, pal." said Archer as he leaped from his hiding spot and landed an ice-covered punch across the mugger's jaw. At that point it became as easy as trapping the man's hands and feet against the pavement with ice while his intended victim ran away shouting a thanks to Zero, the costumed meta that just saved him, "Guess I'm done here. Why don't you just chill out here a while until the cops show up?" he said before walking away. Oh yeah, he knew his little pun was a terrible one, but hey, at least it was one of the bad guys that had to suffer through it this time.
4,784	125	24	2,170	1,634	...meanwhile, at the arcade... Another challenge issued. Another challenger defeated. The taste of victory was sweet upon the tongue of the masked luchador, his superior footwork destroying any hope of victory in those who stood before him. Once more, the unnamed contender stepped down from the slightly elevated platform, head held low in submissive understanding of one simple fact: The fuzzy masked man had met the challenge, and responded with a thorough beating. His defeat was within the realm of possibility, though it was slim. His motions showed the experience of many years; his coordination and muscular control exemplary. Plus, he seemed to have the Devil’s own luck. It would take a very special person, perhaps a Meta, to upstage El Sasquatcho in Dance Dance Revolution. Computer generated anime girls, with their pigtails and huge eyes, congratulated the hairy wrestler with leaps of joy and flashing kanji speech bubbles. The other half of the dance area had a similar digital crowd on the screen, looking significantly more morose. Taking the opportunity for a victory pose, El Sasquatcho lifted himself to an effortless handstand on the perpendicular guard rails around his own dance spot, flashing lights of differing colors taking turns illuminating his mask. With a cry of “Revolución!!”, El Sasquatcho dropped back to his original, upright position and awaited the next person brave enough to meet him in the arena of DDR.	Ladies and Gentlemen, making his first public appearance, I give you the testosterone-based, masked fury of ...El Sasquatcho! Secret ID: Hector Delacruz Alias: El Sasquatcho Age: 19 Home Location: Gotham Powers: Heightened Strength, Heightened Durability, Probability Manipulation Strength – Human maximum and somewhat beyond, he is capable of lifting and moving up to 400 lbs without difficulty. Past this point, effort is required. If straining, to the exclusion of all other activity, he can full body press approximately one ton. His strength allows him to flip over a car by himself, but not throw it. Durability – El Sasquatcho is physically very durable, due in no small part to his dense body mass. This gives him naturally occurring protection similar to that of a standard flak jacket. It is not accurate to say that he is bulletproof, but he is damage resistant. This does not affect his physical stamina, that while impressive, falls within normal human range. Probability Manpiulation – Simultaneously his greatest and least reliable power, he is uncannily lucky. If he needs a few bucks to tide him over until payday, he will find a twenty on the ground. While bending over to pick up the money, he will unwittingly dodge a stray bullet from a clash across the park. The stray bullet will warn him of a charging (but strangely silent) rhinoceros demon, who will then slip on a stray banana peel before reaching him. El Sasquatcho is not reliably able to consciously use this power – it appears to manifest during times of stress. Or time of need. Or randomly. Or whenever the GM says it does. Eventually, he may be able to use this power at will, but that is a long way off. Until then, he is just considered to be a lucky, lucky bastard. Weaknesses: Honorbound - Luchador code demands certain actions and limitations from him, described below. Equipment: Naught but his rippling biceps and spandexed thighs of justice. Appearance: El Sasquatcho is a masked Luchador. He is tall, broad, and overly possessed of very masculine body hair, hence his superhero identity. Now prior to his affiliation with the Titans, he is garbed in big black boots, rough carpenter’s jeans, and a closefitting t-shirt (usually black, sometimes a band shirt). Cooler days see him in a leather composite leather jacket. When heroing, he wears his one quality possession: A custom Lucha mask, brown and black, with intricate styling that makes it resemble a dark colored sugar skull. The mask does not impede his ability to breathe nor perceive the world around him, and is like a second skin. His “working gear”, as it were, is similar in form to Batman’s. It is an ergonomically articulated combat armor, designed for maximum protection and flexibility. Color is matte black with brown accents. Trauma plates protect vital areas, and can also be found in his mask, tactical boots, and gloves. These plates give him an extra bit of oomph when attacking with his extremities. Armor does not cover his arms, mostly because he thinks it looks cooler this way. Coupled with his Heightened Durability, he's quite the agile tank. He will, as needed, wear a standard cloth long coat over his armor. It can be torn away for dramatic effect, or merely blow about heroically in the wind. El Sasquatcho’s headgear is an exact duplicate of his Luchador mask, with audio comm options and a voice scrambler/augmenter (for anonymity and making very impressive entrances) His tactical boots contain compartments for the storage of small items, and more impressively, infrasound generators able to broadcast a wide range of pulses too low for humans to hear. The practical effect is a heightened sense of anxiety in those around him; the impractical effect being that every Bigfoot, Sasquatch, or Timber Ape within a 10 mile radius will be summoned to his position. Unless they’re not real. Then no dice. Wait, don’t whales use infrasound? Personality: Hector is a well-meaning, decent kid, whose unfortunate downfall is his arrogance. Raw physical strength (superior to an unmodified human) coupled with his uncanny luck (subconscious probability manipulation) have made him somewhat reckless and overconfident. Hopefully his new mentor can beat some common sense and humility into him. The relationship Hector has with his persona as is a little complicated. He thinks of himself more as El Sasquatcho than Hector Delacruz, considering his legal name and legal life the half that he only pretends to be when necessary. He respects his family name, giving honor to his ancestors, but does not speak of them much. He is El Sasquatcho, Blood of El Santo, which he will discuss with any who will listen at great length. Password: Gnarkk BRIEF Bio: Originally part of a touring Lucha Libre troupe, El Sasquatcho grew up steeped in the culture and traveling lifestyle. This life ended years ago during a tour in Gotham, when an unaffiliated masked Luchador interrupted the performance, he and his group killing many. A young teenager at the time, the shock of the events caused his abilities to express, narrowly allowing his survival. As his entire family was dead or missing, Hector was placed into Gotham City foster care services. He was a B student in the Gotham public school system, but was unable to finalize his Luchador training proper. What he had learned so far, however, brought him a long way with the wrestling and gymnastics teams, where he quickly became the star performer for both groups. He even had a dalliance as one of the Gotham High Mascots for home games. Go Wildcats. While trying to keep his skills sharp and his grades up, he never lost his original goal. Hector remains watchful for an opportunity to avenge the deaths of his family and fellow Luchadores. As soon as he became a legal adult, he adopted his persona and became a vigilante, hoping one day to run into the masked stranger that destroyed his world. He has a challenge to issue. Constantly refers to himself in the third person, as his hero identity. El Sasquatcho constructed and maintains his Lucha mask – he’s actually quite good at the craft. Almost stereotypically, drives a rebuilt El Camino. It’s in good shape; factory standard vehicle. Speaks Spanish, English, and an odd dialect of Transient Gypsy Spanglish barely recognizable to those who speak either Spanish or English. El Sasquatcho bowls overhanded. He sings. He can’t; he shouldn’t. Yet sadly, he does. Mariachi Opera or Mexican Folk Metal, anyone? Unless stealth is absolutely required, El Sasquatcho insists on screaming challenges or battle cries before engaging in melee. This can be as simple as “LUCHA!!!” or can be much more elaborate. Honor above all other things. Perform no act that would be seen as dishonorable to your mask, family, or title. Taking from the weaker is forbidden. Do not kill without first issuing a challenge. Killing in cold blood is forbidden. The street toughs approached from the shadows around him, obviously thinking him an easy mark. The young man, moderately under the influence of the illegally obtained bottle of Mescal in his left hand, seemed an easy target. Slurring his words slightly, he addressed his would-be attackers. "No, no. El Sasquatcho does not have time for this; he is needed elsewhere. Run away before El Sasquatcho renders you incapable of doing so voluntarily, sirs." The advice lay unheeded, tossed to the ground by the collective chuckles of the thugs. They rushed him; two head on and one moving to flank. The intoxicated youth sighed. He really did have somewhere to be, and he didn't want to risk ripping his new Pollo Negro band shirt on the teeth of some prick from the neighborhood. Shaking his head, he tossed his bottle high into the air, and braced for the oncoming attack. The attacker coming from the side got to him first, grabbing him by his shoulder and neck. It was a particularly inept choke hold attempt, one easily countered by the stronger, more experienced youth. Manipulating his attacker into an impressive airplane spin, El Sasquatcho hurled him into one of the very surprised assailants at his fore. Body connected solidly with body, a hollow smacking sound issuing from the sudden meeting of torso to torso, briefly interrupting the Mexican opera inexpertly spilling from the hurler. The alcohol has taken its toll, however, allowing the inertia of the spin and throw to pitch him forward. He slipped and fell into a puddle of dirty water (God he hoped it was water), coincidentally moving him out of the path of a thrown knife from his third adversary. El Sasquatcho rolled to his back, just in time to see the knife-thrower standing above him, another weapon at the ready. He taunted the prone hero, "Got anything else to say, dead bitch?" El Sasquatcho smiled. "Yeah. Waste of good booze." "What?" issued the confused reply. The bottle of Mescal, now almost done with the earthward half of its short journey, turned and tumbled closer to the cranium of the standing street thug, picking up velocity with each twirling nanosecond. The explosion of glass and stinging spirits from their inevitable attempt to share the same space at the same time (directly in opposition to the generally accepted laws pf physics) was quite impressive. Kind of pretty, from El Sasquatcho's perspective on the wet ground. Threat handled, the young hero turned to one side, giggled profusely, and emptied the contents of his stomach; retching into the apathetic night. Bad night. Very bad night. The name of El Sasquatcho was not yet spoken of in hushed whispers among the seedy underworld of Gotham City, and yet already he was receiving fan mail. No, wait. This was better. An invitation from one of the greats: Robin, associate of Senor Batman himself! And he wanted to meet the soon-to-be-famous El Sasquatcho! All of his hard work and street patrols were about to pay off, bigtime. That was the plan, at least. Bad night. ...the first gunshots rang out long before he could get to the docks. His saving grace, ironically a mundane issue, was traffic. He was delayed by a matter of two minutes - otherwise those shots might have been meant for him. El Sasquatcho managed to arrive just in time to see the broken body of one of his personal heroes drop to the ground, his head rebounding lifelessly and clunking back down again. The poor bastard was only identifiable as Robin because of his uniform; facial features were lost in a jumble of blood and damaged bone. Something broke inside of El Sasquatcho, a feeling of fear and rage and hopelessness he had only felt once before, years ago. He broke into a run, intent on beating his assailants into so much warm salsa with his bare hands. He bounded into the fight, caring not who saw nor heard him, paying little attention to the others in the fray. Nearing the first person he percieved as an enemy, his voice boomed forth in righteous indignation. "Sangre de El Santo!" His fist connected solidly, striking the neck of a man wearing a lightly glowing bodysuit. The man stumbled forward, but kept his footing and looked back at El Sasquatcho. This could not be. A full hit at that point of impact would have laid out any normal person. He must be dealing with a Meta, like himself. He had not the time to process, as he was very rapidly grabbed from behind by another man, seemingly wearing the same glowing bodysuit as the one in front of him. El Sasquatcho was able to begin the counter relatively easily, until his dance partner forced his full strength upon him. He was strong, possibly stronger than himself. El Sasquatcho had not expected this. Stupidly, he rushed in, relying on emotion and raw luck to see him to victory. He underestimated his opponents, even after seeing the Boy Wonder go down like a drunken prom date. Grappling though he was, he caught snatches of sight at his surroundings. Others were there, too, held back by more copies of the man now attacking him. In the center of the dock, another man (different this time) took to abusing the unconscious or dead Robin at his leisure. Making him watch. Making all of them watch. He was finally able to break free from his attacker's grasp, and picked him high above his head, intending to bring him down upon his knee. The blow failed as yet another copy plowed into his side with truck-stopping force, knocking El Sasquatcho to the ground and driving the air from his lungs. The man in the center paused his savage act for just a moment, looking over to the newcomer and the trouble he caused. The moment froze. The next thing El Sasquatcho knew, he was semi-conscious and being hurled into the sea. He skipped like a stone twice before nailing a buoy, an arm getting caught in the metal framework. Had it not, he likely would have slipped beneath the waves and drowned before he had a chance to recover. ...Unsure how long he had been out, he made his way back to the dock from where he was thrown. Things were quiet now, except for the wordless sobbing of those present. They stood in a circle around the fallen Hero. El Sasquatcho added his tears to the rest, undramatically slumping to his knees and bowing his head. The grief and shame of those present was palpable. "Dama Muerte, he is deserving of you..." It was then the scene darkened, overshadowed by the silhouette of a familiar cape and cowl.
4,785	125	25	1,602	2,499	Ves watched as El Sasquatcho defeated competitor after competitor as effortlessly as a professional darts player throwing a javelin. She'd tried playing against him earlier, but didn't fully understand the game and ended up cracking one of the arrows with a deadly stomp. Suffice to say, they moved onto the second DDR machine. Despite her loss against, Sasquatcho, Ves was in very high spirits. She was surprised at the lack of people wandering around the arcade, the place was like heaven to her. She clutched a small pink elephant plush in her arms as she began to wander around the arcade. The spotty clerk sitting behind the counter was half asleep, and flicking through a magazine as if he'd read it six times already. The machines blinked around her like a funfair and the noises coming from them matched the carnival atmosphere the entire place created. She moved to a bright yellow machine with a large overhang. Cartoon boxers danced on the screen for a bit before a high score board shot up on the screen. A small smile grew on Ves' face as she inserted a coin into the machine. While she had no idea what the point of the game was, or how to play it for that matter, she knew it would be fun. Suddenly, a speed ball swung down from the machine. Ves instinctively threw a jackhammer like punch at the speedball, sending it flying back into the machine with a loud thump and a slightly louder cracking noise. Numbers shot up on the small monitor before they finally reached their max and changed to a rather startling display of 'error'. Ves bit her thumb, checking over her shoulder for the clerk who was now fully asleep rather than half asleep. The grin appeared back on her face as she input her name at the top of the leaderboard. Her performance tonight was far from great, but she'd finally found a machine she was great at. Overjoyed, she pranced back to the group and stood, watching for whoever would challenge Sasquatcho to another match that they had very little chance of winning.	Secret ID: Vesta 'Ves' Petrakis Alias: Argonaut Age: 18 Home Location: Themyscria, althought she is currently situated in Metropolis. Powers: -Enhanced aspects of the human body -Flight -Healing factor Weaknesses: -Naivety -Piercing weapons hurt her more than any other kind. Equipment: -Lasso of truth -Bracelets of submission -Tiara(explained below) -A sword (Used only in extreme emergencies) Appearance: Vesta stands at a whopping 7 foot. She has a lightly muscular physique that does not represent her true strength by far. Her hair reaches down to her lower back and is a raven black. Vesta's skin is more pale than it is tan, although not pale enough to actually make any obvious comment about it. Her eyes are a piercing blue and are easily recognizable among other eyes. Her equipment is similar to her sisters, both in style and hue except with Vesta's having darker shades of each colour overall, and with the blue being replaced with black. While much of the equipment that Vesta received remains the same, the bracers have suffered a design change that has made them longer and more stylized. Along with this, the tiara has been replaced with a sort of metal headband that can be used as a throwing weapon alike the tiara. Her costume is much more modern than her sisters, and while she retains a similar sort of breastplate, hers goes up to her neck rather than stopping below her shoulders. She also has tight fitting black trousers under a small amount of armour along with boots. All of her armour is styled around the Amazons. When off mission, Ves can usually be seen wearing some sort of band T-shirt along with jeans and whatnot. She hasn't really adapted to the fashion of the outside world and it took Diana some time to explain to her that going out in a toga isn't really socially acceptable. Personality: Vesta is rather naive but also very courageous and willing to help anyone who needs it. A well of compassion, Vesta treats everyone equally no matter their creed, race or gender. To the point where she'd rather convince a racist to change their ways rather than attack them. Vesta tries to make jokes, but they often fall flat because of her lack of knowledge about the outside worlds customs and whatnot. While she displays a great degree of confidence, Vesta is deeply insecure and often talks about how much better her sister is when people compliment her. The one thing that Ves is most interested in is 80s music. Her favourite band is The Smiths and even mentioning them in a positive light can make just about anyone her new best friend. Password: Titan BRIEF Bio: Vesta was born on the mythical isle of Themyscria. Vesta, like her sister, Diana was 'born' through her 'mother', Hippolyta creating her with clay and the soul of an unborn baby. Vesta was born quite a few years after Diana who had left Themyscria before Vesta had even begun her training. Vesta's training began when she was around 15. Her training was a tough and rigorous regime, exhausting both her body and her mind while strengthening them at the same time. Much more emphasis was based around her mental skills though, as she was never really meant to be a warrior, just a trainer. Vesta was kept oblivious to the technology and customs of the outside world, only learning what a boy was after Diana visited home and told Vesta various things about the outside world. Of course, Vesta was still quite young and the explanation was cut short of "Girls, but with hair on their chins" and Vesta was left mostly in the dark about men. Vesta was never intended to leave Themyscria at all, instead being trained to defend it from any danger and so she could train any new Amazons to a much more efficient rate than before. However, Vesta was curious and yearned to see the outside world after speaking with her sister rather often. Eventually, after much pestering, she was allowed to visit the outside world with Hippolyta thinking that she'd prefer the comfort of home to the harshness of the 'real' world. Of course, she was wrong. During her short visit to the outside world, Vesta was contacted by Robin and subsequently got her arse kicked with the rest of the 'team' in the fight that concluded with Robins death. Shortly after, Hippolyta had equipment similar to that of, Diana's made for Vesta in order to help her better defend herself. Of course, Vesta isn't well versed in the use of this equipment just yet but is getting the hang of using them as quickly as she can. Vesta loved the outside world. Diana showed her how differing the technology and culture was to that of Themyscria and Vesta finally saw a man. Although while she has seen a man she still confuses non-bearded men for women every now and then. She was allowed to stay in Metropolis, cutting her training short and leaving her under the supervision of her sister. Notes: -Favourite band is "The Smiths" -Has a major crush on a young David Bowie -Favourite colour is purple -Her favourite song is "Love and Pride" by King, although this changes frequently. Sample Post: Vesta dodged under the knife of her attacker. Attacker was a generous way to put it, he hadn't landed a hit on her yet. She dodged left of one swipe and right of another, unhooking her lasso and unfurling it in one flick of her wrist. She jumped back as the attacker sent a jab towards her before swinging her arm back and sending the lasso forward in one fell swoop. The lasso affixed itself around the thugs wrist, and with one tug he was sent tumbling into the wall. Vesta flew through the air with the grace of an eagle. Swooping between buildings and under cranes as if she were born of bird herself. She looked down to the terrified criminal she held in her sturdy grip. Her mind drifted back to hearing what various other superheroes had said on the news. They usually said something dramatic and heroic to the criminal in a time like this and Vesta would be damned if she couldn't think of something cool and inspirational to say. "Young Lady that is no way to act" She said, an obvious lack of inspiration or any semblance of cool. She saw the assailant turn their head to her with a puzzled look growing on their face. "Young Lady?" They spoke "I'm a man!" He screamed, visibly distressed and insecure about his appearance. Vesta furrowed her brow in confusion before the confusion turned to embarrassment and her cheeks grew red. "But you have long hair?" She said, visibly confused. The thug, equally confused asked "So?" In a seemingly calm voice for the current situation. Vesta didn't answer, she just looked forward and left the man to stew in his own anxiety. This was the second time this week that she'd mistaken a man for a woman, and it was only Wednesday. She made haste to reach the police station and drop off the criminal before things got even more awkward. Vesta returned to her small apartment late that night. She was surprised to find a letter left on her bed. She opened the letter with intrigue and was confused to find a meeting place written on the paper. She debated going, but ultimately decided there was little point in not going and made a mental note of the date of said meeting.
4,786	125	26	2,170	1,634	The burly luchador, in genuinely high spirits for the first time in a while, decided to take a break from Dance Dance Revolution. This was partly because he was interested in procuring a sweet, fizzy beverage, but also because he wanted others in the yet growing audience to his digitally motivated gyrations to have a chance at winning. This was a place of fun, not combat. Pressing the advantage was not required here. After his next crushing victory, this time against a young lady some two years his junior, he bowed to her in an exaggerated but graceful manner, sweeping his arms wide and maintaining eye contact with his former opponent. He smiled broadly, and announced to her (and anyone who would hear): "It was almost a pity, having to see you defeated. You have dance-battled with honor and dignity, Senorita, and for that you have my gratitude. El Sasquatcho shall retire from his position tonight, that others may know the glory of victory in his absence. My Dama Bailarin, should you wish to converse about yourself to El Sasquatcho, you may find him at the Snack Counter of this fine establishment." Without so much as a backwards glance, he hopped back onto the waist-high guard rail around the DDR footpads and steadied himself. While twisting his body about, he kicked off, launching himself into the air and rotating halfway before hitting the ground. Now facing the assembled crowd, he raised his arms in victory amid their cheers and offered a second showman's bow before moving to locate his companions. He grabbed a small fortune in arcade tickets and began his search. It wasn't too difficult - finding the nearest Titan. She was over a head taller than anyone else in the building, himself included. In the exuberance of victory, he rapid-fired questions at his new friend and fellow Titan without allowing sufficient time to answer, "Ves! How are you finding your first arcade, eh? What have you gotten into so far tonight? Have you seen where the others have gotten off to? We should get soda and cheap nachos! Snacks are that way! El Sasquatcho is flying on wings of victory tonight! Wings! Do you want to get wings instead? Spicy, smoky, moist and delicioso chicken wings with strangely marbled cheese dressing? Ok, let's go!" He grabbed her hand and began to lead the tall (and much stronger) Amazon toward the smells of cheap street fare to the side of the establishment.	Ladies and Gentlemen, making his first public appearance, I give you the testosterone-based, masked fury of ...El Sasquatcho! Secret ID: Hector Delacruz Alias: El Sasquatcho Age: 19 Home Location: Gotham Powers: Heightened Strength, Heightened Durability, Probability Manipulation Strength – Human maximum and somewhat beyond, he is capable of lifting and moving up to 400 lbs without difficulty. Past this point, effort is required. If straining, to the exclusion of all other activity, he can full body press approximately one ton. His strength allows him to flip over a car by himself, but not throw it. Durability – El Sasquatcho is physically very durable, due in no small part to his dense body mass. This gives him naturally occurring protection similar to that of a standard flak jacket. It is not accurate to say that he is bulletproof, but he is damage resistant. This does not affect his physical stamina, that while impressive, falls within normal human range. Probability Manpiulation – Simultaneously his greatest and least reliable power, he is uncannily lucky. If he needs a few bucks to tide him over until payday, he will find a twenty on the ground. While bending over to pick up the money, he will unwittingly dodge a stray bullet from a clash across the park. The stray bullet will warn him of a charging (but strangely silent) rhinoceros demon, who will then slip on a stray banana peel before reaching him. El Sasquatcho is not reliably able to consciously use this power – it appears to manifest during times of stress. Or time of need. Or randomly. Or whenever the GM says it does. Eventually, he may be able to use this power at will, but that is a long way off. Until then, he is just considered to be a lucky, lucky bastard. Weaknesses: Honorbound - Luchador code demands certain actions and limitations from him, described below. Equipment: Naught but his rippling biceps and spandexed thighs of justice. Appearance: El Sasquatcho is a masked Luchador. He is tall, broad, and overly possessed of very masculine body hair, hence his superhero identity. Now prior to his affiliation with the Titans, he is garbed in big black boots, rough carpenter’s jeans, and a closefitting t-shirt (usually black, sometimes a band shirt). Cooler days see him in a leather composite leather jacket. When heroing, he wears his one quality possession: A custom Lucha mask, brown and black, with intricate styling that makes it resemble a dark colored sugar skull. The mask does not impede his ability to breathe nor perceive the world around him, and is like a second skin. His “working gear”, as it were, is similar in form to Batman’s. It is an ergonomically articulated combat armor, designed for maximum protection and flexibility. Color is matte black with brown accents. Trauma plates protect vital areas, and can also be found in his mask, tactical boots, and gloves. These plates give him an extra bit of oomph when attacking with his extremities. Armor does not cover his arms, mostly because he thinks it looks cooler this way. Coupled with his Heightened Durability, he's quite the agile tank. He will, as needed, wear a standard cloth long coat over his armor. It can be torn away for dramatic effect, or merely blow about heroically in the wind. El Sasquatcho’s headgear is an exact duplicate of his Luchador mask, with audio comm options and a voice scrambler/augmenter (for anonymity and making very impressive entrances) His tactical boots contain compartments for the storage of small items, and more impressively, infrasound generators able to broadcast a wide range of pulses too low for humans to hear. The practical effect is a heightened sense of anxiety in those around him; the impractical effect being that every Bigfoot, Sasquatch, or Timber Ape within a 10 mile radius will be summoned to his position. Unless they’re not real. Then no dice. Wait, don’t whales use infrasound? Personality: Hector is a well-meaning, decent kid, whose unfortunate downfall is his arrogance. Raw physical strength (superior to an unmodified human) coupled with his uncanny luck (subconscious probability manipulation) have made him somewhat reckless and overconfident. Hopefully his new mentor can beat some common sense and humility into him. The relationship Hector has with his persona as is a little complicated. He thinks of himself more as El Sasquatcho than Hector Delacruz, considering his legal name and legal life the half that he only pretends to be when necessary. He respects his family name, giving honor to his ancestors, but does not speak of them much. He is El Sasquatcho, Blood of El Santo, which he will discuss with any who will listen at great length. Password: Gnarkk BRIEF Bio: Originally part of a touring Lucha Libre troupe, El Sasquatcho grew up steeped in the culture and traveling lifestyle. This life ended years ago during a tour in Gotham, when an unaffiliated masked Luchador interrupted the performance, he and his group killing many. A young teenager at the time, the shock of the events caused his abilities to express, narrowly allowing his survival. As his entire family was dead or missing, Hector was placed into Gotham City foster care services. He was a B student in the Gotham public school system, but was unable to finalize his Luchador training proper. What he had learned so far, however, brought him a long way with the wrestling and gymnastics teams, where he quickly became the star performer for both groups. He even had a dalliance as one of the Gotham High Mascots for home games. Go Wildcats. While trying to keep his skills sharp and his grades up, he never lost his original goal. Hector remains watchful for an opportunity to avenge the deaths of his family and fellow Luchadores. As soon as he became a legal adult, he adopted his persona and became a vigilante, hoping one day to run into the masked stranger that destroyed his world. He has a challenge to issue. Constantly refers to himself in the third person, as his hero identity. El Sasquatcho constructed and maintains his Lucha mask – he’s actually quite good at the craft. Almost stereotypically, drives a rebuilt El Camino. It’s in good shape; factory standard vehicle. Speaks Spanish, English, and an odd dialect of Transient Gypsy Spanglish barely recognizable to those who speak either Spanish or English. El Sasquatcho bowls overhanded. He sings. He can’t; he shouldn’t. Yet sadly, he does. Mariachi Opera or Mexican Folk Metal, anyone? Unless stealth is absolutely required, El Sasquatcho insists on screaming challenges or battle cries before engaging in melee. This can be as simple as “LUCHA!!!” or can be much more elaborate. Honor above all other things. Perform no act that would be seen as dishonorable to your mask, family, or title. Taking from the weaker is forbidden. Do not kill without first issuing a challenge. Killing in cold blood is forbidden. The street toughs approached from the shadows around him, obviously thinking him an easy mark. The young man, moderately under the influence of the illegally obtained bottle of Mescal in his left hand, seemed an easy target. Slurring his words slightly, he addressed his would-be attackers. "No, no. El Sasquatcho does not have time for this; he is needed elsewhere. Run away before El Sasquatcho renders you incapable of doing so voluntarily, sirs." The advice lay unheeded, tossed to the ground by the collective chuckles of the thugs. They rushed him; two head on and one moving to flank. The intoxicated youth sighed. He really did have somewhere to be, and he didn't want to risk ripping his new Pollo Negro band shirt on the teeth of some prick from the neighborhood. Shaking his head, he tossed his bottle high into the air, and braced for the oncoming attack. The attacker coming from the side got to him first, grabbing him by his shoulder and neck. It was a particularly inept choke hold attempt, one easily countered by the stronger, more experienced youth. Manipulating his attacker into an impressive airplane spin, El Sasquatcho hurled him into one of the very surprised assailants at his fore. Body connected solidly with body, a hollow smacking sound issuing from the sudden meeting of torso to torso, briefly interrupting the Mexican opera inexpertly spilling from the hurler. The alcohol has taken its toll, however, allowing the inertia of the spin and throw to pitch him forward. He slipped and fell into a puddle of dirty water (God he hoped it was water), coincidentally moving him out of the path of a thrown knife from his third adversary. El Sasquatcho rolled to his back, just in time to see the knife-thrower standing above him, another weapon at the ready. He taunted the prone hero, "Got anything else to say, dead bitch?" El Sasquatcho smiled. "Yeah. Waste of good booze." "What?" issued the confused reply. The bottle of Mescal, now almost done with the earthward half of its short journey, turned and tumbled closer to the cranium of the standing street thug, picking up velocity with each twirling nanosecond. The explosion of glass and stinging spirits from their inevitable attempt to share the same space at the same time (directly in opposition to the generally accepted laws pf physics) was quite impressive. Kind of pretty, from El Sasquatcho's perspective on the wet ground. Threat handled, the young hero turned to one side, giggled profusely, and emptied the contents of his stomach; retching into the apathetic night. Bad night. Very bad night. The name of El Sasquatcho was not yet spoken of in hushed whispers among the seedy underworld of Gotham City, and yet already he was receiving fan mail. No, wait. This was better. An invitation from one of the greats: Robin, associate of Senor Batman himself! And he wanted to meet the soon-to-be-famous El Sasquatcho! All of his hard work and street patrols were about to pay off, bigtime. That was the plan, at least. Bad night. ...the first gunshots rang out long before he could get to the docks. His saving grace, ironically a mundane issue, was traffic. He was delayed by a matter of two minutes - otherwise those shots might have been meant for him. El Sasquatcho managed to arrive just in time to see the broken body of one of his personal heroes drop to the ground, his head rebounding lifelessly and clunking back down again. The poor bastard was only identifiable as Robin because of his uniform; facial features were lost in a jumble of blood and damaged bone. Something broke inside of El Sasquatcho, a feeling of fear and rage and hopelessness he had only felt once before, years ago. He broke into a run, intent on beating his assailants into so much warm salsa with his bare hands. He bounded into the fight, caring not who saw nor heard him, paying little attention to the others in the fray. Nearing the first person he percieved as an enemy, his voice boomed forth in righteous indignation. "Sangre de El Santo!" His fist connected solidly, striking the neck of a man wearing a lightly glowing bodysuit. The man stumbled forward, but kept his footing and looked back at El Sasquatcho. This could not be. A full hit at that point of impact would have laid out any normal person. He must be dealing with a Meta, like himself. He had not the time to process, as he was very rapidly grabbed from behind by another man, seemingly wearing the same glowing bodysuit as the one in front of him. El Sasquatcho was able to begin the counter relatively easily, until his dance partner forced his full strength upon him. He was strong, possibly stronger than himself. El Sasquatcho had not expected this. Stupidly, he rushed in, relying on emotion and raw luck to see him to victory. He underestimated his opponents, even after seeing the Boy Wonder go down like a drunken prom date. Grappling though he was, he caught snatches of sight at his surroundings. Others were there, too, held back by more copies of the man now attacking him. In the center of the dock, another man (different this time) took to abusing the unconscious or dead Robin at his leisure. Making him watch. Making all of them watch. He was finally able to break free from his attacker's grasp, and picked him high above his head, intending to bring him down upon his knee. The blow failed as yet another copy plowed into his side with truck-stopping force, knocking El Sasquatcho to the ground and driving the air from his lungs. The man in the center paused his savage act for just a moment, looking over to the newcomer and the trouble he caused. The moment froze. The next thing El Sasquatcho knew, he was semi-conscious and being hurled into the sea. He skipped like a stone twice before nailing a buoy, an arm getting caught in the metal framework. Had it not, he likely would have slipped beneath the waves and drowned before he had a chance to recover. ...Unsure how long he had been out, he made his way back to the dock from where he was thrown. Things were quiet now, except for the wordless sobbing of those present. They stood in a circle around the fallen Hero. El Sasquatcho added his tears to the rest, undramatically slumping to his knees and bowing his head. The grief and shame of those present was palpable. "Dama Muerte, he is deserving of you..." It was then the scene darkened, overshadowed by the silhouette of a familiar cape and cowl.
4,787	125	27	1,537	4,313	Leviathan, Isis, and Zero teleported about a block away from where Mr. Freeze was located after the cryomancer punched in the teleporter code. Six civilians were trapped in ice. Most of the civilians could be seen, but Freeze himself was out of sight. The Titans went right to work with Leviathan bringing the people back to a safer distance so that Isis could use her magical energies to melt the frigid ice away. If only Zero could absorb ice and cold like most fire manipulators could fire and heat. "Zero, the last two civilians are further up ahead. If Freeze is still around we're... I'm gonna need cover..." Leviathan stated putting the last of four frozen Gothamites down at their feet. Even if he couldn't just absorb ice, there was at least something Zero could do. His control of ice could be just enough to let him freely break it apart, since he could shape it any way he wished, he reasoned that he should have no problem chiseling it away with his powers. Thankfully Isis' magic seemed enough to melt the ice. Still, when he was asked for cover by Leviathan he gave a nod. "Guess I'll get a chance to test a hunch I have about my powers." he responded, proceeding with Leviathan to where the other two hostages were held. If all went well, he could use his power to break away the ice around them and free them that way. The two young heroes took a gamble and moved forward while Isis stayed back melting away the ice with her power. These rookies were on thin ice, and Freeze showed up within minutes once the pair of heroes ventured off a good distance from where they began. There were still civilians that needed to be saved and now the giant Leviathan and the arctic Zero were caught in a confrontation with one of Batman's longest standing foes. Leviathan went in with a few fists but the armored Mr. Freeze was on his game. At some point Freeze released the pin in one of his custom flashfreeze grenadesand when Levi struck it froze nearly his entire left forearm. ~KL~/Double	Secret ID: Robert Hall and Daniel Hall Alias: Leviathan Age: 19 and 15 Home Location: Metropolis Powers: Through concentrated contact, the boys become a single giant human with increased strength, speed, stamina, and durability. In a nut shell, the composite being is ten foot tall, bulletproof, and can tear a car apart with his bare hands. He can bench press well over a ton, and run a mile in just over three minutes. Both of the boys are adept swimmers, and as fast as Leviathan is on land he's just as fast in the water. Weaknesses: When separated the boys are just your average athletic teenagers with no increased anything. The composite being Leviathan can only stay together for roughly an hour, the duration also depends on how well the boys work as one brain rather than two sides fighting against each other. If the Leviathan is hit with mental attacks he loses his form in no time at all. Equipment: Any equipment or devices/objects the boys have on them becomes compromised when they combine to create Leviathan. Batman fitted each of the boys with a light armor reminiscent of a wet suit and upon becoming one being the suit 'completes itself' giving the young giant hero a little more durability. Appearance: Leviathan - Personality: Robert is a little more loud and reckless; Daniel is a little smarter and quieter, Leviathan is stoic but often acts before thinking things through. Password: What's this about a password? BRIEF Bio: Robert and Daniel both lived in Metropolis with their grandmother. Several weeks back, while Superman was in a battle with Brainiac, one of the technological tyrant's experiments was released into the city. This 'exobyte' had the brothers merge into one larger being when they made contact running for safety. The two of them had no idea what to think, but it was clear to anyone who tried to talk to the giant man that the fellow was a man of two minds about everything. After Brainiac had been defeated and the first time the two brothers would 'go big' wore off they thought that life would go back to normal. They couldn't have been more wrong. Days later, while the two boys waited in the car outside of the bank their grandmother was doing business in, a robbery began to go down. As soon as Daniel realized what was going on he told his brother they needed to go and make sure their grandma was safe. On a whim Daniel concentrated hard and put his hand on his brother's shoulder. Seconds later the giant was born again. At the end of it all, the giant was met by Superman after putting the KO on the three armed robbers. Another week would pass before Robin contacted the boys. Grayson wasn't the world's greatest detective, but he trained with one of the best for three years and quickly determined the giant was a composite being and reached out to them via social media. Like others, the first meeting with Robin in Gotham went south for the boys and the two could only watch as Multiplex and Deadshot made an example out of the first teenage superhero and former sidekick. Notes: At some point later on we may meet other members of this universe's Justice League so that I can have a short moment between Leviathan and Aquaman. Sample Post: "These Multiplex goons are a handful. My brother and I aren't really cut out for this 'Teen Titans' thing after all. It takes concentration and skin to skin contact for us to become a giant, and if something doesn't happen soon Robin's not going to make it much longer. If only Robert would stop trying to fight those Multiplex guys two or three at a time we might be able to make contact and..." Daniel thought to himself while trying to break free of one of the Multiplex duplicates' grip that currently had him pinned up against a warehouse wall. "These kids are beginning to annoy me..." Deadshot yelled out to his partners in crime as he shot a couple high powered rounds at the dog like creature that one of the kids transformed into taking it down for the time being. "Should've just killed that ugly thing, Lawton..." one of the many Multiplexes commented. "We were sent here to kill one person and to send a message. ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME YOU LITTLE SUPERHERO WANNABES?" Deadshot yelled out a little louder than before, "KIDS SHOULDN'T WEAR COSTUMES." Deadshot finally let the nearly lifeless and beaten body of Robin fall to the ground the rest of the way. He reloaded his wrist mounted 22 millimeter firearms and aimed one of them at the head of the bloody and bruised Robin. Under his mask he was closing his eyes. Killing kids is awful even to an assassin. Not even two seconds later and... BANG! BANG BANG! After a few more punches were thrown at the rookie heroes by all of the duplicates, they all merged back into the prime Multiplex as Deadshot watched seemingly in surprise. "We better jet, 'Plex. There's no telling for certain when the Bat will come around looking for bird boy..." Deadshot suggested as they took off up an alleyway, now just the two of them. ~KL~
4,788	125	28	668	1,466	Everything was running smoothly at first. Zero and Leviathan ventured away from the safety of Isis' cover fire to seek out the last of the civilians. Things went downhill pretty quick almost as soon as Mr. Freeze appeared. Leviathan struck first, or at least, he attempted to. Freeze set off a grenade of some kind that froze most of Leviathan's left arm. That just left the two of them, and from here, things happened in what felt like an eternity of time. Zero also tried to go on the offensive, hoping he could maybe catch Freeze off guard while the villain's attention was on Leviathan. Zero wasn't that lucky, however, because Freeze spotted him a mile away opened fire with his primary weapon, the Freeze Gun. His shots, all three of them, hit their mark and Zero was frozen in place, appearing like an ice sculpture of himself. "All too easy." he said in his ice-cold tone. He started to return his attention to Leviathan but a peculiar sound made him stop. He raised an eyebrow with curiosity as cracks began rapidly spreading around the ice encasing Zero until it exploded off of him. Even more surprising, this turned into a controlled blast that forced most of the icy shrapnel in Freeze's general direction. Of course, his suit was plenty strong enough to withstand the blast, "...Intriguing." was all he had to say in response. Once free, Zero went on the attack again. This time, his escape from Freeze's ice blast gave him the element of surprise, albeit briefly. Still, that was all he needed. He lunged at Freeze with a fist of his own, however this one became covered in thick, tough ice to reinforce it as it collided with Freeze's glass helmet. Of all of Batman's rogues, Mr. Freeze was the one Zero had studied the most for obvious reasons. He didn't know everything, but from what he understood, defeating Freeze could be as simple compromising the protection of his suit, since it was the only thing keeping him alive in any non-arctic environment. And although he managed to hit Freeze as hard as he could muster, he didn't break the glass. Of course, Freeze offered no time for a second attack. In fact, now that Zero was in close range, Freeze reached an armored hand out, grabbing the young Titan and tossing him aside. As a follow-up, Freeze pulled the pin on an ice grenade and threw it straight at Zero. Perhaps a more powerful ice blast would be enough to put his young opponent on ice. Zero refused to let himself fall for the same trick twice, "Oh no you don't!" he thrust his hands out and a wall of ice rose in front him to catch the grenade. When it detonated, the freeze blast was redircted backwards, though unfortunately it was too far away from Freeze to be a danger to him. "Your powers, though strikingly similar to my own technology, seems limited by your own physical stamina. My weapons, however, have no such limits. You're a fool if you think you can outlast me in a dragged out battle." Freeze taunted, though in his usual cold tone, so it sounded less like a taunt and more like a cold assertion. "You're right, I don't stand a chance on my own." as Zero spoke, he conjured himself the biggest hammer he could swing, "But that never stopped Robin!" he started running forward, "AND IT WON'T! STOP! ME!"	Secret ID: Archer Graham Alias: Zero Age: 18 Home Location: Gotham Powers: A textbook Cryomancer, Archer can "create" objects made of ice by lowering the temperature around him and using moisture in the air as his main source of ice. His ice-powers could very well run deeper than that, but if it does he has yet to discover it, having only just now began to get the hang of creating ice objects. The objects he creates are, more often than not, simple blunt weapons like bats and hammers, or basic stabbing weapons like knives and javelins. His cryomancy allows him near immunity to cold weather and other extreme cold temperatures, as well, meaning he could go on missions to the South Pole with no need to dress more warmly. Weaknesses: His ice is almost exclusively reliant on some form of water source to work with. He can usually get by using moisture in the air, but should he find himself in, say, a burning building, then the lack of water in the air can handicap him unless he happens to have a jug of water to work with. He's also found that his powers work best so long as he remains well-hydrated, as a lack of hydration can weaken the amount of ice he can manipulate. Just as he is nearly immune to cold temperatures, the inverse is true of hot temperatures, though not to same extremes as the likes of Mister Freeze, since Archer can at least go out in warm weather with no threat to his life. Extremely hot environments, such as scorching deserts or a volcanic mountain on the other hand can leave him powerless to do anything until he is moved to a cooler location. Equipment: Apart from the standard stuff, Batman has made sure that the material of Archer's suit has as much heat resistance as possible. It doesn't completely alleviate the problem with hot environments, but it certainly provides a considerable buffer between the heat and Archer's body. Appearance Personality: Archer is, for the most part, a good enough kid. If he sees a mugging on the street or even bullying at school, he won't hesitate to take it upon himself to stop said activity. After getting his powers, he's become even more brazen with these acts, becoming almost cocky. Lately, since Robin's death, Archer has begun second guessing himself more often, his previous confidence shattered by the death of his team leader. Regardless, he's determined to pick up the pieces and start over again, if for nothing else than for the memory of Robin. Password: Titan BRIEF Bio: Born in Gotham City, Archer used to be more timid when he smaller. The general danger of living in Gothom City can do that to a kid. Of course, Batman has since made the city much safer than it used to be. Batman's crusade against crime was inspirational, but it was the appearance of his partner, Robin, that really changed Archer's personality. After all, if a kid around his own age could be brave enough to take on corruption, than why shouldn't Archer himself do the same? Of course, he would never have actually fought crime, but he did finally start standing up to his bullies, protecting himself and other kids they picked on. It wasn't much, but it was a start. Once he was in High School, Archer's life changed again. It was during one of Mister Freeze's attempts to bring an Ice Age to Gotham. When the attack came, Archer was walking home from school, passing by a small chemical lab. Mister Freeze's sudden attack covered chunks of Gotham City into a Winter Wonderland, Archer's location included. But in the midst of bombardment of cold, some barrels of discarded chemicals burst open, and their contents splashed all over Archer before the freeze blast briefly froze him. Emphasis on "brief" because within moments, Archer was able break himself free, discovering that he didn't feel any of the cold at all, despite the lack of winter clothes. From there he discovered he could manipulate the moisture in the air and freeze it into ice shapes. Robin found him not long after that. The Boy Wonder explained that he was planning to start a team called the Teen Titans, and that Archer with his powers would make an excellent addition. It was practically a dream come true, and Archer joined without a second thought. He had no idea just what fate had in store. Soon after that was when Deadshot and Multiplex attacked. The team escaped, though not without casualty. Robin was dead. Robin, one of the first teen superheroes ever to done a cape, and student of the freaking Batman no less. Archer was shaken, to be sure, and even briefly considered giving up the notion of saving people. But then, he received the message, a text on his phone that led him to a gym where Batman and Wildcat were waiting. If fate saw fit to provide Archer a second chance, then it would have been a disservice to the memory of Robin to not accept the offer. It was a normal enough day as Archer walked home from school. Huh, school. Not too long ago, his grades would have been the most important thing in his world. Not anymore, though, not by a long shot. His world completely changed on the day he got his powers. Now things like school felt completely pointless, but even so he had to keep up appearances, so he continued going. His grades took a hit, though, his new-found night life offered very little in the way of free time that, previously, would have been used for homework and the like. Still, he at least managed to maintain a passing grade so he wouldn't flunk. As he walked, he heard sounds coming from an upcoming alleyway. It sounded like shouting of some sort. Archer ran ahead, stopping to press himself against the building corner. He peeked around and saw a man standing behind another man, appearing to gesture at him while the other had his hands up. A mugging if Archer ever saw one. In Gotham City such a thing was sadly very common. But not today, that mugger picked the wrong alley on the wrong day to commit this crime. Archer ducked into a crawlspace behind a dumpster. There, he removed the top layer of his clothes, revealing a black suit underneath. He'd taken to wearing it under his normal clothes whenever he could, so changing personas was quick and easy affair most of the time. He retrieved his belt and mask from his backpack, put them on, then made his presence known. Well, not after throwing a baseball made of ice at the mugger's hand, knocking the pistol from his grip. "Wrong alley, wrong day, pal." said Archer as he leaped from his hiding spot and landed an ice-covered punch across the mugger's jaw. At that point it became as easy as trapping the man's hands and feet against the pavement with ice while his intended victim ran away shouting a thanks to Zero, the costumed meta that just saved him, "Guess I'm done here. Why don't you just chill out here a while until the cops show up?" he said before walking away. Oh yeah, he knew his little pun was a terrible one, but hey, at least it was one of the bad guys that had to suffer through it this time.
4,789	125	29	1,602	2,499	Ves watched as the cycle seemingly began anew. A girl a bit younger than, Sasquatcho stepped up to the mark and proceeded to get decimated at the game. She thought it a small bit unfair that someone that young would be able to go up against someone as talented at the game as, Sasquatcho was, but she mostly blamed this on herself and her breaking of the only other DDR game. The little girl seemed to have fun though, and no tears had been shed thus so far, par one exceptionally strange 30 year old sporting cargo shorts and sandals. She heard, Sasquatcho's speech and watched him do his flip off the handrail. He was nothing if not a showman that was for sure. She also watched the look on the faces of the crowd that had gathered, a strange mixture of amazement and confusion. Soon enough, Sasquatcho began firing off questions at Ves like a machine gun. She muttered an 'uh' and a 'er' here or there, but didn't manage to get a word in until he finally stopped. Before she could answer though, Sasquatcho gripped her hand and began tugging her in the direction of 'wings'. She accidentally pulled the luchador back a small bit by not immediately moving, but soon began following him as she answered his questions one after the other. "The arcade has been fun, other than all the broken machines" She spoke, letting out a small laugh after saying so. "I got the highscore on the punch game, and I think the others are back at the arcade to be honest. I didn't know you could get wings here" She said confused. "My mother told me the story about Icarus, I'm not sure getting wings is the best idea, he drowned you know"	Secret ID: Vesta 'Ves' Petrakis Alias: Argonaut Age: 18 Home Location: Themyscria, althought she is currently situated in Metropolis. Powers: -Enhanced aspects of the human body -Flight -Healing factor Weaknesses: -Naivety -Piercing weapons hurt her more than any other kind. Equipment: -Lasso of truth -Bracelets of submission -Tiara(explained below) -A sword (Used only in extreme emergencies) Appearance: Vesta stands at a whopping 7 foot. She has a lightly muscular physique that does not represent her true strength by far. Her hair reaches down to her lower back and is a raven black. Vesta's skin is more pale than it is tan, although not pale enough to actually make any obvious comment about it. Her eyes are a piercing blue and are easily recognizable among other eyes. Her equipment is similar to her sisters, both in style and hue except with Vesta's having darker shades of each colour overall, and with the blue being replaced with black. While much of the equipment that Vesta received remains the same, the bracers have suffered a design change that has made them longer and more stylized. Along with this, the tiara has been replaced with a sort of metal headband that can be used as a throwing weapon alike the tiara. Her costume is much more modern than her sisters, and while she retains a similar sort of breastplate, hers goes up to her neck rather than stopping below her shoulders. She also has tight fitting black trousers under a small amount of armour along with boots. All of her armour is styled around the Amazons. When off mission, Ves can usually be seen wearing some sort of band T-shirt along with jeans and whatnot. She hasn't really adapted to the fashion of the outside world and it took Diana some time to explain to her that going out in a toga isn't really socially acceptable. Personality: Vesta is rather naive but also very courageous and willing to help anyone who needs it. A well of compassion, Vesta treats everyone equally no matter their creed, race or gender. To the point where she'd rather convince a racist to change their ways rather than attack them. Vesta tries to make jokes, but they often fall flat because of her lack of knowledge about the outside worlds customs and whatnot. While she displays a great degree of confidence, Vesta is deeply insecure and often talks about how much better her sister is when people compliment her. The one thing that Ves is most interested in is 80s music. Her favourite band is The Smiths and even mentioning them in a positive light can make just about anyone her new best friend. Password: Titan BRIEF Bio: Vesta was born on the mythical isle of Themyscria. Vesta, like her sister, Diana was 'born' through her 'mother', Hippolyta creating her with clay and the soul of an unborn baby. Vesta was born quite a few years after Diana who had left Themyscria before Vesta had even begun her training. Vesta's training began when she was around 15. Her training was a tough and rigorous regime, exhausting both her body and her mind while strengthening them at the same time. Much more emphasis was based around her mental skills though, as she was never really meant to be a warrior, just a trainer. Vesta was kept oblivious to the technology and customs of the outside world, only learning what a boy was after Diana visited home and told Vesta various things about the outside world. Of course, Vesta was still quite young and the explanation was cut short of "Girls, but with hair on their chins" and Vesta was left mostly in the dark about men. Vesta was never intended to leave Themyscria at all, instead being trained to defend it from any danger and so she could train any new Amazons to a much more efficient rate than before. However, Vesta was curious and yearned to see the outside world after speaking with her sister rather often. Eventually, after much pestering, she was allowed to visit the outside world with Hippolyta thinking that she'd prefer the comfort of home to the harshness of the 'real' world. Of course, she was wrong. During her short visit to the outside world, Vesta was contacted by Robin and subsequently got her arse kicked with the rest of the 'team' in the fight that concluded with Robins death. Shortly after, Hippolyta had equipment similar to that of, Diana's made for Vesta in order to help her better defend herself. Of course, Vesta isn't well versed in the use of this equipment just yet but is getting the hang of using them as quickly as she can. Vesta loved the outside world. Diana showed her how differing the technology and culture was to that of Themyscria and Vesta finally saw a man. Although while she has seen a man she still confuses non-bearded men for women every now and then. She was allowed to stay in Metropolis, cutting her training short and leaving her under the supervision of her sister. Notes: -Favourite band is "The Smiths" -Has a major crush on a young David Bowie -Favourite colour is purple -Her favourite song is "Love and Pride" by King, although this changes frequently. Sample Post: Vesta dodged under the knife of her attacker. Attacker was a generous way to put it, he hadn't landed a hit on her yet. She dodged left of one swipe and right of another, unhooking her lasso and unfurling it in one flick of her wrist. She jumped back as the attacker sent a jab towards her before swinging her arm back and sending the lasso forward in one fell swoop. The lasso affixed itself around the thugs wrist, and with one tug he was sent tumbling into the wall. Vesta flew through the air with the grace of an eagle. Swooping between buildings and under cranes as if she were born of bird herself. She looked down to the terrified criminal she held in her sturdy grip. Her mind drifted back to hearing what various other superheroes had said on the news. They usually said something dramatic and heroic to the criminal in a time like this and Vesta would be damned if she couldn't think of something cool and inspirational to say. "Young Lady that is no way to act" She said, an obvious lack of inspiration or any semblance of cool. She saw the assailant turn their head to her with a puzzled look growing on their face. "Young Lady?" They spoke "I'm a man!" He screamed, visibly distressed and insecure about his appearance. Vesta furrowed her brow in confusion before the confusion turned to embarrassment and her cheeks grew red. "But you have long hair?" She said, visibly confused. The thug, equally confused asked "So?" In a seemingly calm voice for the current situation. Vesta didn't answer, she just looked forward and left the man to stew in his own anxiety. This was the second time this week that she'd mistaken a man for a woman, and it was only Wednesday. She made haste to reach the police station and drop off the criminal before things got even more awkward. Vesta returned to her small apartment late that night. She was surprised to find a letter left on her bed. She opened the letter with intrigue and was confused to find a meeting place written on the paper. She debated going, but ultimately decided there was little point in not going and made a mental note of the date of said meeting.
4,790	125	30	2,654	2,774	Once at the arcade Chester first went to play the racing games since they were among his favorites at the establishment and he was kicking ass while steering the wheel to race around his computer opponents. His car came in first place as it crossed the finish line and Chester gave a cheer of joy. Archie and Amy did the same. "That was amazing Chester! These video games do look like so much fun" Amy said to him with a happy squeak. "I want to play next!" Archie said excitedly. "No, you both are too small for these games, they're for humans" Chester replied to him with an amused shake of his head. He then went over a Marvel Vs Capcom 2 arcade game and began to play it. He wasn't the best at fighting games in an arcade, but he was wanting to try his luck with the popular crossover. He didn't get too far with it, but he was satisfied with his effort and went to find the others. Chester hurried over to Ves and El Sasquatcho and wondered what they were planning to do next. "So what are we going to do next?" he asked them curious to know was next on the list of things to do.	Secret ID: Caitlyn Gump Alias: Parasite Age: 19 Home Location: Gotham, a wonderful place of opportunity, if you have the money and status. Powers: None of her own to speak of, but has a symbiotic relationship with a parasitical creature Caitlyn affectionately named "Bug", which is attached to her left arm, it gives her: Envenomed Claws, cumulative paralytic A projectile gunk shot, hazardous to health long term Hook Shot Capabilities Shell Armour Plating Hazmat-lite, Bug Detoxes and filters Caitlyn's blood, making her resistant to chemical and biological warfare. Defib-lite, Bug's Heart continues to pump blood around Caitlyn's body, even if Caitlyn's heart isn't. Bug is semi-sentient and communicates Caitlyn neurally, feeding her powerful messages of hunger and self preservation. Bug continues to grow, giving more powers to its beloved host but enveloping more of Caitlyn. Weaknesses: Besides her left arm she is entirely human, no powers attached. Bug must be fed regularly to be any use Bug can act against Caitlyn's will if it believes Caitlyn is endangering both of them. Ingestion of unknown Paraciticides slows Bug down Caitlyn is used to operating alone and finds it hard to trust others. Technophobe, not literally, but sucks with computers. Appearance: A dirty street urchin with an alien creature for a left arm. Curly mousy brown hair, cut shoulder length with a rusty scissor blade Her eyes are dark and full of mistrust She stands at a skinny 5'6" and weighs 170lbs, Bug included Used to wear almost exclusively dark baggy clothing, but in light of becoming a TITAN has revamped her look, somewhat. Her hoodie has been swapped out for the more respectable, sleeveless turtleneck jumper and her cargo trousers for, well, better cargo trousers, you can take a girl out of the slums. Her sick hi-tops have also be traded in for more respectable combat ready footwear. This was going up in the world for her, she wasn't going to lose such an opportunity by looking scruffy. Personality: Caitlyn has dedicated her life from escaping the hell hole that her former life. All opportunities taken, nothing squandered. However her foresight is not twenty twenty, tends to give up long term rewards for short term boons. Caitlyn's trust must be earnt and is more easily lost than gotten. This however, doesn't stop her from being civil with you, something you learn on the streets, so you won't know whether you have it or you don't. Her desire to be a TITAN is not so much one of love for saving people, but of not having to be a criminal anymore, and sees it way to bigger things. She is manipulative and she is a deceiver but she isn't cruel and certainly not a bad person. As someone who often acted alone, she has little teamwork or leadership skills but will endeavor to acquire them when they've shown their value. Her and Bug had come along way since they day they were first introduced, that day was pivotal in ways she barely understood at the time. She was 13, out of school and trying to help pay off a debt of a father she never met. Pick pocketing worked for a while, till mother's "gentlemen friends" went too many weeks without a visit to her bedroom. Payments went up, the bruises came back. The items stolen and fenced got more expensive; phones, laptops, computers, but it was never quite enough, according to the collectors. "13 years old, wow, how time flies", the big one would say on the way out as they grabbed the hats and coats they'd slung over the sofa earlier,"I remember when you were only a wee nipper, look how much you've grown." The other, cigarette in mouth, swinging his coat over his thin shoulders,"She's a smart little monkey too, Gov" "Really now? Maybe she can come work with us, we could always do with a helping hand in the office", they'd both laugh in such away you knew they didn't mean it so much as a dirty joke as they did just dirty. "Maybe when she's a bit bigger." "Yeah, and maybe she can finish what her daddy started too, you know he was this close to crackin-" "Thats enough Freddy, were done here." As Freddy unlocked the door, the big guy, who's name she knew would slip a silver coin out of his coat pocket and deposit into Caitlyn's palm. "For my favourite God-daughter, buy yourself something sweet." The same charade every month, little did they know it was the last. Tonight she wasn't staying for the awkward silent late supper before bed. She was meeting him, the Man of Promises. Shortly after the men left, Caitlyn changed back out of pajamas and left into the darkness. Their meeting place was a dark alleyway approximately half way between Caitlyn's home and the office Fred and the Boss man returned too every month after visiting, the heavy cloud cover obscured the moon but the streets were no darker thanks to the powerful neon lampposts. Drunkards already littered the street and their harmless, but watchful gaze made Caitlyn's heart pound harder. The video rental, the second hand store, the charity store, the coffee shop. The alley opened before her, its gaping chasm threatening to swallow her whole. A man in sunglasses was waiting in a door way deeper down. Him. Caitlyn walked down and followed him into the room he was propping open. Caitlyn took a seat at the table that had been dragged into the closet from cafe side. An ornate wooden box lay on the table, unlocked. The lid seemed still, but periodically Caitlyn could have sworn it lifted up, if only by millimeters. The box demanded her attention, in it was a promise, so she was told. An opportunity to escape the life she had, to be slave to no one and take control of her own destiny. "Are you sure this is what you want Miss Gump?" "I want it to stop" "And you're willing to do what is necessary?" "Yes" "And you're willing to pay the price?" "Yes" "So be it, lift the lid of the box" Caitlyn placed her hands on either side of the lid. What on earth could be in this box? She wasted no time, but immediately regretted it. The contents wriggled and Caitlyn slammed the lid back down. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE THOSE?" "Freedom, Miss Gump" Caitlyn lifted the lid a little slower this time, fingers as far from any of the alien creatures as she could. Thorny, writhing unearthly creatures litter the box, there might have been seven or eight of them all unique in their horrid design. "What am I supposed to do with these?" "Please pick one, today is the day you escape the chains of society" "I came here for a gun, you said you were going to give me a weapon to fight my oppressors with" He scoffed, "I am giving you something better than a gun," he paused, "Liberation. Pick one." None of them were particularly inviting, but maybe that was the point. He was wasting her time. She got up to leave but a firm hand pushed her back into her seat. "Do not make the mistake others have made, Miss Gump, you leave this room and you walk back into your old life, back into the sadness and the misery and the hopelessness, this is your chance to escape. I can assure you that you will not regret this, pick one." Caitlyn looked back into the box of horrors. "That one." "A fine choice, the first of many." He lifted the 7 inch monstrosity out of the box, with no more care than if it were a hamster. Holding it by the giant thorn he rolled it in air and stroked it along the belly side. It relaxed and opened up exposing its lemon yellow, fleshy insides. "Your hand, Miss Gump." She didn't respond but her expression said everything. Nope. Nope. Nope. The Man of Promises took her hand from the table. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. He pulled her hand slowly into position, Caitlyn transfixed on the creature, which seem to wriggle more excitedly as her middle finger got closer. NOPE. NOPE. NOPE. NOPE. She looked up to the man, her face filled with horror, her eyes begged for it to end. She could feel the warmth radiating from the creatures insides on her finger. Every moment waiting for it to clamp around it was agony, the torture never ending. NOPE! NOPE! NOPE! NOPE! She squeezed her eyes tight and braced for the pain of her skin being devoured by the hungry evil creature, but it never came. The man relaxed his grip on her wrist, and smiled. "Welcome to the first day of your new life." Password: Gnarkk
4,791	125	31	2,170	1,634	Icarus? What the culo... ? mumbled El Sasquatcho, fully lost in the Greek mythology reference. "No no, Buffalo Wings. The small to moderately sized wings of a chicken, prepared with an emulsification of aged peppers, vegetable oil, and vinegar using a method first performed in a small restaurante in northern Empire State. But hey, many congratulations on making the Punch Game your humiliated boudoir-servant." If it was not already apparent to anyone conversing with El Sasquatcho for more than five minutes, he was rather a fan of comfort food. That, and he was a man of large appetite. Perhaps it was necessary, considering his metahuman physiology. Perhaps he just liked to eat, and his physiology maintained his powerful, fit form regardless of what or how much crap he shoveled in. Without a detailed scientific inquiry into the phenomenon, the world (let alone El Sasquatcho) may never know. "Yes madam, we are ready to order," he began, speaking to the rather bored woman behind the counter at the snack area. "El Sasquatcho requires wings, forthwith! We both require wings, and lots of..." The luchador trailed off, noticing the approach of another of their group. "Rata! Yes, the three of us will require wings - medium heat, lots and lots of bleu cheese dressing! Maximum number of wings, times three, por favor." "And the celery. El Sasquatcho needs it for fiber." "Ratito! We are just taking a break from the funmaking for a while, for yummy, spicy wings. Did you have something in mind for us to get into? Perhaps later, we can sneak into a university party and scare the bejeezus out of some frat boys, eh?"	Ladies and Gentlemen, making his first public appearance, I give you the testosterone-based, masked fury of ...El Sasquatcho! Secret ID: Hector Delacruz Alias: El Sasquatcho Age: 19 Home Location: Gotham Powers: Heightened Strength, Heightened Durability, Probability Manipulation Strength – Human maximum and somewhat beyond, he is capable of lifting and moving up to 400 lbs without difficulty. Past this point, effort is required. If straining, to the exclusion of all other activity, he can full body press approximately one ton. His strength allows him to flip over a car by himself, but not throw it. Durability – El Sasquatcho is physically very durable, due in no small part to his dense body mass. This gives him naturally occurring protection similar to that of a standard flak jacket. It is not accurate to say that he is bulletproof, but he is damage resistant. This does not affect his physical stamina, that while impressive, falls within normal human range. Probability Manpiulation – Simultaneously his greatest and least reliable power, he is uncannily lucky. If he needs a few bucks to tide him over until payday, he will find a twenty on the ground. While bending over to pick up the money, he will unwittingly dodge a stray bullet from a clash across the park. The stray bullet will warn him of a charging (but strangely silent) rhinoceros demon, who will then slip on a stray banana peel before reaching him. El Sasquatcho is not reliably able to consciously use this power – it appears to manifest during times of stress. Or time of need. Or randomly. Or whenever the GM says it does. Eventually, he may be able to use this power at will, but that is a long way off. Until then, he is just considered to be a lucky, lucky bastard. Weaknesses: Honorbound - Luchador code demands certain actions and limitations from him, described below. Equipment: Naught but his rippling biceps and spandexed thighs of justice. Appearance: El Sasquatcho is a masked Luchador. He is tall, broad, and overly possessed of very masculine body hair, hence his superhero identity. Now prior to his affiliation with the Titans, he is garbed in big black boots, rough carpenter’s jeans, and a closefitting t-shirt (usually black, sometimes a band shirt). Cooler days see him in a leather composite leather jacket. When heroing, he wears his one quality possession: A custom Lucha mask, brown and black, with intricate styling that makes it resemble a dark colored sugar skull. The mask does not impede his ability to breathe nor perceive the world around him, and is like a second skin. His “working gear”, as it were, is similar in form to Batman’s. It is an ergonomically articulated combat armor, designed for maximum protection and flexibility. Color is matte black with brown accents. Trauma plates protect vital areas, and can also be found in his mask, tactical boots, and gloves. These plates give him an extra bit of oomph when attacking with his extremities. Armor does not cover his arms, mostly because he thinks it looks cooler this way. Coupled with his Heightened Durability, he's quite the agile tank. He will, as needed, wear a standard cloth long coat over his armor. It can be torn away for dramatic effect, or merely blow about heroically in the wind. El Sasquatcho’s headgear is an exact duplicate of his Luchador mask, with audio comm options and a voice scrambler/augmenter (for anonymity and making very impressive entrances) His tactical boots contain compartments for the storage of small items, and more impressively, infrasound generators able to broadcast a wide range of pulses too low for humans to hear. The practical effect is a heightened sense of anxiety in those around him; the impractical effect being that every Bigfoot, Sasquatch, or Timber Ape within a 10 mile radius will be summoned to his position. Unless they’re not real. Then no dice. Wait, don’t whales use infrasound? Personality: Hector is a well-meaning, decent kid, whose unfortunate downfall is his arrogance. Raw physical strength (superior to an unmodified human) coupled with his uncanny luck (subconscious probability manipulation) have made him somewhat reckless and overconfident. Hopefully his new mentor can beat some common sense and humility into him. The relationship Hector has with his persona as is a little complicated. He thinks of himself more as El Sasquatcho than Hector Delacruz, considering his legal name and legal life the half that he only pretends to be when necessary. He respects his family name, giving honor to his ancestors, but does not speak of them much. He is El Sasquatcho, Blood of El Santo, which he will discuss with any who will listen at great length. Password: Gnarkk BRIEF Bio: Originally part of a touring Lucha Libre troupe, El Sasquatcho grew up steeped in the culture and traveling lifestyle. This life ended years ago during a tour in Gotham, when an unaffiliated masked Luchador interrupted the performance, he and his group killing many. A young teenager at the time, the shock of the events caused his abilities to express, narrowly allowing his survival. As his entire family was dead or missing, Hector was placed into Gotham City foster care services. He was a B student in the Gotham public school system, but was unable to finalize his Luchador training proper. What he had learned so far, however, brought him a long way with the wrestling and gymnastics teams, where he quickly became the star performer for both groups. He even had a dalliance as one of the Gotham High Mascots for home games. Go Wildcats. While trying to keep his skills sharp and his grades up, he never lost his original goal. Hector remains watchful for an opportunity to avenge the deaths of his family and fellow Luchadores. As soon as he became a legal adult, he adopted his persona and became a vigilante, hoping one day to run into the masked stranger that destroyed his world. He has a challenge to issue. Constantly refers to himself in the third person, as his hero identity. El Sasquatcho constructed and maintains his Lucha mask – he’s actually quite good at the craft. Almost stereotypically, drives a rebuilt El Camino. It’s in good shape; factory standard vehicle. Speaks Spanish, English, and an odd dialect of Transient Gypsy Spanglish barely recognizable to those who speak either Spanish or English. El Sasquatcho bowls overhanded. He sings. He can’t; he shouldn’t. Yet sadly, he does. Mariachi Opera or Mexican Folk Metal, anyone? Unless stealth is absolutely required, El Sasquatcho insists on screaming challenges or battle cries before engaging in melee. This can be as simple as “LUCHA!!!” or can be much more elaborate. Honor above all other things. Perform no act that would be seen as dishonorable to your mask, family, or title. Taking from the weaker is forbidden. Do not kill without first issuing a challenge. Killing in cold blood is forbidden. The street toughs approached from the shadows around him, obviously thinking him an easy mark. The young man, moderately under the influence of the illegally obtained bottle of Mescal in his left hand, seemed an easy target. Slurring his words slightly, he addressed his would-be attackers. "No, no. El Sasquatcho does not have time for this; he is needed elsewhere. Run away before El Sasquatcho renders you incapable of doing so voluntarily, sirs." The advice lay unheeded, tossed to the ground by the collective chuckles of the thugs. They rushed him; two head on and one moving to flank. The intoxicated youth sighed. He really did have somewhere to be, and he didn't want to risk ripping his new Pollo Negro band shirt on the teeth of some prick from the neighborhood. Shaking his head, he tossed his bottle high into the air, and braced for the oncoming attack. The attacker coming from the side got to him first, grabbing him by his shoulder and neck. It was a particularly inept choke hold attempt, one easily countered by the stronger, more experienced youth. Manipulating his attacker into an impressive airplane spin, El Sasquatcho hurled him into one of the very surprised assailants at his fore. Body connected solidly with body, a hollow smacking sound issuing from the sudden meeting of torso to torso, briefly interrupting the Mexican opera inexpertly spilling from the hurler. The alcohol has taken its toll, however, allowing the inertia of the spin and throw to pitch him forward. He slipped and fell into a puddle of dirty water (God he hoped it was water), coincidentally moving him out of the path of a thrown knife from his third adversary. El Sasquatcho rolled to his back, just in time to see the knife-thrower standing above him, another weapon at the ready. He taunted the prone hero, "Got anything else to say, dead bitch?" El Sasquatcho smiled. "Yeah. Waste of good booze." "What?" issued the confused reply. The bottle of Mescal, now almost done with the earthward half of its short journey, turned and tumbled closer to the cranium of the standing street thug, picking up velocity with each twirling nanosecond. The explosion of glass and stinging spirits from their inevitable attempt to share the same space at the same time (directly in opposition to the generally accepted laws pf physics) was quite impressive. Kind of pretty, from El Sasquatcho's perspective on the wet ground. Threat handled, the young hero turned to one side, giggled profusely, and emptied the contents of his stomach; retching into the apathetic night. Bad night. Very bad night. The name of El Sasquatcho was not yet spoken of in hushed whispers among the seedy underworld of Gotham City, and yet already he was receiving fan mail. No, wait. This was better. An invitation from one of the greats: Robin, associate of Senor Batman himself! And he wanted to meet the soon-to-be-famous El Sasquatcho! All of his hard work and street patrols were about to pay off, bigtime. That was the plan, at least. Bad night. ...the first gunshots rang out long before he could get to the docks. His saving grace, ironically a mundane issue, was traffic. He was delayed by a matter of two minutes - otherwise those shots might have been meant for him. El Sasquatcho managed to arrive just in time to see the broken body of one of his personal heroes drop to the ground, his head rebounding lifelessly and clunking back down again. The poor bastard was only identifiable as Robin because of his uniform; facial features were lost in a jumble of blood and damaged bone. Something broke inside of El Sasquatcho, a feeling of fear and rage and hopelessness he had only felt once before, years ago. He broke into a run, intent on beating his assailants into so much warm salsa with his bare hands. He bounded into the fight, caring not who saw nor heard him, paying little attention to the others in the fray. Nearing the first person he percieved as an enemy, his voice boomed forth in righteous indignation. "Sangre de El Santo!" His fist connected solidly, striking the neck of a man wearing a lightly glowing bodysuit. The man stumbled forward, but kept his footing and looked back at El Sasquatcho. This could not be. A full hit at that point of impact would have laid out any normal person. He must be dealing with a Meta, like himself. He had not the time to process, as he was very rapidly grabbed from behind by another man, seemingly wearing the same glowing bodysuit as the one in front of him. El Sasquatcho was able to begin the counter relatively easily, until his dance partner forced his full strength upon him. He was strong, possibly stronger than himself. El Sasquatcho had not expected this. Stupidly, he rushed in, relying on emotion and raw luck to see him to victory. He underestimated his opponents, even after seeing the Boy Wonder go down like a drunken prom date. Grappling though he was, he caught snatches of sight at his surroundings. Others were there, too, held back by more copies of the man now attacking him. In the center of the dock, another man (different this time) took to abusing the unconscious or dead Robin at his leisure. Making him watch. Making all of them watch. He was finally able to break free from his attacker's grasp, and picked him high above his head, intending to bring him down upon his knee. The blow failed as yet another copy plowed into his side with truck-stopping force, knocking El Sasquatcho to the ground and driving the air from his lungs. The man in the center paused his savage act for just a moment, looking over to the newcomer and the trouble he caused. The moment froze. The next thing El Sasquatcho knew, he was semi-conscious and being hurled into the sea. He skipped like a stone twice before nailing a buoy, an arm getting caught in the metal framework. Had it not, he likely would have slipped beneath the waves and drowned before he had a chance to recover. ...Unsure how long he had been out, he made his way back to the dock from where he was thrown. Things were quiet now, except for the wordless sobbing of those present. They stood in a circle around the fallen Hero. El Sasquatcho added his tears to the rest, undramatically slumping to his knees and bowing his head. The grief and shame of those present was palpable. "Dama Muerte, he is deserving of you..." It was then the scene darkened, overshadowed by the silhouette of a familiar cape and cowl.
4,792	125	32	1,537	4,313	The ice hammer of Zero was no match for the experienced enemy of the Batman. After another ice grenade caught the young hero off guard, Freeze began walking away taking notice of the winged girl unfreezing the last of the already rescued civilians. Leviathan had put his arm in the water down by the river to help melt the ice covering his arm when Zero first went in for the hammer strike. With one last punch to the ground the remaining ice fell from the giant hero's arm. As the giant and the ice manipulating teen regrouped, Freeze had managed to catch up to the young hero Isis. "I don't like bats... OR BIRDS." Freeze spoke monotonously freezing her wings and her back/spinal area. When she hit the ground it was all she could do to keep it together. Frozen wings hitting the asphalt all but completely paralyzed her. Isis was down, the other Titans are on the defensive. Across town... "I've been to every stinking arcade this damn GPS could manage to find, if I don't find those kids s.." Wildcat thought while running up to another arcade before bumping into one of the Titans... "It's about damn time, we've got an emergency. Where are the others?" he asked. Back at the waterfront... Zero seemed to be at a stalemate with the cold-hearted villain. Leviathan was trying to get Isis to safety. That's when backup arrived. Shining bright, Green Lantern hit the scene and made quick work of the enemy and his advanced tech. Hal Jordan was a veteran member of the League for the last two years, one of the founders along with Batman. "You kids okay?" the green clad hero asked, "Batman, he's down. Tell Wildcat to meet these kids back at the gym." Hal continued speaking out to an earpiece. Back at HQ... Batman was on premises seeing to Isis' wounds along with Dr. Mid-Nite, an old friend of Wildcat's. Lantern was long gone. Leviathan had already split back into Robert and Daniel. When Batman approached the others, he spoke well of Leviathan and Zero. "You three did good work out there. All of you just need more practice. Isis will be out of action for awhile until her injuries have healed..." he said briefly before taking stand more at the head of the large room. Batman opened a pouch on his utility belt and pulled out what looked like blue and silver M&M candies. "These are patterned like the League's own communicators, DON'T LOSE THEM. Next time a Justice Leaguer may not be around to save the day..." Batman continued. Wildcat was still seeing to Isis with Mid-Nite when Batman mentioned a Leaguer wouldn't always be around to save the day. A tired and disappointed look showed on Wildcat's face. ~KL~	Secret ID: Robert Hall and Daniel Hall Alias: Leviathan Age: 19 and 15 Home Location: Metropolis Powers: Through concentrated contact, the boys become a single giant human with increased strength, speed, stamina, and durability. In a nut shell, the composite being is ten foot tall, bulletproof, and can tear a car apart with his bare hands. He can bench press well over a ton, and run a mile in just over three minutes. Both of the boys are adept swimmers, and as fast as Leviathan is on land he's just as fast in the water. Weaknesses: When separated the boys are just your average athletic teenagers with no increased anything. The composite being Leviathan can only stay together for roughly an hour, the duration also depends on how well the boys work as one brain rather than two sides fighting against each other. If the Leviathan is hit with mental attacks he loses his form in no time at all. Equipment: Any equipment or devices/objects the boys have on them becomes compromised when they combine to create Leviathan. Batman fitted each of the boys with a light armor reminiscent of a wet suit and upon becoming one being the suit 'completes itself' giving the young giant hero a little more durability. Appearance: Leviathan - Personality: Robert is a little more loud and reckless; Daniel is a little smarter and quieter, Leviathan is stoic but often acts before thinking things through. Password: What's this about a password? BRIEF Bio: Robert and Daniel both lived in Metropolis with their grandmother. Several weeks back, while Superman was in a battle with Brainiac, one of the technological tyrant's experiments was released into the city. This 'exobyte' had the brothers merge into one larger being when they made contact running for safety. The two of them had no idea what to think, but it was clear to anyone who tried to talk to the giant man that the fellow was a man of two minds about everything. After Brainiac had been defeated and the first time the two brothers would 'go big' wore off they thought that life would go back to normal. They couldn't have been more wrong. Days later, while the two boys waited in the car outside of the bank their grandmother was doing business in, a robbery began to go down. As soon as Daniel realized what was going on he told his brother they needed to go and make sure their grandma was safe. On a whim Daniel concentrated hard and put his hand on his brother's shoulder. Seconds later the giant was born again. At the end of it all, the giant was met by Superman after putting the KO on the three armed robbers. Another week would pass before Robin contacted the boys. Grayson wasn't the world's greatest detective, but he trained with one of the best for three years and quickly determined the giant was a composite being and reached out to them via social media. Like others, the first meeting with Robin in Gotham went south for the boys and the two could only watch as Multiplex and Deadshot made an example out of the first teenage superhero and former sidekick. Notes: At some point later on we may meet other members of this universe's Justice League so that I can have a short moment between Leviathan and Aquaman. Sample Post: "These Multiplex goons are a handful. My brother and I aren't really cut out for this 'Teen Titans' thing after all. It takes concentration and skin to skin contact for us to become a giant, and if something doesn't happen soon Robin's not going to make it much longer. If only Robert would stop trying to fight those Multiplex guys two or three at a time we might be able to make contact and..." Daniel thought to himself while trying to break free of one of the Multiplex duplicates' grip that currently had him pinned up against a warehouse wall. "These kids are beginning to annoy me..." Deadshot yelled out to his partners in crime as he shot a couple high powered rounds at the dog like creature that one of the kids transformed into taking it down for the time being. "Should've just killed that ugly thing, Lawton..." one of the many Multiplexes commented. "We were sent here to kill one person and to send a message. ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME YOU LITTLE SUPERHERO WANNABES?" Deadshot yelled out a little louder than before, "KIDS SHOULDN'T WEAR COSTUMES." Deadshot finally let the nearly lifeless and beaten body of Robin fall to the ground the rest of the way. He reloaded his wrist mounted 22 millimeter firearms and aimed one of them at the head of the bloody and bruised Robin. Under his mask he was closing his eyes. Killing kids is awful even to an assassin. Not even two seconds later and... BANG! BANG BANG! After a few more punches were thrown at the rookie heroes by all of the duplicates, they all merged back into the prime Multiplex as Deadshot watched seemingly in surprise. "We better jet, 'Plex. There's no telling for certain when the Bat will come around looking for bird boy..." Deadshot suggested as they took off up an alleyway, now just the two of them. ~KL~
4,793	125	33	2,170	1,634	El Sasquatcho listened to the sage advice and stern warnings given by the more experienced hero, and gratefully accepted the communication device. When they had a moment to themselves, the colorful wrestler warmly congratulated his three teammates on a hard-fought job. "El Sasquatcho is a little jealous," he added, head hung low, "It would have been preferable to El Sasquatcho to fight alongside his new friends, rather than participate in digital festivities and consume spicy chicken appetizers. A battle such as that may have gone the way of the Titans with greater ease were El Sasquatcho and his arcade companions there to assist you." He clenched his fists and continued, "But El Sasquatcho DESTROYED at Revolución, eh? Should have seen it, my friends." He was obviously still a bit tipsy on the nectar of sweet, sweet DDR pwnage. "But yes, had we known, we most certainly would have been exuberant to battle alongside you all. Let us hope that this is never an issue again." Prior to Batman's departure from the room, the masked Luchador respectfully posed Gotham's Guardian a question about their new acquisition. "Señor Batman, if you would, sir? How long after we swallow the pill do we get the power to communicate with each other over long distances?"	Ladies and Gentlemen, making his first public appearance, I give you the testosterone-based, masked fury of ...El Sasquatcho! Secret ID: Hector Delacruz Alias: El Sasquatcho Age: 19 Home Location: Gotham Powers: Heightened Strength, Heightened Durability, Probability Manipulation Strength – Human maximum and somewhat beyond, he is capable of lifting and moving up to 400 lbs without difficulty. Past this point, effort is required. If straining, to the exclusion of all other activity, he can full body press approximately one ton. His strength allows him to flip over a car by himself, but not throw it. Durability – El Sasquatcho is physically very durable, due in no small part to his dense body mass. This gives him naturally occurring protection similar to that of a standard flak jacket. It is not accurate to say that he is bulletproof, but he is damage resistant. This does not affect his physical stamina, that while impressive, falls within normal human range. Probability Manpiulation – Simultaneously his greatest and least reliable power, he is uncannily lucky. If he needs a few bucks to tide him over until payday, he will find a twenty on the ground. While bending over to pick up the money, he will unwittingly dodge a stray bullet from a clash across the park. The stray bullet will warn him of a charging (but strangely silent) rhinoceros demon, who will then slip on a stray banana peel before reaching him. El Sasquatcho is not reliably able to consciously use this power – it appears to manifest during times of stress. Or time of need. Or randomly. Or whenever the GM says it does. Eventually, he may be able to use this power at will, but that is a long way off. Until then, he is just considered to be a lucky, lucky bastard. Weaknesses: Honorbound - Luchador code demands certain actions and limitations from him, described below. Equipment: Naught but his rippling biceps and spandexed thighs of justice. Appearance: El Sasquatcho is a masked Luchador. He is tall, broad, and overly possessed of very masculine body hair, hence his superhero identity. Now prior to his affiliation with the Titans, he is garbed in big black boots, rough carpenter’s jeans, and a closefitting t-shirt (usually black, sometimes a band shirt). Cooler days see him in a leather composite leather jacket. When heroing, he wears his one quality possession: A custom Lucha mask, brown and black, with intricate styling that makes it resemble a dark colored sugar skull. The mask does not impede his ability to breathe nor perceive the world around him, and is like a second skin. His “working gear”, as it were, is similar in form to Batman’s. It is an ergonomically articulated combat armor, designed for maximum protection and flexibility. Color is matte black with brown accents. Trauma plates protect vital areas, and can also be found in his mask, tactical boots, and gloves. These plates give him an extra bit of oomph when attacking with his extremities. Armor does not cover his arms, mostly because he thinks it looks cooler this way. Coupled with his Heightened Durability, he's quite the agile tank. He will, as needed, wear a standard cloth long coat over his armor. It can be torn away for dramatic effect, or merely blow about heroically in the wind. El Sasquatcho’s headgear is an exact duplicate of his Luchador mask, with audio comm options and a voice scrambler/augmenter (for anonymity and making very impressive entrances) His tactical boots contain compartments for the storage of small items, and more impressively, infrasound generators able to broadcast a wide range of pulses too low for humans to hear. The practical effect is a heightened sense of anxiety in those around him; the impractical effect being that every Bigfoot, Sasquatch, or Timber Ape within a 10 mile radius will be summoned to his position. Unless they’re not real. Then no dice. Wait, don’t whales use infrasound? Personality: Hector is a well-meaning, decent kid, whose unfortunate downfall is his arrogance. Raw physical strength (superior to an unmodified human) coupled with his uncanny luck (subconscious probability manipulation) have made him somewhat reckless and overconfident. Hopefully his new mentor can beat some common sense and humility into him. The relationship Hector has with his persona as is a little complicated. He thinks of himself more as El Sasquatcho than Hector Delacruz, considering his legal name and legal life the half that he only pretends to be when necessary. He respects his family name, giving honor to his ancestors, but does not speak of them much. He is El Sasquatcho, Blood of El Santo, which he will discuss with any who will listen at great length. Password: Gnarkk BRIEF Bio: Originally part of a touring Lucha Libre troupe, El Sasquatcho grew up steeped in the culture and traveling lifestyle. This life ended years ago during a tour in Gotham, when an unaffiliated masked Luchador interrupted the performance, he and his group killing many. A young teenager at the time, the shock of the events caused his abilities to express, narrowly allowing his survival. As his entire family was dead or missing, Hector was placed into Gotham City foster care services. He was a B student in the Gotham public school system, but was unable to finalize his Luchador training proper. What he had learned so far, however, brought him a long way with the wrestling and gymnastics teams, where he quickly became the star performer for both groups. He even had a dalliance as one of the Gotham High Mascots for home games. Go Wildcats. While trying to keep his skills sharp and his grades up, he never lost his original goal. Hector remains watchful for an opportunity to avenge the deaths of his family and fellow Luchadores. As soon as he became a legal adult, he adopted his persona and became a vigilante, hoping one day to run into the masked stranger that destroyed his world. He has a challenge to issue. Constantly refers to himself in the third person, as his hero identity. El Sasquatcho constructed and maintains his Lucha mask – he’s actually quite good at the craft. Almost stereotypically, drives a rebuilt El Camino. It’s in good shape; factory standard vehicle. Speaks Spanish, English, and an odd dialect of Transient Gypsy Spanglish barely recognizable to those who speak either Spanish or English. El Sasquatcho bowls overhanded. He sings. He can’t; he shouldn’t. Yet sadly, he does. Mariachi Opera or Mexican Folk Metal, anyone? Unless stealth is absolutely required, El Sasquatcho insists on screaming challenges or battle cries before engaging in melee. This can be as simple as “LUCHA!!!” or can be much more elaborate. Honor above all other things. Perform no act that would be seen as dishonorable to your mask, family, or title. Taking from the weaker is forbidden. Do not kill without first issuing a challenge. Killing in cold blood is forbidden. The street toughs approached from the shadows around him, obviously thinking him an easy mark. The young man, moderately under the influence of the illegally obtained bottle of Mescal in his left hand, seemed an easy target. Slurring his words slightly, he addressed his would-be attackers. "No, no. El Sasquatcho does not have time for this; he is needed elsewhere. Run away before El Sasquatcho renders you incapable of doing so voluntarily, sirs." The advice lay unheeded, tossed to the ground by the collective chuckles of the thugs. They rushed him; two head on and one moving to flank. The intoxicated youth sighed. He really did have somewhere to be, and he didn't want to risk ripping his new Pollo Negro band shirt on the teeth of some prick from the neighborhood. Shaking his head, he tossed his bottle high into the air, and braced for the oncoming attack. The attacker coming from the side got to him first, grabbing him by his shoulder and neck. It was a particularly inept choke hold attempt, one easily countered by the stronger, more experienced youth. Manipulating his attacker into an impressive airplane spin, El Sasquatcho hurled him into one of the very surprised assailants at his fore. Body connected solidly with body, a hollow smacking sound issuing from the sudden meeting of torso to torso, briefly interrupting the Mexican opera inexpertly spilling from the hurler. The alcohol has taken its toll, however, allowing the inertia of the spin and throw to pitch him forward. He slipped and fell into a puddle of dirty water (God he hoped it was water), coincidentally moving him out of the path of a thrown knife from his third adversary. El Sasquatcho rolled to his back, just in time to see the knife-thrower standing above him, another weapon at the ready. He taunted the prone hero, "Got anything else to say, dead bitch?" El Sasquatcho smiled. "Yeah. Waste of good booze." "What?" issued the confused reply. The bottle of Mescal, now almost done with the earthward half of its short journey, turned and tumbled closer to the cranium of the standing street thug, picking up velocity with each twirling nanosecond. The explosion of glass and stinging spirits from their inevitable attempt to share the same space at the same time (directly in opposition to the generally accepted laws pf physics) was quite impressive. Kind of pretty, from El Sasquatcho's perspective on the wet ground. Threat handled, the young hero turned to one side, giggled profusely, and emptied the contents of his stomach; retching into the apathetic night. Bad night. Very bad night. The name of El Sasquatcho was not yet spoken of in hushed whispers among the seedy underworld of Gotham City, and yet already he was receiving fan mail. No, wait. This was better. An invitation from one of the greats: Robin, associate of Senor Batman himself! And he wanted to meet the soon-to-be-famous El Sasquatcho! All of his hard work and street patrols were about to pay off, bigtime. That was the plan, at least. Bad night. ...the first gunshots rang out long before he could get to the docks. His saving grace, ironically a mundane issue, was traffic. He was delayed by a matter of two minutes - otherwise those shots might have been meant for him. El Sasquatcho managed to arrive just in time to see the broken body of one of his personal heroes drop to the ground, his head rebounding lifelessly and clunking back down again. The poor bastard was only identifiable as Robin because of his uniform; facial features were lost in a jumble of blood and damaged bone. Something broke inside of El Sasquatcho, a feeling of fear and rage and hopelessness he had only felt once before, years ago. He broke into a run, intent on beating his assailants into so much warm salsa with his bare hands. He bounded into the fight, caring not who saw nor heard him, paying little attention to the others in the fray. Nearing the first person he percieved as an enemy, his voice boomed forth in righteous indignation. "Sangre de El Santo!" His fist connected solidly, striking the neck of a man wearing a lightly glowing bodysuit. The man stumbled forward, but kept his footing and looked back at El Sasquatcho. This could not be. A full hit at that point of impact would have laid out any normal person. He must be dealing with a Meta, like himself. He had not the time to process, as he was very rapidly grabbed from behind by another man, seemingly wearing the same glowing bodysuit as the one in front of him. El Sasquatcho was able to begin the counter relatively easily, until his dance partner forced his full strength upon him. He was strong, possibly stronger than himself. El Sasquatcho had not expected this. Stupidly, he rushed in, relying on emotion and raw luck to see him to victory. He underestimated his opponents, even after seeing the Boy Wonder go down like a drunken prom date. Grappling though he was, he caught snatches of sight at his surroundings. Others were there, too, held back by more copies of the man now attacking him. In the center of the dock, another man (different this time) took to abusing the unconscious or dead Robin at his leisure. Making him watch. Making all of them watch. He was finally able to break free from his attacker's grasp, and picked him high above his head, intending to bring him down upon his knee. The blow failed as yet another copy plowed into his side with truck-stopping force, knocking El Sasquatcho to the ground and driving the air from his lungs. The man in the center paused his savage act for just a moment, looking over to the newcomer and the trouble he caused. The moment froze. The next thing El Sasquatcho knew, he was semi-conscious and being hurled into the sea. He skipped like a stone twice before nailing a buoy, an arm getting caught in the metal framework. Had it not, he likely would have slipped beneath the waves and drowned before he had a chance to recover. ...Unsure how long he had been out, he made his way back to the dock from where he was thrown. Things were quiet now, except for the wordless sobbing of those present. They stood in a circle around the fallen Hero. El Sasquatcho added his tears to the rest, undramatically slumping to his knees and bowing his head. The grief and shame of those present was palpable. "Dama Muerte, he is deserving of you..." It was then the scene darkened, overshadowed by the silhouette of a familiar cape and cowl.
4,794	125	34	1,537	4,313	A few days had passed in Gotham since the team got split up and Mr. Freeze escaped Arkham Asylum. It was well needed time to reflect on everything that had happened since the night Robin died. Some hours after Zero had a breakdown he went toe to toe with Mr. Freeze, and nobody had expected that. Batman gave him the littlest bit of encouragement and gave everyone small communicators for their ears. El Sasquatcho swallowed his thinking it was a magic pill. Nobody expected that either. But the days passed, training continued, and some other Titans took their leave. Foo Dog had got word about the clan he was fighting against in another major city and took off. Bard had just decided heroics wasn't his thing and wanted to focus on his music. Isis however was going to be sidelined after Freeze nearly crippled her completely. In the meantime, Wildcat managed to find a new recruit in a neighboring city. Some kid with a sonic scream. Batman was a little uneasy about Grant finding a new hero to fill the void on his own, but he went with it all the same. The team wasn't all at HQ under Grant's Gym, but the brothers who made up Leviathan and a couple others were there. It was roughly four in the afternoon when Grant came in out of costume with this new kid... "So what can you do?" asked Robert from a couch in the HQ. "I'm Daniel, that's my older brother Robert.." Daniel said looking over his shoulder approaching the new kid. "Nice to meet you guys!" Ted greeted a little to eagerly with a large smile on his face. Ted was toning down his excitement but he was having a lot of trouble keeping himself from losing his mind from just being in the presence of other super-powered heroes. "Oh! and to answer YOUR question!" Ted said as he pointed at Robert, "I can scream REALLY loud." he finished by shimming his arms awkwardly like a sleazy car salesman from the fifties. Across town... Cigar smoke swirled around, and a wrapper with a grape on it was in the floorboard of the vehicle that appeared to be a limo where the silhouettes of two men sat comfortably. "We've only seen three in action since the Bat took them in. The ice kid showed potential, the bird girl though..." one began saying. "Yes, it's a shame she's been taken down so early in this. Pity our new bird will not have wings..." the other man stated. "Oh you want wings I know a guy who knows a guy..." the man not inhaling large amounts of smoke started saying something again. "We'll just wait and see how this all plays out. Let's see what the rest of them can do. See what the Bat molds them into...." the cigar smoking man said as the limo came to a stop right next to a police cruiser down near the waterfront where the battle with Freeze took place. "Now get out of the car. Don't call my people. They will call you." the smoking man stated before leaving the police officer that was riding with him at his parked car. ~KL~	Secret ID: Robert Hall and Daniel Hall Alias: Leviathan Age: 19 and 15 Home Location: Metropolis Powers: Through concentrated contact, the boys become a single giant human with increased strength, speed, stamina, and durability. In a nut shell, the composite being is ten foot tall, bulletproof, and can tear a car apart with his bare hands. He can bench press well over a ton, and run a mile in just over three minutes. Both of the boys are adept swimmers, and as fast as Leviathan is on land he's just as fast in the water. Weaknesses: When separated the boys are just your average athletic teenagers with no increased anything. The composite being Leviathan can only stay together for roughly an hour, the duration also depends on how well the boys work as one brain rather than two sides fighting against each other. If the Leviathan is hit with mental attacks he loses his form in no time at all. Equipment: Any equipment or devices/objects the boys have on them becomes compromised when they combine to create Leviathan. Batman fitted each of the boys with a light armor reminiscent of a wet suit and upon becoming one being the suit 'completes itself' giving the young giant hero a little more durability. Appearance: Leviathan - Personality: Robert is a little more loud and reckless; Daniel is a little smarter and quieter, Leviathan is stoic but often acts before thinking things through. Password: What's this about a password? BRIEF Bio: Robert and Daniel both lived in Metropolis with their grandmother. Several weeks back, while Superman was in a battle with Brainiac, one of the technological tyrant's experiments was released into the city. This 'exobyte' had the brothers merge into one larger being when they made contact running for safety. The two of them had no idea what to think, but it was clear to anyone who tried to talk to the giant man that the fellow was a man of two minds about everything. After Brainiac had been defeated and the first time the two brothers would 'go big' wore off they thought that life would go back to normal. They couldn't have been more wrong. Days later, while the two boys waited in the car outside of the bank their grandmother was doing business in, a robbery began to go down. As soon as Daniel realized what was going on he told his brother they needed to go and make sure their grandma was safe. On a whim Daniel concentrated hard and put his hand on his brother's shoulder. Seconds later the giant was born again. At the end of it all, the giant was met by Superman after putting the KO on the three armed robbers. Another week would pass before Robin contacted the boys. Grayson wasn't the world's greatest detective, but he trained with one of the best for three years and quickly determined the giant was a composite being and reached out to them via social media. Like others, the first meeting with Robin in Gotham went south for the boys and the two could only watch as Multiplex and Deadshot made an example out of the first teenage superhero and former sidekick. Notes: At some point later on we may meet other members of this universe's Justice League so that I can have a short moment between Leviathan and Aquaman. Sample Post: "These Multiplex goons are a handful. My brother and I aren't really cut out for this 'Teen Titans' thing after all. It takes concentration and skin to skin contact for us to become a giant, and if something doesn't happen soon Robin's not going to make it much longer. If only Robert would stop trying to fight those Multiplex guys two or three at a time we might be able to make contact and..." Daniel thought to himself while trying to break free of one of the Multiplex duplicates' grip that currently had him pinned up against a warehouse wall. "These kids are beginning to annoy me..." Deadshot yelled out to his partners in crime as he shot a couple high powered rounds at the dog like creature that one of the kids transformed into taking it down for the time being. "Should've just killed that ugly thing, Lawton..." one of the many Multiplexes commented. "We were sent here to kill one person and to send a message. ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME YOU LITTLE SUPERHERO WANNABES?" Deadshot yelled out a little louder than before, "KIDS SHOULDN'T WEAR COSTUMES." Deadshot finally let the nearly lifeless and beaten body of Robin fall to the ground the rest of the way. He reloaded his wrist mounted 22 millimeter firearms and aimed one of them at the head of the bloody and bruised Robin. Under his mask he was closing his eyes. Killing kids is awful even to an assassin. Not even two seconds later and... BANG! BANG BANG! After a few more punches were thrown at the rookie heroes by all of the duplicates, they all merged back into the prime Multiplex as Deadshot watched seemingly in surprise. "We better jet, 'Plex. There's no telling for certain when the Bat will come around looking for bird boy..." Deadshot suggested as they took off up an alleyway, now just the two of them. ~KL~
4,795	125	35	2,170	1,634	The days that followed the incident with Mr. Freeze, El Sasquatcho became more sedate. True, he hadn't been present for the skirmish. That is part of what bothered him. The incident caused the loss of teammates, be it by injury or their own choice to withdraw. The team was weaker now. Perhaps if he were present, things would have gone differently. Some of the amazing luck to which he was accustomed could have been of use to the Titans. For that matter, another body out there, one with heightened strength and unnatural durability, would have been especially useful. But no, he was Dance Dance Revolutioning and eating wings. There was a bit of guilt there. Maybe he could have stopped his new friends from getting hurt. Logically, he understood that there was no way he could have known what would happen. Emotionally, he believed that logic could suck it. He was absent, and took others away with him. Again, he threw himself into training. More time in the ring, more time fighting the 'bots. His Wrestling was still magnificent, and he endeavored to put polish on his Capoeira. Fun was still to be had, he did believe that recreation was important to the fighting spirit. Necessary, even. But now he was part of something grander than himself: An idea, a concept. A group of young people living in Robin's honor. El Sasquatcho was a Luchador, from a line of proud fighters going back for many generations. He was the of the Blood of The Saint, a proud follower of Dama Muerte, in all of her wisdom and splendor. He was born into a gift that few in this world would ever have. It was time to curtail childish things and step more into responsibility. When he wasn't training, he was teaching classes at the Cultural Arts Center. When he wasn't doing either, he caught a couple hours of sleep. It was a brutal schedule. After a few days of this, he awoke one morning, looked about his still spartan quarters, and came to a conclusion. "El Sasquatcho needs some color in his rooms." He rose, stretched, and popped his joints in several places. Grabbing a towel and a pair of boxer shorts (with smiley faces on them), he plodded out to the showers. In hindsight, he probably should have worn more than just his mask. Several minutes later, the hairy wrestler emerged from the showers and wandered into the common area for breakfast. Thankfully, his undergarments were on this time. A bowl of oatmeal and fruit down, he settled into another day of training. More time with the 'bot, more time practicing his form. More time pushing himself. By early afternoon, he decided that it was time for a break. After a quick snack, and a lengthy inform to Wildcat, the remaining team, and post-it on the fridge concerning his expected whereabouts, El Sasquatcho roared away in his El Camino. He returned about two hours later, carrying cans of paint and a television. He arrived almost exactly two minutes after the latest team member was presented in costume. "Hola, team. El Sasquatcho has gone by his storage unit to gather some belongings. Hey, New Guy! You know how to use a wrench? C'mon, El Sasquatcho needs a hand with something!"	Ladies and Gentlemen, making his first public appearance, I give you the testosterone-based, masked fury of ...El Sasquatcho! Secret ID: Hector Delacruz Alias: El Sasquatcho Age: 19 Home Location: Gotham Powers: Heightened Strength, Heightened Durability, Probability Manipulation Strength – Human maximum and somewhat beyond, he is capable of lifting and moving up to 400 lbs without difficulty. Past this point, effort is required. If straining, to the exclusion of all other activity, he can full body press approximately one ton. His strength allows him to flip over a car by himself, but not throw it. Durability – El Sasquatcho is physically very durable, due in no small part to his dense body mass. This gives him naturally occurring protection similar to that of a standard flak jacket. It is not accurate to say that he is bulletproof, but he is damage resistant. This does not affect his physical stamina, that while impressive, falls within normal human range. Probability Manpiulation – Simultaneously his greatest and least reliable power, he is uncannily lucky. If he needs a few bucks to tide him over until payday, he will find a twenty on the ground. While bending over to pick up the money, he will unwittingly dodge a stray bullet from a clash across the park. The stray bullet will warn him of a charging (but strangely silent) rhinoceros demon, who will then slip on a stray banana peel before reaching him. El Sasquatcho is not reliably able to consciously use this power – it appears to manifest during times of stress. Or time of need. Or randomly. Or whenever the GM says it does. Eventually, he may be able to use this power at will, but that is a long way off. Until then, he is just considered to be a lucky, lucky bastard. Weaknesses: Honorbound - Luchador code demands certain actions and limitations from him, described below. Equipment: Naught but his rippling biceps and spandexed thighs of justice. Appearance: El Sasquatcho is a masked Luchador. He is tall, broad, and overly possessed of very masculine body hair, hence his superhero identity. Now prior to his affiliation with the Titans, he is garbed in big black boots, rough carpenter’s jeans, and a closefitting t-shirt (usually black, sometimes a band shirt). Cooler days see him in a leather composite leather jacket. When heroing, he wears his one quality possession: A custom Lucha mask, brown and black, with intricate styling that makes it resemble a dark colored sugar skull. The mask does not impede his ability to breathe nor perceive the world around him, and is like a second skin. His “working gear”, as it were, is similar in form to Batman’s. It is an ergonomically articulated combat armor, designed for maximum protection and flexibility. Color is matte black with brown accents. Trauma plates protect vital areas, and can also be found in his mask, tactical boots, and gloves. These plates give him an extra bit of oomph when attacking with his extremities. Armor does not cover his arms, mostly because he thinks it looks cooler this way. Coupled with his Heightened Durability, he's quite the agile tank. He will, as needed, wear a standard cloth long coat over his armor. It can be torn away for dramatic effect, or merely blow about heroically in the wind. El Sasquatcho’s headgear is an exact duplicate of his Luchador mask, with audio comm options and a voice scrambler/augmenter (for anonymity and making very impressive entrances) His tactical boots contain compartments for the storage of small items, and more impressively, infrasound generators able to broadcast a wide range of pulses too low for humans to hear. The practical effect is a heightened sense of anxiety in those around him; the impractical effect being that every Bigfoot, Sasquatch, or Timber Ape within a 10 mile radius will be summoned to his position. Unless they’re not real. Then no dice. Wait, don’t whales use infrasound? Personality: Hector is a well-meaning, decent kid, whose unfortunate downfall is his arrogance. Raw physical strength (superior to an unmodified human) coupled with his uncanny luck (subconscious probability manipulation) have made him somewhat reckless and overconfident. Hopefully his new mentor can beat some common sense and humility into him. The relationship Hector has with his persona as is a little complicated. He thinks of himself more as El Sasquatcho than Hector Delacruz, considering his legal name and legal life the half that he only pretends to be when necessary. He respects his family name, giving honor to his ancestors, but does not speak of them much. He is El Sasquatcho, Blood of El Santo, which he will discuss with any who will listen at great length. Password: Gnarkk BRIEF Bio: Originally part of a touring Lucha Libre troupe, El Sasquatcho grew up steeped in the culture and traveling lifestyle. This life ended years ago during a tour in Gotham, when an unaffiliated masked Luchador interrupted the performance, he and his group killing many. A young teenager at the time, the shock of the events caused his abilities to express, narrowly allowing his survival. As his entire family was dead or missing, Hector was placed into Gotham City foster care services. He was a B student in the Gotham public school system, but was unable to finalize his Luchador training proper. What he had learned so far, however, brought him a long way with the wrestling and gymnastics teams, where he quickly became the star performer for both groups. He even had a dalliance as one of the Gotham High Mascots for home games. Go Wildcats. While trying to keep his skills sharp and his grades up, he never lost his original goal. Hector remains watchful for an opportunity to avenge the deaths of his family and fellow Luchadores. As soon as he became a legal adult, he adopted his persona and became a vigilante, hoping one day to run into the masked stranger that destroyed his world. He has a challenge to issue. Constantly refers to himself in the third person, as his hero identity. El Sasquatcho constructed and maintains his Lucha mask – he’s actually quite good at the craft. Almost stereotypically, drives a rebuilt El Camino. It’s in good shape; factory standard vehicle. Speaks Spanish, English, and an odd dialect of Transient Gypsy Spanglish barely recognizable to those who speak either Spanish or English. El Sasquatcho bowls overhanded. He sings. He can’t; he shouldn’t. Yet sadly, he does. Mariachi Opera or Mexican Folk Metal, anyone? Unless stealth is absolutely required, El Sasquatcho insists on screaming challenges or battle cries before engaging in melee. This can be as simple as “LUCHA!!!” or can be much more elaborate. Honor above all other things. Perform no act that would be seen as dishonorable to your mask, family, or title. Taking from the weaker is forbidden. Do not kill without first issuing a challenge. Killing in cold blood is forbidden. The street toughs approached from the shadows around him, obviously thinking him an easy mark. The young man, moderately under the influence of the illegally obtained bottle of Mescal in his left hand, seemed an easy target. Slurring his words slightly, he addressed his would-be attackers. "No, no. El Sasquatcho does not have time for this; he is needed elsewhere. Run away before El Sasquatcho renders you incapable of doing so voluntarily, sirs." The advice lay unheeded, tossed to the ground by the collective chuckles of the thugs. They rushed him; two head on and one moving to flank. The intoxicated youth sighed. He really did have somewhere to be, and he didn't want to risk ripping his new Pollo Negro band shirt on the teeth of some prick from the neighborhood. Shaking his head, he tossed his bottle high into the air, and braced for the oncoming attack. The attacker coming from the side got to him first, grabbing him by his shoulder and neck. It was a particularly inept choke hold attempt, one easily countered by the stronger, more experienced youth. Manipulating his attacker into an impressive airplane spin, El Sasquatcho hurled him into one of the very surprised assailants at his fore. Body connected solidly with body, a hollow smacking sound issuing from the sudden meeting of torso to torso, briefly interrupting the Mexican opera inexpertly spilling from the hurler. The alcohol has taken its toll, however, allowing the inertia of the spin and throw to pitch him forward. He slipped and fell into a puddle of dirty water (God he hoped it was water), coincidentally moving him out of the path of a thrown knife from his third adversary. El Sasquatcho rolled to his back, just in time to see the knife-thrower standing above him, another weapon at the ready. He taunted the prone hero, "Got anything else to say, dead bitch?" El Sasquatcho smiled. "Yeah. Waste of good booze." "What?" issued the confused reply. The bottle of Mescal, now almost done with the earthward half of its short journey, turned and tumbled closer to the cranium of the standing street thug, picking up velocity with each twirling nanosecond. The explosion of glass and stinging spirits from their inevitable attempt to share the same space at the same time (directly in opposition to the generally accepted laws pf physics) was quite impressive. Kind of pretty, from El Sasquatcho's perspective on the wet ground. Threat handled, the young hero turned to one side, giggled profusely, and emptied the contents of his stomach; retching into the apathetic night. Bad night. Very bad night. The name of El Sasquatcho was not yet spoken of in hushed whispers among the seedy underworld of Gotham City, and yet already he was receiving fan mail. No, wait. This was better. An invitation from one of the greats: Robin, associate of Senor Batman himself! And he wanted to meet the soon-to-be-famous El Sasquatcho! All of his hard work and street patrols were about to pay off, bigtime. That was the plan, at least. Bad night. ...the first gunshots rang out long before he could get to the docks. His saving grace, ironically a mundane issue, was traffic. He was delayed by a matter of two minutes - otherwise those shots might have been meant for him. El Sasquatcho managed to arrive just in time to see the broken body of one of his personal heroes drop to the ground, his head rebounding lifelessly and clunking back down again. The poor bastard was only identifiable as Robin because of his uniform; facial features were lost in a jumble of blood and damaged bone. Something broke inside of El Sasquatcho, a feeling of fear and rage and hopelessness he had only felt once before, years ago. He broke into a run, intent on beating his assailants into so much warm salsa with his bare hands. He bounded into the fight, caring not who saw nor heard him, paying little attention to the others in the fray. Nearing the first person he percieved as an enemy, his voice boomed forth in righteous indignation. "Sangre de El Santo!" His fist connected solidly, striking the neck of a man wearing a lightly glowing bodysuit. The man stumbled forward, but kept his footing and looked back at El Sasquatcho. This could not be. A full hit at that point of impact would have laid out any normal person. He must be dealing with a Meta, like himself. He had not the time to process, as he was very rapidly grabbed from behind by another man, seemingly wearing the same glowing bodysuit as the one in front of him. El Sasquatcho was able to begin the counter relatively easily, until his dance partner forced his full strength upon him. He was strong, possibly stronger than himself. El Sasquatcho had not expected this. Stupidly, he rushed in, relying on emotion and raw luck to see him to victory. He underestimated his opponents, even after seeing the Boy Wonder go down like a drunken prom date. Grappling though he was, he caught snatches of sight at his surroundings. Others were there, too, held back by more copies of the man now attacking him. In the center of the dock, another man (different this time) took to abusing the unconscious or dead Robin at his leisure. Making him watch. Making all of them watch. He was finally able to break free from his attacker's grasp, and picked him high above his head, intending to bring him down upon his knee. The blow failed as yet another copy plowed into his side with truck-stopping force, knocking El Sasquatcho to the ground and driving the air from his lungs. The man in the center paused his savage act for just a moment, looking over to the newcomer and the trouble he caused. The moment froze. The next thing El Sasquatcho knew, he was semi-conscious and being hurled into the sea. He skipped like a stone twice before nailing a buoy, an arm getting caught in the metal framework. Had it not, he likely would have slipped beneath the waves and drowned before he had a chance to recover. ...Unsure how long he had been out, he made his way back to the dock from where he was thrown. Things were quiet now, except for the wordless sobbing of those present. They stood in a circle around the fallen Hero. El Sasquatcho added his tears to the rest, undramatically slumping to his knees and bowing his head. The grief and shame of those present was palpable. "Dama Muerte, he is deserving of you..." It was then the scene darkened, overshadowed by the silhouette of a familiar cape and cowl.
4,796	125	36	2,654	2,774	Chester didn't feel very happy with himself after Wildcat told them about the battle that his other teammates had with Mr. Freeze and he felt guilty for not coming to help. His anxiety started to kick in and he panicked a bit thinking that Batman would possibly kick them out off of the team for slacking off at an arcade. Thing however didn't go the way that Chester panicked about and they weren't punished. It proved that his anxiety was getting to him and he may have to go to his parents about this. His pets reassured him, but their words didn't do much to help and Chester wondered if he would need therapy for his anxiety. Just then the luchador asked them if they could help with something and Chester wondered what flashy excursion the wrestling hero had in mind now. If it involved leaving the base then he would decline since he didn't want to miss another mission this time and especially if it involved a dangerous criminal and saving lives. "What exactly is this something?" he asked calmly wanting to know what the luchador had planned before agreeing to anything.	Secret ID: Caitlyn Gump Alias: Parasite Age: 19 Home Location: Gotham, a wonderful place of opportunity, if you have the money and status. Powers: None of her own to speak of, but has a symbiotic relationship with a parasitical creature Caitlyn affectionately named "Bug", which is attached to her left arm, it gives her: Envenomed Claws, cumulative paralytic A projectile gunk shot, hazardous to health long term Hook Shot Capabilities Shell Armour Plating Hazmat-lite, Bug Detoxes and filters Caitlyn's blood, making her resistant to chemical and biological warfare. Defib-lite, Bug's Heart continues to pump blood around Caitlyn's body, even if Caitlyn's heart isn't. Bug is semi-sentient and communicates Caitlyn neurally, feeding her powerful messages of hunger and self preservation. Bug continues to grow, giving more powers to its beloved host but enveloping more of Caitlyn. Weaknesses: Besides her left arm she is entirely human, no powers attached. Bug must be fed regularly to be any use Bug can act against Caitlyn's will if it believes Caitlyn is endangering both of them. Ingestion of unknown Paraciticides slows Bug down Caitlyn is used to operating alone and finds it hard to trust others. Technophobe, not literally, but sucks with computers. Appearance: A dirty street urchin with an alien creature for a left arm. Curly mousy brown hair, cut shoulder length with a rusty scissor blade Her eyes are dark and full of mistrust She stands at a skinny 5'6" and weighs 170lbs, Bug included Used to wear almost exclusively dark baggy clothing, but in light of becoming a TITAN has revamped her look, somewhat. Her hoodie has been swapped out for the more respectable, sleeveless turtleneck jumper and her cargo trousers for, well, better cargo trousers, you can take a girl out of the slums. Her sick hi-tops have also be traded in for more respectable combat ready footwear. This was going up in the world for her, she wasn't going to lose such an opportunity by looking scruffy. Personality: Caitlyn has dedicated her life from escaping the hell hole that her former life. All opportunities taken, nothing squandered. However her foresight is not twenty twenty, tends to give up long term rewards for short term boons. Caitlyn's trust must be earnt and is more easily lost than gotten. This however, doesn't stop her from being civil with you, something you learn on the streets, so you won't know whether you have it or you don't. Her desire to be a TITAN is not so much one of love for saving people, but of not having to be a criminal anymore, and sees it way to bigger things. She is manipulative and she is a deceiver but she isn't cruel and certainly not a bad person. As someone who often acted alone, she has little teamwork or leadership skills but will endeavor to acquire them when they've shown their value. Her and Bug had come along way since they day they were first introduced, that day was pivotal in ways she barely understood at the time. She was 13, out of school and trying to help pay off a debt of a father she never met. Pick pocketing worked for a while, till mother's "gentlemen friends" went too many weeks without a visit to her bedroom. Payments went up, the bruises came back. The items stolen and fenced got more expensive; phones, laptops, computers, but it was never quite enough, according to the collectors. "13 years old, wow, how time flies", the big one would say on the way out as they grabbed the hats and coats they'd slung over the sofa earlier,"I remember when you were only a wee nipper, look how much you've grown." The other, cigarette in mouth, swinging his coat over his thin shoulders,"She's a smart little monkey too, Gov" "Really now? Maybe she can come work with us, we could always do with a helping hand in the office", they'd both laugh in such away you knew they didn't mean it so much as a dirty joke as they did just dirty. "Maybe when she's a bit bigger." "Yeah, and maybe she can finish what her daddy started too, you know he was this close to crackin-" "Thats enough Freddy, were done here." As Freddy unlocked the door, the big guy, who's name she knew would slip a silver coin out of his coat pocket and deposit into Caitlyn's palm. "For my favourite God-daughter, buy yourself something sweet." The same charade every month, little did they know it was the last. Tonight she wasn't staying for the awkward silent late supper before bed. She was meeting him, the Man of Promises. Shortly after the men left, Caitlyn changed back out of pajamas and left into the darkness. Their meeting place was a dark alleyway approximately half way between Caitlyn's home and the office Fred and the Boss man returned too every month after visiting, the heavy cloud cover obscured the moon but the streets were no darker thanks to the powerful neon lampposts. Drunkards already littered the street and their harmless, but watchful gaze made Caitlyn's heart pound harder. The video rental, the second hand store, the charity store, the coffee shop. The alley opened before her, its gaping chasm threatening to swallow her whole. A man in sunglasses was waiting in a door way deeper down. Him. Caitlyn walked down and followed him into the room he was propping open. Caitlyn took a seat at the table that had been dragged into the closet from cafe side. An ornate wooden box lay on the table, unlocked. The lid seemed still, but periodically Caitlyn could have sworn it lifted up, if only by millimeters. The box demanded her attention, in it was a promise, so she was told. An opportunity to escape the life she had, to be slave to no one and take control of her own destiny. "Are you sure this is what you want Miss Gump?" "I want it to stop" "And you're willing to do what is necessary?" "Yes" "And you're willing to pay the price?" "Yes" "So be it, lift the lid of the box" Caitlyn placed her hands on either side of the lid. What on earth could be in this box? She wasted no time, but immediately regretted it. The contents wriggled and Caitlyn slammed the lid back down. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE THOSE?" "Freedom, Miss Gump" Caitlyn lifted the lid a little slower this time, fingers as far from any of the alien creatures as she could. Thorny, writhing unearthly creatures litter the box, there might have been seven or eight of them all unique in their horrid design. "What am I supposed to do with these?" "Please pick one, today is the day you escape the chains of society" "I came here for a gun, you said you were going to give me a weapon to fight my oppressors with" He scoffed, "I am giving you something better than a gun," he paused, "Liberation. Pick one." None of them were particularly inviting, but maybe that was the point. He was wasting her time. She got up to leave but a firm hand pushed her back into her seat. "Do not make the mistake others have made, Miss Gump, you leave this room and you walk back into your old life, back into the sadness and the misery and the hopelessness, this is your chance to escape. I can assure you that you will not regret this, pick one." Caitlyn looked back into the box of horrors. "That one." "A fine choice, the first of many." He lifted the 7 inch monstrosity out of the box, with no more care than if it were a hamster. Holding it by the giant thorn he rolled it in air and stroked it along the belly side. It relaxed and opened up exposing its lemon yellow, fleshy insides. "Your hand, Miss Gump." She didn't respond but her expression said everything. Nope. Nope. Nope. The Man of Promises took her hand from the table. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. He pulled her hand slowly into position, Caitlyn transfixed on the creature, which seem to wriggle more excitedly as her middle finger got closer. NOPE. NOPE. NOPE. NOPE. She looked up to the man, her face filled with horror, her eyes begged for it to end. She could feel the warmth radiating from the creatures insides on her finger. Every moment waiting for it to clamp around it was agony, the torture never ending. NOPE! NOPE! NOPE! NOPE! She squeezed her eyes tight and braced for the pain of her skin being devoured by the hungry evil creature, but it never came. The man relaxed his grip on her wrist, and smiled. "Welcome to the first day of your new life." Password: Gnarkk
4,797	125	37	2,170	1,634	El Sasquatcho shifted the television under his arm. It was cumbersome; an odd shape carried with one hand still takes some doing, enhanced strength or not. The hairy warrior of justice finally set it down, leaning against the nearby wall. Si, si... El Sasquatcho has a wonderous adventure planned, wherein we get into our best combat gear and race to the parking lot, from there (and this is good), we take up our best Team Pose, and assist the Indomitable El Sasquatcho to install a set of bullbars on his mode of conveyance!" He had set the paint cans down while he spoke, and was waving and gesturing furiously as he spoke. To look at El Sasquatcho, it was uncertain as to whether or not he was being sarcastic. Nonetheless, he was very animated about it. "The day may come soon wherein El Sasquatcho will have to ram something, or push a vehicle out of the way. Hence, the bars. They're really nice ones, too... El Sasquatcho may one day install a winch, but that would necessitate the purchasing of one. Afterwards, it is time for the painting and furnishing of the private rooms! Homey touches, maybe some skulls and a little splash of color. But for now, the bars. ¿Esta bien?"	Ladies and Gentlemen, making his first public appearance, I give you the testosterone-based, masked fury of ...El Sasquatcho! Secret ID: Hector Delacruz Alias: El Sasquatcho Age: 19 Home Location: Gotham Powers: Heightened Strength, Heightened Durability, Probability Manipulation Strength – Human maximum and somewhat beyond, he is capable of lifting and moving up to 400 lbs without difficulty. Past this point, effort is required. If straining, to the exclusion of all other activity, he can full body press approximately one ton. His strength allows him to flip over a car by himself, but not throw it. Durability – El Sasquatcho is physically very durable, due in no small part to his dense body mass. This gives him naturally occurring protection similar to that of a standard flak jacket. It is not accurate to say that he is bulletproof, but he is damage resistant. This does not affect his physical stamina, that while impressive, falls within normal human range. Probability Manpiulation – Simultaneously his greatest and least reliable power, he is uncannily lucky. If he needs a few bucks to tide him over until payday, he will find a twenty on the ground. While bending over to pick up the money, he will unwittingly dodge a stray bullet from a clash across the park. The stray bullet will warn him of a charging (but strangely silent) rhinoceros demon, who will then slip on a stray banana peel before reaching him. El Sasquatcho is not reliably able to consciously use this power – it appears to manifest during times of stress. Or time of need. Or randomly. Or whenever the GM says it does. Eventually, he may be able to use this power at will, but that is a long way off. Until then, he is just considered to be a lucky, lucky bastard. Weaknesses: Honorbound - Luchador code demands certain actions and limitations from him, described below. Equipment: Naught but his rippling biceps and spandexed thighs of justice. Appearance: El Sasquatcho is a masked Luchador. He is tall, broad, and overly possessed of very masculine body hair, hence his superhero identity. Now prior to his affiliation with the Titans, he is garbed in big black boots, rough carpenter’s jeans, and a closefitting t-shirt (usually black, sometimes a band shirt). Cooler days see him in a leather composite leather jacket. When heroing, he wears his one quality possession: A custom Lucha mask, brown and black, with intricate styling that makes it resemble a dark colored sugar skull. The mask does not impede his ability to breathe nor perceive the world around him, and is like a second skin. His “working gear”, as it were, is similar in form to Batman’s. It is an ergonomically articulated combat armor, designed for maximum protection and flexibility. Color is matte black with brown accents. Trauma plates protect vital areas, and can also be found in his mask, tactical boots, and gloves. These plates give him an extra bit of oomph when attacking with his extremities. Armor does not cover his arms, mostly because he thinks it looks cooler this way. Coupled with his Heightened Durability, he's quite the agile tank. He will, as needed, wear a standard cloth long coat over his armor. It can be torn away for dramatic effect, or merely blow about heroically in the wind. El Sasquatcho’s headgear is an exact duplicate of his Luchador mask, with audio comm options and a voice scrambler/augmenter (for anonymity and making very impressive entrances) His tactical boots contain compartments for the storage of small items, and more impressively, infrasound generators able to broadcast a wide range of pulses too low for humans to hear. The practical effect is a heightened sense of anxiety in those around him; the impractical effect being that every Bigfoot, Sasquatch, or Timber Ape within a 10 mile radius will be summoned to his position. Unless they’re not real. Then no dice. Wait, don’t whales use infrasound? Personality: Hector is a well-meaning, decent kid, whose unfortunate downfall is his arrogance. Raw physical strength (superior to an unmodified human) coupled with his uncanny luck (subconscious probability manipulation) have made him somewhat reckless and overconfident. Hopefully his new mentor can beat some common sense and humility into him. The relationship Hector has with his persona as is a little complicated. He thinks of himself more as El Sasquatcho than Hector Delacruz, considering his legal name and legal life the half that he only pretends to be when necessary. He respects his family name, giving honor to his ancestors, but does not speak of them much. He is El Sasquatcho, Blood of El Santo, which he will discuss with any who will listen at great length. Password: Gnarkk BRIEF Bio: Originally part of a touring Lucha Libre troupe, El Sasquatcho grew up steeped in the culture and traveling lifestyle. This life ended years ago during a tour in Gotham, when an unaffiliated masked Luchador interrupted the performance, he and his group killing many. A young teenager at the time, the shock of the events caused his abilities to express, narrowly allowing his survival. As his entire family was dead or missing, Hector was placed into Gotham City foster care services. He was a B student in the Gotham public school system, but was unable to finalize his Luchador training proper. What he had learned so far, however, brought him a long way with the wrestling and gymnastics teams, where he quickly became the star performer for both groups. He even had a dalliance as one of the Gotham High Mascots for home games. Go Wildcats. While trying to keep his skills sharp and his grades up, he never lost his original goal. Hector remains watchful for an opportunity to avenge the deaths of his family and fellow Luchadores. As soon as he became a legal adult, he adopted his persona and became a vigilante, hoping one day to run into the masked stranger that destroyed his world. He has a challenge to issue. Constantly refers to himself in the third person, as his hero identity. El Sasquatcho constructed and maintains his Lucha mask – he’s actually quite good at the craft. Almost stereotypically, drives a rebuilt El Camino. It’s in good shape; factory standard vehicle. Speaks Spanish, English, and an odd dialect of Transient Gypsy Spanglish barely recognizable to those who speak either Spanish or English. El Sasquatcho bowls overhanded. He sings. He can’t; he shouldn’t. Yet sadly, he does. Mariachi Opera or Mexican Folk Metal, anyone? Unless stealth is absolutely required, El Sasquatcho insists on screaming challenges or battle cries before engaging in melee. This can be as simple as “LUCHA!!!” or can be much more elaborate. Honor above all other things. Perform no act that would be seen as dishonorable to your mask, family, or title. Taking from the weaker is forbidden. Do not kill without first issuing a challenge. Killing in cold blood is forbidden. The street toughs approached from the shadows around him, obviously thinking him an easy mark. The young man, moderately under the influence of the illegally obtained bottle of Mescal in his left hand, seemed an easy target. Slurring his words slightly, he addressed his would-be attackers. "No, no. El Sasquatcho does not have time for this; he is needed elsewhere. Run away before El Sasquatcho renders you incapable of doing so voluntarily, sirs." The advice lay unheeded, tossed to the ground by the collective chuckles of the thugs. They rushed him; two head on and one moving to flank. The intoxicated youth sighed. He really did have somewhere to be, and he didn't want to risk ripping his new Pollo Negro band shirt on the teeth of some prick from the neighborhood. Shaking his head, he tossed his bottle high into the air, and braced for the oncoming attack. The attacker coming from the side got to him first, grabbing him by his shoulder and neck. It was a particularly inept choke hold attempt, one easily countered by the stronger, more experienced youth. Manipulating his attacker into an impressive airplane spin, El Sasquatcho hurled him into one of the very surprised assailants at his fore. Body connected solidly with body, a hollow smacking sound issuing from the sudden meeting of torso to torso, briefly interrupting the Mexican opera inexpertly spilling from the hurler. The alcohol has taken its toll, however, allowing the inertia of the spin and throw to pitch him forward. He slipped and fell into a puddle of dirty water (God he hoped it was water), coincidentally moving him out of the path of a thrown knife from his third adversary. El Sasquatcho rolled to his back, just in time to see the knife-thrower standing above him, another weapon at the ready. He taunted the prone hero, "Got anything else to say, dead bitch?" El Sasquatcho smiled. "Yeah. Waste of good booze." "What?" issued the confused reply. The bottle of Mescal, now almost done with the earthward half of its short journey, turned and tumbled closer to the cranium of the standing street thug, picking up velocity with each twirling nanosecond. The explosion of glass and stinging spirits from their inevitable attempt to share the same space at the same time (directly in opposition to the generally accepted laws pf physics) was quite impressive. Kind of pretty, from El Sasquatcho's perspective on the wet ground. Threat handled, the young hero turned to one side, giggled profusely, and emptied the contents of his stomach; retching into the apathetic night. Bad night. Very bad night. The name of El Sasquatcho was not yet spoken of in hushed whispers among the seedy underworld of Gotham City, and yet already he was receiving fan mail. No, wait. This was better. An invitation from one of the greats: Robin, associate of Senor Batman himself! And he wanted to meet the soon-to-be-famous El Sasquatcho! All of his hard work and street patrols were about to pay off, bigtime. That was the plan, at least. Bad night. ...the first gunshots rang out long before he could get to the docks. His saving grace, ironically a mundane issue, was traffic. He was delayed by a matter of two minutes - otherwise those shots might have been meant for him. El Sasquatcho managed to arrive just in time to see the broken body of one of his personal heroes drop to the ground, his head rebounding lifelessly and clunking back down again. The poor bastard was only identifiable as Robin because of his uniform; facial features were lost in a jumble of blood and damaged bone. Something broke inside of El Sasquatcho, a feeling of fear and rage and hopelessness he had only felt once before, years ago. He broke into a run, intent on beating his assailants into so much warm salsa with his bare hands. He bounded into the fight, caring not who saw nor heard him, paying little attention to the others in the fray. Nearing the first person he percieved as an enemy, his voice boomed forth in righteous indignation. "Sangre de El Santo!" His fist connected solidly, striking the neck of a man wearing a lightly glowing bodysuit. The man stumbled forward, but kept his footing and looked back at El Sasquatcho. This could not be. A full hit at that point of impact would have laid out any normal person. He must be dealing with a Meta, like himself. He had not the time to process, as he was very rapidly grabbed from behind by another man, seemingly wearing the same glowing bodysuit as the one in front of him. El Sasquatcho was able to begin the counter relatively easily, until his dance partner forced his full strength upon him. He was strong, possibly stronger than himself. El Sasquatcho had not expected this. Stupidly, he rushed in, relying on emotion and raw luck to see him to victory. He underestimated his opponents, even after seeing the Boy Wonder go down like a drunken prom date. Grappling though he was, he caught snatches of sight at his surroundings. Others were there, too, held back by more copies of the man now attacking him. In the center of the dock, another man (different this time) took to abusing the unconscious or dead Robin at his leisure. Making him watch. Making all of them watch. He was finally able to break free from his attacker's grasp, and picked him high above his head, intending to bring him down upon his knee. The blow failed as yet another copy plowed into his side with truck-stopping force, knocking El Sasquatcho to the ground and driving the air from his lungs. The man in the center paused his savage act for just a moment, looking over to the newcomer and the trouble he caused. The moment froze. The next thing El Sasquatcho knew, he was semi-conscious and being hurled into the sea. He skipped like a stone twice before nailing a buoy, an arm getting caught in the metal framework. Had it not, he likely would have slipped beneath the waves and drowned before he had a chance to recover. ...Unsure how long he had been out, he made his way back to the dock from where he was thrown. Things were quiet now, except for the wordless sobbing of those present. They stood in a circle around the fallen Hero. El Sasquatcho added his tears to the rest, undramatically slumping to his knees and bowing his head. The grief and shame of those present was palpable. "Dama Muerte, he is deserving of you..." It was then the scene darkened, overshadowed by the silhouette of a familiar cape and cowl.
4,798	125	38	2,002	2,689	Nightlife turned away from the brothers after El Saquatcho began to speak but completely missed what he had first said due to Ted being completely bewildered by the hairy Luchador with a television. Finally Nightlife mustered a response to the crime fighter "that sounds awesome! Lets supe up your van!" he exclaimed, raising his arms up to emphasize his point. Ted just assumed El Sasquatcho had a van considering that when he imagined a ram on a car, he didn't it on an El Camino. In normal circumstances Ted probably wouldn't be to excited to upgrade a car but he would be doing this in the company of superheroes which would likely make any mundane task an amazing experience.	Secret ID: Theodore 'Ted' Saxton Alias: Nightlife Age: 16 Home Location: Blüdhaven Powers: Sonic Screech- Ted's one and only power which allows him to essentially scream loud enough to shatter steel. Ted isn't very experienced with using his power yet so he tends to save it for big foes or dire situations. Weaknesses: Human- Being human has its disadvantages such as being susceptible to bladed weapons, bullet wounds, head trauma, vertigo, etc, etc. Equipment: Body Armour- Since Ted doesn't have enhanced strength, speed or durability he needs to rely on some padding to keep him from keeling over from some stray shrapnel. It can't stop bullets but it can dampen the impact of blunt force and defend Ted somewhat from sharp objects. Extendable Bo Staff- Ted doesn't have a whole lot in the strength department and his expertise in martial arts isn't at a level where it can be effective against larger foes so Ted relies on his trusty staff to help him when beating justice into enemies at least until he can become better at fighting with his fists. Appearance: Ted is somewhat athletic in build although he's no quarterback or swimmer but he isn't a slob. He has fair skin, short brown hair and dull blue eyes. Ted's costume is inspired by Black Canary's but is different in quite a few ways. He has a small black mask much like that of nightwing or Robin (ie mostly just covers the eyes), a black leather jacket with obvious, plastic shoulder pads on the outside and elbow pads hidden beneath the jacket. Underneath the leather jacket is a dark blue, long sleeve shirt with a small pouch in it used to keep his retractable Bo-staff and Moped keys. Ted wears somewhat baggy pants which is the same colour and made of the same material as his shirt. Ted wears knee pads over the pants and has a pair of black batman grade sneakers. The material that Ted's pants and shirt are made of are padded for extra defence. Personality: Ted usually has a upbeat attitude, always seeming excited for whatever he is doing but when crime fighting he gets quieter though still makes remarks if he deems it funny enough or appropriate. He is also a complete superhero fanboy. Password: Gnarkk BRIEF Bio: Ted grew up in a low income household but with parents who truly cared for him and he was fine with that. He began working as soon as he could in order to earn more money for his family so they could live a little easier. Eventually his family fell into some good luck as Ted's father won the lottery and they were bumped up to the middle class which was essentially like taking a plant in a dark room out into a rich forest. For the first time his family had some spending money which allowed Ted to start taking martial arts lessons in order to fulfill his life long dream. Ever since Ted was little he wanted to do something worth while with his life like invent the cure for cancer or discover life on another planet but when heroes like Batman and the justice league began to turn up he knew what he wanted to do. He had been surrounded by violence from criminals most of his life and he knew how scary the whole thing could be so he decided that crime fighting was his calling, his grand thing to achieve and this dream was only reinforced by the discovery of his latent power of a sonic screech. He wasn't contacted by Robin when he was recruiting teen heroes but in the small amount of time between then and Ted's induction into the Titans, Nightlife began really making a difference in his community by taking down the local criminals. This coupled with his meta-human ability is what qualified him to join the newly formed Titans team. Notes: -Ted doesn't have a drivers license but has a learners. -Ted has a shiny black Moped with chipped paint. Sample Post: Ted was running as fast as he could through the streets of Blüdhaven as he frantically checked behind him. He began to think of slowing down until he heard the loud booming sound coming from behind him. It was almost here. "Where is it, where is it, where is it!" Ted thought as he came to a stop and looked around nervously. Finally the boy's Moped caught his eye which gave him a reinvigorated sense of hope as he dashed towards his trusty steed and started it up. With a great amount of fumbling the hero managed to put his helmet on just in time to hear another loud boom, this time much closer. Ted kicked up his kick stand and began driving as fast as he could down the nearly empty streets of Blüdhaven. As he drove Ted began to realize there was no way he was going to outrun his pursuer but he tried all the same. As valiant as his efforts were the first signs of his enemy showed its ugly head in the form of a single drop of water on his helmet "shoot." was all that Ted said before the sky gave way to a tremendous amount of rain. As Ted drove down the street getting wetter and wetter he could only think that there was likely no way his night could get worse.
4,799	125	39	1,602	2,499	Ves wandered into the room after hearing a small amount of commotion. She was sipping a can of juice, one of those knock off store brands that tasted only sparingly alike the real thing. Surprisingly enough, Ves actually preferred the dodgy, almost always flat 'fizzy' store brand drinks to the actual thing. Not only was it cheaper, but to her it for some reason tasted a huge amount better. "Nice to meet you!" She said to, Nightlife, grinning as she did. "Affixing the bars sounds fun!" She said optimistically, pleased at her usage of the word 'affixing'.	Secret ID: Vesta 'Ves' Petrakis Alias: Argonaut Age: 18 Home Location: Themyscria, althought she is currently situated in Metropolis. Powers: -Enhanced aspects of the human body -Flight -Healing factor Weaknesses: -Naivety -Piercing weapons hurt her more than any other kind. Equipment: -Lasso of truth -Bracelets of submission -Tiara(explained below) -A sword (Used only in extreme emergencies) Appearance: Vesta stands at a whopping 7 foot. She has a lightly muscular physique that does not represent her true strength by far. Her hair reaches down to her lower back and is a raven black. Vesta's skin is more pale than it is tan, although not pale enough to actually make any obvious comment about it. Her eyes are a piercing blue and are easily recognizable among other eyes. Her equipment is similar to her sisters, both in style and hue except with Vesta's having darker shades of each colour overall, and with the blue being replaced with black. While much of the equipment that Vesta received remains the same, the bracers have suffered a design change that has made them longer and more stylized. Along with this, the tiara has been replaced with a sort of metal headband that can be used as a throwing weapon alike the tiara. Her costume is much more modern than her sisters, and while she retains a similar sort of breastplate, hers goes up to her neck rather than stopping below her shoulders. She also has tight fitting black trousers under a small amount of armour along with boots. All of her armour is styled around the Amazons. When off mission, Ves can usually be seen wearing some sort of band T-shirt along with jeans and whatnot. She hasn't really adapted to the fashion of the outside world and it took Diana some time to explain to her that going out in a toga isn't really socially acceptable. Personality: Vesta is rather naive but also very courageous and willing to help anyone who needs it. A well of compassion, Vesta treats everyone equally no matter their creed, race or gender. To the point where she'd rather convince a racist to change their ways rather than attack them. Vesta tries to make jokes, but they often fall flat because of her lack of knowledge about the outside worlds customs and whatnot. While she displays a great degree of confidence, Vesta is deeply insecure and often talks about how much better her sister is when people compliment her. The one thing that Ves is most interested in is 80s music. Her favourite band is The Smiths and even mentioning them in a positive light can make just about anyone her new best friend. Password: Titan BRIEF Bio: Vesta was born on the mythical isle of Themyscria. Vesta, like her sister, Diana was 'born' through her 'mother', Hippolyta creating her with clay and the soul of an unborn baby. Vesta was born quite a few years after Diana who had left Themyscria before Vesta had even begun her training. Vesta's training began when she was around 15. Her training was a tough and rigorous regime, exhausting both her body and her mind while strengthening them at the same time. Much more emphasis was based around her mental skills though, as she was never really meant to be a warrior, just a trainer. Vesta was kept oblivious to the technology and customs of the outside world, only learning what a boy was after Diana visited home and told Vesta various things about the outside world. Of course, Vesta was still quite young and the explanation was cut short of "Girls, but with hair on their chins" and Vesta was left mostly in the dark about men. Vesta was never intended to leave Themyscria at all, instead being trained to defend it from any danger and so she could train any new Amazons to a much more efficient rate than before. However, Vesta was curious and yearned to see the outside world after speaking with her sister rather often. Eventually, after much pestering, she was allowed to visit the outside world with Hippolyta thinking that she'd prefer the comfort of home to the harshness of the 'real' world. Of course, she was wrong. During her short visit to the outside world, Vesta was contacted by Robin and subsequently got her arse kicked with the rest of the 'team' in the fight that concluded with Robins death. Shortly after, Hippolyta had equipment similar to that of, Diana's made for Vesta in order to help her better defend herself. Of course, Vesta isn't well versed in the use of this equipment just yet but is getting the hang of using them as quickly as she can. Vesta loved the outside world. Diana showed her how differing the technology and culture was to that of Themyscria and Vesta finally saw a man. Although while she has seen a man she still confuses non-bearded men for women every now and then. She was allowed to stay in Metropolis, cutting her training short and leaving her under the supervision of her sister. Notes: -Favourite band is "The Smiths" -Has a major crush on a young David Bowie -Favourite colour is purple -Her favourite song is "Love and Pride" by King, although this changes frequently. Sample Post: Vesta dodged under the knife of her attacker. Attacker was a generous way to put it, he hadn't landed a hit on her yet. She dodged left of one swipe and right of another, unhooking her lasso and unfurling it in one flick of her wrist. She jumped back as the attacker sent a jab towards her before swinging her arm back and sending the lasso forward in one fell swoop. The lasso affixed itself around the thugs wrist, and with one tug he was sent tumbling into the wall. Vesta flew through the air with the grace of an eagle. Swooping between buildings and under cranes as if she were born of bird herself. She looked down to the terrified criminal she held in her sturdy grip. Her mind drifted back to hearing what various other superheroes had said on the news. They usually said something dramatic and heroic to the criminal in a time like this and Vesta would be damned if she couldn't think of something cool and inspirational to say. "Young Lady that is no way to act" She said, an obvious lack of inspiration or any semblance of cool. She saw the assailant turn their head to her with a puzzled look growing on their face. "Young Lady?" They spoke "I'm a man!" He screamed, visibly distressed and insecure about his appearance. Vesta furrowed her brow in confusion before the confusion turned to embarrassment and her cheeks grew red. "But you have long hair?" She said, visibly confused. The thug, equally confused asked "So?" In a seemingly calm voice for the current situation. Vesta didn't answer, she just looked forward and left the man to stew in his own anxiety. This was the second time this week that she'd mistaken a man for a woman, and it was only Wednesday. She made haste to reach the police station and drop off the criminal before things got even more awkward. Vesta returned to her small apartment late that night. She was surprised to find a letter left on her bed. She opened the letter with intrigue and was confused to find a meeting place written on the paper. She debated going, but ultimately decided there was little point in not going and made a mental note of the date of said meeting.

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