Haven Walkur Posted May 14, 2006 Report Share Posted May 14, 2006 I was recently reminded of my first and still favorite Champions character, and thought I'd post her origin story to the HEROBoard. Please feel free to post stories of your own first or favorite Champions characters to this thread. However, this isn't intended to be a thread for character descriptions or write-ups...this is a "character story" thread. And here's mine. ________________________________ The Burning The hours around three in the morning are endless; quiet, calm and sad. The human race has passed silently away, leaving the television stations showing only static and the streets damp and empty and abandoned. All the traffic signals have gone to flashing red. There is no past, and there will never be a future; at three o’clock in the morning, there is only the ominous, eternal now. Sheridan McKinley sat at her drawing table and drank ice tea with all its ice cubes long since melted. She wondered if more suicides occurred during the introspective, transparent hours of the early morning...it wouldn’t have surprised her. Normally she enjoyed working in the still hours, but tonight...tonight the loneliness was bad. It was an ache, a gentle anguish that made her regret she’d given up sucking her thumb when she was four; she wanted that comfort again. Or maybe the comfort of a teddy bear, or a pet cat, or or a lover, Judy? something. The ice tea tasted sour. Sheridan sighed and put the glass down on its coaster; second nature now to protect her sketches from condensation rings. She hadn’t always been that careful. At the U.S. Attorney’s office, her nickname had been, “Spot,” for the way her briefs and memos usually ended up looking. I suppose if I went back now, they’d call me “Sunspot”. A moth thudded against the window. Sheridan had a sudden mental image of it settling on her hand and bursting into flame, plump body crisping as the smoking wings dropped away like dusty petals. Not quite, she thought. At least, not yet. She picked up her pencil and the pale, almost colourless flames that trailed like banners from her fingers rippled around and over it, and left it untouched. too bad the flames didn’t leave your life untouched The current sketch was for her “Fantastic Heroes” playing cards; oversized to show detail, mass-produced and affordable. They’d be very popular on the convention circuit...she hoped. This character would be the Jack of Spades, a lean, Hispanic man with gorgeous, androgynous features. His long black hair merged smoothly with his black leather bodysuit; silver buckles and silver chains matched the silver streaks in his hair. He had a mocking smile that revealed catlike fangs, and his gloved fingertips were clawed. His eyes were featureless silver. The face bothered her; despite the stylized, extended lines she liked to use comes of looking at the world through flaming glasses, doesn’t it, Judy? it looked disturbingly familiar. And she didn’t usually draw from life. Sheridan played with her pencil. The flames dancing over her body and glittering in her hair burned a pensive yellow, the fire in her eyes a darker yellow-orange. She barely noticed it, any more ...Caesar.... than she noticed the tortoise-shell cat colour of her hair, or the fairness of her skin that reddened but never tanned. Sheridan couldn’t remember when she’d stopped noticing, she couldn’t remember what colour her eyes had been before they caught fire and burned. Yeah, there were lots of things she couldn't Caesar Anthony it is it’s Caesar Anthony Mendoca don’t you remember? remember. But the picture...yes, yes she could remember, she did remember Caesar Anthony Mendoca; it was February 1991 and she’d handled his arraignment on behalf of the U.S. Attorney’s office, and the coffee was –- *** “And the coffee was godawful.” Judith McMillan, Assistant U.S. Attorney for the District of New York, closed her briefcase with a solid snap and smiled up at her partner, federal prosecutor Russell Pierce. “Well, what possessed you to sit with the D.E.A. guys anyway?” she asked. “You could have come and watched my star turn in front of Perkins.” “Oh Christ, Judy, you know I can’t watch someone I know up there. I’d go out of my mind.” The tall, attractive black attorney grinned and shrugged. Then his face hardened, and he added, “Especially not with that sh*t Mendoca smirking and winking at you every time Joel opened his mouth.” “I know, Russ. That didn't end up being a problem, though; I asked the court to require ‘some minimum standard of decorum from the defendant,’ and Perkins jumped all over him. It was wonderful. That’s the kind of scene I live for.” Judith pushed back her chair and stretched. Her severely tailored dark blue skirt was crumpled and the lace collar on her cream blouse looked wilted. Her suit jacket lay like a dead bird, a forlorn heap on her desk. “It was almost worth taking five hours to do what we should have been able to finish in one.” Russ moved around behind her and rested his hands on her slim shoulders. “Congrats anyway, I knew you’d shine. Victory backrub?” “You might not want to do that, I’m kind of hot and sticky. They had the heat in the courtroom turned way the h*ll up and I was cooking.” “Not a problem,” Russ said. “Besides, you know how I love to get my hands on your hot body, bay-bee.” “Right.” Judith rolled her eyes and settled back under his strong fingers. “You’re not all that tense,” Russ said a moment later. “Maybe not, but stop and I’ll kill you.” Behind her back, Russ was grinning as his hands moved steadily across her neck and shoulders, hands that looked very large and very dark against her pale blouse. “Purr. Oh, very purr,” was Judith’s only comment. She bowed her head so Russ could reach her neck better; her short tawny hair, already escaping from the hairclips she’d worn during the arraignment, flopped in her eyes. “Are you working on the Abromowitz thing this afternoon?” she asked. “Nope, Harvey pled out. I was gonna ask if you wanted to go and have a drink somewhere; we can toast the downfall of the Medellin Cartel’s fair-haired boy.” Judith didn’t answer. After a moment, Russ moved around to lean against her desk. He tipped her head back gently and studied her face. “He really got to you, didn’t he?” Russ said. “Yeah, he did.” Judith grimaced. “I’ve had death threats before, but that son of a b*tch, he seemed so damned assured. Politely regretful, as if he’d had to refuse me a loan or something. He said, ‘I am so sorry you feel that you must go forward with the arraignment, madam attorney, it is not a happy decision.’ Then he took my hand and kissed it, and when the agents started towards us to break it up, he just said, ‘You will burn for this.’ Nothing else. The FeeBees didn’t even hear him.” “Jesus, Judy, you didn’t tell me that! Have you asked for police protection?” “Take it easy, big guy. Steinhauser doesn’t think the situation warrants it, and neither do I. No matter how much crap Mendoca talks, he’s going down hard this time. He’s not gonna have the time to deal with me...and anyway, I’ve got UnderRuss the Wonder Prosecutor to look after me, right?” Judith squeezed the tall man's thigh affectionately. “Yeah, but how much is that gonna be worth against a bullet?” Russ muttered. Then, louder, “And since Mr. U.S. Attorney David Steinhauser isn’t the one getting death threats, I kinda wonder how much difference it makes what he thinks. You’re out on the front line this time, not Dave, Judy, so it’s your call. If what happened at the arraignment bothers you – ” “Of course it bothers me!” Judith snapped. “But Mendoca is slime, Russ, he’s filth; we’ve got a file on him that’s literally three inches thick. He hurts everyone he touches and I want to take him down. I want that more than I want to be safe.” Judith leaned forward, her voice soft and terribly earnest. “I just have to look in that b*st*rd’s eyes and it’s like a fire, Russ, like a flame; he thinks he’s untouchable, he thinks no-one can make him account for what he’s done, but he’s wrong. He is so wrong. I can. And maybe after today, he’s beginning to realize that.” Judith shook her head, a little embarrassed at her outburst. “I understand, Judy. I really do. But you won’t lose the case by getting a little protection, just in case.” “I might. Steinhauser’s against it because he thinks it’s unnecessary and because it projects the wrong image, it makes it look as if I take Mendoca seriously enough to be scared.” “Judy, you are scared.” Russ watched her seriously, concerned, gentle, just as he always was. There was a long pause, with Judith staring down at her clasped hands, not meeting Russ’ eyes. He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently, waiting. “Yes, I am scared. I really am,” Judith said finally. She looked up at him tiredly and sighed. “Perhaps I’ll go down and talk to Gene at D.E.A. tomorrow, see about borrowing a couple of his agents ’til the trial’s over.” “Good thought. I’ll go with you.” Russ didn’t try to hide his relief. “Shall we go get that drink now? You never know, tomorrow – ” “It might be illegal, yeah, I know,” Judith finished. “A drink sounds great, Russ, but I have to come back here afterwards; I’ve got two cases coming to trial next week and the arraignment’s put me way behind.” Russ could tell she was trying to keep it light, making an effort to keep her tone natural, relaxed. H*ll, he planned to do the same; it was a game they’d played before. Judith grabbed her jacket and slung it over one shoulder as she rose. “Monte Cristo’s OK?” “Yeah, that’s fine. Long as we stay away from their fried jalapenos. Those suckers d*mn near turned me white last time.” Russ shuddered. As they picked their way through the large, cluttered office, Judith asked plaintively, “Why is it that no matter how big my office is I never have any space?” Russ opened the door for her, grinning. “Maybe because you’re the world’s most untidy attorney?” “I’m not that bad! I just like things handy, that’s all.” “Of course. Whatever you say...Spot.” “You jerk!” Judith swung her suit jacket at Russ. He dodged and ran and she chased him, past the startled receptionist and the equally startled security guard at the elevators. She cornered him by the door to the stairwell. “Peace, peace, I surrender,” Russ said, raising his hands. “Just keep your cool, Spot.” Judith made a face at him. “May your first-born marry a Kennedy.” Turning back to the receptionist, an overweight black woman with an indulgent smile, she said “Geri, I’m going out, I’ll be back by six if anyone wants me.” “Uh-huh, Judy. Just be sure to behave yourself now.” Geri’s good-natured laughter followed them as they headed down the stairs toward the parking garage. “You know we couldn’t function without admin assistants like her, don’t you?” Russ asked. “I know, I know, she’s worth her weight – her whole weight – in gold,” Judith said. “But why does she always end up seeing me when I’m being unprofessional?” “Maybe because it happens so often?” Russ said -- and dodged another jacket swing, laughing. Judith slid an arm around his waist, squeezed him for a moment. “What?” he asked. “Just...thanks, Russ. Thanks for being my friend. I don’t think I’d have made it without you.” Russ stopped on the first-floor landing, startled, and turned Judith to face him. “Likewise, Judy. And you mean a lot to me, too. I came away from U. Michigan with exactly two worthwhile things, and one was my law degree. You were the other. Are you -- hey, Judy, don’t cry. Come on, don’t do that, you’ll get me going.” Russ pulled her into a powerful hug; her head barely reached his shoulder. He brushed his lips over her hair and felt her arms go ’round him, holding him tight. They didn’t speak. Abruptly, Judith pulled back and looked up at him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Russ, but I love you. Ever since college.” She smiled at him and then glanced away. “God knows why.” “We’ve been friends a long time, Judy. I understand...and I love you too.” He held out his hand and Judith took it. “Are we taking my car?” Thinking, Keep it light, man, keep it light.... “Actually, for once I feel like fighting the New York traffic,” Judith said. “Let’s take mine. I’ll drive.” They walked out of the stairwell into the cold, oily damp of the underground garage. Vandals had splattered the walls with shouting, illiterate graffiti and broken most of the lights. The concrete was dark with years of oil and exhaust. Judith’s red Chevy Cavalier was parked halfway up the ramp. Beside it, on the wall, someone had painted a huge red and yellow sunburst with stylized fiery beams shooting out in all directions, and below it, a motto in Spanish. “Can you read that?” she asked Russ. “Not really, but I’ve seen it before. I think it’s religious, Catholic or something. ‘Everything is from the Sun’, something like that.” “I like it,” Judith said as she let herself into the car. She reached across to open Russ’ door for him, and then fastened her seat belt. The sunburst loomed large and sullen through the tinted windshield, full of primitive energy and violence. Judith heard the click of the buckle as Russ fastened his seat belt, and even as she turned the key in the ignition, she heard him gasp, heard his warning shout -- “Get the hell out of the car, Judy! Go! It says, ‘Everything – ” *** -- ends in fire.’ Everything ends in fire. A warning, a boast, and we both missed it, Russ, Sheridan thought. You were both more and less successful than you thought, Mendoca. You murdered our lives, you burned up everything we had...except each other. You caused our pasts to be consumed in fire and you gave us a future full of fiery secrets and power and loneliness. That thermite blast you set up, it set our powers free -- both of us latent metanormals, both of us mutants. Could you have guessed? could anyone? what if someone did? what if we were set up? Sheridan shrugged. Caesar Anthony Mendoca had still not gone to trial, Joel Hartford was still his attorney and was conjuring up delay after delay...it wouldn’t help. Joel was smoke-screening. She should be there to face them, clever Joel and his snake of a client. The rage and frustration of being denied that chance was constantly with her, another fire inside her. She was still with Russ, but the Justice Department had forbidden either or both of them to reclaim their past lives, or investigate the abrupt ending thereof. Wildfire and Warp had no pasts. maybe there’s something they don’t want you to know But someone would get Caesar Anthony Mendoca, sooner or later. It should have been her, but he would fall to someone, somewhere. Sheridan picked up her sketch and studied it. It was good. The figure’s arrogant confidence, his pride was almost palpable. It was a close, if exaggerated, likeness of Mendoca. “You’ll go down,” Sheridan said softly. “Sooner or later, you will go down, Mendoca. You’ll fall. Don’t ever forget what you told me – ” Her hand tightened convulsively, crumpling the paper, and suddenly a blossom of flame bloomed around her fingers, real fire, hungry fire, and the sketch blazed up and was gone almost instantly, leaving only an afterimage and a few drifting ashes. “Everything ends in fire,” she said. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Trebuchet Posted May 14, 2006 Report Share Posted May 14, 2006 Re: Wildfire, a.k.a. My First/Favorite Champions Character Very well written; and I really liked the chemistry between the two characters. I'm still working on that in my own writing. Have you posted their writeups anywhere? I take it Wildfire has Human Torch-like powers? Repped. Let's see more. Maybe I'll finally get around to posting my first story of Zl'f... Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Haven Walkur Posted May 14, 2006 Author Report Share Posted May 14, 2006 Re: Wildfire, a.k.a. My First/Favorite Champions Character Treb, I'd be eager to see that story! Tell your friends.... You know, I'm starting to realize that I should have called this thread "Wildfire, a.k.a. YOUR First/Favorite Champions Character." I wonder if I can change it...? Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Trebuchet Posted May 14, 2006 Report Share Posted May 14, 2006 Crossover: A Short Story As a bit of background prior to the story, in our campaign universe metahumans had not yet gone public as of early 2000, although a few had been quietly operating "below the radar" for several years. Those few governments which were aware of the existence of metahumans at all were still trying to figure out how to address this potentially troubling phenomenon. This story takes place in February 2000 as we see one of those governments attempting to deal with the situation... Crossover For what she expected would be the last time, sixteen-year-old Elena Alekseyeva turned for a moment to look at Saint Petersburg. The city of both her birth and earliest childhood, it was still the true center of Russian culture. It had taken her nearly seven hours to run from Moscow to Saint Petersburg, where she had spent a tearful hour with her Uncle Dmitri and Aunt Katya to mourn her father's unexpected death and say goodbye before continuing her flight from Russia. It was now three o'clock in the morning and she had to be out of Russia by dawn, it would be much more difficult to escape during daylight hours. Her eyes lingered upon the tall golden spire and dome of the Peter and Paul Fortress overlooking the river Neva for a long moment, then she sighed and headed north without looking back. She would travel on foot northwest to Finland; she knew the northern road out of Saint Petersburg led there after passing through the city of Vyborg. At an easy half of her maximum running speed, the young metahuman could reach the 150 kilometer distant border in just over an hour if all went well. Just after passing through Vyborg, Elena heard a distant throbbing sound behind her. At first she thought it was a train enroute to the Finnish border, but then she realized it was gaining on her. Russia hadn't a train in the entire country could even approach her current velocity of about 140 kilometers per hour. Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw three sets of running lights about fifteen kilometers back and gaining rapidly. She could make them out easily with her extraordinary night vision. Attack helicopters, armed with cannon and multiple rocket launchers, and probably carrying an infantry squad as well. I've certainly seen enough of them at May Day Parades in Moscow with Papa. This can't be a coincidence, they must be after me. Although the aircraft were slightly slower than her own maximum running speed of 324 kilometers per hour, they were still a serious threat, as she could not run at her maximum speed for more than a minute or two. In any case she could not run much faster than 160 kph for any significant length of time, which meant the helicopters would eventually catch her if they spotted her. Off to her right she could see the railroad right of way, and abruptly altered course to follow the tracks instead of the road. It would still get her to Finland, perhaps even more quickly since it was a shorter route. The pursuing helicopters probably also meant that the Border Guards had been alerted as well, which was most unfortunate since she'd hoped to slip across the Russian border when most of the guards were sleeping or shivering at their posts in the subzero winter night. Elena was immune to the effects of subzero temperatures, her unusual physiology generated tremendous amounts of excess heat when she operated at high speeds, hence she was wearing only denim jeans and a light windbreaker. Elena shifted her rucksack and accelerated up to her maximum sustained running speed of 162 kph. Looks like this might be more difficult than I thought. I didn't count on pursuit so soon. With only about twenty kilometers left to the border, Elena glanced back and saw only two of the Mi-24s still following. One of them must have followed the road as she had hoped. The remaining two were less than five kilometers away, clearly visible to her ultraviolet vision in the clear night sky. If they were using any type of thermal sight she knew she must be easily visible, shining like a beacon in the sparse coniferous forest around her. I wonder what the maximum range of their weapons is, surely at least a kilometer? I doubt they can easily hit something as small and fast as I am, after all their weapons were designed to engage armored vehicles. But they could get lucky, or have heat-seeking missiles, and the woods here don't offer much in the way of concealment. Five kilometers, less than three minutes, from the border and her pursuers were now less than a kilometer behind her. Elena adjusted her rucksack and began to zigzag as she ran. It slowed her down a bit, but she wanted to present as poor a target as possible. She settled down to serious running, accelerating occasionally to higher speeds for a few seconds. Alongside the tracks she rocketed past a railway repair crew in several trucks. I wonder what they'll make of this strange procession of a girl and two attack helicopters? Just ahead about two kilometers she could clearly see the lights of the border check station reflecting off the snow. Her two pursuers were now less than 500 meters behind her. Elena started as the lead helicopter fired a quick burst from its nose-mounted 23mm cannon, the tracer rounds impacting twenty meters off to her right like laser pulses. A few seconds later the trailing Mi-24 fired several rockets, the explosions tearing up the railroad tracks a hundred meters ahead of her. They were warning her to stop. She increased her speed, leaping nimbly over the craters left by the rockets even before the flying dirt had fallen back to earth. She hoped the hotly pursuing aircraft wouldn't risk violating Finnish airspace. The Finnish border guards were surely aware of all the activity on the Russian side of the line; the Kremlin would have a difficult time claiming pilot error. Now less than one kilometer from the border fence, the speeding fugitive could see an entire company of armed Border Security troops deploying, and three BMP armored personnel carriers parked side by side in front of the railroad gate. She had to pass through the gate, the areas to the sides of the track were certain to be mined. But how? If she slowed enough to maneuver around the tracked vehicles the soldiers might shoot her. So just how to get around them safely? As she approached she studied the triple rows of fences carefully, then smiled grimly as she suddenly saw a way across. This would require split second timing and accuracy. She altered course slightly and decelerated rapidly down to only 80 kilometers per hour. She heard an officer order his men to prepare to fire. No matter, in another few seconds I'll either be safely in Finland or dead. Behind her she heard the rotor noise from the helicopters change pitch as they slowed to a hover barely 100 meters from the border. A split second before she collided with the BMPs, Elena leapt up onto the sloped glacis plate of the left hand vehicle and launched herself towards Finland from the top of the vehicle. She heard a number of rifle shots as she vaulted nimbly over the line of Russian soldiers standing just in front of the chain link fence. She somersaulted gracefully as she easily cleared the first section of minefields and landed crouched on the strand of barbed wire stretched on top of the center fence thirty meters away from her takeoff. She sprang again in a powerful leap that carried her an additional twenty-five meters in another athletic flip over the second belt of mines and clear over to the third fence. Elena once again bounced off the barbed wire, executing a triple gainer over the heads of open-mouthed Finnish soldiers standing near the gate. She giggled at the expressions of astonishment on the men's faces. Attempting an elegant landing with a flourish, she slipped on a patch of slick ice, and instead fell ignominiously on her rump and slid to a stop, safely in Finland. Mentally and emotionally exhausted, Elena pulled herself up into a ball, put her head down on her knees and cried, mourning the loss of her father, her family, and her country all in less than 24 hours. A score of excited Finnish soldiers surrounded her until finally an officer arrived a few minutes later and quieted the men. He scrutinized the diminutive fugitive for a moment, looked 75 meters across the fences both at his Russian counterparts and the hovering attack helicopters which had clearly been pursuing her, and finally back again at the quietly sobbing girl before asking in good Russian, "Pardon me, miss, but just who are you and how can we help you?" Tears streaming down her cheeks, Elena looked up through reddened eyes and declared proudly, "I am Elena Yurievna Alekseyeva, and I wish political asylum!" * * * Nine days later Elena was returning home late after attending evening services at the Russian Orthodox cathedral in Helsinki, enjoying a late evening walk through the picturesque streets. She had found a room with some other Russian expatriates. She passed a huge dark bearded man in a fur greatcoat and hat smoking a pipe and smiled at him. He grinned broadly around his pipe and winked at her. The Finns had been very kind to her, but she could not speak their language. Just ahead on the narrow street she could vaguely see a short blond haired man in a thick wool sweater standing near her building. His face was obscured by the evening fog and light snow flurries; her normally exceptional night vision was seriously degraded by such weather. Behind her, she heard the pipe smoking man knock out his pipe on the side of a building and begin to follow her. Something was wrong, but Elena couldn't figure out just what. She paused at the corner under a gas streetlight, feeling vaguely uneasy. She heard the heavy booted footsteps of the man behind her echoing down the dimly lit street. Ahead, the man near her building began to walk slowly towards her, whistling tunelessly. Muggers? In Helsinki? She chuckled at the very absurdity of the idea. Elena had just about decided that she should continue on when then the blond haired man addressed her, "Elena Yurievna, State Security requires that you return to the Rodina. You will please come with us." Us? Elena looked around quickly. The big man was standing ten meters behind her, lighting up another bowl of his sweet smelling tobacco and eyeing her intently. The sweater-clad man was no more than five meters away. Elena drew herself up to her full 145 centimeters. "Nyet, I will not go back to Russia. I will resist if you attempt to force me," she said with false bravado. Her stomach churned as she realized she would probably have to fight these men; she'd never been in a real fight. The blonde man looked disappointed, and his handsome Slavic face seemed strangely sympathetic. "You obviously have courage, girl, but do not be foolish. We have heard the tales of your escape and they are most impressive, but we are Spetznaz operatives. I am Major Mikhail Nikolaevich Kershenko, and my large friend behind you is Sergeant Gregoriy Petrovich Nabarov. You must return to Moscow with us. Consider carefully your answer." Elena looked back over her shoulder, the bearded giant grinned and saluted her casually with his pipe. Spetznaz? The almost legendary Russian Special Forces? She accelerated her metabolism to full speed; confident her superhuman abilities should allow her to easily evade even these soldiers. She turned to face the Russian officer squarely, her fists tensely clenched. "Major, my father taught me that a soldier must fight bravely no matter what the odds. I will not go willingly." "Very well, Comrade Alekseyeva, things will go more harshly for you then. But we must do our duty." His hand reached behind his back and returned bearing a short metal cylinder. With a flick of his wrist he telescoped it into a half meter long steel baton, the metallic sound ringing harshly down the cobblestone street. "Defend yourself, Elena Yurievna!" He leapt forward suddenly and struck sharply at her head with the metal baton. Startled by his unexpected speed and aggressiveness, Elena flung herself backward. The baton actually touched her head, but she rolled with it and avoided the main brunt of the blow. She somersaulted backwards as Major Kershenko advanced after her, spinning around and swinging the baton as he advanced. Each time he swung she flipped backwards until they had both traveled almost twenty meters down the street performing their strange dance. Her opponent cursed as he realized the girl was even faster than he had feared; in fact her moves seemed so casual it appeared as if she wasn't even purposely evading his blows. There was simply no sense that she felt at all hurried such as he normally got when he used this particularly rapid spinning attack. Blast, this is going to be tougher than I thought. Abruptly he stopped; time for a change in tactics. Kershenko reached behind his back again, then snapped his arm around, hurling five sharply pointed metal throwing stars at her. To her superhuman reflexes the weapons appeared to be moving in slow motion and she simply leaned her torso parallel to the street back out of their flight path. "Lenin's Ghost, you are quick!" Down the street Sergeant Nabarov laughed heartily, obviously amused. He leapt at her, hoping to catch her off balance as she was leaning backwards, but she extended her hands above her head down to the street and delivered a fast kick under his chin, his head snapping back from the unexpectedly powerful blow as she continued into a handstand. Momentarily caught off balance, he watched his diminutive opponent suddenly swing her torso down and split her legs parallel to the street. Then she abruptly swung both her legs around in tandem and swept his feet out from under him in what he recognized as a perfectly executed men's gymnastics routine. He rolled and came back to his feet in a ready stance. It takes enormous upper body strength to perform that move, in fact even many men can't do it, so how in the world can she? So far her maneuvers had all reflected her gymnastics training. He watched as her legs swept around again and then changed direction upwards into a partial somersault as she was suddenly back on her feet facing him. A faint smile flickered across her face. My God, he thought. What would she be capable of with actual training in martial arts? Never mind, I don't really want to know. In fact so far she was giving better than she got. His one advantage so far seemed to be that she did not follow through on her successes; she seemed to view each maneuver almost as a separate entity. That showed her lack of fighting experience, instead of closing for the kill after knocking her opponent off balance she stepped back like she was counting coup. He was no longer at all confident that he could tackle her alone; but then he didn't have to. He had both a team and a mission to perform. But first he would try to use that inexperience against her. What do I know about Elena Alekseyeva? She's almost seventeen, an Olympic gymnast, she won two Bronze Medals in 1996, and has been competing most of her life against other gymnasts. She's used to pushing herself to excel against the very best. She is proud. Then he remembered the brief smile after she had swept him off his feet. Of course! She's setting herself in competition against me! Why else would she still be here when we know she can run over 100 kilometers per hour? She's assuming that I'm one of the best fighters Russia has, so she wants to test herself against me. She wants to prove her superiority. Now I know how to bait her. "Gregoriy, my sticks!" His sergeant reached into the vast pockets of his greatcoat and tossed him three fifty-centimeter long sticks connected by ten-centimeter lengths of chain. He quickly assumed a fighting stance with the three-sectional staff, and the girl looked at it curiously but without recognition. Good, that was exactly what he had hoped for. It was an unusual weapon; even most experienced martial artists had never actually faced one of the tripartite staves. Elena had already realized that Major Kershenko was superhumanly fast, although not nearly so quick as she was. State Security called me a metahuman, she remembered, and she had wondered at the time if they might have other metahumans as operatives. Could Major Kershenko be one too, and perhaps his large comrade as well? This is really exciting, State Security has actually sent super powered agents to capture me. She felt she had more than held her own against the Spetznaz officer up to this point. He had now assumed a fighting stance with some sort of strange weapon, whirling the end in a complicated figure-eight pattern, and she watched it carefully. Major Kershenko advanced, swinging the end of the three section staff to give his novice opponent sufficient time to analyze the pattern. Then he abruptly broke the pattern and swept to strike at her legs, but she leapt with great agility to avoid the staff. He whirled about and attempted a higher attack, but again her phenomenal reflexes enabled her to easily duck beneath his attack. He began his pattern again, pleased that she had done exactly as expected. If he'd guessed correctly she would try to intercept his next blow. Perfect! Come on, girl, block the next one! Elena had pretty well decided it was no serious threat when he abruptly spun around, swung it up and brought it back down directly down at her head. Just as he had expected she decided to actively block his third attack and focused her full attention on the staff. Her right hand shot up to seize the center section and immobilize the staff, she gasped in pain as the third section swung down and struck her unexpectedly in the back. She stumbled forward and was thus perfectly placed for him to release the staff and deliver a lightning fast kung fu strike to her jaw. She reeled back with a bloody lip, dropping the staff as he advanced striking with alternating fists as rapidly as he could. She managed to block or avoid many of his blows, but enough still connected that for the first time she had lost the initiative. He lashed out with a sidekick and was almost surprised to see it connect. She flew back three meters, rolled and came back to her feet staggering visibly, and he paused for just a second. He was frankly amazed she was still standing, most normal men he had beaten like this would have long since been unconscious. But then there's seemingly nothing normal about this girl at all, is there? Elena had been growing increasingly frantic as her stronger and more experienced opponent attacked without letup, she needed to clear her head and find a way out. All she needed was a couple of seconds, and Major Kershenko's tiny hesitation finally gave her the opportunity she needed. As he stepped forward to resume his attack she put her left hand on the hood of a parked car, pivoted and struck him solidly in the chest with a spinning kick. As he staggered back she suddenly landed on her hands in front of him and thrust her legs into his stomach with incredible force, throwing him backwards into the air nearly four meters to land flat onto the cobblestone street, knocking the wind out of him. So much, he thought ironically, for her not following through. Elena sprang back onto her feet and looked around for someplace she could retreat for a moment, and with sudden inspiration she realized she could take refuge on a rooftop. She vaulted easily to the roof of the parked car, landed in a crouch and then jumped up, bouncing of a nearby lamp post and finally landing with a backwards flip onto the roof of the nearest house three stories above the street. She began to run quickly along the row of peaked rooftops heading for the far end of the block. The prone Russian officer had watched her escape to the top of the three-story dwelling with astonishment; he'd heard the border guards' stories of her incredible leap to cross the border. I had assumed they were exaggerating. Apparently not, he realized, but even so he couldn't let her get away. "Stop her, Tasha," he croaked, still unable to draw breath enough to shout. Fortunately the command was unnecessary, Natasha was a good soldier who knew her mission. Elena heard a faint ultrasonic buzz behind her and instinctively dodged, narrowly avoiding a lance of brilliant violet energy that passed through the air where she had been less than a half second before. What the Devil was that? It looked like something from an American science-fiction movie. Half blinded by the dazzling beam, she moved haphazardly across the rooftops, caroming off a chimney before suddenly feeling herself start to go over the edge of the roof. She twisted to get her feet down and came to a safe if somewhat artless landing in the next street over. After waiting a few more seconds for her vision to clear completely, she then moved quickly away before coming to a stop two blocks away. Elena carefully peered around the corner and scanned the street. There faintly visible on the roof of the corner building was a dim figure holding some type of rifle with a faintly glowing tip. Major Kershenko was back on his feet; he had retrieved his weapon and was conversing with his huge subordinate in front of her apartment. She waited for a minute to allow her head to clear and catch her breath. Confident because she had so far been able to successfully counter nearly all of their attacks, she contemplated her next move. She was rather proud of herself, and she was enjoying testing herself against the Russian super soldiers and found herself wondering if this was the very team she would have been forced to join. True, she was bruised a bit, but she figured she had only gotten into trouble because she had allowed the Spetznaz officer to surprise her. She would not allow that to happen again, after all if she could get out of that last scrape she assumed she could handle pretty much anything Major Kershenko could throw at her. Sergeant Nabarov, on the other hand, didn't seem to her to do much besides stand around. Elena decided to attack him first; he seemed both slow and not too bright. He should prove easy to defeat with her vast superiority in speed, she'd already seen that the others couldn't hit her if she was careful. After that she would deal with the mysterious sniper. Her course of action decided, she raced out from under the canopy and around the block, snatching up a stout stick from a woodpile enroute as she came up sixty meters behind Sergeant Nabarov, who was now moving purposefully towards her previous position a block away. Major Kershenko was still standing in front of her building. Elena accelerated rapidly towards her intended victim. She struck him forcefully with her improvised club as she raced past him; the stick splitting as the force of the impact shot up her arm and the broken stick flew from her grasp. She looked back and was stunned to see that not only was he still standing, he didn't even appear to be hurt. She stopped ten meters away in a doorway, momentarily at a loss. "Ho! Well struck, zaichik! But Gregoriy is not so easily brought down, eh?" Elena's eyes narrowed angrily at being addressed by the child's nickname 'bunny'; she took it as a deliberate insult. Then upon further reflection she giggled, after all compared to him she certainly was tiny. Well over two meters tall and massively built, the full bearded giant looked like nothing so much as a 200 kilogram Cossack. He clasped his hands high above his head. Elena watched him closely, puzzled by his seemingly meaningless action. Surely he doesn't think he can actually hit me, does he? She would be gone long before he got anywhere near her. An instant later she received her answer as the burly sergeant brought his hammer-like fists crashing down onto the surface of the street with tremendous force. The impact rippled the cobblestone road like gelatin, shattered stones flying for ten meters in every direction, and Elena was hurled from her feet as the shockwave passed under her. A Volvo parked next to the giant flipped over onto the sidewalk and windows shattered in houses all along the block. "See if you are so swift now, comrade!" he chuckled. Still lying on her back, she heard a whistling sound and turned to see five more of Major Kershenko's throwing stars hurtling towards her, and he was following rapidly. Unable to step aside, she rolled desperately to avoid the razor sharp projectiles. The missiles narrowly missed and stuck deep into the wooden door next to her. Elena quickly examined the shuriken; it suddenly occurred to her that these people could cause serious injuries attempting to capture her. Suddenly this fight just didn't seem quite as much fun as before. She sat up and plucked the stars from the door, quickly stuffing them into a jacket pocket. Up on the roof, she could see the figure on the roof aiming for another shot with his rifle, the tip of the strange rifle now glowing brightly. Major Kershenko was charging at her and was now only a few meters away, clearly hoping to catch her while she was still prone. Without thinking, Elena snatched up a walnut sized piece of broken pavement and hurled it at her assailant with all her might. The rock pierced him through the abdomen; gore exploding out his back as he crumpled literally at her feet with an agonized scream that was abruptly cut short. The terrible exit wound looked as large as her fist. Oh my God, what have I done? Elena was horrified. She hadn't intended to kill Major Kershenko, only to knock him down. It had never occurred to her that anything thrown as fast as a bullet would cause injuries like one. She began to move over to see if she could help. Another ultrasonic buzz warned her just in time as she rolled right, the beam grazing her left shoulder and nearly making her black out with pain. She staggered to her feet and stumbled around the corner, narrowly avoiding another shot by the energy weapon. Thirty seconds later she stopped in an alley half a kilometer away, where she removed her jacket and opened her shirt to examine her shoulder wound. Fortunately it was minor, the beam had barely touched the skin, although it was still quite painful and bleeding profusely. The corresponding holes in her nylon windbreaker looked melted from the blast. Fortunately she had not taken a solid hit, and probably her body's protective vibratory field had protected her somewhat as well. Elena tore several strips from her bloodsoaked blouse to bandage the wound, then tugged the jacket back on. Tears sprang to her eyes and she fought down nausea at the recollection of the puddle of blood by Major Kershenko. So much blood, how can he possibly survive? Oh Lord, she prayed, please let him live! This whole affair had seemed almost like a game until mere moments ago, now it was suddenly deadly serious. They had her on the run, uncertain even of their numbers. The remaining members of the Russian team could attack her as they pleased, eventually one of them would get lucky. And with their commander either dead or seriously injured, they would be out for blood. She must take the offensive; running away would do her no good. They'll just track me down again, and the next time they won't give me a warning. Her only choices were to soundly defeat them or return to Russia as their prisoner, and that was no longer a viable choice now that she had mortally wounded a Russian officer. Departing the alley, Elena raced back to do battle. As she approached her apartment she could hear the giant hurling invectives into the night. "Curse you, Elena Yurievna! You have killed Misha! When I catch you, I will grind your bones to paste! Yob' tvoyu mat! I will crush you! Filthy traitor bitch!" He ranted on hoarsely. It appears, Elena thought bitterly, that Sergeant Nabarov doesn't find me quite so amusing anymore. From the sudden crash of metal it appeared he was also hurling things other than curses. It occurred to Elena that the massive Cossack could probably survive anything she was capable of hitting him with. Perhaps I had the right idea when I first attacked him, but simply needed to hit him harder. But how? As she neared her opponents, Elena slowed to a stop just around the corner a block away and peered carefully around the building to ascertain her opponents whereabouts. Sergeant Nabarov was pacing back and forth angrily, nearby were several smashed and overturned cars as clear evidence of his earlier berserk anger. A black haired woman in a dark form fitting costume was kneeling next to the still form of Major Kershenko, apparently administering first aid. She watched as the woman hurriedly applied a number of bandages to her fallen comrade, so the Spetznaz officer might not be dead yet as Elena had feared. Near the woman lay the strange rifle Elena had seen used by her rooftop opponent. I suppose this woman must be the sniper. Elena scanned the street carefully, looking for any other surprises, but saw only her three opponents in the street. From a number of windows she could see several Finns peering timidly out at the violent tableau in their street, and in the distance she could her the high-low wail of approaching sirens. Both her conscious opponents had their backs to her, and suddenly a possible method to hit the giant occurred to her. She moved around the corner and rapidly accelerated directly towards his huge form. He would be very heavy; it would take all her strength to accomplish this certifiably insane maneuver. She crouched slightly as she ran and slammed her right shoulder directly into his lower back at just over one hundred kilometers per hour, lifting his feet clear of the ground as she straightened and pushed. The tremendous impact made her head spin but she continued, pushing herself and her adversary directly at a stone building, the 191 kilogram sergeant letting out a hoarse yell as he smashed headlong completely through the twenty-five centimeter thick stone wall. The instant before the collision, Elena slowed and tucked herself into a ball, rolling right along behind him and coming to a stop just inside the building with only a few more cuts and bruises. Sergeant Nabarov slammed with a resounding crash against the opposite wall of the room, then toppled backwards like a felled tree to the floor covered with stone and other debris. Call me 'bunny', will you? 'Stop the presses, rabbit takes out bear.' Elena lurched unsteadily to her feet, her ears still ringing from the impact. Her head was spinning, her shoulder felt like she had just rammed a locomotive, and she was prepared to either fight or flee as necessary. But one glance told her that her colossal adversary was out cold. Good thing too, I don't think I could beat a kitten right now. She slumped heavily back down to her knees, resting for a few seconds on her hands and knees until the room stopped moving. Then she stood with fists clenched and advanced purposefully toward the sniper, who stared open mouthed at the bleeding, bedraggled girl who had just knocked her massive teammate through a solid stone wall. The woman slowly picked up her weapon and stood, but did not point it threateningly. The sniper glanced at Elena's blood soaked left shoulder, the melted hole from the charged particle beam clearly visible in the girl's thin jacket. I was right, I did hit her. My God, she suddenly realized, it's twenty degrees below zero and she's not even wearing a winter coat. She looked stone faced at Elena. "I am Corporal Natasha Ivanova Nabarova. Is Gregoriy... Sergeant Nabarov dead? He is my husband." Your husband? Elena realized with a start that the woman was only a few years older than she. "I did not... Nyet, but he is unconscious." Elena pulled the throwing stars from her jacket pocket and glared at the woman, who glanced at the weapons and blanched, visualizing the terrible wounds that would be caused if they were thrown at supersonic speeds. "Throw me your weapon." Corporal Nabarova nodded acquiescence and tossed her rifle to Elena. Although she was herself a more than competent hand-to-hand fighter, she had no illusions of her ability to defeat this girl after watching her fight Mikhail Kershenko. Elena examined the strange rifle briefly, and then touched the crude bandage over the still painful wound it had caused on her shoulder. She pointed the weapon at the woman and saw sudden fear in her eyes, raised it over her head and spun it like a propeller until it blurred, and hurled it down to the street with all her might. The high tech rifle shattered, the synthetic stock splintered and the metal parts themselves twisted almost beyond recognition. Then she turned back to Sergeant Nabarov's wife, "I will take the Major to a hospital." "That will not be necessary, I have a car only a half kilometer away," objected Natasha. Elena smiled mirthlessly. "Don't be foolish, the nearest hospital is almost four kilometers away. I can carry him there in less than two minutes." "Why would you do that? We tried to arrest you, and we very nearly killed you." Without answering, Elena went over to the comatose man and began to pull him up so she could carry him, and Natasha hurried over to help lift him and wrap his arms around Elena's neck. She straightened up with him slung across her shoulders, warm blood seeping from his wounds trickling down her back, and pointed. "The hospital is down that way ten blocks, then turn left and go another two kilometers. I will take him to the emergency room." She turned and ran rapidly down the street with her human cargo. * * * Almost an hour passed before Natasha Nabarov and her husband entered the hospital, Gregoriy Nabarov had a bandage around his forehead and his left arm was in a sling. The couple looked at each other in surprise upon finding Elena standing in a corner of the waiting room, her shoulder wound covered by a sterile dressing and mechanically eating a sandwich given her by the hospital staff. They quietly crossed the lobby over to her. "How is Misha?" asked Natasha. "Will he live?" Elena looked down and took a deep breath before replying, "His heart stopped due to blood loss just after he got here to the emergency room, but the doctors got it started again and then rushed him somewhere upstairs for surgery. The doctors told me the prognosis was guarded, but that he appeared to be in excellent health and that should improve his chances for survival. I told them I was his sister and we had been in an automobile accident so they would tell me." Her eyes came up to meet the taller woman's, and the genuine concern in them was obvious. Natasha scrutinized the tiny shorthaired girl in tattered clothing who stood before her covered in blood and bruises, her lower lip badly swollen, who had fought them so forcefully and with such determination. She had never seen anyone who looked so utterly exhausted, and she suspected the teenager was standing on sheer willpower alone. "He would have certainly died if you had not helped him. We are in your debt." Now what are we supposed to do with you? "You were soldiers doing your duty. My father taught me about duty, he was a soldier all his life." Naked grief suddenly flashed across Elena's face, and tears welled in her eyes as his death was unexpectedly brought home again. Her chin quivered for just an instant before she abruptly clenched her jaw. Natasha looked away quickly; her own eyes moist. She had read the Alekseyeva girl's arrest warrant and classified file before starting on this assignment and knew Marshal Yurii Alekseyev had died less than two weeks ago in a suspicious plane crash. The wound was still obviously very fresh for his only child, now an orphan. How can I reconcile this girl's obvious pain with the report alleging she is suspected of somehow arranging her own father's murder with a bomb, or the fact that she risked her own capture or even death to save one of her intended captors? It just doesn't make sense; more likely headquarters is wrong about her. She looked over at her husband and met his eyes inquiringly, and he nodded almost imperceptibly. "I hope he survives, and I will pray for him, but I must be going now." As Elena turned to leave the hospital, Natasha Nabarov spoke again. "Moscow was wrong about you, Elena Yurievna." Elena looked back, startled. "What?" "They told us you were just a girl, but they were incorrect. Your father would have been very proud of the woman you have become." Note: This is the first story I ever wrote about Elena Alekseyeva; better known on these boards as Zl'f. I first wrote this story back in 1993; and substantially revised and expanded it in early 2004 to reflect her 5th Edition version and minor changes to her backstory. (The only major change in her powerset was in her 4th Edition incarnation she could hit Mach 2 instead of the "mere" 200 MPH/360 KPH of her 5th Edition rewrite and so the original pursuit involved supersonic interceptors rather than HIND helicopters. She's much more of a martial artist now than she was when she was first designed in 1993 as a speedster in all but name.). I've posted short excerpts from this story previously and e-mailed it to a few board members, but this is the first time I've actually posted it in toto. Comments, as always, are welcome. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Haven Walkur Posted May 14, 2006 Author Report Share Posted May 14, 2006 Re: Wildfire, a.k.a. My First/Favorite Champions Character Thanks, Treb, that's an excellent story, rich with the kind of details of Russian life and language that make both your narrative and your heroine convincing. Elena comes across as a vital and interesting young Russian metanormal, a real person and not a cliché, even though female Russian Olympians are a common concept. Nobody in the story is a cliché. You've managed to personalize them all with their thoughts and internal monologues, and some of the little external details, like Natasha being only a little older than Elena, and being married to Gregoriy. Those little touches turn "plot devices" into living, breathing characters. Elena is immensely sympathetic and likeable. She's sorrowful about her losses but she's not a tragic figure; she's too active and energetic for that. I particularly liked the way in which she was handicapped by her age and inexperience; though she's a wonderful fighter, she was having problems because she was thinking like a competitive gymnast or an excited teenager, rather than an outlaw metanormal. It's an exciting story, with suspense, tension and a very engaging young heroine. Well-written, with only one or two wee typos; it's both a pleasure and a relief to read the work of someone who can not only write well, but correctly! Rep for you, to say the least. Oh, and by the way, Elena's hero-name "Zl'f" -- is that a Russian word? What does it mean? Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ghost-angel Posted May 14, 2006 Report Share Posted May 14, 2006 Re: Wildfire, a.k.a. My First/Favorite Champions Character Rep for you' date=' to say the least. Oh, and by the way, Elena's hero-name "Zl'f" -- is that a Russian word? What does it mean?[/quote'] Elf or Faery I believe. Terb will correct me if I'm wrong... Both stories are good stuff. Rep to both of you. With luck I'll be able to get back to some writing later this month and hope to post... Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Trebuchet Posted May 14, 2006 Report Share Posted May 14, 2006 Re: Wildfire, a.k.a. My First/Favorite Champions Character Thanks, Treb, that's an excellent story, rich with the kind of details of Russian life and language that make both your narrative and your heroine convincing. Elena comes across as a vital and interesting young Russian metanormal, a real person and not a cliché, even though female Russian Olympians are a common concept. Nobody in the story is a cliché. You've managed to personalize them all with their thoughts and internal monologues, and some of the little external details, like Natasha being only a little older than Elena, and being married to Gregoriy. Those little touches turn "plot devices" into living, breathing characters. Elena is immensely sympathetic and likeable. She's sorrowful about her losses but she's not a tragic figure; she's too active and energetic for that. I particularly liked the way in which she was handicapped by her age and inexperience; though she's a wonderful fighter, she was having problems because she was thinking like a competitive gymnast or an excited teenager, rather than an outlaw metanormal. It's an exciting story, with suspense, tension and a very engaging young heroine. Well-written, with only one or two wee typos; it's both a pleasure and a relief to read the work of someone who can not only write well, but correctly! Rep for you, to say the least. Oh, and by the way, Elena's hero-name "Zl'f" -- is that a Russian word? What does it mean? Thank you very much. Given how well you write, that's a much appreciated compliment. I worked hard on this story; and in my opinion the rewrite is much better than the original version I did 13 years ago. I fix typos as I find them; but it seems to be a never ending battle... When I first wrote the story I had no idea how I was going to put the fight together; although the fight is considerably expanded from the original version. I simply "ran" the scenario in my mind as I wrote it and had each character respond as I felt they would; and by sheer luck it ended up feeling like a real Champions combat (including her almost KOing herself with a Move Through). It's what happens when a trained SPD 6 MA and a SPD 4 demibrick go up against a SPD 9 natural talent fighting desperately for her freedom. Zl'f is the Russian word for 'pixie' or 'sprite.' It's entymological connection to the English word 'sylph' is pretty clear; both words supposedly spring from the Greek word for butterfly. It is pronounced, as nearly as I can figure as a non-Russian speaker, Zilf. I don't know if you've read the other two Zl'f short stories I've posted previously; both are to be found on this thread: http://herogame.dans.cust.servlets.net/forums/showthread.php?p=979090#post979090 I'd welcome your input on those too. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
OddHat Posted May 15, 2006 Report Share Posted May 15, 2006 Re: Wildfire, a.k.a. My First/Favorite Champions Character Haven, Treb, great work from both of you. On the rep que. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
zornwil Posted May 16, 2006 Report Share Posted May 16, 2006 Re: Wildfire, a.k.a. My First/Favorite Champions Character Not much I can add to the prior comments, I enjoyed the action stuff as well, thanks for sharing it Treb. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Theron Posted May 16, 2006 Report Share Posted May 16, 2006 Re: Wildfire, a.k.a. My First/Favorite Champions Character My first character's origin story was summed up in the phrase, "radiation accident." Things were simpler then. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Trebuchet Posted May 16, 2006 Report Share Posted May 16, 2006 Re: Wildfire, a.k.a. My First/Favorite Champions Character My first character's origin story was summed up in the phrase, "radiation accident." Things were simpler then. Heh. Mine was "brilliant physicist angrily builds powered armor after his parents are killed and his sister is paralyzed by supervillains and seeks vengeance." I designed Ranger right after the asteroid killed the other dinosaurs. Come on, folks! As much as I appreciate the rep and compliments for my story (And I'm sure Haven Walkur does for hers), I'd really like to see some more stories by other people in this thread. If it's not an origin story (mine really isn't), then how about a "first adventure" or "first public appearance" story? I know we're not the only players who write stories about our characters... Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Trebuchet Posted May 21, 2006 Report Share Posted May 21, 2006 Re: Wildfire, a.k.a. My First/Favorite Champions Character *crickets chirping* Anyone? Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
OddHat Posted May 21, 2006 Report Share Posted May 21, 2006 Re: Wildfire, a.k.a. My First/Favorite Champions Character *crickets chirping* Anyone? I've posted Style and Flesh Gordon's back stories before. My favorite character stories belonged to The Master and Oppenheimer, but again, already posted. My first Champions character was Harlequin, an import from V&V. As I was nine when I came up with him, he didn't have much of a back story. Style inherited the good bits. I'll come up with something. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Trebuchet Posted May 21, 2006 Report Share Posted May 21, 2006 Re: Wildfire, a.k.a. My First/Favorite Champions Character I've posted Style and Flesh Gordon's back stories before. My favorite character stories belonged to The Master and Oppenheimer, but again, already posted. My first Champions character was Harlequin, an import from V&V. As I was nine when I came up with him, he didn't have much of a back story. Style inherited the good bits. I'll come up with something. Do you have links for those? I think I've read Flesh Gordon's, but not Style's or the others. You started roleplaying when you were nine? I didn't discover RPG's until I was 18 in 1977; when I started playing the original D&D. I am so jealous. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
OddHat Posted May 21, 2006 Report Share Posted May 21, 2006 Re: Wildfire, a.k.a. My First/Favorite Champions Character Do you have links for those? I think I've read Flesh Gordon's, but not Style's or the others. You started roleplaying when you were nine? I didn't discover RPG's until I was 18 in 1977; when I started playing the original D&D. I am so jealous. I started roleplaying with AD&D when I was seven. Great game; taught me how to multiply fractions. I'll repost some stories. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
OddHat Posted May 21, 2006 Report Share Posted May 21, 2006 Re: Wildfire, a.k.a. My First/Favorite Champions Character The life of Ikeda Keitaro, sometimes called "The Master" There is a small shrine in southern Kyushu, made entirely of wood. It is well over 1,000 years old. Once in each decade, the shrine is ritually burned. It is then carefully rebuilt. Not a single plank or tile remains from one generation to the next, but it is always the same shrine. In the summer of 1879, a boy was born to the family that tended this shrine. He grew healthy and strong, learning from his father how to serve his people, and from his mother how to serve the spirits. His mother named him Keitaro, and his family name was Ikeda. When Japan went to war against China in 1894, Kei defied his family to serve his nation. His powers were then weak, but they were enough, and he took great pride in his service. The West had cut Asia to pieces, had turned the Chinese into slaves. The West had surpassed the East in all ways, yet Japan was rising, and the boy dreamed of glory. In 1904 Kei served his nation once again, helping to crush the Russians, and defeating the efforts of their mystic defenders. His superiors took notice of his powers, and the very highest officials gave him praise. In 1910, Keitaro trained a small group of talented Japanese psychics to assist in the annexation of Korea. He called them simply “Maru”, and they were spoken of in whispers. It was a time of greatness for Japan, and for the young man now called “Master”. Under his watchful eye Korea grew modern and prosperous, his family thrived, and the spirits were praised and appeased as they had not been for generations. Only the men of Sinanju remained free from the Empire, and in time they too would understand the wisdom of a strong, united East. The psychics, priests, and magic workers of Maru held firm against the dark magic of the Circle of the Scarlet Moon and other threats from the West. And then war came again. In 1927, the Divine Emperor Hirohito himself sat and drank tea with Keitaro. Keitaro’s brother took over the tending of the shrine, and his sons would follow him. In autumn of 1931, The Master and his Circle were dispatched into Manchuria. The Chinese would be freed from their domination at the hands of Western powers, the East united, and the benevolent rule of the Emperor brought to all. The resistance of the Chinese military was pathetic, and the people barely resisted at all. And yet, there were so many of them, and supply lines were poorly administered. In December of 1937, their morale and supplies growing critically low, the Soldiers of the Emperor proceeded to systematically rape and torture the people of the city of Nanjing. A Chinese mystic of great power, a Knight of the Jade Lantern, came to the defense of his people. The Master struck him down. Over six weeks, more than 200,000 civilians died at the hands of the Japanese, and the Master felt himself falling into shame fueled madness. In 1940, the nation of Japan joined the Axis powers, and the Master held a sword edge against his belly, but did not cut. As of 1945, the spirits of the slain children of Nanjing had tormented the Master for eight years, never silent, far beyond all of his spells. Those same spirits now warned of a terror to come, of a vengeance they did not wish to see. On this bright, clear morning, August 6th, the Circle met in Hiroshima. The Master and his followers prepared to protect their people. There was a bright light. The first Circle was gone. The Master remained. For days he walked among the blind, the maimed, and the bereaved. He helped those he could, and shook as he felt the city of Nagasaki die. The Emperor surrendered, and denied his divinity. Japan fell. The last fifty years of Keitaro Ikeda’s life had been lived in the service of a lie. In 1955 in a New York City winter, the last of the madness and need for revenge left the heart of the man who had been Keitaro Ikeda. A good man, a hero, lay at his feet, fallen by another’s hand. The Master healed him, and took him in. The Master was empty, and ready for death. He spoke of this to the young man, and offered his life. The young hero refused. He did not take life, and he knew that no prison on Earth could hope to contain the Master. He knelt at the Master’s feet, and begged to learn. By the spring of 1956 the Circle was formed again, this time in America. The Master would no longer touch the world directly, would no longer be responsible for death or pain, and would no longer seek glory. Instead, he would train young mystics, awaken their talent. He would teach them to stand against the darkness both without and within. He would atone. As the decades have passed there have been many Circles. The mystics trained by the Master have stood against Evil, and many have fallen. Always, a new Circle has been formed. The Master himself has taken pains to touch the Earth lightly, save in the most dire need. The spirits of the slain no longer haunt him, but he remembers every face, and he has no wish to go to war again. The governments of the world have long since ceased hunting for Japan’s greatest mystic, yet his crimes remain in living memory. He does not forget them. Today, there is a small shrine in southern Kyushu, made entirely of wood. In each decade, it is ritually burned, and then carefully rebuilt. History goes on, a great circle. Copyright Robert Dorf, 2006 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Blackjack Posted May 21, 2006 Report Share Posted May 21, 2006 Re: Wildfire, a.k.a. My First/Favorite Champions Character Come on' date=' folks! As much as I appreciate the rep and compliments for my story (And I'm sure Haven Walkur does for hers), I'd really like to see some more stories by other people in this thread. If it's not an origin story (mine really isn't), then how about a "first adventure" or "first public appearance" story? I know we're not the only players who write stories about our characters...[/quote'] *picks up the gauntlet so gently thrown by Treb...* Very well, then... a story about my first Fifth Edition character, Silhouette, shortly after she gained her powers, before she began her official career as a superhero. I hope you enjoy it. *** She hadn’t felt this uncomfortable since high school. Granted, this situation was different. Here, in this room, alongside the most brilliant scientific minds on the planet, she was at the very least a peer, an equal. In high school, she was just a mousy, too-studious, too-smart wallflower nerd. Here, when she spoke, those assembled strained to take note of her and listen to her insights. Back then, the mere act of opening her mouth or raising her hand was an invitation for mockery, or worse: simply being ignored. Here, she was respected and admired. There, she had been reviled and shunned. Now, though she was separated in both time and space from that child, she marveled at how much of that little girl was still lingering in her psyche. She should have been more at ease here. After all, this was the opening reception of the United Nations Symposium on Science and Technology, not the prom. However, the unfamiliar feel of the evening gown she was wearing, the buzzing of cocktail party conversation, the very number of people in the room brought the younger, less confident Sarah Richmond closer to the surface. The anticipation of consorting with fellow giants of contemporary science for the next three days thrilled her, but she couldn’t wait for this evening to end and for them to get down to business of advancing the frontiers of human experience. Pushing these uncharacteristic musings aside, she moved closer to join a burgeoning discussion on proton decay. Dr. Richmond recognized the speakers. Dr. Anton Federov, a Lithuanian nuclear physicist was engaged in a fascinating debate with Dr. Rebecca Blake, CEO of Blake Technologies and inventor specializing in energy weapons and energy field applications. Overall, the debate centered on the familiar subject of theory versus practical application, but the specifics were intriguing. She listened quietly as the renowned scientists argued their cases. Her earlier discomfort fading, though not disappearing completely, Sarah settled in, enjoying the discussion thoroughly. She felt the vibration in the floor before she heard the low rumble start to build in her ears. Glancing around the room, she noticed that others were feeling and hearing it, too. Slowly, those in the middle of the room started edging back, creating a clearing in the center of the hardwood ballroom floor. Fissures starting cracking through the floor, radiating outward, following the terrified scientists and VIPs like angry, hungry serpents trying to devour human prey. Loosing her footing on the heaving floor, Sarah was thrown forward, falling into a dark, widening fissure. Her head slammed hard onto the floor below. As she slipped into unconsciousness, she saw a huge form with eerie, glowing eyes slithering up into the ballroom through its now-ruined floor. Water, hard concrete, dust… it’s hard to breathe… coughing… a sharp pain behind her eyes… a dull ache suffusing throughout her body… harsh light streaming through the huge, irregular hole in the ceiling... sounds of crying, and a booming voice above. Her scientific mind automatically started gathering the evidence, but the pain of her injury prevented her from processing the data. She was lying on her back, water pouring gently from a broken pipe above, mixing with the dust of shattered concrete, caking her body in muck. She still couldn’t make out the booming voice’s words, but their malice was perfectly plain. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts, and immediately regretted it as shooting pain nearly drove her back to unconsciousness. She took a few deep breaths, trying to force the pain to subside. She knew that there was trouble above, and she had to do something about it – time was running out. As the pain started to drift away, Sarah opened her eyes, and slowly lifted herself from the pooling dusty water. Her mind was clearing, and the thunderous voice above began to come into focus. “WHERE IS HE?! DR. JAMES RYDER – TELL ME WHERE HE IS RIGHT NOW, OR I’LL RIP EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU APART!†The voice was furious, deep, and dripping with menace. It was punctuated with a strange scraping sound, like something the size of a small car was being dragged across the floor. Trouble, indeed. Whatever was going on up there, something had to be done before a lot more people got hurt or even killed. A few months ago, she would have run to security, or the police, even though she knew there wasn’t enough time. Now, though, she had another option. Just thinking about it caused a strange but increasingly familiar tingle to course through her body – a bizarre sensation that always heralded her transformation. In an instant, the memory flashed through her mind’s eye. It was a day she'd been waiting for ever since she confirmed her remarkable discovery: a small mass of shadow matter, trapped in precisely the right place between the gravity wells of the earth and the moon. Shadow matter! It was the Holy Grail of quantum physics! Now, here it was, brought back to Earth by a recent space shuttle mission in a device of her own invention. Naturally, she had been chosen to lead the project to study it, and now here she was, seeing her brand new laboratory, meeting her staff – _having_ a staff… The adventure of discovery lay before her, and for the first time in her impressive memory, she was giddy. She remembered working late one night, alone in the lab, when the intruder broke in. She remembered struggling with the thief, and she distinctly recalled watching the special container holding the shadow matter slipping from the thief’s hands. Several layers of the cylinder cracked, exposing the exotic matter to Earth's gravity. As expected, the shadow matter decayed in a fraction of a second. What was not expected - what could never have been imagined, was how exposure to that radiation, unlike anything found on Earth, would interact with the cells of her body, altering her molecular structure forever… In the few months that had passed, Sarah had learned to control the wild new changes that the accident had caused. She was still working to understand the incredible powers she know possessed, but she could use them. In an instant, that strange tingle flowed across her entire body, transforming her into an indescribable mixture of human flesh and bone, and shadow matter. Solid black, except for her now shock-white hair and glowing white eyes, she looked almost completely inhuman. Above, she heard the booming voice again demand Dr. Ryder. Whoever he was, though, he was going to meet another doctor first. In addition to the cosmetic changes, the infusion of shadow matter radiation made it possible for Sarah to alter the mass of her body at will. With a thought, she became almost completely insubstantial. Leaping upward, Sarah passed effortlessly through the shattered ballroom floor. Sarah then shifted her mass again, gaining weight as gravity now had more substance to grab on to, and landed firmly on the floor behind the thing in the center of the room. The room itself wasn’t recognizable from a few minutes before. The few pieces of furniture that survived were strewn about madly. Several bodies were scattered throughout the room, some moving or moaning, others lying far too still, and the rest huddled in a far corner of the room. The most stunning sight in the room, though, was the speaker who now dominated the center of the floor. It was at least 10 feet tall, but its true height was impossible to determine. The upper half of it’s body was humanoid, with a recognizable bald head, muscled torso, and long, thin arms ending in obviously sharp talons. The torso, though, extended into a long, coiled, snake-like body. The monster’s whole body was covered in mottled green scales with two narrow yellow stripes running down its back from its head to the tip of its tail. In an instant of fancy, Sarah likened the creature to the antagonist from a science fiction or horror movie. This thing was no computer-generated image on a screen, and the terror that now gripped the room was all-too real. “DAMN YOU, RYDER… YOU’RE GOING TO PAY! IF I HAVE TO KILL EVERYONE IN THIS BUILDING TO GET YOU, YOU WILL PAY!†Surging forward, the creature lifted its arms, obviously ready to slash at a waiter lying prone and helpless in front of the monster. In an instant, Sarah literally leapt into action. Diving forward, Sarah shifted mass again, this time increasing her density exponentially. She had to be careful. At full mass, her body was even more dense than pure neutronium, making her close to invulnerable, and as heavy as a tank. The floor had already sustained tremendous damage, and it wouldn’t be able to support such enormous weight in such a small area without collapsing. She actually wanted to end up in the basement again, but she wanted it to be on her terms. Aiming carefully, she slammed her body into the side of the rampaging monster. She was right on target. Her move knocked the creature’s clawed arms away from their target and allowed Sarah to grab it, wrapping her arms around the beast’s arm and neck. The combined weight of Sarah and the monster caused the floor to buckle and collapse beneath them, sending them both into the basement below. Thankfully, the rest of the floor was still intact, and the people in the ballroom were safe – for the moment. Now aware of Sarah, the creature reared back, bellowing furiously. With a terrible snarl, the creature lashed out with the claws of its free arm. Unlike a human, the monster’s arms could easily reach around its back and attack Sarah. Its claws raked against Sarah’s own back, but glanced harmlessly off her massive body, enraging the monster even more. “I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU ARE, BUT I WILL NOT BE DENIED MY VENGEANCE! RYDER HAS TO DIE!†“Why? What did he do?†Sarah wasn’t really expecting an answer. The creature was obviously intelligent enough to speak, but it was also driven by homicidal rage. She couldn’t hope to reason with the creature, at least not until it could be subdued. Her increased mass gave her phenomenal strength. She now applied a portion of that strength to the creature’s body, hoping to knock it unconscious without doing irreparable damage. It howled in pain and slashed at Sarah again. This time, the claws struck, scoring shallow gashes into her back. Sarah squeezed it again, harder this time, applying continuous pressure. “Stop this! I don’t want to hurt you. I’ll help you, but I won’t let you hurt anyone.†“LIAR! HE SAID IT WOULDN’T HURT! HE SAID HE WOULD HELP ME – AND HE TURNED ME INTO THIS! HE HAS TO PAY!†It lashed out again, its claws scratching her altered body again, but the monster’s words stung her even more deeply than the shallow wounds. What the devil could it be talking about? Was it possible that this thing used to be human? She’d never heard of Dr. Ryder, but surely someone attending the symposium would have. There was more to this than she had realized, and she’d have to see if she could make sense of the monster’s ramblings. Still, for the moment, it – or was it he? – had to be stopped. Sarah increased the pressure she was applying to its body. The creature struck again, but with much less force this time. Its wild thrashing and bellowing was waning and, after several more seconds, its free arm dropped to its side. Its tail slumped to the ground, and the rest of its body soon followed. “Are you sure about this, Emily?†Sarah Richmond’s voice was nearly quaking with anger. It had been a week since the symposium had been cancelled after the ‘incident’ at the reception. Once rendered unconscious, the creature had been taken away for study. Sarah understood the scientific need to learn about the creature, and had no strong objection to animal study as long as it was humane as possible. This situation, however, was different. At best, the creature was unique in nature, and therefore precious. At worst, it wasn’t a creature at all. The thought boiled within her. Sarah had called her friend, a US senator, to make sure that the creature was treated well, and to investigate her own suspicions. Now, as she hung up the phone, she was both enraged and horrified at what she’d learned. It’s not often, but sometimes I do hate it when I’m right… she thought, grimly. FutureGen’s security was beyond impressive. If it hadn’t been for her special abilities, she would never have even gotten close to the facility, much less into the sub-basement lab. Key cards, motion sensors, guard stations – none of them mattered as she phased through the ground beneath the corporation’s headquarters. Finally, she reached her destination. As effortlessly as she passed through the ground, she now passed through the foundation, then the walls of the building, until she was standing in the secret lab. As she returned to her normal mass, she saw the man she came to see. He was hunched over a microscope, transfixed by whatever he was observing. “You son of a *****… How could you do it?†The man leaped from his stool, terrified. As his eyes focused on the apparition in front of him, he screamed. Sarah stepped forward and grabbed him by the lapels of his lab coat. “How could you DO IT?†she repeated. “You’re a scientist, a geneticist! You’re took the Hippocratic Oath! You’re supposed to HELP people! He was an innocent! You experimented on Timmy Franklin with NO regard for his safety or welfare..!†“Now just a damn minute,†Dr. Ryder sputtered. Despite his fear, he was angry now, too. “You don’t know anything about me or my research.†“I know you used an unapproved gene therapy on a boy with Down’s Syndrome. I know your treatment transformed him! How did you rationalize it? By calling it a ‘side-effect?’ By writing that poor boy off? By telling yourself that next time it’ll be perfect? There are rules, laws, dammit..!†Dr. Ryder snorted. “Rules? Laws? Don’t be absurd! Those ‘rules’ are made by ignorant, frightened, small-minded bureaucrats! They don’t see what I see: the suffering, the pain that people have to live with every day for YEARS while cowardly lawmakers drag their feet! Not me! I can save them! I can take my rightful place in history alongside Salk and Fleming. Someone has to HELP these people, and I am that someone!†“Did you ‘help’ Timmy Franklin, doctor?†Sarah’s disgust was palpable. “’Doctor?’ You’re not worthy of the title. It’s over, Ryder. You’re going to prison. I just hope that someone can use your data to reverse the damage you did to that poor young man. Dr. Ryder actually smiled. “Ridiculous. My work is far too complex for anyone else to comprehend. Anyone else would be woefully inadequate to interpret or apply my findings. Prison? I don’t think so. I will be allowed to remain free to continue my work. And history will vindicate me!†“Don’t bet on it, Ryder.†GENETICIST ARRESTED FOR ILLEGAL EXPERIMENTS! Sarah read the headline with some satisfaction. The story went on to relate some details. When the police found Dr. James Ryder, he had apparently locked himself in a closet in his lab. No one was sure how he ended up there, since the door was locked from the inside, but no key was found. Ryder was unable to provide any answers. All they had been able to get from him was his babbling about his brilliance and the demon that had tried to stop his research. The evidence that had led to his arrest had come from anonymous sources, but had been corroborated by a search of his lab. At one point in the article, the DA was lamenting about the bizarre circumstances, but he was sure they could make the case against Ryder. A related article said that Emily Carrington from the Senate Science and Technology committee was taking a special interest in this case, and she had a way of getting things done. Either way, Ryder had been fully discredited and his experimentation had been stopped – permanently. One rogue scientist down… Sarah thought, ruefully, how many more to go? She looked across the room to the mirror on the far wall, gazing at her reflection for a full minute. Her new powers had made it possible for her to stop one lunatic. Maybe I can do more… maybe… She rose from her chair, ready to face the infinite possibilities of a new day. *** Looking forward to more... Blackjack Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
OddHat Posted May 23, 2006 Report Share Posted May 23, 2006 Re: Wildfire, a.k.a. My First/Favorite Champions Character Style I catch a lance of red-black hate in a silver web of broken faith, and the lightning does not burn me. As the Seraph snarls, I return his gift. He staggers with reflected hatred, but does not fall. As a child, though surface details varied, my dreams were all the same. Here and now I struggle in sphere ten, Malkuth, physical reality. My enemy’s body is powerfully muscled, a fallen angel's wings holding him aloft, a black crown upon his brow. The crown blazes with eye-twisting un-brightness. He underestimates me, going for a direct physical charge. I have been waiting. From my dream-space, I call forth the weight and strength of mountains, and let him strike. I have underestimated him as well. We fly apart, and I fall. I strike the ground. I don’t know where he has gone. My dreams still carry me through endless streets, all the streets of my life. The streets stretch from London to Tokyo, from New York to Sydney, from Hong Kong to Paris. A mad hodgepodge is the city of my dreams. I have wandered that city in my waking life, stepping through to sphere nine, Yesod. I have learned the name of the city of my dreams. Its name is Babylon. Here and now in sphere ten, Malkuth, Assiah, Earth, America, San Francisco, I step half into my dreams. My body fades to nothing, and I search for my enemy. He swoops and spins on flame blackened wings, searching for me, and I am afraid. Kicking upwards, my body without substance, I move behind him. This is Malkuth, realm of the physical, and so I offer him a gift of the physical. Allowing my body to fall back into the world, I find a dream of thunder and call it down. It is the surprise more than anything that sends him tumbling to Earth. I tell myself that I will win. I learned in dreams to tell myself that I would win. Dreams will bend to human will. That was my first law of magic. In dreams, the monsters came. I told myself that I was strong, and so I was. Sometimes, I won. Sometimes, I became the monster. That is the secret of sphere eleven, Daath, the abyss, in which the fallen tree rots forever. Sometimes, we are the monsters. Here and now in Malkuth, my enemy is stunned. I look upon him, fallen, crown burning on his brow, the broken tower. I think of my father, fallen into Daath. He too wore a crown. I call a dream of thunder once again, and this is a mistake. My enemy was not stunned. My enemy was waiting. The thunder smashes against him, but he releases another lance of hate, and this time there is little I can do. Through skin and bone the arcane fires burn. I scream, and I may die. A world is ending, and it’s my fault. I dreamed once that I stood beneath the dome of the night sky, the stars painfully real. Tipereth, sphere six, sphere of harmony and creation, stretched out above me. And then creation shattered. That which hides behind creation shook Earth and Sky as it rolled forth. The world was ending, and it was my fault. Here and now, my enemy gloats as he moves in for the kill. I am badly burned, but my mind is clear. He mouths threats, which I can not hear. He is a creature of Geburah fallen, Justice turned to Cruelty, a Warrior turned Murderer. Binah, sphere of compassion. is beyond me; I can not call upon its power. I draw on Chesed, the Ruler, which balances Geburah. I call upon Nedzach, for I have always been able to reach Inspiration. I allow Creativity to carry me to the Consolidation of All Things, and I prepare my trap. I will not let him win. Once as a child I dreamed of a return to my home. My sister would not let me enter. She warned me away. “Everyone you’ve ever known,” she told me, “everyone you’ve ever loved is here.” She stood before the open door, and behind her there were sounds. “All of them are monsters.” In the dream, she stepped back into the house, our home. “Run” she said, and closed the door. In the dream, I ran. In Malkath, here and now, my foe strikes. I allow myself to lie, defeated, open. He rains fire down upon me, and through the power of Nedzach and Chesed the lightning burns and heals. I drink his rage and gain in strength, and prepare my counter-blow. However, the Seraph is no fool. He alters his attack, tearing directly into my soul. My defenses shatter, but this time I do not scream. I often see my mother in my dreams. I never see my father. He is in the out there, just beyond my view, lost in the Abyss. Lost in Daath, in my dreams as in his life. He dreamed he’d save his nation with the power of a crown. Mad and broken, he died at the hands of his brothers. In my dreams, my mother turns to me and speaks. “You are just like him.” Here and now, the Seraph has made a mistake. He moved in close to tear into my soul. I look into his eyes, and I give him the world. Through Hod, Communication, I show him a path into Yesod, Illusion. It costs me all that I have left. I pull myself away from his still form. I can not feel my legs. He can not move at all. Inside the dream, he has what he wants. Why should he move? I tap the healing power of Malkath and repair my broken self as best I can. In dreams I often revisit my teachers, those who found me wandering through Babylon all those years ago. They taught me of the spheres, and, eventually, of my father. Only recently did I learn that they had killed him. I can not hate them; my father had long since fallen when they slew the monster that remained. Still, I remember the words my dream-sister spoke. I remember the lesson of Daath. Sometimes, all of us are monsters. As I gather myself for one last blow, the Seraph tears himself from dreams. He then surprises me again. He does not strike. Aetheric energies pour from him, and his body is subsumed, becoming spirit-stuff. He falls backwards and away into the Earth. My attack is wasted. I wait for him to return. He does not. I do not know why he chose to flee. Perhaps he feared defeat. Perhaps he had some more subtle plan. On another day, he might kill me. Today, I think I won. Tonight, I hope to sleep. To sleep without dreams. =================== Copyright Robert Dorf, 2006. All feedback welcomed. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ghost-angel Posted May 23, 2006 Report Share Posted May 23, 2006 Re: Wildfire, a.k.a. My First/Favorite Champions Character very evocative. I likee. I'd rep but I'm out of it right now. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
OddHat Posted May 23, 2006 Report Share Posted May 23, 2006 Re: Wildfire, a.k.a. My First/Favorite Champions Character very evocative. I likee. I'd rep but I'm out of it right now. Thanks. It's sometimes hard to write Style. I intended his theme to be Redemption, but unfortunately as he evolved he became kind of depressing. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
gojira Posted May 23, 2006 Report Share Posted May 23, 2006 Re: Wildfire, a.k.a. My First/Favorite Champions Character Jee-ZUS you guys write a lot. I totally didn't have time to read that. I will soon though, I liked the beginning of Haven Walker's char description. Here's a much shorter one. This is Biiko, a character that was almost a Teen Champion. Biiko Daitokuji – Character Description “Yes, father.” “Yes, mother.” It's always been “yes, father” and “yes, mother.” “Study hard.” “Yes, father.” “Be popular with the other girls.” “Yes, mother.” Biiko Daitokuji is in many ways a typical Japanese 13 year old girl. Her parents expect her to excel at school, and she often has time for little else. She does her utmost to live up to her parents' expectations, but things don't always work out. Biiko is a genius, and comes from a long line of gifted inventors. Her grandfather was a powerful industrialist in Nagasaki during WW II. Her father is one of the most powerful businessmen in Japan today, still making weapons for both Japan and the US. Her mother is equally brilliant but only keeps a home in deference to Japanese culture. Biiko is a bit conflicted. Even though modern Japan offers her the opportunity to follow in her father's footsteps, she currently desires to be an artist, and has a great love of comic books. She hides this fact from her parents. She believes that they would not accept her love of art instead of science. Biiko is tall for a 13 year old girl, and pretty. She will be a knock-out in just a few years. She is a mutant and has light blue hair. Her only mutation however is her hair color. Her genius is got the old fashioned way: good genetics and hard work. She has never had any trouble in Japan due to her status as a mutant. In Japan, when your last name is Daitokuji, no one hassles you about anything. At Ravenswood, she may use her image inducer to make herself appear more normal. This character is of course a homage to B-ko in the anime Project A-ko. B-ko is actually the antagonist, but as both her and A-ko are school girls and nothing really bad happens (save for trying to kill each other), I thought she would make a good hero. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
OddHat Posted May 23, 2006 Report Share Posted May 23, 2006 Re: Wildfire, a.k.a. My First/Favorite Champions Character I always liked B-Ko, but I'm not sure about "nothing bad really happens". I recall a lot of giant robot and power suit related property damage. Good choice for a Ravenswood campaign. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
gojira Posted May 23, 2006 Report Share Posted May 23, 2006 Re: Wildfire, a.k.a. My First/Favorite Champions Character Well at the end of the first anime, they are both back in school, the rivalry is still going, and if anyone's parents was sued they seemed to have handled it. Everyone seems too polite to mention the girls' differences. (B-ko's parents are of course ridiculously rich. A-ko's parents probably have access to some, um, "super" resources.) I'm guessing much of the property damage was blamed on the invasion anyway. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Trebuchet Posted December 1, 2006 Report Share Posted December 1, 2006 Re: Wildfire, a.k.a. My First/Favorite Champions Character BUMP Any more "origin/first adventure" stories out there? Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
aylwin13 Posted December 1, 2006 Report Share Posted December 1, 2006 Re: Wildfire, a.k.a. My First/Favorite Champions Character I posted this in another thread, quite a while back. It is the only character origin that I've expanded into any kind of short story. It's the intro story for my 'Porting MA, Silhouette. Shadows Of Things Past Out of the range of the warehouse's lights, in the shadows gathered between the shipping containers on the docks, a young girl took a moment to catch her breath and looked again at the building. It had been a long and unproductive night, and just to put a topper on things it was now raining. The girl looked very much like any other teenager in any high school. She was maybe 5'2" tall, and might have weighed 100 lbs. She looked to be in very good athletic shape, and was built like a gymnast. The only things that might have caused her to stand out were her clothing and her eyes. She was wearing a black and charcoal gray, long-sleeved leotard with black leggings; accented by a gold and silver colored belt. She had on light gray gloves and boots. She also wore a charcoal gray, waist-length cloak that was attached at her wrists. Completing her costume was a black, half-mask. It was cut to show the lower half of her face, and to allow her long, dark brown tresses to flow free down her back. There were reddish highlights in her hair when it caught the lights. It was her eyes, however, that one could not help but notice. They were large, almond-shaped, and extremely exotic looking. They were colored a milky gray and had no pupils. They looked as if they were filled with fog. They were eyes that, once you had seen them, were never forgotten. Her name was Dominique Tatiana Dubois, and she had been slinking around the Millennium City docks for almost an hour and a half. She had finally arrived at the location that she believed was her destination. The warehouse was a two-story, brick building with blackened windows where the second story would be. The entire building appeared to be completely dark inside. She did a quick search around the perimeter of the building, but everything was still quiet. As she reached her starting point, she glimpsed something out of the corner of her eye. She glanced up to the roof of the building, where she thought she'd seen the glint. It might have been a light reflection from a gun barrel. I'd better take a closer look at that, she thought. With that Dominique stepped forward, into the shadow of the warehouse, and disappeared. A second later she stepped out of a shadow directly behind a man on the warehouse roof. The man was obviously a guard of some sort. He was wearing a reinforced uniform and helmet, all colored green and yellow. He was armed with a high-tech blaster rifle, and was carrying an electronic device of some sort. The device was a black box, about 8-inches on a side. It had a half-dozen LED lights, three or four dials and knobs, and a small screen similar to a GPS device. His attention alternated between the device's screen and the area below him, around the building. They were right; it is VIPER, thought Dominique. Let's take care of this guy first. She reached out to the shadows with her mind. The shadows reached out; first surrounding, and then grabbing the agent. While the agent was incapacitated Dominique stepped forward, clasped her hands together in a double fist, and struck him sharply across the back of the neck knocking him unconscious. She commanded the shadows to release him and he slumped senselessly to the gravel strewn rooftop. That was easy enough, thought Dominique. It still amazed her that she was able to do that. The instructors at Ravenswood said that she would learn to do many other things with her ability, as long as she continued her training. The Academy had helped her in so many ways, since all of this had started some five years ago. As she stood staring at the building fog from off of the river swept around her, adding to the shadows already there. --------------------- "Oui, oui Kitten we saw you, we saw you. Settle down, little one." Dominique's father gathered her up in his arms and placed her on his shoulders. The little twelve-year old had been waiting in the adjoining room a moment ago, and had come to them when they had called her. She hadn't, however, opened the connecting door to come into the room. She had suddenly appeared in the shadows under the dining table, and crawled out. Her mother Aleksandra looked on from the huge overstuffed armchair that she sat in with her legs curled up beneath her. "May I do it again Father, may I? Please, please?" she cried, waving her arms and almost hitting the crystal chandelier above her head. "If you feel that you must," her father said in feigned irritation. He lowered her back down to the floor. "Go up to your room and see if you are able to return here." Dominique squealed in delight and fairly flew from the room. As the door closed Henri sat down next to his wife and took her hand. "Aleks, we must consult with someone about this. We have to make sure that there is nothing wrong with her." Henri's voice quavered as he spoke. "Darling, she is fine," replied Aleksandra. "She is just different, that is all. She is a happy, healthy young girl with an unusual gift. I have made some calls and I think I've found the answer. There is an academy in Michigan, the Ravenswood Academy that specializes in teaching "gifted" students. They can also test and analyze her abilities." Henri looked into his wife's eyes and knew she was right. "I'll start making the arrangements tomorrow." --------------------- It was a Wednesday afternoon, and Dominique had just arrived home from the Academy. The limo pulled to a stop in front of the mansion that the Dubois' had called home for the last seven months. Dominique flung open the car door, jumped from the limo and rushed into the house. "Father, I'm home," she called out. "Where are you Father?" She ran down the hall toward her father's office, still calling to him. The door to the office was closed, but as she drew closer she could hear him inside talking to someone. I wonder whom he's talking to, she thought as she opened the door to the hall closet. She stepped into the closet, and reappeared in her father's office, in the shadows under the massive mahogany desk. Her father appeared to be concluding a meeting with two men. They were dressed in low-end business suits, and were wearing dark sunglasses. Truly unsavory types, thought Dominique. "I'm certain that this will prove to be a very profitable relationship for all concerned," said the taller of the two men. "With our support, your career will only move forward," added the other man. Her father opened the door and let the men exit the office. After seeing the men, Dominique knew she didn't trust them. Not one little bit. I'm going to have to keep an eye on things around here, she thought as she passed back into the shadows, and out of the office. --------------------- "I'm telling you, I will not do these things for you and your organization. This was not part of our agreement." Dominique could just imagine the look on her father's face, as she hid in the shadow beneath his desk. These meetings had been taking place for almost three years now, and she had been "sitting in" on them as often as she could. "The things I have done before were questionable, but this is completely illegal." Henri rose from his chair and moved toward the office door. The other two men in the room had other ideas. "You really have no choice, do you?" This from the shorter of the men. "You know what will happen to your family if these things do not occur." "Yes, Henri is quite aware of the consequences if he fails to perform." This came from the taller of the two. "He will take care of things. He just needs a little time to think on things. Perhaps we should leave and let Mssr. Dubois contemplate his choices. We'll show ourselves out. Good day, Ambassador." With that, the two men stepped into the hallway. Dominique's father closed the door behind them. He leaned back against the door and rubbed his forehead with his hand. Dominique imagined that he must look like a prisoner who had just been locked in his cell. Good thing that I decided to start collecting evidence on these goons, she thought. Father is going to need all the help I can give him to get out of this. --------------------- "No more, I'm through with this. Have someone come and collect the files. I just want our lives back." Henri was pleading with the two men to just go away and to leave his family alone. "If this is what you truly wish, we will communicate your request to our superiors. If they will allow it, we will come to collect everything and leave you to your future." With that they left the office and the house. Maybe this truly is the end of all this, Dominique thought. That would be great, since I really am too big to be sitting under this desk anymore. She smiled at the thought and passed back into the shadow, and out of the office. --------------------- "I do believe that that was the most wonderful dinner ever," proclaimed Dominique's father, as they came through the front door. "The prime rib was especially excellent. Wouldn't you agree Kitten?" he asked as he grabbed Dominique's hands and twirled her around the room. "I still haven't figured out why you are in such a good mood this evening, my dear Henri," stated Aleksandra as she watched her husband and daughter spin around the room, finally coming to a stop in front of her. "You have been almost giddy since this afternoon." She put her arms around Henri, and laid her head on his chest. Henri took her face in his hands. "Sweetheart, I'm just happy because everything is going to be fine, from now on. I feel as if this is a new beginning for all of us." He leaned his head down and kissed his wife's forehead, and then her lips. "Ladies, I think it's time for bed." With that he put his arms around each of them, and led them upstairs to prepare for bed. --------------------- Dominique awoke, from a deep sleep, to an urgent call of nature. She put on her slippers, and opened her door. As she started to cross the dark hallway to her bathroom, she caught the smell of natural gas in the air. For her to smell the fumes this far from the kitchen, the entire downstairs must be filled with gas. The tiniest of sparks would be enough to set off an explosion. She couldn't risk walking down the carpeted hall to her parents' bedroom. She stepped into the shadows in the corner of the hallway. Just as she crossed into the shadow realm an enormous explosion ripped through the mansion. A blood-red fireball some three hundred feet high reached, like a demon's fist, into the night sky. Dominique was knocked unconscious; but by being in the shadow realm was spared from most of the effects of the explosion. A few minutes later she awoke in the shadows of one of the Academy's classrooms. She was bruised from crashing headlong into a few of the desks, but was otherwise unhurt. She looked back into the shadows, looking back at the bonfire that had been her home these last four years. There was no chance that her parents could have survived the explosion and resulting fire. She closed the shadows on the vision of destruction. She felt no grief or sadness yet. Those would come later. Right now she felt only two things: minor comfort, knowing that she had another home and family, here at Ravenswood; and anger, at the men, and their evil organization, who had robbed her of everyone and everything she had ever loved. She made a vow that they would pay for what they had done. She would see to it personally. She looked through the classroom window into the night. Outside it had begun to rain, like teardrops falling from the sky. As she sat there with her back against the classroom wall, alone in the shadows, tears fell there as well. --------------------- As the breeze blew the river fog away again, and cleared the images of the past from her mind's eye, Dominique refocused on the warehouse. Looking up for a moment, she realized that the rain had lessened noticeably. At least something is going my way, she thought. Well, let's see what VIPER is up to in there. Wiping away the tears from her eyes and shaking the water from her hair, she stepped forward - into the shadows and into her future. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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