There Must Always Be Hope! (Shounen Superhero Quest)
- Thread starter Roarian
- Start date
Dermonster
The Shittiest Wizard
It worked!
Dermonster
The Shittiest Wizard
Yay!
Ridiculously Average Guy
I'm you, but stronger
- Location
-
So, since we're celestially imbued...Can we be Captain Marvel?
- Location
- Netherlands
All of them.Which one?
- Location
- Budapest, Hungary
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1.0 Character Creation II - Point of Origin
- Location
- Netherlands
[X] Name: Marcus Atherton
[X] Gender: Male
[X] Physical Description: Marcus is blessed with a lithe athletic body, gained through a lifetime of hard work and physical training. He has a sharp face with deep brown eyes, and a shock of auburn hair kept short. His skin is light.
[X] Imbued : This was nothing you did. Someone else - or something - granted you these abilities. Whether it was voluntary or not, an indelible mark was left on you. Who knows, perhaps one day the one who granted your power might come to claim his payment.
[X] Elective : These powers were hard-won, and though you are still at work on perfecting them to an acceptable level, you have something.
[X] Concept: Celestial
[X] Agility to 3
[X] Intuition to 2
[X] Bank 1 Point
@RepThe21st rolled these for me:
1d6 = 6 #Power Lottery (Well, damn.)
1d20 = 6 #Disposition (Saving this for the next time. ME isn't your biggest pal.)
1d100 = 46 #Opportunity (Meh...)
1d6 = 2 #OhFuck (You're safe.)
Note: You may already suggest a superhero handle and/or costume, since those things will be coming up. The actual vote will probably come up in a bit, but it's a good idea to pitch some ideas. Using some generator or whatever to make a picture is for brownie points.
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1.0 - Point of Origin
It was an unpalatable thing to say, but people weren't born equal - not in this world. There might have been a time when that argument could be made, but those days went the way of the dinosaurs when the first superhuman stepped into the spotlight. Superpowers shifted the balance on a fundamental level, because a regular person could mount no defense, and that was the reason 'heroes' stepped up to the plate, to safeguard the masses from excesses of the few.
The real world could never quite live up to the ideal, of course, so it wasn't a big surprise that opinions had always been mixed about supers in general. Perhaps it was because of frequent showboating on the part of so many heroes and villains, prancing about in their multi-colored outfits and indulging in lavish public relations extravaganzas. Maybe it was due to corporations raking in the cash from merchandising rights for what were supposed to be public servants. Maybe it was the unsubtle air of superiority that came up any time the issue was discussed. Or perhaps it was just a tinge of jealousy.
There was at least one aspect you could get behind, though, and that was the omnipresent conviction among superheroes that justice was attainable here and now. You'd long considered going into law enforcement, although a few teenage indiscretions made that a bit of a long shot, and in lieu of actually contributing you figured you could at least be a supportive voice. Ever since the nineties, heroes could use a little good press. Maybe journalism would be a good bet? You hadn't tried that yet. Although it was true that print media was kind of on its last legs...
"Marcus!"
You jerked upright, your chair screeching across the floor. The blinking red '00:00' of your alarm clock told you all you needed to know, and you groaned. All you'd wanted to do was take a quick power nap - twenty minutes here and there were ideal if you wished to get work done in the twilight hours, and you had plans. Normally this worked perfectly - as long as there were no power outages, which were unfortunately something of a common pattern in the rather old-timey flat you called home.
"Are you asleep, you lazy good-for-nothing?" your father yelled with a distinct air of amused exasperation, and you wiped tiredly at your crusty eyes, leaning back and staring at the off-white ceiling and the rickety fan that had functioned properly once upon a time, though it had been broken since at least the Clinton administration. "It's nearly five, you know!"
Five o'clock, huh? Well, you had just skipped over most of your afternoon. At least it meant you would have some energy to burn later. You dragged yourself upright, cursing the sunlight as you sought for your sweater, and stumbled downstairs. It was still a little strange to hear dad's voice around the house, even now. You had never expected that you would be living with your old man again after you first left home at eighteen years of age in a fit of classic teenage rebellion. Sharing the place had a few downsides, but moving back hadn't been a very hard choice. Neither you nor your father had much cared to be alone at the time.
"You're being quite the loudmouth," you said as you slouched into the kitchen. "You do realize we have neighbours?" You sighed in relief at the sight of a pot of hot coffee already waiting for you. It wasn't a replacement for a good meal, but you'd make do. "All this yelling through the halls is just gonna get the landlady pissed off, and you know how that goes. She's got a hell of a right hook!"
"I'm not the one she slapped across the face," Dad said, leaning back in his old rocking chair by the window, a relic inherited from some aunt you barely remembered. That thing always made him seem fifty years older than he was, though you supposed his deep wrinkles also added to that effect. The old man glanced at you with those piercing green eyes of his, ever-vigilant, while you made do with your mother's unassuming brown ones instead. The few locks of hair on his head were white now, but had once been a deep auburn like your own.
"You made all this for me, huh? You really shouldn't have," you noted cheekily, pouring two cups and sighing as the warm vapors filled the air. Setting them down on the kitchen table you took a moment to looked over the bookcase, straightening a few odds and ends, careful not to disturb the astrolabes and other fancy memorabilia stashed there. They were reminders of a budding career in physics that your dad had left behind a few years before you had even been born, in favor of something more homely.
"This daytime napping thing of yours is not healthy, you know." Dad took his coffee, dropping in more sugar cubes than you thought was reasonable. "You might have your fancy papers, but I say eight hours a day keeps the doctor away."
"I thought that was apples?"
"Well, you don't eat any of those either," he muttered in response. "The point stands."
"Pff. I have an iPod already… I think I got it covered." You shook your head fondly, looking over the weekly magazines that practically buried the kitchen table, a whole assortment of publications you'd never really cared for. There was some Economics, History, and a good helping of opaque Physics gibberish - in other words, the usual. Needless to say your father killed it at Trivial Pursuit.
Your own favourite magazines, of course, were sports- and superhero-related. No self-respecting twenty-something would miss out on following the exploits of their favourite heroes or state and national teams, particularly when world competition kicked off in late June. Although the Olympics still tended to draw more viewers on cable, nobody could deny that the super-equivalent had a lot more oomph to it.
"We got another electrical issue upstairs," you said at last, wondering if you could swing by the mall for some snacks before you went out for the night. "One of these days we really have to give a call to the power company. If the lights refuse to come back on one day, we will be in a real pinch…"
"Maybe we should get one of those exercise bikes for emergencies, so you can spend a couple hours charging everything. In my day that kind of work would be considered something of a duty - things were less complicated." Dad sighed deeply, turning to gaze out the window with a sad smile. He shook his head ruefully. "Listen to me, going on about the good old days. I'm starting to sound even older than I feel, aren't I?"
"I think things really were easier back then," you opined distractedly. "The pace of society is supposed to be quicker, right? Because of all the robots and such, and there's a lot more shit to do." You grinned at that thought. "Honestly, I wouldn't know what to do without a television or computer - play hoops or hopscotch, maybe? Hang out in a park and kick a ball around?"
"Well, people used to work for a living," he said dryly, rolling his eyes. "You can take that as a hint, by the way. It's been three weeks, you are getting on my nerves."
"I will find a new job," you said easily. "I had a really good reason to quit this one, you know - it was boring. And you know what boring jobs do to me?" You spread your arms, hanging your head dramatically. "They make me bored - and that's just not acceptable. Besides, the pay was shit, so I can find something better any day of the week, and twice on Sunday."
You weren't sure if that were entirely true, since the job agencies had gotten a little tired of your regular visits, but you didn't really mind putting some effort into applying. It was not that you didn't want to work, it was just that you were looking for something that would actually be engaging. If you were sleeping on the job by the third month it clearly wasn't the right thing for you, and a change was in order.
"The only things they're offering right now are moving boxes and the like - and as much as I can dig a little retro action, going back to the time of hired manual labor is a bit much. This isn't pyramid-building Egypt anymore."
"At least you'd be making something for the rent."
You glared at him. "Dad - you're rich." It was not the first time you reminded him of that fact. "I've got no idea why you insist on sticking it all in some vault and living like a pauper, but you could pay the rent until the next ice age and still not notice a dent. I've got enough saved to keep going for a while, and I can work just fine. I'm just searching for a career. Besides, I figure any sort of economics lessons you were trying to teach me have long since succeeded or failed."
"Failed," he observed dryly.
"Gee, thanks! I did survive on my own for a couple years, so I reckon I manage…!"
Badgering each other over money and work wasn't anything new. Dad had a habit of bringing it up at the most inopportune moments, but you were pretty sure he did not mind your impatience with your rather lengthy slate of jobs. Judging from some of the stories you had heard, he probably recognized a little of himself in you, as he had been a bit of a vagabond in his youth. Ah well - you were confident you'd find a place to fit eventually.
The old man was studying you from under his bushy eyebrows, his eyes those of a hawk. He had been an imposing figure in his youth, and on occasion he still managed to exude a little of that arrogant streak. Something of his grand stature and roguish looks had passed down to you, though you had never really thought of yourself as genuinely handsome. Too angular.
"Do I have something on my face?" you wondered at last as you fidgeted under that piercing gaze. "What's that look for?"
"Just trying to figure out if I used enough rat poison," he answered, grinning. His gaze stayed perfectly steady as he carefully lowered his coffee, revealing that the cup was still nearly full. "Are you feeling anything yet?"
"Ha. You're real funny," you deadpanned.
"Eh, it's your loss," Dad responded testily. "I figured there's some nice nurses at the hospital, so you might want to pay a visit. That Theresa girl works there, doesn't she?"
"Theresa's just a friend," you said shortly, adding 'unfortunately' in your mind. "Who are you to talk about getting the girls, anyway? Mom was like forty when you met her, wasn't she? Forgive me for following my old man's example in not getting too committed too early." Besides, you didn't care to settle down with someone who might turn out to be boring too - you could only imagine the fallout.
He wisely refrained from commenting on your avoidance. "Anyway, you've done logistics, bartending, salesmanship, construction… even a stint of dancing. What's next on the bucket list?"
"I don't know… Maybe I should start warbling in the shower so I can get some practice in for my inevitable career in Wagnerian opera?" You smirked. "Or do you have that covered for me already? You're a regular Pavarotti in there."
"Well, the landlady is pretty rotund, so she can sing at the end." He chortled. "I kid, I kid. Have you ever reconsidered following your old man's footsteps? Physics nor astronomy are much of a money-making business, but at least it's work. I figured you might have inherited a little of my pizazz."
"Eh, I don't know. I'm no physics guru, and even if it might be cool to find all those freaky aliens everyone's talking about, I think I would be bored with studying before I even properly started working." You had to admit, the idea had some merit, although the collections of thick books stacked all around the house looked rather daunting. "You will be stuck with me for a while, I'm afraid, until I get something new."
"Maybe you're stuck with me, instead." He smiled sadly. "I get it, you know. You came back because of your mother - but you stay because of me. Without you, I probably would have been carted off to some stuffy old people's home already."
You itched to deny that sentiment, but there was a grain of truth in there. Although you'd never considered it a chore, it was undeniably true that you'd been picking up more and more of the slack around the house, making sure everything was running smoothly whenever you had the time. Dad didn't leave the house much considering he wasn't much into walking anymore, which meant a lot of things fell to you.
Occasionally you'd skipped out on searching for a job so you could keep the old man company and clean the house for him - you figured your old man had probably realized what you were up to, but he had never actually called you out. It was a sort of silent arrangement between you.
"I know my prime's far behind me," he said mildly. "Farther than most, really."
"You're not that old."
He rolled his eyes. "I don't look it," he agreed immediately, stroking his wrinkled cheeks and smiling. "I'm a wrinkled old crippled prune, but a healthy wrinkled old crippled prune. I'm the envy of the stroller generation." He paused at that. "Don't make a mistake, though - I'm still old. Proper old, even if I don't look a day over seventy."
"Dad… you are seventy," you reminded him, wondering why things were so sentimental today, since this was the second time he had brought up his age. You didn't like to speculate on the reasons. "You talk like you're gonna keel over any minute. It's kind of creeping me out."
"Eh, who knows the time or the hour?" Your old man looked down at his lined hands, frowning darkly. "Time's been on my mind, I suppose. I've been thinking that there's something I think you should know." He hesitated, staring out into the streets with a blank expression. "Your mother and I…" He swallowed thickly, balling his fists, his green eyes blazing with some unspoken emotion. "It's about what happened -"
Your cellphone decided to burst into song at that moment, blasting some overly loud metal song that shattered the mood. Your father shook his head in exasperation as you fished the device from your pocket, revealing a rather dated old brick that was nearly as venerable as your old man. "...It might be the job agency," you said dubiously, pressing the answer button and holding a hand to your other ear to block out noise - the volume button had been stuck on low for a while. "Hello? Who's this?"
"Is this the Atherton residence?" a woman asked in rather stilted tones. "I am looking for - Ezekiel? Yes, that's right."
"He prefers Zeke." Not really, but whatever. "Just a second..." It wasn't the first time that Dad's calls ended up on your phone - he always carried your number around on a card, in case he ever needed to reach you, but he had a habit of forgetting his own number - or writing that one down. Memory was a funny thing. "Who is this, by the way?"
"Tell him it's Marjorie. He'll know."
"Right." You tossed the phone underhanded towards your father who caught it deftly. "It's someone called Marjorie," you repeated, and the old man's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Well, don't keep your old flame waiting. It's for you, obviously."
"Marge Vögel? It's been fifteen years," Dad murmured, raising the phone to his ear and furrowing his brow. "...Yes?" He listened for a minute, clenching his fist around the phone until the knuckles turned white. His hands shook a little and he seemed suddenly pale.
You knew this kind of call.
"...I'm heading out for a bit," you announced promptly, and you grabbed your father's cell off the windowsill. "We'll switch back later, 'kay? I'll be back by sundown - keep something warm for me, alright? I'll swing by for a quick bite."
You could not help feeling a little put down as you entered the hall. This kind of thing had been happening a lot in recent years, and it was heartbreaking to witness. Dad was not old old in your opinion, but you would not guess it by how many of these calls he had been getting over the last few years - old friends, distant relatives, business acquaintances, all passing on before their time. You supposed it was a small blessing that they hadn't started dropping before he'd recovered decently from mom's loss, since you had a feeling he might have done something more permanent than drinking himself into a stupor.
You grabbed your jacket, grimacing at the thought of the coming days, as your dad would doubtlessly be inconsolable again. Sadder too after he got back from the funeral, and never quite the same man. It sucked.
"Marcus, hold up..."
You turned in surprise, realizing that your father was standing right besides you, his eyes rather moist and glistening but his jaw set. "Uh -" You must've gotten caught up for a moment there since you hadn't even heard him hobbling over. "Yeah, I'm going already."
"No, no. You don't need to run." He looked uncomfortable. "If you do go, there's something I'd like you to do for me." He offered you an envelope, hastily plastered closed with some tape. "The planetarium should be open. Give this to Rich there. You remember him?"
"Uh, yeah, I know who Rich is. I see him around town pretty often." You took the letter and quickly stuffed it in a pocket. "You can't just call him?"
"No, I think it's better if you…" He gestured vaguely at your pocket. "Just do it, would you? I doubt you had anywhere to go today." His smile was strained, but it was actually there. Huh - had you been wrong about that call? "I'll be alright," he assured you. "I have been putting these things off too long. I am sorry, for what it's worth."
"What things...?"
"We'll talk about it later." Your father nodded sagely, but his expression betrayed some kind of emotional turmoil you couldn't grasp. "You will understand better then, I think..."
You'll have to do something about this later…
XXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Old Man Rich was another of your father's old buddies - his long white hair made him look rather like an aged hippie, and his haggard excuse for a beard added a little Hell's Angels to the mix. He might have exuded the air of a kindly wizard if he ever bothered to put on more fancy clothes than a faded t-shirt featuring a hair-metal band and a pair of pants that had probably started out bright blue in the distant past but had long ago turned dusty gray.
Rich wasn't really on your mind, though as you walked up the path to the planetarium. A black-clothed figure stood atop the domed roof, between the two large satellite dishes, staring up from the place where the large telescope would appear after the sun went down. Two long strips of white fabric wafted in the breeze from the back of his dark blue costume, a deep cowl hiding his entire face from view. You vaguely recognized the outfit, though you'd only seen it on the news, never in real life. He was a superhero - if a pretty small time one.
"That's Mass Equivalence," Rich said from besides you, appearing as if out of nowhere. He followed your gaze and raised an eyebrow. "That's what he calls himself, I hear. Bit ostentatious, but that's what you get with teens who like the modern lingo. He likes the view up there, I think. I see him almost every day, but thankfully he doesn't make a fuss."
"He's a new guy, right?" There weren't many local heroes around the back corners of California, since they mostly hung out in the bigger cities further south and west. Beyond Fleetfoot the speedster and a couple boring super-strong guys who stole all the heavy lifting jobs, Tiger-Man was really the only one you knew of who was still active. Even he had moved to San Fransisco the year before, searching for action. "He's been active half a year or so, I think."
"Just two months, actually," Rich muttered. "Redfield's a nice place to get started, I guess - not much in the way of villains. Rumor has it he's the protégé of the original Mass-Master, the one from the old wartime guard." He smirked. "They all had silly names back then - they didn't care for this postmodern attitude of making everything sound intimidating. I always thought Kid Cosmo sounded like he could be a shaggy dog, and let's not start about the Penny Pincher or Breezy..."
You shrugged. "I don't know, there's a couple lineages that like to do the legacy thing," you said lightly. "Most of them probably modernized their names, though. Can you imagine a hero with a name like the Whizzer in this day and age?" You snickered, looking back up to the roof. "So, does he ever come down from there, or is he just asocial?"
"I've spoken to him once or twice. Seems like a decent sort. Bit conceited."
That wasn't much of a surprise, unfortunately - heroes had a habit of getting a bit too big for their boots. "You reckon he would do an interview or something?" you wondered. "I am kind of - in between jobs at the moment. Maybe I could do a little freelancing for the papers?"
"I doubt you could get anything out of him."
You reached into your pocket, nodding distractedly. "I get you. Anyway… I came here because of dad. He asked me to deliver something. It might be bad. Someone called Marjorie called..."
"Marge?" Rich muttered. "Well, we are dropping like flies these days, huh?" he wondered in subdued tone, taking the letter and quickly reading it over - the few letters you could see were completely unintelligible, as tended to be the case with your father. You weren't sure if physicists and doctors went to the same school of handwriting, but it wouldn't surprise you. "Huh."
"Huh?"
"It's... You wouldn't happen to be busy today?" He glanced up to the roof one last time, letting out a long-suffering sigh. "I suppose it's that kind of time, huh?" He gestured as he set off. "Come - we have a few hours til sundown, but we can make use of those. I got a call to make, anyway. Your father..."
"What do you mean, hours?" you demanded as the wrinkled hippie turned towards the observatory, clearly expecting you to fall in line as he marched away. After a moment of hesitation you did, glancing back to the black-garbed figure on the roof a few more times before he disappeared out of sight. "Hey - what's going on?"
"Just have some patience." Rich waltzed straight through the reception, swiping a card against a scanner and taking the quick shortcut to the section cordoned off from the public. "So… How much did your father tell you? About us?"
"Us?" you wondered. "Not sure what you mean."
Rich stared at you for a long moment, then pinched the bridge of his nose. "Right. Yeah. I figured something like this would be going on. That crotchety old -" He didn't say anything more, fetching a white lab coat from a hook at the side of the room and putting it on - he made it look good. "Grab one of your own, would you? We have a couple that should fit, and you don't want your clothes getting dirty…"
"Uh… Are you offering me a job?" you asked as you quickly sorted through the available coats, most of them rather smudgy and old. "I could give it a shot, I suppose. Though I'm not sure what someone does at a planetarium. Watch planets? Stars?" You frowned. "I can move things, I suppose, but I don't advise something like that if you want to keep me around..."
Rich smiled thinly, shaking his head. "You want a job offer? Just hold on, would you?"
You'd seen the observatory before, though only from the visitor's area to the side, which was presently closed. The bulk of the telescope dominated the room, a massive cylindrical machine suspended in the middle by a heavy metal structure which seemed considerably more rickety than it actually was - patches of rust didn't help matters. The rest of the room was considerably more disheveled than the shiny surface of its main attraction, filled with tables covered in reams of paper and 90's era computers.
Rich stopped, patting his pockets. "You wouldn't happen to have a phone on you?"
"Yes! Of course." You pulled out dad's cell; you'd forgotten to switch it back. You fumbled with the ancient device for a moment. "Right, I'm not sure if it's been topped up, but I figure it'll still work anyway..."
"That's your father's phone, isn't it?" Rich observed carefully. "You peek through that thing?"
You blinked. "Uh… no?"
He took the phone from your hands without another word, flipping through it with swift movements. "You really shouldn't go gallivanting around with his stuff, you know. Someone could do some damage with all this, even now…" He shrugged uneasily. "I take it your own phone is with him, then? Yeah, makes sense - he would be that lax. Hold on a minute."
Rich didn't stay in earshot, walking away as he murmured under his breath into the phone, probably discussing the latest funeral - ugh. You took that time to look at the papers spread everywhere, mostly clueless about whatever complicated calculations were on there, but still intrigued. You weren't dumb by any means, but this algebra stuff had never really appealed - you were always more of a practical kind of guy, better with analogies than numbers. You supposed that's why astronomy was interesting in the 'looking at cool stuff' way, but not so much the 'calculate the procession of Venus' sense.
Stepping closer to the telescope to take a look, you paused in mid-step. Every footfall so far has been solid and followed by a slight echo, the natural result of the room's smooth floor and cavernous interior. But that last step had felt strangely springy, and it was followed only by a dull thump. You looked down at your feet curiously. There, right at your toes, you could see the hair-thin edge of some kind of square panel - a trap door, perhaps? Maybe a little storage area for tools? It was almost invisible against the surrounding material, and judging from the scuff marks it had been covered by a table for many years. You leaned down for a closer look -
"What are you doing there?" Rich inquired, narrowing his eyes as he noted your position next to the recess in the middle of what should have been a solid floor. "My, you're a nosy little bugger, ain't you? I turn away for two minutes and you discover all the wrong things..."
You cringed. "It's just…"
"Nobody's actually wondered about that in all the years I've worked here," Rich observed a few moments later, and he smiled sadly as he thumped on it once with his foot. "I guess everyone just sort of assumes that's supposed to be there. Haven't really had a reason to make them wonder, I suppose - no clue if the door still works properly. Might have to get the power tools."
"You and dad are equally annoying when you're not making sense." You crossed your arms and leaned back against the metal supports of the telescope. "I suppose it's common to old curmudgeons?"
"Yup, that's us. Though the Kid's always been worse at that sort of thing." He nodded easily, raising one hand to his ear. "Let's give it a spin, shall we? I think this is gonna be a bit of a shocker - but I think that's sort of the point." He tapped something you could not quite see. "Here we go…"
That's when things went weird. With a mechanical click that resounded from somewhere below you - it was quite loud - something seemed to loosen under your feet. The floor wobbled ever so slightly as something slowly screeched against metal. Rich winced at the sound, brushing his hair back and blushing. "I guess I should have oiled that a little…"
The thin lines of the strange floor panel became more defined as pressure was released, and it slowly sunk into the floor by about half an inch, before sliding sideways under the observatory floor. What remained behind was a dark staircase framed by two wooden guide rails, each carved into the shape of a snake, and a series of flickering light-bulbs that were probably older than you were, bravely attempting to brighten the winding path.
"Wait, you have a secret sex dungeon under here?" you asked, though the sarcastic question came out rather blandly. You were genuinely shocked. "No, seriously, there's an actual secret dungeon in the middle of the floor?! What. The fuck."
Rich just gestured you towards the opening, and you didn't need much prodding to explore, as the lavish decorations seemed completely out of place in the musty old secret tunnel. The snake-like railings actually seemed to consist of multiple carvings, one after the other, each biting into the tail of the last and twisting around each other until they practically merged. The steps were covered in what might've been satin long ago, although a good bit of it was rather worse for wear and moldy, and something like artwork had long since faded from the walls.
It all looked vaguely familiar. Not in the sense that you'd ever been in this kind of place, of course, but those carvings reminded you of something you must've read about, and the long secret staircases evoked old mystery novels. What was most suggestive, however, was what appeared around the next corner. There was a painting on the wall across from the staircase, depicting a rounded shape with two large swords crisscrossing behind it, and the image of a serpent biting its own tail right in the center of it. That you knew. It was the Ouroboros - a symbol as old as civilization. In modern times it became best associated with -
"Holy shit."
"Yup. Welcome to the Snakepit," Rich said sardonically, wiping away cobwebs as he walked past you, saluting mockingly at the painting. "This was the home of the Eternals - once upon a time. A sanctuary in times of need, and a safe haven from enemies both foreign and domestic even in peacetime."
"How on earth did you find this place? You know how freaking cool something like this is? Last I heard nobody even knew where the Eternals operated from, much less their actual secret underground base!" You paced swiftly through the corridors and looked in fascination around the vacant rooms, now mostly covered in dust and old furniture. Gleaming white helmets were still propped up on a pedestal in one corner of what might have been a meeting room, right next to an honest-to-god red cape. "Man, do you know the historical value in a place like this? What are the odds -" You looked back at your guide, blinking rapidly. "How in the world...?"
The old man smiled, his lined face filled with terrible sadness as he walked to one of the glass cabinets that lined the corridor. He took a familiar dark blue mask from it, raising it to his face slowly, its two long white ears sticking out from either side. "...You might say I cheated a little."
You gaped. "You're not -"
"I picked the name because it sounded interesting and not too threatening," Rich noted, dropping the mask back onto its pillow. "It had a punny nature to it, right? Mass-Master. I used to stutter quite a bit, so it was kind of an in-joke between me and the rest of us…"
"You have freaking superpowers?" you blurted. "I've known you forever, and you just kinda forget to tell anyone about that? What the hell, man!"
"Yes, well, that would be the point of having a secret identity." He smirked at that, clearly enjoying your shock. "My name is Richmond Raynor - or Richter Ravensfeld, depending on when you asked the question." He gestured vaguely at the photographs set up within the display case, most of which depicted his heroic alter ego in some dramatic pose. "This stuff came later. I served in the German army first, back when us supers were new. Lots of us were drafted in those days, pressganged into serving the country at risk to our own life and experimented on like cattle. We didn't much care for it. You've read about what came after, I'm sure - Operation Paperclip, Firebrand, all that. Countries stole the best and brightest of the enemy's forces. Including me."
"Damn," you blurted, staring at the long-eared mask in the display case. "How many of you are there? Were all the Eternals German? Wait - does that mean you were a Nazi too?"
Rich rolled his eyes. "There were a few hundred of us, and most of weren't on board the hate train to atrocity-ville, no. There were a dozen in this particular cell, but there are others like it all over the country. We started as paramilitary groups, but converted to proper heroes down the line when that sort of thing became fashionable - it gave better PR, and we'd become good enough friends that we really didn't need the state enforcing service."
You nodded. "Uh… that's really cool. But now I'm kinda wondering if you're gonna drop me in some shallow grave for seeing all of this." You swallowed nervously. "This is kind of hush-hush, right? Exposing the identity of registered supers is, like, a felony..."
"I think we can keep this a secret between us. Besides, I'm not a superhero anymore. I'm retired," Rich explained. "Back in the mid-eighties, when all those broody types with guns became common, I hung up the mask. I couldn't really stand how things were going so I packed up and went to Barbados. Didn't move back until - well, after your mother had her accident…" He cleared his throat. "I don't have my powers anymore, so you'll have to take my word on that. You remember that guy on the roof, earlier?"
"Yeah… Mass Equivalent?"
"Equivalence," he corrected. "You'll probably run into him sometime. My power wasn't really so much genetic as much as it was mystical, so that meant I could pass it on to someone else if I cared to - and I did. So far I'm not complaining. My protégé has got a year to prove himself before I decide whether I go looking for another. He's cocky - but he's getting there. I used to be pretty bad myself, truth be told..."
"That's kind of awesome," you said, wandering around as you looked at the dilapidated remains of what was once a major super team's hideout. The Eternals were a bit of a legend, since they were among the very first superheroes to ever show up on American soil, beyond a few stray war veterans. Mass-Master, Kid Cosmo, Torchbearer and Cassandra were the ones you remembered off the top of your head, and you were pretty sure Silvertongue and Rough Beast were at least temporary members. All of them were famous, though firmly in the historical sense. "...Damn, I have so many questions."
"I thought you would," Rich agreed with a wry grin. "Let's get a few big ones out of the way, shall we? Did the costume chafe? Yup - they didn't invent the good stuff until decades later. Did I need that codpiece? I cared about my family jewels, so definitely. What was up with the ears? ...It was a different time. Let's not talk about it."
"Still, why the ears, though?" you demanded incredulously. "You make things move and change gravity with your powers, right? So where is the rabbit theme?"
"It wasn't supposed to be that way, really. It was just a style thing at first, and by the time I thought better of it the look had become pretty distinctive. I didn't really have the heart to remove the ears after I found out kids loved the aesthetic." He snorted. "I miss those days. Putting on the costume now is kind of embarrassing. I'm eighty-seven… never expected to reach those kinds of years, back in the war…"
You frowned in confusion. "Uh - aren't you younger than dad? He always says you were a little twerp when you were going to school together..."
Rich hesitated. "Yeah, about that -"
"Does he know about all this?" You asked swiftly. "Because this kind of thing would really get him going -" You paused, frozen mid-movement as realization struck you. Shit. It'd been staring you in the face for the last thirty minutes. Rich was Mass-Master. Rich was your father's best friend from childhood, which Rich had obviously spent in Germany, at least a decade or two earlier than you'd guessed. It didn't mesh at all. You were standing in the middle of the Eternals' old home base, though, so Rich wasn't lying - and the only reason your old man would bend the truth about something like this is if he were involved.
Dad was a superhero.
"Holy shit!"
"...That took you a while."
"Shut up!" You raised a shaking hand. "I get to freak about something like this! Which one was he?! Holy crap, is he actually like ninety years old? Where's his costume? What are his powers, and why doesn't he ever use them? Why'd he -"
Rich cut you off by snapping his fingers sharply. "All of that can be explained when we have a little time to spare. You're here for a reason, Mark."
"It's Marcus," you complained. "Seriously though-"
"Come along. Before I reconsider your father's wishes."
Rich strode down the gloomy corridors, and once again you were forced to pursue, grumbling under your breath as you tried to recall all the members of the old Eternals, and which one your father might've been. There had been roster changes over the years, but if Rich was right, dad must have been a founding member. Torchbearer was black and the Spinning Top turned out rather obese, but a couple of the others could probably fit. Unfortunately you couldn't recall any with distinctly red hair among them.
You couldn't quite wrap your head around the idea that your father had been an Eternal - and it only got weirder when you considered what it meant that he was even older than you'd imagined. Why would he fake a twenty year age difference? Maybe it was to divorce heroes from their civilian identities? Being the child of a couple nearly in their fifties was weird already, but maybe your dad had actually been seventy when you were born. That was insane, and you figured it was probably attributable to the superhero thing. You'd heard something about their supposed 'hybrid vigor' from detractors, but you'd always figured it was just a slur to compare supers to crossbred animals...
"Your father has been my friend for a very long time. It's the only reason why I'll just let you waltz in here," Rich said solemnly as he entered a large chamber towards the end of the underground sanctuary, its roof and walls arched and marked with elaborate drawings of the moon, stars, and planets. You felt a sinking feeling as you recognized the large astrolabes and other familiar equipment around the room; you'd seen things very much like them not long ago, in model form. "This was his place, back in the day. It's set up with a connection to the telescope upstairs - from the fifties through eighties it used state-of-the-art electronics, most of which are worse than nothing, now. Things change..."
"Kid Cosmo!" you blurted in a strangled tone. "Dad was… is... Kid Cosmo."
"He tried Doctor Universe, but it never stuck," Rich agreed. "Your father's been meaning to tell you about all this for a while, but… he sent you to me instead, obviously. I guess he just couldn't manage on his own. For what it's worth, I don't think it actually has anything to do with you personally. Ever since he lost your mother, he's been detached. I suppose Marge prodded him into action, but he couldn't quite manage to open up."
"I think he was going to," you said distantly, thinking of that moment at the window when your father had seemed so very nervous. "He said something about mom, but he got interrupted by- by that Marjorie or Marge person's call. This… this is going to be a weird day, isn't it?"
"That'd be Cassandra, incidentally," Rich noted, rubbing his beard as he looked up at the starry ceiling. "She was always the proactive one among us. Back in the forties women weren't really considered equal yet, as such, but she didn't let that get in her way. Not much could stand against her when she got going. Marge might not have had the kind of powerhouse abilities some of us did, but she was definitely the brains of the operation."
"Nice!" you said, still stuck on what you would say when you came back home. 'Hi dad, so why did you never tell me you were a classic superhero?'
"I'm curious - do you recognize this thing?" Rich reached into a circular display case in the center of the central table which was wedged against a curved desk, dusting it off with one hand and retrieving a shiny object from within. It glistened silver in his palm, a medal shaped like the number eight with a round symbol in the center, something like a five-pointed star that got caught in a whirlwind. "You really should know it…"
You nodded warily, as you recognized the symbol that Kid Cosmo used to wear in most of the public images. Dad had always worn a cowl that covered his whole head, so that explained the lack of auburn hair on display. The symbol, like a stylized galaxy, had always featured prominently on his forehead and chest. "It's pretty cool. What about it?"
"Take it." He lifted it by a thin, gossamer chain, dangling it in front of you. "This is why you're here. This was your father's, back when he was still active. It's yours now."
"You took me here to find a fancy amulet?" you asked dubiously, grabbing the silver medal and turning it over in your hand. It was remarkably clean for laying on a shelf for a decade or two, and it felt slightly warm under your touch, probably because of Rich's handling. "It's pretty spiffy, but what's all this supposed to be about? This whole secret base reveal?"
"I suppose we're all making our peace," the former hero said mildly. "You never did read up on us, did you? The Eternals? How we worked and why we stuck together?" He grimaced. "I suppose you're more into the current crop of heroes. We were proper old-school - before all the refinements and smooth edges of the current generations - we were born from war. It comes with some caveats."
You raised an eyebrow. "Hey, I know a few things. I can name like… half of you, and I kinda know a few of your origin stories - which isn't too bad for a hero team that went defunct when I was still a kid, and had been on the decline for thirty years before that." Right then something pinched your finger painfully, and you yelped as you drew it back, though it still hurt. "What the - something stung me!"
"Yeah, it does that," Rich said dryly as he looked down on the medal lying innocently on the table in front of you. "You're not just here to fetch that old relic, Marcus," Rich muttered. "You're here to fetch a legacy."
You swallowed thickly as your eyes were drawn inexorably to the amulet. There was blood on it - or in it. It began to shine as bright as lamplight, gleaming with a reddish gold hue. The twisted star on the front was gone, and in its place was something impossible. A galaxy showed itself there, bright as life, turning with glacial slowness and indescribable inertia, and it felt as real as anything. You looked into that pocket universe without even the aid of a telescope - and something, something looked back at you.
"This is how it's supposed to be," the old man murmured from besides you, sounding rather contrite. You couldn't pull your gaze away from the amulet. "Cassandra's never wrong, you know. She called me earlier, explained a few things. She knew just when to call your father, too…" He smiled sadly. "Well, I guess every hero picks his own methods. Good luck, kid. See you on the other side."
Darkness rushed up to meet you, and for a moment you thought you were passing out - but that darkness was full of stars, and they sung to you in dulcet tones of electromagnetism and gravity. It was beautiful, and terrible.
Your body lay on the floor, forgotten, a thin sheen of sweat on its feverish skin - you were somewhere above it, looking down. The last you saw was Rich grasping you carefully, his old frame still strong enough to manage the weight. Then the amulet drew your gaze again, and you were lost once more.
"Fuck yeah," you thought distantly, dull realization sinking in. "Now this is what I'm talking about…"
---
The universe rushes up to meet you in a storm of images and feelings that you can barely parse. Something vast attempts to show you something - perhaps it tries to communicate, if only in the crudest of ways. A single image remains behind as you wake...
The cleansing power of the amulet does more than empower - it changes, too. Here, in this moment, you have the opportunity to mold even your very soul…
---
Relationships Changed:
Amulet Entity - New Acquaintance
Kid Cosmo (Ezekiel Atherton) - Close Ally
Mass-Master (Rich) - Ally
Traits Changed:
Empowered : +10 Heroic Points gained! (Spend 1 to add a +5 modifier to any roll, or spend 3 to re-roll - only once per round, though.)
Great Potential : All your powers have greater potential than they had for the original Kid Cosmo, and are broader in scope. Potentially.
Legacy Hero : + 10 to Reputation rolls.
[X] Gender: Male
[X] Physical Description: Marcus is blessed with a lithe athletic body, gained through a lifetime of hard work and physical training. He has a sharp face with deep brown eyes, and a shock of auburn hair kept short. His skin is light.
[X] Imbued : This was nothing you did. Someone else - or something - granted you these abilities. Whether it was voluntary or not, an indelible mark was left on you. Who knows, perhaps one day the one who granted your power might come to claim his payment.
[X] Elective : These powers were hard-won, and though you are still at work on perfecting them to an acceptable level, you have something.
[X] Concept: Celestial
[X] Agility to 3
[X] Intuition to 2
[X] Bank 1 Point
@RepThe21st rolled these for me:
1d6 = 6 #Power Lottery (Well, damn.)
1d20 = 6 #Disposition (Saving this for the next time. ME isn't your biggest pal.)
1d100 = 46 #Opportunity (Meh...)
1d6 = 2 #OhFuck (You're safe.)
Note: You may already suggest a superhero handle and/or costume, since those things will be coming up. The actual vote will probably come up in a bit, but it's a good idea to pitch some ideas. Using some generator or whatever to make a picture is for brownie points.
---
1.0 - Point of Origin
It was an unpalatable thing to say, but people weren't born equal - not in this world. There might have been a time when that argument could be made, but those days went the way of the dinosaurs when the first superhuman stepped into the spotlight. Superpowers shifted the balance on a fundamental level, because a regular person could mount no defense, and that was the reason 'heroes' stepped up to the plate, to safeguard the masses from excesses of the few.
The real world could never quite live up to the ideal, of course, so it wasn't a big surprise that opinions had always been mixed about supers in general. Perhaps it was because of frequent showboating on the part of so many heroes and villains, prancing about in their multi-colored outfits and indulging in lavish public relations extravaganzas. Maybe it was due to corporations raking in the cash from merchandising rights for what were supposed to be public servants. Maybe it was the unsubtle air of superiority that came up any time the issue was discussed. Or perhaps it was just a tinge of jealousy.
There was at least one aspect you could get behind, though, and that was the omnipresent conviction among superheroes that justice was attainable here and now. You'd long considered going into law enforcement, although a few teenage indiscretions made that a bit of a long shot, and in lieu of actually contributing you figured you could at least be a supportive voice. Ever since the nineties, heroes could use a little good press. Maybe journalism would be a good bet? You hadn't tried that yet. Although it was true that print media was kind of on its last legs...
"Marcus!"
You jerked upright, your chair screeching across the floor. The blinking red '00:00' of your alarm clock told you all you needed to know, and you groaned. All you'd wanted to do was take a quick power nap - twenty minutes here and there were ideal if you wished to get work done in the twilight hours, and you had plans. Normally this worked perfectly - as long as there were no power outages, which were unfortunately something of a common pattern in the rather old-timey flat you called home.
"Are you asleep, you lazy good-for-nothing?" your father yelled with a distinct air of amused exasperation, and you wiped tiredly at your crusty eyes, leaning back and staring at the off-white ceiling and the rickety fan that had functioned properly once upon a time, though it had been broken since at least the Clinton administration. "It's nearly five, you know!"
Five o'clock, huh? Well, you had just skipped over most of your afternoon. At least it meant you would have some energy to burn later. You dragged yourself upright, cursing the sunlight as you sought for your sweater, and stumbled downstairs. It was still a little strange to hear dad's voice around the house, even now. You had never expected that you would be living with your old man again after you first left home at eighteen years of age in a fit of classic teenage rebellion. Sharing the place had a few downsides, but moving back hadn't been a very hard choice. Neither you nor your father had much cared to be alone at the time.
"You're being quite the loudmouth," you said as you slouched into the kitchen. "You do realize we have neighbours?" You sighed in relief at the sight of a pot of hot coffee already waiting for you. It wasn't a replacement for a good meal, but you'd make do. "All this yelling through the halls is just gonna get the landlady pissed off, and you know how that goes. She's got a hell of a right hook!"
"I'm not the one she slapped across the face," Dad said, leaning back in his old rocking chair by the window, a relic inherited from some aunt you barely remembered. That thing always made him seem fifty years older than he was, though you supposed his deep wrinkles also added to that effect. The old man glanced at you with those piercing green eyes of his, ever-vigilant, while you made do with your mother's unassuming brown ones instead. The few locks of hair on his head were white now, but had once been a deep auburn like your own.
"You made all this for me, huh? You really shouldn't have," you noted cheekily, pouring two cups and sighing as the warm vapors filled the air. Setting them down on the kitchen table you took a moment to looked over the bookcase, straightening a few odds and ends, careful not to disturb the astrolabes and other fancy memorabilia stashed there. They were reminders of a budding career in physics that your dad had left behind a few years before you had even been born, in favor of something more homely.
"This daytime napping thing of yours is not healthy, you know." Dad took his coffee, dropping in more sugar cubes than you thought was reasonable. "You might have your fancy papers, but I say eight hours a day keeps the doctor away."
"I thought that was apples?"
"Well, you don't eat any of those either," he muttered in response. "The point stands."
"Pff. I have an iPod already… I think I got it covered." You shook your head fondly, looking over the weekly magazines that practically buried the kitchen table, a whole assortment of publications you'd never really cared for. There was some Economics, History, and a good helping of opaque Physics gibberish - in other words, the usual. Needless to say your father killed it at Trivial Pursuit.
Your own favourite magazines, of course, were sports- and superhero-related. No self-respecting twenty-something would miss out on following the exploits of their favourite heroes or state and national teams, particularly when world competition kicked off in late June. Although the Olympics still tended to draw more viewers on cable, nobody could deny that the super-equivalent had a lot more oomph to it.
"We got another electrical issue upstairs," you said at last, wondering if you could swing by the mall for some snacks before you went out for the night. "One of these days we really have to give a call to the power company. If the lights refuse to come back on one day, we will be in a real pinch…"
"Maybe we should get one of those exercise bikes for emergencies, so you can spend a couple hours charging everything. In my day that kind of work would be considered something of a duty - things were less complicated." Dad sighed deeply, turning to gaze out the window with a sad smile. He shook his head ruefully. "Listen to me, going on about the good old days. I'm starting to sound even older than I feel, aren't I?"
"I think things really were easier back then," you opined distractedly. "The pace of society is supposed to be quicker, right? Because of all the robots and such, and there's a lot more shit to do." You grinned at that thought. "Honestly, I wouldn't know what to do without a television or computer - play hoops or hopscotch, maybe? Hang out in a park and kick a ball around?"
"Well, people used to work for a living," he said dryly, rolling his eyes. "You can take that as a hint, by the way. It's been three weeks, you are getting on my nerves."
"I will find a new job," you said easily. "I had a really good reason to quit this one, you know - it was boring. And you know what boring jobs do to me?" You spread your arms, hanging your head dramatically. "They make me bored - and that's just not acceptable. Besides, the pay was shit, so I can find something better any day of the week, and twice on Sunday."
You weren't sure if that were entirely true, since the job agencies had gotten a little tired of your regular visits, but you didn't really mind putting some effort into applying. It was not that you didn't want to work, it was just that you were looking for something that would actually be engaging. If you were sleeping on the job by the third month it clearly wasn't the right thing for you, and a change was in order.
"The only things they're offering right now are moving boxes and the like - and as much as I can dig a little retro action, going back to the time of hired manual labor is a bit much. This isn't pyramid-building Egypt anymore."
"At least you'd be making something for the rent."
You glared at him. "Dad - you're rich." It was not the first time you reminded him of that fact. "I've got no idea why you insist on sticking it all in some vault and living like a pauper, but you could pay the rent until the next ice age and still not notice a dent. I've got enough saved to keep going for a while, and I can work just fine. I'm just searching for a career. Besides, I figure any sort of economics lessons you were trying to teach me have long since succeeded or failed."
"Failed," he observed dryly.
"Gee, thanks! I did survive on my own for a couple years, so I reckon I manage…!"
Badgering each other over money and work wasn't anything new. Dad had a habit of bringing it up at the most inopportune moments, but you were pretty sure he did not mind your impatience with your rather lengthy slate of jobs. Judging from some of the stories you had heard, he probably recognized a little of himself in you, as he had been a bit of a vagabond in his youth. Ah well - you were confident you'd find a place to fit eventually.
The old man was studying you from under his bushy eyebrows, his eyes those of a hawk. He had been an imposing figure in his youth, and on occasion he still managed to exude a little of that arrogant streak. Something of his grand stature and roguish looks had passed down to you, though you had never really thought of yourself as genuinely handsome. Too angular.
"Do I have something on my face?" you wondered at last as you fidgeted under that piercing gaze. "What's that look for?"
"Just trying to figure out if I used enough rat poison," he answered, grinning. His gaze stayed perfectly steady as he carefully lowered his coffee, revealing that the cup was still nearly full. "Are you feeling anything yet?"
"Ha. You're real funny," you deadpanned.
"Eh, it's your loss," Dad responded testily. "I figured there's some nice nurses at the hospital, so you might want to pay a visit. That Theresa girl works there, doesn't she?"
"Theresa's just a friend," you said shortly, adding 'unfortunately' in your mind. "Who are you to talk about getting the girls, anyway? Mom was like forty when you met her, wasn't she? Forgive me for following my old man's example in not getting too committed too early." Besides, you didn't care to settle down with someone who might turn out to be boring too - you could only imagine the fallout.
He wisely refrained from commenting on your avoidance. "Anyway, you've done logistics, bartending, salesmanship, construction… even a stint of dancing. What's next on the bucket list?"
"I don't know… Maybe I should start warbling in the shower so I can get some practice in for my inevitable career in Wagnerian opera?" You smirked. "Or do you have that covered for me already? You're a regular Pavarotti in there."
"Well, the landlady is pretty rotund, so she can sing at the end." He chortled. "I kid, I kid. Have you ever reconsidered following your old man's footsteps? Physics nor astronomy are much of a money-making business, but at least it's work. I figured you might have inherited a little of my pizazz."
"Eh, I don't know. I'm no physics guru, and even if it might be cool to find all those freaky aliens everyone's talking about, I think I would be bored with studying before I even properly started working." You had to admit, the idea had some merit, although the collections of thick books stacked all around the house looked rather daunting. "You will be stuck with me for a while, I'm afraid, until I get something new."
"Maybe you're stuck with me, instead." He smiled sadly. "I get it, you know. You came back because of your mother - but you stay because of me. Without you, I probably would have been carted off to some stuffy old people's home already."
You itched to deny that sentiment, but there was a grain of truth in there. Although you'd never considered it a chore, it was undeniably true that you'd been picking up more and more of the slack around the house, making sure everything was running smoothly whenever you had the time. Dad didn't leave the house much considering he wasn't much into walking anymore, which meant a lot of things fell to you.
Occasionally you'd skipped out on searching for a job so you could keep the old man company and clean the house for him - you figured your old man had probably realized what you were up to, but he had never actually called you out. It was a sort of silent arrangement between you.
"I know my prime's far behind me," he said mildly. "Farther than most, really."
"You're not that old."
He rolled his eyes. "I don't look it," he agreed immediately, stroking his wrinkled cheeks and smiling. "I'm a wrinkled old crippled prune, but a healthy wrinkled old crippled prune. I'm the envy of the stroller generation." He paused at that. "Don't make a mistake, though - I'm still old. Proper old, even if I don't look a day over seventy."
"Dad… you are seventy," you reminded him, wondering why things were so sentimental today, since this was the second time he had brought up his age. You didn't like to speculate on the reasons. "You talk like you're gonna keel over any minute. It's kind of creeping me out."
"Eh, who knows the time or the hour?" Your old man looked down at his lined hands, frowning darkly. "Time's been on my mind, I suppose. I've been thinking that there's something I think you should know." He hesitated, staring out into the streets with a blank expression. "Your mother and I…" He swallowed thickly, balling his fists, his green eyes blazing with some unspoken emotion. "It's about what happened -"
Your cellphone decided to burst into song at that moment, blasting some overly loud metal song that shattered the mood. Your father shook his head in exasperation as you fished the device from your pocket, revealing a rather dated old brick that was nearly as venerable as your old man. "...It might be the job agency," you said dubiously, pressing the answer button and holding a hand to your other ear to block out noise - the volume button had been stuck on low for a while. "Hello? Who's this?"
"Is this the Atherton residence?" a woman asked in rather stilted tones. "I am looking for - Ezekiel? Yes, that's right."
"He prefers Zeke." Not really, but whatever. "Just a second..." It wasn't the first time that Dad's calls ended up on your phone - he always carried your number around on a card, in case he ever needed to reach you, but he had a habit of forgetting his own number - or writing that one down. Memory was a funny thing. "Who is this, by the way?"
"Tell him it's Marjorie. He'll know."
"Right." You tossed the phone underhanded towards your father who caught it deftly. "It's someone called Marjorie," you repeated, and the old man's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Well, don't keep your old flame waiting. It's for you, obviously."
"Marge Vögel? It's been fifteen years," Dad murmured, raising the phone to his ear and furrowing his brow. "...Yes?" He listened for a minute, clenching his fist around the phone until the knuckles turned white. His hands shook a little and he seemed suddenly pale.
You knew this kind of call.
"...I'm heading out for a bit," you announced promptly, and you grabbed your father's cell off the windowsill. "We'll switch back later, 'kay? I'll be back by sundown - keep something warm for me, alright? I'll swing by for a quick bite."
You could not help feeling a little put down as you entered the hall. This kind of thing had been happening a lot in recent years, and it was heartbreaking to witness. Dad was not old old in your opinion, but you would not guess it by how many of these calls he had been getting over the last few years - old friends, distant relatives, business acquaintances, all passing on before their time. You supposed it was a small blessing that they hadn't started dropping before he'd recovered decently from mom's loss, since you had a feeling he might have done something more permanent than drinking himself into a stupor.
You grabbed your jacket, grimacing at the thought of the coming days, as your dad would doubtlessly be inconsolable again. Sadder too after he got back from the funeral, and never quite the same man. It sucked.
"Marcus, hold up..."
You turned in surprise, realizing that your father was standing right besides you, his eyes rather moist and glistening but his jaw set. "Uh -" You must've gotten caught up for a moment there since you hadn't even heard him hobbling over. "Yeah, I'm going already."
"No, no. You don't need to run." He looked uncomfortable. "If you do go, there's something I'd like you to do for me." He offered you an envelope, hastily plastered closed with some tape. "The planetarium should be open. Give this to Rich there. You remember him?"
"Uh, yeah, I know who Rich is. I see him around town pretty often." You took the letter and quickly stuffed it in a pocket. "You can't just call him?"
"No, I think it's better if you…" He gestured vaguely at your pocket. "Just do it, would you? I doubt you had anywhere to go today." His smile was strained, but it was actually there. Huh - had you been wrong about that call? "I'll be alright," he assured you. "I have been putting these things off too long. I am sorry, for what it's worth."
"What things...?"
"We'll talk about it later." Your father nodded sagely, but his expression betrayed some kind of emotional turmoil you couldn't grasp. "You will understand better then, I think..."
You'll have to do something about this later…
[ ] Keep Him To That Promise - Dad deserves a fair shake, and this call has gotten in the way of a pretty heart-to-heart moment. You swear to yourself that as soon as humanly possible you will pick this up again. Even if it does mean opening old wounds.
[ ] Discuss This With Someone Else - You know a few of Dad's old friends who might know what's going on. Barging into kind of uncomfortable topics about mom and such might get ugly - it has before - so you could at least get a pep talk first. It'll probably help.
[ ] Leave It Be, For Now - Dad can have his eccentricities and nostalgic moments, so he'll get back to this on his own time. You're around all the time anyway, so it's not like you're avoiding him. You've got your own things to worry about.
[ ] Discuss This With Someone Else - You know a few of Dad's old friends who might know what's going on. Barging into kind of uncomfortable topics about mom and such might get ugly - it has before - so you could at least get a pep talk first. It'll probably help.
[ ] Leave It Be, For Now - Dad can have his eccentricities and nostalgic moments, so he'll get back to this on his own time. You're around all the time anyway, so it's not like you're avoiding him. You've got your own things to worry about.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Old Man Rich was another of your father's old buddies - his long white hair made him look rather like an aged hippie, and his haggard excuse for a beard added a little Hell's Angels to the mix. He might have exuded the air of a kindly wizard if he ever bothered to put on more fancy clothes than a faded t-shirt featuring a hair-metal band and a pair of pants that had probably started out bright blue in the distant past but had long ago turned dusty gray.
Rich wasn't really on your mind, though as you walked up the path to the planetarium. A black-clothed figure stood atop the domed roof, between the two large satellite dishes, staring up from the place where the large telescope would appear after the sun went down. Two long strips of white fabric wafted in the breeze from the back of his dark blue costume, a deep cowl hiding his entire face from view. You vaguely recognized the outfit, though you'd only seen it on the news, never in real life. He was a superhero - if a pretty small time one.
"That's Mass Equivalence," Rich said from besides you, appearing as if out of nowhere. He followed your gaze and raised an eyebrow. "That's what he calls himself, I hear. Bit ostentatious, but that's what you get with teens who like the modern lingo. He likes the view up there, I think. I see him almost every day, but thankfully he doesn't make a fuss."
"He's a new guy, right?" There weren't many local heroes around the back corners of California, since they mostly hung out in the bigger cities further south and west. Beyond Fleetfoot the speedster and a couple boring super-strong guys who stole all the heavy lifting jobs, Tiger-Man was really the only one you knew of who was still active. Even he had moved to San Fransisco the year before, searching for action. "He's been active half a year or so, I think."
"Just two months, actually," Rich muttered. "Redfield's a nice place to get started, I guess - not much in the way of villains. Rumor has it he's the protégé of the original Mass-Master, the one from the old wartime guard." He smirked. "They all had silly names back then - they didn't care for this postmodern attitude of making everything sound intimidating. I always thought Kid Cosmo sounded like he could be a shaggy dog, and let's not start about the Penny Pincher or Breezy..."
You shrugged. "I don't know, there's a couple lineages that like to do the legacy thing," you said lightly. "Most of them probably modernized their names, though. Can you imagine a hero with a name like the Whizzer in this day and age?" You snickered, looking back up to the roof. "So, does he ever come down from there, or is he just asocial?"
"I've spoken to him once or twice. Seems like a decent sort. Bit conceited."
That wasn't much of a surprise, unfortunately - heroes had a habit of getting a bit too big for their boots. "You reckon he would do an interview or something?" you wondered. "I am kind of - in between jobs at the moment. Maybe I could do a little freelancing for the papers?"
"I doubt you could get anything out of him."
You reached into your pocket, nodding distractedly. "I get you. Anyway… I came here because of dad. He asked me to deliver something. It might be bad. Someone called Marjorie called..."
"Marge?" Rich muttered. "Well, we are dropping like flies these days, huh?" he wondered in subdued tone, taking the letter and quickly reading it over - the few letters you could see were completely unintelligible, as tended to be the case with your father. You weren't sure if physicists and doctors went to the same school of handwriting, but it wouldn't surprise you. "Huh."
"Huh?"
"It's... You wouldn't happen to be busy today?" He glanced up to the roof one last time, letting out a long-suffering sigh. "I suppose it's that kind of time, huh?" He gestured as he set off. "Come - we have a few hours til sundown, but we can make use of those. I got a call to make, anyway. Your father..."
"What do you mean, hours?" you demanded as the wrinkled hippie turned towards the observatory, clearly expecting you to fall in line as he marched away. After a moment of hesitation you did, glancing back to the black-garbed figure on the roof a few more times before he disappeared out of sight. "Hey - what's going on?"
"Just have some patience." Rich waltzed straight through the reception, swiping a card against a scanner and taking the quick shortcut to the section cordoned off from the public. "So… How much did your father tell you? About us?"
"Us?" you wondered. "Not sure what you mean."
Rich stared at you for a long moment, then pinched the bridge of his nose. "Right. Yeah. I figured something like this would be going on. That crotchety old -" He didn't say anything more, fetching a white lab coat from a hook at the side of the room and putting it on - he made it look good. "Grab one of your own, would you? We have a couple that should fit, and you don't want your clothes getting dirty…"
"Uh… Are you offering me a job?" you asked as you quickly sorted through the available coats, most of them rather smudgy and old. "I could give it a shot, I suppose. Though I'm not sure what someone does at a planetarium. Watch planets? Stars?" You frowned. "I can move things, I suppose, but I don't advise something like that if you want to keep me around..."
Rich smiled thinly, shaking his head. "You want a job offer? Just hold on, would you?"
You'd seen the observatory before, though only from the visitor's area to the side, which was presently closed. The bulk of the telescope dominated the room, a massive cylindrical machine suspended in the middle by a heavy metal structure which seemed considerably more rickety than it actually was - patches of rust didn't help matters. The rest of the room was considerably more disheveled than the shiny surface of its main attraction, filled with tables covered in reams of paper and 90's era computers.
Rich stopped, patting his pockets. "You wouldn't happen to have a phone on you?"
"Yes! Of course." You pulled out dad's cell; you'd forgotten to switch it back. You fumbled with the ancient device for a moment. "Right, I'm not sure if it's been topped up, but I figure it'll still work anyway..."
"That's your father's phone, isn't it?" Rich observed carefully. "You peek through that thing?"
You blinked. "Uh… no?"
He took the phone from your hands without another word, flipping through it with swift movements. "You really shouldn't go gallivanting around with his stuff, you know. Someone could do some damage with all this, even now…" He shrugged uneasily. "I take it your own phone is with him, then? Yeah, makes sense - he would be that lax. Hold on a minute."
Rich didn't stay in earshot, walking away as he murmured under his breath into the phone, probably discussing the latest funeral - ugh. You took that time to look at the papers spread everywhere, mostly clueless about whatever complicated calculations were on there, but still intrigued. You weren't dumb by any means, but this algebra stuff had never really appealed - you were always more of a practical kind of guy, better with analogies than numbers. You supposed that's why astronomy was interesting in the 'looking at cool stuff' way, but not so much the 'calculate the procession of Venus' sense.
Stepping closer to the telescope to take a look, you paused in mid-step. Every footfall so far has been solid and followed by a slight echo, the natural result of the room's smooth floor and cavernous interior. But that last step had felt strangely springy, and it was followed only by a dull thump. You looked down at your feet curiously. There, right at your toes, you could see the hair-thin edge of some kind of square panel - a trap door, perhaps? Maybe a little storage area for tools? It was almost invisible against the surrounding material, and judging from the scuff marks it had been covered by a table for many years. You leaned down for a closer look -
"What are you doing there?" Rich inquired, narrowing his eyes as he noted your position next to the recess in the middle of what should have been a solid floor. "My, you're a nosy little bugger, ain't you? I turn away for two minutes and you discover all the wrong things..."
You cringed. "It's just…"
"Nobody's actually wondered about that in all the years I've worked here," Rich observed a few moments later, and he smiled sadly as he thumped on it once with his foot. "I guess everyone just sort of assumes that's supposed to be there. Haven't really had a reason to make them wonder, I suppose - no clue if the door still works properly. Might have to get the power tools."
"You and dad are equally annoying when you're not making sense." You crossed your arms and leaned back against the metal supports of the telescope. "I suppose it's common to old curmudgeons?"
"Yup, that's us. Though the Kid's always been worse at that sort of thing." He nodded easily, raising one hand to his ear. "Let's give it a spin, shall we? I think this is gonna be a bit of a shocker - but I think that's sort of the point." He tapped something you could not quite see. "Here we go…"
That's when things went weird. With a mechanical click that resounded from somewhere below you - it was quite loud - something seemed to loosen under your feet. The floor wobbled ever so slightly as something slowly screeched against metal. Rich winced at the sound, brushing his hair back and blushing. "I guess I should have oiled that a little…"
The thin lines of the strange floor panel became more defined as pressure was released, and it slowly sunk into the floor by about half an inch, before sliding sideways under the observatory floor. What remained behind was a dark staircase framed by two wooden guide rails, each carved into the shape of a snake, and a series of flickering light-bulbs that were probably older than you were, bravely attempting to brighten the winding path.
"Wait, you have a secret sex dungeon under here?" you asked, though the sarcastic question came out rather blandly. You were genuinely shocked. "No, seriously, there's an actual secret dungeon in the middle of the floor?! What. The fuck."
Rich just gestured you towards the opening, and you didn't need much prodding to explore, as the lavish decorations seemed completely out of place in the musty old secret tunnel. The snake-like railings actually seemed to consist of multiple carvings, one after the other, each biting into the tail of the last and twisting around each other until they practically merged. The steps were covered in what might've been satin long ago, although a good bit of it was rather worse for wear and moldy, and something like artwork had long since faded from the walls.
It all looked vaguely familiar. Not in the sense that you'd ever been in this kind of place, of course, but those carvings reminded you of something you must've read about, and the long secret staircases evoked old mystery novels. What was most suggestive, however, was what appeared around the next corner. There was a painting on the wall across from the staircase, depicting a rounded shape with two large swords crisscrossing behind it, and the image of a serpent biting its own tail right in the center of it. That you knew. It was the Ouroboros - a symbol as old as civilization. In modern times it became best associated with -
"Holy shit."
"Yup. Welcome to the Snakepit," Rich said sardonically, wiping away cobwebs as he walked past you, saluting mockingly at the painting. "This was the home of the Eternals - once upon a time. A sanctuary in times of need, and a safe haven from enemies both foreign and domestic even in peacetime."
"How on earth did you find this place? You know how freaking cool something like this is? Last I heard nobody even knew where the Eternals operated from, much less their actual secret underground base!" You paced swiftly through the corridors and looked in fascination around the vacant rooms, now mostly covered in dust and old furniture. Gleaming white helmets were still propped up on a pedestal in one corner of what might have been a meeting room, right next to an honest-to-god red cape. "Man, do you know the historical value in a place like this? What are the odds -" You looked back at your guide, blinking rapidly. "How in the world...?"
The old man smiled, his lined face filled with terrible sadness as he walked to one of the glass cabinets that lined the corridor. He took a familiar dark blue mask from it, raising it to his face slowly, its two long white ears sticking out from either side. "...You might say I cheated a little."
You gaped. "You're not -"
"I picked the name because it sounded interesting and not too threatening," Rich noted, dropping the mask back onto its pillow. "It had a punny nature to it, right? Mass-Master. I used to stutter quite a bit, so it was kind of an in-joke between me and the rest of us…"
"You have freaking superpowers?" you blurted. "I've known you forever, and you just kinda forget to tell anyone about that? What the hell, man!"
"Yes, well, that would be the point of having a secret identity." He smirked at that, clearly enjoying your shock. "My name is Richmond Raynor - or Richter Ravensfeld, depending on when you asked the question." He gestured vaguely at the photographs set up within the display case, most of which depicted his heroic alter ego in some dramatic pose. "This stuff came later. I served in the German army first, back when us supers were new. Lots of us were drafted in those days, pressganged into serving the country at risk to our own life and experimented on like cattle. We didn't much care for it. You've read about what came after, I'm sure - Operation Paperclip, Firebrand, all that. Countries stole the best and brightest of the enemy's forces. Including me."
"Damn," you blurted, staring at the long-eared mask in the display case. "How many of you are there? Were all the Eternals German? Wait - does that mean you were a Nazi too?"
Rich rolled his eyes. "There were a few hundred of us, and most of weren't on board the hate train to atrocity-ville, no. There were a dozen in this particular cell, but there are others like it all over the country. We started as paramilitary groups, but converted to proper heroes down the line when that sort of thing became fashionable - it gave better PR, and we'd become good enough friends that we really didn't need the state enforcing service."
You nodded. "Uh… that's really cool. But now I'm kinda wondering if you're gonna drop me in some shallow grave for seeing all of this." You swallowed nervously. "This is kind of hush-hush, right? Exposing the identity of registered supers is, like, a felony..."
"I think we can keep this a secret between us. Besides, I'm not a superhero anymore. I'm retired," Rich explained. "Back in the mid-eighties, when all those broody types with guns became common, I hung up the mask. I couldn't really stand how things were going so I packed up and went to Barbados. Didn't move back until - well, after your mother had her accident…" He cleared his throat. "I don't have my powers anymore, so you'll have to take my word on that. You remember that guy on the roof, earlier?"
"Yeah… Mass Equivalent?"
"Equivalence," he corrected. "You'll probably run into him sometime. My power wasn't really so much genetic as much as it was mystical, so that meant I could pass it on to someone else if I cared to - and I did. So far I'm not complaining. My protégé has got a year to prove himself before I decide whether I go looking for another. He's cocky - but he's getting there. I used to be pretty bad myself, truth be told..."
"That's kind of awesome," you said, wandering around as you looked at the dilapidated remains of what was once a major super team's hideout. The Eternals were a bit of a legend, since they were among the very first superheroes to ever show up on American soil, beyond a few stray war veterans. Mass-Master, Kid Cosmo, Torchbearer and Cassandra were the ones you remembered off the top of your head, and you were pretty sure Silvertongue and Rough Beast were at least temporary members. All of them were famous, though firmly in the historical sense. "...Damn, I have so many questions."
"I thought you would," Rich agreed with a wry grin. "Let's get a few big ones out of the way, shall we? Did the costume chafe? Yup - they didn't invent the good stuff until decades later. Did I need that codpiece? I cared about my family jewels, so definitely. What was up with the ears? ...It was a different time. Let's not talk about it."
"Still, why the ears, though?" you demanded incredulously. "You make things move and change gravity with your powers, right? So where is the rabbit theme?"
"It wasn't supposed to be that way, really. It was just a style thing at first, and by the time I thought better of it the look had become pretty distinctive. I didn't really have the heart to remove the ears after I found out kids loved the aesthetic." He snorted. "I miss those days. Putting on the costume now is kind of embarrassing. I'm eighty-seven… never expected to reach those kinds of years, back in the war…"
You frowned in confusion. "Uh - aren't you younger than dad? He always says you were a little twerp when you were going to school together..."
Rich hesitated. "Yeah, about that -"
"Does he know about all this?" You asked swiftly. "Because this kind of thing would really get him going -" You paused, frozen mid-movement as realization struck you. Shit. It'd been staring you in the face for the last thirty minutes. Rich was Mass-Master. Rich was your father's best friend from childhood, which Rich had obviously spent in Germany, at least a decade or two earlier than you'd guessed. It didn't mesh at all. You were standing in the middle of the Eternals' old home base, though, so Rich wasn't lying - and the only reason your old man would bend the truth about something like this is if he were involved.
Dad was a superhero.
"Holy shit!"
"...That took you a while."
"Shut up!" You raised a shaking hand. "I get to freak about something like this! Which one was he?! Holy crap, is he actually like ninety years old? Where's his costume? What are his powers, and why doesn't he ever use them? Why'd he -"
Rich cut you off by snapping his fingers sharply. "All of that can be explained when we have a little time to spare. You're here for a reason, Mark."
"It's Marcus," you complained. "Seriously though-"
"Come along. Before I reconsider your father's wishes."
Rich strode down the gloomy corridors, and once again you were forced to pursue, grumbling under your breath as you tried to recall all the members of the old Eternals, and which one your father might've been. There had been roster changes over the years, but if Rich was right, dad must have been a founding member. Torchbearer was black and the Spinning Top turned out rather obese, but a couple of the others could probably fit. Unfortunately you couldn't recall any with distinctly red hair among them.
You couldn't quite wrap your head around the idea that your father had been an Eternal - and it only got weirder when you considered what it meant that he was even older than you'd imagined. Why would he fake a twenty year age difference? Maybe it was to divorce heroes from their civilian identities? Being the child of a couple nearly in their fifties was weird already, but maybe your dad had actually been seventy when you were born. That was insane, and you figured it was probably attributable to the superhero thing. You'd heard something about their supposed 'hybrid vigor' from detractors, but you'd always figured it was just a slur to compare supers to crossbred animals...
"Your father has been my friend for a very long time. It's the only reason why I'll just let you waltz in here," Rich said solemnly as he entered a large chamber towards the end of the underground sanctuary, its roof and walls arched and marked with elaborate drawings of the moon, stars, and planets. You felt a sinking feeling as you recognized the large astrolabes and other familiar equipment around the room; you'd seen things very much like them not long ago, in model form. "This was his place, back in the day. It's set up with a connection to the telescope upstairs - from the fifties through eighties it used state-of-the-art electronics, most of which are worse than nothing, now. Things change..."
"Kid Cosmo!" you blurted in a strangled tone. "Dad was… is... Kid Cosmo."
"He tried Doctor Universe, but it never stuck," Rich agreed. "Your father's been meaning to tell you about all this for a while, but… he sent you to me instead, obviously. I guess he just couldn't manage on his own. For what it's worth, I don't think it actually has anything to do with you personally. Ever since he lost your mother, he's been detached. I suppose Marge prodded him into action, but he couldn't quite manage to open up."
"I think he was going to," you said distantly, thinking of that moment at the window when your father had seemed so very nervous. "He said something about mom, but he got interrupted by- by that Marjorie or Marge person's call. This… this is going to be a weird day, isn't it?"
"That'd be Cassandra, incidentally," Rich noted, rubbing his beard as he looked up at the starry ceiling. "She was always the proactive one among us. Back in the forties women weren't really considered equal yet, as such, but she didn't let that get in her way. Not much could stand against her when she got going. Marge might not have had the kind of powerhouse abilities some of us did, but she was definitely the brains of the operation."
"Nice!" you said, still stuck on what you would say when you came back home. 'Hi dad, so why did you never tell me you were a classic superhero?'
"I'm curious - do you recognize this thing?" Rich reached into a circular display case in the center of the central table which was wedged against a curved desk, dusting it off with one hand and retrieving a shiny object from within. It glistened silver in his palm, a medal shaped like the number eight with a round symbol in the center, something like a five-pointed star that got caught in a whirlwind. "You really should know it…"
You nodded warily, as you recognized the symbol that Kid Cosmo used to wear in most of the public images. Dad had always worn a cowl that covered his whole head, so that explained the lack of auburn hair on display. The symbol, like a stylized galaxy, had always featured prominently on his forehead and chest. "It's pretty cool. What about it?"
"Take it." He lifted it by a thin, gossamer chain, dangling it in front of you. "This is why you're here. This was your father's, back when he was still active. It's yours now."
"You took me here to find a fancy amulet?" you asked dubiously, grabbing the silver medal and turning it over in your hand. It was remarkably clean for laying on a shelf for a decade or two, and it felt slightly warm under your touch, probably because of Rich's handling. "It's pretty spiffy, but what's all this supposed to be about? This whole secret base reveal?"
"I suppose we're all making our peace," the former hero said mildly. "You never did read up on us, did you? The Eternals? How we worked and why we stuck together?" He grimaced. "I suppose you're more into the current crop of heroes. We were proper old-school - before all the refinements and smooth edges of the current generations - we were born from war. It comes with some caveats."
You raised an eyebrow. "Hey, I know a few things. I can name like… half of you, and I kinda know a few of your origin stories - which isn't too bad for a hero team that went defunct when I was still a kid, and had been on the decline for thirty years before that." Right then something pinched your finger painfully, and you yelped as you drew it back, though it still hurt. "What the - something stung me!"
"Yeah, it does that," Rich said dryly as he looked down on the medal lying innocently on the table in front of you. "You're not just here to fetch that old relic, Marcus," Rich muttered. "You're here to fetch a legacy."
You swallowed thickly as your eyes were drawn inexorably to the amulet. There was blood on it - or in it. It began to shine as bright as lamplight, gleaming with a reddish gold hue. The twisted star on the front was gone, and in its place was something impossible. A galaxy showed itself there, bright as life, turning with glacial slowness and indescribable inertia, and it felt as real as anything. You looked into that pocket universe without even the aid of a telescope - and something, something looked back at you.
"This is how it's supposed to be," the old man murmured from besides you, sounding rather contrite. You couldn't pull your gaze away from the amulet. "Cassandra's never wrong, you know. She called me earlier, explained a few things. She knew just when to call your father, too…" He smiled sadly. "Well, I guess every hero picks his own methods. Good luck, kid. See you on the other side."
Darkness rushed up to meet you, and for a moment you thought you were passing out - but that darkness was full of stars, and they sung to you in dulcet tones of electromagnetism and gravity. It was beautiful, and terrible.
Your body lay on the floor, forgotten, a thin sheen of sweat on its feverish skin - you were somewhere above it, looking down. The last you saw was Rich grasping you carefully, his old frame still strong enough to manage the weight. Then the amulet drew your gaze again, and you were lost once more.
"Fuck yeah," you thought distantly, dull realization sinking in. "Now this is what I'm talking about…"
---
The universe rushes up to meet you in a storm of images and feelings that you can barely parse. Something vast attempts to show you something - perhaps it tries to communicate, if only in the crudest of ways. A single image remains behind as you wake...
[ ] Silver Starshine - The glow of a thousand stars washes over you, a wave of solidified sunshine which seems as hard as steel. It protects you like armor and lashes out against all that surrounds you with great force, like the razor-sharp edge of a blade made of boiling plasma and sizzling light.
[ ] Solar Fire - You see the incandescence of the sun rising towards you, a might the likes of which you've never felt. You feel the heat of destruction, for there is no more than ash in its wake. This is high sorcery at its most dangerous and volatile, powerful but uncontrolled.
[ ] The Gleam of a Comet - The wispy coma of the great comet envelops you, its flare of ice and dust shifting and moving in every direction, flowing with your movements and amplifying them a hundredfold in range - there is no obstacle to such majesty.
[ ] The Heart of a Dying Star - There is no fire here, and you have passed by any coherent idea of heat. Here there is only pressure, and energy in abundance. Here, in the depths, all is forged from the simple to the complex. It is pure potential made manifest.
[ ] Write-In (Be Creative… I will let you know if an option isn't possible or reasonable.)
[ ] Solar Fire - You see the incandescence of the sun rising towards you, a might the likes of which you've never felt. You feel the heat of destruction, for there is no more than ash in its wake. This is high sorcery at its most dangerous and volatile, powerful but uncontrolled.
[ ] The Gleam of a Comet - The wispy coma of the great comet envelops you, its flare of ice and dust shifting and moving in every direction, flowing with your movements and amplifying them a hundredfold in range - there is no obstacle to such majesty.
[ ] The Heart of a Dying Star - There is no fire here, and you have passed by any coherent idea of heat. Here there is only pressure, and energy in abundance. Here, in the depths, all is forged from the simple to the complex. It is pure potential made manifest.
[ ] Write-In (Be Creative… I will let you know if an option isn't possible or reasonable.)
The cleansing power of the amulet does more than empower - it changes, too. Here, in this moment, you have the opportunity to mold even your very soul…
[ ] Write-In (You gain the opportunity to enhance a single aspect of your personality far beyond human limits, especially when using your powers. Alternatively you may choose to diminish a negative personality trait, essentially nullifying it while using your powers. Please add your reasoning, so that these traits aren't too vague or broad. Examples may be found here: http://ideonomy.mit.edu/essays/traits.html) Feel free to suggest others too, I will note if any which are voted for don't make sense, or are disallowed if necessary.)
---
Relationships Changed:
Amulet Entity - New Acquaintance
Kid Cosmo (Ezekiel Atherton) - Close Ally
Mass-Master (Rich) - Ally
Traits Changed:
Empowered : +10 Heroic Points gained! (Spend 1 to add a +5 modifier to any roll, or spend 3 to re-roll - only once per round, though.)
Great Potential : All your powers have greater potential than they had for the original Kid Cosmo, and are broader in scope. Potentially.
Legacy Hero : + 10 to Reputation rolls.
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Usernames
Merc gonna merc ya
[X] Keep Him To That Promise - Dad deserves a fair shake, and this call has gotten in the way of a pretty heart-to-heart moment. You swear to yourself that as soon as humanly possible you will pick this up again. Even if it does mean opening old wounds.
[X] The Heart of a Dying Star - There is no fire here, and you have passed by any coherent idea of heat. Here there is only pressure, and energy in abundance. Here, in the depths, all is forged from the simple to the complex. It is pure potential made manifest.
[X]Disciplined
Potential potential potential the name of the game.
we roll a 6 on potential. We must push it to the limit.
[X] The Heart of a Dying Star - There is no fire here, and you have passed by any coherent idea of heat. Here there is only pressure, and energy in abundance. Here, in the depths, all is forged from the simple to the complex. It is pure potential made manifest.
[X]Disciplined
Potential potential potential the name of the game.
we roll a 6 on potential. We must push it to the limit.
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RepThe21st
21st of his Name
- Location
- Greece
[X] Plan Rep
[X] Keep Him To That Promise - Dad deserves a fair shake, and this call has gotten in the way of a pretty heart-to-heart moment. You swear to yourself that as soon as humanly possible you will pick this up again. Even if it does mean opening old wounds.
Let's be cool with our dad.
[X] The Gleam of a Comet
Sounds movement based. We'll probably fly. Maybe even Teleport. I call dibs.
[X] Fun-loving
This was a tough choice. There a hundred different attributes I could have chosen that would make us better, smarter, faster, more efficient, more responsible, etc etc In the end, I picked one that I think would make the narrative more interesting as a whole, and the character a bit more complex but in a subtle way rather than the eye-rolling dark mood of anti-heroes.
Some fun now and then would be awesome. A fun-loving person can appreciate down-time and see the bright side even on bad situations. Ability we can nurture in a thousand different ways, I'd prefer if we were a fun person to begin with. Much more interesting to read about and play as.
Edit: EDITED FOR GREAT JUSTICE
Let's be cool with our dad.
[X] The Gleam of a Comet
Sounds movement based. We'll probably fly. Maybe even Teleport. I call dibs.
[X] Fun-loving
This was a tough choice. There a hundred different attributes I could have chosen that would make us better, smarter, faster, more efficient, more responsible, etc etc In the end, I picked one that I think would make the narrative more interesting as a whole, and the character a bit more complex but in a subtle way rather than the eye-rolling dark mood of anti-heroes.
Some fun now and then would be awesome. A fun-loving person can appreciate down-time and see the bright side even on bad situations. Ability we can nurture in a thousand different ways, I'd prefer if we were a fun person to begin with. Much more interesting to read about and play as.
Edit: EDITED FOR GREAT JUSTICE
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Ambit
Help me
- Location
- Third Circle of Hell
[X] Keep Him To That Promise - Dad deserves a fair shake, and this call has gotten in the way of a pretty heart-to-heart moment. You swear to yourself that as soon as humanly possible you will pick this up again. Even if it does mean opening old wounds.
[X] The Heart of a Dying Star - There is no fire here, and you have passed by any coherent idea of heat. Here there is only pressure, and energy in abundance. Here, in the depths, all is forged from the simple to the complex. It is pure potential made manifest.
[X] The Heart of a Dying Star - There is no fire here, and you have passed by any coherent idea of heat. Here there is only pressure, and energy in abundance. Here, in the depths, all is forged from the simple to the complex. It is pure potential made manifest.
[X] Discuss This With Someone Else - You know a few of Dad's old friends who might know what's going on. Barging into kind of uncomfortable topics about mom and such might get ugly - it has before - so you could at least get a pep talk first. It'll probably help.
Probably best to get an idea what the minefield looks like before we go blundering in.
[X] Silver Starshine - The glow of a thousand stars washes over you, a wave of solidified sunshine which seems as hard as steel. It lashes out against all that surrounds you with great force, like the razor-sharp edge of a blade made of boiling plasma and sizzling light.
I considered a Black Hole write-in, but it ended up too similar to Dying Star. Starshine looks awesome though.
[X] Dynamic
Roarian says that we enhance an aspect of our personality to "far beyond human limits", which seems to me like we should pick a virtue or descriptor. I like Dynamic because it implies that there's an energy to what we do, a sort of kinetic force. We make things happen, we're the cause not the effect. I think that'd be an interesting trait to explore unrelated to what our power set is.
I do like to think of what similar attributes other heroes have for this though, "Witty" is definitely Spider-Man for example.
Probably best to get an idea what the minefield looks like before we go blundering in.
[X] Silver Starshine - The glow of a thousand stars washes over you, a wave of solidified sunshine which seems as hard as steel. It lashes out against all that surrounds you with great force, like the razor-sharp edge of a blade made of boiling plasma and sizzling light.
I considered a Black Hole write-in, but it ended up too similar to Dying Star. Starshine looks awesome though.
[X] Dynamic
Roarian says that we enhance an aspect of our personality to "far beyond human limits", which seems to me like we should pick a virtue or descriptor. I like Dynamic because it implies that there's an energy to what we do, a sort of kinetic force. We make things happen, we're the cause not the effect. I think that'd be an interesting trait to explore unrelated to what our power set is.
I do like to think of what similar attributes other heroes have for this though, "Witty" is definitely Spider-Man for example.
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Evillevi
A Pikachu for everything - Shadow Pikachu,2015
[X] Keep Him To That Promise - Dad deserves a fair shake, and this call has gotten in the way of a pretty heart-to-heart moment. You swear to yourself that as soon as humanly possible you will pick this up again. Even if it does mean opening old wounds.
[X] The Heart of a Dying Star - There is no fire here, and you have passed by any coherent idea of heat. Here there is only pressure, and energy in abundance. Here, in the depths, all is forged from the simple to the complex. It is pure potential made manifest.
[X] Enhance Positive Trait: Adaptable
[X] The Heart of a Dying Star - There is no fire here, and you have passed by any coherent idea of heat. Here there is only pressure, and energy in abundance. Here, in the depths, all is forged from the simple to the complex. It is pure potential made manifest.
[X] Enhance Positive Trait: Adaptable
[X] Leave It Be, For Now - Dad can have his eccentricities and nostalgic moments, so he'll get back to this on his own time. You're around all the time anyway, so it's not like you're avoiding him. You've got your own things to worry about.
[X] The Heart of a Dying Star - There is no fire here, and you have passed by any coherent idea of heat. Here there is only pressure, and energy in abundance. Here, in the depths, all is forged from the simple to the complex. It is pure potential made manifest.
[X] Enhance Charismatic - I think it's important for a hero to have a high charisma score. We're going to be powerful, and while we can deal with problems with our fists, being able to talk people down will only help to boost our reputation.
[X] The Heart of a Dying Star - There is no fire here, and you have passed by any coherent idea of heat. Here there is only pressure, and energy in abundance. Here, in the depths, all is forged from the simple to the complex. It is pure potential made manifest.
[X] Enhance Charismatic - I think it's important for a hero to have a high charisma score. We're going to be powerful, and while we can deal with problems with our fists, being able to talk people down will only help to boost our reputation.
[X] The Heart of a Dying Star - There is no fire here, and you have passed by any coherent idea of heat. Here there is only pressure, and energy in abundance. Here, in the depths, all is forged from the simple to the complex. It is pure potential made manifest.
[X] Keep Him To That Promise - Dad deserves a fair shake, and this call has gotten in the way of a pretty heart-to-heart moment. You swear to yourself that as soon as humanly possible you will pick this up again. Even if it does mean opening old wounds.
[X]Disciplined
Dying Star's potential with strong discipline? One Punch Guy may be possible yet!
[X] Keep Him To That Promise - Dad deserves a fair shake, and this call has gotten in the way of a pretty heart-to-heart moment. You swear to yourself that as soon as humanly possible you will pick this up again. Even if it does mean opening old wounds.
[X]Disciplined
Dying Star's potential with strong discipline? One Punch Guy may be possible yet!
- Location
- Tel'aran'rhiod
I think this would make a cool look for a cosmic hero
- Location
- Tel'aran'rhiod
[X] Keep Him To That Promise
[X] The Heart of a Dying Star
[X] The Heart of a Dying Star
- Location
- Netherlands
Hmhm. Green Lantern and Daredevil would obviously negate their fear, while Batman supercharged his paranoia, and Supes just went with Inspiration out the wazoo...
I thought of that, too! I was going to do a write-in for something nebula related, because I like the idea of creation, but Heart of a Dying Star has that covered.