Children of the Atom
Children of the Atom - Forum
Marvel Super Heroes
Ad Closes: May 28 '12
Estimated Members Requested: 6
Mutation: It is the key to our evolution. It has enabled us to evolve from a single-celled organism into the dominant species on the planet. This process is slow, and normally takes thousands upon thousands of years. But every few hundred millennia, evolution leaps forward.
Background: This will be very similar to the X-Men Evolution Cartoon and be heavily influenced by the legendary Chris Claremont's run on the New Mutants and the X-Men. The only super powered beings are mutants. Their existence is not public knowledge. Mutants represent a small but steadily increasing population.
Characters: There is a staggering number of mutants. Their statistics will be pulled from the Marvel Super Heroes Roleplaying Game resource books. An excellent reference to this gaming system is ClassicMarvelForever.Com.
Acceptible character possibilities.
1) Any of the original New Mutants except Warlock (Alien races have not been discovered).
2) A younger version of an X-Men character.
3) An existing Marvel hero is now a mutant. Like the amazing SpiderX or Johnny Storm.
4) I will not actively encourage any villains. They were villains for a reason. Plus I need somebody for the good buys to beat up.
Application Process: The characters are premade (subject to minor adjustments). There will be no need for character generation. Instead I am looking for an example of your writing. This is your chance to showcase your talents. Show me what you’ve got. Pick a character that you would like to play and write a short story about one day in their life. If you have writing samples from other games PM the link, I would like to read it.
Cecilia: Kitty Pryde
Corax: Nightcrawler and Gambit
Getaway: Jean Grey
Mischief Warrior: Karma
Last edited by Melverne; May 28 '12 at 4:02pm..
A light rain has just expired on the husk of Seattle; having failed at washing away the oil-slick of corruption that coats the city's underbelly. Past swollen gutter-streams and drooping awnings, black on black on gray in the sultry night of the city, Jonzz cuts a silent path, a traversing shadow in a city of shadows. He is as precise and efficient here as in the sprawling knots of the Martian cities he knew as a boy, as comfortable in the new city's schizophrenic corridors as ever.
At one turn, a huddled mass of thugs is splitting open the side of a stolen briefcase with thick-knotted hands, cursing in hushed words at the meager take for the night. They don't notice him when he skirts the pool of their flashlights on the blacktop, nor does a cadre of rats as they scrap over the remnants of a canine carcass a few alleys up. Here a woman weeps, intoxicated on potent liquor and more potent drugs, her mournful keening flexing through fevered pitches. There, a vagrant-- a wraith-like human made of bone and grime-- haunts his way through the alleys, spared from harassment by the virtue of his poverty. This is the slums... this is the span of city where none can thrive for long, and Jonzz slinks through it unseen. It is dim here even in daylight, the light not blocked by the skyscrapers is blocked by the old overpasses and bridges in this part of town.
Soon, streetlights appear more frequently, and the smell of rot, burnt wood, and stale water is muted, subdued by more encouraging smells of chili cooking, industrial smoke-- signs of life. Here and there are raucous voices, cacophonous conversations in languages Jonzz does not comprehend, though his telepathy picks out the meanings... caring, loathing, and commerce... human things. Underneath one window, where lace curtains shimmy out from the small slat in the summer breeze and candlelight filtered through red glass gleams invitingly, the muffled sounds of lovemaking can be heard over the spittering patter of water from a broken downspout. Behind a barricaded, abandoned warehouse a handful of hispanic men, brothers, perhaps, are squaring off in an alley with a pair of gang colored thugs, discussing trade rights in a tone not unlike typical business in these parts... which is to say partially restrained hostility mingled with bawdy humor.
It's down this path that he has chosen to proceed. Here, where his keenly dark-attuned eyes pick out shapes of lurkers and streetwalkers, lingering traces of shadowy deals and whispering thieves that wander from shack to shack, tower to tower-- among the crumbling masonry and wicked-strutting spires of iron and cement, the warrens of need, the chambers of lust. He's entering the red-light district. Vehicles careen by to escape recognition, pimps lurk with hidden guns and pockets full of god-knows-what. The smell of burning intoxicants, tinged with drugs and malice, creep with him down dark alleys, cling to his dark jacket. Minutes pass before he emerges, intentionally, into a pool of crystal-shed red-light at the front door of a "gentelmen's club' he knows well. Its proprietor, contact and ally among thieves, has taken great pains to secure this foothold in the shifting sands of power.
Just across the tracks, a footprint into the 'better' section of town, "Little Darling's is his current snitch's favorite meeting spot. It's one of the better clubs of it's kind in town in fact, having a good reputation both with the local naval base and the late night workers in the high tech industries nearby.