Rumpelstiltskin

Kinda surprised not to see Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series given it's due here. It takes true talent to weave a tale of such epic scope and still keep you emotionally invested in that many characters. And it will always be my go-to reference for how to properly write a plot device/mechanism into the story itself. Terry Goodkind's Sword of Truth series deserves a mention here as well. I have to admit that the plotlines can get a little repetitive, but I think he makes up for it by crafting characters that are so lifelike and detailed that they seem to leap off the page. The books deserve a much better media representation than Legend of the Seeker could ever have given them. ~ Rumpelstiltskin

You have no idea how disappointing this is. There is finally a Lego convention near where I live - close enough that I am personally familiar with the location where it is being held. And I'm going to be out of state for the weeks leading up to and after it. Everybody have fun without me. ~ Rumpelstiltskin

OOC: I really should get in the habit of using my other PCs more often... IC: (Aquarius) "...If I could only stabilize that chromosome, I wouldn't have to worry about cellular rejection any more," Aquarius muttered to himself, eyes scanning the wall of data pouring across the computer screen. Detailed diagrams of humanoid creatures littered the work space, interspersed with calculations and charts depicting the ratio of molecules in a DNA sequence. Several photographs of animals were pinned to a corkboard propped against the lab's partition, chief among them a killer whale, an andean condor, and a komodo dragon. Things had been rather quiet for Aquarius since his rescue from League Headquarters, which suited him perfectly. It had been quite some time since he had gotten any quality labwork done, and he had heard it through the grapevine that Grand Cross was interested in commissioning a new breed of Sharkmen to replace the failed Quad. Though in honesty he was more interested in pursuing avian hybrids at the time, oceanic lifeforms had always fascinated him, and he had jumped at the challenge. In his research he had found that only one ocean predator was known to prey on great white sharks, robbing them of their apex predator status - the killer whale. Orcas were intelligent enough to understand the concept of tonic immobility - that is, the seemingly paralytic effect imposed upon certain species of shark when they are flipped on their backs. (An effect that he had managed to overcome in the Sharkmen by employing and modifying the functions of the human inner ear.) The shocking case in which a killer whale had flipped a great white onto its back and drowned it had happened a decade earlier, but the inspiration the battle had provided Aquarius was fresh in his mind. If killer whales were able to take down sharks in the wild, what better creature to provide an elite Sharkman breed? Well, at least the concept was a decent one. The execution was another matter entirely. No matter what he tried, the orca chromosome was rejecting the human DNA - which was confounding, considering he was transfusing the orca DNA into a human template. He was convinced one of his calculations was wrong, that he'd transposed a number at some point or some other irritable mistake of the sort, but nothing was readily apparent. He was about to give up for the day when the intercom buzzed. "Aquarius, are you there?" came the reedy voice belonging to Contagion. "Hello?" Aquarius leaned over and pushed a button on the machine. "I'm here," he said. "What's up?" "I think you'd like to see this," Contagion replied. "Come on over while I still have it under the microscope." Giving one last look at the flawed calculations for his Orcaman, Aquarius buzzed back. "I'll be right over." ~ Rumpelstiltskin

OOC: We originally had ten players at the Coalition base; inactivity has greatly aided the Coalition's cause. In the interest of speeding up the plot slightly, what are the odds of bumping back into X-Calibur once we're down the elevator shaft, Kumata? IC: (Loadstone) Prism had nothing more to say, though by the way he slouched and exhaled he was clearly relieved. At least he was until Loadstone motioned to one of his teammates and, with a slashing motion across his throat, said, "Skyra, vac him." The crystal teenager's eyes bulged as a vacuum surrounded his head, and he thrashed against his restraints. Loadstone tightened his grip on the magnaboard to compensate, and before long Prism was knocked unconscious by the lack of air. "That vacuum trick didn't work too well against Golem-Girl, or I would have tried it before," Skyra admitted. "I wasn't even sure if this guy had to breathe." "Looks that way," Loadstone replied, peeling the magnaboard off of Prism and magnetically dissecting the blasters. "If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say that mystery shipment was Danielle Thomas. The timeline fits, and I heard enough about triple-stranded DNA growing up to know that a triple-helix generally has something to do with genetics. Even if it isn't Danielle, anything the Coalition is trying to keep from its own members is serious enough that we should be prepared for some harebrained scheme." With a metallic shriek, he bent a metal brace off of the wall and wrapped it around the slumped figure of Prism. When he was finished, what had been the blasters was now a pair of metal shackles pinning Prism's arms to the brace. "This won't hold him for long when he wakes," Loadstone informed the others. "The only reason he didn't break out of the magnaboard was because he's an amateur, and I don't think he really wanted to hurt us anyway. He could have bent it in two if he'd wanted." ~ Rumpelstiltskin

OOC: There is a government organization that hires SuperHeroes, which essentially operates with the Heroes carrying out their lives normally and getting called in to take down a particular Villain or act as guards for a high-priority subject. Apart from getting paid for their services, the Heroes in question aren't really associated with the government. My character Psionick is part of this organization, and for those of you who were around during the invasion, the attack on the Armada's war factory was staged by them. Unfortunately, I haven't gone into detail with either Psionick of the organization because I haven't been able to come up with a decent name/acronym for it. There are also huge red flags and international treaties preventing any government from knowingly employing supers in a military capacity...it doesn't mean it doesn't happen, but if anything like that were found out, a lot of people would lose their jobs/good reps. Not to mention the UN would launch a full-blown investigation, and the League would get involved to neutralize the supersoldiers...It wouldn't be pretty. IC: (Loadstone) "The Coalition moved back in during our regrouping after the invasion," Prism explained, not yet daring to relax. "A month or so ago, I guess." His shrug was inhibited by the metallic straight jacket Loadstone had him in. "The facility is run by a woman called 'Triple-Helix,' though what her powers are I don't know. She stays in the labs on lowest level, doesn't socialize with the rest of us. About two days ago, there was a huge commotion, some sort of shipment for the labs. It didn't come like the supplies, though - someone brought it straight to Triple-Helix without coming through the base. I'm not allowed down there, but I've been with the Coalition long enough to know that if they're teleporting something in it's got to be important..." ~ Rumpelstiltskin

OOC: Actually, KN, what's different about this version of Zoo, aside from the costume? I don't know that it was ever officially stated, but the mad scientist thing was always part of his backstory. I have that guy's profile along with G-Nome and the others I collected ages ago for that project I still haven't gotten to yet... EDIT: Ah. I suppose that'd be up to KoK to clarify, then. IC: (Adrian Valiant) Shortly after deciding to leave the security of his hotel room, Adrian faced a dilemma. If he was intending to scope out London's underworld, he'd need a more inconspicuous outfit. He looked like a well-to-do businessman, and any sort of businessman would stick out like a sore thumb in the places he was planning to go. To top it off, he didn't have a cent to his name, so there was no hope of buying new clothes. That left either stealing money, or clothes. It occurred to him that he'd never had to worry about clothing before. He supposed it was just one of the many hardships he faced in the days to come, but that didn't exactly brighten his mood. OOC: I'm not actually having trouble coming up with Adrian material to write; I'm actually just trying to narrow down which avenue I plan to take him. I should have a better idea by my next IC. ~ Rumpelstilskin

IC: (Loadstone) After Ultionis stuck the screen protector to his forehead, Prism nearly went cross-eyed trying to see it. Loadstone raised an eyebrow at the theatrics, but combined with folding his arms and shifting his stance it seemed more of threatening gesture than an incredulous one. Prism took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and continued in the same neatly controlled voice he'd managed thus far. "From what I've been able to gather, the Coalition has had a base here for years. Back during the height of Coalition power, it was standard practice to build safe houses, storage facilities, and hangars anywhere they thought would be safe from prying eyes. I suppose it only makes sense, but they never had the manpower to staff all these places, so a lot of them are used for storage or were just abandoned. I've heard that no one had set foot here for a decade until the Coalition decided to use this place again. "I was stationed here about a week ago. I assume they wanted me here because of the nature of my power, because I'm nothing but glorified security. I don't have clearance to go anywhere important, I'm not allowed to leave, and everybody just sort of acts like I'm part of the furniture." ~ Rumpelstiltskin

IC: (Loadstone) The elevator shaft was indeed just shortly down the tunnel, or rather, the side corridor that led to it was. The gaping black hole where the lift should have been swallowed the feeble light from the motion-sensing lights above, emphasizing its depth. As they approached, Loadstone slammed the teenager against the wall just shy of the opening, giving him an excellent view of the drop beside him. "Okay, kid, here's the deal," he told the Villain in a tone that screamed "Don't try my patience!". "My friend here wants to toss you down this shaft and be rid of you." He gestured toward Ultionis. "I'm not sure if you'd survive the fall, so I'm not going to do that unless you give me a good reason to. You following me so far?" The teenager glanced at the elevator shaft, then back at Loadstone. "What do you want from me?" he asked in calm, resigned manner that seemed to ignore the fear in his eyes. "You're going to answer a few questions that our buddy Clearsight didn't have the answers to," Loadstone replied. He paused, then added "That might be a bit easier if I knew your name." "It's Prism," he said noncommittally, darting another glance toward the elevator shaft. "What do you want to know?" OOC: I'm going to give Ultionis a chance to interrupt, considering he seems to be the expert on questioning and tactics, and it would seem a bit out of place for Loadstone to be asking pointed questions after being almost completely silent back in the security center. ~ Rumpelstiltskin

OOC: From what I can tell, she's an NPC in Denmark TPTI made up on the fly specifically to help you guys. As for Fellwyd, I haven't seen Ymper Trymon here in ages; I assume because both plots his characters are in have practically ground to a screeching halt... IC: (Loadstone) Loadstone gave a sharp look in Ultionis' direction, glaring more at the sound of the soldier than the sight of him. He had removed his sunglasses to allow himself to see the faint gleam of the teenager's body, but now he quickly replaced them to protect his sensitive sight. The sunglasses were polarized to block out incredible amounts of blinding photokinetic attacks, so a simple stun grenade would barely be worth his notice. He covered up his ears, though, knowing that his equally-sensitive hearing could be damaged by proximity to the explosion. In contrast, the teenager was completely preoccupied with the pieces of metal slamming into him, and didn't even hear the grenade land at his feet. Loadstone altered his angle of attack, attempting to make the kid look down while he deflected the attacks. He took the bait, swatting at attacks aimed at his abdomen and waistline instead of his head. He must have thought the Hero was probing for a weak spot, but seemed generally unconcerned for the distraction. The grenade activated with a blinding flash and a bang that was made louder by the confined space they were in. The sound rattled the walls and ceiling, with bits of dust and dirt raining down on them. The teenager reeled, stumbling backwards into the lighted portion of the hallway with his hands clutching his head. Loadstone, unaffected aside from a slight ringing in his ears, launched into a new attack, pieces of the magnaboard flying at the teenager and repeating the same trick he had used to incapacitate Golem-Girl earlier. In seconds he had pried the teenager's arms down and wrapped him in a metallic straight-jacket, and even if he were super-strong it would still take quite some time to pry his way free. Loadstone stepped out into the light, waving his hand toward the remaining Sharkman without shifting his focus from the teenager. A bolt of electricity flew from that hand, electrocuting the mutant and ending whatever threat it might have posed. Though he seemed disoriented and slightly panicked, the teenager was visibly glowing now; it occurred to Loadstone that perhaps some part of his crystalline composition allowed him to absorb light, meaning that the sound had probably hurt him more than the flash. He motioned for the others to follow him, then continued down the corridor, forcing the Villain ahead of him. He was going to honor Ultionis' plan to a degree - with the threat of being dropped to his possible death very tangible next to him, perhaps this Coalition member might be more cooperative. But he had no intention of killing some eighteen-year-old just because he'd had the bad fortune of being brainwashed by a bunch of mad scientists. ~ Rumpelstiltskin

One of those lovely pictures that even people who stand on their heads can appreciate. ~ Rumpelstiltskin

"Dra-gon. Dragon! I don't do that tongue thing. *th* " ~ Rumpelstiltskin~

Wow, I don't know which is more frightening - the invisible gun he's pointing at me, or his face. ~ Rumpelstiltskin

IC: (Loadstone) The crystal Villain's head snapped downward as the grenade bounced, whirling around to watch it sail out into the Sharkmen. At that precise moment the blasters stopped their incessant attack, dropping to the ground with a clatter. With visible relief, some of the Sharkmen bent down to pick up the renegade weapons while one of them watched the grenade roll out of the darkness with widening eyes. It barely had time to open its mouth before... BOOM Where six live Sharmen had stood now only one mortally wounded mutant remained, leaning against the wall of the tunnel and panting audibly, a dark red sheen coating most of its body. The rest of the Sharkmen were, quite literally, strewn across the tunnel in pieces that, apart from the smell of burnt fish, would have been impossible to recognize as Sharkmen. The Villain spun back around, only for his head to meet a large piece of metal with an enormous chime. The magnaboard retreated for an instant, only to build up momentum for another assault. With warning this time, he threw up an arm to shield himself, but took a step backwards anyway. The clanging of metal hitting crystal continued as Loadstone pressed his attack, splitting the magnaboard in half to smash into him from two sides. In actuality, Loadstone's attacks were merely more of an annoyance than actually effective, but the teen's sole focus was on repelling the flying pieces of metal, leaving him open to an attack from one of the others. OOC: To be honest, I've been having a hard time figuring out what to do without Skyra, since he's the only one who really stands any chance of taking him down. (Vacuum style). IC: (Adrian) After a few minutes practicing with his new sword, Adrian wrapped both sword and gauntlet in the balled-up scarf and stuffed them under the bed. He sat down and reread the letter, soaking in all the finer details he had glossed over before, and sifted through the hazy encounter with the memoriapath. The Dorchester? He'd heard that name before...it was a particularly lavish hotel in London, unless he was completely mistaken. If his stay was already paid for, where had that money come from? His own bank account? Or had it not been paid for, but everyone manipulated into thinking it was? "This is too complicated," he muttered to himself, then blinked at the sound of his own voice. It hadn't occurred to him yet to actually say anything, but it was only common sense that his voice wouldn't be the one he was used to. No, it was the British accent that startled him - he hadn't been British before this memory transfer, so to speak with a natural English accent was a bit jarring. He started talking out loud to himself, testing out a variety of sounds and syllables and finding a good number of them foreign to his ears. After a few minutes he started chuckling to himself, the outright laughing at how stupid he sounded, saying all sorts of strange things just to hear his own voice. When the laughing stopped, reality settled over him like an icy sheet. He didn't have a cent to his name, no means of supporting himself, little idea where he was and ultimately no plans to speak of. He had no clue where to find the man he was looking for, no readily available method of transportation, only three days in which to find some sort of shelter to live in, and he was losing what little optimism he'd had to begin with. Who could he go to? The League? Never. Even if he had been on good terms with them, he had no intention of letting anyone know who he truly was - the shame of what had been done to him forced him to keep his identity a secret, no matter what. The League was known to use psychics to evaluate some of their questionable applicants, and even if he trusted what the memoriapath had said about shielding his mind from psychics, the last thing he wanted was someone poking around in his brain. There really weren't many other choices. The only other thought he had was if he could make it to Chicago...No. He crushed that thought as soon as it began. No sane man went to the Debtmaster unless he had no other choice. Not that he could see any other... Realistically, there was no chance of him settling down with a job and an apartment in London, so he didn't even bother considering it. The only option left to him was selling his sword to a local crime lord until he had enough money for a plane ticket out of England, or outright stealing the money and fleeing the country. Neither prospect appealed to him, but it would be worth checking around and seeing what sort of underworld this city hosted... ~ Rumpelstiltskin

IC: (Loadstone) Unfortunately for Ultionis, this Villain was the genuine article; there was no ring on his hands. Even as the soldier searched for that miniscule piece of jewelry, the crystalline teenager folded his arms and started drumming his fingers impatiently. His head swiveled to take in the Sharkmen, who were completely preoccupied swatting at their seemingly animated weaponry, which were bashing at their faces in a rather comedic fashion. Rolling his eyes he strode forward, roughly shoving aside a muscled hybrid as he approached the darkened area of the tunnel. "All right, you had your chance," he said sympathetically, stepping blindly into the darkness. The pitch black shadow revealed a faint glow to the Villain's skin, almost too dim to perceive, that made him seem an apparition in the darkness. In retrospect, that internal light might have been what had made it so difficult for the security cameras to get a decent image of him. He took three steps forward and paused, cocking his head to one side as he listened for one of the Heroes to make a move. ~ Rumpelstiltskin

OOC: Happy New Year everybody! IC: (Loadstone) Ultimately it was Ultionis who initiated the attack, a quiet coughing sound announcing his two shots at the SuperVillain. The Sharkmen tensed and uttered an ichthyological snarl; before they had time to react further, Loadstone ripped their laser cannons out of their hands and smashed them into their faces, causing them to reel in confusion. Behind them, the man slowly raised a hand to his neck, twisting his head as if to work out a cramped muscle. By now he was close enough for Loadstone to make out his appearance - he was young, maybe 18 at most, with eyes that glowed whitish-blue. For that matter, his entire body had a blue tint to it, with a glassy, crystalline complexion that made him appear to be a living ice sculpture. Every inch of his figure was chiseled to a level of detail no sculptor could ever hope to achieve, however. And ice couldn't shrug off two bullets. The crystalline teenager peered calmly, almost resignedly, into the darkness before him, scanning for any sign of his assailant. "You might as well give up now," he called, his voice confirming his age. "No matter what your powers are, you're no match for the Coalition. Surrender now, and we'll be merciful." ~ Rumpelstiltskin

I'd describe your avatar, but I forgot what it looked like... ~ Rumpelstiltskin

OOC: But of course - the Dark One knows everything, dearie. For those of you who aren't inclined to attempt the feat, the list is as follows, from left to right: IC: (Loadstone) Though it was impossible to tell thanks to the featureless tunnels, the group was making good time following the gentle curve of the corridor down toward the next level. The silence was broken only by the crunch of dirt under boots, which seemed fairly loud to Loadstone's ears but was a muted gritting to everyone else. So, when his communicator started to vibrate suddenly, the noise was like a swarm of bees buzzing down the hall. Loadstone pulled it from his pocket, ignoring what he assumed was a glare from Ultionis. "Loadstone. What'cha got?" "There's a group of Sharkmen heading up the tunnel your way," Siren's voice echoed quietly from the communicator's speaker. "They're not alone. There's a man with them - the cameras can't seem to get a good look at him, but he's got a trench coat and a fedora. I think there's something weird about his skin, but I can't make it out." "How many?" "Half a dozen Sharkmen, just the one guy unless they've got someone invisible. They'll reach your location in minutes." "Thanks; keep it up." As he pocketed the communicator, Loadstone relayed the message. "We can ambush them from here," he added, reaching up and trickling a stream of electricity into the motion-activated light above them. In seconds it shorted out, leaving them all in pure darkness. Not a minute later, another bubble of light appeared farther down the tunnel. A small group of lumbering figures wielding those strange laser cannons appeared, nearly hiding the human figure following behind them. Without the telltale light hovering above the Heroes, they were completely unaware of their presence as they headed up the hallway toward the security chamber... ~ Rumpelstiltskin

OOC: You know, surprisingly with all the Villains that we've had, I don't think the Coalition has ever actually had any competition. This should be interesting... IC: (???) After staring into the mirror for what seemed like a lifetime, he finally splashed some water onto his face and headed back out into the room. Suddenly feeling claustrophobic, he tugged at that infernal scarf and pitched it as far as he could. The balled-up cloth landed next to a small table, upon which sat a package and an envelope. He couldn't recall if they had been there before - he hadn't really taken a good look around the room - but that envelope drew him like a moth to a flame. Perhaps there was some sort of explanation to be found in it. He opened the envelope as he sat down on the edge of the bed, and quickly tossed it aside in favor of the neatly folded paper it contained. The letter was written in a pristine, elegant hand he didn't recognize; it was neither signed nor addressed, and worded in a manner that only he would understand its meaning. By the time you read this, I will no longer be with you. I suspect that by now, you have discovered what I have done to you, and resent me for it. This is only natural, and I would not ask you to forgive me for what I have done. It has to be shocking for you, to lose everything that makes you who you are, and above all else, be powerless to stop it. That, for you, has to be the hardest part of this entire ordeal. He could feel the color drain from his face as a feeling of dread washed over him. It had never occurred to him that in this new body, he wouldn't have his powers. Frantically he reached inside himself, tried to activate his power, and felt an unexplainable emptiness that he would never be able to fill. In a fit of rage, he almost ripped the letter in half, and to h*** with its apologies and explanations. Almost. After taking a moment to ease the panic suddenly constricting his chest, he continued to read. If it is any consolation to you, I did not want to do this. I was coerced by those who have profited by your ruin, and wished this upon you. It is not like to me to do such things for others, and I cannot say that I am glad to have done so now. As such, it is my intention to spite them and help you seek revenge, should you wish it. If not, I hope that my aide is still valuable in helping you become a man greater than they wish you to be. It was part of my instructions to ensure that you knew who did this to you and why; as you read these words, I believe you will recall both. You may also remember my last words to you; I hope that you find them useful. A tingling sensation in the back of his mind accompanied those last words, and he recognized the sensation of mental tampering. Resentment welled up inside him; no one had a right to alter his mind! Him, of all people! It simply wasn't right! And as suppressed memories and knowledge flooded into his brain, his resentment turned into anger, and that anger smoldered and threatened to ignite into fury. But even with the condemning knowledge now firmly rooted in his mind, he simply couldn't blame the man who had contracted this anonymous memoriapath. Given the circumstances, his decisions were easily justified, if not slightly sympathetic considering some of the alternatives. No, he knew who he blamed, and he was going to make him pay. He reread the last sentence, and the memory it referenced suddenly blossomed to the front of his mind. He had been in this very same room, with a man who was nothing but a blur. He couldn't remember his face, his build, or his voice, but he knew it was the man who had written the letter. "If you remember this, than my letter succeeded in activating the memory packet I planted before leaving. I apologize for letting you discover your new body on your own, but I thought it would help ease the transition if you found out as yourself, before I implemented the necessary changes to allow you to adapt. "As you have no doubt deduced by now, I have copied your memories from your body to that of a powerless amnesiac. I know that your real body possessed enhanced abilities that are not paralleled in your new one; you may have experienced a slight discrepancy in muscle movement because of this. If so, I have included a recalibration of your muscle memory and how you perceive your body that should eliminate this. "I have taken the liberty of paying for your room at the Dorchester for the next three days; that should give you ample time to find other living arrangements. The room is under the name of 'Adrian Valiant'; this memory packet should also enable you to recognize and respond to that alias as if it were your own name. "Finally, I believe I have successfully managed to camouflage you true identity behind the veil of amnesia; that should protect you from passing psychic inspection, and I trust you know how to combat any psychic infiltration you deem threatening to your identity. "I have given you the best start that I can manage; I am interested in seeing what you do from here. Good luck." He remembered nothing else after that; the memoriapath had masked his presence well. Adrian Valiant. He liked that name. He supposed that he had been persuaded to like it, but he didn't care. He felt...comfortable...with an inexplicable sense of calm and rationality that was most likely also psychicly induced. Whatever the reason, calm suited his purposes - he couldn't enact his revenge if he couldn't accept the body he was currently in. Adrian finished the last of the letter in a glance - Enclosed is my final gift to you - it should be self-explanatory, and I know that you already know how to operate it. Use it well. Curious, he set the letter down and unwrapped the package, ignoring the vague impression of opening a Christmas present. Inside he found a rough leather gauntlet, if gauntlet was an accurate description; it seemed to be nothing more than a padded collection of straps clearly meant to be worn on the forearm. Strapped to the palm was a curious device - a circular metal disk with glowing blue bands circling the edge, with smaller concentric rings inside it. Adrian guessed it was some form of generator, and instinctively knew that he was right. After pulling on the gauntlet and tightening the straps, he picked up the other thing that had been in the package - an ornate metallic sword hilt, etched with flowing lines along the hilt and with angular script on the crossguard that he couldn't read. Where the blade should have been was a ridged opening that spanned two-thirds of the crossguard. Without even having to think about it, Adrian popped open a compartment on the end of the pommel and pulled out a small, thick cord tipped with a universal adapter. He opened a similar port on the side of the generator and inserted the plug. A soft hum, much like a computer powering on, sounded from the hilt, and the blade opening began to glow blue. Bringing his hand up and angling the hilt away from any of the furniture, Adrian pressed a circular panel outlined by the etched designs. In the blink of an eye, a three-foot blade of glowing blue-white energy had projected from the hilt. The energy blade hummed loudly, with minute changes in pitch with every movement it made. Somehow he knew that if he swept that blade through any of the furniture, it would slice through it with little-to-no resistance. A smile crept over his face as he examined the blade. The balance was all wrong, and it swung like a blade of air, but he was confident that he could handle the sword with proficiency. It seemed perfectly natural in his hand, like he'd practiced with it his entire life. Now he was getting somewhere. OOC: Okay, apparently I'm going to ramble a lot with this guy. I'm hoping to use Adrian as much as I do Loadstone, and see him as a more story-driven character than my other PCs. I've got my fingers crossed that it works out... Anyway, here's the promised profile: Real Name: Unknown; uses the name ‘Adrian Valiant’ Alias: Avalon Appearance: A physically fit man with tousled dark brown hair sporting bleached blonde highlights. His liquid dark brown eyes almost seem black. Wears plain clothes, but has the sort of charisma that makes anything he wears look stylish. Power: No physical power. Possesses a glowing disc-like device, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, that acts as a high-output energy generator. It is attached to the palm of a crude gauntlet of leather straps and padding, and can be connected to an ornate metallic sword hilt. The hilt, when powered, is capable of projecting a large blue-white energy blade. Allegiance: Solo; straddles the line between antiHero and antiVillain Area: None; hails from Britain, but is a drifter Bio: ‘Avalon’ is the artificial persona of another man implanted into a powerless Briton by the SuperVillain most call Wiper. Trapped inside a body that is not his own and denied his powers and former social status, Avalon is determined to find the ones who did this to him and, in his understanding, have his mind returned to his proper body. Adrian is morally gray at best; with no possessions to his name except for a sword and a generator, he is not above stealing and Villainy to survive. He can be suave and sophisticated when he wishes, but deep down he is ruthless and cunning. Even in this diminished state, he is not a man you want to make an enemy of. I'm not entirely sure how I want to classify him when all is said and done, but for the moment he's going under Solo Villain, since I've got a character in each of the categories and he's replacing my current Solo Villain. Also, a belated Merry Christmas to everybody! ~ Rumpelstiltskin

---------- OOC: Ah, so you were reading my mind again, were you? Now, introducing my new fourth character, replacing the inactive Soundless and approved by LoAB! IC: (???) He awoke to a feeling of wrongness that, at first, he couldn't place. It was the strangest thing he'd ever felt; he was acutely aware of every inch of his body, felt confined within his own skin. A person's body had a feel to it, something that not many were really aware of but everyone knew; you just knew what your body felt like. This was not how his body usually felt. He sat up on the bed, blinking and rubbing his temples. It didn't help his concentration that he had the beginnings of a headache, but he managed to focus enough to glance around the room. He had no idea where he was; he gathered that it was a hotel room, and quite a lavish one at that. Ritzy though it was, It had a sickly yellow hue to it, from the curtains to the paint on the walls to the bedspread, that he simply couldn't stand. Floral patterns were intricately worked into the bed and curtains, giving the room a thoroughly feminine feel. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he looked down at himself and realized with a start that he was fully dressed. He wore a finely-cut brown coat over a white dress shirt and gray vest, coupled with beige trousers and brown loafers. He was even wearing a gray scarf tied around his neck, more for style than warmth at this time of year. He'd never even seen any of these clothes before, let alone worn them. He felt his cheeks color as he imagined what he looked like; he most likely looked like some fool dressed up like a Ken doll. Muttering to himself, he pushed himself off the bed and stalked to the bathroom, every inch of it startlingly white marble streaked with gray. Every move he made felt sluggish, like his body was failing to react the way his mind told it to. It was like he was in a dream, walking through air as thick as jelly with muscles that were nothing more than a fabrication of his mind. More like a nightmare, he thought ruefully. Two steps into the bathroom he froze, having just caught sight of himself in a mirror. It had to be a dream; this couldn't be happening. He walked numbly to the sink, feeling at his face and watching his reflection do the same. This just wasn't possible. His reflection was nothing like he'd remembered it. He had never considered himself overly handsome; stern was the way most people described him. The reflection staring back at him wasn't handsome, either; now he was just plain, with an average, generic face you'd be hard-pressed to pick out in a crowd. He supposed it might be a bit more attractive than his real face, given that it didn't seem to be perpetually scowling, but he was more concerned about the fact that it wasn't his face. He caught sight of the reflection's gaze and flinched away, studying his stylishly tousled hair instead. It was dark brown, with bleached-blonde highlights skillfully strewn around his head. He was dimly aware of the thought that those otherwise absurd clothes would look quite nice with his new complexion, but that notion was quickly suppressed by the overwhelming sea of confusion and doubt. How? Why? He forced himself to look into those liquid eyes, so dark a brown they were almost black. Few things in life had ever scared him, but that stare was so unsettling that it sent chills down his spine. No matter how long he looked into the mirror, he would never believe that those were his eyes. They belonged to another man, staring back at him accusingly, contemptuously. This was a nightmare, all right. And in the darkest recesses of his mind, he knew he would never wake from it. OOC: I thought it best to split my introductory post in half, given its length. Since the second half details his new identity and "power," I'll post the profile when I post the rest of it. ~ Rumpelstitlskin