GreyScribe

Here's my take. I've focussed on the 'fallen warrior' angle of your backstory, so the 'axe murderer' side of him is downplayed except for his expression and the red slash on his face, which is an indelible tattoo marking him as a murderer and to be executed on sight if he ever returns to Aldebaran. I see him hanging on grimly to his military discipline (and uniform) as he struggles to control the rage that cost him everything and tries to escape the memories of his terrible deeds during the rebellion.

Original Name - Opposite - Praetorian alternate

Grey Scribe - Chromatic Daredevil - Poison Pen
Techdragon - Faehound - Techwyrm
Necrostorm - Biozephyr - Tempest Edax Rerum
Oxbow - Lambchop - Bullshooter
Electra Fine - Insula Broad - Shock King
Noosphere-R2 - Wrecked Angle - Hell-met
Deathsnake - Lifepig - Death Adder
Mistress Sweetness - Madam Vinegar - Princess Diabetes
Crimson Chalice - Violet Bucket - Blood Vessel
Sicaria - Musca Domesticus - Atrax
Howlequin - Gentlemoan - Choker
Skorpios - Stier - Scorpius
Force Application - Impotence Idol - Force Multiplier

PhilosopherKing
PeaKing
PoorKing
PhuKet (change your location to Thailand and you might get away with this one!)
PranKing
PainstaKing
PitchforKing
PinKing
PiKing
PigsticKing
PlonKing
PiggybacKing
PhreaKing
PawnbroKing
PlaymaKing
(Replace 'King' wth 'Ker' as an alternate for many of these)

Here's what I came up with:

Front Back

The basic thought process behind it is as follows:

Brute: He likes to get straight into battle, so I kept it fairly simple and durable/inflammable.
Fire Melee/Dark Armor: This suggested a theme of fire caged by darkness.
Darkseid/Galactus: These are iconic powerful beings with classic, elegant designs.

After musing on all that, I came up with a concept of an elemental warrior with a blazing heart of flame, who uses technology to create power armor that generates a dark force that can control and channel his fiery nature, blind his foes and shield him as well.

Hope you like it, or that it at least sparks some ideas for you!

NEWSFLASH!

Leaked image from Going Rogue beta reveals new "Spy" archetype power: "Deploy inflatable decoy"

Hey all,

This idea popped into my head recently and so far I can't find it suggested anywhere else so I'll throw it out here:

My understanding (which could be totally wrong) is that each power has it's own unique code where all the FX, animations and so forth are set out. The difference between 'weapon' powers and 'power' powers is a section of code that calls up a weapon model and slots it into the power animation attached to the player's character.

The recent breakthrough in weapon customization now enables us to choose alternative weapon models that can be used in the various power animations, without otherwise altering the original animation.

This made me wonder how difficult it would be to add the 'weapon code' to non-weapon power sets. Thus adding weapon/equipment/talisman models to these powersets that could then be customised through the existing weapons customisation system. It is still NOT power customisation but the popularity of weapon customisation would transfer across to other powersets quite well I think.

For example one Fire Blaster could select rayguns or wristcannon models attached to their hands as part of their power animations that would suit a tech/science origin while another player could choose from various talismans, glowing glyphs, magic rings or even a wand or staff as the source of their power.

Of course I am probably overlooking dozens of programming difficulties that the Devs have already investigated and there would be a significant amount of art/design resources required to create the new 'weapon' models so I'm not expecting this overnight, but I'd be interested to find out if it was at all feasible for a future issue.

What do you guys think?

I finally got round to buying COH to open up some slots ready for I11 goodness, literally 24 hours before this announcement! doh!

I'm not stressed out though, as I'm happy to throw some money towards a game that has given me so much enjoyment over the last year and a half.

Good luck to the new (and old) team!

Apologies for the silence on the origin front - have been under the weather lately, but should be back on board with Mysterious Flame soon.

r4wrd his victree cry; 'Groinz Masht!'. Den e pullt off...

Apologies once again for the delay everyone. Work has been full-on and I achieved less than I thought I would. But the ideas are still flowing, I just need a chance to sit down and put them into some sort of order!

Twisting Nether: here is Temporal Strike's origin. It is short, and not terribly sweet, but I hope you like it anyway.

Mysterious Flame's origin should not be too far away.



The Origin of Temporal Strike

Prologue:

The dark giant sat on his throne, his ebony skin drinking what little light entered the shadowy room at the heart of the temple. Reaching out with his powerful psychic senses he lightly touched the minds of the guardians of his temple, ensuring everything was secure. An odd disturbance at the western wall drew his attention and he smiled in satisfaction.

"Come to me, little mouse. Come and kill me if you can."

*****************************************

Crouched in the shadows at the base of the tall stone wall, she took several deep breaths to steady herself before continuing. This was the biggest job she had ever attempted in her short career as a killer-for-hire. The almost unbelievable bounty on her target's head threatened to distract her, so she pushed it to the back of her mind. Dressed in form-fitting dark clothing, with her face and long red hair concealed beneath a black ski-mask, she was nearly invisible in the darkness.

Reaching into her backpack, she extracted a grapnel-hook attached to a length of nylon rope. Tossing it lightly upwards it hooked onto the the top of the wall and she quickly ascended. Peering cautiously over the wall she scanned the grounds surrounding the dark-shrouded temple building with the night-sight goggles she had bought with the advance payment from her anonymous employer. She quickly spotted three sentries and four more guards patrolling the area.

Reaching deep inside herself she quickly sank into a meditative state that had taken her years to perfect. A sudden silence fell around her and all motion ceased. Springing down from the top of the wall she ran directly to the nearest entrance, running right by guards seemingly frozen and unseeing.

She felt sweat prickling beneath the ski-mask as she held her focus longer than she had ever done before. Slipping through a doorway she ran along a long, empty corridor, following the map she had memorised, heading straight to the sanctum at the heart of the temple where her target could be found.

As she headed deeper into the labyrinth of corridors, it grew darker and darker until eventually she entered a large cavernous space full of shadows. Seated in the centre of the room was a gigantic black-skinned man who matched the description of her target. Gasping with exertion she held her grip on the timestream, drew her daggers, and snuck up behind him, ready to strike.

"Hello, child. Welcome to my humble home."

She froze in shock as his voice echoed around the room. It was impossible, he should be frozen like all his guards. Before she could react he turned with effortless grace at a speed that seemed impossible for a man his size and wrapped his huge fist around her throat.

"I am the Master of the Black Sun!" He roared like an avalanche. A nimbus of black flame flared around his head as his black eyes gleamed like obsidian marbles. "I am an immortal, unbound by the chains of time! With a blink I can choose the time of your demise. Your tinkering with the flow of time means nothing to me."

He stood up from his throne, effortlessly lifting her from the floor and she began to choke. She slashed desperately with her daggers but the blades shattered against his rock-hard ebony skin. She dropped them and desperately grabbed hold of his arm. Her vision darkened as unconsciousness clawed at her mind. She tried to support her weight and catch her breath as his grip loosened just enough so that she did not pass out.

"Still, you did very well to enter my sanctum. It seems my instincts regarding your abilities were sound when I hired you."

Unable to speak, she widened her eyes in surprise. The Master laughed, a thunderous rumble deep in his chest.

"Yes, little one. It was I who hired you to 'kill' me. A simple but effective trial for those I consider for membership in my guild of assassins. Your abilities can be honed and even enhanced with the right technology making you a very dangerous weapon to wield against my enemies. But first I will learn a little more about you."

The black flames reached towards her, burning the ski-mask into fine ash but leaving her hair and face untouched, but then they sank into her skull and the Master's psychic powers seared her mind like an inferno. They stripped back layers of memories that she had buried deep long ago.

"Hmmm, you showed early promise as a child gymnast and martial artist, pushed on by proud but demanding parents. Ah, until your mutant genes were discovered and you were banned from competition. How your parents' shame and disappointment made you burn with resentment.

"Then the visions started: brief flashes of the future, always involving other people and always of good fortune, pleasant surprises and unsought rewards. Mmmm, that fuelled your resentment, did it not? Always seeing good luck descend on people who did nothing to deserve it, while you suffered under prejudice and unfair expectations with no relief in sight.

"That resentment festered and grew until you could no longer take any pleasure in your life. Oh, very nice, you began to seek out those who were destined to receive something good and did you best to steal it, or destroy it if you could not take it. Then you discovered that the precognitive flashes had given you a 'feel' for the flow of time. Eventually you learned to slow the passage of time to a crawl. A skill that has greatly aided your criminal career." He paused, silent for a moment, then he smiled, a sadistic curl of his black lips.

"Your first kill. Mmmm, I can feel your rage as you struck them down and your refreshing lack of remorse after the fact. The first of many. And now you come to me, a cold-blooded killer but lacking focus and purpose. My guidance will provide that and I see a great future ahead of you here at the Temple of the Black Sun. You will receive everything you deserve and so much more as my handmaiden of destruction." The Master concentrated and his flames burned a dark, curving tattoo across her right cheek.

"Your former life and name no longer exist. You are the weapon held in my right hand. You are the Temporal Strike that will stop time and still the hearts of those who oppose me!"


Condensed ID Card version:

Her mutant genes gifted her with superhuman reflexes and agility. They also cursed her with a limited precognitive ability that showed her just the good things fated to happen to those around her. Sick of seeing good fortune come to those who rarely deserved it, she became first cynical and then actively anti-social. She honed her mutant gifts with martial arts training and after discovering her latent ability to slow time, she pursued a career as a thief and eventually a killer-for-hire.

Recruited by the reclusive Master of the Black Sun Assassin Guild, she became his loyal right hand and his ruthless enforcer. Using the Guild's resources her abilities were enhanced and an implanted chip focused them into a telekinetic blade with the ability to wipe her victim's short-term memories.

All traces of her former life were left behind and she became Temporal Strike, a cold-blooded, nameless assassin.

Awww shucks, tweren't nuthin'

I have plenty of bad ideas Prodiguy, I just bury them so deep no-one ever finds out about them

Glad you liked it Medic001 - your origin story gave me plenty of hooks to work with. The existence of the final suit being issued to highly trained medical staff suggested a long development cycle before Medtech's destruction so the existence of prototypes wasn't a big stretch. Healing living tissue (very media-friendly) isn't too far away from reanimation (not so easy to spin) so that suggested the whole necro theme for a failed Asclepius prototype. Then any good arch-nemesis has to have strong ties to the hero, often from the very beginning of their careers so putting them at the scene of Medtech's destruction seemed obvious.

Here are a few name ideas for good measure:

Necrocide
Necrosis
Terminal Force
Terminus Null
Bodyfarmer
Aberrant Cadaverer

And I'd recommend the 'omega' symbol for the chest insignia.

How about a Tech Necro/Force Field Mastermind? He (or she) could have been involved in the attack that destroyed the Asclepius Program that was the source of Medic-001's suit. They stole an earlier prototype that could not heal, but could reanimate dead tissue as well as generate protective forcefields. Badly injured during the attack they were forced to put on the prototype suit to survive even though it had not been fully tested or calibrated to their biorhythms.

Unbalanced biofeedback from the prototype suit has driven them mad, and they are obsessed with capturing Medic-001 to gain access to the perfected Asclepius technology.

Name ideas could revolve around imagery such as graverobbers/bodysnatchers or reanimation.

I hope this sparks some ideas for your arch-nemesis.

Hi Ralok_one - glad you liked E.M.M.A. so much you added her to your sig!

Mysterious Flame - nice work. It has given me some more insight into MF's character.

Sorry for the extended break in transmission - will have some serious writing time over the next couple of days and should knock off some more origins soon.

Twisting Nether - here is a teaser for your character: Temporal Strike.


The dark giant sat on his throne, his ebony skin drinking what little light entered the shadowy room at the heart of the temple. There was a faint sound behind him and he smiled.

"Come to me, little mouse. Come and kill me if you can."

More to come soon.

I had a thought prompted by her organic component rather than her robotic ones. A lot of injuries in car crashes and similar situations are brain injuries caused by the brain bouncing around in the skull due to severe deceleration.

Theoretically, Crash would suffer similar problems - depending on whatever extra shock-absorbing technology her titanium skull contains.

The core of your concept seems to be that she is the 'immovable object' when she wants to be. Perhaps that can all be tied in to protecting her organic brain from shock. As in your example - colliding with a truck would seriously injure a normal human - even in advanced cybernetic armour - if there wasn't some mechanism to absorb the shock and g-forces. Crash's jet-nozzle system seems designed to do just that.

But - if the nozzles are fired directly against gravity (as in a full-fledged attempt at flight) then her brain will be subjected to significant g-forces.

If I remember rightly, normal humans black-out around 8-10 Gs. Perhaps because Crash does not have a 'natural' biochemistry any more she is more likely to black-out at lower Gs - hence she cannot just blast-off whenever she feels like it and is limited to relatively gentle motions, such as her 'aerial glide'?

This is not perfect of course - you are dealing with forces that follow relatively simple laws, and you are trying to twist those laws so that Crash can do one thing (stop a truck without budging) and not another (flying) both of which are simple cases of energy and intertia.

As you also state that she has a team that could fairly easily overcome any technical obstacles then I think you need to look at biological limitations such as I've set out or psychological ones that have been raised such as fear of heights.

Here are some of my gender-swaps:

Howlaqueen from Howlequin

Techdragonette from Techdragon

Vendetto from Vendettrix

Stormspider II From Stormspider

Grey Scribe II from Grey Scribe

Tabby Tom the Zombie from Kit Kat the Zombie

Skorpia from Skorpios

Welcome back, Doc Kro! Please hit me with the info and I'll add you to the queue.

Welcome to the thread Pheonyx, Lady Redbird looks great, I'll do my best!

Now, Ralok_one. Here is the story for Yellow Jack. I hope you like it.



The Origin of Yellow Jack

It was a tough life living on the streets of King's Row. You could never go to sleep outside without risking waking up with a Clockwork Cog digging in your mouth for your fillings. I was only fifteen when my Dad kicked me out for using drugs. Nothing heavy like Supes, but I stopped using when my money ran out in any case. Unfortunately, my Dad and I were equally stubborn so I never went back home either.

The Clockwork weren't the only dangers. The pressure to join gangs like the Skulls or the Hellions was immense, but I managed to play them off against each other and keep a precarious position in the middle, running odd-jobs for both sides.

Still, I preferred to find my own spot for spending the night, somewhere nice and secluded. It was a only dark, dirty corner in a yard behind an electrical goods store, but it was dry and there were plenty of cardboard boxes and I was proud to call it home. Which is why I was so upset to find someone else had moved in when I came back one night.

"Flux Capacitors! Who the Heisenberg are you?" A large, bearded figure loomed out of the shadows at me, glaring at me with bloodshot grey eyes and coughing like a chain-smoker.

"I'm Eddie, and what are you doing in my spot?"

"Your spot? This is my particular patch of the space-time continuum young man!"

"Well, I was here first. Look, there's all my stuff, and that's my jacket you're wearing!"

"This? This is legitimately claimed salvage collected during a scientific survey!" He started coughing again, doubling over and pressing the sleeve of my jacket across his mouth. When he straightened up we both could see the blood speckling the material.

"Hey gramps, you're not looking so great, I think I better take you to the clinic."

"Gramps?! Gramps?! I'll have you know I am a Professor of -," his remaining words were lost in another fit of coughing. It was bad and brought him to his knees.

I moved over to support him and his body was feather-light, he was just skin and bones under several layers of clothing. He was struggling to breath and didn't have the strength to resist as I dragged him round the corner to the local free clinic. I was wishing that the medical teleport network was for everyone and not just heroes by the time I got there.

Before I handed him over to the nurse, I pushed six dollars into his hands, it was all the money I had, but I could always find more and he looked like he needed it a lot more than me.

"Here, Professor. Get yourself something to eat after they've had a look at you."

"Thanks, son," he looked at me and his eyes seemed to focus on my face for the first time, "Here, this is something to make up for the jacket. I think you'll find it very useful." He pushed something into my hand, then he started coughing again and the nurse hurried over and walked him into an examination room.

I looked down to see what he had given me. It was a dirty, crumpled bus ticket wrapped around a locker key. Scrawled across the ticket were two words: Yellow Jack. The bus terminal listed on the ticket was in Galaxy City so I decided to catch a tram and check it out.

It was close to midnight when I got there and the place was nearly empty, with only a couple of staff manning the counter. They barely looked up at me as I walked over to the bank of lockers along one wall. Checking the number on the key, I put it in the door of locker 132. It opened and I found a battered suitcase inside. I grabbed the handle and pulled it out with some effort as it was quite heavy.

I was burning with curiosity to see what was inside, but the caution I had learned on the streets asserted itself and I carried the suitcase into the toilets so I could have some privacy.
I sat in a cubicle with the case across my knees as I popped the latches and opened the lid.

Inside was a strange yellow helmet with two long antennae and what looked like motorcycle leathers. Cautiously I picked up the helmet and looked inside. It looked pretty hi-tech, with circuitry and a heads-up display flickering on the faceplate.

"Wow, Professor. Did you build this?" I whispered to myself as I turned the helmet over in my hands. Then, throwing caution to the wind, I put the helmet on.

Although it looked opaqe from the outside, I could see clearly through the faceplate and small symbols began to flicker at the edges of my vision. Then I heard a voice.

"Welcome, Professor. Please provide the security pass-code to prevent self-destruct in thirty seconds."

It was a woman's voice, a low, sexy purr of the kind that I had never heard outside of the movies, and it was so surprising that it took me a couple of seconds to actually absorb what it had said.

"Oh, [censored]!" I blurted out.

"Pass-code incorrect, self-destruct in twenty seconds."

Suddenly I remembered the words on the bus ticket.

"Yellow Jack!" I shouted desperately! "Yellow Jack, Yellow Jack!"

There was a long pause that had me sweating, then the voice spoke again, accompanied by bright flashes from the faceplate.

"Pass-code accepted, Professor. Voice-print and retinal patterns have been recorded and locked as primary identification. Electro-Magnetic Melee/Assault prototype activated with all systems nominal. Please put on the insulated protective suit to unlock weapon systems and begin training program."

"Wow," I breathed softly, and then I quickly stripped off and put on the suit. The voice guided me through to process of connecting the helmet to the suit through several contacts in the collar. I got a bit sick of it constantly calling me 'Professor' though.

"Hey, please call me Eddie. What should I call you? I can't call you 'helmet' all the time."

"User identification is now re-assigned, Eddie. I am the control system of the Electro-Magnetic Melee/Assault prototype."

"Hmmm, E.M.M.A. for short then? Yeah, I'll call you E.M.M.A. from now on."

"Understood, Eddie. All suit connections check out, you are now ready to begin the training program."

"So what can this suit do? Who built it?"

"The Electro-Magnetic Melee/Assault prototype generates and stores electrical energy, and can release this energy in controlled bursts to neutralise targets. Information on the construction of this prototype is unavailable."

"Oh, but you mean I can shoot lightning and stuff? I've got to see this, E.M.M.A.! Let's burn a hole in the door."

"Sorry, Eddie. I am unable to comply. That would be vandalism and a direct contravention of the Paragon City Penal Code. I cannot break any laws unless my wearer is directly threatened with physical harm in certain extreme situations."

"So you're saying I have all these cool electrical powers, but I can't use any of them?"

"Correct, Eddie. An analysis of current legislation suggests only one legal use of this prototype: Registration as a super-hero at Paragon City Hall. All other options involve voluntarily turning the prototype over to the authorities."

I tried arguing with E.M.M.A. for a while, but I couldn't make any headway against her logic, so in the end I put my clothes in the suitcase and went back to the clinic to check on the Professor.

The nurse had some bad news for me when I got back there. I had removed the helmet and she recognised me when I walked through the door, and her face said it all.

"I'm so sorry, sir. I'm afraid the man you brought in tonight went into cardiac arrest and died. Are you family? He had no ID so we don't know who he is or who to contact."

"No, sorry, I just found him out on the street." I left the clinic in a state of shock. Somehow I'd ended up with this suit and these powers, and I had no idea where they came from. I looked around me at the shabby streets of King's Row and I realised there was nothing to keep me here. I had an opportunity to get out of there and I had to grab it with both hands, even if there were several unknowns involved.

That's why the next morning found me at Paragon City Hall, suffering from a complete mental blank when the official asked me what my hero name was. So I said the first thing that popped into my head: "Yellow Jack."




Condensed ID Card version:

Eddie Holland was living rough on the streets of King's Row when he met the crazy bum who called himself, "Professor". Helping the sick old man to the local clinic, Eddie gave him his last six dollars. In return, the Professor pressed a locker key and a crumpled bus ticket with the words "Yellow Jack" scrawled on it into his hand.

Curious, Eddie found the locker at a bus terminal. Inside were what looked like black and yellow motorcycle leathers and a strange yellow helmet with antennae.

Putting it on Eddie was surprised to hear a voice asking him for a security code. On a hunch he answered, "Yellow Jack."

Those two words unlocked an artificial intelligence that could manipulate electricity into powerful destructive bolts. Eddie returned to the clinic but the Professor had died. Unfortunately, the AI that ran the suit was programmed to obey the law, so to use it Eddie was reluctantly forced to sign up as a hero.

Hey BAS!

Here it is. I think I might have pushed the 'Natural' origin a little towards the 'Magic' end of the spectrum, but in the end, what could be more natural than a mother's love?

I hope you enjoy the story!

The Origin of Kid's Blade

In one of the finer old houses in Paragon City sunlight streamed through stained glass into a long, high-ceilinged, oak-panelled room. The fencers moved back and forth in a graceful display of speed and dexterity. Then the shorter combatant lunged forward, deflected the foil of his opponent and scored a hit cleanly in the centre of his rival's chest.

"And match!" He pulled off his protective mask revealing a young, smiling face.

"Well done, Master Gabriel!" The taller man pulled off his mask and wiped the sweat from his brow. "You really pushed me hard today."

"Thanks Julien, that means a lot coming from you. Want to have another go?"

"No, Master Gabriel. I have something very special to show you. Your parents asked me to give it to you on your birthday. So get cleaned up and meet me in the Library."

Gabriel was anxious to know what Julien had to show him, and also to hear more about his parents as he had so few memories of them. So he showered and dressed in record time, running down the seemingly endless corridors of the Ulrich mansion to the Library. Panting a little from the exertion, he paused at the door, gathered his composure and stepped inside.

Julien was waiting for him, standing next to the table, his hand resting on a long case made of polished wood.

"Come here, Master Gabriel."

Struck by the tone of solemnity in Julien's voice, Gabriel stepped forward. As he approached, Julien opened the case, revealing an interior lined with red velvet. Resting on the velvet was a sword in a dark, undecorated sheath.

"This is Fox-tail."

Gabriel looked up in surprise at Julien, "My mother's sword?"

"Yes. I have tried to keep your memories of your parents alive, Master Gabriel, but there was so much of their lives that I could not tell you, that you were not ready to hear. Until now. Please, take a seat."

Gabriel sat silently, drinking in Julien's voice as he talked about Gabriel's parents. Some of it he knew: that they were heroes who had fallen in the Rikti War, fighting to protect the world from the alien invaders. But Julien explained that they came from a long line of heroes known as the Scions of the Blade. A fellowship that traced its roots back to legendary figures such as Zorro, Cyrano and even Arthur. His parents had sworn to defend truth and justice with courage, honour and steel. Like many Scions before them, his parents had given their lives in upholding that oath.

Julien leaned forward, his eyes intently studying Gabriel's face.

"Now, Master Gabriel, you must decide if you wish to take that same oath, wield your mother's sword and follow in their footsteps as a Scion of the Blade."

Gabriel met Julien's intense scrutiny with a steady gaze and replied firmly, "I am ready."

Julien picked up the case and held it out to Gabriel. "Take up Fox-tail then and draw it."

Gabriel picked up the katana and grasping the hilt drew it from its scabbard. It was heavier than the fencing foil he had wielded earlier, but it was so perfectly balanced that it felt like a feather against his palm. As he looked at the light shimmering along the razor-sharp edge of the blade, Gabriel was struck by the purity of the sword's form. It was metal, forged and shaped and honed to do one thing and one thing only: Cut.

It had more than a physical presence though. Gabriel could feel the moral weight of wielding such a blade. Of holding the choice of life and death in his hands. For a moment that realisation paralysed him and he almost handed the blade back to Julien, but then he heard it. His mother's voice.

Gabriel, my son. I am so proud of you and I love you so much.

Shocked, Gabriel almost dropped the sword, but his trembling fingers tightened on the hilt just in time.

"Mum! Where are you? Are you alive? Is Dad there?" Gabriel's voice cracked as anguish ripped through him.

His mother's voice was a soothing whisper in his mind as she replied. Your father is here, Gabriel, but he cannot speak to you. It is part of the legacy of the Scions that our spirits are tied to the blades we wield so that knowledge can be passed on to the next generation. I can speak to you as I am now only because you hold Fox-tail. You would have to find your father's blade to hear his voice and that was lost during the war against the Rikti.

Gabriel's eyes filled with tears that spilled down his face. "I've missed you both so much."

Both of us have been watching you grow up, Gabriel, and now I have the chance to watch over you and protect you as much as I can. Fox-tail is no magic sword that can cut through stone or burn with holy fire. But it is a true blade that never failed me, even unto death, and I know you are ready to bear such a weapon. My guidance and love will do much to deflect harm from you, but ultimately your life is in your own hands. It is up to you to use your skills and heart to find your true destiny as a Scion of the Blade.

Gabriel looked up and was surprised to see tears in Julien's eyes as well. "I will, Mother, I swear it."


Condensed ID Card version:
Gabriel Ulrich was 12 years old when he learned his parents were Scions of the Blade. The Scions were a legendary group of swordfighters dedicated to truth and justice whose origins stretched back into prehistory.

Presented with 'Fox-tail', the katana wielded by his mother, Gabriel finds himself the focus of a destiny greater than anything he can imagine. Armed with Fox-tail and his natural speed and skills, his mother's guardian spirit enables him to survive the deadliest of attacks and strike back with lethal precision.

Determined to uphold his parents' legacy, he joins the fight against evil in Paragon City as: Kid's Blade.

Glad you liked it Doleth. Alas, I haven't convinced anyone to give me cash for my writing yet, so I'm just doing it for the pure joy of creation at the moment.

Welcome to the thread Kroen, I like the look of Wyndsong, and a couple of ideas are already percolating.

Hey BAS! No pressure or anything! I've found that Natural origins are the hardest origins to write, because you can't rely on the 'crutch' of fantasy or science fiction - you've actually got to write fairly realistic characters who do extraordinary things. I think I'm over the hump though with Kid's Blade and progress is being made.

Alas my two weeks of holidays ended this week so I'm back at work (flat out!) so I doubt I'll keep up the story a day of last week but I'll do my best to keep writing as much as I can. This is too much fun to stop now!

For the moment, here is a little distraction to make you guys smile while you wait:

Top ten rejected inventions from Grey Scribe's Multiversal Mall

Catch you guys soon!

Thanks Twisting Nether, I have to admit I impressed myself when that particular inspiration hit!

I thought I'd put up an updated list of the queue so everyone knows where they stand:

Kid's Blade - BAS
Yellowjack - Ralek_one
Temporal Strike - Twisting Nether
Mysterious Flame - Mysterious Flame
Comrade Hero - SuperMaoriFulla (external request)
Toxin du jour - Fragyou

Doleth - don't panic! I haven't forgotten you, in fact you can find the Neighbourhood Archer's origin right here! Hope you like it!

The Origin of the Neighbourhood Archer

Darkness fell as Waruhiu Stevenson pushed his wheelchair across the cracked, uneven sidewalks of King's Row. A powerfully built black man, with a patch over his right eye, his hesitancy negotiating some of the obstacles showed he had not been wheelchair-bound for very long. The dark skin of his bare arms was criss-crossed with scars and his legs dangled uselessly as he struggled along.

A passing car a couple of streets away briefly bathed him in a flash of bright light and he stopped, his eyes clamped shut, shuddering as a panic attack swept over him. In his mind's eye he could see a similar flash made by a falling Clockwork Oscillator, just before it landed right beside him as he walked home from the bar where he had worked. He could not remember the explosion itself, his memory was blank until he awoke in Chiron Memorial Hospital much later surrounded by doctors and Freedom Corps lawyers representing the heroes who had been battling the Clockwork at the time.

The explosion had showered him in red hot shrapnel, several pieces of which he still carried inside his body. The largest piece had lodged near his spine in an inoperable location, leaving him paralysed from the waist down, while another piece had blinded his right eye. The Freedom Corps had provided compensation that covered all of his expenses but his recovery was a long and painful process. This meant that Makori, Waruhiu's younger brother and all the family he had left after their parent's car accident, had to move into a foster-home.

After several months of rehabilitation involving physiotherapy, counselling, and even archery to help keep him motivated, Waruhiu had finally come home to King's Row. Only to be told that Makori had run away from his carers and had joined the Skulls street-gang.

Waruhiu had been searching the streets surrounding his neighbourhood for hours with no luck, and now that it was getting dark he began to worry. The streets were not safe after dark for anyone, let alone a man in an wheelchair with no protection except for a practice bow and several target point arrows.

Rolling past a dark alley, Waruhiu caught a hint of movement in the corner of his eye. He turned awkwardly and rolled forward, certain he could hear voices.

"Hey wheelie! You are in the wrong place and the wrong time, my friend." Several youths dressed in dark street clothes stepped out of the shadows that filled the alley. Most of them wore skulls covering the upper half of their faces. Many of them carried crude weapons: knives, baseball bats, and even sledgehammers.

"Let's have some fun with our new toy, guys, soften up this big, bad cripple." Their leader stepped forward and raised what looked like a gun. There was a loud pop and two small darts shot out and hit Waruhiu in the chest. Before he could react there was a hissing crackle and thousands of volts of electricity jolted through his body. The cruel laughter of the Skulls filled the alley as he toppled, twitching, out of his wheelchair.

Yo, Mak! Get up here!. Here's your chance to join us for real. We're going to let you make your first kill, kid."

Waruhiu could do nothing but groan as a short, slim figure forced its way through the crowd of Skulls, stopping suddenly to stand over him.

"Waruhiu?"

"Mak-Makori!"

"What are you waiting for Mak? Kill him! Then we can go and choose a casket for you."

"No, I can't Kneecrusher. He's my brother!"

"What? What difference does that make? Didn't he abandon you like you said?"

"It doesn't matter, I can't kill him." Makori's voice trembled with fear as he struggled to stand up to the Skulls.

Kneecrusher's voice was a threatening growl as he turned to face Makori. "Kid, you do NOT say no to the Skulls." He reached out to grab Makori by the neck. "You are going to watch your precious brother die slowly, here in this alley. Then we are going to find some other loser and I will ask you again. You won't get a second chance. Time to learn the real rules of life and death, Mak."

Kneecrusher pulled the trigger of the taser and once again electricity ripped through Waruhiu's body. This time it did not stop and Waruhiu could feel the metal fragments in his body heating up and there was a burning sensation in his back that grew more and more intense as his body thrashed on the ground. Then his back arched and he screamed in agony as he felt pieces of shrapnel shift inside his body.

Suddenly there was a loud crack and he fell silent, his body as limp as a rag doll. The Skulls gathered round to admire their handiwork, their laughter and chatter drowning out a faint humming sound.

The hum grew louder and louder until Waruhiu suddenly leapt to his feet. He stood firmly upright, his right eye now surrounded by a metallic plate. Looking down he saw the two taser darts still embedded in his chest. In a blinding flash, a pure bolt of electricity shot through the wires away from Waruhiu and slammed into Kneecrusher, knocking him right across the alley. The fine wires had vaporised and Waruhiu yanked the smoking darts out of his chest.

As the Skulls backed away in surprise, Waruhiu bent down and retrieved his bow and arrows from his chair. Straightening and drawing the bow in one smooth action he took aim, his new right eye piercing the dark shadows of the alley. Effortlessly he loosed shaft after shaft, each shot knocking a weapon out of a Skull's hand but he soon ran out of arrows. Made confident by their superior numbers, they tried to rush him in the narrow alley but a crackling wall of electricity sprang up shocking several of them senseless.

Finally, discovering that Kneecrusher had already fled the scene, the rest of them ran as well, dragging their fallen comrades away, leaving Waruhiu alone in the alley with Makori.

"It's your choice, Makori," Waruhiu said gravely, as the electric wall slowly disappeared, "go with them and kill or stay with me and live."

Without hesitating Makori ran to his brother, grabbing him tightly and bursting into tears. Holding Makori tightly, Waruhiu watched the last of the Skulls flee. He knew they would be back. This neighbourhood, no this whole city needed help, just like his brother. Waruhiu could not stand aside while his family and friends were threatened, especially now that he had the power to do something about it, even if he did not fully understand where that power came from.

He looked down at his bow and smiled. Although he had never been very mechanically minded before, suddenly he was full of ideas on how to improve the range and power of his bow, and he would definitely have to design some more effective arrows as well. Where these powers and strange ideas were coming from were worries for another day.

Putting his arm around Makori's shoulders he turned for home. The wheelchair lay abandoned and forgotten in the alley behind them until a Clockwork Cog dropped from its hiding place on a fire-escape and began to drag it away.


Condensed ID Card version:

Waruhiu Stevenson has lived in King's Row all his life. The death of his parents when he was 18 left him in charge of his younger brother Makori. Dropping out of school he worked to support his family until he was badly injured by shrapnel from an exploding Clockwork Oscillator.

Compensation from the Freedom Corps paid his medical expenses but Waruhiu was left with a Clockwork powercell lodged in his spine and was unable to walk. While he recovered his brother was put into a foster-home.

During his rehabilitation he practiced archery. He returned home wheelchair-bound to find his brother had run away and joined the Skulls.

While searching for his brother he was attacked and the Clockwork powercell reactivated, flooding his body with electricity. He regained the use of his legs and discovered he could now fire arrows with uncanny accuracy. He could also generate electrical fields which he used to rescue his brother. He registered as a hero to defend his family as the Neighborhood Archer.

SuperMaoriFulla - you've been added to the queue - keep an eye out for a PM advising you of the origin's appearance in the thread.

Just did a quick count and there is room for 1034 characters. And yes, I'm pretty sure that includes punctuation, spaces and possibly carriage returns/line breaks as well.

It sounds like a lot but it's a real chore to shoe-horn a half-decent origin into 1034 characters, believe me!

Also, yes you can paste any copied text into your ID card description box - you just can't cut or copy anything the other way. I try and check all my origins on one of my toons to make sure it fits, but sometimes I do last-minute edits that might push it over.

Hey Deathtrip, glad you liked it!

Welcome to the thread Mysterious Flame.

Now, Twisting Nether,

Here is the origin of Sarah Pike which I hope you will like. Because you put two villains in for the price of one, I'm going to drop Temporal Strike down the order a little and work on origins for a couple of other folks first. Hope you don't mind.

Here goes:


The Origin of Sarah Pike

(Or: Hell hath no fury like a woman thorned)

Doctor Sarah Pike stood in her laboratory at Paragon University looking down at the end of her marriage and her career. On the bench in front of her was a letter from the University's Review Board terminating her grant due to 'unacceptable risks' and 'inadequate proofs' involved in her research into controlling and accelerating plant cell-division. Beside it sat an expensively wrapped bouquet of long-stemmed roses from her husband that had just been delivered. The note that had accompanied them was in her hand. In it her husband apologised profusely for his 'indiscretion' with Sarah's lab assistant, Emily.

White-faced, Sarah slowly tore the note into tiny shreds and tossed them aside. She strode across the room to the security vault where her records were kept. Keying in the code she opened it and pulled out an unmarked aluminium case.

Putting it down on the bench Sarah opened it and stared at the culmination of her life's work: the Phytogenesis Gauntlets. They were heavy black gloves packed with integrated nanocircuits. Metallic bands circled the wrists and contained projectors that generated bio-fields that could be tuned to resonate with all forms of plant-life. They were untested prototypes with an experimental control system that interfaced directly with the wearer's nervous system.

Sarah hesitated for a moment but then her anger rose up, swamping her fears and she slipped the heavy gloves on. She felt a faint tingling as induction circuits synchronised with the nerves beneath her skin. Then her senses extended out into the room. She could feel individual spores floating in the air and the vigorous growth of the seedlings she cultivated for her experiments.

Then she doubled over, gasping in pain as her new senses touched the roses lying on the bench. The cut flowers, severed from their roots and slowly dying, radiated intense distress that Sarah could hardly bear. She reached out a shaking hand and the blooms began to writhe within their wrapping paper.

Somehow the anguish of the dying plants and the pain of betrayal burning within her heart fused and become one. The thorny stems of the roses lengthened, splitting into tendrils that curled up and around her outstretched hand. Twining around the Gauntlet the tendrils grew quickly until they reached the sleeve of her labcoat. Hungry for nutrients the questing tendrils extruded fine rootlets that separated and absorbed the cloth fibres. Almost instinctively, Sarah guided the growth of the mutated rose stems, weaving the tendrils into a tight mesh that covered her body as her lab coat and the clothing beneath were absorbed.

At the same time, other tendrils were spreading throughout the laboratory, some infiltrated electronic equipment, where microscopic filaments destroyed microchips and shattered hard-drives, while the paper printouts in the security vault, the last existing records of Sarah's work, were quickly absorbed by the burgeoning plant growth.

Sarah stood in the centre of a green web of thorny vines, and she felt them curling around water-taps and diving into basins set along one side of the laboratory. They quickly infiltrated the building's water and drainage pipes, sinking into the earth beneath the building, finding rich sources of minerals and water, accelerating their growth exponentially.

Intoxicated by the feelings of power and vitality generated by the plants surrounding her, Sarah increased their growth rate even more. Her anger turned into an intense hunger for destruction. The vines thickened, their thorns growing even longer as they punched through the walls of the room and began to spread through the building, causing chaos and mass panic amongst her former fellow scholars and students. Alarms began to ring and someone activated the fire-sprinklers. Laughing Sarah turned her face up to the cold spray, feeling the moisture feed and strengthen her creation.

Sirens began to wail as police and other emergency vehicles entered the University grounds. Lost within her own green world, Sarah barely noticed them until burning agony knocked her to the ground, stunned and disoriented. Thick smoke began to fill the room as men and women in the red and white uniforms that marked them out as Longbow agents rushed in.

Coughing, Sarah threw up one arm and dozens of razor-sharp thorns sprouted from the living material sheathing her fore-arm. Suddenly a deadly hail of those thorns shot across the room. Two Longbow agents went down, bleeding from many small cuts but several others ducked and weaved, and avoided injury. Outside the room their fellows fought back the thrashing vines with flamethrowers. Unable to block out the terrible damage the flaming gel caused to the vines, Sarah screamed in outrage before passing out.


She awoke several hours later to the sound of a police officer banging on the door of her cell.

"Wake up, Pike. Your lawyer's here to speak with you."

Confused, Sarah sat up. She was dressed in a bright orange jumpsuit and not surprisingly the authorities had confiscated her Gauntlets.

A slender, well-dressed young man stepped into her cell. He carried a folding chair that he placed in the centre of the room, then he sat down facing her. Glancing back at the door he produced a small device that he clipped to the lapel of his suit.

"There, that should scramble any surveillance or recording devices they've got set up." He smiled thinly at Sarah.

"What? Who are you?"

"Hillary Spencer. I represent someone who has been very interested in your work for quite some time, Doctor Pike. Your recent demonstration of the, ah, practical applications of your research was quite impressive. Unfortunately it has also alarmed the authorities and I'm afraid that you will be facing jail time over this incident."

"I don't care. I've already lost everything I ever cared about. It doesn't really matter." Sarah hung her head in despair.

"Now, now, Doctor Pike. Sarah. Never give up. My employer might be a reclusive person, " Spencer smiled briefly, "but he respects power and you had power back there in that laboratory. Real power. You felt it and all the possibilities it opened up before you. Power to show your peers the true value of your work. Power to show how worthless and insignificant your husband really is."

Sarah looked up, transfixed by Spencer's dark, suddenly intense gaze.

"Yes," she said softly. Even without the Gauntlets her body still remembered the sensation of bonding with those plants, how vividly alive and free she had felt.

"We recommend you plead guilty, Doctor. The evidence is overwhelming in any case, and a guilty plea will mean you will be transferred to Zigursky within the week. My employer is putting in place the necessary preparations to truncate your sentence and transfer you to a jurisdiction where you can continue your work and the authorities can't reach you. As a sign of good faith, we will re-unite you with your Gauntlets just before extraction. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mr. Spencer. I understand completely." Filled with a new confidence, she reached out and shook his hand. She was determined to show all those who had betrayed her, professionally and personally, that Sarah Pike was a force to be reckoned with.


Condensed ID Card version:

Doctor Sarah Pike is a leading botanist and geneticist. She is also a very angry woman. After her tenure and funding at Paragon University was revoked because of the risks involved in her research she thought she had hit rock-bottom.

Then she discovered her husband in the arms of her lab assistant.

Donning her prototype Phytogenesis Gauntlets she created gigantic thorny vines that destroyed her laboratory and all of her records and threatened to wreck the entire Genetic Sciences building before they were destroyed by Longbow Flamethrowers.

She was arrested and sentenced to ten years in the Zigursky Penitentiary where agents from Arachnos contacted her and indicated that Lord Recluse was very interested in her research. They handed her the Phytogenesis Gauntlets that they had smuggled in and told her to prepare herself for a breakout...

Thanks guys.

I'd be happy to help, Personamorpher, as long as you don't hit me with all of your alts at once!

Don't worry guys! I love a challenge.

Welcome to the thread Doleth, BAS and Ralok_one, I'll see what I can do for you.

Hi all,

I just wanted to say thank you to all the people who contribute to this forum and display so much creativity and support for each other. Your example got me off my butt and finally writing again after a very long dry spell.

Inspired by several 'costume assistance' threads here in Screenshots and Fan Art I skipped over to Roleplaying and started the thread:

Scribe for hire - Origins on offer
(also linked in my signature)

In this thread I offer my literary services to those seeking origin stories for their heroes or villains, as well as a condensed version suitable for ID cards in-game.

Over the last week I have written six short stories describing the origins of six very different heroes and it has been a blast! I've been experimenting with different styles and structures and it has been a very rewarding experience overall.

It has also been very heartening to receive positive feedback on my work from some very satisfied customers!

My reason for posting here is to keep the cycle of inspiration going round. I'd like to invite everyone here to read my stories and if any of the diverse scenes contained within inspire artworks I would be very honoured!

Stories completed so far:

<ul type="square">[*]The Origin of Anonysmo Dragon [*]The Origin of Xander Frost (Or: My mother married a Frost Giant!) [*]The Origin of Shoshemi [*]The Origin of the Veiled Hawk [*]The Origin of the Hydra [*]The Origin of Michale (Or: The Last Chance) [*] NEW The Origin of Sarah Pike (Or: Hell hath no fury like a woman thorned)[*] NEW The Origin of the Neighborhood Archer[/list]
I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them!