Icenii

Well done

Good luck with your exams Heyman.

I couldn't leave CoX and neither can you

Me likey that idea.

Nobody cares about us European types .

A friend of mine asked me to write her backstory, so here it is. She's an emp/rad defender FYI. I hope you enjoy.

Princess Silver

Chapter 1

Catherine cradled the photograph of her parents in her hands. The glass was cracked and the frame bent where she had dropped it on the tiled floor of her small townhouse in Founders Falls the previous night. Pulling the picture out of the frame, she inadvertently dragged a finger across a shard of glass.
“Ow, buggrit, Oh, Damn, damn, damn”, she cursed in frustration as the sharp edge of the photo drew blood from her little finger.
Closing her eyes in a moment of concentration, she pushed her thumb against her finger. A green glow, faint at first then becoming brighter, emitted from her thumb and slowly covered her hand. A soothing noise, alike in sound to the hum of a hive of bees but much, much quieter, filled the room. Her cat Marvin, basking on the seat across the bay window, raised his head, looking quizzically over at Catherine. She opened her eyes, tinged with tears, and then smiled at him reassuringly.
“It’s okay Marv, no problems here”, she said, raising the palm of her hand to him. Where there had been a deep gash in her finger a moment before, her skin appeared unbroken and in excellent condition. Marvin stretched and shifted position to get more sunshine, purring happily.

Catherine wasn’t a typical resident of Paragon City. Her unusual abilities aside, which were hardly uncommon in this City of Heroes, she hailed from the tiny, landlocked country of Liechtenstein, a country with a proud history but a population of only 34,000 people. Her father was the third son of the current monarch and spent his time flying around Europe playing an ambassadorial role. Catherine herself was the second of four sisters and from the age of eighteen onwards she had spent her life attending social functions laid on by her mother, obsessed with marrying off her daughters to wealthy businessmen.
Sick of being paired up with balding accountants, slick lawyers and investment bankers, Catherine ran away from the family estate when she was nineteen. Her mother and father, distraught that their daughter had rebelled and could sully the families good name, quickly tracked her down and convened a meeting with her. In the end she was given an ultimatum. Any match would have to be vetted by her family and any inappropriate relationships would have to remain under wraps, upon pain of disinheritance. Catherine left the family mansion soon after and boarded a plane bound for Paragon City, determined to find her man.

Two months before the incident with the photograph and completing her third year as a medical student at Paragon University, she was assisting a radiographer to take an x-ray of a boy who had injured his leg whilst playing tennis.
“Stay behind the screen, dear, whilst I take this”, said the elderly doctor.
“Okay, David, no problem”, replied Catherine. She was a bit sick of his voice, having being apprenticed to him for the last three weeks. He had a habit of talking to her chest when he should have been looking at her face, but she could forgive him this due to his hunchback which meant he had to crane his neck in order to speak to her.
“Oh, farts”, he cursed, “I forgot to fill the printer with paper. Don’t go past the screen.”
As he shuffled off, Catherine raised her eyes to the ceiling and sat down on the uncomfortable office chair she had been provided with, absentmindedly spinning to the left and right. She started thinking about the latest film on at the cinema and her distinct lack of friends to take with her. Suddenly the boy screamed aloud and clutched at his leg. Not thinking, Catherine rushed to him and tried to calm him, quickly checking the injured leg for more damage. She didn’t hear the low crackling of electricity, but she was vaguely aware of the pulsing noise coming from the x-ray machine. Looking up, her eyes widened in alarm as the machine started to vibrate. She ran to the boy and picked him up, despite his shrieks of agony and protestations to the contrary. Spinning around to leave the room as quickly as she could, the x-ray machine overloaded with electricity and sent out a huge pulse of energy, knocking Catherine heavily to the floor and sending the boy flying out of her arms. As the machine went silent, Catherine dragged herself to her knees, suddenly feeling very nauseous. She crawled to the unconscious boy and collapsed over him, passing out.

“Catherine! Catherine, wake up!”
Her eyes opened slowly, her throat filled with bile and a bell ringing behind her eyes.
“What the hell happened here?”
She was vaguely aware of David questioning her and asked,
“What? The machine. It… it overloaded when I went to look at the boy and we were knocked over by some sort of blast”
“Catherine, the radiation count went through the roof, you’ve been subjected to a massive dose. You should be dead”, he said.
“The boy…. Is he… Is he okay?” she asked.
“I’m sorry dear, he didn’t make it. The strangest thing is though, his leg, it’s totally fine. In fact, it’s in a better state than his other one. This is very strange.”
Catherine picked herself up and sprinted out of the room, trying to ignore her pounding head. She didn’t stop until she was at the door of her car. Flooring the accelerator, she drove towards her house in Founders Falls.

Chapter 2

The crowded venue was packed with sweating bodies gyrating to the music being pumped out by the bare chested, heavily tattooed DJ. Catherine sat on a stool looking over the balcony rail at the mass of bodies below. To her it seemed that they had become one living creature, brought to life by the power of the music and the accompanying laser show. She sipped her cocktail and closed her eyes, letting the sound wash over her.
A powerfully built man, shrouded in shadow, sat across the club from where Catherine was sitting. He looked her over thoughtfully, twisting the curls of his long dark hair between his fingers.
She was wearing a long, backless red dress with a gothic pattern sewed down both sides in black and deep red leather boots. Her hair, also jet black, was braided and tied behind her head. The effect was one of a dark halo around a face of regal beauty.
Nobody had approached her for what seemed like hours. Her demeanor was one of a hunting hawk on the lookout for prey. The man smiled shrewdly, he pitied any lesser man who tried to go near such an intense countenance.

“Jan Magnusson at your service, madam. May I buy you a drink?”
Catherine nearly jumped off her stool, her reverie interrupted by the appearance of this stranger. She looked up at him, an angry look giving Jan pause for thought.
“Are you in the habit of creeping up behind people?” she demanded.
“I apologise. I must admit I was hypnotised by you. You look stunning.”
“Well then, if you must, I’d like a white wine spritzer. Before you get me that, though, who are you? I never let a man buy me a drink unless I know more about him.”
“As I said, I’m Jan Magnusson”, he smiled. Catherine smiled back, she couldn’t help it. The man had such a charming yet cheeky look about him.
“However, who I am is not a subject I’m willing to discuss before you have a drink in front of you, so I’ll be straight back”, his said, his smile broadening into a rather cheesy grin. Catherine raised an eyebrow at him but he’d already turned around to head to the bar. She took the opportunity to appraise her suitor. He was big. That was the first thing she noticed. Not tall, but very broad across the shoulders. From what she could see he didn’t narrow a great deal, although his physique was difficult to judge thanks to the trench coat he wore. As he neared the bar, the crowds seemed to disperse around him, as if out of respect for the sheer size of him. As he returned she relaxed slightly and spun to face him, leaning slightly forward and looking through her eyelashes at him.
“So Jan Magnusson, are you going to tell me more about yourself?” she asked.
“Well, the first thing that you should know about me is that my family owns this place. My grandfather to be precise.”
“Oh yes? Am I supposed to be impressed by that, Jan?” Catherine said, her eyes rising to look deep into his eyes, a look designed to disconcert.
“Not at all, not at all. It is simply there as a façade to hide some of my families less, shall we say scrupulous activities.” He explained, his eyes full of guile.
“My family are exiles you see, part of a line which stretches back over a thousand years.”
Jan put his glass down on the bar and moved closer to her.
“They were thrown out of the fold two hundred years ago for their insights into the occult behavior of some of their aristocratic peers. Now, as their descendants we are spread…”
Catherine stood up sharply, looking down at Jan with amazement.
“You’re of the Icelandic Magnusson line? The one which disappeared? I thought you were all executed. You can’t be!”
“I assure you that some of us still remain”, he said, putting his hand on her forearm, “although our numbers are few and we are being hunted by the forces that almost destroyed us so long ago. We have been trained to survive.”
“Why are you telling me this?” asked Catherine, “What has this got to do with me?”
“I know you Catherine, I know where you come from and I know your stock. I also know of the incident at the hospital. We’d make a great team, you and I.”
Jan stood. “Please, Catherine, will you come with me? I have something to show you.”
Feeling lightheaded, Catherine followed Jan towards the exit doors. She almost walked into the back of him as he stopped suddenly and turned towards her, eyes wide and a look of rage directed over her shoulder.

Leaping into the air, Jan drew a large broadsword from within his trench coat. Dropping into a crouch, he started to mutter what sounded to Catherine like an incantation. She dropped to the floor instinctively as Jan looked quickly around. People began to scream and panic, less from the fact a huge, muscular man wearing a trench coat had suddenly drawn a big sword, which they for some reason seemed not to notice, but from a hissing sound coming from the back of the club. A mass of bodies started to stream past Jan and Catherine as he picked her up roughly and stood her behind him. Their eyes were glazed and some of them had bloodstains on their clothes. Jan strode forward just as a huge snake wielding a cutlass brought its sword down towards him, slicing a thin line into his chest. Parrying the following blow as best he could, Jan twisted the huge sword around and flung the cutlass up in the air. Catching the snake creature’s sword in one hand, he brought the two swords together across the torso of the beast, severing it cleanly in half. A fountain of blue blood erupted from the creature and doused the ceiling. Jan threw the cutlass aside and turned to Catherine.
“That’s not what I wanted to show you”, he said, a grim look crossing his face.
Catherine realised her mouth was agape and closed it quickly.
“Um?” she said, both her hands raised in front of her protectively.
Jan smiled sympathetically and pulled her towards him.
“Your hands, please”, he requested.
Catherine looked questioningly at him as he pulled her hands towards his wounded chest. Pressing them against himself and closing his eyes, he began to chant again. She felt something welling up inside her chest then a great peace come over her. Her fingers started to glow green and she began to feel nauseous. Jan finished chanting but Catherine couldn’t hear anything anyway. Her eyes closed and she began to hum. Suddenly opening her eyes she felt incredible power filling her hands. Drawing them back she closed her fists, then a flash of green light enveloped Jan. Catherine fainted.

Chapter 3

She awoke in her bed at home, feeling the same headache and nausea that had affected her the day of the x-ray accident. Standing, she spotted a note.

“Dear Catherine,

I’ll be in touch regarding our future relationship. It was a pleasure making your acquaintance. You really are a truly impressive young lady.

Yours truly

Jan”

She smiled. She’d have to teach him how to speak to a lady. It was all well and good telling girls that you were the heir to an ancient Icelandic dynasty but you’d have to follow it up with some proper conversation. Pouring herself a glass of wine, she picked up the framed photograph of her parents and dropped it on the floor.
“I don’t think my life will be as you wanted it to be. I’m sorry, mum”, she smirked and lay back on her sofa.

Thanks Captain. I was beginning to wonder if everyone hated it!

Various people have commented to me privately regarding certain issues with the tenses and how the story jumps about a bit too much. Issues which will be addressed for myself as I want Elentil's backstory to be right, but not posted here.

A friend has asked me to write her backstory so watch this space. I'll try to make that one a bit shorter.

Very nice style, different perspective with a fun view of the different archtypes. Good job.

I've risen to the challenge and written one which I posted yesterday but nobody commented on it yet. Meh, it's only 4000 words people

Apologies if you have already read some of this which was originally posted in the "Origins" thread, if so skip to Part 3. I hope you enjoy this.

Elentil

The present

The sky seemed close up here. The air was strangely still, especially so for a night the weather forecasters had predicted to be unsettled at best. It seemed as though the stars we looking back at me and winking knowledgably about the nature of the events which had just unfolded under their watchful gaze. I shuddered involuntarily, shaking myself free of the urge to stand staring up into the sky. My cape, earned only days before in a battle against those freaks The Lost, clung tightly to my back. Only then did I realise that I was completely drenched in sweat and blood, some of it mine, most not. Standing, some would say precariously if they didn’t know me, atop the elaborately crafted statue of Gaia in the roof garden of TihinenCorp, one of the highest skyscrapers in Steel Canyon. I gazed across the trail of carnage I had left behind me. I began to cry. It hadn’t always been like this.

The past

My story is one of tragedy and achievement, early promise and painful setback, intense pain and gratuitous pleasure. It began in January 1978, when my mother Anja, fleeing her husband, moved to the UK from Helsinki. The two of them had previously run a small but lucrative consultancy testing the malleability and breaking points of composite plastics and metals for various purposes, some civilian, some military. His focus on his work had previously been an asset to the young couple, but with Anja becoming more and more pregnant he became detached from his relationship to her to such a degree that Anja began to question his commitment to her and her unborn baby. One evening, sick with worry about the results of the latest pre-natal scan, she confronted him about his lack of support. He struck her with the first thing to hand, which happened to be a tablelamp, hard enough to give her concussion for days afterward. She never looked back.

I was born in July of the same year and remember my early childhood to be a happy time. My mother cared for me deeply and always encouraged me to explore outside my tiny world. A keen gymnast and regional champion herself, she had never quite managed to reach Olympic standard but immediately saw my potential. I have always had an uncanny ability to land on my feet and quickly became a skilled tumbler, with good ability on the parallel bars and vault. My coaches soon earmarked me as one for the future, so long as my confidence didn’t get the better of me and I kill myself.
Life at school was good too. I was fortunate enough to be neither too stupid nor too clever to be bullied, as well as having lots of friends in and out of class thanks to my mothers insistence that I have lots of interests to “keep me out of trouble”.

Everything changed when I turned 13 years old. My mother, suddenly taken ill, was diagnosed with a rare virus they hadn’t seen before, one which pulled her insides apart tortuously from within. She died a week later, the doctors baffled by the swift onset and aggressiveness of the disease. My world fell apart. My father, although initially insistent that he wanted nothing to do with me, eventually offered to look after me. He had since remarried an older woman with two daughters of her own and moved with his work to Paragon City. He hadn’t changed much. He was still obsessed with his work and didn’t seem to want to spend much time with his adopted family. This seemed to suit both parties. His new wife was happy enough spending his money any way she could think of and her daughters, three and four years older than I was, were always occupied at the local shopping malls flashing their fat [censored] and [censored] at the local boys in exchange for wolf whistles and the odd cigarette.

My adopted sisters, jealous of my looks and sporting success, made my life a misery. When they weren’t stealing my equipment they were mocking me in front of their shallow friends. The mockery soon escalated to emotional abuse, then to violence. One afternoon I was playing tennis on our local courts with one of my friends from school when a few cars, with music pumping out and a haze of familiar smelling pungent smoke billowing out of the windows, pulled up alongside them. They were full to brimming with the kids from the mall including the two harridans I lived with.

All strutting over to the entrance of the court, the middle sister and some of her cronies started to gesture rudely and swear at me. Rather unfortunately, my friend Lisa screwed her topspin lob out of the court at the same time, in the precise direction of the waiting mob. I’d had enough. Striding towards the leering faces I demanded my ball back. My sister, who was passing the ball from side to side with her fat fingers, started to laugh manically. It was pretty clear to see that she had been taking something illegal. Her eyes were standing out in her face and she had a slight green tinge to her complexion. She sneered to me, “If you want your ball, come here and get it”. I sprinted over to her but she tossed the ball to one of her friends and aimed a punch at my face. Something came over me then, something I have felt since and been able to control and channel. I was filled with the most consuming rage, the pent up distress of my mothers death, the cruel bullying from my sisters and neglect from my father. Impossibly quickly, I grabbed her hand and somersaulted over, wrapping both legs round her neck. Changing my impotus, I flicked sideways, taking her head with me. There was an audible crack, then screaming.
Running away in blind panic at what I had just done, I stopped for breath after what seemed like miles. An ambulance, its sirens blaring, shot past me. I wandered out into the road, hands on hips and still in shock as to what had happened. I never saw the truck driven by my eldest sister coming.

Discovery

I woke up in a small grey room filled only with a hospital bed, a mirror and a window looking on to a brick wall. Clothed only in a pair of loose fitting pyjamas, I tried to stand. Bad idea. From my new position on the floor, it was pretty clear that the only door to the room lead out on to the street. In my haste to get up, I hadn’t noticed that a note was pinned to the door leading out. Dragging myself over, the feeling slowly returning to my legs, I read the note.

“Elena, you have been spared to fulfil a role your early promise has earmarked you for. You are now Elentil. Bear this name in all you do.”

Frowning in confusion, I stumbled over to the mirror to take a look at what felt like a very tired looking face. I nearly fainted. What I would learn later was that 15 years had passed since I was hit by that truck. The 13 year old girl had grown into a 28 year old woman. Not only that, a very attractive, finely honed 28 year old woman. I undressed and stared amazedly at my reflection. My shoulders had broadened, my chest filled out, heh, nice, and my stomach, arms and legs looked great. “Wow”, I said aloud, “check me out!”.
Looking under the bed, I found some underwear, a tight fitting top, a pair of combat pants and some boots. Strolling outside into the sunshine, I recognised the neighbourhood of Kings Row, with some familiar architecture but some not so. “I guess I’m not the only one who’s seen some changes”, I mused. Taking a shortcut down an alley I heard footsteps behind me, then a gruff voice said, “You in the pink, give me your purse.” I turned round and there were three unkempt men with Skull masks on. Sighing, I spun around again and jumped in shock, as three more men attired similarly, converged from the previously open entrance to the alley. Surrounded, I chose to fight rather than submit. Focusing inwardly, I felt my limbs loosening and confidence pulsing through my body. I felt as light as a feather. Dodging a grab for my arm, I cartwheeled to the right and struck out at the furthest assailant. Stunned silence followed. I turned my head to look at the intended target of my punch. Three spikes, made of what looked like steel, were protruding out the back of his bloody head. It took me a fraction of a second to realise that the same spikes were attached to me and that I had killed the man who had tried to attack me. Elation, followed by the same gut wrenching panic coursed through me. I turned to confront the rest of the gang, but they were already running.

Elentil was born that day. Elena Tihinen no longer exists, at least not until I find out who did this to me and why. Until that time, I might as well put these new “gifts” to some use, particularly if it gives me the same kick as it just did with that poor Skull. Heh, good luck villains. Crime don’t pay when Elly’s about.

Part 2

“Martin Harrison, pleased to meet you”, he greeted his new colleague, Sarah.
She appraised him at length with a practised smile. The three interview process had gone very smoothly but she was still a little unsure of whether he would be up to the job. Despite being streets ahead of the 100 odd other applicants, Martin exuded something which most people would say was just plain confidence, but she saw something more, something a little unsavoury. She approved of the clearly expensive, immaculately pressed suit he wore, the polished, Italian looking shoes and the well groomed blonde locks which cascaded around his strong, young face. Sarah found most unnerving the fact he was wearing wrap around sunglasses on this, a day which was what most people would consider to be ropey at best.
“Hi Martin, it’s good to have you on board, Mikko has had nothing but good things to say about you”, she returned the greeting. Mikko, the Chairman and joint founder of their company was an old workhorse, not given to relinquishing responsibility to his staff and frequently staying late into the night to test one more theory in his private lab.
“Well, it’s always nice to feel wanted. I knew there was only one place to come once Mikko showed interest. I’ve long been an admirer of his work”, grinned Martin. Sarah got the impression he was winking at her, but couldn’t be sure thanks to those damn glasses.
“Okay, well I’d better show you to your new office. Your secretary will arrive at midday, she has a private appointment this morning.”
Sarah spun on her heel and walked purposefully towards the other side of the open plan office. Martin followed closely, his pained eyes following the blurred movement of the slightly plump figure in front of him through the dark glasses.

The glasses were a relatively new addition. He had noticed the beginning of the changes in him less than a year ago now. Once a month he would get insomnia and occasional headaches and nausea. His doctor was at a loss to explain why this was happening, eventually blaming it on the result of the end of puberty. He prescribed Martin a wide range of treatments, none of them terribly effective. It hadn’t been so bad and Martin had almost learnt to live with the monthly episodes until the very latest bout. His eyes had begun to acquire a reddish tint. First of all he thought it was just lack of sleep making them bloodshot but they never returned to their “normal” state, instead becoming a deep red colour and affecting his vision. In addition to his eyes, other changes had occurred. During the “sickness”, as he less than affectionately termed it, his perception of his surroundings increased exponentially, so that despite the loss of vision, he felt the air around him and had developed an almost precognitive instinct for potential danger. His nights were the worst. Assaulted by primal urges he couldn’t explain Martin couldn’t sleep. He spent the night or two he was affected pacing his apartment, images of blood, danger and passion filling his thoughts.

It had culminated one night when, unable to contain himself, Martin had left his apartment early in the morning for a run to try and expend the energy his body was filled with. Running under the streetlights he was passed by a truck full of teenagers. Screeching to a halt in front of him, the driver of the truck started to shout drunken abuse at him. Martin, a strange, yet not unwanted feeling coming over him, ran on past the truck. He heard the driver start up the engine and start to follow him down the road, keeping pace. A glass bottle flew past his head and laughter came from inside the truck. The feeling coming over Martin enveloped him and he turned to face the truck. A guttural growl escaped him and he leapt upon the bonnet, punching through the windscreen. Their death was swift and brutal.

Dazed and confused, Martin found himself wandering through a different area of the town. His clothes were dirty and aside from a generous spattering of blood he couldn’t explain, he resembled a dishevelled homeless tramp. He stumbled over to the side of the road and crumpled in a heap. He remained there for a while, he wasn’t sure how long, then climbed over the wall adjoining the street into the wheatfield alongside, meaning to take a shortcut to his apartment. Deep in thought, Martin almost missed the prone, seemingly lifeless body of a young girl. Her long auburn hair was plastered to her face and her frame, so svelte and small, was broken and battered. Martin, he wasn’t sure why, picked her up and headed back to his apartment.

That had been two weeks ago. He had felt normal since then, but his eyes had remained blood red. The sunglasses he had worn once a month had become a permanent fixture, as had the partial blindness and the senses he had been developing. Martin picked up the phone in his new office.
“Mikko Tihinen please. Tell him it’s Martin, his new research assistant, thankyou”, Martin paused, a smile crossing his face.
“Mikko, Hi! Listen, what can you tell me about a 13 year old girl called Elena?”

Part 3

Martin stood behind Sarah, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders as she sobbed in grief at the ministrations of the priest. The old man had died of a heart attack four days earlier and it had hit her hard. In Sarah’s eyes, Mikko Tihinen had been one of the great minds of his generation, a real pioneer in their field. In the last 15 years TihinenCorp had evolved from a thriving family run business into a giant multinational conglomerate. Martin viewed things slightly differently. The two men had shared guilty secrets, Mikko about the fact he was losing his touch for invention, which Martin’s business acumen and creative genius had helped to cover up while the Chairman took credit and for Martin, Mikko protecting him from the authorities in connection with his nocturnal activities. It had remained a convenient arrangement, particularly with the lack of care Mikko had shown for the life of his daughters, one of whom Martin had slaughtered and another wheelchair bound after his only natural child had broken her neck defending herself, the same child Martin had taken in and cared for, employing the best medical care money could buy on a “need to know” basis.

Having dropped Sarah off at home, Martin drove to the apartment in Kings Row he had left Elena in two months ago. She had shown signs of waking from her coma whilst in her father’s laboratory and he hadn’t wanted her to have any knowledge of her stay with him or her father’s involvement. The nurse who was employed to look after her had looked in on her one afternoon only to find the apartment empty, so Martin headed over there now. He picked up his mobile.
“Dave, please can you clear my diary until tomorrow afternoon? Thanks”
Thoughtfully stroking his chin with his manicured fingers, Martin climbed out of the silver Ford Fiesta he was driving and pulled the hood of his grey jacket over his long hair. It paid to keep a low profile in Kings Row. He had no concerns about defending himself against street thugs but he was not in the mood for attracting attention. He walked to the door of the apartment and breathing in deeply, walked through.

He had invested in this apartment especially for its anonymity. Nobody would expect to see him here in Kings, except his trusted Lieutenants. Since accepting the changes in his body and mind, Martin had surrounded himself with those who suffered from the same “malaise”, well, perhaps “malaise” wasn’t the right word, perhaps “gifts” was more appropriate. Only one of them had ever met him in person and that particular meeting had been one of pain for the minion, who had had both his eyes removed so that he would never be any danger to his leader. They had been a ragged bunch of misfits but Martin knew that they needed him to direct them after they had all become disaffected with their affiliation with the Council and splintered off into a leaderless mob. They knew him as King of Claws, a title he had nothing to do with but didn’t discourage use of.

Strolling in, he pushed the mirror firmly against the wall. With a grinding noise the mirror slid to one side to reveal a compartment filled with a set of body armour and a tranquiliser gun, both of which he picked up and dropped into a cricket bag. Slinging it over his shoulder, Martin got back into the Fiesta. Picking up his phone, he dialled out,
“Philip, call the crew. We have a rat to catch.”
He grinned, he had been looking forward to this.

Part 4

My meeting with the person, if you can call him that, who had kept me for so long was ill contrived on my part. I knew there would be some attention on me from the start, particularly after my newly acquired fighting skills had manifested themselves, but I had never dreamed his motives would be so sinister. The first place I headed after my waking was to my father’s building in Skyway City. I’d perused the newspapers to try and get a feel for the time I had found myself in and to establish some course of action to take in regard to my future. Scanning through the obituary of my father with little feeling, I reached the centre of the article. There, in black and white, was the eighty floor symbol of his life’s work, the TihinenCorp building in Steel Canyon. Feeling some trepidation as to what I would find there, I headed to the monorail station.

The foyer of the building was magnificent. A large dome shaped ceiling capped off a marble and granite hall, with heavy ornate pillars surrounding a central desk arranged round a statue of the suckling Romulus and Remus. This alarmed me for a second but I wasn’t sure why. There were a pair of spiral staircases leading to a mezzanine level, where a busy café, serving cakes and coffee filled the hall with noise. A glass lift completed the scene, reaching up through the dome into the building above.

The receptionist, an unusually tall dark man with slightly offset eyes and a large nose, peered at me haughtily.
“Yeees, what can I do for you madam?” he asked, a rictus I took to be a smile crossing his face.
“I’m Elena Tihinen, I’m here to meet my father”, I stated as sincerely as I could manage. The look on his face seemed frozen for a second, then from behind crooked teeth he rasped,
“Take the elevator to the seventy ninth floor and wait outside the elevator, Mr Tihinen’s representative will meet you there”.
I stepped inside the elevator and leant against the rail, determined to enjoy the view despite the butterflies in my stomach.

I was sat on the sofa next to the door to elevator for a good half an hour before the sound of helicopter rotors filtered through from the roof. Standing up, I started to pace up and down the wide, neutrally decorated hallway, rubbing my hands together unconsciously. Two solid oak doors at the end of the hallway glided open, pushed by a blind man dressed very unusually. He wore two eye patches and a navy robe made of silk, with large leather steel toed boots.
“Follow me, please”, he asked in a remarkably gruff voice.
I followed him through the door and up a set of stairs which led to the roof of the building. If anything this was more remarkable than the entrance foyer. It had clearly been a labour of love. Rose bushes lined the edges of the building and rock pools filled with fish were complemented by a beautifully manicured lawn and hanging baskets. The vision was finished with a thronelike seat at the edge of the roof, which was filled with a well built, handsome man wearing dark sunglasses.
“Please, do come here Elena”, he asked, smiling engagingly through perfect teeth, “we have so much to discuss”. I stood with a broad stance at the edge of the garden, holding my ground.
“Who are you?” I asked, frowning at him.
“I am your brother Elentil, I am your brother Martin, who rescued you from death 15 years ago, who gave you the gifts you possess today, who made you what you are”. He leant forward, his smile widening, making him look slightly less than sane.
“We are the new wolf clan. Our blood runs through you Elentil. Your blood is my blood, my blood is your blood, our children will own the pathetic humans and rule the world!”he screamed, starting to foam at the mouth.
“I will never be one of you”, I said firmly, staring him down, “I am nobody’s pet dog”.
“Oh really?”, he sneered, “We’ll see about that. Wolves, get her!”

A low growl, followed by another, sounded behind me. Stirred by panic, my adrenaline, together with my natural gifts filled me with strength. The world slowed down around me and the air took on a cloying, thick quality. One by one, the wolf men roared their challenge to me. With the sound of metal pushing through flesh, my claws unsheathed and a moan escaped my lips. Instead of panic, animal longing filled my thoughts, the thirst for blood and dominance over the pack. I lifted my head and screamed into the air. “You’ll never take me alive”, I growled at Martin, looking through him with deep red eyes.

One of the wolves leapt headfirst at me. I hurdled his claws and drove both my feet downwards into his head, pushing him into the grass below. Somersaulting into the air, I drove both my claws into his back. He convulsed and lay still. The other two wolves started to back off. My eyes widened and I chased after one of them.
“Noooooooooo!”, he screamed as both his arms were removed via two clean swipes.
The final wolf, the blinded one, lay sobbing at my feet.
“Get out”, I growled. He ran whimpering down the stairs.
I turned to Martin, who was sat on the “throne” with a sly look on his face.
“You did well, but this is over now”, he stated matter of factly.
“I agree, time for you to come with me to meet the PPD”, I said, walking slowly towards him. Martin unsheathed the tranquiliser gun he had picked up and fired it at me. The dart stuck in my chest but I kept walking.
“What’s the matter Martin, am I supposed to fall over? Perhaps you should have checked there was any fluid in the dart? I came back to the apartment to check it over and saw all your kit, you fool”.
Martin drew off his sunglasses, revealing his eyes and roared. Leaping towards me I allowed him to push me to the floor. His werewolf claws embedded in my shoulders, I rolled backwards towards the edge of the building and pushed into the floor with my claws. Martin’s claws ripped through my skin as I stopped moving and his momentum took him out past the edge of the building, where he slid down my arms, frantically clinging to the ends of my metallic claws.
“Good luck Martin, I’m sure that you’ll just be another bit of roadkill”, I said menacingly and sheathed my claws. A momentary look of terror crossed his face and he fell, screaming. I looked away at the last minute.
"Bad doggy", I muttered undermy breath. Walking towards the centre of the garden, I put the armless wolf out of its misery. I covered my face with my hands and curled up into the foetus position, sobbing.

Epilogue

“Hello, this is Elentil, how did you get this number?”
“That isn’t important. Are you for good or are you for yourself?”
“*sigh* What’s your offer?”
“Listen very carefully, I am from an organisation known as the Femme Fatales”

The end. For now.

Well, since you liked chapter 1, I thought I'd pen chapter 2 and post it

Elentil Part 2

“Martin Harrison, pleased to meet you”, he greeted his new colleague, Sarah.
She appraised him at length with a practised smile. The three interview process had gone very smoothly but she was still a little unsure of whether he would be up to the job. Despite being streets ahead of the 100 odd other applicants, Martin exuded something which most people would say was just plain confidence, but she saw something more, something a little unsavoury. She approved of the clearly expensive, immaculately pressed suit he wore, the polished, Italian looking shoes and the well groomed blonde locks which cascaded around his strong, young face. Sarah found most unnerving the fact he was wearing wrap around sunglasses on this, a day which was what most people would consider to be ropey at best.
“Hi Martin, it’s good to have you on board, Mikko has had nothing but good things to say about you”, she returned the greeting. Mikko, the Chairman and joint founder of their company was an old workhorse, not given to relinquishing responsibility to his staff and frequently staying late into the night to test one more theory in his private lab.
“Well, it’s always nice to feel wanted. I knew there was only one place to come once Mikko showed interest. I’ve long been an admirer of his work”, grinned Martin. Sarah got the impression he was winking at her, but couldn’t be sure thanks to those damn glasses.
“Okay, well I’d better show you to your new office. Your secretary will arrive at midday, she has a private appointment this morning.”
Sarah spun on her heel and walked purposefully towards the other side of the open plan office. Martin followed closely, his pained eyes following the blurred movement of the slightly plump figure in front of him through the dark glasses.

The glasses were a relatively new addition. He had noticed the beginning of the changes in him less than a year ago now. Once a month he would get insomnia and occasional headaches and nausea. His doctor was at a loss to explain why this was happening, eventually blaming it on the result of the end of puberty. He prescribed Martin a wide range of treatments, none of them terribly effective. It hadn’t been so bad and Martin had almost learnt to live with the monthly episodes until the very latest bout. His eyes had begun to acquire a reddish tint. First of all he thought it was just lack of sleep making them bloodshot but they never returned to their “normal” state, instead becoming a deep red colour and affecting his vision. In addition to his eyes, other changes had occurred. During the “sickness”, as he less than affectionately termed it, his perception of his surroundings increased exponentially, so that despite the loss of vision, he felt the air around him and had developed an almost precognitive instinct for potential danger. His nights were the worst. Assaulted by primal urges he couldn’t explain Martin couldn’t sleep. He spent the night or two he was affected pacing his apartment, images of blood, danger and passion filling his thoughts.

It had culminated one night when, unable to contain himself, Martin had left his apartment early in the morning for a run to try and expend the energy his body was filled with. Running under the streetlights he was passed by a truck full of teenagers. Screeching to a halt in front of him, the driver of the truck started to shout drunken abuse at him. Martin, a strange, yet not unwanted feeling coming over him, ran on past the truck. He heard the driver start up the engine and start to follow him down the road, keeping pace. A glass bottle flew past his head and laughter came from inside the truck. The feeling coming over Martin enveloped him and he turned to face the truck. A guttural growl escaped him and he leapt upon the bonnet, punching through the windscreen. Their death was swift and brutal.

Dazed and confused, Martin found himself wandering through a different area of the town. His clothes were dirty and aside from a generous spattering of blood he couldn’t explain, he resembled a dishevelled homeless tramp. He stumbled over to the side of the road and crumpled in a heap. He remained there for a while, he wasn’t sure how long, then climbed over the wall adjoining the street into the wheatfield alongside, meaning to take a shortcut to his apartment. Deep in thought, Martin almost missed the prone, seemingly lifeless body of a young girl. Her long auburn hair was plastered to her face and her frame, so svelte and small, was broken and battered. Martin, he wasn’t sure why, picked her up and headed back to his apartment.

That had been two weeks ago. He had felt normal since then, but his eyes had remained blood red. The sunglasses he had worn once a month had become a permanent fixture, as had the partial blindness and the senses he had been developing. Martin picked up the phone in his new office.
“Mikko Tihinen please. Tell him it’s Martin, his new research assistant, thankyou”, Martin paused, a smile crossing his face.
“Mikko, Hi! Listen, what can you tell me about a 13 year old girl called Elena?”

To be continued…

Elentil
=============
Class: Scrapper
Origin: Mutant
Security Level: 22

Primary: Claws
Secondary: Super Reflexes
Epic: Will be Dark


Name: Elena Tihinen
Date of Birth: 22/07/1978
Place of Birth: Leeds, UK
Height: 5'1
Weight: 8 stone 12lb
Hair: Auburn
Eyes: Wears blue contacts, actual colour blood red
Marital Status: Single
Current Residence: Prowling the rooftops by night
Occupation: Fulltime superhero by day and member of the Femme Fatales

Powers:
Single target melee specialist, takes 'em down quickly with no arguments.

Limitations:
Prone to bouts of rage thanks to her as yet undiscovered Lycan heritage, putting her into a state of fury while she turns into a werewolf during intense combat.

Talents:
Amazingly honed reflexes due to her heritage, further improved by gymnastic training as a child.

Nemesis:
Has a particular taste for the blood of The Council for some reason. Finds herself roaring at them whilst fighting.

Contacts:
A proud member of the Femme Fatales family

Biography:
The present

The sky seemed close up here. The air was strangely still, especially so for a night the weather forecasters had predicted to be unsettled at best. It seemed as though the stars we looking back at me and winking knowledgably about the nature of the events which had just unfolded under their watchful gaze. I shuddered involuntarily, shaking myself free of the urge to stand staring up into the sky. My cape, earned only days before in a battle against those freaks The Lost, clung tightly to my back. Only then did I realise that I was completely drenched in sweat and blood, some of it mine, most not. Standing, some would say precariously if they didn’t know me, atop the elaborately crafted statue of Gaia in the roof garden of TihinenCorp, one of the highest skyscrapers in Steel Canyon. I gazed across the trail of carnage I had left behind me. I began to cry. It hadn’t always been like this.

The past

My story is one of tragedy and achievement, early promise and painful setback, intense pain and gratuitous pleasure. It began in January 1978, when my mother Anja, fleeing her husband, moved to the UK from Helsinki. The two of them had previously run a small but lucrative consultancy testing the malleability and breaking points of composite plastics and metals for various purposes, some civilian, some military. His focus on his work had previously been an asset to the young couple, but with Anja becoming more and more pregnant he became detached from his relationship to her to such a degree that Anja began to question his commitment to her and her unborn baby. One evening, sick with worry about the results of the latest pre-natal scan, she confronted him about his lack of support. He struck her with the first thing to hand, which happened to be a tablelamp, hard enough to give her concussion for days afterward. She never looked back.

I was born in July of the same year and remember my early childhood to be a happy time. My mother cared for me deeply and always encouraged me to explore outside my tiny world. A keen gymnast and regional champion herself, she had never quite managed to reach Olympic standard but immediately saw my potential. I have always had an uncanny ability to land on my feet and quickly became a skilled tumbler, with good ability on the parallel bars and vault. My coaches soon earmarked me as one for the future, so long as my confidence didn’t get the better of me and I kill myself.
Life at school was good too. I was fortunate enough to be neither too stupid nor too clever to be bullied, as well as having lots of friends in and out of class thanks to my mothers insistence that I have lots of interests to “keep me out of trouble”.

Everything changed when I turned 13 years old. My mother, suddenly taken ill, was diagnosed with a rare virus they hadn’t seen before, one which pulled her insides apart tortuously from within. She died a week later, the doctors baffled by the swift onset and aggressiveness of the disease. My world fell apart. My father, although initially insistent that he wanted nothing to do with me, eventually offered to look after me. He had since remarried an older woman with two daughters of her own and moved with his work to Paragon City. He hadn’t changed much. He was still obsessed with his work and didn’t seem to want to spend much time with his adopted family. This seemed to suit both parties. His new wife was happy enough spending his money any way she could think of and her daughters, three and four years older than I was, were always occupied at the local shopping malls flashing their fat [censored] and [censored] at the local boys in exchange for wolf whistles and the odd cigarette.

My adopted sisters, jealous of my looks and sporting success, made my life a misery. When they weren’t stealing my equipment they were mocking me in front of their shallow friends. The mockery soon escalated to emotional abuse, then to violence. One afternoon I was playing tennis on our local courts with one of my friends from school when a few cars, with music pumping out and a haze of familiar smelling pungent smoke billowing out of the windows, pulled up alongside them. They were full to brimming with the kids from the mall including the two harridans I lived with.

All strutting over to the entrance of the court, the middle sister and some of her cronies started to gesture rudely and swear at me. Rather unfortunately, my friend Lisa screwed her topspin lob out of the court at the same time, in the precise direction of the waiting mob. I’d had enough. Striding towards the leering faces I demanded my ball back. My sister, who was passing the ball from side to side with her fat fingers, started to laugh manically. It was pretty clear to see that she had been taking something illegal. Her eyes were standing out in her face and she had a slight green tinge to her complexion. She sneered to me, “If you want your ball, come here and get it”. I sprinted over to her but she tossed the ball to one of her friends and aimed a punch at my face. Something came over me then, something I have felt since and been able to control and channel. I was filled with the most consuming rage, the pent up distress of my mothers death, the cruel bullying from my sisters and neglect from my father. Impossibly quickly, I grabbed her hand and somersaulted over, wrapping both legs round her neck. Changing my impotus, I flicked sideways, taking her head with me. There was an audible crack, then screaming.
Running away in blind panic at what I had just done, I stopped for breath after what seemed like miles. An ambulance, its sirens blaring, shot past me. I wandered out into the road, hands on hips and still in shock as to what had happened. I never saw the truck driven by my eldest sister coming.

Discovery

I woke up in a small grey room filled only with a hospital bed, a mirror and a window looking on to a brick wall. Clothed only in a pair of loose fitting pyjamas, I tried to stand. Bad idea. From my new position on the floor, it was pretty clear that the only door to the room lead out on to the street. In my haste to get up, I hadn’t noticed that a note was pinned to the door leading out. Dragging myself over, the feeling slowly returning to my legs, I read the note.

“Elena, you have been spared to fulfil a role your early promise has earmarked you for. You are now Elentil. Bear this name in all you do.”

Frowning in confusion, I stumbled over to the mirror to take a look at what felt like a very tired looking face. I nearly fainted. What I would learn later was that 15 years had passed since I was hit by that truck. The 13 year old girl had grown into a 28 year old woman. Not only that, a very attractive, finely honed 28 year old woman. I undressed and stared amazedly at my reflection. My shoulders had broadened, my chest filled out, heh, nice, and my stomach, arms and legs looked great. “Wow”, I said aloud, “check me out!”.
Looking under the bed, I found some underwear, a tight fitting top, a pair of combat pants and some boots. Strolling outside into the sunshine, I recognised the neighbourhood of Kings Row, with some familiar architecture but some not so. “I guess I’m not the only one who’s seen some changes”, I mused. Taking a shortcut down an alley I heard footsteps behind me, then a gruff voice said, “You in the pink, give me your purse.” I turned round and there were three unkempt men with Skull masks on. Sighing, I spun around again and jumped in shock, as three more men attired similarly, converged from the previously open entrance to the alley. Surrounded, I chose to fight rather than submit. Focusing inwardly, I felt my limbs loosening and confidence pulsing through my body. I felt as light as a feather. Dodging a grab for my arm, I cartwheeled to the right and struck out at the furthest assailant. Stunned silence followed. I turned my head to look at the intended target of my punch. Three spikes, made of what looked like steel, were protruding out the back of his bloody head. It took me a fraction of a second to realise that the same spikes were attached to me and that I had killed the man who had tried to attack me. Elation, followed by the same gut wrenching panic coursed through me. I turned to confront the rest of the gang, but they were already running.

Elentil was born that day. Elena Tihinen no longer exists, at least not until I find out who did this to me and why. Until that time, I might as well put these new “gifts” to some use, particularly if it gives me the same kick as it just did with that poor Skull. Heh, good luck villains. Crime don’t pay when Elly’s about.

To be continued.....

As Garth Crooks once (or twice) said, "Many Congratulations".

Right, I've made a note of all the chat handles that have been offered to me and the next time I'm in game I'm gonna give you a shout out to say hi. I am quite a sociable creature (when I have any time free from my kids, which isn't much) so need company. My claws are for hire for anyone who asks nicely. They're also lvl 6 claws now after an hour on yesterday afternoon!

See y'all soon.

Elly

Hee hee, the shed would be too comfy and the resumation of marital relations has, shall we say, been delayed.

The offer of an extra costume slot is greatly appreciated, Golden Girl. I went to quite a lot of trouble getting that Halloween salvage, along with all the Winter Event clothes etc and even the Beautiful badge. Thats what I have found I missed after I started Elentil up again last night (Lvl 5 already, Yay!). Thanks to the commission I took from a lvl50-lvl22 inf transfer from a nice guy in Atlas I now have 200k inf to spend so cash isn't the problem, at least for the time being (after my thirst for new outfits has finally been quenched, currently kitted out in a red and white spandex bodysuit with "assassin" pattern and very very sharp claws)

I feel strange too not being in a SG yet. I didn't see anyone I knew from the Storm Warriors last night in order to get an invite and can't wait to feel part of a group again.

Thankyou to everyone who has made me feel so wanted. I can't wait to get back into the groove and start gutting some trolls!

Awww, I want to make a toon on Union especially to team with you, Knightly! I think your posts are wonderfully emotive and eloquent.

Feeling all emotional now

Thanks Cambo, and pass my regards to Captain Wombat, I hope he got all the Valentines badges with his bizarre set of thugs. Made Elentil feel almost redundant when we duo'd!

Well, what can I say? Since I made the announcement that I was taking a breather due to that moron husband of mine, I've had so much support from both established friends and people who Elentil et al have never met. I was online last night when both my kids were asleep, staring at the blank list of characters where the fruits of 8 months hard work, totalling over 100 levels gained over 5 alts, had stood not 48 hours before, ready to fight the minions of Lord Recluse and other criminal masterminds.

6 concept alts later I realised how much poorer my life would be without this game and the richness of the community surrounding it.

I can't take a break, I just can't. What sort of a message does it send to him indoors anyway if I just quit? I don't think so.

Watch your back villains, /em unsheaths claws , I'm not done yet.

To those that know me and those that don't I'd just like to let you know that I'm taking a bit of a break from CoX (no gags please). I've been playing solidly for 8 months and having my second baby has put pressure on me to actually perform some of my motherly obligations. I say that but the thing that really put me off was my husband taking the rather drastic and unexpected step of deleting all my toons while I nipped out for a breather after a large row. Needless to say revenge has and will be extracted.

Level 50 now seems a rather distant target now I don't have a lvl32 toon, so I'm having a couple of months off to take stock. Should I not return, thanks to all I have teamed with and my friends in The Storm Warriors, you know who you are.

It has been a pleasure serving with you all.

Kind Regards

Elly

Sorry I couldnt make it folks. Please see my post in this section for further details.

oooh, oooh, can I bring Decurienne, lvl 26 emp/dark defender?

Pretty please?

Sadly I'm going to have to bail on this Friday

I can't guarantee being there for 8pm so if I'm not there dead on 8 go ahead without me.

Good luck
Elly

Hi Aero

I'd like to bring along Arwynne. She's a lvl 18 ice/storm controller with a particular dislike for clockwork....

However, if you have 1 too many controllers I can bring Norse Code along for the ride. She's an ice/ice blaster currently sat 1.5 bars off 15, which I'm sure I can remedy in good order prior to Friday.

Thanks

I was a bit bored so decided to pen this. I hope it entertains someone and if anyone wants to carry it on we could have a forum story people could read. Alternatively, if you think its rubbish please feel free to insult me and log off in disgust

Blue Steel mulled over the latest developments in his ongoing case against the Mercatrons of Mercatronia. He had spent the last 3 years tracking these mysterious creatures after the rumours of Chuck Norris’ demise and strange written curses left with his friends had circulated amongst the influential of Paragon City. Pausing for a coffee, Blue Steel walked outside to assume his customary position outside the PPD. Several bizarrely costumed heroes spoke to him in order to receive confirmation of their improved combat abilities but he wasn’t really listening. He only noticed that 2 hours had passed by and his coffee was cold when a small heroine named Norse Code started to slap him on the thigh. “Wake up you big ugmonster”, she said. “We have work to do.”. Curious as to why a lvl 14 (14?! She was only 11 a minute ago!) scantily clad, half robotic, 4 foot tall girl should have the nerve to hit such a great hero as he, Blue Steel followed her across the block, where she had sauntered casually, waiting for the cogs of his mind to conclude their turning and click into conscious thought. “Look here”, she said. “There’s a small pile of what looks like microchips blended with what looks suspiciously like human hair.” Blue Steel grunted at her and started to scan through the detritus on the floor. Slowly (very) it dawned on him that these were not simply microchips. They bore a striking resemblance to the component parts of a tiny vessel recovered from atop a skyscraper in Steel Canyon a year before. Upon closer inspection in lab conditions it had been determined that this vessel was alien in origin and had been jettisoned, rather than crashed, atop the building. Speculation about the Rikti had been rife back then but the two technologies were very different in their design, not to mention the size of the craft in question, small enough to fit in a Rikti Monkeys (hypothetical) pocket. Blue Steel turned to speak to Norse Code, thinking to thank her for the information and demand a level of discretion regarding her find. However, she had gone and Blue Steel, unaware that he had been in thought for over 45 minutes, wondered where she had gone. After a further 10 minutes of wondering, he decided to return the evidence to his lab in the PPD.

Ha! I bet Blue Steel a fiver he couldn't punch me through this wall.

Is it just me or is Norse Code the only member of this TF below lvl 38? I'll just be hiding behind you Sargatanas firing off my ickle blasts from 4 feet above floor level. Looking forward to renewing my acquaintance with the carpet!

SK up to lvl 15 might help....