Below is the original back story of my new I8 character. The Cerulean Falcon was actually born many years ago for a friend's
Heroes Umlimited Campaign, chessily enough called "The Coming of Five" which revolved around Neo-nazis trying to recapture occult objects
We played that campaign for almost three years. He later reimerged in an
Aberrant game, though his magical powers were changed to a mental dillusion that he was tied to the Archangel Michael. As I've mentioned
before this is my I8 hero. His origin is heavily influenced by Hawkman, Thor (which I was reading a lot at the time I wrote it), and Indiana Jones.
Enjoy.
"At the age of 82, Michael Malcolms, was still working at the Museum of American History. He was a legendary man in the museum; Michael had become a security guard for the museum after he returned from Japan in 1946. Michael retired from his guard position in 1974 when his wife, Ira, passed away. Soon after though, he returned to the quiet halls of his remaining love, the Museum.
Recently while bringing a carton of visitor buttons up from storage, Michael stumbled upon a mysterious trap door hidden in the floor of the basement. Opening it and entering into the secret crawl space below the floor, he found something amazing. A small, dust covered wooden crate, marked in German. Though his German was more than a little bit rusty, there was a phrase he recognized, "Thule-Gesellschaft". The Thule Society; the Nazi Occultists of World War II, responsible for taking occult symbols and objects and using them to promote Nazi ideals.
Working his way out of the dark space, Michael debated whether to open the box. After a few minutes of struggling with the choice, he smashed open the fragile lock. Within the crate was another box; this smaller coffer was not locked. Within this velvet lined box lay a beautiful and priceless golden belt. He looked it over closely, noticing oddly that it was smooth and polished on the outward face and that it had, what seemed to be, Arabic inscriptions along the inward face of the belt. Michael reached into the box to remove the belt and just as his fingers grazed the surface, there was a flash of brilliant light!
As Michael lay unconscious on the cold floor of the storage room, he heard a voice. The voice spoke to him in a tone that was louder than the most deafening thunderclap, yet it caused Michael no pain to listen of the history of this belt. The voice told him, the belt was an object that granted the wearer a divine connection to the archangel, Mika'il, the commander of the forces of heaven and the master of storms. The voice, spoke to him of how the belt was born and of each past bearer, those that wore the belt into battle before him. Lastly, the voice spoke to Michael of the how each person touching the belt, had their immortal soul placed upon the scales of judgment. Those found lacking, were immediately sentenced to damnation. Meanwhile those who are pure heart and whose souls were courageous were rewarded with the privilege to bear the belt and fight for justice and right.
Michael awoke the next morning in his own bed, but something was different. The pains of age were gone, he could see without his glasses, and he arose from his bed with a shock. He raced to the full-length mirror; his had changed
not merely changed he had undergone a full metamorphosis.
Michael now stood over six feet tall, taller than he had ever stood as a younger man before age had curved his spine. He was young, handsome, and well muscled; he looked like he was no older than thirty. The most shocking change, Michael bore a pair of feathered angelic wings upon his back. With a thought, the wings spread themselves and Michael thought he had surely gone mad but as he focused on those wings and doubted his sanity, he stole a glance toward his waist. There sat the golden belt of the Archangel Mikail. He was not dreaming, nor was he crazy, this was real. He ran outside and took to the heavens.
Flying came so naturally to this new form, Michael was exultant. Time was non-existent those first amazing days as he raced across the city discovering the powers this heavenly body could call upon. As he soared above the busy streets, he heard a gunshot, a scream and an alarm; he flew off, following the sounds. He landed upon the roof of the 6th National Bank, through the skylight he saw a masked man brandishing a gun and backing away towards the door. On the floor, Michael saw a wounded guard and a woman cradling him in her arms.
Bursting through the glass panes above, Michael gestured towards the villain. An arc of electricity leaped from his fingertips, shocking the masked bandit; forcing him to drop his weapon. A second bolt brought him to the ground, writhing in pain. Making his way to the guard, the teller back away from him, nearly hysterical. He tried to calm her, but as he approached she screamed. Michael instead looked at the young man lying on the bank floor, he was hurt badly but he was alive. He focused his thoughts on the wound, praying for the mans life. As Michael, held the man and prayed; his wounds were healed. From outside the sound of sirens blared. Michael flew off in a panic, returning to his small home.
Once he returned home, Michael thought long and hard about the robbery as well as the deal he struck with the mysterious voice. He thought upon what it meant to fight for good, and he thought back to his young. He remembered the pulp heroes he had worshiped as a child. He spent a long time watching the news; coming up with what he thought was a proper name. Day and night, the sound of Ira old sewing machine could be heard. After many days and nights work, Michael stood before that mirror again in a suit sewn from the blue and white cloth of his wifes good linens. Michael smiled, he knew what he was to do, and he knew what he had become
A Superhero."
* Edit: Ohhh... I should add that I updated the age at the begining of the story. Micheal has gotten older and older each time he finds that damn belt.
*
