Pointless Old black Flame Bio thing





The Old Black Flame
Created by Scott Hannah
Name Sake: His Superhero name comes from when he used to wear a cape, before the Hero-1's sacrifice, where it was said his black cape danced like a flame in the wind.
Real Name: Stewart Ronald Jones
Other Current Aliases: Black Flame
Dual Identity: Secret
Current Occupation: Retired
Former Occupations: Factory Worker, Supervisor, Manager, Executive Manager, Owner of chain of factories.
Place of Birth: New Gospel. Earth.
Marital Status: Two wives dead. Single.
Usual base of Operations: New Gospel
Current Group Membership: None
Height: 6'2" Weight: 210 lbs
Eyes: Brown Hair: Grey
Superhuman Powers: None.
Source of Powers: Not applicable
Special Skills: Once incomparable athlete, skilled in physical combat, master of the sword, stubborn, tough to put down.
Weapons: Broadsword
First Appearance: 1950's. He appeared as an old man during this time. His City of action was New Gospel and stayed clear of Paragon City.
Other Notes: Survived the invasion by being in hospital at the time and out of action. By the time he was able to force his way out the invasion had been halted.

He was thought to have been retired, perhaps due to guilt over the great losses in a war he didn't help in. He has now recently remerged in Paragon City. His time out of action hasn't been good to the now what must be an old man over 100 years old and his skills are in need of a tune up.

Special Notes: Like the Statesman, Old Black Flame is surprisingly aged but still going. Unlike Statesman, in recent years Old Black Flame has been getting even older and slower.

The Old Black Flame believes in a strong moral code. A Hero should never aim to kill. To him a Hero that does so stops being a hero and becomes another thug. Many who try to argue their point, saying things like "Times have changed" get an angry response. "You think the young people today invented crime? You think the rules of crime have changed? No! In my day there were criminals that committed things that can only be described as Horror's. We made rules and stuck to them because it was important and it still is. You're just a young punk who thinks the same laws don't apply to you! Well think again!"

The Old Black Flame also disapproves of the state of costumes the female Heroes are wearing. "In my day a woman had enough self pride to not just try and become another floozy in an outfit. They respected themselves enough to not just be another pretty face. Today you have young Heroines, and I use the term loosely, wearing nothing but a belt!"

He also has a full Black costume. When confronted with remarks he lacked imagination, he points out "I come from simpler times, with simpler rules. Rule One: When hiding in the shadows don't wear flashy crud. Rule Two: Stay alive. Rule Three: Never claim to be a better Hero just cause you have a multicoloured Rainbow coat of a bloody costume!"

He hates Paragon City. "I'm here to see Statesman and punch him in the jaw and leave.” or so he says. He has yet to say his entire reason for wanting to hit Statesman.

He also says " Yes, there are people better with the broadsword. If I were against a master I'd probably be in trouble. However I know there is no one better at doing what I do with a broadsword and not kill who I am cutting. That’s the important difference."

He was known in his home City not just for sorting crime out but for keeping other Heroes "in line" as well. He believed that people had to also make sure that the Heroes kept to some simple rules, otherwise the world maybe doomed by the very people who should be protecting it.

City of Hero Game notes:
Origin: Natural
Archetype: Scrapper
Primary Set: Broad Sword
Secondary Set: Invulnerability
Current Powers: Rest. Bawl. Sprint. Slash. Slice. Resist Physical Damage. Temp Invulnerability. Stealth.
Planned Powers: Invisibility. Swift. Health. Resist Elements. Resist Energies. Tough Hide. Parry. Whirling Sword. Disembowel. Head Splitter.
Server: Freedom. Victory.
Superhero call: Time to learn some manners.


Yeah erm, suppose its not really RPing but its a bit more in a Bio then normal I think. *shrugs* Plus the idea was there so I had to write it down somewhere. Unforantly for you all, it was in this forum.

I know there are probably better ways to build a scrapper but I don't really care. I made him to be who I wanted, rather then to be the Ultimate Scrapper Made For Max Efficiency. Hope this didn't make your head explode for whoever else so happened to read it.



Okay, I'm not the writer, or not much of one at least. My grammer is awful, as is my spelling normally. However this was in my head and I spent a good hour and a half on it (yeah the hard-core writers on the board are allowed to scoff) so I'm posting it in here.

I enjoyed writing it. But more of, I enjoyed thinking it all up. In the end its playing the game as this character that sparks off these over the top mind ventures in my head and now and then I maydo one or two that I think deserves a little fleshing out.

Introductions aside, if ya read it, I hope ya enjoy it.


Just me and an old friend watching the time tick by, it is how retirement nights are meant to be spent. I catch my breath, breathing in the air deeply around me, which was a horrible mistake and done more harm then good. I cough and splutter as my lungs hack up whatever it was that got inside. I feel my friend smack my back as I try to find what little good air there is.

God I hate the sewers.

I look up, half expecting to see my last sight ever, but my prey didn’t hear me, or they did and didn’t recognise it outside all of the other sewer sounds. The machines pumping the dirty water around and around, the cogs turning and groaning, half of them rusted and in need of fixing and the filth of man gushing around the pipes.

God I love the sewers. So picturesque.

I’m a hero. Registered. They let me have a card so obviously it must be true now. Heavens know what I was all those years ago. I have a suit, spikes on it, to catch eyes, all black, because I prefer things simple and useful. I’m also old. Too old. Out of retirement even, in a city I hate, doing something that I’m obviously unable to do anymore. I never had any powers and I didn’t suddenly get any either. Though if you heard my age you would wonder if I’m human because I know I wonder.

My friend here doesn’t show his age.

He’s a mess. Some people get to have super powers you can show off about. Some get to fly, being the envy of all those who are stuck on the ground. My friend? He’s stuck in the sewer because it’s the only place that’ll have him. More gunk then man, the very sewer water joins into his ‘flesh’. He isn’t pretty and he stinks.

And I’d have no one else by my side right now.

My lungs still ache from the coughing, I’m still out of breath and I find my knees don’t want to move. I’ve been standing still watching for far too long. Not that there was much to watch, outside of this groups leader there isn’t a brain between them.

Looking at my prey that statement could be true.

I try to remember what they’re called, I’ve read enough reports on them, defeated a fair few on the streets, enough to lead me here at least, I’ve even heard young would-be Heroes gloat over the defeats they’ve dealt to them. So why in blasted can’t I remember there names?

“Not as easy as it used to be, huh?”

That was my friend, looking at me like if I’m doing the most stupid idiotic thing in my life. I say it’s a bit too late in the game to be staring at me like that but he is right on some level. It’s not as easy as it used to be. I remember how to do things but my body just doesn’t respond right, too tired, too old, and not quite quick enough.

Then again, my prime was near forty years ago. I have forgotten what it is to be young.

My prey walk around the tunnels probably meant to be patrolling. The man in charge must realise how ineffectual such a guard system is, no one who can make those walking heaps of flesh could be that stupid. Which means he’s confident enough that he can handle himself when he is found. That makes my moustache twitch. Not fond of that idea. Twenty years ago taking down a lad like this in my city would have been a penny-dollar. I’d have him down in a few clean hits, before he even had a chance to blink. Now I’m starting to wonder if I’ll even be able to make it to him before I collapse.

“How’s the wife?” That was my old friend again. I remember now, we haven’t seen each other in ten years. It seemed like only yesterday.


The quick answer says it all. Her death was good. Clean. A death any husband would want, only for it to be after his own, or not at all. She died, old, in a chair, looking at the sky and went silently and peacefully, like it was only an afternoon nap she would wake from in a few hours. She hadn’t been that ill, just old and tired and wondering what the future would bring.

I hear him nod, his sludge making odd sounds. “And the girls?”

I breathe in heavy and feel like every bone has gotten heavier. I hadn’t even put them on my official forms. As far as Paragon City is concerned I’m an old man with two dead wives only. Was it wrong for me not to? Yes. But this city has no right to know, not by my hand. If it must know it can dig that little deeper, if it even cares.

“… Oh no.” Suddenly I realise I had been silent and didn’t answer the question, which, in this case, told all it had to. “The War?” He asks.

We call it The War now. Or The Invasion. Always with capitals, it’s even said that way. Like if no other war had happened before it, or no land had ever seen an invasion force. Like if it defines the very words.

I hate it because it feels right that they do.

“One.” She died bravely, like a hero, a true hero, defending the innocent against an enemy. It was a heroic death, if not a good one. “Damn it that’s not true!” I growl, nearly shouting, having to force myself to a harsh whisper that makes my throat flare up in pain. “I lost both to that war but one…” My hand finds something in the sewer water and I crush it with my grip, anything to get the anger out of me.

I didn’t see it happen but it’s so clear in my head.

My friend looks ‘sad’; the big simpleton wears his heart in his face and couldn’t hide his emotions if he wanted too. Right now his face is long enough to touch his feet. I forgot how close he had been with this family. I forgot how I took the girls down to see him. How they somehow managed to love the man for who he was.

I find my words again; age has a good way of teaching you how to be calm. Being angry for too long tires you out. “Cosmic Comets…” I use her code name until I hear how stupid it sounds. “Julie… Well after the war people started to rebuild but the gangs activity was high and she came to Paragon to help soothe things over.” I hear my friend breath in, as he has came to his own conclusion to how the story ends. But he doesn’t know it yet.

“There was a sudden violent gang attack and she was there, but was out of ‘uniform’. Still she fought the gang members, in civilian clothing and probably was doing a good job of it.

“Then she was shot. I heard she was alive, her side opened and was crawling to safety but the man who shot her came up to her, saw her, looked her in the eyes, and shot her again, and again and again, and again.” I don’t feel old now. I feel young, filled with fire. Telling the story out loud was the breath of air I needed.

“Of course I found out who did it.”

My friend looks at me, waiting. He doesn’t wait long. “Commando Shootdown” I say, playing with the words, trying to make them sound menacing and evil, but instead came off as some sick joke. “That Jackass… That murderer was a registered hero. He had mistaken her for a gang member, or so he said, and had taken her down like he would any other.”

“There were rules! There were guidelines. Oaths and codes and sworn words!” I’m up, standing, sword in hand. “He ignored them all!” I hear a groan from the tunnels. Good. I’m good with this sword. I have been for years longer then most of these heroes have been alive. “He took her down as any of those thugs would! And she knew! As she died she knew she was dying by a hero’s hand!” I can take anyone down, cut them, bleed them, do all manner of things, and always keep them alive, despite how much they might hate me for it.

We move in. Old flames burning.

In the after mash we have twenty-one arrests and zero deaths. What I have to show for it is another cold sleepless night and one hell of a headache. I’m retired, I’m too old and the world has changed too much for me to ever be content with it but my flame is burning and it’s as black as the night. So I won’t rest, I won’t die. Not yet.

Far too much to do.

1530 words. Not bad for a little fun eh?



You're being far too humble and self-depreciating. Anyone who takes the time to do what you did, sure - may not be perfect, but - atleast they tried, and quite honestly, it's a wonderful, and I do mean, absolutely wonderful, idea for a character. Great job. =)