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Great Story! That WMD gladiator story is really awesome. Can you do one for this gladiator scene as well?
@WMD: Thanks, I’ll have to check out JLE. Honestly, I have touched an actual comic for… many days *ahem*.
@Harlekin: Kösz!
@Trekkie: Thank you, Blaze and Bolt have a very old school vibe to them. This will sound sexist: female superheroes are more psychologically complex. I enjoy writing them because it is an opportunity to really explore a character. Not just “He-Beast smash bad guys!” My female characters are just as concerned with the day-to-day as they are with overcoming cosmic odds.
@prswirve: You made that in HeroMachine?
I’ll try to come up with something. Your design needs no words!@The Atomic Punk said:
@Trekkie: Thank you, Blaze and Bolt have a very old school vibe to them. This will sound sexist: female superheroes are more psychologically complex. I enjoy writing them because it is an opportunity to really explore a character. Not just “He-Beast smash bad guys!” My female characters are just as concerned with the day-to-day as they are with overcoming cosmic odds.Well, I do like my female characters to have depth to them, since it can be quite hard to find female characters who have more personality than a couple of quirks…
A HERO KNOWS WHEN TO RUN
Original Character by Anarchangel; Story by The Atomic Punk
“Saboteurs had destroyed our main generator and beam stations. We had no power. The A’sing tanks had broken our mainline defenses. This was going to be our last stand. With our shield wall down, our soldiers were able to flee just as easily as the A’sing invaders would be able to overrun us. Though the penalty for desertion is death, I could not bring myself to shoot them in the back.
“Kattarrok approached me. For certain I thought that he was going to crush my skull with his mighty Badak hands. The explosion that took out the generator also killed three of his engineers and damaged his translator comm. With no idea what he would do, I dropped to my knees and begged for mercy. The lumbering giant lifted me into the air by my throat.
“I looked into his eyes. This beast was going to snap my neck. Instead, he lowered me to the ground. He pointed to the row of damaged vehicles in the motor pool. He held up eight fingers then led me to the garage. Kattarrok pointed to the power plant of one of the hovertanks. He ripped the hood off in one clean jerk. That could have been my head!
“Again, the Badak chief engineer held up eight fingers. Then he pointed to the shop tools. He looked across the way and pointed to a group of soldiers awaiting orders. Eight… he needed eight power plants for salvage. Quickly, I called the men to the motor pool. The troops began cannibalizing the wrecks.
“In the meantime, Kattarrok had found more volunteers who were willing to fight to the last. He sketched a grid of the base’s power lines. He pointed to several areas then drew lines that led to the motor pool. The engineer wanted us to re-route the network. I tried to argue that we should be establishing a defensive position. We had but a few hours before the A’sing on-slaught. Kattarrok snorted. I was in no position to argue with a Badak.
“He left us to work. I saw him take one of the few remaining loading trucks over to the base gym. What was he getting from there? He returned soon with a treadmill sized for his race. After a quick inspection, we lined the power plants in a chain. The engineer attached the electrical cables using a few clamps and tape. More bizarrely, he closed the circuit by coupling the mainline to his safety harness.
“Kattarrok gestured for everyone to stand clear of the motor pool. He stepped aboard the treadmill then began to run. Faster and faster, I believed a Badak could sustain a pace of 50 kilometers per hour. This engineer, he must have been a champion marathon runner among his people!
“There were loud sparks and shots of electricity coming from the power plants. Even Kattarrok’s harness took a few hits. Still, he ran. Slowly, the defense shield began to rise. The laser batteries came back on-line. Saints be praised!
“Over the frequency, we heard New York Command announce incoming air support. The soldiers rushed to man the batteries. The men’s morale boosted as we sang the Allegiance to Honor. If we held the line for another hour, earth would remain free. As I am here to tell you this story of a brave Badak engineer with this shiny new medal on my chest, you can guess the outcome.
“Kattarrok, when are you going to learn English? The Badak language is so hard on the human throat. There he is, ladies and gentlemen. Salute to the rhino bastard whose thick hide saved ours!â€
Cheers!
@WMDBASSPLAYER said:
I had a serious creative drought as far as writing goes. With the shakeup of my universe I’m hoping it’s coming back.
Cool, I would like to read the new stuff. Word of advice… avoid the number 52.
The Forgotten Children
Original Character by Linea24; Story by The Atomic Punk
You must turn back. It is true that you will find the Sylvan Wood to the north. The Merchant Desert borders many kingdoms. However, this is no safe passage for merchants – or anyone. You are best to take your caravan around this cursed valley.
Travel along the Kobold River. You will reach your destination in twelve days. It will take you three weeks to cross the wind-swept Steppes, lest you encounter orks. Sailing the Great Wyrm Sea will take four months. Should you climb the Goblin Peaks to the east, your journey will last a year.
Dare not stray from the routes into the Merchant Desert. My siblings and I watch over its five corners. While it is true that you can cross the valley in a matter of days, there is no profit to be made. For in this wasteland lives a dragon merciless and fierce. He kills without hesitation. He will slay your soldiers. The beast will take your maidens for his brides as he has done for centuries.
The only things that thrive in these hot, unforgiving sands are the spawn of these unnatural unions. The half-breeds that drive the mothers to suicide. The inconsequential nothings that the dragon casts aside. Those fortunate enough to escape his wrath have no home. They have no heritage. They exist solely to warn travelers of the horror that stalks the desert valley.
Farewell, tradesmen and immigrants. Tell others of your encounter. Let them know of me. I am Quena. I am my father’s child.
I’ll try to come up with something. Your design needs no words!
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