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  1. Each of the Scions, in their own way, were invited into Broder's private dining area. This was not to say that they were all led in together or that they were by any means encouraged to mingle with each other; hell, they really didn't recognize their fellow Gods after a thousand years. The Morrigan sat with Corbin at a small table and it wasn't long before the wait staff presented her and Corbin menus and informed them that their tabs were covered by Mr. Broder. Thor stomped in like the behemoth of a man that he was. The bar welcomed him and he was already half way through his first beer before the bartender managed to tell him that it was meant for another customer. Bast sat several seats away from him, observing the room with a calculating perception, noting exits, bodyguards, and any directions that a possible ambush might come from; indeed the Gods that were mentioned had all had bad blood with the others over the eons, and this could end very badly. Hey, at least drinks were free. Hades and Sun Wu Kong were, as always, 'special' cases. Sun Wu Kong simply slipped through the area unnoticed and seated himself in a small inconspicuous booth in the corner where he could observe everything as it happened. Hades was a different spectacle entirely. She strolled in wreathed in a plume of cigar smoke, passing by Thor and Bast as she did, in a heated debate on her cell phone about her most recent acquisition of the City of Angels. Within moments of her arrival, she and The Agent were sitting down at her booth, briefcases were open, lap tops were syncing with Wi-Fi and it was business as usual. Broder entered from the kitchen several minutes after everyone had arrived. It was awkward, so the Gods just simply kept to themselves. Two large thugs barred the exit. Bast noticed and Sunny noticed, but it seemed more to keep people out than keep the Gods in. Mr. Broder was dressed to the nines in a sharp, expensive suit and he looked every bit of the billion dollar element he was named after. "Thank you all for coming." He greeted them as he simply walked about the floor, making eyes contact with everyone he could. "For those of you who do not know me in this form, I am Auric Broder, and I am the one has asked you all to join me here today." He spoke with a confidence and articulated tone that broadcast that he was no stranger to public speaking. "First, let me say that I'll not doubt for a moment that some, if not all, of you might think that my proposal is absolute bullshit." He swung his hands out wide and grinned broadly. "Hey, I wouldn't blame you in the slightest. It is pretty outlandish, isn't it? I mean, to have your powers back, to be Gods again, that just seems too good to be true, right?" He simply wandered about the large room at a slow pace, taking in the Gods and offering them polite smiles in between sentences. "The Titan's polite cease fire that brought about your fall was, as I'm sure you've guessed, a ruse. Casting you down from your respective realms was also part of the plan. After all, where do you think they acquired the sorcery to enact such a curse as to remove the powers of a God and seal them in their avatar form? Each of your brothers and sisters who foolishly stayed behind are bound by oaths that prevent them from involving themselves in the world for one millennium. A thousand years of peace, and that time is almost up." He picked a drink up off the bar and thanked the bartender. Sipping his scotch for a moment he savored the taste and went back to his speaking. "Two thousand years ago, Aten the Avatar of Light, devised a grand plan: Christianity. In the thousand years that followed it spread like wild fire and in time nearly all the 'Old Gods', namely, all of you, were being replaced this one divine figure, God." He paused to let them take that in. "You receive your power from where? Belief. It's the Legends of your existence and your deeds and your power that make the mortals revere, respect and worship you. And without that belief, that worship, what have you? Nothing." The ice clinked in his glass as he tipped it once more. "Aten realized the effect it could have on the Pantheons and so he put his plan into motion. For the last thousand years your fellow Gods have been up there existing without any prayers from the mortals at all. Can you imagine what they've become? They've turned on each other, warring amongst themselves to gain the worship from the neighboring Pantheons to fill the void. When the treaty has expired, the Titans will sweep through the Godrealms and we will be powerless to stop them. Weakened from lack of prayer and infighting, they won't pose even a minor annoyance to the Titans, much less a genuine threat." "You mean to tell me," Hades cut in smoothly, glancing up over the screen of her laptop, "that they brokered a deal with the same beings who'd been working to overthrow them for the last thousand years? And now they're suffering up there, starving for even the most meagre shred of essence, fighting over scraps like junkyard dogs as they slowly waste away and wait for their inevitable destruction?" The dark-eyed god crowed with laughter. "Oh, that is just too delicious. Broder, is this a sales pitch, or are you just trying to make us feel better? Let's face it, if you're trying to play to the sympathy of the crowd..." She trailed off, gesturing at the other ex-gods scattered around the bar. "Your routine might need some work. Comedy's all in the timing, man. Timing." "Bloody brilliant plan," The Morrigan said while sipping her drink. She shook her head in disgust, the ancient war goddess seeing how some of the pieces were fitting into place. "And we fell for it." Actually," Broder continued, grinning at Hades for her most welcomed ice breaker. "Therein lies our problem. Rest assured if I have this information, they do as well, hmm?" He let them ponder that a moment. "The Gods have come to blame the mortals for their lack of belief. And they want that belief back." "They're planning something." Bast said calmly. "What is it?" "Yes, they are." Broder set his drink down and inhaled. Up until now he'd been very forthcoming with all his information, but this seemed like it was hard for him to say. "They're planning something called, 'The Joining'. Reinstating their worship at this point would be impossible, or so we thought. Erecting temples and building cults would take more time than they have with the expiration of the treaty so close. Converting would take decades, if not centuries. They need one big hammer blow that proves their existence without a shadow of a doubt." He sighed, prepping the punch line. "They're going to merge the Godrealms with The World in an attempt to usher in a new age of Legend. Then they'll divide The World among the Pantheons and regain their powers to fight the Titans. It's madness and an act of pure desperation. The effects the Godrealms would have in this world are unknown, but humanity will suffer greatly for it. The only ones who can stop them are those who never swore an oath and all those who didn't swear an oath, are down here, mortal and powerless." "That's where you come in." His gaze fell upon each of the Fallen. He was silent a moment afterward, letting them assess the full weight of what was about to come next. "Not even the Sisters of Fate are powerful enough to undo the full power of all the Gods working in unison, which is why they've agreed to side with us. You will become Legends once more, here, in this world among these people, and I will set you on the first step towards doing so. There are no unbreakable curses, some just take longer than others. I will help you become Gods again, and that brings us back to what I said before: It sounds a bit too good to be true doesn't it? That's what brought you here today: Hope. Hope that you could have your existence back. Hope that you could be rid of this curse. Hope that maybe, just maybe, I could help you." "And hope, my friends, is all we have left." Broder leaned against a table and folded his arms. "But I know where we can get more. The first step to breaking the curse will require you to work together. You're going to get the last of what is left of Hope. In Atlanta, Georgia they are displaying an exhibit of ancient Greek artifacts, and among them is Pandora's Box. I'm sure Hades will remember what it looks like. If you are going to shatter this curse, then the first means of doing so lies within the box. Fate has demanded that it must be you who accomplish this task, else I'd have already had the box stolen and brought here."
  2. Scion Profile: Hades Real Name: Hades Aliases: Adriana Dionekou Former Pantheon: Dodekatheon Calling: Investment securities broker Nature: Autocrat Attributes Physical: Strength - 2 Dexterity - 3 Stamina – 3 Social: Charisma - 4 Manipulation - 4 Appearance – 3 Mental: Perception - 3 Intelligence - 4 Wits – 3 Skills *Academics 3, Animal Ken , Art 2, Athletics 1, Awareness 3, Brawl 1, *Command 4, Control 2, Craft , Empathy 1, Fortitude 1, Integrity 3, Investigation 1, Larceny , Marksmanship 4, Medicine , Melee 1, *Occult 2, Politics 3, *Presence 4, Science , *Stealth 4, Survival 1, *Thrown 2 Other Traits Epic Attributes: Stamina 1, Charisma 1, Manipulation 1, Perception 1, Intelligence 1, Wits 1 Birthrights: Followers 3, Guide 2 Boons: Arete (Command) 1, Darkness 1, Death 1, Earth 1 Knacks: Stamina: Solipsistic Well-Being, Charisma: Charmer, Manipulation: Overt Order, Perception: Unfailing Recognition, Intelligence: Know-It-All, Wits: Social Chameleon Willpower: 6 Legend: 0 (2) Virtues: Expression 2, Intellect 3, Valor 2, Vengeance 3 Health: 7 Dodge DV: 2 (3 with Legend 2) Parry DV: 1 Unarmed (2 with Legend score) Join Battle: 6 Movement: Walk: 3yds. Run: 9yds. Jump: Vertical, 3yds., Horizontal, 6yds. Climb: 1yd (2 with Legend score) Swim: 1yd (2 with Legend score) Soak: 3B/2L (4B/3L with Epic Stamina) Armor: Armored Clothing (Miguel Caballero suits, http://personalbodyarmor.com/, stats based on Bulletproof Vest per ST): Soak +2L/2B, Mobility Penalty 0, Fatigue 1, Tag B Weapons: Desert Eagle: Acc +0, Dam +5L, Rng 50, Clip 7, Spd 5 Equipment: Wealth beyond avarice. Creation Log: Bonus Points: Dexterity 3 (4pts), Perception 3 (4pts), Command 4 (1pt), Stealth 4 (1pt), Presence 4 (1pt), Integrity 3 (2pts), Marksmanship 4 (2pts) = 15pts Experience: Date Trait/Exp. Type Rank Gain/Cost Balance 05 August 2011 XP Award for Preludes - +25 25 24 August 2011 Ability increase: Art 1 -3 22 24 August 2011 Ability increase: Brawl 1 -3 19 24 August 2011 Ability increase: Control 1 -3 16 24 August 2011 Ability increase: Investigation 1 -3 13 24 August 2011 Ability increase: Melee 1 -3 10 24 August 2011 Ability increase: Survival 1 -3 7 24 August 2011 Ability increase: Art 2 -2 5 24 August 2011 Ability increase: Control 2 -2 3 24 August 2011 Virtue increase: Expression 2 -3 0
  3. Birth Name: Morgan O'Sidhe Nick Names: Crazy Bird-Lady Aliases: Morrígu, Nemain, Mor-Ríoghain, Babd, Macha, Phantom Queen, the Washer at the Ford Calling: Fortune Teller Known Relatives: None Nature: Loner Age: mid-twenties Gender: Female Ethnic Background: Irish Nationality: United States Height: 5'7" Weight: ~230 Eye Color: Blue Hair Color: Black Handedness: Left Distinguishing Marks: Appearance: Once upon a time, The Morrigan was tall and unquestionably beautiful. Her hair, either black or red at her whim, was a glorious fall of waves. Her eyes were flashing and strong, while her body was strong and athletic. At the moment of her banishment, she had black hair and striking blue eyes – but she was stuck in a youthful guise, locked away from her fearsome glory of her hag. Lately, she's gotten flabby in addition to annoyingly young but this is her fault. Despair has created depression in the near-mortal and living the standard US lifestyle has put on the pounds. She's a bloated shell of what she once was. History: The Fall: The Tuatha de Danaan had long resisted the Firbolg, but then Nuada lost his courage and Danu backed him. The Morrigan wasted no time in leaving her throne in The Veiled Court to decry the truce as a gutless shift in policy. She remembered how she'd killed the Firbolg by the hundreds in their battles; now she was to suffer them to live? It was too much for the goddess of War, especially when she foresaw the futility of such an action. But to her shock, no one listened her prophecy. That was when the Morrigan lost it. Screaming, she denounced all those who backed the truce as cowards and no better than the Firbolg themselves. Before all of the assembled Tuatha de Danaan, she ranted and railed, rebuffing their pleas to understand, to be calm or just to be silent. It was the last that truly angered her: they demanded that she deny what she had seen? They denied her prophecy? Her flock of ravens screeched in unison with her, giving further voice to her rage. Be silent?! How dare they demand she hold her tongue! The Goddess of War lashed out, striking at all who supported the truce. Her act of aggression tore the pantheon asunder, into the sides that agreed with the truce and those that didn't. Those that did outnumbered those that didn't, and soon those who didn't agree were cast out into the mortal realm, stripped of almost all their powers. The Morrigan found herself on a beach in Galway, bereft of most of her powers. Only her most loyal of her ravens remained at her side, Niall. Since Then: The Morrigan quickly set herself up as a powerful Irish warlord, using her meager powers to form a cult around herself as the Phantom Queen on Eire. Her goal was to regain enough power to rise against the gods themselves, overthrow them and annul the cursed treaty. But the Tuatha de Danaan rose against her again, still afraid of their former Warrior Goddess. They tore her band asunder and reduced her gains to ashes and charred bones. The Morrigan moved on from Ireland and tried again. Again, she was stopped by the Others working against her. With their greater strength, she couldn't stop them. Determined, she kept trying. She did everything she could think of but she was found and stopped each time. Gradually, she began to follow the humans wars, doing what she could to feel like herself again: prophesying the death of soldiers and even helping bury the dead. She fought when allowed or when she could disguise herself, losing her pain in the fury of battle. But war changed. It stopped being about the Courage of the soldiers and became a matter of distant technology. Humans came to understand the psychological price of combat, but instead of paying the toll, they sought to insulate their soldiers from it, defying the natural order. Killing became pushing buttons and using computers. The Vietnam War, with its close-up violence offered her some hope that humanity was returning to the Old Ways of War, but that didn't happen. Instead, the soldiers were reviled for doing the hard work of war and humans insulated themselves from violence more and more. Soon, the only way she could see a good killing was to watch television. The last thirty years have been hard. After the Morrigan realized that things weren't going to change, the fire that had been burning in her died. The once-steely, cruel former goddess sank into despair. She drifted into the background of America, wearing the guise of Morgan O'Sidhe. Her wanderings more or less stopped in New Orleans where she set up a business telling fake (happy) fortunes and getting fat. Niall is very worried about his goddess, but isn't able to do much to stop her. Caught in misery, the once goddess is almost completely crushed by life. Birth Name: Morgan O'Sidhe Calling: Fortune Teller Nature: Loner Pantheon: Tuatha de Danann Patron: The Morrigan Rivals: Ares, Odin, Quetzalcoátl, Raiden, Tyr Hero Name: Morgan O'Sidhe Pantheon: Tuatha de Danann Calling: Fortune Teller Nature: Loner God: The Morrigan Attritubes Strength - 3 / 1 Dexterity - 3 / 0 Stamina - 3 / 1 Charisma - 3 / 0 Manipulation - 3 / 0 Appearance - 3 / 1 Perception - 4 / 0 Intelligence - 3 / 0 Wits - 4 / 0 Abilities Academics (favored) Animal Ken 3 Art Athletics Awareness 2 (favored) Brawl 3 Command 1 Craft Empathy 2 (favored) Fortitude 2 Integrity 3 Investigation Larceny (favored) Marksmanship 2 Medicine 1 x Melee 1 Occult 2 Politics Presence 3 Science Stealth 2 Survival 2 (favored) Thrown 2 Birthrights Creature 3 Niall, the only of her supernatural flock of ravens to remain loyal to her. Followers 2 The Fianna - the last descendants of the warriors killed by the gods to keep her opposed and downtrodden. Knacks Hurl to the Horizon (Str) Inner Furnace (Stm) Serpent's Gaze (App) Boons Enoch 1 Animal (Corvid) 1 Animal (Cattle) 1 Death 1 Death 2 Prophecy 1 War 1 War 2 Soak / Armor / Total Bashing 3 / 0 / 3 Lethal 3 / 0 / 3 Aggro 1 / 0 / 1 Legend 3 Legend Points 9 Willpower 7 Bonus Points 15 / 15 Attribute 0 Ability 0 Birthright 0 Virtue 0 Willpower 0 Legend 7 Epic Attribute 0 Knack 0 Boons 8 Additional Spell 0 Experience Points: 23 Fortitude 2 - 1 Brawl 3 - 3 Presence 3 - 3 Stamina 3 - 8 Dexterity 3 - 8
  4. Birth Name: Gunnar Torsdag True Name: Thor Aliases: Ving, Hammer Calling: Construction worker, drunk and troublemaker Known Relatives: The Aesir Nature: Loner Apparent Age: mid-to-late 30's Gender: Male Ethnic Background: Norwegian Nationality: American Height: 6'8 Weight: 290 lbs Eye Color: Blue Hair Color: Red-gold Handedness: Right Distinguishing Marks: On the back of his right hand above the knuckles is a tattoo in runic-style english script reading "I say." On the back of his left the same script reads "Thee nay!" Appearance: A long life wandering as a near-mortal has dimmed the lightning in Thor's eyes and stolen the fire from his red-gold hair, as well as having left him with lots of scars and tattoos across his arms and body. He doesn't look like the handsome, rugged Thunder God he used to be, now appearing as simply imposing and surly. He usually dresses in hard-wearing denim and construction boots. Personality: Morose, bitter and mean. The long years of oppressive mortal living have turned Thor from a quick-to-anger, quick-to-forgive well-meaning warrior into a foul-tempered, moody drunk who will bear a grudge as long as his broad shoulders can carry it and with zero sense of humor. He owes the world nothing, owes the gods nothing, and he longs for the day when the inevitable betrayal of the Titans comes and all those Asgardian bastards come crawling to him for salvation, only for him to turn away from them and say "No." The fires of his anger have burned low and murky indeed. Interests: Drinking, fighting, and demolition/construction. There is something Gunnar finds inherently soothing about setting explosive charges, piloting a crane with a wrecking ball, and wielding a sledge or jackhammer, then building something new from the wreckage. History: It was only natural that Thor, god of Strength, Destruction and Lightning, would scoff at the thought of making peace with the Titans. It was a cowardly way out, the deed of a nithling (dishonorable, despicable person). Unfortunately, Thor was never the best at keeping quiet in the face of overwhelming opposition, and said as much to Odin's face, pouring his scorn on the All-Father and all those who agreed with him. "You trade the glorious battle of Ragnarok for a coward's bargain with those who wish you dead, old man. I suppose it is as well: ones so afraid of death will surely fall with wounds in his arse and thus merely have to watch the truly brave as they feast and revel in Valhalla!" It took most of Odin's supporters and the All-Father himself to throw Thor out of Asgard, and loud was the wailing and clashing of arms that day. They stripped him of his might, and his hammer, and his godhood. But they were never able to make him admit to fault or surrender his position that they were all cowards and traitors. He's drifted through the centuries since, taking solace in fighting good fights wherever he's found them. He's fought in practically every major conflict in Europe over the years, on one side or another as his moral compass decided which was more worthy. In the modern age, though, war has become a matter for soldiers and politicians, not warriors, and there is nothing but shades of grey and complication, so the increasingly bitter Thunder God has taken to working in construction and demolition, putting his skills to work tearing down old structures so that new ones can be built in their place. It satisfies... barely. When the work is done, strong drink, a good brawl, and the occasional dalliance with mortal women suffice to numb his pain... barely. But he still dreams of the thunder of his goat-drawn chariot, still feels the burning power of Mjolnir in his hand. When he sleeps he rides the lightning once more with his beloved Sif by his side, only to wake up weeping. Pantheon: Aesir Virtues: Courage 3, Endurance 3, Expression 1, Loyalty 2 Physical: Strength 4(5), Dexterity 4, Stamina 4(5) Note: Effective Str and Sta are 1 higher due to Jotunblut 2 Epic-Physical: Strength 2, Stamina 2 Knacks: Crushing Grip, Holy Rampage, Body Armor, Solipsistic Well-Being Mental: Perception 3, Intelligence 1, Wits 4 Epic-Mental: Knacks: Social: Charisma 4, Manipulation 1, Appearance 4 Epic-Social: Charisma 2 Knacks: Boys Will Be Boys, Never Say Die Abilities: Academics Animal Ken Art Athletics# - 3 Awareness - 1 Brawl# - 5 Command Control#(Heavy Vehicles) - 2 Craft(Construction) - 3 Empathy Fortitude - 2 Integrity - 2 Investigation - 1 Larceny - 1 Marksmanship - 2 Medicine - 1 Melee# - 5 Occult - 1 Politics Presence# - 3 Science(Explosives) - 2 Stealth - 1 Survival Thrown# - 4 Birthrights: Relic 3 Followers 2 Boons: Sky: Sky's Grace Jotunblut Alternate Version : Heroic Stature, Giant Among Men Join Battle 4 Attacks: Soak (Bashing/Lethal/Aggravated) Stamina: 5/3 (due to Giant Among Men) Epic-Stamina: 2/2/2 Armor: (Body Armor Knack) +3/3, -1 mobility) Total: 7/5/2 (10/8/2) Health Levels: 0, -1, -1, -2, -2, -4, -4, Inc Dodge DV: 5 Brawl Parry DV: 5 Melee Parry DV: 5 Willpower: 6 Legend: 3 Legend Points: 9 Misc. Equipment: Click to reveal.. Bonus Points: 4 on Throwing 2 on Brawl 2 on Melee 7 on Legend increase Magni's Wood-axe 3 dot relic "I swear, Vidar. I have no idea how it ended up on Earth!" Maybe Magni sent this out into the world to find its way into his father's hands... And maybe he didn't. The gods know that Thor's sons aren't the brightest shavings from the log. Someone did, though... With an axe-blade on one side and a hammer on the other, this large double-headed weapon was used by Magni as a household tool, but it doubles nicely as a weapon. It can inflict Bashing or Lethal Damage without having to use the 'flat of the blade' rules, and is heavy enough that only someone with divine strength could lift it, let alone wield it in combat. It functions as a maquahuitl, with a +3 damage bonus. Acc: +0 Dmg: +6 B/L Defense: +0 Speed: 5
  5. Name: Sunny Kay True Name: Sun Wukong Nicknames: Monkey King, The Sage Nowhere Equal to Heaven (self-given Post-Expulsion) Apparent Age: very late 20's, early thirties. Apparent Ethnicity: Asian Height: 5'8 Weight: 160 lb. Former Pantheon: The Celestial Bureaucracy (Or as he sometimes calls them, the League of Pen-wielding Morons) Calling: Bitter and suspicious martial arts sensei, street musician and wanderer Nature: Survivor Physical Attributes Category- Primary Strength 3 Epic-Str 1 (Holy Bound) Dexterity 5 Epic-Dex 2 (Cat's Grace, And the Crowd Goes Wild) Stamina 3 Epic-Sta 2 (Inner Furnace, Body Armor) Social Attributes Category- Tertiary Charisma 2 Manipulation 2 Appearance 3 Mental Attributes Category- Secondary Intelligence 2 Wits 4 Epic Wits 1 (Rabbit Reflexes) Perception 3 Abilities Academics 2 Animal Ken 1 Art (Music) 2 Athletics 5 Awareness 3 Brawl 5 Command 1 Control 1 Empathy 2 Fortitude 2 Larceny 3 Integrity 2 Melee 5 Occult 3 Presence 1 Stealth 5 Survival 2 Legendary Traits Virtues: Duty 1, Harmony 2, Intellect 2, Valor 4 Legend: 3 Legend Points: 9 Willpower: 6 Birthrights and Boons Birthrights: Relic (Shard of the stone egg encased in ice, Access to Chaos and Frost) Relic (The Monkey's Meteor Hammer, Counts as weighted-end weapon, +1 Acc, +1L/B Dam, +1 Defense) Boons: Animal (Monkey) 1, Chaos 1, War 1, Frost 1 Other Stats Join Battle: [1] 6 Attacks: Unarmed, Heavy - Acc 9, Dmg 7B, Parry DV 6, Spd 5 Unarmed, Light - Acc 11, Dmg 4B, Parry DV 8, Spd 4 Monkey's Meteor Hammer - Acc 12, Dmg 9L/B, Parry DV 8, Spd 4 Soak Stamina: 3B / 2L / 0A Epic-Stamina: 2B / 2L / 2A Body Armor Knack when active: 3B/3L/3A Total: 5B / 4L / 2A or 8B / 7L / 5A w/Body Armor active Health Levels: 0,-1,-1,-2,-2,-4,Inc Dodge DV: 9 ,, ,, History: The famous, boisterous, controversial and very powerful Great Sage Equal to Heaven was one of the loudest and most indecorous voices in arguing against the pact, which itself did cause a bit of shuffle and downsizing in the Celestial Bureaucracy. No surprise considering that the leaders of a stable and most orderly divine pantheon chose to make a deal with the Titan of Chaos and its kin, but Sun Wukong took it a step further, deriding the intelligence of the Jade Emperor and the Five Heavenly Emperors, and eventually in desperation, managing to provoke a massive brawl in the halls of the Purple Forbidden Enclosure of Heaven. That action, more than anything, has kept the whispers and rumors, the quiet and private discussions over tea pots about the motivations of the Handsome Monkey King, alive even to this very day. The notable factor was his vehemence and desperation in opposing letting the Titans free. His history is well-known, so was it simply over the top opposition? Fear of being targeted by various titanspawn that he had alienated by ascending to Godhood and fought during his Journey to the West? Or, as some of the darkest chatter goes, was he doomed no matter what he did, a sacrifice and concession for the safety of the Celestial Bureaucracy? Regardless, it is known that in the end of the fight, Sun Wukong barely had time to react to the sentence pronounced on him before the shen tore away almost all his powers and quite literally threw him out of Tian into Earth. All the thrown out gods have wandered certainly, but Sun Wukong did so more than most, only settling down from a drifter's life relatively recently. Originally, he spent the first 400-500 years in China and Southeast Asia, before changing his direction to Japan. When the Dutch traders came in with the blessing of Ieyasu, Wukong went out on a Dutch ship back to Holland, and divided approximately a century and a half between England and the Netherlands among the Westerners before judging it safe to return to China. Since the 1880's he was wandering back and forth in the United States. The reason for all this traveling was as the shen thought, Sun Wukong had the strong belief, warranted or not, that the Titanic enemies of his were bound to take advantage of his losses and attempt to exact revenge on him for his 'betrayals.' Several years ago, he felt he had covered his tracks enough to decide to take a break from all this traveling and settle down in San Francisco. Still a gymnast and martial artist more able than the best mortals, he has a part-time job as a martial arts instructor in many disciplines, supplementing his income-gathering with playing street music and collecting bills from the occasional passerby. He never takes the same route twice though, and he has few students despite his skill, not getting too open with them and severely scrutinizing them. His boisterous personality is rather frayed, his barbs are sharper, very frequently used to insult or drive away people. He sometimes intentionally starts a scrap or gets into another sort of mess because he can, and it provides distractions for anyone who's trying to follow him, of the Titan-serving variety. He's not paranoid, heavens forbid! But he is very alert, very on guard enough that the distinction may be academic. In this bitter, seemingly-eternal parody of his previous adventures, he is not the Great Sage Equal to Heaven swatting away godlings. He is the monkey fleeing from hunters, hiding out in the concrete and natural jungles alike. Monkey's Meteor Hammer A Relic version of a meteor hammer, somehow this divine weapon of the sort normally handed out to Celestial Bureaucracy Scions vanished from the Most Glorious Armory for the Equipment of Divine Descendants without the proper paperwork and authorization being filled out thousand-fold. Of course, given that all notices of missing Relics must go through the proper channels, the Celestial Bureaucracy has yet to even categorize the meteor hammer as stolen. In any case, Xuangzang, lesser immortal, disciple of Guanyin and former master and traveling companion of Sun Wukong, is responsible. A member of Broder's network, the monk has dared to retrieve this weapon so that Sun Wukong will not go unarmed in the battles ahead. It isn't Ruyi Bang, but Xuangzang isn't that foolish (always not suspecting the travelers he met in the Journey to be demons notwithstanding).
  6. Mortal Name: Batya Ben-Gurion Nick Names: Tiger of the West Bank Calling: Soldier of Fortune Nature: Bravo Age: 26 Gender: Female Ethnic Background: Caucasian/Mediterranean Nationality: Israeli Height: 5' 7" Weight: 130lbs Eye Color: Brown Hair Color: Dark Brown Handedness: Right Distinguishing Marks: Birthmark in the shape of a small vertical line descending from the corner of her right eye. Knife slash scar on left shoulder extending down to left tricep. Three surgery scars on midsection from shrapnel removal. Bullet wound scar on right shoulder. Appearance: In her years of warfare Bast has honed her mortal shell into the human equivalent of a great hunting cat; sleek and muscular and deadly. There is a beauty to her, but it is the savage beauty of a well-made sword, or a customized firearm. Her face has lost what warmth it once possessed, and her eyes are cold reminders that everyone, and everything has a time to die. Personality: Bast has many aspects, but since she decided to view the world as little more than a gladatorial arena that she'd fight in until she finally died, the goddess has been focused entirely on her hunter and warrior personas. She sees everything in terms of challenge and conflict; the more physical, the better. Gone is the riddling sphinx, the doting mother, the curious explorer. Or if not gone, at least banished to her dreams, and nightmares. History: Cleaning it up a bit from my original submission. Pantheon: Pasedjet Virtues: Conviction ** Harmony *** Order *** Piety * Physical: Strength ***, Dexterity ****, Stamina *** Epic-Physical: Strength *, Dexterity **, Stamina * Knacks: Holy Bound (14yrds high, 28yrds long), Cat's Grace, Untouchable Opponent, Self Healing Mental: Perception ****, Intelligence ***, Wits **** Epic-Mental: Perception **, Wits * Knacks: Predatory Focus (6d+2auto), Spatial Attunement, Eternal Vigilance Social: Charisma **, Manipulation ***, Appearance ** Epic-Social: Knacks: Abilities: Academics ** Animal Ken * Athletics **** Awareness **** Brawl **** Command ** Control (Car) * Fortitude * Integrity ** Investigation * Larceny ** Marksmanship **** Melee ** Presence * Stealth *** Survival ** Thrown ** Birthrights: Relic **** Followers *** Boons: Epic Attributes - 7 Purviews - 3 Sun * Moon * Animal (Cat) * Join Battle 7 (+1 auto) Attacks: - Unarmed (Light) Acc 9, Dmg 3B, Parry 6, Speed 4 - Unarmed (Heavy) Acc 7, Dmg 6B, Parry 5, Speed 5 - Soak Stamina: 3B/2L Epic-Stamina: 1B/1L/1A Armor: / Total: 4B/3L/1A Health Levels: Dodge DV: 7 Parry DV: 6 Willpower: ***** * Legend: *** Legend Points: 9 Bonus Points: 15 +1 Legend 7 +1 Str 4 +2 Birthrights 3 +1 Brawl 1 Experience Points: 25 +1 Athletics, 5xp +1 Awareness, 5xp +1 Stealth, 3xp +1 Firearms, 6xp +1 Command, 2xp +1 Larceny, 2xp +1 Thrown, 2xp
  7. Nervously Saul Gunderson fiddled with something his hands. The briefcase by the side of his chair held information that he was not particularly thrilled about having to deliver to who was widely known as the “Meanest Bitch Ever”, a title she didn’t earn by being pleasant, especially when it came to her money. Once again he tried to look up at the massive offices two other occupants, but his courage had forsaken him. From their lofty perch, about three decent sized steps Adriana Dionekou, the world’s richest person and her right hand man, simply known only as “The Agent” or “Her Agent” impatiently waited for Mr. Gunderson to begin his report. No one knew who The Agent was, his history, background and criminal record all came up empty, he didn’t even seem to possess a Social Security Number, but he’d been serving Mrs. Dionekou faithfully for the better part of fifteen years. If she made a deal with the Devil to earn her vast wealth and empire, then people were pretty sure The Agent was Satan’s messenger boy. To her left he stood his hands patiently clasped in front of him. His expression was as devoid of emotion as that of his employer as he slowly freed one hand long enough to push his thin, wire-framed glasses. “Now, Mr. Gunderson.” His voice seemed just loud enough to suit any situation and no one ever could recall hearing him ever raise it. “Please, for Mrs. Dionekou, repeat the contents of your report, aloud.” It was uncommon for anyone; especially an auditor to be asked into Mrs. Dionekou’s office, in fact, only a handful of employees at D.I.S. could even attempt to guess about what she might look like. Mr. Gunderson’s day was not going well. “Uh, w-well…” He tried to find the words, but the simple silence was intimidating. “A-as you k-know… I uhh… d-did an audit…” He fumbled for words but the woman’s gaze was piercing. The Agent quirked an eyebrow as the sweating, round man could barely talk straight. “The bottom line Mr. Gunderson, start there.” He stated in a grim monotone. “Uh, well, uhh… the bottom line?” IT was obvious the man may suffer a heart attack at any moment brought on by sheer stress, but he managed to compose himself and simply blurt it out. “F-four point two billion dollars. All of the investments within the last three years, and their investors, have seemed to, um… vanished. It’s gone… the money is gone, um, ma’am.”
  8. Our story begins with a Goddess of Old, whose name inspired fear in the hearts of the bold. She was vibrant and tough, she was fearsome and cagey, and even her followers would say, a bit ragey. On one grim, fateful day, in those long ages past, she defied all her kin, from the Tuatha was cast. From a small, humble shop, she now weaves her tales, telling fortunes for cash, with bright futures on sale. Gone is her power and lost is her pride, and hope is a memory she keeps locked inside. As her story unfolds, on an ordinary day, a couple chance by with whom Fate has its way… “I’m not sure about this Brad,” the young blond spoke up hesitantly as the chime above the door… well, chimed. She was lovely, in a Susan Sarandon sort of way but on the streets of New Orleans one could smell ‘up state New York’ all over her. “I mean, this is a little silly, don’t you think?” “Come on!” Her companion, a handsome man with a sweater tied about this shoulders. “Janet, The Firm gave us the weekend off, right? Come on, we’ll have some fun, see how the other side lives. This a center of culture, let’s take in a few sights and have some fun…” “I smell pot.” Janet said bluntly. “Incense, I’m sure, sweetie.” Brad chuckled as he looked about the small shop filled all manner of occult materials. “All these small stores burn it to… uhh… to…” “Cover up the smell of pot.” Janet said bluntly, none to thrilled to be in this small hole in the wall store that obviously offended her designer senses. Her husband sighed and looked to her. “The proprietor could have glaucoma, it could be medicinal. We should not judge others, especially those with Obama’s health plan, they have enough worries.” In that moment, the beads concealing the portal to the back room were brushed aside…
  9. Gunfire tore through the foliage as bullet after bullet ripped through her cover shredding the trees into confetti. Arms dealers like these guys were a dime a dozen and barely a match for Batya and her crew… except when they had .50 caliber machine guns. “Someone mind telling me how we missed that?” Dillon, a member of her squad shouted over the headset. “Christ on a cracker…” He ducked low, just in time as the entire tree he was using for cover was blown completely apart, leaving only a small trunk for him to duck behind. Enrique Escobar, one of South America’s finest and most successful arms dealers had apparently pissed off the wrong people. Those people called people like Batya’s people. Batya’s people shot at them, making them dead. All in all it was an incredibly profitable business if one lived long enough to enjoy the retirement. She got to see the world, travel to exotic locations, and napalm the shit out of ass holes like this Escobar guy who supplied guns to every third world country and made a profit off war and death without ever lifting a finger himself. In her prime, The Morrigan would have had a field day with this guy, but today The Morrigan was nursing a Big Mac while listening to My Chemical Romance and jotting down depressing poetry with her free hand… This day was Batya’s… or Bastet as the ancients used to call her. The famed Goddess of Egyptian myth, cast down to earth and stripped of her power over a millennia ago, was the one charged this day with bringing this scum to justice. Right after she took care of the .50 cal that was blocking the main gate to the guys villa…
  10. Within the dust filled, hollowed halls of Valaskjalf the rays of the morning sun pierced through two massive windows on either side of an intricately carved gray granite throne. Set within the stone were carvings of all manner of beasts doing battle amonsgst themselves or against mighty heroes from times long past. Upon it’s surface one could see the heroic deeds of each of the Norse Gods, locked in epic conflict with the titan spawn for all eternity. Heavy foot falls echoed through the halls until finally a ring of dust scattered at the sudden impact of a thunderous step. The unknown God, obscured by the shadowy mingling of morning dust and the sun’s rays stood staring at the massive granite seat, Hlidskjalf, Odin’s throne and the seat of power amongst the Aesir. A sudden glimmer filled the hall, a sparkle of light that flashed softly leaving behind a beautiful woman clad in a black breastplate with golden accents. She was lovely beyond reason with long black hair tied tightly in a thick braid that ran down to her hips. Upon her belt was a finely crafted broad bladed sword and with every step the shaft of the massive, intricately designed spear she carried tapped softly upon the stone floor. She approached and knelt behind the throne gazing God. “We have found him.” “It’s about time, Brynhildr.” The God replied. “Send Sigrun to claim him.” “Claim him?” Brynhildr, eldest and most respected of the Valkyries failed to keep her enthusiasm in check and did not go unnoticed. “Then, he is to be allowed home once more? Our Thunder God returns?” An iron fist clamped tightly about her throat, and all her great strength was nothing compared to the Gods crushing grip. “You misunderstand and forget your place Valkyrie. I am the Lord of Asgard now. Your precious Thunder God is gone. He is no longer a god, but he was once our finest warrior. He will serve in Ragnarök, one way or the other and since he’s no longer a god it looks like he’ll be serving as an ‘other’.” Brynhildr choked as her spear fell to the ground while she struggled to stay on her feet but to no avail. Her knees slammed to the floor, cracking a stone. “Send Sigrun to collect his soul.” His grip loosened and the mightiest of the Valkyries fell to the floor, clutching her neck. Instinctively she grasped the handle of her sword with the desire to cut the bastard’s heart from his chest but her sense got the best of her. “It will be done.” She said, disgusted with the sight in front of her. She body glimmered and she faded once more from view in a soft light.
  11. “HAI!” The students cried out in unison. Their foot kicked straight out in a basic maneuver while Sunny Kay, their instructor looked at the lot of them, some twelve students, with a critiquing glare. Here in this small kwoon on the western side of San Francisco, Sunny Kay, or Sun Wukong as he was once known, had been making ends meet for the better part of a decade as an average martial arts instructor. Sure he could have shot for ‘unparalleled’ but honestly, what would have been the point? Melancholy was his bedfellow now and although he did his best to teach his students well, at the end of the day his Chi still remained out of focus. The fallen God was nothing more than a ageless man who drank deep in the lives of those around him but it never quenched his thirst. Again and again the children, none barely over the age of fourteen, continued to perform their katas even as the ring of the bell above the door caught their xiansheng’s attention. Three men, two Chinese and one Caucasian entered clad in gray business suits and dark sun glasses. They spend a moment, conversing amongst each other while the students listened to what Sunny had to teach them next.
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