Defenders International RPG

Hello All;

Just a head's up - we're navigating a difficult 2020 - but we're six months away from the DIVerse 35th anniversary! Currently there are several RPG events planned online - building towards the DI special event 'Ascension'.


More to come shortly!

Check out DI on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/groups/2296578027245774

Stayed Tuned!

From the ashes.

DI has returned (As of 2019) as a regular stand alone campaign. Resuming a bi-weekly schedule, DI is online with two groups - Every other Wednesday and Every other Thursday, using Google Hangouts and ultimately will be on Rolld20.

Check out the DI Facebook page for more details:

https://www.facebook.com/groups/2296578027245774/

'Destined' Epilogue #1

Note: The following Epilogue contains spoilers for the Marscon 2016 event 'Destined'






At the center of the World-Tree:

Ptah's whispering words still rung in the ears of the super-scientists as the final equation of the Angelic Algorithm moved into its configuration. For those present, it was a moment of transcendence - a grand light spreading outwards from hovering numbers and symbols, moving across the broken aspects of reality, reworking them into a pure state untouched by any being. Shielding their eyes, each of the scientists present felt the knowledge of their works unlocked - For Doctor Tungsten, it was the final answer to resolving the Chimera Retrovirus. For countless others, it was the answers and the acknowledgement across a myriad of questions that they had. Truly, it was a moment of enlightenment - a reward for their role in the greater restoration of their world.

Ptah lingered for a long moment, resting his eternal eyes on Ripley Cross. Although no words were spoken, Ptah smiled for a moment, nodding his head to the unanswered question that Cross had posed and had driven him on more than one occasion towards madness. Something clicked in the young scientist's mind....a fact that had eluded him, something that made him step back in the realization of the moment. It wasn't a perfect answer that Ptah had offered, but one that Ripley down deep could accept.


As reality is restored:
Across the span of reality, wounds that were long festering in their inability to heal closed and scarred over, eventually disappearing amid the nature of Celestial Mechanics. The events and time had changed as the eternal beings, destroyed by Set's rampage found themselves again in existence...quietly chastised for their unwillingness to interfere. History unfurled in different directions - different heroes and villains emerging and disappearing amid the waves of the new universe. Quiet moments which determined the course of history echoed now with greater resolve. The universe was once again whole.

On board Shankra:

The alien ship exited the space of the dimensional thread, the machine used to cross over to the world-tree destroyed....removed...to prevent another journey. Aboard the carrier the survivors found the world ahead vastly different than the one that they had left. The Defenders were reunited in more ways than one....they had succeeded.


Moving Forward:

Aboard  Shankra:

Despite what they had just gone through, dinner was surprisingly quiet. With Earth as the backdrop, the Defenders ate and reflected on what they had gone through, while their allies found themselves now facing a new world, a world where the future was completely uncertain.

When Rook had made the announcement, it came as no real surprise. Since Whiteflame's return, there was something different, something younger about the man. Those that knew Deckard best knew that he never smiled, but there he was, smiling like a schoolboy, holding his wife's hand so firmly that it seemed that they had permanently been joined. The Deckards toasted the heroes present, before announcing that they were leaving the group. In thirty years, the Deckards had weathered the brightest and darkest moments, and now, they were leaving what they had started...to try their lives completely anonymously...like everyone else.

It was time for the next generation to take over protecting Earth.

Grant Hill Cemetery, Jameson City, New Jersey

The services were quiet, not the grand sort of thing he had wanted. A few mourners were family, the majority of those present were not. The family's mausoleum rested silently, and although it only held a single generation of Adlers, it was a fitting place to inter the final remains of Richard Adler. Either due to those present with the ability to control weather or simple luck, the rain that had been ever-present in the days leading up to the service had broke, and while the skies remained dark and overcast, there were moments of sunlight that illuminated the heavens. It was a perfect day, a day so much like the man himself - dour and dark, concealing moments of hope and the promise of better days.

The first night brought the other mourners into the cemetery...those who knew the man only through his professional standing or who could not walk among those who arrived earlier. A single red rose was placed upon the path to the tomb's door - a single sign of respect which all present shared. There were no words...no tears...just memories of a man who had saved not just the city but the world on countless occasions.

 Under the great hangman's tree which loomed upon the nearby rise, The Pilot watched all. The appointed agent of the Hill smiled to himself, watching the processions leave before speaking to his hidden companion.

'It was a hell of a service' The Pilot began, smoothing his short brown hair back before shaking his head, 'A shame you had to miss it'

The younger man, dressed in traveling clothes nodded quietly, 'Not my first funeral....and certainly, not my last'

'Will you tell them?' The Pilot began, 'After all, some of them should know...'

'No' The younger man added, 'It's better this way. Part of what the Grim Ghost said still rings true...an era has ended...my era has ended....it's better they find their way without me..and I think it is time I try to leave this behind.'

The Pilot nodded as a raven, black as midnight rested on a nearby branch, soon joined by another.

'Well...' The younger man started, 'The boat leaves in the next hour. I should be on my way'

'I'd say good luck, but I figure you'd not be one to take such chances' the Pilot began, 'Good Luck anyway'

'I make my own luck' the younger man added, smiling a bit, 'But thank you Pilot...as always'

'Take care Richard. Don't be a stranger' The Pilot said with a smile.

'Not for some time at least' Richard Adler began, 'I think there is a wide world that I should reacquaint myself with...' 


 
Crusaders Castle, New York - Some time later

 Although there were many moments that the Castle had seen celebration, few times seemed to bring out the beauty of the place as much as today did. Streamers of white and silver lined the halls and edifices, while the museum, normally opened to the public remained respectfully closed - It was a private affair after all.

Caters from across the city had gone out of their way to make the day special. The planner, a shortish man of fifty with shockingly dark hair coordinated the majority of the event with the precision and personality of a tank commander, while other entertainment had been provided as distraction for the multitude of children who were present. At 2:00 PM, the guests moved to their seats, some five hundred in total, awaiting the signal. The organist began the march, as the grooms-persons (including one shortish woman) stood waiting. The young girl moved ahead, dropping handfuls of flowers while the dark haired woman with green eyes moved forward, escorted by Mr. Might himself in a tuxedo that seemed to barely contain him. Although in her late forties, the woman seemed almost radiantly youthful, while the man who awaited her looked on, brimming with an excitement of a man half his age.

'Dearly beloved' the goddess Freya began, 'We are gathered today to unite in holy matrimony Richard Sinclair Fortune and Juliana Prentiss...'

The couple exchanged vows, and even the most stoic members couldn't help stifle a few tears.


Somewhere Else:

The battle continued to rage, and for the briefest moment, he had the upper hand. Deploying his group, he understood that he had finally done it...Deckard was destroyed, the Defenders had been crushed, and  Revenge had been his. The strategy was simple...childishly simple...it only required the proper use and motivation of force.

Leaning back, he could not help but feel there was something about this that was too familiar - Always the Defenders seemed to rally from nowhere...always the Defenders managed to return to the battle and thwart his plans. How could this be? How could the greatest tactician of any age make so many simply mistakes during a battle? It was as if his strategy wasn't simply flawed - It was a thing someone who lacked the understanding of such things would do.

It became very clear to him that the answer was obvious - He was in hell. This was his hell. When the realization hit him, he turned as quickly as he could to find some exit, to deduce some sort of stratagem to escape this prison. As if in answer, the image around him shimmered, and for the briefest of moments he saw the person he hated the most, reunited with his wife...smiling....and free of him.

Then all went dark, and the battle began again.

As it had done already countless times

As it would do so endlessly

A battle of poor strategy where victory would always come close, and never succeed.

A war in which his enemy hadn't just recovered from the inflicted wounds...but was happy...and would forget him.

Amadeus Van Brandt was in Hell.


 The Future

The world had changed. The alien immigrants who had sought refuge and brought their knowledge shared openly and fairly. By the end of the decade, mankind had made large strives to correct the damage it had done over decades of misuse and greed. need and want were becoming something of the past, while major diseases including cancer were quickly eradicated. By 2030, mankind had begun to spread its wings outward from its homeworld, moving with its protectors throughout the solar system. While not a perfect world and problems persisted, the horizon was no longer far away and mankind began to achieve its place among the stellar nations.

As Halley's Comet returned, mankind had established colonies on nearby worlds, coming into contact with a variety of new alien races. The third age of exploration began, and among this age Defenders International, rechristened to Defenders Interstellar worked to ensure that peace, justice, and freedom would always be defended.

It would be a glorious age.


The Solar Barge

The Solar Barge slowly moved across Amenti's heavens, Horus-Ra sitting upon the throne at the aft. As the barge moved, Aphosis moved underneath, its serpentine body in the great depths of the abyss reflecting no light.

Horus-Ra remained unmoving despite the danger. Attended by the other gods, Horus-Ra simply stared forward, motionless amid the activity. Aphosis ascended slowly, coming closer to the edge of the surface, then suddenly struck by an attack that drove the devourer off once again. Aphosis sank into the abyss wounded - the barge would not be destroyed now...or ever...

Horus-Ra turned slightly to his protector. For a moment, Set's eyes locked onto Horus-Ra's eye, a quiet understanding passing between uncle and nephew, before Set returned to his post. Unlike the times before, Set's place was not forced - it was a duty Set chose to perform....and in that....it wasn't a punishment - it was a privilege..and most importantly, a choice.

Set would protect his nephew from the devourer every morning in Amenti. Set would defend his people from whatever threats would come. A silent acceptance had developed between Osiris and Set, and for the first time, brothers were seen together.

Set was content.

Set was Destined.


 

Destined Prelude #6 'Goodbyes'

The Adler Residence, Jameson City NJ

Although his senses were still as sharp as ever, there was a dulling around the edges, which coupled with the current state of his body made the moments damnable in their length. He could perceive family and friends moving closer, whispering sentiments of love and support as he the sharpness of the pain that was breathing.

He was a detective, and as such, he already had deduced what was going on. He knew that ultimately it was his will which kept him alive, always returning to the indomitable will which motivated his life. He tried to move but found the effort more exertive than he had anticipated. Even when terrible wounded as in the past he could feel the effort merited with some response. Now there was none, and he knew quietly it was time.

In many ways, he had expected death for all of his adult life. The tragedies that molded him and the dedication that drove him had prepared him for every eventuality, except growing old. Getting old no matter brief the respite had been the one thing he couldn't prepare for. He of course find some means to cheat it, but in the end, he realized he didn't really want to. There was some respectability to age, his father wore it like a badge of service, and he had done his duty a thousand times over. He had trained directly and through his actions the next generation of heroes. He had personally seen to the instruction of the generations of detectives, costumed and otherwise, who would follow in his footsteps. He did not see that as a point of arrogance: it was preparation for what he had predicted - a world in need.

Faintly, he thought he could hear the sounds of a violin tuning. Although few in the room could determine it, he knew that it was a prelude to what awaited. He swallowed, his eyes staring into the darkness - a creeping darkness which filled the edges and corners of the room. He focused his will, narrowing his eyes to remain conscious. He would not meet death sleeping...this was the one thing he had decided would not happen.

The gathering of family and friends around him dwindled away in his perception, leaving only a few moments and faces to fill the rapidly darkening room. He could hear voices of comrades and even enemies long-dead echoing as if they had just spoken. He could even see what he thought he could make out as a raven resting upon the bust of Pallas Athena, staring as if had that long night nearly eighty years ago down at him. How the irony of the image made him inwardly smile...literary and overblown until the end. A small sigh escaped him - It wasn't long now...he understood his breathing had become shallow and his body had begun to shut down.

Something moved in the darkness. It wasn't the raven nor was it what he expected - either old friends long dead or older enemies long vanquished. He could make out the image now, a short, squat figure staring at him, imploring him with lion-like eyes holding some sort of box. Although they did not exchange any spoken word, he immediately knew the figure and knew why he had come. Thrusting the box forward, the small figure attempted to do what he could to hand the items over, but the final moments, regardless of who was making the attempt, were simply too great. He communicated what he could to the figure, his mind racing now ahead of the end, trying desperately to resolve a silent mystery before it was too late. Unable to communicate the desperation of the small figure's request, the onlookers simply saw him convulsing, the agony of death-throws without the ability to under the stark meaning of the moment. As the darkness suddenly gave way to light, he could feel himself move for the briefest of moments, seizing his hands upon the proffered box and taking a single object from its contents. It was all he could do in his last action to save the world.

----

The friends and family wept and silently bid farewell. The family doctor made the pronouncement and quietly allowed the morticians their opportunity to collect the body. After decades of fighting the good fight, those present thought they walked away with the knowledge that the Black Raven died as he lived - Fighting.

How wrong they were.

It wasn't the last battle - It was the first.

Only, no one understood it.

-----

Destined
Marscon 2016

Destined Prelude #5 'Hope'

Amenti

Already the heavens ran with blood, and there was not anything that Bes could do about it. Bes, smallest of the gods ran with purpose, avoiding the destruction of Heliopolis and trying desperately to find Serket. Behind the little god the full rage of Set was on display. Bes had seen with his own eyes the rending of Ammit as Set tore the jaws of the devourer asunder, tossing them in the boundless pools of abzu. As Bes ran, he could not shut out the cries of the others, the gods who formed the line against the God of the Desert...for it was now clear Set's bloodlust would not be sated.

Bes rounded the pillared column of his home, seeking the signs of the great Imiut and the paths to the necropolis below. Bes knew that if any would have answers, it would be Serket...and Serket would consult the great god of mysteries Nekhtet. Cascades of light engulfed the palaces of the morning behind him, and it seemed to Bes that the skies themselves rained red with Set's vengeance.

Bes hopped down the stairs, emerging into the gloom of the funerary rooms. With sudden abruptness, Bes stopped, skidding to a halt at the feet of the amazonian and ferocious form of Sekhmet. Adorned with the crown of her station, Sekhmet roared at Bes, her claws glistening with the blood of immortals, and for the briefest moments, the lion-headed Bes debated crossing the warrior goddess - what choice did he have? Bes had to reach Serket.

'Let him pass sister' Serket added, pushing past the larger of the two. Although the scorpion goddess was dwarfed by Sekhmet, there was something about her words which soothed the larger lioness, and Bes found himself relieved. Sekhmet turned and paced the areas near the entrance to the tomb, as the shiny carapaced form of Serket moved forward.

'Serket...' Bes said, catching his breath, 'It is all lost! Ra is dead!' Bes began, his words tumbling free in a tone born of sorrow and caught between sobbing, 'Set has gone mad...he will kill us all...'

In response, Serket raised a hand to Bes, her eyes calm and cool, 'No brother Bes...collect yourself....hope is not lost. Set has not won this day....not yet'. Extending her other hand, Bes's eyes followed towards where she was pointing....the adjoining antechamber which glowed with an eeriness to it  that even gods found fearful. Despite himself, Bes shuddered, looking from the chamber to Serket and back again.

Serket rose and walked forward, motioning for Bes to follow. Keeping pace with Serket, Bes marveled how he had never seen such things in all of Amenti...how such a chamber would be kept secret, even from one such as himself. The walls told the ancient story of Ra, the stories of the arrival...the birth...and even the rebirth of all of creation. Serket waited near the center of the room where a large tableau rested, her fingers tracing across the inlaid worksmanship.

'Is this-' Bes started to say, stopping as quickly as he realized the answer.

'Yes' Serket answered, her gaze never looking up, 'It is exactly what you think it is'

For a short time, there were no words exchanged between them, only the sounds of distant thunder...the battle had moved closer. Serket moved her hands expertly over the surface, activating secret latches as the sarcophagus opened. Bes's eyes grew large as he saw the sides open, revealing the great canopic box. Quietly Serket knelt and opened the box, the four jars resting inside.

With a mighty roar, both Bes and Serket turned towards the tomb. Sekhmet had entered battle, and both knew it would be a battle unto the death. Serket quickly moved her hands inside of the great sarcophagus and removed the large metallic plate, taking it and the jars up into a small bag.

'Here' Serket said quickly, thrusting the bag to Bes, 'Go...get these out of here....'

Bes failed for a moment to comprehend what was being asked of him. His hands held the bag as Serket turned towards the doorway. Already the din was becoming deafening...Sekhmet was still fighting, but it was a lost battle.

'Go where?' Bes said numbly, looking at Serket with the lost expression that he often had when tasked by the others, 'He is everywhere. He killed Ra...'

Serket turned for the briefest of moments, 'Go to the places we cannot Bes...you are the only one who can...warn who you can...our salvation...all of our salvation rests in your hands...'

Bes looked to protest for the briefest of moments, and then nodded. There was no other choice. With a final look at his sister, Bes hopped 'sideways', departing Amenti for the places few could travel.

Serket smiled slightly. Bes was often underestimated by all in the Ennead, and Bes could go to *those places* that few could. There would be a chance....a chance after all. Serket stood for a moment, feeling the coldness ahead of her. Sekhmet had stopped fighting, and the tomb had grown silent. Only the footfalls of the approach made any noise. Sekmet readied herself, the smile fading as her eyes narrowed. It was Serket's time now...a time she embraced...if Nekhtet had whispered true.

It would all be up to Bes...and Bes's favorite beings....the dwellers of Earth.


----

Destined
Marscon 2016

Destined Logo

Apologies in the delay. Here is the logo for Destined, debuting at Marscon 2016

'Destined' prelude - Adventure blurb.

Less than ten days from the beginning of the end. Thought I would share the story so far blurb:

WARNING: Spoilers from previous and upcoming events...

Defenders International (DI) is the United Nations super team dedicated to thwarting global threats against the planet. Along with other super groups around the world, D.I. has prevented villains and primordial enemies from destroying the earth.

One year later…..

One year has passed since the events of Destroyed, where a power-mad dictator attempted to wipe-out mankind using a primordial weapon. While DI and other heroes succeeded, the victory was only a pyrrhic one. Crippled by The Destroyers, one of the worst villain groups the world had ever seen. DI emerged from the events changed. Long-time members Whiteflame and Rose Red are dead. The Massive space station called Shankra was damaged enough to crash into the Atlantic Ocean. The DI Leader, Michael Deckard, AKA Rook, has disappeared, but not before executing the leader of the Destroyers, Tactician. While the world celebrated victory and the final defeat of a great villain, the heroes responsible for its defense are barely functional.

A year has passed. In that period of time many events have occurred which have changed the course of mankind’s destiny. The legendary crime-fighter known as The Black Raven has died. Eight (8) gigantic alien ships have arrived on Earth, remnant species of ongoing space conflicts between the mighty star empires. The remnants are made of up of various species, all seeking shelter and offering both their scientific expertise and their technology. With apprehension, the new visitors were embraced, and overnight it seems that mankind has begun to look forward towards the stars for its destiny.

Villains around the world find themselves on the defensive. Marapulai, the tiny island nation in the Indian Ocean which served as a safe haven and hideout is no more. Metahuman heroes around the world seem further united in preventing meta-crime, and as such, only a handful of the most powerful villains dare to strike out against society. Many villains have simply disappeared, while others have retired from such activity. Those that remain are the most dangerous, working together in new ways to gain their criminals enterprises. Whispers of an old organization’s return bolster the surviving criminal’s activities…an organization called CHRONOS.

Upon the first anniversary of the defeat of King Croc, the second anniversary of the defeat of Lord Eclipse, and the fifth anniversary of the attack of the primordial weapon known as the Devourer, the surviving heroes are gathering for a quiet anniversary celebration. Little do they know that they will be determining the destiny of mankind and the fate of Earth in a few scant hours….

Destined Prelude #4 - 'Origins'

Prehistory:
The act of creation was never subtle. The powers of heaven and earth parted and the light that shown wasn't as seen as it was felt - Gods in their final moments prior to birth. The twins, conceived in the ether of starlight skies and the eternity of Amenti were the strongest, none doubted this. One would be destined to rule - the most beloved - the bringing of rains and strong crops, while the other would subsist in the desert, a warrior to end all wars and to dwell in the eternal bliss of night.

Nut cried as the birthing pains began in earnest. Above as below, Ra watched with greater interest: Had not Ra decided upon the fate of the twins? Had not the will of Ra been determined? Had not the future been told? The firstborn would be mighty Osiris - The chosen...the blessed. The second born would be Set, born of darkness and destined to use Apep's wrath against those enemies who rose up in defiance of Ra's divine will. The order would be as it was foretold.

Nut cried out again, this time of agony. Ra's all-seeing eye could not perceive what was happening. The goddess again screamed. The birth was not going well. Even mighty Geb, towering like the mountains which stood against the walls of time could do nothing. Nut cried out a final time, before a greater blinding light emerged. It was not Osiris, but Set who emerged...against the will of Ra...breaking the destiny which had been placed upon him.

Prehistory:
 The Ennead always met to discuss. Watchful always to their goals, Set's eyes often drifted to the promised of Osiris, the mysterious goddess whose skill had wrestled Ra's secret name. Although her twin Nephetys was identical physically to her, Nephetys was not the one Set desired. Set watched and quietly seethed as Ra proclaimed the union of Osiris and his wife, the union which would cement Osiris as the leader of the Ennead under Ra. As consolation, Set was given Nephetys.

The deserts burned in a reflection of their master's ire. Set watched in silence as promises were made and pacts forged. Although anger flowed into his heart, it was not anger that he felt for Osiris...Set knew that it was hate...a hate born from destiny.

Time passed and Osiris, ever-trusting Osiris made the mistake everyone had before him: They assumed Set was not as clever...not as willful....or as willing....to do what was unthinkable. The Ennead had forgotten Set's bid for freedom, Set's desire for that they thought was rulership....the Ennead and especially Ra had forgotten what Set truly desired. It was Osiris that paid the price....duped easily, cast asunder by angry hands which knew only hate now. Ra stared blindly down upon the scene, and yet, it wasn't Ra who sought judgment, it was the only being who Set truly cared for...preferring her dead husband to his own company.

If he was to be the villain, so be it.

Prehistory: 
 The deserts and kingdom knew nothing but war. War between gods as Horus and Set battled. A stalemate beyond stalemates. Righteous Vengeance between Great Darkness....but then, had it not always been such? Horus had sacrificed willingly his soldiers for some greater advantage...while Set did not need to sacrifice. Both battled until Ra finally had intervened. Restoring Osiris and creating the great prison, it was Set who had to be punished...but not killed. Ra knew Set was the only one to stop Aphosis...knew that Set would have a purpose...that was his chosen destiny.

Set meanwhile never stopped looking at the queen. Even as parents, siblings, enemies, and allies were brought before him, it was not Set's desire to hear their words. It was the queen's face, the contours he knew by his heart that kept his attention. The queen's eyes never looked up, never met his save for the pronouncement of judgment. Set understood at once that his punishment was a matter of convenience...the villain had to be punished in the eyes of so-called 'fairness' of Ra.

Millennium Ago:
 Imprisoned in darkness, the wounds that rested upon Set's Ka festered. Alone and drawn out only when needed, Set's anger grew until it could no longer simply be contained. There was no peace in the deep shadow - instead there were constant reminders of his role. There would be need and then he would be returned....always to be banished when his services were no longer necessary. Destiny was what Ra said...it was Set's destiny.


1986:
Free from imprisonment, Set was uncertain as to the nature of the world he had emerged. The weakness of humanity seemed to wash over him. The nature of humanity made them little more than pets upon the banks of the mother river....Osiris's chosen. One prison had been exchanged for another...only this time, Set could feel the eyes of the Ennead upon him. It was expected he would be the villain, and villains were conquerors. Whispers from ill-informed worship and ignorant prayers reached his ears, and Set found willingness to become the darkness.

1991:
Facing the new gods upon their own fields, Set saw the same darkness and rage in their eyes....burning white-hot amid the calls for heroism. There was nothing different...no difference than the roles they were expected to play....except....some were different. Some resisted their roles...their...destinies. It was that distraction which gave him pause - It wasn't from the powers of darkness Set learned of resistance to destiny - it was the heroes who actively resisted Set's own will.

2009:
Set watched as they needed him. The heroes, different faces and different bodies but the same souls reached forward to grasp what they could not begin to understand. Did they understand the contempt Ra had for them? They were nothing short of ants amid the fields of giants. Did they not see that to stop the one would bring the other? It mattered not. Something had taken hold inside of him, reawakening him to the ancient fires that had long since been cooled by the passages of time. Inside of Set burned something new...greater hate...greater need. The queen looked at him with promise and then darted away, returning to her king of the dead...again chosen despite the sacrifices Set had made.

2014:
From the prison Set watched the events play out. The upstart sought to remake everything using the ancient forms of the Celestial Mechanics. Set's hand trembled with rage. Ra was blind to such things once again, allowing the chosen few to understand such basic principles. The Red Shift covered the multiverse for a moment, almost telling him not to intervene 'or else'. It was the 'or else' which made Set angry enough to destroy the prison. The rage filled him like nothing else in his entire existence. Destiny was not something that would be denied him....he would change everything.

2015:
Had Ra known, certainly something would have been done. It was such a brutal moment between the two that no one among the Ennead could foresee. Shock turned to fear among their faces...none believed Set capable of such a fact...but Set had watched...waited....biding his time and learning the secrets Lord Eclipse failed to discover. Ra's true name revealed brought the being into focus, and from there, once defined by the will of Set, destroyed. The rage was too much now...it could not be simply consumed by the death of the instigator....reality itself was the razor-edged knife which cut every inch of him, and Set would no longer be denied his revenge upon it. Even the endlessly eternal feared what would happen: None saw the darkness in Set's Ka clearly - Set had time enough to conceal his Ka from all concerned - He would bathe existence in oblivion.

This was not due to a need to conquer.

Set wanted to see all things perish and feel the pain he had felt.

Set wanted his destiny. Set wanted revenge. Set wanted no crown or empire. Set would simply end everything.

Set would be Destined. 

______

Destined
Marscon 2016

Destined Prelude #3 - Rituals

Each breath was an exercise in pain.

No, it was not the physical pain. His youth nearly restored, Michael Deckard felt nearly in the top shape a man in his late thirties *should* feel like. The pain was more emotional...more spiritual...a personal sort of pain that seemingly blinded him at times.

It had been nearly ten months since Deckard had become a widower.

In the line of work that he had chosen, the real possibility of loss was a constant. Despite the danger, The Deckards had enjoyed thirty years together, raised a family, and had contemplated a time finally away from "The life". Privately, the Deckards had planned it would be Michael who passed first....it had been the logical conclusion.

Then Siberia. The mission. The old enemies. The fatalistic moment when the trap was sprung. They had argued the morning that Elizabeth had taken the team to Russia. It was about the seeming obsession Michael had developed. They parted angry...they did not say goodbye....they didn't look at one another. It was a moment of anger which felt like all the other times - would be resolved when the day ended and they sought comfort in each other.

Instead, Elizabeth had died, leaving Michael unprepared for what was to come next. It took weeks to recover enough of their 'home' to sort belongings. Although to all parties concerned, he had resumed his activities and role albeit low-keyed, there was something different. Those who really knew him, the five or so people within his inner circle knew something was wrong...the signs were ever-present. To those who worked for him, there was no change - obsessive behavior which seemingly was blinded by the inability to see the damage done.

Every morning he rose at the same time. Michael was getting used to sleeping alone, the coldness which took up the place where Elizabeth slept. Her scents were still on the pillows, hanging languidly in the air amid their room. It was the worst, waking up  and moving through the remnants of a shared life. Michael would spend moments trying to recall the daily rituals each would do, but found that with Elizabeth gone, the memories were like the scents - fading into the background of the waking world.

Things were far harder now. Michael had fallen into the repetition of work, and the old familiar temptations seemed to creep more into his active mind. While his will was strong, the source of his strength had been crippled - although he had masterfully kept it hidden, the pain was always present, draining his resolve.

The days seemed shorter, and the nights, often sleepless, lingered longer. If Amadeus Van Brandt had hoped to kill Michael Deckard he had succeeded, for the waking death was far worse than the actual event. Perhaps that was what Van Brandt really wanted - a sort of endless suffering that Deckard could never escape from. Now all Deckard had left was his job, and in that, he could feel himself disengaging despite evidence otherwise. The real problem was that no one could see it. Was it redemption now? Was that the mission Deckard threw himself into? It mattered little - Without her, nothing really mattered.

Running across the beach and along the paths in the jungle, it was simple mechanics of motion and effort. It was as if he were dead, and for a long time Michael Deckard quietly prayed it would be so...maybe then, if he had balanced his books right with a lifetime of service, he'd see his wife again.

If it were only that simple.....

Destined: Prelude #2

Throughout the eons, he had walked. When the stars winked into existence, he was present to record their first moments. Although he had recorded all of the moments, he had never paused nor wondered - for there was nothing he could not know or did not understand. The notion of a new experience had never crossed his mind. Indeed, he was not expected to do more than chronicle, for it was what the eternity of elemental forces and endless beings did. Therefore, when he arrived at the moment that he would witness, it became clear nothing was right.

The golden fields lay ablaze, providing the only warmth and light amid the winter's sun. He first made observation that it should not be winter, than the snows of the far frozen realms of Ymir should not intrude so far south...and that the stench and strewn bodies of the fallen should not be present. Ragnarok was not intended, but the dead and dying lay in the snow - the broken bodies of gods, goddesses, and other creatures, and none of it should be.

He felt it for the first time, that terrible sensation he knew of alarm, but had never had reason to feel it. Although he appeared as a human, it was how he was perceived amid the faceted dimensions...and should not be prone to their failings. Yet, there was something here....something he knew was wrong. It was not scheduled, it was not part of the order. Even when Eclipse seized the Celestial Mechanics of the universe, it had purpose, it made sense...it was foreseen. The view he looked upon made no sense, made no purpose...was unknown.

For a moment, he perceived through dark glasses the dark god Set, standing amid the destruction and chaos, the unmoving director of the shadows which consumed and fed on the Asgardians. The ancient book was quickly consulted, and for the first time since the explosion that brought the myriad into existence, the Chronicler paused.

'Is there something not in your magic book, elder?' The Egyptian God's voice echoed over the battlefield. For a moment, the Chronicler was at a loss....to be perceived unwillingly was something that was rare indeed, but to be discovered while outside the normal din of reality and dreaming was far...different.

'Allow me to repeat...' Set added, 'Something not in your magic book? Something not in your celestial order? Perhaps you need to consult the rest of the endlessly eternal beings for guidance....'

The Chronicler new well enough the pages would be blank...the Egyptian had somehow subverted the order and balance of destiny. Rather than make a show of such to placate the god's ego, The Chronicler nodded,

'Such a disruption will not go unnoticed, Set' The Chronicler said in his matter-of-fact tone, 'No doubt Ra has already Dispatched Apep and the others'

'Always seeing but eternally blind...' Set retorted, turning to face the Chronicler for the first time, 'No...I have no worries of that'

'You should' The Chronicler answered, 'It is doubtful Ra would be so pleasant a jailer next time...'

'I doubt that very much...' Set began, 'Nor would I concern myself with Apep or Aphosis...'

The Chronicler turned his head slightly. Such an answer was certain, no hesitation. The carnage burned around them, and even the other elemental forces of the universe seemed to pause.

'And why is that?' The Chronicler asked, as if bored by the answer.

'For they are in oblivion, Narrator....' Set answered, tossing down the remnants of Ra's eye, 'Where you shall join them...'

The Chronicler was beyond such actions. Like the great Ender, the Dream-Maker, and others, to suggest that the Chronicler was simply an appearance of a function would not be too far from the truth...and yet....pain...a concept the Chronicler had understood and witnessed, but never experienced....until now.

The battle was all-too brief. For the first time, The Chronicler experienced the terrible things that were foretold....and Set....no longer a mad god, stood supreme, the door to Yggdrasil opened. In the fatal moment, the moment of the Chronicler's own ending, the visions were all too clear:

Set was going to destroy them all.

___________________________

Destined DI 30th Marscon 2016

www.marscon.net

January 15 - 17th, 2016.

Destined Prelude 1: The Desert

Despite the auto-cooled systems within the armor, the heat was nearly unbearable. What breeze there was only cut the faintest edge across the Saharan dunes, stirring up small dust devils and reflecting the swelter. He had been walking for nearly an hour, moving methodically across the barren landscape with such mechanical cadence someone might have mistaken him for a drone at distance. 

 

His armor, normally green and gold was now in chameleon mode, reflecting dull browns and yellows while shifting subtle tones to blend him into the environment. He stopped, checking the GPS systems to gain his bearings. In doing so, he saw a snake slither nearby....a desert horned viper, known for its unique venom and 13 separate types of toxins. For a moment, he kneeled, looking at the snake as it moved, turning his head to watch quickly depart across another dune. As he turned back towards his targeted direction, he stopped...

 

Across the dunes, hundreds of snakes slithered towards him, a roiling mass of serpentine bodies that was made up of a variety of species - moorish vipers....saw-scaled vipers....spitting cobras....hundreds if not thousands, slithering away from the direction he was headed towards. Rather than wade through the mass, he remained still, allowing the snakes to pass him by. There was no doubt in his mind if there ever was - He was near the target site.

 

After ten minutes, he moved through the shifting sands to the top of the dune. The site came into clarity directly in front of him - an immense bowl of blackened sand, blasted to a dull ebony color. The pyramid, for that's all it could be, rested in the center of the desolated area, He paused, there was no reason to move forward...and it was the first time he actually felt a sense of coldness... a numbing chill which passed over him. It reminded him of a quiet memory of childhood - Seeing the movies of ancient temples and lost Arks, and the eerie music that played when the artifacts were uncovered. If it were possible to feel fear, it was those moments that quietly affected him...but the reality was far different. He stood watching the light disappear into the mass of black sand and darkened limestone....as much a tomb as what it really was...a prison.

 

He took a few tentative steps forward, finding the sensors in the armor reporting a drop in ambient temperature of around 30 degrees. The clouds seemed to darken slightly to his perception...as if he had stepped out of a desert and into an overcast afternoon near the beach...but there was nothing friendly about the outing, and the destination loomed like a leering gargoyle at him. He moved forward, noticing in his perception that the remains of the 1986 expedition camp sat undisturbed. For a moment, he debated going over....but there was something that stopped him. Although he could not place a finger on what it was that made him pause, he knew if he proceeded he would join the unfortunate members of that expedition, and his mission was more direct. Turning away from the diversion of the ruined camp, he proceeded quietly towards the pyramid.

 

His first steps into the pyramid echoed down the long entrance. Although open to the elements, there was no build-up of sand nor debris. He didn't really expect there to be such - The place wasn't of mortal man, and he could feel a dull presence that seemed to slow everything in its awareness. In that moment, he understood why he had been chosen for the mission...he had shown remarkable resistance to such things...he had survived more than his share of calamities and enemies, and it was his ability to evade and escape such dangers which bordered on the supernatural. Normally, that sixth sense which existed to warn him of trouble would be a dull noise in his head....but now...now it was screaming. Nothing about the mission was safe, he knew that...but it seemed foolhardy to move forward. Girding the reserves of willpower, he moved forward in to the darkness.

 

It seemed forever to move forward in the darkness. He struck a light-stick and dropped it, moving another 200 yards before doing the same. He had done this four times before he found the first one, and realized he was moving in a circle. It didn't make sense...nothing about the darkness or the interior pyramid did...but he warned for that. He moved forward a few steps, the stopped...quirking his head slightly. Taking a step back, he turned and moved back the way he came. Within a few moments, he stood in a long corridor, outlined in glyphic images and writings. He spent a few moments moving down each section, photographing with his helmet's interior cameras while taking the necessary readings. He didn't understand half of what he was recording, not out of ignorance, but the sheer alien nature of tools. It was a good thirty minutes of intense study before he reached the wall at far end of the section. There he stood, facing a black wall - dull in years with only a single heiroglyph in its center.

 

His fingers moved out, tracing it for a moment and checking tactile surface readings. It wasn't stone, it wasn't metal...it was something...else. The hand-held system attempted to trace the material through the periodic table and the alien cross-section element guide, but nothing known on Earth or twelve surrounding star systems even came close. It would be a puzzle for the scientists back at the lab, his work was finished.

 

He heard something quietly behind him, and he turned to see a similarly clad figure....riddled with bullets and other wounds. For a moment, he stopped moving. The figure helmet, split from force had cracked just enough that he could see an eye looking through the visor, looking at him with a maliciousness that wasn't human. He knew what he was looking at - an impossibility that bordered on the mad or a victim of MvRS, but part of him knew it wasn't either.

 

'Thief' was all it said, pointing a jagged finger forward, a reminder of something that only three people should know about. The revenant stood silently, a witness to an unsaid crime, and for a moment, neither moved. Finally, the image faded, it had served its purpose...but still...there wasn't any movement. With effort, steps were taken, footfalls moved forward, and it wasn't until waning daylight of the outside that he felt himself swallow hard. It wasn't a ghost...it was a reminder... a reminder of the secrets he had to carry. He moved over the blackened landscape, over the dune, and the hour south through the desert towards extraction. It wasn't until he reached the extraction point that he actually stopped moving. As the scarab-ship landed, he moved into the back, saying nothing to the pilot, instead falling to the jump seat.

His hands moved upwards and took off the helmet and looked at it. It was the same as it ever was....the gold and green, mirroring his balaclaved face. He started at it for some time before he pulled the mask off, the blue-green eyes looking back. 

How long could he live with the knowledge that he had stolen another man's identity? How much longer facing what he knew the tests would confirm about the pyramid would he be able to face the ugly secret known only by a few. How long could he hide the truth when it was clear the world was on the razor again?

How long did any of them have before they would have face their destinies?

 

_______

DESTINED

30th Anniversary Event

January 15 - 17, 2016

www.marscon.net

Next Stop: Ravencon 2015!

Good Morning all;


 Still recovering from Marscon, we're looking forward to the next convention and Ravencon! Ravencon is celebrating its 10th anniversary this year as Richmond's premiere fan event, with programming and a variety of guests and other cool stuff. For more information about Ravencon, check out their site at www.ravencon.com!


OMG and Project: Crusaders are presenting three brand-new post-DESTROYED adventures at Ravencon, including a Ravencon exclusive event.

  

Six months after Destroyed, the Defenders find themselves with a most unusual request for help: A call from the Shining City of Atlantis to defend against…pirates? Can the Defenders get to the bottom of what’s really going before it’s too late?

 

Summoned by the Supreme Magnus, the Defenders find themselves in a pitched battle between the villainous Shadowheart Queen, the First Witch Grimhylde, and the ancient dragon Tiamat. Can the Defenders stop the combined mystical threat before humanity suffers? Only one may be the fairest of them all….

(Ravencon 2015 Exclusive)

In years previously, heroes have faced genetically enhanced chimpanzees, mad German doctors, android Sasquatches, demons from the darkest darkness of hell, and Buddy Holly. This year, it’s more of the same, except all-new and different, and totally not capitalizing on the trend in superhero movies and comic universe reboots. Can a group of heroes (You) help the self-proclaimed world’s greatest thief recover a device which may or may not be able to re-write reality? Has it already been used? Is this actually a reboot? You won’t know until you find out!





All events are running throughout the weekend, as well as an introductory workshop for new players or those who want to get involved! For more information regarding scheduling, please visit our WARHORN SIGN-UP site

Destroyed - Epilogue #1

Marapulai - Row of Kings

For some time, he sat and watched the U.N. peacekeepers move forward, while members of Chrysalis Inc worked in round-the-clock triages to stabilize both citizens and soldiers alike. The day had begun with him being fired out of a cannon into heavy fire, and ended with him sitting on a wall, watching weird alien sky-ships arcing across the skies headed towards the latest of King Croc's surprises.

The battle armor effectiveness gauge read 17%. He had gone through the portable CDFF, the Imperium shielding, and half a dozen tank traps on his way to do what he thought was a suicide mission...and yet...he lived. It wasn't great training or supreme effort...it was his knack...his knack for survival. What did it mean on the station right before everything went to hell? He tried to recall right before being sucked into space when Shankra was breached - He would be the one to watch them all burn.....

It was best not to think about a madman's pronouncements.

________

SMART LABS, New York City

'--And as you can see, SMART Labs will show an increase in operational value over the course of the next quarter...'

Ripley Cross had heard enough. It wasn't that they could have saved Shankra...it's that they were outfoxed...outmaneuvered....outplayed....by bureaucrats. Nearby, Persephone's eyes followed his lackluster attention, staring at him with the cool countenance that always was prompted by forced response.

This time, it was different.


Abruptly, Ripley stood, shaking his head, 'This isn't science....this isn't improving the world...it's marginalizing it'

Taking off his badge, Ripley tossed it onto the table, and walked out of the room. A moment later, Persephone followed.

'This isn't really the time for one of your childish displays Ripley' Persephone coolly intoned, following behind him. For a moment, Ripley stopped, the turned on his heel to meet his twin.

'No...it isn't' Ripley answered, staring unflinchingly into his sister's eyes. There was something in the gaze that caused Persephone to take a step back.

'What then?' Persephone said, quickly regaining her composure, 'Are you still upset about Red?'

'Upset? Why would I be upset? The Destroyers attacked Shankra with our technology....our access....we might as well put the caustic necrites in their hands'

'Oleg Natik designed the caustic necrites, not SMART' Persephone quickly responded, 'SMART was not respo-'

'No...' Ripley started, 'We did nothing....we never do anything. Are we any better if we do nothing? I'm tired of SMART either being the victim of its inability or its incompetence'

'That's not fair Ripley' Persephone chimed, 'Science should remain neutral.'

'No...' Ripley said, 'Not at the cost of the lives of the people around us. We have the most gifted minds anywhere, but we hoard our intelligence and projects jealously'

'We provide scientific clarity in a chaotic world' Persephone, 'We make sense of the universe'

'The universe....' Ripley shook his head 'Doesn't have to make sense....it's time we do something else...'

'Such as?' Persephone asked warily,

'Make a difference...a real difference. Joe Tungsten and I are going to do something else...things need to change...evolve....and they won't do so here...in a place that stifles real progress...real attempts to help society and mankind'

'Those are SMART's goals' Persephone answered, 'You are steering a path from accepted scientific principal to emotional madness'

'No...' Ripley said firmly, 'We're going to do what we should have done a long time ago....' pausing to turn towards the elevator, 'we're not going to hide behind the apathy of this place....not where w can make a real difference....'

With that, Ripley left his sister standing in the hallway, and as the doors closed, he couldn't help but feel a bit better....the weight he had grown accustomed to as part of SMART seemed to disappear.

*They* would do something better...



______

USS Saratoga - South Indian Ocean, 15 miles SSE of Marapulai

He moved his fingers over every inch of the outer hexite-plated hull, ensuring that the damage had been repaired and the necessary modifications were in place. In his life, he had cared for few things as much as he did his greatest creation. With a jeweler's precision, he performed countless micro-adjustments until everything checked out. Moving backwards, he stood for sometime, marveling on the elegance that even now, made him wonder how he could have created such a thing.

He stood watching it for some time, not in wrapped adoration but thinking of the last six months of his life....the last three years really...since his life had been up-ended at the hands of his 'friend', how he had lost everything, again....and how things had come into a clarity he had never known. All of the years spent in angry vindictive rage had blinded him to the reality he was in: He was a hated man, a man whose brilliance was overshadowed by his own arrogance...for what was it to live in such anger if not arrogance to believe he was the only wronged party? He had devoted the majority of his adult life to seek revenge....to vindicate himself against those who had wronged him....a demented 'Count of Monte Cristo' remaking himself time and again with revenge being his sole comfort and purpose...and where did that get him? He had a great gift, and he had wasted it on building something which nearly caused death on a wide scale. He had been blinded by his own need to see he had become the very thing he despised. It was a harsh revelation...one that he wouldn't forget, not this time.

He stared at the MAULER suit as the sun descended, the last rays glinting off the suit like an armored knight of old, cascading into a brilliant myriad of beams and reflections. He had been giving a remarkable gift, and time still to use it. What if he could adapt his technology differently? Could he somehow make up for his mistakes? At least, could he find some atonement? He had been so blinded by things...but now...it was as if he had woken up from a bad dream. Ideas swarmed through his brain - Adaptable cybernetic replacement limbs at low costs, neurokinetic adapters to allow nerve repair, nanomachine augmentation devices....such ideas that would better the world. He would develop and design them, make the free and available to all - No more hiding his ideas, fearful that they would be stolen....he would make everything open-sourced...


But that would not be enough.

No....he knew he would need to repay mankind for his actions. He would need to make things right. He knew that it would require something more, something much much more to make up for his actions.

Philip Cranston would need to transform the world.



_____

Undisclosed location, New York City.

'You understand' the younger man added, 'We have a zero tolerance policy. This policy is absolute. I don't have time for those of you who believe that you are better than the program...that believe this is an easy way to work down your sentence, or that you think your behavior is justified'


Pausing to look over the group, the younger man went on to add,

'The only reason you are here and not in Lazarus Sleep somewhere in the pits of MAXXAM is that we believe you have the will, desire, ability, and hope at reformation. This is not an easy process. You will not enjoy it. I don't rightly care if you feel prison is easier. Every person who serves and survives earns their wings - If you fall back into your old ways, I don't care whatever the reason, we come down harder on you.'

Walking amid the group, the young man was flanked by the giant who stayed a few feet away. The sheer difference in size in the giant to the rest made the gathered group pause for a moment. Even the hardened criminal knew better than to try their chances at Von Hammer.

'Now...you've waived your rights, we've completed our profile. Your rehabilitation begins now.'

The young man moved from behind the giant and brought up a computer screen. Images flared to life, showing a variety of individuals in still-photographs and video footage.

'Our job is to find them, bring them in, or take them down...any questions?'




______

Argent Tunguska, Siberia, Russia


The soldiers moved into place, flanked by both Hammer and Sickle suits. The carnage was nearly complete - A century of work and collecting nearly lost. The one-eyed man moved with little care to the dead, instead moving around the fallen bodies - already being collected for a mass fire-pit.  The dead would burn, but it was for the living that the soldiers were more afraid for.



The signs of the battle were everywhere. From the sides of the ancient walls to the surrounding areas, fire, blood, and visceral lay strewn throughout the timbers of the reclaimed forest. The footage, which would never see the light of day, revealed in stark detail those responsible, and the one-eyed man unconsciously rubbed the three scars under the patch he sported.

'Check below' was all he said, his voice barely above the din of the nearby helicopters. Squads moved with effortless efficiency into the smoking darkness. Within ten minutes, the 'all-clear' signal was given, the one-eyed man turned towards the entryway, descending into the depths.

The darkest secrets of the last 100 years of Russian history lay shredded and burning in the records room. The artifacts room had suffered from the battle above, and yet, several of the more important items lay undisturbed - the resting eggs remained in perfect placement, the large cylinder with the last of the Romanovs remained connected to the power source, the blue quartz skull, the only item within the vault to make the One-eyed man shudder remained faintly glowing behind the ancient wards placed upon it by the Mad Russian Monk.  After checking the rest, the One-Eyed Man moved to the laboratory.

The Laboratory, much like he assumed it would be, was devastated. Large sections had simply been destroyed in high-intensity plasma, while others, looted for their resources no doubt, had been left vacant. The One-Eyed Man made note of all projects he could determine were 'lost', while at the same time looking to find which projects had been either destroyed or left behind. It was not the lost or destroyed projects which elicited an uncomfortable response, instead the projects that had been left made the One-Eyed Man breathe heavily.


Moving with precision down the dark hallway from the Laboratory, the One-Eyed Man moved into the cathedral-like main elevator. Nodding to a soldier at the controls, the massive elevator descended into the depths, seemingly leaving the top of the shaft far in the distance. Relieved to see that the massive blast doors were closed, the One-Eyed Man entered the code that only three men alive knew, opening the doors. It remained in stasis....Neither the battle nor invaders had bypassed the doors....and it had not awoken. Only the One-Eyed Man moved into the massive room, skirting the the edges of it, illuminated by the faint purplish-glow that emanated from the body. The One-Eyed Man avoided looking directly at the beast, instead, he checked the supports, the wards, and the locks upon the vulcanium-derived chains, before exiting the room and restoring the locking protocols. The whine of the doors coupled with the re-activation of the nuclear device gave some reassurance, as the elevator ascended from the depths.

The One-Eyed Man quickly exited Argent Tunguska, nodding to a commander to take over the external sweep and clean. As the din of other helicopters could be heard, the One-Eyed Man quietly disappeared into one. A full report would need to be given....as well as a consideration on who survived that had seen the interior of the the base.....


____

Undisclosed Location, Somewhere outside of Istanbul, Turkey

The gathering was a mix of the old and new. The few surviving 'Founders' were adorned in their finest uniforms, removed from storage and faintly of the smell of naphthalene and the ardor of a recent cleaning. The crisp uniforms, faded with nearly 70+ years of storage gave an almost sinister air to an already sinister event. In comparison, the sole woman present wore a black dress with red hourglass, her tannish scaled flesh amply exposed, with the writhing mass of serpents pulled back as if in a pony-tail. Although the Founders were monsters of a different sort, none present doubted the young serpentine woman was far more the monster in intent and purpose. Gathered with a large group of robed figures around a pit, the figures began to chant a long and forgotten language.

One figure moved forward and tossed a small sack of something wriggling into the pit. One of the founds moved forward and emptied the contents of a leather satchel, hands trembling due to fear as much advanced age. Finally, the serpent-woman leaned in, producing a human skull from a nearby box. For a moment, the woman held the skull in almost abject adoration, kissing the polished smooth top with a intimate familiarity before tossing it into the murky depths. The chanting reached a crescendo, with the few lights produced by torches in sconces flickering as a heavy unexpected breeze pushed into the room. The Founders shuddered, but the snake-woman smiled, her fangs glistening in the dim light.


A hand reached out of the murk, pulling itself free as if doing so was in defiance of fundamental force. The robed figures moved back as the figure fully emerged, towering for a moment in the shadows as he slowly stood. The Founders balked, the servants fled, but the snake woman smiled broadly.

The General had returned. CHRONOS would live again.



___

The story so far....

DEFENDERS INTERNATIONAL (D.I.) is the codename for the U.N. meta-hero organization which helps deal with the meta-villain/exo-threat/eldritch horrors that are an active enemy to mankind. Formed after an attack on the U.N. in 1986, D.I. has maintained its position as the primary defense organization in the world. Led by Michael Deckard (code-Named ROOK) for most of the group’s history, Deckard, along with his wife Elizabeth (code-named WHITEFLAME) have remained the only founding members still active with D.I.

D.I. has faced many menaces and threats, ranging from the Egyptian God of Darkness SET to three separate alien invasion attempts in 1992, 2005, and 2008. Chief among the adversaries that D.I. has faced are the villains known as the DESTROYERS, the original threat that D.I. formed to protect against. The Destroyers, led by AMADEUS VAN BRANDT (code-named TACTICIAN) have often been overshadowed through the years by greater threats but remained persistently a thorn in D.I.’s side. The Destroyers have mostly disbanded, and Tactician had been captured in 2012, held until 2014.

RECENT HISTORY

In 2008, a massive and ancient primordial weapon known as THE DEVOURER attempted to destroy mankind due to mankind’s knowledge of the primordial creation equations known as GOD MECHANICS,unleashing cosmic disasters and ‘resurrecting’ dead heroes and villains with the use of primordial technology called NECRITES. The assembled heroes defeated the ancient machine, capturing some of the technology.(MARSCON 2011 EVENT ‘DEVOURED’).

In 2014, an evil primordial being known as LORD ECLIPSE attempted to assemble a mythical equation called THE ANGELIC ALGORITHM by using God Mechanics in order to bring about the entropic RED SHIFT. Nearly destroying mankind and seizing the Angelic Algorithm, Lord Eclipsed used what bits of the God Mechanics he had gathered and plunged the Earth into darkness by extinguishing the Sun. Narrowly reigniting the Sun and defeating Lord Eclipse, D.I. managed to restore things mostly to normal. (MARSCON 2014 EVENT ‘ECLIPSED)

Due the partial use of God Mechanics, dark matter and deep spatial fields had been disrupted. In part because of the disruption, a Texas-sized asteroid of VULCANIUM, the strongest material in known space had been ejected from the Earth’s core and was locked in orbit around the planet Saturn. Dubbed ASTEROID HEPHASTUS, the asteroid was seen as a solution to an age-old problem regarding Vulcanium and the current supplier on Earth.

Sometime before the dawn of Prehistory, a massive asteroid impacted Earth comprised mostly of Vulcanium. The remnant islands, dubbed the MARAPULAI CHAIN saw much turmoil and strife. As the modern age began and Vulcanium was discovered, Marapulai quickly became a center focus for world powers. In 1956, a bloody coup led by a massive reptilian-like mutant named KING CROC established Marapulai firmly as a haven for the illicit and illegal. King Croc used the Vulcanium supply to ensure his rule was firmly received and accepted, blackmailing at times world governments into submission, while offering haven to criminals of all sorts for a price. As the single source of Vulcanium, King Croc set his own rules and standards, a fact that nearly all of the civilized world chafed under.

With the discovery of Hephastus and the potential of limitless other mining opportunities for Vulcanium, Marapulai’s hold on the world seems ready to slip. It is only a matter of time before King Croc’s atrocities catch up with him, setting the stage for something that the world is not prepared for…

DESTROYED

MARSCON 

JANUARY 16 - 18 2015

Destroyed Prelude #3 - A Meeting

AEGIS Command group, North Atlantic

Altitude 25,500 feet

Location: 40.416361, -36.128146

'He's here'

For a moment, the Director and his two guests remained seated, staring blankly at one another as if to gauge an appropriate response. For three days it had been a linger uncertainty, a shared uneasy experience between a handful of men and women, tasked with the very moment the three men found themselves in.

'Show him in' The Director nodded, searching for another queue or hidden acquiescence that could serve to reinforce the decision for this moment. Two Black Knight level operatives emerged first, taking positions in the cardinal points of the room, while another four entered around their guest.

'Well?' The Director began, looking at the guest with a combination of cool trepidation and receded hostility, 'The terms were fairly clear in your parole....you were to leave Earth and never, ever return...'

'Things don't always happen the way we want' the man began. Tall and lean, the dark hair had begun to gray around the edges, more lines around the eyes which would have made the guest seem more scholarly than criminal.

'I do not have time to debate what we want' The Director began again, looking more uncharacteristically irate as he braced his fingers together, 'Why are you here?'

'I know about Hephaestus' the man began, looking carefully at the director and the other two guest, 'Everyone out there knows about it....but that's not important....what is important is what's going to happen next...'

'Next?' The Director asked, 'What exactly do you mean?'

'Oh come on!' The man exclaimed, 'You know damn well what I mean....you've probably already started to sever ties...probably already made veiled threats....this isn't something that Croc hasn't thought about....or planned for.'

'Why does this matter to you, exactly?' The Director retorted, the thinly veiled emotion twinging his words.

'Because I set up his defenses...' The man began, 'And I have a pretty good idea what Croc will do. You go in there, it's a trap....it's a bloody, awful trap and people will die...'

'Compassion has never been your strongest suit' The first guest, the older man added, breaking his silence as he leaned forward. Without facing him the convicted guest nodded, 'I'm no saint, but I'm not going to sit back and let something I built be used by a madman...'

'Not unlike all of those other times' The First Guest nodded, 'Yes, I could see you brimming with compassion for the innocent then...'

'Listen, asshole....I don't really care what you think....I'm telling you this is how it is: Croc isn't going to think of how this plays out....he knows how it will play out, and he's more than ready for it. He'll make the first move....he'll bring you in, and he'll smash you down....believe me....this is what he's been waiting for since he took power'

'And what, exactly, are you offering?' The Director chimed in.

'Plans....schematics....everything...' the man nodded, 'Anything and Everything....'

'Why now?' The First Guest asked, staring with unblinking eyes at the Convicted Guest.

'You want me to lie? I won't do that....I'm a son-of-a-bitch but I don't lie. Something happened to me....up there.....and I won't simply let that go. There is a reason I'm here, I don't know what that reason is, but I'm here. Call it whatever you want, but you know the one thing I'm not is a liar'

Silence once again filled the room as the Convicted Guest sighed deeply, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The Director looked at the two others, quietly nodding as if in deep conversation. A minute stretched to two and then five before any of them spoke.

'You will give us everything, and I mean everything. There will be no holding back....no second chances....one glimmer you're not above board, or if any of us for a moment believe you're lying, It won't be prison...it won't be exile...it will be immediate full weight of the international courts on you punishment....do you understand?'

'Yes' the Convicted Guest nodded, 'I do...'

'Then...' The First Guest started, 'Why don't you tell me why Mauler has been seen here on Earth when you are supposedly in space, Cranston'

'They stole it' Cranston answered matter-of-factually, 'and you know how I take theft....'

DESTROYED
MARSCON 2015 - January 16-18

www.marscon.net
https://www.warhorn.net/events/marscon-crusaders?src=listings

Destroyed Prelude #2

Street of Kings,
Marapulai
-13.667101, 81.915830

Despite the trappings of aristocracy that Amadeus Van Brandt was surrounded by, he was not, by any means, fooled. Van Brandt had known the King for nearly thirty years, and had always been fully aware never to take anything at face value, even at 'summoned' meetings in which direct business was to be discussed.

Van Brandt rested his hands on the smooth arms of the hover chair, a luxury item in a country whose resplendent wealth was often overshadowed by its oppressive cruelty. Although the storied history between himself and the monarch of Marapulai, they were never 'close', if one could ever get close to either of the two. For his part, Van Brandt sat and waited, a courtesy to the man who shielded Van Brandt from international law enforcement.

 'I am sorry to keep you' the King said, emerging from a nearby room. At nearly seven feet five inches, King Crocodilion wasn't just massive - he was a monster. The cybernetic lower jaw moved effortlessly, giving Van Brandt images of a long forgotten childhood book...illustrated with Captain Hook and Peter Pan....and the Crocodile...always waiting for the good captain to lose his other hand.

 'I am, as always, at your service' Van Brandt responded in the very neutrally polite tone he had used. 'Nonsense....to keep an artist waiting is often a sin' Crocodilion began, pausing for a moment to adjust the royal sash before moving effortlessly to the window, 'If nothing more, we are artists, are we not?'

'I suppose that is one way to look at things' Van Brandt added in cool agreement. Van Brandt's intellect and abilities had already granted him a good insight as to why he was present, but allowed the King to set the stage.

 'Power' Crocodilion began, 'Is the only real thing that separates us from animals. We both know of the benefits of power...' Crocodilion said, pausing to turn with the amber eyes, 'But the cost can be high....' Van Brandt felt himself shift in his chair. Over thirty years he had been dealing with Crocodilion, but never had there been a moment where he felt a sense of desperation about the King.

'Yes...' Van Brandt added, 'Very high...'

 'Tell me Amadeus......what fruitless plan have you in place to gain your revenge?' Crocodilion asked, almost smiling. Van Brandt didn't react to the barb, simply sighing quietly while returning the gaze.

'My own...' Van Brandt said matter-of-factually, 'I do not need to share that with you...'

 'Insolence is not your strongest suite, Amadeus...'Crocodilion answered, 'Especially as you are my guest...'

 'I am not your lackey' Van Brandt coldly retorted, 'Unless you feel our agreement needs to be...ratified' Crocodilion moved forward, almost menacingly, then paused and laughed, 'Always fearless Amadeus...good....good.'

 Van Brandt felt himself relax. Had the King taken offense with such a bold maneuver, it would have been....difficult....to extricate himself.

 'I have need of your unique skills my old friend' Crocodilion began, 'I fear that we must advance our plans...significantly'

 'I had some suspicion' Van Brandt nodded, 'Hephaestus?'

 The King said nothing at first, then slowly, curtly, nodded.

 'What is it you need?' Van Brandt said, already predicting the answer.

 'I want you to have your fondest wish' Crocodilion began.

 __________________________


Some time later
Palazzo di bellezza
Marapulai
-13.667101, 81.915831

 '....and so, that is the plan' Van Brandt added, looking at the collection of individuals. The cool winds brought scent of jasmine blossoms into the large room, while the twilight cast long shadows against the walls. No one present said anything, instead waiting some long moments for the information to fully sink in. 'Are you with me?'

 'Just like that?' the lean older man asked, 'You really think it will be that easy...'

 'Yes...' Van Brandt began, 'Just like that. Once decisive moment. One simply action, and we'll have what we want...'

 'What you want...' the tall blonde man looked back with amber-colored eyes, 'Let's not lie here...this isn't want any of us signed on for...'

 'No...but we cannot refuse. If we refuse, they will come on their terms. We can however act now....force the situation to bend to our wills....' Van Brandt added analytically, 'He assures me the material will be present, and the numbers accounted for..'

 'Same fellow that put you in that chair...' The blonde man added, 'Or did you forget that?'

 'He did not 'put me in this chair', jefferson' Van Brandt added, 'That was Michael Deckard. It is beyond the time I repay him for that kindness. Now, I'll ask again...' Van Brandt said very directly, 'Are you with with me?'

 The lean man spoke up first, the smile never leaving his face, 'What do we need to do?'

 'Allow me to outline it....'

 ____________________

Destroyed
Marscon 2015

Next Defenders/Crusaders Event: 'Destroyed'

Howdy all; As you might have noticed, we've got a new event planned for January 2015 at Marscon - Destroyed! Destroyed Blurb: As the world learns of a miraculous new power-source, old villains conspire to bring down the U.N.'s superhuman response team. Can an assortment of heroes from across different groups somehow stop the destruction? DESTROYED is a two-part adventure set in Mark Geary's Defenders International campaign! We're also celebrating the 29th anniversary of the DiVERSE! More shortly

Destroyed, Prelude #1

Xibola, City of Bone -

He could feel the movement of the air underneath of him as he fell towards earth. Reaching terminal velocity in seconds, he felt the freedom and exhilaration fill every part of his being, the way it always had on countless times before. It was the only part of the curse that was truly his, truly a blessing, and the one thing he missed.

He felt himself relax into the moment, realizing that it was Morpheus's visitation, a moment of pure peace before the dawn...a dream of demigods of flight, something that he missed despite the lifting of the curse. Below the land moved under the dark shadows of night, featureless amid the clouds and cool night air. For a moment, he was contented.

The sudden downdraft brought him to landfall, finding himself skipping for a moment on the eddied currents that gently deposited on the hillside. Something was different this time, something he could not quite put his fingers upon....the dream haze had him still, and yet, the lands were different, colder somehow....more ominous.

The sky erupted into light as Helios blazed above him. He instantly recognized the scene and saw the familiar faces he had come to know and call friends. All eyes were downcast, sullen, and filled with a great sadness, none speaking or making any sound. For a moment, he wondered if these dream-images were some ancient chorus, until he found himself drawn to the object of his gaze. As his eyes fell onto the sight, he felt a tightening of the muscles in his stomach...he knew instantly what the image meant, and felt the sluggishness of the waking world, pulling him backwards, back away from the moment into the cool darkness of the living world.

He felt himself fully alert and awake, rising quickly from bed, letting Eden rest nearby. The images still lingered in his mind, and he knew that such was no dream, but portent. Pulling a nearby toga on, he moved out of the bedroom and into the darkness, unable to sleep.

________________________

Eden Raines had been many things in her life - Daredevil, Adventurer, Pilot, and now Queen. It had been nearly five years since she had married the love of her life, and despite all that she and Romulus had shared, there were moments that he truly puzzled her. Her hand moved absently across the bed, surprised in its near sleep to find him gone from her side. Slowly rousing herself to full consciousness, Eden allowed her green eyes to adjust to the darkness before calling out quietly,
'Romulus?'

Taking a deep breath, Eden slowly pulled herself out of bed, covering herself in a sheer silk robe that rested across the nearby divan. Steadying herself against the bed, Eden gained her bearings and began to move through the open-aired chamber, looking outwards to the balcony and the illuminated paleness of dawn. Romulus stood impassively on the balcony, his massively muscled arms folded behind him in the way he often had when deep in contemplation. Eden moved behind him, gently brushing the tips of her fingers against his arm, before moving beside him. For a long while husband and wife said nothing, standing and looking over the ancient city as it slowly roused from another night. In the dim haze of the morning, Romulus finally spoke, his voice low and haggard.

'I need to return' he said plainly, not facing his wife. It was the stoic and patrician look that Eden had grown to accept, a sign of Romulus's stubborness.

'The dream?' Eden asked, already knowing the answer.

'Yes...' Romulus nodded, 'Again...the same dream...'

There was a prolonged silence between them as both stared outwards. For a long while, neither moved or said anything, until Eden finally spoke.

'Well....I guess I'm ready to see how much the world has changed since 1936.'

'I have to go...you don't....it will be...dangerous...' Romulus began, turning to face his wife. Although he towered above her, there was a sense of physical equality that had always been an unspoken fact.

'You are my husband, and my friend. If this is important to you....' Eden began, looking Romulus up and down, 'Then I'm going....I've said my peace and counted to three'

Romulus stared at his wife, 'These men....the men we go to face...this aren't trogs or raiders...these men are dangerous...motivated...and strong. If something happened to you....'

Eden's fingertips moved up and brushed her husband's lips, 'Then we face them together....but why now? Why is now so important...'

Romulus said nothing at first, allowing the question to linger more out of summoning the strength to answer it, 'They will burn the world if what I have seen comes to pass....I cannot abandon my teammates...my friends...to what awaits'

'Then that is enough' Eden added, 'Let's find our way home, before it's too late...'



-----

Destroyed

January 16 - 18 2015

Project: EPIC is go!

I wanted to thank everyone who turned out to support our events at 1d4Con and the first of several launches for Project: EPIC. Keep your eyes peeled on this site and our FB page for upcoming events. More announcements on our schedule are pending. The next event we have planned is during BALTICON (www.balticon.org) More coming!