Legends aren't born! Legends are made! From the humble beginning of those seeking glory, they strive to rise to the occasion to establish their legacy.
Legacies crafted from the ambitions and actions of those extraordinary. Born with powers that exceed the capabilities of mere mortals, everyone is destined for greatness.
Remember, Legends aren't born. Legends are made! However, every legend is different from the other. Every legacy leaves a wake of darkness in its wake or a shining ray of hope. The question is, what type of legend will you be?
WELCOME TO Dawn of Tomorrow!
< People Read, Please! >
updates
< CRISIS SYSTEM ARRIVED! > The Crisis System has finally be constructed and release to the general public. We encourage people to test out the system and enjoy themselves in drafting grand stories capable of changing the dynamics of the Role-Play World. Understand that the system is new, thus there are some kinks to be worked out that we couldn't due to not having enough man power to test! Make sure to read the rules which are placed in the Rules and Checks section of the RP Boards.
< THE NEXT MAJOR EVENT! > The Next Major Event will arrive starting the first week of Decemeber! Why are we making this announcement so early? Because we want to provide ample amount of opportunity to warn the community to start preparing and testing out their move sets. It will be a faction event once more, which means Heroes vs Villains BUT remember that Vigilantes are now thrown into the fray. It would be utter chaos so stay tune!
< To Be Announced > TBA
'Desperado. Sitting in an old Monte Carlo. A man whose heart is hollow.' the harmonious medley from a lady's falsetto blasted from the radio. Accompanying its somber sincerity, was the hallowed pluck of a bass guitar, the majestic boom-bap of percussion and the interval-ed albeit perpetual drumming rattle. What was to follow as an anthem, dedicated to a glorified debauchee. The singing star molding her reality with the fictitious. Resulting in the personification of a morally destitute and emotional dilute villain. A grand caricature of the free willed spirit who was the subject to her affection. The tune had lasted a moment. However, the brilliance in its execution be it woman's voice, supporting production to the heart wrenching plea to the villain and its timing, forced a repeat play.
For at that moment one such Monte Carlo was racing down Chinatown. A 1983 silver masterpiece whose chrome painting reflected the cities neon's brightness. In fact a panoramic view of the city, would paint it as a knife cutting through the perfect structure of rainbow lights which adored the night. An almost symbolic expression of, from and by those it housed. In the aftermath of The Grand Heist, five individuals had escaped from the jaws of defeat. Of whom two had struck and unusual partnership. Rumble, mad genius slash home grown explosive expat and M'sondaa. The self proclaimed revolutionary & adjudicator of the colonizers. At the heart of their characters was a penchant for justice. Though, through societies warped lens revenge seemed more apt. Nevertheless it was these two villains who rode across the badlands on their trusty steed. Its thunderous neigh echoing through as Rumble dashed intoxicated on adrenaline.
"Why wouldn't he?' M'sondaa mused his gaze turned to his accomplice turned peer. Despite their differences both men has an appreciation of speed. The more dangerous and death defying the greater the excitement. At the moment this vehicle, Rumbles 'prized' trinket' had meet M'sondaa electromagnetism to give rise to hell on wheels. The outlaws had taken to the streets in spectacular fashion. Upon spotting an oncoming billboard Rumble excitement boiled over. Gripping on Betsy his expression mellowed as he fired the rocket launcher, to the hero plastered on billboard's canvas. "Safe to say Chinatown is 100% Stein-less" M'sondaa chimed. To which the rabid creature howled in stitches setting of more unintended missile. "You're alright in my book kiddo. You drive. I'll Navigate" The African chuckled. This wasn't out of some effeminate reaction to a compliment. Rather he was pleased at the appreciation extended to his puny wit. Edging himself to the driver seat, the desperado would grip onto Rumpelstiltskin & peel into the night. Time: 10:50 PM
The man stretched his hand to the tray before him. Gently gliding his finger into the pack of Marlborough & procuring one stick. At which point he snapped his finger. A gesture which prompted the heavy blossomed bikini clad attendant to act. Flicking a golden lighter, the Asian hostess smiled affectionately, her gaze observant of her master skillfully puffing his stick. Without so much a word, the man pulled back inhaling deep into the lungs preferring instead to smile as his subordinate withdrew. He was handsome & she found herself blushing. The man reclined himself at snails pace back to the edge of the spa pool which he occupied. A minute had elapsed since his initial puff & a burning tobacco latched mercilessly at his lungs. Content with the punishment to his breathing system, the man gracefully plucked the fag from his lips. His index finger meeting his thumb where upon both would extend alongside his forearm to his side; resting onto the concrete. He blew out a strong plume of smoke, the halo of nicotine and carbon suspending artistically above him. Another contribution to the hazy aromatic pungent-ness of brandy & cigar which permeated the room. Within its four confines, sophisticated mobsters indulged in their vices. Ippying Lao was one such man. Were on to enter & merely scan the room you'd be without blame should you miss him. Sure, his well-toned back, its deeply defined striations alluded to his peak physical condition. Yes, on his arms were a set of impressive tattoos, intricately designed serpentine beasts meandering from his bulb like shoulders to his solid biceps. Nevertheless, he was neither the most muscle bound or tatted in the room. In fact were it not for his prime estate in the pool, two beauties at arm he was nondescript.
However, to underestimate his existence was foolish. For on that very back & through those dragon set of tattoos, stood the foundations of Yuelang Clan. Chinatown was blueprint of the modern metropolis. A fusion of cultures, in this case Eastern and Western, to create a modern marvel. A wondrous space with strong strong economic, political and social presence in New York, if not the American continent as a whole. A place which many an Asian would be proud to call home. However, hidden in the brilliance of its neon nights, stir fried cuisine and Asiatic temples was the power struggle of the nefarious. Where human ambition, desire & opportunity intersected, evil's ubiquitous was soon to follow. Chinatown was no stranger to the dark side & its underbelly proved the necessary ingredients to stir the pot. Throughout the years, many had come to Manhattan & tried to tame and claim this land as their stomping ground. Ultimately, only three groups had succeed in their quest and established themselves. There was the Korean's led by Madam Woo whose Kkangpae of three thousand controlled the entire northern districts. IIpying Lao of the Chinese triad who ruled the eastern frontier & lucrative port district. Finally, there was Miyamoto's Yakuza who oversaw all else with exception of the central business district. Waged between the Woo's, Yeulang Clan & Miyamoto's was a battle for supremacy so fearsome it stretched their rivalry to the syphilis epidermic of the 20's. In those days the street ran red with rum, piss & blood. Naturally when gang wars are fought, generals earn their mark; immortalizing their mythos in urban legend. It was this simple concept which gave rise to the Roaring Seven. These were the greatest and down right ruthless combatants of their era.
The landscape in 1920's Chinatown had had room for seven gangs. All of whom held their prized assassin, enforcer, killer whatever they saw fit to call them. Over time seven families joined to become three major players but the tradition of the Roaring Seven withstood the test of time. Generally leaders were never full fledged solders, choosing to or otherwise encouraged to defer such responsibility. All this changed in the summer of 1989. On the onset on the crack epidermic a fresh faced seventeen year old Lao arrived to an ailing Yuelang Clan. The bastard son to the current clan head's step son, his place in the family was that of a mere guard. Yet, in the years which followed he had clawed his way to the top. Earning himself the epithet of Tornado based on the ruthless precision by which he massacred his enemies. Be it his own blood relatives who had attempted to take his life & the rival gangs which had ripped through and assimilated into Yuelang. All made possible by his overwhelming fighting power. Though in truth his greatest assets was his mind & the ability to foresee opportunity. After-all it was he who had sanctioned the first major artificial quirk testing facility this side of the eastern sea board. "Give me an answer. DAMN IT....what is this madness. This isn't like you" the man snapped his frustration apparent from the quake in his rasp voice. Lao's tossed his cigarette aside, furious at the interruption in his moment of serenity. How dare this man speak as if he was privy to his genius. In-fact did her know whom he was snapping at? "Listen chief. My job is to ensure my business is doing well. Your job is to control your department..." "I KNOW THAT, but you can't expect me to smooth things over when you rob banks & destroy the city. Think of my reputa..." the rotund man had hardly finished when Lao snapped startling the attendant who held the laptop before him.
"Robert. I think you misunderstand our relationship, I am the one who landed you that office & I can just as easily remove you. For the last nine years I've provided without fail your exorbitant five million annual cheque. All the while I knew you got three million from the other clans. Its of no concern how you deal with this issue or your reputation. Don't call me unless it is to do with Woo or M" just the conversation started so did it end. At the behest of Lao, an attendant shut the laptop putting an end to the video conference. Two men, Kung Lao & Jin, had observed the exchange & would slither closer to 'Tornado' "Its been done boss" "I've paid of the hookers in 45th as well" the other chimed. At hearing his son & protege's voices Lao turned to meet them. Within the clan these two were the brightest stars & their status as Roaring Seven often filled him with great pride. Furthermore, they bore great news. In IIpying's thirty year career none had successfully much less dared attack the central business district. To do so signaled unfathomable power. One that even the combined efforts of all three opposing factions couldn't match. Yet, someone had not only done so but in spectacular fashion. As Chinatown's underworld panicked and scrambled to find the culprit, Lao had positioned Yuelang at the heart of the madness & claimed responsibility. Fueling the hysteria to a grand proportions. "No need to be formal guys. Today is the start of a new dawn...." with that he turned to reached to the unopened bottle of 1848 cognac & popped it. "Everyone let lose, this bills on me" In united aplomb Chinatown Dirt Boys came to life their wails of victory ushering in the young day. Time: 12:05 AM
Superintendent Rose knees crashed to the floor, her body collapsing shortly thereafter. The gelatinous nature by which she seemingly crumpled was worthy of theater. Blood gushed from her arm or whatever was left of it. While the deep evisceration to her torso epitomized the height of physical pain. The naturally blonde porcelain babe was flushed pink, her cheeks puffed in the wetness of her tears. All around her lay her slain comrades including her lover Aubrey. Mustering all her strength she forcefully flung herself, in some sort of pathetic waddle towards his body. If it were upto her she'd have called out to him. Though, she'd swiftly realized between her cotton mouth & the distant sirens such an endeavor would be naught. She had managed to cross the good part of a meter maybe more before she gave up. As if by some stroke of nature's mercy the blare of sirens and bustle of activity reached her doorstep. By now some local news station & hero association agents had swarmed the locale. The later deploying militaristic uniformity in their containment of chaos and assistance. Obscured by some fallen debris she fought back the rising bile in her gut & watched as they extinguished fires, administered medication & oversaw whatever little trivialities. The former a pack of scavengers picking apart the scene for a cheap scoop. One of whom had got so close to her, it allowed her to overhear their 'breaking news'
"The local community are bemoaning the destruction of property and disturbance of peace. There is a general sense of unease sweeping through the metropolis & concerned citizens are alarmed at the slowed response to Hero Association. Multiple people stating dependency on police officers as an outdated concept. Given their incompetency at handling gangs much less villains. An emboldened organization known as Yuelang Clan have appeared and started to claim responsibility trumping up mass hysteria....." Rage overcame Rose, renewing her with adrenaline and she tried to force out a scream. Alas, the dry rasp which surfaced was nothing more than croak. Befitting of her status as a police officer & quirk-less. Theirs was an unsung plight in a society in which ability users reigned supreme. It had become common place for the academies to accept quirk-less in their center fold. After all the Hero Association had long supplanted them as the face of Justice with the existence of a Symbol of Peace undermining any rank of office. Though she'd never admit she too dreamed of the possibility of awakening her quirk. Despite this, what had gnawed at her was neither the vultures of the media nor the situational knights of the Association. Rather the mention of Yuelang Clan, a familiar name which flashed her mind to her rookie year, two years back. The Commissioner had been received by a clean cut man, a Mr. Lao who she later came to know as a notorious gang leader. If this were not enough the meekness by which they had entertained him was curious in of itself. At the tine she thought nothing of it. Now as she was lifted onto a stretcher & ushered into an ambulance her veneer was lifted.
Commissioner Anderson sat on a cold floor, back rested on on his door while his feet stretched before him. The Armani dress shirt on him was un-tucked with several of its buttons missing. Papers were scattered every which where. The taxpayer funded cypress & oak furniture overturn. On the right the glass cabinet which housed a lifetime of achievements smashed. A pet turtle gifted to him by his god-daughter bled out underneath its shards. Interestingly, the casing of Jim Beam to his left was in perfect condition & he'd made an effort to toss his empty bottles as far as possible from them. Edgar replenished his stock, using nothing but his sense of touch as his sight was to watery in such a dark room to be of any use. He doused one gulp of the rich brown liquor and reminisced. The glory of the past seemingly fleeting with every bottle. Instead what lingered was pain and shame. What hurt more he wondered? Abandoning his ethical code and becoming Lao's lackey? A decision which cost his best friend? Sleeping with his widow in the years which followed? Cheating on his wife? Perhaps it was his cowardice. A new wave of depression hit him and he wept at his defenselessness. How he wished he could shout down Lao. Better yet take a squad of a hundred strong and charge down at the Wyndham Garden & put an end to his 'Dirt Boys'. Yet, he knew better. The Grand Heist as the media had dubbed it was bound to if not irrefutably confirm Rose's suspicion. She was a bright and held her fathers obstinate righteousness. Thus, she was to die for his greed & as he had drunk himself to sleep all those years ago so he did tonight. At the very least he hoped the cyanide made his god-daughter's transition as peaceful as the sleep he so desperately drunk to obtain. Time: 11:40 PM
"How much must I BLOW for some service?" Rumble roared in willful obliviousness if not unconcern for dining etiquette. "I've got explosives, you know" he growled and for what seemed to be the trillionth time, unleashed a torrent of food. Lodged three paces to his left, on his lonesome was the harbinger of Kisoomi. Out of desire to maintain sanity, he'd perched himself on a stool that overlooked an aquarium. An ancient man behind the counter creaked to life. Eyes sunken behind the bark like layers of skin, he twitched his lips on a mouth that had long been abandoned by teeth. There was a certain gracefulness by which he handled his enterprise. Nimbly chopping down ingredients & taming flame to create his master pieces. As it had for the past week, autumn's chill blew through the streets, flapping the food stall's canvas. M'sondaa smiled, the scenic warmth of the situation oddly reminiscent of Christmas. "KIDDO, you should try" no sooner had the word been uttered than did they get lost in the snapping crunch. The pair of villainous desperadoes had been gouging for the good part of half an hour. This of course after their wanton riot throughout the streets. Nevertheless, at Rumble's insistence they had pulled over at a food truck to complete Fang's vetting process. At least this seemed to be the intention before the fiend had gotten hold of some sake.
M'sondaa shuffled at his seat & ordered another servicing for himself & pointing at his superiors glass for booze. "Racoon, why do you hate us so much?" the African blurted, confident his inebriated associate was so far gone to resist. "YOU DON"T GIVE UP DO YA" the feral beast responded in resignation & sighing for good measure. "Trust doesn't exist at the bottom of a bottle. Though I guess...." the fury hair murmured as his expression turned somber. There was a solemness about him which plucked at the African's compassion and saw him gaze dead at him. Past his existence as Fang executive or wild animal and more as a peer, "Please." Rumble would proceed to open about experiments, torture, pain & anguish. All the while his tone was monotone, distant almost as the black expression which rested on him. Therein lied some bitterness, wishful appeasement which resonated with M'sondaa. The vulnerability had pushed the East African to reveal his own tragedies. As he too confessed about the eventful day that marked the end of his innocence. At the mention of time travel Rumble's would redact to his mad self. Spouting theories on relativity, theoretical physics & such. At one point his eyes widened and mouth drooled at the possibility of experimenting on him. The irony of the situation caused the architect of chaos to break his stoic nature & erupt into laughter. "Listen, I've accepted humanity's cruelty. I suppose its a consequence of nature. At its core its a struggle for life and death" "Spoken like a true human" "True. This doesn't mean I'll willingly allow myself to be at nature's mercy. I intend is rise beyond mere survival & sustenance." "To become an apex predator right? To SUBJUGATE your enemies"
"NO, I..I.. merely wish to gain autonomy and......" "Idealistic babble. You have no conviction and are merely parroting sweet nothings." "What about Fang?" "What of it BOY?" "You said your purpose is evolution. Is this not the same as I? We both intend to use power to force about our means. Yours for the betterment of humanity whilst I for my people" "MY GOD. YOU ARE THICK AS PIG SHIT. If you wanna know about Fang, I suggest you ascend the ladder. At least have a meeting with HIM." "You mean the Symbol of ...." there was pause in M'sondaa speech. Rumble had tensed, his dilated pupils looking to some region beyond him. "THEY'RE HERE." Rumble would utter pointing to the matte black Rolls Royce that had screeched to a halt across the road. Two men jumped from its interior. The tallest of the two was dressed to kill, his light pink suite matching his snow white sneakers. Although, the street light flickered, M'sondaa got enough a look to see he had no shirt & a blinding black diamond necklace. His accomplice was in all black Changsan & rocked a wide brimmed hat, its edged reflected the night light. "Jin's my prey." "Excuse me?" "The one in pink. He's related to Dr. Lee, ya know guys who operated on me. Look alive, its time to run wild" M'sondaa, a recent recruit into the nefarious Fang Organization. An enigmatic brotherhood of villains whose foot print had waned in recent times. Yet, fortune favors the bold and recent success has revitalized the organization. Which meant was time to start reshaping the public's perception. Following orders from Rumble, the two were to break into Yuelang Clan. A of the false-claiming group that had dared steal their glory. The two were to demonstrate the difference in ability. To provide a show so brilliant Chinatown's local goons will bow down and recognize the peeking order & swear fidelity to Fang.
Nice job, Bino. You managed to get information on Rumble's torturers, and paved the way for your interaction with the Yuelang Clan in your following Free Roams.
Here are your Rewards for Completing the Grand Heist Extension:
M'sondaa Receives:
50 EXP
750 Gold (+50% for Completing a Free Roam in Chinatown)
M'sondaa Receives Special Item from Rumble:
Name: The Spectrum Equipment Type: Equipment Equipment Grade: A Type: Supplementary Stats:
Visible Light Spectrum: EM Related Techniques become rays Opaque to Translucent White. It can reflect and refract, which grants all EM Techniques bonus projectile speed by 1 SPM.
Microwave Spectrum: EM Related Techniques become rays of a Red Heat Haze appearance. It bears penetrative heat that deals internal damage & nullifies physical regeneration and healing.
Ultraviolet Spectrum: EM Related Techniques become rays of Translucent Purple. These allow all EM Related Techniques to bypass all damage shaving granted by techniques and traits.
Gamma Spectrum: EM Related Techniques become rays of Translucent Orange. These allow all EM Related Techniques to grants all EM Techniques Bonus 1 Damage.
X-Ray Spectrum: EM Related Techniques become rays of Translucent Blue. These allow all EM Related Techniques that deal Debuffs to increase by 5 PHY regarding PHY Debuffs, 0.5 SPM regarding SPM Debuffs, 1 Turn Regarding Deliberating Effect Durations, and 0.5 Damage Regarding DMG Debuffs.
Radio Spectrum: EM Related Techniques become rays of Translucent Yellow. These allow all EM Related Techniques to carries & interact with audio signals, which can amplify sound for a series of techniques.
Inner Workings: At any point can M'sondaa mentally change the modes to experience their supplementing features, but only two of them can be active at once. Only One Spectrum can be Active Per Gauntlet, but techniques can be performed utilizing both to gain each effect at once. It takes one full turn to switch modes.
Damage: 10 (5 HP Each Gauntlet) Description: Rumble noticed the potential laying inside you. The potential of mayhem that can reshape the world - now for the greater good or not, it does not matter to Rumble. You are the first human companion of his and although he is weary of you, he intends to find his entertainment in your endeavors. He has built these state of the art, technological gauntlets. They are used to supplement his EM Quirk Ability to manipulate the electromagnetic spectrum. Accompanied with identical designed headband - M'sondaa is capable of mentally controlling the supplementation via enhancing his EM techniques' frequencies and wavelengths.
The skin OTHERWORLD was made by JAWN of WICKED WONDERLAND.
DAWN OF TORRMOW [DoT] was created by WHOA. The sample background image was created by AVODKABOTTLE.
Images belong to their respective artists. All codes and scripts belong to their respective coders.
