The Big Villains Thread

Games Sentinel Comics RPG
401

Villain of the Day:  July 31 (The Meteorologists)

The arrival of the Maerynian people on the plant Earth was a relatively unheralded result.  The appearance of the hero known as Tempest brought suspicion from some, but most didn't even bat an eye at another metahuman willing to take up arms against the likes of Baron Blade and Citizen Dawn.  Even the establishment of the Maerynian refuge on Plavu'Col was relatively unheralded, with its isolationist population and its distance from most other human-inhabited settlements.

The Meteorologists, however?  They saw opportunity when it knocked.

Originally starting as a small geoscience affiliation--the International Association of Meteorology and Geosciences, as it was known on its journal title--the very concept of the weather-manipulating Maerynian species seemed an utterly foreign concept to them.  The very idea that an individual could disrupt global weather systems seemed impossible.  And yet, Tempest existed, as did his alien allies.  Something had to be done.

Dr. David Holston had an idea of what that something had to be.  Chartering a fishing boat into the Atlantic, Holston did the unthinkable.  He captured a live Maerynian, known as K'nn Da'Laas.  With the assistance of several nefarious allies in the scientific community, Holston began to experiment on his subject, eventually isolating the portions of the alien's brain responsible for its phenomenal metahuman abilities.  And, while he was no engineer, he certainly had enough contacts to begin the assembly of a rig designed to replicate the same metahuman powers.  Within months, Holston had a working piece of headgear, turning him to the Meteorologists' first atmokineticist.

Since that day, Holston has gathered a legion of disgruntled scientists, geologists, and researchers to his cause, as he and his group attempt to unlock humankind's mastery of the weather.  Taking up in an abaondoned weather station off the coast of Massachusetts, The Meteorologists have worked tirelessly to continue replication of Maerynian powersets, ranging from lightning-channeling harnesses and rain-summoning headgear, to ice cannons and tornado projectors.  Their crowning achievement, though?  A device that, when completed, will cause a snowstorm capable of covering approximately 2/5 of the Earth.  In just a few days, the ability to destroy entire nations will be in the hands of a mad weatherman...

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And with that, we reach the end of Elemental July.  Definitely a hot one, that!

As some of you might have guessed, I will be taking another break to attend GenCon.  As such, there will be no Villain of the Day until Tuesday, August 7th, at which point we will begin AugHost--a month of villains tied to the engimatic emotion-beings known as The Host.

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Have fun!

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Now that we're back from GenCon--my voice still hasn't recovered from 30ish hours of GMing--welcome to AugHost, a month detailing the denizens of the enigmatic emotion-realm known as The Host!

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Villain of the Day:  August 7 (Gleeson)

Bradley Schumacher made for the most pathetic clown ever to don the red nose.

After dreaming for years of joining clown college, after spending hours upon hours teaching himself various juggling moves, after perfecting his patter at relatives' birthday parties and holiday parties, Bradley was ready to hit the road and begin travelling with the first circus, festival, or theme park willing to take him.  He was born to entertain, to bring joy, and to make the world laugh.

Unfortunately, he was miserable at it.  For whatever reason, every attempt to perform that Bradley made saw him fall flat on his face.  His performances at birthday parties inevitably ended with childrens' tears.  The juggling routines that went perfectly during practice ended with balls, pins, and knives fumbled across the floor when performing.  HIs comedic patter fell flat and the Halp! reviews for his HappyTime Live Performance company limped along about 1.5 stars.  

Refusing to give up on his dreams, Bradley hung his comedic fate onto one last shot:  SunnySide College of Comedy.  And, true to form, Bradley's audition went miserably.  Beyond nervous, Bradley dropped his juggling torches four times and barely managed to get a titter from the jury.  Dejected, Bradley thanked the judges and headed to the parking lot.

Almost as if on cue, the sky cut loose with a summer shower, drenching Bradley and his costume just before he could reach his SUV.  Sopping wet, Bradley bounced his head off of the steering wheel a few times, all the while lamenting, "Why can't they just laugh?  Why can't I make them happy?"

Something out there heard his cry.  And that something found its way to the red rubber nose strapped to Bradley's face.

The spirit of elation that attached itself to Bradley truly wants nothing more than to spread happiness and laughter wherever it goes, but Bradley's desperation and frustration warped its presence into something twisted and manic.  In costume as Gleeson, Bradley and the joy spirit concoct elaborate jokes, performances, and pranks meant to entertain and amuse as many people as possible.  But, inevitably, as these routines fall upon deaf ears, Gleeson grows frustrated and violent, often lashing out with deadly riffs on classic circus routines, ranging from chattery teeth capable of biting off fingers to clown cars stuffed with deadly minions.  All the while, Gleeson rages, "Why aren't you laughing?!  This is funny!  Smile!"

Some have surmised that Gleeson may have some link to Madame Mittermeier's Fantastical Festival of Conundrums and Curiousities, though Gleeson actively seems to avoid the festival for reasons unknown.  Whether this is due to the festival's horrific nature or due to some occult entanglement that prevents the elation spirit from entering the arcanely warded grounds still remains to be seen.  In the meanwhile, Gleeson just wants to put a smile on your face...

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Villain of the Day:  August 8  (Craven)

Gordon Guzman was a professional henchman.  

Starting just after he got out of the military--Gordon had spent three years in the US Army as an enlisted infantryman--Gordon had become fascinated with the masked villains that seemed to commit caper after caper over the news.  As villains clashed with heroes across the world, Gordon followed their activities with a near-fixated fervor, charting appearances, combatants, and more in a massive linked spreadsheet on his computer.

After a year and a half of applying for (and failing to get) a job, Gordon had made up his mind.  He was a combat-trained veteran:  he could be a fantastic henchman.

The biggest problem in Gordon's plan?  Few villains were willing to give him the time of day.  Baron Blade already had legions in his blade battalions at his disposal.  Citizen Dawn would immediately turn him down, as he had no metahuman powers.  Revocorp, however?  That was a group that needed people.  And Mark Bennodetto certainly wasn't one to turn down skilled manpower.

However, Gordon's first henching-escapade did not go as planned.  A simple semi-truck hijacking from Revolt and Ray Manta turned into a one-sided brawl against the Prime Wardens, who had only been back on earth for a few hours, after an extended jaunt through the Realm of Discord.  As the heroes smashed their way through his compatriots and Fanatic flung Ray Manta half a city block by his costume's tail, Gordon froze.  He panicked, gripping his las-rifle with white knuckles as all of his combat-training fled his mind.  Suddenly, everything went black.

In that moment of pants-wetting, soul clenching terror, Gordon Guzman learned true fear.  So intimate with such a powerful emotion, Gordon's mind linked to a spirit of terror, twisting his body into a pitiful, hunchbacked form.  Loping along on all fours, Craven did his best to escape, only to be cut off by the hulking form of Haka on one side and a Captain-Cosmic-conjured golden barrier to his rear.  Frantic, Craven started scrabbling at the asphalt, only to tear his way through it, escaping through a tunnel just barely big enough for him to fit.

In the days since his transformation, Craven has found that his strength and abilities proportionally grow in relation to how much fear he experiences.  While he can minorly influence others' emotions, making them fearful and nervous, his truest strength comes when he himself fears for his life.  Often, his powers manifest as some method of escape:  teleportation, tunnelling, flight, or speed.  However, if cornered, Craven's fight-or-flight reflexes can appear in ways that are much more damaging or offensive in ability.  Several of the newest Sentinels of Freedom can attest to Craven's fear-born power, as an explosive projection from him sent at least four of their members to the infirmary with burns, concussions, and worse.

 

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Villain of the Day:  August 9 (The Watcher)

No one really knows who The Watcher is.  No one's even been able to ask.  

On rare occasions, the being known as The Watcher--sometimes appearing as male, other times as female, always wearing a heavy trenchcoat and full facemask--appears over the rooftops of Rook City, observing the bustle and chaos below.  The Wraith was the first hero to confront The Watcher, only for the trenchcoat-clad individual to flee outright, leading Maia Montgomery on a lengthy chase across the city rooftops.  The Wraith barely managed to even get a hand on the figure, which phased right through The Watcher's arm.

Since that day, both The Wraith and the various members of Dark Watch have considered The Watcher as a low-priority task, as they monitor crime and metahuman activity across Rook City.  To date, the only true clear clue as to The Watcher's identity came in a brief interaction with The Harpy and Setback.  The pair had 'cornered' The Watcher in a dockside warehouse just outside of Rook City proper.  Faced with the prospect of combat, The Watcher did something that none had ever seen them do before:  draw a weapon to attack.  However, that weapon itself provided a key bit of information. 

That weapon was a dagger.  More specifically, it was a Roman-era pugio, one recognizable through lengthy arcane research as the one owned by one Marcus Perpenna Vento and used to assassinate noted Roman general Quintus Sertorius.  

In truth, that dagger became the focus for a spirit of paranoia, a Host creation that amplified and intensified feelings of mistrust and madness.  Much like the semi-sentient dagger known as Backbiter, Perpenna's pugio has drifted from hand to hand over the centuries; fitting, as they share a creator.  The current wielder  is one Denise Backstrom, an online researcher for Overbrook University's fundraising department.  By day, she seems unassuming and skittish, if particularly skilled at her job, but by night, she gathers information by rooftops, ever watching and awaiting an inevitable betrayal.

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Villain of the Day:  August 10 (Widower)

Maria Donnelly was one of millions across the world.  She, like so many others, lost her husband during the OblivAeon crisis.  Greg was a National Guardsman; his regiment was all but decimated by a horde of Aeon Men while defending against a Scion incursion on the outskirts of Megalopolis.  The death of her daughter, Kristi, was even worse--Kristi's daycare provider collapsed in amongst all the chaos.  Her son, Aaron, survived the chaos--his elementary school was spared the destruction of so many other places.  But, a happy family of four had suddenly become a mere two.

Burying Greg and Kristi nearly broke Maria, but she was more concerned for Aaron than herself.  The 11 year old had withdrawn to the point of total isolation.  He wouldn't speak.  He would barely eat.  Grief counselors and group therapy had done nothing.  Maria had related her "Where were you?" story so many times, but Aaron would literally flee the scene if anyone brought up his father and sister, the devastation of OblivAeon, or the deaths of so many others.

Maria was desperate to find something that worked.  The man who called himself Jerome promised that he could make things work.  And, true to his word, The Widower fixed Aaron in the best way he knew how.

Maria met Jerome by total chance.  While picking up a latte from a local Harbrinks Coffee, she noted a plain white business card tacked to the local community board.  It simply read:  "Your Anguish Is Our Focus.  We Heal the Hurt." along with a phone number.  Lacking few other options and concerned for her son, Maria called the number.  

Jerome showed up at the Donnelly townhouse--Maria sold the family's home after the funeral--at nearly 10pm.  Maria immedately voiced her concerns, but Jerome insisted on coming in, then immediately headed up to Aaron's room.  He found the boy sprawled over his bed, his headphone-clad noggin drooping off the bed itself.  

What happened next, Maria still struggles to explain.  Jerome reached out with both hands, grasping Aaron's head.  A white-blue light began drifting out of Aaron's head and into Jerome's open mouth, as if Jerome were vacuuming away some field of energy within Aaron.  Maria moved to protest, but found herself paralyzed, unable even to speak in opposition, much less stop Jerome from what he was doing.  All the while, Aaron lay with his eyes lolled back in his head. After two minutes, the deed was done.  Jerome left without a word.

After getting over her shock, Maria was inclined to think that Jerome had worked some kind of miracle.  Aaron seemed to be back to his normal self; he went back to soccer practice, he hung out with friends.  He even laughed; something Maria had not seen him do in almost a year.  However, it quickly became apparent that Aaron's newfound joy came at some cost.  On the anniversary of Greg and Kristi's death, Maria suggested a day out, followed by a visit to the gravesite.  Aaron was dumbfounded.  Not only did he have only scant memories of his father and sister, but he seemed utterly incapable of any sort of grief or sorrow.  It was as if Aaron's ability to understand sadness had utterly been eliminated.

Maria's story is not a unique one.  Jerome, dubbed The Widower for his propensity to target women and children grieving the loss of their families, has struck on at least 8 other occasions.  None know truly what his motives are, outside of consuming the sadness of individuals, ranging from Megalopolis all the way to the ruins of San Alonzo.  And all it took was one short phone call...

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Villain of the Day:  August 11 (Passive Voice)

Michelle Kerrigan had a knack for getting people to calm down.

Throughout high school, she was the stable rock for all her friends.  During college, she became a peer mediator for her dormitory, resolving conflicts between roommates and quarrelling floormates.  Her degree in psychology led her towards pursuing an advanced degree in counseling, though she never quite made it that far.  Rather, she found herself reaching a compromise with something that should never have found its way into our world.

Her mind bonded to a spirit of complacency, Michelle found herself taking on the masked identity of Passive Voice; gifted with the ability to affect minds and conjure areas of emotional calm and acceptance, Michelle had every intention of becoming a hero.  She envisioned herself traveling to peace conferences and mediating between world leaders.  She envisioned herself bringing harmony to all manner of men and women across the globe.  And, when she was finally admitted to the Sentinels of Freedom program, it was like a door to her entire future had opened.

As it turned out, though?  World leaders don't tend to like being mind-controlled, even in subtle, positive ways.  After being taken to mediate a treaty negotiation between several central African countries, arguments immediately broke out as to Michelle's presence and her role within the negotiations.  As the delegates began actively arguing, Michelle felt the familiar calling in the recesses of her mind...and let loose with a wave of calm.

Those leaders never recovered.  To this day, each will comply with anything they are confronted with, taking even the merest suggestion as an absolute command and following others with every ounce of their being.

The international incident that ensued sealed Michelle's fate.  Her career as a hero--her chance at bringing about world peace--had ended as quickly as it it had begun.  The Sentinels of Freedom tendered her resignation before she had even returned to Megalopolis.  But, with the spirit in her mind aching to bring passivity and peace, Michelle's grasp on her own mind had become tenuous at best.

Since that day, Passive Voice has re-emerged a number of times, often targeting high-stakes negotiations, corporate takeovers, and the like.  In all cases, those individuals have become nothing short of drooling sycophants, eager to agree to anything Passive Voice wants.  The will is not their own, and that's just how Passive Voice wants it.

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Villain of the Day:  August 12 (Maelstrom)

Grady Shedd was never a even-keeled fellow.  After a chance encounter with an item belonging to The Idolator, Grady may be better described as 'unhinged'.

Grady and his family were among those citizens who attended the church founded by Samuel Humphrey, totally unaware that he had been using a Host-inhabited artifact to influence his entire flock.  When Humphrey turned against Fanatic, Grady and his family were among those on Humphrey's front lines, defending the deceptive preacher against the so-called "avenging angel".  As Humphrey's church burned and Fanatic branded the preacher with holy energy, Grady dashed back into the burning church, determined to keep the preacher's artifacts from burning along with the building itself.

The only item Grady managed to escape with was, in fact, a small scapular with an icon of St. Michael lancing a serpent with his spear.  When he emerged, only his family remained on the grounds, weeping of what they believed to be their deceased patriarch.  When Grady emerged, the scapular around his neck, there was an immediate sigh of relief.  As the local fire department screeched onto the scene and the conflagration brought low, Grady and his family headed home...

Now, Grady's wife, Aubrey, had a habit of buying lottery tickets.  Despite their tight finances, she always told Grady, "you can't win if you ain't playin'...", to which Grady would inevitably fly off the handle about the waste of money and his reluctance to "pay the stupid tax".  As the UltraBall started reaching the $400 million threshold, Grady came home to yet again find his refridgerator covered in lottery tickets.  He immediately shouted his displeasure across their house, as the temperature within the home jumped up 10 degrees.  Grady shouted and ranted and, as he did so, the kitchen curtains burst into flame.  Aubrey, thinking quickly, put them out, but the louder and longer that Grady ranted, the more chaos manifested throughout the house.  Fires sparked with each shout, arcs of lightning speared off of Grady's body, and wind whipped about as if Grady himself were the eye of a Maelstrom.

By this point, Grady was beyond reason.  Before he could harm herself or the children, Aubrey grabbed up the twins and fled the house.  When they returned, the house was naught but a leveled, smoking ruin.  Grady?  He was nowhere to be seen.

Since that day, Grady has wandered from place to place, struggling to understand his newfound powers.  He is aware that the St. Michael scapular seems to be the source of his abilties--he wears the scapular on a reinforced chain and hides it beneath his clothing, so as not to be obvious--though he is unsure as to 'how' the power works.  Thusfar, his anger has manifested in spontaneous gouts of flame, an aura of crackling lightning, and intense winds, though the true limits of his rage have yet to be tested.

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Villain of the Day:  August 13 (Manacle)

The being that wanders through the ruins of San Alonzo has been most often described as something out of Dickens' A Christmas Carol.  In reality, the truth has been so much more lethal than the apparitions of Jacob Marley.

Rumors have swirled as to the true identity of the figure.  Some rumors tell that she was a kidnapped starlet who had run afoul of the mob, only to be throwin in the the bay wrapped in heavy chains.  Others say that she was a forgotten patient at a mental hospital, left behind when the hospital was evacuated ahead of the OblivAeon event.  When she died, her spirit returned to haunt all those who dared return to the site of the hospital, never mind that no record exists for a mental hospital ever existing in that region.  Still others claim that the figure is not a woman at all; rather, the creature was a long-haired hippie who dared protest against the deforestation of a redwood strand to create a new bypass for the San Alonzo suburbs.  Having chained himself to one of those venerable trees, he was helpless when OblivAeon rampaged across the multiverse.

For those unfortunate souls to run across Manacle during the San Alonzo recovery efforts, though, the story is alarmingly consistent.  The creature stands alone, typically amid the rubble and ruin of some long-destroyed building.  The figure does not respond to any sort of advance or greeting, only turning to face the speaker with a slowly widening maw.  To those who have dared look close enough, obeservers claim that Manacle has no true teeth--rather, she has broken shards of metal, as if links of chain were snipped in half and grew up in place of her teeth.  Around it, long chains ending in heavy cuffs and spikes whirled and writhed as if they were angry serpents.  Unfortunately, nearly every survivor who has made it close enough to see these things has died within one week of exposure to Manacle.  

To scholars of the arcane, Manacle appears to be a trapped spirit of guilt, pulled forth into this realm by the collective survivor's guilt of all those who managed to survive the OblivAeon event.  And, while Manacle is dangerous enough on its own--being flayed alive by rusted chains is a fun time for precisely no one--the insidious aura surrounding the spirit is the true danger.  The longer that a being is in Manacle's presence, the more that the guilt of their collective sins weighs upon their conscience.  Within pure minutes, Manacle can induce utter despondency, leading individuals to utter self-destruction.  

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Villain of the Day:  August 14 (Doomsayer)

Ramona Fast had a reputation for being the office cynic.  Someone coughs?  Ramona was sure that everyone on the floor would be sick within the week.  A meeting appears on her OutBook calendar?  She braced for her firing interview.  Someone sends out an all-staff email?  Certainly, it meant a full disciplinary hearing.  Nevermind that Ramona was a quiet, dutiful worker who was usually pleasant to work with.

However, when disaster after disaster struck--as she watched Citizen Dawn, Grand Warlord Voss, Deadline, and Progeny wreak untold devastation year after year--something inside Ramona simply snapped.

Ramona knew it as well as anyone.  After conferring with her office's HR department, she decided to take a brief sabbatical and check herself into a local mental health ward.  The anxiety and dread she felt was simply too much.  She soon received a diagnosis for generalized anxiety and depression and entered a series of both group and individual therapy.  Her therapist, one Dr. Dale Avila, found Ramona pleasant at first, but she seemed to genuinely struggle with opening up to others, himself included.  Patients around her even started regressing, often complaining of her gloomy outlook making them reticent to discuss vital items of their own.

After three weeks of voluntary institutionalization, Ramona returned to work with no major improvements.  In fact, Ramona seemed to be worse off than ever, barely speaking to her colleagues outside of mandatory meetings.  

Within those meetings, though, something strange began to happen.  After an offhanded remark during a meeting about a recent investment strategy, their company announced a loss of nearly $4m in quarterly profits.  Three days after commenting on a coworker's choice in snacks, said coworker was wheeled out of their house on a gurney, set for a quadruple-bypass.  After mentioning the intense traffic during rush hour, three of her coworkers were injured in a multi-car pileup along the nearby interstate.

In truth, Ramona had become host to a spirit of dejection, with her merest negative suggestions causing the worst possible result in any case.  While Ramona has yet to use her powers purposefully, she has recognized her "correctness" in terms of speaking her truth.  She is not aware of the spirit of dejection's presence, however, and would likely balk at the idea of spirit possession.  Most notably, however, is that her abilities as a Doomsayer are capable of overwriting other probability-influencing powers, notably Setback's probability manipulation and The Harpy's numerological sorcery.  Within the presence of the Doomsayer, all your worst possibilities become manifest...

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Villain of the Day:  August 15 (Bedlam)

So many people tend to view Megalopolis as the shining city on a hill, serving as an example to the world with its heroic beacons shining from on-high.  So many tend to forget that Megalopolis suffers the same problems as other major cities--traffic, homelessness, hunger, urban strife, and more--only proportional to match its massive size. 

Among those homeless, something from another realm has taken root.  The more spiritually-attuned have come to know it as Bedlam.

It started with a street performer.  Carly Altman ran away from home at 17, choosing to eke out a living as a busker on the streets of Megalopolis' east side, rather than deal with her fraying home life for any longer than necessary.  While a high school graduate, Carly found difficulty in finding a job, leaving her to spend her nights on the streets among the numerous homeless throughout the city.  To all outside appearances, Carly was a sweet girl, merely down on her luck and in need of a helping hand.

Which, of course, made the day she snapped all the more shocking.

In the midst of playing her saxophone along 144th Street, Carly's eyes went wide with bewilderment.  She stopped mid-song, immediately going from person to person, asking them the most basic questions:  where was she?  what day was it?  what was her name?  Each time, restaurant patrons and pedestrians shied away from her, which only drove Carly deeper into reverie.  In the frenzy known only to those in true fear, she began swinging her beloved saxophone as a weapon, injuring four restaurant patrons and nearly killing a fifth before she was restrained.  As Megalopolis police handcuffed her and escorted her from the scene, Carly snapped out of the reverie, aghast at the bloodshed upon her hands.

To this day, Carly claims no knowledge of what happened.  Her official court statement was that, "Something just descended on my mind.  Something that just doesn't understand this place, something confused and panicking.  I don't know what it is, and it's gone now.  I need help..."

Carly pled guilt by reason of insanity and was remanded to Kingsport Mental Institution, but the chaos and confusion did not stop with her.  Over the course of the next six months, no less than eight additional cases have emerged, mainly among the homeless underclass of Megalopolis.  In all cases, the accused claim an ever-growing sense of confusion and lack of understanding until something seems to override their mental faculties, lashing out with whatever weapons are closest at hand.  And woe betide any who stand in the way of understanding.

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Villain of the Day:  August 16 (J.R. Milholand)

He's the keeper of the keys / He'll put your mind at ease / He's guaranteed to please / back by popular demand...

John Robert Milholand just wants to see you happy. 

A Rook City native, Milholand--JR, to those he's just meeting; Johnny to his friends--Johnny takes care of his mom, washes his car, and lives the sort of life Bryce Springsteel would be proud of.  By night, Johnny sings lead and plays guitar with "Refinery", a five man band that serves up classic rock favorites and original pieces across the Rook City bar scene.  While Johnny's a passable guitarist at best, his soulful vocals have earned him more than a few admirers over the years.

What's most unique about Johnny is that he always seems to be able to get people exactly what they need.

After a gig at the El Dorado Cantina, one of his hangers-on, a thirtys-ish woman named Alyssa, came up to Johnny in tears.  Her mom, an Overbrook High cafeteria worker, had broken her hip in a car accident.  Without health insurance--Greater Overbrook School District had downgraded their cafeteria staff to part-time hourly, thereby cutting all their benefits--Alyssa and her mom would surely lose their longtime home.  They were already behind on their mortgage, verging on bankruptcy, with homelessness waiting in the wings.

Imagine Alyssa's surprise, then, when her mortgage statement the next month came with a payment number much less than it once had been.  Her hands trembled as she read, "Your final payment:  $142.87.  Your prompt payment will conclude your mortgage obligations to Overbrook Federal Bank.  This account will be closed; congratulations on your home-ownership."

Alyssa came back to Refinery's next show, eager to tell Johnny the news.  As she related her story, Johnny gave a knowing wink, "I've got what you need, babe."

Three weeks later, the Overbrook Federal Bank exploded in a failed robbery.  

So it seems to go, so long as Johnny is around.  Individuals come to him with a problem, which gets solved almost immediately in a seemingly-miraculous way.  An experimental treatment becomes available free of cost for a dying child, a down-on-his-luck workman finds a job where he's able to take care of his two children, a college student manages to pick up a last-minute scholarship so that they can finish their degree.  But, each time something miraculous happens, within a few weeks, something karmatically disastrous happens to a group tangentially related to that individual.  The hospital suffers a major funding setback, the workman's old employer declares bankruptcy, and the university's dorm catches fire.

Never mind that.  Johnny's always got what you need.  He's guaranteed to please.

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Villain of the Day:  August 17 (Mister Blank)

No one ever sees him smile.

No one ever sees him laugh or cry.  Even in the heat of combat, the mystery man known as Mister Blank could barely be said to bat an eye.  He is remorseless, unflappable, and utterly without passion.  This is, of course, because Mister Blank is utterly without emotion.  And those creatures born of such paltry 'feelings' have no choice but to await their destruction at his hands.

Marcus Wong was the first on Earth to meet his end at the hands of Mister Blank.  A US Marine overcome by impotent rage during the OblivAeon crisis, he found his mind opened to a spirit of rage which was on the verge of overwhelming him.  His screams of rage could shatter steel, flame erupted from his eyes, and tendrils of white-hot energy erupted from his very being.  When some of the new recruits of Dark Watch confronted Marcus outside of Rook City, Marcus took the recruits to the proverbial cleaners, with only the carapace-generating Locust left to frantically call for backup.

That's when Mister Blank arrived.  Wearing a simple white dress shirt and slacks, he approached the spirit-maddened Marcus.  Locust shouted for the man to get out of the way, to take cover, but Blank did not react.  Instead, Blank walked forward, confronting Marcus.  Wong lashed at Blank with his tendrils of energy, though each time Marcus attacked, Blank simply seemed to be...elsewhere.  Within seconds, Blank had closed the gap with Marcus and drawn a slender stiletto made of blackened iron.  Blank plunged it into Marcus' abdomen and white-yellow energy flared from Wong's eyes.  After but a moment, the light vanished, and Marcus Wong lay dead at Mister Blank's feet.

Locust stood, watching incredulously.  She jogged up to Blank, calling for him to drop the knife...only for Blank to simply vanish.

Mister Blank has appeared on at least four occasions since then, each time eliminating someone whose mind has been exposed to a Host spirit.  However, this fact has eluded even the most storied arcanists in the Multiverse, and The Harpy and her comrades have struggled to piece together the clues leading to the mysterious spirit-dimension.  To all appearances, Mister Blank is nothing more than yet another enigma, slaying one unfortunately soul after another, his black iron blade long stained red from the blood of the unwitting.

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Villain of the Day:  August 18 (Mercy)

Registered nurse Allie Amspaugh worked the night shift at Saint Marguerite's Hospice Care Facility.  She didn't mind the late hours--Allie was a night owl all the way through college and dreaded waking up the morning--so the 10pm-6am shift at the nurses' station didn't faze her.

Nor did the continual cycle of death.

While Saint Marguerite's was well known for its cancer-treatment center and its cardiologists, the facility had become best known for its hospice care, providing end of life services and comfort for the elderly in their final weeks and months.  While not numb to the issues of her patients, Allie had found ways to put her sadness aside and simply provide the best possible care for her patients as she could.

However, Allie was not alone.

Three in the morning.  All was quiet on the 8th floor.  While Allie's monitors slowly made their paces through the patient rooms, her leftmost monitor was already set on one the newest season of a favorite QuikFlix show, ready to continue through her shift with ease. 

But then...a flick of motion caught the corner of her left eye.  A female figure, clad in the sort of old-timey nurse's outfit one might expect from the 50s.  Black Mary Janes padded their way towards Allie's nurses station as the woman came closer.  Allie eyed the nurse up:  no ID hung from her outfit; her eyes were a deep, mournful brown and her skin just a shade too pale.

"Can I see your ID, please?" Allie's voice quavered, "Visiting hours are over; you are staff, right?"

The woman nodded, proceeding to ignore Allie's questions utterly, "These patients...they are all going to die, aren't they?"

Allie cocked her head, "I mean, well..." She struggled to come up with the corporate, sanitized answer, "I'm not at liberty to discuss individual cases, but many of the individuals here are elderly and approaching the end.  However, we have a number of..."

As Allie moved to make eye contact once more, the woman already started walking down the hall toward the patient rooms.  Within an instant, the figure was at the far end of the hallway, as Allie herself struggled to stand, her legs feeling weak and flimsy.

The woman raised her arms; as she did, every monitor and sensor in the wing erupted in cacaphony.  Heart monitors flatlined, breathing monitors squealed.  Allie fell to her knees as emergency personnel rushed in.  However, the damage had been done:  not a single patient on the 8th floor of Saint Marguerite's survived.

Allie's claims as to the mysterious woman went all but uninvestigated.  With so few details beyond brown eyes and pale skin, none could imagine what could cause such an anomaly.  Some believe that it may have been a gas leak or some other environmental strangeness, but others?  Even the most cold-hearted would never think of this as Mercy.

415

Villain of the Day:  August 19 (Blackout)

The entire staff of the Overbrook Utility Workers Federal Credit Union awoke with a start.

Collectively, the 20-odd persons in the bank looked at one another blearily.  Security Guard Blevins slowly rose from where he lay, slumped against one of the credit union's faux-marble columns.  Bank teller Linda Iler picked her head up from her station wearily, a postie-note still half-stuck to her cheek.  Manager Willard Thomas stretched and yawned, rising from his ergonomic office chair to address his employees, "What just happened?  All I can remember is being just...so tired..."

Meanwhile, half a city away, Eric Tucker was already mentally counting his ill-gotten gains and working on coming with a codename.  Somnor?  No...too weird.  The Sandman?  No, that's cheesy.  Blackout!  Now there's a name...

For years, Eric labored along an assembly line in a less-than-nice portion of Rook City, putting bolts onto heavy machinery parts for Pike Industries.  However, the long house of tedium and unpaid overtime soon began to take their toll on his mental and physical health.  Despite working for 12-14 hours a day, Eric found himself laying awake at night, wishing for some degree of sleep.  HIs eyes were bleary, his gait was slow, and he often had to have people repeat instructions to him, simply so they would stick.  Simply put, Eric was exhausted.  He had tried to put in a vacation-request with his supervisor, but each time,  it was declined:  "Too much to do; we'll buy out your vacation time at the end of the year."  Money was hardly the problem--Eric never had time to spend any of it, with so many hours put in at the plant--he just needed sleep.

A night like many others, Eric sat awake, staring at the Later Than Late Show, watching a has-been comedian rattle off yet another slapstick routine, when a wave of nausea washed over him.  In an instant, Eric dashed to the bathroom, his head hanging over the toilet as he dry-heaved away.  But, as nothing came out, Eric sat on the edge of his bathtub and held his head in his hands....and slept.

Something entered Eric's mind that night; something willing to bargain with him.  It told him, quite clearly, that it could take away all this.  It could give away all that exhaustion and fatigue, leaving him as bright and fresh as a spring rain shower.  He'd never have to sleep again; others would do it for him, with but a wave of the hand.  Eric--exhausted and not quite thinking straight--was on board with this plan immediately.  The spirit of enervation that bonded with him that day eagerly spread its influence; every ounce of exhaustion or fatigue that Eric felt, it could distribute to others near him, slowing their steps, and driving them to sleep or even unconsciousness.  Meanwhile, Eric grew all the more vigorious, sustained by otherworldly energies that replaced his basic needs.

Eric, as Blackout, is fairly unambitious in terms of his newfound powers.  While he regularly lets his mental companion "out to play", he mainly does so in ways that will allow him a bit of extra cash or some material possession he desires.  Eric has long since quit his job at Pike Industrial, though he did come into work one last time to drop off his resignation, and to ensure that his slave-driving supervisor took a little catnap in front of an active loading zone.  As is, Eric is more than content to live up the high-life, never sleeping or even requiring rest, but always eager to inflict it on others.

416

If I had this power, I would absolutely be a villain.

Although you could always help out people with insomnia...

417

Villain of the Day:  August 20 (The Forlorn Boy)

As found on the Rook City Global IRC Channel SubReadr:

"Go to the front desk at any mental institution at 2:38 in the morning.  Be precise with the time; you must arrive exactly at 2:38, or this won't work.  

"There, at the desk, a sleepy-eyed worker will be staring at their computer.  Do not address them.  Do not speak to them.  Do not even look at them.  Sign in on the sign-in sheet and begin walking towards the main wards."

"The desk-worker will call to you three times.  If you speak after the first or second time, she will leap upon you and tear out your throat with their teeth.  Your death will be as slow and painful as it will be bloody.  You must wait until the third time, at which point you must whip about, look the worker in the eyes, and scream at them, 'I will not be impeded!'

"The worker will freeze in their tracks, their eyes flashing a sickly green as they back off.  They will kneel at your feet and offer their servitude, but to do so is to abandon your quest.  Instead, ask the worker, 'Where has The Forlorn One been hidden?'  The worker will point down the hallway and hold their head in their hands, pleading with you not to go.  If you wish to leave, leave now--it will be your only chance to retain your sanity.

"Make your way down the hall into the wards.  The farther you go, the more the scenery will warp and twist, degenerating into a ruin with each step you take.  The doors are not numbered, though you will surely hear things to harrow your soul and tempt your darkest urges behind them.  Do not tarry there, or you are surely lost.  Keep focus and walk to the end of the hall, then place your hand against the weathered concrete wall.  

"You will hear him before you see him.  Your hand will grow cold as frost caresses the concrete blocks, coating your hand and wrist.  You must not pull away, or your hand will shatter like so much glass.  You must not scream, or the ice will coat your lungs and you will die breathless.  Weather the pain and close your eyes.  In an instant, the wall beneath your fingertips will vanish and the frost will abate.  With your eyes closed, you must push ahead.

"Whatever you do, do not open your eyes.  To look upon The Forlorn Boy is to take his place, lost and forgotten by all mankind.  He will ask you how you found him; you must not answer.  You must say to him only one thing:  a single question that leads unto that hidden truth that none could have possibly seen.  If you have made it this far and have followed the steps correctly, The Forlorn Boy will answer you, though beware the path, which will be haunted for the rest of your days.  If you have misstepped, the Boy will be upon you taking each of your senses, one by one, until you awaken to the rest of your days in abject misery.

"If The Forlorn Boy has answered your question, you have but scant moments to flee.  He will plead with you to stay, to talk, to not consign him back to his eternal loneliness, but you must not hesitate.  To hesitate means to take his place.  Flee back down the hallway into the darkness...

"You will awaken upon the street outside the mental institution.  In your mind shall burn the answer to the question you asked, though for the rest of your days, only one form will ever greet your eyes in the mirror:  that of the boy you left in darkness, in pursuit of that which you seek.  Forget him not."

418

That is some top-tier creepypasta. :D

419

I wish I could take credit for the format of this one, but the style is based on a now-defunct creepypasta-esque site known as The King of Wolves.
“The Objects” series from that site would fit right at home in the SCP Foundation or MarbleHornets.

420

Villain of the Day:  August 21 (Conquest)

Waldemar Heinig wanted to win.  He simply didn't care whom he ran over in pursuit of victory.

A South African long-distance runner, Waldemar was a 6-time Johannesburg Triathalon winner when he branched out into power-lifting and hammer throw.  At the Olympics two years prior, Waldemar brought home no less than 8 medals...only one of which was gold.

When he returned from those games, Waldemar was incensed.  His trainers did their best to console him--the track was not ideal, his shoes were not those that he typically preferred, the water in the area had a higher than normal sulfite content--but Waldemar would hear none of this.  He trained harder than ever before; he dropped to 4% body fat, he crosstrained in ways that most trainers would warn away from, all in the pursuit of those elusive gold medals.

Waldemar knew he couldn't resort to juicing or steroids to win his medals, but there had to be something more he could do beyond his 24/7 training regimen.  As it turned out, all he needed was a deal with the proverbial devil.

While Apostate's voice had been ominously quiet throughout the OblivAeon event, he saw in Waldemar quite the promising opportunity.  Through proxy followers--and more than a little long-forgotten magic--Apostate called forth a spirit of triumph to touch Waldemar's mind.  The pair were so alike in temperament that their personalities enmeshed, twisting and morphing Waldermar's body.  Apostate smiled, "Conquest is what you wanted; Conquest is what you shall be!"

Within mere days, it became obvious to all those around him that Waldemar was no longer concerned with mere medals and trophies.  Rather, he looked to the world's heroes and immediately thought:  "I must be more than man.  More than alien.  I will best them *all*."  Imbued with an absurd degree of strength, stamina, and quickness, Waldemar immediately turned his eyes to Megalopolis, where these heroes could be found and cast down...