Saviors Of The Night:A DC Elseworld

[drrockso20]

Saviors Of The Night:A DC Elseworld or Earth-V going by Multiverse lingo is a world based partly on the events of Batman:Vampire specifically Batman&Dracula:Red Rain & most of Batman:Bloodstorm though with a different ending and continuation and taking influence from White Wolf Games' World of Darkness series and Chaosium Games Call of Cthulu series as well as many other works some of them will be a surprise. Come and share your version of DC's greatest heroes and villains and lets see what the night brings...

p.s. I would prefer that you send via personal message first your submission/s so that I can tell you what changes might be needed to make it fit with my vision of this world though you can post them if you want its just a preference that would help minimize contradictions in this world's story

[drrockso20]

The Long Night

The air is thick with blood. It is not the true scent of a battlefield where warm plasma flows from wounds and the cold presses in over the steam of killing and being killed. This blood stinks, it festers as it congeals in the veins and what pours onto the floor is as black as the brigand’s soul. It is the cold blood of vampires that stains the stones.

The scene s bizarre, such a sight more fit to dream or legend than the waking world. More than a dozen of the wretched nosforeatu lie still, not dead for their lives had been lost long ago. Even this could be reconciled by the rational mind, but perpetrating the massacre of the dead are not mortals but a fierce felinthrope and a vampire who is without sin.

The massive figure is cloaked in the raiment’s of a creature of the night, his fangs shining in the night and his eyes fierce red in battle lust. Despite his appearance so like some dark pagan god he retains more humanity than the one human who presides over the madness below him.

The Joker, licks a sucker and dryly observes his undead henches be torn through like a the wrapping on a child’s Christmas present. As his undead lycanthrope lieutenant meets his end like an Indiana Jones movie then Joker removes the hard candy.

Selina Kyle, now the Catwoman pauses letting the battle fury drain as she clutches the heart of the creature that had once sought to hunt her. She had escaped this undead maggot, but he had managed to pass one of his curses on to her. For that alone she had vowed to end him. Her mind was clear as she crushed his rotted heart into ruin, just to be sure.

“Well, that showed a lot of heart, Creach. Idiot. Now there is only one sucker left—and bats has her cornered . . .” the Joker remarked dryly.

“Proving yet again that if you want something done right, you’ve got to do it yourself,” the Joker concluded. As he spoke he lifted his crossbow, the oak projectile long since loaded and needing only a finger on the trigger. One can say many things about the Joker, but it could never be said he was not a fine marksman.

The pure vampire holds the undead woman as her unlife runs out over his hands, her heart pierced by his stake.

“To death, in peace,” he speaks the words softly but strong. The words were not his, they belonged to Tanya who had walked the long night before him, and like her he knew he killed nothing, for his prey was already dead.

The oak bolt strikes true, impaling his heart. There is no sudden blackness, no light at the end of the tunnel, only loss as the towering figure falls.

Whether it is the laughing clown or instinct that draws the Catwoman out of her bloody reverie is unimportant. Her mind snapped back to the battle like a blooded hound finally let off the leash. Her long nights companion lay prone over the body of his last kill, and above her mates slayer hooted in victory. The red rage was full of the malice that only the boiling blood of the living can claim.

The Joker is truly insincere in his celebration. He had in truth never expected to win and survive. After all he was caught up in an epic story and there was absolutely no doubt he was the perfect villain for the hero. And in the best stories the hero triumphs tragically over the villain. For evil to make a clean sweep, it was like one of those pointless mean tricks children play on each other. Or long of those philosophical bores trying to show the audience how grim and hopeless life was, as if anyone needed tobe told that!

Thus when his instincts scream danger he is thrilled, thinking a more fitting finale is in order. He hears the cat before he sees her and dashes back into the rain. Red rain, a joke in poor taste to his twisted mind. The novelty of the east coasts environmental disaster was an irritant to him. A bloody rain was all well and good, he had once made a joke of it that it was nature bleeding from man raping their mother earth. Not really funny though, some damn ecobitch had beaten him to the line! Besides even the best jokes go stale with repetition, purple rain would be better now.

He dashes into the church, unsure if the cross thing worked on cat people. The crash of the doors behind him answered that question. Classical tactics called for the high ground so he beat a hasty retreat to the stairs, he had left the door open, lucky him.

Ah, it opened off at a lovely balcony lined with gargoyles and saints. The perfect setting for an epic conclusion. Rather than pause he spun around skidding over the wet stone. Right on cue the frisky feline emerged running on all fours and leaping like some movie tiger. The bolt flew beautifully and bit into sweet furry flesh.

The wood sank into her left arm, her chest protected. The pain was ignored the weight shifted o her right arm as she sprang one final time coming upon her prey. She scratched and at his purple cloak and ghastly flesh. He smelled worse than the vampires. Theirs was the stench of something long rotten, save for Bruce, but this was something had never been good, less than shit.

Rage did not a good fighter make, she hurt him but he was not near dead yet. Stronger than he seemed he actually forced her back a bit with a fist her chest. The opening was small but he used it brining his fists together and hammering down on her head. That gave him the next one too, a solid kick landing in her side knocking her over and pining her against the railing.

He is talking, complaining, she cannot hear him, the beast is ruling unchallenged. With the cunning of the cat she lays beaten, saving her strength for an end. He is cocky he kicks for her stomach again, not a real calculated attack, a tyrant hitting his long broken subject.

The move is flawless she seizes the leg in the vice grip of her good hand and rising grabs a hold of his coat. One motion sends him over the side falling with the tainted rain.

She clues there in the rain panting letting the pain finally creep in. At last to satisfy her returning intellect she raises herself to look over the railing, the sewers have been opened below, rather than seeing the Jokers pale corpse smashed below she gazes into a black abyss.

“All the quicker for him to get to Hell,” she decides. Selina now back in control retraces her steps, pain and fatigue of the spirit robbing her of grace. The crosses that fill the sanctuary are beautiful she realizes. She had never been terribly religious, but she knew now that this symbol truly could protect the innocent from darkness. The thought was a small comfort, but still a spark in the darkness.

Somehow she traversed the way back to her mate’s side. Selina did not recall anything after the crosses. As she rolls him over to face her, the horrid wood jutting from him, she recalls that the cross symbolizes resurrection. The concept was a foul one to her, when the dead rose it was to bring misery.

She pulls back the cowl to see his face, and finds it beautiful. Not the least bit effeminate, strong, noble, and what lines it held spoke of long nights in his mortal years where a troubled lord looked out over his city.

She could not stand to see the wood continue to violate her long nights companion. At some point she had freed her own arm of the wound, now she wrapped her good hand around the blood stained wood and with a sucking jerk pulled it free. She let herself weep the fact coming home, he was gone.

“T-to death in-” she began as he had taught her.

“Selina?” it was only a whisper of a single word. Yet it was salvation, the long night need not end yet.





this segment written by Herr Frage based on a plot outline from myself hope you enjoy it and remember PM me your contributions and please comment on this segment and future ones

[Herr Frage]

Thank you for the credit.

I look forward to seeing where you end up going with this.

[drrockso20]

your welcome my friend

[Herr Frage]

You going to do anything else with this?

[drrockso20]

yes I am its just that we've recently rearranged my room so I wasn't able use a computer long enough to make anything particularly long and I have some more things for you to help me with to make this most excellent and I hope other people will want to contribute to this world

[Snake Featherston]

A suggestion:

Since Raven is one of the genuinely supernatural heroes of the DCU, might she not be kept in spirit by being a scientific hybrid, instead of a sorcerous one?

Perhaps, instead of a daughter of a demon, the creation of the merger of an unknown chemical resembling Hypnocil from the Elm Street Films and standard superheroverse super-science? It would be humorous to see a Raven again in contradiction to the standard DCU hero, but instead of being a creature of the night, a creature of reason.



I can just see it now....

[Herr Frage]

Hey, that reminds me I have had an alternate Raven origin/style on the back burner for months. I have not read her comics so it is mostly a hybrid of the animation and my own twisted imagination.

Interested Doc?

[Snake Featherston]

Originally Posted by Herr Frage

Hey, that reminds me I have had an alternate Raven origin/style on the back burner for months. I have not read her comics so it is mostly a hybrid of the animation and my own twisted imagination.

Interested Doc?

Well...

I am. I have my own alternate Ravenesque character for a superhero story I'm working on.

Might be interesting to compare.

[drrockso20]

I was actually just going to use a modified version of the regular origin for raven but I could integrate some of your ideas and snake featherston please continue suggesting ideas they are most welcome

[Snake Featherston]

Originally Posted by drrockso20

I was actually just going to use a modified version of the regular origin for raven but I could integrate some of your ideas and snake featherston please continue suggesting ideas they are most welcome

Well...

the large majority of DCU heroes are either scientifically or willpower derived (albeit, comic-book science, but even so...). In this scenario, you've got the heroes as semimystical or fantastic characters, so I thought that Raven should be scientifically derived.

Another suggestion I have for Solomon Grundy is that, like Raven, instead of being supernatural, he should be scientific. Perhaps a man in a coma gifted with a drug like PCP (Banesque, yes, but bear with me), that only comes active on the rhyme being spoken?

As for Trigon himself, I think it might be funny to have his name as the name of the chemical injected into a person that wondered into a secret society of scientists in a mystic world. So...instead of being the half-human daughter of a demon, she's the hybridization of a drug designed to unleash a ravenlike force (or really, anything reflecting the subconscious) and that insinuates itself into your DNA, a drug named...Trigonite.

Not a druggie, just the victim of eugenics gone wrong.

[Herr Frage]

Intriguing, I too envision Raven as a tragic figure bound by bloodline.

However, I must respectfully disagree on your scientific approach. This TL seems ripe for drinking deeply from the cup of mystical madness that served Roland Morpheus.

Let's plant a garden that will bar fruits of insanity that both disgust and overawe. None of that Doctor Strange bright magic versus' dark magic, but the magic of the old woman and Constantine at his peak. The kind of red pulsing occultism that coursed through from hell, which would make madness wisdom and reason the scrawlings of an infant.

Ah, I seem to be ready to return to one of my other works judging by what I am writing.

Ta ta.

[Snake Featherston]

Originally Posted by Herr Frage

Intriguing, I too envision Raven as a tragic ggiure bound by bloodline.

However I must respectfully disagree o your scientific approach. This TL seems ripe for drinking deeply from the cup of mystical madness that served Roland Morpheus.

Let's plant a garden that will bar fruits of insanity that both disgust and overawe. None of that Doctor Strange bright magic versus' dark magic, but the magic of the old woman and Constantine at his peak. The kind of red pulsing occultism that coursed through from hell, which would make madness wisdom and reason the scrawlings of an infant.

Ah, I seem to be ready to return to one of my other works judging by what I am writing.

Ta ta.

And I must respectfully disagree with you how you interpret the character. In regular DC-verse, she is an atypical form of superhero, as very few DCU heroes, male or female, derive their powers from sorcery. There's Zatanna, Doctor Fate, and the Spectre, but the first two are the main contact of regular heroes and Joe Sixpack with sorcery.

So, Raven should keep to that spirit in a mystic DCU, as a scientific derivation, not a magic derivation. Trigon, thus, is not an all-powerful demon lord, but instead the name of the plant from which the chemical that gives her her powers is based on. Trigon the plant is seldom found, but contact with it grants people access to rather....disturbing forms of powers, including slightly harder-edged versions of Raven's comic book powers with a few edges from the animated series drawn in. When the plant Trigon comes into contact with people, it insinuates itself into their genes, altering them heavily. Raven's first contact with that alteration destroys the secret science society of Azarath Foundry.

If Superman and Batman are products of fantastic worlds and creatures, then Raven should be a product of sci-fi science. It's only fitting.

[drrockso20]

I thought of a compromise I'm going with herr frage's origin but I will use your idea about the drugs

[Herr Frage]

The Laughing Raven

She stirred and woke in her nest, nothing in particular rousing her from dreams of smoke and shadow. Having slept fitfully, she decided it was a good time to be about her business. With a word and gesture she cleared away the broken furniture above, letting her lift up the floorboards that concealed her nest. Aforesaid nest was a rounded hole in the floor emptying into a crawl space she had filled with discarded clothes, blankets and other soft materials scanvenged from street and dumpster.

Hauling herself out of the warm fabric onto the cool wood floor she stretched and replaced boards, with the debris back in place even a discerning eye would not easily detect her resting place. A brief inspection of the floor allowed her to locate the loose board that concealed her clothes and other supplies. Discarding the oversized shirt that served as her sleeping garment she pulled on her uniform and midnight black cloak.

Personal hygiene was the next concern. Which to her amounted to brushing her teeth with the aid of some bottled water and a toothbrush picked up in Fawcet City. Next she combed what tangles had formed in her loose purple hair, and finally with a wet rag scrubbed down her gray skin with the smallest amount of magic.

Finally her rituals lead to breakfast, emptying some powdered milk into a glass she filled the container with some red rain water she had collected. Pink beverage in hand she went to be one of her windows to look out on the city.

It was so different to the sprawling metropolises she had previuosly helped protect. The Narrows were true to their name, to much packed into to little space. From her room in the abandoned tenement she watched how the sun dyed the sky crimson and cast half the city in blood red. The other half caught in the shadows had already descended into a near night with some people already flicking their lights on.

Steam and smoke rose into the air, and the sharp wind that tore through the canyons carried the scents of human civilization, piss, blood, excrement, rotted food, and the faint hint of reproductive fluids. She drank in the beauty of the city she had found and sipped away at the mildly poisonous beverage she had prepared.

When the sun had given up the ghost and she had rinsed her cup and replaced it beneath the floor she decided it was time for some fun. The door to her room had long since been knocked off its hinges, but she had laid runes beneath the graffiti that dotted the building which insured no one thwould even think about entering. Humming tunelessly she made her way up to the roof and took in the night of the Narrows and the wider city of Gotham resting on its isles. The night was starless, the city could not banish the darkness which lay in wait around each corner but it had managed to chase away those little bits of light, leaving the moon dull and lonely in the sky. Like any human city it was light up, in homage to a fear of darkness mankind strived to drive it back by singing its edges with fire, but all they did was create a world of harsh light and deeper shadows, neither welcoming.

She did not have to speak to rise into the air and take flight, the only sound her cloak ruffling in the wind. She did not bother to pull up her hood letting the wind pull through her hair and the shadows play across a grinning face. Her passage was swift, one shadow darting among many. She therilled to sharp turns and acrobatics as she made her way through the senseless network that divided up her island. Spotting a clothesline coming up she bared her teeth and reached with one hand to grab it as she passed. Stopping her forward motion she was carried around by her grip three times in a loop on the line, until she settled hanging over the streets.

Her old allies would have been utterly shocked by what she did next, she laughed. Not the grim or sarcastic sound she had used rarely in their presence, but a rich sound of sincere merriment. As it was a boy heard and looked his window, to see something large and dark dangling from a line amidst drying clothes (her cloak made her appear far larger than her petit form).

Noticing this she gave him a wave before swinging up and out of sight.

Realizing she had drawn near a most potent source of nourishment she halted in her course and rose to alight on a slanted rooftop. Arkham Asylum, she could feel the pitch miasma that enshrouded the ancient structure. She had learned the building was less than a century and a half old and had served as an asylum for a little over eighty years. However, in this city where so much changed with the season's the structure was ancient by comparison. Erected by a man seeking to contain demons and exorcise them from his patients, what was meant to be a beacon of reason had become an outcropping of hell. She could not tell if the darkness of the Narrows pooled and congealed here or flowed outward sickening the island, but she liked it.

Her allies could never understand her, it was no vice on their part simply a matter of essential differences. She was born to a world of silence were the suffering and despair of countless beings permeated everything. Having been cast into this world of light and happiness she had been left in misery by such unfamiliarity. She did not truly enjoy people suffering, like a predator she did not eat meat for love of killing, but because it was how she lived. This was their home not her’s and she did not wish harm to the people who inhabited it.

To that end she had allied herself to the individuals who sought to ease the suffering of humanity and punish those who inflicted the suffering. They had proven themselves comrades worthy of trust and some degree of friendship, but her nature by necessity excluded her from their flock. She was not certain the mystics of this realm knew of the Forlorn Flock, but the risk was enough to necessitate concealing her nature. If they leartned the truth of her they would be obliged to destroy her, she did not begrudge them the sentiment. She had traded her Forlorn name for the title Raven to further safeguard against the discovery, the lovely birds called to her mind infants and comforted her with the familiar shape.

All this to spite the malevolent creature that had flung Raven from her Flock to this strange world, even though the triumph of darkness would have made her life easier. The malice of battles and the comraderie she had found had made her stay here bearable, but far from comfortable.

Having felt this city during her wanderings she could no more remain among the heros than a moth could hold back from the flame. The red rain started to fall as Raven was lost in her thoughts. Here she could serve her true nature and live as her kind were meant too, the rain dripped onto the roof from her still form, clean and clear.

She heard a shout and looked down to see a woman being assailed. She grinned pulling her hood over her soaked hair and opening all her eyes. Most simply fled at the sight of her darkened form and twin sets of glowing eyes, while others were more fun and drew it out. Either way she enjoyed her work.

As the scene unfolded the girl who was even mre than she seemed was herself watched. As she finished the watcher was satified for now and departed on dark wings, Raven none the wiser.



Important Note:
drrockso20 provided feedback on and finally greenlighted this segment before I posted it. This process must be respected to avoid the contradictory and confusing mess of the DC cannon. That is all.

[Herr Frage]

What? No one has anything to say?

Yes, this is a bump.

[Snake Featherston]

Very nice.

A question: who watches the watchman?

[Herr Frage]

Gott.

Or if we are not speaking in the abstract sense, Wayne is watching Raven, and Kyle is watching Wayne. And I suppose Herr Pennyworth is watching the pair of them.

Also I like your signature Herr Featherston. Reminds me of a line from one of my favorite novels:

"If the gods are just my Lady Stark, then why is the world full of pain and sorrow?" -Ser Jaime

"Because of men like you." -Lady Catelyn

[drrockso20]

Mr.Featherston before I answer your question my response to Herr Frage is that you are right in your interpretation of the question the heroes of this world do keep an eye on each other but to answer your question Mr.Featherston yes those who bear watching will play a role in this world along with a whole bunch of other heroes & villains who normally do not share the same earth as the likes of batman and superman

[Herr Frage]

If we are talking Moore I put in a request for Rorsarch. He would fit in well with any dark TL, and I could easily see him stalking the streets of Gotham as crimson rain pours down.