Kozmos
Jew Detective
das said:How did THAT get here?
The French have a copy,it's a small one but good for blowing up
CONES - The Hero (or Villian) Within Us All
- Thread starter conehead234
- Start date
The French have a copy,it's a small one but good for blowing up
blackheart
unenlightened
Can we go into other countries or do we have to stay in our own?
Kozmos
Jew Detective
Of cours you can,I just blew up a statue in France.
conehead234
Braves on the Warpath
Stats are still not updated yet. They will be up later today.
conehead234
Braves on the Warpath
Storm Rider said:
Well actually I was tired and I wanted to go to bed.
Storm Rider
Essence of Awesome
- Joined
- Jul 14, 2004
- Messages
- 288
Oh. Well that's slightly more encouraging.
The sun rose over Istanbul, as it had every morning. The first rays of sunlight fell upon the city with varying degrees of both reluctance, and joy. The erst while criminals of the city feared for their lives, praying to Allah the Merciful for saftey against the Black Horseman, the hero the criminal population had nick-named Death. They feared the sun rising almost as much as they feared the night, the promise of his fury, of Death's hand in the form of an axe extingushing life. The criminals feared the judgement of Death. Of the Absolution the armored man promised to those who had broken the law.
The Policemen, at the same time, were worried over the man that had single handly dropped the crime rate of a declining and over populated Istanbul. They worried over what a man who had bathed in the blood of criminals in extremely violent massacures, a man who had made criminals quake in fear where the police never had. The police were afraid of what could happen, might happen, if the avenger nick-named Death would do if he went on an insane rampage, as his so-called justice had indicated. The tourtured criminals, the limbs seperated from men's bodies indicated a man who was angry, a rage that was unsafe for the people of Istanbul. The dirty cops worried also, but for different reasons.
The regular citizens of Istanbul awoke to stories of deaths and killings of scum. Some cheered, some were disgusted by the Horseman, by Death. Most were uncaring, apathetic to the stories of random masscures. He only targeted criminals after all, he wouldn't go after them? They were sheep, uncaring to the world outside their homes, their work places. The deaths of the deserving seemed to be world outside, a world only shown in the flashes of news they managed to catch.
The man himself, responsible for fear and worried misgivings, of justified joy, was waking to the morning sun with a smile in his face, and a sadistic glint in his eye. He knew the reports better than anyone else, being the one at the cause. He read about the effects of his death-dealing in the morning paper with malevolent joy. He noticed the drop off of crime, the way would be criminals tampered off at the fear of death...no, one of his deaths. But, the joy his recieved in the drop in the crime rate was growing to be a dull ache in his heart. He could not find any joy anymore in hearing how his destructive deeds helped the public. No, he now found satisfaction in a much more...repugnant nature.
In all his attempts to secure justice, to bring his own form of judgement on people like his family's killers, his death dealing was what he used most. Criminals would be scared to commit crimes, if they knew what awaited them was death, he had thought. Faaris justifed the deaths of these, truthfully horid human beings, because even through their morals were dark, he couldn't bring himself to kill in cold blood with out the rage of his family's death clawing at him. But kill he did, and he reaped the benifits months later when Crime dropped in Istanbul. But, it was a hollow victory, since the time when Faaris had wanted that had already passed, washed away in the blood and screams of those unfourtunte to draw Faaris notice. The dream of a lower crime rate had been destoryed when Faaris had stopped detesting the nick-name of Death, or Death Caller, and started revealing in it.
The death (pardon of the pun) of Faaris morals were a slow one, even as he came home to his home bathed in the blood of criminals, their screams fresh in his mind. He hated the criminals with a passion, and when he lost control and massacured them, he tried to reason with himself, that the joy he had while slaughtering the gang members and drug dealers was misplaced joy of destorying crime, cutting the cancer from Istanbul. He found solace in his animals, and even his employees distanced themselves from him. Fearful of the custom his rage had become. After several weeks, it all fell apart for the hero, when the last of his morals fought against the tide.
Faaris could not lie to himself for long, even as he half convinced himself of the rightousness of his cause, he knew that he was looking for criminals not to put them to justice, but to hear their screams, to fight and to see them bleed. The last of the old vestiges of the hero Faaris were broken in a single night, in the screams of man, and the shivering laugh of a mad man.
It was a chilly night in Istanbul, and the stars above gleamed like diamonds on a black canvas. The half-full moon hung above the decaying city, impervious to the actions of humans below. El-Marees shivered in the night air, pulling his heavy trech coat tighter around him, carefully moving as not to jostle the contraband lining his pockets. A stocky man walked up to him discreetly noding silently and making a small motion with his hand indicating what particular fix he wanted. Noding slightly in return, El-Marees reached into his pocket for a packet of coke, and shoke hands with the man, greeting him jovially. In their hand shake they exchanged the money, and drugs. The man smiled at El-Marees, lamenting fakely of his sorrow at leaving for a pressing engagement. It went almost unnoticed, except for one.
Faaris was having a dull night, in the city. Wearing his armor in the city on top of a roof top was not at all like he expected it to be. It was cold, unexicting, and not productive at all. He sighed, and resolved himself to find a criminal if only so he could do something, anything! A fluttering of wings broke Faaris from his boredom, and he watched lazily as a bird flew from directly below him. The bird perched at his shoulder, and wisphered into his ear. He had grown with his animals, ever since he first began his crusade. He could feel what they said, he could control larger animals, more of them. They were some of his only friends in the world, his comfort...as well as....no! Shaking his head from the thoughts, he listened as the little bird told him of the drug dealer directly below the building he was standing on. Finally, Faaris thought, a criminal.
He discreetly controlled a mean looking dog that gave the impression of a drug dog, and sent the dog onto the street towards the direction of the drug dealer. As expected, when the drug dealer noticed the dog, he grew fearful of getting caught, and ran into an nearby allyway. Where Faaris was waiting in full armor. The man didn't notice, looking behind his shoulder to see in the dog was following. He ran straighting to Faaris. Knocked to the ground, the man looked up to see a sadistic smile on the "Death's" face. Screaming in terror, the man flung out his hands, and a packet flew open, and a white powder flew into the face of Faaris. Involuntarily sniffing the floating powder, Faaris sneezed. Suddenly, the world was bright in vibrant, and all the memories that Faaris had became mere wisps in his joy.
He remembered through, his feeling when a man screamed before him, his life blood ebbing away. He remembered the joy he had when he tourtured a man to death. It felt...much like this, no! Better than this, the drug hazed mind of Faaris thought. All of his inhibiations, his fears, his idealistic views and foolish hopes, were destoryed in a blaze of glory. At the same time, the El-Marees smiled at his good luck, and made to leave before he became another statistic in the number of dead that the Horsemen had caused. As he walked away, a heavy armored hand fell upon his shoulder. A sadistic voice came from behind him, even as the trademark axe came to rest on his neck. "It's time to play. Don't you want to play the game?"
The screams that night were heard across the city, but no one came in time. The man named El-Marees was wisked away where the police couldn't find him. The next day, they found El-Marees, but very, very dead. They found hanging on a cross, his body riddled with cuts and burns. His arms and legs were flops, like rubber. The reason, was that the man's cross was not a cross made of wood or iron, but of bones. His bones. Faaris the Crusader, the rightous vengence seeker died that night. A death that had been building in the pool of criminals blood. Faaris, the Horseman of Death, the death caller, was born in a screaming man's pleas for mercy. A mercy which he did not recieve. A sadistic tourturer was born. A man that would earn his titles. A man that would be feared.
********
The deaths those days, both Faaris's death as a person, and the criminals death's themselves, changed the world of reason for Istanbul, even for all of Turkey. The world of logic and reason, of criminal intent met with firm justice, was scattered to the four winds. Insanity was Faaris's misteress now, pain his drink, violence his bread. His death doomed the people of Turkey to a slow death like his, but a death that would come all the same...
The Policemen, at the same time, were worried over the man that had single handly dropped the crime rate of a declining and over populated Istanbul. They worried over what a man who had bathed in the blood of criminals in extremely violent massacures, a man who had made criminals quake in fear where the police never had. The police were afraid of what could happen, might happen, if the avenger nick-named Death would do if he went on an insane rampage, as his so-called justice had indicated. The tourtured criminals, the limbs seperated from men's bodies indicated a man who was angry, a rage that was unsafe for the people of Istanbul. The dirty cops worried also, but for different reasons.
The regular citizens of Istanbul awoke to stories of deaths and killings of scum. Some cheered, some were disgusted by the Horseman, by Death. Most were uncaring, apathetic to the stories of random masscures. He only targeted criminals after all, he wouldn't go after them? They were sheep, uncaring to the world outside their homes, their work places. The deaths of the deserving seemed to be world outside, a world only shown in the flashes of news they managed to catch.
The man himself, responsible for fear and worried misgivings, of justified joy, was waking to the morning sun with a smile in his face, and a sadistic glint in his eye. He knew the reports better than anyone else, being the one at the cause. He read about the effects of his death-dealing in the morning paper with malevolent joy. He noticed the drop off of crime, the way would be criminals tampered off at the fear of death...no, one of his deaths. But, the joy his recieved in the drop in the crime rate was growing to be a dull ache in his heart. He could not find any joy anymore in hearing how his destructive deeds helped the public. No, he now found satisfaction in a much more...repugnant nature.
In all his attempts to secure justice, to bring his own form of judgement on people like his family's killers, his death dealing was what he used most. Criminals would be scared to commit crimes, if they knew what awaited them was death, he had thought. Faaris justifed the deaths of these, truthfully horid human beings, because even through their morals were dark, he couldn't bring himself to kill in cold blood with out the rage of his family's death clawing at him. But kill he did, and he reaped the benifits months later when Crime dropped in Istanbul. But, it was a hollow victory, since the time when Faaris had wanted that had already passed, washed away in the blood and screams of those unfourtunte to draw Faaris notice. The dream of a lower crime rate had been destoryed when Faaris had stopped detesting the nick-name of Death, or Death Caller, and started revealing in it.
The death (pardon of the pun) of Faaris morals were a slow one, even as he came home to his home bathed in the blood of criminals, their screams fresh in his mind. He hated the criminals with a passion, and when he lost control and massacured them, he tried to reason with himself, that the joy he had while slaughtering the gang members and drug dealers was misplaced joy of destorying crime, cutting the cancer from Istanbul. He found solace in his animals, and even his employees distanced themselves from him. Fearful of the custom his rage had become. After several weeks, it all fell apart for the hero, when the last of his morals fought against the tide.
Faaris could not lie to himself for long, even as he half convinced himself of the rightousness of his cause, he knew that he was looking for criminals not to put them to justice, but to hear their screams, to fight and to see them bleed. The last of the old vestiges of the hero Faaris were broken in a single night, in the screams of man, and the shivering laugh of a mad man.
********
It was a chilly night in Istanbul, and the stars above gleamed like diamonds on a black canvas. The half-full moon hung above the decaying city, impervious to the actions of humans below. El-Marees shivered in the night air, pulling his heavy trech coat tighter around him, carefully moving as not to jostle the contraband lining his pockets. A stocky man walked up to him discreetly noding silently and making a small motion with his hand indicating what particular fix he wanted. Noding slightly in return, El-Marees reached into his pocket for a packet of coke, and shoke hands with the man, greeting him jovially. In their hand shake they exchanged the money, and drugs. The man smiled at El-Marees, lamenting fakely of his sorrow at leaving for a pressing engagement. It went almost unnoticed, except for one.
Faaris was having a dull night, in the city. Wearing his armor in the city on top of a roof top was not at all like he expected it to be. It was cold, unexicting, and not productive at all. He sighed, and resolved himself to find a criminal if only so he could do something, anything! A fluttering of wings broke Faaris from his boredom, and he watched lazily as a bird flew from directly below him. The bird perched at his shoulder, and wisphered into his ear. He had grown with his animals, ever since he first began his crusade. He could feel what they said, he could control larger animals, more of them. They were some of his only friends in the world, his comfort...as well as....no! Shaking his head from the thoughts, he listened as the little bird told him of the drug dealer directly below the building he was standing on. Finally, Faaris thought, a criminal.
He discreetly controlled a mean looking dog that gave the impression of a drug dog, and sent the dog onto the street towards the direction of the drug dealer. As expected, when the drug dealer noticed the dog, he grew fearful of getting caught, and ran into an nearby allyway. Where Faaris was waiting in full armor. The man didn't notice, looking behind his shoulder to see in the dog was following. He ran straighting to Faaris. Knocked to the ground, the man looked up to see a sadistic smile on the "Death's" face. Screaming in terror, the man flung out his hands, and a packet flew open, and a white powder flew into the face of Faaris. Involuntarily sniffing the floating powder, Faaris sneezed. Suddenly, the world was bright in vibrant, and all the memories that Faaris had became mere wisps in his joy.
He remembered through, his feeling when a man screamed before him, his life blood ebbing away. He remembered the joy he had when he tourtured a man to death. It felt...much like this, no! Better than this, the drug hazed mind of Faaris thought. All of his inhibiations, his fears, his idealistic views and foolish hopes, were destoryed in a blaze of glory. At the same time, the El-Marees smiled at his good luck, and made to leave before he became another statistic in the number of dead that the Horsemen had caused. As he walked away, a heavy armored hand fell upon his shoulder. A sadistic voice came from behind him, even as the trademark axe came to rest on his neck. "It's time to play. Don't you want to play the game?"
The screams that night were heard across the city, but no one came in time. The man named El-Marees was wisked away where the police couldn't find him. The next day, they found El-Marees, but very, very dead. They found hanging on a cross, his body riddled with cuts and burns. His arms and legs were flops, like rubber. The reason, was that the man's cross was not a cross made of wood or iron, but of bones. His bones. Faaris the Crusader, the rightous vengence seeker died that night. A death that had been building in the pool of criminals blood. Faaris, the Horseman of Death, the death caller, was born in a screaming man's pleas for mercy. A mercy which he did not recieve. A sadistic tourturer was born. A man that would earn his titles. A man that would be feared.
********
The deaths those days, both Faaris's death as a person, and the criminals death's themselves, changed the world of reason for Istanbul, even for all of Turkey. The world of logic and reason, of criminal intent met with firm justice, was scattered to the four winds. Insanity was Faaris's misteress now, pain his drink, violence his bread. His death doomed the people of Turkey to a slow death like his, but a death that would come all the same...
Erik Mesoy
Core Tester / Intern
Aaaagh... such an incredible NES, yet so little time...
*joins by PM*
*joins by PM*
alex994
Hail Divine Emperor!
stats! I demand stats! u other people better demand them too!
Oruc
Reactionary
Nope!
fe3333au
Deity
I want to know why you started a new thread without informing those who had signed up that things had started 
Storm Rider
Essence of Awesome
- Joined
- Jul 14, 2004
- Messages
- 288
Coney, when are orders due?
alex994
Hail Divine Emperor!
update the stats 
JosefStalinator
Я буду снова здесь
Emperor Norton Demands Stats!
I...want...in!
Hero Name: Supaa Aisukuriimuno Otokonohito (Super Ice-Cream Man)
Home town location: Nippon, Japan
Base Level: Basement
Funds: 1000 WC
Weapons: A pistol and a knife
Stockpile: nothing
Henchmen: 5 men
Vehicles: Ice cream van
Superhero level: 0
Strength:0
Speed/Agility: 0
Endurance:0
Powers
Ice Breath: 1
Research:
Description: An ice-cream man with problems. As in, he has superpowers. Stylish, sexy ones. Also, his ice creams are bargains. Golden Gaytime for 2 yen. Boy, oh boy. I bet you're excited now.
Hero Name: Supaa Aisukuriimuno Otokonohito (Super Ice-Cream Man)
Home town location: Nippon, Japan
Base Level: Basement
Funds: 1000 WC
Weapons: A pistol and a knife
Stockpile: nothing
Henchmen: 5 men
Vehicles: Ice cream van
Superhero level: 0
Strength:0
Speed/Agility: 0
Endurance:0
Powers
Ice Breath: 1
Research:
Description: An ice-cream man with problems. As in, he has superpowers. Stylish, sexy ones. Also, his ice creams are bargains. Golden Gaytime for 2 yen. Boy, oh boy. I bet you're excited now.
Erik Mesoy
Core Tester / Intern
Ok, given that Conehead made a "typo" of immense proportions, I'll un-secret my joining, and leave my plans secret...
Lord Oskar Friedrich (Nickname is secret!)
Hometown: Frankfurt
Base Level: Basement
Funds: 1000 WC
Weapons: A pistol and a knife
Stockpile: nothing
Henchmen: 5 men
Vehicles: An old van
Superhero level: 0
Strength:0
Speed/Agility: 0
Endurance:0
Powers: Fire Generation (1)
Background:
OUT OF THE ASHES
August 5, 1945
Lord Oskar Friedrich, a German citizien independent of the Nazi party, returns home from Japan. He has been at a self-owned mountain resort for several years, practising asceticism, and has been disconnected from the outside world.
August 6
Oskar finds Germany in ashes, and hears Hiroshima destroyed along with everything he owned there. His title is the only thing left to him, but even that is near enough to valueless now.
For the next four years, Oskar was moderately insane. After that, he slowly restored himself to a position of moderate wealth as his beloved Germany dwindled to a nation of ashes and ruins. Obssesed with the little he had been able to keep, he built a house that matched his title and gained contacts with much of the european black market, with an eye to acquiring suitable items for his title.
Then came the fire... the fire that would usher in the second part of his life. Oskar's house was set on fire. He rushed into it, desperately trying to save his patent of nobility at the least.
He failed.
Miraculously, Oskar survived the fire. He spent the next week lying comatose in an emergency ward. Early in the morning, his bed was found charred to ashes. None of the doctors could guess what had happened, or where he had gone.
</story>
Conehead, how come you didn't read this a lot earlier??
Lord Oskar Friedrich (Nickname is secret!)
Hometown: Frankfurt
Base Level: Basement
Funds: 1000 WC
Weapons: A pistol and a knife
Stockpile: nothing
Henchmen: 5 men
Vehicles: An old van
Superhero level: 0
Strength:0
Speed/Agility: 0
Endurance:0
Powers: Fire Generation (1)
Background:
OUT OF THE ASHES
August 5, 1945
Lord Oskar Friedrich, a German citizien independent of the Nazi party, returns home from Japan. He has been at a self-owned mountain resort for several years, practising asceticism, and has been disconnected from the outside world.
August 6
Oskar finds Germany in ashes, and hears Hiroshima destroyed along with everything he owned there. His title is the only thing left to him, but even that is near enough to valueless now.
For the next four years, Oskar was moderately insane. After that, he slowly restored himself to a position of moderate wealth as his beloved Germany dwindled to a nation of ashes and ruins. Obssesed with the little he had been able to keep, he built a house that matched his title and gained contacts with much of the european black market, with an eye to acquiring suitable items for his title.
Then came the fire... the fire that would usher in the second part of his life. Oskar's house was set on fire. He rushed into it, desperately trying to save his patent of nobility at the least.
He failed.
Miraculously, Oskar survived the fire. He spent the next week lying comatose in an emergency ward. Early in the morning, his bed was found charred to ashes. None of the doctors could guess what had happened, or where he had gone.
</story>
Conehead, how come you didn't read this a lot earlier??
fe3333au
Deity
Reposted from dead Thread
------------------------------
Hero Name : Norbit Carter-Smyth aka.
Bobby Dazzler 
Home town location: Sydney, Australia
Base Level: Attic Garret
Funds: 1000 WC
Weapons: A pistol, a Silvered Boomerang and a Garrotte
Stockpile: nothing
Henchmen: 3 men, 2 women
Vehicles: Red Cadilac Convertible
Superhero level: 0
Strength:0
Speed/Agility: 0
Endurance:0
Powers:
>Laser Eyes - (1) Short Range: Range of 20 feet
Research:
Description
Norbit Carter-Smyth was conceived in outback Australia to 19 year old Amanda Mercer, the wife of a rich sheep baron 30 years her senior and an un-named charismatic aboriginal tracker. William Mercer reacted with a rage when he returned from droving 5 months later, calling her a Slut and punctuating every word with a slap "I don't want any black half caste bastard living under my roof". He threw her to the ground, bleeding and sobbing.
Months later, Amanda was sent to a private Sydney Mental Hospital where she discretely gave birth. The baby boy was adopted out and Amanda returned to the sheep station, she was never the same again. Sadly she committed suicide on the first anniversary of her son's birth.
The son, Norbit was raised in Sydney, New South Wales by an educated, strict Anglo-Saxon couple. The very Rev. John Carter-Smyth a successful lawyer and politician and his shy, demure wife Emma raised the babe as their own.
At the age of 12, Norbit found a locked box in the attic and the key in his father's study. The box contained a letter addressed to My Darling Baby Boy ... Robert .... The young child read the letter wide eyed, it was his natural mother, speaking to him from beyond the grave, explaining his entire sad background, his legacy and ending with a forever farewell. His adoptive father finding Norbit with the letter, strapped him to an inch of his life for entering his private rooms and refused to discuss the matter further.
A week later, Norbit was sent to an exclusive boarding school. Although a very good student, he was an average athlete and often bullied because he prefered books to team sports and that he was younger than the other students. During his stay a spate of unexplained fires broke out, sports property strangely damaged and uniforms destroyed. The favourite cat of the school chaplin, a strict religious man who was notoriously enthusiastic with the cane, fell mysteriously blind overnight.
This continued until his last year when an unfortunately horrific accident occured in the school shower block during evening curfue. The old water pipes released a scalding superhot blast of high pressure steam into the gymnasium's shower cubicles. Curiously the head prefect and rugby coach were later discovered in the building. The naked boy twitching in a screaming red heap, had received permanent scarring over 70% of his body. Tragically the older man, who must have been standing upright at the time, was paraboiled alive.
Only days after the incident, Norbit left for home his final highschool year ended 8 months early. School administrators almost eager to see him graduate with top honours in every subject studied, even physical education, the final exams unsat.
Strangely during his time at home, the very Rev. John Carter-Smyth died in a freak car accident, a super hot explosion of petroleum, a thin walled tank blamed. The funeral was an state event, with many dignitaries and foreign officials present to pass on their respects to the boy and widow. Norbit wept and wept and wept, how he must have loved his father.
Norbit continued his education and enroled at the most prestigious University in Sydney to study political science, psychology, science and languages. Before enrolling, Norbit spent many months living with traditional aboriginal Koori tribes in Arnhamland and learnt much from the wise elders and feared Tribal Clevermen. He learnt many things; Legends of the Dreamtime, sacred Song Lines and the outre' technique of Pointing the Bone, a method of ritual execution by singing someone to death at a distance. Norbit continued visiting the Koori tribes throughout his holidays, eventually he receives the sacred cuts of manhood and as initiation went out to kill brother kangaroo. He was made one of the tribe.
During one of his trips north, William Mercer died in the blazing heat of a shearing shed fire, a common accident as the lanolin in wool is extremely flamible.
3 years later and after an extended law suit represented at no cost by Sir Joseph Waterworth OBE. of Carter-Smyth and Waterworth Barristers and Solicitors. Norbit inherits the sheep property and all assets of the late William Mercer, his natural mother's letter the crucial evidence. His foster mother Emma gains control of the considerable fortune, a guardian until Norbit reaches the age of 21.
At the age of 20, Norbit's tragic luck continues when Emma and an adventurous suitor dies in a bizarre ballooning accident, people close to her report that Emma was concidering marrying the high flying gentleman.
Norbit invests much of the money and is considered a sophisticated, independently rich, gentleman. He moves in the upper class circles of Sydney and attends many parties patroned by politicians, criminal bosses, movie stars, industrial leaders and diplomats ... by some he is considered a supporter of the arts, civil rights activist, environmentalist and an uncannily, successful businessman. Although he has the reputation of an outrageous womaniser, Norbit is single and lives alone.
Rumours in high level circles start to circulate about a professional fixer for hire, very discrete, very reliable, very expensive ... and one not to be messed with.
Petty criminals and white bullyboy thugs complain about being harassed by a vivid brightly dressed figure ... Many sport strange burns and scorchings on their bodies, trademarks of close encounters with this flashy mystery man ... Wild rumours begin to circulate about a garishly costumed vigilante, and the press begin to discuss a spate of terribly disfigured bodies being fished out of the harbour.
------------------------------
Hero Name : Norbit Carter-Smyth aka.
Bobby Dazzler Home town location: Sydney, Australia
Base Level: Attic Garret
Funds: 1000 WC
Weapons: A pistol, a Silvered Boomerang and a Garrotte
Stockpile: nothing
Henchmen: 3 men, 2 women
Vehicles: Red Cadilac Convertible
Superhero level: 0
Strength:0
Speed/Agility: 0
Endurance:0
Powers:
>Laser Eyes - (1) Short Range: Range of 20 feet
Research:
Description
Norbit Carter-Smyth was conceived in outback Australia to 19 year old Amanda Mercer, the wife of a rich sheep baron 30 years her senior and an un-named charismatic aboriginal tracker. William Mercer reacted with a rage when he returned from droving 5 months later, calling her a Slut and punctuating every word with a slap "I don't want any black half caste bastard living under my roof". He threw her to the ground, bleeding and sobbing.
Months later, Amanda was sent to a private Sydney Mental Hospital where she discretely gave birth. The baby boy was adopted out and Amanda returned to the sheep station, she was never the same again. Sadly she committed suicide on the first anniversary of her son's birth.
The son, Norbit was raised in Sydney, New South Wales by an educated, strict Anglo-Saxon couple. The very Rev. John Carter-Smyth a successful lawyer and politician and his shy, demure wife Emma raised the babe as their own.
At the age of 12, Norbit found a locked box in the attic and the key in his father's study. The box contained a letter addressed to My Darling Baby Boy ... Robert .... The young child read the letter wide eyed, it was his natural mother, speaking to him from beyond the grave, explaining his entire sad background, his legacy and ending with a forever farewell. His adoptive father finding Norbit with the letter, strapped him to an inch of his life for entering his private rooms and refused to discuss the matter further.
A week later, Norbit was sent to an exclusive boarding school. Although a very good student, he was an average athlete and often bullied because he prefered books to team sports and that he was younger than the other students. During his stay a spate of unexplained fires broke out, sports property strangely damaged and uniforms destroyed. The favourite cat of the school chaplin, a strict religious man who was notoriously enthusiastic with the cane, fell mysteriously blind overnight.
This continued until his last year when an unfortunately horrific accident occured in the school shower block during evening curfue. The old water pipes released a scalding superhot blast of high pressure steam into the gymnasium's shower cubicles. Curiously the head prefect and rugby coach were later discovered in the building. The naked boy twitching in a screaming red heap, had received permanent scarring over 70% of his body. Tragically the older man, who must have been standing upright at the time, was paraboiled alive.
Only days after the incident, Norbit left for home his final highschool year ended 8 months early. School administrators almost eager to see him graduate with top honours in every subject studied, even physical education, the final exams unsat.
Strangely during his time at home, the very Rev. John Carter-Smyth died in a freak car accident, a super hot explosion of petroleum, a thin walled tank blamed. The funeral was an state event, with many dignitaries and foreign officials present to pass on their respects to the boy and widow. Norbit wept and wept and wept, how he must have loved his father.
Norbit continued his education and enroled at the most prestigious University in Sydney to study political science, psychology, science and languages. Before enrolling, Norbit spent many months living with traditional aboriginal Koori tribes in Arnhamland and learnt much from the wise elders and feared Tribal Clevermen. He learnt many things; Legends of the Dreamtime, sacred Song Lines and the outre' technique of Pointing the Bone, a method of ritual execution by singing someone to death at a distance. Norbit continued visiting the Koori tribes throughout his holidays, eventually he receives the sacred cuts of manhood and as initiation went out to kill brother kangaroo. He was made one of the tribe.
During one of his trips north, William Mercer died in the blazing heat of a shearing shed fire, a common accident as the lanolin in wool is extremely flamible.
3 years later and after an extended law suit represented at no cost by Sir Joseph Waterworth OBE. of Carter-Smyth and Waterworth Barristers and Solicitors. Norbit inherits the sheep property and all assets of the late William Mercer, his natural mother's letter the crucial evidence. His foster mother Emma gains control of the considerable fortune, a guardian until Norbit reaches the age of 21.
At the age of 20, Norbit's tragic luck continues when Emma and an adventurous suitor dies in a bizarre ballooning accident, people close to her report that Emma was concidering marrying the high flying gentleman.
Norbit invests much of the money and is considered a sophisticated, independently rich, gentleman. He moves in the upper class circles of Sydney and attends many parties patroned by politicians, criminal bosses, movie stars, industrial leaders and diplomats ... by some he is considered a supporter of the arts, civil rights activist, environmentalist and an uncannily, successful businessman. Although he has the reputation of an outrageous womaniser, Norbit is single and lives alone.
Rumours in high level circles start to circulate about a professional fixer for hire, very discrete, very reliable, very expensive ... and one not to be messed with.
Petty criminals and white bullyboy thugs complain about being harassed by a vivid brightly dressed figure ... Many sport strange burns and scorchings on their bodies, trademarks of close encounters with this flashy mystery man ... Wild rumours begin to circulate about a garishly costumed vigilante, and the press begin to discuss a spate of terribly disfigured bodies being fished out of the harbour.
fe3333au
Deity
I sit alone in the corner booth of the club ... outside the neon shouts out Kitty Kat Klub in warm electric ... it is dark and smokey inside ... and cool jazz is oozing through the place ... I'm getting into the groove ... Jack's bourbon straight no ice ... a pencil thick rollie smolders in a tray ... the brown of the 'baccy mixed up tight with the lovely Maryjane ...
Suck in ... the sweet smoke roils around my lungs ... hold ... hold ... carressing my perception ... exhale in a thick bitter stream ... I start to see the vibrant rainbow auras which surround everything ... vibrating in a relaxed mellow buzz ... I look around with a full body grin ... Damn I like My new club ...
A shadow interupts my musings ... I look up, and with a wave of recognition signal the figure to sit ...
"Bobby ... Heeey my man, what's up?" ... false bravado ... fake cheer ... bit nervous ... with a slight touch of real fear in his voice ... I like that.
"I'm hip ... what's the word?"
"I've got half of what I owe ... I can get the rest f..." ... I interrupt, he starts to sweat.
"I don't like waitin", simple statement ... says a lot.
"Ummm, listen Bobby ... times are tough ... I need m..." ... a Gulp, as I interupt a second time.
"Please don't say you need more time ..." ... Damn I hate it when they start to beg so soon.
"Bobby Please !! ... Please !! ... a coupla days ... Just 2 more days !!! ...Pleeea", I play out the line, he's still firmly hooked.
"2 Days ... and 5% interest", sheer relief ... but then ... snap! ... lock the reel and snag him proper ... one word ...
"... and ...", Shock !!! ... wide eyed, unbelieving shock !?! ... count an agonising 3 count ... but then I let him off the hook ... fun over, now to work ...
"Don't you be having a heart attack my Man ... Relax ... be cool ... Drink? ... Smoke? ... Me Cassa Su Cassa Mate ..."
A quick burning, life affirming, gulp of alcohol ... we continue ...
"Listen, the Soviet diplomat attends your club ... I want you to arrange a meeting ..." ... I can smell the relief and he is eager ... eager to please ... eager to appease ...
"Now, what do you know about our Russian friend? ... Does Uri have any bad habits?"
Watch your feet people ! ... and how the floodgates open ... Ask and Ye shall be Told ... the trick is askin the right questions ... askin in the right way ...
The information gushes out in a steady blubber ... hmmmm looks like old Uri boy and I will become the best of friends ... Hell I even know that he chews his fingernails ... and my Stoolie? ... he has done well ... Pat on the head, that's a goood boy well ... maybe he won't need to pay interest ... Hold it! ... that's something that Norbit would do ... and I'm not Norbit ... and as a matter of fact, I think I'll take control of the Goodwill Inn ... a classy joint full of foreign visitors, away from home and playin' at being discrete ... I'll even keep Mr Stool Pigeon on if he doesn't cross me ... doesn't Coo Coo whisper into other ears ... Hmmm he'd have to give up the horses though ... We'll see ... just keep talkin little man ...
Another smokin kiss of the reefer and arrrgh ... life just can't get any better ... actually that's wrong ... it always can ...
-----------------
I leave the club 3 hours later ... it is dark ... time to go home ... Norbit needs his beauty sleep, but me? ... to be totally truthful I do too, but I'm a bit wired, a bit hyped ... I'll go home after I attend to final business ... the matter of a welcher ... I do hate welchers ... and this one has gone and bad mouthed me as well ... Oh well I have a strong work ethic and therefore must have closure before bed ... I walk slowly towards the red blinking lights of the Cross ... Kings Cross, famous through out the world ... you can buy anything at the Cross ... Baudy lighting flashing on and off ... on and off ... different flavours of vice reflect shimmering off my suit ... a thug approaches ... I lift my shades ... he backs away fast ... Bobby Dazzler is out and about and I got me a meeting with a foolish man !!! ... gonna teach him some manners !!!
-----------------
The next morning Norbit is driving up to the desert ... the Brits are conducting tests up here in Woomera ... high security Woomera ... Woomera which now no longer welcomes her people ... I hate the arogance of these imperialists, stealing the land from a peaceful people ... My people !! ...
They really like Norbit though ... Norbit is safe and innocent ... proud to be Australian ... just like His dear, dead Dad ... All for Queen Lizzie and country ... Yes, He's well liked by the British ... He's the right kind of chap, just our sort ... Sometimes Norbit really irritates Me ... All His kissy kissy bend over and puckering ... I hate it ... But ... calmmm ... deep breathing calm ... but, good old Norbit does have His uses ... He is invited to all the 'right' parties ... Ha Ha Ha ... smile ... I sit back and have Him turn on the radio ...
<click> ... and this just in ... the bloated bodies of businessman Stan Johnson and his close associates William Bruno and Vince Serento have been found in the harbour today ... two of them strangled, all with curious burn markings covering their faces and hands, the NSW police are investigating ... Stan Johnson has been connected to organised crime and is believed to be high up in Sydney's underworld ... Serento also known as the Latin Hacksaw and Bruno are both known for violent behaviour and have extensive criminal records ... Unsubstantiated rumours suggest a gang war is in progress, as last week Vernon Spiros and Morgan Rouke, joint owners of the notorius Kitty Kat Klub were found dead in a suspicious warehouse fire ... a mysterious shinny vigilante has been associated with many ...<click>
Smiling ... maybe I should feed the media ... tease them ... take a reporter under my wing ... I sit back in comforting scenarios ... eyes closing ... and let Norbit take full control ... I'll wake up just before we get to our destination ... a special VIP function with the Governor General, Prime Minister, heaps of British Dukes, Sirs and the like, couple of US dignitaries and ... well basically the Who's Who of half the so called Free World ... a function with little bits of fish on toothpics, 'special sauces', non-crusted cucumber sandwiches and drinkiepoos ... Nice ... everything sooo nice ... blah blah blah ... love the dress madam ... blah blah blah ... Oh how did you get that medal ... blah blah blah ... my, my you are lookin good baby ... blah blah blah ... here's my card, call me ... blah blah ... how did you get so fat and decadent ? ... blah ... Don't look away, stare Deep into my Eyes !! ... Stop !! ... No ! ... deep breath ... Calm ! ... calmmm ... ohmmmm ... Good, thinking again ... Oh and did I mention the reason for the knobs gathering for high tea in the desert heat? ... No? ... Damn, I appologize ... we're here to see the testing of a bloody big rocket bomb ... some new fandangled super weapon ... me? ... I'm here to expand my social network, pick up new clients and to check security ... who knows I may need to visit some day ... or night ...
Suck in ... the sweet smoke roils around my lungs ... hold ... hold ... carressing my perception ... exhale in a thick bitter stream ... I start to see the vibrant rainbow auras which surround everything ... vibrating in a relaxed mellow buzz ... I look around with a full body grin ... Damn I like My new club ...
A shadow interupts my musings ... I look up, and with a wave of recognition signal the figure to sit ...
"Bobby ... Heeey my man, what's up?" ... false bravado ... fake cheer ... bit nervous ... with a slight touch of real fear in his voice ... I like that.
"I'm hip ... what's the word?"
"I've got half of what I owe ... I can get the rest f..." ... I interrupt, he starts to sweat.
"I don't like waitin", simple statement ... says a lot.
"Ummm, listen Bobby ... times are tough ... I need m..." ... a Gulp, as I interupt a second time.
"Please don't say you need more time ..." ... Damn I hate it when they start to beg so soon.
"Bobby Please !! ... Please !! ... a coupla days ... Just 2 more days !!! ...Pleeea", I play out the line, he's still firmly hooked.
"2 Days ... and 5% interest", sheer relief ... but then ... snap! ... lock the reel and snag him proper ... one word ...
"... and ...", Shock !!! ... wide eyed, unbelieving shock !?! ... count an agonising 3 count ... but then I let him off the hook ... fun over, now to work ...
"Don't you be having a heart attack my Man ... Relax ... be cool ... Drink? ... Smoke? ... Me Cassa Su Cassa Mate ..."
A quick burning, life affirming, gulp of alcohol ... we continue ...
"Listen, the Soviet diplomat attends your club ... I want you to arrange a meeting ..." ... I can smell the relief and he is eager ... eager to please ... eager to appease ...
"Now, what do you know about our Russian friend? ... Does Uri have any bad habits?"
Watch your feet people ! ... and how the floodgates open ... Ask and Ye shall be Told ... the trick is askin the right questions ... askin in the right way ...
The information gushes out in a steady blubber ... hmmmm looks like old Uri boy and I will become the best of friends ... Hell I even know that he chews his fingernails ... and my Stoolie? ... he has done well ... Pat on the head, that's a goood boy well ... maybe he won't need to pay interest ... Hold it! ... that's something that Norbit would do ... and I'm not Norbit ... and as a matter of fact, I think I'll take control of the Goodwill Inn ... a classy joint full of foreign visitors, away from home and playin' at being discrete ... I'll even keep Mr Stool Pigeon on if he doesn't cross me ... doesn't Coo Coo whisper into other ears ... Hmmm he'd have to give up the horses though ... We'll see ... just keep talkin little man ...
Another smokin kiss of the reefer and arrrgh ... life just can't get any better ... actually that's wrong ... it always can ...
-----------------
I leave the club 3 hours later ... it is dark ... time to go home ... Norbit needs his beauty sleep, but me? ... to be totally truthful I do too, but I'm a bit wired, a bit hyped ... I'll go home after I attend to final business ... the matter of a welcher ... I do hate welchers ... and this one has gone and bad mouthed me as well ... Oh well I have a strong work ethic and therefore must have closure before bed ... I walk slowly towards the red blinking lights of the Cross ... Kings Cross, famous through out the world ... you can buy anything at the Cross ... Baudy lighting flashing on and off ... on and off ... different flavours of vice reflect shimmering off my suit ... a thug approaches ... I lift my shades ... he backs away fast ... Bobby Dazzler is out and about and I got me a meeting with a foolish man !!! ... gonna teach him some manners !!!
-----------------
The next morning Norbit is driving up to the desert ... the Brits are conducting tests up here in Woomera ... high security Woomera ... Woomera which now no longer welcomes her people ... I hate the arogance of these imperialists, stealing the land from a peaceful people ... My people !! ...
They really like Norbit though ... Norbit is safe and innocent ... proud to be Australian ... just like His dear, dead Dad ... All for Queen Lizzie and country ... Yes, He's well liked by the British ... He's the right kind of chap, just our sort ... Sometimes Norbit really irritates Me ... All His kissy kissy bend over and puckering ... I hate it ... But ... calmmm ... deep breathing calm ... but, good old Norbit does have His uses ... He is invited to all the 'right' parties ... Ha Ha Ha ... smile ... I sit back and have Him turn on the radio ...
<click> ... and this just in ... the bloated bodies of businessman Stan Johnson and his close associates William Bruno and Vince Serento have been found in the harbour today ... two of them strangled, all with curious burn markings covering their faces and hands, the NSW police are investigating ... Stan Johnson has been connected to organised crime and is believed to be high up in Sydney's underworld ... Serento also known as the Latin Hacksaw and Bruno are both known for violent behaviour and have extensive criminal records ... Unsubstantiated rumours suggest a gang war is in progress, as last week Vernon Spiros and Morgan Rouke, joint owners of the notorius Kitty Kat Klub were found dead in a suspicious warehouse fire ... a mysterious shinny vigilante has been associated with many ...<click>
Smiling ... maybe I should feed the media ... tease them ... take a reporter under my wing ... I sit back in comforting scenarios ... eyes closing ... and let Norbit take full control ... I'll wake up just before we get to our destination ... a special VIP function with the Governor General, Prime Minister, heaps of British Dukes, Sirs and the like, couple of US dignitaries and ... well basically the Who's Who of half the so called Free World ... a function with little bits of fish on toothpics, 'special sauces', non-crusted cucumber sandwiches and drinkiepoos ... Nice ... everything sooo nice ... blah blah blah ... love the dress madam ... blah blah blah ... Oh how did you get that medal ... blah blah blah ... my, my you are lookin good baby ... blah blah blah ... here's my card, call me ... blah blah ... how did you get so fat and decadent ? ... blah ... Don't look away, stare Deep into my Eyes !! ... Stop !! ... No ! ... deep breath ... Calm ! ... calmmm ... ohmmmm ... Good, thinking again ... Oh and did I mention the reason for the knobs gathering for high tea in the desert heat? ... No? ... Damn, I appologize ... we're here to see the testing of a bloody big rocket bomb ... some new fandangled super weapon ... me? ... I'm here to expand my social network, pick up new clients and to check security ... who knows I may need to visit some day ... or night ...
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