The Coalition of Bad Ideas

Hall Of Fame!

Survival - 10 Wins!

Brutal - 1 Fatalities


Alignment: Villain

Team: The Syndicate


Strength: Superior

Agility: Superior

Mind: Supreme

Body: Ultimate


Personal Wins: 10

Personal Losses: 3


Deep within Khazan, not quite in the heart of the city but still pretty close to one of its major organs, Jerry Halford had an idea. It wasn't the best of ideas, or the most original, but it wasn't that bad and in theory really sounded like it could work. An inventor, artist, tinkerer, and all around haver-of-ideas, he was tired of how many little thoughts slipped through the cracks. He knew he wasn't the only one, either. People all over the world had unfulfilled ideas and desires, and everyone knew how agonizing it could be. Someone might have an idea for the greatest novel ever written, but possess no talents for writing whatsoever. Another might invent a theory that could create a new, cheap source of power, but simply lack the funds and engineering know-how to bring it all together. There was no reason that all these ideas should be lost simply because whoever had them lacked the resources to bring them to life, right? So Jerry decided he would start a group, a coalition even, of fellow thinkers with too many ideas. They would pool their talents, so that if one couldn't make their plan a reality, another could. Surely bringing forth these lost ideas could create something truly marvelous! His eagerness grew as the thought ricocheted about in his head, and soon work began to put together a gathering of some of Khazan's greatest scientific minds. Calls were made, plans discussed. At first it was only his closest friends who joined, but the number would grow as word spread of a place where even your wildest ideas could find a way to be made real, and the Coalition of Ideas was born. A meeting hall was built with shared funding, huge and extravagant, where hundreds of people could meet for discussion and votes on which idea to follow through with next. Months passed, and turned into years; some famous and now worldwide inventions came from the Coalition, and it endured as a stable organization. Eventually Jerry Halford left, moving on to other things, but the idea he had left behind stayed strong.

People came and went, but as the Coalition's fame grew, so did its membership. Soon, the majority of its participants were those who's ideas were not yet achieved, but should never have been. Fringe lunatics wearing foil on their heads and proposing the creation of a Black Hole Gun to destroy all the thought-stealing stars in the sky became a mainstay of the organization's members. Their meetings had degenerated into little more than a cursory vote to gain permission for working on mad plans. Very rarely was an idea not passed. This state of affairs was perpetuated and somehow kept firm by the current leader, a gangly, bulgy-eyed man who at the moment called himself Highcastle von Mozartstein. Nobody knew how many names he'd had in the past, or even during the length of his reign over the Coalition, but it was highly likely that he was a wanted man in more than one place. He blended in perfectly with the rest of the "scientific minds" frequenting the meetings, however, and nobody questioned his wise and benevolent authority. At the moment he stood in the cool evening air, welcoming members at the door of the meeting hall as they arrived, shaking hands and remarking on the inventions that people brought in their arms. "Good to see you again, Miss Fayo! What, you're new here? In that case, good to see you again! Ah, my good man Jack! Still healing from those burns after last week, I see! Ahahaha, what the Hell is THAT?! I love it! Come on in!" As the last arrivals filtered into the building, Highcastle looked around quickly and then stepped inside, shutting the doors and locking them.

The stupidity of brilliance

     Weapons Creation: Ultimate

  • Ranged Attack Only
  • Area Affect
  • Armor Piercing
  • Target Seeker
  • Multi-Attacks
  • Ranged and Melee Attack


A constant hum of talking filled the auditorium, hundreds of people seated in rows facing the single podium against the far wall. Every now and then some device or another misfired and the sound of a yell and an explosion or two rose about the commotion of voices, but nobody every took any notice, waiting with varying degrees of patience for the meeting to begin. Highcastle took the long walk around the outside edge of the chairs, stepping up onto the stage and taking his place behind the podium, gavel in hand. With a single bang of the hammer onto the wood of the podium the entire place fell silent, and all eyes turned to him. "First order of business!" His voice carried easily, echoing into the massive room. "Mr. Hart and his son will not be joining us tonight, as neither of them have been seen since trying on Valerie William's dimensional-rift T-shirt." There was an embarrassed cough. "Second, I must stress again that you do not hold yourselves above the law and associate with the organization at the same time, even-" He gave a look to someone in the crowd. "Even if you are testing your Above the Law Mind Control device." Highcastle waited for everything to sink in, and then brought his gavel crashing down again. "Okay! Now that that business is out of the way, we can move on to voting on ideas!" Cheers rose up and dozens of hands were raised, some bandaged but no less eager. Squinting out into the crowd to try and spot past inventors of interesting things or those simply holding with them a marvel to look at, Highcastle began selecting people to call upon to speak. "Hmm...yes, you!" "Motion to look into which forms of pastry make the best viable footwear!" "All in favor? Opposed?" He listened to the votes, and then banged the gavel yet again. "Pass! You!" "Motion to research the terrorist intentions of Santa Claus and hunt him down!" "Votes? Pass! Next!" Highcastle began to get more excited as the meeting progressed, as was always the case, and that infectious energy spread to the rest of the crowd. Voices rose to shouts as everyone clamored to be called on. "Leather space shuttles!" "Nuclear x-ray pants!" "Dehydrated watermelons!" "Pass! Pass! Pass!" Another member rose to his feet, shrieking just to be heard at all. "Motion that we make our meetings even LOUDER!" "I SECOND THAT!!" The gavel was smashed against the podium three times in rapid succession, shaking Highcastle's hair into a wild mess. "NEXT! YOU THERE!!!" For almost an hour the meeting continued, until everyone was too out of breath to continue shouting or even arguing amongst themselves. Sweat glistened off nearly every forehead, and the sound of heavy breathing filled the auditorium, especially from Eddy Matham's heavy breathing machine. Blips and rattles of various inventions broke the relative silence, with the occasional misfire blowing a hole in the floor. One device emitted a constant, generic science-fiction flying saucer noise that the creator couldn't figure out how to turn off. Suddenly the doors were broken down and every one of the hundreds of heads turned to look, unaware in the chaos that somebody had been knocking for some time trying to get inside. One of the heroes of Khazan stepped through the threshold, bright and imposing in his costume, and glaring at everyone until he spotted the obvious leader. "You sir! Your organization has been getting constant complaints of disturbing the peace, and is blamed for many disappearances and local injuries! What do you have to say for yourself?" The gathering turned back all at once to look at Highcastle, the sound of everyone shifting position awkward and alone. Mozartstein rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and then pointed into the sea of people with the hammer in his hand. "Yes, you?" Everyone turned again to look at the young man who had raised his hand. "Motion that we be permitted to defend our right to be loud." "Hmm....votes?" A series of yells went up, and Highcastle stood up straight, getting a second wind of energy with an even crazier look in his eyes. "I'll allow it!" The gavel came down, and the instant it crashed loudly into the quiet meeting room all Hell broke loose. Dozens of weapons were fired at the hero, along with countless other gizmos and gadgets that were conveniently pointy, flashy, or just happened to shoot sparks. Confused, the visitor easily swatted the variety of projectiles aside, and more hands shot up. "Motion to use my cheese-powered railgun!" "Pass!" The hero barely ducked in time as a massive hole was punched through the wall by an unseen blast, the stench of limburger wafting from its spiral ion trail. "What are you doing? This is dangerous!" He took flight and soared up to the ceiling, holding out his palm in warning. "I order you to stop this at once!" More inventions were fired into the air, giant rubber bands and heat-seeking sewing needles and the occasional spacial vortex torn into the dimension by a miniature star. "Compressed air jetpack!" "Pass! You?" "Ant grenades!" "Pass!" "Motion to strap jetpacks onto the ants!" "PASS!" Soon the ceiling was obliterated as the hero swiveled desperately through the air, unable to pause for a single word or attempt to fight back amidst the constant storm of insanity being launched his way. "Motion that I be allowed to attack with my juicer!" Every last person stopped what they were doing and stared at the speaker, who fidgeted nervously under the combined scrutiny. Immediately taking advantage of the sudden peace, the hero dived straight toward their leader. "....of....of death!" "PASS!" Highcastle drove his gavel into the podium one time too many, snapping off the head of the hammer. It flew unerringly through the air and struck the hero clean in the middle of the forehead with an audible crack, and he fell in a heap on the floor. The Coalition members turned to look at him, and Highcastle strained to look over their heads and see. "Is he unconscious?" A woman leaned back and nodded. "Oh yeah." "Hmm...." There was a long period of awkward silence as the director of the meeting looked sadly at the useless handle in his grasp, and then another arm went up. Depressed, Highcastle gestured for him to speak. "Motion that in place of a gavel we use karate!" Moving in unison, everyone turned to stare at their leader, who perked up at once. "Pass! Hiiii-YAH!!" With one titanic motion he arched down and head-butted the podium, crushing it to splinters, and hundreds of fists were thrust into the air in a deafening cheer.