Sszinid

Now... Gideon released the tub with a gasp, tumbling onto his backside as his mind broke the surface and gulped down air. He shook his head, trying to clear the murderous afterimage burned into his retinas, but it was futile; the scene replayed over and over again in his mind. He'd never watched someone die before. Forcing his thoughts away, he considered the facts. Steele's story had been true; the old kidney-harvesting legend had hit Freedom City, except even nastier. But why? Gideon had done some research on the subject before he'd come, and this wasn't what was generally meant by the organ market. Desperate people sold their own organs illegally with sad frequency, but harvesting like this was supposed to be a campfire story. It caused a lot of heat with the police, and the going price for a black-market kidney wasn't usually enough to justify all that. But this was Freedom City; there was always some madman who needed a special component. Why not kidneys? Then again, if just one kidney was needed it'd be easier to buy it; besides, this was a really public way to get one, and criminals tended not to like that. Gideon suspected that there was more to the story. He picked himself up slowly, his muscles aching like he'd run a five-minute mile; the doors of the past were hesitant to open for his perusal, and forcing them was both unpleasant and tiring. He staggered over to the room's window and stared out. The homeless were a more logical target, and if they were being harvested someone at Our Lady of Mercy would know.

One Month Earlier... The two of them stood over the gambler in the bathtub, their stark white scrubs and gloves gleaming under harsh lights. The man worked quickly, scalpel in hand, crimson on his fingertips; the incision was above the hip but below the ribs, straight and clean. The woman stood back, a cocktail dress of the same bright crimson peeking out from beneath the scrubs. She dropped the gambler's two-piece suit and a pair of martini glasses into a hazardous waste bag. "He's fidgeting," the man said, his voice cold and gravelly. "Put him back under." The woman took hold of a breathing mask attached to a metal cylinder and slid it over the gambler's face, holding it there until he took several long breaths. His eyelids drooped; his limbs stopped twitching. "Good," the man said. "It's coming out; let's bag it and go." Dropping the mask, the woman moved across the room, a blond ponytail slipping from beneath her cap to swish behind her. She returned with a red and white transplant case, chilled and ready. The man reached down, in, past the squelch, and tugged gently. And it came out, slowly, carefully, a soft red-purple-pink. The case snapped shut around it. "Well done," the woman said, removing scrubs and dress to slide into a hospital uniform. She was tall, leggy, maybe German descent; her voice cut like ice. She picked up the case and the hazard bag and moved toward the door. "Be thorough." And then it wasn't like the legend. The man gripped his scalpel and leaned in, toward the gambler's throat...

Now... The door slid smoothly open, its well-oiled hinges silent. Gideon replaced the panel, gathered his tools, and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He flicked on the lights and stared around. The two twin beds were made, and fresh towels and cups waited in the bathroom. He moved over to the tub, staring down at the smooth white surface. There was no sign now of the blood that had stained the plastic, no clue that it had ever been there. But Gideon knew other ways of looking. He took a deep breath; he'd done this only a few times before, and it was always both terrifying and exhausting. But he had no access to police records, and this was considered a cold case anyway. His method was the only way to move forward. Reaching down, he took hold of the tub in both hands and closed his eyes. He centered himself, breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth, three seconds each. His heartbeat slowed. Slowly, carefully, he reached out with his mind. It began as a prickling between his eyebrows, as if the skin there was an arm that had fallen asleep. The sensation rapidly spread, threatening the tranquility of his breathing. And then the past came pouring in. It was like being immersed in a tank of corn syrup, the thick stuff painfully, sluggishly pushing its way into his ears, nose, and mouth. And then, with sudden finality, he felt far, far away from himself...

Then... It took some doing to get the professor to open up; Gideon did most of the talking from arrival through the appetizers, telling Steele about his efforts to turn his life around and become a locksmith, asking questions about the older man's family and work and accepting brief, terse answers. The little Italian place was quiet, the waiters polite, the food delicious. It was the kind of thing Gideon couldn’t really afford; he’d have to go without real food for a while. But this was important. By the time the entrees arrived, Steele was talking on his own. He had a storyteller's air about him, the sort of granddad who fascinated instead of rambling. "I was angry," he said, patting his mouth with his napkin, "that's for sure. Having someone in the chamber invalidated two months of data. And it was so pointless; it wasn't like the neutrinos were even going to hit you anyway. They're so tiny they pass clean through pretty most everything. Powers, from that? Not likely.†Gideon winced; more evidence of his stupidity. "But it wasn't all bad," Steele went on, smiling now. "Do you remember officer who arrested you? Well, she's my wife now. That's how we met." "Congratulations," Gideon said around a mouthful of ravioli, raising his glass. "I'm glad something good came of it." After all, it must be tough to meet people at Steele's age. "Thank you," the professor replied, beaming. "You'd be amazed by the stories she tells. Terribly strange." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "Why, just a month ago..."

Now... On the inside, Atlantis had a lot in common with other big casino-hotels: droning music, disorienting carpet patterns, and a great maze of slot machines hemmed in at the back by a broad semicircle of gaming tables. The elevators were past all of that, as far back as guests were allowed to go, so that you had to walk through the buzzing labyrinth of one-armed bandits to reach them. Dozens of people sat and stared at the machines, dead to the world, pulling that lever over and over again. There was enough traffic here that Gideon might well have gone unnoticed even in costume, but he made sure that no one would offer him so much as a second glance by wearing his leather jacket with "Abra Kadabra Locksmith Service" embroidered above his heart and carrying his tools on his belt. A keycard wasn't required for the elevators, so he rode straight up to the fourteenth floor. No one asked who he was or where he was going. Why should they? He stepped out of the elevator and made his way down the teal-carpeted hall, passing gaudy statues of dancing nereids, until he reached room 1414. That elicited a grim smile; the killers had some kind of sense of humor. This trail was a month cold, so the room wasn't covered in police tape any more, but it wasn't in service, either. That suited Gideon just fine. Bending down, he readied his tools, removed the keycard panel, and got to work. He took his time. No one would notice, let alone ask. But it felt strange to be breaking in again...

Gideon will take 10 on Disable Device for a total of 20; he's under no real pressure or threat. This is more than enough to get the hotel room open.

Ten Hours Earlier... Heartbeat racing, palms sweating, Gideon fidgeted with his necktie as he examined his reflection in the glass of the front door. He pulled out a plastic comb, ran it through his hair a few times to part it to the side, then shook his head and parted it the other way. He took of his glasses and rubbed at them with his shirtsleeve, not that they were particularly dirty. Finally, he took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. It wasn't long before an older man, perhaps a few years over Gideon's dad's 60, opened the door. The two stared at each other for a moment. "Good morning, Dr. Steele," Gideon finally began, trying to keep his voice slow and calm. "I'm not sure you remember me, but..." "I remember you," the professor interjected, his voice and gaze as hard as his name. Gideon swallowed hard, then took another deep breath. "Yes, I imagine so." The last time they'd seen each other, Steele had been watching Gideon's sentencing; the time before that, he'd been standing behind the police that arrested the teenager as he stepped from the neutrino chamber. "I haven't yet personally apologized to you for breaking into your lab, and I'd like to show you that I'm not the same person I was three years ago. May I take you to lunch?" There was a long silence. Gideon held the professor's gaze, not proud but not flinching. "I'll get my coat," Steele said.

Ten minutes later, Gideon stared up at the grandeur of Atlantis. The casino, mind, not the city beneath the waves. It soared up into the sky, white and silver and gold, covered in wave motifs and triton statues. Rotating spotlights cut through the early night around it, casting weird shadows on the slender towers as they passed over decorative clamshells. A dubstep remix of Bach’s Cello Suite #1 blared out every time someone passed through the automatic doors. On the street outside, the Boardwalk was entering its second stage of daily life. The living statues and street magicians, family-friendly entertainment that catered to the large crowds during the day, gave way to torch jugglers, hardcore gamblers, and drunken college students. The wind, a little warmer now than it had been when it carried the snow a few days ago, bore along the mingled smells of sweat, booze, and two-dollar churros. But Atlantis stood above all that, immaculate, as though daintily lifting its skirts to wade through the grime. Swinging off of the Donorcycle and giving its battered frame a quick pat, Gideon set out toward that beacon of light, a grim smile on his face. His first night on the job, if it could be called a job, would take him over a dozen floors up into those gleaming towers; he had a feeling that he shouldn't get used to working in such posh places. But a murder can happen anywhere, and the baffling circumstances of this one seemed to warrant special attention...

Saturday, March 1, 2014 9:00 PM How does one begin to be a superhero? Gideon Kinlan had spent three years trying, braving any danger in an effort to become more than ordinary, and succeeded only in throwing his life far off course. Now, another three years on, that old dream had suddenly come true, heedless of the consequences for the life he’d finally begun to rebuild. To let this new gift go to waste was out of the question, and yet he found that he had no idea where to start using it. He was a little old to be asking himself “what would Captain Thunder do?†But when he couldn’t think of anything else, he did anyway. And he decided that Captain Thunder would find a problem and work at it until he fixed it, simple as that. In spite of Freedom City’s preponderance of heroes, it hadn’t been hard to find a problem, a place to start making a difference. All that was left was to leap in with both feet. So Gideon held tight to his aging motorbike, affectionately named “the Donorcycle†after the hospital slang for the notoriously dangerous vehicles, as it raced down the freeway toward the Boardwalk. The winter wind whistled against his helmet and ruffled his jacket. He offered up a silent prayer that now, on his first night as someone more than ordinary, he was doing the right thing. He prayed that he wasn’t tossing aside his life again. It was time to see if he could make this hero thing work.

A solo thread for Gideon/Mindsteel that will start a story arc for him and introduce several members of his Rogues Gallery as well as his family, his struggling business, and the origin of his contacts. I've been saving up posts while I've been without reliable internet, so it'll start with a bit of a flood.

Thanks, Thev, that's good to know. You interpreted my vision of idea #2 correctly, but since I promised I would have the thread ready for today I may shelve that particular plot hook for a little while.

Thanks, Raveled; I will have to look that up. Number three it is. I will work on it and have something ready for tomorrow. Alternatively: The heroes must seize the Russian Mafia in hyperspace, but have to contend with their one weakness, and opposition from fanatics trying to forge the credentials of the Police Chief. (Kidding, but gotta love random plot generators).

I've managed to use up all of my host family's data for February (oops!), so I'll have to wait until March 1 to post anything substantial, but I can get in here really quickly to post ideas. I read over Amelyth's profile to help with them, so if I got something wrong please point it out. I'm vomiting forth several ideas here; please let me know what looks best to you. 1. Little Bit Special: Amanda's Mom is pressuring her brother to manifest super-powers, right? Well, Gideon spent several years pushing himself to do the same. If said brother (couldn't find his name, sorry) were to get into trouble trying to get powers, perhaps caught in supervillain crossfire, both Amelyth and Mindsteel would have personal reasons in addition to heroic ones to want to keep him safe. That could be the start of an interesting friendship. 2. We Are The Future: Both Gideon and Amanda have psionic powers, and neither of them is entirely sure how said powers came to be. The Freedom City villain Professor Psion theorizes that psionic powers are humanity's next big evolutionary leap, becoming more and more common with each generation. Maybe someone believes that prediction and is gathering an army of such wild talents. Or maybe that someone is trying to hunt down and kill the wild talents before they grow into their power. Either way, Amelyth and Mindsteel might well take that personally. 3. Well, This Is Awkward: Both Gideon and Amanda are committed to keeping their secret identities secret, which can cause all sorts of problems when crimes arise when they're not in costume. Perhaps we could go for the classic "robbery while the heroes are present but in civilian identity." Or perhaps we could go for the slightly less classic but more interesting "villain takes hostages and demands that Amelyth and/or Mindsteel face him and save them, not realizing that the heroes are actually among the hostages in civilian identity."

Well, I'm looking to get my newly-approved character into the heat of things. He's not with Claremont, and he's got several years on Amelyth (and is significantly less powerful), but if that's still ok it would be my pleasure to write a thread with you. I have a couple of ideas floating around, though if you would prefer to GM I am of course open to that. Let me know if you're interested, and whether you're looking for a duo thread or would like to round up a few other people first.

Ok, bumped Evasion down to 1, as Gideon is fast but not a trained athlete. Got rid of wall-running; may add it back later, but right now it just doesn't suit the build. I used the two points to bump Strength up to 14 and so meet caps with Gideon's hammer.

Thank you both for your swift and courteous response! Sorry about the errors. I forgot completely about my knockback and grapple modifiers; both are now in place. The Attack Focus mishap was vestigial from an older build, and has been corrected. I've swapped out the motorcycle and Strike 5 for Matrix-style Super Speed and a big hammer, to keep Gideon from being totally helpless against Will-immune things like giant robots. I think that also justifies Evasion, which I admit was just a mechanical choice before. Bad metagamer, bad. Edited complications a little to reflect your suggestions. No more saves, no more chance for positive effects. Good points all, thank you. After popping into chat, I decided that if I saw a comic entitled "Razoracle" I would think it'd be written and drawn by Rob Liefeld twenty years ago and laugh at it. Further, it's more violent / threatening than heroic. With that in mind, I've decided to change Gideon's superheroic name to Mindsteel.

Player Name: Sszinid Character Name: Mindsteel Power Level: 7 (105/109PP) Trade-Offs: +2 Attack / -2 Damage, +2 Defense / -2 Toughness Unspent Power Points: 4 Progress To Bronze Status: 4/30 In Brief: Former power-chaser whose awakened psychic abilities have both fulfilled his dream and severely complicated his life. Alternate Identity: Gideon Thomas Kinlan Identity: Secret Birthplace: Freedom City, USA Occupation: Locksmith Affiliations: None Family: Father (Nathan Kinlan, 60, Doctor), Mother (Elaine Sharpe Kinlan, 56, Doctor), Sister (Ruth Kinlan, 18, Student) Description: Age: 20 (DoB: April 22, 1993) Gender: Male Ethnicity: Caucasian Height: 5'11" Weight: 165 lbs Eyes: Blue Hair: Brown Gideon is of average height and lean of build, with quick hands and an elegance to his movements. He keeps his light brown hair short, and has been cultivating a beard of late, though it grows slowly and looks a little patchy. He's somewhat attractive, but there's an air of melancholy about him, in the semi-stopped way he holds himself and the way only half his mouth ever seems to smile. His deep blue eyes are soft and sad, dreamers' eyes rather than observant ones. He favors jeans and T-shirts, adding a leather motorcycle jacket and gloves when he's riding and an azure parka when it gets cold. He owns a suit, but seldom has any reason to wear it. He carries little with him on the job, just a cheap watch and his toolkit tucked into his pocket. His motorcycle is mid-line, freshly painted but otherwise stock; he doesn't have the know-how to modify it or the money to have someone do it for him, but he does take good care of it. His costume set him back months of savings. It's the best military and police surplus money can buy, kevlar pads and ballistic plates carefully fitted over thick pants and a flak jacket, all utilitarian black and brown. A high-collared, v-cut purple duster completes the ensemble. Emblazoned on Gideon's armored chest is a symbol: a white blade in mid-swing. Thick goggles cover his eyes and a cloth mask covers his face from the bridge of the nose down, hopefully providing anonymity. Power Descriptions: Gideon's ability to look into the past and read psychic impressions from objects has no flashy outward indicators, only a faraway look in his eyes and sluggish reactions to things happening in the here and now. His psiblade is another story. It's a vibrant swirl of colors, yet seems to drink light rather than shed it. It makes no sound when he swings it, having no real physical form; it passes harmlessly through anything without a brain. Gideon's "super-speed" isn't actually all that fast, though it may strengthen with time. He subconsciously lessens air resistance and even gravity around himself, which causes him to move very quickly within a limited space, but a well-trained ordinary athlete could easily outrun him at full tilt. Still, it allows him to fight entire groups of foes in the blink of an eye. History: Growing up in Freedom City is hard for a lot of people. Residents of low-income areas like the Fens have a solid claim to a rough childhood. It's fairly unusual to hear that kind of claim from someone living in the West End, though; nobody is filthy rich, but nobody's poor, either. Gideon Kinlan's parents were happily married doctors with enough money to send the kids to private school without any worries. He had lots of friends in school and was bright enough to get good grades. Gideon Kinlan's childhood was only hard because he made it that way. Growing up in the shadow of superheroes, seeing them not just on the news but literally soaring overhead, gave him a dream job for which there's no real training or application process. When he said he wanted to be like Captain Thunder on his sixth birthday, his parents smiled and encouraged him. When he said it on his twelfth, they asked him what he really wanted. When he said it on his fifteenth, they started to worry. And they were right to worry. It's not actually hard to get superpowers, right? Heroes are constantly born in lab accidents or chosen by strange magical objects. So Gideon and six of his friends took it upon themselves to produce such events. They were going to be the next Freedom League, they told themselves. So they broke into research facilities and dangled their feet over puddles of toxic sludge. They broke into museums and laid hands on things older than time. They jumped into particle accelerators and visited haunted houses. Such power-chasers are not uncommon in Freedom City, but most grow out of it fairly quickly when something goes wrong. Gideon, however, was stubborn. He knew what he wanted, and he thought he knew how to get it. He was good at breaking into places, and on some level he liked the thrill of doing so. So as people began to drift away, he kept at it. When one of his friends got cancer, he figured he had to make it all worth something. In the end, that didn't work so well. On the morning of the worst day of Gideon's life, two months before his eighteenth birthday, his cancer-ridden friend died. Devastated and angry, on some level blaming himself, Gideon got sloppy. He missed an alarm, and when he stepped out of the neutrino bombardment chamber the police were waiting. It was the look on his parents' faces, hurt and disappointment, that made everything click, far more than the sudden loss of all of his college acceptances. He'd ruined his life chasing an impossible dream. But this wasn't theatre; there was no curtain call at the end of the morality play. Gideon had to keep living with himself. He pled guilty to criminal trespassing and breaking and entering, getting away with six months' community service (the kind of thing he did anyway). His offense had been as a juvenile, so his record was sealed when he turned 18. But all of his parents' college hopes had been utterly dashed, and their trust was utterly gone. After long discussion about where to go from there, Gideon took the college money his parents had saved and set it aside to start a business. He figured he was good at getting into secure places, so being a locksmith was right up his alley. He spent two years working with an older, more experienced locksmith, a man who taught him a lot about business but also about maturity and responsibility, before opening Abra Kadabra Locksmith Service (it's hard to get in before AB in the phone book). It wasn't what his parents had in mind all those years, but Gideon was standing on his own two feet, being a contributing member of society. He knew that hurt would always be there, but as long as he worked hard and stayed grounded he could prove to them that he hadn't been a total waste. And they loved and supported him in spite of it all, though he was ashamed to accept it. But only a month after he opened Abra Kadabra, his life drastically changed again. Maybe all of that exposure finally triggered something. Or maybe it was in him all along, part of humanity's next great leap like Professor Psion says. That would be a bitter truth after all he went through. But Gideon woke up one day and found that he could do things, extraordinary things, with his mind. He could conjure dark blades from his hands. He could read objects like open books. He could stand in a place and know, with some serious effort, what had happened there before. It was a terrible decision to have to make: could he really go back to the old dream after all he'd put his loved ones through? But if not, wouldn't he be wasting this gift that had cost him so much to gain? In the end, he knew he couldn't turn away. His life was going to get a lot more complicated, a lot more secretive, but maybe he could be more than just one strained but upstanding citizen. Maybe he could be as good as his parents had hoped, even if they'd never know. And so Razoracle was born, and Gideon's greatest struggle began. Personality & Motivation: Gideon is acutely aware of the fact that he screwed up big-time. The last thing he ever wanted was to have his family disappointed in him, and yet he managed it. Even though they've forgiven him, it's not like things can just go back to the way they were. So he strives to prove that he really has changed, that he's a good person who's learned the lessons his parents worked so hard to teach him in childhood. But his powers have thrown a wrench into all those plans. For all its heroes, Freedom City still has big problems, and Gideon has always wanted to help. His youthful excitement at the idea of being a superhero isn't entirely gone, and not using his new abilities seems a terrible waste to him. Whatever he chooses, he's going to feel guilty. He tries to bury that guilt by doing the best he can in both of his lives, being patient, kind, and slow to judge. He is mild-mannered and friendly, burdened at heart but refusing to take that out on anyone but himself. He should probably take antidepressants, but he won't. He has to do it all on his own. Powers & Tactics: Gideon's psiblade is a potent weapon, and his speed makes it all the more so, but he's not a trained warrior. Knowing this, he fights with caution, knowing when to attack and when to wait silently or retreat to fight another day. His battles against crime are carefully chosen; his powers and contacts allow him to research in detail what the foes of justice are up to before bringing the fight to them. When lives are on the line and there's no time for delays Gideon fights all the harder, but he's more in his element taking it slow. Wary of mindless or strong-willed enemies, Gideon carries a heavy hammer as well, but it's a last resort. He's hardly an expert detective, but his powers pick up some of the slack. One day he may be a fine investigator, provided his enthusiasm doesn't overbalance his good sense and get him killed. He can match bullets to guns and gunmen simply by touching them, no serial numbers needed. He can reconstruct any crime scene he can visit in perfect detail. His visions may not be admissible in court, but they make him darn good at finding hard evidence that criminals want to keep buried. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Complications: Bad Business Blues: Abra Kadabra Locksmith Service may be first in the phone book, but it's still barely staying afloat. Gideon is the only employee, taking all of the calls and doing all of the management. A lot of nights, he gets nothing. Some nights, he gets way too much to handle alone and loses business. He won't ask his family for help; he wants them to believe that he doesn't need any. So he has a cruddy little apartment, barely enough gas in his bike, and very little sleep. When his business or lack of funds causes him trouble, Gideon gains a Hero Point. Conceal, Don't Feel: Gideon's psychic powers are new to him, and his control over them is often shaky. Strong emotions have a good chance of shattering that control. When he experiences extreme fear, anger, sadness, or even joy, Gideon's powers may gain the Unreliable flaw. Alternatively, he may be subjected to a Confuse effect. My Life Is In Two Pieces: Just as Gideon was getting his life back on track, he's suddenly gotten the powers he used to want so badly. He feels that he can't possibly not use them now, as it would be irresponsible to deny Freedom City the good he can do with them, but he has a responsibility to his family as well, and is pretty sure that they would consider what he's doing to be going off the reservation again. So he has to hide his activities from his family… and his family from his new enemies. When Gideon runs into trouble juggling his responsibilities, he gains a Hero Point. Why Yes, I Did Just Combust: Gideon's days as a power-chaser are behind him, but the energies he exposed himself to over the years aren't done with him yet. At the beginning of any thread, and at any time the DM chooses, Gideon may be subjected to a random power effect with the Energy, Magic, or Radiation descriptor. This will always be a negative effect (like Confuse, Fatigue, or even Blast). This effect may intensify around strong sources of Energy, Magic, or Radiation. The GM should not feel limited to power effects described in the rulebook; after all that Gideon's put himself through, just about anything is possible. Creativity is highly encouraged. Abilities: 4 + 6 + 2 + 2 + 2 + 4 = 20PP Strength: 14 (+2) Dexterity: 16 (+3) Constitution: 12 (+1) Intelligence: 12 (+1) Wisdom: 12 (+1) Charisma: 14 (+2) Combat: 10 + 10 = 20PP Initiative: +7 Attack: +9 Melee, +5 Ranged Grapple: +10 Defense: +9 (+5 Base, +4 Dodge Focus), +2 Flat-Footed Knockback: -2 Saving Throws: 5 + 5 + 5 = 15PP Toughness: +5 (+1 Con, +4 Tactical Vest) Fortitude: +6 (+1 Con, +5) Reflex: +8 (+3 Dex, +5) Will: +6 (+1 Wis, +5) Skills: 60R = 15PP Acrobatics 2 (+5) Bluff 3 (+5) Computers 4 (+5) Concentration 4 (+5) Diplomacy 3 (+5) Disable Device 7 (+8) Drive 4 (+7) Gather Information 5 (+7) Investigate 4 (+5) Knowledge [Current Events] 4 (+5) Knowledge [Pop Culture] 4 (+5) Notice 4 (+5) Search 4 (+5) Sense Motive 4 (+5) Stealth 4 (+7) Feats: 14PP Attack Focus (Melee) 4 Contacts Dodge Focus 4 Equipment 2 Evasion 1 Fearless Well-Informed Equipment: 10 EP Locksmith's Tools (+2 Disable Device) [1EP] Warhammer [5EP] Tactical Vest [4EP] Powers: 4 + 10 + 5 + 2 = 21PP Comprehend 2 (Objects) [4PP] (Read Psychic Impressions) Strike 5 (Extras: Alternate Save [Will]) [10PP] (Psiblade) Super-Speed 1 (Free Feat: Rapid Attack) [5PP] (Speed of Thought) Super-Senses 4 (Postcognition; Flaws: Tiring) [2PP] (Sense Lingering Emotion) DC Block ATTACK RANGE SAVE EFFECT Psiblade 5ft radius DC20 Will Damage (Mental) Unarmed 5ft radius DC16 Tough Damage (Physical) Warhammer 5ft radius / 10ft DC20 Tough Damage (Physical) Totals: Abilities (20) + Combat (20) + Saving Throws (15) + Skills (15) + Feats (14) + Powers (21) - Drawbacks (0) = 105/109 Power Points

I'm not a player yet, but my character creation process has been interrupted by a week in the Jordanian countryside without internet. It should give me time to think about what I really want to play. In any case, I'll be back next Friday to get started in earnest.

Hi, everyone! I'm an American university student currently studying abroad in Jordan, and wanted to have a little taste of home in the form of what I always enjoyed back in the states: writing and superheroes. I'm actually about to head off on a week-long retreat into the countryside, where I'll have no internet, so my timing's not ideal, but I just wanted to pop in and say that I'm not just here to lurk; I'm eager to get involved. I'm not sure how solid I am on the MnM rules; I'm an International History major who barely survived my econ requirements, as numbers are not my friends. I am, however, really looking forward to having some new folks to write with once I survive character creation. Speaking of which, if anyone has a character looking for backstory connections, or any other kind of character suggestion, I'm up for anything. Send me a PM and we'll talk. My schedule will be weird compared to most of you for the next three months; when the chatroom is crowded, I'm just waking up. Still, I will try and pop in and meet some of you before I head out. Maybe I'll even get a character draft ready in time. And when I get back, it will be my extreme pleasure to jump into writing with you on what looks to be a deep and enduring site.