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Ecalsneerg

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  • Birthday 09/07/1991

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  1. I'm gonna ignore the reroll because he's a flat-footed man with a shotgun, not a speedster, so he can't dodge that. You get your full +3 to Autofire, making it DC 24. OK so he rolls a 15, failing his save by 9. I'm gonna Fiat so you don't one-shot the boss on round 1 [url=https://orokos.com/roll/918389]Man got punched[/url]: [u]1d20+4[/u] [b]7[/b] + 10 = 17, so not much better, he fails by 7 and is Bruised & Dazed. Anna - 37 - 3 HP - Uninjured Junior - 22- NPC - Uninjured Napoleon - 20 - NPC - Uninjured Professional - 15 - NPC - Uninjured Osla - 10 - 3 HP - Uninjured Liam - 6 - 1 HP - Uninjured Leader - 6 - NPC - Bruised, Dazed
  2. [url=https://orokos.com/roll/918355]Initiative[/url]: [u]1d20+4[/u] [b]6[/b] [u]1d20+3[/u] [b]20[/b] [u]1d20+3[/u] [b]15[/b] [u]1d20+2[/u] [b]22[/b] [url=https://orokos.com/roll/918356]Initiative for Arrowhawk[/url]: [u]1d20+8[/u] [b]10[/b] OK, so! I'm also gonna give Anna a bonus HP for the Secret Identity, but not for the civilians in danger until y'know... they actually point guns at someone not a PC. Also for reference, these guys aren't staggeringly high PL, but they're not Minions. Anna - 37 - 2 HP - Uninjured Junior - 22- NPC - Uninjured Napoleon - 20 - NPC - Uninjured Professional - 15 - NPC - Uninjured Osla - 10 - 3 HP - Uninjured Liam - 6 - 1 HP - Uninjured Leader - 6 - NPC - Uninjured @Avenger Assembled, shocking no one, the speedster is up first.
  3. Yeah that'd be time to roll initiative. @Avenger Assembled @Tiffany Korta
  4. GM post The leader laughed mockingly. "Not sure that's how it works. An old lady name drops some of the local toughs, and we scarper off, is that how this works?" The young one didn't look too convinced. "Uh... maybe this isn't such the best idea..." The short one elbowed him roughly in the ribs, pulling his gun out of his holster with a sneer on his yellowing teeth, staring at these two interlopers. "Please, an old lady tries to scare you and you just fall for it? C'mon, man." Sanchez stood behind the desk, pulling open the cash drawer, pulling out some of the notes. "Please, please, just... we'll give them the money, and then you'll go, won't you, fellas?" He didn't sound especially scared, businessmen in Bedlam got held up all of the time. It'd cut heavily into his profits, but at least he'd live. Suddenly, behind the group of toughs, between them and the door stood a youngish looking woman, her lips twisted into a sneer, eyes a brilliant blue, glaring ahead of her. She looked like she'd been in a fight already that day. She didn't look like a second in any way perturbed her. She spoke with a strange accent, somewhat Scandinavian, but somehow just a little off. "Or they can turn around and walk out of here and no one has to get hurt," she stated, as if it was a constant and this wasn't still up for negotiation. The short angry one wheeled on her, brandishing his gun, even as the leader calmly pulled out a sawn-off shotgun, levelling it at the elderly woman who'd stood up to him. "Can we waste her? I don't like the look of this one," Shorty sneered, as the leader shook his head, an icy expression staring down Anna. "No. They're just going to give us the money, and no one gets hurt. Shoot the girl if she disagrees with that."
  5. OK, so both of you: All of these men are armed; the leader with a shotgun, the other three with revolvers. They've made some effort to conceal them, but not much of an effort - clearly they're keeping the option for intimidation or worse. They're lying about this being a protection racket, this is a straight-up hold-up. The tall, skinny one, this is probably his first major criminal incident, he's jumpy and nervous. Probably the easiest to talk down but also the most likely to accidentally get something killed. The one at the back and the leader are fairly professional, possibly former military or long-term career criminals, they're not especially worried or on edge. The short bald one is also likely a career criminal, but aggressive. He's not the most likely to accidentally get someone killed, but probably most likely to deliberately injure someone. Liam only: I'd really prefer that she didn't until after this situation is resolved one way or another.
  6. If either of you want; you can roll any of the below checks: Knowledge (Streetwise), Notice, Sense Motive
  7. GM post Osla would have rolled her eyes hard if she'd cared enough. She gritted her teeth a little, stuffing her hands into her pockets, but kept staring blankly ahead. She didn't need banter at this time of morning. She needed coffee, two stitches and to lie down and close her eyes for six to seven hours. Even through the increasing din in the busy shop, the sound of the van rolling up could be heard. It was a strange grey-green, and unconcerned with the no parking zone in front of the store. The engine roared, the exhaust pluming out dark smoke; this van was not in particularly great shape, and as it sat idling in front of the shop, the noise of the clattering engine didn't seem to abate much. Four men barrelled out of it, one coming out of the passenger side door, the other three clambering out of the back. They formed a loose square formation as they crashed through the front door, sending the bell a-clacking, one of the men elbowing a gentleman near the door as they uncaringly tromped forward. The leader was a middle-aged Caucasian man, built like a linebacker, in a grey pullover and battered brown leather jacket, walking with his arms spread, his coat bulging in odd places. His blue eyes fixed Sanchez with a sneer as his men fanned around him. The one to his left was young, barely out of his teens, but tall and gangly, arms streaked in track marks, his blonde hair long, lank and greasy. One hand was plunged into the deep pockets of his baggy green cargo trousers, a look of twitchy nervousness barely concealed on a face trying to look dispassive and unintimidated. To the right of the leader stood a short man, perhaps 5'4'', 5'5''? His head was shaved bald and marked with pock marks and scars, his leather jacket open to show a wife beater and a pelt of dark chest hair. Unlike his compatriots, this guy didn't even bother to hide his revolver, holstering it on his hip, one hand idly playing with the handle, eyes dreaming of violence. Behind the group, the calmest and least concerned, stood a man in a knee-length beige trenchcoat, like the ones PIs wore in old 40s flicks. He looked to be in his thirties, and was very non-descript, his eyes an indescribable brown, his hair cut short and a medium brown hue. Hell, even the way he stood didn't jump to the eye, dragging the viewer's attention to his three compatriots. A sneer crossed the leader's lips. "Sanchez, you've not paid your dues this month," he rumbled in a voice of gravel and razor blades. Sanchez looked shocked, taking a step back, bumping against the wall. "I... I... I paid last week!" he said, dumbfounded. Such incidents like this weren't unheard of in this city, not at all, but during the breakfast rush? "That weren't to us," snickered the short, short man, voice nasal and mocking. "So we'll be taking your register, and if it's not enough, I'm sure your patrons will chip in?" He pulled his jacket back further, as if anyone hadn't seen his gun yet.
  8. OOC thread for https://www.freedomplaybypost.com/topic/13399-the-finest-organic-suspension-ic/ As I said, while there will inevitably be combat, the criminals are inevitably going to be low PL so any actual threat will be to civilians and secret identities.
  9. 11th October 2021 7.13am Sanchez's had been in Hardwick for around ten years now, a little café just off Pelecamos Street. Despite the sky-high rent; the business had trundled along by sheer popularity: the food wasn't complicated, but it was good; one of those places where the menu was an inch thick but the chef seemed up to the task. The windows were dusty and grimy, never quite able to get clean, the green paint around the frames flaking and worn to the decaying wood. The interior wasn't especially well lit, the walls painted in a splash of terracotta red, rows of small tables lined against either wall, leaving an alleyway leading to the creaking, worn wooden counter. "Eggs!" came a loud voice from behind the counter, a plate of the breakfast food being set on the ledge of the service hatch. Various commuters and early risers had already begun to filter in, some sitting down to their breakfast, some queuing for coffee, the two waitresses rushing and bustling to serve them with a smile. Osla stood in the line behind a couple of grumbling old gentlemen, sullenly looking to all as if she was ignoring the world. Her Converse were worn and tied loosely, her black jeans ripped at one knee. One hand was thrust into the pocket of a battered black leather jacket, the other hanging loose at her side, a white dressing on the palm, pink with blood in the very centre of it. Her impossibly blonde hair was pulled back in tight braids, pinned to the side of her head in looping coils. It didn't do much to hide the beginnings of blue and black bruise on her forehead. The shipment she'd stopped at the harbour last night had been more heavily guarded than she expected. One of the men clearly had combat experience, and she'd had no choice but to grab his knife. It could have been worse. At least she hadn't been the one being headbutted through a set of broken floorboards. The man at the head of the line filed back out of the store, the bell above the door ringing as he set off into the cool morning, cup of Joe clenched in his hand in a paper cup. Expression unchanging, she went to step forwards, pausing for a moment. One of the waitresses bustled past through the newly formed gap in the line, an apologetic smile on her face and a plate of pancakes in her hand. As soon as she passed, Osla took a step forward, moving along with the line.
  10. Arrowhawk tilted her head to one side, a slow smile appearing on her face. She took a slow deliberate step towards Thrude, creaking emanating from her bow where she gripped it hard enough to squeeze the wood. "Oh, I've no quarrel with coming to Midgard to fight monsters. The real quarrel was when your grandfather wouldn't treat with me and I ran out of the easy choices royalty are afforded. You see, a beast needed slain. And someone had to summon my father, who fulfilled his duty." She slowly cocked her head the other direction, like a raptor eyeing a particularly tasty mouse. "I am no child to assign chores to. Yes, I am in debt to the Liar. And I am heir to Mjolnir's last wielder, I am the inheritor of my father's vigil, and I damn sure will not tolerate any Midgardian suffering at the hands of anything crawling down the Ygdrassil into this realm. And I do it because it is my vigil. Not because your family abdicated theirs long ago. Issue commands and threats to your own servants, Princess. But don't ever make the mistake of confusing me for one of them." One pale finger rapped at the pale hawk upon her breast, rapping against the dense armour. "I am the Arrowhawk. Or one of them, at least. It must be pleasant for you, to always walk in light. But the Arrowhawk bears the darkness, stands fast in it. Until dawn breaks." She took one step closer, unnaturally blue eyes fixing on Thrude's remaining one. Her voice dropped to a murmur, almost a casual whisper between friends in the dark. Almost. "Threaten me again."
  11. Arrowhawk took a step forward, rolling her shoulders casually, ignoring those surrounding her. She didn't much care for forgotten gods and slumbering heroes and valkyries. The squirrel she did remember, though. "Don't needle me, poultry. If Odin yet does not understand why I'd be driven to Loki over him, perhaps I could rip out his other eye and hang him from another tree." She glared at the bird's beady black eyes, jaw clenched hard, looming over it. Bending a little to meet its gaze, she briefly resembled a great bird herself, great wing-like cape draped over her, eyes glaring out from her dark cowl. Upon the revelation of the serpent's activities, she backed away a couple of steps from looming over the avian, and turned to gesture at Thrude with one hand. "And why do you require us? The serpent? Surely this is a labour for her father!" A bitter laugh rang out from her. "Has Odin seen fit to return his hammer to him yet?"
  12. Doktor'd! Edits for Oslahawk Her armour is now illegal; substitute her Second Chance on Toughness saves vs piercing to Toughness save vs conventional blades, i.e. Device 1 (5PP Container, Flaws: Hard to Lose [-1]) [4PP] (Arrowhawk Costume) Protection 3 (Feats: Second Chance [Toughness save vs bullet damage], Second Chance [Toughness save vs conventional blades]) [5PP] (armour) Also of her 11 unspent pp, put 1pp into skills, allocated as follows: 4 ranks of Intimidate, increasing it to Intimidate 12 (+14)
  13. Down the slope from the assembled group, the air crackled for a moment and suddenly split asunder. The edges of the crack in the air were muted rainbow light, like a dimmed Bifrost. Broken splinters of wood and tufts of shredded feathers fluttered down for a second, before boots thudded down onto the slope and the hole closed with the sound of cracking ice. The woman walked up the slope, seemingly unconcerned about the assembly of oddballs and animals before her. She wore a strange mix of modern tactical gear and visibly Asgardian battle garb, carbide strike plates and clawed gauntlets, cloak of a synthetic blend and boots of doe leather and scalemail. An axe and quiver hung from her belt, and she held a bow in one hand. From beneath her hood and mask, two piercingly blue eyes glared up at the group. "And here I thought I was the only one foolish enough to answer the call of he who sits 'pon his throne toying with his spear," laughed Arrowhawk in English, before her eyes flicked over the two ravens. "<I see he has sent his pheasants. Ignorance. Amnesia,>" she greeted them in old Norse, not laughter in her words or eyes even as her lips still grinned.
  14. Galvanic took flight, following after the group. "Is there nearby civilisation?" she asked, spinning in the air to get her bearings, electricity coruscating around her. She pivoted her head from side to side, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. But then, everything seemed strange after leaving Tempest. "We could returnget home, if we found advanced enough technology. Otherwise..." she trailed off, letting the implication of a 3000 year wait sink in.
  15. Arrowhawj barely blanched as the draugr's flesh and bone reknitted, until it stood before them. She took one step towards it, eyes narrowing. "You get one. But you should go to your rest. Hel is always looking for new followers." She spun on her heel, whipping her cloak around her and beginning to walk away, not wanting to have to deal with what passed for a constabulary in these parts. "The police are on their way. We should disperse, they never take kindly to our kind," she said in clipped tones.
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