Ecalsneerg

Chlo'zel Elzak's boots tramped along the hallway as she made her way past trained Naval crewmen making preparations. This was an exceptionally dangerous assignment, one she wasn't sure she was comfortable with. And as the one who'd landed the final blow upon Kinan Khan, perhaps not their favourite person in the galaxy. She adjusted her collar as she walked, her golden yellow coat fastened up to the neck, the buttons some polished red metal. Her ice-blue jumpsuit had barely a wrinkle on it, and her wrackhide boots had been polished as much as she was able. They only shone up so well; wrackbeast scales spark dangerously under sufficient friction and it tended to burn the polish black. Still, it did to make the effort. Chlo'zel nodded to her fellow Praetorians. "Unsure what's worsedanger," she said somewhat amiably, even if her blue face bore a worried expression. "If trapruse, or if sincere. Khanate cannot have common ground." Galvanic inclined her head respectfully to the much-taller Sitara and Myoth. "We have each other's backs," she told them, with utmost sincerity, knowing between the three of them they'd make it out just fine.

Geckoman & Spellbound Geckoman looked at Viktor incredulously. "That's what we're going with here? You met a space alien and now the magic of Christmas has moved you?" He shook his head wearily and closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. As he did, he sniffed. The Dok hadn't looked or sounded like he'd been spinning an elaborate yarn, but... well. He sifted through the mess of smells, so many unfamiliar ones criss-crossing and looping. He vaguely recognised some of them, Velocity's burst of ozone, Fleur's botanic explosion. Lizzie he could always immediately identify, that woodsmoke and honey perfume, the tang of engine grease and coolant... He could even pick up Erik among the masses scents drifting through the door, a mingling scent of strawberries and homemade cologne. He'd been running... from a party? Definitely a lot of tension, but less pissed than he'd expected. And were those mini quiches? He hadn't even eaten yet, why didn't things kick off after a good dinner? . "... OK, damn, I'm convinced. Man's not lying." Geckoman winked, tapping his nose. Liz rolled her eyes. "You need to stop doing that to people. It's weird." She gave Chris a wordless look, to which he briefly nodded, and she breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, y'know, Doktor, from personal experience, there's a lot worse places to start." Geckoman rocked forwards, his feet still up on the table. Putting his hands flat on the table, he reared up from his chair casually, hanging off the edge of the table. "Yeah, she's... kind of boxing me in here. You did some messed up stuff, dunno what you do to make amends for that. But for what it's worth," he turned and lifted one hand to gesture, still managing to keep in the same awkward position. "Let the man try?" Geckoman leaned back towards Liz. "And I can pitch Jack on that, right?" he gulped sotto voce.

Geckoman [Titanic character, split posts between Equinox/Galvanic/Arrowhawk II] Holiday Cheer! (4) - 1PP

Geckoman Holiday Cheer! 5 Galvanic Praetorians: A Paradigm Shift 4 Galvanic isn't maxed out, but Geckoman is, so if you could split the posts between Equinox and Arrowhawk II, that'll work out as 1pp for Equinox, Arrowhawk II and Galvanic. (Don't feel obliged cos this isn't the edit thread but my Player Reward tracker still says Arrowhawk I is an active PC!)

Geckoman & Spellbound Chris sat down on one of the chairs, pulling his mask and goggles off to toss them lightly onto the table, his chestnut hair a sticky-up mess in all directions. "Well, as the..." He gestured vaguely towards Copycat. "I mean, damn I bet you're regretting not wearing the other suit, amirite?" He waved a hand. "Priorities. OK so the Interceptors are aware and some of them are probably inbound. And most of them don't have my enviable sense of zen." Geckoman winked at VINCE. Liz took a seat next to him, an arch expression as she looked down her nose a little. No way was she standing, who did they think she was? "You have a rank? Anyway, as possibly the only other person in this room to have had to live their life after a bunch of attempted murder-" "You've both hit me with buildings!" "- Yes, well... My point is, well..." Geckoman cut in, leaning back in the chair and slinging his feet back up onto it, pointing at Viktor. "The man walked in hands up, and while I don't think that merits any level of forgiveness, I think it's important we calm down and remember the job is to save people, and the coming out swinging is just one of the options." He shrugged. "You're an asshole, Dok. You really are. People are dead and they're not coming back. And just walking in here, like this, unannounced, at the damn Christmas party!?" Chris inhaled and stopped, raising a hand. "You know Blades is coming, right? You had to know how many people would want to put a boot up your ass and you..." Liz squeezed his hand, before turning to look down her nose at Archeville. "I appreciate the need to make amends, but is what you have to say worth the situation you have put us in here?"

Cassie's eyes went wide. She'd grown up used to some frankly unusual stuff, even leaving aside superpowers her parents were both pretty eccentric people. But this was something. "Wow! Can you turn into anything?" she asked with child-like wonder. Liz made a polite face, nodding. "Uh... so you're gonna be fine here, right?" Behind her, Geckoman was looking at his phone, a concerned look on his face. "Uh... Honey, I've got a work call." Liz wheeled, rolling her eyes. "Come on, we're in a room of superheroes, surely someone else c-" Chris angled the phone to her. "Oh this is gonna turn nasty, right?" They both turned and gave a hurried goodbye to Cassie. "OK be good we'll check in soon." By the time they'd rounded the corner they were running, Liz as fast as she could manage in heels, Geckoman at a light jog so she could keep pace. "So what's the plan here, Green? Get 'eyes' on him?" she asked, a little bitterly. The two came to a screeching halt at the balcony overlooking the hall. Chris looked at her incredulously. "F&^k no, I'm gonna go stop this fight from breaking out." "People are angry at him for a reason, Kenzie. What exactly are you gonna do? Take on everyone with a justified grievance?" Geckoman straight up laughed and took her hand. "Hey, I can hang, I'm not that old yet." Liz snorted. The two weaved their way through the crowd, getting there just as Fleur de Joie did. "Hey, as always, loving the green. Hi, Dok, long time no see, listen, man..." Liz's hand clamped over his mouth as she smiled sweetly. She extended the other hand to Viktor. "I'm Elizabeth, I believe we have some things in common." Liz gave him a long, tired look. She'd never actually done anything as bad but she did understand what it was like to not necessarily be forgiven. "I think she's got a fine idea, don't you?" She inclined her head towards the green-haired woman.

Geckoman & Spellbound "Uh, yeah," Liz knelt to her daughter's eye level. "You gonna be good to hang out with the other kids for a bit?" Cassie peered past her mom, chewing her lip anxiously. "I guess..." She did manage a small smile at the cat lady. "Hey, it'll be fine, right? Can't be more boring than a grown-up party, right?" Chris ruffled his daughter's hair a little bit and reached out to shake Neko's hand. "Anyway, thanks so much for doing this, you know, we don't get out much. Plus it's good for Cassie to hang out with other kids with powers." Looking thoughtful as to what she could do to fit in, Cassie pointed at the paper project that Leon was helping some kids with. "What are they doing?" she asked shyly. Liz stood upright, patting her daughter's back. "See, you're going to be fine. You will be fine, right? I can sta-" "It's fine, mom, I'm seven," she stomped.

Geckoman & Spellbound The Lawlett-Kenzies found themselves making conversation lightly, trying to navigate to the childcare and more importantly, the bar, when Velocity rolled onto stage to do her big announcement. "Look, this is what I keep telling you, Green. She showboats, that's where speedsters always screw up. Means you can predict where they'll stop." She lifted an arm and pointed an imaginary wand forward. "Fzzzt!" She unfurled her fingers in an explosion. "Blam!" Chris raised one arm above Cassie and she hopped up, dangling upside down from her father's arm as they headed to the stairs. "Yeah, I was a way better enemy." Liz pulled a face. "Yeah, of course, you're a waaaay better fighter." They rounded towards where they'd been told they were keeping an eye on the kids so the grown-ups could get a break. "Ok, lilbit, we're gonna leave you in the care of a cat lady. Neko? I always get lost in this place."

Geckoman & Spellbound Cassie nodded seriously. "My dad gets banged up a lot too." "Well, you know, it's not about being invincible, it's about taking the hits so they don't hurt someone else," Chris said hurriedly, turning to greet Mali. "Hi, no, I know who you are." He pulled her into a handshake and half-hug. "I think Edge keeps some kind of membership book somewhere." He turned his head back to Golden Boy, pointing back at Crimson Tiger. "It's about shaking the strict observation, kid." It was a helluva display, Chris jumping slightly, Cassie staring up with dinner-plate eyes and Liz... looking impassively up at the whole thing. She took her daughter's hand firmly, sensing there was maybe just a bit too much going on for her at the moment and to get her to focus on one thing. "So, uh, Mali, right? This is our daughter, Cassie, and she's a big fan and do you want to say hi?" "Uh... hello. It's nice to meet you," said the little girl shyly. Geckoman looked up incredulously. "Wait, are we just skimming past the... Kimber, what's the etiquette here? Do we like, ignore the guy? Or is it more..." He cupped his hands over his mouth to shout to the beleaguered Ezekiel. "Be good this year! Buy a goose for an orphan or something, buddy!"

Geckoman & Spellbound Liz stifled a laugh, disguising it as a cough behind her hand. Geckoman just looked a little taken aback, but rallied quickly with a winning smile. "Oh wow, Claremont? That takes me back. This is..." He paused and met Liz's eyes. She stared blankly back for a second before rolling her eyes. "Kenzie, I'm not sure there's anyone who doesn't know your secret identity, mine was on CNN, and two thirds of us are dressed like normal human beings." Geckoman turned back to the three. "Right. This is my long-term partner Liz, who is pretending she doesn't own a costume." She inclined her head towards the kids, lingering on Magic 8-Ball. "Well, it was more in your colour palette than his." Geckoman turned and gestured at his daughter, hiding behind her mother's legs a little. "This is our daughter, Cassie. And look, we're not really on the clock here, Chris is fine. Y'know, not... god, what do they use for my secret identity in the comics? I'm sure Grant's in there." Liz shrugged her shoulders. "Issue 15's up in the bar, Big Jack got into that one." She turned to briefly talk towards the kids. "Big Jack is, or was, The Sledgehammer. It's not a bad one, good likeness of him. Mind you, the hammer's not actually magic, he's a meta, I think." Cassie looked up at the three, with wide eyes and a slightly awed expression. "Do you get to go out and fight bad guys like my dad does?"

Geckoman & Spellbound The Kenzie-Lawletts arrived through the front door; Geckoman in his customary green-and-yellow suit, this one with dark green panelling under the arms and on the calves, vivid yellow lines running along the seams. As he entered, he pulled his goggles down over his eyes. Shortly behind him was Liz, always a little uncomfortable at these events because showing up in costume always seemed somewhat fraught. Instead she'd settled for a black dress and purple leggings, with knee-high platform boots elevating her to Chris's height, some fairly aggressive contour and mascara obfuscating her face shape a little. Cassie's small hand clutched hers tightly, looking around in wide eyed wonder at Freedom Hall. "Wooooowww..." she peered owlishly around at the festive decorations, at the panoply of costumed superheroes. "OK, sweetie, don't go running off," her mother reminded her absently, fiddling one-handed in one of her dress's pockets. "We don't have to disarm, do we?" Geckoman exhaled. "Honestly, I don't think it ever comes up. You really think the Freedom League and half the superheroes in the city care if someone slips a couple of weapons in?" He patted his yellow utility belt and its seemingly baffling array of pockets and pouches. It made an odd squeaking noise where his glove patted it, followed by an ominous whirring. Despite herself, Liz allowed herself a tired smile. "I legitimately have never been in a room with you where either of us had stopped at two, Kenzie." Her smile froze and she groaned. "Oh, that's Velocity." "Well, that was a long time ago. Besides, I thought that had been fairly professional," Chris knelt, helping his daughter out of her puffy winter coat. "Besides, there's plenty of people here. Wait, is that Lynn? I've not seen Lynn in ages!" "Who's Lynn?" Geckoman pointed with one gloved hand. "Over there, that's Grimalkin. She was one of the OG Interceptors with Uncle Erik before I was on the team, I was still at school. She went away for a while, she was in another dimension. That's like a world like ours, but-" Cassie nodded seriously as she interrupted. "I know what parallel worlds are, Erin is from one, right, dad?" Geckoman looked thoughtful. "You know what, for now, yes, like Erin. But we can get into that later." Liz leaned into his arm as the three headed forth into the party, ruffling Cassie's hair to practiced protest. "OK, so we meet some of your dad's weird friends and then you can go hang out with some of the superkids your own age. But y'know... don't do anything show-offy with your powers." "Yeah, Doc Metropolis, doesn't like footprints on his glass surfaces, whodathunkit?"

Paragon Power Level: 10 (150/150PP) Trade-Offs: -4 Defense / +4 Toughness, -4 Attack / +4 Damage In Brief: The superhero classic "It's never as bad as it seems. You're much stronger than you think you are. Trust me." Powers & Tactics: This is a pretty straight-forward flying brick. You're strong, you're tough, you can fly, and can do so in the inhospitable vacuum of space or in the depths of the sea. You don't have much in the way of fancy fighting skills, until you started facing the truly powerful threats, your invulnerability and strength had been plenty to get by with! The Paragon Array is a fairly standard thing a lot of player builds in the past have had; you've always got low ranks in Flight and Super-Strength, but can use the dynamic array to boost your strength to the point you can heft a cargo jet over your head, or speed up to 500MPH. This build is deliberately light on the more exotic paragon powers, no laser vision or energy blasts, but you can use your Super-Breath to scatter mooks like ninepins or put out fires. You're also pretty inspirational, the gosh-darn embodiment of heroism, valour and hope. You can use your hero points to inspire your allies and to bring them back into the fight. After all, with all you can achieve on your own, just think what you could achieve with a posse of super friends? Complications: Oh no! Unobtanium, my only weakness! Great powers often come with great weaknesses. Some rare and precious substance can harm you, even through your paragon's physique. If this weakness is especially harmful or especially lethal, it could even be worth adjusting your build to have Power Loss, Vulnerability and Weakness drawbacks; but sometimes having a source of Hero Points is more valuable than a few more PP in your build. Customisation: The obvious places to customise this build, aside from the weaknesses suggested above, could be more exotic powers. A Distracting Blast could AP off of the Super-Senses, or perhaps your paragon is a font of cosmic energy and can temporarily put that energy into cosmic radiation lasers instead of great physical might. Maybe you lack the same super-senses but can call down lightning bolts? Maybe you lack the senses too, and 'just' have even higher Impervious Toughness and more Super-Strength ranks. There's also whoever wears the cape. Maybe in your secret identity you're a reporter with a scattering of Knowledges and great Gather Information. Maybe you're former military and have higher attack/defence to reflect your training. Perhaps you're not an alien orphan, but just a plain old alien, with knowledge of the galaxy and super-advanced technology. Abilities: 6 + 0 + 6 + 0 + 4 + 10 = 26PP Strength: 38/16 (+14/+3) Dexterity: 10 (+0) Constitution: 22/16 (+6/+3) Intelligence: 10 (+0) Wisdom: 14 (+2) Charisma: 20 (+5) Combat: 4 + 4 = 8PP Initiative: +0 Attack: +6 melee, +2 Base Defense: +6 (+2 Base, +4 Dodge Focus), +1 Flat-Footed Grapple: +21/+9, up to +26 with Super-Strength Knockback: -11/-1 Saving Throws: 4 + 4 + 6 = 14PP Toughness: +14/+3 (+6/+3 Con, +8 Protection [Impervious 8]) Fortitude: +10/+7 (+6/+3 Con, +4) Reflex: +4 (+0 Dex, +4) Will: +8 (+2 Wis, +6) Skills: 32R = 8PP Diplomacy 10 (+15) Knowledge [Civics] 5 (+5) Language 1 (English, native: Spanish) Notice 8 (+10) Sense Motive 8 (+10) Feats: 18PP All-Out Attack Attack Focus (melee) 4 Dodge Focus 4 Fearless Inspire 3 Leadership Luck 3 Power Attack Powers: 22 + 6 + 2 + 7 + 16 + 9 + 3 + 13 = 76 I've elected to not list descriptors for much of this build: the paragon's might could come from his alien physiology, a magic word, psionics, or any number of things! Enhanced Strength 22 [22PP] Enhanced Constitution 6 [6PP] Flight 1 (10 MPH) [2PP] Immunity 7 (suffocation, all environmental effects) [7PP] Protection 8 (Extras: Impervious [+1]) [16PP] Super-Senses 9 (extended hearing 2 [1000' increments], extended vision 2 [1000' increments], infravision, ultrahearing, X-ray vision, Power Drawbacks: Power Loss: Lead) [9PP] Super-Strength 1 (Heavy load: 2.4 tons, Power Feats: Super-Breath) [3PP] Paragon Array 5 (10PP array, Power Feats: Dynamic, Dynamic Alternate Power 1) [13PP] Dynamic Base Power: Super-Strength 5 (total 6, Heavy load: up to 153.6 tons) [10PP] Dynamic Alternate Power: Flight 5 (total 6, 500MPH) [10PP] DC Block ATTACK RANGE SAVE EFFECT Unarmed Touch DC 29 Toughness Damage Super-Breath Touch (Area) DC 24/+14 Reflex/opposed Str Trip Totals: Abilities (26) + Combat (8) + Saving Throws (14) + Skills (8) + Feats (18) + Powers (76) - Drawbacks (0) = 150/150 Power Points

Osla felt a little uncomfortable with the praise, unfamiliar with the sensation. "Uh, well, I appreciate the flattery." She halting inclined her head towards what she greatly suspected was a dragon. But then, everything had to be about titles and allusions. Gods, superheroes, gangs... Why did no one ever just say 'Hi I'm Osla and I shoot things.'? "Well, I don't endeavour to aim for the skies. Not much flies in Bedlam, except perhaps," she inclined her head once more, this time towards Sekhmet. "The one who has the Ankh." She paused for a moment, unsure whether to give her views on combat. After all, why would she let others know what she was likely to do... but then, was it too much to be paranoid to make small talk. "I can't say I never resort to my fists, but is it really something one should be aspiring to? You can injure yourself; and it oft means disarmament or circumstance has deprived me of the ability to draw my bow, or my axe, or knives, or there is not a nearby chair, or one time I managed to retrieve my own axe from my shoulder and utilise that..." The Arrowhawk trailed off with a shrug.

Osla drew herself up, taking the compliment with a smile. "Well as can be expected. He sends his regards to you and Set." She dipped her head a little, in a semi-formal bow. "And sending his regards to any being, well, it may be a first." Even as she smiled, her eyes darted to and fro, taking in the panoply of sights before her. It seemed every being of mythology was out here this night. Even a dragon. She caught her hand tensing, stopping it before it instinctively moved to her bow. She inclined her head again towards the dragon, and towards the other milling guests. "We haven't been introduced. I am..." Osla paused. This was really mixing and matching a few of her various workplaces. What was she even meant to introduce herself as? Of course, all her numerous titles were on her shoulders but she supposed very few people could read elven script. She couldn't. "I am the Arrowhawk. Osla," she hurriedly added, her smile stiff. Perhaps she'd spent too much time in that dank basement.

Sorry for the late one, lads! Arrowhawk II Tailored Fit - 1PP (but I think maaaybe it merits the 2PP for length?)

A little up the way, at the edge of the woodland; reality recoiled in on itself for a moment. And then it cracked, like someone had pushed the surface of a frozen pond, the jagged frozen edges giving way to flickering images of the world beyond. Through the window in the world could be seen an arid, dusty grove, the canopy closing over it like gnarled fingers hiding the land from the sky. Truly it was one of the darkest spots on Ljósálfheimr; even the underground halls of the elves were a-lit by wonders of elfcraft. And then she strode through, one hand on her hip where she'd again stashed her bow. The Arrowhawk took one step, and then she was no longer in the realm of the elves; she was in the realm of man, inhaling the air of Greece. The silver-blue of her cuirass shone, arms bare and muscles taut as she rolled into the vista; beyond her blue leather gloves, she'd made no effort to conceal her tapestry of scars; from knife to talon to exit wound. Her royal blue cape was enormous, throwing up the dust as she strode onto the trail, but not marring it. A white fur mantle lay on her shoulders, and at her hips she wore a fine bow, an elaborate quiver and a fairly serviceable looking axe. Those not in the know could momentarily confuse her for one of the Aesir. The air was silent for a moment as the hole in reality sealed itself once more, like the ice refreezing at darkest, coldest midnight. The Arrowhawk looked severe, make-up streaked across her eyes in a shade so deep and dark it was like staring into an eclipse, human eyes staring out in a shade just a little too blue. Tension drew across her jaw as she turned, scoping which other guests had arrived at this maybe-trap. Those eyes swept around, making a satyr retreat a little back beyond the path, into the woodland, where she wouldn't see him... would she? That burrowing gaze swept around, until it landed upon the lioness god; and she froze, head cocking slightly to one side before her expression softened and she smiled, even her gaze softening just a couple of shades. "Sekhmet? Is that you?" Osla asked, striding towards her undeterred by the other powerful figures in the area. "I'm surprised to see you without Set. I'd have thought it would have been rather his scene."

Arrowhawk II Late afternoon, 21st June, The Glade of the Armourers, Ljósálfheimr Osla felt a little discomfited by how light the cuirass was. The armour she'd worn in Valhalla had been not of the finest cast. It had chafed, been heavy on the shoulders; especially given she was young, and neither an Asgardian nor an Einherjar. The suit she wore as the Arrowhawk... well, Midgard did some wondrous things with materials, but featherlight it was not. Fenrir's gauntlets would make it feel like paper. A mesh of fine, silver mail encircled her neck up until just below her jaw. Moving subtly against the skin, it swept down to an elaborate cuirass of layered blue-silver metal, the neckline swept back with avian grace to finely engraved spaulders. The engraved elven script upon those spaulders, she couldn't read; for it was twisting and elegant and intricate, every word a work of art. She was told it read out many of her honorifics, which seemed apropos for where she was going. 'Osla born Kriger, daughter of John of Clan Fraser, Arrowhawk Incumbent, Valkyrie of the Allfather, Alive Born Dead, Guardian of The Darkest City', it continued in a similar tiresome vein. She wore trousers of a fine royal blue leather, sturdy but light. It didn't looked as if it had been touched by dye, but what matter of bizarre elven beast would have blue hide? She wore a midnight blue sash around the waist, concealing the seam between cuirass and fabric. Boots and greaves of the same blue-silver metal encased her lower legs. The armour only covered the torso and shoulders, her muscular arms exposed. Despite having otherwise conceded to the custom of make-up, she'd refused concealer. Every scar and abrasion was still visible. They'd faded, her constitution... ambiguously human. But on one forearm, tooth marks from some fell beast, a vicious scar on one elbow from where a giant had nearly ripped the bone from her forearm. Minor, recent scars still showed. Bullets and knives. One of the ljósálf stood behind her, the mythically beautiful elves of light. He looked at once ancient and youthful, it was disorientating to look directly at such a being. He coughed politely before haltingly speaking in Norse, the syllables flowing like wine. "Orheidr, not to gainsay your decision, but I do not believe these are the fashions of Midgardian events." "I don't believe this strictly hews to that," she grimaced, looking at herself in the mirror. The mirror itself was disorientating, it was liquid, like a still pond suspended at right angles in a frame of two still-living trees. "The Unseen and his bride host this gala... And I abhor heels." Osla had considered not going. She couldn't see the value. A bunch of superheroes, none of whom she had a meaningful bond to. A high risk of dangerous enemies. It reeked of a trap. 01.34am, 10th June, Bedlam City, Midgard Her father looked old. John Fraser, the Arrowhawk, sat on the edge of a rooftop, his cape sweeping down past the side. His bow and quiver lay atop a nearby metal heating duct. His hood and mask were off. After long years, his hair was almost totally greyed, wrinkles around his eyes. They were no less sharp than they ever were. He was no less sharp. "Yeah, they like to do those whole shebangs every so often. Think it's to blow off steam. I wouldn't walk into it, though. Hades? You know, I don't do your world, but... well, we all know what he did." Osla's hood was down too, her hair almost ethereal against the night sky. The light pollution shimmered across each lock as it blew in the breeze. "Father, when we spoke on the phone, you told me to attend." Annoyed lines twitched around her mouth. John chuckled to himself, looked down for a moment, before gazing at his daughter. "I said I wouldn't. And I said I wouldn't just... walk into it. But..." He exhaled slowly, glancing to the side. "These things can be viper's nests. But he wants to be seen to be reformed, so I suspect your real danger will be politics. Never was my strong suit. And it will give you the measure of the current crowd. Supers come and go." Osla rolled her eyes. "And we'll all know each other for shirking the actual duty, and partying. That's all they do on Asgard. Fritter away the eons with parties and brawls. I'd have stayed home if I were to do that, Father." She folded her arms across her chest, for a flickering instant the image of a teenage girl complaining to her father about some chore. And then it was two seasoned warriors chatting once more. "And I thought you'd take more after your mother in that regard. Not like me." The first Arrowhawk's lips curled for a moment. "But maybe there's some of Him." She knew what he meant. Osla immediately opened her mouth to protest. In what way were her Father and the All-Father remotely alike? "You know, when you find out you have a kid and she's up there in Viking heaven, you get to reading. Seems to me there's stories of times that Odin and his lot were, in their own way, heroes. And from what you tell me, and from what happened to your poor goddamn mother... They became too apart. They became too detached." John laughed wearily. "You know who wasn't? Julia Dawson. She could sesh, that girl. Her sister used to come up from Manchester, and you'd wake up, and... they'd have stuck a traffic cone on every floor of that damn halls..." His eyes burrowed into Osla's, with all the intensity of the hawk he'd become. "I'm honoured you have taken up your old man's gig and I love you for it, kid. I truly do. But I do this, I chose this life, this horrible lonely life for the Julia Dawsons. I do this for you. Now you do it your way, I know you always do. But have some fun, kid. Go give the Heliopolitan my best." Late afternoon, 21st June, The Glade of the Armourers, Ljósálfheimr The light elf helped Osla don the cape. It was enormous, closer to the heavy silhouette of her father's imposing mantle, than to her own streamlined design. Her father thought he had armoured himself in it; shut out the world in his quest to defend it. Osla thought he was wrong. The All-Father didn't treat his children like the Arrowhawk did. She knew her father laboured under the burden of a lifetime of desperation and mistakes. She knew he wasn't entirely the hero her mother had made him out to be. He was one man. And because of the way he'd become, he'd always been one man. He'd killed people. And it was heavy. She felt it in the cape. The regal blue swept down and behind her, fastening to the cuirass. A mantle of purest white fur was draped, dropping back over her shoulders. She thought it might be some kind of Nifelheim bear, a perverse and dire cousin to Midgard's Arctic bears. "Comfortable?" asked the attendant, waking her from her moment of reverie. "Quite." She turned in the mirror. It echoed Asgardian finery, substituting conventional court fashion for the practical, making up for the overt military use with the sheer force of craftsmanship. This was what they envisioned when they sang sagas. The cape swished behind her. She could still move very easily despite the weight and mass of it on her back. A small smile crossed her lips as she looked down at her chestplate, at the design embedded into the topmost plate. Small, white precious gems picked out the emblem of the Arrowhawk, a white bird shining subtly as the facets glimmered. She turned to look at herself once more in the mirror, and her jaw firmed. It would do. Her brilliant blue eyes were silhouetted by swooshes of eyeshadow, a midnight blue which glittered... but not like Midgard make-up shimmered, like the twinkle of the night sky. Her hair was one curled braid tight against her scalp, a golden swirl against her pale skin. A long time ago. Asgard. Tears streamed down Osla's face. Her rough grey garments were muddy and ripped in a couple of places, her young face red as she tried to fight them back. She couldn't look weak. The Asgardian guard had crudely tossed her into the mud. "Child, why would you think you could enter such an event? You're here on the All-Father's mercy alone. After your mother showed up here, and in her condition, you were granted a considerable amount of tolerance. Do not confuse that tolerance with welcome, child." She turned, looking over her shoulders, fury blazing on her face, quite uncharacteristic of a normal eight year old. "I just wanted to see! I heard the violi-" She wasn't able to finish as the guard spat a curse and cut in, pointing away to the city, to the hills. Their house was out there, away from where anyone else would be bothered by them being there. "I do not care why, and neither will any of the guests. Begone!" He turned on his armoured heel, quick marching back to the palace gates. Back to Asgard. In the distance, she could see the Rainbow Bridge, promising other places. Better places. Maybe Dad was out there. Why wasn't he looking for her? Didn't he know she existed? She sniffed loudly, a wet squelch of tears and snot, as she picked herself up and began to trudge. The Arrowhawk would have beat that guard so badly. He'd have made him apologise to her. Late afternoon, 21st June, The Glade of the Armourers, Ljósálfheimr "I do hope you enjoy your evening, Orheidr. And I trust this settles our debts?" The elf was helpful as Osla outfitted herself with her weapons. The bow which bore the name of her formal title hung at her waist from the sash, resting atop a thigh-strapped quiver, carved by hand out of a single slender branch of one of this realm's majestic willow trees. Arrowhawk tucked an axe into her sash on the opposite side. After all, she was meant to look at her best, and at her best meant a regalia she would not only be proud to be seen in, but still as capable as she would always be. She'd worked for this for a long time. She managed a genuine smile, for a moment as beautiful as her mother had been on her best day. The elf transparently wanted the debt settled, but still... There were even gloves of the same leather as her trousers, albeit thinner, softer, more pliable. They slid up to mid-forearm, fine stitching of golden thread tracing a willow tree design on the back of her hands. "We're even, Simekr. I feel adequately compensated. There was offer of payment from Hades, but well..." Osla arced her neck. "I've only once asked a favour of gods, and once was more than enough for one lifetime." She began to stride out of the glade. Despite her height and strident pace, the elf attendant kept up well, graceful strides allowing him to walk at what was at once a languid amble and a swift advance. "I'll leave from where I arrived. Your home is beautiful; I don't want to mar it with Bifrostburn." "Quite so, Orheidr," Simerkr's delicate expression twisted with disgust at the idea of despoiling the paradisacal realm of the light elves with the clumsy tools of the Aesir. In no time at all, they were in a secluded glade. The canopy was so dense here, it was like walking into a Bedlam alley, even the grass did not quite grow here, the ground dry and dusty, the stone of Ljósálfheimr poking through the verdant soil in places. Without breaking stride, she drew and fired a Bifrost arrow, the coalesced shard of the rainbow bridge shattering as a shimmering hole in reality opened up. Before stepping through, Osla turned, looking over the shoulder to give the elf a final nod. "You look radiant, good lady." The Arrowhawk beamed. "Well, if it's just for the one night... well, why not?" She let it linger for a moment, as she turned, and walked unflinchingly into the rainbow paths.

Geckoman shrugged, looking thoughtful for a moment. "Well, you know, generally at that point I'm just internally going ohno-ohno-ohno-ohno-ohno." He looked wistfully into the distance, before letting out a laugh. "Listen, kids. I still do not know what I'm doing. No one's gonna be able to just tell you what to do if you wake up in an alternate dimension, or if a supervillain poisons all the beverages at a baseball game, or if your girlfriend drives into you so fast it cracks your ribs and the momentum carries you off a skyscraper. Hell; I've done all of those and I can only say I'm confident in what I did after one of them. Y'know what the important bit is? I did it." He turned to Heroditus and looked the young man up and down. "Like, if you want, I'm sure the big guy here and I can figure out some sort of drill for you, but that doesn't have to be the be-all and end-all. Like, practice is good, you want to have tried dodging a bullet before the first time a bad guy shoots at you. But that's not really the hard bit."

Geckoman walked out of the gardens, unexpectedly not flying in or driving in. His suit was a neon green, with boots and gauntlets of an emerald hue. A belt of seemingly endless pockets and pouches hung at his waist, the same banana yellow as the prominent G stretched over a muscular chest. His belt was buckled with an old, tarnished silver pin, emblazoned with an overlapping Y and F. It wasn't the only part of his outfit showing his age, his goggles were much less high tech than the rest of his costume, the leather straps worn and frayed, the edges of the orange circular glass a little chipped and tarnished. He paused, looking from the teenager kneeling on the floor, and up to his former teammate, and then back to the teenager kneeling on the floor. Finally he turned to the other child they were mentoring, an incredulous expression on his face. "Did I... miss something here? Am I kneeling too? Because y'know, I'm more of a..." Geckoman pointed to the pavilion's rafters. "Hanging upside down kind of guy."

Mentors I'll just volunteer Geckoman for it as a former Claremont student.

Osla's lip curled, showing white teeth as another man pointed a gun at her. Normally, her armour of the modern era made her nigh-unkillable by bullets. She wasn't armoured right now. But by Hel's blackened side she wasn't going to just let this man walk all over her, especially not with that accursed amateur randomly firing. She took a step towards the gunman, who kept his eyes dispassionately on her. "Put the gun down." His lips curled up in a brief smile. "No," he said simply, clearly not as verbose as his companions. Osla sighed, rolling her eyes, but before the man had very much time to react, she surged forward, tilting to one side to minimise herself as a target. It didn't quite work. With a cry of pain, she momentarily staggered, dropping to her knees and clutching at her shoulder. A splatter of blood splashed onto the floorboards, a dark maroon stain, which her boot stomped on a moment later as knees shaking she tried to draw herself back up to her feet, glaring at the gunman defiantly.

OK so Osla is gonna use her move action to close the range between her and the Professional. So his reaction goes off. 1d20+6 = 24 Ouch. The heavy pistol is DC19 Toughness, so she rolls 1d20+4 = 8, failing by 11. She's gonna re-roll that. She rolls a 1. So with +4 and +10 that's a 15, failing by 9, so she's Bruised+Injured+Dazed. @Tiffany Korta Liam is up! Remember, if he does anything like move or attack, he'll get shot (but has way higher Toughness), but interaction skills, probably not. Unless you roll horrifically and anger the gunman. TURN ORDER Leader becomes un-Dazed Anna - 37 - 3 HP - Uninjured Junior - 22- NPC - Uninjured Napoleon - 20 - NPC - Uninjured Osla becomes un-Dazed Professional - 15 - NPC - Uninjured Osla - 10 - 3 HP - Bruised, Injured, Dazed Liam - 6 - 1 HP - Uninjured Leader - 6 - NPC - Bruised, Dazed

GM post The words spat out by the group's leader were slurred but unprintable as the bottle collided with his head, leaving him stumbling forward. Fortunately, the man at least had trigger discipline and hadn't been holding the trigger, so his jolt as he stumbled forwards at least didn't lead to an accidental weapon discharge. "What was that?!" squeaked the youngest of the group, turning wildly, pulling his revolver out of the waistband of his pants, pointing it hither and thither. Where had that blur came from? Was there a super in the room? All he knew is that girl in the doorway, she'd been threatening them, it must be related to her. "We told everyone to stand down!" he shouted, and then the small space was full of a deafening sound. Glass exploded behind where the woman had been stood a moment ago as one of the panes in the door was blown apart. The short one laughed nastily, wheeling to Liam, drawing his gun in one fluid motion, holding it trained on the PI with two hands, glowering. "Right, nobody move. We're getting out of here, with the money, and none of that super crap, right?" The man in the long coat also produced a gun, having it in hand, and lifting it one-handed, lowering it to train on the blonde woman where she stood, just off from the door now, brushing some glass off the sleeve of her coat.

Ugh so much rolling to do. Junior panics and tries to shoot Osla! 1d20+4 = 16 is a miss, as she's got Uncanny Dodge Napoleon flies off the handle, and turns to hold his gun on Liam, i.e. he makes a Ready action, so if Liam tries to move/attack, blam. The Professional does the same, except to Osla. And y'know. In a chiller way. TURN ORDER Leader becomes un-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 Osla is up (I'm doing this as a GM post and an IC post so I'll split the OOC)

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