Ecalsneerg

"Blasters? Lovely. Why is it everywhere I go I get shot with blasters?" muttered Arrowhawk, pulling back the bowstring and letting a sharp-tipped arrow fly at one of the drones.

9th September 2000 The Clyde flowed onwards, and nobody could ever stop that. Through the heart of Glasgow it went, passing by dog walkers on riverside paths and factories, warehouses and shipyards, some bustling with workers and some completely deserted. Probably a damn good metaphor for life, smiled John Fraser to himself as he sat on the bench, watching the river flow by, eating his sandwich. A red-haired woman walking past smiled at him, and he reciprocated in kind. Maybe he could have struck up a conversation, but he didn’t. Running his hand through his messy black hair, John got up and started walking the other way, towards his workplace. Somebody had somehow found out that it was his birthday and put up some balloons. It was a nice gesture, considering nobody was really close to the man. He never seemed to go out at nights with them, or seemingly with anybody, yet he always looked tired like he hadn’t slept. Nice enough guy, yeah, but always distant in a way. Went and ate his lunch alone out by the river. Nobody was sure why, and nobody asked why. John was just… odd that way, they supposed. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Christ, thirty, sighed John inwardly. Everyone had left him, having dragged him out to the bar and bought him a few rounds for his birthday. Why? I mean, it’s not like I’ve ever really tried to make friends with them. I guess it’s the flipside of that quirk of human nature that makes some of us commit violence and theft. It makes some of us be unnecessarily nice to compensate. He ordered another drink. Famous Grouse, a good Scots whisky. He did enjoy whisky, but didn’t often give himself the night off to enjoy it without hindering his judgement. Tonight, his birthday present to himself was to let the costumed crimefighters of the city just get on with it. A man could only go so long without a good night’s sleep, after all. For how long can I do it? Hold down a job and train every day, and do what I do every night? He drained the last of the liquid in the glass, staring down into the bottom of the glass. If I tried to stop, could I? He looked over at the barman as he wiped a glass clean. Could I go back to a regular life? “Same again, please.†--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It was a few hours later, and he’d followed a somewhat traditional pattern of drinking. Have a few at each bar, eventually get all maudlin and then stagger off home. He paused, leaning on a wall with his eyes closed to listen to the sounds of the night. Cars speeding, youths shouting and jeering, people laughing and joking… every night, he heard it. Every damn night. For the past ten years. “I’m thirty,†he mumbled, â€ÂStill be able… t’do f’r long time yet…†His flat was just a few streets along now. He’d be able to go home and sleep. Lurching away from the wall with a grunt, John staggered from side to side as he headed home. Hopefully the police wouldn’t pick him up, that was a problem he could do with not having to deal with. But he got to his door fine, thank God, and fumbled with the key until he got in. His home was a mess, with arrow tips lying around, an unstrung bow hanging over the back of the sofa and various items of miscellaneous… stuff seemed to be building up in piles. Picking his way over all these trappings of his lonely life, the one he couldn’t give up, John Fraser lay down on his bed for the one night of the year he’d been himself and not someone behind a mask. And he slept.

"See? The real reason we keep doing it is because sooner or later, we always win," spat Arrowhawk, fighting the pain in his side to send another arrow flying towards his opponent, but the distraction caused by his injuries caused him to mis-aim.

"Well, there is an empty cupboard up back. Reckon it'd fit in there, the things quite large." He walks over, leaping over a seat in the process and pulls it open to confirm. "Looks quite big, was probably where all the emergency gear like extra parachutes and provisions are meant to be stored or something."

Pressing a button on the remote, the green walkway on the Pitchoo flipped down, revealing the interior strewn with clothes and CDs. "Erm... sorry about the mess?" he winced, climbing in and sitting down on his chair, spinning around to face the door. "Whaddya want to look at first? Weapons, engines, propulsion... ?"

My mantra, although occassionally slightly unhelpful, will be repeated: Turn it off and on again. I mean, the whole computer, take out the keyboard, make sure no dust is in the plugs, reconnect it, reboot the computer.

Hurray, finally! A critical hit!

"Oh, shut up with the tantrum," muttered Arrowhawk, firing off a blunt arrow at his opponent.

"Hey, I fly that thing around not knowing how the engine works, how it's refuelled, if it is, and even if it has any fuel left in it. I'll risk one more thing likely to kill me. Come look around the ship first, if you want."

17+9 for 26

"So, how long do you reckon it'd take to get working hoverboards? I'd love to stash a couple in the Pitchoo, because that rope-ladder is convenient, but hitting the ground is quite painful. " He somehow manages to get over to the table on the board, pauses for a second then gets off of the board before grabbing a slice of pizza. "Mmmm... this is good," he manages to say between bites.

Spreading his feet into an easy stance, Arrowhawk watched the pattern for a few seconds as he nocked his arrow, slowly drawing it back until the moment he fired.

Is it OK if I accurate attack for 5? If not, I hadn't incorporated it in my roll so no problem.

"Like this?" said the green-clad hero, leaning forward quickly. The board shot forwards, shooting upwards as he leaned back and doing a quick loop in mid-air before returning to a level movement. "I think I just messed myself," grumbled Chris, doing some more experimental lunges forwards, wobbling unsteadily. Recalling something he learned when he used to skate, he managed to flip the board around in a 180 degree spin, to face Darian. "How do you come up with brilliant stuff like this? Hell, why haven't you made a fortune from it yet? People'd queue up to buy this stuff!"

"Ok... I just stand on it, right?" muttered Chris, stepping cautiously onto the thing to find it didn't budge. "Clever trick. How do you make it go?" I hope I can stick to this thing. Can I stick to hard light? How does that work? I hate superpowers, they're too damn vague in how they work. Maybe it's so stuff can be explained away more easily...

"Ah, so you're just following in the family footsteps with all this superscience? Cool." He wandered over and started looking at things. "You seem to be working on a load of stuff, how do you find the time?" What does that button do? Do not press the buttondonotpressdonotpressdonotpress...

Smarrowhawk? What is he? Two? Dodging the blast easily despite his weakened condition, he reached down and grabbed his bow, pivoting to face his opponent once more. "Bring it."

Yeah, figured it'd take a second action. Posted it now.

I'm not sure if it's against board rules, but it's been a week so I thought I'd bump this to try and get somebody's attention :P

Ducking, the blast hit his shoulder causing him to wince as it went numb. "I'm Arrowhawk," spat the costumed adventurer, "Feel free to engage me at range." A look of defiance on his face, he clutched at his side and lurched towards where his bow lay.

Arrowhawk took the hit and kept going undeterred. "And your punches are clearly very strong," mocked the vigilante, delivering a quick jab which was easily dodged.

Paragons is really brilliant, especially if you're a fan of shows like Heroes. Doc A sums it up really well, it's a great source for ideas.

You have no idea how painful my life is when I lose my glasses. :evil: Will go edit now.

I'm right when I say that I recovered from my stunned condition, and hence regained defensive roll, at the end of my last turn? If not, I failed my save enough to become staggered again, and thus unconscious, and I'll edit my post to reflect that.

Just as Arrowhawk caught his wind again, the fist smashed into his chin... or would have, had he not instinctively jerked his head back so it caught a glancing hit on his chin. "Had enough? Why? Scared of getting beat on some more?" laughed Arrowhawk, bringing his fist forwards in a single vicious strike, ignoring the pain in his stomach for now.