Avenger Assembled

Oh, I think Samedi will be a pretty good challenge for us, along with the zombies. That's a DC 22 Reflex Save.

Baron Samedi laughed evilly as Nightrival tore through his thugs, seemingly unimpressed by the vigilante's combat prowess. "You tink you can beat voodoo? Well..." Suddenly, the god's voice dropped its exaggerated Caribbean accent and spoke with a perfect, menacing purr. "Your bones will be mine." At a gesture from him, the shadows themselves rose up to entangle Nightrival, the animate shadows trying to ensnare the dark hero. Nearby, Avenger had joined Nightrival in ripping through the thugs, hurling men left and right, sending clouds of zombie powder into the air as he hurled men into tables and into bags. He vaulted onto the zombie-filled stage as he finished his movement; a bad move as one of the thugs he'd left standing targeted him for a bullet! The bullet missed Avenger, though, cracking into the head of one of the standing zombies.

Jack swore in Old Slavonic at the touch of Scarab's mind on his, and again when Melinda reached up and grabbed his hand hard enough to break a normal man's bones. "Someone's here," she whispered in that same language, too quietly for anyone but nearby ears to hear. Jack and Dave exchanged a look, then looked at their mistress as she rose to her feet as gracefully and delicately as a spider retreating to its web. "I'm going onto the balcony. Find them. Punish them." Melinda licked her ruby-red lips, a predatory look on her eyes, before she took her leave of the room. For his part, Jack let Dave go off on his own before seeking out Elena. In that outfit, he thought peevishly, she wasn't hard to miss. Elena was a telepath, but he himself certainly wasn't. "What are you doing here?" he whispered to her sharply, his tone like that of a man who'd stumbled across his ex at a party.

For the record, Melinda did pretty badly on her Will save. But she did very well indeed on her Notice check.

I need a check for everyone who's up for joining Knights of Freedom, the superhero team that Avenger and Scarab are about to organize. Respond quickly, if you please, we're right up against our first big battle.

OK, not a great Grapple check, but waddyagonnado? Remember that Ned loses 4 from his grapple check to resist, thanks to Avenger's Improved Pin.

"Tired of talk." Avenger grabbed Ludd by the throat, pinning him against the wall. "Can fight you as long as necessary."

"Scarab!" Jack was startled enough to forget the voice for a moment. He dived to the fallen hero's side, the blood there right in front of his face an incredible distraction. How does your immortal blood taste, Scarab? Will it give me power? Can't think like that. No time. He pulled off his heavy glove, his hand white as he checked the fallen heroine's pulse. She was alive, good. He knew the difference. It was hard to think. One thing helped; running his fingers across her bloody face and then licking up the sweet juices across his fingers. He got the last bit out of the corner of her eye by dint of licking it off directly, his tongue sliding against her face. Scarab's life's blood was actually...actually pretty foul! Good thing she's out of it. So this is what psychic blood tastes like! Better not try this again. "Slamdance. Take...take Scarab back to the murder house. Give her time to recover. I will do what I can to deal with this."

Does Bouncing break PL caps according to our house rules? Steve Kenson admits that it does, but suggests that it be house-ruled around, because of the power's limited utility.

I sowwy. :oops: But I'll just have to make up for it with a wacky farce!

Thoughts on Bouncing, refs?

Our Initiative order is Nightrival Samedi Avenger Thugs Your call, chief. :)

The redhead was quite interested in what Belphegor had to offer, but the blonde needed a quick private conversation with her leader to go along with what the demon wanted. Afterwards she was all smiles, though, as if determined to make up for her earlier reluctance. The redhead turned out to be named Anita, while the blonde went by Bella. The cultists even took the precaution of clearing out of the basement while Belphegor enjoyed the wine and women, He was mostly uninterrupted that entire evening, though the occasional loud noise did earn him an occasional check downstairs. Between the women, the wine, and the many luxury items down in the fully-appointed basement, Belphegor had many of the things a demon could want.

And it's more than OK, Cy. OK, with no further objections, we will be moving on...

"Infernalism. Knowledge about demons." Avenger knelt down by Vulture-Man and pulled on his head, trying to unseat the helmet he'd heard so much about. Don't look at the hobo, he thought to himself. Don't look at his blood. Don't think about his blood. "Can attempt private interrogation if there are telepathic difficulties."

"Do not taunt me," Avenger instructed the unconscious man as he dropped him heavily to the floor. "Irritating." His hands balled into fists, Avenger stared down at the man, then over at the cowering hobo, before calling up to Scarab. "Scarab! Can you read his mind? Find the source of his power?" he asked, pointing to the fallen Vulture-Man.

Rochambeau is totally trustworthy, yo. As for Varney Orloff...there's no demon by that name! Belphegor's never heard the name, in fact! Strangely enough, though, the name Varney Orloff is very familiar to Jos Terhune. From childhood lessons about national history, he remembers Nosferatu, the evil vampire Ubersoldaten who prowled his murderous way through the Netherlands, among other places, in his time as servant and puppet of Adolf Hitler. Orloff, however, supposedly died (yet again) in 1945 after a struggle with Bowman and Arrow.

Avenger is not, unfortunately, actually trying to rip Vulture-Man's arms out of their sockets like he's Black Adam in 52. He is certainly trying to do something violent and Iron-Agey to him, though, like break his shoulders or dislocate them.

That's right, folks, Avenger, that big jerk, has taken off. :twisted: You guys are welcome to continue the thread, though...

"I dunno, man, I mean, you beat her, right?" He said a foul word about the intelligence of women, followed shortly thereafter by a gasp as his injuries head. "They should have given ME that staff! I could have beaten you guys AND gotten away! But no, the master had to give it to his girlfriend because she was 'trustworthy'! I can't believe we went to all that trouble stealing that funky dagger for nothing. The Red King's going to be so pissed, even if he does get his sacrifice..." The cultist looked very angry, until suddenly he blinked hard. "Hey, where's the crazy guy go?"

Depending on who else we attract to the party, I would prefer it if we assume that no one yet connects Jack's face to Avenger. ;)

The small cluster of socialites stood at one edge of the party, watching the beautiful people with covetous eyes. "Thank you for inviting me," Jack murmured softly to Melinda as he stood by her right hand. She was ravishing in a blood-red dress that contrasted perfectly with her pale skin, her black hair piled up above her head. For his part, Jack was in an old-fashioned black suit that clung to his muscular body in all the right places. The good looks of the undead, and Melinda's tailor, had helped with that. "You should thank me, darling," said Melinda with a tight little smile as she looked up at Jack. She had her men standing on either side of her as bodyguards, Jack and the African-American vampire Dave, reclining herself in a red velvet chair. Here she was Melinda Davenport, the wealthy investor, and all around her would do to give her her due. "Though you've paid me back well for that...incident with the fighter," she murmured, running a red-painted fingernail up along the back of Jack's hand, "you still owe me." "You have but to ask, and I will answer," replied Jack, smiling at her warmly. This was part of the life; this was what it meant to be a vampire. If he was going to live in the world of his people, he had to make and try to keep promises like that...even if he didn't always mean them. Melinda smiled warmly at him and set down her untouched glass, looking up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. "Freshen Mama's drink, darling," she replied with a warm smile. "And after that, you can find something for yourself."

Moved it along. Roll for initiative. :)

Via one thing and another, the two heroes turned out the lights and burst into the garage proper. The room inside was a fearsome place where industrial hell met supernatural; rusted and abandoned trucks were covered with bizarre occult symbols, dried blood mixed with dried oil up on the walls. The two heroes had little time to take note of the monstrous conditions inside the place, though, because no sooner had they burst their way in than they found themselves confronted by true monsters! Standing in the middle of the room over several large piles of zombie powder stood a familiar figure, a dark man in a black suit, a skull on his head. "Whatchoo doin'?" inquired Baron Samedi, a murderous glint in his eye as he shouted over the echoing noise of what proved to be a live-band of...was that a zombie dance-hall band? Why yes, yes it was! Several hoodlums stood on either side of the room, startled looks on their faces, as suddenly...Avenger killed the lights!

Ok, you guys about done with this thread? We're about ready to move on...