Skysong

quotemyname and Dariusprime:The Deflect DC was 20, so we'll call it an "aid another" action and say the hero point was saved. It may be needed soon. Cyroa: The attack was a miss, but I'll keep the effects of the power in mind. Despite their size, the Broan ships are fairly nimble. Unless someone slows or immobilizes them, or damages their maneuvering thrusters, their Defense is 20. EDIT: The Broan ship that Zakitaj hit is now operating at defense 13 because it was Staggered and Stunned. Twas a good roll for him, and not for the ship. Also, all heroes should check their Defense values against... oh, wait. The Broan got a natural 1. All heroes should laugh in the face of such pathetic aim.

High above planet Earth, another starship was approaching. Small and sleek but covered in cruel barbs, it sliced through space like a serrated blade, ready to rip and tear and bathe its hull in blood. Aboard the vessel, the Broan commander known as Tysu growled with impatience. He was shorter than most of his race, and less powerfully built; the tusks that should have adorned his face had been brutally snapped, and he was covered in scars. But his mind was everywhere at once. He felt the fear of his subordinates, a fear of him that was well justified. He also felt the roiling mass of Humanity on the planet below. He never would have thought that the Khaladi civilization was so great, given the ease with which their pathetic little planet had been overpowered. Perhaps Khalados had just been a minor colony. Regardless, he wasn't here for the planet's normal inhabitants. He could still see, in his mind's eye, his glowing report to his superiors of the barren world's conquest, the devastation he had wreaked upon its cities as he vaporized everything its people had built over thousands of years. He had been promoted for his swift conquest, sent onward toward greater worlds with an expanded fleet while the spoils of battle were gathered up by the lesser Broan who had been left behind. And he could still see the report giving irrefutable evidence of his failure, and the wrath in the eyes of those who had praised him as they watched the last refugees escape Khalados. They had beaten and maimed him, stripped him of command, and cast him out into exile. Conquest no longer mattered to him. This planet was only relevant because he had spent eight years tracking down the people who had caused him to lose everything, and this was where they had come. Now, he was going to finish them. "Launch two fighter-bombers. Reduce the craft to dust, or suffer my wrath. No survivors this time." ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Slowly but surely the section of hull that doubled as a loading ramp slid open. Zakitaj stepped out, ready to take his first steps on a new world, and only barely caught himself with one arm. He took in the scene swiftly. The whole starship was suspended in the air, evidently held up by a being created out of the void of space itself. Below him was a damaged construction of inferior materials, a vast hole located on the top and a vast number of people scampering about on it. All at once, he realized what had happened; he'd made it to Ocean, but fate had been capricious and cruel. He had no idea what the probability of his hitting an Earthling vessel in such a vast body of water was, but it was low enough that he was simply angry at the universe. This wasn't how it was supposed to have played out; he was supposed to have arrived on his feet and willing to help, not creating greater problems. He could see the tension in the eyes of every Human present, and knew that he might well be perceived as malevolent and threatening. Stepping off of the ramp, he dropped lightly to the deck, hands raised in a gesture of nonviolence. Dressed as he was in his battlesuit of what appeared to be liquid silver and purple metal, they probably couldn't even tell he was one of them. He easily caused the helmet portion of the suit to allow light to pass evenly through it, turning it transparent and revealing a strong face surrounded by a mane of straight chestnut-brown hair. There was an undisguised expression of sorrow on his face as he surveyed the others before him. He took three of them to be superheroes, like Physicus had been: the man made out of void, the unusually tall one with the cape, and the person with bits of plastic in his ears, though the last was only a guess because he looked less concerned than the others, as though he knew how to deal with such things as this. They were fast to arrive when trouble occurred, or else he had been unconscious for longer than he had thought. It was time for him to state his intentions; it wasn't the first contact he had been imagining, but that chance was now lost to him. He would have to salvage the situation however he could. "I come in peace," he said in flawless English, his deep, rich voice washing out over the deck, "And I am deeply ashamed that my arrival has been anything but peaceful. Who is in command of this vessel?" An elderly man grunted, his lips pulled back in anger and what Zakitaj took to be a weapon only barely lowered from pointing directly at him. "I owe you much, sir; your ship became our landing cushion, and you have suffered for it. I swear to you that my first act on this planet will be to pay for any damages to..." But he was cut off by a sinister humming. Zakitaj recognized the sound; it was the sound of Broan engines. All eyes turned back to the sky as starships broke Earth's atmosphere for the second time that day. "No," he whispered. "No, no. They can't have found us. Why do they even care anymore? This isn't how it's supposed to be!" If there was any doubt as to the intent of the two craft, each about the size of a car and jet black in color, it was quickly dissolved when they launched a pair of large metallic projectiles toward the damaged boat, screaming like banshees in flight as air ran through aerodynamic holes in their chassises. Zakitaj remembered that sound, too; he had heard it constantly on the day his homeworld was destroyed, only a thousand times louder as countless bombs fell at once. He wasted no more time bemoaning the turn of events; the Broan weren't planning an invasion with only two fighter-bombers, so perhaps they were just trying to finish what they had started. Either way, he wasn't going to let them. Charging forward, he thrust outward with one hand, the kinetic projectors in his fingertips stirring noiselessly and invisibly to life. The only sound came from the *clank* of a kinetic bolt striking the metal of the rightmost bomb, driving it backward to explode in midair some distance from the ship. There wasn't time for him to intercept the other bomb. He could only hope that one of the heroes would catch on in time.

The beauty of this thread is that it makes sense for Zakitaj to see a swarm of heroes descend on the ship; it will give him an idea of what Freedom City is like, and also let him establish relationships that will be important later. Of course, with this many heroes, I may have to complicate things a little bit to keep them interesting. In short, you're welcome to join.

Sure. This is the OOC. This is the IC.

That's true, but because the vessel is listing and the sea is mobile, unplugging the hole would temporarily allow more water to splash in while the weight of the starship is still on the barge. Also, keep in mind that Wolverson doesn't like Metas, and intentionally underestimates Dark Star's power and intelligence in a subtle manner. Removing the starship would actually probably go a long way toward saving the barge, but Wolverson unconsciously considers it worthwhile to throw veiled insults at a group of people he dislikes while he has a captive audience.

"You lot! Get to the bilge pumps! You there! Power up the distress lights!" Wolverson strode the damaged deck of his ship, shouting orders at anyone he laid eyes on. The crew scampered to obey their captain, fear in their eyes; they knew how bad the situation was, and their imaginations were making it even worse. That was about when space-thing showed up, looking like some monster out of a low-budget science fiction movie. Wolverson was sorely tempted to make some snide remark about it, but it probably wasn't a good idea given that his survival might depend on this... man? Woman? he couldn't tell. As soon as the Meta's voice rang out, though, he was pretty sure it was a man. He was also sure that what he was doing wasn't the best idea. "Scuse the interruption, but won't taking that... thing, out of our hull just sink us? We're listing, and if we unplug the hole, the water will come in twice as fast." Regardless, he quickly commanded his crew to do as the Meta said, gathering them on the far side of the ship. He wouldn't have to pay them if they got killed, but competent help was hard to come by, and he still had to get the ship into port if at all possible. Red smoke continued to belch from a gash at the back of the needle-thing; Wolverson really hoped it wasn't going to explode, or something. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Zakitaj awoke with a start, foul fumes filling his nose and making his reopened eyes water. He choked as he crawled away, unable to see more than a few feet in front of him. The ship had stopped; its engines were spent, and it looked like the excess fuel had added to the damage incurred during the flight from the Broan. He would have to hope that the engine room was relatively stable; there was no way for him to enter it safely in his present state. Which brought him to thinking of his battlesuit, which could enable him to safely assess the damage. He wouldn't have left it far from his cryostasis pod... but where had he put it? And for that matter, why hadn't the rest of his people awoken yet? He and Physicus had been dumped out, but the other chambers were still sealed, unless they'd released while he was unconscious. Had something gone wrong? He emerged from the smoke in the cryo hallway and stared around; no, the chambers were still shut for some reason he couldn't understand. Maybe he would have to release them manually, if that was even safe. He remembered suddenly that he had left poor Physicus lying in the hallway in his haste, and made his way over to his friend's body, which he scooped up in his arms and placed back inside his open chamber. Until he found a safe place for the ritual cremation his people practiced, he would just have to be respectful and keep the corpse out of the way. Reaching into his own chamber, he discovered what he was looking for: a pair of gloves and a chestplate anchored in a recessed alcove he'd missed during his unpleasant release. Deftly he pulled on the gloves and maneuvered the chestplate into place, then waited a second. The three components hummed, and then silver and purple material pushed outward from all of them, rapidly building itself over his body. The suit hissed as it pressurized, and he felt the heat of its decontamination ray burning away the unpleasant stickiness that lingered from his cryosleep. He was neither too hot nor too cold; the air he breathed was fresh and clear. The phaseweave that protected him didn't impair his senses despite covering him fully. It was feeling that never got any less wonderful; the feeling of being part of the perfect union of man and suit, each giving to the other and neither taking away. He didn't feel so tired or sore any longer. Flexing and leaping experimentally, he reveled a moment in the simple joy of his complete mobility. And then the ship lurched. He easily caught himself on a nearby wall, retaining his feet, but that wasn't what worried him. They'd been still for some time, and new movement meant that some outside force had begun to act on them. What was going on? Making haste, he headed back through the ship toward the airlock. He had come so very far and survived, and that had filled him with new determination. He wasn't going to let anything happen to his people now. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Before Wolverson's eyes, a section of hull began to pulse and release more smoke; it looked like the needle-thing was preparing to open. Drawing forth his sidearm, he pointed the trusty pistol at the door; he'd been through enough for one day, and was going to give hell to any whacked aliens that thought they were going to mess with him. "Hey! Look out, they're opening up!"

I'd be glad to have either character, quote, but I would agree that Breakdown might work better because of his greater versatility.

This is the OOC thread for "The Crash". Sorry, I forgot to put it up earlier.

Captain Rodgard Wolverson didn't like Freedom City. As he stood on the deck of the cargo barge Hildegarde, staring at the vast, majestic towers of the port city he was about to enter, his grey eyes narrowed, and his weathered lips formed into a frown. He had worked at sea all sixty-five years of his life, and it showed in his lined, parchment-like face, his rough, grizzled beard, and his slight stoop, though he did his best to hide the last. He didn't like Freedom City because of the reason so many people went there; because of the Metahumans, the Superheroes. People who had never done an honest day's work in their lives, but who went around sanctimoniously telling everyone what their business was and how they ought to conduct it. They were worse than celebrities, worse than the spoiled rich, because they were actually liked. And though Wolverson would never admit it, the real reason he didn't like Metas was envy. He had done so much and come so far, but what did he have to show for it? Many of his deeds were greater than theirs, but his went unsung. Still, runs to Freedom paid well, and with economies worldwide going to hell and his gun-running days long over, Wolverson took the good jobs as soon as he spotted them. With any luck, he wouldn't even have to deal with any Metas. Turning from his position in the stern, he surveyed the Hildegarde, laden with boxy cargo crates of scientific equipment from Europe; the super-smart types loved this stuff, he knew, but it didn't matter to him as long as they were paying. His crew scampered about, making ready to hit the docks; about a hundred strong, most of them were just random toughs he'd picked up on his last run. Some, however, he trusted with his life. Adam Tyler, a tall Jamaican man with a booming voice, was one of these people; Tyler had sailed with him for nearly a decade, and was always alert and prepared to react to any situation. It was Tyler who first heard the noise. He looked up, one hand shielding his eyes from the sun, a look of confusion on his face. Confusion turned to horror, and Wolverson followed his gaze. Up in the sky, and headed straight for the ship, was a giant needle. There was no time to act. Wolverson stood, paralyzed, as the needle smashed into the Hildegarde, plowing through three of the crates and sending two more overboard before lodging itself in the hull. The ship swayed violently, threatening to capsize; water rushed up over the starboard rail, and Wolverson was thrown down seven stairs to the deck, landing face first in a badly-placed deck mop. His face covered in filth but his nose mercifully unbroken, the Captain managed to get back to his feet. The needle, built out of a dark green metal, had begun to leak red fumes, leaving his crew coughing and wheezing. It was about twenty feet wide by thirty feet tall, but a good hundred feet long. Whatever it was built out of, it was much stronger than steel; it had punched a hole through the upper deck and out the starboard side, only a little above the water line, and there were almost no dents or scratches. Wolverson scowled; this was Meta work. He knew he should never have come to Freedom City again. Tyler, always the man with a plan, had already run up to the bridge and activated the emergency radio. Hopefully the damn "heroes" would clean up their mess before they sank his boat and drowned everyone on it. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Radio receivers in the port crackled to life, bearing a desperate plea for assistance across the city, a call put out to emergency services and Metahumans alike. "This is the H.M.S. Hildegarde. We have been struck by an unidentified object within sight of the city. The ship is listing heavily, and we cannot get the engines working. We are taking on water very rapidly. It's too far to swim, and our lifeboats were destroyed in the crash. There are nearly a hundred people aboard, and we're all going to drown if you don't do something soon! Please, send assistance! In ten minutes, we'll all be drinking seawater."

((Note: I got a little carried away with the intro. The only required reading for players is the post after this one, which sets the scene for those not aboard the starship.)) The first thing he was aware of was the fact that he wasn't breathing. Involuntarily he inhaled through his nose; it filled with something cold and sticky. He couldn't lift his eyelids; his arms and legs were numb and immovable. Panic surged up inside him as his lungs screamed for air, but he couldn't open his mouth or expel the viscous fluid invading his nasal passages. Spots of color danced in the darkness before his shut eyes; his head began to ache with a terrible chill. Though he fought with all his might to budge a single joint, he could not, and with each passing moment his struggle seemed more distant and less important. At last, he gave in. What did anything matter? Sleep was calling, and he was so very tired... A *whoosh!* sounded in his ears, as though from a million miles away, then a splatter and a thump. He was vaguely aware of the fact that the jolt of pain that accompanied the thump probably meant it was his own body hitting the ground. It was irrelevant, his mind insisted. It was time to come away, to dance among the stars, free of his shell. His body, programmed for survival, had other ideas; he coughed and spluttered, flinging goop from his airways and greedily gulping down mouthful after mouthful of precious air. "Another time," the little voice in his mind told him. All at once, the real world rushed back to him. His lungs burned, his body ached, and the sticky stuff that had covered him felt horrible on his hands, neck, and face, which were not covered by his jumpsuit. He still couldn't see, and his efforts to open his eyes all failed. Was he blind? He raised his hands to his face and found that the goop has cemented his lashes together. He pulled on each of the lids of his right eye, and they separated with a jolt of pain and an unpleasant *slrrrpppp*. Bright light flooded into his dilated pupils, and he blinked rapidly as he worked to free his other eye. After a moment, the light seemed less harsh, and he could see his surroundings. He lay on his back, staring up at a metal ceiling illuminated by florescent strips. In front of him was a cylindrical container, its doorway open; he only dimly remembered entering it, though it couldn't have been more than a few minutes earlier. He lay in a puddle of a sticky black substance which was rapidly liquifying; the residue on the inside of the cylinder told him that he had probably been immersed in it moments earlier, when he had first tried to breathe. Sensation began to return to his limbs, and soon they ached as much as his neck and torso. Still, urgency took hold at the back of his mind, even though he couldn't think of any reason for it. Gathering what energy he had, he rolled over and pushed himself slowly to his feet, one hand pressed against a wall for support. He could see that the wall to the left of his cylinder was occupied by countless other cylinders in one long hallway, all of them closed. As he began to turn away, the cylinder immediately to the left of the one he'd occupied slid open, disgorging a torrent of semisolid black goop and a body. One hand pressed to the wall, he made his way over to the body, lying on its back in a pool of the strange stuff just as he had. He knelt beside it painfully, beholding the aged, weathered face of a man he knew well, crisscrossed with wrinkles from frowns and laughter alike. It was Physicus, and he was dead. Memories flooded back: the Broan armada raining destruction down on his home planet of Khalados; the Royal Family's shuttle incinerated, leaving him the last of their line; fleeing into the vaults beneath the ruins with all the survivors he could find; the terror of hiding from the mining machines that were finishing the defeated planet off; the return of his friend and mentor Physicus, stepping down the ramp of a great starship he'd somehow acquired; the run from shelter to ship, cradling the dying Physicus in his arms as his people were shot to pieces around him; frenziedly programming a course to the only source of safety he had ever heard of; and, at last, stepping into the Cryo-Tube to sleep until his journey was complete. Zakitaj Kelembran stood with new purpose, the confusion in his eyes replaced with determination. "If I've been ejected from the tube," he reasoned to himself in an even voice, "I must be near Earth." Focusing his addled mind, he remembered the way to the cockpit; turning around, he slowly staggered toward the other end of the hall on rubbery legs. The metal door slid open for him, revealing a small area containing six chairs. A skeleton toppled to his feet, causing him to jump back. Who had died here? He'd put Physicus in a Cryo-Tube to preserve him, and he didn't remember anyone else being dead when the ship had departed. And yet... he did remember that one of his people had piloted the ship past the Broan garrison, and he'd never seen that woman enter Cryosleep. Dents on the inside of the door confirmed his suspicions; she'd been trapped inside, and probably died of thirst. Yet to be completely skeletonized... that took time. How long had he been in stasis? Murmuring a prayer, he gently moved what remained of her aside; he hoped she was rewarded in the Afterworld for such a noble sacrifice. After making sure the door wouldn't trap him and subject him to the same fate, he stepped into the cockpit. Outside the large viewport that made up the opposite wall, the stars twisted and turned as the ship spun ever onward toward them. He could see a grey planetoid, no doubt small because of the distance. It was large enough that they had to be getting close, though. And yet... hadn't Physicus said that his home was blue, not grey like Khalados? And why was the planetoid getting smaller rather than larger? Spying the ladder that led to some sort of domed viewing room above, Zakitaj quickly ascended it despite the protests of his sore limbs and the dizziness that threatened to send him back down to the floor below. He stared over the back of the vessel and gasped. A huge ball of azure, white, green, and brown filled the viewports. Along with all that remained of the Khaladi people, he was sliding backwards into Earth. The strange vessel shuddered violently as it hit the atmosphere; Zakitaj could see the flames of re-entry leaping up around the hull. He scrambled back down the ladder, missing a rung and falling the last five feet to land in a painful heap. When he'd set the course, he'd locked onto Freedom City, the place Physicus had spoken of, as his destination. Somehow, he didn't want to announce his presence by crashing a starship he knew nothing about into a densely-populated area. He wasn't sure how big the ship was, but he knew that allowing it to crash would kill not only everyone aboard, but also anyone who happened to be beneath the impact zone. Managing to pick himself up, he rushed over to the pilot's computer, trying to undo what he had done back over Khalados. For the millionth time, he wished with all his heart that Physicus was still alive. Summoning up his determination and shoving away his fear, Zakitaj began to press all the buttons he could find on the computer, but he found no way to remove the course he’d programmed in. All he could tell was that, on the diagram of the vessel displayed on the next screen over, one of what had to be the engines was pulsing red. That, he was certain, was very bad; it explained the spinning, and perhaps why he couldn’t stop the ship. The vessel no longer had the thrust necessary to escape the pull of the planet’s gravity. But if he could manually divert power to the engines or maneuvering thrusters, assuming the ship had any, he might be able to at least ensure that the ship’s fall didn’t kill anyone below. They were through the atmosphere now, and Zakitaj was certain that the shape of the continent below was filling up the rear viewports. Even assuming that he could manually alter his course, where could he go that wouldn’t result in the deaths of innocents? Earth was many times as large as Khalados, but Physicus had also said that it was more densely populated. But hadn’t he mentioned a place called “Oceanâ€, where no people lived? Yes, he’d said it was a vast plain made out of water that covered most of the planet; he’d said it existed just outside of Freedom City, and that his people’s ships traveled on it. The remembrance gave Zakitaj hope. If he could move his ship just enough off-course to get it into Ocean, and not hit it too hard, there was a chance that no one would have to die. He dimly remembered seeing something resembling an engine room on his way in; doing his best to remember what he could of the route he had taken however long ago, got up from his chair and sprinted down the hallway, heedless the stabbing pains all over his body. He ran right past the door as it slid open, but caught it to bring himself to an abrupt stop; it proved to be a mistake, sending such a tremendous jolt of pain through his arms that he yelled and let go, causing him to flip onto his back, hit the deck plating hard, and slide about a meter. Spots of light appeared in front of his vision for the second time in a half hour, and the breath had been driven from his lungs. Yet his only thought was of how stupid it would be if he allowed the deaths of countless people because he slipped and fell down. Cosmically stupid came to mind. With a grunt of exertion, he got back to his feet and did his best to limp quickly back and into the room. A humming of terrible magnitude assailed his ears, and he shrank back before the room’s harsh light; wishing he had his battlesuit on and could just adjust the phaseweave to block it all out, he nevertheless pressed on, eyes half shut and hands pressed over his ears. He stared around at the whirring machinery, energy the dark red color of Broan skin pulsing through devices whose function he couldn’t begin to understand. He needed to find the fuel injector, he reminded himself, and lives depended on it. Locating the damaged engine, which was throwing off sparks and leaking red fumes, he followed the hoses connected to it down until his eyes settled upon a diamond-shaped device connected by no less than sixteen hoses to various parts of the ship. It wasn’t unlike the style favored in Khaladi shuttles, which were designed to allow last-ditch maneuvers just like the one he was about to attempt. Making his way over to the injector, he reached for one of the two levers on it and paused; on Khaladi ships, there was only one lever, but he had heard Physicus talk about races he’d encountered that included devices to prevent their ships from falling into enemy hands, usually by blowing them up. Neither lever was labeled in any way he could see. If he pulled either lever, he might do what he was planning, or he might atomize the last of the Khaladi. But he didn’t hesitate long; the choice between killing many and killing few was no choice at all. Calmly he removed his right hand from his ear, grasped the closest lever firmly, and pulled it toward him. He couldn’t hear anything over the noise of the engines. A moment passed in unaltered cacophony, though his heartbeat was louder in his ears than a hundred thousand of these machines. Then the devices got louder, and Zakitaj knew that he had succeeded. By removing the restrictions on the flow of fuel to the engines and maneuvering thrusters, he had caused them all to fire constantly, pushing back upward and slowing them down. The ship was traveling much too fast downward to stop now, and would almost certainly run out of sublight fuel before they reached the planet’s surface at this rate of constant burn, but it all went well, their fight against gravity might spare them a grisly death with their organs painting the vessel’s ceiling. He dragged himself back outside the room and sank down against a wall, exhausted. Time would tell, now, what would happen to his people. All that remained for him to do was wait.

Thanks, Darius. I'd be glad to have you. Awesome avatar, by the way. Cyroa, my character would be thrilled to have someone who knows about the Broan, and perhaps even his own people, though they've only ever had contact with one Earthling and the Broan, so he probably wouldn't know about them. They inhabited a small, insignificant, out of the way planet which has now been utterly destroyed. Then again, I don't know how much of an expert Dark Star is; maybe he has ways of knowing these things without actually meeting the people involved. Either way, I'd be glad to have you. Space-based heroes ought to stick together. Electra, Stesha is welcome, assuming she's not dead; I don't know what you've planned out in that doppleganger thread, but I'm sure she'll be revived with true comic book flair. I can probably start with these three, but if anyone else is interested, I'll gladly take them, as well.

Hey, all! I had the pleasure of meeting a lot of you in chat a couple of days ago, and I think many of those I met read a little bit of my Hero's backstory. Well, said Hero has been approved and is now ready (and itching) for action. For those of you who are interested in RPing with me but have not read the backstory, Physicus (though he doesn't yet go by that name) is a Human Alien; his ancestors were transported by the Preservers from Earth to the planet of Khalados, where they forged their own civilization. Long story short, they were almost completely wiped out by the malevolent Broan Empire, and the last hundred or so refugees have spent eight years in cryosleep on the way to Earth after being saved by a self-exiled superhero. I left how Physicus gets his name, and the details of his arrival on Earth, deliberately vague because I wanted that to unfold in the first thread he RPs in. That thread is the one I'm checking interest for. Basically, this is what happens. An unidentified starship (carrying the last of the Khaladi) streaks downward toward Freedom City, its destination. An onboard mechanical failure due to battle damage causes the ship to become out of control when it enters Earth's lower orbit, and it starts falling as soon as it hits the atmosphere. Zakitaj (later to be known as Physicus) manages to use the damaged engines and thrusters to slow, thought not halt, the ship's descent, and to divert its course so that it doesn't hit Freedom City but lands in the ocean nearby. Unfortunately, that area of ocean is the Great Bay, which is full of merchant shipping. The starship crashes onto a cargo barge; no one is killed on impact, but if the entangled vessels sink, about two hundred people would die and the shipping lanes could be closed for months. Zakitaj, anguished to have arrived on Earth in such a fashion, will do everything he can to keep his people and the barge's crew safe, but he'll need help. That's where any heroes who happen to be interested come in. This thread isn't a combat thread, but it is an action thread, at least for the first part. If all goes well, there will be time to introduce Zakitaj and the Khaladi to the new world they've reached. Also, I should mention that I was writing up an intro post while I was waiting for approval, and it turned out to be about six and a half pages long, but it's not required reading. I'll set the scene for other heroes in my second post, which will be of manageable size. Do I have any takers?

Thanks again for getting to me so quickly! I would go insane if I had to go over a bunch of these all the time. The Knockback modifier has been corrected. The Powers section pp total has been updated; it should now be correct. I got rid of my 8 ranks of Craft (Electronics) to pay for Restricted; someone else will have to fix the battlesuit if I use extra effort with it. You're quite right about the attack modifier, now that I look at it. I got rid of my 4 ranks of Notice, the Improvised Tools and Hide in Plain Sight feats, and both ranks of the Precise Shot feat. This freed up 5 power points, which I then spent on 5 ranks of Attack Focus (Ranged). I didn't really feel like I had enough points left over to take advantage of any Trade-Offs. Maybe when I get some more pp.

Greetings! Quite the site you've got here; I've never before seen such a grand concept last so long. As a great fan of both PbP roleplaying and Mutants and Masterminds (heck, the whole D20 system), I'm very impressed, and also very excited to become a part of all this. I've been forum RPing for about five years now, playing pen and paper in general for six or so, and playing MnM for a whopping two; then again, I make characters for fun, so I know the system decently well. Looking forward to getting to know you all!

Player's Name: Skysong Power Level: 10 (150/158) Trade-Offs: N/A Unspent PP: 8 Character’s Name: Physicus (technically Physicus II, but he doesn't use the full title) Alternate Identity: Zakitaj Kelembran (Zah-ki-ta-jay Keh-lem-bren) Age: 32 (advanced age due to cryosleep; physically only 24. Born 1978 AD by Earth calendar.) Gender: Male Height: 6 feet 1 inch Weight: 157 lbs (about 300 lbs armored) Eyes: Aqua Hair: Brown Description: Zakitaj Kelembran is an imposing figure; standing at a little over six feet tall, with a shoulder-length mane of straight brown hair that bounces when he moves yet somehow manages to look bold rather than effeminate, he seems to fill up any space in which he finds himself, no matter the size. His eyes, the teal of the sea off of Cancun in color, are capable of both touching warmth and terrifying hardness; they move through a vast range of emotions in time with the shifting tone of his rich bass voice. His movements are full of grace and purpose, and his stance exudes confidence and a pride in his deeds that is inspiring rather than haughty. Only the most perceptive of individuals can see that beneath all of his emotional armor is a heavily-suppressed fear: the fear of making a mistake and dooming himself and his people to damnation in the eyes of the world. His battlesuit is no less impressive; a fluid silver and purple bodysuit with no joints or seams, it stretches elegantly when he moves. The chestplate, faceplate, groin, elbows, knees, hands, and feet of the suit are the dark purple of an iris flower, while the rest resembles elemental mercury. There are no facial features on the artificial head, adding to the seamless, statue-like appearance of the suit; internal hollows and phased materials allow for him to speak, see, and hear through the helmet, which uses genetically-engineered plants to provide an infinitely-recycling self-contained air supply. The tips of the suit's fingers are of the same purple color as the rest of each hand, but are slightly longer than Zakitaj's actual fingers because they contain the generators for his Kinetic Projector; should his arms be restrained while he retains the suit, he can utilize a secondary projector embedded in the chest area, though only one projector can be used at a time and the backup one only becomes active in the event of such restraint. History: ((Note: paragraphs 1-3 give background on the planet Khalados, its history, and its culture, information which causes Zakitaj's biography in the later paragraphs to make more sense. If you would like to skip to Zakitaj's story, go to the fourth paragraph and those following it.)) Fifty thousand years ago, the enigmatic alien race known as the Preservers left Earth after tinkering with the genetics of the emerging Human race for countless millenia. They left a great deal behind, advancements that would allow Humans to become the dominant species on the planet, but they also took a great deal with them, including "samples" of those they'd worked on. They used these "samples", which they viewed with a level of scientific detachment that bordered on sickening, to "seed" other planets across the galaxy with Humans before abruptly vanishing; no one knows quite what became of them. Their legacy, however, continued not only on Earth but on the many worlds they seeded. One of these worlds, which its inhabitants came to call Khalados (interestingly, it means "Earth" in their language), is where the tale of Zakitaj Kelembran begins. Khalados was a small (1/8 the size of Earth), rocky planet with a weak atmosphere; it might be theorized that seeding it was a cruel experiment in the adaptability of the Human species. For millenia its inhabitants had an average lifespan of about twenty years due to the harsh environment. Somehow, they evolved much like the Humans of Earth, perhaps vestiges of the Preservers' meddling. Their culture, however, was strikingly different due to the nature of their homeworld. Huge photosyntheic insect-creatures took the role of plants, processing carbon dioxide into oxygen; with no vegetation, farming never developed, and nomadic culture never died out. The Khaladi learned the technique of "hunt rotation", allowing the herds of the insectoids' smaller cousins to replenish themselves to keep food resources available. They organized themselves into tribes which pursued these vast herds across the face of the planet, meeting once a year to trade ideas and food. The yearly meetings gradually led to the establishment of a set location, upon which the first permanent city was built roughly ten thousand years ago. The wise sage Formori came to oversee this city, and commanded that all the best and brightest of each tribe be brought there to pool their ideas and advance the Khaladi people as a whole. Disputes over hunting rights and the like became fewer and fewer as new technologies were freely shared and a standardized language was established for the entire planet. Three thousand years ago, the sage Pauz formally united the tribes under a single government; his descendants, advised by a council of the best and brightest of their people, would move the species forward. Though tribal tensions remained and sometimes erupted, the next three thousand years would be a golden age for Khalados, the time when their technology surpassed that of Earth. Zakitaj Kelembran was born in the Earth year 1978, the result of one of Prince Kastig's amorous episodes with a young scientist whose name remains unknown. Kastig was third in line for the throne, and with healthy older siblings he merely enjoyed the benefits of his position without worrying about the responsibilities. He claimed his illegitimate child, allowing him to grow up much as any member of the royalty would despite the fact that laws excluded the young boy from ever holding a position of authority. Handsome even from a young age, with a deep voice and large vocabulary that made him seem much older than he was, Zakitaj became much like his father; life was a game, and he knew he was one of the best players. At the age of seven he walked the palace delivering scathing, sarcastic jokes about anyone he laid eyes on; usually, even the victims of such jokes had to admit they were funny. He might never have learned to be remotely responsible without outside intervention, intervention which came when he was eight. Khalados received a visitor that seemed to be of their kind but hailed from another planet: Earth. A disheartened teleporting superhero called Physicus, having left his homeworld after the Moore Act of 1984 made costumed vigilantism illegal, was surprised to find other Humans on a planet so far away, and decided to stay awhile. The locals were intrigued by him, and he was asked to tutor members of the royal family, Zakitaj among them. He accepted the position, and the young bastard was the most eager student of anyone. From Physicus he learned English and was regaled with tales of Freedom City's better years; he also learned discipline, patience, and subtlety, attributes that would serve him well throughout his life. Physicus taught the Khaladi royal family for fourteen years before his health caught up with him and he departed into the stars one last time. Zakitaj grew into a fine young man, much beloved by those who knew him. He remembered Physicus's stories and the lessons they taught; his desire to make something of himself led to intensive training that greatly benefitted his natural grace and agility. His father, impressed with his devotion, allowed him access to the royal armory, where he first gained access to the royal battlesuit that became so important to him. Zakitaj hoped that, one day, he might be to Khalados what Physicus and other superheroes like him had been to Freedom City; a guide and protector despite a lack of official status. It was not to be; in the Earth year 2002, everything changed. First contact was made with an alien race; unfortunately, that race was the ruthless Broan Empire, which brought not a peace delegation but an invasion fleet and a demand of surrender. Proud and confident in his people's technology, the king of Khalados refused. It soon proved to be a mistake. Things went well at first; the Broan fleet deployed landing craft in an attempt to capture the planet intact, but their ground forces were soundly thrashed by the Khaladi in their potent battlesuits. Within a few hours, the Broan grunts had been routed and taken prisoner; the Khaladi code of honor forbade them from killing even these invaders. As they marched these prisoners into the capital, planning to use them to prove their strength in renewed negotiations, they were horrified to see the fleet above charging its weapons. The Broan mercilessly bombarded Khalados from orbit, heedless of the presence of their own troops; the Khaladi had only small shuttlecraft used for exploration of their solar system, and were utterly unprepared for this tactic. Most of the Royal Family boarded one of these shuttles in an attempt to board the Broan command vessel and shatter the chain of command, but the shuttle was incinerated moments after launch. Zakitaj was not aboard; he had doubted the decision to fight from the beginning, and when he saw the bombardment being unleashed he and the council of advisors gathered everyone they could and hid underground, beneath the ruins of the capital city. They remained there while the battle ended; it took no more than a day for their entire civilization to be reduced to dust. The Broan fleet moved on, leaving behind a token garrison to oversee the strip-mining of Khalados. The few Khaladi survivors huddled beneath the ruins, waiting for the moment when they would be discovered and forced into a fight that would finish them off. They could hear the alien machines coming ever closer, and had nearly given up all hope when the sound of weapons discharges replaced the hum of the mining drills. Zakitaj emerged, hopeful that others of his people had survived and that there might be a chance to drive away the remaining Broan. Instead he discovered a great starship, neither Broan nor Khaladi in design, which had landed some distance away in the ruins of a market square. Down the ramp strode none other than Physicus, even more frail and aged than Zakitaj remembered. The two of them teamed up to lead a charge from the Khaladi shelter to the starship; it would be later known as the “bloody runâ€. Dozens of unarmed Khaladi were cut down by Broan weapons as they tried to reach their only chance of escape and survival; Physicus was gravely wounded, and Zakitaj carried him most of the way to the ship. He died just short of the ramp he’d only just descended. A mere hundred or so Khaladi out of the half a billion that had inhabited the planet days earlier made it to the ship, which several of them managed to pilot away from their devastated homeworld. The ship proved fast enough to outrun the Broan garrison, but it seemed there was nowhere for the last survivors of Khalados to go. Zakitaj, studying the star charts aboard the vessel his mentor had somehow acquired, managed to locate Earth and set a course; the voyage would take eight long years. The young man vowed that he would bring his old friend home for burial. He also promised to continue to aspire to his goal; he could not be the hero Khalados needed, but with his training and technology, he might just be able to become one of the heroes of Earth and forge a new home for the remaining Khaladi there. Settling into one of the cryo-tubes for the journey, he merely hoped that he could make his survival mean something. ((Note: At first glance, it may seem like feats such as Contacts, Connected, and Well-Informed are poor choices given Zakitaj’s background; however, since he knows 100 Khaladi survivors who will be integrated into the population of Freedom City in various positions, he actually has a wide range of “Human resourcesâ€. Also, nothing is stated about Zakitaj’s arrival on Earth, nor how he gains his superheroic alias, though the inspiration for it should be obvious; this is because I would like that to unfold in the first thread he takes part in.)) Personality & Motivation: Zakitaj knows all too well that he both represents and gives hope to his people; where he was once a jokester with a taste for sarcasm and wordplay, doing what he enjoyed during and in-between doing his duty, he has now taken on the role of figurehead, doing everything by the book so that he can safely be exposed to constant public scrutiny. One failure to meet his people's expectations, or one PR issue with the wider world, and he has failed in the harsh mission he has partially been given and partially created for himself. He is fiery and passionate in his pursuit of justice, doing his best to emphasize the contributions made to Freedom City by Khaladi such as himself without sounding pompous or repetitive. Given the power of his battlesuit, and the fact that he alone can use it in all the universe, he cannot settle for the more mundane life he longs for; he must be a champion or a failure, and the latter is never an option in his eyes. Powers & Tactics: Incapable of anything truly superhuman on his own (though he is at peak Human level in several areas), Zakitaj relies on his battlesuit to help him survive confrontations with heavy munitions or powerful foes. Though he’s quite stealthy, his potent Kinetic Projector and heavily reinforced armor lend themselves well to front-line fighting, as does his incredible way with words, a weapon no less mighty. Complications: Enemy: The Broan Empire doesn’t leave survivors; Zakitaj is, to them, an embarrassing loose end that they will go to lengths to tie up, preferably by making him an example. Hatred: Zakitaj lost everything but his life to the Broan, but that loss was also caused by the arrogance of his homeworld’s leaders; he loathes both the alien race and rash, overconfident politicians, and will take risks to attack them (one with weapons and the other with words). Honor: Zakitaj holds to the code of honor favored by his people; he will never kill, and is obligated to ensure that any criminals he captures or subdues receive a fair trial. Responsibility: Zakitaj is the only superhuman among the hundred or so survivors of his homeworld; his actions reflect on all of his fellows. Public Identity: Zakitaj, as a champion of the Khaladi, makes no secret of his identity. This makes him easier to target through those close to him. Stats: 2+10+0+4+4+10 = 30 pp Str: 12 (+1) Dex: 20 (+5) Con: 10 (+0) Int: 14 (+2) Wis: 14 (+2) Cha: 20 (+5) Combat: 20 (+5 Defense, 5 attack bonus) = 20 pp Attack: +5 (+10 ranged thanks to Attack Focus (Ranged) 5 ranks) Grapple: +6 (Strength bonus + attack bonus) Defense: +10 (+2 flat-footed b/c +5 bonus from Dodge Focus) Knockback: -0 (or -5 with Device) Initiative: +9 (+5 dex, +4 Improved Initiative) Saves: 5+5+5 = 15 pp Toughness: +0 or +10 (+0 Con, +10 Device) Fortitude: +5 (+0 Con, +5) Reflex: +10 (+5 Dex, +5) Will: +7 (+2 Wis, +5) Skills: 60 ranks = 15 pp Computers 8 (+10) Diplomacy 10 (+15) Gather Information 5 (+10) Intimidate 10 (+15) Knowledge (Current Events) 8 (+10) Knowledge (Technology) 8 (+10) Speak Language 1 (Khaladi and English) Sense Motive 5 (+7) Stealth 5 (+10) Feats: 32 pp Attack Focus (Ranged) (5 ranks) Connected Contacts Distract (Intimidate) Dodge Focus (5 ranks) Elusive Target Evasion (2 ranks) Fascinate (Diplomacy) Fearless Fearsome Presence (10 ranks) Improved Initiative Ranged Pin Startle Well-Informed Powers: 42 pp = 42 pp Device 10 (Khaladi Royal Battlesuit (Super-Science); Extras: Hard to lose (4 points per rank); Power Feats: Restricted 2 ranks (only usable by those descended from the Khaladi royal family, which now only includes Zakitaj)): 42 pp Drawbacks: -4 pp = -4 pp Normal Identity: Zakitaj is powerless without his battlesuit, which takes 1 full-round action to don. (-4 pp). DC Block: Kinetic Control (Blast) 10 --- 25/Toughness --- Bruised, Staggered Fearsome Presence 10 --- 20/Will --- Shaken/Fleeing/Panicking Costs: Abilities (30) + Combat (20) + Saves (15) + Skills (15) + Feats (32) + Powers (42) - Drawbacks (04) = 150/158 pp