Ari

"Deserts can become astoundingly cold at night, especially this far inland, but I'm sure we'll be alright" Waving the four others over, he and they gathered the supplies they would need for their search. Supplies gathered(mostly water, as by his estimation that would be the most important), he led the group off what the position of the setting sun decided as the north-east, thinking that they were more likely to find something closer to the coast, rather than setting out further inland. The setting sun was a relief to him at first, due to it meaning they wouldn't have to face the terrible Sahara days, but as the chill worsened he silently wished he had brought something warmer than his armor and coveralls for the approaching desert night. The sand crunched softly under his boots, the air was still at their lower altitudes, the moon gleamed in a cloudless sky, and he felt a tingle of fear at the realization that they could be attacked at any time...

Defense and TOU saves, Defenses: 22, 31, 26, 18, 21 So they all miss. Amazing. So, Attack time! Using the Boomerangs and Split Attack, 22, 24. Damage DC's are 17 and 16, respectively.

Cringing at the reminder of his rash decision that had almost multiplied the danger they had faced, the lean Frenchman ducked his head slightly by way of apology. "Taking with me? Only a few, Mr. Fector and those three" he said, indicating the three stronger and more physically-adept passengers he had noticed. Accepting the near-useless binoculars with as much grace as he could given the circumstances, he continued with what he had in mind. "The flares should be fired either tonight, to let people who saw the plane know there are survivors in need of rescue, or tomorrow morning before dawn, when there will be a chance for them still being spotted against the sky. We shouldn't wait to use them, by my reckoning. What do you suggest?"

He hadn't really the eyesight to see much, so Marceau was only slightly dissapointed by the vast waste that stretched around him. Shrugging his shoulders(rather than his teeth, as was the custom), he jogged down and off the wrecked plane to get a team together with Vanessa's help for trekking off in search of the supposed city. He would have to take a look at the maps she had mentioned, and he guessed it would be a terrible idea to leave Ford/Torr without protection(the pistol would only go so far, after all). Coming back to the level-headed stewardess after his brief reconnaissance, he instantly began "Vanessa, I think we should start drawing up some plans for who will go looking for that city you say we might be near. I checked from the top of the plane, but without a pair of binoculars I couldn't see anything clearly enought to be sure"

The rush of victory had quickly faded on the walk back to the wrecked plane, and Marceau was thus fully affected by the impact of how lost they were. That they were at least 20 miles awat from the nearest town, the broken radio, and the desolation around them were more than enough to knock the final vestigial notes of triumphalism out of him. He searched almost perfunctorily for his luggage, concealing his weapons about his person, and slipping into his costume with his customary overalls overtop them. That done(in his internal monologue he cursed his blithe assurance to Ford that all would be well) he set out looking around the wreck for anything of help. Checking around the crash-site, it struck him that he could do worse than try and see where they were, and if anything or anyone was nearby. Climbing nibly up the wreckage of the plane, Marceau stood on the highest point he could safely reach and scanned the horizon, the gentle breeze, chilled by the rapidly cooling desert, blew through his closely-shorn hair, and he heard in his memory a faint melody, like a sound of soft trumpets and mournful violins. With that music setting him at greater ease, he looked to the horizon, desperate for the faintest chance of seeing a house, caravan, or even a passing jeep.

Alright, going to make a ranged Disarm check on whatever Thug is closest. Making it a Split Attack with the Split being 1 and 1. The first Attack roll: 22, -4 due to it being a ranged disarm so it's 18. The first Disarm roll: 20, not a natural 20. The second Attack roll: 16, -4 for ranged is 12. The second Disarm roll: 25.

While that was happening on land, Marceau finally opened his eyes and groggily observed his surroundings. The mass of water that met his eyes caused him to groan, which he instantly regretted. The pain washed over his body from his head to his back, reminders of the crushing blow to the face he had taken, and the crash into the water he had absorbed. With slow deliberation, he fumbled with his wrists, revealing small rotors folded neatly into the bracers. With a flick of a switch on his shoulders the fins rolled out and took up rigid positions pointing down his arms. With a weary sigh, he then carefully drew out rotors concealed in his boots. Laying back on his back in a floating posture, Marceau gave a gloomy moan of pain at the fresh jolt of nearly nauseating pain from the punch to his skull. Drawing himself taut, with ankles and wrists aligned, the King of Suits clenched his hands into fists and pressed down on the hidden button in the palms of his gloves. Jack of Spades, you really have got to stop being right all the time he thought blearily, as the rotors took hold and shot him off in the direction of the shore at immense speed. Another press of the button brought him to a gentle® stop against the sands of the beach, the back of his head bumping against a small rock bringing forth a short bark of anguish. Lying in the shallow water, Marceau checked the rotors Like Jack O'Spades said, only enough for one charge. Shame that he thought. Getting to his feet, he slid the rotors back into place, took eight steps, and fell headlong onto the sands, the cold, recent trauma, and exhaustion from keeping afloat all conspiring to send him into a half-conscious state. His last clear thought for a while being an irritation that he hadn't been quick enough to dodge the punch.

Alright, per the suggestion of Quotemyname, I'm going to use Extra Effort and stunt a device of some kind for quickly making it back to shore, with the GM's caveat that all other items in King's equipment list will be inoperable for the rest of the encounter. So: Turn starts. Using Extra Effort, power Stunt: Swimming 5. Moving to shore, ceasing maintenance of the Swimming 5 Power Stunt. Fatigued, so going to have him just collapse on the shore above the high tide line. Turn over.

Well, the only thing I can think of that Extra Effort could be useful for in this case is the 'doubling movement speed' thing. But if what you tell me is correct, I'd still need to move a few hunded feet to get back in the game. If you have any suggestions, I'd be glad to hear them. I really have no idea how King could best act right now, other than making a Swim check to get a ways back to shore.

The King of Suits peered at Covalent and Cubic for a moment, asking doubtfully "Ah, are you two into military stuff or something? Not criticising or anything, just wondering. Well, you seem quite handy with stealth, and you both have a head for direction besides knowing the general location of where the Worm's soldiers are, I'm convinced" turning to the other two he added "Anything else we should hammer out, like marching order?" He glanced at the guillotine, pondering how the heck the device was supposed to tell friend from foe. Shrugging off the question for now, he tested the edge of a boomerang as he awaited the readiness of his comrades.

Marceau's eyes narrowed. As if it wasn't enough for this Star Khan to try and crash a passenger liner, he now had to send artillery to kill one subject on a remote planet on the edge of the galaxy. He kept what he wished on the Khan to himself, focusing on the bare fact that they weren't in a good spot. "Agreed Torr, is it alright if I call you by that, or do you prefer Ford? Anyway, let's head back to the wreck. We'll send off flares and make a fire to alert people to our presence, and then we can hash out what to do over some food" he looked worried at Torr and added "If you like our food, I mean. Do you have a different digestive system? Anyway, we're not beaten yet and we can still fight these guys, if you know anything that might help I'd like to hear it, I have some weapons I brought along with me that can give me an edge as well, if we get a chance at battle on roughly even terms" shrugging he offered finally "If that strikes you stil as something hopeless, don't forget that if we do nothing, then we all might well die anyway. We might as well try and not lie down at the end of the road, hoping for mercy from this tyrant you describe" Clapping Ford on the shoulder he made to take him back to the wreckage.

Ducking against the cold metal of the catwalk, Marceau crept forward as the bullets whizzed past him, burying themselves in the walls, ricocheting dangerously near the firing enforcers and bouncing off to the ground below. The few that clanged and rang with deathly knells against the hard walkway however, were a more immediate worry to the King. While he could concievably keep in the same general area and keep the gunmen firing at the smoking mass, he was all too aware that his present state allowed no cover and had no tactical viability. Thus, he took a deep breath and began again his deep and monstrous laughter, aiming to keep the men shooting in vain at where they believed him to be while he crawled into a ventilation shaft he had seen nearby when he landed. His plan was that once within that place he could rapidly drop to the ground level and get at the Zoom packages through the thugs, his grapple gun featuring heavily in the equation. he wondered desperately what had happened to Mad Dog, as he had heard the dull 'whunk' of the heavyweighter's strike against the wall outside. "With any luck, he won't have to worry about the pack of meatheads with guns when he gets in" he muttered to himself, forcing his head clear and his senses alert as he went quickly for the grate.

Alright, I'm going to make a..Bluff check? To get the gunmen thinking King is still in the same place when he is in fact moving into a vent, which I believe would be a Stealth check. Sound good? I'll edit this post to put down the rolls if that fits. Stealth check: 21. Let's see how that works out.

King's Initiative is: 14. So it goes.

One suggestion I have is for Nightshade's civilian ID to identify as some other name in usual life, if only to clear up a slight issue with how she evades the Random Thugs sent to bring her back to the Dark Manse or whatever. It would help a lot in making her more believable in the scale of 'realism' this site uses. Someone named Ravenna Blackwood wouldn't be very inconspicuous. Also, you need to explain what precisely makes the Blackwoods so Evil, because as far as can be told they just seem like Bizarro hippies with more ambition than brains. Now, it would be a great departure from genre conventions like 'everyone who tries to do evil in comics always gets loads of moola and deals with the devil and asdlfghjkl!', but without knowing what makes the Blackwoods Evil other than 'they are creepy douches who actively try to get into evil magic, and indoctrinate children', her rebellion makes her less like a heroine and more like an arbitrary teen push against authority.

Just for the record, Marcy still doesn't quite get that the Star Khan might be more powerful than Earth's super-teams. As far as he knows, 'subtle' is synonymous with 'weak' in these cases. Of course, there's little subtle about trying to crash an airliner, but on a galactic scale that's practically a non-event most likely.

Marceau looked at Ford for a minute or so, processing the awful circumstances he had somehow gotten into. At last he sighed and offered Ford his hand. "Mr. Torr" he declared firmly, "just give me the chance, and I'll get you out from under this tyrant's thumb. I don't know what we can do, but I dare say it would be a good start if we let people know we're here, if we can get to the nearby town I can get you in touch with people who could kick seven shades of scarlet out of any force this Star Khan could snd after you. They can let the Freedom League know about your peril, and the League can settle this Khan's hash with you once and for all" a moment's thought led him to add "Besides, if this is what he can send against you, I don't think we need fear him much. That gun would be almost overkill, seeing how quickly I fought off four unarmed by myself"

Smiling uncomfortably at the "What are guns to us?" declaration, Marceau slid outone of the panels of the skylight and prepared for what increasingly seemed to him a terrible idea. I really ought to hash out the details of..no. Let's get started. A more complicated plan probably wouldn't even function in a situation like this anyway. Turning to Mad Dog he added "Strike from behind if you can, there's no need to fight these fellows head-on after all" With that he jumped down onto the catwalk below, a thunderous shout coming from the dark figure as he fell: "BEWARE! I HAVE COME FOR YOU!" and the King of Suits threw a smoke bomb at his feet when he landed, a wave of smoke billowing from the catwalk, with only his grim, echoing laughter letting the gunmen know exactly where he was. He was also crouched against the floor, and crawling away to a ventilation shaft while his merriment crashed and boomed through the factory.

The King of Suits stepped aside politely from the skylight and began taking a bundle of small pellets from pouches on his belt. "If you'd like, I can jump down there and make a commotion to draw the attention and fire of the fellows below, while you come down after I've drawn their attention and sneak down to secure the fellows in the suits. I'll put down a smoke screen for you when I jump down to cover your entry, sound good to you?" he weighed the pellets in his hand, wondering if he ought to find a better way to fight crime than he currently used.

Marceau listened to Ford's brief tale of woe with great attention, marvelling inwardly at the bizarre things the universe kept turning up. When Ford's explanation as to who he was and why he was being chased by men(?) with odd speech patterns and crazy guns had run to its conclusion, he stated flatly "Who is the Star Khan, and is there anyone we can appeal to that has some hold on or authority over him?" While he spoke he glanced at the gun in his hand and offered it to Ford, figuring the other man would have more need of it than he.

With a sigh of relief, Marceau turned to where he had last seen Ford Fector. He had some serious questions he needed answered. Before doing so however, he checked to make sure that the gun was stil in his hand, as he knew of some people back in Freedom who would be glad to work with alien technology, maybe he could even figure out a way to emulate its effects. First needed to know what was going on, though. "Ford" he said as he turned, "Who are those people, what did you do, and is there any way of stopping stuff like this-" he gestured to the plane "-and this" he gestured to the sands around them "from happening again with them?" He was now deeply curious, waht could Ford be hiding?

Ducking smoothly under the blasts, Marceau lunged at the closest of the aliens, a note of embarressment entering his mind as the rudimentary nature of his hand-to-hand tactics. He was all-too aware of how amatuerish his efforts would no doubt look to any of the highly-trained Circle, and reaolved to brush up on his combat options. But first he needed to defeat the diablocal aliens assaultors and uncover what and who they were, what Ford was to them, and why the blazes they had tried to crash the plane in the desert instead of just waiting for him at the airport and shooting him as he disembarked. Tensing his legs, he shot forward and, bending his arm slightly, unleashed it when he got within range of his enemy's sternum, the blow hopefully enough to render the foeman incapable of fighting further.

Twelve, two of them not obviously dangerous, thought Marceau to himself. He crept to the edge of the roof he had come from and raised his left hand with two fingers upright on it. He then made a beckoning motion to Mad Dog below. He wondered if he ought to send over his grapple gun.. Shrugging the thought off, he set about searching for access points available to him on the roof, wondering all the while why there were skylights on so many buildings in Freedom. After his quick reconnaissance, he went to the edge of the roof to keep a watch out for Mad Dog in case he had any more orders.

"Closed fist for empty, one finger for a few, two fingers if we're completely outnumbered, and three if I'm under attack" repeated the King of Suits, carefully aiming the grapple gun at the factory rooftop. At Mad Dog's comment on not having thpught the system through he turned back, saying earnestly "This sort of a situation will probably not require more than a few fingers, so it's not like the crudeness of the signals will really matter. You look great by the way," he added, "very imposing" With that, the grapple line was launched, and the King shot onto the factory roof, landing lightly in a crouch to keep from making much noise. Creeping over to the nearest skylight, he peered through, trying to make out clearly what lay below him.

I'd like to go sailing all around the world. Economic and poliical realities keep that from being feasible, though.