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Ari

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  1. GM "They wouldn't dare! We're the home team here, protected by every-!" for a second the old Preston, fiery and sneering, stood before him; then the older man was back, quieter and thoughtful, "No, you're right. They can't risk the exposure, we'd be dead this time tomorrow." "Well, you didn't see him, so he probably didn't stick around..." Preston rubbed his chin, squinting at a painting of a storm-tossed sailing ship inexplicably dominating the sitting room, then suddenly stepped closer and tapped the "C" in its name, Cornwall, "...hey 'Deez, how's the transmitter working?" The painting slid aside to reveal an LCD screen, which switched on to show Diomedes and a read-out of computer data. Without missing a beat the old archer said "Master Michael's brain implant is working perfectly, and indicates he should be at his usual spot in Slapshot's old lair below the hockey rink at War Memorial Stadium, downtown Emerald City on the Washington bank." As he spoke, a map appeared, threading a cold red line from Sunset Hill to the inner city. "Huh! Now that was a softball. Thanks, 'Deez, keep me posted." Tapping the screen so it was once again concealed, Preston flicked the map onto one of the other walls, where it neatly expanded and showed a list of directions. Very few of them had anything to do with streets, and much of the route was underground. Logos showed corporate territory holders, and their boundaries were clearly marked. "Best thing about this town, Rich," Preston gestured to the map, "it's all for us. We can go anywhere we like, and there's always a lair or a cache or a secret passage handy. Slapshot's pad is pretty basic, but it's low-tech too, so easier to hide. Just head through the janitor's closet on the second floor, you'll know what to do when you see it." "Do you mind heading in first? I gotta break this to Josie and the kid, could take a while."
  2. GM For a few seconds Preston looked baffled, staring back at Richard as he visibly tried to work out what he meant. Then, a dawning realization and horror flashed in his bright blue eyes. Then he plastered a great big smile on his face. "Josie!" he called back to a middle-aged brunette done up like Lady Liberty, helping hand out food with conspicuous long white gloves, "Rich needs some quick insurance advice, I'll be right back. And turn that music up! This is America, and our pal is free again!" Slightly disappointed, but curiosity placated, the guests turned right back to what they'd been doing before, though slightly louder thanks to the cranked-up volume. The woman, Preston's wife Josephine, the former Poison Princess, smiled a smile as pretty as her touch was deadly and waved gracefully to Richard. Stepping quickly, for a normal human, into an adjoining room, Preston faced Richard, visibly paler even in the warm golden glow of the lamps. "Rich, I...I know who did it. My son, Michael. I gave him my gear before he left. If he's hurt your family, it's on me too."
  3. GM "Oh, the humdrum operations of a comfortable family, sir." Diomedes led the way through a tangled maze of lavishly-appointed rooms packed with photos of both the owning family and their infinite constellation of relatives and criminal chums, hallways crowded with photos of Josie's more famous thefts and newspaper clippings of Preston's triumphs. "Mr. Cutler's brother, Simon, was just here to thank the mistress for her help in getting him that state Senate seat. His predecessor's health took a rather sudden turn for the worse, forcing her to resign." This far in, Richard could hear the laughter and music coming from the backyard, and smell the barbecue smells mixed with one of Preston's beloved cigars. For what felt like a longer time than it hopefully was, Richard and Diomedes walked past shelves and display cases packed with trophies, from mundane kids' leagues to (stolen) Olympic statuettes. "Young master Michael has recently completed his apprenticeship, and embarked on his solitary journey to manhood. It is the fond hope of his parents that he follow in their footsteps, but alas," Diomedes shook his old head, sighing, "there is a scourge of youthful rebellion these days." That had to be a joke, coming from a man who had killed his own father for trying to get between him and a target. Abruptly, the two turned a corner and stood on the threshold to a large flag-wreathed patio, where a grill was set up being manned by a pair of servants. Around the long tables circling it, dozens of other familiar faces smiled, ate and talked and laughed. Children raced back and forth, or played around the jungle gym stretching perilously over the diners. In the centre of the centre, pale and thin as death, the genius inventor of the Devastoids kept her eyes down and sipped at an iced tea. With a light cough, Diomedes caught the attention of a tall middle-aged man with bright blue eyes in a polo shirt and khakis, smoking in a lawn chair in a huddle of other men, who quickly excused himself and hurried over. "If you could, tell Miss Devas how well she looks. Her time of confinenment was hard. Ring if you need anything, sir." With a bow, the butler vanished. It was an impressive standing jump into the rafters, most people couldn't have caught it even if he hadn't clicked on his invisibility watch. "Rich! You got my invite! Two home runs in one day, how are you doin'!" the smoker was on him now, Preston Cutler beaming from ear to ear as he grabbed one of Richard's hands in both of his. Unlike his butler, the former sports-themed supervillain hadn't retained all his vigor, but he was still strong. Suddenly taking in his guest's look, Preston's face tensed. "I...wait. Rich, has something happened?" Several of the other guests had started to take notice, watching curiously from the tables.
  4. OOC thread for this thread with @Avenger Assembled's Fast-Forward visiting a family of supervillains. For starters, Notice (min DC 15, max DC 30), for clues in the house At a glance, Richard notices that the son he's met, Michael, quickly changed from a gentle, normal, if unusually athletic child into a glowering pinnacle of physicality that rivals Jack Simmons' propaganda art. Mementos of his life events, especially sports trophies, are displayed prominently throughout the house. There was also a daughter the Cutlers never mentioned, introduced or even hinted at, named 'Melissa', with much sparser and less-obvious tokens of her life. per 5 DC increments: 15 - Both appear to have attended the same Claremont-esque (but much larger, more modern and more thickly-populated) private school. Michael is surrounded in his photos by various flunkies and hangers-on and toadying faculty members, while Melissa is largely alone in hers. The one that isn't, showing her and a small group of other teens, has been vandalized and repaired. 20 - The clutter is so profuse that a slower eye wouldn't have noticed it, but several of the largest photos have been removed from the walls very recently, and smaller ones spread out to take up the space. Of particular interest is the one at the centre of a series showing Michael's rapid physical changes and increasing feats of strength and agility. 25 - Also removed are one of Preston's prized gimmick baseball bats, crossed with its twin over a mantlepiece, and replaced with an obviously normal one. The difference in dust makes clear that this didn't just happen recently, but today. 30 - There's a lavish, full-scale cross-section of the Liberty Dome in one of the sitting rooms, with a tiny 'X' drawn on the model's wall exactly where the real Dome was attacked.
  5. July 4th, Monday, 2022, 4.33PM Sunset Hill, Emerald City, Oregon, USA One hour after a giant bowling ball almost crushed the Liberty Dome... Fort Cutler was well-named, a broad, square, red-brick mansion shouldering its way between other, milder mansions clustered at the top of Sunset Hill, overlooking the grey Pacific Ocean and the glittering twin Emeralds below. It was an open secret in the contacts that the Clines maintained that some of the most successful supercriminals in the world, retired by reason of age or injury, lived behind these handsome doors. Richard Cline was looking for two in particular, Preston Cutler and Josephine Sherman. A few decades back, they'd done crimes as the masked duo of the Sportsman and Princess Poison. Tony played the Robin Hood gimmick by robbing sports events and showing up world champions at their specialties (barring a spectacular defeat at the hands of Bruce Lee), while Josie prowled the society circuit for daring (and deadly) jewel thefts. Both had been pals and accomplices of Richard's in his youth, and they'd eagerly kept in touch well into their current age, even asking him and Paige to be godparents for their now-grown son, Michael. And, very recently, a giant bowling ball exactly like one of Preston's had nearly crushed the Liberty Dome where Richard, Paige, and their children had been. The Cutlers hadn't picked up the phone when called, and somehow couldn't be contacted by less mundane means. And so, here he was. In answer to his knock, the door emblazoned with a stylized 'C-S' swung in, and a trim old man with a neat black suit, a bristling mustache and great wings of white hair peered out. It took a second before his resemblance to Diomedes, one of the deadliest assassins of the 20th century and vicious rival to the second Bowman, sunk in. "Oh!" he blinked, smiling warmly, "Young Mr. Cline! What a pleasant surprise! Mr. and Mrs. Cutler are in the garden, hosting an Independence Day party. Dr. Devastator just got out of prison, they thought it fortuitous. Shall I show you to them, sir?" He stepped partly aside, silently acknowledging that Richard knew the way and could get there *very* quickly.
  6. Sorry Tiff, Heritage. So the lineup at the start is: Miracle Girl: Unharmed, 2HP Stone Heads: Unharmed(x6)-GM Triakosia: Unharmed, 2HP Ku Tu the Eternal: Unharmed-GM Heritage, take us away.
  7. Okay, THAT was a waste of time. Back to this! Analytical is definitely the way to go, I'd agree. So: Super-Senses 3 (Magic Awareness(Visual Sense; Acute, Analytical)) [3PP] should do the trick.
  8. "What? Oh, yeah, mostly they're from around here. I mean, Earth." Rainshadow indicated the Gala's grand hall with the trident "Not 'here', here. And yeah, good people. Helped me get home once when I'd got @&%-faced and near fell in the river." Following Copycat's directions, he blinked in surprise at the Deep One. "Huh! Looks a dead ringer for the Christmas Frog," he thought aloud, gathering up the accoutrements and nodding gratefully to the masked stranger, "Thanks buddy!" Floating again into the air with a whoosh, he skimmed across the Gala's floor, the mongoose on his shoulder spitting out gems and throwing them in random directions.
  9. "Hey!" whispered a hoarse voice behind Set, accompanied by a rush of air. A towering man in brilliant, billowing blue-green robes and ornamental gold armor, inlaid with images of Chinese dragons and fantastical fish in dazzling jewels, had suddenly appeared behind the divine influencer's shoulder. A shining, bearded gold mask scowled benevolently over his true face, dominated by dark eyes the picture of bewilderment. In one hand was a mighty, curvéd trident crackling with lightning, and in the other he held a miniature pagoda wreathed in a rainbow. The pagoda had an articulated door, which had somehow come off all but one hinge. Behind Set's other shoulder a mongoose's head popped up, spitting out a diamond onto the floor when it saw Copycat and Predator. The man in the golden mask, likewise, did a double-take before turning back again. "Look, I can't get a goddamn straight answer outta none'a these, an' they don't believe me when I say as I'm not Pishamentian, I just got this getup from the ghost of a guy I met and had one conversation with. So-!" Though of a great stature, it turned out some of it had been thanks to the man flying, as he came heavily to ground and took a seat facing the other three, setting the pagoda down with great care. "-who the f$)# is this guy? What is with his house? And how's he know who I am, I never told nobody that I'm Rainshadow!" "I figured as I should ask you, since, I've had good luck with furries, you're good people." He gave Jean and Ashley a shaky thumb's up. "And you, uh, Set? you're supposed to be a god, so maybe you know as what's goin' on in this weird-ass place?" The mongoose shook its head, letting loose a stream of rubies as it chirped "I've tried to explain to our young seat-filler here, but alas, not all are blessed with the wisdom of Tian. I am Gen, his guide for the evening, and ask your humble pardon for his rough speech and uncouth manner. This, as you just learned, is Rainshadow, Storm-Prince of the Dragon's Eyes and Prophet of Doom of the Emerald Cities! Also known-!" The mongoose's entire head was engulfed in one of Rainshadow's hands. "-as a guy new to this s#)@," he said angrily to the mongoose as Gen slipped free with an indignant look, "but not that dumb."
  10. Added +1 to Fortitude and Will, added a Snare power to the Array, fixed the Grapple scores.
  11. Rainshadow Power Level: 10 (150/166PP) Unspent Power Points: 16 Trade-Offs: +2 Defense / -2 Toughness In Brief: Weather-controlling salvage tug crewman plagued with visions of disaster. Catchphrase: Theme: Alternate Identity: Law Ming-Yang-Jin, "Marshall Law" (Secret) Birthplace: Emerald City, OR, USA Residence: Jadetown, Emerald City, OR Base of Operations: The Emerald Cities and the Pacific coast Occupation: Salvage tug sailor Affiliations: Tugger & Sons Ocean Salvage Co. Family: Law Yan/Dorcas Law (mother, adopted), Law Feng/Rebecca Law (mother, adopted) Description: Age: Date of birth: November 15th, 1995 Gender: Masc. Ethnicity: Chinese (Cantonese) Height: 6'6"/2m Weight: 280lbs/127kg Eyes: Brown Hair: Black Big, broad, and shaggy-headed, Ming's skin is tanned and weathered, his face is creased in a perpetual frown and his eyes are squinted from years at sea. He speaks curtly, with the harsh growl of a habitual smoker and drinker and a strong Emerald-Cantonese accent to the other languages he speaks. In his regular life, he wears loose grey hoodies, jeans and heavy boots while ashore, unless he has to be in church or somewhere fancy, in which case he wears a blue suit, combs his chest-length beard and ties his shoulder-length hair into a ponytail. Tense and unfriendly, Ming always seems to be braced for something, and often looks over his shoulder for seemingly no reason. As Rainshadow, Ming goes for the utilitarian with a simple green/blue poncho he stole from a police car, leather gloves, a balaclava and old-fashioned aviator goggles. He tries to cut a more classically-heroic and upbeat figure while in costume, even adopting a more neutral-American accent, since that's a tougher disguise to get through. History: Law Ming-Yang-Jin was taken at 8 months from the body of a Jane Doe admitted to the Emerald City University Medical Center in 1995, the victim of a hit-and-run. He was adopted a few months later, by cousins of the doctor who performed the operation, after a failed search for any possible relatives. His adopted parents worked on the old Bethlehem Heights waterfront, and as a small boy Ming came to love the great river and sea. He certainly got along better with the outdoors and birds better than other children. Even when he was young Ming knew something terrible was going to happen, very soon, and nobody listened when he tried to explain. His mothers did their best, but they had limited time to coax answers out of the boy as they juggled their work for the city's legitimate industries and the under-the-table work they had to do to pay off their debts to kindly old Uncle Zhi and his friends in the benevolent Dragon Society. By necessity Ming grew up fast, helping out where he could and keeping quiet about the harassment from other children, who smelled weakness in the shy boy. He learned to keep his visions to himself, and not to mention the strange moments when the rain poured down on his sadness and the clouds cleared in his joy. Somehow, the terrible thing and these changes in the weather were connected. He saw, clearest of all, a shattered fishing boat, surrounded by bodies, including one that he knew was his own. By the time he was 15 he was big, strong and experienced enough to join a salmon fishing boat and go to sea. Ming stepped aboard with a pounding heart, waving shakily to his mothers and a few friends come to see him off, and was overcome with homesickness as the ship chugged for the Pacific Ocean. They didn't make it out of the river mouth. A powerful storm roaring from nowhere drove them back up the Columbia River, stopping as abruptly as it began as the boat drifted, motor swamped and crew drenched, at the dock they'd set out from. Another try a few days later had the exact same outcome. A third nearly sank the boat. Ming knew then that he had to learn to control this, and went to the only man he could think of who could help: Uncle Zhi. The old man had sickened considerably since they'd first met years ago, and he was surprised and elated to hear from his "young associate" that Ming had the power to see the future and control the weather, and revealed that there had been others with similar gifts in his native Hong Kong; some had even come with the first groups of immigrants to the United States and used their powers to aid their fellow Chinese during the vicious nativist years. Zhi warned Ming to tell nobody else, to prevent his identity and powers from becoming linked, and to come back tomorrow to "sort out your future in our organization." The next morning Zhi was dead of a heart attack and his granddaughter Chen Feng-Li was in charge. Something discouraged Ming from going to her with his story and he went quietly back to work. He learned breathing exercises from a Buddhist monk to calm himself down, and went to sea. By slow, careful, hidden experimentation he learned to master his powers, to unleash storms or clear skies, to summon lightning or raise up mist, bringing forth searing heat or biting cold, and even how to fly and shield himself with swirling air-currents. From the fishing fleet he changed careers to the coastal rescue tugs, using his powers to soothe tempests and freshen good winds. Like everyone else in the Dragon's Eyes he became aware of the secret shadow lying across the cities, and unlike most decided to find out what it was. Unfortunately Ming isn't any kind of detective or scientist (outside some amateur meteorology and a passion for tidal physics), and his search has so far been fruitless. He's done good by those he can with his limited powers and even more limited means, but as the cities change and Max Mars' Ultio suits spread through the population, he knows it isn't enough. His flashes have grown worse, and what seemed merely "soon" when he was a child has become "imminent". Something is going to destroy the Emerald Cities, and Ming knows he can't stop it alone. Personality & Motivation: In his day-to-day life, Ming is generally cold and disinterested. His bad experiences as a child and life of secrecy and suspicion has left him without true friends and a certainty that if he had any they'd betray him somehow. But his heart is easily-melted, and he'll go to any lengths to help out someone in need, knowing all too well what if feels like to be alone. Unfortunately, he's also impatient and all too ready to turn to violence, thanks to finely-honed survival instincts from growing up in the periphery of competing street gangs in Jadetown. He's easily-nettled and struggles with backing-down and de-escalating, since restraint often just marked him as a target in his childhood. Powers & Tactics: Far from bulletproof, Rainshadow relies on mobility and the concealing effects of his powers to protect himself. He keeps on the offense at all times, sweeping enemies out of cover and keeping them corralled so he can subdue them without risk to others. Power Descriptions: Rainshadow's powers are those of the storm, from howling wind to crackling lightning to clouds of water. His ability to control them is linked to a mutation that granted him psychic powers affecting the cosmic energies bombarding Earth. His hands glow a spectral green when using his powers, though the effect is hidden by his gloves, and there is a faint green sheen or outline on the output of his powers such as lightning bolts or clouds. Complications: Danger(Hunted): The secret supervillain cabal, the Chamber, has gotten wind of a new superhuman and will do its utmost to identify and subvert or eliminate them. Dialect: Ming learned how to talk, read and write several languages according to a vulgar vernacular common to Emerald City's Jadetown. The words he uses can sometimes be wildly offputting among more refined or even just polite society. Power(Backlash): Ming's powers do not make weather come from nowhere. There are repercussions to careless or extreme use. Responsibility(Stop the destruction of the Emerald Cities): Ming has foreseen the cataclysmic downfall of his home and everyone he's ever known, and is duty-bound to prevent it. Responsibility(Family): Ming loves his mothers dearly, and would take any action or pay any price to keep them safe. Secret(Identity): Ming and Rainshadow must never become linked. He tries to cover his tracks to prevent this. Threats of exposing him are taken very seriously. Abilities: 10 + 4 + 12 + 0 + 4 + 4 = 34PP Strength 20 (+5) Dexterity 14 (+2) Constitution 22 (+6) Intelligence 10 (+0) Wisdom 14 (+2) Charisma 14 (+2) Combat: 12 + 16 = 28PP Attack: +6 Defence: +12 (+4 flat-footed) Initiative: +2 Grapple: +11/+20 (Move Object) Saves: 2 + 5 + 6 = 13PP TOU +8 (+6 Con, +2 Force Field) FORT +8 (+6 Con, +2) REF +7 (+2 Dex, +5) WILL +8 (+2 Wis, +6) Skills: 52 ranks = 13PP Bluff 3 (+5) Concentration 8 (+10) Intimidate 3 (+5) Knowledge (Physical Sciences) 3 (+3) Languages 8 (Arabic, Chinese(Cantonese, Native), Chinese(Mandarin), Chinook, English, Hindi, Japanese, Russian, Spanish) Notice 8 (+10)* Pilot 8 (+10)* Sense Motive 3 (+5) Survival 3 (+5)* Swim 5 (+10)* Feats: 8PP Dodge Focus 4 Move-By Action Second Chance (Weather Control power checks) Skill Mastery (Notice, Pilot, Survival, Swim) Uncanny Dodge (auditory) Powers: 6 + 2 + 5 + 2 + 39 = 54PP All powers have the 'Mutant' and 'Psychic' descriptors Flight 3 (50 MPH) [6PP] Force Field 2 [2PP] Immunity 5 (all weather effects) (Extras: Duration (Sustained) [+0]) [5PP] Super-Senses 4 (Precognition [Flaws: Unreliable]) [2PP] Weather Control Array (33PP Array; Power Feats: Alternate Power 6) [39PP] Blast 10 (Extras: Range [Perception]; Power Feats: Indirect 2, Variable Descriptor 1 [any weather]) [33PP] AP: Damage 10 (Extras: Area [shapeable], Selective Attack; Power Feats Indirect 2, Variable Descriptor 1 [any weather]) [33PP] AP: Dazzle 10 (visual and auditory) (Extras: Range [Perception]; Flaw: Action [Full]; Power Feats: Indirect 2, Variable Descriptor 1 [any weather]) [33PP] AP: Environmental Control 10 (1 mile) [3/pp mix-and-match] (Extras: Duration [independent] (+0), Total Fade [+1]; Flaw: Range [Touch]; Power Feats: Slow Fade 3 [5 minutes/rank]) [33PP] AP: Move Object 10 (Heavy Load: 12 tons) (Extras: Range [Perception]; Power Feats: Indirect 2, Variable Descriptor 1 [any weather]) [33PP] AP: Obscure 10 (1 mile) (visual and auditory) (Extras: Duration [independent] (+0); Power Feats: Slow Fade 2 [1 minute/rank, Variable Descriptor 1 [any weather]) [33PP] AP: Snare 10 (Extras: Area(Shapeable, 20 5-ft cubes); Feats: Progression 1(Cubes per rank), Reversible, Variable Descriptor 1 [any weather])[33PP] Drawbacks: (-0) + (-0) = -0PP DC Block Attack Range Save Effect Unarmed Touch DC20 Toughness Damage (Staged) Blast Perception DC25 Toughness Damage (Staged) Dazzle Perception DC20 Reflex/Fortitude Dazzled (Visual/Auditory) Snare Ranged (Area) DC20 Reflex Entangled/Bound Totals: Abilities (34) + Combat (28) + Saving Throws (13) + Skills (13) + Feats (8) + Powers (54) - Drawbacks (0) = 150/166 Power Points
  12. Okay, we are in combat. Give us some Initiative rolls. Ku Tu's is: 6, still groggy from the suspended animation. The Stone Heads(x6)'s go-number is: 12.
  13. GM A swell of musical crescendo that mixed all three acts into one shook the air, and Max Mars' voice rang out over the Gallery's public address system brimming with glee. "Here he comes, folks! Give a nice Freedom City welcome to our visitor from the stars!" The uniformed Brande guards flanked a floating tube covered in multiple layers of metal-reinforced transparent polycarbonate, filled with some kind of cyan liquid that shimmered with an inner light. As the outer shields retracted, and the floating tube gently came a rest, what had been a dim grey mass resolved into a giant. The skin was grey and textured like raw stone, the hands and feet both had seven digits ending in short talons. The head was bald, and eyes tightly shut in a noseless face. For whatever reason, he wore black boxer shorts. A little hesitantly at first, but growing in strength, the gathered people applauded the incredible sight of a new form of life on Earth in the midst of the Anthropocene Extinction. Some people drew closer, though the Brande agents kept them at a respectful distance with a warm smile and cold eyes. Max wasn't held back, however, and he thumped on the tube with a triumphant grin. "Let 'im out!" he told the agents, and with a gurgling rush the liquid drained from the tube, and the last layer opened up. The crowd quieted, staring intently either at the man himself or his image blazing on the screens throughout the Gallery. The giant's eyes opened, blank and glaring white, lit from within by an otherworldly radiance. His hands raised, gripped the sides of his prison, moving slowly out into the air. He looked down at the humans, face unreadable and hard as a mountain. Max approached, holding up a thin wand, addressing the crowd, "This'll translate whatever he says into English! A miracle of MarsPyramid tecGRGK!" very suddenly Max was dangling in the grip of the giant, whose face had twisted into rage! With his free hand he grabbed both Brande agents by their heads and flung them through the roof! "APE-THINGS OF KU-TAL!" roared the alien, eyes flaring with white fire as Max began to twist and warp hideously, and the people began to scream and run, "YOU WILL AGAIN BE MY SLAVES, AND SUFFER FOR YOUR REBELLION! THUS SAITH KU TU, THE ETERNAL!" Flinging down Max, who had become some sort of red-furred jaguar-man that began to growl and stalk towards the gathered Freedonians, Ku Tu raised his head and shouted an alien word. Around the room, six giant stone heads that had seemed wholly decorative hummed to life, eyes glowing red and flying slowly but surely to block the exits! "APE-THINGS!" thundered Ku Tu, "PREPARE TO SERVE YOUR GOD, OR DIE!"
  14. @Heritage asked for a reputation chart for Max Mars, so here it is: Gather Information: DC5: Max is the CEO of consumer electronics giant MarsTech, well known for extravagance and showbiz flair along with famously-good treatment of his employees. He has had numerous relationships over the years, but has made it known that he intends to choose and adopt his successor. He recently moved a small branch of his company to Freedom City, aggressively head-hunting STEM, history and linguistics students in the area. DC10: Max is good friends with many people in industrial and political spheres, and was largely responsible for the Emerald Cities at the Columbia River delta being sheltered from the global economic downturn in 2008. The Emeralds exclusively use his technology in public services such as transit or communications. He's publicly advocated for privatizing space travel, and backed politicians who make welcoming non-humans into society and/or reducing the funding of NASA part of their platforms. DC15: Max was pardoned for his past crimes as the armored supervillain the Commander back in the late 20th century, due to joining the heroes and fighting agains the forces of the Terminus in 1993. A considerable fraction of his wealth has gone into restitution for victims of his crimes and propping up the industry of small towns across the USA. DC20: Max is the single largest land-owner on the West Coast, and is in talks with state governments on the coast and inland with plans to turn over control and cost of major infrastructure projects to him. There have been complaints from other national governments about his purchase and acquisition of newly-discovered alien artifacts all over the globe, though things usually calm down when Max apologizes, pays the requested fine and hands over the objects and gathered data. DC25: The AEGIS branch in the Emeralds is officially investigating Max and MarsTech for evidence of involvement in organized crime, but has been stalled for well over a decade. The investigation hasn't been closed, it simply hasn't been active. Nobody's seen his first girlfriend, Tammy Spike, since she left town in 1974.
  15. OOC thread for this thread. A strange visitor from another planet is here to turn us all into were-jaguars, and it's all Max Mars' fault! @Heritage @Tiffany Korta
  16. GM April 20th, Wednesday, 2022, 11.30AM Guthrie Gallery of Energy Innovations, Freedom City University, Freedom City, USA Adorning the Gallery's entrances were banners inviting readers to "SEE THE FLYING ALIEN PYRAMID!", strategically augmented with "Free food!", "Live music!" and "Meet Max Mars!" Whatever else could be said about him, in this case all those things were true. Inside was an extravaganza of Max Mars' usual levels. The austere and functional layout of the Guthrie Gallery, a rotating exhibition of various energy sources from steam engines to a replica Omegadrone Power Pike, was coated in glitz and excess. On one stage, up-and-coming rock sensation Frank Larrabee sang about the misty forests and mountains of his hometown, Emerald City, and of the unsolved mysteries they hid from wondering eyes. On another, acoustically-isolated from the rock balladeer, metal band Spydor acted out the War of Taranok and Scorvicious, and on a third pop idol Silvia "Silver" Moon and the Moonlites danced through a confrontation with hereditary illness and the stigma against the chronically-ill. The technology making it possible for all three acts to be on at the same time without their performances interfering had its own mini-exhibit, replete with attractive salespersons. Booths pertaining to other recent inventions, including the Phobos V utility-phone, and advertising positions within MarsTech itself, packed the halls. The free food ranged from buffet-style steam trays to onigiri to fresh-baked pretzels, in quantities sufficient to feed even a crowd of university students and guests with families. And in the center, visible from all the arms of the Gallery, was the huge floating, pulsing nightmare of metal and stone that was the alien pyramid. A suite of technicians kept a careful eye on read-outs behind the cordon set up around the pyramid itself, a cordon guarded by smiling and uniformed representatives of Brande Mangement, a company so mysterious that all anyone really knew about it was that it hired superhumans as security personnel. In the shadow of all this, Max Mars, standing proud in his five-nothing frame cloaked in a resplendant red suit, held court and eagerly explained what the strange machine was and its ramifications. The crowd that had gathered filtered in and out, kept up to date everywhere in the Gallery on Max's endless patter through the P.A. system. "This is better than gold, folks! A working alien spacecraft! If you think anti-gravity is for your grandkids, you're in for a shock! With this baby we've picked out planets NASA wouldn't have found for another 80 years, at least! A food replicator, a database of languages we've barely begun to scan, and this ain't even it's full size! Before we dug it up, the people in that Mexican village thought it was just another hill! This is our ticket to the stars, people! Without having to wait until Americatech deigns to grace us with the answers, we'll make our own!" That last hit more of a sour note with the Freedom City crowd than it might have back on the West Coast. But Mars' other words, and the various gizmos around the central hall demonstrating the applications of this alien super-tech, left a much more positive impression. "And best of all!" Max's grin seemed barely able to fit on his red-bearded face, "We've found the space jockey who piloted this thing! He's been trapped inside, for thousands of years, and you'll be here when he says his first words to us! So stick around, folks, enjoy yourslelves, and get ready for an outta-this-world encounter!"
  17. GM When seen through the light fantastic patches, shreds and stains of old magic flickered into being all over the office. The panic room seethed like a dying furnace, and only the knife shone with the gleam of a spell that was not fading away. A particular sort, withering and shriveling rapidly to nothing, was around Hagar, Harold and Hildegard...and around Christopher himself. A kind of thin, spectral green feelers and tendrils bleeding out into so much Phoros fire. All three of Harold Hitspike's children shook their heads vigorously at the question, and were only too happy to take their leave. Harold Jr. lent his brother his long coat and vanished quickly into the dark hallways outside, and Hildegard wished Christopher a fervent "Good luck, Mr. Daye!" before she too hurried off with clacking steps, the door closing silent and automatically after her. On closer attention, the circle around the scorched skeleton was all too easily deciphered: "FOR SERVICES RENDERED, PAYMENT GIVEN. HAROLD HITSPIKE THE ELDER FORFEITED HIS SOUL ON THIS SPOT TO HIS BENEFACTOR MILLION-MASKS MAVAT, IN PENALTY OF BREAKING AGREED TERMS AND CONDITIONS CONVEYED BY UNDER-SECRETARY SVILLSKIT. PURSUIT OF SOULS FORFEITED VOLUNTARILY WILL BE PUNISHED WITH THE FULL PENALTY OF THE GREATER LAW. FOR MORE INFORMATION, SHED YOUR BLOOD UPON THE CIRCLE AND RECITE SVILLSKIT BACKWARDS. NO GUARANTEE IS MADE THAT THIS WILL WORK, AND IS NOT MERELY A JOKE AT THE EXPENSE OF MORTAL CREDULITY. IT'S BORING DOWN HERE. THIS NEEDS MORE FILLER BLAH BLAH BLAH BLEEPITY BLAH UNDERSCRIBE QSHKR WROTE THIS."
  18. @Spacefurry It's better than nothing! He has more than public knowledge (DC5, the Light is a group associated with some high-profile and audacious murders committed in Europe and Asia in the last few years) or casual study (DC10, the few surviving killers who claimed association with the Light all spoke of it as a religious movement, but died in their cells from cardiac arrest before much information could be obtained), and Blackstaff knows that the Light has gone strictly after people suspected but never convicted of committing particularly severe crimes (ironically including murder). He also knows that self-proclaimed killers of the Light suddenly dried up last year after a string of slayings in France, though attacks with similar targets and modus operandi have continued. Since he's taking a closer gander at the circle, my next GM post will describe and translate it.
  19. @Spacefurry Knowledge(Arcane Lore) result: sacrificial knives are a common gift/warning to those dabbling in the Vicious Tides, and this has all the markings of being a genuine article. The circle in which the corpse lies definitely has writing in the Infernal tongue, and the smoke does have a note of brimstone. By all appearances Hitspike Sr. was consumed by hellfire. Which is unusual. Demons usually don't kill people they haven't tricked into an agreement that guarantees their damnation. Yes, by all means Space!
  20. GM All three replied at once. "None whatsoever!" barked Harold Jr., looking paler than his shirt, "His work-!" "Oh, so many!" cried Hildegard, "He knew-!". "None living!" protested Hagar. The three children looked at each other. After a moment's silent negotiation, Harold Jr. shuffled forward to be the spokesman. "Well, er, Mr. Daye, naturally we, ah, beg you to keep this in the strictest, um...confidence and will be only too happy to arrange a-a mutually-beneficial silence on the matter." Taking a deeper breath than before, the man whose namesake was a pile of carbonized calcium in the other room pressed on. It turned out that Harold Sr. had been having difficulties in the highly-competitive field of reverse-engineering the technology of supervillains into usable commercial products, and had grown convinced that his competitors were agents of Satan. He had only gotten worse after falling in with a mysterious cult called "the Light" a few tears ago, which preceded a trickle of strange and deadly accidents on the heads of rivals and mysterious disappearances by their father at the same time. In the process, apparently, he had discovered proof that some of his victims (Harold Jr. didn't call them that, but it was obvious) were in league with the forces of darkness. The evidence was all of his targets owning an ornate, unique dagger made of a strange, dark, perpetually-warm metal. "That's a new one there," Hildegard pointed into the panic room, "the one stuck in father's ribs." The round pommel contained a flawed red jewel that was cut to look uncomfortably like a staring eye. Harold Jr, counted off on his fingers "The only ones left would be Petrov Volkvoi, of KeySurge Ltd, Arthur Motes of Songbird Inc., and of course Steve of Special Sharks Inc. They're all in the same business as father, and he was exchanging threats with Mr. Motes by courier before his death. Songbird's just up the street, you see." "They were friends with some of the people our dad killed," Hagar added, "and have access to powerful technology. Which isn't much, but frankly it's all we have to go by. Unless the crime scene offers up any clues."
  21. GM The siblings' stories were standard for their sphere. Hildegard had been at an underwater charity gala in London, raising funds to buy land back from the Grant Conglomerate (the Tuvaluan island of Nanumea, to be exact, a sale wreathed in mystery and unresolved deaths). She had been swimming to the cheese bubble when one of the emergency trap doors had opened beneath her, sucking her through and into her father's office. A blast of heat on the way through had, luckily, left her perfectly dry. Harold Hitspike Jr. had been visiting a Heuristics client, one Alistair Reynolds, to assure him that their versions of a safety helmet he'd designed did not talk to their wearers, and were in fact incapable of doing so. On the way back a man, who Christopher was unable to get a clear description of thanks to Harold's extremely unhelpful arm gestures and reliance on "you know"s to get across almost any physical trait, had grabbed him, thrown a bag over his head and thrust him through an alleyway door with help of some unidentified associates. He had fallen into his father's office. Hagar had been running from the family's long-feral pack of dogs on the family estate in Virginia, and after losing them thanks to a plunge into a tar pit had taken a shower in the manor. Hearing a noise and seeing a shadow moving outside the stall, he'd opened the shower door and stepped out into his father's office. He at least had caught a glimpse of who it was before the door opened fully, a masked woman in black studded with weapons who was reaching into a bag to take something out. The only identifying feature he could give were her eyes, which he described as "paralyzing" and "of terrible intensity". They were also dark, possibly brown. Teleportation was nothing new in the world of criminal investigation, but three wildly-separated events all coinciding to the same time and place certainly was. In the meanwhile the circle and its charréd occupant had stood silent and still. Even the dying wisps of smoke were now dead.
  22. For starters, I'll say Investigation or Knowledge(Arcane) or a DC10 Int check to decipher some of the Infernal script on the pentagram will give up some of the goods on the crime scene.
  23. OOC thread for this thread. Can Christopher unravel a fiendish plot, and escape the knives of God's vengeance? @Spacefurry
  24. January 30th, 2022, Sunday, 3PM Harold Hitspike's panic room, Hitspike Heuristics, 27th floor of 1386 Pittsburgh Ave., Freedom City, New Jersey, USA, Earth "So as you can see, Mr. Daye," bluff, red-haired young Hagar Hitspike nodded at the charred skeleton in the centre of the pentagram, surrounded by an otherwise spotless and undisturbed steel panic room, "this is a little outside of our understanding." Despite being a good foot shorter than Christopher and swathed about the middle in a long bath towel, the man looked both composed and solemn. His brother and sister, standing nearby, nodded vigrously. The towering, gaunt-faced, gold-haired woman who'd introduced herself as Hildegard wiped a tear from her eye with her green silk dress's sleeve, adding in a voice trembling with dismay "Yes! Father never trafficked with the hellish forces of the underworld! Me and Baby Harry knew all his business dealings. This is all some terrible frame-up job!" "Yes, uh...ah...hm..." White-haired, portly Harold Jr. was too stunned to say anything intelligible, and the man stumbled to his father's desk back in the rich wood-paneled office to sit down. "Now I understand this has been a little disorienting," Hagar said with an apologetic look somewhere under his dripping hair and beard, "seeing as we have for some unaccountable reason all stepped into this room at the same time from different places. God knows I didn't expect to come out of the shower and see my father a charred-black skeleton. But we can pay handsomely and the police stopped taking our calls years ago. So, well..." He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. His sister stepped around the puddle forming at Hagar's feet to seize one of Christopher's hands with her own, her long nails and tough skin creating the effect of being grasped in the talons of some huge bird of prey. "I can't think of anyone else who could get to the bottom of this, Mr. Daye! Please, if you possibly can, find out what happened! What killed our father, and why?!"
  25. Ari

    Team Camelot

    I'm interested as a GM, if that's alright Rocket?
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