Quinn

August 14th, 2013 Katastrof & Sorensen Technologies - Freedom City Headquarters City Center 9:00 AM Authority is a funny thing; in many ways it makes the world a lot easier for you. In many ways it makes the world a lot less friendly towards you. It makes it hard to go get a cup of coffee in the morning, if the person behind the till knows he probably works for you, and if he gets your order wrong he could be fired. It makes it easier in the sense of that you had people to get coffee for you. Well, if that was your kind of thing. Baron Katastrof? Was likely not one of those people. He built his empire with sweat and toil and tears, fighting demons both figuratively and literally to get to where he was today. He was a man of the world, a powerful figure, one that you wouldn't dream of approaching in a business sense save through several dozen different intermediaries and human resources figures and secretaries and... Well, you get the idea. So it made it all the more humorous when, by dint of pure luck and chance (probably), and a slipped cup of coffee (soaking a form), and a tweaked form (replacing a folder), and a dropped piece of paper (opening the folder), and an errant gust of wind (purely by chance), a small business card landed into some of his reports for the prior fiscal quarter in Freedom City; reports that were always placed precisely on his desk at exactly 8:30 AM. His secretary prided herself on her timing - even if others didn't. The card read as follows - Crowe Security Consulting Matters Arcane And Mundane Professional Help / Reasonable Rates / No Guarantees (732) 609-1733 It was stuck between two security reports, funnily enough.

Crow

Crow quirked an eyebrow, and idly let his hands drift to his pockets, fingering the gloves inside for a moment or three. A thoughtful look came over his face as he subjected Subito to that occasionally eerie piercing gaze; like a bird of prey peering down from a branch above. For a long few moments, he weighed his words; then finally shook his head and spoke somewhat flatly. "Spirits and their tests." A distinct tone of disapproval. "They can't be content with their own choices, oh no - they have to second-guess and retry to make sure they weren't, God forbid, wrong. Not like you haven't already done bloody brilliant service over and over again - she can't just roll out the tea and crumpets, or say 'fine job, Subito, you're doing magnificently'; no." Strike that; the tone wasn't disapproving, it was just bitter. Crow shook his head, the wild mane of black hair going from side to side with it, and finally let out a sigh. "Keh. I'm getting grumpy in my old age." He was nineteen. "You want some backup on this one, man?"

"..." It would have been a bit of an understatement to say that Crow was rather impressed. In fact, he was more than rather impressed; though a well-honed sense of discipline (hah!) and the mask over his eyes let him maintain that poker face with aplomb. Instead, he just nodded at her assessment. Bending over, Crow swept up the goblet and held it in a hand for a moment, before folding it into his coat (and through that, the tiny pocket he'd enchanted into his ring. Best not be having things just disappear out of his hands, after all). Finally, he replied calmly; eyeing potential hiding spots around the room. "Your words have sense behind them. Alarm might have tipped off someone; agree to compare notes when the crew's been cleared out, locked down, and ready for transit?"

The teenage runecaster's voice was calm, almost eerily so; despite the flying bolts of arcane magic and ward-ringed fireballs that filled the air. His movements here were economical, step by step by step, no wasted movement. Every blast that would have hit whistled an ace by his shoulder, his arm, his leg, one particular bolt illuminating that grim carved mask he wore over the top part of his face, throwing the whorls and runes covering his eyes into sharp relief. "I don't make a habit of conversing with shadows I can't see. A lot of strange things concealed behind them. Lot of ears, and eyes, and fingers; things I'd rather see plugged, pierced, or sliced away." Not bad. Apt, and threatening. You make them fear you, yessss... Shut. Up. "Reccomend you prove a friend or foe. Before I start to make assumptions."

Reflex save! (1d20+7=26) I'd say that was worth waiting for!

*whistles* Damn. Top that up with a Take 20 on Intimidate, and I think we just made the Eldrich Abomination go "meep." *Brofists an Aoiroo~*

"Enough that your right to speak has been revoked." It actually looked somewhat comical. Crow stepped around Arnold, as the man began a complex incantation that he truly only understood a quarter of. Mostly the Latin parts. The others sort of soared over his head, but it didn't take a master magus to understand the gist of the 'hit the road, Jack, and don't you come back no more, no more, no more, no more' style of exorcism. But as to the comical bit... This young, 5' something, less than 190 pounds soaking wet teenager in a slightly oversized coat and hood, crossed his arms in front of the daemonic face and just stared at it. Perhaps it was the whispers already in his head, or simple pig-headed stubbornness, but he feared no madness from the view; bracing his will against the sheer spiritual presence the being from the outer gates brought to the table. He would not be found wanting. "You have no hold, over them, us, or this world. Your words are anathema, your form is ridiculous, and your existence intolerable. Leave."

The captain may have heard the sounds of ethereal Welsh surrounding them, or he may not have. Given that the second the words registered, Crow had placed a hand on his shoulder. The captain then may have heard a crunching sound, and seen a large amount of sparks; a solid fist loaded with the pure energies of Earth hammering into the back of one's head did not do wonders for one's perception of the world. Or one's equilibrium. Or one's consciousness. Really, it just didn't do wonders for one at all. Crow's hand on his shoulder held him up for all of two seconds, then released him - the man collapsing like a sack of potatoes to the ground. Oddly enough, the teen had caught the captain's cap itself in one hand as he toppled; looking at it somewhat thoughtfully. Then he replied in the Old Gaelic. <"I have been a speckled snake on the hill, I have been a viper in Llyn. I have been a bill-hook crooked that cuts, I have been a ferocious spear."> A beat. "That sound sufficiently badass, you reckon?"

Right, time for one of Crow's favorite take-down methods. The Hey-You Haymaker. All Out Attack (+5 ATK / -5 DEF) Power Attack (+5 DMG / -5 ATK) Earth Strike Punch! (1d20+9=21) DC 32 TOU save, and I reckon this might be the last time I use Power Attack for Crow. Hrm.

"Multiple reasons. Could be positive. Could be nefarious." Rah. Crow vastly preferred it when he had more information at hand - going into a situation blind was against the rules. Not that he didn't do it frequently, but still! He'd been learning! How could one display one's brilliance and how much one had learned if...rah. Never mind. A chalk piece danced over one glove backplate; small sparks beginning to pop between his fingers. "Jack's reasons often arcane. Usually good, though." Was he attempting to be reassuring? Good grief. The teenager cut his words short there, bracing his feet and drawing his hand back. "Hm. Should work. Estimate 65% chance of backfire. Better than usual." No, he was not attempting to be reassuring. Lightning erupted around his fist as he hissed between his teeth - rushing air out at the same time that fist shot forward. Enchanted glove and hard-packed muscle, backed by a near-indomitable will or just mulish stubborness (take your pick) met warded wooden door. Cue thunderclap.

Okay, burning a Hero Point, and stunting...well, stunting the electrical-punch currently on his updated sheet, which he didn't have at this point; although he did have the knife-gloves with the requisite amount of PP for them. Short form, ELECTROPUNCH. Go ahead and make a DC 28 Toughness save from the door if you want to, Ari.

Morgan squinted at Subito, then turned to the others; quirking an eyebrow. Scrying wasn't out of the question - the trouble is while they had a method, he wasn't sure how secure they were going to keep it this time. Granted, he'd showed it to others before; although at the time his girlfriend had been kidnapped and he wasn't entirely thinking straight when that'd happened. Damn the Lady, and her attack dog. Rah. He shook his head, polishing off his glass of milk and sitting back again. "Honestly? Scrying's not as hard a discipline as you'd think - it's keeping things from looking back that's usually the trick to it, or the big problem. Think of it like you're making a glass pane, savvy? If you know what you're doing, it's easy enough to make something see-through both ways, but it's a lot tougher to shape it the way you want it, or to have the glass itself only go one way." A beat. Then a somewhat abashed expression came over his face as he realized how far he'd shot off-topic. "Granted, I usually cheat with sympathy and far-sight runes. Back to the question at hand...Nick, your thoughts?"

Crow Overclock Retiring!

I have evil magic scientists working for the Warlord who can do that! (Not really).

Crow didn't actually say anything. Just nodded at Archer. The black-clad teen looked somewhat worse for wear; his mask cracked slightly, his coat badly singed and smoking, and the whole shebang slightly off-balance; one leg seemingly longer than the other. It gave him an odd sort of posture as he stood there; almost like he was hunched. Simply looking around with an impassive expression on his face. In his head, he simply catalogued the situation. Proper protocol. Situation report. Infiltrator removed. Campus building blown to smithereens. Secondary infiltrator exposed. Bomb safely activated and contained. Secondary infiltrator locked down/imprisoned. Personal report. Minor bruises to torso and arms. Burn marks on palms. Think muscle pulled in right shoulder. Headache. Boot missing. Still mission-capable. Taking a leaf from Myrmidon's book, hmm? It won't help, you know. Shut. Up. There was a small nod of respect towards Archer. Of course there was, what else could there be? Followed by a different nod to the other two; maybe a turn to the side of his mouth that bespoke approval. "...Adamas. Tsunami." A beat. Maybe a softer tone. Maybe. "...thanks." And then he just turned - the missing boot giving him an odd gait as he stumped back towards the ruined administration building. The Next-Gen headquarters still had a communications array and computer system - and contacting the others had shown the city was still dealing with nine shades of hell. Morgan and Crow weren't entirely sure who was really calling the shots right now, but they did both agree on one thing. There was still work to do.

"Likely." came the response from behind Tsunami - the black-coated Crow walking around her. His hands were in his pockets, though judging by the wisps of steam floating up from them, whatever he'd done downbelow had left it's mark. The palms of his gloves were blackened and scorched - to speak nothing of how his vision wasn't exactly in the finest of conditions right now. His fault for staring at a plasma bomb with the runic equivalent of thermal vision - it'd wear off eventually. As for the bomb, it was contained. The fires, lacking oxygen, would gutter out quickly enough once the portal to the hamsterball of doom was closed up - granted, the Grue would be a bit cooked in there for a little bit longer, but the amount of concern Crow had for that could be held in a very small thimble. The Grue got a clear look through the diamond at the small figure who walked up; mask staring up at him - almost blatantly appraising through that mask. A shapeshifting agent who wasn't playing the game of their enemy? Well - that was a lucky find, wasn't it? Morgan called to let him out for questioning. Crow debated the point for a bit. "We've shortened the list by one now." was his sole, flat, response to the complaint regarding enemies at the tail end. "You have information. We need it. You give it, maybe you walk." And not a word on what would happen if he didn't. Crow liked avoiding saying that. Morgan appreciated the gesture. Both for different reasons.

"That is your counterpart, Adamas. Just turned a whole lot prettier." Wow, that voice was dry. Like almost dry enough to spontaneously evaporate the water currently surrounding the monster; in what Morgan (not Crow) would likely have referred to as the 'hamsterball of doom'. Though admittedly a giant ball of water with diamond coating was pretty much overkill when it came to your average need for restraints. Given the size of the thing, though - and the fact that it was cracking diamond on each punch? Crow chose to err on the side of that overkill. A chalk circle, surrounded by runes and scrawled incantations, found itself surrounding the plasma bomb on the wall; and as he placed his palms beside it, felt a snapping sensation from the backs of his hands. Power flowed through the ferrous runes on the backplates, a cool black energy that coalesced into a shell around that explosive. Another bubble. Ooh, a neat trick. But can you stick it without my help? Just watch me. He expanded it. Contracted it. Sweat was beading on his forehead as he kept looking between it and the huge thermal figure standing overhead - through multiple layers of dirt and rock. This'd be a helluva trick if he could pull it off...just had to...focus...there! There was a hiss of raw Power and the runes on his backplates burst into full flame, a hole appearing right below the bomb, staring down at a great red mechanical skull. He grinned. And dome around it suddenly contracted - a violent strike directly to it's outer shell. There was a beep. Two beeps. "Incoming." Then Crow stared directly into the sun. And the monster above suddenly felt a searing heat erupt from above it, raw flame and plasma erupting through that hole, hitting that cool water and turning it broiling within the space of a heartbeat! Plasma and painfully hot water turned that hamsterball into one giant trap - just as the monster had tried to fix for the Claremonters below! Oooh, cold, Crow. And with a touch of poetic irony. I like it! ...your approval fills me with shame.

Stunting from the Gloves again! Time to make this big ape eat what his colleague took. Directed plasma blast right to the face! Blast 9 (Feats: Incurable, Indirect 2, Improved Range 2 [450'], Improved Critical 2 [18-20]; Extras: Penetrating 5) [21PP] (Fire/Technological) (Shaped Plasma Blast) Indirect 2 will open the portal right above the beastie's head at the top of the diamond dome's interior. Aim gives a +4, for a total of +17 to hit. Let's see how it does! Plasma! (1d20+17=34) Hot-hot-hot! DC 24 Toughness save from big ugly. Depending on how many HP I have left, I may end up stunting the same power next round to represent more explosive venting! :D

"If only." was the dry response over the commlink. Crow had finished scrawling on the glove and vaulted into the hole; they could hear the noises of surprised students over the 'link, along with a barked, then clipped reply from the be-coated teen in question. "STOP. It's Crow, I'm on your side, giant robot upstairs, bomb in the room, skip the arguing. Get behind cover, make cover, just do it now and do it fast." The tone was flat, brooking no argument. Anyone who started to argue, though the others couldn't see it, was met with a Glare. Capital required. There was the sounds of movement, and then a murmured stream of Old Gaelic; judging by the tone he was speaking in, likely swear words. He clearly wasn't a happy camper - with the sound of rummaging, rubble, and shifting metal. Followed by a somewhat louder one. "Nine hells. The bomb's right by the shelter door. It goes off, they'd have been trapped in here - no way out. Move it, it'll probably explode...mathair na trocaire." Bad way to die. Especially when a lot of these kids were people he knew. The list of crimes on the bastard who did this was just getting longer. As is what we can do to him when we catch him. Revenge is sweet, isn't it Morgan? Just shut up. There was a moment of rustling again, then another clipped few words over the link. "Tell Edge to switch to our channel - zero one three three seven. Keep the creature locked down and busy. Wait for my signal. Then get clear of that thing fast."

Crow takes an Aim Action - Full Round; and since it's immobile (I think), that'll be a +4 to hit on the next round. Fluff is Morgan assembling a clever rune trick to assist in taking the thing down. Post to follow if I don't fall asleep. ^_^

Arcane Lore check! (1d20+10=11) Morgan's magic geekiness has failed him. :evil:

"If Vicky wants to go to Moscow, I'll buy a big furry hat." Shrug. Oddly enough, he wasn't lying. If Victoria wanted to go to Moscow, back to the old country, and wanted him along...well, he'd go, of course. Granted, it'd be a ruddy nightmare finding a place to stay, and it'd be stretching Parkhurst's portal system to it's absolute limit, but eh. He'd deal with it. As-is, he was more impressed with her facility with a knife and a carrot. After he pried the throwing knife free of the cutting board, he tried to match it - nowhere near as fast, but nearly as accurate and roughly as clean. Youngsters these days, go figure. "And please tell me Vicks doesn't know how to use magic. She can already bench-press a bus, it'd shatter my precious ego into teeny tiny fragments if she could also rip portals in reality or summon mighty elementals." A crooked smile, and he finished dicing up the veggies with deft flicks of the wrist. It seemed his sense of humor might be halfway there, at least. "Though...okay, I admit it'd be wicked cool."

"Just fold it over your chair, bro. No worries." Morgan had started work on another sandwich - listening with an interested mean at Nick and Etain's expertise. All made quite good sense - fit well with treatises in the library; he made a note to see if he could compile some 'cliff's notes' for Sube from what they had on hand. A 'Divinity For Dummies' series. The others might have noted the teenage runeworker stifling a series of chuckles with root beer and sandwich. "Well, spiritual travel's pretty...hazy, at the best of times. Extradimensional realms on the whole, like Avalon, Mag Mell, or, say, Tartarus? Usually easy enough to enter if you've got passing buisness with them, like dropping off large magical explosives - or if you can just kick in the door, wanting a word about their minions causing trouble. Portal open, hop through, away you go. But a spirit's personal realm?" He tapped his chin. "Well, lots of myths usually cover sort of...trials, or special deeds or some such that you've gotta go through before you can arrive at the spirit in question's sanctum. Dark forest, long cobbled road, the occasional mysterious beggar or giant monster. Prove your worth and all that jazz. If the lady in question is the sort to imbue a mortal with great power and drive him to great deeds..." Wink, nudge. "Then she'd prolly want to put you through the wringer before she lets you into her bacheloress pad for tea and cookies." He leaned back in his chair, then; tossing back the remainder of the soda. "That's just my extrapolation, though - I could be on completely the wrong foot."

Crow just shifted by Arnold, examining the mist and the small green rune on the door. Demon. Lair. Green runes - green runes. Green was never a good color for a rune. Orange and red flames, grey smoke, those were good colors for runes. Green, most definitley not. Purple's pretty good too. Shut up. Just saying. Shut up! Without a word, he just went to work; switching through the different forms of scrying enchanted into his mask; kneeling down to test the boards of the porch, stepping up to the doorway and examining the metal carefully - the spot where the rune came from even moreso. At one point he took out a pinch of salt; sprinkling it over the doorknob - watching for a reaction. A moment of consideration. One more. Two more. He looked to Etain, quirking an eyebrow. She knew him well enough to understand - that was his way of saying 'thoughts?' without actually speaking. He really had been diving into that whole 'mystique' thing recently, come to think of it.